on fire, when they had then attained the height of about three quarters of a mile from the ground. No explosion was heard; and the silk which composed the air-balloon continued expanded, and seemed to resist the atmosphere for about a minute, after which it collapsed, and the shattered remains of the apparatus descended with the two unfortunate voyagers so rapidly that both were killed. M, Pilatre seemed to have been dead before he reached the ground; but, M. Romaine was alive when some persons came up to the place where he lay, but expired immediately after. Amongst other voyages that of Mr. Blanchard and Dr. Jefferies, across the straits of Dover, is deserving attention. On the 7th Jan., 1785, at one o'clock, the boat was pushed off, containing only 30lbs. of ballast. The weather was fine and warm, they rose gently, and made very trifling way on account of there being so little wind. The prospect of the south coast of England they described as most beautiful. After passing over several vessels, they found that the balloon, at fifty minutes past one, was rapidly descending; on which they threw out a sack-and a half of balast. It still, notwithstanding, descended; and they, therefore, threw out all that remained. Even this proving ineffectual, they next threw out a parcel of books, which, at last, caused the balJoon to ascend. At this time they were about midway between France and England. At a quarter past two they were again descending, and threw away the remainder of their books. Ten minutes after they had an enchanting prospect of the French coast. Still, however, the machine descended; and as they had no more ballast they were fain to throw away their provisions for eating, the wings of their boat, and every other moveable they could spare. "We threw away," says Dr. Jefferies, 66 our Mr. Blanehard suggested the use of the parachute,---a machine on the principle of the common umbrella. A dog was the first to descend with it; the animal arrived at the ground unhurt; this was in 1795. Garnerin, the well-known ingenious French adventurer, ascended from the metropolis on the 2d Sept., 1802; when suspended at an immense height, he separated his parachute from the balloon, and at this instant one of the stays happening to give way, the ap paratus was so deranged as to threaten the adventurer with instant destruction during the whole of his descent, and on striking the ground, the shock was so violent, that he was thrown on his face, and was considerably injured. The sensation of ascending has been described as a strong pressure from the bottom of the car upwards, against the soles of the feet. Among other peculiarities, a distance which, to an æronaut, appeared seven miles from the earth, was proved by a barometer to be no more than one and a half.-Rivers are described as assuming a red colour; cities as looking very diminutive, and occasionally entirely blue. All appears a perfect plain; the highest buildings or points have no apparent height: but reduced all to the same level the whole terrestrial prospect appears like a coloured map. Common clouds appear sometimes pure white detached pieces, at others an extended white floor of cloud. Thunder clouds assume the form and appearances of the smoke of pieces of ordnance. The discharge of cannon is heard at considerable distance; at 30 yards it, on one occasion, so disturbed an æronaut as to oblige him for safety to lay hold firmly of the balloon. Military reconnoisance is, perhaps, the only purpose for which balloons have been used with success. In the early part of the French revolutionary war, balloons were distributed by the Aerostatic Institute to the different armies. The victory gained over the Austrian armies in 1794, by General Jourdan, on the plains of Fleurus, may be attributed to the accurate information obtained by sending one to the height of 1,300 feet over the army of the enemy. to the memory of Lord Byron, by an individual who ranked next him as a poet, is a proof how much liberality is allied to true genius: Amidst the general calmness of the political atmosphere, we have been stunned from another quarter, by one of those death-notes which are pealed at intervals, as from an archangel's trumpet, to awaken the soul of a whole people at once. Lord Byron, who has so long and so amply filled the public eye, has shared the lot of humanity. His lordship died at Missolonghi on the 19th of April. That mighty genius, which walked amongst men as something superior to ordinary mortality, and whose powers were beheld with wonder, and something approaching to terror, as if we knew not whether they were of good or of evil, is laid as soundly to rest as the poor peasant whose ideas never went beyond his daily task. The voice of just blame and of malignant censure are at once silenced; and we feel almost as if the great luminary of heaven had suddenly disappeared from the sky, at the moment when every telescope was levelled for the examination of the spots which dimmed its brightness. It is not now the question what were Byron's faults, what his mistakes; but how is the blank which he has left in British literature to be filled up? Not, we fear, in one generation, which, among many highly gifted persons, has produced none who approach Byron in ORIGINALITY, the first attribute of genius. Only thirty-seven years old :-so much already done for immortality-so much time remaining, as it seems to us shortsighted mortals, to maintain and to extend his fame, and to atone for errors in conduct and levities in composition: who will not grieve that such a race has been shortened, though not always keeping the straight path; such a light extinguished, though sometimes flaming to dazzle and to bewilder? One word on this ungrateful subject ere we quit it for ever. The errors of Lord Byron arose neither from depravity of heart,- for nature had not committed the anomaly of uniting to such extraordinary talents an imperfect moral sense,---nor from feelings dead to the admiration of virtue. No man had ever a kinder heart for sympathy, or a more open hand for the relief of distress; and no mind was ever more formed for the enthusiastic admiration of noble actions, providing he was convinced that the actors had pro ceeded on disinterested principles. Lord Byron was totally free from the curse and degradation of literature,---its jealousies we mean, and its envy. But his wonderful genius was of a nature which disdained restraint, even when restraint was most wholesome. When at school, the tasks in which he excelled were those only which he undertook voluntarily; and his situation as a young man of rank, with strong passions, and in the uncontrolled enjoyment of a considerable fortune, added to that impatience of strictures or coercion which was natural to him. As an author, he refused to plead at the bar of criticism; as a man, he would not submit to be morally amenable to the tribunal of pub- ̈ lic opinion. Remonstrances from a friend, of whose intentions and kindness he was secure, had often great weight with him; but there were few who could venture on a task so difficult. Reproof he endured with impatience, and reproach hardened him in his error,---so that be often resembled the gallant war-steed, who rushes forward on the steel that wounds him. In the most painful crisis of his private life, he evinced this irritability and impatience of censure in such a degree, as almost to resemble the noble victim of the bull-fight, which is more maddened by the squibs, darts, and petty annoyances of the unworthy crowds beyond the lists than by the launce of his nobler, and so to speak, his more legitimate antagonist. In a word, much of that in which he erred was in bravado and scorn of his ceusors, and was done with the motive of Dryden's despot, "to show his arbitrary power.' It is needless to say that his was a false and prejudiced view of such a contest and if the noble bard gained a sort of triumph, by compelling the world to read poetry, though mixed with baser matter, because it was his, he gave, in return, an unworthy triumph to the unworthy, besides deep sorrow to those whose applause, in his cooler moments, he most valued. It was the same with his politics, which on several occasions assumed a tone menacing and contemptuous to the constitution of his country; while, in fact, Lord Byron was in his own heart sufficiently sensible, not only of his privileges as a Briton, but of the distinction attending his high birth and rank and was peculiarly sensitive of those shades which constitute what is termed the manners of a gentleman. Indeed notwithstanding his having employed epigrams, and all the petty war of wit, when such would have been much better abstained from, he would have been found, had a collision taken place between the aristocratic parties in the state, exerting all his enegies in defence of that to which he naturally belonged. His own feeling on these subjects he has explained in the very last canto of Don Juan; and they are in entire harmony with the opinions which we have seen expressed in his correspondence, at a moment when matters appeared to approach a serious struggle in his native country :-- "He was as independent-ay, much more, Than those who were not paid for indepen- As common soldiers, or a common-Shore, ence O'er the irregulars in lust or gore, Who do not give professional attendance. Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar." and he might be drawn, like Garrick, be tween the weeping and the laughing muse, although his most powerful efforts have certainly been dedicated to Melpomene. His genius seemed prolific as various. The most prodigal use did not exhaust his powers, nay, seemed rather to increase their vigour. Neither Childe Harold, nor any of the most beautiful of Byron's earlier tales contain more exquisite morsels of poetry than are to be found scattered through the Cantos of Don Juan, amidst verses which the author appears to have thrown off with an effort as spontaneous as that of a tree resigning its leaves to the wind. But that noble tree will never more bear fruit or blossom! It has been cut down in its strength, and the past is all that remains to us of Byron. We can scarce reconcile ourselves to the idea---scarce think that the voice is silent for ever, which, bursting so often on our ear, was often heard with rapturous admiration, sometimes with regret, but always with the deepest interest :-- "All that's bright must fade, With a strong feeling of awful sorrow, we take leave of the subject. Death creeps upon our most serious as well as upon our most idle employments; and it is a reflection solemn and gratifying, that he found our Byron in no moment of levity, but contributing his fortune and hazarding his life, in behalf of a people only endeared to him by their past glories, and as fellow creatures suffering under the yoke of a heathen oppressor. To have fallen in a crusade for freedom and humanity, as in olden times it would have been an atonement for the blackest crimes, may in the prelies than even exaggerated calumny has sent be allowed to expiate greater folpropagated against Byron. We are not, however, Byron's apologists, for now, alas! he needs none. His excellencies will now be universally acknowledged, and his faults (let us hope and believe) not remembered in his epitaph. It will be recollected what a part he has sustained in British literature since the first appearance of Childe Harold, a space of nearly sixteen years. There has been no reposing under the shade of his laurels, no living upon the resource of past reputation; none of that coddling and petty precaution, which little authors call "taking care of their fame." Byron let his fame take care of itself. His foot was always in the arena, his shield hung always in the lists; and although his own gigantic renown increased the difficulty of the struggle, since he could produce nothing, however great, which exceeded the pub lic estimates of his genius, yet he advanced to the honourable contest again and again and again, and came always off with distinction, almost always with complete triumph. As various in composition as Shakspeare himself (this will be admitted by all who are acquainted with his Don Juan), he has embraced every topic of human life, and sounded every string on the divine The first newspaper that appeared in harp, from its slightest to its most the present single sheet formi in Engpowerful and heart-astounding tones. land, was called "The Public IntelliThere is searce a passion or a si- gencer,' and was published by Sir Juation which has escaped his pen; Roger L'Estrange, on the 31st of Aug, ON THE RAPID INCREASE IN 1661. But there were long before this period, publications that suited the same purpose, though in a different shape. As far back as 1588, was published "The English Mercurie," in the shape of a pamphlet, the first number of which is still preserved in the British Museum. These sorts of pamphlets became fash ionable in the latter part of Elizabeth's reign, but were more rare in the reign of James I. During the wars of Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, they were once more revived; for in 1622, we find "The newes of the present week,' by Nathaniel Butler; "The Mercurius Brittanicus," in 1626; "The German Intelligencer," in 1630; and "The Swedish Intelligencer," in 1631, which was compiled by the learned William Watts, of Caius College. These periodicals were produced to gratify the interest excited by the fortunes of the intrepid Gustavus. The English rebellion of 1641, gave rise to many more of these tracts, which, during the long parliament, were chiefly filled with violent appeals to the people, suited to the violence and hypocrisy of the period, and intended to justify the proceedings of the legislature towards their constituents, the soldiery and the multitude. Many of these tracts bore the title of "Diurnal occurrences of Parliament." These, however, were entirely superseded by the establishment of "The Public Intelligencer" in 1661. In 1665, "The London Gazette" commenced; it was first published at Oxford, and called "The Oxford Gazette. "The Orange Intelligencer" was the third newspaper; published in 1668. In 1696, there appears to have been nine London newspapers published weekly, although the last mentioned seems to have been the only daily one. In Queen Ann's reign in 1709, their number was increased from nine to eighteen, but still there was only one daily one, the "London Courant.” In the reign of George I. the number was increased to three daily, six weekly, and ten three times a week.*-In 1782, there were nine weekly papers published in London; in 1821, sixteen. Newspapers were first stamped in 1713; and in 1821, the number of copies circulated was 16, 254, 534; for the stamp duty upon which was paid the sum of £270,908 18s. The following table shews the increase of the number of newspapers published in the united • Literary Gazetté, 79 146 A French newspaper, "Journal des Savans,' was first published in 1665*; but the Parisian press, so far from equalling that of London, is not, by many degrees, equal to the provincial press of Ireland.t Another great source of information to the country, is the increase of circulating libraries. In the year 1770, there were only four circulating libraries in London: there are at present about one hundred; and about nine hundred more scattered throughout the country. Besides these, there are from 1,500 to 2,000 booksellers distributing about the kingdom large masses of information on history, voyages, and every species of science by which the sum of human knowledge can be increased. We may judge of the immense extent of the bookselling trade from the fact, that the sale of one firm, (that of Longman and Co.,) amounted to five millions of volumes in the year; that they employed sixty clerks,-paid a sum of £5,500 in advertisements,-and gave constant employment to 250 printers and bookbinders.+ M. * Encyclopædia Brittanica. +"An inquiry into the state of the public journals." From a speech by Lord J. Russel. GAMING FOR MONEY. In the reign of Richard the First, an edict was issued concerning gaming, by which no person in the army was per-mitted to play at any sort of game for money, except knights and also clergymen, who in one whole day and night should not each lose more than twenty shillings, on pain of forfeiting one hundred shillings to the archbishop of the army. The two kings might play for what they pleased; but their attendants not for more than twenty shillings, otherwise they were to be whipped naked through the army for three days, OURIKA; OR THE BLACK NUN. (From the French of the Duchess de ́ Duras.) (Continued from page 109.) "IT was not until long after, that I understood the possibility of being reconciled to such a fate. Madame de B. was no devotee. She had had me instructed in the duties of my religion by a respectable priest, from whom I imbibed my only notions on the subject. They were as sincere as my own character; but I was not aware that piety is of no succour, unless mingled with the daily actions of life. I had devoted a few moments of each day to its practice, but left it a stranger to the rest. My confessor was an indulgent unsuspicious old man, whom I saw twice or thrice a year; but as I did not imagine my grief to be a fault, I never mentioned it to him: meanwhile it continued to undermine my health, though, strange to say, it perfected my understanding. 'What doth the man know who hath not suffered?' says an Eastern Sage; and Soou perceived how true this was. What I had taken for ideas were impressions. I did not judge-I liked. I was either pleased or displeased with the words or actions of the persons I lived with; but stopped not to consider why. Since I had found out that the world would reject me, I began to examine and criticise almost every thing that had hitherto enchanted me. "Such a tendency could not escape Madame de B.'s penetration, though I never knew she guessed the cause. Possibly she was afraid of letting me confide my chagrin to her, for fear of increasing it; but she was even kinder to me than usual. She intrusted all her thoughts to me, and tried to dissipate my own troubles by busying me with her's. She judged my heart rightly, for nothing could attach me to life but the idea of being necessary or useful to my benefactress. To be alone; to die, and leave no regret in the soul of any being, was the dread that haunted me. But this was unjust towards her, for she sincerely loved me'; still she had other and superior interests to mine. I did not envy her tenderness for her grandchildren; but, oh!, how I longed, like them to call her mother! "Family ties, above all, brought distressing recollections over me-I who was doomed never to be the sister, wife, or mother, of any human being! Per haps I fancied these ties more endearing than they really were; and because they were out of my reach, I foolishly neglected those that were not. But I had no friend; no confidant. My feeling for Madame de B. was that of worship rather than of affection; but I believe that I felt the utmost love of a sister for Charles. "His studies were nearly finished, and he was setting out on his travels with his eldest brother and their governor. They were to be two years absent, and were to visit Italy, Germany, and England. Charles was delighted to travel; and I was too well accustomed to rejoice at what gave him pleasure, to feel any grief, until the moment of our parting. 66 "I never told him the distress that preyed upon me. We did not see each other alone; and it would have taken me some tiine to explain my grief to him. He would then have understood me, I am sure. His manners were mild and grave, but he had a propensity to ridicule that intimidated me; not that he ever gratified it, but at the expense of affectation. Sincerity completely disarmed him. However, I kept my secret. Besides, the chagrin of our parting was a relief to my mind, to which any grief was more welcome than its accustomed one. "A short time after Charles's departure, the Revolution began to assume a serious turn the great moral and political interests that were agitated by it to their very source were daily discussed in Madame de B.'s drawing-room. These were debates that superior minds delighted in; and what could better form my own, than the contemplation of an arena, where men were struggling against opinions long since received, and investigating every subject, examining the origin of every institution, mfortunately to destroy and shake them from their very foundation. "Will you believe that, young as I was, without any share in the interests of society, and nourishing my own wound in secret, the Revolution brought some change in my ideas, created a glimmering ray of hope in them, and for a while suspended their bitterness. It ap peared to me that, in the general confusion, my situation might change; and that when all ranks were levelled, fortunes upset, and prejudices done away with, I might find myself less isolated in this new order of things; and that if I did possess any hidden qualities or su |