WHEN We consider the opposition which every change has had to encounter before it has been thoroughly adopted, we cannot be surprised by the spirit which has been evoked by such innovations as interfere in an especial manner with cherished associations. The changes in national costume forced on a people have been ever productive of the most bitter feelings, and often of the most fatal consequences. It is well known that an alteration in the uniform of the sepoys was the cause of one of the most fearful tragedies on record. It will be remembered that some military men at Madras, in the year 1806, ordered the helmet worn by the European light infantry to be substituted for the national turban, and prohibited the distinguishing marks of their respective castes worn by the native soldiers on their foreheads. These innovations were deeply resented, and an awful vengeance followed the new regulations. The particulars of the dreadful massacre are recorded in the public journals of the day. Of the European companies, upwards of 164 were cut off, with their officers-many British officers of the native troops, the sick in the hospital, and every person found in the officers' houses, were put to death-and 800 of the sepoys were killed. The obnoxious regulation was withdrawn, but for a long time the spirit of disaffection continued to spread in all directions. The prohibition against the Highland costume is known to have produced deep and bitter feelings, for it was most fondly associated with all that was most dear-martial prowess, and the ties of clanship -and so picturesque, that it seemed to belong to the very scenery and poetry of the country. But a few years since, the public journals detailed the grief into which the Jews in one of the northern countries of Europe were plunged by the law which obliged them to change their accustomed garb; their weeping and wailing was described as most pitiable. One of the most pathetic airs ever composed, is said to have been the lament for the culan, or long lock worn by the Irish, and which they were compelled by law to cut off.

Some changes have, however, been so judidous, that we should be utterly at a loss to conceive how they could ever have been resisted, were we not aware how everything is

endeared by custom; and thus we find an explanation for the obstinate pertinacity with which old inconveniences were clung to. Every invention to lighten labor or save time has met with opposition from some quarter, in some cases entirely from interested motives, which have, not unfrequently, outweighed incalculable advantages. The expedient devised by a benevolent person, to prevent the deleterious effect of their employment to the needle-pointers, was of no use; health and years of life being willingly sacrificed for the high wages proportioned to the risk which was incurred. Dreadful riots followed the introduction of the power-loom. Indeed, every improvement in machinery has met with opposition in some direction.

There is no observation more just than that made by Sidney Smith, when he says, "There is not one single source of human happiness against which there have not been uttered the most lugubrious predictions-turnpike roads, navigable canals, inoculation, &c." There is, indeed, scarcely even an article in common use, that has not been made the object of so much invective or ridicule, that we wonder how they ever came to be considered necessary to comfort, Coaches, when first seen in England, were looked on as evidences of sloth and effeminacy derogatory to the English character. Umbrellas, when first brought over from Italy, were not less the objects of dislike and ridicule. A person seen to carry one through the street was sure to be hooted and laughed at by the mob, as a mere dandy of his day. The prejudice against forks, when newly invented, was so great that they were supposed by many to be a device of Satan to offer an affront to Providence, who had furnished human beings with fingers for the conveyance of food to the mouth. It has been no unusual thing thus to ascribe some of the most useful discoveries and inventions to diabolical intervention. Antimony and bark, now held as such inestimable drugs in medical practice, were supposed to have been brought into notice through the same evil agency. Bark had been brought into Europe by the Jesuits, who distributed quantities of it among the poor who were laboring under intermittent fevers and agues. The cures which it wrought, and the quickness with which they were effected, were made the

In

Inoculation for the small-pox was first tried in England on seven condemned criminals, who, on recovery, were pardoned. It might have been supposed that such a successful experiment of its efficacy would have established its value; but it had no such effect, and medical men continued to inveigh against it for a time. Pamphlets were written, condemnatory of the impious attempt to interfere with the decrees of Providence. the sermon of an admired preacher, it was insisted on that all who infused the variolous ferment were hellish sorcerers, and that inoculation was the diabolical invention of Satan. These tirades had considerable effect on the public mind, and for a long time retarded the benefit of the great discovery. Vaccination, in its turn, became the subject of bitter invective. The tales propagated against it filled the minds of the weak and ignorant with horror; pamphlets were written, and sermons were preached, to put the unsuspecting on their guard against this new device of Satan. "God," said they, "gave us the small-pox; it is sinful to interrupt it by the cow-pox." Hand-bills were pasted on the walls through the streets, warning the people against it. In some of them, a detailed account was given of one who had submitted to vaccination, and who soon had horns growing out of his head. It is thus a medical contemporary and opponent of Jenner wrote on the subject—"Future ages will read with wonder the history of the cow-pox credulity of our nation; and of the headlong precipitancy with which the children of this country were committed to a medical experiment at the risk of their lives. This modern exposing of children sinks our boasted human tenderness beneath the guardian spirit of instinct. That a people should be found to contaminate their offspring with a poison taken from the brute creation, of the origin, nature, and effects of which they had not the smallest knowledge, will stand among the incredible tales of some future Pliny."

We all know the cruel persecutions which Galileo underwent for his astronomical discoveries; thrice imprisoned, ordered to recant his heretical theory of the earth, and his work on the Ptolemaic and Copernican systems publicly burnt; Virgilius, bishop of Saltzburg, condemned to expiate in the flames the heresy of which he had been guilty in his assertion that there were

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antipodes; Cornelius Agrippa, accused of being a magician, and compelled to flee his country, for having exhibited some of the philosophical experiments which we are accustomed to see every day-deprived of his resources, and ending his days in an hospital; Galen, driven from Rome by the persecution of the physicians, who ascribed his success to magic; Harvey, seeing his great discovery of the circulation of the blood made the subject of a bitter controversy, and so protracted, that he scarcely lived to see his theory established.

But it would be needless, and lead us into too great length, were we to enumerate those whose labors met with no better reward than the calumnies of superstition and the persecution of bigotry. Even in the better times which we have seen, we know that geologists had to hear, and strange to say, still have to hear, that the tendencies of their pursuit lead to the most deplorable results. "When," said Robert Fulton, "I was building my first steam-boat at New York, the project was viewed by the public either with indifference or with contempt, as a visionary scheme. My friends, indeed, were civil, but they were shy. They listened with patience to my explanations, but with a settled look of incredulity on their countenances. As I had occasion to pass daily to and from the building-yard, while my boat was in progress, I have often loitered unknown near the idle group of strangers gathering in little circles, and heard various inquiries as to the object of this new vehicle. The language was uniformly that of scorn, or sneer, or ridicule. The loud laugh often rose at my expense-the dry jest, the wiser calculation of losses and expenditure, the dull but endless repetition of the 'Fulton folly.' Never did a single encouraging remark, a bright hope, or a warm wish, cross my path. Silence itself was but politeness veiling its doubts or hiding its reproaches. At length the day arrived when the experiment was to be put into operation. To me it was a most trying and interesting occasion. I invited many friends to go on board to witness the first successful trip. Many of them did me the favor to attend, as a matter of personal respect; but it was manifest that they did it with reluctance, fearing to be the partners of my mortification and not of my triumph. I was well aware that in my case there were many reasons to doubt of my own succes. The machinery was new and ill-made; many parts of it were constructed by mechanics unaccustomed to such work; and unexpected difficulties might reasonably be presumed to present themselves from

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other causes. The moment arrived in which the word was to be given for the vessel to move. My friends were in groups on the deck. There was anxiety mixed with fear among them. They were silent, and sad, and weary. I read in their looks nothing but disaster, and almost repented of my efforts. The signal was given, and the boat moved on a short distance, and then stopped, and became immovable. To the silence of the preceding moment now succeeded murmurs of discontent, and agitations, and whispers, and shrugs. I could hear distinctly repeated, 'I told you it would be so- -it is a foolish scheme

I wish we were well out of it.' I elevated myself upon a platform, and addressed the assembly. I stated that I knew not what was the matter; but, if they would be quiet, and indulge me for half an hour, I would either go on, or abandon the voyage for that time. This short respite was conceded without objection. I went below, examined the machinery, discovered that the cause was a slight mal-adjustment of some of the work. In a short period it was obviated. The boat was put again in motion. She continued to move on. All were still incredulous ; none seemed willing to trust the evidence of their senses. We left the fair city of New York, we passed through the romantic and ever varying scenery of the Highlands, we descried the clustering houses of Albany, we reached its shore, and then, even then, when all seemed achieved, I was the victim of disappointment. Imagination superseded the influence of fact; it was then doubted if it could be done again, or if done, it was doubted if it could be made of any great value."

The application of steam has been an achievement of which science may well be proud. The predictions of what it was yet to accomplish, were not met with the spirit of persecution which assailed former discoveries and inventions from which the human race has reaped most precious benefits. But most certainly they were at first received with coldness, and often with ridicule.

The celebrated "London Quarterly Review," in 1825, in an article, on "Canals and Railways," said: "We scout at the idea of a general railroad, as altogether impracticable, or as one, at least, which will be rendered nugatory in lines where the traffic is so small that the receipts would scarcely pay for the consumption of coals. As to those persons," it says, "who speculate on making railroads general throughout the kingdom,

and superseding all the canals, all the wagons, mail and stage coaches, post chaises, and in short every other mode of conveyance by land or by water, we deem them and their visionary schemes unworthy of notice."

The Review goes on to quote, We find a countryman of Mr. Telford writing thus :-" We shall be carried at the rate of 400 miles a-day, with all the ease we now enjoy in a steam-boat, but without the annoyance of sea-sickness, or the danger of being burned or drowned." "It is," the Review adds, "certainly some consolation to those who are to be whirled at the rate of eighteen or twenty miles an hour, by means of a high-pressure engine, to be told that they are in no danger of be ing sea-sick while on shore, that they are not to be scalded to death, or drowned by the bursting of the boiler, and that they need not mind being shot by the scattered fragments, or dashed in pieces by the flying off or breaking of a wheel. But, with all these assurances, we should as soon expect the people of Woolwich to suffer themselves to be fired off upon one of Congreve's ricochet rockets, as trust themselves to the mercy of such a machine, going at such a rate. Their property they may perhaps trust; but, while one of the finest navigable rivers in the world runs parallel to the purposed railroad, we consider the other 20 per cent. which the subscribers are to receive for the conveyance of heavy goods almost as problematical as that to be derived from the passengers. We will back old Father Thames against the Woolwich Railway for any sum."

This article, when written, responded to the sentiments of the most influential part of the community; and it is curious to observe how utterly unprepared the public were for the fulfillment of predictions which they ascribed to a wild enthusiasm, and which they considered it a duty to keep in some kind of check. But science and genius have gone beyond the expectations of the most sanguine; and all seem ready to grant, that what they may yet lead to is beyond human calculation. Discoveries are no longer looked on with mistrust and timid apprehension; but what next? is the feeling, if not the question, of all. Steam and electricity, those powerful agents, are already affecting the destinies of man in all directions, and rendering our earthly abode every day more like that of purely spiritual beings, who pass through space with unobstructed celerity, and exchange words and thoughts from the most remote distances.

COULD any superior intelligences take an interest in observing the current of our social life, as naturalists contemplate the habits of inferior races, what a fund of amusement would they find in the working of human notions of dignity! No class of beliefs is entertained with so much of variety and paradox. One nation's legends on the subject are in complete opposition to those of another, and the faith of almost every age is contradicted by that of its successor. In the caliphate of Bagdad, the public executioner ranked next to the prime minister, and his official title was Mesour, or the happy; while in Europe everything connected with the same office was deemed so disgraceful that the magistrates of a German town were once obliged to proceed in a body, with all the insignia of civic authority, and commence the repairs of the gallows, in hopes that their example might induce some workmen to complete that favorite engine of Gothic law. The Danes reproached Alfred of England with reading Latin like a priest; and now Virgil and Horace may be said to lead the van of an English gentleman's education. When Lord Shaftesbury, being high chancellor, informed his royal patron in full levee that, for a subject, he believed himself the most profligate man in his majesty's dominions ;" and a country squire, descanting on the insolence of his servant, observed that "the fellow forgot his station, and swore like a gentleman," the suitabilities (to venture a new plural) of elevated positions must have been somewhat different from the present acceptation. Well might the old poet say, "The glories of our birth and state are shadows, not substantial things." Distorted shadows some of them have been, and it is well that they at least are not substantial. Ideas of dignity, if not restricted, are certainly common to mankind; and, whether originating in vanity, self-esteem, or a desire for the respect of others, much of the absurd and preposterous has in all times hung about their demonstrations, and future investigators will smile at those of the nineteenth century.

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Dignity has been the source of many an old and troublesome institution. Hence came the

caste system of India, interwoven with eastern mythology, and established in earlier times, under various modifications, in all the nations of the earth. From the same root was derived the science and mystery of heraldry, so important in Europe's untaught and pageant-loving days. Thence, too, originated the whole ceremonial of etiquette, known to the world's courts and castles, from the nine prostrations of the Chinese before the statue of the sun's brother, alias the reigning emperor, to the famous ordinance of Queen Charlotte, against saluting any but titled ladies.

Among the remnants of Celtic literature there is a satirical poem, called "The Woman of Three Cows," which contains a sharp expostulation with an ancient dame for the hauteur she exhibited, in virtue of the above-named possession. Others rest on some imaginary or self-devised distinction. The industrious lady mentioned by Addison, who would have her daughters spin huckaback for the household, but only on little wheels, as large ones, however expeditious, were used by common people, and therefore inadmissible, was an example of the kind in her age. There are also those who put on borrowed glory like a garment, and become great in their relations. A titled cousin or a distinguished uncle has been the innocent cause of injury to the social habits and manners of many a family.

A German poet, who, by the way, lived and died a bachelor, gave it, as the result of his experience, that the near relations, and particularly the children, of celebrated literateurs were in general disagreeably vain, and apt to cut a more eccentric than respectable figure in life. The single poet might have been given to fault-finding with other people's children for their natural pride in a distinguished relative, but honors entirely derived have seldom been either gracefully worn or turned to good account. Nearly allied to this form is family pride. That Gothic pillar has supported the dignity of unreckoned numbers in the course of centuries. The Dalmatian who could not plough his only field because his ancestors had been chiefs of the Haiduks, confided in it quite as much as Louis XVI. of France,

when, just before the first revolution, he issued a decree, ordaining that none should expect presentation at court who could not exhibit a clear pedigree of four hundred years. The assigned cause of this ordinance was, that sundry family trees of doubtful origin had sprung up in the preceding reigns: and there is an anecdote in point of Vauban, the celebrated military engineer. He had done the state some service in frontier fortifications-at least, Cardinal Richelieu thought so—and it was proposed to reward him by means of an order; but Vauban was of plebeian descent, and the ribbon could be bestowed on nothing less than nobility. The cardinal was considerate enough to send him an intimation of the intended honor and its obstruction, with a consolatory hint that under his patronage any herald could make out a genealogy. "Tell the cardinal that I thank him," responded the truly noble engineer to this courtly message; "but say also that I am not in the habit of paying for pride with truth;" and history mentions that Vauban received the order.

Family pride, though not unknown at any historical period, appears to have been peculiarly the growth of the feudal times. It was well fitted for a state of society in which the few were lords and the many their vassals; but little did those proud barons, who gloried in ancestors and quarterings, think what burlesque editions of their trust in family honors should appear in more equalizing ages. The sweep who commanded his son, on pain of being disinherited, to give up all thoughts of a neighboring tailor's daughter, as a connection beneath one whose grandfather had swept the flues of Windsor Castle, must have caught the mantle of their spirit, though its descent was far. One of the most ludicrous circumstances of this kind that probably ever occurred, took place between two emigrant Highlanders in this country. They were of the same patronymic, but had taken different sides in an electioneering question, and one of them, the better to influence the votes of his emigrant countrymen in the locality, reminded them of his descent from chieftains, whether real or imaginary it is needless to inquire, by assuming the well-known title of "the Macnab;" upon which his opponent, not to be outdone at once in rank and voters, announced himself to the amused public as "the other Macnab," and each bore their respective titles, it is said, much longer than they were found agreeable. The pride of family may have served a good purpose at times, when it operated after the fashion of the Barmecide's advice to his son-" Consider thine ancestors only to excel them;" but it is to be feared that, with those by

whom it has been most cherished, the having of ancestors, in the ordinary acceptation, was deemed sufficient excellence. To no idea of dignity have greater sacrifices been made. There is a dark picture, true to history, though often repeated in the fictitious literature of France. It is an aristocratic family, reduced to absolute penury by the extravagance of elder barons, and the code of the noblesse which forbade any of their branches to engage at all in business, occupying an apartment or two in a vast but decaying chateau, whence, from one generation to another, the sons and daughters, all excepting the heir, were transmitted to convent and monastery as soon as they reached eighteen, being literally born to the veil and cowl.

Such details verify the remarks of a modern philosopher, that pride is the Juggernaut of the moral world. The autobiography of Count Cha teaubriand presents us with a companion-sketch taken from his father's household. They kept but two aged servants, and lived in a few rooms of their huge castle, including the great saloon, one end of which served them for a drawingroom and the other for a dining-parlor. They saw no company, had no books to read, and seldom went out even to church, for want of equipments suited to their rank. The head of the family spent his time in musing over his fallen fortunes, and supported his dignity by rarely speaking to his wife and children, who were expected to keep silence in his presence. The only amusement permitted to his noble birth was that of the sportsman, and, having no other hunting ground, he shot owls as they flew out of the ivy of his towers on summer evenings, and in winter pored over a moth-eaten chest of family papers in an old turret chamber called his study.

The inconsistency which runs throughout human affairs, whether of faith or practice, is prominent in many notions of dignity. At Venice, in the days of her glory, none but the nobility were allowed to game, yet, it is curious that, in that city as well as in other old commercial towns of Italy, such as Florence and Genoa, mercantile pursuits, so far from being considered vulgar, were almost confined to the aristocracy during the middle ages, while they were regarded as utterly plebeian over all the rest of Europe. An ancestor of the revolutionary orator, Count Mirabeau, who was of Italian origin, and had established himself with his merchandise at Marseilles, once had a dispute with the bishop, who, by way of contempt, called him a merchant. "A merchant of spice I am," rejoined the Italian,

"but

you are only a merchant of holy water, and that closed the contest.