bodies whom death had made to lie quietly together. There he passed the residue of that night; and the next morning mustered his soldiers, buried those that were slain, and gave liberty to the English to do the like. The body of King Harold could not be known by his face, it was so deformed by death, and by his wound; by his armour and by certain marks upon his body it was known. As it lay upon the ground, a Norman soldier did strike it into the leg with his sword; for which unmanly action he was cassed by the duke with open disgrace. It was carried into the duke's pavilion, and there kept under the custody of William Mallet. And, when his mother made suit for it to be buried, the duke denied it at first, affirming, that burial was not fit for him, whose ambitiom was the cause of so many funerals. The mother, besides her lamentations and tears, offered for it (as one Norman writer affirms) the weight thereof in gold; but the duke, with a manly compassion, gave it freely, as holding it dishonourable both to value the body of a king, and make sale of a slain enemy. So his body was buried by his mother, at Waltham-cross, within the monastery which he had founded. Verily there was nothing to be blamed in him, but that his courage could not stoop to be lower than a king.

I have been the longer in describing this battle, for that I esteem it the most memorable and best executed that ever was fought within this land; as well for skilful direction, as for courageous performance, and also for the greatness of the event. The fight continued with very great both constancy and courage, and variety of fortune, from seven of the clock in the morning until night. Of the Normans were slain six thousand and more, besides those that were drowned and beaten down in the water, The slaughter of the English is uncertainly reported, but certainly it was far greater than that of the Normans. Certain also that their death was most honourable and fair, not any one basely abandoning the field; not any one yielding to be taken prisoner. And yet one circumstance more I hold fit to be observed, that this victory was gotten only by the means of the blow of an arrow; the use whereof was by the Normans first brought into this land. Afterwards the English, being trained to that fight, did thereby chiefly maintain themselves with honourable advantage, against all nations with whom they did coatend in arms, being generally reputed the best shot in the world.

Such is the English account of the Battle of Hastings; an event which proved fatal to the Saxon Government in this island. It might have been avoided by prudence, yet every effect of victory obtained, or might have been rendered very destructive to the enemy.

DR. MOSELEY'S

ACCOUNT OF A RECENT

CASE OF HYDROPHOBIA.

To the Editor of the Literary Panorama.

Frith Street, Nov. 16, 1807.

Sir, The following case of Hydrophobia, by the peu of a distinguished Physician, who has the merit of having first given to the public a correct account of the uninterrupted progress of this dreadful malady from its origin to a fatal termination, will, I doubt not, be acceptable to your readers; and the inserting of it in the Literary Panorama, will much oblige-Sir, your obedient servant, G. LIPSCOMB.

Chelsea Hospital, Monday evening,
Nov. 9, 1807.

This afternoon, at three o'clock, Mrs. Metcalfe, No. 25, Compton-street, brought her son, Mr. Frederic Michael Metcalfe, to ine for advice, at my house in Albany, Piccadilly.

He informed me, that he was attacked about four o'clock yesterday morning with a difficulty in swallowing any liquid, which he first perceived when he attempted to drink some porter, the remains of half a pint, which he had on the preceding evening. He said, when he put the pot to his mouth, something rose in his throat, and choaked him. He swallowed, as he thought, about a tea spoonful, and then was seized with a trembling, and cramp in his arms and legs, and a sensation of pricking, as if pius, or needles were run into his flesh. His appetite failed him on Saturday last. Yesterday he ate a small piece of mutton, which made him sick at his stomach. He has eaten nothing this day; though he said he could swallow any thing, except it were in a liquid form; but has no desire for food. He said he was attacked on Thursday last with a violent pain in his right arm, from his shoulder to the ends of his fingers. This pain left him on Saturday night. He rubbed his arm with hartshorn and oil, and wrapped it up with flannel, on Saturday.

Mrs. Metcalfe informed me, that on his seeing any liquid poured out for him to drink, even before he takes hold of the pot, or cup, he begins to tremble, and the choaking seizes him. She said, in attempting to drink, he becomes convulsed, his eyes look glassy, and he stares in an unusual and frightful manner. The case thus clearly demonstrated, I desired Mrs. Metcalfe to go with me into another room. I did this that I might not alarm her son, by questions necessary for further information. Neither Mrs. Metcalfe nor her son had the slightest suspicion of the cause, or the nature, of his dreadful calamity.

I asked Mrs. Metcalfe whether her son had | been lately bitten by any dog? The very question so much alarmed her, that she was for a few minutes in state of distraction. When she was able to speak, she exclaimed, with a loud shriek, that he had been bitten in the hand by a dog in the summer. As soon as she became calm, and composed, we returned to her son.

On interrogating him, he informed me, that in the beginning of July last, there were two dogs fighting desperately in the street opposite his mother's h.se; and he observing one of them had one of his eyes torn out, and the other dog likely to kill him, endevoured to part them; but on taking hold of the dog he wished to rescue from the fury of the other, he received a bite from him on his right hand. Two of the dog's teeth penetrated the outside of the haud, but the palm of the hand was considerably wounded. This wound was dressed with Friar's balsam and poulticed, and was cured in a week or ten days.

I examined his hand.-There was a small degree of redness remaining, but no heat, or pain, where the wound had been in the palm of his hand, and no vestige whatever on the outside where the teeth had been. There was nothing observable in his throat, differing from its natural state; nor any increase of saliva. Pulse 88, rather feeble, and not quite regular. He had no thirst. He told me his choaking seemed to him as arising from wind; and that he always discharged a great deal from his throat whenever he attempted to swallow. He said he took some dill-seed water last night, and thought it relieved him; but never could get down more than a tea-spoon full at a time, and that with great difficulty. In one attempt to swallow some of this water, he was so choaked and convulsed, that he would have fallen into the fire, his mother told me, if she had not saved him. I gave him some water in a pint pot twice; each time he swallowed about a tea-spoon full, and both times was choaked, and convulsed, with a wild staring in his eyes, and a trembling all over him; and immediately after the effort of swallowing, he made a hideous noise. The second time I him the water, I was much alarmned; gave I thought it would have occasioned a fatal convulsion. It is impossible to describe a sound; and I can compare the noise he made, which was from repeated spasmodic contractions of the organs of respiration, to nothing but to that sort of stifled barking which dogs sometimes make, when disturbed in their sleep; or to the hoarse, short barking of a Drover's dog. When he took the pot in his hand, he fell into a tremor, held down his head, and was in great distress; he kept the

pot in his hand a few seconds before he could summon courage to lift it to his mouth; af ter which I took it from him, as from his agony he could not hold it. He bore the sight of the water in the pot, while it was in my hand, when it was not offered him to drink; but when I brought a large bason filled with water, and put it before his eyes, he seemed frightened; and when I agitated the water near him, he was instantly attacked with what he called "the wind rising in his throat," trembling, and that hoarse, faucial noise before mentioned. He entreated me not to order any medicine for him in a liquid form, as he said he could not take it; and the attempt, he was certain, would kill him. He said he could swallow any solid substance. I put this to the proof; and, as he had been costive for several days, I gave him four aperient pills, which he swallowed one at a time, but with some difficulty.—He had now been with me three quarters of an hour, when he and Mrs. Metcalfe left Albany, with the best advice I could give, and walked back to Compton-street. From his appearance, and conversation, no person would have thought there was any indisposition about him. His voice, and speech had suffered no alteration. He was in the eighteenth year of his age; a very fine youth in mind, as well as in person. His humanity here was his misfortune. With what grief did I see him depart from Albany with his poor mother, knowing, as I did, that he had but a few hours to live! I visited him at eight o'clock in the evening. Pulse 110, and very feeble. I gave him some water. In attempting to drink, the usual consequences,-choaking, wildness in the eyes, and the noise in the throat, followed. The pills operated about nine o'clock, several times. About ten o'clock he became so violently convulsed, that four young men, his brothers, could scarcely keep him in his bed; but he made no attempt to bite any person. He began also to foam at the mouth, with white froth. The quantity of this froth was so great, as to require many towels, and handkerchiefs, in wiping it froin his mouth. At this period he likewise became delirious at intervals, but as times in his perfect senses, and complained, though in a very warm room, of being cold, and begged to be kept warm. In this condition he continued until one o'clock on the following morning, when, from his violent convulsive exertions and struggling, he was entirely exhausted, and remained calm and quiet afterwards.

He expired at a quarter before two, 18 weeks from the time of the accident; 46 hours from the commencement of the hydrophobia; and ten hours after I first saw him. BENJAMIN MOSELEY.

sesses ample powers of fascination; it engages the mind, it deludes the eye, it gratifies the learned, it amuses the ignorant; it ornaments an apartment, and it covers a great space, which might otherwise be a blank. Such are the qualities of one branch of this art: but, it is also capable of comprizing the most captivating specimens of art, in a size not inconvenient to the pocket, and some of the most skilful performances the world has witnessed, have been only of a few inches in dimensions. Now, on the question of merit, it might be asked, whether the merit of a large painting in oil, is greater than that of a picture in miniature? Circumstances may give it most importance, but if dimensions form its only excellence, it has small cause for triumph. Every principle of art may be most conspicuously called into exercise in the smaller subject: where then is the merit of magnitude?

The art of engraving never did, never could vie with painting, in the size of its productions: we have, indeed, seen crucifixions, and other religious subjects, as large as life; several plates being united, to form a subject 7 or 8 feet in heigit: but such were, probably, labours of a cloistered monk, whose time and whose talents were of no consideration beyond the walls of his convent. In general, the productions of the engraver are destined to meet the eye closely; and they ornament rooms of moderate dimensions. They are wrought with extreme care and attention, and neatness is one branch of their merit. But prints intended for decoration, as furniture, are of the larger kind, in this art: there is another branch of it, that is truly the miniature size, and the productions of which cannot be enlarged: we mean, that directed to the embellishment of books; and to the delight and ornament of our libraries. In a very early state of the art, this was its great friend: explanatory and illustrative cuts, as they were called, were soon adopted in printed books, and took the place of those expensive illuminations which had before been bestowed on MSS. as printing by types took place of writing with the pen."

Prints of considerable size, being displayed, as an article of magnificence in our apartments, contribute essentially to spread the fame of the artists who executed them, as well the painter, as the engraver; but prints in books, or library embellishments, are known only to those who read the book; and of all who from time to time, perambulate a well selected library, how few peruse any thing beyond the book-binders inscription, on the back, or the bookseller's title page in the front, of the volume. An engraver for the library, therefore, finds greater difficulties in attaining celebrity, than an engraver of prints; whatever be the merit of his works,

by the very nature of his profession. But this remark is still more applicable to those who followed this branch of art, in the days of George the Second, before the book trade of this kingdom had obtained that extensive circulation, which has since that time been its boast, and its emolument.

We have seen in the present reign the arts assume a dignity and importance, much beyond what could be expected by those who beheld them between the years 1730 and 1750. We have seen the graceful designs of Cipriani, finished with more than ample justice, by the correct graver of Bartolozzi, and decorations by the united talents of those artists, added to our libraries, which French vanity itself has allowed to excell its own productions, although France piqued herself, and not without reason, on the elegance manifested in her capital works of decoration. The art of engraving has been in a manner created since the period above alluded to. The first great step taken in its favour, was, by the sanction of the legislature to the act, for securing of copy right in prints, commonly called " Hogarth's Act." Of this Hogarth felt some advantages, himself, and foresaw much greater to the profession. That he should value himself highly on the lead he took in accomplishing this benefit, will not be wondered at by any who know the character of the man; but he really did deserve well of the art by his diligence, his assiduity, and his liberality, in pursuit of his object, when he succeeded in convincing the legislature, that this patronage, at least, was requisite to establish the art among us, and to render artists masters of their own pro perty and performances. This act passed in 1735, but in 1754, Hogarth thus records his sense of the measure; in the subscription, ticket for the "Election Entertainment."

In humble & grateful Acknowledgment
of the Grace & Coodness of the Legislature,
Manifested,

In the Act of Parliament tor the Encouragement
of the Arts of Designing Engraving c;
Obtain'd

by the Endeavours & almost at the Sole Expence
of the designer of this Print in the Year 17351
By which

not only the Professors of those Arts were rescued
from the Tyranny Frauds & Piracies

of Monopolising Dealers

and Legally entitled to the Fruits of their own Labours, but Genius & Industry were also prompted [selves, by ye most noble & generous Inducements to exert themEmulation was Excited,

Ornamental Compositions were better understood, and every Manufacture where Fancy has any concern was gradually rais'd to a pitch of perfection before unknown. Insomuch that those of Great Britain are at present the most Elegant and the most in Esteem of any in Europe.

Rocquet tells us, that, before the passing of this act, there were only two print shops in London, but after it they suddenly in