CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE," "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c. NUMBER 546. SUPPLEMENTARIES. ONE often meets in the world with individuals who are generally estimable, and perhaps superior in most points to their neighbours, but who are strangely deficient in some single department of character, or perhaps possessed by something of the nature of monomania, so that much of what is good about them goes for little or nothing. Perhaps this sort of person gives us even a more affecting sense of human infirmity than those who are thoroughly bad, just as we more poignantly lament the defeat of a candidate by a majority of one than we do the non-success of one who never had any chance, or at a regatta pity the honest fellow who only loses the race by half a boat's length. There is also an unfortunate class of cases where the intellect is all very well, except for a certain inaptitude or blindness on some points, as if they had been subjected to the deduction of a small discount before being sent into the world. All this is very distressing to reflect upon, and must be extremely inconvenient in many instances to the parties; but amongst people of a certain rank in life it is not perhaps irremediable. It occurs to us that, for those who can afford it, there might be a class of functionaries who would greatly, if not altogether, remedy the defect or aberration. To this class of functionaries we would give the title of Supplementaries. SATURDAY, JULY 16, 1842. door. The services of so useful a person could not of course be obtained for nothing; but, considering what a saving these would make in tear and wear of soul and body together, they would be well worth the money. The only difficulty in such a case would be as to the sex of the Supplementary. A female would be preferred, as the advertisements say; but a female with a sense of time might not be easily had. It seems to have pleased Providence so to constitute the female mind, that it both wants a sense of time itself, and has the power of bewitching that sense out of the opposite sex. We foresee that a man Supplementary in so confidential a place would be objected to, and yet there might be no alternative. What, then, shall we say? Let us take refuge in the useful and respectable quality of age. Some withered, formal little man, going about the house like an old worm-eaten eightday clock, as he was, would not be a very formidable idea; and such men, with well-attested characters, could be had with no great difficulty. Some other ladies make extremely good wives in all respects excepting a sad want of order. Studious ladies have a bad character in this respect: it seems settled in moral chromatics that the complementary colour of blue is drab. But many ladies, without being at all literary, contrive to be amazingly litterary-leave their clothes lying about in their rooms, keep awfullooking toilette tables, and, instead of ever putting any For example, we shall suppose a married lady who thing to rights, are constantly putting wrong just as was in all respects a crown to her husband, as the old many things as possible. This class of ladies usually epitaph has it, excepting that she was totally deficient have enough of respect for the world's opinion to dress in a sense of time, so that she never was punctual as in the most splendid style they can afford, and keep to any duty or engagement. All that would be neces- very superb public rooms for the reception of company. sary in this case would be to keep a Supplementary. But all the rest of their houses, and all the time which It would be the first qualification of this person to they spend in privacy, are marked by slovenliness inpossess an uneasily exquisite sense of time-to be, in expressible; the lucid interval being somewhat like fact, an animated piece of horological machinery. a winter day in northern latitudes, in comparison with Taking a survey of a day's duties, the first would of the long night of untidiness and trumpery. Charmcourse be to admonish the lady of the proper hour to ing women in all other respects, affectionate wives, rise, and, more than this, to take care that she did not good mothers, and ornaments to society, the expense of fall back upon an unfinished slumber, but did actually a Supplementary to make them quite perfect would be get up. Once up and afloat in the house, and sup- well incurred. Such an official would require of course posing her to be a person who was not above seeing to be a paragon in that very quality which the printhat all things were ready in time to allow of her cipal party wants. A sense of order so painfully nice husband breakfasting and getting away in time to that a thread lying on a carpet produced discomfort, business, she would require a few occasional admoni- and a dusty table untold agonies, would be the grand tions from her Supplementary as to the various affairs qualification. It would be necessary to produce therewith connected. In the course of the forenoon, certificates of several genuine faints at dusters left she would perhaps need a touch of the hour-hand of on ottomans till the calling time of day, and chilher Supplementary, to enable her to dress in time for dren ushered into company without a proper attenshopping, morning calls, and all that sort of thing. tion to something more than the counting of noses. On any day when she had appointments, it might be Here there would be far less difficulty in the choice of necessary for her to be accompanied by the Supple- an official than in the case of the Unpunctual Lady, mentary, who would sit by her side while she was for the female sex have that almost monopoly of order chatting with her friends, and tell her when it was which the other have of time. A good female Suppletime to take leave and be off to another place. The hus-mentary for the Disorderly Lady might be got for little band would find the benefit of the Supplementary's services in a particular degree when he and his lady had to go out together, whether to a walk, or a call, or a party, as the necessity for his urging her to begin in time to dress, and dragooning her all the while to dress with dispatch, would be taken entirely off his hands, and he might not have to spend a half hour in fretting and kicking his shins in the lobby above once in a twelvemonth. He would also relish very much the certainty of finding dinner ready, and his wife ready for it, on his coming from the office, and still more particularly the repose of mind which he would have whenever he expected company, being quite sure that all culinary and other preparations would be duly made, and that the appearance of his dame to take up a position in the drawing-room would be never less than five minutes before the first rat-tat-tat at the more than the salary of a lady's maid. It would be PRICE 11d. to commence cleaning up, brushing here, scrubbing there, kicking up all possible dust-in short, doing every thing to render the lady's position intolerable, so that she would be in a manner hunted down stairs. If, again, any unhappy disposition was shown to relapse in the evening into wrappers and night-caps, on a plea that it was not worth while or necessary to keep on dress merely for one's husband, the Supplementary ought to be enabled to keep the said wrappers and night-caps under lock and key, until the proper hour for undressing had arrived. Our functionary would of course have an absolute right to interfere in all cases of rent shawls and stockings, and even to withhold food, or lock up in a dark closet, until the fault had been remedied by the lady's own hands. Let it not be thought that this would be treatment inconsistent with the condition and style of living of a fullgrown lady: the object, we must remember, is to correct and improve habits, and it might be hoped that a very few inflictions of the punishment would be sufficient. If, however, any decided objection was felt to this stretch of authority, the Supplementary might merely keep a record of delinquencies, which, being represented by numbers, would be reckonable at the end of each week, when some less severe punishment might be inflicted by the husband. Appearing en papillotes might, for instance, count 2; leaving out a petticoat on the floor, 3; mislaying keys, 6; and so on. Having 30 of an aggregate in a week might be held to infer a penalty of a certain class; 50, one of a higher class; and so on. The nature of the punishments would need to be adjusted with a regard to the tastes and inclinations of the lady; but a series, consisting of a denial of new dresses, would be pretty sure to meet the majority of cases. There is a class of gentlemen who are excellent persons in all respects, except that they are totally deficient in a sense of the value of money. The consequence is, that they are remarkably indifferent about the proper means of gaining the world's pelf, and remarkably free and easy in spending it. And, more than this, by an apparent contradiction, which practically is found to be none, they contrive to spend a vast deal of money which they never gained at all. In men otherwise so extremely agreeable and worthy, this is a very lamentable thing, for somehow the bulk of mankind regard it with extreme severity and intolerance. There is, indeed, scarcely any little failing of human nature which suffers so much downright actual persecution as this blindness to the value of money. Men are hunted for it out of society, have to go to the continent, or no one knows where, in consequence of it: in short, it brings them into the most dreadful scrapes. This is evidently a class of cases where a Supplementary would be of the greatest service. He should be a sort of live ready-reckoner, always at the elbow of the party. The great difficulty would be to operate so far upon the reason of such a gentleman as to induce him to put himself under the guidance of the requisite official. But, supposing that he was brought to this point, how much benefit might he and all his immediate connexions, as well as his descendants, derive from a really right Supplementary! He would never feel inclined to build, or plant, or improve, but his Supplementary would be instantly at his elbow, with a prospective view of the cost to set before him. He might feel the strongest tendency to the turf or to Melton Mowbray, but the Supplementary would quietly tell him it would not do. Was the purchase of bijouterie, or pictures, or articles of virtú, his craze, he might walk through unlimited bazaars, arcades, and auction rooms, and, so that his Supplementary stuck fast to him, he would be quite safe. If he wished to entertain his friends, and thought of a champagne supper, the faithful Supplementary, with one shake of the head, would bring him down to a dinner of plain roast and port. Did a vision of a new britschka rise on his morning dreams, the honest Supplementary would join him as he descended to the breakfast parlour, and dispel the perilous fancy in a moment. In short, the Supplementary would keep such a man quite right, at a mere trifle of expense compared with the sum saved, and a worthy man would be preserved to his wife, children, and the world, instead of going himself, and sending every thing else, to the dogs. WE now suppose the colliery in full operation. The shaft is sunk to a good seam of coal, and the only objects now in view are to keep out the water, to ventilate the mine, and to raise the coals, as well as to "raise the wind" and the price. To become acquainted with the mode of descending and ascending the shafts, let us follow the colliers from their homes at four or five o'clock in the morning. To the pit's mouth they Another and opposite class of men would need a are seen flocking from all quarters. Station yourself at Supplementary fully as much, at least for the sake the pit's mouth, and gaze around at them. In comof their own credit: that is to say, the stingy and panies of three and four, they swing along with that miserly would need one to admonish them when they dingy flannel dresses do they approach, with a pipe in peculiar gait consequent upon their vocation. In ought to spend and be generous. But it is vain to each mouth; with one hand in a side pocket, and with hope that men of this order would ever take a Supple-a Davy-lamp in the other. They are cracking their mentary into their pay. The spendthrift might pos- dry jokes as they mount up the heap of ashes around sibly submit to the companionship of a person who the pit, and they continue them as they tarry on the was to save him from himself; but the niggard would surface, till their turn for going down arrives. These men are the "hewers" or actual workers of the coal. boggle, at the very outset, at the salary, and prefer Their tools, which are simple and few, have been sent going on saving his money, and sinking his name, and down before them. They have all a word to say to perishing his soul. the "banksman," who is the man stationed at the top of the shaft to "land" the men and coals, and superintend all that concerns the transmission of signals, of messages, and of live and dead stock, through the shaft. In a few minutes, things are prepared for the descent of this set of men, the ropes being held ready by the banksman. There is a vast number of other cases in which a Supplementary would be useful. We submit that a bashful man would be much the better of one possessing a good stock of assurance, to spirit him on to address the fair when it was proper to do so, and to give him some little confidence in his own powers when he was likely to slink aside from a race in which his competitors were, manifestly to all but himself, inferior. Supposing bashful men generally to adopt the custom, we might expect some interesting statistical tables from Mr Farr as to the increase of marriages-a kind of result which might obviously be expected to be still further swelled, if ladies also were to keep Supplementaries to whisper to them when they ought to say yes, when they might otherwise be apt to say no. Young ladies might advantageously retain officers of this kind in their pay to tell them when they were laughing too loudly, or looking too happy; and, perhaps, it might not be amiss for some young gentlemen to keep a very small but quick-witted Supplementary, to put them on their guard against being stupid or frivolous, and hint ideas for them to operate upon in their endeavours to pass for smart fellows. Absent men would need Supplementaries to tell them when some one was speaking to them, and to admonish them that they were on the point of walking out in a shower of rain without putting on their hats. Clever people, whose only fault it is to speak eternally, to the exclusion of all conversation, would evidently be much the better of Supplementaries, just to make them aware that some other person might have something to say as well as themselves. Bores, who tell awfully long stories, would require similar service to admonish them of a tired audience. The long-tongued and empty-headed in general should be attended by Supplementaries; and it might be suggested that, as a public interest is here as much concerned as a private one, part of the expense ought to be borne by contribution, or out of the Consolidated Funds. But any such provision would obviously be improper in such a case as that of a young man of fortune, destitute of sense, manners, and discretion; as, in the first place, it is greatly doubtful if his deficiencies are at all remarked; and, in the second, if he chose to have a little judgment supplied in this way, and found himself thought the better for it, it must be so great an addition to all his other advantages, that, considering how rich he is too, he is well entitled to pay for it out of his own pocket. When a case unluckily happens, as it sometimes will, that one whom birth entitles to place and influence is either not bright or not disposed for trouble, it is clear that he ought to have a good Supplementary engaged for him from the very dawn of existence. At school this person should learn all his lessons for him, take all his whippings, and fight all his quarrels. He should afterwards see him well through college, enjoy a tour of the Continent for him, and be ready to supply all the knowledge and affectation of taste which a young man ought to have. He should see to keep his principal out of all frolics of a positively dangerous nature, select his party, direct his vote, and supply thought and reflection in general upon the shortest notice. Such an arrangement would be in its way perfect-the Supplementary enjoying a good salary, and the principal having a tolerable reputation for sense and information, as well as for things of more importance. We might easily run over a number of other cases in which Supplementaries would be useful, but it scarcely can be necessary when every one is able to think of them for himself; and, to tell the plain truth, we are not quite sure that the reader may have thought so from the bottom of the first column, and Reader, I wish you to descend the shaft with me the next time. I will tell the banksman that we are going down in a "corf" or basket. The "loop" mode of descent is no pleasant thing; for, unless you can manage your stick well, you may get an unwelcome bang against the sides of the shaft, besides experiencing the sensation of amputation in your thigh, if you are at all tender-fleshed, from the cutting of the chain. But I do not wonder at your eyeing the ropes with an inquiring glance ere you trust your life to them. Well, then, those ropes are, as you see, flat, and composed of four strands, each four and a half inches in circumference, and the breadth of the four strands together is four and a half inches. These ropes are under the regular inspection of the banksman, but still it is as well to tell you that they have been known to break. However, the corf is here. Now, lay hold of the banksman's hand, step in, and grasp the chain above you with both hands. You hear ferate that long-winding "ho-o-o-oh!" Do not be (unless you are congenitally deaf) the banksman vocialarmed. 'Tis true it is pitchy dark enough. Don't look up, or you will get your eyes filled with water droppings or dust. I am sorry you feel a degree of nausea; but it is not unusual in the first descent. You are unaccustomed to the rapid motion. Be composed; that was only the other corf that passed you. Now, then, do you hear the "onsetter?" Look down; we are slackening speed. See! there is the lamp at the bottom. Here we are at last. Give your hand to the onsetter; step out. Yes, I know you cannot see in the least degree. Give me your hand; mind that hole-that horse there-that "sump," or well, just before you. Sit down here a minute or two till the "under-viewer," or second mining superintendant, prepares all for us. I think you had better carry a candle, a Davy lamp gives but a feeble light; here is your candle stuck in clay. Put the clay between your third and fourth fingers in your left hand, and handle your stick gropingly in your right. Now, you can see pretty well. The under-viewer walks first, I go second; follow me. Now, we are proceeding up the "mainway," or, in fact, the high road of the pit. Right and left of us will presently appear passages at right angles to this mainway. You see that light in the distance? there is a load of coal-baskets approaching us. Do you hear the boy who drives the horses whistling? Here he is; stand close up on one side. There; he passes you safely with his twelve corves of coals. Follow on; stop, this is a door, called a trap-door ; the little boy behind it will open it for you. This door is one of many placed in various parts of the mine for directing the ventilating current of air, about which more shall be said anon. Yes, the boy is very little ; speak about these boys at large presently. Ah! your probably, he is only nine or ten years old. We will candle is out! Do you hear the under-viewer say to the pitman "gi'e us a low?" This is pit language for "Give me a light." At the bottom of each rope is a chain terminating in a hook, with a spring catch. The hewers and other workmen descend and ascend the pit (or "ride," as they say) in pairs by a "loop," made by hooking back this chain upon itself, the hook on its end being passed through a link. A pair of men insert each a leg in the loop, and laying hold of the chain or rope above it with one hand, are ready to counteract the effects of any oscillations by a stick in the other. In pits where both the ropes go in the same compartment, they are not allowed to descend in baskets at all. It is considered much safer to descend in the loops than the "corves" or coal-baskets; and it is only where the ropes are divided by a partition that the men are permitted to descend in the baskets. Where two ropes are in the same compartment of the shaft, a relaxation of the speed of passage is arranged at the "meetings," or point of conjunction of the risk of being drawn over the pulleys above the pit's ascending and descending load. To prevent the mouth, the attention of the banksman, who manages the engine, is arrested by the mechanically-contrived ringing of a bell at the approach of the load to the surface, and the winding-engine is duly stopped. Human You have burnt your fingers; it is common with beings ascending are, upon their arrival at the top of strangers. It requires some practice to carry a pitthe shaft, grasped by the outstretched hand of the candle (of which there are forty to the pound) withbanksman, and pulled on to the "settle-board" or plat-out such misadventures. You find it very hot; I form, and aided in disengaging themselves from the suppose you think you are too thickly sweltered up loop. A precautionary code of vocal signals is esta- in flannels; no such thing. You will be in draughts blished between the "onsetter," or attendant at the of "return air" by and by, and will then feel it cold bottom of the shaft, and the banksman at the top; enough. That is a crane for hoisting the baskets or and when the men manifest their intention to ascend, corves of coals upon the waggons that have passed you. the onsetter, in addition to the transmission of such Now, turn here to the right. You have now left the notice by a "token" deposited in the next ascending mainway, or "winning headway," and have turned corf, makes that intention to resound through the shaft up a "board" or passage, at right angles to the high by vociferating to the banksman, "Ho! send away a road you have come from. At the top of this board loop ;" and is responded to by the banksman. we shall meet with the hewers at work. There! you see their lights glimmering? Push on. You are tired? Well, I do not wonder at it, for I suppose we have not walked already less than three hard and weary miles. This is an old pit, and consequently the workings are progressively more distant from the shaft every year. There! these black fellows are the hewers; they will most assuredly mulct you in half a crown for your temerity in coming here. "Pay your footing" at once gallantly. Now, then, we shall be permitted with good-will to investigate most scientifically all the mysteries of coal-hewing. It is indeed amusing, but sometimes painful, to witness the perfect nonchalance with which boys of twelve or fourteen years of age will catch the rope at the very moment of the commencement of its upward course, and cling to it by winding their legs and arms round it. When it is considered that they hang on in this uncertain mode for a passage of from 500 to 1000 and more feet, the sight becomes unpleasant to a stranger. It has been asserted that boys, after the close of a hard day's labour, have actually fallen asleep while riding" in this way, and that the banksman has been compelled to grasp them with a somewhat rough hand, in order to secure and awaken them. This seems almost incredible, inasmuch as the act of falling asleep would tend to diminish the care of grasping the rope, and to relax the curvature of the limbs; but I was assured of its truth by two or three distinct parties who had witnessed such cases in former years, when the hours were much longer and the labour more severe. The modern plan of drawing coals, and that most in use in the Wear collieries, is by square iron cages, sliding upon four "spears," or upright slides. These cages are divided into two or three compartments, into which the tubs of coal are conveyed. The tubs themselves, which I measured at Hetton Colliery pit, were of iron, 3 feet by 2 feet 6 inches, and 2 feet 6 inches in depth, holding 8 cwt. of coals, the tubs themselves weighing 3 cwt. The places of the tubs are occupied by men and boys in ascending and descending the shafts; and certainly this mode is more agreeable and more safe, and has in most instances the advantage of an overhead protection in the top of the cage. From two to six men can conveniently descend in this manner, and the chief cause for an accident would exist in one extending any part of his body beyond the cage, which indeed nothing but wilful carelessness could occasion. The modes of excavation must necessarily differ in accordance with the nature of the seam of coal. “All is not gold that glitters," and all is not coal that looks black. There is much "band," "swad," and "foul coal," in most seams. The nature and thickness of the interstratifications and other similar circumstances, decide the plan of hewing; the object, of course, being to send to bank the greatest quantity of marketable coals with the least expenditure of labour and time. The plan of working is fixed by the viewer, and he imposes certain restrictions and fines (by a bond) for such hewing as may be agreed upon as unfair or wasteful-restrictions that are the subject of not a few disputes between the men and the viewer, at some of which I have been present, and in which the spokesmen of the pitmen manifest no small amount of adroitness and ingenuity in putting the strongest case for their side. Whatever be their acknowledged deficiencies in other respects, there is no viewer who will not give them credit for quite sufficient astuteness to detect any imposition upon their rights of labour. The consequence of a viewer's persisting in a very obnoxious point may be an incipient local strike; the result of the adherence of the whole body of viewers in resisting the claim may be a general district rebellion. In the ordinary mode of hewing the coal, the hewer curves out about a foot or eighteen inches of the bottom of the seam, to the distance, perhaps, of three feet, and then "nicks" up, that is, cuts in with his pick one of the nooks or corners of his board. By these means he has gained what he calls his "judd" or "vantage." This "judd" is either brought down by the insertion of wedges or the blast of gunpowder, in which latter case he drills a hole in the opposite corner, fills it with gunpowder, lights the match, and retires till the coal is torn down by the explosion. An able-bodied hewer can hew about six tons of coal in a day. In this mode the hewers proceed in excavating the coal, keeping the "boards" or passages about twelve feet wide. This one we are in you will find to be about that width. You observe that there are but two hewers at work at one time here. Some boards are made wider, to hold three or four together. This board will be driven through the coal until it has advanced about twenty yards, when "walls" or other passages are excavated at right angles to them. If you consider for a moment, you will see that, by continually driving these boards, such as we are now in, six yards apart from each other, and nearly parallel to each other, and then crossing them at every twenty yards by other passages, such a system of working will ultimately develop a large piece of panel work, the masses of coal between the boards forming "pillars" of the dimensions of six by twenty yards. These pillars are aptly so denominated, as they are, in fact, the supports of the mine. Formerly, the pillars were left in undisturbed possession of their loads; and when the coal was, with their exception, all excavated, the mine was abandoned. This was deemed necessary, chiefly from considerations of inefficient ventilation, of which we shall shortly speak at large; but of late years, the introduction of the Davy-lamp, and improvements of various kinds, have enabled the miners to obtain nearly the whole of the coal. Some collieries, actually abandoned prior to the employment of the Davy-lamps, have been re-opened, and the pillars worked nearly out. The pillars are worked either by longitudinal or lateral excavations, numerous props of wood being introduced to uphold the roof during the progress of this duty. When the pillars are removed as far as is practicable, these props are “ drawn” or knocked down by men, who speedily retreat as each falls-an operation which, when I witnessed it, I was led to deem the most hazardous in the pit, as the withdrawal of each prop was not unfrequently followed by the fall of large masses of stone in alarming proximity to ourselves a proximity the more alarming, when one became aware of the number of accidents that occur from such falls in the performance of this dangerous proceeding. When, then, the roof has thus fallen in, that portion of the pit is denominated "goaf," and sometimes "thurst." This goaf, in highly gaseous seams, will not unfrequently become a natural gasometer; and from five acres of it, in one of the pits at Wallsend colliery, a discharge takes place, through a four-inch metallic pipe, of two cubic feet of gas per second. The pipe is carried up as high as the head gear above the shaft; and from its orifice issues, with a roaring sound, the stream of gas, which, having been ignited, forms a flag of flame seven or eight feet in length, conspicuous by day, and at night illuminating the entire neighbourhood. When the coals are hewn or excavated, in come a class of able-bodied lads called "putters." These lads are divided into three distinct classes, according to their strength. They all fill the corves or coal-baskets with the coals, and then "put," that is, push or drag them to the cranes. The full corf is placed upon a "tram," or little iron-wheeled carriage about three feet ten inches long, and the tram upon the tramway that conveys to the crane. The strongest putter, called a "headsman," has a little boy as his assistant, denominated a "foal." The latter draws the corf with a pair of cords on level or uphill ground, and pushes against it with his back on declivities; and thus, for a distance of from sixty to a hundred-and-sixty yards, the coal is pushed to the spot where it is to be lifted." props have been drawn. When the process is very active, loud noises have been heard, resulting from the bursting up of the strata, and thundering like the discharge of artillery, or as if some of the revengeful spirits of the mine were making tremendous havoc in their intestine wars. In one very old pit, in the parish of Long Benton, I was told that several years since a sudden creep of so extensive a nature took place, nearly under the parish church, that the whole edifice was shaken, and portions of the ceiling dislodged, gaps or sinkings being visible in the neighbouring grounds. You feel it cool enough now? we are in the "return air," and shall very soon be at the shaft. Here we are again. Step into the corf; grasp the chain. "Ho-o-o-oh!" drawls the onsetter; the banksman re-echoes the same. We are off! You see the light now a little-now more; and now we are "at bank" again! Be cautious; give your hand to the banksman; jump out-all right! We will go to the viewer's house, wash, and change, and I will then describe to you as much about colliery ventilation as may instruct and amuse you. THE EXCHANGE. A STORY. FROM THE FRENCH. THE chronicles of by-past days inform us that a poor rascal, out at elbows, and with coinless pockets, was one day walking in a very pensive mood near the Champs-Elysées of Paris, half uncertain whether it would not be his best plan to betake himself to the real Elysian fields without delay, when he was accosted by a gentleman richly attired, who abruptly proposed to change suits with him. The melancholy stroller at first deemed this one of the jokes which people with holes in their coats must sometimes endure at the hands of their more fortunate fellow-mortals; but the proposer of the exchange soon showed himself perfectly serious, by commencing to strip with great alacrity. A dress, rich in excess, and magnificently embroidered, with a hat gallantly winged with feathers, being very much to be preferred to the looped and windowed raggedness characterising his own attire, the penniless muser began to uncase likewise, and in a few minutes the exchange was regularly completed; after which, the seeming loser by the bargain took himself off instantly. The new-born dandy or grandee, however, had scarcely time to felicitate himself on his good fortune, when he was seized by a body of the police, and hurried off to durance vile. It now turned out that the gentleman who had so readily parted with his rich clothes had strong reasons for so doing, being, indeed, no other than the famous robber Cartouche, then hard pressed by the myrmidons of justice. Ludovic Demarny, a young man whom we now beg to introduce to our readers, might have no suspicion of being the subject of a ruse similar to that of Cartouche, and indeed could not have any good grounds for such a suspicion, when his cousin, Armand Demarny, came to him one morning, and proposed not only to change dresses, but to change stations in the world with his relative. This proposition was truly somewhat surprising, all circumstances considered. The two cousins were of provincial origin, had been friends from boyhood, and, left in youth without much means, had both come to Paris to push their way in the busy world. They had then been separated in a great measure by differences in tastes and habits. Ludovic had a strong tendency to poetry, and had become a litterateur, dwelling in obscurity and poverty, yet enjoying tranquillity in the dream-land of imagination. Armand, on the contrary, though not possessed of greater personal advantages than his cousin, had found his way into the brilliant circles of fashion; and having no means of his own to maintain his position there, followed the not uncommon plan of using the means of others for that purpose. In short, he lived upon credit, becoming a willing debtor to all tradesmen and money-lenders who, dazzled by his elegant aspect, residence, equipage, and companions, were imprudent enough to yield to his assaults on their purses. On the morning on which Armand called on his cousin Ludovic, as already mentioned, the poetical dreamer was in a state of despondency not unusual with those pursuing a precarious literary existence. Wearied out by continual drafts upon his brain, some of them not very productive, he felt in a mood to desert the muse altogether, and resign the hopes of fame and wealth with which she had so long flattered him. “Ah!” said he, as Armand entered his humble apartment," you are a happy fellow! You have addressed yourself not to the illusions, but to the realities of life. You have given to your young years their true answered Armand; "but wherefore cannot you be so as well as I? If you have hitherto gone astray in pursuit of chimeras, keeping yourself in obscure penury, it is not yet too late to strike into a better path. You have but to follow me, and I will show to you the route, strewn with gaieties and delights." The young fashionable then drew a brilliant picture of his ordinary routine of existence, expatiating with tempting unction on the pleasures of the opera, on his blood-horses and dashing barouche, on his little suppers, and all the other sources of amusement open You must now exchange your candle for a " Davy," as the naked light is unsafe in these parts, and walk this way to see the working of the pillars; but you must crawl, for you are too tall for these passages, which do not inconvenience the short colliers to any serious degree. Now, we are at the pillar-workings. I perceive you perspire most abundantly; so, indeed, do I. This is a most suffocating atmosphere. You have merely an ocular confirmation of the correctness of the above description of the mode of excavating the pillars. Well, then, we will return. Now, you are again able to stand nearly erect. You may notice, in the course of your return, the fre-employment." "Yes, I am happy, perfectly happy," quent appearance of numerous peculiar semicircularly concentric masses at the sides of the passages. These are called, technically," metal rigs." They are portions of the floor of the mine, forced up by the enormous pressure of superincumbent matter. These "metal rigs" or "creeps" may be often observed in incipient development, and in all the stages of commencing and perfect creep. The perfect creep is that state in which the pressure has been sufficient actually to force up the floor against the roof of the mine. In such cases, a passage must be cut through at a great expense, if the spot is one necessary to be opened for the transit of coal. This creep goes on rapidly in the "waste" or deserted pillar-workings, and where the to the man of fashion. "But how do you manage to have all these pleasures at command, scant of money as you are?" asked the coolly; "I run in debt." Armand then laid bare to studious cousin. "By means of credit," said the other his cousin all the arts of a needy man of fashion, throwing over the subject such a glare and glitter, that it seemed as if the system of tricking creditors formed a source of perpetual amusement to him, rather than an obstacle in his path. "Are you astonished at all this?" said the dandy at the close of his revelations "how deplorably ignorant you are of life! You are writing a comedy, you say; by what means will you ever be enabled to paint the real manners of society? You live like a hermit, when you ought to be in the midst of the bustle of life, picking up such information and experience as may, when you retreat once more to your study, enable you to command that literary success which you now long for in vain." The student was completely taken with the artful pictures and specious reasoning of his cousin. “You are in the right," cried he to Armand; "you have pointed out the only certain road to fame and fortune." "Weil," said Armand, "since you seem satisfied of this, I will show you that I am not one of those who content themselves with giving counsel to a friend, leaving him to find out for himself the means of following it. I will remove all difficulties from your way at once. Take my place in society; take my chambers, my dresses, my horses-every thing, in short, which I possess. My debts you cannot be compelled to pay. In your new position you may study men and manners with every advantage; and when you are satisfied, say so, and quit the busy world at once. As for me, though unsated with the delights of society, I have fatigued my system somewhat, and my physicians order quiet and repose. I shall take your place in these apartments, and assume your lonely habits. What say you?" The prospect of the proposed change was too tempting not to gratify the peaceful and well-disposed Ludovic Demarny; and in a short time he was installed in his cousin's well-furnished apartments, with the portals of society opened to him by numerous introductions. Young and enthusiastic, he enjoyed in a high degree the alteration in his course of life. All was new to him, and he feasted eyes and ears on a banquet of luscious sweets. On the other hand, Armand Demarny assumed not less readily the new part laid out for him. And now it is necessary that we should give a hint of his Cartouche-like purpose in proposing this scheme of metamorphosis to his innocent and unconscious cousin Ludovic. At Havre-de-Grace, as Armand had learned just before visiting Ludovic, a vessel was expected immediately to land, bringing across the Atlantic a certain elderly gentleman named M. Rollandeau, and his young and lovely daughter Eugenie. Now, M. Rollandeau was the uncle of the cousins Demarny, and was possessed of great wealth, which he had made up his mind to bestow, along with the hand of his daughter, upon whichever of the cousins seemed most worthy of the honour. The artful Armand had not only learned these circumstances, but had also ascertained so much of the character of the merchant, as to adopt the impression that the studious and quiet cousin would be far more likely to please the prudent and monied merchant than the fashionable and extravagant man of the world. Hence the proposal for exchanging characters with the really quiet student. M. Rollandeau arrived in due time in Paris, and his first visit was one paid to the now fashionable Ludovic, under pretence of purchasing one of his horses. When shown in, the old merchant found the young man reclining, in an elegant morning dress, on a magnificent ottoman, with a long Turkish pipe at his lips. "Sell to you that splendid horse!" cried Ludovic, when the fictitious proposal was made to him, "my good old soul, don't think of it. Sell that unmatchable creature which won the last race at Chambery! I should not take treble what you offer. So good morning; excuse me; I must go and prepare for the steeple-chase at Bery." With these words the newborn dandy bowed out his visiter with great nonchalance. The uncle shook his head, as he noticed two or three discontented-looking persons waiting the outcoming of the young dandy. They were evidently creditors, and the old man knew not for whom they really waited. To that artful gentleman M. Rollandeau next betook himself, and found Armand in perfect readiness for the visit. The chamber in which he sat was a peaceful and modest one on the third floor. The pen was in the hand of the occupant, and books lay thickly strewn around him. Very different was the look of the place from the extravagant glitter that surrounded Ludovic, and here no angry creditors frowned around the approach. M. Rollandeau, according to his plan, introduced himself as a man of business. "I have been informed, sir, that, though a young gentleman of some expectations, you are in want of money. I can command, should we form a proper arrangement, a sum of ten thousand francs." Armand could not help pricking up his ears at this announcement, but he repressed the longings of old habits, and answered meekly," Ah, sir, you are doubtless labouring under a mistake. Since lending money is your business, you must have been directed to Ludovic Demarny, and not to Armand. cousins, but have nothing else in common but the name. Yes, sir, you have been misinformed. Armand Demarny is philosopher enough to be contented with little, and has nothing to do with money-changers; but go to Ludovic, and the man of fashion will be We are delighted to see you, and will doubtless soon treat with you." When the prudent merchant had concluded his first visits to the two cousins, it may be supposed that poor Ludovic, when weighed in the scales with his cousin Armand, was found wanting. But M. Rollandeau was resolved not to peril his girl's happiness lightly. And, besides, Eugenie had a mind of her own, and was not disposed to give away her hand to any one without previously obtaining some knowledge of the party. Her father found it comparatively easy to gratify her wishes with respect to the accessible Ludovic, and even Armand was also seen by her. And now it was that fortune took the side of the simple Ludovic against his artful cousin, though the former laboured under the disadvantage of not knowing the parties with whom he had to deal. Armand, sustaining the part which he had at first assumed before her father, appeared to Eugenie almost repulsively cold and reserved. Esteem for his supposed learning was all that she could accord to him. For Ludovic, who had been really struck with her beauty on first beholding her, and who lost some of his fashionable affectation in the sincerity of the feeling, Eugenie felt a warmer sentiment. She was captivated, in truth, in no slight degree by his appearance, manners, and language. The old merchant, who watched all these things with an attentive eye, at last made up his mind, and sent for the two cousins. His disclosure of himself The author of the Wallet occasionally goes beyond | minent features are calculated to remind them so the satirical, and presents us with a piece of cynical vividly of the "north countrie," we cordially recomphilosophy. From a lengthened poem in this vein, mend the " Gaberlunzie's Wallet" to their attention. the subjoined verses may be given, chiefly to indicate, in justice to the writer, the varied character of the materials which he presents to his readers. THE BEST O' FOLK ARE NEVER MISS'D. Think muckle o' himsell, An' pass thro' death's dark portal, See the young man lay in the grave Frae death's untimely blow, He thinks his crape-clad neighbours round, NOTES OF A RESIDENCE IN THE BUSH. FARM NEAR MELBOURNE-CONCLUSION. OUR unfortunate journey from the bush station was at length brought to a close. After remaining two days in Melbourne, to purchase provisions and some articles of furniture, we proceeded to the farm which we had reason to expect would be our future home. I liked its appearance very much; it was agricultural, with ten acres already in crop, and about thirty cleared. The soil was rich and productive, and immediately we got a garden fenced in, and soon had a supply of vegetables. To complete the establishment, we procured some cows from the station, these animals being reckoned my private property. The chief drawback to our comfort was the want of a house, and we were compelled to live in a tent till one could be prepared for our reception. I was assisted in the domestic arrangements by an aged but willing and active woman, whom we had engaged as servant. Our neighbours round called upon us; but all were men, and I saw no ladies while at the farm for a period of eight months. startled both in seeming, but Ludovic only in reality. And so on. But we greatly prefer our author in his ary, when the heat became almost insupportable, the Yet Armand was, ere long, startled too. "I have long What were the feelings of the defeated imitator of Cartouche during the delivery of this decision? They were most galling; yet what remedy could he adopt? To announce that he himself, and not Ludovic, was the experienced man of the world, would have been to expose his trickery, and to enrage the uncle at the attempted deception. Armand was compelled to bear his mortification in silence; and who will not admit that he met a deserved fate, in having his artifice thus made the means of ruining his own prospects? "THE GABERLUNZIE'S WALLET." THREE or four additional numbers of this monthly publication have made their appearance, since, with the two earliest in the series before us, we spoke of it as a clever and original work, containing faithful though homely sketches of rural and humble life in Scotland, referring to past and present times.* The author appears to possess a keen perception of the feelings and modes of expression of that little regarded class of society whom he depicts; and he has certainly the merit-a rare thing among modern versifiers-of being no imitator of the style and thoughts of predecessors who have won the world's applause. There is, for example, no small degree of imaginativeness and feeling in the following verses, taken at random from the melange of prose and poetry in the late numbers : THE FIRST GREY HAIR. * Menzies, Edinburgh; Tilt and Bogue, London. more kindly humour. It sits naturally upon him, THE GREY HILL PLAID. Yet love here lowes wi' purer flame What tho' we're few upon the muir, And to the weary wanderin' puir And twa young hearts, when beating close, Then hey the plaid the grey hill plaid, Dear, dear, to every mountain maid All went on well with us till the month of Februthermometer in our tent being at 110 degrees almost every day, and sometimes 120. It was like living in an oven. All around, the country was parched up to a degree which I am unable to describe. Every thing was as dry as tinder; and while in this state, some shepherds either heedlessly or maliciously set the grass on fire a few miles from our farm, and it came down upon us in a tremendous flame several miles in breadth. Long before I could see it from the tents, I heard the crackling and falling of trees. My husband was in town, also our ploughman with the dray; and we had only one man at the farm, as little work could be done at this season. This man told me he had seen the fire, and that it was coming down as fast as he could walk, and would be upon us in half an hour, when all our tents, &c., would be burned. For a moment I stood in despair, not knowing what to do. I then thought our only chance of safety would be to burn a circle round the tents. I sent the children to the next farm with old Mrs Douglas, our ploughman's wife. Nanny Douglas, a strong active girl, was with us; so we lighted a circle round the tent I occupied, which was the most valuable. We procured branches, and kept beating the flames, to keep them from burning more than a space several yards broad, that the flames might not pass over; but before we had finished the burning, Nanny, who was naturally anxious about her own property, began to burn round her own tent. The fire was too strong for her to keep it down A single sample of the finer prose passages may be alone, so I saw her tent catch fire at the back, while quoted. MUSIC. she was busy beating out the flames in front. I ran "All nature acknowledges the influence of music; man bends before its power; and even the inferior animals own its dominion. The deep-toned organ, as it peals through the groined and richly-fretted arches of the lofty cathedral, wafts the soul to heaven on the wings of melody, and elevates the devotional feeling of the sincere worshipper. The clear tinkle of the solitary church-bell in the Sabbath morn, as it echoes among the hills, is felt and responded to by the wellattuned hearts of those who, impressed with its old and sacred associations, repair, at its summons, from their distant homes, to hold sweet converse with their God, in the same church where their forefathers often had met together in the olden time. The sad sound of the pibroch deepens the gloom of the Highland glen. The muffled drum hushes to stillness the noisy voice of the crowded street through which passes the funeral procession of the poor soldier. The blind vocalist, whose voice awakens the dull and silent lane at nightfall, like a spirit wailing among the habitations of the dead, leads after him, in the cold winter time, groups of One of our neighbours, who lived several miles from merry little creatures, who, chained by the ear, follow us, knowing the fire must be near our farm, and my him through half the town, regardless of the punish-husband not at home, kindly rode over to see if he ment that awaits them on their return home from their nocturnal perambulations. The child, as he lisps and prattles on his nurse's knee, leaps bounding to a lively air, or is hushed asleep by a gentle lullaby. Old frail wrecks of humanity, whose dancing days have long since passed away, will beat time with their staff to the sound of the fiddle. Nations have been conquered, battles have been won, by the influence of music ; and many a wounded soldier has shed his last sigh, and fallen asleep in the arms of death, amid dreams of home and friends conjured up by a melody associated with 'Life's morning march, when his bosom was young."" Feeling assured that Scotsmen resident in England will be delighted with a periodical whose more pro could assist us. I was glad to see him, as I felt very anxious about my husband, not knowing what might befall him upon his return, as it was now near sun-down, and the fire very near the road he had to travel. Our kind neighbour offered to go to meet him if I could give him a horse, which we soon did, as I had had them tied in a safe place on the other side of from home, and pointed out a road by which they the creek. He fortunately met the dray not very far might still get home ere the fire reached it. Had they been ten minutes later, they could not have got home that night, the fire burned so fiercely, and the sat up all night watching the fire in the woods, which, horses were afraid of it. My husband and the men owing to the darkness, was a most splendid sight, looking like a large town highly illuminated. Next day the conflagration returned upon us in another direction; but we were better prepared for it, and it was kept back by beating it out with branches. All the gentlemen and servants from our farm, and our neighbours, were employed nearly all day in beating it out, and it was again watched all night. This fire did much damage to several farms in our neighbourhood, in burning down crops and fences; it burned for nearly a week, and keeping it down was very fatiguing work, owing to the extreme heat of the weather. But, fortunately for the country, we had some very heavy rain, otherwise I am sure we should have had no food left for our cattle, the pasture being nearly all burned. It was astonishing how soon the country looked green again. After two nights of heavy rain, the grass began to spring afresh. spectable situation that offered, and then look out This fire was our crowning misfortune; for though it did little damage to the property, it led to personal illness, against which it was not easy to bear up. I trial, as the delightful and healthful climate compenMost people like Port Philip after giving it a fair caught a violent cold from being overheated while put- sates for many disagreeables which one has not been ting out the fire round our tent; Nanny, also, was ill, accustomed to. The great thing is to get over the and unable to do any work for three weeks. Notwith-first feeling of surprise and disgust. Many find it standing all my care, I could not get rid of my com- impossible to do so, and return home to disgust others plaint, as the rains had set in, and our tents, clothes, with their story; but I never yet met one who said, and beds, were constantly wet. To increase my dis- after being in the colony two years, that he would tress, I was seized one night with asthma, which in- wish to leave it to return home, except for a visit. creased every day. In this exigency my husband had And this, certainly, notwithstanding what I suffered, a temporary hut put up for me, which would keep out is my own feeling towards the country. the wet. It was put up in a week; and although not quite dry, we were very glad to get into it. It was made of young trees or saplings, sunk about a foot in the ground, and nailed at the top to a frame of wood. The saplings were placed quite close, and the walls were then plastered outside and in with mud, and washed over with lime. The roof was of broad paling, and we were very comfortable. Our hut was twenty feet by twelve; but I had a division of canvass put up in the middle for a sick daughter of Mrs Douglas, who had come to try if country air would benefit her. After being three weeks with us, she was advised by our medical attendant to return to the town, where she died in a few days. I was now very ill, and could not lie in bed with asthma and cough, and my husband was also suffering severely from the effects of cold. Things were now in such a state that it was found impossible to go on with the farm, which we therefore let; and my husband being so fortunate as to get an office under government, we removed to Melbourne. At first, we could not find a house in Melbourne except a new one, and we were afraid to live in it. We were obliged to go to an inn, intending to look about for another house, but I was laid up there for three weeks with a very severe attack, from which I was not expected to re cover. We were exceedingly anxious now to send the children home to my mother, as I was told if I had many such attacks I could not live. I felt this myself; but we could not make up our minds about parting with the children, although we knew that Port Philip was a sad place for children to be left without a mother to watch over them; but, as I got stronger, I could not bear the idea of parting with them, and determined to take great care of myself. We moved to our new house because we could not find another, but it was very damp. I had a threatening of my old complaint, and my husband insisted on my leaving it immediately. He found another very comfortable one, and I continued pretty well in it for two months. I had only a few slight illnesses; but I durst not go out if the weather was at all damp. I had great difficulty in getting a servant when we came to town; indeed, I was without one for some weeks. At last I got a little girl of twelve years of age, till I could hear of a woman-servant. This little girl would not come for less than seven shillings a-week, and instead of being any assistance to me, was a great plague. She was always leading the children into mischief; and whenever I wanted my servant to work, I had to go and bring her home from a game of romps with some neighbouring children. I sent her home at the end of the week with her seven shillings, well pleased to get quit of her; and that very day an Irishwoman came to the door, asking me if I required a servant. She had landed from an emigrant ship three days before. I was delighted to see her, and bade her come in and I would try her. She turned out an honest well-behaved girl, but very slow and very dirty; her wages were twenty pounds a-year. Several ships arrived soon after this with emigrants, and servants began to find great difficulty in getting situations; they were to be seen going about the streets inquiring of every one if they wanted servants. Of course the wages came quickly down; men were now to be hired for twenty and twenty-five pounds a-year, and women from twelve to fifteen. One man I knew, who a month before would not hire under seventy pounds, said he would now be glad of a situation at twentyfive, which he could not get. The servants seemed astonished at the sudden change of things, for which they were not at all prepared. From compassion, we allowed a number of female emigrants to live in a detached kitchen we had, until they could find situations as servants. They had come lately from Scotland, had little or no money, and lodgings were very high in price. These girls had come out with most magnificent notions, and were sadly disappointed when they found that situations were so difficult to be procured. As is often the case, they out-stood their market; for a few days they were determined to take nothing less than twenty pounds; but I advised them to take at once any re To conclude these rough notes: I now commenced a school in Melbourne, and had great encouragement to go on with it, having been offered a number of boarders, indeed more than I could have taken charge of. After a short trial, I was unpleasingly reminded that my health was too uncertain to attempt carrying my plans into execution, otherwise all would have been well. Misfortunes did not fall singly. We had received at this time a severe and unexpected pecuniary disappointment from home, which, I am ashamed to say, notwithstanding the fine light air of Port Philip, made me very ill. My husband insisted on my going home to my mother with the children, until his affairs were arranged; and I may consider myself very happy in having such a home to go to. Had I not been leaving my husband behind me in bad health, I could almost have considered our misfortunes a blessing, as it gave me the unspeakable delight of again seeing my mother-a happiness I had for some time ceased to hope I should ever enjoy, and which had been my only serious regret after leaving home. I left Melbourne on the 10th September 1841, with the intention of returning some time next year; but that must be determined by my health and other circumstances. OCCASIONAL NOTES. THE manner in which young calves are abused on Captain B, one very sultry day, overtook upon applied to a man on the road to assist him in placing his poor charge in the most comfortable state possible, to endure the remainder of his journey. Nothing more, we presume, need be said of the agony which calves must necessarily suffer in travelling for hours together in carts with the head downwards. On whatever plea of convenience or economy, it should be instantly checked, and some more humane method of carting the animals to market adopted. CIGARS. these few years; there is, to all appearance, not a The cigar nuisance has wonderfully abated within tenth of the number of smokers there was some time cigar-smoking on the head. Having descended to ago, and those who continue the practice seem to belong to inferior stations. Imitation has knocked been abandoned, as a matter of course, by those of shop lads, and all sorts of apers of gentility, it has higher rank. From whatever cause, we are glad that this abomination is getting turned out of respectable society. BIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES. MADAME CAMPAN. PERHAPS there never was any age so vicious that it did not produce estimable characters. French society, in the latter part of the last century, was remarkably corrupt, in the upper circles particularly; and the women did not, as a body, form an exception. But even in the centre of a system of profligacy-the court there were isolated cases of a purity above all suspicion. The subject of this notice, Jeanne Louise Henriette Genet, was born in 1752, of a noble family. Her father, M. Genet, first secretary to the minister of foreign affairs in the court of Louis XV., was a man of talent and virtue, possessing and professing religious feelings, and holding himself clear of surrounding corruptions of every kind. Her mother was likewise a person of superior endowments. M. Genet superintended the education of his daughter, to whom he imparted views as to the nurture of youth much in advance of his age. Though reared in retirement, the fame of the extraordinary intelligence of Mademoiselle Genet did not fail to reach the court, and, while she was yet in her fifteenth year, she was offered the situation of lectrice, or reader, to Mesdames, the sisters of the reigning monarch (Louis XV). Her parents were unwilling that she should take this post, for they dreaded the difficulties and dangers attending it; but having many children, and inadequate means of providing for them, they at length allowed herthough not without first impressing her with many an earnest counsel and warning-to enter the service of the princesses. Marie Antoinette, on being united, in 1770, to much upon the uncongenial society of her husband's the dauphin, afterwards Louis XVI., was thrown grand-aunts, for there was almost no other company to which she could with safety resort in such a scene of frivolity. Here the young dauphiness became acquainted with Mademoiselle Genet. Similarity of age, as well as of tastes and talents, made them almost immediately friends, as far as disparity of rank perried to M. Campan, private secretary to the dauphi mitted. Not long after, the young lectrice was marness, who gave her on this occasion a dowry of five hundred livres per annum, and constituted her her own first woman of the bed-chamber, allowing her at the same time to serve Mesdames as formerly. When the dauphiness became queen, Madame Campan, as first woman of her bedchamber, was a distinguished court figure. The former friendship still subsisted. Madame Campan, in her Memoirs, has given us a striking picture of the private life of her royal mistress, whom she has effectually cleared from many scandalous stories raised against her by her enemies. The elaborate and wearisome etiquette to which the royal family of France was subjected, has also met with a faithful chronicler in the subject of our notice. During the terrible scenes connected with the Revolution, Madame Campan remained constantly attached to her unfortunate mistress, as long as she was allowed to do so. During the awful night of the 10th of August (1792), when the populace attacked the Tuilleries, with the most deadly designs against the royal family and all connected with it, Madame Campan only escaped destruction by leaping from a high window and taking refuge in a cellar, where she lay some time concealed beneath a small vat. During the miserable imprisonment of the royal family, Madame Campan thrice threw herself at the feet of the republican mayor, Petion, to petition for permission to attend the queen, although well knowing the danger to which she would subject herself by so doing. Her claim was each time rejected with insult. A report has been propagated that she was the person who betrayed the royal family at the period of its flight to Varennes; but there is not the least ground for this report, which must have been owing to royalist jealousy; for Madame Campan, though devotedly attached to Marie Antoinette, was somewhat of a liberal in her own sentiments, and her nearest relations were rather conspicuous on the same side. During the reign of extreme Jacobinism, she had the honour of being denounced by Robespierre, and she was eagerly sought after by his myrmidons; but she was fortunate enough to avoid falling into their hands. A month after the fall of that wretched man, she found herself possessed of an assignat for five hundred francs, |