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three miles from the sea. The land forth a dull thud. In a few minutes

bought by Mr. Dawson was similar to Trevittick had succeeded in detaching a

our own, separated from it by a rib of piece about two feet square, the broken

trap rock; both lots were just as Erne side of which shone strangely in the

described them, but ours was rather the sun. It was a mass of solid, gleaming,

rockier of the two. virgin copper.

It was soon over. Trevittick took a The murder was out now. With the

hammer and some gads from behind a exception of one on Lake Superior, and

rock, and, going up to a low ledge, set one in South Australia, my father was

them in, and began working furiously. the proprietor of the richest copper mine

Once he struck aside and hit the rock, in the world.
and the rock, instead of clinking, gave To be continued.

FELLOWSHIP.

BY WILLIAM BARNES.

Well! here we be, woonce mwore at least,
A-come along, wi' blinkfin zight,
By smeechy doust a-vlee-en white
Up off the road, to Lincham feast,
Bwoth maid an' man, in dousty shoes,
Wi' trudgen steps o' trampen tooes,
Though we, that mussen hope to ride,
Vor ease or pride, have fellowship.

Poor father always tried to show
Our vo'k, wi' hands o' right or left
A-pull'd by zome big errand's heft,
And veet a-trudgen to and fro,
That rich vo'k be but woone in ten,
A-reckon'd out wi' worken men,
And zoo have less, the while the poor
Ha' ten times mwore, o' fellowship.

An' he did think, whatever peart

We have to play, we all do vind

That fellowship o' kind wi' kind

Do keep us better up in heart;

An' why should worken vo'k be shy

O' work, wi' all a-worken by,

While kings do live in lwonesome steates,

Wi' nwone vor meates in fellowship?

Tall tuns above the high-flown larks,
On houses, lugs in length, an' zights
O' windows, that do gleare in lights
A-shot up slopes or woodbound parks,
Be vur an' wide, an' not so thick
As poor men's little hwomes o' brick,
By twos or drees, or else in row

But we, wherever ws do come,
Ha' fellowship o' hands wi' lwoads,
An' fellowship o' veet on roads;
An' lowliness ov house an' hwome;
An' fellowship in hwomely feare,
An' hwomely clothes vor daily wear;
An' zoo mid Heaven hless the mwore
The worken poor wi* fellowship!

CLAUS SEIDELIN: A DANISH APOTHECARY OF THE EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY.

BY ANDREW HAMILTON.

We almost shrink now from the bare mention of the name of unhappy Denmark; but what I am going to say has so little to do with Schleswig-Holstein and its attendant calamities (which bid fair to sow the discord of ages between races—ourselves, the Germans, and the Scandinavians — which surely were meant, if ever any on this earthly ball, to live in the harmony and united action of brothers and neighbours), that I venture to beg all who will to turn with me from the present misere of war, wrath, hatred, and all malignity, to a few years of home-baked commonplace, embedded deep in the middle of the last century. The life of an apothecary of that period, in his shop in the quiet grass-grown High Street of a dull little town, or rather village, on a petty island in the Danish waters, will probably primd facie not greatly tempt the curiosity of most English readers. And I do not intend so far to outrage expectation. The fact is, this apothecary was a traveller in his youth, at the age when he had to do his Wandery'ahre, and saw, in such proximity as was possible for him, some men and things whose figures have acquired a certain familiarity for us through other mediums than the eyes of a druggist's apprentice. But our apprentice, having healthy vision, took his own impression of what he saw, and, as he was at the pains long after to com

believe we should be unthankful if we refused to profit by his "Recollections." Several learned doctors have of late years written laborious treatises on the rise and early progress of pharmacy and all things pharmaceutical in Denmark. I have read whatever of the sort I could lay hands on; yet after much reflection I have been convinced that profound ignorance as to how drugs were compounded and where they were sold in, for instance, the fifteenth century, need not interfere with our interest in the travels of a worthy lad who was striving hard to become skilful in the composition of drugs in the eighteenth. The truth is that the origin of what we should nowa-days call an apothecary's shop is, north of Germany, recent enough. Down to a late period, drugs of manifold ingredients were sent to distinguished persons from France and Italy, and, in course of time, stores, or magazines, came into vogue, in which both simples and compounds could be bought, along with wines, and spices, and other outlandish wares. Ladies and monks, as we all know, dabbled much in medicine; and a Dr. Gram has, in our own day, written a book—or, at least, an article—to prove that Paracelsus meant Copenhagen when he says Stockholm, and that the matrona qucedam nobilis whom he says he saw or heard of there was Sigbrit, Christian II. 's "lady," who worked so successfully at putation of witchcraft. It was not till Christian III.'s time, in 1536, that an apothecary became a permanent institution iu Copenhagen. His predecessor, Frederick 1. had twice over vainly applied to Parliament for the necessary grant. Once introduced, however, the institution spread rapidly. At first, the letters-patent granting the privilege limited it to the holder's lifetime; but before the middle of the sixteenth century such property had become freehold —it could be bought and sold, and transmitted from father to son, or from husband to wife. Hence the need of frequent inspections on the part of the medical faculty. Hence, too, the necessity that one son at least in a family should follow the father's profession.

Nothing could well lie further from the world's great highways than the petty island of Falster. It is situated to the south of Zealand, separated by a strait just broad enough to cut it oft even from such claims to publicity as the mother-island may think herself in possession of. The population at the present day may be about 20,000, and the chief town is what we should call the village of Nykjobing, although the geography-book says it has seven streets. Yet the islanders ware noi wholly denied the blessing of an occasional glimpse of some of those exalted forms which fill earth's high places. Nykjobing and the country round it were a royal demesne, and had for ages been the prescriptive appanage of dowager-queens, where they were wont to pass their vUleggiatura; and we may well fancy that the annual arrival of widowhood, in all its majesty, must have solemnized the natives not a little. There was also, as we shall see, at the period of which I am going to speak, an utterly unhoped-for glimpse of an even greater personage. With such exceptions, life in the little markettown passed with fewer events, with bigger rumours, and with greater contentment, probably, than in most places.

Claus Seidelin was a native of Nykjobing. There he was born; there he was bred; there, after his apprentice

of wandering — among Papists, and Frenchwomen, and what not—he spent his easy, useful life, and married, and brought up his children; and there, in his seventy-ninth year, he sat down and began to write his "Recollections." In the following year he died. The manuscript is now in the hands of his greatgrandson, a parish priest, who has kmdly placed it at the disposal of the Historical Society of Copenhagen, by which learned body it has been recently edited. I have chosen but few passages for translation; they will in great part require no commentary. They will give us glimpses of a certain society of those years, not, indeed, behind the scenes, but from the shilling gallery. Or, rather, they will take us up into the dingy lumber-room of a house now silent and tenantless, and show us Czar Peters and Friedrich Wilhelms, and other motes and midges of the eighteenth century, floating in the quaint sunbeams that straggle through the dusty attic window.

"Into this sinful world was I, Claus Seidelin, born of godly and honourable parents. My late father was the worthy, skilful, and honourable man, Frederick Seidelin, by appointment apothecary to His Majesty for Nykjobing, in Falster, son of Hans Seidelin, Master of Arts, formerly priest and dean at the Hohn's Church in Copenhagen. My late mother was the God-fearing and virtuous matron Karen, youngest daughter of Claus Iversen, sometime alderman in Copenhagen. And my birth fell upon the twenty-sixth day of January, anno 1702."

The baptism comes next, with five godfathers and godmothers. Then he goes to school, and gets nine floggings in one forenoon. What follows is pleasanter :—

"In my tender years came his late Majesty King Christian V.'s widowed queen, Charlotte Amalie, once in the year to Nykjobing by the space of three or four months, the palace of Nykjobing, with what pertained thereto, forming part of her jointure, whereby my late father had occasion to supply Majesty, as also to her suite. Now it also happened that my revered father did one Sunday permit a lad in our employment to conduct me to the chdteau for my amusement, on which occasion we had scarce entered the outermost guard-room when the queen, rising from table, caused the doors of that apartment to be thrown open, and, followed by her whole court, proceeded to cross the guard-room. I, nowise deterred, ran straightway up to her, kissed her hand and the hands of all her ladies, and then, placing myself alongside of a dwarfwoman whom the queen had, thinking her to be a child like m}rself, I followed with the rest of the train. My father's lad had well-nigh swooned at his carelessness in not looking better after me; but the queen was very gracious, inquiring whose child that was, and being informed it was the apothecary's child, she opened a little closet in which she kept some orange trees and other fine plants, from which'she herself gathered a bouquet—as they call it—and gave it to me, with orders that I should be restored to my father's messenger. When we came home, and related what had passed to my revered father, the lad received a reprimand, and my father said to me, ' It is very well, my son, that the queen has given thee a bouquet, but I had rather she had given thee half a score of ducats.'"

"Anno 1712.—On October 18th it pleased God, according to His all-wise counsel, to remove by a happy death from this troublesome world to the glory and blessedness of His heavenly kingdom, my tender and pious mother Karen, Claus's daughter, in child-bearing of my youngest sister, unto the great sorrow and distress of my late father, myself, and my eldest brother, none of my other brothers or sisters being old enough to give much heed thereto. My honoured father was well-nigh inconsolable; for two days he shut himself up in his chamber to give free course to his tears, refusing to eat or drink, or speak with any person, until, by the visits and comforting discourses of our clergyman and

quit his prison, well knowing that it was his duty to submit to God's holy will, and that it lay upon him to convey the remains of the blessed departed unto their resting-place, the which he then set about with all the more diligence, causing them to be interred very honourably in a vault which he had but lately purchased under the choir of Nykjobing church. He himself chose the text for the funeral sermon, as well as the introductory words, and subsequently begged Magister Zimmer for a copy of the discourse. I doubt not it is yet to be found among the books which I left behind me to my successor on retiring from business."

Two years afterwards the widower found consolation. His " dear brother" wrote to him from Copenhagen, proposing a likely widow there who had already lost an apothecary in the plague, and seemed not disinclined to take another. The negotiation advanced so far that the bridegroom proceeded to Copenhagen to arrange preliminaries, whereupon " their first meeting was very loving." Subsequent meetings must have been less so, for the project was given up; on which "he immediately sought himself another bride, a maid'of thirty," and "the wedding took place in the house of his dear mother."

"Anno 1716, we had a visit, at Nykjobing, from Czar Peter of Russia, called the Great. He came ashore in the middle of the night at a place about two miles from Gjedesbye, and had Prince Menncoff and a lot of other Russian princes and generals with him in two or three open boats. They all directly threw themselves on some plough-horses that were going loose in the fields, and rode into the village, where they stopped at the innkeepers, who was also the village justice. Him and his wife the Czar turned out of their bed, and jumped into it himself, with his boots on, warm as it was. Meantime, the innkeeper had to see about the others as best he could; after which he sent a messenger on horseback to Nykjdbing to give notice of the Czar's arrival, whereupon every

reception. [Here he enumerates all the provincial dignitaries who were hurried together.] . . . They proceeded straightway to Gjedesbye, and took all the hackney coaches, private carriages, and horses that were in the town, to place them at the Czar's service; the towncrier went through, summoning all the inhabitants to meet in parade at his entry; and all the best housewives in Nykjobing had to repair to the castle to cook his dinner. He arrived the following forenoon at eleven o'clock, yet not in a coach, but in a kind of little open chaise which he had with him, drawn by two horses. He was driven to the castle, but waxed wroth thereat, having designed to take his dinner at an inn; and, finding his cook on the steps of the castle, he gave him a sound thrashing. At length, however, he consented to abide where he was, but insisted on dining alone, so that the Danish lords had to withdraw. He looked like a sergeant, or rather hangman. He was tall of stature, wore a dirty blue cloth coat with brass buttons, had a big broad cutlass like a hangman's sword at his side in a leathern sword-belt outside his coat, great boots on his legs, a little velvet cap on his head, a middling-sized moustache, and a long cane in his hand; but did not look so much amiss after all. He did not sit long at dinner, and, as soon as he had done, he went down with his lords to the smithy, where he had ordered a boat to be got ready. On the road from the castle two or three of the townsfolks, who had ventured too near, got a taste of his stick; and, as he could not get into the boat dryshod, Claus Wendt had to carry him out to it, for which he gave him eight skillings [about twopence]. As soon as he and his lords had embarked, they pushed from land, but, coming to the pier, he got ashore again to take a look at the position. He then sailed to Haseloe and further, to fetch the galleys in which he had come from Mecklenburg: now these were not to be counted for number, for he had on board an army of 36,000 men. He then returned to Nykjobing, about five or six

his lords. Yet would he not sup in the castle, where everything had been got ready, but went to the house of the postmaster, Iver Rosenfeldt, and there caused himself to be served with both rye and wheaten bread, butter, Dutch cheese, strong ale, brandy, and wine; and there was in particular some Dantzig liquor which he greatly liked; other than that they had not to place before him. Now some of the townsfolks, and myself among the number, managed to slip into Rosenfeldt's house to see the Czar sup, which indeed he did with much elegance, for every time he buttered himself a piece of bread he licked the butter clean off the knife again. At my parent's house there were a number of his suite, who were served in a like fashion. As soon as the galleys arrived, all the crews came ashore, so that every street and house was so crowded that nobody could stir; and in a few hours there was not a bit of bread, nor any bacon, butter, eggs, beer, or spirits to be found in the town. Towards night the Czar and his lords went back to the galleys, and on a signal given the rest had also to retire on board. Early in the morning we saw some thousands of camp-kettles on the beach, with fire underneath, to feed which the soldiers stole whatever would burn; and then they gathered all the nettles and hemlock and other green things that they could find, and chopped them up quite small, and threw them into the kettles. The next thing was to tut one salt herring into little bits to each kettle, after which, when the whole came a-boil, the kale was ready, which they ate as fast as they could, and then went on board again with their kettles. The Czar immediately set the fleet under sail towards Guldborg, and thence to Copenhagen, so that by noon not a galley was to be seen. The Czar's consort came here a few days after his departure: she had travelled from Mecklenburg, through Holstein and Laaland. When she arrived in the ferry-boat, the governor and sheriff were standing on the landing-place to receive her, but she was not very gracious to

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