take rank, and high rank, among our public benefactors. Marry, I say, that the thing is so, and shall be so; for, even amidst all the press and crowd of her moral and culinary precepts,― even while she stands already, as a man may say, "in double trust,' teaching us good life in one page, and good living in another; here, holding up her ladle against "excessive luxury," such as "Essence of Ham" -(praised be her thick duodecimo, but for which the world had never known that there was such a perfume;) and, presently, pointing out the importance, and weeping over the rarity of such "creature comforts" as strong coffee, and smooth melted butter; ever and anon, even amid all these complicated interests, the kind lady finds room to edge in a thought or two about the poor. Pour echantillon, "The cook should be charged," says Mrs R., "to save the boiling of every piece of meat or ham, however salt; the pieces of meat which come from the table on the plates; and the bones made by the family." "What a relief," adds she, "to the labouring husband, to have a warm, comfortable meal!"-The rind of a ham, for instance, after Mrs R. had extracted the "Essence?" And again she goes on." Did the cook really enter into this, (the love of her fellow creatures ;) she would never wash away as useless the peas, or groats, of which soup, or gruel, have been made ;-broken potatoes ;-the outer leaves of lettuce ;—the necks and feet of fowls," &c.; "which make a delicious meat soup, especially for the sick."-(Sure, people would be falling sick, on purpose to eat it!) The sick soup essay concluding with a farther direction to the cook, not to take the fat off the broth," as the poor like it, and are nourished by it!" and with a calculation which, if we know anything of the mathematics, might make Demoivre himself look to his laurels ;-" Ten gallons of this soup," concludes Mrs R., " from ten houses, would be a hundred gallons; and that, divided among forty families, would be two gallons and a half to each family.". Tam Marti quam Mercurio! And done with chalk upon a milk tally, ten to one else!-Tam Cocker quam Kitchener! And this lady is dead! It But whims, (if they happen to take hold at all,) take the strongest hold commonly upon strong understandings. Count Rumford, though an ingenious man, had a touch of this bon chere a peu d'argent disease; and his Essays afford some pleasant illustrations of the slashing style in which men construct theories, when the practice is to fall upon their neighbours. After exhausting himself upon the smoky chimnies of the world, the Count strips to the next of its nuisances,— the beggars. He was to feed the poor; (encore the Poor!) and the point was, of course, how to feed them at the cheapest rate. "Water," then, he begins-(the cunning rogue!) "Water, I am inclined to suspect, acts a much more important part in nutrition, than has been generally supposed.' This was a good active hobby to start upon; and, truly, his Countship, in the sequel, does outride all the field. " First, he sets out an admirable table, at which he dines TWELVE HUNDRED persons, all expenses included, for the very reasonable cost of one pound fifteen shillings English. But this (which was three dinners for a penny) was nothing; and, in a trice, the Count, going on with his reductions, brings down the meal for twelve hundred, to one pound seven shillings. And, here, he beats our Saver of Wealth (the contractor at twopence a day) hollow; because, with his dinner found for a farthing, a man must be an example of debaucherya mere rascal-to think of getting through such a sum as twopence a-day; out of which, indeed, he might well put by a provision for himself and his wife, in old age; and fortunes for two or three of his younger children. The Count's running commentary upon these evolutions, too, is a chef d'œuvre in the art of reasoning. At one time, it seems, he dieted his flock, partly upon bread begged publicly in charity, and partly upon meat which was the remnant of the markets. Even out of evil the wise man shall bring good. The charity bread was found extremely dry and hard; "but, therefore," says the Count, "we found it answer better than any other; because it made mastication necessary, and so prolonged the enjoyment of eating." As for the meat, he soon finds that an article quite unnecessary, and actually omits it altogether in the people's soup, without the fact being discovered! But the crowning feature of all, (and there I leave Count Rumford,) is the experiment which he makes in eating (to be quite certain) upon himself; arguing upon the nutritious and stomach-satisfying qualities of a particular "cheap" dish, he puts the thing to issue-thus: "I took my coffee and cream, with my dry toast, one morning" (hour not given) "at breakfast, and ate nothing between that and four o'clock. I then ate," [the particular dish, I believe, however, it was a three farthing one, "and found myself perfectly refreshed." And so the Count finishes his dissertation upon food, by declaring the Chinese! to be the best cooks in the world. Now, I confess that (at first sight) there would seem to be something accomplished here. No doubt, if our labourers would eat farthing dinners, and get rid of that villainous propensity which they have to beaf-steaks, their "savings," and consequent acquisition of property, would be immense. But does the Count not perceive, and did it never strike his coadjutors, that, if this system were acted upon, all the poor would become rich? when they would be an incomparably greater nuisance than they are in their present condition. I grant the existing evil, but do not let us exchange it for a greater. The question is a difficult one, but there be minds that can cope with it. Such a turmoil as to what the poor shall eat! I say, there are plenty of them-let them eat one another. People must not be startled by the apparent novelty of this plan ;-those who can swallow Count Rumford's dinners, may, I am sure, swallow anything. I have examined the scheme, which I propose narrowly, and (prejudice apart) can see no possible objection to it. It is well known, that rats and mice take the same mode which I hint at, to thin their superabundant population; and what are the poor, but mice in the cheese of society? Let the public listen only to this suggestion, and they will find that it ends all difficulty at once. I grant that there might be some who would be ravenous, at first, upon their new diet; especially any who had been living upon Mrs Rundell's soup; but that is an evil which would correct itself; because, so admirably operative and perfect is the principle, the mouths would diminish in exact proportion with the meat. Upon my system, (and, I repeat, I can see no objection to it), the poor might go on pleasantly, reducing their numbers at their leisure, until one individual only, in a state of necessity, should be left; and if it were worth while to go on to niceties, I could provide even for him under my arrangement, by having him taught to jump down his own throat, like the clown, in "Harlequin Conjurer." Certain it is, we hear, on every side, that, if the poor go on increasing, they will soon eat up the rich; and, surely, if anybody is to be eaten by them, it ought, in fairness, to be themselves. And, moreover, as it is shrewdly suspected that too many of them are already eaten up with laziness, why, hang it, if they are to be eaten at all, let them be eaten to some purpose. Compere Matthieu, I think, makes this remark somewhere, in a general defence of cannibalism. But my project does not go so far. A CHAPTER ON GOBLINS. "I am thy Father's Ghost !"-SHAKESPEARE. It is well observed by Pierre de Loyer, (an ingenious author of the 15th century,) who discussed the matter de spectris, with much labour and research, that there is no topic upon which, in all classes, talkers are so little apt to tire. And, besides the deep interest which even the incredulous take in tales of spirits, there are two other facts connected with the subject, both seemingly contrary to the common course of cause and effect ;many persons, who believe implicitly in the reality of apparitions, feel very little inconvenience or apprehension from their possible propinquity; while others, who have no jot of faith in their existence, are subject, nevertheless, very frequently, to nervous uneasiness, when they think of them. It would be difficult, perhaps, even by an analysis of that transitory commodity called COURAGE, to explain, or account for, the last of these anomalies; but thus much we may be sure, that neither real danger, nor even the belief of it, is absolutely necessary to the excitement of fear. While the soldier who has fought twenty battles, will quit his tent because a bat flies into it; or one man shrinks from handling the rat, which he sees another take alive out of his waistcoat pocket ;-so long as both these individuals feel a horror at the presence of objects which they know to be neither dangerous, nor mischievous, nor offensive, so long Johnson's argument for the reality of apparitions, must go for little-that many who deny them with their tongues, confess them by their terrors. There be infidels who fear, and believers who are at ease. The faithful, who tremble not, are chiefly among the old. The incredulous, who fear, will be among the young and the enthusiastic. Whether it be that our sympathies, like our appetites, become (generally) callous in the decline of life, or that, by a special dispensation of Providence, we lose, as we advance in years, some of that aversion to death, and to its symbols, which belongs to the earlier stages of existence, certain it is, that usage has thrown upon the aged, almost entirely, the duty of acting and officiating about the dead; and the crone of seventy, who, though she believes valiantly every lie that superstition ever invented, "watches" a corpse, or "lays it out," for the wretched bribe of half-a-crown, would shrink, almost on any terms, from imposing the same task upon her careless, blooming, laughing, light-hearted grand-daughter of eighteen. It is a sad, and, in some sort, a humiliating reflection; but there is a stage of life from which the step to eternity seems but a short one;-a state (although few reach it) which is almost a link between the day-light and the grave. We constantly find persons in age (particularly women) keeping the clothes, &c. " by them," in which they desire to be buried. On the other hand, youth has not merely a horror of the " appliances," and concomitants of dissolution, but a certain shrinking and averseness from the sight even of living dotage, or extreme infirmity. The author of the Antiquary, with his usual happy tact, notices the dislike which people (especially the uneducated) feel to being left alone with very aged persons; and a German writer tells us, that he was compelled to quit a public vehicle, because a somewhat extraordinary female happened, as well as himself, to be travelling in it. He describes her as "extremely old,-probably more than eighty years of age; of unusual stature, very coarsely featured, and affected (though in apparent health) by an evident decay of mind and faculty:" and adds, that it is difficult for him to describe the sensations which were produced by her presence." It was most," he says, "like what one would feel, I think, at being left alone with an insane person. I seemed to be near something which was not in its proper and natural state. A human form sat before me, which was already the property of the tomb. It was returning to dust before my eyes, and I could not look on to witness the process. I could better have borne the presence of a corpse, than of the object which I am describing; for death itself is quiescent;-this was death in anima tion." This is a little too German, but there is something in it notwithstanding. On the occasional nervous misgivings of unbelievers, an Italian heretic speaks, and to his "own case in point." "I do not wonder," he sets out, "that ordinary scatter-brained people, who never know their minds upon any question, should waver as to the truth or falsehood of supernatural visitations. Such people, naturally, doubt by day-light, and believe as soon as it gets dark. But why is it, that I, who wish to believe, and yet cannot, who, for twenty years, have been dying to see a ghost, and am sure that I shall never see one as long as I live; why is it, that, under certain circumstances, I have been disquieted, when the subject has crossed my mind?” Being quartered near Bologna, (he served probably in the army,) the same author meets with a real haunted house, and makes an experiment whether he can convince his nerves as well as his understanding. The precise character of the spectre whom he is to meet is not mentioned; but he goes to the untenanted mansion about eleven o'clock at night; the girls admiring his fearlessness; the young men enraged at his impudence; and the old people, of both sexes, somewhat displeased at his presumption !-Afterwards, he describes the manner in which he passed his time. "Of course, I saw nothing. And I expected to see nothing, unless that some trick would be practised for the purpose of alarming me. But my night, notwithstanding, was far from being a pleasant one. I wished that something might appear to me; and yet, I was not at ease. I remained firm, so long as I kept my attention fixed upon the business in which I was engaged; but, the moment that the effort was relaxed, I became-not alarmed-but -uncomfortable. Strange thoughts forced themselves, whether I would or not, upon my mind; and, though I felt their folly perfectly, yet I could not shake them off. I wanted, after sometime, to fasten the door of the room in which I was sitting; and I found an unconquerable aversion come over me to rising from my chair. And the matter, (what was worse,) at one time, seemed to be getting worse every moment. I felt as though I should lose the full control of my senses. I looked round the room a dozen times, and did not care to look the thirteenth. I tried to sing, and could not. I took up a book, which I had brought with me, but could not read three sentences together. Then I talked rapidly-any jargon-inwardly-to myself;-tried to count, to recollect verses," &c. 66 He goes through the affair, in the end, with extreme exertion and discomfort:-" And yet, had I been asked," he concludes, at the time when I felt most distressed,-whether I had any thing to apprehend? I should have answered, most certainly, (even at the time,) that I had not." This man was the victim of a lively imagination; and it is no more wonderful that he should have shrunk from a peril, which he knew existed only in his own fancy, than it would be if he had wept at reading a pathetic narrative, which he knew to be a fable. Besides, there are modes, and degrees and very different degrees, of what we call "belief." It is difficult to dismiss entirely from the mind any matter, however apparently incredible, which has been positively stated as a fact. Juries very often find verdicts against the real weight of evidence in a case, because it cannot be shewn, to demonstration, that some single fact sworn to is a falsehood. That becomes a doubt, when the point is of life or death, which would be no doubt at all, upon a crisis less terrific. And, admit but one shadow of a doubt in the mind of our Italian adventurer, and, at once,-fear apart,-you account for half his anxiety. Mere expectation-whether of good or evil-will be restless. Hope is every jot as great a trembler as alarm. A child cries even after it grasps the particular object which it has coveted. And the man who could not "read three sentences," when he was waiting to see whether he should see a ghost, would have been as much agitated, probably, if he had been waiting to see whether he had got the twenty thousand pound prize in the Lottery. That there is much, too, as regards this subject, in the old argument of "nursery education," cannot be denied. Take notice how, with our nursery nervousness about apparitions, we retain also our nursery taste. People are fond, (whether they believe it or not,) in general, of marvellous narrative; but, nine times in ten, it must be the genuine narrative of the housemaid, or else it will hardly do. Fairy tales please; but (in England) they do not touch the soul. The German devilry suits us rather better; but even Germany lays the scene too much in the mountain and in the mine. In England, for a ghost story, we like an old garret,-say in Hatton Garden; with plenty of dust, rats, and mice, and a cockloft, or so, over;-and, if a man has hanged himself in it, why, so much the better. But the German terrible, besides that it wants this our national locus in quo, takes a course commonly that the English do not pleasantly fall in with. Almost all the northern legends set out with a man's taking the bounty money of the devil; so that we guess pretty well, in the beginning, how he is to be disposed of in the end. And we feel but little interest about a man, after he has made a bargain of this sort. He is above (or below) our sphere. As" the gods take care of Cato," so such a man becomes the protegé of the nether powers. There is no hope of good fortune at all for him; and very little choice as to his fate. He must either be damned, as Shakespeare says, for keeping his word with the devil;" or else, he must be damned "for cozening the devil." And, even where there is (as happens sometimes) a sort of point reserved; some plea of usury against the fiend, or coming out of the victim under the Insolvent Act, still we are not satisfied. There is a certain love of equity always present to the human mind. True, the contract is with the devil; but, we think, that even the devil should have his due. Thus it is, that Faustus and Don Juan both come, dramatically, to the same end; but Faustus, upon the English stage, will never be interesting in any shape; while Juan is interesting in every shape, and in every country. There is the decided difference, in spirit, between the two characters. Faustus may make his bargain under pressure, but still he does make it; Juan never makes any bargain, and, (as we think,) would refuse to make one. Faustus seals his doom wilfully; Juan judges ill. Faustus does not rise, either as to courage or talent, in our estimation, when he avails himself, and with his eyes open, of the assistance of the evil spirit; Juan is all energy, all force, and natural power; and the very step which seals his destruction is the triumph of unshaken courage and misbelief. In point of fact, however, nothing does tell in England like the regular Middlesex Ghost;-with the white shroud, and the pale face; and, if with a chain and a long beard, the more agreeable; and, above all, he should be silent. Indeed, it will be observed, that your spectre proper, is, by all accounts, naturally taciturn;-not speaking, in any case, until he is spoken to; -even female ghosts do this. And, I should say, indeed, that apparitions must be compelled to speak, even when accosted; and not merely permitted to do so, as has vulgarly been imagined. For your spectre, be it remarked, always loses ground the moment *he or she" opens" his or her" mouth. All our eminently successful stage ghosts have been either totally silent, or have discoursed only in monosyllables. The Castle Spectre, and the Bleeding Nun, always keep the galleries breathless. The statue in Don Juan steps upon the very marrow of his audiences. But Hamlet's ghost (in spite of the criticisms in the Spectator,) does now-adays very little;-one never is quite sure that he really is a ghost, until he disappears down the trap. And the only talking ghost I ever met with, at all effective, (even in the reading of,) is one in a play of Beaumont and Fletcher's, (The Lover's Progress,) where the master of an inn walks about after his death, singing, and seeing that his guests are properly attended to. But, apart from the feelings and tastes of others, to come for a moment to my own.-Touching the reality (as well as the amusingness) of spectral appearances, I protest, altogether, against being put down as a scoffer. I have my own personal cause of belief, and perhaps it may seem a peculiar one; but that lies entirely between me and my conscience. I will not believe, with Dr Johnson, upon the ground of “ common credit," because I have known that credited by hundreds which Johnson himself would have rejected. People believed, only the other day, in the miraculous conception of Joanna Southcott;-people believed that Miss M'Avoy, of Liverpool, could see what was o'clock with her eyes shut;-there are people who believe that Prince Hohenlohe is able to work miracles; and that Mr Hume is a statesman, and |