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neighbor, "Five and thirty seconds: not bad, by Jove!" .

The operator now seats himself on the stool just vacated by the dresser, who has carried away the leg, and seeks in the cut surfaces before him the end of the main artery on which to place a ligature. There is j no flow of blood, only a little oozing, for the tourniquet holds life's current hard and fast. Only five minutes' uncontrolled flow of the current from that great artery now so perfectly compressed, and our patient's career in this world would be closed forever. How is it permanently held in check? and what have we to substitute now for the hissing, sparkling, and sputtering iron, and the boiling pitcn? The operator takes hold of the cut end of the artery with a slender, delicately made pair of forceps, and draws it out a little, while an assistant passes round the end so drawn out a ligature of exceedingly fine whipcord, fine but strong, and carefully ties it there with double knot, and so effectually closes the vessel. A similar process is applied to perhaps six or seven other but smaller vessels, the tourniquet is removed, and no bleeding ensues. Altogether the patient has lost little more than half a pint of blood! The flaps are placed in apposition, the bone is well covered by them, a few stitches are put through their edges, some cool wet lint is applied all around the stump, and the patient, slumbering peacefully, is

carried off to a comfortable bed ready prepared in some adjacent ward. Half an hour hence that patient will regain consciousness, and probaby the first observation he makes will be, "I am quite ready for the operation; when is it going to begin P" And it takes no little repetition of the assurance that all is over to make him realize the happy truth.

So it is that he who loses the limb knows less about the process than any one concerned; infinitely less, my gentle reader, than you who have shared with us the quiet corner, and have seen all without losing consciousness, or fainting. It was an early day in the medical session, and many new men were there: one at least was observed to become very—very pale, and then slowly dis-' appear: no one knows how or where, for neither we in the area nor those elsewhere had leisure or care to inquire.

AVhat might have happened to somebody else had he been witness before these blessed days of chloroform, can, in the nature of things, bo only a matter for speculation. It may even be surmised by some theorist, and without hazarding a very improbable guess, that a similar catastrophe might, perhaps, under such aggravating circumstances, and at a greener age, have rendered utterly futile, on his part, any attempt to describe what modern skill and science now accomplish in cutting off the leg of a patient under chloroform.

England At The Close Of The American War.—The nation was on the brink of ruin; and it i • probable that her rain would have been consummated, but for some compensatory circumstances, which Iny beyond the control of her blind and obstinate ruler. While the king's government was losing a great empire in the west, private enterprise had roared from its foundations a still greater empire in the east. While orators and statesmen were engaged in debates about election contests, matters of privilege, or questions of ephemeral or personal interest, the advancing prosperity of the nation, and its progress in the arts of civilized society, are to be traced in tlio private legislation of parliament. The I in-Ill iin- Acts, the Road and Canal Acts, the Paving and Lighting Acts, which are supposed to concern only the local and personal interests of the parties who solicit them, formed by far the most important part of the transactions of Parliament, from the commence

ment of the reign until the end of the American war. But, above all, it was by the inventive genius of the Lancashire artisans, that England was compensated for the fatuity of her rulers. The steam engine and the spinning jenny opened up new sources of wealth and power; and Watt and Crompton have given us a commerce of a hundred millions with free America, in lieu of a barren sovereignty which we could not have retained.—Massey's History of England.

Dinner Etiquette.—Like yonr correspondent Ci-devant Jeune-homme I have a distinct recollection of having seen the ladies go out of the drawing-room first in single file, followed by the gentlemen in the same order. My impression is that the system of hooking, like the dancing of quadrilles, was not introduced till after the peace in 1814.—Notes and Queries.

Meletes.

From The Examiner.

Curiosities of Natural History. Second Series. By Francis T. Buckland, M. A., Student of Christ Church, Oxford; Assist. Surgeon, 2nd Life Guards. Bentley.

The place in literature left vacant by the death of Mr. Broderip is likely to be better filled by Mr. Buckland than by any other furnisher of recreations in Zoology. Less learned in the literature of their subject, but as hearty in the scientific relish of it, and as copious in anecdote, the Curiosities of Natural History gathered into Mr. Buckland's First and Second Series may take their place jupon the book-shell with the well-known and jever popular Zoological Recreations. The i new volume is in part a reprint from journals to which good sketches of animal life and zoological anecdotes are welcome, but the republished matter is recast and blended with much that is altogether new in three chapters of naturalist's gossip. Of these one

i's upon the contents of Dr. Buckland's geoogical collection in description of its sale, one of the creatures that are to be found in a gamekeeper's museum, and the last is called a Hunt on the Sea-shore. In the main, therefore, this is peculiarly a book of the season, one chief section of it having especial interest for the sportsman, and another for the townspeople who migrate to the sea. At Brighton Mr. Buckland says:—

"While looking at the machines, I was informed by my companion that the English have not been a sea-bathing nation such a very long time, and that, therefore, bathing-machines are a comparatively modern invention. It is exactly one hundred and ten years ago that a physicinn, named Russell, wrote a book upon the advantages of washing the body in sea-water— an idea winch had not previously entered into the brains of our forefathers. Up to that time, to use the words of my learned informant and friend, Mr. Roberts, of Dover, 'the sea was judged to have been designed for commerce, and seaside towns for the residence of merchants and fishermen. At no previous period had there been sea-side visitors. Why should they go to the sea-coast, when no motive could bo stated, —at a time, too, when Northampton's healthy climate was attributed to its distance from the

\noxiousfumesofthe sea? There were certainly watering-places; but these were towns where

'mineral waters existed, such as Bath, Cheltenham, Ilarrowgato,' etc. Dr. Russell's brother doctors took up the cry; sea-bathing suddenly became the fashion; Dr. Russell was obliged to come to reside at Brighton; and the fishing villages in various paits of the kingdom became inundated with visitors. Brighton, being the point where the sea could be most easily reached from London, was soon found out, and taken possession of by a colony of citizens, anxious to follow the fashion and recruit their health at the'same time. Besides Brighton, many other watering

places have started into existence, and the sea is now found efficacious for nearly all ailments, whether of mind or body, and it often effects a cure when nothing else will; an annual migration, like that of anadromous fishes, of thousands of persons now takes place to those very shores which their grandfathers regarded with a species of horror.

"In most books, Brighton is stated to be forty odd miles from London. This we believe not to he strictly correct; bat it is made under fifty miles from London, because as we have heard the tnlc, in former times, the king was not allowed to go more than fifty miles from London without a minister. Now, the sovereign who was so fond of Brighton did not want to be bored with a minister at his elbow; and therefore Brighton was put down as being under the proscribed distance, and the pavilion, etc., started into existence."

The following hint may be new and acceptable to some of our sportsmen:—

"It is often a difficult matter to know which of a lot of birds, pheasants or partridges, hanging in a larder ought to be cooked lirst. My friend, Mr. Coulston, of Clifion, Bristol, has shown me how to put a date upon each bird without using pen, ink, or pencil, and it is a very simple but useful plan. When the birds are brought in after shooting, hold up each before you with his brcnst facing you, then begin to count his toes from your right towards your left, after the manner that children in tho nursery play the game of 'Whose little pigs ar» these?' Let the claws indicate the days of the week; if the bird was shot on Monday, pull the claw off the first toe you count; if on n Thursday, the claw from the fourth toe, and so on. When the birds are subsequently examined, each will bear a mark to show immediately on what day of the week he was killed. This plan may bo known to many, but still 1 give it for the benefit of those who have never heard of it before."

The gourmand who has never eaten hedghog may be interested by these culinary hints:—

"I have often heard that hedgehogs are good to cat, and that gypsies arc very fond of them, and that they arc great proficients in the art of cooking them. I have lately had the good fortune to obtain information on this point from a high authority. In tho nciglifcorhood of Oxford I met an old gypsy woman, who, although squalid and dirty, was proud in being able to claim relationship with Black Jemmy, tho king of the gypsies. She informed mo that there were two ways of cooking a hedgehog, and seemed much surprised at my question whether her tribe ever ate them; as if there could ever exist a doubt. I expressed a wish to know tho process, the receipt for which I subjoin in her own words: 'You cuts the bristles off 'em with a sharp knife after you kills 'em fust, sir; then you sweats them (Oxfordshire, burns them with straw like a bacon pig), and makes tho rind brown, like a pig's sweatings; then you cuts 'em down the back, and spits "em on a bit of stick, jxjinted at both ends, and then you roastes 'cm with a strong flare.'

"It appears that hedgehogs are sometimes in season, and sometimes out of season. My informant told me that' they are nicest at Michaelinns time, when they have been eating the crabs which fall from the hedges. Some,' she added, * have yellow fat, and some white fat, and we calls 'cm mutton and beef hedgehogs; and very nice eating they bo, sir, when the fat is on 'em.'

"The other way of cooking hedgehogs is gone ont of fashion. The gysy's grandmother used to cook them in the following manner; but it appears they are best roasted. The exploded fashion is to temper up a bit of common clay, and then cover up the hedgehog, bristles nnd nil, in it,—like an apple in paste, when an apple dumpling is contemplated,—then hedgehog, clay and all, is to ba placed in a hole in the ground, and a firo lighted over it; when the clay is found to be burning red, the hedgehog is done and must be taken out of the hole; the clay-crusts of tlie pie being opened, the hedgehog's bristles are found sticking to it, and the savory dinner is ready.

"1 he fashion of eating hedgehogs was not, in former days confined to gypsies. There was a farmer's family living nt Long Compton, near Oxford, who were supplied with hedgehogs by our informant's grandmother; this family used also to breed them, keep and fatten several litters, ' and,' said the gypsy, ' they used to eat up every litter they bred, dressing 'em just when they wanted 'cm, like they did the fowls.' Sometimes a nest of young hedgehogs is found by the gypsies; if they are too small for eating, they are preserved till fit for use, or, as it is called in Oxfordshire,' flitted;' that is, a string is tied to the bind leg, and the doomed animal is allowed to wander about the length of his

tether, picking up what he can get; under this system, if well fed, he will fatten wonderfully."

Illustrative of the perils of science is this story of the bubble knowledge sought at the whale's mouth:—

"Some years before I was born, a large whale was caught at the Nore, and towed up to London Bridge, the lord mayor having claimed it. When it had been at London Bridge some little time, the government sent a notice to say the whale belonged to them. Upon which the lord mayor sent answer, ' Well, it" tlie whale belongs to you, I order you to remove it immediately from London Bridge.' The whale was therefore towed down the stream again to the Isle of Dogs, helow Greenwich. The lato Mr. Clift, the energetic and talented assistant of his great master, John Hunter, went down to see it. He found it on the shore, with its huge mouth propped open with poles. In his eagerness to examine the internal parts of the mouth, Mr. Clift stepped inside the mouth, between the lower jaws, where the tongue is situated. This tongue is a huge spongy mass, and being at that time exceedingly soft, from exposure to air, gave way like a bog, at the same time he slipped forwards towards the whale's gullet, nearly as far as he could go. Poor Mr. Clift was in a really dangerous predicament; he sank lower and lower into the substance of the tongue and gullet, till he nearly disappeared altgether. He was short in stature, and in a few seconds would, doubtless, have lost his life in the horrible oily mass, had not assistance been quickly afforded him. It was with great difficulty that a boat hook was put in requisition, nnd the good little man hauled out of the whale's tongue."

The book, as a good specimen of the class to which it belongs, will enrich any collection.

Napoleon I.: His Testimony To The DiVinity Of Christ.—The following statement is to be found at p. 171, of Arvine's Cyclofxedia of Moral and lielitjious Anecdotes, but without reference to any authority. I should like to be informed whether it rests on any respectable foundation:—

"' I know men,' said Napoleon at St. Helena to Count de Montholon, ' I know men, and I tell you that Jesus is not a man! The religion of Christ is a mystery which subsists by its own force, and proceeds from a mind which is not a human mind. We find in it a marked individuality, which originated a train of words and actions unknown before. Jesus is not a philosopher, for liis proofs are miracles, and from the first

his disciples adored him. Alexander, Ctesar, Charlemagne, and myself founded empires; but

| on what foundation did we rest the creatures of our genius? Upon force. But Jesus Christ founded an empire upon Love; and at this honr, millions of men would die for him. I die before

i my time, and my body will be given back ot the earth, to become food for worms. Such is the

I fute of him who has been called the Great Napo

; Icon. What an abyss between my deep misery and the eternal kingdom of Christ, which is proclaimed, loved, adored, and is still extending over the whole earth!' Then, turning to General Bcrtrand, the emperor added, 'If you do not perceive that Jesus Christ is God, I did wrong in appointing you a General."" —Note* and Queries. J. H.

From The Spectator. THE GREAT DESERTS OF NORTH AMERICA.*

The Abb6 Domenech has published, in two volumes, illustrated with fifty-eight woodcuts, three plates of ancient Indian music, and a map of the country described, the result of his personal observations and ethnographical studies on the Indians of the great deserts of North America, after a seven years' residence among thrm. The work is full of interest; it impresses us generally with a conviction of the good faith, simple heartedness, perseverance, industry, and comprehensiveness of observation which distinguish its excellent author. The descriptive parts, in particular, are very well done; being at once picturesque and exact; vivid enough to suggest the scenical reality and sympathetic enough to present "the mysterious reflection of the mind, which seems to appeal to us from the landscape," without any sacrifice of scientific accuracy.

The abbe has divided his work not only into chapters but into parts. We shall pass lightly over the first and second divisions, the subjects of which are "Ancient emigration" and "American origins." In these two sections there is much ethnological and cosmological speculation, evincing some reading and study, and possibly containing valuable matter. In the present state of the various branches of knowledge which relate to such disquisitions, it must be left to the professed ethnologist to decide on the success or failure of our author, in his remote inquiries into the origin of the American Indians, his anthropological classification, or his theory of the influence of climate. Where we feel ourselves competent to pronounce an opinion, as in questions of pure exegesis, we profoundly disagree with the abb?. How far certain documentary prepossessions may bias his scientific conclusions, we leave to the determination of better instructed minds than our own.

Starting with the unity of the human rnce and rejecting the hypothesis of a separate creation as well as every "other extraordinary theory," our author regards the Indians as members of the family created by God in Eden—" the degenerate descendants of emigrants from the old world, who at successive and very remote periods came over to America, voluntarily or accidentally," either in groups or separately. Two main routes are indicated by which these emigrants might have passed over into America. "The great route principally traversed is

* Seven Yean' Residence in the Great Deserlt of fforth America. By the Abbe" Em. Domenech, Apostolical Missionary, etc. In two volumes. Published by Longman and Co.

that which joins Asia and America, at Behring's Straits; or else the two lines of islands the Kouriles, situated between Japan and Kamschatka, and the Aleeutincs, which join Kamschatka to the Alascan peninsula in Russian America, near the 55° latitude North." Other emigrants, it is supposed by the abbe, came from the east by the north of Europe, though Ireland, Iceland and Greenland, as others again reached Central America by the Canary Islands, "availing themselves of trade-winds and strong submarine currents." In proof of the origin thus assigned to the Indians of America, the abbe refers to the analogy which exists between the Mexican calendar and the calendars of nations of Tartar derivation, showing, as Humboldt observes, that the inhabitants of these two continents drew their astrological notions from a common source. In Mexico too, as in Eastern Asia, such names as tiger, dog, monkey or rabbit, were given to the days of the week. Another argument in favor of this identification is derived from affinity of idioms, which although composed of dissimilar words, agree closely in grammatical construction.

The third part of the work before us bean as its characteristic heading, the word "Descriptions." The central portion of North America is divided into distinct zones. "The one to the east is covered with thick forests, which extend almost without interruption from the Atlantic to the valley of the Mississipi, and even to a distance of three hundred miles beyond that river." At Texas the forests are replaced by prairies which "ascend from south to north to the hyperborean regions and are afterwards lost to the west in the waters of the Pacific Ocean. It is this zone, divided in all its length by the range of the Rocky Mountains nnd of the Sierra Nevada, that is the least known, although it is the most curious and interesting of the New World;" and it is of this zone that the Abbe Domenech proposes to himself especially to treat. The deserts of the south follow the prairies of Texas. "The prairies are cut up by countless rivers and streams, which are skirted by a double border of forests, composed of cedars, magnolias, sycamores, plane-trees, ebony," tuliptrees, maples, pines, acacias, oaks, etc. Some of them arc sixty miles in length. They present the appearance of an ocean of dark stunted herbs, where nothing marks a beginning or an end. The traveller journeys through these wildernesses for days together, "without hearing the warble of the birds, without seeing any thing but the yellow grass, flowers faded by the heat, deer lying carelessly about, and pricking up their ears as they look at you with astonishment; timeblanched bones, some rare tumuli, or sepul- , chral mounds, gilded by the last rays of the setting sun, or drowned in the bluish vapors of the atmosphere. To the west of Texas are to be seen two plains, stretching from east to west, whose undulations resemble "the little waves caused by the ebb and flow of the tide." Here infrequent mesquitcs •with their gnarled branches display their dark green foliage; or a capriciously distributed cluster of acacias "appear like motionless shadows bending over a petrified sea covered with algte." These regions, more"over, are fertile, abounding in grass and flowers. Partridge, quail, wild turkeys, and deer are found here. Unfortunately rattlesnakes, scorpions, and tarantulas, equally afiect these green domains. They are seen in the plains, in the woods, on the borders of the rivers, in fact everywhere, and were it not for the slow movements of these and other venomous reptiles and insects, "the history of the deserts would be but a long martyrology." The greatest annoyance, however, is the tick, or prairie bug, who creeps, clings, nestles, sucks wherever he can, and irritates the traveller incessantly. The greatest privation is the want of water. Animals perish with an exhausting thirst; •withered skeletons of white people are seen near springs, to which they had not sense or strength to crawl. Here, too, the arrow and lance of the Comanchcs, exasperated by American ill-treatment, destroy their many victims.

Passing over the deserts of tho south-east, the south-west, and the west, and omitting all notice of California, with the historical, legendary, or descriptive comments of our author, we arrive at the borders of the Great Salt Lake, with its seventy miles of length, its elevation 4,200 feet above the level of the sea, and its seven islands. The waters of this lake leave traces of salt all over the soil. No fish can live in them; and fresh meat steeped in them for twelve hours, requires no other conserving preparation. To the east of the lake lies an extensive plain, covered in part with artemis, mire, or salt. From its centre rise numerous mountains like islands planted in a sea of saltpetre. "Beyond this point commences the desert of the Seventy Miles."

"The malediction of heaven seems to weigh heavily on the solitude, which reminds one oi the desolate shores of tho Dead Sea, where Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed. To the east there appeared inaccessible mountain ridges, and blood-colored rocks dotted with green spots: on their flanks undulated dark clouds: whilst thick vapors moved above their summits, like the smoke of a volcano upon an azure sky Light mists produced at twilight, hovered amic

its vague glimmer, and danced over the waters, ooking like erapo tinged with the most lovely >ink; this crape spread over the horizon a transparent veil that shed upon nature the charm of i faint light, which, as it gradually rose to tho summit of tho mountains, assumed a more somiro hue, nn indescribable, dismal appearance, that filled the soul with sadness and tho eyes with tears. This immense valley, of a lugubrious and funereal aspect, recalls to mind that of Johosnophat, the valley of graves. An imposing silence continually reigns around this lescribcd lake, which might well be called tho "Lnko of Death." On its sterile strand, on tho porphyry of its banks, you never hear the patter Df tho rain, tho whistle of the wind, the leaves falling from tho trees, the chirp of tho birds, nor the swallow's rapid flight through the air. All is calm and gloomy like the vaults of a gigantic sepulchre. One would say that God, in a day of wrath, had cursed these solitudes on account of the crimes of their inhabitants, whose ashes lay mouldering for many centuries beneath tho sunds of tho deserts."

Closely following this striking scenical delineation, we find a very interesting sketch of the Mormon settlement. "The situation of the Mormon capital is admirable." Two years after its foundation it was already four miles in length by three in width. The streets, which, with a breadth of forty-three yards, have on each side a footpath of six or seven yards wide, run at right angles to each other. The houses are requried, by municipal regulation, to be erected at a distance of seven yards from the footpaths. The intermediate space is planted with trees and shrubs. Before each door irrigating pipes are passed, which furnish abundant supplies of water for the gardens. To the east and north the city is commanded by a chain of mountains, whose graceful peaks are lost in the clouds, and which descend to the plains by gradations forming beautiful verdant terraces. To the west the town is watered by the Jordan, while innumerable torrents supply tiny brooks and streams that run along the thoroughfares and water the gardens. The foundation of several other towns, Paysan, Monte, the City of the Cedar, is also laid in the Great Basin. "Before many years have elapsed," says the Abb6 Domencch, "all these establishments will [we believe] be joined by an uninterrupted chain of farms and villages, and from the Pucbio de los Angeles or of San Diego to the Great Salt Lake, the route will pass between rows of houses and cultivated fields." Our author testifies to the rapid progress of the Mormons in the useful arts and industries—a progress which will make them ere long commercially independent of the United States for all fabrics and manufactures whatever. He pronounces thorn too powerful to

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