lent in the present day, is theft or stealing. This prevails to a greater or lesser extent in every community. Some begin to practise it at such an early age, and with such wonderful adeptness, that we cannot resist the conviction that the first education which they received was in the art of stealing. One could almost fancy that there is some natural affinity between their fingers and every portable and pilferable article which comes within their reachsome secret, invisible, and ever-acting power, by which they are compelled invariably to gravitate towards everything of any value that is not their own. vances to pocket-picking. This is a more perilous department of the despicable trade, and dexterity in it is only to be acquired after diligent and persevering education. Old pickpockets seize hold of little boys who give signs of cleverness, and put them under training to the diabolical work. It has been frequently brought out in juvenile trials for theft that the following kind of training is practised. A figure resembling the human is dressed up and profusely hung with little brass bells, and in whose folds a number of pockets are concealed, and the embryo street pickpocket is set to work on this figure, and so soon as he can empty all This species of juvenile depravity assumes a variety of the pockets without causing any of the bells to tinkle, he forms. It frequently commences in the infant culprits go- is considered qualified for his work. They seldom go ing the round of the different stalls in the market-place, singly to the street, but generally in pairs. The one, who and picking up and carrying off onions, turnips, and other is generally the younger of the two, picks the pocket, and kinds of vegetables there laid out for sale. Having prac- the other stands ready to receive from him whatever he tised this for some time, and become somewhat adept in it, may be successful in extracting, and immediately decamps they then try their hands at shoplifting, which is a some- with the plunder. When a public procession is to take what more perilous crime. When engaged in this, they place, or any great crowd of people is expected to assemble, may be seen loitering about the streets, exercising a vigi- they frequently unite in parties, under some definite agree lant eye upon some particular shop or warehouse, and ment, so that they may work to each other's hands, and waiting with untiring perseverance and steady aim the op- otherwise mutually assist each other; and they meet at the portunity of snatching up and running off with a cheese, close of the day to count and divide their gains, and spend a chicken, a piece of cotton or linen cloth, or some other the evening in feasting, drunkenness, and debauchery. article of a portable and valuable kind. Though thou- They are most active in thick, murky, foggy weather, and sands of this class of juvenile pilferers have scarcely the occasion of a fair, a procession, or some season of naemerged from infancy, yet, by the time they can venture tional rejoicing, is always a harvest to them. The only on such deeds they have acquired a quickness of glance, a instrument they carry about with them is a pair of small steadiness of purpose, a rapidity of movement, and a dex- scissors, which they make use of in cutting away an entire terity in furtive deeds that is perfectly astounding, and pocket, or even a coat-tail, when they cannot succeed in which clearly shows that had they been brought up un-extracting the contents. It is no very difficult thing to deder better influences, and received a proper training, they tect such upon the street. They are boys whose very might have been not only useful in their day and genera- countenances wear an aspect of cool calculation and resotion, but, in many instances, amongst the brightest orna- lute purpose; they walk straight on in the street, as if ments of society. earnestly intent on the accomplishment of some important business; they occasionally step into a stair that they may confer for a moment about a passer-by, fix upon him as their prey, and lay their plans accordingly; and their step is light, but firm and steady, and their shoes thin, so that they may make as little noise as possible. While practising this form of stealing, they resort to a great variety of methods in order to accomplish their unhallowed designs. They make themselves extensively acquainted with those shops and warehouses which are most open to attack, either from the manner in which the goods are exposed, or from some peculiarity in the entrance or Very young boys are sometimes also engaged in what furnishings which affords an easy ingress or a safe cover, they call 'starring,' that is, loosening and removing a or from the extreme incaution manifested on the part of window-pane, in order that they may get in their hand, and the persons who attend within. In numerous instances, take out whatever valuable articles may be within reach they keep a list of all such places, which they call good,' of their arm; or in house-breaking, in which case they or attackable, that is, capable of being robbed without are frequently put in at windows, in order that they may probability of interruption or detection. Having noted unlock and unbar the door, and let in a party of grown-up such places, they also note, through perseverance in watch-robbers who are in waiting to plunder the house. ing, the place where the largest sums of money are deposited in the shop, and the time which is occupied at meal-hours by the family, and when fewest hands are at work; and having correctly ascertained this, they are prepared for an attack. Every reader of the newspapers, and every one conversant with our criminal courts, must be aware of the extensive depredations which are committed in this way. In other cases, an old thief and a young one will join hands in this department of nefarious pursuit. The old one enters a shop, and professes to be about to purchase very largely. It is generally some small article, such as pocket handkerchiefs, neckcloths, gown-pieces, remnants of cloth, and such like. A large quantity are turned out upon the counter, and while this is going on, a well-dressed little boy enters the shop, carrying a bag or a basket, and asks the shopman for some article of trifling value. The gentleman then puts forth all his ingenuity to engage as fully as possible the attention of the shopman, talks loudly of making large purchases, spreads out the goods in such a manner as to cause them to have a confused appearance, and uses various other means for the purpose of diverting the attention of the shopman; and all this time the boy is busy picking up what he can, and stowing them away in his bag or basket, until, having secured as many as he can carry off without detection, he pretends he can wait no longer, and hurriedly quits the shop. By these means large quantities of goods are frequently carried away. From this the young pilferer gradually and easily ad Many of the children who are engaged in these nefarious practices are scarcely entitled to any other appellation save that of mere infants. It was but recently that an instance was given in the public journals of a poor boy, who was only seven years old, and who measured two feet ten inches in height, being brought up to the bar on a charge of pocket-picking and found guilty. The scene must have been a deeply affecting one to every humane and reflective mind. Crime is a dark and dreadful thing, and revolting to every upright nature, in whomsoever or whersoever it is found; but to see it in one of such a tender age, who hardly knew the right hand from the left, and who could scarcely be deemed a subject of moral responsibility-one who should have been reposing on a mother's lap, rather than struggling in the sore and cruel battle of life, or treading the gloomy and fearful paths of delinquency, was surely a sight which might have drawn pity from a heart of stone, and over which angels might have wept, could tears fall in a sinless clime. And, oh! how black the eriminality of that man or woman (demon or fiend were a more appropriate appellation) who stamped the thieving propensity on that tender mind, taught the little fingers the diabolical work, and turned the infant adrift upon the streets to ply the theftuous trade. They, and not the infant, are the proper subjects of penal infliction. They may indeed escape the vigilance of those who guard the public weal-they may be protected from the fangs of law now; but would that they knew, or, knowing, that they did but remember that the sleepless eye of the Almighty is upon them that all their unnatural and wicked ingenuity, in thus perverting and destroying the infant mind, is registered in the book of God's remembrance, and shall yet be brought to light before an assembled universe, and that, amid unutterable confusion, remorse, and shame, they shall then receive, as the due reward of it all, a portion of double damnation through eternity. Nor are such cases at all singular. A few weeks ago, a little girl, only eight years of age, was observed by the superintendent of the Edinburgh police in the act of attempting to pick pockets. He stepped into a cab, told the driver to drive slowly along, keeping his eye upon the girl, while he had an opportunity of watching her narrowly through the window of the coach. In the course of a few minutes she made several unsuccessful attempts at pocket-picking. Ere long, however, she succeeded in extracting a purse from the pocket of a lady, and just when she was beginning to examine its contents, the superintendent of police alighted from the cab and secured her. She screamed loudly and piteously; a mob soon gathered round them, and the people, not being able to credit how one so young could be guilty of the crime, with which the superintendent charged her, would in all probability have attempted to rescue her from his hands, had not two gentlemen fortunately come forward who were acquainted with the officer. She was accordingly secured, and yet we must say, that, like the former child whose case we adduced, not she, but her teachers in the villanous practice, were worthy of punishment. The boys who are engaged in the practices which we have been describing are trained by others, and they are trained to it when very young. Sometimes parents, who are monsters in human form, are guilty of doing this; at other times it is done by experienced old thieves, who pick up neglected or outcast children, so that they may instruct them in the dark art of depredation, while they themselves reap the profit, and are screened from the consequences of its detection. Some of the children are orphans, a few of them are of Irish extraction, but most of them are children of dissipated parents, as we shall see in a future chapter. And we shall further see that the forms of juvenile depravity which we have now been considering, rarely if ever exist alone, but that, on the contrary, they are generally allied to debauchery and drunkenness. Sabbath profanation is another form of juvenile depravity. The Sabbath is regarded by many of the young, and especially those belonging to the dissipated classes, as a day for worldly recreation and worldly pleasure. Instead of being to them what it is intended to be, a day of holy services and sacred rest, it is generally the most wickedly-spent of all the seven. They seem on that day even to cast off restraints, by which on other days they are withheld from the commission of acts of gross iniquity. They are either utterly ignorant of the nature and invaluable privileges of that day; or if they have ever been instructed in these, they set at daring defiance all the solemn and awful sanctions by which its inviolability is protected. And what can be more painful or humiliating than to see the puny and feeble arm of youth outstretched to defy Omnipotence? A fragile creature-fragile as the rose in the grasp of the whirlwind, or the moth in a wreath of devouring flame-thus fighting against Him, who, by a glance of his wrath, could whelm the wide universe in destruction-what can be more unspeakably perilous and awful? Ob, that the Sabbath-profaning, Heaven-defying youths of our land would but listen to the voice of warning and the invitations of mercy, ere the floods of Jehovah's wrath be poured out, and they be swept away into the lowest hell! When a youth entertains low and erroneous views of the Sabbath, he lays himself open to a thousand ensnaring influences. Having such views, he hesitates not to profane that holy day, and when he has taken this step in the way of sin, there is, generally speaking, no iniquity into which he will not plunge, no moral restraint which he will not break through. Sabbath-breaking and drinking always go hand-in-hand, and the youth who unblushingly practises them will in all probability at length steep his hands in crime of the deepest dye. The Rev. Dr Ruell, chaplain to the House of Correction, Coldbathfields, London, through whose hands 100,000 criminals have passed, says, 'I do not recollect a single case of capital offence where the party has not been a Sabbath-breaker.' The celebrated Lord Chief-Justice Hale remarked, 'Of all the persons who were convicted of capital crimes while he was upon the bench, he found a few only who would not confess, on inquiry, that they began their career of wickedness by a neglect of the duties of the Sabbath, and vicious conduct on that day.' Blackstone, the great commentator on the laws of England, remarks, that a corruption of morals usually follows a profanation of the Sabbath.' · That Sabbath-profanation is a manifestation of depravity and iniquity cannot and will not be disputed by any believer in the Word of God. The Sabbath is declared to be a holy day-a day on which we are to rest from the cares, and toils, and business of the world—a day on which we are not to indulge even in our own thoughts,' far less follow our own pleasures-a day which was made for the spiritual refreshment of man, and which is to be entirely spent in the pursuit of spiritual good, and in the worship of God; and he who violates that day commits a high crime against the laws of the Governor of the universe. That Sabbath-profanation paves the way for the commission of other kinds of iniquity, is equally apparent from the testimonies which we have already quoted, as well as from numerous facts, which might be easily adduced; and it is quite natural to suppose that this should be the case. When a youth sets at defiance the laws of heaven, it is scarcely to be wondered at that he should pay no regard whatever to the laws of man. Hence it is that the youthful Sabbath-breaker speedily becomes immoral, profligate, and vicious, and not unfrequently at length becomes a giant in crime, and expiates his guilt in the hulks or on the scaffold. And who needs to be told, that this form of juvenile delinquency exhibits itself, in thousands of instances, every Sabbath day, in every corner of the land? In the fields and the woods-by the highways, and hedges, and river sides—in cars, and steamboats, and railway trains-they may be seen in pairs, or in groups, or in clubs, laughing, swearing, joking, and drinking, as if there were no God above them, and no hell beneath them, and no judgment-day before them. The loose opinions about the Sabbath which are advocated in the majority of the cheap periodicals of the day, and which are greedily drunk in by multitudes of our rising youth, tend greatly to perpetuate and propagate the evil. In the periodicals referred to, it is spoken of, not as the Lord's day,' but as man's chief pleasure-day-a day for recreation, for rambles in the green meadows, or on the heathy hills, to the hard-wrought youth, and all the sons of toil-a day of rioting and revelling, which may be spent in the companionship of the ungodly, in following the multitude to do evil, and in eagerly pursuing the gratification of the lusts of the flesh. Thousands of the young read these trashy and corrupting periodicals, and greedily drink in their pernicious principles, and multitudes more who read them not yet eagerly follow in the footsteps of those who indulge in the practices commended. Knowing such things, who need be astonished at the increase of this evil? THE DISSATISFIED SPIRIT. BY FANNY FORRESTER. God 'bowed the heavens and came down,' and breathed upon the earth; and a 'living soul' was born. It was not an angel to watch over the destinies of man, and interpose its white wing between him and evil; but it was a thing as lovely; and so it looked about to find itself a fit dwelling-place. While it paused in doubt, there came fluttering by a gay, beautiful creature, its bright wings woven in the loom from which the Iris sprung, all glittering in gold and crimson, now bathing in the dew and now in the sun-light, brilliant and blithesome, and light as the air on which it balanced. The spirit grew glad at the pretty sight, and as the tiny wonder again swept past, it thought within itself, 'What a delightful thing to be a butterfly!' Instantly, a pair of gorgeous wings sprouted from the thought; and the embodied spirit flew exultingly up and down the earth, careering in the light, and glorying in its new-found beauties. Sometimes it paused to peep into the hearts of the young flowers, and sipped daintily the sweets which dwelt on their fresh lips, and fanned them when they drooped, and bathed in their perfume; and at night it folded up its wings and made its couch where the moon-beam lay most lovingly. But it could not sleep. That was a breath from heaven stirring those gorgeous wings, the living soul within, swelling and struggling, conscious that it was not performing its mission. There could not be a brighter nor gayer life, and surely the innocent little butterfly was not guilty of doing harm; but there was a chiding voice came up from within, and the dissatisfied spirit could not sleep. Finally, it grew sorrowful, even in the midst of its light companions, as they poised and reeled in the sunlight, intoxicated by the mere biiss of living. And every day it grew more and more sorrowful, and its wings heavier, till at last it cried out in sharp anguish. Beautiful and innocent was the life of the gay insect; but the God-born spirit was not created to waste itself on a sunbeam or a flower; and those magnificent wings were leaden fetters to it. A bird was carolling on the tree above, and, as the saddened spirit looked up, it thought of the happy hearts which the little songster made, and how it praised God in its light joyousness, and then exclaimed, pautingly, 'What a sweet thing to be a bird!' A little child found a dead butterfly at the foot of the red maple tree that morning; and as she stooped to pick it up, there came such a gush of melody from the green above, that she started back in pleased astonishment; and then, clapping her soft hands together, she raised her infantile voice in clear, ringing tones, fraught with the music of a mirthful heart. On the instant, there came a rushing sound from the massive foliage; a pair of beautiful wings broke thence, and balanced for a moment above; then descended, hovering about the head of the child, as though bestowing some wordless blessing; and, finally, spread themselves for flight. The bird paused where the labourer rested at noon-tide; and the eye of the strong man brightened as he wiped the sweat away, aud leaned against the rugged bark of the meadow-tree, yielding himself up to the delicious influence of its music. Then it flew to the casement of the invalid, and thence to the roof-tree of the cottar; and thence it still pursued its way kindly and lovingly, pausing to warble a moment even by the barred window of the criminal. For many a day, the bird-embodied spirit was happy and contented, and believed itself sent upon earth but for the purpose of winning men, by such small, sweet efforts, from sorrow. But, as it nestled one night in the foliage of the forest tree, there came a sad misgiving to trouble it. It had heard of a nobler mission than it had yet dared to contemplate; it had looked into a path toilsome and difficult to walk in, strewn with thorns and beset with dangers, but yet glorious in that it had been trodden by a Holy One, who had linked it to heaven. The timid spirit trembled as it thought, and folded its soft pinions over its breast, and strove to recollect all the good it had done that day-how it had softened the nature of the sinful, and dropped balm into the bosom of the sorrowing; but it could not shut down the high aspirations which were swelling within it. It knew well that the spirit of the little bird was not, like itself, an emanation from the Deity. When the song was hushed, and the plumage drooped, it would go downward to the earth; but the living soul, born of the breath of the Almighty, could not so perish. Should it fling aside its loftier gifts, and take upon itself the mission (sweet and beautiful though that mission might be) of the soulless bird ? Ah, no!' thought the pretty warbler, while its wings seemed swelling to eagle's pinions; the air is full of birds-the world is ringing with melody-it is delightful to swell the care-free chorus; but there is a higher, nobler mission still.' As its breast heaved with these new emotions, a soft sound, as of a lute, stole up from a neighbouring grove, and an , exquisitely modulated voice, with deep earnestness, clothed its secret thoughts in words: 'I waste no more in idle dreams, my life, my soul away; I shut mine eyes, in grief and shame, upon the dreary past, The song ceased, and the struggling, God-born spirit looked down on the cold earth; and, not forgetting toil. and suffering, and weariness-not forgetting the degra dation of sin, and the constant wrestling of the higher with the baser nature-exclaimed, with deep enthusiasm, 'What a sublime thing to be a man!' A songster was missed from the woodland; and that same day knelt one in prayer; and then, humble but strong, and happier far than butterfly or bird, went cheerfuily forth on man's great mission-TO DO GOOD. COLD WATER. Shall e'er cold water be forgot When we sit down to dine? O, no, my friends, for is it not Pour'd out by hands divine? Pour'd out by hands divine, my friends, To beauty's cheek, though strange it seems, Imparts the rosiest hue, my friends, Cold water, too, (though wonderful, Doth make the strongest men; Then let us take the weakest drink, I've seen the bells of tulips turn To drink the drops that fell From summer clouds; then why should not The two lips of a belle, my friends, What sweetens more than water pure The sturdy oak full many a cup To catch the rain; then drinks it up, 'Tis thus the oak gets high, my friends, 'Tis thus the oak gets high: By having water in its cups,Then why not you and I?' Then let cold water armies give So shall the boys like oaks be strong, The girls like tulips fair, my friends, * Mrs Osgood. J.P. M. ARAG O. Ir did not require the recent events in France to render some of the prominent actors in them illustrious. Men hitherto unknown to fame, men almost unknown in name beyond their own circles, have been suddenly evolved from the common elements of society. it is true, and brought into prominent positions before the eyes of nations. Litterateurs whose qualifications to govern were accepted, because of their ability to construct pen and ink systems of political or social economy; editors whose political experience consisted in the writing of political articles; and statesmen, who had only figured upon the opposition benches of the chambers, were suddenly called from the closets in which they theorised, and from the obscurity of private life, to have their brows enhaloed with the wildfire of revolution, and to work and struggle in the Colosseum of practical politics, while the surrounding nations looked down upon them to hiss or to applaud. It will be asked by posterity, in what schools the individual minds which constituted the 'gouvernement provisoire' were disciplined and instructed, before they were called to act upon the stage of legislation, and it will be difficult to penetrate the obscurity which envelopes some of them previous to February 1818. The workshop of the ouvrier of Lyons, the groves and meads of Milly, the garrets of some quiet, obscure, rues in Paris, the counting-houses of attorneys, the offices of editors, and the laboratory of the savant, have all furnished their men to the bureaux and portfolios of the state machine; identity of training and special development there was none. Men suddenly appeared upon the stage of legislation, or rather of dictation, who had scarcely ever been on any other stage before, save the stage of common life, and who owe their world-wide reputations to that position alone. It was not so with Lamartine or Arago, however; these had each obtained a sovereignty long prior to the events which have rendered the names of their colleagues historical. The poet had won his laurel bays; the savant had long ago enwreathed his brow with philosophic glories. Dominique François Arago was born on the 26th day of February, 1786, in the little town of Estagel, situated in the vicinity of Perpignan. His father, who was employed as steward in the Hotel des Mounaies at Perpignan, had a very numerous family, of whom François was the eldest. It is subject of grave wonder and admiration to mark the precision with which biographical accurists ferret out and note down all the little circumstances of a great man's life. Of course, a man's history is not worth the paper requisite for a transcript of it until he has toiled himself into fame; but then, every minute event becomes like a particle of gold in a river of sand, and is as eagerly hunted after as live food by a jackal. In conformity with the formula of biographical wonder-makers, as much has been made of M. Arago's early history as intensitive facts or even probable suppositions would allow of. One biographer, or rather biotapher, asserts that he could Leither read nor write when he had attained the age of fourteen years, and several others, a la mouton de Panurge, repeat the tale. If this had been true, it certainly would have formed a wonderful circumstance in the life of the philosopher, who, in a very few years afterwards, attached his name to one of the most splendid scientific works which has adorned the age; but, unfortunately for those who delight in well authenticated wonders, it is a mistake. M. Arago's father, who had himself received an excellent education, was most particular in his attention to the instruction of his son, who could not only read and write at the age mentioned, but had made some advancement in mathematics. M. Arago left the college of Perpignan at a very early age, and proceeded to that of Montpellier, preparatory to his introduction to the Polytechnic School, whose doors he entered during the chaotic era of the first revolution. M. Arago was only about eighteen years of age when he was admitted to the metropolitan seminary, and his probation here was as rapid and brilliant as his curriculum at Montpellier had given promise of; and so modestly and efficiently did be discharge the functions of tutor in this institution, which he soon exercised, that his fellow-students forgot to look upon him in the light of an educational rival. They conceded to his suavity and modesty that superiority which they might have been inclined to dispute with mere intellect. Shortly after his demission from the school, M. Arago was appointed secretary to the Bureau of Longitudes, a scientific office which finds no parallel in Great Britain, whose government leaves science and art to be cherished and advanced by private societies, and confines itself entirely to the business of practical legislation. Shortly after his appointment to this situation, Arago was commanded by the Emperor Napoleon to take part in a scientific expedition to Spain, under the direction of M. Biot, which was undertaken in order to determine the arc of the terrestrial meridian by a newly proposed system of measurement. M. Arago took an active and prominent part in the practical business of this commission, and acquitted himself in perfect accordance with the prepossessions he had inspired. The first attempt to obtain the correct diameter of the terrestrial globe was made in the year 1670 by the French philosopher Picard and numerous subsequent attempts had been made to determine this point with exactitude, upon the same basis of measurement, under the vertical rays of the equatorial sun, amongst the glacierial mountains of the polar regions, and on the plains of the Australian hemisphere. At last, the invention, by Borda, of the instrument known in France under the name of the Cercle repetiteur, together with the progress of physical science, encouraged MM. Delambre and Mechain to undertake a measurement of the globe, upon the basis of observations of the terrestrial arc, taken between Dunkirk and Barcelona; and it was to extend this measurement from Barcelona to the Balearic isles that MM. Biot and Arago were sent into Spain. The Spanish government took part in the expenses of the expedition, and commissioned Signors Chaix and Rodriguez to join the French experimentalists, placing at the same time a vessel at their disposal, to which the British government gave a safe conduct. It is not necessary to describe here the principle and methods adopted by these philosophers to determine the important geographical measure required. Practical philosophical researches are not conducted with the same physical passivity as our closet studies. Before the philosopher can compare and deduce, he must observe, and observation can only take place amongst the palpable realities of nature. The man who would gather practical experiences must voluntarily subject himself to all the severities and changes of seasons and of climates-enduring toils and braving dangers, that he may win knowledge from the unaccommodating but open storehouse of nature. Upon the rugged summits of the loftiest mountains of Catalonia, and amongst the bleak rocky solitudes of Campuey, in the isle of Iviça, these enterprising philosophers passed several months, labouring with untiring zeal, and enduring without a murmur all the intemperate changes incidental to their lofty position and the character of the seasons. 'Often,' says M. Biot, would the wild tempest hurl down and sweep away our tents, and destroy our stations of observation; but, with a constancy which was as admirable as indefatigable, M. Arago immediately set himself to repair the damage, giving himself neither ease by day nor rest at night.' The principal observations having been finished in April 1807, M. Biot returned to Paris to communicate the results, leaving his young companion to prosecute the work. M. Arago, in company with Signor Rodriguez, passed immediately to the island of Majorca, establishing themselves upon the summit of Mount Galatzo, in order to communicate with Iviça, and ascertain the arc of the parallel between these two stations. Whilst M. Arago was tranquilly making his observations on the mountains, far removed from the quarrels and concerns of the busy crowd, war was suddenly declared between France and Spain; and then it began to be noised amongst the natives of the isles, that the fires and other sant of neither the will nor ability of the new potentate to assist him in obtaining restoration of his instruments, he felt himself in an awkward predicament. His bold and energetic nature did not allow him, however, to uselessly deplore his misfortunes; habiting himself in the Arab costume, and securing the safe conduct of a marabout, or chief of a native village, he crossed Mount Atlas on foot, and appeared in Algiers to demand from the dey the restoration of his property. The Mussulman's answer to his appeal was the inscription of his name upon the list of his slaves, and his subjection to piratical tutorage, in indefatigable and oft-renewed appeals of the French consul, procured, at last, the restoration of the apparatus and the release of M. Arago, who, for the third time, directed his course towards his native land. signals which the young Frenchman made were to apprise his countrymen of the state of the islands. The civic authorities armed, and accompanied by a vengeful mob, incited by their suppositions, and uttering loud shouts of mortal enmity, proceeded at last toward Mount Galatzo in order to destroy the philosopher. M. Arago was apprised of their intentions just in time for him to conceal his papers and disguise himself as a peasant, when, thanks to the purity of his Catalonian dialect, he passed unknown through the excited mob, and escaped to Palma, where he took refuge in the Spanish ship that had borne him to the island. His personal danger had but mode-order that he might learn to become an interpreter. The rately disturbed his equanimity; his fears for the safety of his instruments, however, were of a very exciting nature. He employed messengers to proceed for them to Galatzo, and prevailed upon the captain of the ship to send a guard with them. The peasants employed in this service did their duty faithfully; but M. Arago's safety was, nevertheless, not secured. The infuriated crowd, disappointed at Galatzo, now proceeded towards Palma; and the captain, perceiving that he would be unable openly to preserve the young philosopher, had him conveyed to and shut up in the citadel of Belver, where he passed several months absorbed in his calculations, but not exempt from the hatred and fury of his pursuers, who endeavoured by every means to corrupt the soldiers who guarded him to deliver him up to their vengeance. After many earnest appeals to the junta, M. Rodriguez, the companion of M. Araro, obtained his friend's liberty, and he was permitted to proceed with his astronomical instruments to Algiers, his only mode of conveyance being a fisherman's boat, conducted by a single seaman. M. Arago was here received by the French consul, and placed on board of an Algerine frigate bound to Marseilles. The coast of France had just risen on the anxious philosopher's view, and he was indulging in bright dreams of home, when the frigate in which he sailed was pursued, and taken by a Spanish cruiser, and M. Arago found himself once more a prisoner. He was first conveyed to the fortress of Rosas; then subjected to labour in the ferry-boats of Palamos, under the most cruel treatment, his life being rendered a prey to all the miseries of a toilsome captivity, and all the brutalities of a coarse and savage domination. In the meantime, the Algerine monarch having heard of the insult offered to his flag, demanded and obtained both the restoration of the vessel and the liberation of the captives. Freedom imparted to the soul of the young savant its wonted elasticity. Forgetting his misfortunes in the prospect of being soon restored to friends and relatives, M. Arago stepped once more on board of the Algerine ship, and she bore away again towards Marseilles. His misfortunes he began to look upon as sources of pleasure; they were the most interesting incidents in his life; and the happiness of recounting them to his friends, and of felicitating himself upon his escape from cruelty and danger, was almost being already realised, when a furious tempest from the north-west drove his ship upon the coast of Sardinia. When the angry wind had expended its fury, and the immediate danger of shipwreck had swept past with the storm, the prospects of capture and captivity were again before him. The Algerines and Sardinians were at war with each other, and as misfortune never mitigates the cruelty or awakens the pity of rival nations in active warfare, it was determined not to resume the voyage to France, but to steer across the Mediterranean Sea, in order to find in Barbary security from the tender mercies of the Christian Sardinians. The tempest-tossed bark at last found refuge in the little port of Bougie, about three days' journey from Algiers; but the young philosopher seemed to be as much as ever the sport of fortune. The Arabs who boarded his vessel, seeing the cases which contained his instruments, and believing them to be made of gold, seized upon them as spoils, and laughed to scorn the vain reclamations of their owner. To add to the hopelessness of his position, he was informed that the former energetic dey of Algiers had been slain in a rebellion by his soldiers; so that, being cogni The obstacles to his return to France were not yet removed, however, after all the toils and dangers he had passed. A British war-ship kept watch and ward upon his ocean-path, and forced him to seek safety at Minorca. Happily, the Algerine captain, stimulated by M. Arago, who dreaded the prospect of a fourth captivity, determined to hazard the chances of being taken, and, profiting by a favourable wind, he luckily made good his passage to Marseilles, and fortunately restored to his native land the young experimentalist. To mark its high sense of the services which M. Arago had rendered to science, and as a partial recompense for his labours and sufferings, the Academy of Sciences, despite of its statute laws, received the intrepid savant as a member, at the early age of twenty-three; and the Emperor Napoleon named him one of the professors of the Polytechnic School. Napoleon ever manifested a peculiar attachment for M. Arago, despite of the unconventional freedom of speech which characterises the latter; and when the sun of the emperor's military glory set in blood upon the field of Waterloo, and he turned his eyes to the United States, with the hope of devoting his latter years to science, he sought to make M. Arago the companion of his labours. If such was his intention, he reckoned without his host; for British faith and St Helena set the seal on all these projects. When the youthful philosopher was admitted a member of the Academy of Sciences, that institution was at the zenith of its fame and glory, and its benches were adorned with the most celebrated men of the age. Lagrange, Laplace, Monge, Berthollet, and all those younger aspirants of genius, whom it had been the delight of Bonaparte to glorify, in order that their fame might conduce to the eclat of his reign, constituted the phalanx with whom the youthful Arago had to contend for the Archimedian crown. Loving the sciences with an ardour equal to that which characterised his aversion to metaphysics and literature, M. Arago soon rose, by devoted application to his favourite studies, to the height of his position. His masculine mind, which delighted to grapple with primary facts, and to exercise itself in the personal observation of nature, as well as in reflections and deductions arising from a comparison of other men's accredited discoveries, had no great respect for mere speculation or philosophy, properly so called. His ambition aimed at the examination of the real; and the danger and fatigue necessary to be endured in the prosecution of this ambition, gave to practical study in the physical sciences, in his estimation, a dignity and virility which threw mere ideologues contemptuously into the shade. Literature, again, he viewed as an amusement unworthy of the first order of minds; and as these sentiments, however unjust and erroneous, had the effect of concentrating the active ener gies of M. Arago upon his favourite pursuits, they preserved him from the irregularities of a distracting and promiscuous procedure in the pursuit of knowledge, and conduced to his rapid elevation in the ranks of science. In 1829, the Royal Society of London awarded to M. Arago the Copley medal, for his discovery of magnetic rotation-a distinction which had never before been decreed by the London Society to a native of France. Several ingenious methods to determine with the greatest possible |