darting movement, like that of a swift fish. In this mode both movements of the reciprocating scales would give propulsion, and an imitation fish might be attained. But a fish does not carry cargo other than his day’s provisions, and so the mechanical fish would be merely a curiosity with the exception that it would teach something as to the action of water-bellows in propelling.
In naval wars with France, the instinctive practice of the Gauls has been to fire at our rigging, thus to deprive us of the advantages of our superior seamanship, while the English practice has been downright at the French hulls. We may be sure that in any future actions their broadsides will be aimed at rudder and fantail screw, and therefore it becomes important to have some other mode of propulsion, entire or supplementary, not capable of destruction, and the only eligible methods appear to be, to pump water through the hull, hauling as it were on an endless water-rope, or applying water-billows externally.
When we recollect how many years it has taken to get the screw into use in the Royal Navy, and how hopeless it is to get such a change wrought by private individuals possessingthe enterprise and capital requisite, and how vitally important it is to the nation to possess an undamageable means of propulsion in their warships, even though those means be more costly or less effective than the screw—it behoves the government not to neglect the series of experiments which may set the question at rest. But there does not seem any reason why steam-power should be less economically convertible to the purpose of propulsion by an internal screw-pump out of the way of risk, than by an external screw-pump, exposed to risk, not only from the enemy’s shot, but from its weak attachment to the vessel and its exposure to fouling any floating substance.
THE LITTLE REDCAPS OF KERLEAU.
A BRETON TALE.
In a corner of the courtyard of the old castle of Kerleau may be seen the crumbling stone statue of a peasant, which has stood there for many ages.
In the days when good Christians reached Heaven by faith and good works, Satan was forced to exercise his wits to draw them into his snares; he was therefore much more frequently to be seen among men at that time than he is now, (for in these days he has no need to come to us, as we of our own accord go to him). But whatever forethought he might exercise, and whatever pains the evil spirit might take, his most carefully prepared plots would sometimes fail, even when brought to bear upon the simple ones.
There was, then, at that time, in the commune of Elven, a poor peasant named Laurent; he was a widower, and had no other possession in the world than a beautiful daughter, the pearl of the country, who went by the name of the fair Jeannette; but though the love of money was then less prevalent than it is now, no one envied the good man his treasure, and none of the lads of the parish, though they were alwaysdelighted at an opportunity of dancing with Jeannette, and paid her fine compliments, ever thought of marrying her.
“Ah! if I had but a good farm,” said poor Laurent to himself, “I’d make Jeannette worth being looked after by the best lads in the commune; but with the poor wages of a day-labourer, how can I put anything aside? If the Count of Largoet would only give me some assistance, I would clear some of his land for him, and we should both be gainers by the bargain.”
Hunger, they say, brings the wolf out of the forest, and father Laurent, having laid all his plans, paid a visit to the castle of Largoet, and proposed to the Count to take a part of his land, and get it into order, if he would make him a good advance.
“Very good,” said the Count; “I will give you a hundred crowns, a good herd of cattle, and all the tools you want, but by this time three years you must have cleared, and planted, and hedged in, all the land that is allotted to you.”
Thoroughly delighted with his bargain, Laurent confidently set to work. He built a cottage for himself and his daughter, and stalls for the cattle; for in those days, with a hundred crowns, a great many stones could be put one upon another.
When once they were lodged, the good man engaged labourers, who cut ditches, ploughed the land, and sowed a great field, while they lived the whole year upon what was borrowed. But at the expiration of twelve months, Laurent found himself far poorer than at the beginning, for he was in debt, and he had hardly any corn, as the harvest had been bad, and his labourers, who had been badly fed, and not paid at all, had all left him.
One day, when the unfortunate Laurent was digging a trench alone, and the sweat was running in streams from his brow, and his limbs were aching with fatigue, he lamented his hard lot, and, clutching his hair, cried out:
“Yes, I would, I’d give myself to the Devil for a mere nothing.”
“Here I am, at your service,” said Satan, who was immediately at hand.
“No, no, by no means, thank you,” said Laurent, “I prefer working alone.”
“Well, but I’ll work for you, and without wages.”
“Oh, no! you never give anything for nothing,” said the peasant.
“Come,” said Satan, “don’t go on arguing, but let’s make a bargain. I pity you, for I am a good-hearted fellow, and I’ll work for you for a year and a day for nothing, on the condition that you’ll always supply me with work; but the very first time it fails, I—”
“You’ll carry me off,” said the peasant. “Well, then, I decline.”
“By no means, you old idiot!” said Satan; “it isn’t you I’d have, but your daughter.”
“You’d have my daughter! Go along with you!” said the exasperated Laurent.
“Well, but if you always remain poor, you’ll have no means of getting your daughter married.”
“Well, then, let her be an old maid all her life; I don’t care.”
“Yes, it’s possible you don’t care; but how about her?”
Poor Laurent set himself to think. “There’s a great sight o’ work to be done here, and I shall