Monmouthshire Merlin

THE JULY PERIODICALS. —<*— EXTRACTS. ANALOGY BETWEEN CRYSTALS AND MEN. There is an order of progression even amongst these little elfin creatures. The tendency of all dust is to pass into more permanent and beautiful forms, when the legi- timate .conditions of crystalisation are supplied. With some it is solution and subsequent evaporation, with others fire, and with some unknown and composite forces. Adjacent bodies may help them or hinder them, as we see in human life. Some want purification, others sim- ply impulse. All dust, as such, is in a state of elemental war, awaiting its harmonic change and rest, and a true likeness of hucaniiy in its endless complication and feverish strife. To be pure, or whole, there must be a perfect consistency in all parts of a crystal, since the element of separation is the element of death. It can mix up with itself no alien ingredients, or it will be a blnr and a blotch. Pure clay, in its highest crystal form, is sapphire; pure sand, in its beautiful parallel lines and mysterious reflecting powers, becomes opal; common soot, in its filth and dulness, and power of dis- figurement, becomes hard, compact, and glitteringly beautiful in the diamond and water, even when impure, mimics the shapes of the stars and the wondrous petal; of flowers. So that for an ounce of slime, which we had by political economy of competition, we have by po- litical economy of co-operation, a sapphire, an opal, and a diamond, set in the midst of a star of snow." This law of help is the same in human life. Helpfulness and consistency are the two great factors of all individual and national character. There is a human as there is a crys- tal individua!ity, which we are not wise to disturb. Let a man assimilate himself. Help him if you can, but do not fling yourself across his path, as though he could take your nature to build with it, instead of getting his form, or base, or impulse from it. If pressure be wanted, let it be at the right time, and resolve, not eruih. Each soul has its own possible form, when once its energies are fully aroused, and our common ethical error is in prescribing too strictly what form it shall have, Our human dust is plastic as the elements themselves, and, when once we understand i', we shall cease to botch over it, and let each be beautiful of its kind. All dust-ethics "teach us thi-, if they teach us anything, that true good- ness is beautiful, and that there is no end to the possible symmetries of faculties, feelings, and aspirations. We do not want accident, we do not desire caprice there is no room for anarchy, or peace for cruelty, or rest for wrong, or beauty for unrtgteousness. There is no anta- gonism between nature and God, or science and the heart. -Meliora. ——— CAST AWAY. c, On November 12, 1863," you may read in Lloyd's List, that the Grafton, Captain Musgrave, sailed from Sydney to the South-Sea Islands," a place the little ( vessel was fated not to reach. Early in the next year, it appeared under the sad title of Missing Vessels. It was lost among the Auckland Isles, a desolate group, situated about two hundred and forty miles south of New Zealand. The captain, the mute Riynal, and the little crew of four men, were destined for a year and a half^while the world went on as usud, and their memories were dying out in it-:o inhabit that, wave- beaten and st-rile -pot. A journal kept by Musgrave, during the whole of that sad time, has just been pub- lished, setting forth how the castaways managed to keep soul and body together and a most interesting record it is. It has little or no literary merit, but its air of truth- fulness outdoes even the vraisernblance of Defoe it is probable that the gallant captain never read Robinson Crusoe, but it would really seem as though this little history had been compiled out of that wonderful volume. The minuteness ot the details; the earnest piety aad re- pentance for the sins that seem to have brought him to this pass the thankfulness for small mercies the earnest and almost maddening desire for homc-all these give interest to the narrative, which its perpetual references [ to the barometer, and quotations of the wind's move- meats, are unable to destroy. Nay > they rather assist the local colouring of the desolate picture: the state of the "wind was ail in all to them, for if a gale arose, these shipwrecked men knew that no vessel could possibly put in to save them and no stormier spot than that on which in to save them and no stormier spot than that on which they were thrown exists in the South Seas. The captain describes the gale in which the Grafton was driven ashore as one of unimaginable violence;" but the wreck occurring in what might almost be called a harbour, and close to land, they got the boards out ot their ship, and built a house with them and with the topmasts. Some small timber was growing near the spot, and there was fresh water. The Seals, too, were ex- ceedingly numerous, and went "roaring about the woods like wild cattle. Upon this the poor captain remarks: "If we had been fortunate enough to have kept the as.^ .vessel afloat., I have no doubt but in two months or less wc should have loaded her. Mine appears a hard fate; after getting to where I might have made up for what fa&g been lost, I lose the means of doing go. The vessel leavea her bones here, and Gud only knows whether we are all to leave our bones here also. And what is to be i eGm8 of my poor unprovided-for family? It drives me L mad to think of it. I can write no more." And he writes no more for a fortnight, but works steadily at the choose. Like the famous Russian sailors on the island of v Spitzbergen, these unfortuuate men make up their minds for the worst, and prepare to encounter the winter. There seems no fear at present in respect of food the seals are knocked on the head with the greatest ease, and there Are hundreds of them, though only the cows and calf tiger-seals are considered to b& eattahle-r-npt the black seals or the bulls. Of birds, too, there is a great plenty, the party shooting as much as one hundred and fifty pounds of widgeon in less than three hours. The beasts are tame in the sense of not being afraid, though they always shew fight; but the singing-birds, quite as un- used to mankind as those ot Crusoe's island, actually feed out of their hands. When the hawks are hovering, the feathered tremblers fly into the house in flocks, as into a temple of safety. They salt and hang the widgeon, and smoke-dry the seal, beginning wisely to lay up in store at once. God is certainly good," sets down pious Captain Musgrave, in sending us plenty to eat. I hope and pray that He will soon send some one in here that will take us away." It was mercifully hidden from this poor man that a time would come when provisions would be lacking, and that it was fated that no relieving sail should ever gladden his eyes. Captain Musgrave had left his wife and helpless family at Sydney, and the allusions to them are throughout most touching. Sun- day, March 13, 1864.—My heart beats fast to-night as I sit down to write, somewhat similar to what it might do if I was about writing a love-letter. I know that many a bitter tear has been shed for me by this time, and most likely t:-day, as this is the end of another dreary month since I left those I loved so much and how many more must pass, or how they will pass them until we meet again, or whether we shall ever meet again on earth- Heaven only knows." But though desponding himself, he works early and late, and does all he possibly can to keep his men in good heart. Mr. Raynal, the mate, is a sort of Admirahle Crichton, and, in particular, an admi- rable cook. He gives them sometimes four courses at a meal, but only at the time of spring-tides. We then have stewed or roasted seal, fried liver, fish, and mussels." Long ago, when the spring bad begun to set in-that is, in August-the Castaways had turned their attention to the wreck still near the shore, in hopes to render her seaworthy: a miserable task it was working tide-time up to their waists in water, and with the thermometer below freezing but after getting all the ballast out of her, they found it impossible, either by pumping or bal- ing, to keep the water down. There were a number of holes in her many of her timbers broken, and the main wheel gone from her stern to about the main rigging. "We threw her back on her sore side again. Nothing more can be done." This was what Musgrave wrote in August. But in November, when hunger began to prick, he aiked himself the question: "Though the Grafton is useless as she is, cannot something be done with her bones ?' Their stockof tools comprised only an American axe, an adze, a hammer, and a gimlet-a very insufficient assortment for taking a ship to pieces, far less to build another, even had there been a ship's carpenter among them, which there was not. There was, however Raynal. After a weary time of storm and tempest, wherein nothing could be done, and the poor captain notes A whole year has now passed since I first came to this place. I hate got quite gray-headed. My hair is now all coming out, &o. the new venture is begun. The vessel I am going to build will be a cutter of about ten tons. We have got the blocks laid down, and a quantity of timbers cut. All the frame we shall have to get out of the woods, excepting the keel, which the Grafton's mainmast will supply. Mr. Raynal is Vulcan he has had some little experience in black- smithing, which will now be of the greatests service to us, as we shall have to make nearly all our own tools. He has got a forge up ready for going to work at, as soon as we get some charcoal made. We have now a quantity of it in the ground, undergoing the process of burning. The schooner had a quantity of old iron in her bottom for ballast, amongst which we found a block, which will answer the purpose of an anvil. Mr. Raynal has undertaken to make a saw out of a piece of sheet iron. When we found the old sealers' camp on Figure- of-Eight Island, we found an old saw-file, but the teeth were all rusted off it. This has been carefully reserved ever since, and Mr. Raynal ground it smooth on a grind- ing atone, which was our principal ballast, and with an old chisel, made out of an old broken flat file, cut fresh teeth in it; but, unfortunately as he was cutting almost the last tooth, he broke it—the part which goes into the handle-and about two inches of the file went. I think he can manage to cut teeth in the saw with it. I am afraid that augurs will be the most difficult tools to make but now that the job is fairly undertaken, I have not the slightest doubt of final success, in some shape or other. Everyone works cheerfully and well: I sincerely hope nothing will occur to damp either. We work from six in the morning until six in the evening." It is sad to write, even now, that all this zealous en- deavour was destined to be labour in vain. They got the keel, the stem, the stern-post of the craft all ready, and a number of timbers for bolting them together; but there they stuck. Mr. Raynal has made a saw, chisels, gouges, and sundry other tools. His ingenuity and dex- terity at the forge have indeed surpassed my expectation, but making augurs has proved a hopeless failure. As- siduously he wrought at one for three days, and it was not until there was not a shade of hope left, that he gave it up; and if he had had the material to make them out of, I feel confident he would have succeeded. The only steel he had was two picks and some shovel-blades, which tools we took from Sydney, in hope of having some mining operations to perform at Campbell's Island. It was truly deplorabla to view the faces of all as we stood around him, when he decidedly pronounced it impossible for him to make one they all appeared, and I have no doubt felt, as if all hope was gone. It went like a shot to my heart, although I bad begun to anticipate such a result, and bad made up my mind for immediate action accordingly; but when I saw positively that I must, as a last card, put my project into practice, I felt I was tempting Providence; for my tacit project and unalter- able resolution is to attempt a passage to Stewart's Island in the boat." This boat was a clinker-built dingy, but twelve feet on the keel, very old and shaky, and a frail craft indeed to overpass the terrible sea that lay between them and the nearest land. It is midnight on June 26, but still Raynal is making his hammer ring at the forge, putting in his finishing touches. The next day the boat is launched, but is found to be so tender," that some of the men are frightened to sit in her. This is, in one point of view, fortunate, for it prevents its being overcrowded, which, with a crew of five, it would certainly have been. It is agreed that two shall remain, while three start, and if they reach New Zealand alive, return at once with help. George Harris and Henry F lgee, it is settled, are to be left behind. Delayed, as usual, by continuous storms till July 19, 1865, the other three at length set sail upon their desperate voyage. When but twenty miles from the island, they are overtaken by a south west gale, and for five days and nights I stood upon my feet," writes Musgrave, "holding on to a rope with one hand, and pumping with the other. The boat was very leaky, and kept the pump almost constantly going. As my anxiety would not permit me to leave the deck, I performed this part of the work while the other two re- lieved each other at the helm. The wind, although fair, was so strong, that we were obliged to lay too nearly half the time, and the sea was constantly breaking over the little craft and how she lived through it I scarcely know. I had no', eaten an ounce of food from the time of leaving until we arrived, and only drunk about half-a- pint of water; yet I felt no fatigue until the night be- fore we landed, when I suddenly became quite ex- hausted, and lay down on the deck, over which there was no water washing for the first time since we lift the island. We were now close to the land. I lay for about half an-hour, and then got up again, feeling that I hid just sufficient strength remaining to enable me to hold out till the next day but had we been out any longer, I feet convinced that I should never have put my foot on SD ore again." On the 25th, they landed at Port Adventure, Stewart's Island, where they were cordiai!y received by Captain Cross, of the Flying Scud. This gentleman (for such he proved himself to be) took the three to Invercargiil, where a subscription of over one hundred pounds was at once raised for them by a good fellow called Macpheraon. TIJcFlying Scud was chartered to return forthwith to the Aucblands; and Captain Musgrave, although keenly anxious to return to his deserted family, very properly ¡ accompanied the expedition. They brought their vessel to an anchor in the same place from which Musgrave had sailed five weeks ago. As we did not come in sight of our old house until within ubout a mile from it, the boys did not see us until we were close upon them. Then the one who saw us ran into the house to tell the other; and before they reached the beach Captain Cross and myself had landed, leaving the cutter under-weigh, as there was too much wind and sea to anchor her. One of them, the cook, on seeing me, turned as pale as a ghost, and staggered up to a post, against which he leaned for support, for he was evidently on the point of faiuting; while the other, George, seized my hand in both of hi?, and gave my arm a severe shaking, crying: 'Captain Musgrave, how are ye? how are ye?' apparently unable to say anything else." Having taken them on board, it was a sight to watch them over a supper of fish and potatoes, tea and bread and butter! They had been obliged to eat mice of late weeks. Moreover, they had not been able to agree, and, "strange as it may seem, although they were the only two, were on the point of separating, and living apart." -Chambers' 8 Journal. LIFE BY THE SEASIDE. The first weeks of the new year had been wild and stormy, and it was with a sense of relief after captivity, that Mr. O'Meara, on the first return of tolerable wea- ther, resumed his interrupted labour of collecting mate- rials for composition along the beach and sea-wall. He looked all the worse for the interval of retirement; there was a slouch in his carriage, as he walked with his hands behind his back, unlike the brisk, cheerful air, with which be was wont to look about him, ready to greet fortune, in whatever shape; his coat seemed shab- apart."—Chambers't Journal. LIFE BY THE 8EASIDE. The first weeks of the new year had been wild and stormy, and it was with a sense of relief after captivity, that Mr. O'Meara, on the first return of tolerable wea- ther, resumed his interrupted labour of collecting mate- rials for composition along the beach and sea-wall. He looked all the worse for the interval of retirement; there was a slouch in his carriage, as he walked with his hands behind his back, unlike the brisk, cheerful air, with which he was wont to look about him, ready to greet fortune, in whatever shape; his coat seemed shab- bier, his hat was unbrushed, his boots were rusty— everything about him spoke of poverty and trouble. Poor man a dreary business bad his holiday task been -for editors had insanely persisted in ignoring his ge- nius, and his landlord in demanding his rent; and there was no one of whom he could borrow, that he had not borrowed of already, and he had nothing left to sell that any one would buy. And yet this was not his worse trouble, for he had gone through it all before, and got over it; a good dinner for to-day, and a little money in his pocket-for to-morrow, would have driven all per- sonal cares out of his mind in a moment. It was for John Byland he was grieving, and-marvellous to re- late-for John Byland's long spent loan. From the day when, driven to desperation, the Professor had come to his room, and, holding out both hands, and almost im- plored him to requite the kindness shown him in his ex- tremity-to do something to stir up some friend, every friend he had, and give him back only part of the money his sick wife so so sorely needed—O'Meara had for the first time lost heart, and felt as if he should never hold up his head again. He knew some of the troubles of the Bylands from their landlady, who, being ardent lover of gossip, often made him welcome in her neat back parlour; and whether she was in a compas- sionate mood, and deplored their misfortune, or an irri- tated mood, and vowed she would not keep them a week longer-they paid no rent and she had hers to pay-the impression on the listener's mind was still the same. Mrs. Byland, as the days and weeks went on, grew worse instead of better her Christmas Day was one protracted scene of suffering, and from that time she had required the constant nursing of her husband and child-one of them being with her night and day. It was from over exertion AFr. Parry said, and she must have absolute rest and quiet, and strict care for many weeks to come. And he gave her as many visits as he could afford, and then they grew few and far between, for he was over-worked too, and had to face wild winds and drenching rain, day after day. to provide for the wants of his own delioate wife and little ones. And illness brings expenses, and hinders work, and several fatal drains on the scanty resources occurred almost simultaneously, and there were few lessons to give, and there was a hard one to learn. Ob, how the hearts ached that were learning it True, there did come a little help now and then; God's scholars are never left without it. Mrs. Severn sent jelly and hot-house grapes for the invalid, and once or twice a little game; and if she had known the real state of the case, would as readily have supplied mutton and beef as fruit or partridges but when she stopped her carriage to ask Mr. Byland after his wife, there was nothing in his manner that would have led her to suppose such an offering would not be almost an affront. So far from appearing to need her bounty, he did not even apply for the small sum due for les- sons-not from pride, poor man, that would have given way to the necessity that impelled him to be a dun- but from the dread of forfeiting his pupil, as had hap- pened to him before now. I cannot afford to be pitied," he once said to Mr. Vincent. If people once thought it was charity to employ me, they would never believe I was worth my sal t-not if I taught like Cheiron himself." So, if Mrs. Severn's kindness went no farther than those small attentions, it was not exactly her fault. Mr. Vincent understood the case rather better, but he had little to give. He did what he could. Missing his little teacher from her post, he had called to inquire the cause, and from the conversation of that visit had arisen the first real confidence between John Byland and him- self. But all he could do was in sympathy and kind influence the silver and gold he had not to bestow, Byhnd would have starved sooner than ask for. And, faith, it is starve we shall all be doing soon," muttered O'Meara to himself, that January day, as he paced along the Esplanade in quest of materials for the spirited article he was going to write on no particular subject. A voice in his ear made him start; it was so unex- pected, both in sound and purport. c. Pray, sir, can you tell me which is Mr. Byland's house ?" It took O'Meara a minute or two to collect his ideas before answering and in that space of time he had, as I he expressed it, taken the measure of the stranger bdore him, and was not quite sure that he might safely be answered. It was not his business to smooth the way for every troublesome creditor who chose to come hunting up poor Byland; on the contrary, it was the part of a true friend to put all such sleuth bounds on a wrong scent. Mr. Byland's house? Ahem! may I ask if you are a stranger here ?" I have only just arrived, sir, and am rather imoa- tient. Can you point out the house, or direct me to it?" Excuse the liberty, sir, but may I ask if Mr. By. land is expecting your visit?" I have no right to forbid you asking what you please, sir; but I cannot see that it matters much whether he is or not." Oh, doesn't it ?" thought O'Meara; "I guess who are you now,and I wonder I did not think of it sooner.— No, sir, as you say, it matters very little, and I am happy to be able to direct you, for the house is not very easy to find. You must go right through the town till you come to the high road, and follow that till you see a turning to the left, down a green lane you cannot mis- take it, as there is a large gate, and three poplars just at the corner; this will lead you to a farm, where you had better ask for further information, and they will show you the house, a most charming spot, within a stone's throw, if you only throw it far enough, and in the right direction." Thank you," said the stranger doubtfully, "I un- derstood he lived somewhere in the town." So he did sir, you are right but he has moved on account of being more retired in his moments of leisure. Excuse my taking the liberty, but, as you are a stranger, you do not know perhaps that Mr. Byland's time is so much taken up, that when any of us wish particularly to see him, we find it best to give him a day's notice, and make an appointment either at his house or at the hotel. I should strongly advise your doing so." He is well known in Seabourne, then, and looked up to ?" Well known ? looked up to? My dear sir, he is so respected that, but for some un-ivoidable misfortunes, he would now be the first man in the place a.9 it is, we all know he only wants time to become so-time, and per. haps a little increase of capital. It is not for me to talk, who am but a poor author, but if I had some hundreds to invest, I should consider them as good as doubled if placed in his hands." "I am glad to hear it. Good morning. I suppose I shall be able to get a trap to take me to the house." The poor Professor, who bad just come in fNm a long walk himself—Mr. Vincent had lately found him a pupil or two among the farmhouses in the vicini y. and to reach these was sometimes tiring work-was sitting down to a frugal meal of Nelly's preparing, from a re- ceipt for cheap cookery, when O'Meara made his uppe. r- ance. The dish called itself a s'ew, and was made as much like one asthe little handmaid's resources would al- low, though it would not have been judioious to inquire too closely into the quantity of the meat employed in the composition. At any rate it was hot, and wafted an appetizing odour, and, as it stood all ready on the the table, the hungry visitor thought he had never seen anything that looked more delicious. I a-n just interrupting you, Mr. Byland it was a little matter of business I came about, which will keep. I can wait till you've done-your time is pre- cious, I know. No, thank you, my dear young lady," a3 Nelly offered him a chair; I'll just look out of win- dow at your cheerful view till your father has dined. It is a sweet pretty view, to be sure. No, I thank you, Mr. Byland, I am just going to dinner. I am not hungry; I have no time; I'll wait, thank you. Is that your handiwork, Miss Nelly, over the chimney piece, that piece of black letter, only it's read and blue ? The you, ladies of my day used to do those things in cross stitch—now they paint them in water colours. The next generation will try mosaics, I suppose." I began the text for the school at Christmas, but, mamma being so ill, I have never had time to finish it. Mr. Vincent says I may try and do one for Easter or Whitsuntide, when I am not quite so busy," added Nelly, with a little air of importance softening her regret. She is nurse, cook, housemaid, and the best of little women, all in one, observed her father, cheerfully. •' Brin^ a plate and knife and fork, my darling, and make Mr. O'Mera taste your ragout. I do not think he half believes in your cleverness." He had seen the famishjd look his visitor had given to the table, and could no more have dined without sharing his scanty portion, than he could have re- proached him for his lost ten pounds. Nelly, who had calculated on something being left for her father's sup- per, looked at him in dismay; but his ami e and nod were so much more cheerful than usual, she hoped he had good news that day, and took courage to press Mr. O'Meara as desired. He made one more faint struggle, but broke down utterly, and belied all his previous as sertions by devouring every morsel set before him, and draining the last drop of a small jug of beer. "God bless you both! this is the best dinner I have tasted since Christmas Day, when I dropped in at Jel- hcoe's for the family sirloin, and a family quarrel into the bargain. He has two sisters-in-law, the most cantankerous women I ever had the vexation ot fitting netr, and they were rasping each other the whole of the dinner time, and appealing to me every five minutes to decide which was right; and the only variety we got was when Jellicoe tr el to pacify them, and they both fell upon him at once. 1 am a man of peace, especially over my meals, Miss Byland; I would rather walk with Sir Priest than Sir Knight at such times, and I care not who knows as much of my valour. Your daughter is a cordon bleu, sir, and your table is a feast of charity, without its spots. However, I may say I have earned your hoe- pitality to-day, for I have Etaved off a visit that might not have been so agreeable as mine. Are you expecting anybody ?" No," said the Professor, looking up in some alarm. I thought not but there is a keen-looking party in spectacles asking where you live, and not very likely to find out, thanks to my instructions. I had the wit to recollect that something who shall be nameless might have lost his patience, and that it was as well to be on the safe side." Had you any reason for thinking it was any one from that quarter ?" asked Byland, turning pale for he knew this referred to a much-dreaded creditor, who fangs he had felt before. "Reason? no, I had no reason; I had'nt time to wait for reasons; it was just the fine natural instinct that scented the danger directly, and gave me presence of mind enough to tell him-ahem !—not the exact, literRI truth: And now the thing is, what had you best do to avoid him ? You must have a care how you go out, and how you let anybody in. I'll give Mrs. Hughes a hint, and if you like me to stay on the pre- mises, I'll be bound to keep the enemy out. I'm an old hand at that work. I could tell you many a good story of The battles, sieges, perils I have passed, E'en from my boyish "Papa, here is Mr. Parry driving up to the door, and a gentleman with him. Oh, the gentleman is getting out of the gig, and now Mr. Parry has driven off. There is he knocking at the door. Shall I let him in ?" "Not for your life, my jewel,' said O'Meara, who had caught a glimpse of the new comer as he alighted, "not for your life! It's him, and no mistake; and a very dirty trick, I call it, in Mr. Parry, who ought to have known better. Let me go down and tell Mrs. Hughes what to say, and if he gets in against us both, I'll eat him 1" "That might be a tough morsel even for you, O'Meara," said the Professor, who had interposed be- tween him and the door. I am much obliged to you, but I will have no falsehoods told on my account. Nelly, go and open the door, dear; and if the visitor asks for me, show him upstairs. Oaly ask him to come quietly, on mamma's account." "But, papa, suppose "Never mind what we suppose, darling; let the worst come to the worst, we cannot escape, and it is a comfort that we can say, God's will be done, is it not, Nelly ?" Nelly made some inarticulate answer, and went down- stairs at once. O'Meara looked at his best in surprise at his tranquillity. He had never seen him so resigned, and it alarmed him more than any excitement. For pity's sake," he said, don't go and give up hope don't lower your colours till you are obliged He'll be twice as hard upon you if he thinks you've no chance and didn't I puff you off to him as the rising man of the place, but for little misfortunes and all to get you easier terms. Never give in while you can fight; who knows what may turn up yet? Sure that blessed child's many-coloured bit of Scripture tells you as much as that, anyhow." But his words were unheeded, for Byland's ears were listening to the sound on the stairs-a flying, eager step, followed by another. What could make Nelly run up like that ? was it terror, or could it possibly be joy? He moved towards the landing-place, and the child was the next minute in his arms. "Papa! papa he says he:'is my uncle he says he is uncle Lewis!" So I am," said a voice behind her. Dear old John, don't you know me?" It is Lewis, dear, dear old fellow Oh, thank God thank God !"—Churchman's Family Magazine.

ON DEAD STYLES. In an edition of the Prout Papers," doubtless known to our readers, there is a frontispiece cartoon containing portraits of the literary worthies who once adorned the pages of Fraser. There you may see Maginn with his high shoulders, and three de- canters before him Proctor, pale as a poet should be; Southey, absorbed as it with thoughts of Thalaba Carlyle, and Bridges, and Gleig Galt with a glass to his mouth, and Coleridge in a cha- racteristic daze, with which opium might have some connection. About them all is an air of dinner and festivity. You are supposed to be regarding the wits off duty, and the artist evidently desires to raise a feeling of envy in your mind flattering to the subjects and the occasion of his picture. The book which this engraving illustrates is almost as full of eating and drinking as of jokes. Sir Walter Scott is made to hobnob with a priest who pos- sesses a succulent taste for fish, and the author is continually putting out gastronomical quotations which remind us of the feast after the manner of the ancients in Smollet. He is learned on whisky, erudite on silmon, profound on eggs, and has a great deal to say concerning claret. W ith those disquisitions we meet criticism and politics, a dash at the fine arts, and several ingenious feats of translation. It may be remembered how Christo- pher North indulged in similar flights. You get oysters and Milton in the Noctes Ambrosianae," and Byron, Shakespere, and salmon in Christopher under Canvas." It was considered a great thing in those days to compose mixtures of this nature. It showed you were not only a scholar, but that Latin had not spoiled your digestion. The midnight oil was consumed in a lobster salad. You could give classical explanations for an appetite, and even your lightest hours of relaxation, passed in a reek of metaphysics and punch, were worth chronicling. Possibly this literary scheme owed its origin to the times when Dryden took the chair at Will's, or farther back when Jonson toped and showed off his parts against Shakespeare. We are familiar with the groups round Walpole and Pope, round Mrs. Montague, and Burke, and it would appear that copy'' was really sometimes spoken at their general junketings. But Wilson and Mahony had but the flimsiest excuses for their imaginary banquets. Hogg wrote a most indignant disclaimer touching an account of his supper performances given in Blackwood. Now we seldom hear of such festivals. The general public ate not over curious as to where, when, or how the literary purveyors get ready for the market. Most properly, it is considered a breach of honour for a gentleman engaged in letters to take advantage of the intercourse of a club in order to publish the private habits or appearance of a brother writer. Occasionally, indeed, persons who supply columns of gossip for country papers offend in this particular, but as a rule the principle of a decent reserve is followed. So the eating and drinking style is dead, and with it the abominable custom of prying for the sake of printing. What, too, has become of those whirligig stories such as Maginn and Leigh Hunt used to invent, and the secret of making which, we conceive, was bequeathed to Professor Aytoun? They appear to have departed. The fun of them was as unlike the fun of a modern short story as anything that may be imagined. They were rude, rough, and ready, boisterous, almost uproarious, but were bound to be funny at whatever hazard. Have we tales at present in the least resembling those of Hood, or of Jerrold, the Man made of Money" of the latter, for instance ? Certainly the act of story-telling has not advanced. The novellettes in our weeklies and monthlies are very miserable. Even at Christmas, when the writers do their best in this department, only a few suc- ceed, Mr. Shirley Brooks and Mr. M. Lemon being notably beyond the others. The old Blackwood, Fraser, or Bentley style of story is dead. In a pre- vious number of the Londoh Review we called atten- tion to the decease of satire as a branch or form of literature; the professional satirist is a thing of the past. His office has been divided, and every, or nearly every, modern writer keeps a vinegar-cruet next his inkstand. The album style is also gone out, and, we trust, never to return. Lines written in an album" were generally the very drivel of non- sense if published by a poet, the knowledge of the place for which his verses were intended seemed to stagger his muse out of all inspiration if pub- lished on a poet, they exhibited symptoms of the premature delivery to which he had been subjected, and on the face showed signs of the haste in which they were brought into the world. But perhaps the most wonderful revolution in literature has taken place with regard to our language and the use of it. The changes above-mentioned occurred in a natural, or at least an ordinary course of fashion, for letters yield to fashion as well as dress yields to it. It would serve a man very little now-a-days to give his days and nights to the study of Addison, and it would serve him less to make his intellectual whitebaits conveise in the tone of the whales in the Rambler. In the wig period you should have a model, or rather there were one or two models, and you should ape, measure, and manage exactly ac- cording to them. This would be a good plan if the models were perfect. We can understand, for example, how such models could be set up in France with the authority of the Acade- micians but we have no Academy in England. Our language has managed to wax, and kick, and grow strong without the least care or nursing. We can point to writers whose periods fall with as grace- ful a cadence as those of Cicero, and to writers » whose sentences are as close and pregnant as those of Livy. Considering that, save Johnson's Dic- tionary (a single hand work), we have had no exact register of our wealth in words, and no means by which their shades and colours could be sorted, we have reason to be proud. Still we are not out of danger. We take extraordinary freedom with our language. We scarcely give it fair play. What havoc Mr. Carlyle has made with it, and for how many sins of others in this connection has he to an- swer ? Raw German recruits, French dandy phrases, words even with Latin jackets, and Saxon trews, so to speak, march like Falstaff's regiment through his books, and you are blasphemous to the eternal ve- rities," or something equally criminal and unusual, if you do not comprehend the ludicrous collocation. We confess, if such a style were defunct, we should not regret it. Mr. Carlyle is-a man of genius, and his whims form but a part of him his imitators are mostly blockheads, and the air of Mr. Carlyle's bar- baric strains is ali they can pick up. The author of the Latter-day Pamphlets" has one disciple, how- ever, of whom he may be vain. There is the plainest evidence in Our Mutual Friend" that Mr. Dickens has been touched with the eternal verities." This is not surprising when we bear in mind the peculiar characteristics of Mr. Dicken's genius, and his habit of regarding the grotesque side of emotion, just as Mr. Carlyle does the grotesque side of thinking. It is natural, then, that they should approximate on the ground of language. Both aim at a mystical point, and both endeavouring for striking situations, come now and again within hail of each other. Perhaps the most perfect style for precision, perspicacity, and ease, of our time, is to be found in the works of Mr. John Stuart Mill. It is wonderful how clearly he con- veys an idea which you scarcely know to be new until you have mastered it. Nor is his style devoid of ornament If you hold up a glass of spring water to the light, you can see the prismatic colours in it, though the water be pellucid and clear as crys- tal. If you read Mr. Mill's sentences a second or a third time the colours and the beauty of the lan- guage unfold, but it first does its business perfectly. Mr. Herbert Spencer follows close after Mr. Mill, and, venturing often into more remote quarters, de- serves great credit for the absence of that muddy profundity which philosophers often try to pass for wisdom. After all, we must concede that a writer who wants to introduce a novel notion must often go round about in order to bring it to us and these no- tions multiply faster than the means of expressing them. A simple idea may be inclosed in a simple word, but an idea may involve a complex proposi- tion outside itself and lately born, so lately born and so suddenly that there is a difficulty in finding swad- dling clothes for it. Johnson tells us, It will he found in the progress of learning that in all nations the first writers are simple, and that every age im- proves in elegance. A saturated intellect soon be- comes fastidious and knowledge finds no willing reception till it is recommended by artificial diction." A saturated intellect" is Johnsonese for a well- stored ntiod, and the doctor wants to say, in his na- tive tongue, that plain words only suit plain people, and that you must have artificial diction" for edu cated folk. "Artificial diction," otherwise Book English" has been wisely discountenanced,and should not be resorted to save, as we before remarked, where the originality of view necessitates an original combination of words or a placing of them in an original light. What changes our language has yet to undergo, whether Hamlet" will appear as obso- lete as the "Wife of Bath," whether Mr. Tennyson will be done for as Chaucer was,' are speculations arising out of our subject, but which, at present, we must leave her, We do believe, however, that a ser- vice would be rendered to our literature by reducing it to some sort of order or method, and that a due consideration of the dead style would be a fitting preface to the work.- London Review.

DECIDED PEOPLE. Of all those who impair their claim to praise by excessive self-glorification the noisiest and most ag- gressive are what are commonly called decided people. As in the case of the young couple, or the hen, every- body is ready to give the virtue of decision its fair due. It is a great thing to be able to decide off- hand what you will have for dinner, without risking a twinge of remorse at discovering too late that, having ordered roast, you are, after all, more likely to enjoy boiled a great thing to be able to decide, after a glance at Bradshaw, that on Wednesday fortnight you will take the 5.40 train for Putney, conscious that, through fair weather and foul, vou will adhere to your decision a great thing to be able to determine, after five minutes' conversation with a stranger, whether you mean to hate him or like him for life. There is no end to the small uncertainties and doubts which people are spared who are never at a loss what course to take. No one would dare to question the merits and advantages of decision if de- cided people were only content to take something like a fair estimate of their own superiority, and to leave weaker brethren alone. But their unconscion- able aggressiveness forces even the mildest natures into rebellion, and obtrudes irreverent doubts as to whether their superiority is really so great as they would wish us to believe. They cannot find language to express their contemptuous pity for the unhappy man who, as they phrase it, does not know his own mind who can leave it an open question whether he is going to dine at Putney next Wednesday, and who, if he were told that his single vote would deter- mine the fate of the Ministry, would anxiously in- quire the latest moment at which it would be neces- sary for him to decide whether he ought or ought not to bring the Opposition in. Such a man is, in their eyes, a poor weak creature, with no settled views, a sort of asinus Buridani, perpetually starving between two bundles of hay, because he cannot make up his mind which bundle to choose. It is this wholesale and one-sided contempt, that provokes the ques- tion whether, after all, there is not something to be said for the much-abused weakness of indeci- sion. In the first place, we are inclined to suspect that indecision comes in for a good deal of unde- served contempt merely because few people are at the pains to discriminate between the two very different sources from which it springs. There is an indecision of the moral and an indecision of the in- tellectual nature, and though the two are in them- selves as distinct as they well can be, they are in their results so similar that they are too commonly confounded, and each has to bear the praise or dispraise really due to the other. Perhaps the commonest kind of indecision is that which is due to a defect of the moral nature. It is certaiulv the commonest among young people, though by no means confined to youth. There are persons whose whole happiness in life seems to bang upon the approbation of others, who cannot speak or move without con- sidering whether this or that neighbour will like their looks and gestures, and who are cut to the quick if they hear that Mr. A. pooh-poohs their conversational powers, or Mrs. A. sneers at their clothes. The agonies which undergraduates and school-girls endure from causes of this kind will clothes. The agonies which undergraduates and school-girls endure from causes of this kind will perhaps never be fully revealed until the Judgment Day has laid all human weaknesses bare for the sufferings are not of a kind to command respect, or even to conciliate sympathy, and the more therefore the viciims suffer, the less likely are they to make their sorrows known. Mr. Dickens illustrates this temperament, with his usual powers of broad and humourous caricature, by the overwhelming diffi- culty Mr. Toots experienced in deciding whether he ought or ought not to button the last button of his dress-waistcoat. Having formed no fixed principles of art, or having at least no confidence in his own ability to apply them to dress-clothes. Mr. Toots weakly took his tone from his fellow-guests, and, as each arrived displayed a fresh arrangement of buttons, was kept wildly playing upon his waistcoat, as if it had been a musical instrument. Indecision of this sort is no doubt a poor sort of quality enough, and may deserve all the contemptuous pity which de- cided people heap upon it. It has its root in fear- the undue fear of what our neighbours may think or say of us and it would be well for the world if it were never found in persons older or more experi enced than Mr. Toots. Unluckily the old gentleman in the fable, who was so anxious to please everybody that he pleased nobody, has too commonly his counterpart in real life. Macaulay gives a vigorous sketch of such a character in General Conway, who, afraid of disobliging the King, afraid of being abused in the newspapers, afraid of being thought factious if he went out, afraid of being thought iute rested if he stayed in, afraid of everything, and afraid of being known to be afraid of anything," presented a laughable mixture of great physical courage with the weakest moral timidity. An undecided character of this kind is no doubt a fair object for compassion or mirth. But there is another sort of indecision w it is purely intellectual, not moral, or which, wner related to the moral nature, is so as i5"' > cessive conscientiousness, not of undue fear abo opinions of others. A man may be utterly aD £ j99 I lessly at a loss what course he ought to taK p j given case, without even bestowing a thought y the verdict likely to be passed upon his cond I his fellows, or at any rate without allowing tfi1' diet to have more weight than a rational j0# y always assign to it. Of purely Lord Eldon is the proverbial type; and of ,jeCt, cision, which is partly the result of subtle if* partly the result of a self-torturing odscie familiar instance is furnished by Mr. Gla tove, t In either case the outward results are pre"bicb 1 similar to those produced by the indecision t > springs from cowardice. To revert to our 1° instance, a man upon whose vote depended 5t of the Ministry might have been »p»srjw moment at a loss which way to give it, el gjty cause he feared to be abused by this or or because be could not honestly satisfy j- whether, in the present European crisis, Jj,e servatives ought to have been entrusted direction of affairs. In the latter case, the knowledge of the whole subject, the wider his sin ( 8 of the multiplied interests at stake, the 8*0 probably would be his difficulty of decision. A"'g source of difficulty gives rise to a profane suSP.rIli(! 5 that decision is occasionally somewhat less of S than of a fault, and that decided people may, | knowing it, now and then glory in their shame. « decisions may be a proof rather of weakne85 J g of strength. The mere faculty of keeping tlj.e # 8 fairly balanced between two or more courses 8 a certain degree of intellectual power which S3 are wholly without. Whately complains that 8 are persons who can no more refrain from & s{il g immediately, and with full conviction, on oDe „j, of a question, than they could continue t0. If 5 after having lost their equilibrium, in a slangy 8 sition, like the famous tower of Pisa." They keep the mind erect in stationary suspense- g case resembles that of a man walking along a narrow plank, who must fall if he attempts to 'y$ still unless he is a bit of a Blondin, and kno*s Ji to balance himself. The quick jump of such QjK to a conclusion does not imply that their is a good one, but that they cannot rest witho"4y g conclusion or other. It is a significant fect 8 women, whose education is far less fitted tba* A of men to develop this power of preserving K Jf S equipoise, are usually loudest in their praises cision. In some the admiration amounts vIeS: frantic idolatry, which will not tolerate a hero11 he be decided, even though he be only a donkey. We remember in a lady's novel f J, upon a hero whose very railway-rug bore |JS 8 by its strong straight lines of black and grey» J character for decision, and of course the g beautiful heroine fell down straightway at his &e jJ § worshipped—probably feeling like the oposs^jll the American story, that a man whose reso'% § determined even the pattern of his rail^ 8 must sooner or latter bring her dovvO' jj that she might as well save him f « at once capitulating. If this be tifj j railways rugs, it is awful to reflect how TDUCDJ 5 applicable it must be to clothes; and that^yj chance of securing a rich and beautiful herolneui be lost, and his happiness wrecked, merely$ thanks to a feeble-minded tailor—an irresolut tern is permitted to wander vacillatingly legs. It must have been a woman that invei'^J story of the recluse who, suddenly resolvi"? 8 matrimony, rang the bell, and proposed to the The cook, cursed with the fatal weakness ot cision, hesitated; so he rang the bell a secoDd, and proposed to the housemaid, who accepte j on the spot, and, as the just reward of her f«PP —herein lies the moral of the tale—w 5 ever afterwards. It is no doubt a very 1°^ rangement that women should set so °jU1f ir upon decision, inasmuch as it is usually vince to deat with the minor matters of t^ey^f which it really signifies very little bow, j decided, as long as they are decided so&eg be uS9 habit of mind once formed cannot a«dJ or laid aside just as the occasion man constitutionally prone to ponder bearings of an important question is apt, 1 rl[0A force of habit, to spend an absurdly dispT°V time over questions which ought to be settlyl hand. Hence the readiness with which sense resigns himself to the guidance of a wo^tl) the lesser concerns of life. The interpidiV^ which she at once takes upon her own responsibility of ordering the household, arra/ six months before hand the autumn t( 0 conducting a delicate dispute on the q«eS precedence with the doctor's wife, makes be* o> luable to him. Unhappily, the same fata' habit which afflicts him with ridiculous in matters trivial gives her perilous promp'1 matters grave. If he takes an absurdly in chosing his dinner, she often takes as daQ$e^ short a time in making a choice which Wia/ her happiness for life. But perhaps a still more fertile source of gti'11 than either incapacity of mental equipoise of c° tional impatients is the self-satisfaction ^e already refered to. Self-satisfied people decide e, >' for the simple reason that, be their decision r may, it is sure to please them. If the results^ badly, so much the worse for the results the ouJ) f itself was their own, and therefore must S^e( There are people who seem gifted with the of getting satisfaction out of anything or soever, provided it belongs to themselvess ^r/ tell you that they never gave a penny to a 0 that for twenty years they have eaten roast v pVe Sunday, with the air of men who by so doi°k laid their fellow-creatures, not to say their js> under a special obligation. Their simple ere personal optimism whatever they do is t>eS^ f$ attitude towards indecision differs from ^at elj man who cannot remain in suspense betw conclusions, for they never even wish tor one. They go on from day to day with faith u in every resolve, and certainly escape all tg0> veniencies and perplexities of indecision. & e$cf? all probability, does every ox and every asS» ( the famous one of Buridanus and it is a he b f whether even an ass of breed and *i,aT1c0 h s choice, would not rather takl°,f 11 c t^ 11 0 starving to death between two bun es have no power of appreciating more than Saturday Review.

GARDEN OPERATIONS. HARDY FRUiT AND KITCHEN GAEDEN'. ;10J Remove superfluous wood from wall trees, 5b keep insects in check. In the kitchen garde11 Y j$ forward all kinds of planting while the wea'^ ry showery and the soil in good condition for the tion. Liquid manure will be found very 0 applications of this, together with deep stirri ■) the ground among growing crops with a W sure way of realising the best results. ftfr CHERRIES.—Net these, in order to keep the birds. in ord STRAWBERRIES.—These must be layered,1 to get plants for forcing or for forming new P$$ tions, as soon as runners can be obtained 0 purpose. shotf < WINTER GREENS.—-Take advantage ot weather to plant out broccoli, Savoys, ca cottagers' kail, and other winter greens. tJ 11 FLOWER GARDEN AND PLANT HousES. dofo Mow, sweep, and roll lawns, and tie or peg p half-hardy plants as they advance in grow^t • not allow any of these to extend themselv wardly so far as to injure edgings, whether or turf; and in cleaning shrub masses, 0 herbaceous plants or annuals have been pja$,( sown in vacant places, take care that the a ri1^i"^ not injured by the encroachments of plfl^' plants. Any annuals or other half-hardy whose season of beauty is past, should oe$ diately removed, and their place supplied JU" reserve garden, planting sufficiently close to p at once a full display. e & DAHLIAS.—Give these weak liquid MAU$ with a small three-pronged fork occasionally Jj t surface of the soil. If the plants are Te3- gftie » produce flowers for exhibition, it will be a j, disbud early, if the variety is at all un^der-s^ when the variety is large and coarse, te should be removed. „«inue^(i POLYANTHUSES. Should the weather co .fe 1 these plants may be parted. Do not use A the operation, the ivory handle of a will be found a suitable instrument. th.^ out in a shady suitable situation, do screeO r V want for moisture; and a temporary ^lisP prove highly beneficial till the plants