the daily news, to catch some casual intelligence of this rover of the deep! How has expectation darkened into anxiety-anxiety into dread-and dread into despair! Alas! not one memento shall ever return for love to cherish. All that shall ever be known is that she sailed from her port, " and was never heard of more." The sight of the wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismal anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, when the weather, which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild and threatening, and gave indications of one of those sudden storms that will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a summer voyage. As we sat around the dull light of a lamp, in the cabin, that made the gloom more ghastly, every one had his tale of shipwreck and disaster. I was particularly struck with a short one related by the captain. "As I was once sailing," said he, "in a fine stout ship, across the banks of Newfoundland, one of the heavy fogs that prevail in those parts rendered it impossible for me to see far ahead, even in the daytime; but at night the weather was so thick, that we could not distinguish any object at twice the length of our ship. I kept lights at the mast-head, and a constant watch forward to look out for fishing-smacks, which are accustomed to lie at anchor on the banks. The wind was blowing a smacking breeze, and we were going at a great rate through the water. Suddenly the watch gave the alarm of a sail ahead!' but it was scarcely uttered till we were upon her. She was a small schooner at anchor, with her broadside towards us. The crew were all asleep, and had neglected to hoist a had been ill all the voyage, and had excited the sympathy of every one on board. When the weather was fine, his messmates had spread a mattress for him on deck in the shade, but of late his illness had so increased, that he had taken to his hammock, and had only breathed a wish that he might see his wife before he died. He had been helped on deck as we came up the river, and was now leaning against the shrouds, with a countenance so wasted, so pale, and so ghastly, that it is no wonder the eye of affection did not recognise him. But at the sound of his voice her eye darted on his features, it read at once the whole volume of sorrow; she clasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing them in silent agony. All was now hurry and bustle. The meeting of acquaintances the greeting of friends-the consultations of men of business. I alone was solitary and idle. I had no friend to meet, no cheering to receive. I stepped upon the land of my forefathers-but felt that I was a stranger in that land.- -WASHINGTON IRVING. THE CURFEW. Oft on a plat of rising ground 1 hear the far-off Curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar.-MILTON. light. We struck her just amid-ships. The force, the size, carrefou, or couvrefeu, and is now considered by us to THE word Curfew is derived from the Norman word, and weight of our vessel, bore her down below the waves; we passed over her, and were hurried on our course. "As the crashing wreck was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three half-naked wretches, rushing from her cabin; they had just started from their cabins to be swallowed, shrieking, by the waves. I heard their drowning cry mingled with the wind. The blast that bore it to our ears swept us out of all farther hearing. I shall never forget that cry! It was some time before we could put the ship about, she was under such headway. We returned, as nearly as we could guess, to the place where the ship was anchored. We cruised about for several hours in the dense fog. We fired several guns, and listened if we might hear the hallo of any survivors; but all was silent—we never heard nor saw any thing of them more!" It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of "land" was given from the mast-head. I question whether Columbus, when he discovered the new world, felt a more delicious throng of sensations than rush into an American's bosom when he first comes in sight of Europe. There is a volume of associations in the very name. It is that land of promise, teeming with every thing of which his childhood has heard, or on which his studious years have pondered. From that time until the period of our arrival it was all feverish excitement. The ships of war that prowled like guardian giants round the coast; the headlands of Ireland stretching out into the channel; the Welsh mountains towering into the clouds; all were objects of intense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey, I reconnoitred the shores with a telescope. My eye dwelt with delight on neat cottages, with their trim shrubberies and green grass-plots. I saw the mouldering ruins of an abbey overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of a village church rising from the brow of a neighbouring hill-all were characteristic of England. The tide and wind were so favourable, that the ship was enabled to come at once at the pier. It was thronged with people; some idle lookers-on, others eager expectants of some friends or relatives. I could distinguish the merchant to whom the ship belonged. I knew him by his calculating brow and restless air. His hands were thrust into his pockets; he was whistling thoughtfully, and walking to and fro, a small space having been accorded to him by the crowd, in deference to his temporary importance. There were repeated cheerings and salutations interchanged between the shore and the ship, as friends happened to recognise each other. But I particularly noted one young woman, of humble dress but interesting demeanor. She was leaning forward from among the crowd, her eye hurried over the ship as it neared the shore, to catch some wished-for countenance. She seemed disappointed and agitated, when I heard a faint voice call her name. It was from a poor sailor who mean the signal for extinguishing fires. Pasquier says it is derived from carfou, or garefou, as being intended to advertise the people to secure themselves from the robbers and revellers of the night. The CURFEW BELL is commonly, though I think erroneously, supposed to have been introduced in England by William the Conqueror. It is true, that one of his laws ordered all his subjects to extinguish their fires and lights, and retire to rest, at eight o'clock, at which hour the Curfew was appointed to be rung, but the regulation existed in the monasteries long before his time; and although it was not, perhaps, obligatory on the inhabitants of the adjoining villages, yet was highly conducive to the general safety, when the cottages were composed entirely of timber. Henry, in his History of Great Britain, says there is sufficient evidence that the same custom prevailed in most parts of Europe at this period, and was intended as a precaution against fires, which were then very frequent and very fatal, when so many houses were built of wood; and Peshall, in his History of the City of Oxford, affirms that the custom of ringing the bell, at Carfax, every night at eight o'clock (called Curfew Bell, or Cover-fire Bell), was by order of King Alfred, the restorer of our University, who ordained that all the inhabitants of Oxford should, at the ringing of that bell, cover up their fires and go to bed; which custom is observed to this day and the bell as constantly rings at eight as Great Tom tolls at nine. In order to reconcile these accounts of Henry and Peshall with the assertions set forth by most other writers, of its introduction by the Norman conqueror, we may, I think, be justified in supposing that the custom existed in England prior to his reign, but that, under the loose and careless sway of the Saxon monarchs, it had fallen gradually into disuse, and was eagerly revived by William, as a means of securing his usurpation, by enervating the habits of the people, and of suppressing all attempts at domestic rebellion, by preventing any nightly meetings of the disaffected. Of the causes which led to the establishment of a custom at first sight so tyrannical, we know nothing for certain, and the opinions of modern historians differ widely with regard to them. Some affirm that the Conqueror, regarding his British subjects with a jealous eye, and his dominion in this country as by no means secure, naturally laid upon them such restrictions as would most tend to lower their pride and degrade that noble activity of mind and body which might be productive of formidable opposition to the safety of his throne: this view is suggested by Polydore Vergil, who, upon this subject, writes, " In order that he might convert the native ferocity of the people into indolence and sloth, he deprived them of their arms, and ordained that each head of a family should retire to rest about eight o'clock in the evening, having raked the ashes over his fire: and that for this purpose a sign should be made through every village, which is even now preserved, and called in the Norman Coverfeu." Others, again, regard it as a mark of infamy, and as a proof of the slavery in which William held the conquered English. The poet, Thomson, seems to have adopted this opinion, when he wrote The shivering wretches, at the Curfew sound, And through the mournful gloom of ancient times That it was not a badge of infamy, is, however, evident, from the fact, that the law was of equal obligation upon the Norman nobles of the court and upon the Saxon peasantry. The same argument might be adduced to show that it cannot justly be considered as a mark of slavery, since the high-spirited and chivalrous nobility which accompanied William in his expedition against Britain, each of whom was but too ready to exalt his own pretensions to equality if not to superiority over their brave and adventurous but illegitimate leader, would have felt but little inclination to submit to any encroachment upon their hours of pleasure, or any derogation from the uncorrupted spirit of freedom of a knight of Normandy. In further proof that this custom cannot justly be considered as evidence of an unworthy state of subjection, is the fact, that the obligation to extinguish fires and lights at a certain hour was imposed upon his subjects by David the First, king of Scotland, in his Leges Burgorum, and in this case no one ever imagined that it conveyed any sign of infamy or servitude. Voltaire, in his Universal History, ridicules the notion of its being a badge of degradation. "The law," he says, 'far from being tyrannical, was only an ancient police, established in almost all the towns of the north, and which had been long preserved in the convents." He adds this reason for it, "That the houses were all built of wood, and the fear of fire was one of the most important objects of general police." relieving them from some of the grievous burdens imposed by his father. It is generally imagined, though we think without sufficient reason, that the punishment, in case of disobedience against this law, was no less than death. We are inclined to suppose, however, that even in those days of unjust laws and severe exaction, the life of a human being was not sacrificed for transgressing a mere matter of police, where no actual moral offence was committed, either against God or man. There is no instance on record which would lead us to conclude that William ever enforced the observance of this custom by so wanton a disregard of the life of a fellow creature, as stains the memory of an equally celebrated man, upon an occasion of similar disobedience. Though not immediately connected with our subject, we cannot refrain from relating the circumstance. The severe Frederick, king of Prussia, intending to make an important movement during the night, gave orders that by eight o'clock all the lights in the camp should be put out, on pain of death. The moment that the time was past, he walked out to see whether his orders were obeyed. He found a light in the tent of a Captain Zeitern, which he entered just as the officer was folding up a letter. Zeitern knew him, and instantly fell on his knees to entreat his mercy. The king asked to whom he had been writing: he said it was a letter to his wife, whom he tenderly loved, and that he had retained the candle for a few minutes beyond the time, to finish it. The king ordered him to rise, and write one line more, which he should dictate. This line was to inform his wife, without any explanation, that by such an hour the next day he would be a dead man. The letter was then sealed and despatched, as it had been intended, and the next day the officer was executed. THE CURFEW Annexed is a representation of the instrument formerly used for the purpose of extinguishing fires, and from thence called a Curfew. -SKELTON. R. H. F. This is, perhaps, the most rational and satisfactory mode of accounting for the institution of a practice so singular; for the fearful devastation made by fire in great towns, at that period, is well authenticated. Moscow generally suffered severely at least once in twenty years; and Fitzstephen says, that "the only HISTORY makes us some amends for the shortness of life. pests of London are the immoderate potations of fools, and the continual fires," Alas! that while the progress of the arts and civilization has secured us in a great measure from the latter, the spread of religious information, and the better knowledge of our christian duties, should have conduced so little to the diminution of the former. The custom of ringing the eight o'clock, or Curfew, bell, is still kept up, or was till lately, in many towns in England, though the obligation it was intended to enforce, viz., the extinguishing the fires, &c., and the pains and penalties consequent upon the transgression of the law, were abolished in the year 1110, by Henry the First, who wished to conciliate his subjects, by THE greatest friend of truth is time, her greatest enemy is prejudice, and her constant companion is humility.COLTON. CARDINAL POOL was once told of one, who was very curious in keeping of his beard, and that the trimming of it cost him two ducats every month; "If so," said Pool, "his beard will shortly be more worth than his head."CAMDEN'S Remains. LONDON: JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND. PUBLISHED IN WEEKLY NUMBERS, PRICE ONE PENNY, AND IN MONTHLY PARTE PRICE SIXPENCE, AND Sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in the Kingdom. UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION, APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE. THE TUNNY FISHERY. THE Common Tunny (Thynnus vulgaris,) is a large fish belonging to the mackerel tribe: although but little known in England, it is an object of considerable importance to many of the nations bordering on the Mediterranean; to none more so, perhaps, than the Sicilians. The engraving at the head of this article represents one of the various methods of taking this fish, employed by that nation; it is called the fishery à la Thonnaire. The Tunnies, like the mackerel, appear in great shoals, or banks, which are believed to enter the Mediterranean at the beginning of April, for the purpose of depositing their spawn; but it is very likely, that instead of coming from any great distance, they merely rise from the deeper parts of that sea, in order to reach the shoal water, that the spawn, or ova, may be placed within the influence of the sun's rays. The appearance of the mackerel is said to indicate the approach of the Tunnies, these last being voracious fish, and devouring great quan tities of their smaller brethren. THE COMMON TUNNY. At the time when these fish make their periodical appearance, the strongest and the boldest precede their companions at distances determined by their greater vigour or courage. The form assumed by a shoal of Tunnies, is that of a long triangle, the weaker fish bringing up the rear. The approach of this living mass is perceived at a considerable distance, from the noise which accompanies their rapid movements, for the tail of the Tunny is large and powerful, and striking forcibly and rapidly against the water, produces a sound which can be heard at a great way off. "This murmuring noise, which is heard from afar, is echoed from rock to rock, and repeated from shore to shore, resembling that dull but imposing sound, which during a deceitful calm on a burning summer's day, announces the approach of a hurricane." In spite, however, of their number, their strength, and their swiftness, a sudden noise will often arrest the whole shoal in the middle of their course, or even the unexpected appearance of any bright object. If we may believe the reasoning of Pliny, the Roman naturalist, who speaking of the Tunny, says, " in the spring, the Tunnies pass in troops, composed of numerous individuals, from the Mediterranean into the Euxine or the Black Sea, and in the strait which separates Europe from Asia, a rock of dazzling whiteness, and of great elevation, rises near Chalcedony, on the Asiatic shore; and the sudden appearance of this rock, terrifies the Tunnies to such an extent, as to force them to alter their course, and suddenly turn towards the Cape of Byzantium, opposite the Chalcedonian shore; and this forced direction of the course of these fish, causes the fishery to be very abundant near the Cape of Byzantium." The usual size of this fish is from two to three feet in length; they are at times, however, taken as long as ten feet. Aristotle mentions an old Tunny which weighed upwards of two hundred weight. The Tunny-fishery was attended to with great care by the ancients, and still employs a vast number of hands in different parts of the Mediterranean, chiefly in Catalonia, Provence, Liguria, Sardinia, and, as we have already mentioned, Sicily. The Tunnies are taken in two ways. In the first case, when a sentinel, posted on an elevated spot, has made a signal that the fish are in view, and has pointed out the quarter from which they are coming, a number of boats put to sea under the command of a leader, and arrange themselves in a curve, and joining their nets form an enclosure, which alarms the Tunnies, and gradually drives them into closer ranks: they still continue to add fresh nets, continually driving the fish towards the shore. When they have reached water only a few fathoms in depth, they cast their last and largest net, which has a kind of pocket or long bag attached to it; this they draw towards the land, and with it they bring all the fish. The small ones are then taken out with the hands, and the larger are landed after they are despatched with boat-hooks. This mode of fishing, which is employed on the coast of Languedoc, produces sometimes at a single take as much as fifteen ton weight of fish. The second mode is that represented in the engraving with nets, called by the Italians tonnaro. These are much more complicated; Brydone calls the whole apparatus a kind of aquatic castle, constructed at great cost,-a double row of large long nets, supported in an upright position by means of corks fastened to their upper edge, and by lead weights and stones at the lower, are fixed by anchors in such a manner as to form an enclosure parallel to the shore for many hundred fathoms, sometimes an Italian mile in length, and divided into many chambers by transverse nets, and open on the land-side by a sort of door c. The Tunnies, who always swim close to the shore, pass between it and the line of nets. Arrived at the end of this, they meet with a large net stretched across, which closes the passage, and obliges them to enter the tonnaro by the openings which are practicable; when they have once entered they are driven onward in various ways from chamber to chamber, till they reach the last, which has been named the chamber of death. A horizontal net here forms a kind of platform, which a great number of sailors, who have asembled in their boats, raise up in such a manner as to lift up the fishes at the same time nearly to the surface. It is now that the action commences, and blows are dealt in all directions with boat-hooks, and weapons of that description; the spectacle becomes quite imposing, and attracts a great number of spectators, and it forms at the same time one of the principal amusements of the rich Sicilians, and one of the chief branches of the commerce of the island. As the Tunnies enter the nets in great numbers, the first endeavour of the fishermen is to drive them through the openings D D D of the chambers 1 23, till the chamber 1 is sufficiently full of fish; the opening to this chamber at D is then closed, by a net acting like a door, and the fish confined; in this manner the chambers 2 and 3, and afterwards 4 and 5, are filled. The opening at c is then also closed, and the doors separating the different chambers being lifted, the fish are driven as before noticed into B, the chamber of death, which is surrounded by the boats of the fishermen. The flesh of the Tunny, when uncooked, bears a close resemblance to beef. "You would scarcely believe," says Cetti, "the different tastes of the various parts of the Tunny; at each part of the body, and at various depths from the surface, it varies; here it is like veal, there pork. The Sardinian fishermen employ a host of words, which the memory can scarcely retain, to distinguish these different morsels. The flesh of the belly, which is the most delicious, is called sorra, and costs twice as much as the netta, which is flesh of the second quality." Like all the Mackerel tribes, the Tunny remains fresh and good for a few hours only after it is taken; if the least tainted it is not only unwholesome, but even a dangerous kind of food. FOR what is food given? To enable us to carry on the necessary business of life, and that our support may be such as our work requires. This is the use of food. Man eats and drinks that he may work, therefore, the idle man forfeits his right to his daily bread; and the apostle lays down a rule both just and natural, that "if any man will not work, neither shall he eat:" but no sooner do we fall into abuse and excess, than we are sure to suffer for it in mind and in body, either with sickness, or ill temper, or vicious inclinations, or with all of them at once. Man is enabled to work by eating what is sufficient, he is hindered from working, and becomes heavy, idle, and stupid, if he take too much. As to the bodily distempers that are occasioned by excess, there is no end of them.-JONES of Nayland. CERTAIN it is, that no man ever repented that he rose from the table sober, healthful, and with his wits about him; but very many have repented that they sat so long, till their bellies swelled, their health, and their virtue, and their God is departed from them.-JEREMY TAYLOR. IF I am regardless of sensual comforts and pleasures, if I am not greedy of dainties, if I sleep little, &c., the reason is, because I spend my time more delightfully, in things whose pleasure ends not in the moment of enjoyment, and that also make me hope for an everlasting reward. Besides, thou knowest that when a man sees that his affairs go ill, he is not generally very gay, and that on the contrary, they who think to succeed in their designs, whether in agriculture, traffic, or any other undertaking, are very contented in their minds. Now, dost thou believe, that from any thing whatsoever, there can proceed a satisfaction like that, of believing that we improve daily in virtue. Socrates. THE following lines addressed to the Alabaster Sarcophagus, supposed to be that of the King, called by Belzoni Psammuthis, but whose real name was Ousiree-Menepthah, mentioned in vol. iv., p. 154, of the Saturday Magazine, appeared in one of the public prints at the close of the year 1821. It may not be deemed an unworthy companion of the Lines to the Mummy, in page 72, and the Answer of the Mummy, in page 155, of our Fourth Volume. Thou Alabaster relic! while I hold My hand upon thy sculptured margin thrown, Let me recall the scenes thou couldst unfold, Might'st thou relate the changes thou hast known; For thou wert primitive in thy formation, Launched from th' Almighty's hand at the creation. Yes-thou wert present when the stars and skies And worlds unnumbered rolled into their places, When God from chaos bade the spheres arise, And fixed the radiant sun upon its basis, And with his finger on the bounds of space Thee, and the lord of all the nations round; As if it struggled still to be a king: His devastating host,-a motley crew,- The ponderous rock that seal'd the sacred tomb: Then did the slowly-penetrating ray Redeem thee from long centuries of gloom; They tore the sceptre from his graspless hand, Over its entrance a concealing rill; But he, from whom nor pyramid nor sphynx And vainly conn'd the moralizing line. Was once the greatest monarch of the hour: His bones are dust,-his very name unknown. Go, learn from him the vanity of power! Seck not the frame's corruption to control, But build a lasting mansion for thy soul ! N. P. S. |