courts of law, is the other way; and I think it more than probable, had Captain Donellan now been put upon his trial (whatever opinion we may form of his actual guilt), that the judicial result would have been different.

All scientific investigation leads to rules of art, which have been most accurately described to be "a collection of general observations, suggested by long experience, with respect to the most compendious methods of performing every different step of the process which the art involves." There are "indolent discoverers," as Lord Bacon terms them, who, "seeing nothing but sea and sky, absolutely deny that there can be any land beyond them." If time permitted, we might satisfactorily deduce from experience and observation a series of rules, like so many moral safety lamps, for the conduct of the understanding in matters of controverted facts depending upon circumstantial evidence, calculated to lead to the formation of correct and exact judgment, and to leave no other source of uncertainty or fallacy than the possibility of error which, by an inherent necessity, belongs to every human judgment. Infallibility belongs not to man, and his strongest assurance must ever be accompanied by the possibility of mistake; but the existence of society, no less than that of individuals, requires that we form our most important determinations upon conflicting and upon circumstantial evidence. Nor is the difficulty or uncertainty greater in this than in many other equally important subjects. No one has ever yet been able to define the line which separates lunacy from malignity, impunity from accountability. No chart has yet marked every sunken rock, and even the pointings of the needle are subject to disturbing causes, and cannot always save the mariner from shipwreck.

Too much stress is often laid, in the discussion of moral evidence, and particularly in cases of circumstantial evidence, upon unimportant discrepancies. Variations in the relations by different persons, in respect of unimportant circumstances, are not necessarily indicative of fraud or falsehood, provided there be substantial agreement. True strength of mind consists in not allowing our judgments, when founded upon convincing evidence, to be disturbed because there may be immaterial discrepancies which cannot be reconciled. Consider the vast inherent differences in individuals with respect to their natural faculties, and acquired habits of accurate observation, faithful recollection, and precise narration, and the influence of intellectual and moral culture, and it will not be surprising that we seldom

Stewart, Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, vol. i., p. 50.

meet with entire agreement amongst a number of witnesses, in all the collateral incidents of the same principal event. Such an agreement is, indeed, rather apt to excite suspicion of confederacy.

Instances of discrepancy as to the minor attendant circumstances of historical events are almost numberless. Lord Clarendon relates that the Marquis of Argyle was condemned to be hanged, which was performed the same day. Burnett, Woodrow, and Echard, all writers of good authority, who lived near the time, state that he was beheaded, though condemned to be hanged; and that the sentence was pronounced on Saturday and carried into effect on the following Monday. Some historians say that Charles I. slept at Whitehall on the night before his execution; others that he walked across the Park from St. James's to the place of execution. The place of interment of that unfortunate but faithless sovereign has been variously stated; the exact spot, we know, was verified a few years ago, and was the subject of a very interesting paper by Sir Henry Halford. Charles II. has been variously stated to have embarked at Brighthelmstone and at New Shoreham. Baker's Chronicle and Whitelock's Memorials date the death of Pym in May, 1643, whereas he died in December in that year. Lord Clarendon says, "On August 29th the standard was erected about six o'clock of the evening of a very stormy and tempestuous day."* In Rushworth's collection, it is stated to have been erected on the 22nd of August. Every one knows how variously the circumstances connected with the death of Hampden have been stated: not long ago his remains were exhumed, and afforded a remarkable confirmation of the accounts given by some writers by the discovery of his dismembered hand in a bag in his coffin. Hume, Robertson, and other historians, say that Mary, Queen of Scots, on the night preceding her execution, went to bed at her wonted time, and slept calmly for a few hours. Lingard says she retired to rest, but it was observed she did not sleep; her lips were in constant motion, and her mind seemed absorbed in prayer.

Notwithstanding these discrepancies, who ever doubted the existence of any of the main facts with which they are connected?

Mere omissions are generally capable of explanation by the consideration that the mind may be so deeply impressed by, and the attention so rivetted to, a particular fact, as to withdraw observation from concomitant circumstances. Omissions, however, sometimes proceed from wilful suppression, Grafton, in his Chronicles,

* History of the Rebellion, vol. iii., p. 191.

published in 1562, in writing of the reign of King John, has made no mention of Magna Charta: our surprise is diminished when we remember that he was printer to Queen Elizabeth, and probably considered his silence complimentary to that arbitrary princess.

Upon the subject of this essay little has been written, and that little is scattered in many volumes-some of them not easily accessible. I have not affected to give a complete view of the subject, or to do more than trace a faint outline; but I think I have shewn that the subject, in all its parts and bearings, is reducible to principle and system; and if I have awakened or gratified curiosity, or agreeably filled up the brief space which I have occupied, my end will have been answered, and I shall be more than satisfied.

EXPRESSION IN MUSIC.

BY MATTHEW MACROSKELLES, MUS. Doc.

MARKET MOWBRAY!-Above all places commend me to Market Mowbray for an example of one of those towns peculiar to Old England which seem to have had no origin, no birth, but rose at once into a maturity that has suffered no decline; one of those memorials of the olden time which, (like the vast piles of Stonehenge), has undergone no change, no new combination, no improvement, no alliance with the white, staring, stucco of modern buildings, but reposes in the solemn grandeur of the hereditary title, silent, solitary, and antique. As the traveller looks at the low, overhanging thatched houses, with the grotesque fronts chequered with the black inlaid timber, crossing and recrossing, like so many giant hieroglyphics, the small diamond-paned windows ensconced deeply in the imperishable blocks, he readily fancies the dark, oak-wainscotted parlour, mellowed in the light of that perpetual chirioscura so essential to the ponderous structure of Gothic architecture, the massive, unearthly, carved chairs, and all the fashions of those departed times, when the green-kirtled maidens busied themselves with no science but that of pickling and preserves, or threw their rosy fingers over the flying weft, or framed the varied threads of the magical tapestry. Market Mowbray is like an old tombstone with its half-effaced inscription of forgotten names with which the

present day has no connection; all that combines the past with the present is in our fancy. There are no civic commotions, no political brawls, no nightly revels, in Market Mowbray : from January to January, silence and sobriety fill the streets. Not but there are periods of enjoyment; there are "fairs holden" twice a year: but how dif ferent are the fairs of Market Mowbray to the riotings and debaucheries of such named assemblies in other places, where they degenerate either into a mere lifeless, miserable film of an ancient custom, or a monstrous idol of mammon, where even pleasure is deformed into pain! Not so the fairs holden in this primitive borough; there is the long line of white canvas stalls—a wilderness of sweets-the swains and buxom maidens, undisturbed by the impertinence of travelled beaux, give themselves up to all the innocent enjoyments and festivities of the time. Fairs should be consecrated to such old towns as Market Mowbray, sacred as the mysteries of Greece; the profane company of fashionable puppies should be forbidden to interrupt the happy meeting of the simple-hearted country folks, who have worked and wearied from Michaelmas to Lady-day, with no other hope to cheer them.

Market Mowbray will never alter—it was never intended to alter: there are no gay suburban villas, no gay new-town to make an invidious comparison with the brick-and-wood houses of the old town; there are no Bond-street shops to distinguish particular streets-the good tradespeople are satisfied to combine three, four, or five vocations in one, and expose hats, hosiery, fresh butter, and dried fish on the same shelf. But the good people are not less unique and admirable than the town itself. Barring some new comers and occasional visitors, they are a dull, dark, sober, "days-goneby"-looking people, all native to the soil, and, like the ancient sybil, seem as if they could die only upon their own earth. All may be said to be in easy circumstances, inasmuch as their wants are seldom multiplied by novelty. As they do not conceive that the mind was ever intended for any other purpose than to administer to the bodily appetites, they escape the multiform monster, nervousness; living and living by a species of regeneration, until they die, not of disease, but rather by a necessity. It has been said that the Serpent, in the form of a doctor, did once creep into the Eden of Market Mowbray; one victim only paid the penalty of his credulity, and that was the parish fool.

But there is one evil which prevails even in Market Mowbray,-what place or person can be infallible !—one evil prevails; and that is an almost insatiable curiosity. Busied so little in their

own affairs, and interesting themselves so much in the affairs of others, a stranger would suppose from the publicity of every transaction, however trivial, that the good people of Market Mowbray acted and thought with one mind, like the old church horologe by which they daily regulated their own time-pieces. So it was, that not an event could transpire, without the cause and the effect being known from gate to gate.

The first and most dreaded of this clique was the chaste Miss Martha Tibbs. A victim to the evil eye of curiosity, Miss Tibbs exercised a despotic rule over all the tendrils of the town; nor could a glance travel from eye to eye without being crossed by the dreaded shadow of this virtuous lady. Miss Martha was a most important person, she inhabited the " big house," where her maiden aunt had resided for half a century before her. The patroness and queen of Market Mowbray, she exercised a discretionary power, and had raised her circle to the enviable height of exclusives. She was a thin, tall, yellow-faced lady, who, in spite of the stubbornness of her crisp curls, that hung in wiry circles about her cheeks, would never consent to adopt a cap, "it looked so old maidish;" her flat, hard, mahogany-looking bust, shewed that she had little of the milk of human kindness; and her figure was rendered still more gaunt by her old-fashioned, short-waisted, chintz robe, which dropped over her feet. Her grey eyes were omnipresent, her long pointed nose would smell out the slightest error, while her tongue, like a right Toledo, seemed as if it must wound even the sheath that held it. But the accomplishments of Miss Martha Tibbs were of an order unparalleled in the history of Market Mowbray; for it is said that she could not only read and write, but even that she could play extempore on the harpsichord. It was Miss Tibbs's highest delight to collect around her the elite of Market Mowbray, and, while they were sipping their coffee or lemonade, to listen to some of her "touching airs," sometimes assisted by her dear Dr. Mellitongue and the voice of his supposed daughter, Miss Julia, who was declared to sing divinely whenever she sang in tune.

Things were in this state at Market Mowbray when one night— remembered long since for the terrific thunder-storm which shook to their foundations the tenements of age-a human being staggered into the Crown and Sausage, and appeared almost dead with alarm and exhaustion; as he entered the gate of the inn the wind howled still louder, the rain descended in Noachian torrents, the forked lightning (with one prong) followed his course, while the thunder rolled like-anything. The awful stranger seated himself

VOL. VI.NO. XX.

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