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CATACOMBS OF PARIS.

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Wretchedly as London is provided, the credit of the burial-ground a marvelwith cemeteries, Paris was in a much lous power of consuming bodies in the worse state before its quarries were con- short space of nine days was imputed to it, verted into receptacles for the remains of as Hentzner tells us when he describes the the dead. For many centuries that great place as Sepulchrorum numero et scelestis city had only one church-yard, that of St. admirandum. Innocent's, originally a piece of the royal

The mode of interment was of the most domains lying without the walls, and given indecent kind, not in single graves but in by one of the first French Kings as a common pits. “I am astonished," says burial-place to the citizens, in an age when Phillip Thicknesse, writing from Paris, interments within the city were forbidden. " that where such an infinite number of Philip Augustus inclosed it in 1186, with people live in so small a' compass, they high walls, because it had been made a should suffer the people to be buried in the place of the grossest debauchery, and the manner they or within the city. There gates were closed at night. About forty are several burial pits in Paris, of a proyears afterwards the Bishop of Paris, Pierre digious size and depth, in which the dead de Nemours, enlarged it, and from that bodies are laid side by side, without any time vo further enlargement of its precincts earth being put over them till the ground was ever made The manner in which tier is full; then, and not till then, a small the dead were heaped there is noticed thus. layer of earth covers them, and another oddly by the old poet Jean le Fevre, who layer of dead comes on, till, by layer upon lived in the reign of Charles V.

layer, and dead upon dead, the hole is fil. “ Car atropos la mate gloute,

led with a mass of human corruption, « Je ne veuil pas qu'elle ne boute;

enough to breed a plague

These places « Avec ceulx de Saint Innocent,

are inclosed, it is true, within high walls; « Quatre-vingt-dix-neuf ou cent:

but nevertheless, the air cannot be im« On met tout ensemble sans faille,

proved by it. The burials in churches too « Ils pourront bien faire bataille,

often prove fatal to the priests and people « Au jour qu'ils ressuseiteront.”

who attend, but every body and every In 1440 the Bishop of Paris, Denis des thing in Paris is so much alive that not Moulins, raised the burial fees, at which a soul thinks about the dead." Mr. Thickthe people murmured, and resented the was mistaken in one point,—there imposition, as they deemed it, so strongly was no intermediate earth between the that they entered into a combination, and layers of the coffins; they were closely during four months po person was buried | packed, one tier above another, in pits there, and no funeral service performed over thirty feet deep and twenty square, and those who died, a revenge for which the when the pit was full it was covered with Bishop excommunicated them all. This a layer of soil, not more than a foot in quarrel did not continue long, and as ge- thickness. These fosses communes were nerations after generations were piled one emptied once in thirty or forty years, and upon another within the same ground, the the bones deposited in what was called inhabitants of the neighbouring parishies Le grand Charnier des Innocens, an archied began to complain of the great inconve- gallery which surrounded the burial place, nience and danger to which they were having been erected at different times, as exposed; diseases were imputed to such a a work of piety, by different citizens, whose mass of collected putridity, tainting the names, and sometimes their escutcheons air by exhalations, and the waters by filtra- were placed upon the parts which they tion, and measures for clearing out the had founded. One of these pits, which cemetery would have been taken in the was intended to contain two thousand middle of the sixteenth century, if some dis- bodies, having been opened in 1979, the putes between the Bishop and the parlia- inhabitants of the adjoining streets prement had not prevented them. To save sented a memorial to the LieutenantGeneral of the Police; they stated that, Thomas Brown, and a mode of preparing the soil of the burial-ground was raised it by Lord Bacon ; and scientifically, more than eight feet above the level of the because the fact had long been familiar to streets and the ground floor of the adjacent the grave-diggers in Paris, and also among houses, and represented that serious conse- || the lower classes of this country. We quences had been experienced in the cellars | ourselves well remember the prejudice of some of the houses. The evil indeed | which existed among them against using was now become so great that it could no || spermaceti in medicine, before the discovery longer be borne. The last-grave.digger, I was made at Paris, because they said it was Francis Poptraci, had, by his own register, || dead man's fat. in less than thirty years, deposited more The common people of Paris regarded than 90,000 bodies in that cemetery; for this burial-place with so much veneration many years the average number of inter- || that some danger was apprehended, if any ments there had been not less than 3000, accident should provoke their irritable feeland of these from 150 to 200, at the utmost, sings during an exposure which no prewere all that had separate graves; the rest caution could prevent from being shocking were laid in the common trenches, which

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to humanity. Every possible precaution, were usually made to hold from 12 to 1500! however, was taken. The work went on It was calculated that since the time of by night and day, without intermission, Phillippe Auguste 1,200,000 bodies had till it was necessarily suspended during the been interred there, and that it had been hot months; and it was resumed with the in use as a cemetery many ages before his same steady exertion as soon as the season time.

permitted. Religious ceremonies had not A memorial upon the ill effects which at that time lost their effect upon the Parihad arisen, and the worse consequences sian mob: and the pomp with which some which might be expected to arise from the of the remains were removed, and the deconstant accumulation of putrescence was cent and religious care with which the read before the Royal Academy of Science, bones and undistinguished remains were in 1783, by M. Cadet de Vaux, who held || conveyed away, reconciled them to the the useful office of Inspecteur Général des

measure. The night-scenes, when the work Objets de Salubrité. The Council of State,

was carried on by the light of torches and in 1785, decreed that the cemetery should bonfires, are said to have been of the most be cleared of its dead, and converted into impressive character-crosses, monuments, ' a market-place, after the canonical forms | demolished edifices, excavations, coffins, which were requisite in such cases should and the labourers moving about like spechave been observed: the Archbishop, in

tres in the lurid light, under a cloud of conformity, issued a decree for the suppres- smoke. M. Robert, and other distinsion, denuolition, and evacuation of the guished artists of that day, painted some cemetry, directing that the bones and of these scenes. bodies should be removed to the new It

appears that the bills of mortality at subterranean cemetery of the Plaine de Paris hold out a tremendous lesson of moMont Rouge, and appointing one of his rals to the Parisians, if, as may be fairly Vicars-General to draw up the proces-ver- | inferred, they agree in the results with the bal of the exhumation, removal, and re-in-tomb-stones of the different cemeteries. In terment; and the Royal Society of Medi- || the burial-ground of Montmartre, which is cine appointed a committee to explain the the deposit for the gay part of Paris, the plans which should be presented for this ex. | purlieus of the Palais Royal, the rues St. traordinary operation, and superintended a Honore, Vivienne, Richelieu, and Montwork as interesting to men of science as itmartre, the Boulevards, and the Chaussée would have been shocking to common d'Antin, nine tombs in ten are to the mespectators. It is well known that the sub.mory of persons cut off in the flower of stance which is denominated adipocire their youth. But in the burial-ground of was then scientifically re-discovered: re. Pere la Chaise, which serves principally. discovered, we say, because the existence for the sober citizens of Paris, the inhabit. of the substance bad been known by Sir llants of the Marais, and of the Fauxbourg

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St. Antoine, nine out of ten record persons gardens, pour inspirer la philosophic. But who have attained a good old age. In both the oddest display of this kind was exhicases this fact relates to subjects in easy or bited by M. de Brunoi, who put his park affluent circumstances, and the difference in mourning for the death of his mother, of mortality is solely attributable to the and had barrels of ink sent from Paris that difference between a dissipated and a re- the jets d'eau ight be in mourning also. gular life. If nosological tables had been Count Schimmelmann's monument for his kept in different places, and in different wife was all that was wanting to make the parts of the world, with the same care as scene complete : that nobleman placed the meteorological ones, how many more im- monument upon a spring, and made the portant results might have been deduced water spout from an eye, that it might be from them! It is said that insanity is a symbol of his excessive grief. It may seldom known in Spain, and rarely or still be seen not far from Copenhagen, never among private soldiers or sailors. where it is known by the name of the The latter fact is easily explicable; military Weeping Eye. and naval discipline acts upon those who The Parisians have committed no follies might be disposed to madness like the per- of this kind; but they have acted like petual presence of a keeper. To explain themselves in making show-catacombs and the infrequency of this dreadful malady in cimetières ornés. A becoming respect to Spain, would require a more intimate human nature was manifested in removing knowledge of the people than a stranger the remains of the dead with decency, and can possibly obtain. Something, however, preparing a receptacle for them; but it may be ascribed to general temperance, would have been better to put them out of and to the little use which is made of ar- sight, and wall them up in the quarries, dent spirits; and it should be remembered than to arrange them in patterns along the that convents often supply the places of wall, skulls and thigh es, like muskets madhouses, and that downright luvacy aud pistols in the small armory at the passes for high devotion and miraculous Tower. Such exhibitions cannot have a grace.

salutary tendency; they foster that disease The monuments in the new Parisian ce- of mind in which melancholy madness has meteries are generally in good taste, better its foundation; they harden brutal natures, than is generally found in England. The and are more likely to provoke the liceninscriptions are sufficiently Freuch in sen- tious to impious bravadoes than reclaim timent. The following is upon one of

them.

Exposures of this kind originated Bonaparte's Generals, who is made to say, in the spirit of monachism. They are

unfeeling and unnatural.

Public feeling " Dans toute ma vie « Je n'ai fait tort a personne.”

would not tolerate them in Protestant

countries: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, One of these burial-grounds is planted dust to dust. with fruit-trees, which is objected to as Burial-grounds à-la-pittoresque, laid out rendering the general effect moins attris

for a promenade, are not more consonant tante. We are told that a former possessor to good feeling. This invention is indeed of Ermenonville planted dead trees in his original to the people of Paris.

ACCOUNT OF THE CINNAMON TREE.

The cinnamon woods in Ceylon are The cinnamon tree, for which this island thirty in number, and are the absolute and is so famous, is frequently of a great size; entire property of the Dutch company. some trees are, however, middling; the Besides, there are many more woods in the leaves bear a great resemblance to a lemon middle of the country, the cinnamon of or laurel leaf in thickness and colour; the which the Emperor of Ceylon is obliged to latter, however, have but one rib, but the deliver to the company.

leaves of the cinnamon tree have three. The

leaves, when they first burst forth, are as camphor water; nay, they even understand red as scarlet, and smell, when rubbed be the method of extracting the very best tween the fingers, more like cloves than cio-camphor from it; but this must be done namon. This tree is very thick set with with the greatest privacy, as it is prohi. branches and leaves, and bears a white bited by the company under the heaviest sweet-scented blossom, which is followed | penalties, in order to prevent the camphor by a fruit of the size of an olive, of a yellow trade in Borneo and Sumatra from being colour, and ripe in the month of June, but hurt by it. neither in smell or taste at all resembles The time for barking the tree comthe inner bark. The ripe fruit, when mences in June and July, and sometimes boiled, yields a very fine oil, which, when even in August. As soon as the barkers, cold, has the appearance of tallow, and is who are brought up to this business, come used in medicine as well as to burn in out of their villages for this purpose, every lamps, though none of the natives dare use district sends a detatchment of soldiers it for this latter parpose, only the Emperor with them, in order to guard the wood himself.

when they are at work; and this partly This tree grows wild in woods like other on account of the roving native mountrees, and is in no higher estimation among taineers, who sometimes fall on the barked the natives. It has a double coat; the cinnamon and make it their booty, but still outer rind not having the least favour or more for keeping an eye on the barkers other properties of cinnamon, is previously themselves, that they may not be able to taken off with a knife ; but the inver, conceal any of the cinnamon. which is the real genuine cinnamon, is The bark that is peeled during the day with a crooked pointed knife first cut cir- must be carried every evening to the Dutch cularly, then longitudinally, and, after guard belonging to their respective disbeing peeled off, is laid in the sun, by tricts; it is there cleansed, well dried, and which means it becomes rolled up, and made up into bundles, and afterwards taken takes the form in which we have it in in close cases to the factory, where they Europe.

are weighed and received by the company When the tree is once deprived of its as payment of the assessment or tax, imbark it never grows again, but from the posed on these people by government. fruit that has fallen off new trees shoot up A man must have a very good hand inin its stead; which, in the space of six or deed, that can gather thirty pounds of cineight years, may be peeled again. The namon in a day; whence it is easily cal. wood of this tree gives not the least smell culated how many persons it will take to when burot, being soft and white like our gather ten or twelve millions of pounds, fir wood. The inhabitants make use of it and that too of the best, for what is brought for their houses and furniture: from the in is looked over before it is weighed, and root their physicians draw an excellent the refuse of it is destroyed.

FUGITIVE POETRY.

Rapt in the charms that round thee play,

Like some lost wretch who looks on lightning, I feel the wild electric ray

Strike to the fated breast its brightning,

TURN NOT AWAY.-A SONG.
BY MISS MARY LEMAN REDB.—(PREVIOUSLY

PUBLISHED.)
Turn not away those orbs of light,

Nay, rather turn them frowning to me; I wou'd not lose a beam so bright,

Altho'it burn'd but to undo me. Turo not away those lips of love,

Nay, rather let them move to chide me; For they entrance, altho' they move

To scorn, to menace, and deride me. No. 145.-Vol. XXII.

COME O'ER THE HILLS.-A SONG.
BY THE SAME.-(PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED.)
COMB o'er the bills, my love, with me,

And as we wander, dearest,
l'll foodly whisper o'er to thee
The wish that lies the nearest
E

To this fond heart, and you will see

No selfish views deprave it; But that it only beats for thee,

And those fond bopes you gave it. I feel that youth and joy may fade

Like suns in gonder blae, loveBut ob ! I feel that I was made

To live and die with you, love,
In eitber chance that I shall cling

To this dear arm of thine, love,
And that those eyes will always bring,

* The light of bliss to mine, love. Mote nature lies in peace around,

And heaven smiles bright above me :O break the stillness with that sound

Most sweet, and say “ I love ibee !" Nay, bush! wbo could mistake those eyes,

All language wonld profane them
O may do tear, till Fanny dies,

A moment dim or stain them.
Then like the tree, to wbich bas clung

The feeble blushing vine, love,
Whose tendrils round its form were flung,

Like these fond arms round thine, love: Look fondly down, and as you view

The fading rain steep, love,
Its withering form, in that soft dew,

That only you can weep, love.

“ It is—it is a glorious day

“ The foeman mingles with the slain !" A thousand shrieks now pierc'd the air

Another charge-the battle o'er :The clouded field again was fair,

The cannon's thunder ceas'd to roas. Many a brave one strew'd the plain

Among them, too, the warrior lay! In death he grasp'd his sword, wbose stain

Declar'd the deeds be'd done that day! Secure he sleeps within the grave

(Immortal is the warrior's name), He died a hero! and the brave,

His deeds shall crown with lasting fame!

THE SKY-LARK; A SONG.
By the late Mr. Tobin, author of " The Honey

Moon,&c. &c.
From the green waving corn,
The lark spreads his wings;
And hails, as he sings,

The fresh glow of the morn.
With pinions replenish'd, he hovers on high,
And so far sends his song from the blue-vaulted

sky, You would think the shrill note, as he soars

from your view, To his dear native earth bade for ever adieu ! But bis eye is still fix’d, where bis wing shall

repose ;
And though bear'n-ward his flight,

He upholds with delight,
Yet with rapture he darts to the spot whence he

rose.

LINES, Suggested ly the sight of an ancient and ruined

Castle.
High on the mountain's steepest side,
Frowns a dark wreck of Norman pride ;
Its time struck balls of old were bung
With martial spoils, and there was sung
The victor's praise, while yet he stood,
O'erspread with dust and stain'd with blood.
Around him all his Barons bold,
Stretch'd their large limbs, Herculean mould,
Recumbent ; while the runic rhymes
Up.call’d the chiefs of other times,
To hear of battles lately won,
And glory in their mighty son.
There oft imperial rulers sate,
And awful judged a nation's fate;
Tbere oft the titled dames were wont
To give the dance a sparkling front;
And, as the blushing beauties mov'd,
The conquering warriors saw and lov’d,

No joys-no glad triumphant sounds,
The wasting ruin now rebounds;
But from its towers the owlet's scream
Ost breaks the neighbouring rustic's dream;
And deep its mouldering vaults among,
The wily fox conceals her young.

Where are the sons of valour gone?
Where are the dames who lovely shone ?-
They too, were snbject to decay,
And the proud line is swept away!

The storied marble, rais'd on high,
And deck'd with Pagan beraldry-
The storied marble scarce supplies
A veil, to hide from vulgar eyes
Their mingled dost, the sole remains
Of Beauty's and of Valour's strains.

THE WARRIOR; A SONG. The snn shone bright-the air was clear

The hollow drum was beard to rattle: The warrior grasp'd bis pointed spear,

And arm'd him for the field of battle. He, foremost, on bis comrades led

Updaunted met the foemen's fire: O'er dying trampled, and the dead

Beheld them in their gore expire! " Advance !" he cried; “ hurra! away!".

And flew where Havoc strode the plain ;

THE HEART OF SORROW.
I KNEW a heart-its texture such

As seldom on this earth is found
A heart on which the slightest touch

Wonld make a deep and lasting wound.
Alas! that heart! though truly good,

Has blanch'd those wounds in tears of blood;

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