of the house made up three card tables, and the rest of the company-about six. teen young persons-formed a circle and sang in turns. After the card players had finished we all danced, first a French cotil-at about three feet in front, a cushion of lon, then an English country-dance, and, lastly, what they call a round, but what I should call a kissing dance, as there is more of that than anything else. We returned home about eleven o'clock. M. de la Loude supped with us.

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Friday, April 22nd.

Took a walk on the pier, and saw the prisoners of war from England disembark. Miss Betsy Gaudoin drank tea with us.

Saturday, April 23rd. Walked out with Miss Gaudoin to make a few purchases, and rambled about till dinner, after which we packed up things to remove. Mr. and Mrs. Morley being obliged to leave Dessein's Hotel, as Louis XVIII. was expected the next day, and the apartments they then occupied were destined for the Duke of Bourbon. Mr. and Mrs. de Flin left Cologne, and came to reside in Calais for a year.

Sunday, April 24th. At half past eleven we left Dessein's Hotel, and went to hear military mass. The church of Notre Dame is not so large nor near so handsome as that at Boulogne. The great and principal altarpiece is now building, and is dedicated to the Virgin. There is a fine organ and some paintings tolerably well executed, among which, according to my judgment, the Ascension ranks first. Mass was over in about an hour. We took an early dinner at M. de Flin's, and immediately repaired to the church to await the arrival of the king. The heart of the church is enclosed with iron rails, close to which we placed ourselves, standing upon chairs, that we might overlook the guards who were to be stationed within, and thus get a full view of his Majesty, for whom, in the middle of the enclosure, directly facing

the altar, a pretty throne was prepared. Under a canopy of white silk, embroidered and tied in festoons with gold, was placed a large armchair of crimson damask, and, the same to kneel on this, of course, was for the king. There were three more chairs of the same, two on the right of the throne, for the Prince of Condé and the Duke of Bourbon, and one on the left, for the Duchess of Angoulême. The whole was arranged with the greatest taste and elegance.

At half past three, the Royal Sovereign yacht, with several brigs, barges, etc., entered the harbor; an open carriage was in waiting to conduct the royal family to church, to which they immediately repaired. The band played, and the drums beat in the church so loudly that the windows really shook. "Vive le roi," "Vive Louis XVIII.," "Vivent les Bourbons" resounded from all parts. The Guards of Honor rushed in first with drawn swords, and formed themselves in rows; the king was attended by an immense train of English and French nobility; he walked under a canopy, supported by the clergy; the Prince of Condé, Duke of Bourbon, and the Duchess of Angoulême followed. Mass was then performed. The king was truly devout, and appeared much affected. Twelve young ladies of Calais, dressed in white crape over satin, sang the Te Deum.

Just before the conclusion of divine service we returned to our apartments, that we might avoid the crowd and have a good view of the procession to Dessein's Hotel, to which the carriage containing the royal family was conveyed, or rather, dragged by the populace. The streets were sanded, and strewed with flowers, etc.; the houses almost covered with curtains, sheets, table-cloths, etc. Every window and balcony was crowded with countenances expressive of the greatest joy and satisfaction. His Majesty seemed deeply to feel this warm reception; he sat with his hands clasped, and looked with smiles of content and gratitude on all who surrounded him.

Hearing he intended dining in public, we hastened to the hotel, where we found that ladies only were to be admitted; many were to take that opportunity of being introduced, and accordingly made themselves very smart for the occasion; but, as we had no idea of receiving so great an honor, we did not think it worth while to change our dress. We entered a small court, adjacent to the dining-room, where we remained for half an hour, nearly

suffocated. I never saw such an immense | comed us back, and resumed their former crowd of women. I really expected to be affability. crushed. Here we might have remained for hours, had we not, fortunately, met with a gentleman of Mr. Morley's acquaintance, who, being one of the Guards of Honor, conducted us through a private door to the dining-room. Miss Gaudoin, Mercy and I were together, but separated from the rest of our friends, who were all dispersed among the crowd.

We immediately placed ourselves behind the king's chair, on whose right hand sat the Duchess of Angoulême, who, hearing us address each other in English, turned round, asked if we were English ladies, and began to converse with us with the greatest affability. The Duke of Bourbon, who was seated next to the duchess, shook hands with us and joined in the conversation. He was extremely polite, offered us refreshments from the table, and in gallantry was quite the Frenchman. The duke introduced us to several persons near him, among whom were the Earl of Buckinghamshire and Lord Sidmouth. The latter was particularly pleasant. I stood nearest to the king, who having attended to our conversation on the happiness of the times, with the

utmost condescension addressed himself to me, and said he never could repay the obligation he was under to the English, of whom he spoke with great affection. He asked if I wished to know the names of the company present, and then told me the titles of half the persons at table with him. I had the honor of speaking three different times to him during the hour we remained in the dining-room. We were likewise introduced to the Prince of Condé, who sat on the left of his Majesty.

Owing to the number of persons waiting to be admitted, the officers in attendance desired us to walk on, as we had been in the room nearly half an hour; and although we had had permission of the duchess to stay, they said they could not allow it. We were accordingly retiring, but a gentleman at table (whom we afterwards learned was a duke) observed we were English ladies, and taking my hand, held it a considerable time, desired us to stand close to him, apologized that he could not be allowed to offer us his seat, and conversed with the greatest affability. He introduced us to a number of persons near him, and after some time desired one of the officers to conduct us to our old station behind the king's chair, and to suffer us to remain there as long as we thought proper. The royal family wel

About twelve toasts were then given with three times three, after which his Majesty gave "Vivent mes enfants et mes armes! "God save the King" was then sung in French, during which he appeared much affected. In the last verse but one, the Duchess of Angoulême is highly compli mented for her virtues and goodness, at which time the king kissed her hand and joined in the song. The twelve young ladies then came forward. One played the harp, while the others sang "Vive Henri Quatre," after which they were introduced, and with them we retired.

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At twelve o'clock we went to Dessein's

Hotel to see the king take his departure for Boulogne, and were fortunate in getyard, where the carriages were waiting. ting windows that overlooked the courtThat for the king was a coach with eight miserable-looking horses, and, what was still worse, rope harness. He left Calais amidst the acclamations of the people, and Polish Lancers, with other military, bewas attended by two or three Mamelukes, sides the Guards of Honor, twenty-four in number, twelve on foot and twelve on horseback. Immediately after the departure of the royal family, we went over the the king were large and handsome; his apartments they had occupied. Those of bed was of crimson damask and uncom monly high. From the hotel we walked

tenant Ashley, a friend of ours, he contowards the pier, and meeting with Lieuducted us over the Royal Sovereign yacht, with which I was much delighted. The apartments are elegantly fitted up, beyond anything I ever saw.

We returned to M. de Flin's to dinner, and in the afternoon (as is the custom here) called on all those families who had kindly shown us attention during our stay at Calais. We slept in our old apartment at Dessein's Hotel.

Wednesday, April 27th, 1814. We took an early dinner, and at half past four embarked for England in the same Deal boat that brought us. We were six hours and a half on our passage, and miserably sick; but, thank God, arrived safe at Upper Deal at twelve o'clock at night. HANNAH SOPHIA HOLLams.

From Murray's Magazine.

ON September 22, 1791 Michael Faraday was born at Newington Butts. One hundred years have therefore passed away since this greatest of experimental philosophers first saw the light. The centenary of his birth has been appropriately celebrated by two lectures in the theatre of the Royal Institution, by Lord Rayleigh and Professor Dewar respectively, in which these distinguished scientists summed up the marvellous and beneficent results which have accrued to the world from Faraday's discoveries. It may not be out of place to mark the occasion by laying before our readers a brief summary of the life and work of this "prince of modern investigators."

The story of his life is full of interest, and of that kind of interest which appeals especially to Englishmen. His father was a blacksmith, and so far as Michael could remember a man of no unusual abilities. Having a family of ten children, he was naturally unable to give them a liberal education. "My education," says Faraday, "was of the most ordinary description, consisting of little more than the rudiments of reading, writing, and arithmetic at a common day-school." At the age of thirteen he was apprenticed to one Riebau, a stationer and bookbinder, of No. 2, Blandford Street, where he was at first employed as an errand-boy. In after years he never forgot this early occupation, and always evinced a kindly interest in newspaper boys. "I always feel a tenderness for those boys," he once said to his niece, "because I once carried newspapers myself." He was afterwards engaged as a bookbinder, and duly served his apprenticeship. Some thirty years later, when Faraday had achieved a European reputation, he one evening took Professor Tyndall by the arm, as they were leaving the Royal Institution, and said, "Come, Tyndall, I will show you something that will interest you." They walked northwards, and at length reached Blandford Street, when, after a little looking about, he paused before a stationer's shop, and then went in. "On entering the shop," says the professor, "his usual animation seemed doubled; he looked rapidly at everything it contained. To the left on entering was a door, through which he looked down into a little room, with a window in front facing Blandford Street. Drawing me towards him, he said eagerly, 'Look there, Tyndall, that was my working

place. I bound books in that little nook.'' But though engaged in binding books, his tastes and longings were elsewhere. Trade he hated, while science he loved. He eagerly devoured the scientific works which came under his notice in the pursuit of his calling. "At the age of thirteen," he writes to M. de la Rive, "I entered the shop of a bookseller and bookbinder, remained there eight years, and during the chief part of the time, bound books. Now it was in these books, in the hours after work, that I found the beginning of my philosophy. There were two that especially helped me, the Encyclopædia Britannica,' from which I gained my first notions of electricity, and Mrs. Marcet's Conversations on Chemistry,' which gave me my foundations in that science."

At length there came to Faraday that tide in the affairs of man which taken in the flood leads on to fortune. A customer of the shop gave to the young bookbinder a ticket for the last four lectures of Sir Humphry Davy at the Royal Institution. Faraday went, took full notes of the lectures, wrote them fairly out with illustrations of his own, and then sent them to the great chemist, with the earnest entreaty that some opening might be found for him in the service of science. Davy was struck with the ability displayed in the notes, and wrote kindly to the young man, with promises of assistance; and in the following March Faraday found himself appointed to the post of chemical assistant in the Laboratory of the Royal Institution, at a salary of 25s. a week. He was now twenty-two years of age, and the desire of his heart was fulfilled. Henceforth his life may be described, with hardly any exaggeration, as one long series of scientific discoveries. For a long time he travelled on the Continent in the capacity of assistant to Sir H. Davy, and on his return resumed his post at the Royal Institution. In 1816 he published his first article in the Quarterly Journal of Science; and a few years later a chemical paper of his was read before the Royal Society, and afterwards honored with a place in the "Philosophical Transactions." In 1821, at the age of thirty, he married, and brought his young wife to his rooms at the Royal Institution, which they continued to occupy for a period of forty-six years. The marriage was an eminently happy one, as this entry, written in Faraday's own hand in his book of diplomas, many years afterwards, bears witness to:

Among these records and events, I here insert the date of one which, as a source of honor and happiness, far exceeds all the rest. We were married on June 12, 1821.


It would be impossible, in the small space at our disposal, to follow in detail the successive steps of Faraday's remarkable discoveries. While assisting Davy in the laboratory, he undertook independent investigations for himself, which resulted, among other things, in the discovery of the compound now known as benzine, out of which, we are told, he could quite easily have made his fortune. Five years later, at the age of forty, he made his first discoveries in electricity, which placed him at once among the leading scientific men of Europe.

demanian Baptists, and for a short period held the office of an elder in that community. It was then his custom to occupy the pulpit on alternate Sundays, but his preaching does not seem to have been remarkable. His object, we are told, seemed to be to make the most use of the words of Scripture, and as little as possible of his own. To a lady, who wished to become one of his disciples, he wrote: "There is no philosophy in my religion. I am of a very small and despised sect of Christians, known, if known at all, as Sandemanians, and our hope is founded on the faith that is in Christ. But though the natural works of God can never by any possibility come in contradiction with the higher things that belong to our future existence, still I do not think it at all After ten years of incessant labor, necessary to mix the study of the natural marked by the most brilliant successes, sciences and religion together, and in my his health completely broke down. Gid- intercourse with my fellow-creatures that diness, accompanied by loss of memory, which is religious and that which is philocompelled him for a time to suspend all sophical have ever been two distinct scientific investigations. He travelled for things." Though a firm believer in the a few months in Switzerland, delighting Christian revelation, as his letters and in the beautiful scenery, and amusing him- journals abundantly show, he never obself with the botany of the country. The truded his opinions upon others. "Never journal which he then kept, and in which once," says Professor Tyndall, "during an he fastened his botanical specimens, is full intimacy of fifteen years, did he mention of genuine interest. Like Martin Luther, religion to me, save when I drew him on he was not ashamed of his humble origin. the subject. He then spoke to me withHe is at Interlaken, enjoying the glory of out hesitation or reluctance; not with any the Jungfrau sunsets, and at times watch-apparent desire to 'improve the occasion,' ing the nail-makers at their work. And but to give me such information as I he writes: "Clout nail-making goes on sought. He believed the human heart to here rather considerably, and is a very neat and pretty occupation to observe. I love a smith's shop and anything relating to smithery. My father was a smith." For nearly four years Faraday was more or less incapacitated from serious work; after which period he regained his former health and vigor. He was now fifty-four, and some twenty years of life yet remained to him, in which to pursue his investigations. Those years were sacredly devoted to the cause he loved, and further discoveries which added, if possible, fresh lustre to his name, resulted from his untiring experiments. He died, at the age of seventy-six, sitting in his study chair, at Hampton Court, on August 25, 1867, and was buried at Highgate Cemetery, where a simple stone marks his resting-place.

In estimating the character of Michael Faraday, "the greatest experimental philosopher the world has ever seen," his deep religious earnestness must ever occupy a prominent position. He belonged, like his parents, to the curious sect of the San

be swayed by a power to which science or logic opened no approach, and, right or wrong, this faith, held in perfect tolerance of the faiths of others, strengthened and beautified his life."

His mediocrity as a preacher is the more remarkable when we bear in mind his unparalleled pre-eminence as a lecturer. He possessed the rare gift of speaking the deepest things most simply. For thirty. eight years his lectures were the life of the Royal Institution. His charming manners, his lucid language, his admirable illustrations, at once arrested the attention of even the youngest among his hearers. Among all lecturers heard by me," wrote the late Sir Frederick Pollock, "he was easily the first. Airy, Sedgwick, Owen, Tyndall, and Huxley belong to the highest order, but there was a peculiar charm and fascination about Faraday which placed him on an elevation too high for comparison with others."


Another prominent feature in Faraday's character was his absolute love of science

for its own sake. He freely gave his discoveries to the world, when he could easily have built up a colossal fortune upon them. He once told his friend Professor Tyndall, that at a certain period of his career he had definitely to ask himself whether he should make wealth or science the object of his life. He could not serve both masters, and was therefore compelled to choose between them. When preparing his well-known memoir of the great master, the professor called to mind this conversation, and asked leave to examine his accounts. And this is the conclusion the professor arrived at. "Taking the duration of his life into account, this son of a blacksmith, and apprentice to a bookbinder, had to decide between a fortune of £150,000, on the one side, and his unendowed science on the other. He chose the latter, and died a poor man. But his was the glory of holding aloft among the nations the scientific name of England for a period of forty years." It would be out of place to enter at any length upon the nature of Faraday's discoveries. Suffice it to say that to his patient investigation, and inspired insight into nature, we owe, among other advantages, the whole system of the electric telegraph, the use of electricity for medical purposes, the telephone, and the electric light.


In summing up this short notice, we cannot do better than once more quote the words of Professor Tyndall. "As Faraday recedes from me in time," he wrote on the occasion of the centenary lecture last June, "his character becomes to my mind more and more beautiful." 'Surely," he says elsewhere, "no memory could be more beautiful. He was equally rich in mind and heart. The fairest traits of a character sketched by Paul, found in him perfect illustration. For he was 'blameless, vigilant, sober, of good behavior, apt to teach, not given to filthy lucre.' A favorite experiment of his own was representative of himself. He loved to show that water in crystallizing excluded all foreign ingredients, however intimately they might be mixed with it. Out of acids, alkalies, or saline solutions, the crystal comes sweet and pure. By some such natural process in the formation of this man beauty and nobleness coalesced, to the exclusion of everything vulgar and low. He did not learn his gentleness in the world, for he withdrew himself from its culture; and still this land of England contained no truer gentleman than he. Not half his greatness was incorporate in his science, for science could not reveal the bravery and delicacy of his heart." JOHN VAUGHAN.

SOME HUMORS OF STATISTICS. - Charles James Mathews, when the craze for calculations was not nearly so great as at present, wrote some satirical verses, commencing: I'm a mad arithmetician, and I live in Bedlam College, And I'm death on calculation and experimental knowledge.

I've measured all the universe and summed up all creation, And to benefit the world I now impart my information. Then follow a few results arrived at by "simple calculations," which are scarcely more amusing than some of those made by presumably sane people. What doth it profit a man to know how much of his life is spent in putting on his boots, or parting his hair, or fumbling for the evasive shirt button? And who cares to know how much or how many of this, that, or the other will reach round the world, or make a pyramid to the skies? This sort of thing has been done to death. Still we must allow that now and again a statistical genius hits upon a new fact or puts an old one in a new light. Here is somebody assuring us that twelve thousand vehicles, a quarter of them omnibuses, pass through the Strand in

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a day, carrying sixty-three thousand persons. Each vehicle, it seems, is, owing to the narrowness of the street, delayed on an average three minutes. What of that? one may reasonably ask. "Oh," says the calculator, in effect, "the total waste of time equals three thousand one hundred and fifty hours, which, at the moderate rate of one shilling per hour, is £157 per day, or over £47,000 per annum. Another ingenious gentleman, commenting on the statement that the Americans use annually eighteen hundred pounds of gold, worth about £90,000, in stopping decayed teeth, makes the inevitable "simple calculation," and arrives at the conclusion that in one hundred years the American cemeteries will contain more gold than now exists in France. Will they really? This good hand at figures must have heard that more than once-notably in Paris some twenty years ago-it has seriously been proposed to start companies for the purpose of taking gold stoppings from the jaws of corpses which lay in burial grounds. Statistics are all very well, but they do not take into account contingencies of this nature. Cassell's Saturday Journal.

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