SEPTEMBER 17, 1842. III. Price One Penny, TIG HALIFAX And now the time in special is, by privilege, to write and speak what may help to the f urther discussing of matters in agitation. The controvcrsal faces, might now not unsignificantly be set open: and though all the winds of doctrine were let hose to play upon the earth, injuriously, by licensing and prohibiting, to misdoubt her strength. Let her and falsehood grapple. Who ever tier confuting is the best and surest suppressing.— MILTON'S AREOPAGITICA. Temple of Janus, with his two so Truth be in the field, we do a free and open encounter. OUll LETTER BOX. THE DECLINE OF SOLID LEARNING. To the Editors of the Halifax Free Press. GENTLEMEN,— If it be true— as itwere an easy task, did your space and my time permit, to adduce argu- ments and facts in proof of such a position,— that the character of any age is but the impress formed by the writers of a preceding age; and thata nation's destiny, for weal and for woe, is accelerated, retarded, or carried out, by its giants in literature: then, indeed, — judging from the present low character of her lit- erature,— England may be said to be on the wane: — this little isle, enamelled in the blue of ocean, bus passed her zenith ! I trust not; but when, apparently, we have seen the last of a noble race of writers, I be- gin to despair of progression, and cannot doubt the hand- writing on the wall. I wish not to raise groundless fears. I am accns- tomed to look on the happy and pleasing side of every thing ; and I would not willingly be disabused of a notion, however ill- founded, upon which I had fondly cherished a hope that good would come to our country and our race: but I have long mourned over the fact that the ephemeral character of our literature is changing the spirit and manners of Englishmen. Reading is now sought, not as a means of acquiring and treasuring up that knowledge which is to guide and serve us through a long life, hut merely to gratify a morbid feeling and a vitiated taste : and, strange to say, those whose efforts ought to be direc- ted towards purifying the current, and raising and forming the minds of the community, love, rather, to pander to their degraded appetite, and to poison the pure foundation of knowledge and of truth. Feeble- ness and frivolity are, unhappily, the characteristics of the literature of our times; and a national retro- gression must, of necessity, be the consequence. In a pamphlet which has just fallen into my hands, this view is set forth in a light most clear and perspicu- ous, yet painful to contemplate. The pamphlet is from the pen of Mr. D. Mackintosh, who is now lecturing to the Literary and Philosophical Society and the Mechanics' Institution, in out town; and it is called,—" The Modern Road to Ruin ; or National Declension considered as the result of Modern Utilitarianism, Luxury, and Mental Dissipation: containing an inquiry into the true causes of Prevail- ing Commercial Distress; the whole founded on observations on private life, made during four years' successive residence in various cities and towns. 1 The pamphlet is dedicated to Sir Robert Peel. As my attention had been, for some time, directed to the • natter, I felt interested in its perusal; and I cannot resist the temptation to present your readers, if you will allow me to do so, with a few extracts. I may remark that there are some points on which I differ from the writer; but the main object of his pamphlet is not, I believe, to be controverted,— viz that the impure and feeble character of our literature is a mark of national declension. Mr. Mackintosh's style is clear and elegant; and characterized by sweet ncss and simplicity. I make the following selection :— " In noticing, separately, some of the respects in which society has declined, we shall commence with literature ; because, in a community where reading is common, its nature may be expected to exercise a greater influence than any thing else, on the social desires. The almost total extinction of general litera- ture; and the introduction, in its place, of frivolous, voluptuous, flippant, and tragic productions, may well be dreaded as the most ominous feature of the times; and it is lamentable to think that those who, from their station, education and interests, should have tried to uphold the literary reputation of their coun- try, were among the first to give way to its retrogressive tendency. In five- sixths of modern publications, the depraved taste of the public is exclusively consulted. Instead of sitting enthroned on its native height, and taking the lead in directing popular taste, literature has become the bustling slave of popular passions. It has been degraded into a marketable commodity, mere matter of profit and loss. Authors have been converted into scribbling machines, dragged at the heels of the public. Scarcely one attempt is made to stem the receding tide of popular feeling ; but every devisable impulse is used to accelerate its back- ward motion." * » * * * To analyse the elements of popular literature, is what we shall not attempt. The chief attraction would appear to consist in an exhibition, either iu writing or in picture, of gaiety, deformity, confusion, disturbance, extravagance, atrocity, horror,— in short, of what cannot be dwelt upon without a pernicious effect on the mind. Systematized revelry and arranged insanity, written and printed, is the order of the day Distorted burlesques on human crime, imbccility, and folly, pass staple for representation of character. The reader is conducted into a vast amphitheatre, in which all the actors are either inebriated or de- ranged, and in which buffoonery and horror succeed each other as the lights and shades of the scene." # * * * ' A third respect in which the literature at present in popularity has been productive of mischief, consists in the extent to which it has been instrumental in ex- terminating a taste for solid learning. It is well known that few systematic works are now published, in comparison with those which once emanated from the press ; whilst there are many departments of philosophy once eagerly pursued, in which no modern bookseller would risk the publication of a work. The present writer has made numerous statistical observa- tions, which led him to believe that, among the higher classes of society, science does not now receive one twentieth part of the attention which was devoted to it about twenty years ago. Periodical publications were once nearly filled with articles of solid informa- tion; but now, in most of them, one may search in vain for a scientific essay in a year. We have been as- sured, by an Edinburgh publisher, that he clearly per- ceived the necessity for excluding all scientific articles from his magazine, if he wished to insure its success. Public scientific lectures were once attended by crowd- ed audiences ; but now, without extraneous induce- ments, one may calculate, with certainty, that only about ten or twelve individuals will make their ap- pearance, when any thing requires to be paid. Take the City of Edinburgh, as an instance. About twenty years ago, a lecturer could easily command about three hundred ladies and gentlemen, to listen to him, at charge of a guinea for admission. Now, as such lecturers as Dr. D. B. Reid can testify, no more than ten or twelve individuals, at an average, can be ex- pected. If attendance 011 popular scientific lectures be considered as a test of the state of intellect, and a truer test is impossible; then the mental giants of the present day would appear to be in possession of only the one- thirtieth part of the mind which was formerly manifested. Some will assert that reading has become more common. Itistrue; but the reading of regular scientific works has declined in a corresponding ratio. To think of one man out of five hundred thousand reading such a work as Bishop Law's Inquiry into Space, Time, Infinity, and Eternity, ( the sublimest book, perhaps, that ever was written,) at the present day, would be out of the question. All long- estab- lished booksellers concur in bearing testimony that not one regular scientific work is now sold, for thirty that were once purchased. There is not, perhaps, an instance of a libiary of standard works, which has not become either nominally or really extinct,— in which gross and flippant publications have not been introduced." " The popular scientific institutions which have recently been attempted, are only experimental proofs of the decline of a taste of science. They have in- variably become extinct, one after another, in all cases where pantomimic exhibitions have not been in- troduced ; and the reaction against science which has succeeded them, has been infinitely more injurious than the ignorance which previously existed. Every thing else would appear to accord with the prevalent dissipation of mind. Every thing has become super- ficial, or false, or exciting. Music has degenerated in precisely the same manner that literature has done. Light, bombastic, and ephemeral cotopositions have, in general, taken the place of the productions of the great masters. Few audiences will listen to the stan- dard compositions of Beethoven, Spohr, & c.; while the galops, waltzes, quadrilles, and fantasias, of Musard, Strauss, Labitzky, I- lerz, & c., are iu high fashion and repute. The articles of manufacture arc more calculated for show than durability. The worshippers of mammon know well the degradation of public taste ; and take advantage of it in a manner very ingenious. Gilded toys, arranged in the gaudy shelves of a bazaar, and designated by the term ' from London,' are sure to command a host of purchasers. Boxes of pills, invented by fictitious characters, and pompously sealed and labeled, are eagerly purchased, as a cure for all diseases. An admixture of quackery would appear to be necessary, before any thing will take with the public. The system of education is equally inferior. The means of perusing compila- tions of trash, and of communicating humbug by writing on paper, are taught, and held in high estima- tion ; while actual knowledge is rejected and despised." How truly written ! The shallowest observer of what is passing around him, must respond to the truth of this statement. After proceeding at some length, the author concludes his excellent pamphlet thus :— " And now, to conclude,— can we look with in- difference at this prostration of our intellectual strength ? Because we tremble at declension, are we to hide the melancholy fact ? Or, because we shudder at destruction, are we to be misled by the fallacy of that Utopian fancy,— the grand distinguishing error of the nineteenth century,— which predicts a different result from the operation of the same law which, in the case of ancient nations, evolved irretrievable ruin ? The laws of the moral, as well as of the physical, world reinaio unaltered ; and it is a miserable way of quiet 2 THE HALIFAX FREE PRESS. ing alarm to imagine that the sequence between cause and effect shall in future be broken,— that a different economy shall be drawn from that which five thousand eight hundred years have beheld. As philosophers, — as principled politicians,— we are bound to act otherwise, and to see, in institutions reared out of barbarism, a tendency to return to the same level of humanity. It may happen,— we wish it may,— that the lamp of Christianity shall yet light up a place, • bright as the sun, in place of that mysterious nebulosity • which at present envelopes Britain ; but, considering the extent to which religion is secularized by its friends, and driven into recesses by its enemies, we confess we cannot, at present, regard it as an antagonist to this mighty power ofruin;> nd though it must finally gain universal sway, yet who shall venture to foretell the darkness which shall have to precede the breaking of millennial day ?" Hoping that you will not think this letter too long, or the extracts too uninteresting, I am, Gentlemen, Yours respectfully, A LOVER OF KNOWLEDGE. Halifax, Sept. 12, 1842. THE NECESSARIES OF LIFE. To the Editor of the Free Press. DEAR SIR,— A few evenings ago, I had an oppor tunity of hearing the conversation of a few Mechanics, who were discoursing on the late unhappy disturban- ces in the neighbourhood of Halifax. I was very glad, and much pleased, to hear them speak so decidedly in reprobation of the movement; and, during the time I remained in the room, all their conversation was most decidedly against those unlawful assemblies. For themselves and families they only wanted " the necessaries of life;" and for these they were willing to work, and, according to the divine injunction, earn their bread by the sweat of their brow. This led me to ponder over the expression, " the necessaries of life;" an expression simple in itself, but of an exten- sive nature. In all countries,— in every situation in life,— in all ranks and conditions, you will find that each indivi- dual would be satisfied with the " necessaries of life." This phrase, however, covers the most extensive de- sires of gratification. It is a common term amongst rich and poor; and comprises every gradation of luxury. Does a rich man advance his rents, or another wish his salary to be doubled, or a third re- duce the wages of his workman. Each acts from the same principle ; it is that he may purchase for him- self" the necessaries of life." No matter how many families his actions deprive of those comforts; his conscience tells him that self- interest is the first law of nature, and he must take care of himself; and what is conscience without " the necessaries of life By the adoption of this phrase, nature is made chargeable with all the vices of art, and all the cant of hypocrisy. " The mere wants of nature must be satisfied. The necessaries of life must be procured." This is the cry of all ; and this cry is the pretence upon which the oppressor bears down the oppressed. Yet there should be a line of distinction drawn be- tween what are " the necessaries of life," and what are not so necessary,— between what is necessary for the wants of the virtuous, and what is deemed essential to the depraved habits of the gay and licentious part of socicty. Every member of society has his enjoyments ; and consequently differs in bis views of " the necessaries of life ;" for no one will allow that what he deems essential, not only to his being, but his well- being, is not one of " the necessaries of life." A voluptuous man will comprise in this phrase, all the range of prodigal licentiousness. He must have his pleasures in the choicest wines. He must be exempt from business, that he may have leisure for his amuse- ments, which are to him so necessary. The decoration of his person must be attended to. Splendid habili- ments and gorgeous equipages are among his " ne- cessaries of life." As helpless as infancy, and as captious as age, he must be humoured like the one and nursed like the other. Flatterers must be ever near him ; they are among the number of " the ne- cessaries of life," and their presence cannot long be dispensed with, without rendering his life insupport- able. Such a life cannot be maintained without them > but let no one profanely ask, of what value is such a life ? The minions and servants of such a man will ape their master, as far as they can ; minor flatter- ers must surround their boards, and crowd their dwellings. They, too, must be exempt front all social ties and moral obligations. They would not, for the world, be known to do wrong ; but then they must have " the necessaries of life." If what is meant by " the necessaries of life" could be once fairly defined, and if every person were really satisfied with absolute necessaries, there would be an end of all complaints about the difficulties of living. The mere wants of nature are indeed trifling, but then, trifling as they are, the means of procuring them must be furnished, or no necessaries will be forthcoming. If the gentry and manufacturers of our country would sometimes study the comforts of the different grades below them, they might arrive at a much juster idea of what are really " the necessaries of life ;" hue the great cause of complaint is, that few in the higher ranks think of what they can spare towards the comforts of men in meaner situations He who calls it moderation when he sits down only to ten times as much as he can eat, is not likely to remember that there are nine starving for want of his superfluity. The produce of the earth should certainly be open to all its inhabitants. Hunger, the most powerful impulse, should be satisfied ; and the poorest labourer, as he generally has a better appetite, should at least be allowed the means of satisfying it; as well as his employer, whose indigestion frequently loathes the rich food placed before him, and which his dogs are often obliged to eat for him. The peasant eats plainer food and coarser bread than his master ; but surely it is right that he should have enough of it, and that of a wholesome kind. The food of the peasant may be coarser than that of a gentleman; but is it not To the Editors of the Free Press. GENTLEMEN,— As I have just had a capital dinner, and am avowedly a lover of the " dolce far niente," I consider myself a fit and proper person to deliver a few remarks upon a subject which has, I believe, hitherto escaped the attention of essayists, pamphlet- eers, newsmen, in short, all the different branches ( and their name is Legion '.) of that genus whose pro- vince it is to enlighten the ignorance, or banish the blue devils, of an ignorant or bevapoured world. This subject is nothing ; and in defiance of mathema- tical axioms, I contend that something may be made out of it, as I propose making a little amusement for the readers of the Halifax Free Press out of it. Now nothing, abstractedly considered, presents no definite idea to the mind. We cannot think of nothing, as we can of a bootjack, or any other object in nature or art. Hence I consider myse'. f quite at liberty to form any idea I choose of it; and it appears to me that it may with great truth be said to be— a legless stocking without a foot,— the integrity of a prime minister,— or the common sense of Mr. Busfield Ferrand; and though I have, as you perceive, defined it to be ratLer the absence of something, than any thing capable of conception or description, I have seen it produce effects which would, at first sight, seem to indicate that it must be something, paradoxical as it may seem. I have seen ladies blush rosy- red ; and upon asking them the cause thereof, they have innocently replied " nothing." We have all heard of the two lads who found it impossible to do nothing separately, as it required their united exertions. Vhe reason of this, I imagine, was, that boys find it much easier to do mischief than nothing ; for even as ducks take to the water as soon as convenient, so da these pocket- editions of men take to mischief; and this I take to be a convincing proof of the innate depravity of man. But I find I am travelling out of the record. In the same manner, as it is quite necessary that it should be made comfortable for him, more particularly when he has to toil through the day, not only to provide himself with the scanty fare his earnings procure, but to contribute to the ease and luxury of others, who scarcely condescend to acknowledge the utility of bis labour ? The result of my cogitations seems to be this,— that those who would be content with " the necessaries of life," cannot obtain them ; while those who can obtain them, are never contented with them. Thus one class is without the necessaries, whilst another class breathes in superfluous luxury; and as nature does not flatter human pride so much as to bring forth luxuries spontaneously, the many must labour, that the few may repose themselves ineastern magnificence. Were those who toil permitted to do so, without the fear of being deprived of part of their earnings, no matter by what means, industry would bless the labourer with peace and health ; whilst indolence would meet with its own reward, by being despised for its affected superiority. Your Knight of the Moor will tell you that, in feudal times, the Barons who had occasion for the bodily strength and activity of their vassals, attended carefully to their wants, and saw them well supplied with " the necessaries of life." The case is now very different. The Barons have no individual sympathy with the working classes, as being members of the same community; and too often pass them in their sufferings with the most stoical indifference. All men should be enabled to procure " the necessaries of life," in their proper sense; and this every good and humane man will be ready to grant. All the arts that embellish life, and all the pleasures that fascinate the passing hour, with all the sciences that adorn and defend the habitations of civilized society, give ample scope for the widest ambition aud the most general desires, without any necessity for the ever- grasping of the employer leading to the injury of the employed ; but for the latter to suppose it possible to regulate their own wages, is the height of madness. When the employer is without a market for his produce, it is impossible for him to pay high wages ; but when the market for his goods opens, he will want labour ; and the demand for labour will always be a certain means of insuring high wages, thereby securing to the workman the comforts and " the necessaries of life." I am, Dear Sir, Yours truly, HUMANUS, Halifax, Sept, 12, 1842. impossible to define " a gentleman" or " a respect- able man," so it is to define nothing. I regret that this should be the case. The subject is one of deep and universal interest, since it is highly probable, if the present state of things continue, we may have it to eat. I think I cannot give a better description of it than that which was once given of Craniology. " Pray, Sir, can you tell me what Craniology is?" Craniology ? oh! yes ; why any body knows what that is. Crani— why, sir, in point of fact, it is nothing more nor less than Craniology !" I fancy nothing is best described this way. But " omne ignotum pro magnifico ;" so your readers may imagine it what they please, but at least let it be something digestible, for the reason above- mentioned, as Englishmen ( and this is a curious fact in natural history) don't happen to have the stomachs of ostriches. If, after reading1 this, any body should say " why this is nothing, " or he has said nothing "— deeply, sincerely shall I thank him,— enthusiastically shall I applaud his judgment; for, in the opinion of that lady or gentle- man, I shall have expressed the very thing 1 wished to do,— a thing, by the bye, not often accomplished. I am, NIX. Halifax, Sept. 13, 1842. To the Editors of the Free Press. GENTLEMEN,— Your publication does not suit the taste of the times; it is of too inoffensive and too moderate a character.. If you intend your paper to be read, you must begin to abuse somebody. Select number of individuals, and expose their peculiarities! their weaknesses, their faults, or virtues, if they have any; no matter which. If they happen to be either remarkably stout, or very lank, tall, stunted, or half grown ; if there be any thing worth notice in their gait, in the tone of their voice, or any thing else that may appear odd, either in their personal appearance or manner of acting, they will be fit subjects for your remarks, and may be made a profitable speculation. Whether their intentions be good or bad, you need not care. Whether they attend to their duty, or quite r. eglect it, is not a matter for your consideration. Whether they be knavish or honest; whether they be the most mischievous or the best disposed persons in the town, does not matter a straw. If they be known, or can be made known by any happy hit, your business is done; your paper will take; and yourselves be called very clever. The party so hit off may be laughed at, ridiculed, or even injured, by such means. Never mind that THE HALIFAX FREE' PRESS. 3 The more mischief you do, the better. You must alarm your readers; lead them to expect something smart, something cutting; you must " charge home upon them." Let what you say be felt. Nor. e of your veins of quiet humour, your harmless wit, or innocent playfulness. jl'. Soft words are like half measures; they won't do at all now- a- days. We must have something tart,— something piquant. Take the example of the Plug Plot treatise. See with what dexterity one character after another is mangled ; and so genteelly too. The work excites interest; is inquired after, as if it contained some rare discovery. People are pleased to see their neigh- bours so handsomely exhibited and so cleverly hit off. Some few of our townsmen, possessing finer feel- ings, may he displeased, and sorry for the sufferers; but the people generally are delighted, and so buy the book, arid laugh heartily at the affair ; and call it a good thing; and are of opinion the writer has used lots of brains in the performance. When Addison produced such a favourable and rapid change in the taste of the reading public of his day, by publishing his Spectator, he had not to con- tend with such talent as is displayed by the author of the " Plug Plot." The people, too, of that day, were behind ourselves in the power of discrimina- tion ; so that all the abilities of the " trio " will be wanted to produce any thing like such an effect. Should you, however, be determined to continue in an even and, as you no doubt imagine, a virtuous course ; allowing yourselves to be trammelled by the antiquated notions of justice, fair dealing, and all that sort of thing; you are likely to take your chance. Few individuals, single- handed, would venture against tbe current. What effect three of you may be able to produce, remains to be seen. I am, Gentlemen, With all good wishes, your CENSOR. Halifax, Sept. 14, 1842. SELECTIONS. PHRENOLOGY. SCENE.— A Phrenologist's Study.—- Casts, Boxes, and Skulls, arranged around the Boom. DR. BRAIN, MRS. ATKINS, AND A CHILD. DR. BRAIN. Well, my good Mrs, Atkins, I see that jou have brought your'. son to be examined. MRS. ATKINS. Yes, sir, if you will have the goodness. Children are a great pleasure, but then they are a great care ; and a widow, especially a lone woman, cannot help feeling anxious about setting them out in life. To be sure, I have only my twins, a girl and this boy— but still it is a great trouble. One does not know what is fittest for them, poor things ! DR. BRAIN. Phrenology is precisely what will ease that trouble, Mrs. Atkins. Our discoveries tend particularly to that point, by observing and following the natural inclinations, My friend, Mr. Hewsoa, I think, sent you to ine ? MRS. ATKINS. Yes, sir ; he told me that by looking at the boy's skull Take off your hat, William ! and feeling the bumps DR. BRAIN. Organs, my good madam ! Call them organs ! MRS. ATKINS. I beg your pardon, sir ; I will. Mr. Hewson said that, by feeling his bumps— organs, I mean— you would be able to tell me what to do with him. I should like to bring him up to the grocery line, like his father, and take him into the business at a proper time ; but the boy, it seems, has read a foolish book called Robinson Crusoe, and is wild to go to sea.— Why don't you take your hat off, William, and let the Doctor look at your organs ? He won't hurt you, child. For all he's so bold and full of tricks, the boy's as shamefaced before company as. his sister. Hold yourself up, William. DR. BRAIN. How old is the young gentleman ? MRS. ATKINS. Twelve, come next Michaelmas. He's but a shrimp of a thing, in spite of his great spirit: too puny by half for a boy. Fanny and he here are so alike, that if it were not for their clothes we should never know them asunder. But I suppose, Doctor, that's only their faces ! I take it their bumps— I beg pardon— organs— are quite different, DR. BRAIN. Undoubtedly, my good Mrs. Atkins. Difference of sex is attended^ with difference of faculty. The perceptive organs, for instance, are usually more developed in women ; the reflective in men. This is quite a boy's forehead. Come, sir, let me feel. I I shall do you no harm.—( The Doctor feels the child's head; Mrs. Atkins walks about the room, looking at the casts, and talking to herself'.) MRS. ATKINS. Dear me, how ghastly these faces look, as if they had been chopped off just under the chin ! Were the poor people all beheaded, I wonder ! Perhaps they're taken from the French folks long ago that were guillotined ! That skull looks for all the world like a horse's. Have horses bumps like Christians ? Oh, the wonderful works of nature ! DR. BRAIN. A lajge destructiveness— a prodigious combativeness — firmness strongly developed— adhesiveness small. Really, Mrs. Atkins, this boy is the most striking instance of the truth of our science that X ever met with in the thousands that I have examined. I never saw the propensities so strongly indicated. Let him go to sea by all means— indeed, it would be of no use if you were to try to keep him at home. With such a firmness, and sensativeness large, be would certainly run away, Besides, it would be a thousand pities. Here are the organs that make a great warrior ; a superb destructkeness— a finei combativeness than Lord Nelson i I should like to have a cast of the boy. MRS. ATKINS. Ah, well- a- day! DR. BRAIN. Acquisitiveness strong too I MRS. ATKINS. Ay— ay— what's that ? DR. BRAIN. Why, it means a desire to possess ; which, in a boy, probably shows itself in a love of marbles, and apples and nuts, without being very scrupulous as to the means by which they are acquired. MRS. ATKINS. Oh, it's a wonderful art'. See. William, how the Doctor finds yon out! Yes, be— I take shame to say it, hut tbe hoy stole all the apples off our nonpareil tree, last week; and we can't keep a gooseberry in the garden for him. I can trust his sister any where; she's such a good little quiet thing— but William—>— DR. BRAIN. Never ( ear, Mrs. Atkins ; it's an excellent organ, uuder proper government; and will turn to a desire to capture Dutch spice ships and Spanish argosies You must send him to sea. MRS. ATKINS, Ah, well- a- day! But, Doctor, how is it that you can tell all these things ? DR. BRAIN. Why, look here, my good madam ! Do you see that projection— the side of Just here, Mrs. Atkins; here, my good lady. If I had another child, I could show you what I mean in a moment. MRS. ATKINS. Run and fetch your sister, William. DR. BRAIN. Ay, then I can explain the difference. I'll venture to say there is not such a combativeness— why don't you go for your sister, my little man, as your mamma bids you ? MRS. ATKINS. Why do you stand there like a simpleton ? Go for Fanny, this moment. CHILD. Pray, mamma, don't be angry ; I am Fanny. MRS. ATKINS. Oh, dear me! Dear me! This is one of William's unlucky tricks ! Get out of my sight, you good- for- nothing hussy. What will the Doctor say to be made such a fool of ? DR. BRAIN. Make a fool of me, Mrs. Atkins ! I should like to see the person that could do that. It is not all the tricks of men, women, and children, that can put down phrenology. But I giye you warning, my good madam, that whatever trouble you may have with your son, you will have more with your daughter. I was never mistaken in my life. There are organs in that little noddle fit to belong to Joan of Arc. Good morning, Mrs. Atkins ! She'll follow the drum tell you ; or, very likely to go to sea herself. Good morning, madam. Make a fool of a phrenologist indeed! Exit. CHILD. Don't you think be was a fool already, mamma He said I'd quite quite a boy's forehead, Exeunt. VOCAL MUSIC IN SOCIETY. [ From Oliphant's " Account of Madrigals."} As to the performance of vocal chamber Music in this country, what is it ? I will endeavour to describe it as it exists in, the Metropolis, where we may fairly suppose it ought to be the best. I do not speak of 1 arge set parties, where Opera singers are paid to iing over and over again the very same songs that every one has heard a thousand times on the stage ; but of small parties in private society. Some young lady, we will suppose, is asked to favour the com- pany with a song ; I will bet ten to one that her book opens mechanically at " Di piacer," " Una voce poco fa," or some such piece, which none but a prima donna of the first rank can hope to execute ; but here an unexpected difficulty arises ; the lady cannot ac- company herself ! Some kind hearted soul, though totally unaccustomed to accompany a singer, is pre- vailed on to undertake the task ; and between the two the song is perpetrated, amidst the loud outward plaudits and inward ridicule of the company, while the pleased mothers congratulate each other on the talents of their respective daughters. This is no over- charged picture; full many a time and oft have I witnessed it; full many a time have I been selected as one of the victims, to warble to the best of my ability, treble, tenor, and bass, by turns, in all kinds of Italian duets, trios, & c., from " Eben per mia memoria," down to " O pescator del' onda," until I have wished povero Pippo, young ladies, myself, fishermen, and all, at the bottom of the Adriatic. A glee may possibly be wished for, as a change in tbe entertainment. To accomplish this is nearly as difficult a task as one of the labours of Hercules. One can only sing the first line of this ; another the second line of that ; a third does not understand the C clef : at length two young ladies and their brother, or perhaps some good- natured uncle, who may chance to possess a cracked voice, half- tenor, half- bass, start off with the Red Cross Knight; the bass solo being most stoutly accompanied by the singer with one finger on the pianoforte. Now all this sort of thing may be very amusing as a matter of child's play; but to suppose that any thing approaching towards intellectual enjoyment can be obtained from such a mode of proceeding is altogether absurd. Ob ! that young ladies and gentlemen would learn to read Music upon the same plan that they learn to read a book! that is, by first making themselves acquainted with the alphabet. . How little study, comparatively speaking, would it cost them to attain sufficient knowledge to take a part in concerted Music of the highest order, instead of wasting their time in endeavouring to execute urrmeaning cadences fit only for an instrument, or affecting to sigh and simper over the mawkish nonsense to which so many songs are adapted, but which to call poetry is a pro- fanation of the term. Oh ! ye prim and precise mothers ! did ye but understand one half of what is sung in a foreign tongue, how would you be horrified ! What would you think were you aware that your daughter was singing a duet in which the gentleman ( a great libera tine) was trying to persuade the lady to break her plighted troth, and run off with him ? But that is not the worst, for after a great deal of eloquent per- suasion on his part, and wavering on Iters, the expression of which is aided by the most impassioned Music of the most impassioned of composers, she overcomes all her scruples, the libertine prevails, and off they dance, congratulating each other that theirs is un innocente amor.% I must confess that, admirer as I am of the Italian language, more particularly with regard to its admi- rable fitness for singing, I would rather see tbe young- singers of this country give a little more attention to Music composed to the equally exquisite poetry ot" their native land. Good Heavens ! is it to be said that the pure stream of verse which has flowed from the pens of our poets since the time of Edmund Spenser is not equally capable of being the vehicle of musical sounds with the sonnets of Petrarca and Sannazavio ? Or have we not those among us who can outdo the manufacturers of wretched Italian. Libretti? It is true there are not words in the. English language Wknpieta, felkita, arnore, onore, Sec- wherewithal to round off our stanzas, aud the harsher consonants do certainly occur more frequently ; yet our versification is not on that account the less flow- ing, and soft words, may be found if due care be taken by tbe author in his selection. For example, can the Italian or any other language surpass in shnoothness of numbers or correctness of accentuation Moore's well- known song, ' Oft in the stilly night,' or the trio in Handel's Acis and Galatea, ' The flocks shall leave tbe mountains ?' These are but two in- stances out of hundreds that I could name. * See Don Giovanni, at t h e d u o " La ci darem." 2 THE HALIFAX FREE PRESS. POETRY. OUK SCRAP BOOK. " A thing of Shreds aud Patches.'' ORIGINAL. ( FOR THE HALIFAX FREE PRESS.) TO A BUTTERFLY. BY THOMAS CROSSLEY. Thou beautiful Rover !— the summer's sweet guest! Thou gay flitting blossom of scarlet and gold! Ah, wait thee a wee on the wild floret's breast, And let me a moment thy glories behold. Not a flower which in sweetest of gardens e'er blooms; Not a gem from the mine, not a pearl from the sea; Not a bird, tho' adorn'd with the richest of plumes. Can boast such perfection as Nature gives thee. Shall I capture thee now, in thy sweet fairy dream ? For surely I have thee, bright gem, in my power ;— Ah! like most golden prizes, when nearest they seem, Thou vanishest,— child of the sunbeam and flower ! Ovenden, near Halifax. SELECTED. AUTUMN. Autumn ! soul- soothing season, thou who spread'st Thy lavish feast for every living thing ; Around whose leaf- strewed path, as on thou tread'st, The year its dying odours loves to fling. Their last faint fragrance sweetly scattering Oh ! let thy influence, meek, majestic, holy, So consciously around my spirit cling, That its fixed frame may be, remote from folly, Of sober thought combined with melancholy. If, in the morning of my life, to Spring I paid my homage with a heart elate ; And with each fluttering insect on the wing, Or small bird singing to his happy mate, And Flora's festival, then held in state If joyous sympathy with these was mine. Oh ! still allow me now to dedicate To thee a loftier song:— that tone assign Unto my murmuring lyre, which Nature gives to thine : A tone of thrilling softness, now, as caught From light winds sweeping o'er a late- reaped field; And, now and then, be with these breezes brought A murmur musical of winds concealed In coy recesses, by escape revealed : And, ever and anon, still deeper tone Of Winter's gathering dirge, at distance pealed. By harps and hands unseen, and only known To some enthusiast's car, when worshipping alone. BERNARD BARTON. MUSIC. BY J. 0. PRINCE. Mysterious spirit of the tremulous air. Music 1 thou unseen sorceress of sound. How have I worshipped thee! Thy lips have breathed O'er the still chords of my susceptive soul. Till I have wept with ecstacy, and seen, Through the fast- changing mirror of my thoughts, Visions of matchless splendour, which the past. The present, and the future too, have lent To lift me for a time above the world ! Nature is full of thee: thy voices flow Spontaneous from the earth, whose waters sing In roarings or in murmurs ; while the birds, Through all the lapse of gorgeous summer time. Are eloquent unceasingly with song. Say, who can hear the low- complaining bees Nestling in fragrant calyxes of gold, Nor feel that thou art with them ? Who can hear The hum of myriad insects on the wing, The doves' soft cooing, and the trembling leaves. Nor own thy blessed influence of peace ? Can we be listening to the solemn rage Of winds at midnight, or the thunder's voice, " Which rends the silence of the sultry noon. Nor feel that thou art speaking to us still,— If not in melody, at least in tones Which thoughtful minds make Music ? Can we hear The fitful dash of sudden hail and rain, Nor willingly believe thou art the power— The self- same power— which tinkles in the rill, And wakes the impassion'd nightingale to joy i Art thou not present in the homes of men, Heard- In the fond extravagance which falls From loving hearts, and love- expressing lips ? And art thou not most audible and sweet In the exuberant laughter of the child, The father's teachings, and the mother's song. Which lulls her weary offspring into rest ? Thou art all these; and yet thy voice might fall Cold, dull, and charmless on the human ear, Were there no feelings in the human soul To hearken to and answer it. Where'er Xove, hope, affection, joy, or fancy lives, There wilt thou, find an entrance,— a response To all thy rich revealings, and become An earthly rapture— perfect but in heaven ! THE POET'S PLACE.— The poet, we cannot but think, can never have far to seek for a subject: the elements of his art are in him, and around him on every hand; for him the ideal world is not remote from the actual, but under it and within it: nay, he is a poet, precisely because lie can discern it there. " Wherever there is a sky above him, and a world around him, the poet is in his place : for here too is man's existence, with its infinite longings and small ncquirings ; its ever- thwarted, ever- renewed endea- vours ; its unspeakable aspirations, its fears and> hopes that wander through Eternity; and all the mystery of brightness and of gloom that it was ever made of, in any age or climate, since man first began ' to live,— Edinburgh Review. WOMAN.— It has often been remarked, that in sickness there is no hand like woman's hand, no heart like woman's heart; and there is not. A man's breast may swell with unutterable sorrow, and ap- prehension may rend his mind ; yet, place him by the sick couch, and in the shadow, rather than in the light, of the sad lamp that watches it; let him have to count over the long dull hours of night, and wait, alone and sleepless, the struggle of the grey dawn into the chamber of suffering ; let him be appointed to this ministry even for the sake of the brother of his heart, or the father of his being ; and his grosser nature, even where it is most perfect, will tire ; his eyes will close, and his spirit grow impatient of the dreary task; though love and anxiety remain un- diminished, his mind will own to itself a creeping in of irresistible selfishness, which, indeed, he may be ashamed of, and struggle to reject, but which in spite of all his efforts, remains to characterise his nature, and to prove, in one instance at least, his manly weak- ness. But see a mother, a sister, or a wife, in his place. The woman feels no weariness, and no recol- lection of self. In silence, and in the depth of night, she dwells, not only passively, but so far as the qualified term may express our meaning, joyously, Her ear acquires a blind man's instinct, as from time to time it catches the slightest stir, or whisper, or the breath of the now more than ever loved one, who lies under the hand of human affliction. Her step, as in obedience to an impulse or a signal, would not awaken a mouse; if she speaks, her accents are a soft echo of natural harmony, most delicious to the sick man's ear, conveying all that sound can convey of pity, comfort, and devotion ; and thus, night after night, she tends him like a creature sent from another world, when all earthly watchfulness has failed ; her eye never winking, and her mind never palled ; her nature, that at all other times is weakness, now gain- ing a superhuman strength and magnanimity : herself forgotten, and her sex alone predominant.— Tales by the O'Hara Family. PATRONAGE AND FRIENDSHIP.— It is a mortifying truth, that two men in any rank of society could hardly be found virtuous enough to give uioney, and to take it, as a necessary gift, without injury to the moral entireness of one or both : but so stands the fact. Friendship, in the old heroic sense of that term, no longer exists; except in the cases of kindred or other legal affinity, it is in reality no longer ex- pected, or recognized as a virtue among men. A close observer of manners has pronounced ' Patron- age,' that is, pecuniaryorothereconomicfurtherance, to be ' twice cursed;' cursing him that gives and him that takes ! And thus, in regard to outward matters also, it has become the rule,— as in regard to inward it always was and must be the rule,— that no one shall look for effectual help to another ; hut that each shall rest contented with what help he can afford himself. Such, we say, is the principle of modern Honour; naturally enough growing out of that sentiment of Pride, which we inculcate and enconrage as the basis of our whole social morality.— Edinburgh Review. SINGULAR FORM OF GOVERNMENT.— It is a cu- rious fact that there existed, in the territories of the Pope, an institution founded upon an anti- clerical feeling as inveterate even as that of the disciples of John Fox. The little town of Norcia had the privilege of making its own laws, aud choosing its own magis- trates ; and so jealous were the people of all priests, that, in order to prevent the possibility of any one of that order obtaining authority among them, one of their laws was, that all men who could read or write, should be incapable of bearing a share in their govern- ment. Their magistracy, therefore, which consisted of four persons, were called Gli Quatre Illiterati,— the four illiterates ; and, as a necessary consequence of this singular institution, all causes were examined without writings, and decided orally. This strange institution is the more remarkable, because Norcia was the birth place of St. Benedict, one of the most eminent of the Romish Church, and from whose in- stitution ( the Benedictine Order) almost all the Apostles of the North of Europe proceeded. When this brutalizing system was established, and what circumstances occasioned it, we do not know. It would be interesting to trace its history. A Jack Cade establishing a permanent order of things, on a principle so unstable, is a phenomenon of which there is no other instance. The fact is mentioned in a volume of letters concerning the state of Italy in 1687, written as a supplement to Gilbert Burnet's Travels. Busching notices it as astill existing custom ; and it was probably not abrogated till the general wreck of all the institutions in Italy, under Bonaparte. HUNTING AN ATTORNEY !— In Gilpin's Observa- tions on the Western parts of England, speaking of the Isle of Wight, lie gives the following account: " Though the Governors of the Island were sometimes apt to over- rule law themselves, they were careful not to let the inhabitants feel the vexations of any law but their own. For this reason they would not suffer an attorney to settle in the island. In the Oglander family are preserved some memoirs of the country,, written by Sir John Oglander, one of their ancestors ; in which we are told that, in the reign of Elizabeth, when Sir George Carey was Governor of the island, an attorney came sneaking into it, with a view to settle. Sir George, hearing of him, had him apprehended ; and ordering bells to be fastened about his legs, and a lighted firebrand tied to his back, he turned him loose to the populace, who bunted him out of the island." A celebrated vocal performer being taken ill, on one night of his promised appearance, an inferior singer was introduced to supply his place. The sub- stitute, being hissed by several of the audience, came forward very humbly, and said, " Gentlemen, you expected to hear a voice of fifty guineas a week ; but consider, I have only five." ANECDOTES OF ITALIAN BRIGANDS.— The Che- valier d' Angelis, in a paper on Italian manners, speaking of the Brigands, relates that one of them, covered with wounds, and having lost his leg, con- tinued to defend himself against the soldiers by whom he was attacked.— A band of brigands set fire to a hay- loft, and perished in the midst of the flames, in order not to expose themselves as trophies to their enemies.— Some Calabrese banditti having been pursued by a numerous body of troops, were arrested in their flight by a river, which the rains had rendered impossible to be forded. Despairing of their safety, as well as of their pardon, they destroyed their ammunition, embraced one another, and disappeared together in the midst of the torrent.— Bizzarro, the terror of the Calabrias, was always accompanied by his wife, who made him a father at the moment his life was exposed to the most imminent danger. Fearful that the cries of the infant might discover his retreat, he determined to sacrifice it; and tearing it from the embraces of its mother, ha murdered it in her presence ! The wretched woman stifled her grief, not to expose herself to the same fate ; but no sooner did she perceive Bizzarro over- whelmed with sleep and wine, than she seized his arms, and avenged the death of her son. A reward had been set upon the head of this monster : his widow came to demand it, confessing her crime, and exhibiting the trunkless head of her husband !— A chief of banditti was taken, and condemned to lose his right hand before being hanged. The executioner, who was inexperienced, having failed in his first attempt, was about to repeAt it; the criminal requested and obtained permission to cut it off himself. He chopped otf his hand, and presenting it to the execu- tioner, said to him coolly, " Learn, another time, to be more expert in your business." Dunning, whose debauched habits often made him late in court of a morning, on one occasion came shuffling into the King's Bench at half- past nine. Lord Mansfield was very vexed. " Do you know what hour it is, Mr. Dunning ?" Mr. Dunning, pul- ling out his watch, " half- past nine, my lord." " I have been here an hour, Mr. Dunning." " Then, my lord, we have been equally irregular; you half an hour too soon, and I half an hour too late." On another occasion, Dunning had been strongly protes- ting a point of law, and urging Lord Mansfield to revise his opinion, " Mr. Dunning, I apprehend I sit here by his majesty's gracious permission, to decide what is the law; at this rate, I had better go home and burn my books." " You had better by half go home and read them," said Dunning aside, but pretty loud. The Japanese preserve their ships from the worm, ( the teredo navalis,) by charring them ; a process which has also the advantage of preserving them from rotting. CRITICISM.— Many of our modern criticisms on the works of our elder writers, remind me of the Con- noisseur who, taking up a small cabinet picture, railed most eloquently at the absurd caprice of the artist, in painting a horse sprawling. " Excuse me, Sir," replied the owner of the piece. " You hold it the wrong way ; it is a horse galloping."— Coleridge. HALIFAX :— Printed and Sold, for the Proprietors, at the General Printing Office of H. Martin, Upper George Yard. Letters to the Editors should be received at our pub- lisher's, by Wednesday evening, at latest; and advertisements by noon on Thursday. No credit will be given, either for the paper or for adver- tisements.