Chapter 1

wood; I take it up into the apartments; I carry portmanteaus and luggage, and whatever offers itself; I carry letters and parcels; I rub the floors of apartments and stairs; I wash the floors and the dining-rooms; I change furniture from one house to another with a handbarrow--carried by two men with leathern straps; I draw a cart with portmanteaus, wood, or furniture; I beat carpets, take them up out of the apartments, and carry them to the barrier outside Paris (yes, sir); I bring them back to the persons to whom they belong; I lay them down. I know how to arrange a room; I make the beds; I colour the inlaid floors of the apartments; I watch a sick person through the night and day (a shrug) for so much a day (a shrug), and for the night also (a shrug); I agree as to the price with those persons who employ me, for five francs the night, eight francs for the twenty-four hours, when they do not feed me; besides, I watch the dead in the apartment during the twenty-four hours that they remain exposed; in short (three shrugs), I do whatever is offered to me. I receive commercial notes for whoever will charge me with the commission, and who will give me the note to enable me to receive it; I bring back the money to the person who has intrusted me with the note, and the person pays me for my commission; I pawn at the Mont de Piété whatever the public is willing to intrust to me--jewels (a shrug), chains, watches, gold or silver; I pawn silver spoons and forks, for eating; I pawn clocks, linen; they take everything in pawn (a shrug) at the Mont de Piété--furniture, pianos, mattresses, candelabras, lustres: in short, they take in pawn everything of value; and I bring back the money and the pawnbroker's ticket to the person who has intrusted me with the commission, and at the same time that person pays me for my commission. Afterwards, I redeem pawned articles from the Mont de Piété for all those persons who choose to honour me with their commissions, provided that the person puts his signature on the back of the paper which the Mont de Piété delivered to him on the day when he pawned the aforesaid articles. I act as commissioner throughout all the departments of France, and also (shrug) in foreign countries, according to the price agreed on, and at a reasonable price; I travel on the railways (shrug), in the diligence (shrug); I go as quick as I can, and I come back as quick as I can; I rub down a horse--I can! I feed him; wash the carriage; drive the carriage; arrange the cellar; rinse out the bottles; bottle the wine; pile up the bottles after they are corked and stamped; lower the hogsheads of wine into the cellar with a thick rope, with the help of a comrade, and the price is two francs for each hogshead. In my own country, I am a labourer, and do everything relating to the cultivation of the ground. I root up the trees; I saw them into several lengths; I split the wood; pile it up to dry; then load it on mules, and carry it to the house to be burned; afterwards I mow the hay and corn; carry the corn into the barn (shrug), and the hay also; thrash the corn, and put it away into the granary; from whence they take it out by little and little to have it ground and to make bread. I prune the vines.' Here the commissionaire gives an account of the whole process of wine-making, in which he is an adept; and then goes on to explain how he is employed as a spy on families and others, all in the way of business. He ends with saying that trade is dull, and blames the revolution of 1848 for ruining his employment--for why? 'Everybody is afraid of the future. Everybody is economical; everybody is hiding, hoarding, or saving his money, because he knows that affairs cannot continue as they are, that sooner or later there will be another revolution.' Such a country! The revolution thus anticipated has taken place. By relieving the Parisians from the fears of a social upbreak--a universal sack of property--for that was preying on their minds--the grand _coup_ of Louis Napoleon will doubtless set money afloat, and restore occupation to the humbler classes--the real sufferers by revolutions.

The curious thing about all the revolutions and coups that have ever taken place in France is, that they never give the slightest particle of real liberty to the people; and, what is equally surprising, the people do not know what liberty is. It is a thing they talk about, and paint over doorways, but further they go not. When, in 1848, a mob was suffered to assume supreme authority, it might have been anticipated that the very first thing they would do would be to turn the whole police system about its business and destroy its records. No such thing. The triumphant insurrectionists, complaining of tyranny, were as tyrannical as anybody; they retained the obnoxious system of passports, and kept up the usual routine of police administration, spies and all. The truth appears to be, that the French cannot comprehend the idea of social organisation without a minute machinery of management and interference. Society in England, where people may speak and do pretty much what they like, go here and go there without leave asked, and set up any business anywhere as suits their fancy--is anarchy, a chaos, according to French notions. Sir Francis inclines to the belief that a system of government interference and regulation, as in France, is an advantage, because it protects society against some gross abuses--such as the indiscriminate sale of medicines, want of sanitary arrangements, the open spectacle of vice, and so forth. True this, in some respects, and we could wish for a little more vigour in certain departments of our social policy; but in this, as in many things, we have to make a choice of evils. Better, we think, allow abuses to be corrected by the comparatively sluggish action of public opinion, than accustom a people to have everything done for them, every action regulated by laws and prefects of police. The account given by Sir Francis of the manner in which the authority of the police bears on common workmen, is only a version of what every traveller speaks of with execration. Although we ourselves alluded to the subject on a former occasion, we may recapitulate a few points from the volume before us: 'Every workman or labouring boy is obliged, all over France, to provide himself with a book termed _un livret_, indorsed in Paris by a commissaire of police, and in other towns by the mayor or his assistants, containing his description, name, age, birthplace, profession, and the name of the master by whom he is employed. In fact, no person, under a heavy fine, can employ a workman unless he produce a livret of the above description, bearing an acquittal of his engagements with his last master. Every workman, after inscribing in his livret the day and terms of his engagement with a new master, is obliged to leave it in the hands of his said master, who is required, under a penalty, to restore it to him on the fulfilment of his engagement. Any workman, although he may produce a regular passport, found travelling without his book, is considered as "vagabond," and as such may be arrested and punished with from three to six months' imprisonment, and after that subjected to the surveillance of the _haute-police_ for at least five and not exceeding ten years. No new livret can be indorsed until its owner produces the old one filled up. In case of a workman losing his livret, he may, on the presentation of his passport, obtain provisional permission to work, but without authority to move to any other place until he can satisfy the officer of police that he is free from all engagements to his last master. Every workman coming to Paris with a passport is required, within three days of his arrival, to appear at the prefecture of police with his livret, in order that it may be indorsed. In like manner, any labourer leaving Paris with a passport must obtain the _visé_ of the police to his livret, which, in fact, contains an abstract history of his industrial life. As a description of the political department of the police of Paris would involve details, the ramifications of which would almost be endless, I will only briefly state, that from the masters of every furnished hotel and lodging-house--who are required to insert in a register, indorsed by a commissaire de police, the name, surname, profession, and usual domicile of every person who sleeps in their house for a single night--and from innumerable other sources, information is readily obtained concerning every person, and especially every stranger, residing in the metropolis. For instance, at the entrance of each lodging, and of almost every private house, there sits a being termed a _concierge_, who knows the hour at which each inmate enters and goes out; who calls on him; how many letters he receives; by their post-marks, where they come from; what parcels are left for him; what they appear to contain, &c. &c. &c. Again, at the corner of every principal street, there is located, wearing the badge of the police, a commissionaire, acquainted with all that outwardly goes on within the radius of his Argus-eyed observations. From these people, from the drivers of fiacres, from the sellers of vegetables, from fruiterers, and lastly, from the masters of wine-shops, who either from people sober, tipsy, or drunk, are in the habit of hearing an infinity of garrulous details, the police are enabled to track the conduct of almost any one, and, if necessary, to follow up their suspicions by their own agents in disguises which, practically speaking, render them invisible.' Sir Francis mentions that he was considered of sufficient importance to be under surveillance. '"You are," said very gravely to me a gentleman in Paris of high station, on whom I had had occasion to call, "a person of some consideration. Your object here is not understood, and you are therefore under the surveillance of the police." I asked him what that meant. "Wherever you go," he replied, "you are followed by an agent of police. When one is tired, he hands you over to another. Whatever you do, is known to them; and at this moment there is one waiting in the street until you leave me."'

We need say no more. The people who, under all phases of government--despotism, constitutional monarchy, and universal-suffrage republic--coolly tolerate, nay, they admire and vindicate, this atrocious system of personal restraint and espionage, are totally unfit for the enjoyment of civil liberty. In conclusion, we can hardly recommend the book before us, further than to say, that its gossip, though often prosy to the verge of twaddle, is also sometimes droll and amusing from its graphic minuteness.

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[Footnote 2: _A Faggot of French Sticks_, 2 vols. London: Murray. 1852.]

IVORY AND ITS APPLICATIONS.

The Chinese, from time immemorial, have been celebrated for their excellence in the fabrication of ornamental articles in ivory; and, strange to say, up to our own time, their productions are still unrivalled. European artists have never succeeded in cutting ivory after the manner of these people, nor, to all appearance, is it likely they ever will. Nothing can be more exquisitely beautiful than the delicate lacework of a Chinese fan, or the elaborate carving of their miniature junks, chess-pieces, and concentric balls: their models of temples, pagodas, and other pieces of architecture are likewise skilfully constructed; and yet three thousand years ago such monuments of art were executed with the very same grace and fidelity!

Ivory was known to the Egyptians as an article both of use and ornament. They manufactured it into combs, rings, and a variety of similar things. The processions on the walls of their palaces and tombs would seem to indicate the fact of its having been obtained from India, and also from Ethiopia or Central Africa. There is every reason to believe also that the harder and more accessible ivory of the hippopotamus was extensively used by them. Colonel Hamilton Smith has seen a specimen of what appeared to be a sword-handle of ancient Egyptian workmanship, which has been recognised by dentists as belonging to this class of ivory.

Ivory was extensively used by the Jews. It is frequently spoken of in Scripture as being obtained from Tarshish--an indiscriminate term for various places in the lands of the Gentiles, but probably referring in this case to some part of India or Eastern Africa. Wardrobes were made of ivory, or at least inlaid with it; the splendid throne of Solomon was formed of this material, overlaid with gold; Ahab built an ivory palace: and beds or couches of the same material were common among the wealthy Israelites. The Phoenicians of Tyre--those merchant-princes of antiquity--were so profuse of this valuable article of their luxurious commerce as to provide ivory benches for the rowers of their galleys. Assyria--whose records and history are only now beginning to be unfolded--possessed magnificent articles of ivory. Mr Layard, in his excavations at Nineveh, found 'in the rubbish near the bottom of a chamber, several ivory ornaments upon which were traces of gilding: among them was the figure of a man in long robes, carrying in one hand the Egyptian _crux ansata_--part of a crouching sphinx--and flowers designed with great taste and elegance.'

The Greeks--who were acquainted with it at least as early as the time of Homer--gradually introduced ivory as a material for sculpture. In certain forms of combination with gold, it gave origin to the art of _chryselephantine_ sculpture, so called from the Greek primitives, gold and ivory. This art, which was perhaps more luxurious than tasteful, was introduced about six hundred years before the Christian era; and it was much admired for its singular beauty. It was not, however, till the days of Phidias that it attained to its full splendour. Two of the masterpieces of this sculptor--the colossal statues of Minerva in the Parthenon at Athens and the Olympian Jove in his temple--were formed of gold and ivory. The Minerva was forty feet high, and the Olympian Jupiter was one of the wonders of the world. In the latter of these, the exposed parts of the figure were of ivory, and the drapery of gold. It was seated on a throne elaborately formed of gold, ivory, and cedar-wood; it was adorned with precious stones; and in his hand the god sustained an emblematic figure of Victory, made of the same costly materials.

The Romans used ivory as a symbol of power; but they applied it practically to an infinite variety of purposes. Their kings and magistrates sat on ivory thrones of rich and elaborate construction--an idea received from the Etruscans. The curule chairs of ivory and gold that belonged to the office of consul, together with the sceptres and other articles of similar description, were all of Etruscan origin. The _libri elephantis_ were tablets of ivory, on which were registered the transactions of the senate and magistrates; the births, marriages, and deaths of the people; their rank, class, and occupation, with other things pertaining to the census. The Romans also applied this material to the manufacture of musical instruments, combs, couches, harnesses of horses, sword-hilts, girdles. They were acquainted with the arts of dyeing and incrusting ivory, and they also possessed some splendid specimens of chryselephantine statuary. Ancient writers, indeed, mention no fewer than one hundred statues of gold and ivory; but they furnish us with no particulars of the mode of executing these colossal monuments of art in a substance which could only be obtained in small pieces. A head, smaller than the usual size, a statue about eight inches in height, and a bas-relief, are the only specimens that exist in the present day.

After the fall of the Roman Empire, the taste for ivory ornament became almost extinct. There were some periods, however, in the early part of mediæval history when this material was not forgotten: when the caliphs of the East formed of it some of the beautiful ornaments of their palaces; when the Arabian alchemists subjected it to the crucible, and so produced the pigment ivory black; when a Danish knight killed an elephant in the holy wars, and established an order of knighthood which still exists; when Charlemagne, the emperor of the West, had ivory ornaments of rare and curious carving.[3] It is, however, at a period subsequent to the return of the crusaders that we must date the commencement of a general revival of the taste in Europe. It would be interesting to trace the steps by which ivory regained its place in the arts and commerce of nations; but on this point we must not linger. From the low countries it spread to the far North. Its relations with art and beauty soon became widely recognised; the growing luxury of the Roman pontificate encouraged its applications; and towards the end of the fifteenth century it was extensively employed as an article of ornament and decoration in every country and court of Europe. The Portuguese were the first to revive a traffic with Africa which had been dormant for upwards of 1000 years. It was originally confined to the immense stores of ivory which the natives had accumulated for the purposes of their superstition; but these soon became exhausted, and the inexorable demands of European commerce once more prompted the destruction of the mighty and docile inhabitant of the wilderness. Elephant-hunting became a trade; and a terrible havoc was commenced, which has been unremittingly pursued down to the present time.

The term ivory, originally derived from a Greek word signifying heavy, is indiscriminately applied to the following varieties of osseous matter:--

1. _The tusks and teeth of the elephant_.--Naturalists recognise two species of elephants--the Asiatic (_Elephas Indicus_) and the African (_Elephas Africanus_.) The former of these species is indigenous to the whole of Southern India and the Eastern Archipelago; but the largest and most valuable Indian elephant is that of Ceylon. The second species is found throughout the whole of Africa; and on the banks of the great rivers and lakes of the unexplored regions of the interior, hordes of the finest African elephants are supposed to wander in security. It was until very recently believed that the Asiatic elephant yielded the largest teeth, and those imported from Pegu, Cochin-China, and Ceylon, sometimes weighed 150 lbs. Specimens, however, have been obtained from the interior of Africa of much greater weight and dimensions. Mr Gordon Cumming has in his collection a pair of teeth taken from an old bull elephant in the vicinity of the equator, of which the larger of the two measures 10 feet 9 inches long, and weighs 173 lbs.; and Mr Cawood, who resided thirty years at the Cape, has another pair in his possession measuring 8-1/2 feet each, and weighing together 330 lbs.

Besides these contemporary races of elephants, the market is extensively supplied by the fossil ivory derived from the tusks of the great mammoth or fossil elephant of the geologist. The remains of this gigantic animal are abundantly distributed over the whole extent of the globe. They exist in large masses in the northern hemisphere, deeply embedded in the alluvial deposits of the tertiary period. Humboldt discovered specimens on some of the most elevated ridges of the Andes; and similar remains have been found in Africa. In the frozen regions of the far North, surrounded by successive layers of everlasting ice, the fossil ivory exists in a state of perfect preservation, and it constitutes indeed an important article of commerce in the north of Europe.

2. _The teeth of the hippopotamus, or river-horse_.--These, under the inappropriate term of 'sea-horse teeth,' supply the most suitable ivory for the dentist. In addition to twenty grinders, the animal has twelve front teeth, the outer on each side of the jaw being the largest and most prized. This ivory is much harder, closer in the grain, and more valuable than that of the elephant. It is remarkable, moreover, for the extreme hardness of its enamel, which is quite incapable of being cut, and will strike fire with a steel instrument. The large teeth of the hippopotamus weigh on the average 6 lbs., and the small ones about 1 lb. each. Their value ranges from 6s. to 40s. per lb.

3. _The teeth of the walrus, or sea-cow_.--These are nearly straight, and measure from 2 feet to 2-1/2 feet in length. The exterior portion of the tooth possesses a much finer grain and texture than its core, which in appearance and properties bears a close resemblance to ordinary bone. Of a yellowish cream-colour and mottled, this ivory is much less valuable than the teeth of the hippopotamus. It is seldom applied in our day to other than dental purposes; but its antiquity is interesting. The Scandinavian relics of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, with which our museums are so profusely enriched, are for the most part formed of the teeth of the walrus. The elegant spiral horn of the narwhal or sea-unicorn also produces ivory of a superior quality. It is not to any great extent applied to useful purposes, but is more frequently preserved in museums and collections as a beautiful natural curiosity.

The tusks and teeth of the elephant--the latter, for the sake of distinction, are termed grinders--are formed after the ordinary manner of the teeth of animals. The organism which converts the earthy constituents of the blood into cellular tissue and membrane, contributes in the same way to form the teeth by the successive deposition of layer upon layer of the soft vascular pulp. The marks of these depositions, or laminæ, are clearly distinguishable in the longitudinal striæ of the section of a tooth. Mr Corse Scott states that the Indian elephant has only ten or twelve laminæ in the tooth, while that of the great mammoth has twenty-four, besides having a much more regularly disposed enamel. The tooth is hollow about half-way up, but a very small tubular cavity is visible throughout its entire length. This, sometimes called the nerve, is in reality the apex of successive formations in the process of growth. The grinders are seldom used in the arts. They are of a different texture, the laminæ more loosely combined, and possessing a tendency to separate, which renders them unfit for nearly all useful purposes. Ivory has the same chemical constitution as ordinary teeth--that is, cartilage united to such earthy ingredients as the phosphate of lime.

But it is very remarkable that the fossil ivory of the mammoth, and specimens of the historic period of Pompeii or Egypt, contain sometimes as much as 10 per cent. more of fluoride of calcium than the ivory of the present day. We apprehend, however, that this property--first investigated by Dr George Wilson--may be derived from long-continued contact with earth, since fluoride of calcium is the chief ingredient in the enamel or exterior portion of the tooth. Ancient ivory, having thus gained in its inorganic bases, becomes deficient in the gelatinous constituents necessary to its preservation. We recently had a singularly beautiful application of the knowledge of this principle in the case of the ivory specimens sent from Nineveh by Mr Layard. On their arrival in England, it was discovered that they were rapidly crumbling to pieces. Professor Owen recommended that the articles should be boiled in a solution of albumen, which was done accordingly, and the ivory rendered as firm and solid as when it was first entombed.

We may allude here to a very singular physical property which is possessed by the elephant's tusk. Specimens have frequently been obtained which were found to contain musket-bullets in their centre, surrounded with a species of osseous pulp differing from the ordinary character and constitution of ivory. There was frequently no corresponding orifice on the surface of the tusk; and hence Blumenbach, and other naturalists, were led to form some very inaccurate notions regarding this circumstance. Mr Rodgers of Sheffield some years ago forwarded a variety of such specimens to the Edinburgh College Museum, and these were very closely examined by Professor Goodsir, who, in a communication to the Royal Society of Edinburgh, demonstrated that this arose simply from a property of isolating foreign substances common to all osseous organised bodies: the ball having been enclosed by the tusk in its pulpy secretion, and corrosive action thereby prevented, the process of growth continued without interruption.

Ivory is a solid, white, translucent substance, distinguishable from bone by its beautiful texture of semi-transparent rhomboidal network. The finest ivory is much more transparent than paper of the same thickness. A thin transverse section placed under the microscope exhibits a series of curvilinear lines diverging from the centre and interlacing each other with great regularity and beauty, closely resembling in appearance the engine-turning of a watch. It possesses a specific gravity varying from 1.888 in the tooth of the walrus, to 2.843 in that of the elephant. Its mean gravity is therefore about two and a half times greater than water. The best, finest, and most valuable ivory is that obtained from the African elephant. When recently cut, it exhibits something of a yellowish transparent tint, which is due to the oil it contains, but this gradually changes to a beautiful and permanent white. It is not easily stained or destroyed by exposure to the atmosphere, and on that account is used in the arts for all the higher purposes, and especially for carved ornaments--such as chess-pieces, crucifixes, and articles of _virtu_. Indian ivory, on the contrary, when first cut, is perfectly white, but it becomes yellow and discoloured with age and exposure. A good illustration of this circumstance is presented by the dingy-coloured keys of an old pianoforte.

This popular definition of good and inferior ivory is however, in point of fact, somewhat incorrect, since ivory obtained from the coast of Africa is often much inferior to that obtained from the Indian Archipelago. The best rule for determining the quality is probably that of its vicinity to the equator. The ivory brought from within the 10th degrees of north and south latitude is incomparably the finest in the market; it is at the same time the most transparent, which of itself is a valuable characteristic. Our Indian ivory for some years back, instead of being shipped by way of the Cape for England, has, in order to save time, been sent by the Red Sea to Suez, and thence conveyed, generally on the backs of camels, across the Desert to Alexandria, where it is again shipped on board the Oriental steam-packets for Southampton, and conveyed by railway to London. By this expeditious mode of transit, however, the value of the ivory is frequently much deteriorated. The damage it sustains in being so often loaded and unloaded; and the intense heat of a tropical sun to which it is openly exposed in crossing the Isthmus--render the tusks unsound at the core, numerous cracks and fissures appear over the surface, the points are frequently broken off, and on the whole its market-price is considerably depreciated.

There is no means of accurately determining the intrinsic value of our importation of ivory--the price is so variable. In 1827, upwards of 3000 cwt.; in 1842, upwards of 5000 cwt.; and in 1850, about 8000 cwt. was imported, of which about four-fifths was entered for home consumption. In point of quantity or bulk it is not calculated to attract attention, nor does the commercial transaction excite much notice. A quiet advertisement in the front page of the _Economist_, a few letters from London, Birmingham, and Sheffield to City brokers--for the ivory-trade is confined to a very small number of houses--and a cargo of African or Indian ivory, amounting perhaps to L.50,000 sterling, is quickly and easily disposed of. The supply at this moment is unequal to the demand, and the price is steadily advancing.

Small teeth weighing from 4 to 20 lbs. are worth from L.10 to L.16 per cwt.; and the price of the enormous tusks we have referred to, which are far beyond the limits of the above scale, is probably equal to L.50 per cwt. or upwards. African is worth about 25 per cent. more than Indian ivory of corresponding size and quality.

To attempt even to catalogue the extremely diversified uses to which ivory is applied would of itself be no easy task. There is not perhaps in the whole commercial list an article possessed of wider relations. It is extensively consumed in the manufacture of handles to knives and forks, and cutlery of every description; combs of all kinds; brushes of every form and use; billiard-balls, chess-men, dice, dice-boxes; bracelets, necklaces, rings, brooches; slabs for miniature portraits, pocket-tablets, card-cases; paper-knives, shoeing-horns, large spoons and forks for salad; ornamental work-boxes, jewel-caskets, small inlaid tables; furniture for doors and cabinets; pianoforte and organ keys; stethoscopes, lancet-cases, and surgical instruments; microscopes, lorgnettes, and philosophical instruments; thermometer scales, hydrometer scales, and mathematical instruments; snuff-boxes, cigar-cases, pipe-tubes; fans, flowers, fancy boxes; crucifixes, crosiers, and symbols of faith; idols, gods, and symbols of superstition; vases, urns, sarcophagi, and emblems of the dead; temples, pagodas; thrones, emblems of mythology; and, in short, there is hardly a purpose in the useful and ornamental arts to which ivory is, or has not been in some way extensively employed. At present, the ivory carvings of Dieppe are the finest in Europe; but the genius of the present age is utilitarian, and so are its applications of ivory. If we desire high art in the fabrication of this material, we must go back a few centuries, or be satisfied with the beautiful productions of China or Hindostan. We could scarcely give a more apt illustration of this truth than by pointing to the scat of honour set apart for Prince Albert in the closing scene of the Great Exhibition. Elevated on the crimson platform, and standing forth as an appropriate emblem of the artistic genius of the mighty collection, was observed the magnificent ivory throne presented to her Majesty by the Rajah of Travancore!

From the great value of the material, the economical cutting of it up is of the last importance. Nothing is lost. The smallest fragments are of some value, have certain uses, and bear a corresponding price. Ivory dust, which is produced in large quantities, is a most valuable gelatine, and as such extensively employed by straw-hat makers. The greatest consumption of ivory is undoubtedly in connection with the cutlery trade. For these purposes alone about 200 tons are annually used in Sheffield and Birmingham, and the ivory in nearly every instance is from India. The mode of manufacturing knife-handles is very simple and expeditious:--The teeth are first cut into slabs of the requisite thickness--then to the proper cross dimensions, by means of circular saws of different shapes. They are afterwards drilled with great accuracy by a machine; rivetted to the blade; and finally smoothed and polished. We believe that this branch of industry alone gives employment to about 500 persons in Sheffield. Combs are seldom made of any ivory but Indian, and their mode of manufacture we had recently occasion to describe.[4] A large amount of ivory is consumed in the backs of hairbrushes; and this branch of the trade has recently undergone considerable improvements. The old method of making a tooth-brush, for example, was to lace the bristles through the ivory, and then to glue, or otherwise fasten, an outside slab to the brush for the purpose of concealing the holes and wire-thread. This mode of manufacture has been improved on by a method of working the hair into the solid ivory; and brushes of this description are now the best in the market. Their chief excellence consists in their preserving their original white colour to the last, which is a great desideratum. Billiard-balls constitute another considerable item of ivory consumption. They cost from 6s. to 12s. each; and the nicety of our ornamental turning produces balls not only of the most perfect spherical form, but accurately corresponding in size and weight even to a single grain.

The ivory miniature tablets so much in use, and which are so invaluable to the artist from the exquisitely delicate texture of the material, are now produced by means of a very beautiful and highly interesting chemical process. Phosphoric acid of the usual specific gravity renders ivory soft and nearly plastic. The plates are cut from the circumference of the tusk, somewhat after the manner of paring a cucumber, and then softened by means of the acid. When washed with water, pressed, and dried, the ivory regains its former consistency, and even its microscopic structure is not affected by the process. Plates thirty inches square have been formed in this way, and a great reduction in price has thus been effected. Painting on ivory, we may add, was practised among the ancients.

Mr M'Culloch and other statistical writers predict the speedy extinction of the elephant, from the enormous consumption of its teeth; and curious calculations of the number of these animals annually extirpated to supply the English market alone are now getting somewhat popular. For example: 'in 1827 the customs-duty on ivory (20s. per cwt.--since reduced to 1s.) amounted to L.3257. The average weight of the elephant's tusk is 60 lbs.; and therefore 3040 elephants have been killed to supply this quantity of ivory.' But these calculations are in many respects quite fallacious. In the first place, the average weight of our imported tusks is _not_ 60 lbs.: we have the authority of one of the first ivory-merchants in London for stating that 20 lbs. will be a much closer approximation. This at once involves a threefold ratio of destruction. In place of 3040, we should have the terrible slaughter of 9120 elephants for one year's consumption of ivory in England! This, however, is not the case. In these calculations the immense masses of fossil ivory we have alluded to are obviously overlooked, and the equally immense quantities of broken teeth which are disinterred from the deserts of Arabia, or the jungles of Central Africa. The truth is, we have good reason to know, that a very large proportion of the commercial supply of Europe is sustained from the almost inexhaustible store of these descriptions of ivory.

Nevertheless, it is indisputable that the insatiable demands of modern commerce will inevitably lead to the ultimate extermination of this noble animal. His venerable career is ignominiously brought to an end merely for the sake of the two teeth he carries in his mouth; which are very likely destined to be cut into rings to assist the infant Anglo-Saxons in cutting _their_ teeth, or partly made into jelly to satisfy the tastes and appetites of a London alderman. We cannot reasonably hope for a new suspension of the traffic: indeed we can only look for its extension. The luxurious tastes of man are inimical to the existence of the elephant. From time immemorial, the war of extermination has existed. His rightful domain--in the plain or the wilderness, or amid the wild herbage of his native savannas--is at all points ruthlessly invaded. But the result is inevitable--it will come to an end; and some future generation of naturalists--those of them at least who are curious in Palæontology--will regard the remains of our contemporary races of elephants with the same kind of astonishment with which we investigate the pre-historic evidences of the gigantic tapir or the mammoth.

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[Footnote 3: In the sacristy of the cathedral at Aix-la-Châpelle is still preserved, among other relics of this great prince, an immense ivory hunting-horn; and 'Charlemagne's chess-men,' which still exist, form part of the collection of works of art at Cologne.]

[Footnote 4: See an article on the Aberdeen Combworks, No. 396.]

BLIGHTED FLOWERS.

The facts of the following brief narrative, which are very few and of but melancholy interest, became known to me in the precise order in which they are laid before the reader. They were forced upon my observation rather than sought out by me; and they present, to my mind at least, a touching picture of the bitter conflict industrious poverty is sometimes called upon to wage with 'the thousand natural shocks which flesh is heir to.'

It must be now eight or nine years since, in traversing a certain street, which runs for nearly half a mile in a direct line southward, I first encountered Ellen----. She was then a fair young girl of seventeen, rather above the middle size, and with a queen-like air and gait which made her appear taller than she really was. Her countenance, pale but healthy, and of a perfectly regular and classic mould, was charming to look upon from its undefinable expression of lovableness and sweet temper. Her tiny feet tripped noiselessly along the pavement, and a glance from her black eye sometimes met mine like a ray of light, as, punctually at twenty minutes to nine, we passed each other near ---- House, each of us on our way to the theatre of our daily operations. She was an embroideress, as I soon discovered from a small stretching-frame, containing some unfinished work, which she occasionally carried in her hand. She set me a worthy example of punctuality, and I could any day have told the time to a minute without looking at my watch, by marking the spot where we passed each other. I learned to look for her regularly, and before I knew her name, had given her that of 'Minerva,' in acknowledgment of her efficiency as a mentor.

A year after the commencement of our acquaintance, which never ripened into speech, happening to set out from home one morning a quarter of an hour before my usual time, I made the pleasing discovery that my juvenile Minerva had a younger sister, if possible still more beautiful than herself. The pair were taking an affectionate leave of each other at the crossing of the New Road, and the silver accents of the younger as, kissing her sister, she laughed out, 'Good-by, Ellen,' gave me the first information of the real name of my pretty mentor. The little Mary--for so was the younger called, who could not be more than eleven years of age--was a slender, frolicsome sylph, with a skin of the purest carnation, and a face like that of Sir Joshua's seraph in the National Gallery, but with larger orbs and longer lashes shading them. As she danced and leaped before me on her way home again, I could not but admire the natural ease and grace of every motion, nor fail to comprehend and sympathise with the anxious looks of the sisters' only parent, their widowed mother, who stood watching the return of the younger darling at the door of a very humble two-storey dwelling, in the vicinity of the New River Head.

Nearly two years passed away, during which, with the exception of Sundays and holidays, every recurring morning brought me the grateful though momentary vision of one or both of the charming sisters. Then came an additional pleasure--I met them both together every day. The younger had commenced practising the same delicate and ingenious craft of embroidery, and the two pursued their industry in company under the same employer. It was amusing to mark the demure assumption of womanhood darkening the brows of the aërial little sprite, as, with all the new-born consequence of responsibility, she walked soberly by her sister's side, frame in hand, and occasionally revealed to passers-by a brief glimpse of her many-coloured handiwork. They were the very picture of beauty and happiness, and happy beyond question must their innocent lives have been for many pleasant months. But soon the shadows of care began to steal over their hitherto joyous faces, and traces of anxiety, perhaps of tears, to be too plainly visible on their paling cheeks. All at once I missed them in my morning's walk, and for several days--it might be weeks--saw nothing of them. I was at length startled from my forgetfulness of their very existence by the sudden apparition of both one Monday morning clad in the deepest mourning. I saw the truth at once: the mother, who, I had remarked, was prematurely old and feeble, was gone, and the two orphan children were left to battle it with the world. My conjecture was the truth, as a neighbour of whom I made some inquiries on the subject was not slow to inform me. '_Ah,_ sir,' said the good woman, 'poor Mrs D---- have had a hard time of it, and she born an' bred a gentlewoman.'

I asked her if the daughters were provided for.

'Indeed, sir,' continued my informant, 'I'm afeard not. 'Twas the most unfortnatest thing in the world, sir, poor Mr D----'s dying jest as a'