those cases in which the philosopher has more to admire than the common observer. Every feather is a mechanical wonder. If we look at the quill, we find properties not easily brought togetherstrength and lightness. I know few things more remarkable than the strength and lightness of the very pen with which I am writing. If we cast our eye to the upper part of the stem, we see a material, made for the purpose, used in no other class of animals, and in no other part of birds; tough, light, pliant, elastic. The pith also, which feeds the feathers, is amongst animal substances peculiar, neither bone, flesh, membrane, nor tendon. But the artificial part of a feather is the beard, or, as it is sometimes, I believe, called, the vane. By the beards are meant, what are fastened on each side of the stem, and what constitute the breadth of the feather; what we usually strip off from one side or both when we make a pen. The separate pieces, or laminæ, of which the beard is composed, are called threads, sometimes filaments, or rays. Now, the first thing which an attentive observer will remark is, how much stronger the beard of the feather shows itself to be, when pressed in a direction perpendicular to its plane, than when rubbed, either up or down, in the line of the stem and he will soon discover the structure which occasions this difference, viz., that the lamina whereof these beards are composed are flat, and placed with their flat sides towards each other; by which means, whilst they easily bend for the approaching of each other, as any one may perceive by drawing his finger ever so lightly upwards, they are much harder to bend out of their place, which is the direction in which they have to encounter the impulse and pressure of the air, and in which their strength is wanted and put to the trial.

This is one particularity in the structure of a feather; a second is still more extraordinary. Whoever examines a feather cannot help taking notice that the threads or laminae of which we have been speaking, in their natural state unite; that their union is something more than the mere apposition of loose surfaces; that they are not parted asunder without some degree of force; that nevertheless there is no glutinous cohesion among them; that, therefore, by some mechanical means or other, they catch or clasp among themselves, thereby giving to the beard or vane its closeness and compactness of texture. Nor is this all; when two lamina, which have been separated by accident or force, are brought together again, they immediately reclasp; the connection, whatever it was, is perfectly recovered, and the beard of the feather becomes as smooth and firm as if nothing had happened to it. Draw your finger down the feather, which is against the grain, and you break probably the junction of some of the contiguous threads: draw your finger up the feather, and you restore all things to their former state. This is no common contrivance; and now for the mechanism by which it is effected. The threads or laminæ above mentioned are interlaced with one another; and the interlacing is performed by means of a vast number of fibres or teeth, which the lamina shoot forth on

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each side, and which book and grapple together. A friend of mine counted fifty of these fibres in one-twentieth of an inch. These fibres are crooked; but curved after a different manner: for those which proceed from the thread on the side towards the extremity of the feather are longer, more flexible, and bent downward; whereas those which proceed from the side towards the beginning or quillend of the feather are shorter, firmer, and turn upwards. The process, then, which takes place is as follows:-when two lamina are pressed together, so that these long fibres are forced far enough over the short ones, their crooked parts fall into the cavity made by the crooked parts of the others, just as the latch that is fastened to a door enters into the cavity of the catch fixed to the door-post, and there hooking itself, fastens the door; for it is properly in this manner that one thread of a feather is fastened to the other.

This admirable structure of the feather, which it is easy to see with the microscope, succeeds perfectly for the use to which nature has designed it; which use was, not only that the lamina might be united, but that when one thread or lamina has been separated from another by some external violence, it might be reclasped with sufficient facility and expedition. In the ostrich, this apparatus of crotchets and fibres, of hooks and teeth, is wanting; and we see the consequence of the want. The filaments hang loose and separate from one another, forming only a kind of down; which constitution of the feathers, however it may fit them for the flowing honours of a lady's head-dress, may be reckoned an imperfection in the bird, inasmuch as wings, composed of these feathers, although they may greatly assist it in running, do not serve for flight.

But at present our business with feathers is as they are the covering of the bird. And herein a singular circumstance occurs. In the small order of birds which winter with us, from a snipe downwards, let the external colour of the feathers be what it will, their Creator has universally given them a bed of black down next their bodies. Black, we know, is the warmest colour, and the purpose here is to keep in the heat arising from the heart and circulation of the blood. It is further likewise remarkable, that this is not found in larger birds, for which there is also a reason: small birds are much more exposed to the cold than large ones; forasmuch as they present, in proportion to their bulk, a much larger surface to the air. If a turkey were divided into a number of wrens (supposing the shape of the turkey and wren to be similar), the surface of all the wrens would exceed the surface of the turkey, in the proportion of the length, breadth, or of any homologous line of a turkey to that of a wren, which would be, perhaps, a proportion of ten to one. It was necessary, therefore, that small birds should be more warmly clad than large ones; and this seems to be the expedient by which that agency is provided for.

II. CHARLES JAMES FOX.

CHARLES JAMES Fox, the second son of the first Lord Holland, was born in 1748, and was educated at Eton and Oxford, where he was conspicuous for his knowledge of classical literature. He was of course intended for political life, and before his twentieth year became a member of the House of Commons, where he at first supported the ministry, but on a quarrel with Lord North joined the opposition, and his eloquence made him a formidable enemy. His quarrel with North was however made up, and he became a member of the Coalition Ministry; this administration was never very popular, it being generally supposed that it proceeded upon a dereliction of principle on the part of its members, and its unpopularity was increased by Fox's India Bill, which was at the time imagined to be an attempt to make the ministers of the day independent both of the king and the people. Again thrown out of office, Fox carried on a vigorous opposition to his younger rival Pitt, and on all the great questions of the day-the impeachment of Warren Hastings, the Regency Bill, and the French Revolution, he took a distinguished part. He was once more restored to power on the death of Pitt, but died shortly after in 1806, exhausted, it is said, by efforts to restore peace to Europe. To literature, Fox contributed only a "History of the early part of the reign of James II.," published posthumously, and a mere fragment of a larger work which he contemplated. It is chiefly valuable as containing the views of the most able of the Whig leaders, on the important transactions which preceded the Revolution. The style is clear, forcible, and elegant, but it was impossible for Fox to cool down his ardour for the principles which he had so long defended, to the impartial and calm tone of a historian, and hence his work, as he himself said, reads "too much like a speech."

BATTLE OF SEDGEMOOR, AND CAPTURE OF MONMOUTH.

On the afternoon of the 5th July, Monmouth learnt, more accurately than he had before done, the true situation of the royal army, and from the information now received, he thought it expedient to consult his principal officers, whether it might not be advisable to attempt to surprise the enemy by a night attack upon their quarters. The prevailing opinion was, that if the infantry were not intrenched, the plan was worth the trial; otherwise not. Scouts were dispatched to ascertain this point, and their report being that there was no intrenchment, an attack was resolved on. In pursuance of this resolution, at about eleven at night, the whole army was in march, Lord Grey commanding the horse, and Colonel Wade the vanguard of the foot. The Duke's orders were, that the horse should first advance, and pushing into the enemy's camp, endeavour to prevent their infantry from coming together; that the cannon should follow the horse, and the foot the cannon, and draw all up in one line, and so finish what the cavalry should have begun, before the king's horse and artillery could be got in order. But it was now

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discovered that though there were no intrenchments, there was a ditch which served as a drain to the great moor adjacent, of which no mention had been made by the scouts. To this ditch the horse under Lord Grey advanced, and no farther; and, whether immediately, as according to some accounts, or after having been considerably harassed by the enemy in their attempts to find a place to pass, according to others, quitted the field. The cavalry being gone, and the principle upon which the attack had been undertaken being that of a surprise, the Duke judged it necessary that the infantry should advance as speedily as possible. Wade, therefore, when he came within forty paces of the ditch, was obliged to halt, to put his battalion into that order which the extreme rapidity of the march had for the time disconcerted. His plan was to pass the ditch, reserving his fire; but while he was arranging his men for that purpose, another battalion, newly come up, began to fire, though at a considerable distance; a bad example, which it was impossible to prevent the vanguard from following, and it was now no longer in the power of their commander to persuade them to advance. The king's forces, as well horse and artillery, as foot, had now full time to assemble. The Duke had no longer cavalry in the field, and though his artillery, which consisted only of three or four iron guns, was well served under the direction of a Dutch gunner, it was by no means equal to that of the royal army, which, as soon as it was light, began to do great execution. In these circumstances, the unfortunate Monmouth, fearful of being encompassed and made prisoner by the king's cavalry, who were approaching upon his flank, and urged, as it is reported, to flight by the same person' who had stimulated him to his fatal enterprise, quitted the field, accompanied by Lord Grey and some others. The left wing, under the command of Colonel Holmes and Matthews, next gave way, and Wade's men, after having continued for an hour and a-half a distant and ineffectual fire, seeing their left discomfited, began a retreat, which soon afterwards became a complete rout.

Thus ended the decisive battle of Sedgemoor, an attack which seems to have been judiciously conceived, and in many parts spiritedly executed. The general was deficient neither in courage nor conduct; and the troops, while they displayed the native bravery of Englishmen, were under as good discipline as could be expected from bodies newly raised. Two circumstances seem to have principally contributed to the loss of the day: first, the unforeseen difficulty occasioned by the ditch, of which the assailants had no intelligence; and secondly, the cowardice of the commander of the horse. The discovery of the ditch was the more alarming, because it threw a general doubt upon the information of the spies, and the night being dark, they could not ascertain that this was the only impediment of the kind they were to expect. The dispersion of the horse was still more fatal, inasmuch as it deranged the whole order of the

1 Ferguson, the plotter, an infamous scoundrel, whose name constantly occurs in the histories of the period.

plan, by which it had been concerted that their operations were to facilitate the attack made by the foot. If Lord Grey had possessed a spirit more suitable to his birth and name, to the illustrious friendship with which he had been honoured, and to the command with which he was intrusted, he would doubtless have persevered till he found a passage into the enemy's camp, which could have been effected at a ford not far distant. The loss of time occasioned by the ditch might not have been very material, and the most important consequences might have ensued; but it would surely be rashness to assert, as Hume does, that the army would, after all, have gained the victory, had not the misconduct of Monmouth and the cowardice of Grey prevented it. This rash judgment is the more to be admired at, as the historian has not pointed out the instance of misconduct to which he refers.'

Monmouth, with his suite, first directed his course towards the Bristol Channel, and, as is related by Oldmixon, was once inclined, at the suggestion of Dr Oliver, a faithful and honest adviser, to embark for the coast of Wales, with a view of concealing himself for some time in that principality. Lord Grey, who appears to have been in all instances his evil genius, dissuaded him from this plan, and the small party having separated, took each several ways. Monmouth, Grey, and a gentleman of Brandenburg, went southward, with a view to gain the New Forest in Hampshire, where, by means of Grey's connections in that district, and thorough knowledge of the country, it was hoped they might be in safety, till a vessel could be procured to transport them to the Continent. They left their horses, and disguised themselves as peasants; but the pursuit, stimulated as well by party zeal as by the great pecuniary rewards offered for the capture of Monmouth and Grey, was too vigilant to be eluded. Grey was taken on the 7th, in the evening; and the German, who shared the same fate early on the next morning, confessed that he had parted from Monmouth but a few hours since. The neighbouring country was immediately and thoroughly searched, and James had ere night the satisfaction of learning that his nephew2 was in his power. The unfortunate Duke was discovered in a ditch, half-concealed by fern and nettles. His stock of provision, which consisted of some peas, gathered in the fields through which he had fled, was nearly exhausted, and there is reason to think that he had little if any other sustenance since he left Bridgewater on the evening of the 5th. To repose he had been equally a stranger; how his mind must have been harassed it is needless to discuss.

1 Fox wrote mainly in refutation of Hume, and his zeal sometimes betrays him. Surely there is no greater misconduct conceivable in a general than to run away, as Monmouth did, in the middle of a battle.

2 Since Fox wrote, more information has been obtained about Monmouth; and it is now almost certain that though Charles always recognised him as his son, he was in reality the son of a brother of Algernon Sidney. In addition to other evidence, Monmouth's strong resemblance to Sidney in personal appearance confirms what has now been stated.