particularly raising the patient from the recumbent position, is to be avoided.*

The only case of accident (if accident it can be called) opposed to such treatment is that of apoplexy. Here, however, the whole train of symptoms is entirely opposite, and cannot be mistaken for those above-described. The face is suffused and tinged with purple blood, the heart beats more strongly than in health, and the heat of the body is increased rather than diminished-such symptoms are evident proofs of the necessity of bloodletting. In such cases raise the body to the sitting posture, to lessen the volume of blood thrown to the brain; lay bare the throat, to remove any obstruction to the return of blood from the brain; and pour cold water on the head in a high and continuous stream, until medical assistance arrives.

RAMBLING REMINISCENCES OF SIR
WALTER SCOTT.

[Two papers under this name, drawn up by Mrs John Ballantyne, appeared in the Journal last year. At the request of some friends, she has been induced to draw upon her memory for the materials of one more paper on the same theme.]

It is now forty years since my first introduction to Sir Walter Scott. I must ever remember with some degree of shame my conduct on that occasion. Young, half spoilt by flattery, and newly married, I resolved, when I heard Mr Scott spoken of as a great lion, to let him see that his roar, mane, and claws, had no terrors for me. Accordingly, when he addressed me at table, asking me to drink wine with him, or to sing, I affected not to hear him, or gave him only very laconic answers. It would not be worth while to tell this tale to my own discredit, were it not to add that Scott, instead of taking offence, so won me by his kind and polite behaviour, that, ere an hour had elapsed, I was heartily ashamed of my folly. Here was the nobleness of the true lion

indeed.

Of Sir Walter's many legendary stories, I chance at this moment to remember one which he used to relate with a considerable mixture of comic effect. I shall transcribe it as correctly as my memory will permit; but the reader will of course understand that the rich unpremeditated grace of his manner is beyond recall. 'During the height of the border feuds, when every petty chieftain held despotic sway, and had the power of life and death over his vassals or dependents, it was no unusual thing for a culprit, on very slight offence, to be ordered out for execution on the nearest tree or pole which happened to present itself, with short time allowed for shrift. The grim guardian, or castellan, of these border fastnesses was sometimes a nobleman of high rank; at others, some petty upstart laird. These wardens of the marches, under the reign of Elizabeth and her successor James I., couching in their dark and gloomy dens, like giants of romance, were the terror of evil-doers. Each had to secure himself in his stronghold as best he might; and was compelled to have a body of soldiers ready at a moment's call, armed capa-pie, who kept constantly on the look-out. The approach to these dens was perilous in the extreme. A cork-screw staircase, dark as pitch, and almost perpendicular, allowing but one person to ascend at a time, and guarded by strong double iron doors, the opening and shutting of which sounded like thunder, led to the apartment of the governor; one of whom, a small landholder or laird, being notorious for the way he used his "brief authority," was on one occasion informed that a culprit had been caught in the very act of bagging the * The blood, although a living fluid, is governed by the laws of

motion of fluids in general. It therefore flows more freely in a horizontal than an upright position. Where hemorrhage has occurred, or whenever great debility is present, this is a point of the greatest importance to attend to. The heart may retain sufficient power to send the blood to the brain in the recumbent, although not in the erect position; and, consequently, many a person in these circumstances, in attempting to rise up in bed, has sunk back lifeless on the pillow.

whole of his honour's poultry-cocks, hens, turkeys, ducks, and all, not even sparing the old clocker herself! The fate of the culprit was very speedily decided; he was sentenced to be confined in a dark cell, till his honour had arrayed himself in his robes of authority, when forthwith he was to be hanged on a tree in the courtyard of the castle. The governor, having descended from his tower of strength, and being surrounded by a body of soldiers armed to the teeth, appointed one of them to the office of executioner. The door of the cell being now unlocked, the prisoner was called by name, and commanded to come forth and receive the punishment he so justly merited. By this time the story of his captivity and consequent death-doom had spread, and the castle was surrounded by a dense crowd, all prepared to attempt a rescue. After repeated orders to come forth, the prisoner still refused to leave his hiding-place. At last his honour, losing all patience, commanded the executioner to enforce obedience. Hoot, man," cried that grim officer, "come awa, noo; come oot, and be hangit, and dinna anger the laird, ye fashious deevil that ye are!" at the same time dragging out the unfortunate culprit into the courtyard. "Will I?" answered he; "wha'll be the gowk then?" and quick as lightning bursting from the soldier's iron grasp, with one cat-like spring and a "hooh!" he cleared a low unprotected part of the rampart wall, and fell unhurt into the arms of his companions below, who, with a tremendous shout, which seemed to shake the lion's den to the very foundation, cheered him on his escape; while he, doubling and winding like a hare before the hounds, was soon out of reach of his pursuers.' distinct, in which he was accustomed to utter any Besides his story-telling manner, he had another quite snatch of poetry in which he felt deeply interested, such as a verse of a Border ballad, or a simple but touching popular rhyme. I can never forget the awe-striking solemnity with which he pronounced an elegiac stanza inscribed on a tombstone in Melrose Abbey:

"Earth walketh on the earth,
Glistering like gold,
Earth goeth to the earth
Sooner than it wold.

Earth buildeth on the earth
Palaces and towers,

Earth sayeth to the earth

All shall be ours.'

The astonishing facility, rapidity, and carelessness with which he wrote for the press, is not the least remarkable feature in the history of his works. He never revised them, and I believe never saw them after they mind an anecdote in which Mr James Ballantyne was were sent to the printing-office. This recalls to my concerned. Saving that the manner was a little too theatrical, James's readings from English books, and His voice was sonorous, his articulation clear and disparticularly from poetry, were singularly delightful. tinct, his mode of utterance correct, and his ear musical. Entering the library one forenoon, I found Mr Ballantyne reading. 'Hermione,' said he, 'listen to these lines; can anything be finer?' He then read from a poem very popular at the time; but we had not been and insisted that Mr Ballantyne should continue to many minutes thus engaged when Mr Scott joined us, read. Never mind, James, who your author is, or what may be your subject-go on, go on.' Without allowing him to perceive it, I managed to watch the Minstrel's countenance narrowly as Mr Ballantyne continued to read. He, at the first few lines, nodded his head in approbation; then, Very good, very good indeed!-charming!-powerful!' I soon saw that the upper lip began to elongate, and even to tremble; then a tear started into the small gray eye. He was soon quite overpowered, not only with the beauty of the composition, but with the charming manner in which Mr Ballantyne read it; and snatching up his staff, he strode across the room, and looking over the reader's

* Literally cuckoo, but meaning fool or simpleton.

shoulder, discovered, to his manifest discomfiture, that it was the Lay of the Last Minstrel. He indignantly dashed the offending tear from his eye, uttered an impatient Pshaw!' and exclaimed, God help me, James, I am losing my memory!' The same thing happened subsequently as my husband read some pages in his hearing from one of the novels-I have forgotten which --but I well remember that he never appeared to be flattered on such occasions, but, on the contrary, evinced great impatience.

Let me here record an instance of his benevolence. One day, at a very numerous and rather ceremonious dinner-party at my own table, there was a scarcity of spoons; and what added in no trifling degree to the awkwardness of the circumstance, just at the precise moment when one servant was handing them to another behind the dining-room door, for the purpose of washing them, there occurred a most determined pause in the conversation. Nothing could have been more completely mal-apropos-for the silence was so profound, that no sound was to be heard save the whispering of the servants and the washing of the spoons. At last my husband drank, Relief to all in distress,' which broke the spell, and set us all a-laughing, while Mr James Ballantyne, who had an apt quotation from his favourite author Shakspeare ready on all emergencies, called out to me, in his sonorous tones

་

'My lord, my lord, methinks you'd spare your spoons!' 'Not I, indeed, my lord,' responded I, 'for I have none to spare.'

A hit-a very palpable hit,' answered Mr Ballantyne.

'Not amiss,' observed Sir Walter, nodding his head gently from side to side, as was his manner on some particular occasions; but shortly afterwards I observed that he became silent and abstracted, appeared to be ruminating, drew down the upper lip to an unusual length-a change seemed to have come over him, and it was some time before he was altogether himself again. The following day, a parcel addressed to myself, in Sir Walter's well-known hand, was presented to me, containing a dozen of the handsomest table-spoons which could be procured in Edinburgh.

The stories told by Mr Creech the bookseller, some of which lately appeared in the Journal, were much relished by Scott, whom I have often seen laughing at them till the tears ran over his cheeks. Alas that

those days of boundless jocundity, when I lived in an atmosphere of merry whim and tale, and daily saw the ablest men of my time in their moments of highest excitation, should be gone never to return! Creech's droll anecdotes were a source of never-ending amusement; for though he told them frequently, they never were quite the same thing. Every repetition brought out something new, and each new feature was invariably an improvement. Scott never failed to have something to add as a sort of rebound to all other people's stories. For example, Creech one day threw us all into fits with an account of a minister in a northcountry parish, who had so grievously offended his flock, that with one consent they rose upon him, drove him from his pulpit with a storm of cutty stools, kicked him out of the church, and finally thrashed the precentor also most unheard-of conduct surely: yet immediately after the tale was concluded, we heard Scott saying in a slow and infinitely whimsical voice:

Oh what a toon, what a terrible toon,

Oh what a toon was that o' Dunkeld!
They've hangit the minister, drooned the precentor,
Dung down the steeple, and drucken the bell!

able classical taste, was an antiquary, and, having in early youth travelled on the Continent, was a proficient in the French and Italian languages. He was a fine body on the whole, but passionate to a great degree, and extremely irritable on certain points. He was in the habit of giving fine French and Italian names to almost everything he possessed; and in order to put him into a tempest of rage, it was only necessary to make a mistake, and mispronounce the name of anything. His mansion, for instance, he called Bella Retira. Part of an old dilapidated church wall which he had enclosed within his grounds, which was in view of the house, and which he had taken infinite pains to cover with ivy and other creeping plants, he was pleased to denominate L'Eglise de Marie. He was indefatigable in his exertions to drill the servants and country folks into a proper mode of pronunciation-with what success may easily be imagined; but being a most severe disciplinarian, he enforced obedience by dint of a good stout oaken cudgel, which he always carried about with him for the express purpose of initiating the clowns and clodhoppers into a classical and correct mode of speech. Strolling about his own grounds one day, he encountered a young man, the son of a small farmer in the neighbourhood, and being curious to discover by what barbarous nickname his mansion and the ivy-towers would be distinguished, affecting to be a stranger to the locality, he asked the young man the name of that ruin, pointing to the church wall-"What's the name of that ruinous church, my man? can you inform me what they call it ?" "Is't yon bit auld gray-stane dyke yonder, wi' the dockens grown owre the tap o't? Ou ay (scratching his head, by way of refreshing his memory); they ca that Legs-my-leary, I'm thinking." 'Legs-mywhatty, ye stupid donnert idiot?" raising his oaken cudgel, flourishing it furiously, and making an effort to chase and chastise the delinquent, who only escaped a sound thrashing by taking to his heels. The old gentleman had barely got time to breathe and recover a little from his excitement, when he was accosted by a countryman bearing a basket on his arm, who, very respectfully touching his hat, asked him to direct him to Bullrowtery. Bullwhatery, ye fool ?" exclaimed the laird in a fury; and flourishing the cudgel in a very hostile manner-"I'll Bullrowtery ye; can ye no give things their proper names, man, and say Bella Retira?""Deed no," was the answer; "I'm no just sae daft's a' that-I ne'er fash my thoomb wi' ony sic havers; Bullrowtery's as guid common sense as Bellyrowtery. every bit and crumb: there's sax o' the tain, and half a dozen o' the tother; and ye'd far better gang hame and curl your wig, than rin after folk to lounder them because they canna speak nonsense." Which logic made so deep an impression on the worthy old gentleman, that from that hour he resolved to lay aside his cudgel in some snug corner, and trouble his head no more about orthoepical blunders.'

COMPETITION IN GAS AND WATER

COMPANIES.

I know not where he got the lines; but their effect at the moment was overpowering.

wear and tear are created; two managements, and two complete sets of officers must be maintained; two causes of loss and leakage are established, for all which the public must and do ultimately pay, as well as for the enormously expensive conflict to obtain the act of parliament, and for the rivalry and strife of several subsequent years. It may be mentioned that in some districts of London, three, four, or five companies have pipes, and are occupied in performing the service which might be quite as effectually rendered by one, and perhaps by that one, under proper supervision, at half the cost of the present supply. These companies seldom continue in active competition for long periods. Finding the competition ruinous, they coalesce openly, or enter into a private understanding, by which the public are deprived of the benefits of the supposed competition. The charges are either increased, or remain fixed much above those at which a single company would willingly supply. It may be affirmed that the metropolis might, under proper arrangements, be efficiently suppled with gas at 5s. per thousand feet, instead of at the 8s. or 9s. now charged; and yet the companies are in general ill remunerated for the capital they have invested and the risk they have encountered; and this evil arises solely from the great amount of capital brought into the field to encourage competition, and to satisfy the complaints against a monopoly which exists only in consequence of the omission of parliament to subject single companies to a supervising authority, competent to afford an equal protection to the interests of the public and of such companies.' Actually, at Manchester, where there is but one gas-work (one under the management of the public), the charge for gas per 1000 cubic feet is 5s. 2d. In Liverpool, where there are two companies, the price is 6s. 2d. Yet notwithstanding the lower price, and a smaller manufacture, Manchester has been enabled to apply to the improvement of the town, and in increase of assets, as much as the two 10 per cent. dividends of the Liverpool companies-thus showing that two companies will cost the public more than 20 per cent. more than one company.'

Mr Hawksley states that there is the same inappropriateness in rival companies of all other kinds working with a superfluous capital. 'Second companies,' he thinks, would be wholly unnecessary, but for original defects in the system of legislation. In nearly all cases, the objects sought to be obtained by the introduction of rival companies would be infinitely better obtained through the agency of an authority instituted for the double purpose of enforcing the compliance of the original companies with the provisions of the acts under which they are established, and of protecting them from the aggressions of interested parties, and of capitalists stimulated to the conflict by the hope of pecuniary gain. For example, in the case of Liverpool, there are two capitals employed in supplying the town with water on the old system. I believe it would be found that one of these companies could, with but small additions to its means, supply the whole of the water required for public purposes, had there been any authority to interfere and adjust equitably the additional charge to be made for the extended supply. But the usual mode of intervention was in this case resorted to. A third capital of L.100,000 has been introduced to effect purposes which might have been obtained at probably one-third the expense. This additional capital has been raised for the attainment of a nearly single object, namely, the extinction of fire, and will entail a lasting tax and an annual expenditure of large amount upon the inhabitants.' For a further illustration of the principle, Mr Hawksley adduces the case of the city of Glasgow, in respect to its gas-works. That city was supplied by one company, which, as its consumption of gas and its works extended, went on reducing its charges. The quality of its gas was proved and admitted to be excellent, the price very reasonable, and the manufacturing power more than sufficient. But its supposed prosperity excited the cupidity of another body of spe

culators, who, hoping that they might share the extending field of supply, made application for a private act. The diminished and diminishing price was incontrovertible; but the company had refused to supply consumers during the day, on the ground that the expense of a day-supply to the few consumers requiring it, would, from the leakage of the extensive system of pipes to be kept charged for that purpose, be wholly disproportionate to the return. This, along with other minor allegations, was thought to justify the resolution that the preamble of the bill was proved, and that a further supply to the city was needed. Now the consequence was this, that a further capital of L.150,000, or more, has been driven into a field where it is almost entirely superfluous. The interest of all this capital must and will be charged on the public within the field where it is obtruded. By the introduction of this other company, the cost of the gas will be increased or kept up at least 1s. 8d. per 1000 cubic feet, even although the consump tion of gas should increase so much as 30 per cent. This will of course constitute a permanent tax in whatever form it may arise.'

The principle concerned in these cases is, we believe, fully established in political economy: further illustrations of it may be found in a paper entitled 'Competition,' in the eleventh volume of this Journal. And practically, we have no doubt it would be advantageous to the public to have water and gas supplied in all instances by one company, if proper provisions could be made to insure to the community the benefit of any improvement in the company's circumstances beyond a certain moderate rate of profit.

A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. Ar the conclusion of the legend of Claude de Verre in a late number, a similar English story of personation was promised. This story we proceed to relate, only premising that the materials are supplied to us by one of the parties who suffered from the imposition. We need scarcely remark what a curious light such anecdotes throw upon the liability of the mind to be deceived by those inlets to all its ideas-the senses.

Our informant, Geoffrey Randell, is, it appears, the eldest son of a hard-working and industrious man, who has been for many years the carrier from the village of Chedworth to the town of Cirencester, and who succeeded in bringing up with credit a family of eight children, four of whom were sons.

In 1828 John Randell, the youngest of this family, being then sixteen years of age, procured the situation of letter-boy in the family of Sir W. B. Guise of Rendcombe Park, which is situated about three miles from Chedworth, his native place. Here he remained for two years, and during his servitude was remarked for being of a somewhat reserved and eccentric disposition. One Sunday morning, in April 1831, Geoffrey Randell was crossing the market-place of Cirencester, on his way to church, when he met one of the servants from Rendcombe Park, who to his surprise had been despatched for the letters instead of his brother. From this person he learnt the afflicting intelligence that John had suddenly disappeared the day before, and no one knew whither he had gone. Geoffrey instantly repaired to Rendcombe to obtain such information respecting his brother's flight as might, he hoped, lead to a discovery of the route he had taken. Nothing satisfactory, however, could be learned, and all subsequent inquiry was equally fruitless. Days, weeks, months passed away, and no tidings of John Randell were received. At length it was supposed that he had gone to America, as he had often expressed a wish to do so, for many persons were at that time emigrating. So strong was this belief in the family, that from every person who was known to be going to the new world, a promise was exacted that they would seek out the lost young man, and if they found him, communicate by letter with his brother or parents. In the autumn of the same year Geoffrey

Randell had occasion to go to the Isle of Wight, and actually made a point of visiting all the American merchantmen in Portsmouth harbour, in the hope of finding his brother amongst their crews; but his search was in vain.

Years passed away, and no tidings having been received, less pleasing conjectures were formed as to the fate of John Randell. In the meantime the rest of the family were dispersed, being called away from their native place by their various avocations. Sophia, the eldest sister, filled a situation first at Henley-on-Thames, and next at Hurst in Berkshire. Elizabeth, another sister, lived at Gosport, near Portsmouth. These, with Geoffrey, were the immediate and chief actors in the story; for Amy, the youngest sister, and the brothers Moses and Alfred, were so situated as to be out of the reach of the deception practised on the other relations. The scene of the continuation of this true story is laid at Hurst. Sophia Randell had made the acquaintance of a young man named Holloway, a blacksmith-an acquaintance which ended some time afterwards in matrimony. One evening in April 1836, exactly five years after John Randell's disappearance, Holloway, being in a public-house at Hurst, was forcibly struck by the likeness which the features of a stranger who was in the room bore to those of his intended, Sophia Randell. Having heard about her lost brother, he immediately asked the man if his name were Randell, and if he did not come from the neighbourhood of Cirencester? The stranger replied in the negative, adding, that his name was James Hains, and that he was a native of Warwickshire. This did not satisfy Holloway, who, on pressing him more closely, got the stranger to admit that he knew something of Gloucestershire. When other questions were put, he prevaricated, and young Holloway was much strengthened in his conviction that the man was John Randell. To make sure, how ever, he made an appointment to meet him on the following evening, and in the morning told his father what had happened, desiring him to go to the house and see the stranger. This Mr Holloway senior did, and declared on his return that he would swear it was Sophia's brother, if he were among a thousand people.' The appointment at night was duly kept, but for some time the stranger refused to satisfy young Holloway's inquiries. It happened, however (whether by accident or design, is not mentioned), that the landlady, in setting out his supper, placed the knife on the left-hand side, upon which he exclaimed, 'I will have my supper, but am not left-handed.' Holloway caught at this, and retorted, 'No, but you know your sister Sophia is!' Upon this the man said that it was useless to deny it any longer: he was her brother.

At this announcement young Holloway bestowed every proper mark of regard upon his new friend, and insisted on his becoming his guest in his father's house, whither they both retired. The next day the lover set out for a neighbouring village, where Sophia Randell was staying, to communicate the news to her. Having done his best to prepare her for the interview, he accompanied her to his father's house. Here she was introduced to one whom she supposed to be her long-lost brother. The scene was affecting, for the young man wept, and declared he fully repented of the past, while the young woman-being completely deceived by the appearance and manner of the youth-was so much agitated that she swooned. When she had sufficiently recovered, she wrote to her brother Geoffrey, and the contents of that letter will show the clever use the deceiver made of the facts he had caught up in conversation from Holloway and Sophia Randell concerning the individual he pretended to be. The epistle is dated Hurst, April 19, 1836. 'You will scarcely believe, when you see the contents of my letter, that our dear and long-lost brother was lost and is found, dead and is alive again. My dear father and mother, I beg you will all make yourselves happy now, for he has been doing very well ever since he left home. His first start was to London, and there he en

gaged himself to a butcher, where he continued nearly twelve months, and for a long time he has been with a horse-dealer. He has been something of everything, and he just got into a good place with a travelling family, but unfortunately was put into a damp bed, by which he took a violent cold, and was obliged to leave his service, as the family were going to France; and as the Almighty had so ordered it, they happened to be staying at Hurst when he was taken ill, but thank God he was taken good care of. His master paid him a month's wages and his doctor's bill, and provided him with everything he wanted. I think they behaved very well to him indeed. We have no one to thank for finding him but the blacksmith, whom I have sometimes before mentioned in my letters. I have always told you I had found a father and mother at Hurst, and now you have all every reason to join with me in your prayers for them, as they have now acted as a father and mother to our dear brother, as well as to me.' After detailing the circumstance of the accidental meeting of young Holloway and her supposed brother in the public-house, she proceeds: The first words poor John spoke to me was to ask for his dear father and mother, and then all of you. He sends his kindest love to you all. He is heartily sorry for what he has done, and begs you will all forgive him. He would have come home, but was obliged to go to London to meet a gentleman to whom he was hoping to be engaged as servant. I would tell you more, but my time now will not permit. I am sure you will all make yourselves happy now: and now, dear brother, pray let this letter go home as soon as possible, and write to me as soon as you can, as John is very anxious to hear from you all, and to know what is said about his being found, as I shall write to him in London. He has faithfully promised to write to me every two or three months, which will be a great comfort to us all. I cannot write more now, but will send all the particulars when I write again. Excuse my bad writing, as my hand shakes with joy. I am happy to say John has got comfortable lodgings in London, which he has made his home ever since he left me.-From your overjoyed sister, SOPHIA RANDELL.’ It was not true that the false John Randell had departed for London. He had induced the young woman to say so on some plausible plea, but in reality to avoid meeting Geoffrey at too early a stage of his deception, lest he should at once be discovered; for he had good reason to suppose that the elder Randell would have posted off to Hurst immediately to meet his lost brother. His great object now was to find out what relations he should lay claim to, and other circumstances connected with the family. This he managed to do, first, by conversations with Sophia and Holloway, and next by going to the post-office (at Twyford) and obtaining possession of the answers to her letter. he opened, read, re-sealed, and delivered, owning laughingly to what he had done, and saying he was anxious to know the feelings of his family towards him. He remained several days at Hurst, hospitably entertained, Sophia and Mrs Holloway (the young blacksmith's mother) providing him at their joint expense with several new shirts and other articles of clothing. Hearing, however, that Geoffrey Randell was really on his way to meet him, the impostor set off to London; and not the least singular circumstance in this little romance is, that Geoffrey Randell arrived only one hour after he had taken his departure. Having learnt every particular from his sister, Randell proceeded to the metropolis, but only ascertained that his supposed brother bore a very bad character. In spite of every exertion, he did not meet with the young man, and returned to Cirencester without accomplishing the object of his journey.

These

Nearly two years elapsed, and nothing more was heard of the pretended John Randell; but on the 30th of December 1837 a letter was sent to Sophia, scrawled on three dirty pieces of paper. It was penned in Northampton jail, where the writer was confined under sentence of seven years' transportation. The Northampton