The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 3 (of 3) / Everlasting Calerdar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac

Discoveries
OF THE
ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.
No. III.

The Innate Ideas of Descartes and Leibnitz, derived from Plato, Heraclitus, Pythagoras, and the Chaldeans—the System of Mallebranche from the same Source, and St. Augustine.

The innate perception of first truths, maintained by Descartes and Leibnitz, which raised such warm and subtle disputes among metaphysicians, is a doctrine derived from Plato. That great philosopher, who acquired the surname of divine, by having written best on the subject of Deity, entertained a very peculiar sentiment respecting the origin of the soul. He calls it “an emanation of the divine essence, from whom it imbibed all its ideas; but that having sinned, it was degraded from its first estate, and condemned to a union with body, wherein it is confined as in a prison; that its forgetfulness of its former ideas was the necessary consequence of this penalty.” He adds, that “the benefit of philosophy consists in repairing this loss, by gradually leading back the soul to its first conceptions, accustoming it by degrees to recognise its own ideas, and by a full recollection of them to comprehend its own essence, and the true nature of things.” From that Platonic principle of the soul’s “divine emanation,” it naturally followed, that, having formerly had within itself the knowledge of every thing, it still retained the faculty of recalling to mind its immortal origin and primeval ideas. Descartes and Leibnitz reasoned in the very same manner, in admitting eternal and first truths to be imprinted on the soul:—they substitute indeed the creation and preexistence of souls, in place of the “divine emanation” of them taught by Plato; but they defend their system by the same sort of arguments.

Mallebranche entered the lists in defence of Descartes’s principles, and took upon him to support an opinion respecting the nature of ideas, which caused universal astonishment by its apparent singularity, and was treated as almost extravagant; although he advanced nothing but what might be defended by the authority of the finest geniuses of antiquity. After having defined ideas to be “the immediate, or nearest objects of the mind when it perceives any thing.” Mallebranche demonstrates the reality of their existence, by displaying their qualities, which never can belong to nothing, that have no properties. He then distinguishes between sentiments and ideas; considers the five different ways, whereby the mind comes at the view of external objects; shows the fallacy of four of them, and establishes the preeminence of the fifth, as being that alone which is conformable to reason, by saying, that it is absolutely necessary God should have in himself the ideas of all essences, otherwise he never could have given them existence. He undertakes to prove, that God, by his presence, is nearly united to our souls; insomuch, that he may be called the place of spirits, as space is of bodies; and thence he concludes, that the soul may discern in God whatever is representative of created things, if it be the will of God to communicate himself in that manner to it. He remarks, that God, or the universal intelligence, contains in himself those ideas which illuminate us; and that his works having been formed on the model of his ideas, we cannot better employ ourselves than in contemplating them, in order to discover the nature and properties of created things.

Mallebranche was treated as a visionary for having advanced these sentiments, although he accompanied them with the most solid and judicious proofs that metaphysics could afford; but he was never charged with plagiarism, though his system and manner of proof exist literally in ancient authors. After reciting passages from the “Oracula Chaldæorum,” which he reveres as a divine oracle, he says, “The gods here declare where the existence of ideas is to be found, even in God himself, who is their only source; they being the model according to which the world was formed, and the spring from which every thing arose. Others, by applying immediately to the divine ideas themselves, are enabled to discover sublime truths; but as for our part, we are content to be satisfied with what the gods themselves have declared in favour of Plato, in assigning the name of ideas to causes purely intellectual; and affirming, that they are the archetypes of the world, and the thoughts of the supreme father; that, in effect, they reside in the paternal intellect, and emanate from him to concur in the formation of the world.”

Pythagoras and his disciples understood almost the same thing by their numbers, that Plato did by his ideas. The Pythagorists expressed themselves with regard to numbers in the same terms as Plato uses, calling them “τα ὁντως ὁντα, real existences, the only things truly endowed with essence, eternally invariable.” They give them also the appellation of incorporeal entities, by means of which all other beings participate of existence.

Heraclitus adopted those first principles of the Pythagoreans, and expounded them in a very clear and systematic manner. “Nature,” says he, “being in a perpetual flow, there must belong to it some permanent entities, on the knowledge of which all science is founded, and which may serve as the rule of our judgment in fleeting and sensible objects.”

Democritus also taught, that the images of objects are emanations of the Deity, and are themselves divine; and that our very mental ideas are so too. Whether the doctrine be true or erroneous is not here a subject of inquiry: the present purpose being merely to show the analogy between the principles of Mallebranche and those of the ancients.

Plato, who, of all the ancient philosophers, deservedly ranks the highest, for the clearness and accuracy wherewith he hath explained and laid open this system, gives the appellation of “ideas” to those eternal intellectual substances, which were, with regard to God, the exemplary forms or types of all that he created; and are, with regard to men, the object of all science, and of their contemplation when they would attain to the knowledge of sensible things. “The world,” according to Plato, “always existed in God’s ideas; and when at length he determined to produce it into being, such as it is at present, he created it according to those eternal models, forming the sensible into the likeness of the intellectual world.” Admitting, with Heraclitus, the perpetual fluctuation of all sensible things, Plato perceived that there could be no foundation for science, unless there were things real and permanent to build it upon, which might be the fixed object of knowledge, to which the mind might have recourse, whenever it wanted to inform itself of sensible things. We clearly see that this was Plato’s apprehension of things; and we need only look at the passages quoted from him to be convinced, that whatever Mallebranche said on the subject, he derived from Plato.

Mallebranche would not have been railed against as impious, had his antagonists known to whom he was indebted for his opinions and reasonings; and that St. Augustine himself had said, “Ideas are eternal and immutable; the exemplars, or archetypes of all created things; and, in short, exist in God.” In this respect he differs somewhat from Plato, who separated them from the divine essence: but we may easily discern a perfect conformity between the father of the church and the modern philosopher.

Leibnitz was in some measure of the opinion of father Mallebranche; and it was natural that he should be, for he derived his principles from the same ancient sources. His “monads” were “entities truly existing; simple substances; the eternal images of universal nature.”

In this inquiry, concerning the discoveries and thoughts of the ancients attributed to the moderns, it has appeared advisable that their views of the mind, or intellectual system, should precede their consideration of sensible qualities, and the system of the universe. To persons unaccustomed to such investigations, the succeeding papers will be more interesting.

DISTRESSES OF MEN OF GENIUS.

Pope Urban VIII. erected an hospital for the benefit of decayed authors, and called it “The Retreat of the Incurables,” intimating that it was equally impossible to reclaim the patients from poverty or poetry.

Homer is the first poet and beggar of note among the ancients: he was blind, sung his ballads about the streets, and his mouth was oftener filled with verses than with bread.

Plautus, the comic poet, was better off; for he had two trades: he was a poet for his diversion, and helped to turn a mill in order to gain a living.

Terence was a slave, and Boethius died in a jail.

Among the Italians, Paulo Burghese, almost as good a poet as Tasso, knew fourteen different trades, and yet died because he could get no employment in either of them.

Tasso was often obliged to borrow a crown from a friend, to pay for a month’s subsistence. He has left us a pretty sonnet to his cat, in which he begs the light of her eyes to write by, being too poor to buy a candle.

Bentivoglio, whose comedies will last with the Italian language, dissipated a noble fortune in acts of benevolence, fell into poverty in his old age, and was refused admittance into an hospital which, in his better days, he had himself paid for building.

In Spain, the great Cervantes died of hunger; and Camoens, equally celebrated in Portugal, ended his days in an hospital.

In France, Vaugelas was surnamed “the Owl,” from having been obliged to keep within all day, and only venturing out by night, through fear of his creditors. In his last will, he bequeathed every thing towards the discharge of his debts, and desired his body to be sold, to that end.

Cassander was one of the greatest geniuses of his time, but barely able to procure his livelihood.

In England, the last days of Spenser, Otway, Butler, and Dryden are our national reproach.

S. S. S.

ON CHANGE.
No. II.

For the Table Book.

Noah is now a tailor, No. 63, Pall-mall.

Ham, a watchmaker, No. 47, Skinner-street, Snow-hill.

Isaac, a fishmonger, No. 8, Cullum-street.

Jacob, an umbrella and parasol maker, No. 42, Burlington Arcade.

Israel is a surgeon in Keppell-street, Russel-square.

Joseph is a pencil manufacturer, No. 7, Oxford-street.

Joshua, a grocer, No. 155, Regent-street.

Simon, a ship broker, No. 123, Fenchurch-street.

Joel, an auctioneer, No. 44, Clifton-street, Finsbury.

Paul, a manufacturer of mineral waters, No. 5, Bow-street, Covent-garden.

Matthew, a brush maker, No. 106, Upper Thames-street.

Mark, a malt factor, No. 74, Mark-lane.

Luke, a boot maker, No. 142, Cheapside; and

John, a solicitor, No. 6, Palsgrave-place, Temple-bar.

July, 1827 Sam Sam’s Son.

THE GRETNA GREEN PARSONS.

The first person that twined the bands of Hymen this way is supposed to have been a man named Scott, who resided at the Rigg, a few miles from the village of Gretna, about 1750 or 1760. He was accounted a shrewd, crafty fellow, and little more is known of him.

George Gordon, an old soldier, started up as his successor. He always appeared on marriage occasions in an antiquated full military costume, wearing a large cocked hat, red coat, jack boots, and a ponderous sword dangling at his side. If at any time he was interrogated “by what authority he joined persons in wedlock?” he boldly answered, “I have a special license from government, for which I pay fifty pounds per annum.” He was never closely examined on the subject, and a delusion prevailed during his life, that a privilege of the kind really existed.

Several persons afterwards attempted to establish themselves in the same line, but none were so successful as Joseph Paisley, who secured by far the greatest run of business, in defiance of every opposition. It was this person who obtained the appellation of the “Old blacksmith,” probably on account of the mythological conceit of Vulcan being employed in rivetting the hymeneal chains. Paisley was first a smuggler, then a tobacconist, but never, at any time, a blacksmith. He commenced his mock pontifical career about 1789. For many years he was careful not to be publicly seen on such occasions, but stole through by-paths to the house where he was called to officiate, and he there gave a certificate miserably written, and the orthography almost unintelligible, with a feigned signature. An important trial arose out of one of his marriages; and on being summoned to London in consequence, to undergo an examination, he was so much alarmed that he was induced to consult a gentleman of the Scotch bar on the occasion. His legal adviser stated as his opinion, that using a feigned name was decidedly a misdemeanour, and recommended the mock parson to effect, if possible, the destruction of the original certificate, and substitute another in which he should appear by his own name, and merely as a witness to the parties’ declaration that they were married persons. Afterwards, he invariably adopted the plan of merely subscribing his own name as a witness in future; and this has been the usual course of his successors. From that period he made no secret of his profession, but openly walked the street when called upon to officiate, dressed in his canonicals, with the dignity of a bishop! He was long an object of curiosity to travellers. He was tall, and had been well proportioned, but at his death he was literally an overgrown mass of fat, weighing twenty-five stone. He was grossly ignorant, and insufferably coarse in his manners, and possessed a constitution almost proof against the ravages of spirituous liquors; for though an habitual drinker, he was rarely ever seen drunk: for the last forty years of his life he daily discussed a Scotch pint, equal to two English quarts, of brandy. On one occasion, a bottle companion, named “Ned the turner,” sat down with him on a Monday morning to an anker of strong cogniac, and before the evening of the succeeding Saturday they kicked the empty cask out at the door; neither of them were at any of the time drunk, nor had they had the assistance of any one in drinking.

After the decease of Paisley, the field lay more open for competition in the trade, and the different candidates resorted to different means to acquire the best share. Ultimately the post-boys were taken into partnership, who had the power of driving to whichever house they pleased: each mock-parson had his stated rendezvous; and so strong did this description of opposition run, that at last the post-boys obtained one entire half of the fees, and the business altogether got worse. The rates were lowered to a trifle, and the occupation may now be said, in common with others, to have shared the effects of bad times and starvation prices.

There are two principal practitioners at present, one of whom was originally a chaise-driver; the other, David Laing, an old soldier, who figured as a witness on the trial of the Wakefields. At home they exhibit no parade of office; they may be seen in shabby clothes at the kitchen firesides of the pot-houses of the village, the companions of the sots of the country, and disrespected by every class.

A BLACK DREAM.

A number of years bygone, a black man, named Peter Cooper, happened to marry one of the fair towns-women of Greenock, who did not use him with that tenderness that he conceived himself entitled to. Having tried all other arts to retrieve her lost affections in vain, Peter at last resolved to work upon her fears of punishment in another world for her conduct in this. Pretending, therefore, to awake one morning extravagantly alarmed, his helpmate was full of anxiety to know what was the matter; and having sufficiently, as he thought, whetted her curiosity, by mysteriously hinting that “he could a tale unfold,” at length Peter proceeded as follows:—“H—ll ob a dream last night. I dream I go to Hebben and rap at de doa, and a gent’man com to de doa wid black coat and powda hair. Whoa dere?—Peeta Coopa.—Whoa Peeta Coopa? Am not know you.—Not knowa Peeta Coopa! Look de book, sa.—He take de book, and he look de book, and he could’na find Peeta Coopa.—Den I say, Oh! lad, oh! look again, finda Peeta Coopa in a corna.—He take de book, an he look de book, an at last he finda Peeta Coopa in lilly, lilly (little) corna.—‘Peeta Coopa,—cook ob de Royal Charlotte ob Greenock.’ Walk in, sa.—Den I walk in, and dere was every ting—all kind of vittal—collyflower too—an I eat, an I drink, an I dant, an I ting, an I neva be done; segar too, by Gum.—Den I say, Oh! lad, oh! look for Peeta Coopa wife. He take de book, an he look all oba de book, many, many, many a time, corna an all; an he couldna finda Peeta Coopa wife. Den I say, Oh! lad, oh! look de black book; he take de black book, an he look de black book, and he finda Peeta Coopa wife fust page,—‘Peeta-Coopa-wife, buckra-woman, bad-to-her-husband.’”[291]

A MUCH-INJURED MAN.

George Talkington, once a celebrated horse-dealer at Uttoxeter, who died on the 8th of April, 1826, at Cheadle, Cheshire, in his eighty-third year, met with more accidents than probably ever befell any other human being. Up to the year 1793 they were as follows:—Right shoulder broken; skull fractured, and trepanned; left arm broken in two places; three ribs on the left side broken; a cut on the forehead; lancet case, flue case, and knife forced into the thigh; three ribs broken on the right side; and the right shoulder, elbow, and wrist dislocated; back seriously injured; cap of the right knee kicked off; left ancle dislocated; cut for a fistula; right ancle dislocated and hip knocked down; seven ribs broken on the right and left sides; kicked in the face, and the left eye nearly knocked out; the back again seriously injured; two ribs and breast-bone broken; got down and kicked by a horse, until he had five holes in his left leg; the sinew just below the right knee cut through, and two holes in that leg, also two shocking cuts above the knee; taken apparently dead seven times out of different rivers.

Since 1793, (when a reference to these accidents was given to Mr. Madely, surgeon, of Uttoxeter,) right shoulder dislocated and collar-bone broken; seven ribs broken; breast-bone laid open, and right shoulder dislocated; left shoulder dislocated, and left arm broken; two ribs broken; and right thigh much bruised near the pope’s eye. In 1819, then in his seventy-sixth year, a lacerated wound in the calf of the leg, which extended to the foot, mortification of the wound took place, which exposed all the flexor tendons of the foot, also the capsular ligaments of the ancle joint; became delirious, and so continued upwards of three weeks: his wonderful recovery from this accident was attributed chiefly to the circumstance of a friend having supplied him with a quantity of old Madeira, a glass of which he took every two hours for eight weeks, and afterwards occasionally. Since then, in 1823, in his eightieth year he had a mortification of the second toe of the right foot, with exfoliation of the bone, from which he recovered, and at last died from gradually declining old age. He was the father of eighteen children, by one wife, in fifteen years, all of whom he survived, and married again at the age of seventy-four.[292]

GRAMMATICAL CONSTRUCTION.

A farmer’s son, just returned from a boarding school, was asked “if he knew grammar?”—“Oh yes, father!” said the pupil, “I know her very well;—Grammer sits in the chair fast asleep.”

P.

Vol. II.—32.

A LOVER OF ART TO HIS SON.

My dear Alfred,

Could you see my heart you would know my anxious feelings for your progress in study. If I could express myself in words of fire I would burn in lessons upon your mind, that would inflame it to ardent desire, and thorough conviction, of attaining success.

Our talented friend, who permits you the use of his collection of models and casts, and does you the honour to instruct you by his judgment, assures me that your outlines evince an excellent conception of form. To be able to make a true outline of a natural form, is to achieve the first great step in drawing.

You remember my dissatisfaction towards some engravings of hands and feet that were given you by the person who would have continued to instruct you, if I had not been dissatisfied. The hands in these prints were beautifully finished, but their form was incorrect; the feet were not representations of any thing in nature; and yet these deformities were placed before you to begin with. If I had not taught you from your infancy the value and use of sincerity, and the folly and mischief of falsehood, you might have been at this time a liar, and become a depraved and vicious character; instead of being, as you are, an upright and honest youth, and becoming, as I hope you will, a virtuous and honourable man. Had you continued the copying of engraved lies of the limbs, your drawings would have been misrepresentations of the human figure. You will discover my meaning if you consider an old precept, “Never begin any thing without considering the end thereof.”

Your affectionate father,
*

Garrick Plays.
No. XXVIII.

[From the “Devil’s Law Case,” a Tragi-Comedy, by John Webster, 1623.]

Clergy-comfort.

Sepulture.

Two Bellmen, a Capuchin; Romelio, and others.

Immature Death.

Guilty preferment.

Mischiefs

Last Love strongest.

Mother’s anger.

Distraction from guilt.

Obstacles.

Falling out.

[From the “Bride,” a Comedy, by Thomas Nabbs, 1640.]

Antiquities.

Horten, a Collector. His friend.

Accidents to frustrate Purpose.

C. L.

NATURAL CURIOSITIES OF DERBYSHIRE.

Further Extracts from the Journal of a Tourist.[295]

For the Table Book.

June 1, 1827.

Visited Chatsworth, the princely residence of the duke of Devonshire, three miles to the north-east of Bakewell. As soon as the summit of the neighbouring hill is attained, the house and park lie immediately in front in a beautiful valley, watered by the Derwent. An addition is making to the main building, which is large, but not very handsome in its architectural design; on approaching it, I passed over an elegant stone bridge, close to which is an island whereon a fictitious fortress is built. The views on all sides are strikingly fine, and of great variety; hills and dales, mountains and woods, water and verdant pasture lands. It requires “a poet’s lip, or a painter’s eye,” to adequately depict the beauties of this enchanting place. Perhaps no estate in the kingdom furnishes choicer objects for the pencil. I do not think, however, that the grounds in the immediate vicinity of the mansion are so well disposed, or the scenery so rich, nor does the interior offer such magnificent works of art, as at Blenheim. There is much sculpture, of various degrees of merit, distributed about the apartments; but the collection is in its infancy, and a splendid gallery is in progress for its reception. The finest production of the chisel is Canova’s statue of Napoleon’s mother; its natural grace and ease, with the fine flowings of the drapery, and the grave placidity of the countenance, are solemnly majestic—she looks the mother of Napoleon. Among the other great attractions here, are a bust of Petrarch’s Laura, another of his present majesty, by Chantrey; and a portrait of his majesty by sir Thomas Lawrence.

The next day I continued my route towards Matlock Bath—as beautiful a ride as I ever took. The road follows the Wye for six miles in a vale, past the aged towers of Haddon Hall, and the scenery presents every interesting feature that can be coveted by the most enthusiastic lover of nature;—rugged and beetling crags, gently sloping hills, extensive woods, rich meadows and fertile vallies, form the composition of the views. Handsome villas, farm-houses, and neat cottages—living pictures of scarcely minor interest—embellish and diversify the natural beauties of the delightful scene.

At the end of the six miles, the road turns over a bridge across the Wye, leading through the dale (Matlock) to the Bath. The river here rolls darkly along, its progress swifter and its depth greater; the same rocky barrier that encloses all the dales in this county uplifting its huge masses of rocks on either side. The margin of the river is thickly studded with large trees, close copse-woods clothe the slopes at the bottom, and ascend part of the cliffs’ sides—wild shrubs branch from the clefts above, whence innumerable jackdaws whirl their flights, and make incessant monotonous noise. About a mile before reaching Matlock Bath is a mountain called the High-Tor, its bare and jagged head rising far above the adjoining rocks. I was informed that it contains a fine natural grotto, but the river was too deep to wade, and I missed the sight.

On rounding a point, the shining white buildings of the Bath appear along the foot and some distance up the side of a steep lofty hill, called the “Heights of Abraham.” The greater part of the village is situated in the valley, but a second may be said to be beneath it, through which the river flows: its banks are thickly planted with groves of trees, and winding paths have been made throughout these delightful haunts, for the pleasure of the visitors. The cliffs rise opposite majestically perpendicular, and as finely picturesque as any I saw in Derbyshire. The “Heights of Abraham” are at least a quarter of a mile above the highest of the houses. A zigzag road through a shrubbery leads to the celebrated natural cavern near the summit—an immense recess, as grand as Peak’s Hole, but far more beautiful; for its sides are formed of a variety of spars of surprising brilliancy. To mineralogists it is the most interesting resort in England; and here collectors, prosecuting their discoveries, think themselves happy, although deprived of the light of heaven for whole days together. The whole of this immense mountain is one sparkling mass of various spars and ores.

Ascending this steep road on horseback, I found the views, through the shrubs, of the village and valley beneath, the river, and the surrounding mountains, inconceivably grand. High-Tor was on the left, and Wild-Cat-Tor on the right—beyond which the Wye, gleaming in the sun’s rays, wound sinuously along the verdant vale, till it was so diminished by the distance as to seem like a bent wire of shining silver, and was lost to sight by the intervention of a far-off mountain.

Of all places this seems to present the greatest inducements to the temporary visitant; and to anglers it is the ne plus ultra of piscatorial recreation.

After a day’s enjoyment of this charming spot, I went forward, but the threatening appearance of the weather induced me to sojourn at a small public-house in one of the smaller dales. Heavy clouds arose, and the rain obscured the distant hills; running along their summits, having the appearance of thick fog. The weather clearing, I walked out, and surveyed the curious old limestone built “hostel,” with the sign of “A Trout,” scarcely decipherable from age. Some anglers, whom the heavy shower had driven for shelter under the cliffs, again appeared, and threw their artificial temptations on the surface of a stream flowing from the mountain at the back of the little inn. Its water turned singularly constructed machinery for crushing the lead ore, washed down from a neighbouring large mine. Immense fragments of rock, by falling betwixt two iron wheels, with teeth fitted closely together, are pounded to atoms. A number of men, women, and children, were busy shovelling it into sieves set in motion by the machine, and it separated itself by its own weight from the stone or spar that contained it.

Determined by my curiosity to descend into the mine, I procured a miner to accompany me; and following the stream for a short distance, reached a small hut near the entrance, where I clothed myself completely in miner’s apparel, consisting of a stout woollen cap, under a large, slouched, coarse beaver hat, thick trowsers, and a fustian jacket, with “clods,” or miner’s shoes. At the mouth of the mine we seated ourselves opposite to each other in a narrow mining cart, shaped from the bottom like a wedge, attached to a train of others of similar make, used for conveying the ore from the interior. Having been first furnished with a light each, we proceeded, drawn by two horses, at a rapid pace, along a very narrow passage or level, cut through the limestone rock, keeping our arms within the sledge, to prevent their being jammed against the sides, which in many places struck the cars very forcibly. In this manner, with frequent alarming jolts, we arrived at a shaft, or descent, into the mine. We got out of our vehicles and descended by means of ladders, of five fathoms in length, having landing places at the bottom of each. The vein of the lead ore was two hundred fathoms deep. We therefore descended forty ladders, till we found ourselves at the commencement of another passage similar to the first. All the way down there was a tremendous and deafening noise of the rushing of water through pipes close to the ear, caused by the action of a large steam-engine. The ladders and sides of the rock were covered with a dark slimy mud. We walked the whole length, several hundred yards, along the second level, knee deep in water, till we reached the spot, or vein, that the workmen were engaged on. They were labouring in a very deep pit; their lights discovered them to us at the bottom. Into this chasm I was lowered by a wheel, with a rope round my body; and having broken off a piece of lead ore with a pickaxe, I was withdrawn by the same means. Another set of labourers were procuring ore by the process of blasting the rock with gunpowder—I fired one of the fusees, and retiring to a distant shelter, awaited the explosion in anxious alarm; its reverberating shock was awfully grand and loud. My ascent was dreadfully fatiguing from the confined atmosphere; and I was not a little rejoiced when I could inhale the refreshing air, and hail the cheering light of day.

E. J. H.