"Abra was present when they named her name," and, after a few gropings after truth—a few experiments that ended in nothing—a voice was heard in the city, that streets could be paved with wood. This was by no means a discovery in itself; for in many parts of the country ingenious individuals had laid down wooden floors upon their farm-yards; and, in other lands, it was a very common practice to use no other material for their public streets. But, in London, it was new; and all that was wanted, was science to use the material (at first sight so little calculated to bear the wear and tear of an enormous traffic) in the most eligible manner. The first who commenced an actual piece of paving was a Mr Skead—a perfectly simple and inartificial system, which it was soon seen was doomed to be superseded. His blocks were nothing but pieces of wood of a hexagon shape—with no cohesion, and no foundation—so that they trusted each to its own resources to resist the pressure of a wheel, or the blow of a horse's hoof; and, as might have been foreseen, they became very uneven after a short use, and had no recommendation except their cheapness and their exemption from noise. The fibre was vertical, and at first no grooves were introduced; they, of course, became rounded by wearing away at the edge, and as slippery as the ancient granite. The Metropolitan Company took warning from the defects of their predecessor, and adopted the patent of a scientific French gentleman of the name of De Lisle. The combination of the blocks is as elaborate as the structure of a ship of war, and yet perfectly easy, being founded on correct mechanical principles, and attaining the great objects required—viz. smoothness, durability, and quiet. The blocks, which are shaped at such an angle that they give the most perfect mutual support, are joined to each other by oaken dowels, and laid on a hard concrete foundation, presenting a level surface, over which the impact is so equally divided, that the whole mass resists the pressure on each particular block; and yet, from being formed in panels of about a yard square, they are laid down or lifted up with far greater ease than the causeway. Attention was immediately attracted to this invention, and all efforts have hitherto been vain to improve on it. Various projectors have appeared—some with concrete foundations, some with the blocks attached to each other, not by oak dowels, but by being alternately concave and convex at the side; but this system has the incurable defect of wearing off at the edges, where the fibre of the wood, of course, is weakest, and presents a succession of bald-pated surfaces, extremely slippery, and incapable of being permanently grooved. A specimen of this will be often referred to in the course of this account, being that which has attained such an unenviable degree of notoriety in the Poultry. Other inventors have shown ingenuity and perseverance; but the great representative of wooden paving we take to be the Metropolitan Company, and we proceed to a narrative of the attacks it has sustained, and the struggles it has gone through.

So long ago as July 1839, the inventor explained to a large public meeting of noblemen and men of science, presided over by the Duke of Sussex, the principle of his discovery. It consisted in a division of the cube, or, as he called it, the stereotomy of the cube. After observing, that "although the cube was the most regular of all solid bodies, and the most learned men amongst the Greeks and other nations had occupied themselves to ascertain and measure its proportions, he said it had never hitherto been regarded as a body, to be anatomized or explored in its internal parts. Some years ago, it had occurred to a French mathematician that the cube was divisible into six pyramidical forms; and it therefore had struck him, the inventor, that the natural formation of that figure was by a combination of those forms. Having detailed to his audience a number of experiments, and shown how the results thereby obtained accorded with mathematical principles, he proceeded to explain the various purposes to which diagonal portions of the cube might be applied. By cutting the body in half, and then dividing the half in a diagonal direction, he obtained a figure—namely, a quarter of the cube—in which, he observed, the whole strength or power of resistance of the entire body resided; and he showed the application of these sections of the cube to the purposes of paving by wood." Such is the first meagre report of the broaching of a scientific system of paving; and, with the patronage of such men of rank and eminence as took an interest in the subject, the progress was sure and rapid.

In December 1839, about 1100 square yards were laid down in Whitehall, and a triumph was never more complete; for since that period it has continued as smooth and level as when first it displaced the Macadam; it has never required repair, and has been a small basis of peace and quietness, amidst a desert of confusion and turmoil. Since that time, about sixty thousand yards in various parts of London, being about three-fourths of all the pavement hitherto introduced, attest the public appreciation of the Metropolitan Company's system. It may be interesting to those who watch the progress of great changes, to particularize the operations (amounting in the aggregate to forty thousand yards) that were carried out upon this system in 1842:—

St Giles's, Holborn Foundling Estate Hammersmith Bridge St Andrew's, Holborn Jermyn Street Old Bailey Piccadilly Newgate Street, eastern end Southampton Street Lombard Street Oxford Street Regent Street;

besides several noblemen's court-yards, such as the Dukes of Somerset and Sutherland's, and a great number of stables, for which it is found peculiarly adapted.

The other projectors have specimens principally in the Strand; that near the Golden Cross, being by Mr Skead; that near Coutts's Bank, Mr Saunders; at St Giles's Church, in Holborn, Mr Rankin; and in the city, at Gracechurch Street, Cornhill, and the Poultry, Mr Cary. The Poultry is a short space lying between Cheapside and the Mansion-house, consisting altogether of only 378 square yards. It lies in a hollow, as if on purpose to receive the river of mud which rolls its majestic course from the causeway on each side. The traffic on it, though not fast, is perpetual, and the system from the first was faulty. In addition to these drawbacks, its cleansing was totally neglected; and on all these accounts, it offered an excellent point of attack to any person who determined to signalize himself by preaching a crusade against wood. Preachers, thank heaven! are seldom wanted; and on this occasion the part of Peter the Hermit was undertaken by Peter the Knight; for our old acquaintance, the opponent of causeways, the sworn enemy to granite, the favourer of Macadam, had worn the chain of office; had had his ears tickled for a whole year by the magic word, my lord, was as much of a knight as Sir Amadis de Gaul, and much more of an alderman; had been a great dispenser of justice, and sometimes a dispenser with law; had made himself a name, before which that of the Curtises and Waithmans grew pale; and, above all, was at that very moment in want of a grievance. Sir Peter Laurie gave notice of a motion on the subject of the Poultry. People began to think something had gone wrong with the chickens, or that Sir Robert had laid a high duty on foreign eggs. The alarm spread into Norfolk, and affected the price of turkeys. Bantams fell in value, and barn-door fowls were a drug. In the midst of all these fears, it began to be whispered about, that if any chickens were concerned in the motion, it was Cary's chickens; and that the attack, though nominally on the hen-roost, was in reality on the wood. It was now the depth of winter; snowy showers were succeeded by biting frosts; the very smoothness of the surface of the wooden pavement was against it; for as no steps were taken to prevent slipperiness, by cleansing or sanding the street—or better still, perhaps, by roughing the horses' shoes, many tumbles took place on this doomed little portion of the road; and some of the city police, having probably, in the present high state of English morals, little else to do, were employed to count the falls. Armed with a list of these accidents, which grew in exact proportion to the number of people who saw them—(for instance, if three people separately reported, "a grey horse down in the Poultry," it did duty for three grey horses)—Sir Peter opened the business of the day, at a meeting of the Commissioners of Sewers for the City of London, on the 14th of February 1843. Mr Alderman Gibbs was in the chair. Sir Peter, on this occasion, transcended his usual efforts; he was inspired with the genius of his subject, and was as great a specimen of slip-slop as the streets themselves. He requested a petition to be read, signed by a Mr Gray, and a considerable number of other jobmasters and livery stable-keepers, against wood pavement; and, as it formed the text on which he spoke, we quote it entire:—

"To the Commissioners of Sewers—

"The humble memorial of your memorialists, humbly showeth,—That in consequence of the introduction of wood pavements into the City of London, in lieu of granite, a very great number of accidents have occurred; and in drawing a comparison between the two from observations made, it is found where one accident happened on the granite pavement, that ten at least took place upon the wood. Your memorialists therefore pray, that, in consequence of the wood pavement being so extremely dangerous to travel over, you would be pleased to take the matter into your serious consideration, and cause it to be removed; by doing which you will, in the first place, be removing a great and dangerous nuisance; and, secondly, you will be setting a beneficial and humane example to other metropolitan districts."

Mr Gray, in addition to the memorial, begged fully to corroborate its statements, and said that he had himself twice been thrown out by the falling of his horse on the wood, and had broken his shafts both times. As he did not allude to his legs and arms, we conclude they escaped uninjured; and the only effect created by his observation, seemed to be a belief that his horse was probably addicted to falling, and preferred the wood to the rough and hard angles of the granite. Immediately after the reading of the stablemen's memorial, a petition was introduced in favour of wood pavement from Cornhill, signed by all the inhabitants of that wealthy and flourishing district, and, on the principles of fair play, we transcribe it as a pendant to the other:—

"Your petitioners, the undersigned inhabitants of the ward of Cornhill and Birchen Lane, beg again to bring before you their earnest request, that that part of Cornhill which is still paved with granite, and also Birchen Lane, may now be paved with wood.

"Your petitioners are well aware that many complaints have been received of the wood paving in the Poultry; but they beg to submit to you that no reports which have been, or which may be made, of the accidents which have occurred on that small spot, should be considered as in any way illustrative of the merits of the general question. From its minuteness, and its slope at both extremities, it is constantly covered with slippery mud from the granite at each end; and that, together with the sudden transition from one sort of paving to another, causes the horses continually to stumble on that spot. Your petitioners therefore submit that no place could have been selected for experiment so ill adapted to show a fair result. Since your petitioners laid their former petition before you, they have ascertained, by careful examination and enquiry, that in places where wood paving has been laid down continuously to a moderate extent—viz. in Regent Street, Jermyn Street, Holborn, Oxford Street, the Strand, Coventry Street, and Lombard Street—it has fully effected all that was expected from it; it has freed the streets from the distracting nuisance of incessant noise, has diminished mud, increased the value of property, and given full satisfaction to the inhabitants. Your petitioners, therefore, beg to urge upon you most strongly a compliance with their request, which they feel assured would be a further extension of a great public good."

In addition to the petition, Mr Fernie, who presented it, stated "that the inhabitants (whom he represented) had satisfied themselves of the advantages of wood paving before they wished its adoption at their own doors. That enquiries had been made of the inhabitants of streets in the enjoyment of wood paving, and they all approved of it; and said, that nothing would induce them to return to the old system of stone; that they were satisfied the number of accidents had not been greater on the wood than they had been on the granite; and that they were of a much less serious character and extent."

Sir Peter on this applied a red silk handkerchief to his nose; wound three blasts on that wild horn, as if to inspire him for the charge; and rushed into the middle of the fight. His first blow was aimed at Mr Prosser, the secretary of the Metropolitan Company, who had stated that in Russia, where wooden pavements were common, a sprinkling of pitch and strong sand had prevented the possibility of slipping. Orlando Furioso was a peaceful Quaker compared to the infuriate Laurie. "The admission of Mr Prosser," he said, "proves that, without pitch and sand, wood pavements are impassable;" and fearful was it to see the prodigious vigour with which the Prosser with two s's, was pressed and assaulted by the Proser with only one. Wonder took possession of the assemblage, at the catalogue of woes the impassioned orator had collected as the results of this most dangerous and murderous contrivance. An old woman had been run over by an omnibus—all owing to wood; a boy had been killed by a cab—all owing to wood; and it seemed never to have occurred to the speaker, in his anti-silvan fury, that boy's legs are occasionally broken by unruly cabs, and poles of omnibuses run into the backs of unsuspecting elderly gentlemen on the roads which continue under the protecting influence of granite or Macadam. He had seen horses fall on the wooden pavements in all directions; he had seen a troop of dragoons, in the midst of the frost, dismount and lead their un-roughed horses across Regent Street; the Recorder had gone round by the squares to avoid the wooden districts; one lady had ordered her coachman to stick constantly to stone; and another, when she required to go to Regent Street, dismissed her carriage and walked. The thanks he had received for his defence of granite were innumberable; an omnibus would not hold the compliments that had been paid him for his efforts against wood; and, as Lord Shaftesbury had expressed his obligations to him on the subject, he did not doubt that if the matter came before the House of Lords, he would bestow the degree of attention on it which his lordship bestowed on all matters of importance. Working himself us as he drew near his peroration, he broke out into a blaze of eloquence which put the Lord Mayor into some fear on account of the Thames, of which he is official conservator. "The thing cannot last!" he exclaimed; "and if you don't, in less than two years from this time, say I am a true prophet, put me on seven years' allowance." What the meaning of this latter expression may be, we cannot divine. It seems to us no very severe punishment to be forced to receive the allowance of seven years instead of one, the only explanation we can think of is, that it contains some delicate allusion to the dietary of gentlemen who are supposed to be visiting one of the colonies in New Holland, but in reality employ themselves in aquatic amusements in Portsmouth and Plymouth harbour "for the space of seven long years"—and are not supposed to fare in so sumptuous a manner as the aldermen of the city of London.

"The poor horses," he proceeded, "that are continually tumbling down on the wood pavement, cannot send their representatives, but I will represent them here whenever I have the opportunity"—(a horse laugh, as if from the orator's constituents, was excited by this sally.) "But, gentlemen, besides the danger of this atrocious system, we ought to pay a little attention to the expense. I maintain you have no right to make the inhabitants of those streets to which there is no idea of extending the wood paving, pay for the ease and comfort, as it is called, of persons residing in the larger thoroughfares, such as Newgate Street and Cheapside. But the promoters say, 'Oh I but we will have the whole town paved with it'—(hear, hear.) What would this cost? A friend of mine has made some calculations on this point, and he finds that, to pave the whole town with wood, an outlay of twenty-four millions of money must be incurred!"

It was generally supposed in the meeting that the friend here alluded to was either Mr Joseph Hume or the ingenious gentleman who furnished Lord Stanley with the statistics of the wheat-growing districts of Tamboff. It was afterwards discovered to be a Mr Cocker Munchausen.

Twenty-four millions of money! and all to be laid out on wood! The thought was so immense that it nearly choked the worthy orator, and he could not proceed for some time. When at last, by a great effort, he recovered the thread of his discourse, he became pathetic about the fate of one of the penny-post boys, (a relation—"we guess"—of the deceased H. Walker, Esq. of the Twopenny Post,)—who had broken his leg on the wooden pavement. The authorities had ordered the lads to avoid the wood in future. For all these reasons, Sir Peter concluded his speech with a motion, "That the wood pavement in the Poultry is dangerous and inconvenient to the public, and ought to be taken up and replaced with granite pavement."

"As in a theatre the eyes of men, After some well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him who enters next Thinking his prattle to be tedious, Even so, or with more scorn, men's eyes Were turned on——Mr Deputy Godson!"

The benevolent reader may have observed that the second fiddle is generally a little louder and more sharp set than the first. On this occasion that instrument was played upon by the worthy deputy, to the amazement of all the connoisseurs in that species of music in which he and his leader are known to excel. From his speech it was gathered that he represented a district which has been immortalized by the genius of the author of Tom Thumb; and in the present unfortunate aspect of human affairs, when a comet is brandishing its tail in the heavens, and O'Connell seems to have been deprived of his upon earth—when poverty, distress, rebellion, and wooden pavements, are threatening the very existence of Great Britain, it is consolotary to reflect that under the guardianship of Deputy Godson Little Britain is safe; for he is resolved to form a cordon of granite round it, and keep it free from the contamination of Norway pines or Scottish fir. "I have been urged by my constituents," he says, "to ask for wood pavement in Little Britain; but I am adverse to it, as I think wood paving is calculated to produce the greatest injury to the public.

"I have seen twenty horses down on the wood pavement together—(laughter.) I am here to state what I have seen. I have seen horses down on the wood pavement, twenty at a time—(renewed laughter.) I say, and with great deference, that we are in the habit of conferring favours when we ought to withhold them. I think gentlemen ought to pause before they burden the consolidated rate with those matters, and make the poor inhabitants of the City pay for the fancies of the wealthy members of Cornhill and the Poultry. We ought to deal even-handed justice, and not introduce into the City, and that at a great expense, a pavement that is dirty, stinking, and everything that is bad."—(laughter.)

In Pope's Homer's Iliad, it is very distressing to the philanthropic mind to reflect on the feelings that must agitate the bosom of Mr Deputy Thersites when Ajax passes by. In the British Parliament it is a melancholy sight to see the countenance of some unfortunate orator when Sir Robert Peel rises to reply, with a smile of awful import on his lips, and a subdued cannibal expression of satisfaction in his eyes. Even so must it have been a harrowing spectacle to observe the effects of the answer of Mr R.L. Jones, who rose for the purpose of moving the previous question. He said, "I thought the worthy alderman who introduced this question would have attempted to support himself by bringing some petitions from citizens against wood paving—(hear.) He has not done so, and I may observe, that from not one of the wards where wood pavement has been laid down has there been a petition to take any of the wood pavement up. What the mover of these resolutions has done, has been to travel from one end of the town to the other, to prove to you that wood paving is bad in principle. Has that been established?—(Cries of 'no, no.') I venture to say they have not established any thing of the kind. All that has been done is this—it has been shown that wood pavement, which is comparatively a recent introduction, has not yet been brought to perfection—(hear, hear.) Now, every one knows that complaints have always been made against every new principle, till it has been brought to perfection. Look, for instance, at the steam-engine. How vastly different it now is, with the improvements which science has effected, from what it was when it was first introduced to the notice of the world! Wherever wood pavement has been laid down, it has been approved of. All who have enjoyed the advantage of its extension, acknowledge the comfort derived from it. Sir Peter Laurie asserts that he is continually receiving thanks for his agitation about wood paving, and that an omnibus would not hold the compliments he receives at the West End. Now, I can only say, that I find the contrary to be the case; and every body who meets me exclaims, 'Good God! what can Sir Peter Laurie be thinking about, to try and get the wood paving taken up, and stone paving substituted?' So far from thanking Sir Peter, every body is astonished at him. The wood pavement has not been laid down nearly three years, and I say here, in the face of the Commission, that there have not been ten blocks taken up; but had granite been put down, I will venture to say that it would, during the same period, have been taken up six or seven times. Your books will prove it, that the portion of granite pavement in the Poultry was taken up six or seven times during a period of three years. When the wood paving becomes a little slippery, go to your granite heaps which belong to this commission, or to your fine sifted cinder heaps, and let that be strewed over the surface; that contains no earthy particles, and will, when it becomes imbedded in the wood, form such a surface that there cannot be any possibility be any slipperiness—(hear, hear!) Do we not pursue this course in frosty weather even with our own stone paving? There used to be, before this plan was adopted, not a day pass but you would in frosty weather see two, three, four, and even five or six horses down together on the stone paving—('Oh! oh!' from Mr Deputy Godson.) My friend may cry 'oh! oh!' but I mean to say that this assertion is not so incongruous as the statement of my friend, that he saw twenty horses down at once on the wood pavement in Newgate Street, (laughter.) I may exclaim with my worthy friend the deputy on my left, who lives in Newgate Street, 'When the devil did it happen? I never heard of it.' I stand forward in support of wood paving as a great public principle, because I believe it to be most useful and advantageous to the public; which is proved by the fact, that the public at large are in favour of it. If we had given notice that this court would be open to hear the opinions of the citizens of London on the subject of wood paving, I am convinced that the number of petitions in its favour would have been so great, that the doors would not have been sufficiently wide to have received them."

Mr Jones next turned his attention to the arithmetical statements of Sir Peter; and a better specimen of what in the Scotch language is called a stramash, it has never been our good fortune to meet with:—

"We have been told by the worthy knight who introduced this motion, that to pave London with wood would cost twenty-four millions of money. Now, it so happens that, some time since, I directed the city surveyor to obtain for me a return of the number of square yards of paving-stone there are throughout all the streets in this city. I hold that return in my hand; and I find there are 400,000 yards, which, at fifteen shillings per yard, would not make the cost of wood paving come to twenty-four millions of money; no, gentlemen, nor to four millions, nor to three, nor even to one million—why, the cost, gentlemen, dwindles down from Sir Peter's twenty-four millions to L300,000—(hear, hear, and laughter.)

"If I go into Fore Street I find every body admiring the wood pavement. If I go on Cornhill I find the same—and all the great bankers in Lombard Street say, 'What a delightful thing this wood paving is! Sir Peter Laurie must be mad to endeavour to deprive us of it.' I told them not to be alarmed, for they might depend on it the good sense of this court would not allow so great and useful an improvement in street paving to retrograde in the manner sought to be effected by this revolution. I shall content myself with moving the previous question"—(cheers.)

It is probable that Mr Jones, in moving the previous question, contented himself a mighty deal more than he did Sir Peter; and the triumph of the woodites was increased when Mr Pewtress seconded the amendment:—

"If there is any time of the year when the wood pavement is more dangerous than another, probably the most dangerous is when the weather is of the damp, muggy, and foggy character which has been prevailing; and when all pavements are remarkably slippery. The worthy knight has shown great tact in choosing his time for bringing this matter before the public. We have had three or four weeks weather of the most extraordinary description I ever remember; not frosty nor wet, but damp and slippery; so that the granite has been found so inconvenient to horses, that they have not been driven at the common and usual pace. And I am free to confess that, under the peculiar state of the atmosphere to which I have alluded, the wood pavement is more affected than the granite pavement. But in ordinary weather there is very little difference. I am satisfied that, if the danger and inconvenience were as great as the worthy knight has represented, we should have had applications against the pavement; but all the applications we have had on the subject have been in favour of the extension of wood pavement."

The speaker then takes up the ground, that as wood, as a material for paving, is only recently introduced, it is natural that vested interests should be alarmed, and that great misapprehension should exist as to its nature and merits. On this subject he introduces an admirable illustration:—"In the early part of my life I remember attending a lecture—when gas was first introduced—by Mr Winson. The lecture was delivered in Pall-Mall, and the lecturer proposed to demonstrate that the introduction of gas would be destructive of life and property. I attended that lecture, and I never came away from a public lecture more fully convinced of any thing than I did that he had proved his position. He produced a quantity of gas, and placed a receiver on the table. He had with him some live birds, as well as some live mice and rabbits; and, introducing some gas into the receiver, he put one of the animals in it. In a few minutes life was extinct, and in this way he deprived about half a dozen of these animals of their life. 'Now, gentlemen,' said the lecturer, 'I have proved to you that gas is destructive to life; I will now show you that it is destructive to property.' He had a little pasteboard house, and said, 'I will suppose that it is lighted up with gas, and from the carelessness of the servant the stopcock of the burner has been so turned off as to allow an escape of gas, and that it has escaped and filled the house.' Having let the gas into the card house, he introduced a light and blew it up. 'Now,' said he, 'I think I have shown you that it is not only destructive to life and property; but that, if it is introduced into the metropolis, it will be blown up by it.'"

We have now given a short analysis of the speeches of the proposers and seconders on each side in this great debate; and after hearing Mr Frodsham on the opposition, and the Common Sergeant—whose objection, however, to wood was confined to its unsuitableness at some seasons for horsemanship—granting that a strong feeling in its favour existed among the owners and inhabitants of houses where it has been laid down; and on the other side, Sir Chapman Marshall—a strenuous woodite—who challenged Sir Peter Laurie to find fault with the pavement at Whitehall, "which he had no hesitation in saying was the finest piece of paving of any description in London;" Mr King, who gave a home thrust to Sir Peter, which it was impossible to parry—"We have heard a great deal about humanity and post-boys; does the worthy gentleman know, that the Postmaster has only within the last few weeks sent a petition here, begging that you would, with all possible speed, put wood paving round the Post-office?" and various other gentlemen pro and con—a division was taken, when Sir Peter was beaten by an immense majority.

Another meeting, of which no public notice was given, was held shortly after to further Sir Peter's object, by sundry stable-keepers and jobmasters, under the presidency of the same Mr Gray, whose horse had acquired the malicious habit of breaking its knees on the Poultry. As there was no opposition, there was no debate; and as no names of the parties attending were published, it fell dead-born, although advertised two or three times in the newspapers.

On Tuesday, the 4th of April, Sir Peter buckled on his armour once more, and led the embattled cherubim to war, on the modified question, "That wood-paving operations be suspended in the city for a year;" but after a repetition of the arguments on both sides, he was again defeated by the same overwhelming majority as before.

Such is the state of wood paving as a party question among the city authorities at the present date. The squabbles and struggles among the various projectors would form an amusing chapter in the history of street rows—for it is seen that it is a noble prize to strive for. If the experiment succeeds, all London will be paved with wood, and fortunes will be secured by the successful candidates for employment. Every day some fresh claimant starts up and professes to have remedied every defect hitherto discovered in the systems of his predecessors. Still confidence seems unshaken in the system which has hitherto shown the best results; and since the introduction of the very ingenious invention of Mr Whitworth of Manchester, of a cart, which by an adaptation of wheels and pullies, and brooms and buckets, performs the work of thirty-six street-sweepers, the perfection of the work in Regent Street has been seen to such advantage, and the objections of slipperiness so clearly proved to arise, not from the nature of wood, but from the want of cleansing, that even the most timid are beginning to believe that the opposition to the further introduction of it is injudicious. Among these even Sir Peter promises to enrol himself, if the public favour continues as strong towards it for another year as he perceives it to be at the present time.

And now, dismissing these efforts at resisting a change which we may safely take to be at some period or other inevitable, let us cast a cursory glance at some of the results of the general introduction of wood pavement.

In the first place, the facility of cleansing will be greatly increased. A smooth surface, between which and the subsoil is interposed a thick concrete—which grows as hard and impermeable as iron—will not generate mud and filth to one-fiftieth of the extent of either granite roads or Macadam. It is probable that if there were no importations of dirt from the wheels of carriages coming off the stone streets, little scavengering would be needed. Certainly not more than could be supplied by one of Whitworth's machines. And it is equally evident that if wood were kept unpolluted by the liquid mud—into which the surface of the other causeways is converted in the driest weather by water carts—the slipperiness would be effectually cured.

In the second place, the saving of expense in cleansing and repairing would be prodigious. Let us take as our text a document submitted to the Marylebone Vestry in 1840, and acted on by them in the case of Oxford Street; and remember that the expenses of cleansing were calculated at the cost of the manual labour—a cost, we believe, reduced two thirds by the invention of Mr Whitworth. The Report is dated 1837:—

"The cost of the last five years having been, L16,881 The present expense for 1837, about 2,000 The required outlay 4,000 And the cleansing for 1837 900 ——— Gives a total for six years of L23,781

"Or an annual expenditure averaging L3963; so that the future expenses of Oxford Street, maintained as a Macadamized carriage-way, would be about L4000, or 2s. 4d per yard per annum.

"In contrast with this extract from the parochial documents, the results of which must have been greatly increased within the last three years, the Metropolitan Wood-Paving Company, who have already laid down above 4000 yards in Oxford Street, between Wells Street and Charles Street, are understood to be willing to complete the entire street in the best manner for 12s. per square yard, or about L14,000—for which they propose to take bonds bearing interest at the rate of four-and-a-half per cent per annum, whereby the parish will obtain ample time for ultimate payment; and further, to keep the whole in repair, inclusive of the cost of cleansing and watering, for one year gratuitously, and for twelve years following at L1900 per annum, being less than one-half the present outlay for these purposes."

Whether these were the terms finally agreed on we do not know; but we perceive by public tenders that the streets can be paved in the best possible manner for 13s. or 12s. 6d. a yard; and kept in repair for 6d. a yard additional. This is certainly much cheaper than Macadam, and we should think more economical than causeways. And, besides, it has the advantage—which one of the speakers suggested to Sir Peter Laurie—"that in case of an upset, it is far more satisfactory to contest the relative hardness of heads with a block of wood than a mass of granite."

We can only add in conclusion, that advertisements are published by the Commissioners of Sewers for contracts to pave with wood Cheapside, and Bishopsgate Street, and Whitechapel. Oh, Sir Peter!—how are the mighty fallen!

* * * * *



POEMS AND BALLADS OF SCHILLER.

NO. VIII.

FIRST PERIOD CONTINUED.

A FUNERAL FANTASIE.

1.

Pale, at its ghastly noon, Pauses above the death-still wood—the moon; The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs; The clouds descend in rain; Mourning, the wan stars wane, Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres! Haggard as spectres—vision-like and dumb, Dark with the pomp of Death, and moving slow, Towards that sad lair the pale Procession come Where the Grave closes on the Night below.

2.

With dim, deep sunken eye, Crutch'd on his staff, who trembles tottering by? As wrung from out the shatter'd heart, one groan Breaks the deep hush alone! Crush'd by the iron Fate, he seems to gather All life's last strength to stagger to the bier, And hearken——Do those cold lips murmur "Father?" The sharp rain, drizzling through that place of fear, Pierces the bones gnaw'd fleshless by despair, And the heart's horror stirs the silver hair.

3.

Fresh bleed the fiery wounds Through all that agonizing heart undone— Still on the voiceless lips "my Father" sounds, And still the childless Father murmurs "Son!" Ice-cold—ice-cold, in that white shroud he lies— Thy sweet and golden dreams all vanish'd there— The sweet and golden name of "Father" dies Into thy curse,—ice-cold—ice-cold—he lies Dead, what thy life's delight and Eden were!

4.

Mild, as when, fresh from the arms of Aurora, When the air like Elysium is smiling above, Steep'd in rose-breathing odours, the darling of Flora Wantons over the blooms on his winglets of love.— So gay, o'er the meads, went his footsteps in bliss, The silver wave mirror'd the smile of his face; Delight, like a flame, kindled up at his kiss, And the heart of the maid was the prey of his chase.

5.

Boldly he sprang to the strife of the world, As a deer to the mountain-top carelessly springs; As an eagle whose plumes to the sun are unfurl'd, Swept his Hope round the Heaven on its limitless wings. Proud as a war-horse that chafes at the rein, That kingly exults in the storm of the brave; That throws to the wind the wild stream of its mane, Strode he forth by the prince and the slave!

6.

Life, like a spring-day, serene and divine, In the star of the morning went by as a trance; His murmurs he drown'd in the gold of the wine, And his sorrows were borne on the wave of the dance. Worlds lay conceal'd in the hopes of his youth, When once he shall ripen to manhood and fame! Fond Father exult!—In the germs of his youth What harvests are destined for Manhood and Fame!

7.

Not to be was that Manhood!—The death-bell is knelling The hinge of the death-vault creaks harsh on the ears— How dismal, O Death, is the place of thy dwelling! Not to be was that Manhood!—Flow on bitter tears! Go, beloved, thy path to the sun, Rise, world upon world, with the perfect to rest; Go—quaff the delight which thy spirit has won, And escape from our grief in the halls of the blest.

8.

Again (in that thought what a healing is found!) To meet in the Eden to which thou art fled!— Hark, the coffin sinks down with a dull, sullen sound, And the ropes rattle over the sleep of the dead. And we cling to each other!—O Grave, he is thine! The eye tells the woe that is mute to the ears— And we dare to resent what we grudge to resign, Till the heart's sinful murmur is choked in its tears.

Pale at its ghastly noon, Pauses above the death-still wood—the moon! The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs; The clouds descend in rain; Mourning, the wan stars wane, Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres. The dull clods swell into the sullen mound; Earth, one look yet upon the prey we gave! The Grave locks up the treasure it has found; Higher and higher swells the sullen mound— Never gives back the Grave!

* * * * *

A GROUP IN TARTARUS.

Hark, as hoarse murmurs of a gathering sea— As brooks that howling through black gorges go, Groans sullen, hollow, and eternally, One wailing Woe! Sharp Anguish shrinks the shadows there; And blasphemous Despair Yells its wild curse from jaws that never close; And ghastly eyes for ever Stare on the bridge of the relentless River, Or watch the mournful wave as year on year it flows, And ask each other, with parch'd lips that writhe Into a whisper, "When the end shall be!" The end?—Lo, broken in Time's hand the scythe, And round and round revolves Eternity!

* * * * *

ELYSIUM.

Past the despairing wail— And the bright banquets of the Elysian Vale Melt every care away! Delight, that breathes and moves for ever, Glides through sweet fields like some sweet river! Elysian life survey! There, fresh with youth, o'er jocund meads, His youngest west-winds blithely leads The ever-blooming May. Thorough gold-woven dreams goes the dance of the Hours, In space without bounds swell the soul and its powers, And Truth, with no veil, gives her face to the day, And joy to-day and joy to-morrow, But wafts the airy soul aloft; The very name is lost to Sorrow, And Pain is Rapture tuned more exquisitely soft. Here the Pilgrim reposes the world-weary limb, And forgets in the shadow, cool-breathing and dim, The load he shall bear never more; Here the Mower, his sickle at rest, by the streams, Lull'd with harp-strings, reviews, in the calm of his dreams, The fields, when the harvest is o'er. Here, He, whose ears drank in the battle-roar, Whose banners stream'd upon the startled wind A thunder-storm,—before whose thunder tread The mountains trembled,—in soft sleep reclined, By the sweet brook that o'er its pebbly bed In silver plays, and murmurs to the shore, Hears the stern clangour of wild spears no more! Here the true Spouse the lost-beloved regains, And on the enamell'd couch of summer-plains Mingles sweet kisses with the west-wind's breath. Here, crown'd at last—Love never knows decay, Living through ages its one BRIDAL DAY, Safe from the stroke of Death!

* * * * *

COUNT EBERHARD, THE GRUMBLER, OF WURTEMBERG.

Ha, ha I take heed—ha, ha! take heed,[10] Ye knaves both South and North! For many a man both bold in deed And wise in peace, the land to lead, Old Swabia has brought forth.

Proud boasts your Edward and your Charles, Your Ludwig, Frederick—are! Yet Eberhard's worth, ye bragging carles! Your Ludwig, Frederick, Edward, Charles— A thunder-storm in war.

And Ulrick, too, his noble son, Ha, ha! his might ye know; Old Eberhard's boast, his noble son, Not he the boy, ye rogues, to run, How stout soe'er the foe!

The Reutling lads with envy saw Our glories, day by day; The Reutling lads shall give the law— The Reutling lads the sword shall draw— O Lord—how hot were they!

Out Ulrick went and beat them not— To Eberhard back he came— A lowering look young Ulrick got— Poor lad, his eyes with tears were hot— He hung his head for shame.

"Ho—ho"—thought he—"ye rogues beware, Nor you nor I forget— For by my father's beard I swear Your blood shall wash the blot I bear, And Ulrick pay you yet!"

Soon came the hour! with steeds and men The battle-field was gay; Steel closed in steel at Duffingen— And joyous was our stripling then, And joyous the hurra!

"The battle lost" our battle-cry; The foe once more advances: As some fierce whirlwind cleaves the sky, We skirr, through blood and slaughter, by, Amidst a night of lances!

On, lion-like, grim Ulrick sweeps— Bright shines his hero-glaive— Her chase before him Fury keeps, Far-heard behind him, Anguish weeps, And round him—is the Grave!

Woe—woe! it gleams—the sabre-blow— Swift-sheering down it sped— Around, brave hearts the buckler throw— Alas! our boast in dust is low! Count Eberhard's boy is dead!

Grief checks the rushing Victor-van— Fierce eyes strange moisture know— On rides old Eberhard, stern and wan, "My son is like another man— March, children, on the Foe!"

And fiery lances whirr'd around, Revenge, at least, undying— Above the blood-red clay we bound— Hurrah! the burghers break their ground, Through vale and woodland flying!

Back to the camp, behold us throng, Flags stream, and bugles play— Woman and child with choral song, And men, with dance and wine, prolong The warrior's holyday.

And our old Count—and what doth he? Before him lies his son, Within his lone tent, lonelily, The old man sits with eyes that see Through one dim tear—his son!

So heart and soul, a loyal band, Count Eberhard's band, we are! His front the tower that guards the land, A thunderbolt his red right hand— His eye a guiding star!

Then take ye heed—Aha! take heed, Ye knaves both South and North! For many a man, both bold in deed And wise in peace, the land to lead, Old Swabia has brought forth!

[10] Of the two opening lines we subjoin the original—to the vivacity and spirit of which it is, perhaps, impossible to do justice in translation:—

"Ihr—Ihr dort aussen in der Welt, Die Nasen einges pannt!"

Eberhard, Count of Wurtemberg, reigned from 1344 to 1392. Schiller was a Swabian, and this poem seems a patriotic effusion to exalt one of the heroes of his country, of whose fame (to judge by the lines we have just quoted) the rest of the Germans might be less reverentially aware.

* * * * *



TO A MORALIST.

Are the sports of our youth so displeasing? Is love but the folly you say? Benumb'd with the Winter, and freezing, You scold at the revels of May.

For you once a nymph had her charms, And oh! when the waltz you were wreathing, All Olympus embraced in your arms— All its nectar in Julia's breathing.

If Jove at that moment had hurl'd The earth in some other rotation, Along with your Julia whirl'd, You had felt not the shock of creation.

Learn this—that Philosophy beats Sure time with the pulse—quick or slow As the blood from the heyday retreats,— But it cannot make gods of us—No!

It is well, icy Reason should thaw In the warm blood of Mirth now and then, The Gods for themselves have a law Which they never intended for men.

The spirit is bound by the ties Of its jailer, the Flesh—if I can Not reach, as an angel, the skies, Let me feel, on the earth, as a Man.

* * * * *

ROUSSEAU.[11]

Oh, Monument of Shame to this our time, Dishonouring record to thy Mother Clime! Hail, Grave of Rousseau! Here thy sorrows cease. Freedom and Peace from earth and earthly strife! Vainly, sad seeker, didst thou search through life To find—(found now)—the Freedom and the Peace. When will the old wounds scar? In the dark age Perish'd the wise. Light came; how fares the sage? There's no abatement of the bigot's rage. Still as the wise man bled, he bleeds again. Sophists prepared for Socrates the bowl— And Christians drove the steel through Rousseau's soul— Rousseau who strove to render Christians—men.

[11] Schiller lived to reverse, in the third period of his intellectual career, many of the opinions expressed in the first. The sentiment conveyed in these lines on Rousseau is natural enough to the author of "The Robbers," but certainly not to the poet of "Wallenstein" and the "Lay of the Bell." We confess we doubt the maturity of any mind that can find either a saint or a martyr in Jean Jacques.

* * * * *

FORTUNE AND WISDOM.

In a quarrel with her lover To Wisdom Fortune flew; "I'll all my hoards discover— Be but my friend—to you. Like a mother I presented To one each fairest gift, Who still is discontented, And murmurs at my thrift. Come, let's be friends. What say you? Give up that weary plough, My treasures shall repay you, For both I have enow!" "Nay, see thy Friend betake him To death from grief for thee— He dies if thou forsake him— Thy gifts are nought to me!"

* * * * *

THE INFANTICIDE.

1.

Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady, The clock's slow hand hath reach'd the appointed time. Well, be it so—prepare! my soul is ready, Companions of the grave—the rest for crime! Now take, O world! my last farewell—receiving My parting kisses—in these tears they dwell! Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing, Now we are quits—heart-poisoner, fare-thee-well!

2.

Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited, Changed for the mould beneath the funeral shade Farewell, farewell, thou rosy Time delighted, Luring to soft desire the careless maid. Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet-dreaming Fancies—the children that an Eden bore! Blossoms that died while dawn itself was gleaming, Opening in happy sunlight never more.

3.

Swanlike the robe which Innocence bestowing, Deck'd with the virgin favours, rosy fair, In the gay time when many a young rose glowing, Blush'd through the loose train of the amber hair. Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now— The shroud-like robe Hell's destined victim wears; Still shall the fillet bind this burning brow— That sable braid the Doomsman's hand prepares!

4.

Weep, ye who never fell—for whom, unerring, The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue, Ye who when thoughts so danger-sweet are stirring, Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling— Feeling!—my sin's avenger[12] doom'd to be; Woe—for the false man's arm around me stealing, Stole the lull'd Virtue, charm'd to sleep, from me.

5.

Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing, (Forgot the serpents stinging at my breast,) Gaily, when I in the dumb grave am lying, Pour the warm wish, or speed the wanton jest, Or play, perchance, with his new maiden's tresses, Answer the kiss her lip enamour'd brings, When the dread block the head he cradled presses, And high the blood his kiss once fever'd springs.

6.

Thee, Francis, Francis,[13] league on league, shall follow The death-dirge of the Lucy once so dear; From yonder steeple, dismal, dull, and hollow, Shall knell the warning horror on thy ear. On thy fresh leman's lips when Love is dawning, And the lisp'd music glides from that sweet well— Lo, in that breast a red wound shall be yawning, And, in the midst of rapture, warn of hell!

7.

Betrayer, what! thy soul relentless closing To grief—the woman-shame no art can heal— To that small life beneath my heart reposing! Man, man, the wild beast for its young can feel! Proud flew the sails—receding from the land, I watch'd them waning from the wistful eye, Round the gay maids on Seine's voluptuous strand, Breathes the false incense of his fatal sigh.

8.

And there the Babe! there, on the mother's bosom, Lull'd in its sweet and golden rest it lay, Fresh in life's morning as a rosy blossom, It smiled, poor harmless one, my tears away. Deathlike yet lovely, every feature speaking In such dear calm and beauty to my sadness, And cradled still the mother's heart, in breaking, The soft'ning love and the despairing madness.

9.

"Woman, where is my father?"—freezing through me, Lisp'd the mute Innocence with thunder-sound; "Woman, where is thy husband?"—called unto me, In every look, word, whisper, busying round! For thee, poor child, there is no father's kiss. He fondleth other children on his knee. How thou wilt curse our momentary bliss, When Bastard on thy name shall branded be!

10.

Thy mother—oh, a hell her heart concealeth, Lone-sitting, lone in social Nature's All! Thirsting for that glad fount thy love revealeth, While still thy look the glad fount turns to gall. In every infant cry my soul is heark'ning, The haunting happiness for ever o'er, And all the bitterness of death is dark'ning The heavenly looks that smiled mine eyes before.

11.

Hell, if my sight those looks a moment misses— Hell, when my sight upon those looks is turn'd— The avenging furies madden in thy kisses, That slept in his what time my lips they burn'd. Out from their graves his oaths spoke back in thunder! The perjury stalk'd like murder in the sun— For ever—God!—sense, reason, soul, sunk under— The deed was done!

12.

Francis, O Francis! league on league, shall chase thee The shadows hurrying grimly on thy flight— Still with their icy arms they shall embrace thee, And mutter thunder in thy dream's delight! Down from the soft stars, in their tranquil glory, Shall look thy dead child with a ghastly stare; That shape shall haunt thee in its cerements gory, And scourge thee back from heaven—its home is there!

13.

Lifeless—how lifeless!—see, oh see, before me It lies cold—stiff!—O God!—and with that blood I feel, as swoops the dizzy darkness o'er me, Mine own life mingled—ebbing in the flood— Hark, at the door they knock—more loud within me— More awful still—its sound the dread heart gave! Gladly I welcome the cold arms that win me— Fire, quench thy tortures in the icy grave!

14.

Francis—a God that pardons dwells in heaven— Francis, the sinner—yes—she pardons thee— So let my wrongs unto the earth be given: Flame seize the wood!—it burns—it kindles—see! There—there his letters cast—behold are ashes— His vows—the conquering fire consumes them here: His kisses—see—see all—all are only ashes— All, all—the all that once on earth were dear!

15.

Trust not the roses which your youth enjoyeth, Sisters, to man's faith, changeful as the moon! Beauty to me brought guilt—its bloom destroyeth: Lo, in the judgment court I curse the boon: Tears in the headsman's gaze—what tears?—tis spoken! Quick, bind mine eyes—all soon shall be forgot— Doomsman—the lily hast thou never broken? Pale doomsman—tremble not!

[12] "Und Empfindung soll mein Richtschwert seyn." A line of great vigour in the original, but which, if literally translated, would seem extravagant in English.

[13] Joseph, in the original.

[The poem we have just concluded was greatly admired at the time of its first publication, and it so far excels in art most of the earlier efforts by the author, that it attains one of the highest secrets in true pathos. It produces interest for the criminal while creating terror for the crime. This, indeed, is a triumph in art never achieved but by the highest genius. The inferior writer, when venturing upon the grandest stage of passion, (which unquestionably exists in the delineation of great guilt as of heroic virtue,) falls into the error either of gilding the crime in order to produce sympathy for the criminal, or, in the spirit of a spurious morality, of involving both crime and criminal in a common odium. It is to discrimination between the doer and the deed, that we owe the sublimest revelations of the human heart: in this discrimination lies the key to the emotions produced by the Oedipus and Macbeth. In the brief poem before us a whole drama is comprehended. Marvellous is the completeness of the pictures it presents—its mastery over emotions the most opposite—its fidelity to nature in its exposition of the disordered and despairing mind in which tenderness becomes cruelty, and remorse for error tortures itself into scarce conscious crime.

But the art employed, though admirable of its kind, still falls short of the perfection which, in his later works, Schiller aspired to achieve, viz. the point at which Pain ceases. The tears which Tragic Pathos, when purest and most elevated, calls forth, ought not to be tears of pain. In the ideal world, as Schiller has inculcated, even sorrow should have its charm—all that harrows, all that revolts, belongs but to that inferior school in which Schiller's fiery youth formed itself for nobler grades—the school "of Storm and Pressure"—(Stuerm und Draeng—as the Germans have expressively described it.) If the reader will compare Schiller's poem of the 'Infanticide,' with the passages which represent a similar crime in the Medea, (and the author of 'Wallenstein' deserves comparison even with Euripides,) he will see the distinction between the art that seeks an elevated emotion, and the art which is satisfied with creating an intense one. In Euripides, the detail—the reality—all that can degrade terror into pain—are loftily dismissed. The Titan grandeur of the Sorceress removes us from too close an approach to the crime of the unnatural Mother—the emotion of pity changes into awe—just at the pitch before the coarse sympathy of actual pain can be effected. And it is the avoidance of reality—it is the all-purifying Presence of the Ideal, which make the vast distinction in our emotions between following, with shocked and displeasing pity, the crushed, broken-hearted, mortal criminal to the scaffold, and gazing—with an awe which has pleasure of its own—upon the Mighty Murderess—soaring out of the reach of Humanity, upon her Dragon Car!]

* * * * *

THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.

A HYMN.

Blessed through love are the Gods above— Through love like the Gods may man be; Heavenlier through love is the heaven above, Through love like a heaven earth can be! Once, as the poet sung, In Pyrrha's time, 'tis known, From rocks Creation sprung, And Men leapt up from stone; Rock and stone, in night The souls of men were seal'd, Heaven's diviner light Not as yet reveal'd; As yet the Loves around them Had never shone—nor bound them With their rosy rings; As yet their bosoms knew not Soft song—and music grew not Out of the silver strings. No gladsome garlands cheerily Were love-y-woven then; And o'er Elysium drearily The May-time flew for men;[14] The morning rose ungreeted From ocean's joyless breast; Unhail'd the evening fleeted To ocean's joyless breast— Wild through the tangled shade, By clouded moons they stray'd, The iron race of Men! Sources of mystic tears, Yearnings for starry spheres, No God awaken'd then!

Lo, mildly from the dark-blue water, Comes forth the Heaven's divinest Daughter, Borne by the Nymphs fair-floating o'er To the intoxicated shore! Like the light-scattering wings of morning Soars universal May, adorning As from the glory of that birth Air and the ocean, heaven and earth! Day's eye looks laughing, where the grim Midnight lay coil'd in forests dim; And gay narcissuses are sweet Wherever glide those holy feet— Now, pours the bird that haunts the eve The earliest song of love, Now in the heart—their fountain—heave The waves that murmur love. O blest Pygmalion—blest art thou— It melts, it glows, thy marble now! O Love, the God, thy world is won! Embrace thy children, Mighty One.

Blessed through love are the Gods above— Through love like the Gods may man be; Heavenlier through love is the heaven above, Through love like a heaven earth can be.

Where the nectar-bright streams, Like the dawn's happy dreams, Eternally one holiday, The life of the Gods glides away. Throned on his seat sublime, Looks He whose years know not time; At his nod, if his anger awaken, At the wave of his hair all Olympus is shaken. Yet He from the throne of his birth, Bow'd down to the sons of the earth, Through dim Arcadian glades to wander sighing, Lull'd into dreams of bliss— Lull'd by his Leda's kiss Lo, at his feet the harmless thunders lying!

The Sun's majestic coursers go Along the Light's transparent plain, Curb'd by the Day-god's golden rein; The nations perish at his bended bow; Steeds that majestic go, Death from the bended bow, Gladly he leaves above— For Melody and Love! Low bend the dwellers of the sky, When sweeps the stately Juno by; Proud in her car, the Uncontroll'd Curbs the bright birds that breast the air, As flames the sovereign crown of gold Amidst the ambrosial waves of hair— Ev'n thou, fair Queen of Heaven's high throne, Hast Love's subduing sweetness known; From all her state, the Great One bends To charm the Olympian's bright embraces, The Heart-Enthraller only lends The rapture-cestus of the Graces!

Blessed through love are the Gods above— Through love like a God may man be; Heavenlier through love is the heaven above, Through love like a heaven earth can be!

Love can sun the Realms of Night— Orcus owns the magic might— Peaceful where She sits beside, Smiles the swart King on his Bride; Hell feels the smile in sudden light— Love can sun the Realms of Night. Heavenly o'er the startled Hell, Holy, where the Accursed dwell, O Thracian, went thy silver song! Grim Minos, with unconscious tears, Melts into mercy as he hears— The serpents in Megara's hair, Kiss, as they wreathe enamour'd there; All harmless rests the madding thong;— From the torn breast the Vulture mute Flies, scared before the charmed lute— Lull'd into sighing from their roar The dark waves woo the listening shore— Listening the Thracian's silver song!— Love was the Thracian's silver song!

Blessed through love are the Gods above— Through love like a God may man be; Heavenlier through love is the heaven above— Through love like a heaven earth can be!

Through Nature blossom-strewing, One footstep we are viewing, One flash from golden pinions!— If from Heaven's starry sea, If from the moonlit sky; If from the Sun's dominions, Look'd not Love's laughing eye; Then Sun and Moon and Stars would be Alike, without one smile for me! But, oh, wherever Nature lives Below, around, above— Her happy eye the mirror gives To thy glad beauty, Love!

Love sighs through brooklets silver-clear, Love bids their murmur woo the vale; Listen, O list! Love's soul ye hear In his own earnest nightingale. No sound from Nature ever stirs, But Love's sweet voice is heard with hers! Bold Wisdom, with her sunlit eye, Retreats when love comes whispering by— For Wisdom's weak to love! To victor stern or monarch proud, Imperial Wisdom never bow'd The knee she bows to Love! Who through the steep and starry sky, Goes onward to the gods on high, Before thee, hero-brave? Who halves for thee the land of Heaven; Who shows thy heart, Elysium, given Through the flame-rended Grave? Below, if we were blind to Love, Say, should we soar o'er Death, above? Would the weak soul, did Love forsake her, E'er gain the wing to seek the Maker? Love, only Love, can guide the creature Up to the Father-fount of Nature; What were the soul did Love forsake her? Love guides the Mortal to the Maker!

Blessed through love are the Gods above— Through love like a God may man be: Heavenlier through love is the heaven above, Through love like a heaven earth can be!

[14] "The World was sad, the garden was a wild, And Man, the Hermit, sigh'd—till Woman smiled." CAMPBELL.

* * * * *

FANTASIE TO LAURA.

What, Laura, say, the vortex that can draw Body to body in its strong control; Beloved Laura, what the charmed law That to the soul attracting plucks the soul? It is the charm that rolls the stars on high, For ever round the sun's majestic blaze— When, gay as children round their parent, fly Their circling dances in delighted maze. Still, every star that glides its gladsome course, Thirstily drinks the luminous golden rain; Drinks the fresh vigour from the fiery source, As limbs imbibe life's motion from the brain; With sunny motes, the sunny motes united Harmonious lustre both receive and give, Love spheres with spheres still interchange delighted, Only through love the starry systems live. Take love from Nature's universe of wonder, Each jarring each, rushes the mighty All. See, back to Chaos shock'd, Creation thunder; Weep, starry Newton—weep the giant fall! Take from the spiritual scheme that Power away, And the still'd body shrinks to Death's abode. Never—love not—would blooms revive for May, And, love extinct, all life were dead to God. And what the charm that at my Laura's kiss, Pours the diviner brightness to the cheek; Makes the heart bound more swiftly to its bliss, And bids the rushing blood the magnet seek— Out from their bounds swell nerve, and pulse, and sense, The veins in tumult would their shores o'erflow; Body to body rapt—and charmed thence, Soul drawn to soul with intermingled glow. Mighty alike to sway the flow and ebb Of the inanimate Matter, or to move The nerves that weave the Arachnean web Of Sentient Life—rules all-pervading Love! Ev'n in the Moral World, embrace and meet Emotions—Gladness clasps the extreme of Care; And Sorrow, at the worst, upon the sweet Breast of young Hope, is thaw'd from its despair. Of sister-kin to melancholy Woe, Voluptuous Pleasure comes, and with the birth Of her gay children, (golden Wishes,) lo, Night flies, and sunshine settles on the earth![15] The same great Law of Sympathy is given To Evil as to Good, and if we swell The dark account that life incurs with Heaven, 'Tis that our Vices are thy Wooers, Hell! In turn those Vices are embraced by Shame And fell Remorse, the twin Eumenides. Danger still clings in fond embrace to Fame, Mounts on her wing, and flies where'er she flees. Destruction marries its dark self to Pride, Envy to Fortune: when Desire most charms, 'Tis that her brother Death is by her side, For him she opens those voluptuous arms. The very Future to the Past but flies Upon the wings of Love—as I to thee; O, long swift Saturn, with unceasing sighs, Hath sought his distant bride, Eternity! When—so I heard the oracle declare— When Saturn once shall clasp that bride sublime, Wide-blazing worlds shall light his nuptials there— 'Tis thus Eternity shall wed with Time. In those shall be our nuptials! ours to share That bridenight, waken'd by no jealous sun; Since Time, Creation, Nature, but declare Love—in our love rejoice, Beloved One!

[15] Literally, "the eye beams its sun-splendour," or, "beams like a sun." For the construction that the Translator has put upon the original (which is extremely obscure) in the preceding lines of the stanza, he is indebted to Mr Carlyle. The general meaning of the Poet is, that Love rules all things in the inanimate or animate creation; that, even in the moral world, opposite emotions or principles meet and embrace each other. The idea is pushed into an extravagance natural to the youth, and redeemed by the passion, of the Author. But the connecting links are so slender, nay, so frequently omitted, in the original, that a certain degree of paraphrase in many of the stanzas is absolutely necessary to supply them, and render the general sense and spirit of the poem intelligible to the English reader.

* * * * *

TO THE SPRING.

Welcome, gentle Stripling, Nature's darling, thou— With thy basket full of blossoms, A happy welcome now! Aha!—and thou returnest, Heartily we greet thee— The loving and the fair one, Merrily we meet thee! Think'st thou of my Maiden In thy heart of glee? I love her yet the Maiden— And the Maiden yet loves me! For the Maiden, many a blossom I begg'd—and not in vain; I came again, a-begging, And thou—thou giv'st again: Welcome, gentle stripling, Nature's darling thou— With thy basket full of blossoms, A happy welcome, now!

* * * * *



NATURAL HISTORY OF SALMON AND SEA-TROUT.

[On the Growth of Grilse and Salmon. By Mr Andrew Young, Invershin, Sutherlandshire. (Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. Vol. XV. Part III.) Edinburgh, 1843.]

[On the Growth and Migrations of the Sea-Trout of the Solway. By Mr John Shaw, Drumlanrig. (Ibid.) Edinburgh, 1843.]

The salmon is undoubtedly the finest and most magnificent of our fresh-water fishes, or rather of those anadromous kinds which, in accordance with the succession of the seasons, seek alternately the briny sea and the "rivers of water." It is also the most important, both in a commercial and culinary point of view as well as the most highly prized by the angler as an object of exciting recreation. Notwithstanding these and other long-continued claims upon our consideration, a knowledge of its natural history and habits has developed itself so slowly, that little or nothing was precisely ascertained till very recently regarding either its early state or its eventual changes. The salmon-trout, in certain districts of almost equal value with the true salmon, was also but obscurely known to naturalists, most of whom, in truth, are too apt to satisfy themselves rather by the extension than the increase of knowledge. They hand down to posterity, in their barren technicalities, a great deal of what is neither new nor true, even in relation to subjects which lie within the sphere of ordinary observation,—to birds and beasts, which almost dwell among us, and give utterance, by articulate or intelligible sounds, to a vast variety of instinctive, and as it were explanatory emotions:—what marvel, then, that they should so often fail to inform us of what we desire to know regarding the silent, because voiceless, inhabitants of the world of waters?

But that which naturalists have been unable to accomplish, has, so far as concerns the two invaluable species just alluded to, been achieved by others with no pretension to the name; and we now propose to present our readers with a brief sketch of what we conceive to be the completed biography of salmon and sea-trout. In stating that our information has been almost entirely derived from the researches of practical men, we wish it to be understood, and shall afterwards endeavour to demonstrate, that these researches have, nevertheless, been conducted upon those inductive principles which are so often characteristic of natural acuteness of perception, when combined with candour of mind and honesty of purpose. We believe it to be the opinion of many, that statements by comparatively uneducated persons are less to be relied upon than those of men of science. It may, perhaps, be somewhat difficult to define in all cases what really constitutes a man of science. Many sensible people suppose, that if a person pursues an original truth, and obtains it—that is, if he ascertains a previously unknown or obscure fact of importance, and states his observations with intelligence—he is entitled to that character, whatever his station may be. For ourselves, we would even say that if his researches are truly valuable, he is himself all the more a man of science in proportion to the difficulties or disadvantages by which his position in life may be surrounded.

The development and early growth of salmon, from the ovum to the smolt, were first successfully investigated by Mr John Shaw of Drumlanrig, one of the Duke of Buccleuch's gamekeepers in the south of Scotland. Its subsequent progress from the smolt to the adult condition, through the transitionary state of grilse, has been more recently traced, with corresponding care, by Mr Andrew Young of Invershin, the manager of the Duke of Sutherland's fisheries in the north. Although the fact of the parr being the young of the salmon had been vaguely surmised by many, and it was generally admitted that the smaller fish were never found to occur except in streams or tributaries to which the grown salmon had, in some way, the power of access, yet all who have any acquaintance with the works of naturalists, will acknowledge that the parr was universally described as a distinct species. It is equally certain that all who have written upon the subject of smolts or salmon-fry, maintained that these grew rapidly in fresh water, and made their way to the sea in the course of a few weeks after they were hatched.

Now, Mr Shaw's discovery in relation to these matters is in a manner twofold; first—he ascertained by a lengthened series of rigorous and frequently-repeated experimental observations, that parr are the early state of salmon, being afterwards converted into smolts; secondly,—he proved that such conversion does not, under ordinary circumstances take place until the second spring ensuing that in which the hatching has occurred, by which time the young are two years old. The fact is, that during early spring there are three distinct broods of parr or young salmon in our rivers.

1st, We have those which, recently excluded from the ova, are still invisible to common eyes; or, at least, are inconspicuous or unobservable. Being weak, in consequence of their recent emergence from the egg, and of extremely small dimensions, they are unable to withstand the rapid flow of water, and so betake themselves to the gentler eddies, and frequently enter "into the small hollows produced in the shingle by the hoofs of horses which have passed the fords." In these and similar resting-places, our little natural philosophers, instinctively aware that the current of a stream is less below than above, and along the sides than in the centre, remain for several months during spring, and the earlier portion of the summer, till they gain such an increase of size and strength as enables them to spread themselves abroad over other portions of the river, especially those shallow places where the bottom is composed of fine gravel. But at this time their shy and shingle-seeking habits in a great measure screen them from the observance of the uninitiated.

2dly, We have likewise, during the spring season, parr which have just completed their first year. As these have gained little or no accession of size during the winter months, owing to the low temperature both of the air and water, and the consequent deficiency of insect food, their dimensions are scarcely greater than at the end of the preceding October: that is, they measure in length little more than three inches.—(N.B. The old belief was that they grew nine inches in about three weeks, and as suddenly sought the turmoil of the sea.) They increase, however in size as the summer advances, and are then the declared and admitted parr of anglers and other men.

3dly, Simultaneously with the two preceding broods, our rivers are inhabited during March and April by parr which have completed their second year. These measure six or seven inches in length, and in the months of April and May they assume the fine silvery aspect which characterizes their migratory condition,—in other words, they are converted into smolts, (the admitted fry of salmon,) and immediately make their way towards the sea.

Now, the fundamental error which pervaded the views of previous observers of the subject, consisted in the sudden sequence which they chose to establish between the hatching of the ova in early spring, and the speedy appearance of the acknowledged salmon-fry in their lustrous dress of blue and silver. Observing, in the first place, the hatching of the ova, and, erelong, the seaward migration of the smolts, they imagined these two facts to take place in the relation of immediate or connected succession; whereas they had no more to do with each other than an infant in the nursery has to do with his elder, though not very ancient, brother, who may be going to school. The rapidity with which the two-year-old parr are converted into smolts, and the timid habits of the new-hatched fry, which render them almost entirely invisible during the first few months of their existence,—these two circumstances combined, have no doubt induced the erroneous belief that the silvery smolts were the actual produce of the very season in which they are first observed in their migratory dress: that is, that they were only a few weeks old, instead of being upwards of two years. It is certainly singular, however, that no enquirer of the old school should have ever bethought himself of the mysterious fate of the two-year-old parr, (supposing them not to be young salmon,) none of which, of course, are visible after the smolts have taken their departure to the sea. If the two fish, it may be asked, are not identical, how does it happen that the one so constantly disappears along with the other? Yet no one alleges that he has ever seen parr as such, making a journey towards the sea "They cannot do so" says Mr Shaw, "because they have been previously converted into smolts."

Mr Shaw's investigations were carried on for a series of years, both on the fry as it existed naturally in the river, and on captive broods produced from ova deposited by adult salmon, and conveyed to ingeniously-constructed experimental ponds, in which the excluded young were afterwards nourished till they threw off the livery of the parr, and underwent their final conversion into smolts. When this latter change took place, the migratory instinct became so strong that many of them, after searching in vain to escape from their prison—the little streamlet of the pond being barred by fine wire gratings—threw themselves by a kind of parabolic somerset upon the bank and perished. But, previous to this, he had repeatedly observed and recorded the slowly progressive growth to which we have alluded. The value of the parr, then, and the propriety of a judicious application of our statutory regulations to the preservation of that small, and, as hitherto supposed, insignificant fish, will be obvious without further comment.[16]

[16] Mr Shaw's researches include some curious physiological and other details, for an exposition of which our pages are not appropriate. But we shall here give the titles of his former papers. "An account of some Experiments and Observations on the Parr, and on the Ova of the Salmon, proving the Parr to be the Young of the Salmon."—Edinburgh New Phil. Journ. vol. xxi. p. 99. "Experiments on the Development and Growth of the Fry of the Salmon, from the Exclusion of the Ovum to the Age of Six Months."—Ibid. vol. xxiv. p. 165. "Account of Experimental Observations on the Development and Growth of Salmon Fry, from the Exclusion of the Ova to the Age of Two Years."—Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, vol. xiv. part ii. (1840.) The reader will find an abstract of these discoveries in the No. of this Magazine for April 1840.

Having now exhibited the progress of the salmon fry from the ovum to the smolt, our next step shall be to show the connexion of the latter with the grilse. As no experimental observations regarding the future dimensions of the detenus of the ponds could be regarded as legitimate in relation to the usual increase of the species, (any more than we could judge of the growth of a young English guardsman in the prisons of Verdun,) after the period of their natural migration to the sea, and as Mr Shaw's distance from the salt water—twenty-five miles, we believe, windings included—debarred his carrying on his investigations much further with advantage, he wisely turned his attention to a different, though cognate subject, to which we shall afterwards refer. We are, however, fortunately enabled to proceed with our history of the adolescent salmon by means of another ingenious observer already named, Mr Andrew Young of Invershin.

It had always been the prevailing belief that smolts grew rapidly into grilse, and the latter into salmon. But as soon as we became assured of the gross errors of naturalists, and all other observers, regarding the progress of the fry in fresh water, and how a few weeks had been substituted for a period of a couple of years, it was natural that considerate people should suspect that equal errors might pervade the subsequent history of this important species. It appears, however, that marine influence (in whatever way it works) does indeed exercise a most extraordinary effect upon those migrants from our upland streams, and that the extremely rapid transit of a smolt to a grilse, and of the latter to an adult salmon, is strictly true. Although Mr Young's labours in this department differ from Mr Shaw's, in being rather confirmatory than original, we consider them of great value, as reducing the subject to a systematic form, and impressing it with the force and clearness of the most successful demonstration.

Mr Young's first experiments were commenced as far back as 1836, and were originally undertaken with a view to show whether the salmon of each particular river, after descending to the sea, returned again to their original spawning-beds, or whether, as some supposed, the main body, returning coastwards from their feeding grounds in more distant parts of the ocean, and advancing along our island shores, were merely thrown into, or induced to enter, estuaries and rivers by accidental circumstances; and that the numbers obtained in these latter localities thus depended mainly on wind and weather, or other physical conditions, being suitable to their upward progress at the time of their nearing the mouths of the fresher waters. To settle this point, he caught and marked all the spawned fish which he could obtain in the course of the winter months during their sojourn in the rivers. As soon as he had hauled the fish ashore, he made peculiar marks in their caudal fins by means of a pair of nipping-irons, and immediately threw then back into the water. In the course of the following fishing season great numbers were recaptured on their return from the sea, each in its own river bearing its peculiar mark. "We have also," Mr Young informs us, "another proof of the fact, that the different breeds or races of salmon continue to revisit their native streams. You are aware that the river Shin falls into the Oykel at Invershin, and that the conjoined waters of these rivers, with the Carron and other streams, form the estuary of the Oykel, which flows into the more open sea beyond, or eastwards of the bar, below the Gizzen Brigs. Now, were the salmon which enter the mouth of the estuary at the bar thrown in merely by accident or chance, we should expect to find the fish of all the various rivers which form the estuary of the same average weight; for, if it were a mere matter of chance, then a mixture of small and great would occur indifferently in each of the interior streams. But the reverse of this is the case. The salmon in the Shin will average from seventeen pounds to eighteen pounds in weight, while those of the Oykel scarcely attain an average of half that weight. I am, therefore, quite satisfied, as well by having marked spawned fish descending to the sea, and caught them ascending the same river, and bearing that river's mark, as by a long-continued general observation of the weight, size, and even something of the form, that every river has its own breed, and that breed continues, till captured and killed, to return from year to year into its native stream."

We have heard of a partial exception to this instinctive habit, which, however, essentially confirms the rule. We are informed that a Shin salmon (recognized as such by its shape and size) was, on a certain occasion, captured in the river Conon, a fine stream which flows into the upper portion of the neighbouring Frith of Cromarty. It was marked and returned to the river, and was taken next day in its native stream the Shin, having, on discovering its mistake, descended the Cromarty Frith, skirted the intermediate portion of the outer coast by Tarbet Ness, and ascended the estuary of the Oykel. The distance may be about sixty miles. On the other hand, we are informed by a Sutherland correspondent of a fact of another nature, which bears strongly upon the pertinacity with which these fine fish endeavour to regain their spawning ground. By the side of the river Helmsdale there was once a portion of an old channel forming an angular bend with the actual river. In summer, it was only partially filled by a detached or landlocked pool, but in winter, a more lively communication was renewed by the superabounding waters. This old channel was, however, not only resorted to by salmon as a piece of spawning ground during the colder season of the year, but was sought for again instinctively in summer during their upward migration, when there was no water running through it. The fish being, of course, unable to attain their object, have been seen, after various aerial boundings, to fall, in the course of their exertions, upon the dry gravel bank between the river and the pool of water, where they were picked up by the considerate natives.

No sooner had Mr Young satisfied himself that the produce of a river invariably returned to that river after descending to the sea, than he commenced his operations upon the smolts—taking up the subject where it was unavoidably left off by Mr Shaw[17]. His long-continued superintendence of the Duke of Sutherland's fisheries in the north of Scotland, and his peculiar position as residing almost within a few yards of the noted river Shin, afforded advantages of which he was not slow to make assiduous use. He has now performed numerous and varied experiments, and finds that, notwithstanding the slow growth of parr in fresh water, "such is the influence of the sea as a more enlarged and salubrious sphere of life, that the very smolts which descend into it from the rivers in spring, ascend into the fresh waters in the course of the immediate summer as grilse, varying in size in proportion to the length of their stay in salt water."

[17] Mr Young has, however, likewise repeated and confirmed Mr Shaw's earlier experiments regarding the slow growth of salmon fry in fresh water, and the conversion of parr into smolts. We may add, that Sir William Jardine, a distinguished Ichthyologist and experienced angler, has also corroborated Mr Shaw's observations.

For example, in the spring of 1837, Mr Young marked a great quantity of descending smolts, by making a perforation in their caudal fins with a small pair of nipping-irons constructed for the purpose, and in the ensuing months of June and July he recaptured a considerable number on their return to the rivers, all in the condition of grilse, and varying from 3lbs. to 8lbs., "according to the time which had elapsed since their first departure from the fresh water, or, in other words, the length of their sojourn in the sea." In the spring of 1842, he likewise marked a number of descending smolts, by clipping off what is called the adipose fin upon the back. In the course of the ensuing June and July, he caught them returning up the river, bearing his peculiar mark, and agreeing with those of 1837 both in respect to size, and the relation which that size bore to the lapse of time.

The following list from Mr Young's note-book, affords a few examples of the rate of growth:—

List of Smolts marked in the River, and recaptured as Grilse on their first ascent from the Sea.

Period of marking. Period of recapture. Weight when retaken. - 1842. April and May. 1842. June 28. 4 lb. ... ... July 15. 5 lb ... ... ... 15. 5 lb. ... ... ... 25. 7 lb.[18] ... ... ... 25. 5 lb. ... ... ... 30. 3-1/2 lb.[18]

We may now proceed to consider the final change,—that of the grilse into the adult salmon. We have just seen that smolts return to the rivers as grilse, (of the weights above noted,) during the summer and autumn of the same season in which they had descended for the first time to the sea. Such as seek the rivers in the earlier part of summer are of small size, because they have sojourned for but a short time in the sea:—such as abide in the sea till autumn, attain of course a larger size. But it appears to be an established, though till now an unknown fact, that with the exception of the early state of parr, in which the growth has been shown to be extremely slow, salmon actually never do grow in fresh water at all, either as grilse or in the adult state. All their growth in these two most important later stages, takes place during their sojourn in the sea. "Not only," says Mr Young, "is this the case, but I have also ascertained that they actually decrease in dimensions after entering the river, and that the higher they ascend the more they deteriorate both in weight and quality. In corroboration of this I may refer to the extensive fisheries of the Duke of Sutherland, where the fish of each station of the same river are kept distinct from those of another station, and where we have had ample proof that salmon habitually decrease in weight in proportion to their time and distance from the sea."[19]

[18] These two specimens are now preserved in the Museum of the Royal Society of Edinburgh.

[19] The existence in the rivers during spring, of grilse which have spawned, and which weigh only three or four pounds, is itself a conclusive proof of this retardation of growth in fresh water. These fish had run, as anglers say—that is, had entered the rivers about midsummer of the preceding year—and yet had made no progress. Had they remained in the sea till autumn, their size on entering the fresh waters would have been much greater; or had they spawned early in winter, and descended speedily to the sea, they might have returned again to the river in spring as small salmon, while their more sluggish brethren of the same age were still in the streams under the form of grilse. All their growth, then, seems to take place during their sojourn in the sea, usually from eight to twelve weeks. The length of time spent in the salt waters, by grilse and salmon which have spawned, corresponds nearly to the time during which smolts remain in these waters; the former two returning as clean salmon, the last-named making their first appearance in our rivers as grilse.

Mr Young commenced marking grilses, with a view to ascertain that they became salmon, as far back as 1837, and has continued to do so ever since, though never two seasons with the same mark. We shall here record only the results of the two preceding years. In the spring of 1841, he marked a number of spawned grilse soon after the conclusion of the spawning period. Taking his "net and coble," he fished the river for the special purpose, and all the spawned grilse of 4 lb. weight were marked by putting a peculiarly twisted piece of wire through the dorsal fin. They were immediately thrown into the river, and of course disappeared, making their way downwards with other spawned fish towards the sea. "In the course of the next summer we again caught several of those fish which we had thus marked with wire as 4 lb. grilse, grown in the short period of four or five months into beautiful full-formed salmon, ranging from 9 lb. to 14 lb. in weight, the difference still depending on the length of their sojourn in the sea."

In January 1842, he repeated the same process of marking 4 lb. grilse which had spawned, and were therefore about to seek the sea; but, instead of placing the wire in the back fin, he this year fixed it in the upper lobe of the tail, or caudal fin. On their return from the sea, he caught many of these quondam grilse converted into salmon as before. The following lists will serve to illustrate the rate of growth:—

List of Grilse marked after having spawned, and re-captured as Salmon, on their second ascent from the Sea.

Period of Period of Weight when Weight when marking. recapture. marked. retaken.

1841. Feb. 18. 1841. June 23. 4 lbs. 9 lbs. ... 18. ... 23. 4 lbs. 11 lbs. ... 18. ... 25. 4 lbs. 9 lbs. ... 18. ... 25. 4 lbs. 10 lbs. ... 18. July 27. 4 lbs. 13 lbs. ... 18. ... 28. 4 lbs. 10 lbs. March 4. July 1. 4 lbs. 12 lbs. ... 4. ... 1. 4 lbs. 14 lbs. ... 4. ... 27. 4 lbs. 12 lbs.

1842. Jan. 29. 1842. July 4. 4 lbs. 8 lbs.[20] ... 29. ... 14. 4 lbs. 9 lbs.[20] ... 29. ... 14. 4 lbs. 8 lbs. March 8. ... 23. 4 lbs. 9 lbs. Jan. 29. ... 29. 4 lbs. 11 lbs. March 8. Aug. 4. 4 lbs. 10 lbs. Jan. 29. ... 11. 4 lbs. 12 lbs.

During both these seasons, Mr Young informs us, he caught far more marked grilse returning with the form and attributes of perfect salmon, than are recorded in the preceding lists. "In many specimens the wires had been torn from the fins, either by the action of the nets or other casualties; and, although I could myself recognise distinctly that they were the fish I had marked, I kept no note of them. All those recorded in my lists returned and were captured with the twisted wires complete, the same as the specimens transmitted for your examination."

[20] These two specimens, with their wire marks in situ, may now be seen in the Museum of the Royal Society of Edinburgh.

We agree with Mr Young in thinking that the preceding facts, viewed in connexion with Mr Shaw's prior observations, entitle us to say, that we are now well acquainted with the history and habits of the salmon, and its usual rate of growth from the ovum to the adult state. The young are hatched after a period which admits of considerable range, according to the temperature of the season, or the modifying character of special localities.[21] They usually burst the capsule of the egg in 90 to 100 days after deposition, but they still continue for a considerable time beneath the gravel, with the yelk or vitelline portion of the egg adhering to the body; and from this appendage, which Mr Shaw likens to a red currant, they probably derive their sole nourishment for several weeks. But though the lapse of 140 or even 150 days from the period of deposition is frequently required to perfect the form of these little fishes, which even then measure scarcely more than an inch in length, their subsequent growth is still extremely slow; and the silvery aspect of the smolt is seldom assumed till after the expiry of a couple of years. The great mass of these smolts descend to the sea during the months of April and May,—the varying range of the spawning and hatching season carrying with it a somewhat corresponding range in the assumption of the first signal change, and the consequent movement to the sea. They return under the greatly enlarged form of grilse, as already stated, and these grilse spawn that same season in common with the salmon, and then both the one and the other re-descend into the sea in the course of the winter or ensuing spring. They all return again to the rivers sooner or later, in accordance, as we believe, with the time they had previously left it after spawning, early or late. The grilse have now become salmon by the time of their second ascent from the sea; and no further change takes place in their character or attributes, except that such as survive the snares of the fishermen, the wily chambers of the cruives, the angler's gaudy hook, or the poacher's spear, continue to increase in size from year to year. Such, however, is now the perfection of our fisheries, and the facilities for conveying this princely species even from our northern rivers, and the "distant islands of the sea," to the luxurious cities of more populous districts, that we greatly doubt if any salmon ever attains a good old age, or is allowed to die a natural death. We are not possessed of sufficient data from which to judge either of their natural term of life, or of their ultimate increase of size. They are occasionally, though rarely, killed in Britain of the weight of forty and even fifty pounds. In the comparatively unfished rivers of Scandinavia large salmon are much more frequent, although the largest we ever heard of was an English fish which came into the possession of Mr Groves, of Bond Street. It was a female, and weighed eighty-three pounds. In the year 1841, Mr Young marked a few spawned salmon along with his grilse, employing as a distinctive mark copper wire instead of brass. One of these, weighing twelve pounds, was marked on the 4th of March, and was recaptured on returning from the sea on the 10th of July, weighing eighteen pounds. But as we know not whether it made its way to the sea immediately after being marked, we cannot accurately infer the rate of increase. It probably becomes slower every year, after the assumption of the adult state. Why the salmon of one river should greatly exceed the average weight of those of another into which it flows, is a problem which we cannot solve. The fact, for example, of the river Shin flowing from a large lake, with a course of only a few miles, into the Oykel, although it accounts for its being an early river, owing to the receptive depth, and consequently higher temperature of its great nursing mother, Loch Shin, in no way, so far at least as we can see, explains the great size of the Shin fish, which are taken in scores of twenty pounds' weight. They have little or nothing to do with the loch itself, haunting habitually the brawling stream, and spawning in the shallower fords, at some distance up, but still below the great basin;[22] and there are no physical peculiarities which in any way distinguish the Shin from many other lake born northern rivers, where salmon do not average half the size.