GLEANINGS.
CIVILIZATION or AFRICA.—The travels of Clapperton add one more to the numerous evidences, that the interior of Africa presents a scene of much greater civilization than has been assigned to it by the opinion of Europe, and that com- munication is to be effected with it by the same efforts and precautions that have been successful in other cases. Two or three hundred years ago, it was about as difficult to go to Delhi, as now to Timbuctoo ; and if the appliances and means of travelling were at tins moment as defective on the Delhi road, it is probable that as small a proportion of the adventurers would return. A French traveller, M. Caille, appears to have broken through the prestige which existed on the sub- ject of the reported African metropolis; and it is understood that he intends to return. His successful enterprise will probably have removed some of what may be termed the superstitious obstacles to African discovery ; and when missionary tracts and patent blacking shall be sold in the streets of Timbuctoo, posterity will wonder at the awkward zeal with which their fathers made their approaches to the mysterious mart. The fact of the Arabic language being spread through the interior of Africa, is in itself an assurance that at no very remote period, this hidden country Must be laid open to the intelligence of Europeans. A country possessed, to a very considerable extent, of one of the finest languages in the world, cannot continue much longer a sealed book to the remainder of mankind. There seems to be little doubt, that for half the expense at which a palace is built and pulled down again, the Foreign Office might open an epistolary correspond- ence direct, with all the courts in the Terra Incognita; and a flotilla on the Tchad might probably have been established, for a little more than it cost to beat the Americans upon the Serpentine. When the baby governments have tried their hands, the time will perhaps come that grown men beyond the Atlantic will apply themselves to the task. The apparition of an Anglo-American interest in Africa, would be a new phenomenon in the history of the world ; and one which though the governments might perhaps dislike, the people of Europe would hail with satisfaction and with hope.—Westminster Review, No. XXI. THE TRANSCENDENTAL PHILOSOPHY—To say nothing of the views it opens in regard to the course and management of what is called Natural Science, we can- not but perceive that its effects, for such as adopt it, on Morals and Religion, must in these days be of almost boundless importance. To take only that last and seemingly strangest doctrine, for example, concerning Time and Space, we shall find that to the liantist it yields, almost immediately, a remarkable result of this sort. If Time and Space have no absolute existence, no existence out of our minds, it removes a stumbling-block from the very threshold of our Theology. For on this ground, when we say that the Deity is omnipresent and eternal, that with Hint it is a universal Here and Now, we say nothing wonderful; nothing but that he also created Time and Space, that Time and Space are not laws of His being, but only of ours. Nay to the Transcendentalist, clearly enough, the whole question of the origin and existence of Nature must be greatly simplified : the old hostility of Matter is at an end, for Matter is itself annihilated; and the black Spectre, Atheism, " with all its sickly dews," melts into nothingness for ever. —Foreign Review, No. VII. article " Novalis."
INVENTION IR LITHOCIBAPHIC PRINTINc.—Litliography, or the art of printing front stone, was invented at Munich, between the years 1795 and 1798, by Alois Senefelder. Peter Senefelder, the father of the inventor, was an actor at the theatre royal in that city, and intending to bring up his sou to the law, placed him at the University of Ingoistadt. The dramatic Mel:nation of young Senefelder, however, displayed itself in private theatricals • atm, in 1789, he composed and printed a little comedy, called "Die MiidehenIzenner," from which he obtained some applause and profit. This success, and the death of his father, by which he wa.s placed in reduced circumstances, fixed his determination of quitting the University, and attaching- himself to the theatres. For two years he seems to have experienced all the miseries of a life of green-room vicissitudes, and then to have taken up the no less uncertain profession of authorship. As a play which he had written could not be got ready in time for the Easter book fair at Leipzig, his second publication produced but barely sufficient to pay for the printing, to acce- lerate which he had passed much time in the printing-office, an anxious, and, as it will appear, no inattentive spectator. "I thought it so easy," says Senefelder, in his work on Lithography, "that I wished for nothing more than to possess a small printing-press, and thus to be the composer, printer, and publisher of My own productions." After a variety of experiments made with the view of carrying this wish into effect, in the course of which Senefelder was compelled to substi- tute materials less expensive, or to him more manageable, for those commonly used by printers, he accidentally invented an art which will hand his name down to posterity with a less questionable fame than that of Finiguerra and others. The account shall be given in his own words, but it is necessary to state, that among the materials employed by him were polished blocks or slabs of Kellheim stone, and that on these he had endeavoured to etch his composition, in imitation of the manner of copper-plate engravers, with very imperfect success. "I had just succeeded in my little laboratory in polishing a stone-plate, which I had in- tended to cover with etching ground, in order to continue my exercises in writing backwards, when my mother entered the room, and desired me to write her a bill for the washer-woman, who was waiting for the linen. I happened not to have even the smallest slip of paper at hand, as mylittle stock of paper had been entirely exhausted by taking proof impressions from the stones ; nor was there even a drop of ink in the inkstand. As the matter would not admit of delay, and we had nobody in the house to send for a supply of the deficient materials, I re- solved to write the list with my ink prepared with wax, soap, and lamp-black, on the stone which I had just polished, and from which I could copy it at leisure. Sometime after this, I was going to wipe this writing from the stone, when the dea all at once struck me, to try what would be the effect of such a writing with my prepared ink, if I were to bite in the stone with aqua fortis ; and whether, perhaps, it might not be possible to apply printing ink to it, in the same way as to wood engravings, and so take impressions from it." The result of the subsequent experiments was the art of printing from stone, the principle of which it may be here necessary briefly to explain. Its foundation is the fact known to every one, that grease will readily adhere to grease, and be repelled by water. The lines required to be printed are drawn on stone with a greasy composition formed of tallow, bees' wax, shell-lac, and common soap, in equal parts, which will not unite with, or be affected by water: previously to printing, the surface of the stone is wetted, and it is, therefore, prevented by the moisture from receiving the printing ink when applied, except on those places covered with the greasy corn- position. A roller charged with printing ink (which it need hardly be stated is greasy) being passed over the stone, the printing ink readily adheres to the greasy lines of the drawing, but does not adhere to the other parts of the surface which retain the water. The print is obtained by pressure, which removes the printing ink from the lines of the drawing ; and between each impression the operation of wetting the stone with a sponge, and applying the roller charged with printing ink is repeated. Such is a broad outline of the process of lithographic printing, but like every other art, simple as the general principle appears, a knowledge of the numerous details necessary to make a skilful practitioner can only be acquired by experience, and must be gained by manual execution.— Foreign Review.
A Taus OF TI1E MARTYRS, BY THE ETTR1CK SIIKNIERD.—Eed Tam Harkness came into the farm-house of Garrick, in the parish of Closeburn, one day, and began to look about for sense place to hide in, when the goodwife, whose name Was Jane Kilpatrick, said to him in great alarm, "What's the matter, what's the matter, Tam Harkness ?" " Hide me, or else I'm a dead man : that's the pre- sent matter, good wife," said he. "But yet, when I have time, if ever I hae mair time, I have heavy news for you. For Christ's sake, hide me, Jane, for the killers are hard at hand." Jane •Rilpatrick sprung to her feet, but she was quite be- numbed and poeerless. She ran to one press, and opened it, and then to another ; there was not room to stuff a clog into either of them. She luoked into a bed ; there was no shelter there, and her knees began to plait under her weight with terror. The voices of the troopers were by this time heard fast approaching, and Harkness had no other shift, but in one moment to conceal himself behind the outer door, which stood open, yet the place where he stood was quite dark. He heard one of them say to another, " I fear the scoundrel is not here after all. Guard the outhouses.' On that three or four of the troopers rushed by him, and began to search the house and examine the inmates. Harkness that moment slid out without being observed, and tried to escape up a narrow glen called Kin- rivvall, immediately behind the house; but unluckily two troopers, who had been in another chase, there met him in the face. When he perceived them he turned and ran to the eastward; on which they both fired, which raised the alarm, and instantly the whole pack were after him. It was afterwards conjectured that one of the shots had wounded him, for, though he, with others, had been nearly surrounded that morning, and twice waylaid, he had quite outrun the soldiers; but now it was observed that some of them began to gain ground on him, and they still continued firing, till at length he fell in a kind of slough east from the farm- house of Locherben, where they came up to him, and ran him through with their bayonets. The spot is called Red Tam's Gutter to this day. Jane Kilpatrick was one of the first who went to his mangled corpse,—a woful sight, lying in the slough, and sore did she lament the loss of that poor and honest man. But there was more; she came to his corpse by a sort of yearning impatience to learn
what was the woful news he had to communicate to her. But, alts, the
intelli- gence was lost, and the man to whose bosom alone it had haply been confided was no more ; vet Jane could scarcely prevail on herself to have any fears for • her own husband, for she knew him to be in perfectly safe hiding in Gleu-Gorar ; still Tam's last words hung heavy on her mind. They were both suspected to have been at the harmless rising at Enterkin, for the relief of a favourite minister, which was effected; and that was the extent of their crime And though it was only suspicion, four men were shot on the hills that morning, without trial or examination, and their bodies for bidden Christian burial. One of these four was John Weir of Garrick, the husband of Jane Kilpatrick, a man of great worth and honour, and universally respected. He had left his hiding-place in ord r to carry some intelligence to his friends, and to pray with them, but was entrapped atnong them and slain. Still there was no intelligence brought to his family, sme the single expression that fell from the lips of Thomas Harkness in a moment of dis- traction. Nevertheless Jane could not rest, but set out all the way to her sister's house in Glen-Gorar, in Crawford.muir, and arrived there at eleven o'clock on a Sabbath evening. The family being at prayers when she went, and the house dark, she stood still behind the Italian, and all the time was convinced that the voice of the man that prayed was the voice of her husband, John Weir. All the time that fervent prayer lasted the tears of joy ran front her eyes, and her heart beat with gratitude to her Maker as she drank into her soul every sentence of the petitions and thanksgiving.' Accordingly, when worship was ended, and the candle lighted, she went forward with a light heart and joyful countenance, her sister embraced her, though manifestly embarrassed and troubled at seeing her there at such a time. From her she flew to embrace her husband, but he stood still like a statue, and did not meet her embrace. She gazed at him—she grew- pale, and,sitting down, she covered her face with her apron. This man was on of her husband's brothers, likewise in hiding, whom she had never before seen„ but the tones of his voice, and even the devotional expressions that he used, were so like her husband's, that she mistook them for his. All was now grief and con- sternation, for John Weir had not been seen or heard of there since Wednesday evening, when he had gone to warn his friends of some impending danger ; but they all tried to comfort each other as well as they could, and, in particular, by saying, they were all in the Lord's barn], and it behoved him to do with them as seemed to him good, with many other expre3sions of piety and submission. But. the next morning, when the two sisters were about to part, the one says to the other, " Jane, I cannot help telling you a strange confused dream that I had joist afore ye wakened me. Ye ken I pit nae faith in dreams, and I dinna want. you to regard it ; but it is as good for friends to tell them to ane anither, and then, if ought turn out like it iii•the course o' providence, it may bring it to baithi their minds that their spirits had been conversing with God."—" Na, na, Aggie,. I want nane o' your confused dreams. I hae other things to think o', and monly'S. the time KW oft ye hae deaved me wi' them, an' sometimes made me angry."— "1 never bade ye believe them, Jeanie, but I likit ay to tell them to you, and this I daresay rase out o' our conversation yestreen. But I thought I was away, ye. see, I dinna ken where I was ; and I was fear'd an' confused, thinking I had lost my way. And then I came to an auld alarm, an he says to me, 'Is it the road to'- heaven that you are seeking, Aggie ?' An' I said, ' Aye,' for I didna like to deny't. Then tell you where ye maun gang.' said be, ye maun gang up. by the head of yon dark, mossy cleuch, an' you will find sue there that will show you the road to heaven ;' and I said, Aye,' for I didna like to refuse, although: it was an uncouth looking road, and ane that I didna like to gang. But when I gangs to the cleuch bead, wha does I see sitting there but your ain goodman John. Weir, and I thought I never saw him look sae wed l ; and when I geed close up. to him, there I sees another John Weir, lying strippit to the sark, an' a' beddit. in blood. He was cauld dead, and his head turned to the ae side; and when I saw siccan a sight, I was terrified, an' held wide off hitn. But I gangs up to the living John Weir, and says to him, Gudeman, how's this ?' Dinna ye see how it is, sister Aggie ?' says he, I'm just set to hero this poor man that's lying here.' Then I think ye'll no hae a sair post, John,' says I, for he disna look as he wad rin far away.' It was a very unreverend speak o'me, sister, but these were the. words that I thought! said ; an' as it is but a dream; ye ken ye needna heed it.. Alas, poor Aggie!' says he, ye are still in the gall o' bitterness yet. Look. o'er your right shoulder, an' you will see what I hue to do.' An' sae I looks o'er- my right shoulder, an' there I sees a haill drove o' foxes an' welcats, an' fumarts: an' martins, an' corbey craws, an a hunder vile beasts, a' stannin round wi' glarim een, eager to be at the corpse o' the dead John Weir; an' diet, I was terribly- astoundit, an' I says to him, Goodman, how's this?' ' I am commissioned to keep these awa', says he. Do ye think these een that are yet to open in the light o' heaven, and that tongue that has to syllable the praises of a Redeemer far'.
within yon sky, should be left to become the prey o' siccan vermin as these !
Will it make sae verra muckle difference, John Weir,' says I, 'whether the car-
cass is eaten up by these or by the worms?' ' All, Aggie, Aggie! worms are worms ; but ye little vat what these are,' says he. 'But John Weir has warred.
with them a' his life, an' that to some purpose, and they maunna get the advantage o' him now." But which is the right John Weir ? ' says I, for here is ane lying stiff and lappered in his blood, and another in health and strength and sound!
mind." I am the right John Weir,' says he. Did you ever think the good main o' Garrick could die ? Na, na, Aggie ; Clavers can only kill the body, an' that's. but the poorest part of the man. But where are you gamin this wild gate!' ' I was directed this way on my road to heaven,' says I. Ay, an' ye were directed right then,' says he. 'For this is the directpath to heaven, and there is no other:
That is very extraordinary,' says I. And, pray, what is the name of this. place, that I may direct my sister Jane, your wife, and all my friends, by the same way ?' ‘'Fhis is Faith's Hope,' says he." But behold, at the mentioft of this place, Jane Kilpatrick of Garrick arose slowly up to her feet and held up both her hands. "Hold, hold, sister Aggie," cried sire, "you have told enough. Was it in the head of Faith's Hope thatyou saw this vision of my dead husband ?"— " Yes; but at the same time I saw your husband alive." "Then I fear your dream has a double meaning," said she. "For though it appears like a religious. allegory, you do not know that there really is such a place, and that not very far from our house. I have often laughed at your dreams, sister, but this one hurries me from you to-day with a heavy and a trembling heart." Jane left Glen-Gorar by the break of day, and took her way through the wild ranges of Crawford-muir„ straight for the head of Faith's Hope. She had some bread in her lap, and a little bible that she always carried with her, and without one to assist or Comfort her, she went in search of her lost husband. Before she reached the head of that wild glen, the day was far spent, and the sun wearing down. The valley of the Nith lay spread far below her, in all its beauty, but around her there was nothing but darkness, dread, and desolation. The mist hovered on the hills, and on the skirts of the mist the ravens sailed about in circles, croaking furiously, which hail a most ominous effect on tile heart of poor Jane. As she advanced farther up, she perceived a fox and an eagle sitting over against each other, watching somethiug which yet they seemed terrified to approach; and right between them in a little
green hollow, surrounded by black haggs, she found the corpse of her husband in the same manner as described by her sister. He was stripped of his coat and vest, which it was thought he had thrown from him when flying from the soldiers, to enable him to effect his escape. He was shot through the heart with two bullets, but nothing relating to his death was ever known, whether he died pray- ing, or was shot as he fled ; but there was he found lying, bathed in his blood, in the wilderness, and 'one of the wild beasts of the forests had dared to touch his lifeless form.-Blatkwootes Magazine for July.
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