OF POPULAR LITERATURE Science and Arts. CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. No. 185. SATURDAY, JULY 18, 1857. HINTS OF NATURE. A MAN who can take a hint well, ought to be held in esteem. He manifests a certain greatness as well as refinement of soul, when he infers neither more nor less than is meant, and acknowledges the courtesy of a friend's intention by prompt respect to his feelings. We feel at ease with such a man; we know that any topic of conversation mal-à-propos and unpleasant will be adroitly changed, or, if we are in a mood for solitude, our well-bred and sensible visitor will withdraw, without offence on either side. Intimacy becomes stronger and more congenial when the sin of boredom is judiciously avoided. It is an old story, that the extremes of a virtue are akin to faults. One may sometimes meet with a man of such exquisite, or rather morbid sensibility, as to be continually on the lookout for a veiled meaning, and awkwardly afraid of ruffling the feathers of his acquaintance. On the other hand, there are men so obtuse and spiritually purblind, that verbal intimations must be as plain as a stage-aside, and expression of countenance as unmistakable as a stage-hero's, or they will not be comprehended: in other words, there are some men who put us under the necessity of giving a broad hint, to which even the coarse-grained nature of our annoyer does not entirely reconcile us. Now, just as prodigality is not so mean as avarice, I think it is better to be thin-skinned than to wear a rhinoceros's hide. Possibly, I give too much importance, in my estimation of character, to this capacity of taking a hint, for I judge of power of mind, as well as refinement of feeling, by observing to what extent the faculty is possessed. With a view to this generalisation, however, it becomes expedient to extend our cognizance beyond hints social, to hints intellectual and imaginative. Your one-idead man gives the cut direct to any thought, sentiment, or fact not tending to his one idea. He does not love digression, to which the appreciation of hints must needs tend. His remarks may be forcible, and, in the main, just, but they will certainly become prosy and monotonous by virtue of being so rackingly relevant; the nail will be knocked on the head until it is broken short off. Even when the one idea is a good one, you feel that truth has got into the wrong hands. On the other hand, I apprehend that similes, metaphors, and tropes arise from the poet's or the orator's delicate perception of hints. Laboured conceits and figures of speech do not affect us pleasingly, because we see that the mind went in search of them, and did not wait for a hint. It is one thing to pluck flowers by the wayside, and another to go out of your way to pluck PRICE 1d. flowers. The latter occupation is perhaps innocent, but rather tiresome. The foregoing remarks probably make apparent the meaning I attach to the word 'hint;' but it may be as well to employ a few words in stating the meaning concisely. A hint,' then, signifies something from without, which diverts the mind from one train of thought, and suggests another. In the perception, the mind is chiefly passive; but it becomes active in the reflective process to which that perception gives rise. It is clearly not enough that thought be interrupted; it must be directed into a channel more or less divergent. I hardly know how to justify my saying so much of hints in general, since the idea I am bent on expressing relates to hints dropped by nature and taken by philosophers. If I were asked what mental property seemed to me of most service to a natural philosopher, my answer would be, capacity to take a hint; but as it is impolitic to ride a hobby too hard, I pause to make a large admission. Let it be granted, then, that logical acuteness, industrious research, fertility of comparison, ingenious analysis and synthesis, ready perception of consequences and conditions, and as many other such talents and accomplishments as occur to the reader, are essential to the development and enlargement of a science, and, in a subordinate degree, to the discovery of laws. The initial thought forming the basis of elaborate processes, and giving the clue to Baconian experiment, is generally due, I submit, to a hint given by nature herself accidentally, and often without emphasis. The qualities of mind necessary to enable a savant to build up and fortify a theory and systematise phenomena, are frequently found where the rarer power of appreciating a delicate suggestion exists in a much lower degree. By confounding the growth of a science with its beginning or birth, Lord Bacon was led into somewhat extravagant notions as to the effect of his philosophical process of putting nature to the question. He gave out, that in scientific matters, genius would thenceforth be superfluous—that an average intellect, working according to defined method, would be fully adequate to the requirements of human knowledge. Experience has shewn that he was wrong. Indeed, it would be difficult to conceive how a mind so sagacious and comprehensive could fall into a plain error like this, were it not that the highest genius is apt to be overpartial to its own offspring. Maximus temporis partus, as the great philosopher styled his work, is certainly not an overmodest title; but then his real greatness of soul (in theory, not practice) well carries off a little magniloquence. It is not denied, then, that a great part of the bulk of our knowledge, the improvement of its arrangement and instruments, and much theoretical and practical advancement, are due to steady and orderly argumentation and experiment. A great deal, too, depends on extending research into those fields where nature is most likely to be suggestive. Any accumulation of observed phenomena will probably contain intimations which genius may lay hold of and utilise. By these means, also, we are more likely to encounter striking suggestions, which, even without the aid of extraordinary mental endowments, will not escape the notice of disciplined intellect. Practical arts necessarily existed, and have often been considerably developed, long before the corresponding sciences can properly be said to have originated. In several instances, the occasions are recorded on which great accessions and improvements of practical skill came to be made; and it will be observed, that in most of these, nature took the initiative-that is to say, our knowledge was acquired, not by directly questioning nature, but by crossexamining her upon some little information casually given. In fact, mankind are not so much in the position of counsel, endeavouring to extort suspected truth from an examinant, as of counsel cross-questioning upon some point which takes them by surprise, but which they skilfully turn to account. Critics,' says Shenstone, must excuse me if I compare them to certain animals called asses, which, by gnawing vines, originally taught the great advantage of pruning them.' I do not quote this for the sake of the sentiment, but of the simile, which in some measure illustrates my meaning. I have made one considerable admission, and now have to make another. No illustration of this theory of hints can be produced that shall not be an illustration of some other truth as well; for no faculty exists by itself and independently of others-all results and all processes of thought are by their nature complex; yet, in some of the examples I shall adduce, the faculty of taking a hint seems sufficiently predominant for my purpose. The doctrine of specific gravity was forced upon the attention of Archimedes on his entering a bath, and finding that the immersion of his body caused the water to overflow-no very remarkable incident, and one doubtless commonly observed, but he took the hint which others overlooked. Some merchants, having lighted a fire on the sea-beach, remarked among the embers a curious crystalline substance, produced by the fusion of sand and the ashes of sea-weed: some practical mind among them seized upon the incident, and gave, or rather restored to modern science and civilisation, one of their most important coadjutors-glass. A chandelier swinging from a church-roof, set Galileo thinking about the theory of oscillation, and as a result, we have the pendulum. The wife of Galvani, being an invalid, was indulged on one occasion with a dish of frogs; Galvani observed a convulsive motion in one of these on being touched by a knife, and making note of the fact, succeeded, on further inquiry, in establishing the science to which we owe the electric telegraph. A boy was employed to work the valves of a steam-engine, and, getting tired of his monotonous occupation, ingeniously connected them with the engine itself, which became self-acting. We, observers after the fact, wonder so simple a contrivance did not occur before to maturer minds. The high-pressure steamengine was itself probably a result derived from a very commonly observed phenomenon. The fabrication of fire-balloons originally occurred to the brothers Montgolfier in a similarly accidental way. I may mention too-bearing in mind that other faculties besides ability to take a hint combined to produce the result the story of Newton and the apple. Whoever will take the trouble to look over a history of the arts and sciences, can easily enlarge the list. In several of the above instances, the experimentum crucis seems to have been furnished by nature herself that is, by a combination of circumstances, humanly speaking, fortuitous. In some cases, the mind of the observer was already engaged on kindred topics, which circumstance no doubt increased its sensitive appreciation of any suggestion from without bearing on the subject of thought. Probably a great many other facts, lying at the foundation of different arts and sciences, were similarly noted, being stumbled over rather than hunted after and found. It is likely, for instance, that the directing power of the magnet was accidentally remarked. Man, however, is not content to stumble over his information, and make the best of it he can; he peers here and there in search of particular knowledge, and, ten to one, misses it after all; but then he is put in the way of obtaining other knowledge, perhaps no less important, and such as it had not entered into his heart to conceive of. The amount of scientific acquisition made in this way is surprising. In the middle ages, and since, men sought for the elixir of life and philosopher's stone. They were not more successful in the direct object of their labour than the daughters of Pelias, when, acting on the prescription of Medea, they cut their aged father to pieces, in order to renew his youth by the process of boiling. The alchemists, however, were the founders of chemistry. We owe to them gunpowder (abritomen), and many of the most common and useful drugs. It was once as needful for men of high and low degree to have their horoscopes taken, as it is now to sit for photographic likenesses. To that end, the astrologers studied the grammar of the stars, and made sorry progress. Yet, whilst meditating on these things, they rocked the cradle of modern astronomy. It is extremely common for philosophers to light upon one truth while in search of another. Whoever has attempted original investigation, knows how apt the mind is to be led into collateral thought, and how often the more important results of research are due to those digressions. We easily see that success would be highly improbable if men set about inventing sciences mero motu, and depended for the discovery of occult agencies on direct investigation. The connection between light, heat, electricity, and magnetism would never have been discovered by theory or experiment. Through chance coincidences, the existence of such a connection came to be suspected; and thus the prosecution of this || branch of inquiry was brought within the province of systematic thought. The researches of Professor Faraday on these subjects are models of experimental skill and sagacity. Who knows but that accidental phenomena may ultimately lead to the discovery of the law governing this connection, and enable us by theory to account for the different manifestations? At present, speaking mathematically, the theories of light, heat, &c., are distinct, and nothing appears from them indicating such a connection as really exists, or, indeed, any connection at all. Again, the theory of gravitation, as it at present stands, does not answer the inquiry whether or not that force and other forces are merely modifications of the same central energy; and to prove the negative or the affirmative, seems beyond human power. Chance may, some time or other, furnish a clue. For what we know, gravitation may be en rapport with the imponderable agents. We cannot at present modify the force of gravity. However much we change a body chemically or mechanically, gravity acts as before. Yet there is nothing to shew that it may not be varied just as electricity, heat, &c. are, by some complex and unknown arrangement. There may be, and probably are, other agents-some, perhaps, included in the vague category of chemical forcessusceptible of theoretical and even mathematical CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL. representation, besides those already within man's ken; but an attempt, even by the highest genius, directly to discover whether or not such agencies exist, would fail. When genius has a clue, it may follow it; but nature will not be forced. and we think of the old saying, 'There is nothing new under the sun.' Man pants for knowledge as the hind for the water-brooks. No wonder he sometimes becomes impatient of growth, and longs for some California in the fairy fields of science, where knowOf course, and as I intimated before, all our knowledge may be picked up in nuggets. Well, if we A cannot know as fast as we wish, we can speculate ledge is certainly not due to hints from nature. good many important results have been obtained by to our hearts' content; and we do speculate on the fortunate guessing. If I were inclined to stretch a conservation of forces,' the correlation of forces,' point, I would say that in such cases the hint given is and the central law.' If coming knowledge casts infinitesimal. Thus, the discovery by Franklin of the its shadow before, perhaps that shadow is speculative identity between electricity and lightning, looks very thought. much like a guess; indeed, the principal credit is due to the ingenuity of the means by which that philosopher established the fact. In the history of science, we find many happy guesses, which for long periods remained merely barren speculations, because the guessers could not test their conjectures. For many discoveries, credit must of course be given to direct inference. Mechanical improvements, especially, are often made by the adaptation of means to ends, and some of them possess much scientific importance. For instance, in the working of voltaic batteries, it was found that the bubbles of gas adhering to the positive metal impeded the chemical action. Mr Smee conceived that if the surface of the metal were rough, the gas would pass off more freely. He accordingly precipitated on the positive metal the black powder of platinum, and the result justified his expectations. The sustaining battery of Daniel is I have said that also due to elegant reasoning. discoveries lying in the direct line of development of a science are often-it may almost be said generally When once the -due to direct logical processes. fundamental laws of action are discovered, it becomes a matter of mathematical analysis to find out related phenomena. The theory of light, perhaps, has been most fruitful in these species of results. Some of the more intricate and beautiful phenomena of polarisation were detected by the interpretation of mathematical formulæ deduced from the undulatory theory. I must not omit to mention a great triumph of this kind The discovery of the planet recently achieved. Neptune by Leverrier and Adams was made by purely abstract investigation proceeding on the known law of gravitation and the ascertained motions of other planets. Astronomers were well aware that certain perturbations of Jupiter remained unaccounted for. The inference was natural, that another planetary That inference was made. body occasioned them. Leverrier and Adams, skilfully applying the machinery of modern analysis, or, to speak profanely, 'putting x into a mill,' established the fact, and determined the approximate elements of the disturbing sphere. The degree of scientific tact and learning requisite to grapple successfully with such a problem, is certainly high; at the same time, the amount of genius required is perhaps not very extraordinary. It was a matter of development, a working according to known methods and by known instruments. Newton's analysis of the moon's orbit remains unapproached. He invented the instruments by which he worked, and the process in which he used them. In spite of the great expansion of old knowledge and accession of new, of which the nineteenth century is excusably boastful, it remains a singular fact, that science cannot jump, however we may spur it on. The human mind must come very close to a new truth before it can lay hold of it, and make that truth its own. Even in trivial matters, the same law prevails. Our very fashions grow. Modern costume is the reverse of picturesque or comely, yet we cannot invent a dress to supersede it on any ground of indisputable superiority. Now and then, a preposterous 'mode' or a new philosophical theory comes up, but we shortly find that both are merely revivals of ideas old as the hills; KRASINSKI: A TALE. IN FOUR CHAPTERS.-CHAP. III. But what makes Mamma has told you about the drowning of that poor, dear, little child. You may imagine how that accident shocked me! The little face and outstretched arms rising from the water, were before my eyes all day-I could not shut them out; and then I was vexed, surprised, and mortified at Krasinski's conduct. But I tried to excuse him, and to think what a dreadful thing it would have been if he had been seized with cramp-as he says he was the last time he went to bathe-and drowned too; though I should have been so proud of him, and loved him a thousand times more if he had tried to save her; and, O Everard! if he had been drowned, I should have adored his memory, and, I am sure, been much happier than I am now with this horrid idea that has taken possession of me, and that I cannot, cannot shake off. I went to bed that night with my mind oppressed to the greatest degree with what had happened. I generally go to sleep the minute I lie down, but that night I could not. If I did begin to doze, I woke with a start and the horrid recollection of what I had seen; till at last, irritated and weary, I began to cry, which you will think very childish; but I believe it did me good, for I fancy I cried myself to sleep. Now, you know I have often said that I never dream, and Dr D says it is because I sleep so very sound; and Mrs C- says, that doubtless I do dream, but that when sleep is profound, we do not remember our dreams; and I incline to this opinion; because, sometimes at the moment of waking, it appears to me as if a scene of some sort was slipping away from me, like a dissolving view or a diorama; and I try in vain to catch at it: it is gone like a breath; and this has happened several times lately; and now I think that I had had this dreadful dream before, but did not recollect it. Well, I at last cried myself to sleep, and dreamed that I was in bed, just as I really was, and that the door opened, and Arthur came in, and walked slowly up to the foot of the bed, and stood looking at me with such a sorrowful face! oh, so sorrowful! so pale too! and his hair looked wet and dripping with water. And I thought I sat up in bed, and asked him if he had saved the child, and he said: 'No; the child is with us.' And I said: 'Where is that?' 'In the other land,' he answered. Then he shook his head reproachfully, and said: 'She is happy; but if you will not attend to what I tell you, you will keep me in darkness and trouble.' Then I said I would attend, and asked what he wanted me to do. "To promise me,' he said, 'that you will not marry Krasinski till I can be present at the wedding, and give you away;' and I said: 'I promise.' Then he bowed his head, and said, he hoped I would keep my promise, and went away out at the door slowly, as he had entered; and when he turned round, I saw inscribed on his back, 'Drowned at Venice, 9th April 1847.' Then I awoke, and I was so impressed with the reality of this dream, that I was dreadfully frightened -though I was not frightened at all in my sleepand I buried my head under the clothes, and lay in terror till I saw a gleam of daylight; and then I ventured to uncover my face and look about; and never was I so glad as when I heard the servants getting up, and I could ring for Bella to come and dress me. I rose directly, and went into the garden, where I walked on the terrace till the bell rang. When I went into the breakfast-room, everybody said how ill I looked, attributing my appearance to what had happened the day before, and I did not contradict them. No one but myself can judge what the dream of that night was-how like reality. I afterwards dreamed it again and again, with slight variations, and Arthur looked more mournful and reproachful every time, till I felt, let people think what they would, I must do what he told me, and that I never could be happy in my marriage if I did not. I assure you, my dear brother, that I struggled valiantly against this weakness, as you must think it; but the time fixed for the wedding was at hand, and every day my new things were arriving from London, and my aunt and cousin, and Colonel Gordon, who was to give me away, were coming; so I plucked up courage, and told mamma that I did not feel at all well, and that I should therefore request Krasinski to defer our marriage till the spring, as I was quite unequal to undertake the journey to Rome. This was just after mamma's last letter to you. I saw very well that she did not believe that this was the whole truth; but you know I durst not tell her of the dream, she would have been so dreadfully frightened about Arthur. However, she said if that was the case, she must send for Dr F. I begged her not to do so, but she did; and accordingly he came. I am sure she told him that she feared I had something on my mind; for he questioned me so searchingly, that at last I confessed that I was much troubled with disagreeable dreams. He said he had no doubt that they were caused by some derangement of the stomach; and looked at my tongue, and attributed my depression of spirits and the dreams to what he calls nervous dyspepsia. He may be right. I have certainly lost my appetite entirely, and feel a dreadful languor that I cannot account for. Of course, he ordered me some medicine, which I took for a fortnight; but I got worse instead of better, for I had the dream every night. I thought Arthur looked more mournful than ever, and that he reproached me bitterly for not obeying him, and said I should repent it when too late. I positively dreaded going to bed; and Krasinski's visits, instead of giving me pleasure, actually made me miserable; and if I had not been ashamed, when I saw him coming up the gravel-walk, I should have run away, instead of going joyfully to meet him, as I used to do. So, at last, I grew desperate, and resolved to act for myself without consulting anybody. Mamma had broken the ice a little, by telling Krasinski that she feared I was falling ill, and that the marriage must be deferred; but he would not hear of it, and urged, on the contrary, that we should be married without further delay, in order that I might get to a better climate. He said he had no doubt that the moist air of this place was killing me, and that he was beginning to feel the effects of it too. This alarmed mamma; and as I saw she was inclined to coincide with Krasinski, there was no time to be lost. So I commenced the conversation by saying, that it was very strange we did not hear from Arthur. I must tell you that this was a subject that always wearied Krasinski; for though, since my dream, I had never mentioned Arthur's name, scarcely a day passed that mamma did not remark on his long silence; so he made no answer, but began singing a favourite song of mine-you know he has a fine voice-and sat down to the pianoforte: but I had screwed up my courage, and was determined to go on. 'Don't play now,' I said; 'I want to speak to you.' He turned round on the music-stool, still keeping the fingers of his right hand on the keys, and said with a look of impatience : 'Bien; parlez! Qu'est-ce que c'est?' This manner of his rendered it more difficult for me to go on, but I said: 'I should like to know if Arthur really went to the east with Monsieur de Rosny.' Ah!' said he, shrugging his shoulders, and beginning to play again, who knows?' This made me rather angry; and I said drily: 'I am aware this subject is not an agreeable one to you;' but this seemed to offend him, and turning sharply round, he said: 'Comment? Que voulez vous dire?' 'I do not mean to say anything to displease you, but I know you are weary of mamma's wonderings and questionings about Arthur; but the truth is, I am getting very anxious myself.' Here he shrugged his shoulders again, and made a gesture with his lips and eyebrows, as much as to say that he could not help my folly. I thought this unkind, for he might have shewn more sympathy with my feelings, and I continued hastily: 'In short, Krasinski, I am so uneasy, so seriously alarmed indeed, that I cannot think of being married till I hear some satisfactory news of Arthur. I have more cause for alarm than I choose to tell mamma-I have had dreadful dreams about him. You smile'-and he did smile contemptuously, though he looked very pale, and in a manner amazed- but you would not smile in my case. I see him every nightin my dreams, I mean; but I see him as plain as I see you now; and he tells me ' CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL. 'Assez, mademoiselle,' he said, interrupting me; and he rose from his seat and took up his hat. I rose too, and laid my hand on his arm. 'Listen, Krasinski,' I said. 'I have never believed in dreamsbut this seems more than a dream: you can have no idea of it. It is that that has made me so ill-so depressed-so changed in everything. I can scarcely help believing that it is Arthur himself that comes Krasinski, nightly to my bedside and tells me'who could not contain his indignation at my folly, here attempted to leave the room; but I was between him and the door, and held his arm fast, for, now I had begun, I was determined to go through with it. 'He tells me we must not be married till he can be present at the wedding, and give me away, and I have promised to obey him.' 'A votre plaisir, mademoiselle,' said he, bowing, with an attempt at calmness, but evidently fearfully agitated; and he laid his hand on the latch of the door. 'Don't be so hard upon me, Krasinski,' I said, bursting into tears, for I could keep up no longer. 'Heaven knows what I have suffered! I could not tell mamma; I was ashamed to tell you; but this dream speaks to me like a voice from the dead. I fear something dreadful has happened to Arthur; I cannot help believing that he was drowned at Venice -drowned on that 9th of April, the very day that you Was he?-was he? said you came away together! Confess the truth!' Krasinski evidently thought I had gone out of my senses, for he stood looking wildly at me, with the strongest expression of fear and horror on his countenance whilst I uttered these words; and then exclaiming: Grand Dieu! est-il possible!' he rushed franticly out of the house. Mamma, who happened to be at her bedroomwindow, saw him flying down the garden, and suspecting that something had happened, came in search of me, and found me lying on the floor in the drawingroom. I had fainted. The next day I received a letter from Krasinski, saying that he could only explain my extraordinary conduct by supposing that I wished to break off the engagement; that he was the last man in the world to claim the hand of a lady under such circumstances, however strong his attachment and deep his regret; and that since he had remarked for some time that his presence was rather a source of pain than pleasure to me, he should leave Ambleside immediately. It was a calm, gentlemanly letter; but he is evidently very indignant, and I cannot wonder at it; for my behaviour must be utterly incomprehensible to him. I often fear I have destroyed my own happiness and his by yielding to an unpardonable weakness. I have but one consolation-the dreadful dream has left me. Only once since Krasinski went have I seen Arthur in my sleep, and then I thought he looked cheerful, and bent over my bed, and kissed me, and Good girl!' And now, dear said: Good girl! Everard, lose no time in making every inquiry about Arthur, and write without delay to your unhappy but EMMA EDMONDS. ever affectionate sister, This letter, which had been looked upon as nothing but the weak effusion of a nervous girl, could hardly fail, when taken in conjunction with De Rosny's strange experience, of making some impression on the young men, unwilling as they were to attach any They serious importance to ghostly admonitions. discussed the subject over and over again, generally concluding, however, that, notwithstanding the singular coincidence of the vision and dream, it would be absurd to attach importance to them, because, if people could come back from the other world to tell their wrongs, 'ghosts would be as plenty as black berries,' and the fact of their appearance placed Still, they heard nothing from Arthur; and, midst 'Suppose we go to Naples!' said De Rosny one day to Everard, shrugging his shoulders, as if in half contempt of the proposition he was making; it will be all in my way; and a little change will do you no harm.' 'Well, things are getting rather slack here,' answered Everard. 'I don't care if I do go so far with you, if I can get leave for a couple of months.' The leave was applied for and obtained, and with the first opportunity, they took ship for Naples. AN INTERESTING ACT OF PARLIAMENT. READER, did you ever read an act of parliament? Perhaps you remember, once upon a time, lighting upon a document which began, 'Whereas it is expeBe it enacted by the Queen's Most dient to .... Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent Parliament assembled, and by the authority of the of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal and Commons in same.' Then you looked at the interpretation-clause, and found that, 'for the purposes of this act,' 'land' shall mean 'houses,' and a church a chapel; that the word 'bishop' shall comprehend and apply to an 'archthe word coals shall include bishop;' or, as appears by one example of legislative facetiousness, that cinders' (which, by the way, we learn this last every day from our coal-merchants, without the aid of an act These statutable of parliament); that man shall mean woman, and many men mean one; and so on. equivalents you felt disposed to acknowledge as rather amusing preludes to the study; but when you proceeded in your inquiries, and came upon words of unknown meaning and un-English aspect-estates tail, pur autre vie, tenants in common, pleas, demurrers, and replications-your glazed eyes passed speedily over the mass of type, till the delightful apparition of the final clause, 'this act shall apply to England only,' almost drew from you the exulting cry of Diogenes, on a similarly dull occasion: 'Courage, lads; land!' I see Of course the study of acts of parliament, like all other studies, has its difficulties, and a good deal must, we suppose, be left to the lawyers; and you are perhaps very well content to leave all, with a parting benediction of 'much good may it do them. First, however, bear a word of remonstrance. Imprimis, it is of no use abusing the lawyers, as is often done, for monopolising that of which you give them the monopoly; Secondly, You are ignorant at some peril, for the law of England presumes that all Englishmen know the law, and will certainly deal with them as if they knew it; and Thirdly, Acts of parliament offer a not uninteresting means of studying the manners, political movements, and predominant thoughts of the various eras in our national history. Now, it is not our intention to touch the first two points above mentioned, or even to illustrate, at any great length, the third in order; but there happens to be an act of parliament, passed not long since, which has the rare virtue of being not only useful-for we fear there are some acts of parliament which are not entitled even to the praise of utility— but also interesting. Let us look together at this interesting' act of parliament. It is known as the 19 and 20 Vict. c. 64, and is entitled, 'An Act to repeal certain Statutes which are not in Use;' and it enacts in the usual form, that 'the |