BURGOMASTER LAW IN PRUSSIA.

On turning out, and then turning over, a mass of old papers which had lain packed up in a heavy mail-trunk for a period of more than forty years, I came the other day upon a little bundle of documents in legal German manuscript, the sight of which set me, old as I am, a laughing involuntarily, and brought back in full force to my memory the circumstances which I am about briefly to relate. A strange thing is this memory, by the way, and strangely moved by trifles to the exercise of its marvellous power. For more than thirty years—for the average period that suffices to change the generation of man upon earth—had this preposterous adventure, and everything connected with it, lain dormant in some sealed-up cavity of my brain, when the bare sight of the little bundle of small-sized German foolscap, with its ragged edges and blotted official pages, has set the whole paltry drama, with all its dignified performers, in motion before the retina of my mind's eye with all the reality of the actual occurrence.

It was in the spring or early summer of the year 1806, that, in the capacity of companion and interpreter to a young nobleman who was making the tour of Germany, I was travelling on the high-road from Magdeburg to Berlin. We rolled along in a stout English carriage drawn by German post-horses, and having left Magdeburg after an early breakfast, stopped at a small neat town, some eighteen or twenty miles on our route—my patron intending to remain there for an hour or two, in the hope of being rejoined by a friend who had promised to overtake us. He ordered refreshment, and sat down and partook of it, while I, not choosing to participate, seated myself in the recess of an old-fashioned window, and kept my eyes fixed upon our travelling-carriage, from which the wearied horses had been removed, and which stood but a few paces from where I sat. At the end of an hour, my patron having satisfied his appetite, declined to wait any longer, and proposed that we should proceed on our journey. It was my office to discharge all accounts, and of course to check any attempt at peculation which might be made. I summoned the innkeeper, whose just demand was soon paid, and ordered the horses to be put to. This was done in a few minutes, and the stable-man, as we walked out to the carriage, came forward and presented his little bill. As I ran it hastily over before paying it, I saw that the rascal had charged for services which he had not rendered. With the design of making the most of a chance-customer, he had put down in his account a charge for greasing the wheels of the carriage. Now, as I had never taken my eyes from the carriage during the whole period of our stay, I could not be deceived in the conviction that this was a fraud. True, it was the merest trifle in the world; but the fellow who wanted to exact it was the model of an ugly, impudent, and barefaced rogue, and therefore I resolved not to pay him. Throwing him the money, minus the attempted imposition, I told him to consider himself fortunate that he had got that, which was more than such a rogue-schurke was the word I used—deserved.

'Do you call me a rogue?' said he.

'Certainly; a rogue is your right name,' I replied, and sprang into the carriage.

'Ho! ho!' said he; 'that is against the law. Hans Felder,' he bawled to the postilion, 'I charge you not to move; the horses may be led back to the stable: the gracious gentleman has called me a rogue. Stiefel, run for the police: the gracious gentleman says I am a rogue. I will cite him before the council.'

It was in vain that I put my head out of the window, and bawled to the postilion to proceed. He was evidently afraid to move. In a few minutes a crowd began to collect around us, and in less than a quarter of an hour half the inhabitants of the place had assembled in front of the inn. The noise of a perfect Babel succeeded in an instant to the dull silence of the quiet town. I soon gathered from the vehement disputes that arose on all sides, that the populace were about equally divided into two parties. The more reasonable portion were for allowing us to proceed on our journey, and this would perhaps have been permitted, had not my companion, on understanding what was the matter, burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and repeated the offensive word, accompanying it with a declaration in French, which many of the bystanders understood, that he considered it generally applicable. The landlord of the inn now came forth, and after a not very energetic attempt to conciliate the ostler, who refused to forego his determination to obtain legal redress, invited us to alight and resume our quarters in the inn. This we were compelled to do, to escape the annoyance of the crowd; and the carriage being housed under a shed, the horses returned to the stable. We had not been three minutes in the inn before the police appeared to take me into custody, and march me off to durance vile. By this time I began to see that the charge, and the dilemma into which it had led us, was no joke. I might perhaps have bribed the scoundrel who preferred it, and have sent away the police with a gratuity; but I felt as little disposed to do that as to go to prison. I refused to leave the inn, protested against the jurisdiction of their absurd laws over strangers, and at length, with the assistance of my companion, and a good deal of threatening talk, succeeded in ejecting the two police functionaries from the room. They kept watch, however, at the door, and planted sentinels at the windows, to prevent an ignominious flight that way.

In the meanwhile, the whole town was in commotion, and everybody was hurrying towards the rathhaus, or town-hall, where it was plain enough that preparations were making for putting me immediately upon my trial. I saw the old burgermeister go waddling by in his robe of office, accompanied by a crowd of nondescript officials, with one of whom my villainous-looking adversary was in close confabulation. In a short space of time, a band of very scurvy-looking police, plainly vamped up for the occasion, made its appearance; and one of the band entering the room without ceremony, presented me with a summons, couched in legal diction, citing me to appear instantly before the commission then sitting, to answer an indictment preferred against me by Karl Gurtler, Supernumerary Deputy Road Inspector of the district, whose honourable character I had unjustly and wantonly assailed and deteriorated by the application of the scandalous and defamatory term, schurke. There was nothing for it but to obey the mandate; and accordingly, requesting the bearer to convey my compliments to the assembled council, and to say that I would have the honour of attending them in a few minutes, I dismissed him, evidently soothed with my courteous reception. I did this with a view of getting rid of the posse comitatus, in whose company I did not much relish the idea of being escorted as a prisoner. My politeness, however, had not the anticipated effect, as, upon emerging from the inn, we found the whole squad waiting at the door as a sort of body-guard, to make sure of our attendance.

On arriving at the rathhaus, which was crammed to overflowing with all the inhabitants of the place who could possibly wedge themselves into it, way was cleared for us through the crowd to the seats which had been considerately allotted for us, in front of the tribunal. A more extraordinary bench of justice was perhaps never convened. It was plain that the little village was steeped in poverty to the lips, and that I, having been entrapped, through an unconscious expression, in the meshes of some antiquated law, was doomed to administer in some measure to their need by the payment of a penalty and costs. The fat old fellow who presided as judge, and beneath whose robe of office an unctuous leathery surtout was all too visible, peered in vain through a pair of massive horn-spectacles into a huge timber-swathed volume in search of the act, the provisions of which I had violated. At length, the schoolmaster—a meagre, pensive-looking scarecrow, industriously patched all over—came to his assistance, turned over the ponderous code by which the little community were governed, and having rummaged out the law, and the clause under the provisions of which I had been so summarily arrested, handed it to the clerk, who I shrewdly suspected to be nothing more or less than the village barber. He, at the command of the judge, read it aloud for the information of all present, and for my especial admonition. From the contents, it appeared to have been decreed, how long ago I had no means of judging, that, for the better sustentation of good morals and good-breeding, and for the prevention of quarrelling, or unseemly and abusive conversation, any person who should call or designate any other person in the said town by the name of thief, villain, rascal, rogue (schurke), cheat, charlatan, impostor, wretch, coward, sneak, suborner, slanderer, tattler, and sundry other titles of ill-repute, which I cannot recollect now, and could not render into English were I to recall them, should, upon complaint of the person aggrieved, and upon proof of the offence by the evidence of worthy and truth-speaking witnesses, be amerced in such penalty, not exceeding a certain sum, as in the estimation of the presiding magistrate should be held to be a proper compensation for the injury to his reputation suffered by the plaintiff. When the clerk drew breath at the end of the long-winded clause, I inquired if the law in question made no counter-provision for cases which might occur where, the abusive term being richly deserved, it could be no crime to apply it. The schoolmaster, who, despite his patched habiliments, was a clever fellow, at once answered my question in the negative, and justified the omission of any such provision by contraverting the position I had advanced upon moral grounds. This he did in a speech of some length, and with remarkable ingenuity and good sense; proving—to the satisfaction of his fellow-townsmen at least—that to taunt a malefactor openly with his misdeeds, was not the way to reform him, while it was a sure mode of producing a contrary result; and winding up with an assurance, that the law was a good law, and perfect in all its parts; and that if I had suffered wrong, I might obtain at their hands redress as readily and with as much facility as my antagonist.

I had nothing to reply to this, and the proceedings went on in due form. Without being sworn, the plaintiff was called upon to state his case, which he did with an elaborate circumlocution altogether without a parallel in my experience. He detailed the whole history of his life—from his birth, in Wolfenbuettel, up to his seven years' service in the army; then followed his whole military career; and after that, his service under the weg-inspector, which was rewarded at length by the gratification of his honest ambition, in his appointment as supernumerary deputy road inspector of the district. He enlarged upon the service he had rendered to, and the honours he had received from, his country; and then put it to his judges to decide whether, as a public officer, a soldier, and a man of honour, he could submit to be stigmatised as a schurke, without appealing to the laws of his Fatherland to vindicate his character. Of course it was not to be thought of. He then detailed the circumstances of the assault I had made upon his character, forgetting to mention, however, the provocation he had given by the fraudulent charge for greasing. Having finished his peroration, he proceeded to call witnesses to the fact of the abuse, and cited Hans Felder, our postilion, to be first examined. Hans, who had heard every syllable that passed, was not, however, so manageable a subject as the plaintiff expected to find him. Whether, like Toby Allspice in the play, he 'made it a rule never to disoblige a customer;' or whether, which was not unlikely, he owed Karl Gurtler a grudge, either for stopping him on his route, or for some previous disagreement with that conscientious public functionary; or whether, which was likeliest of all, he feared to compromise his claim for trinkgeld from the highborn, gracious gentlemen he had the honour of driving, I cannot pretend to determine. Certain it is, that when brought to the bar, he had heard nothing, and seen nothing, and knew nothing, and could recollect nothing, and say nothing, about the business in hand; and nothing but nothing could be got out of him by a single member of the bench, though all took him in hand by turns. He was finally sent down. By this time, so dilatory had been the proceedings, the sun was sinking in the west. My companion, weary of the prosecutor's long story, had withdrawn to the inn to order dinner. As the second witness was about to give his testimony, a note was handed to the old burgermeister, who, having given it a glance, immediately adjourned the court till the next morning at nine o'clock. The assembly broke up, and, returning to the inn, I found that the proceedings had been stopped by the landlord, to save the reputation of his cookery, which would have been endangered had the dinner waited much longer. Having first consulted my fellow-traveller, he had despatched directions to the judge to adjourn the case till the morrow, who, like a good and obliging neighbour, had accordingly done so.

The little town was unusually alive and excited that evening. Karl Gurtler was the centre of an admiring circle, who soon enveloped him in the incense of their meerschaums. He held a large levee in the common room of the inn, where a succession of very terrific battle-songs kept us up to a late hour, as it was of no use to think of slumber during their explosion. The next morning, at the appointed hour, the proceedings recommenced, and the remainder of the witnesses were examined at full length. It was in vain that I offered to plead guilty, and pay the penalty, whatever it might be, so that we might be allowed to proceed on our journey. I was solemnly reminded, that it was not for me to interrupt the course of justice, but to await its decision with patience. I saw they were determined to prevent our departure as long as possible; and, judging that the only way to assist in the completion of the unlucky business, was to interpose no obstacle to its natural course, I henceforth held my peace, conjuring my companion on no account to give directions for dinner. After a sitting of nearly seven hours on the second day, when everything that could be lugged into connection with the silly affair had been said and reiterated ten times over, the notary in attendance read over his condensed report of the whole, and I was called upon for my defence. I told them plainly that I did not choose to make any; that I was sick of the company of fools; that since it was a crime to speak the truth in their good town, I was willing to pay the penalty for so doing, for the privilege of leaving it; that I was astonished and disgusted at the spectacle of a company of grave men siding with such a beggarly raeuber (I believed that term was not proscribed in their precious statute) as Karl Gurtler was, and taking advantage of the law, of which a stranger must necessarily be ignorant, to obstruct him on his journey, and levy a contribution on his purse; and I added, finally, for I had talked myself into an angry mood, that if the farce were not immediately brought to a conclusion, I should despatch my friend forthwith to Berlin, and lay a report of their proceedings before the British ambassador. I could perceive something like consternation in the broad visage of the burgermeister as I concluded my harangue; but without attempting to answer it, the Solons on the bench laid their heads together, and after a muttering of a few minutes' duration, the schoolmaster pronounced the sentence of the court, which was, that I should indemnify the plaintiff to the amount of one dollar, and pay the costs of the proceedings, which amounted to three more. I could scarce forbear laughing at the mention of a sum so ludicrous. Fifteen shillings for penalty and costs of a trial which had lasted nearly two days! I threw down the money, and was hastening from the court, when the notary called upon me to stop for one moment, while he concluded his report of the case, to which, it appeared, their laws gave me a valid claim. I took the papers, and crammed them into my valise, in the hasty packing which took place so soon as I got back to my companion. In a quarter of an hour, we were on our road towards Berlin, having been taught a lesson of politeness, even towards rogues, at the expense of a stoppage of more than thirty hours on our route. I have no recollection how the papers found their way into the old trunk from which they were lately unkennelled. They are now before me, and consist of nearly fifty sides of small foolscap, written in a bold legal hand, affording a unique specimen of the cheapness of law amongst a community who, it is to be supposed, had but little demand for it.

A few short months after this event, and the little town where it took place had something else to think of. The ill-advised step of the Prussian government, who, relying upon the aid of Russia, declared war against Napoleon, brought the devastating hordes of republican France among them. The battle of Jena placed the whole kingdom at the foot of the conqueror; and few towns suffered more, comparatively, than the little burgh which, by the decree of a very doubtful sort of justice, had mulcted me in penalties for calling a very ill-favoured rogue by his right name.



TRACES OF THE DANES AND NORWEGIANS IN ENGLAND.

Mr J. J. A. Worsaae, a conspicuous member of that brilliant corps of northern antiquaries who have of late given a new wing to history, travelled through the United Kingdom in 1846-7, on a commission from his sovereign the king of Denmark, to make inquiry respecting the monuments and memorials of the Danes and Norwegians, which might still be extant in these islands. The result of his investigations appeared in a concise volume, which has been translated into English, and published by Mr Murray in a handsome style, being illustrated by numerous wood-cuts.[4] It is a work which we would recommend to the attention of all who feel any interest in our early history, as calculated to afford them a great gratification. One is surprised to find in how great a degree the Northmen affected Britain; what an infusion of Scandinavian blood there is in our population; how many traces of their predominancy survive in names of places and in more tangible monuments. Mr Worsaae writes with a warm feeling towards his country and her historical reminiscences, but without allowing it to carry him into any extravagances. He is everywhere clear and simple—sometimes rises into eloquence; and always displays a close and searching knowledge of his subject.

From the end of the eighth century till the time of the Norman Conquest, the restless chiefs of Denmark and Norway were continually in the practice of making piratical expeditions to our shores. They committed terrible devastations, and made many settlements, almost exclusively on the eastern coast. Finally, as is well known, we had a brief succession of Danish kings in England, including the magnanimous Canute. When we look at the quiet people now inhabiting Denmark and Norway, we are at a loss to understand whence came or where resided that spirit of reckless daring which inspired such a system of conquest, or how it came so completely to die out; but the explanation is, that the Northmen of those days were heathens, animated by a religion which made them utterly indifferent to danger. Whenever they became Christianised, they began to appreciate life like other men, and ceased, of course, to be the troublers they had once been. Mr Worsaae draws a line from London to Chester—the line of the great Roman road (Watling Street)—to the north of which the infusion of Scandinavian population is strong, and their monuments abundant. A vast number of names of places in that part of the island are of Danish origin—all ending in by, which in Danish signifies a town, as Whitby (the White Town), Derby (Deoraby, the town of Deer), Kirby (the church town), &c.—all ending in thwaite, which signifies an isolated piece of land—all ending in thorpe (Old Northern, a collection of houses separated from some principal estate)—all ending in naes, a promontory, and ey or oee, an island. Toft, a field; with, a forest; beck, a streamlet; tarn, a mountain-lake; force, a waterfall; garth, a large farm; dale, a valley; and fell, a mountain, are all of them common elements of names of places in England, north of the line above indicated, and all are Scandinavian terms. The terminations by, thwaite, and thorpe, are still common in Denmark.

Mr Worsaae found many memorials of the Northmen in London: for example, the church of St Clement's Danes, where this people had their burial-place; the name Southwark, which is 'unmistakably of Danish or Norwegian origin;' St Olave's Church there, and even Tooley Street, which is a corruption of the name of that celebrated Norsk saint; but, above all, in the fact that 'the highest tribunal in the city has retained in our day its pure old northern name "Husting."' The fact is, that about the time of Canute, the Danes predominated over the rest of the population of London. Mr Worsaae was not able to trace the Danish face or form as a distinct element in the modern population. In going northward, however, he soon began to find that the prevailing physiognomy was of a northern character: 'The form of the face is broader, the cheek-bones project a little, the nose is somewhat flatter, and at times turned a little upwards; the eyes and hair are of a lighter colour, and even deep-red hair is far from being uncommon. The people are not very tall in stature, but usually more compact and strongly built than their countrymen towards the south. The Englishman himself seems to acknowledge that a difference is to be found in the appearance of the inhabitants of the northern and southern counties; at least, one constantly hears in England, when red-haired, compact-built men with broad faces are spoken of: "They must certainly be from Yorkshire;" a sort of admission that light hair, and the broad peculiar form of the face, belong mostly to the north of England people.... In the midland, and especially in the northern part of England, I saw every moment, and particularly in the rural districts, faces exactly resembling those at home. Had I met the same persons in Denmark or Norway, it would never have entered my mind that they were foreigners. Now and then I also met with some whose taller growth and sharper features reminded me of the inhabitants of South Jutland, or Sleswick, and particularly of Angeln; districts of Denmark which first sent colonists to England. It is not easy to describe peculiarities which can be appreciated in all their details only by the eye; nor dare I implicitly conclude that in the above-named cases I have really met with persons descended in a direct line from the old Northmen. I adduce it only as a striking fact, which will not escape the attention of at least any observant Scandinavian traveller, that the inhabitants of the north of England bear, on the whole, more than those of any other part of that country, an unmistakable personal resemblance to the Danes and Norwegians.'

Scandinavian words abound in the popular language of those districts. 'On entering a house there, one will find the housewife sitting with her rock (Dan., Rok; Eng., a distaff) and spoele (Dan., Spole; Eng., spool, a small wheel on the spindle); or else she has set both her rock and her garnwindle (Dan., Garnvinde; Eng., reel or yarn-winder) aside, whilst standing by her back-bword (Dan., Bagebord; Eng., baking-board) she is about to knead dough (Dan., Deig), in order to make the oaten-bread commonly used in these parts, at times, also, barley-bread; for clap-bread (Dan., Klappebroed, or thin cakes beaten out with the hand), she lays the dough on the clap-board (Dan., Klappebord.) One will also find the bord-claith spread (Dan., Bordklaede; Eng. table-cloth); the people of the house then sit on the bank or bink (Dan., Baenk; Eng., bench), and eat Aandorn (Eng., afternoon's repast), or, as it is called in Jutland and Fuenen, Onden (dinner.) The chimney (lovver) stands in the room; which name may perhaps be connected with the Scandinavian lyre (Icelandic, ljori)—namely, the smoke-hole in the roof or thatch (thack), out of which, in olden times, before houses had regular chimneys and "lofts" (Dan., Loft; Eng., roof, an upper room), the smoke (reek or reik, Dan., Roeg) left the dark (mirk or murk, Dan., Moerk) room. Within is the bower or boor (Eng., bed-chamber), in Danish, Buur; as, for instance, in the old Danish word Jomfrubuur (the maiden's chamber), and in the modern word Fadebuur (the pantry.)'

Mr Worsaae only speaks the truth when he remarks how the name of the Danes has been impressed on the English mind. 'Legends about the Danes are,' he says, 'very much disseminated among the people, even in the south of England. There is scarce a parish that has not in some way or another preserved the remembrance of them. Sometimes, they are recorded to have burned churches and castles, and to have destroyed towns, whose inhabitants were put to the sword; sometimes, they are said to have burned or cut down forests; here are shewn the remains of large earthen mounds and fortifications which they erected; there, again, places are pointed out where bloody battles were fought with them. To this must be added the names of places—as, the Danes-walls, the Danish forts, the Dane-field, the Dane-forest, the Danes-banks, and many others of the like kind. Traces of Danish castles and ramparts are not only found in the southern and south-eastern parts of England, but also quite in the south-west, in Devonshire and Cornwall, where, under the name of Castelton Danis, they are particularly found on the sea-coast. In the chalk-cliffs, near Uffington, in Berkshire, is carved an enormous figure of a horse, more than 300 feet in length; which, the common people say, was executed in commemoration of a victory that King Alfred gained over the Danes in that neighbourhood. On the heights, near Eddington, were shewn not long since the intrenchments, which, it was asserted, the Danes had thrown up in the battle with Alfred. On the plain near Ashdon, in Essex, where it was formerly thought that the battle of Ashingdon had taken place, are to be seen some large Danish barrows which were long, but erroneously, said to contain the bones of the Danes who had fallen in it. The so-called dwarf-alder (Sambucus ebulus), which has red buds, and bears red berries, is said in England to have germinated from the blood of the fallen Danes, and is therefore also called Daneblood and Danewort. It flourishes principally in the neighbourhood of Warwick; where it is said to have sprung from, and been dyed by, the blood shed there, when Canute the Great took and destroyed the town.

'Monuments, the origin of which is in reality unknown, are, in the popular traditions, almost constantly attributed to the Danes. If the spade or the plough brings ancient arms and pieces of armour to light, it is rare that the labourer does not suppose them to have belonged to that people. But particularly if bones or joints of unusual size are found, they are at once concluded to be the remains of the gigantic Danes, whose immense bodily strength and never-failing courage had so often inspired their forefathers with terror. For though the Englishman has stories about the cruelties of the ancient Danes, their barbarousness, their love of drinking, and other vices, he has still preserved no slight degree of respect for Danish bravery and Danish achievements. "As brave as a Dane," is said to have been an old phrase in England; just as "to strike like a Dane" was, not long since, a proverb at Rome. Even in our days, Englishmen readily acknowledge that the Danes are the "best sailors on the continent;" nay, even that, themselves of course excepted, they are "the best and bravest sailors in all the world." It is, therefore, doubly natural that English legends should dwell with singular partiality on the memorials of the Danes' overthrow. Even the popular ballads revived and glorified the victories of the English. Down to the very latest times was heard in Holmesdale, in Surrey, on the borders of Kent, a song about a battle which the Danes had lost there in the tenth century.'

In our own northern land, the Northmen committed as many devastations, and made nearly as many settlements, as in England. The Orcadian Islands formed, indeed, a Norwegian kingdom, which was not entirely at an end till the thirteenth century. In that group, and on the adjacent coasts of Caithness and Sutherlandshires, the appearance of the people, the names of places, and the tangible monuments, speak strongly of a Scandinavian infusion into the population. Sometimes, between the early Celtic people still speaking their own language, and the descendants of the Norwegians, a surprisingly definite line can be drawn. The island of Harris is possessed for the most part by a set of Celts, 'small, dark-haired, and in general very ugly;' but at the northern point, called 'the Ness,' we meet with people of an entirely different appearance. 'Both the men and women have, in general, lighter hair, taller figures, and far handsomer features. I visited several of their cabins, and found myself surrounded by physiognomies so Norwegian, that I could have fancied myself in Scandinavia itself, if the Gaelic language now spoken by the people, and their wretched dwellings, had not reminded me that I was in one of those poor districts in the north-west of Europe where the Gaels or Celts are still allowed a scanty existence. The houses, as in Shetland, and partly in Orkney, are built of turf and unhewn stones, with a wretched straw or heather roof, held together by ropes laid across the ridge of the house, and fastened with stones at the ends. The houses are so low, that one may often see the children lie playing on the side of the roof. The family and the cattle dwell in the same apartment, and the fire, burning freely on the floor, fills the house with a thick smoke, which slowly finds its way out of the hole in the roof. The sleeping-places are, as usual, holes in the side-walls.

'It is but a little while ago that the inhabitants of the Ness, who are said to have preserved faint traditions of their origin from Lochlin—called also in Ireland, Lochlan—or the North, regarded themselves as being of better descent than their neighbours the Gaels. The descendants of the Norwegians seldom or never contracted marriage with natives of a more southern part of the island, but formed among themselves a separate community, distinguished even by a peculiar costume, entirely different from the Highland Scotch dress. Although the inhabitants of Ness are now, for the most part, clothed like the rest of the people of Lewis, I was fortunate enough to see the dress of an old man of that district, which had been preserved as a curiosity. It was of thick, coarse woollen stuff, of a brown colour, and consisted of a close-fitting jacket, sewn in one piece, with a pair of short trousers, reaching only a little below the knees. It was formerly customary with them not to cover the head at all.'

The people of the Ness are described as good fishermen—a striking trait of their original national character, for nothing could distinguish them more from their neighbours, the ordinary Highlanders being everywhere remarkable for their inaptitude to a sea-life.

Tradition speaks loudly all over Scotland of the ancient doings of the Danes. So much, indeed, is this the case, that every antiquity which cannot be ascribed to the Romans, is popularly thought to be Danish, an idea which has been implicitly adopted by a great number of the Scotch clergy in the Statistical Account of their respective parishes. In the Highlands, Mr Worsaae found the people retaining a very fresh recollection of the terrors of the Northmen, and ready to believe that their incursions might yet be renewed. 'Having employed myself,' he says, 'in examining, among other things, the many so-called "Danish" or Pictish towers on the west and north-west coast of Sutherland, the common people were led to believe, that the Danes wished to regain possession of the country, and with that view intended to rebuild the ruined castles on the coasts. The report spread very rapidly, and was soon magnified into the news, that the Danish fleet was lying outside the sunken rocks near the shore, and that I was merely sent beforehand to survey the country round about; nay, that I was actually the Danish king's son himself, and had secretly landed. This report, which preceded me very rapidly, had, among other effects, that of making the poorer classes avoid, with the greatest care, mentioning any traditions connected with defeats of the Danes, and especially with the killing of any Dane in the district, lest they should occasion a sanguinary vengeance when the Danish army landed. Their fears were carried so far, that my guide was often stopped by the natives, who earnestly requested him, in Gaelic, not to lend a helping-hand to the enemies of the country by shewing them the way; nor would they let him go, till he distinctly assured them that I was in possession of maps correctly indicating old castles in the district which he himself had not previously known. This, of course, did not contribute to allay their fears; and it is literally true, that in several of the Gaelic villages, particularly near the firths of Loch Inver and Kyle-Sku, we saw on our departure old folks wring their hands in despair at the thought of the terrible misfortunes which the Danes would now bring on their hitherto peaceful country.'

We have here been obliged wholly to overlook Mr Worsaae's curious chapters about Ireland and the Isle of Man, and to give what we cannot but feel to be a very superficial view of the contents of his book generally; but our readers have seen enough to inspire them with an interest in it, and we trust that this will lead many of them to its entire perusal.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] An Account of the Danes and Norwegians in England, Scotland, and Ireland. By J. J. A. Worsaae, For. F. S. A., London; Author of Primaeval Antiquities of Denmark. London: Murray. 1852.



CHILDREN OF PRISONS.

When I was in Berlin, I went into the public prison, and visited every part of the establishment. At last I was introduced to a very large hall, which was full of children, with their books and teachers, and having the appearance of a Prussian school-room. 'What!' said I, 'is it possible that all these children are imprisoned here for crime?' 'O no,' said my conductor, smiling at my simplicity; 'but if a parent is imprisoned for crime, and on that account his children are left destitute of the means of education, and are liable to grow up in ignorance and crime, the government places them here, and maintains and educates them for useful employment.' This was a new idea to me. I know not that it has ever been suggested in the United States; but surely it is the duty of government, as well as its highest interest, when a man is paying the penalties of his crime in a public prison, to see that his unoffending children are not left to suffer and inherit their father's vices. Surely it would be better for the child, and cheaper as well as better for the state. Let it not be supposed that a man will go to prison for the sake of having his children taken care of; for those who go to prison, usually have little regard for their children. If they had, discipline like that of the Berlin prison would soon sicken them of such a bargain.—Professor Stowe.



JUPITER, AN EVENING STAR.

Ruler and hero, shining in the west With great bright eye, Rain down thy luminous arrows in this breast With influence calm and high, And speak to me of many things gone by.

Rememberest thou—'tis years since, wandering star— Those eves in June, When thou hung'st quivering o'er the tree-tops far, Where, with discordant tune, Many-tongued rooks hailed the red-rising moon?

Some watched thee then with human eyes like mine, Whose boundless gaze May now pierce on from orb to orb divine Up to the Triune blaze Of glory—nor be dazzled by its rays.

All things they know, whose wisdom seemed obscure; They, sometime blamed, Hold our best purities as things impure: Their star-glance downward aimed, Makes our most lamp-like deeds grow pale and shamed.

Their star-glance?—What if through those rays there gleam Immortal eyes Down to this dark? What if these thoughts, that seem Unbidden to arise, Be souls with my soul talking from the skies?

I know not. Yet awhile, and I shall know!— Thou, to thy place Slow journeying back, there startlingly to shew Thy orb in liquid space, Like a familiar death-lost angel face—

O planet! thou hast blotted out whole years Of life's dull round; The Abel-voice of heart's-blood and of tears Sinks dumb into the ground, And the green grass waves on with lulling sound.



GRATUITOUS SERVICES.

Never let people work for you gratis. Two years ago, a man carried a bundle for us to Boston, and we have been lending him two shillings a week ever since.—American paper.

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