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jealous eye, and his dominion in this country as by relieving them from some of the grievous burdens no means secure, naturally laid upon them such imposed by his father. restrictions as would most tend to lower their pride It is generally imagined, though we think without and degrade that noble activity of mind and body sufficient reason, that the punishment, in case of which might be productive of formidable opposition disobedience against this law, was no less than death. to the safety of his throne : this view is suggested by We are inclined to suppose, however, that even in Polydore Vergil, who, upon this subject, writes, “ In those days of unjust laws and severe exaction, the order that he might convert the native ferocity of the life of a human being was not sacrificed for transpeople into indolence and sloth, he deprived them of gressing a mere matter of police, where no actual their arms, and ordained that each head of a family moral offence was committed, either against God or should retire to rest about eight o'clock in the even- man. There is no instance on record which would ing, having raked the ashes over his fire: and that for lead us to conclude that William ever enforced the this purpose a sign should be made through every observance of this custom by so wanton a disregard · village, which is even now preserved, and called in of the life of a fellow creature, as stains the memory the Norman Coverfeu.

of an equally celebrated man, upon an occasion of Others, again, regard it as a mark of infamy, and similar disobedience. Though not immediately con: as a proof of the slavery in which William held the nected with our subject, we cannot refrain from conquered English. The poet, Thomson, seems to relating the circumstance. The severe Frederick, have adopted this opinion, when he wrote

king of Prussia, intending to make an important The shivering wretches, at the Curfew sound, movement during the night, gave orders that by Dejected, sunk into their sordid beds,

eight o'clock all the lights in the camp should be And through the mournful gloom of ancient times put out, on pain of death. The moment that the Mused sad, or dreamt of better.

time was past, he walked out to see whether his That it was not a badge of infamy, is, however, evi- orders were obeyed. He found a light in the tent dent, from the fact, that the law was of equal obliga- of a Captain Zeitern, which he entered just as the tion upon the Norman nobles of the court and upon and instantly fell on his knees to entreat his mercy;

officer was folding up a letter. Zeitern knew him, the Saxon peasantry. The same argument might be adduced to show that it cannot justly be consi- The king asked to whom he had been writing: he said dered as a mark of slavery, since the high-spirited it was a letter to his wife, whom he tenderly loved, and and chivalrous nobility which accompanied William that he had retained the candle for a few minutes in his expedition against Britain, each of whom was beyond the time, to finish it. The king ordered him but too ready to exalt his own pretensions to equality to rise, and write one line more, which he should if not to superiority over their brave and adventurous dictate. This line was to inform his wife, without but illegitimate leader, would have felt but little any explanation, that by such an hour the next day inclination to submit to any encroachment upon

he would be a dead man. The letter was then sealed their hours of pleasure, or any derogation from the and despatched, as it had been intended, and the next uncorrupted spirit of freedom of a knight of Nor- day the officer was executed. mandy. In further proof that this custom cannot justly be considered as evidence of an unworthy state of subjection, is the fact, that the obligation to extinguish fires and lights at a certain hour was imposed upon his subjects by David the First, king of Scotland, in his Leges Burgorum, and in this case no one ever imagined that it conveyed any sign of infamy or servitude. Voltaire, in his Universal History, ridicules the notion of its being a badge of degradation. “The law," he says, “ far from being tyrannical, was only an ancient police, established in almost all the towns of the north, and which had been long preserved in the convents.” He adds this reason for it, “ That the houses were all built of wood, and the fear of fire was one of the most important objects of general police."

This is, perhaps, the most rational and satisfactory mode of accounting for the institution of a practice

Annexed is a representation of the instrument so singular ; for the fearful devastation made by fire formerly used for the purpose of extinguishing fires,

R. H. F. in great towns, at that period, is well authenticated. and from thence called a Curfew. Moscow generally suffered severely at least once in twenty years ; and Fitzstephen says, that “the only History makes us some amends for the shortness of life. pests of London are the immoderate potations of fools,

-SKELTON. and the continual fires," Alas! that while the progress of the arts and civilization has secured us in The greatest friend of truth is time, her greatest enemy a great measure from the latter, the spread of religious is prejudice, and her constant companion is humility.-

Colton. information, and the better knowledge of our christian duties, should have conduced so little to the diminu- CARDINAL Pool was once told of one, who was very tion of the former.

curious in keeping of his beard, and that the trimming of The custom of ringing the eight o'clock, or Curfew, it cost him two ducats every month; "If so," said Pool, bell, is still kept up, or was till lately, in many towns

“his beard will shortly be more worth than his head."'

Camden's Remains. in England, though the obligation it was intended to enforce, viz., the extinguishing the fires, &c., and the

LONDON: pains and penalties consequent upon the transgression JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND. of the law, were abolished in the year 1110, by Henry PUBLISHED IN WEEKLY NUMBERS, PRICE ONE Penny, and IN MONTHLY PARTS the First, who wished to conciliate his subjects, by

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The Tunny-fishery was attended to with great carn The common Tunny (Thynnus vulgaris,) is a large by the ancients, and still employs a vast number of fish belonging to the mackerel tribe: although but hands in different parts of the Mediterranean, chiefly little known in England, it is an object of considerable in Catalonia, Provence, Liguria, Sardinia, and, as we importance to many of the nations bordering on the have already mentioned, Sicily. Mediterranean; to none more so, perhaps, than the

The Tunnies are taken in two ways. In the first Sicilians. The engraving at the head of this article case, when a sentinel, posted on an elevated spot, represents one of the various methods of taking this has made a signal that the fish are in view, and has fish, employed by that nation; it is called the fishery pointed out the quarter from which they are coming, à la Thonnaire. The Tunnies, like the mackerel, a number of boats put to sea under the command of appear in great shoals

, or banks, which are believed a leader, and arrange themselves in a curve, and to enter the Mediterranean at the beginning of April, joining their nets form an enclosure, which alarms for the purpose of depositing their spawn; but it is the Tunnies, and gradually drives them into closer very likely, that instead of coming from any great ranks: they still continue to add fresh nets, condistance, they merely rise from the deeper parts of tinually driving the fish towards the shore. When that sea, in order to reach the shoal water, that the

they have reached water only a few fathoms in depth, spawn, or ova, may be placed within the influence of they cast their last and largest net, which has a kind the sun's rays. The appearance of the mackerel is of pocket or long bag attached to it; this they draw said to indicate the approach of the Tunnies, these towards the land, and with it they bring all the fish. last being voracious fish, and devouring great quan- The small ones are then taken out with the hands, tities of their smaller brethren.

and the larger are landed after they are despatched with boat-hooks. This mode of fishing, which is employed on the coast of Languedoc, produces sometimes at a single take as much as fifteen ton weight of fish.

The second mode is that represented in the engraving with nets, called by the Italians tonnaro. These are much more complicated; Brydone calls the whole apparatus a kind of aquatic castle, constructed at great cost,-a double row of large long nets, supported in an upright position by means of corks fastened to their upper edge, and by lead weights and stones at the lower, are fixed by anchors

in such a manner as to form an enclosure parallel to At the time when these fish make their periodical the shore for many hundred fathoms, sometimes an appearance, the strongest and the boldest precede Italian mile in length, and divided into many chamtheir companions at distances determined by their bers by transverse nets, and open on the land-side greater vigour or courage. The form assumed by a by a sort of door c. The Tunnies, who always swim shoal of Tunnies, is that of a long triangle, the weaker fish bringing up the rear. The approach of this living mass is perceived at a considerable distance,

A 5 from the noise which accompanies their rapid movements, for the tail of the Tunny is large and powerful, and striking forcibly and rapidly against the water, produces a sound which can be heard at a great way off. “This murmuring noise, which is heard from afar, is echoed from rock to rock, and repeated from shore to shore, resembling that dull but imposing sound, which during a deceitful calm on a burning summer's day, announces the approach of a hurricane."

close to the shore, pass between it and the line of In spite, however, of their number, their strength, nets. Arrived at the end of this, they meet with a and their swiftness, a sudden noise will often arrest large net stretched across, which closes the passage, the whole shoal in the middle of their course, or and obliges them to enter the tonnuro by the openings even the unexpected appearance of any bright object. which are practicable; when they have once entered If we may believe the reasoning of Pliny, the Roman they are driven onward in various ways from chamnaturalist, who speaking of the Tunny, says, "in the ber to chamber, till they reach the last, which has spring, the Tunnies pass in troops, composed of been named the chamber of death. A horizontal numerous individuals, from the Mediterranean into net here forms a kind of platform, which a great the Euxine or the Black Sea, and in the strait which number of sailors, who have asembled in their boats, separates Europe from Asia, a rock of dazzling raise up in such a manner as to lift up the fishes at whiteness, and of great elevation, rises near Chalce- the same time nearly to the surface. It is now that the dony, on the Asiatic shore; and the sudden appear-action commences, and blows are dealt in all direcance of this rock, terrifies the Tunnies to such an tions with boat-hooks, and weapons of that descripextent, as to force them to alter their course, and tion; the spectacle becomes quite imposing, and suddenly turn towards the Cape of Byzantium, attracts a great number of spectators, and it forms opposite the Chalcedonian shore; and this forced at the same time one of the principal amusements of direction of the course of these fish, causes the the rich Sicilians, and one of the chief branches of fishery to be very abundant near the Cape of Byzan- the commerce of the island. tium." The usual size of this fish is from two to As the Tunnies enter the nets in great numbers, three feet in length; they are at times, however, the first endeavour of the fishermen is to drive them taken as long as ten feet. Aristotle mentions an old through the openings D D D of the chambers 1 2 3, Tunny whieh weighed upwards of two hundred till the chamber 1 is sufficiently full of fish; the weight.






opening to this chamber at D is then closed, by a net acting like a door, and the fish confined; in this manner the chambers 2 and 3, and afterwards 4 and 5, are filled. The opening at c is then also closed, and the doors separating the different chambers being lifted, the fish are driven as before noticed into B, the chamber of death, which is surrounded by the boats of the fishermen.

The flesh of the Tunny, when uncooked, bears a close resemblance to beef. You would scarcely believe," says Cetti, “ the different tastes of the various parts of the Tunny; at each part of the body, and at various depths from the surface, it varies; here it is like veal, there pork. The Sardinian fishermen employ a host of words, which the memory can sca ely retain, to distinguish these different morsels. The flesh of the belly, which is the most delicious, is called sorra, and costs twice as much as the netta, which is flesh of the second quality.” Like all the Mackerel tribes, the Tunny remains fresh and good for a few hours only after it is taken; if the least tainted it is not only unwholesome, but even a dangerous kind of food.

For what is food given? To enable us to carry on the necessary business of life, and that our support may be such as our work requires. This is the use of food. Man eats and drinks that he may work, therefore, the idle man forfeits his right to his daily bread; and the apostle lays down a rule both just and natural, that “if any man will not work, neither shall he eat:" but no sooner do we fall into abuse and excess, than we are sure to suffer for it in mind and in body, either with sickness, or ill temper, or vicious inclinations, or with all of them at once. Man is enabled to work by eating what is sufficient, he is hindered from working, and becomes heavy, idle, and stupid, if he take too much. As to the bodily distempers that are occasioned by excess, there is no end of them.-JONES of Nayland.

And with his finger on the bounds of space
Marked out each planet's everlasting race.
How many thousand ages from thy birth

Thou slept'st in darkness, it were vain to ask ;
Till Egypt's sons upheaved thee from the earth,

And year by year pursued their patient task,
Till thou wert carved and decorated thus,
Worthy to be a king's sarcophagus.
What time Elijah to the skies ascended,

Or David reigned in holy Palestine,
Some ancient Theban monarch was extended

Beneath the lid of this emblazoned shrine,
And to that subterranean palace borne
Which toiling ages in the rock had worn.
Thebes from her hundred portals filled the plain

To see the car on which thou wert upheld.
What funeral pomps extended in thy train !

What banners waved ! what mighty music swellid, As armies, priests, and crowds bewailed in chorus, Their King, their God, their Serapis, their Orus. Thus to thy second quarry did they trust

Thee, and the lord of all the nations round; Grim King of Silence! monarch of the dust!

Embalmed, anointed, jewelled, sceptred, crowned, There did he lie in state; cold, stiff, and stark,

A leathern Pharaoh, grinning in the dark. Thus ages rolled; but their dissolving breath

Could only blacken that imprison'd thing,
Which wore a ghastly royalty in death,

As if it struggled still to be a king :
And each revolving century, like the last,
Just dropp'd its dust upon thy lid-and passed.
The Persian conqueror o'er Egypt poured

His devastating host,-a motley crew,
And steel-clad horsemen,--the barbarian horde,

Music and men of every sound and hue,
Priests, archers, eunuchs, concubines, and brutes,
Gongs, trumpets, cymbals, dulcimers, and lutes.
Then did the fierce Cambyses tear away

The ponderous rock that seal'd the sacred tomb:
Then did the slowly-penetrating ray

Redeem thee from long centuries of gloom; And lower'd torches Aash'd against thy side, As Asia's king thy blazon'd trophies eyed. Pluck'd from his grave with sacrilegious taunt,

The features of the royal corpse they scann'd: Dashing the diadem from his temples gaunt,

They tore the sceptre from his graspless hand, And on those fields where once his will was la's Left him for winds to wastc, and beasts to gnaw. Some pious Thebans, when the storm was past,

Upclosed the sepulchre with cunning skill; And nature, aiding their devotion, cast

Over its entrance a concealing rill ;
Then thy third darkness came, and thou didst sleep
Twenty-three centuries in silence deep.
But he, from whom nor pyramid nor sphynx

Can hide its secrecies, Belzoni, came,
From the tomb's mouth unclosed the granite links,

Gave thee again to light, and life, and fame,-
And brought thee from the sands and deserts forth,
To charm the “pallid children of the north."
Thou art in London, which, when thou wert new,

Was what Thebes is,-a wilderness and waste,
Where savage beasts more savage men pursue,

A scene by nature cursed, by man disgraced.
Now, 'tis the world's metropolis, the high
Queen of arms, learning, arts, and luxury.
Here, where I hold my hand, 'tis strange to think

What other hands, perchance, preceded mine :
Others have also stood beside thy brink

And vainly conn’d the moralizing line. Kings, sages, chiefs ! that touched this stone, like me, Where are ye now? Where all must shortly be. All is mutation : he within this stone

Was once the greatest monarch of the hour : His bones are dust, his very name unknown.

Go, learn from him the vanity of power ! Seek not the frame's corruption to control, But build a lasting mansion for thy soul ! N. P. S.

CERTAIN it is, that no man ever repented that he rose from the table sober, healthful, and with his wits about him; but very many have repented that they sat so long, till their bellies swelled, their health, and their virtue, and their God is departed from them.-JEREMY TAYLOR.

If I am regardless of sensual comforts and pleasures, if I am not greedy of dainties, if I sleep little, &c., the reason is, because I spend my time more delightfully, in things whose pleasure ends not in the moment of enjoyment, and that also make me hope for an everlasting reward. Besides, thou knowest that when a man sees that his affairs go ill, he is not generally very gay, and that on the contrary, they who think to succeed in their designs, whether in agriculture, traffic, or any other undertaking, are very contented in their minds. Now, dost thou believe, that from any thing whatsoever, there can proceed a satisfaction like that, of believing that we improve daily in virtue.-SOCRATES.

The following lines addressed to the Alabaster Sarcophagus,

supposed to be that of the King, called by Belzoni Psammuthis, but whose real name was Ousiree-Menepthah, mentioned in vol. iv., p. 154, of the Saturday Magazine, appeared in one of the public prints at the close of the year 1821. It may not be deemed an unworthy companion of the Lines to the Mummy, in page 72, and the Answer of the Mummy, in page 155, of our Fourth Volume.

Thou Alabaster relic! while I hold

My hand upon thy sculptured margin thrown, Let me recall the scenes thou couldst unfold,

Might'st thou relate the changes thou hast known; For thou wert primitive in thy formation, Launched from th' Almighty's hand at the creation. Yes-thou wert present when the stars and skies

And worlds unnumbered rolled into their places, When God from chaos bade the spheres arise,

And fixed the radiant sun upon its basis,

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in 1713 ; and, on the death of Sir Isaac Newton, in PHE FOUNDER OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM.

1727, th, high and honourablc office of President of the Royal Society was conferred on him. In the last illness of Queen Anne, he was called in to her assistance, and after the accession of King George the First to the throne, he was created a Baronet, being, it is said, the first physician upon whom that rank was bestowed.

Upon purchasing the manor of Chelsea, he gave the ground of the Garden to the Apothecaries' Company, appointing an annual rent of fifty plants from it to be presented to the Royal Society. The establishment of this garden was, indeed, as it well deserved to be, a peculiar object of his care and attention; having been of great advantage to the public, by assisting and encouraging the study of botany in this country; and, in order to perpetuate these benefits, he stipulated that it should for ever remain a botanic garden.

The severe winter of 1739 had nearly proved fatal to Sir Hans Sloane ; however, he recovered, but at length determined to retire from his profession, and to spend the remainder of his life upon his estate at Chelsea. He began, in February of the year 1742, to remove his library and museum from his house at Bloomsbury to that at Chelsea; but his retirement from London did not prevent him from being constantly visited by all persons of distinction, and sometimes by the Royal Family. At upwards of ninety years of age, though feeble, he was perfectly free from any distemper, enjoying his rational faculties, and all his senses except that of hearing, which had been impaired for several years. His decay was very gradual, indicating that he would one day drop like a fruit fully ripe ; and he would often say that he

“wondered he was so long alive; that for many years MONUMENT TO THE MEMORY OF SIR HANS SLOANE, IN he had been prepared for death, and was entirely

resigned to the will of God, either to take him from Tuis eminent Physician, the Founder of the Bri- this world, or continue him longer in it, as should tisu MUSEUM, was a native of Ireland, and was seem best to Him." He would sometimes say, “I born on the 16th of April, 1660. From his early shall leave you one day or other, when you do not youth, he evinced a strong inclination to the study expect it;" and indeed the illness which carried him of the works of nature. Having embraced the off was but of two or three days' continuance, and medical profession, he came to England to prosecute seemed rather the natural decay of a strong constihis favourite science of botany, in the Apothecaries' tution, than any real distemper. There appeared Garden, at Chelsea ; and here he became acquainted nothing in him to which old age is usually subject; with th celebrated John Ray, and that great and for, as he was free from bodily pain, his mind seemed good man, the Honourable Mr. Boyle. Having always composed, calm, and serene. He would availed himself of all the advantages which London sometimes reflect on his past life with satisfaction, afforded, he thought fit to travel into foreign coun- whilst he declared that, during his whole practice, he tries, and upon his return resolved to fix himself had never denied his advice to the poor, or had on in London, for the exercise of his profession. He any occasion neglected his patient. He was governor soon became acquainted with the principal members of almost every hospital in London, to each of of the Royal Society, and was elected a fellow in which, besides a donation of a hundred pounds 1685. He sailed with the Duke of Albemarle for during his life-time, he left a legacy at his death. the Island of Jamaica, in 1687, and returned to He was ever a benefactor to the poor, and formed England in July, 1689. He was, subsequently, the plan for bringing up the children in the Foundappointed physician to Christ's Hospital, and though ling Hospital. he constantly received the salary, he immediately He died on Thursday, January 11, 1753, and was returned it, for the use of the Hospital.

interred, on the 18th of that month, in the churchHe married, in 1695, Elizabeth, one of the yard of Chelsea, in the same vault with his lady, his daughters of John Langley, Esq., citizen and alder-funeral being attended by many persons of distincman of London. The year following, he published tion, and several fellows of the Royal Society. His his first work, A Catalogue of the Native Plants of funeral sermon was preached by Dr. Zachary Pearce, Jamaica, which was dedicated to the Royal Society. Lord Bishop of Bangor, according to the appointment

A Museum which he had for several years been of the deceased. A handsome monument, of which forming, was, in the year 1701, greatly enlarged by we give an Engraving, was erected to his memory in the accession of that of his friend, William Courteen, Chelsea church-yard. Esq., who had spent the greatest part of his time The person of Sir Hans Sloane was tall and graceand fortune in forming his collections, and which, ful ; his behaviour free, open, and engaging; and his at his death, he left to Dr. Sloane. Having dis- conversation cheerful, obliging, and communicative. charged the office of Secretary of the Royal Society He was easy of access to strangers, and always ready for twenty years, without any salary, he resigned it ) to admit the curious to a sight of his museum. His



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