The Welshman

LITERARY NOTICES. BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. — This is a remarkably good number in every respect. The Chronicles of Carlingford," and Capt. Clutter- buck's Champagne," are the only tales, and the former is singularly excellent. It is very clever, has a tone of reality about it, and is written in clear nervous Eng Îish. "r e should like to give some extracts in illustration, but it is difficult to select any portion without entering into details of very little general interest. But the closing scene in the life of Fred. Rider, the bemused and indolent, brother of the young and rising doctor of Carling- ford, is given with so much feeling and power that we transcribe it in full, merely premising that Fred. Was married to a woman of a weak and fretful character, whose property he had squandered. He and his family were dependent upon her sister Nettie, a shrewd little woman, active and energetic, who had refused the hand of the doctor because it interfered with her purpose to support and protect her sister's family. One night Nettie was sit ing by herself in the parlour busy over her needlework. Fred and his wife, she thought, were up stairs They had left her early in the evening- Susan to lie down; Fred to his ordinary amusement*. It Was a matter of course, and cost Nettie no spe tial thought. Aftfr the children went to bed, she sat all by herself, with her thread and (scissors on the table. working on steadily and quietly at the little garment she was making. Her needle flew swift and niitibly; the sleeve of her dress rustled as she moved her arm her soft breath went and came but for that regular monotonous movement, and th -se faint steady sounds of life, it might have been a picture of domestic tranquillity and quiet, and not a living woman lith aches in her heart. It did not matter what she was thinking. She was faring life and forlullo-illdornitable, 110t to be discouraged. In the silence of the house she sat late over her needlework, anxious to have some special task finished. She heard the mistress of the cottage lacking up, but took no notice of that performance, and went on at her work, forgetting time. It got to be very silent in the house and without; not a sound in the rooms where everybody was asleep not a sound outside, except an occasional ruule of the night wind through the bare willow- branches— d'cp night, and not a creature awake but herself, sitting in tho heart of that intense and throb- bing silence. Somehow there was a kind of pleasure to Nettie in the isolation which was so impossible to her at other hours. She sat rapt in that laborious quiet as if her busy fingers were under some spell. When suddenly she heard a startled motion up-stairs, as It some one had gut up hastily then a rustling about the room overhead, which was Susan's room. After a while, during which Nettie, restored by the sound to all brr grow- WI cares, rose instantly to consideration of the question, "hat had happened now ? the door above was stealthily Opened. and a footstep came softly down the stair. Nettie Put down her work and listened breathlessly. Presently Usan's head peeped in at the parlour door. After all, then, 1 Was only some restlessness of Susan's. Nettie took up her Work, impatient, perhaps almost disappointed, with the dead calm in which nothing ever happened. Susan came in wealthy, pile, trembling with cold and fright. She came orward to the table in her white nigiit-dress like a faded phogt. "Fred has never come in," said Susan, in a shiver- bog whisper is it very late ? He promised he would only De gone an hour. Where can he have gone, Nettie, Nettie? h °n t sit so quiet and stare at me. I fell asleep, or I should b aVe found it out sooner all the house is locked up, and he has never come in." 11 If he comes we can unlock the house." said Nettie. "hen did he go out, and why didn't you tell me ? Of course I should have let Mrs Smith know, not to frighten her; but I told Fred pretty plainly last time that we could 11t do with such hours. It will make him ill if he does not mInd. Go to bed, and I'll let him in." Oo to bed it is very easy for you to say so don't you < ?°w it's the middle of the night, and as dirk as pitch, and y husband out all by himself?" cried Susan. Oh, Fred, t,'?d' after all the promises you made, to use me like this .?'nl Do you think I can go up-stairs and lie shivering lrl the dark, and imagining all sorts of dreadful things to him ? I shall stay here with you till he "?es in." ^e entered into no controversy. She got up quietly •nrt fetched a shawl, and put it round her shivering sister; th sat down again and to ?k up her lIeedlewok. But ?an'g excited nerves could not bear the sight of that .pupation. The rustle of Nettie's softly-moving hand tracted her. It sounds always like Fred's step on the Wal," said the fretful anxious woman. Oh, Nettie, tie do open the end window and look out; perhaps he Wking for the light in the windows to guide him "raight! It is so dark! Open the shutters, Nettie, and, A do look out and see! Where do you suppose he can hitve ?"' to ? I feel such a pang at my heart, I believe I %hall die  0h no, you will not die," said Netti". Take a book ? ? read, or do something. We know what is about the v T" that will happen to Fred. He will come home like thu ?o" know, as he did before. We can't meud it, but 1re need ? break our hearts over it. Lie down on the sofa, arid Out your feet and wrap the shawl round you if you It j ?" *o bed. I can fancy all very well how it will be. It "?"? new, Susan, that y"u 6'iould break your y0# 8 YOU that have no feeling. Oh, Nettie, how hard YOU 11 don't believe you know what it is to love no ,y," said Susan. Hark! is that some one coming ?dy I ,sa-id Susan. 11 Hark is that Rome one coming Q'?'y' ft thought some one was coming fifty times in the oo? ? P' that dreadful night. Nobody came; the silence cl0& '° deeper around the two silent women. All the ^orl' H BVerything round about them, to the veriest atom jee, ?teep. The cricket had stopped his chirrup in the te en, and no moue stirred in the slumbering house. By ti es Sus? dozed on the sofa, shivering, notwithstanding e0r -1, and Nettie took up her needlework for the f??t to distract her thoughts. When Susan started 'r0m e8e snatches of slumber, she importuned her sister *ith .?MeleM questions and entreaties Where had he |one P-where did Nettie imagine he could have gone?— ond 0 would she go to the window and look out to see if *Hy was coming, or put the candle to the window to ei if perhaps he might have lost the way ? At la?t n. 'w?'?'? pale dawn came in and took the light ?Ut of ^ettie's candle. The two looked at each other, and ?to le e with a mutual start that the night was over. T()? ? watched these long hours through with senti- *0ent8 very diS'erent; now a certain thrill of sympathy drew ?Cttj ° ?earer to her sister. It was daylight again, remorse- N ettI-L' nearer to her sister. It was daylight again, remorse- ?" aD Uncompromi''inn,and where was Fred, who loved the j °e98' bad little money and less credit in the '^it rf place where himself and his story were known. ;Wha,t have become of him ? Nettie acknowledged IIlId here Was ground for anxiety. She folded up her work tin/1" out her candle, and promptly took into considera- tio" ???t at she could do. I,f you will go to bed, Susan, I shall go out and look f< r hi,, 8aid Nettie. "He might have stumbled in the field i %134,f 1'en asleep. Men have done such things before now, jhtf be none the worse for it. It you will go and lie 40vt I'll 8ee after it, Susan. Now it's d'lylihl, you know, ?° 8feat ann can happen to h)m. Come and lie down, and le al,fe rue to look for Fred." 1, 13 "t y°u don't know where to go, and he won't like to 4$ve 480in);after him. Nettie, send to Edward," said ?,tYO- U he ought to come and look after his brother: he ?;htt 0 .?ave done it all through, and not to h?vo left us to H)!? Everything; and he hasn't even been to see us ?''evp?? ? long. But send to Edward, Nettie-it's his tt«ioe8g" ?"? Fred won't like to have you geing after him, *? yFou? '°?'t know where to go." f'red ?ust have me going after him whether he likes it or ,said Nettie sharply, and I shall not send to Dr. td, ar'l. 'Y ou choose to insult him whenever you can, and thfala ? t??iok it is his business to look after his brother. l° b ed> and leave it to me. 1 can't leave you shivering ?re, ? Catch something, to be ill, and laid up for weeks. *4tt at nd86' my bonnet on, and to see you in bed. Make e> .Coilie up-stairs with me." ?ur4e,tA Obeyed with some mntterings of inarticulate dIS- 00ti4l,t 7i daylight, after the first shock of finding that "'ght *???'? over, brouht comfort to her foolish h *?' S? h ??ught that as Nettie s?iJ no more harm" {C'?Id cot?.?him he must be sleeping somewhere, the fool- i84 f elo,w.Sh e thought most likely Nettie was right, and 8he had k t go to bed to consume the weary time till 80methiug heard of him and Nettie, of eo l i r8e,woiii e ??''Ceu.?n,?.Snditanout. ? llch w as the arrangement accordingly. Susan covered hbraelf u warm, and lay thinking all she should say to him %4eti I l?' Calue home, and how she certainly never would tOr h('r\ im go out and keep it secret from Nettie. Nettie, '"t hf,. bathed her hot eyes, put on her bonnet, and *grit out, ,?ietly undoing all the bolts and bars, into the Phil, taoriling world, where nobody was yet awake. She *44 l"ttle uncertain which way to turn, but no way un- to!N Of he, business. Whether he had gone into 'he towti- or tOwardiii the low quarter by the banks of the canai, *he 'fe» lt it l i to conclude. But remember i ng her own felt it Ilt to conclude. But remembering her own It ii,,Lletion t1act ube might have stumbled in the field, and tti le t"?e, she took her way across the misty grass. 'M? alillt-ere, she took her way acr08S the misty grass. •W ^*er ??' and a little hoar-frost crisped the wintry tbe ,y -'t)g lay forlorn and chill under the leaden <-he ??"-not even an early market-cart disturbed teeIth R 0"' When the cock crew somewhere, it startled t'ie Sh 0 ?"? like a ? spectre across the misty fields, l?oQ.? do? ? 'nto ditches aud and all the inequalities of the by p 0? ot h er side lay the can^l, not visible, exce p t 4r, Ull,l t,01ther '"??y?'?'?'' ""? "sible, except ?'t?Ce f??? that wound beside it, from the dead flat ?o.?' 8h ? ?°? her steps in that direction, thinking of a it, .N moan ''tt'e tavern which, somehow, when she saw ,e had » 8°°iated withFred-a place where the men at the 0r lonLslovenly heated, like Fred himself, aud '"& ? witkctd heir hands in their pockets at noon of work- \.IIIYI. ? ??ir hands in their pockets at noon of work- tbilttlt ?e  instinct guided Nettie there. the a" 110 need to Kosofar. Before she reached '"Y I-la the first rounds of life that she had yet heard at- tt 4t?tie etti,?, ?'tention. They came from a boat which thec,.?? in which the bargemen a 'emcd preparing ??&? d, ? OQ ?'? day's journey. Some men were leisurely ?,  6 for (^"8 forw the horses to the towing-path, while two Hs,] ?"?t w ?? Preparing for their start inside. All at ??strat).?.?' ?"8 into the still chill air- such a cry as kht4ttl" fall NN h0 ? hear it. The men with the horses litti ?Wa? ° l° edge of the canal, the bargemen hung '? <'t.i? 0, er th, a] de (, f their ?'?' visible excitement rose among '"ttM?oUt?on 'P? there Nettie, never afiaid, was less tt' !t4id ?a py. thisng. Without thinking of the 'k of ^ruatj ? "?elf with these rude fellows aione, she *ebt 8lraiRht '?"a''d into the midst of them with a ?!y. ?,ltios:t<y fr,r C &^e could scarcely account; not anxiety, '*hwv,t h?h,?y had liere. possessed her to see O'lly 4, tertait, lvl,lider and itripatience, possessed her to see Lad thly ?''e?-,)ota man-n dreadful drowned 1. 1,14 all soile »a swoJlen-a squalid tragic form, im- 4o,, "tibi ri t'V'? ? "??e more. Nettie did not need to look 4t he read, 0npn,ere(i'"Pturned face. The moment she ? t??t!Ue ?h ?. "?'? "sing again-t the side of the boat, h 0 0f d' ,3dlimbs, recognisable only as sometbing 14 214 li b 11 ?' ?cognisable only as something jn 01 ,him flashed "P? Nettie. She had f.o^tblld Oto^he saw nothing more for one aw- ?o ? ?t—n.?voa and earth reeling aud circling around her, and a horror of darkness on her eyes. Then the cold light opened again—the group of living creatures against the colourless skies, the dead creature staring and ghastly, with awful dead eye9. gazing blank into the shud- dering day. The girl steadied the sluggish current, and collected her thoughts. The conclusion to her search, and answer to all her questions, lay, not to bo doubted or ques- tioned, before her. She dared not yrel I to her own horror, or grief, or dismay. Susan sleeping, uns ispicious, in full trust of his return-the slumbering house into which this dreadful fiur" must be carried—obliterated all per- sonal impressions from Nettie's mind. She explained to tho amazed group who and what the dead man was—where he most be brought to—instantly, silently before the world was awake. She watched them lay the heavy form upon a board, and took off her own shawl to lay over it, to conceal it from the face of the day. Then she Ivent on before them with her tiny figure in its girlish dress, like a shadow of the rouh bllt pitying gronp that followed Nettie did not know why the wind went so chill to her heart after she had taken off her shawl. Sho did not see the unequal sod under her feet as she went hick upon that dread and solemn rotd. Nothing in the world but what she had to do occupied the throbbing heroic heart. There was nobody else to do it. How could the girl help but execute the work put into her hand ? Thinking neither of the hardship nor the horror of such dread work falling to her lot, but only this, that she must do it, Nettie took home to the unconscious sleeping cottage that thing which was Fred Rider; no heavier on his bearers' hands to-day than he had been already for years of his wasted life. How the World treats discoverers," is an article founded on the Memoir of Marshall Hall, and controverts the notion that discoverers arc always persecuted by the world, and refers at great length to the charge in the memoir that Dr. Hall was hardly dealt with, and proves on the contrary that he was patronised and successful. There is next, a paper on Mr. Buckle's Scientific Errors," and while honestly grappling with the points in dispute the writer frankly acknowledges the wonderful abilities and learning of the author of The History of Civilisation, and eulogises the work in strong terms. The errors referred to are in chemistry and physiology, and in the question of induction and deduction. But admitting that Mr. Buckle is in error, or rather that he has not been sufficiently careful in his statements on these subjects, which is all that has been proved, the arguments in his great work are not affected by them in the least. The article will, however, repay careful perusal. A letter from Weimer describing the ways, politics, and drama of the little capital should be read its political suggestions are of considerable interest just now. But why should tho Germans want a navy at all? Because of the constant menaces of France. Could Germany rely on the co-operation of the navies of England, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, against an attack from France, or France and Russia combined, she need not he so nervously anxious to have a navy of her own. The Dane8 and Germans are naturally brothers, and not foes. Their languages are not much more than dialects of the same tongue. Danish literati write in German as easily as in their mother tongue. By some simple friendly arrange- ment, such as that Germany should have Holstein provided she succeeded in a national consolidation, and Denmark Schlcswig, which is half Danish in population, the business might be settled. But France is very naturally opposed to the consolidation of Germany. What if the principle of natural boundaries carried out wpre in the end to turn the tables upon her ? Alsace and Lorraine are fully as German as Holstein. Where would the glory of France be without the great fair-haired cuirassiers and big Imperial Guards she draws from these provinces ? It is certainly the interest of France to oppose tooth and nail the accomplishment of German unity, as of any other unity which would put an additional check on her own ambition but our interest is precisely the reverse. At present almost the whole expense and anxiety of neutralising France is thrown on our shoulders, and we, in courtesy, call this the French alli- ance. So I have seen in a second-class railway carriage a policeman handcuffed with a burglar, and-they appeared to be on excellent terms as private friends. There was some sense in the French alliance during the Russian war, 'as we were accomplishing a common object; but the object removed, the alliance ought to be no more than the good terms that every ci "ilised nation not at war ought to be on with every other. Why does the Times say that England would not be inclined to look with favour on the formation of another great military power on the Continent ? The decision must be formed by taking into consideration the character of such a power. Supposing such a power trust- worthy, such would be a desirable consummation, as it would shale with us the burden of binding over France to keep the peace. We have never had the slightest reason for distrusting the German nation. Our soldiers have never in history fought a battle against Germans, though in the most glorious passages of arms on record-at Blen- heim, for instance, and Waterloo — Englishmen and Germans have fought side by side, like brothers. Besides, in all these matters the Germans are a thoroughly adult people they have no more than we have the childish wish for annexation of territories—at least, they never talk in common conversation of shedding human blood for mere vaingloriousaess. The same may be said of the three nations of Scandinavia, which are quite equal to Germany and England in social and intellectual progress. It is un- deniable that at present French ambition is not only ruining the country herself, though the mass of the people will not see it, but entailing an enormous expense on all the neigh- bours of France. The question is how to keep her within bounds on the lowest terms. Mr. Bright would probably say, by disarming ourselves. But those who do not agree wÜh him might say with more fea8ibility, by creating a com- pact body of peace-loving nations so physically strong, that an attempt to break their cordon would be as ridiculous as Don Quixote's charge on the windmill. The rough-and- ready way of consolidating Germany for military purposes would be for the other states, including even Austria, to conclude an offensive and defensive alliance with Prussia. Scandinavia might be united by a similar league, and then would, in the nature of things, follow the union of Germany. Then the political union might be safely discussed under the broad shadow which such a shield would throw. And Eng- land, Germany, and Scandinavia should form a defensive alliance against all comers. Such a league would be in de- fence impregnable if it became also offensive, in attack irresistible. It would simply give the law to the world. For those countries, with the exception of the straggling Teutons who have conquered and settled France, Italy, and Spain, comprise all the master-races of Europe. And as the age of conquest has passed away for them, their union miht apparently secure for many ages a great calm within the horizon of civilisation—such a calm as is Bren in the waters of a Norwegian fiord, land-locked between iron-bound and glacier-crested precipices. And were France hindered from further military mischief, and rendered ridiculous in her gasconadings by manifest impotence to execute them- for banded Germany alone would be as strong again as she is as a militaiy power, and banded England and Scandinavia treble as strong as a naval power—she would be forced mal- yre soi to turn her sword into a pruning-book, and become, as is her mission, the intellectual cultivator of the nations. The knife of her tasteful criticism is even now of value in pruning exuberant efflorescence of other people's thoughts. It is impossible not to love fair France, with all her follies & vices. Were her follies kept within hounds, her vices would doubtless in a measure disappear. At present her political and social concience is far in the rear of that of England, Germany, and even Italy. She saved herself from anarchy by aoquiescing in perjury she illustrated her consistency by stilling another republio when herself in a republican state she proved her disinterestedness to the cause of Italy by accepting the payment of a new territory; and now she has pretty well cancelled the Italian debt of gratitude by allowing the Pope and ex-King of Naples to prolong the agonies of change in Southern Italy by concocting distur- bonce under the shelter of her eagle's wing. She finds it as impossible to do an act of good for its own sake, as the heroes of her popular fictions find it impossible to fall in love with any lady who might legitimately return their affections. She is a virtual foe to all surrounding nations, by only finding it possible to breathe in a world of political intrigue,—just as her men about town are enemies to all fathers and husbands, because they find a life of social com- plications their only congenial atmosphere. For such rea- j sons there are some who think the Times might bo better occupied than in sowing the seeds of discord between Ger- many and England, and endeavouring to find in the univer- sal desire of a great people for national existence some weak place at which to poiut the shafts of ridicule. It ii for those who wish well to Germany rather to assist her with counsel in getting oçer her iuternul obstructions. With rpspect to Austria, it is not impossible that her difficulty will be Ger- many's opportunity. The somewhat obstinate objectbn of the Huugarians to be centralised in the empire, lead to Austria drawing closer to the other German powers, and even cousenting to Piustia, whose power is more homo. geneously German than her own, taking the lead. But it is hard to see how the happiness of the Germans individually would be promoted by the mediatisntion of all their princes. The remaining articles are on M. Earnest Renan," a French philosophical essayist, and The Inland Sea of Japan." FRASKR'S MAGAZINE. — Mr. John Stuart Mill completes his able essay on Utilitarianism, which will amply repay close attention in reading it. The article on "Clubs" gives the origin and cha- racter of the more famous clubs, and a most amusing description of the Royal Philosophers. Speaking of the eighteenth century the writer says- The age was thus ripe for the establishment of clubs, which, while they gave every facility for the indulgence of sociality at moderate expense, barred the entrance of un- kindred spirits. Political, literary, and artistic associations were rapidly instituted. Every class had its club; and just as in the sixteenth century institutions were esta- blished in Italy for the cultivation of science, with quaint, and in many instances absolutely ludicrous titles, so in the latter part of the seventeenth century clubs representing every variety of taste and pursuit were instituted in Eng land, the projectors of which seem to have been particularly desirous of emulating the Italians by giving absurd appella- tions to their creations. Thus, while in Italy the Inflam- mable, the lensivp, the Fiery, the Sympathetic, and the Humoiiat academies were founded, in London, the Lazy, the Terrible, the Fringe Glove, the Long, the Short, the Amorous, the Silent, the Twopenny, the Hum Drum, and many other ridiculously named clubs were established. The iSpcctdtoVy Taler, and World contain charming papers on these associations; and Ward's Secret History of London Clubs, published in 1Ho, abounds with curious information respecting other clubs which had not the honour of being patronized by the British A glance at a few of these clubs, the forefathers of the many free-atid- casie»' in modern London, which are better known to the police than to the community at large, will not bo uu- interesting. The Lying Club was instituted in 1709, and gloried in the following motto :— Say why should busy mortals be enjoIned to follow truth, since in this &Je we 6 nd officious lyes so useful to mankind." The Yorkshire Club consisted of men frou picking oats out of horse-dun to make oat-neat puddinjs of, roie to wealth by dealing in hordes, and who over their cup-, boasted of palming off animal" as sound on unwary cus- tomers, although the beasts lud as many faults as rigid fanatics find in the Church Liturgy.' The BIsket- Women's Club met at a tavern in Covent- Garden, where the members liquored their woathcr-beaten hides. The Broken Shopkeepers' Club assembled at the Tumble- Down Dick in Southwark. The IJird-Fauciers' Club, the members of which talked of cage architecture, runts, rough foots, copplc crowns, carriers, linnets, canary birds, starlings, Muscovy ducks, frizzled hens, peacock-, torn tits, and jenny wrens/ The company, adds Ward, generally consist of all sorts an 1 degrees of inflated lovers of the chirping qUir", from the fantastical squire down to the merry translator of old shoes and spatterdashes The club of Ugly Faces, established by a frightful Tisaged paron, named Crab. [ I Bob Weden's CdLn Club, that met in a ccih'r at the sign of the Still, in the Strand, and held on from eve tl1 day- light, telling stories or listening to celebrated musicians, who I enlivened the hearts of the company with playhouse songs or merry spur-bottle catches made by jocular rakes.' The Beaux or Lady's Lap-Dog Club, the Florist's Club, and the Atheistical Club, which was broken up iu the following whimsical manner. It consisted of a set of reck- less profligates and swash-buckler-, who met at a tavern in Westminster, which was also frequented by another club, composed of respectable and God fearing men. These being greatly outraged and annoyed by the blasphemy and uproar of their mad neighb<1urs, engagad a I posture-man' or acrobat to play the part of the Devil, who being suitably dressed, appeared before them one ni :ht when they were drunk, and so terrified them that they rushed headlong downstairs, declaring that they bad seen the foul fiend who had come to square accounts with them. And even when the boldest among them summoned courage to re- enter the club-room, although no Devil was visible, they maintained with great pertinacity that the apartment reeked with sulphur fumes. The result was the dissolution of the club, to tho gre?t joy of the Uudlord of the tavern, whose custom had been rapidly waning while the Atheists revelled in their impiety. Not thus was the Hell-Fire Club dissolved, of whose members certain portraits exist in the guise of monks worshipping women nor that of the Nakedamians,' long a reproach to our metropolis. Of course the thieves had their club. It met at the sign of the Half-Moon, in the Old Bailey, and was composed of 4 gentlemen of the nig, vulgarly called clippers, who washed away their profits-gentlemen outers- in plain English, highwaymen — Water-lane divers, or pickpockets and snaffle biters, or horse stealers.' The Dancing Club was another nursery of vice. Their place of meeting, says Ward, was frequented by rakes, beaux, grave hypocrites, apprentices, pimps, bullies, valets, butlers, who made their friends welcome in my lord's cellar; thieves, gamesters, sweetners, town traps, highway- men, and green farmers.' But e-en worse than these were the members of the Man- killing Club, which consisted of a knot of town bullies, broken lifeguardsmen, old scarified prize-fighters, who over burnt brandy and Yorkshire stingo, used to boast of duels, rencounters, broken noddles, and scuffles of bum-bailiffs, and midnight adventurers, who thought it as much bravery to hazard a cracked crown, as to sally out of Tangier at threepence a.day and kill Moors.' Mr. Bassetti contributes a critical paper on the fine arts exhibitions of the season; and A Man- chester Man" writes an account of the British Association Meeting at Manchester but we turn from these to Mr. Boyd's genial essay Concerning People who carried weight in Life," which is written in one of his most thoughtful moods. We select two or three passages— You drive out, let us suppose, upon a certain day. To your surprise and mortification, your horse, usually lively and frisky, is quite dull and sluggish. He does not get over the ground as he is wont to do. The slightest touch of whip-cord, on other days, suffices to make him dart forward with redoubled speed; but upon this day, after two or three miles, he needs positive whipping, and he runs very sulkily with it all. By and bye his coat, usually smooth and glossy and dry through all reasonable work, begins to stream like a water-cart. This will not do. There is something wrong. You investigate; and you discover that your horse's work, though seemingly the same as usual, is in fact immensely greater. The blockheads who oiled your wheels yesterday have screwed up your patent axles too tightly the friction is enormous; the hotter the metal geh, the greater grows the friction; your horse's work is quadrupled. You drive slowly home and severely upbraid the blockheads. There are many people who have to go through life at an analogous disadvautige. There is something in their con- stitution of body or mind there is something in their circumstances; which aids incalculably to the exertion they must go through to attain their ends and which holds them back from doing what they might otherwise have done. Very probably, that malign something exerted its inSueoce unperceived by those around them. They did not get credit for the struggle they were making. No one knew what a brave fight they were making with a broken right arm; no one remarked that they were running the race, and keeping a fair place too, with their legs tied together. All they do, they do at a disadvantage. It is as when a noble race-horse is beaten by a sorry hack because the race-horse, as you might see if you look at the list, is carrying twelve pounds additional. But jsuch men, by a desperate effort, often made silently anásorrowfully, may (so to speak) run in the race; and do well in it; though you lirtle think with how heavy a foot and how heavy a heart. There are others who have no chance at all. They are like a horse set to run a race, tied by a strong ropo to a tree; or weighted with ten tons of extra burden. That horse cannot run, even poorly. The difference between their case and that of the men who are placed at a dis- advantage, is like the difference between setting a very near-sighted man to keep a sharp look-out. Many can do the work of life with difficulty; some cannot do it at all In short, there are people who carry weight in life; and there are some who never have a chance. And you, my friend, who are doing the work of life well and creditably: you who are running in the front rank and likely to do so to the end think kindly and charitably of those who have broken down in the race. Think kindly of him who, sadly overweighted, is struggling onwards away half-a-mile behind you; think more kindly yet, if that be possible, of him who, tethered to a ton of granite, is struggling hard and making no way at all; or who has even sat down and given up the struggle in dumb despair. You feel, I know, the weakness in yourself which would have made you break down if sorely tried like others. You know there is in your armour the unprotected place at which a well-aimed or a random blow would have gone home and brought you down. Yes, you are nearing the winning, post, and you are among the first; but six pounds more on your back, and you might have been nowhere. You feel, by your weak heart and weary frame, that if you had been sent to the Crimea in that dreadful first winter, you would certainly have died. And you feel, too, by your lack of moral stamina, by your feebleness of resolution, that it has been your preseivation from you know not what depths of shame and misery, that you never were pressed very hard by temptation. Do not range yourself  those who found fault with a certain great and good Teacher of former days, because lie went to be guest with a man that was a sinner. As if He could have gone to be guest with any man who was not! There are men, and very clever men, who do the work of life at a disadvantage, through this, that their mind is a machine fitted for doing only one kind of work; or that their mind is a machine which, though doing many things well, does some one thing, perhaps a conspicuous thing, very poorly. You find it hard to give a man credit for being possessed of sense and talent, if you hear him make a speech at a public dinner, which speech approaches the idiotic for silliness and confusion. And the vulgar mind readily concludes that he who does one thing extremely ill, can do nothing well; and that he who is ignorant on one point, is ignorant on all. A friend of mine, a country parson, on going to his parish, resolved to farm his glebe for himself. A neighbouring farmer kindly offered the parson to plough one of his fields. The farmer said that he would send his man John "ith a plough and a pair of horses, on a certain day. If ye're goin' about, said the farmer to the clergyman, John will be unco' weel pleased if you speak to him, and it's a fine day, or the like 0' that; but said the farmer with much solemnity, dinna say onything to him aboot ploughing and sawing'; 4 for John,' he added, 4 is awtupid body, but he has been ploughin' and sawin' all his life, and he'll se lD « minute that ye ken naething aboot ploughin' and sawin'. And then,' said the sagacious old farmer, with extreme earnest- ness, if he comes to think that ye ken naething aboot ploughin' and sawin', he'll think that ye ken naething abjot ooyitaing Yes, it i. natural to us all to think that if the machine breaks down at that work in which we are competent to test it, then the machine cannot do any work i at all. If you hare a strong current of water, you may turn it into any channel you please, and make it do any work you please. With equal energy and success it will flow north or south it will turn a corn-mill, or a threshing-machine, or a grindstone. Many people live under a vague impression that the human mind i" like that. They think-Here is so much ability, so much energy, which may be turned in any direction, and made to do any work; and they are sur- prised to find that the power, available and great for one kind of work, is worth nothing fur another. A man very clever at one thing, is positively weak and stupid at another t't'ng. A very I(OÙ judge may be a wretchedly bad joker and he must go through his career at this disadvantage, that people, finding him silly at the thing they are able to esti- mate, find it hard to believe that he is not silly at every- thing. I know for myself that it would not be right that the Premier should request me to look out for a suitable Chancellor. I am not competent to appreciate the depth of a mn's knowledge of equity; by which I do not mean justice, but chancery law. But though quite unable to understand how great a Chancellor Lord Eldon was, I am quite able to understand how great a poet he was also how great a wit. Here is a poem by that emiuent person. Doubtless he regarded it as a wonder of happy versification, as well as instinct with the most convulsing fun. It is intended to set out in a metrical form, the career of a certain judge, who went up as a poor lad from Scotland to England, but did well at the bar, and ultimately found his place upon the bench. Here is Lord Chancellor Eldon's humorous poem: James Allan Park Came naked stark, From Scotland But he got clothes, Like other beaux. In England!' Now the fact that Lord Eldon wrote that poem, and valued it highly, would lead some folk to suppose that Lord Eldon was next door to an idiot. And a good many other things which that Chancellor did, such as his quotations from Scripture in the House of Commons, and his attempts to convince that assemblage (when Attornoy-General) that Napoleon I. was the Apocalyptic Beast or the Little Hornj certainly point towards the same conclusion. But the con. elusion, as a general one, would be wrong. No doubt Lord Eldon was a wise and sagacious man as judge and states- man, though as wit and poet he was almost an idiot. So with other great mono It is easy to remember occasions on which great men have done very foolish things. There was never a truer hero nor a greater commander than Lord Nelson but in some things he was merely an awkward, overgrown midshipman. But then, let us remember, that a locomotive engine, though excellent at running, would be a poor hand at flying. That i not its vocation. The engine will draw fifteen he ivy carriages fifty miles in an hour and that remains as a noble feat, oven though it be ascertained that the engine could not jump over a brook which would be cleared easily by the veriest screw. We all see this. But many of us have a confused idea that a great and clever man is (so to peak) a loco notive that can fly and when it is proved that he cannot flv, then we begin to doubt whether he can even ruu. We think he sh )uld be good at every- thing, whether in his own line or not. And he is set at a disadvantage, particularly in the judgment of vulgar and stupid people, Whll it is clearly ascertained that at some t things he is very inferior. I have heard of a very eminent preacher who sunk considerably (even as regards his preaching) in the estimation of a certain family, because it j appeired that he played very badly at bowls. And we all know that occasionally the Premier already mentioned reverses the vulgar error, and in appointing men to great places, is guided by an axion which amounts to just this, thislocomotive can run well, therefore it will fly well. This man has fillcd a certain position well, therefore let us appoint him to a position entirely different; no doubt he will do well there too. Here is a clergyman who has edited certain Greek plays admirably: let us make him a bishop. A heavy drag-weight upon the powers of some men, is the uncertainty of their powers. The man has not his powers at command. His mind is a capricious thing, that works when it pleases, and will not work except when it pleases. I am not thinking now of what to many is a sad disadvantage that nervous trepidation which cannot be reasoned a\\8Y, and which often deprives them of the full use of their mental abilities just when they are most needed. It is a vast thing in a man's favour that, whatever he can do, he should be able to do at any time, and to do at once. For want of coolness of mind, and that readiness which generally goes with it, many a man cannot do him- self justice; and in a deliberative assembly he may be entirely beaten by some flippant person who has all his money (so to speak) in his pocket, while the other must send to the bank for his. How many people can think next day, or even a few minutes after, of the precise thing they ought to have said, but which would not come at the time But very frequently the thing is of no value, unless it come at the time when it is wanted. Coming next day, it is like the offer of a thick fur great-coat on a sweltering day in July. You look at the wrap, and say, Oh if I could but have had you on the December night when I went to London by the limited mail, and was nearly starved to death But it seems that the mind must be, up to a certain extent, capricious in its action. Caprice, or what looks like it, appears of necessity to go with complicated ma- chinery. even material. The more complicated a machine is, the liker it grows to mind, in the matter of uncertainty and apparent caprice of action. The simplest machine- say a pipe for conveying water-will always act in pre- cisely the same way. And two such pipes, if of the same dimensions, and subjected to the same pressure, will always convey the self-same quantities. But go to more advanced machines. Take two clocks, or two locomotive engines; and though these ere made in all respects exactly alike, they will act (I can answer at least for the locomotive engines) quite differently. One locomotive will swallow a vast quantity of water at once another must be fed by driblets; no one can say why. One engine is a fae-simile of the other yet each has its character and its peculiari- ties, as truly as a man has. You need to know your engine's temper before driving it, just as much as you need to know that of your horse, or that of your friend. I know, of course, there is a mechanical reason for this seeming caprice, if you could trace the reason. But not one man in a thousand could trace out the reason. And the pheno- menon, as it presses itself upon us, really amounts to this that very complicated machinery appears to have a will of its own appears to exercise something of the nature of choice. But th're is no machine so capricious as the human mind. The great poet who wrote those beautiful verses, could not do tltat every day. A good ileal more of what he writes is poor enough and many days he could not write at all. By long habit the mind may be made capable of being put in harness daily for the humbler task of producing prose; but you cannot say, when you harness it in the morning, how far or at what rate it will run that day. Go and see a great organ, of which you have been told. Touch it, and you bear the noble tones at once. The organ can produce them at any time. But go and see a great man touch him; that i, get him to begin to talk. You will be much disappointed if you expect, certainly, to hear anything like his book or his poem. A great man is not a man who is always saying great things; or who is always able to say great things. He is a man who on a few occa- sions has said great things who on the coming of a suffi- cient occasion may possibly say great things again but the staple of his talk is commonplace enough. Here is a point of difference from machinery, with all machinery's appa- rent caprice. You could not say, as you pointed to a steam- engine, The usual power of that machine is two hundred horses but once or twice it has surprised us all by working up to two thousand. No the engine is always of nearly the power of two thousand horses, if it ever is. But what we have been supposing as to the engine, is just what many men have done. Poe wrote The Raven; he was working then up to two thousand horse power. But he wrote abundance of poor stuff, working at about twenty-five. Read straight through the volumes of Wordsworth and I think you will find traces of the engine having worked at many different powers, varying from twenty-five horses or leis, up to two thousind or more. Go and hear a really great preacher when he is preaching in his own church upon a common Sunday; and possibly you may hear a very ordi- nary sermon. I have heard Mr. Melvill preach very poorly. You must not expect to find people always at their best. It is a very unusual thing that even the ablest men should be like Burke, who could not talk with an intelligent stranger for five minutes, without convincing the stranger that he had talked for fi'c minutes with a great man, And it is an awful thing when some clever youth is introduced to some local poet who has been told how greatly the clever youth admires him and what vast expectations the clever youth has formed of his conversation and when the local oelebrity makes a desperate effort to talk up to the expecta- tions formed of him. I have witnessed such a scene; and I can sincerely say that I could not previously have believed that the local celcbrity could have made such a fool of him- self. He was resolved to show that he deserved his fame and to show that the mind which had produced those lovely verses in the country newspaper, could not stoop to com- monplace things. The remaining contributions are L'ltalie est-elle la Terre des Morts ?" The proposed removal of the Courts of Law," and" Irish History and Irish Character." There are only two talcs, "Barren Honour" and Good for Nothing," both of them clever. TKMPI.K BAR. Mr. Sala s story The Seven „ Rm. Mr. Sala's story "The Seven Sons of Mammon" progresses very lowIv. Two o f the three long chapters in this number are devote to an account of what the world thought of Sir Jasper Goldthorpe's bankruptcy, and the other de- scribes the agony of F lorenec Armytage in the hands of the officers of justice in Paris. Our reader8 would, perhaps, like to see Simon Lefranc, the notable French detective, at home- Our old friend Simon Lefranc! the genial, airy, vola" tile child of Gaul (was he a child of Gdul ?) the ex-com" merciil traveller in the corset-trade the ex-denizan of th e Monmouth Chambers. Soho the ex-paillasse who had looked through the coffee-room w inl" v the ex-dandy wh ° had met with Inspector Millament and Sergeant South 011 the Bridge of Waterloo the ex-Count Somebody, in curly black, who had been so welcome a guest at the entertain- ment of the Baroness Dela Haute Gueuje the present Papa Lal.ouet; -Simon Lefranc, call him what you will. Simon was quite at home, a man of the world and in it he could al commodate hitu.,iel I to any circumstances in life but the present were, to tell truth, somewhat snug, somewhat cozy, not to say luxurious circums ances. Simon never exceeded, he was too wary for that, but he certainly enjoyed himself thoroughly. A nice succulent little break- fast was hid out before him. The remains of some truffle I turkey, the crust of a slice of Strasbourg pie, the bones of some cutlets, some oyster-sbells. warranted Ostend, a cham- pagne-cork, and the lees of a right good bottle of Chamber- tin showed that he had known during the last half-hour how to appreciate the good things of this life. And now Simon's de m ie ta sse, & Simon's pet iter e rre, had been brought him by an obs qnious bonne and Simon himself, producing from his cigar-case a lengthy and fragrant Trabuco, did not look, as he sipped and he puffed the goods with which the gods bad provided him, in the least like the same Simon wh > was a traveller to a stay-maker, and associated with the half-starved inhabitants of a model lodging-house, that had lost his all in disastrous speculations, and was obliged to pinch himself now for the sake of his little Adela. And while Simon so sipped and puffed he meditated; but whether bis thoughts ran in the French or the English language, it concerns me not to tell. Who can ? For aught you know, your seemingly English neighbour may be thinking in Swedish, or Stavonian, or Mauri, or the one primeval language known only to himself; as poor Hartley Coleridge used to declare that he thought in the language of the Eujaxrians, his self-created tongue. When I am excited, I think in Teloogoo and does not Rabelais tell us of a nation who saw with their ears and understood with their elbows ? So I will use the romancer's privilege, and translate Simon Lefrauc's meditations into indifferent English- -i-There never was," he thought, "such an artful baffling little minx she is almost too clever even for me. Where are those papers ? What has she done with them ? She has defied that most sagacious Mrs. Skinner, whose fingers are like corkscrews, and whose eyes like probes-a searcher at Scotland Yard. She has defied even our paragon La Mere Camuse at the Prefecture, that dauntless woman who would take the skin off a blackamoor, if there was any thing to be found underneath who would take all the teeth out of your head, if there was any thing worth finding in the cautICS. But Mrs. Skinner and La Mere Camuse can do nothing with her they have turned her, so to speak, inside out. I myself, and Reflard my man,- bah! half. a-doz.en men, have ransacked every table, every drawer, every chair- covering, every feather-bed, every curtain-lining in these fine show-rooms we have looked behind the mirrors, and under the carpet, and up the chimney; we have found enough, goodness knows, but have yet failed to discover the one thing needful. Now I Simon Lefranc, flatter myself that I could find out the secret of the Man in the Iron Iil^sk, if that secret remained to be discovered and yet, so far as this one tiny particular secret is concerned, Florence Armytage masters and defirs me, as she has mastered and defied Mrs. Skinner and La Mere Camuse." He rang a little silver bell,-no luxury was deficient in Simon's house- keeping, which anon was answered by the obsequious bonne. "Shot in the Back," is a narrative of the wild revenge of a yeoman who endured great wrongs from one above him ill social life, and who at last resented them in a fearful manner. There are two other tales which are worth reading-" The Second Time of Asking" and The Mystery at Fernwood," although there is nothing particularly new or striking in them. With Mr. Gorilla's Compli- ments" is an article intended as a refutation of Du Chaillu's book, but we dislike the bantering style in which it is written; nor do we find anything in it against the book which has not already been an- swered either by Du Chaillu or his friends. The subject in dispute should have been treated dif- ferently. In" Little Switzerland" we have an in- teresting account of a trip from Frankfort into Franconian Switzerland, which notices not only towns and the people who live in them, but the natural scenery which abounds on the route. Mr. Planche attempts to clear himself in a long and laboured article from the imputation of i-esponsi- bility for the magnificence and brilliancy of his own extravaganzas. From a striking but somewhat florid description of Antonelli, translated from the German, take the following The Zouave goes, and I enter. As soon as the canonicus has opened me the door of mystery, and just as I open mv mouth with 44 Semi, Eminenta, la mia Iibtrta, ma etsendo a Hotna," &c.. or some such words, a black ball, ap- parently moved by india-rubber, hastens to meet me I am seized by both bands, and two cold-black eyes sparkle into my face. 41 Monrjtchair, mongtehair!" I felt almost as much afraid as if I was attacked suddenly t J be plundered and unfortunately, in Papal Rome, one is thoroughly famili-ir with this thought. The Cardinal's cabinet is inconveniently small a writing desk, behind which the Cardinal sits, occupies the greater part of the space. Between this deek and the window, at most two or three ch.iirs can be squeezed in. Thus the audiences are truly tete-a-tete I sat down. Two hands pack the long blaok vestment with the red lace, and lay it aside; one hand holds the red skull cap fast on the head, and sets it right; and I have an audience of his Eminence Cardinal Antonelli. The French, fit to make one's hair stand on end, which came stumbling across,offended my unaccustomed ear. I tried several times to interpose Italian but my Italian found no srace at the hands of the Secretary of State of Pius the Ninth; he always cut me short with French. Sacred Mezzofanti Since 1850 Prime Minister of the States of the Church, in daily intercourse with French diplomatists and officers, almost smothered with French correspondence, and yet the language handled as if by a waiter or a cicerone, let alone the pronunciation. The slight linguistic quali- fications of the Cardinal give rise to every unfavourable prej udices against his general capacities, and his presump- tion in always desiring to speak French in spite of his inability, because be must frequently play the diplomatist, gives the key to much that would otherwise be inexplicable The Cardinal is thin, although he has appropriated the. fat of the States of the Church. His face is incredible to every one who has not seen him. You might confidently allow Antonelli to travel through the whole of Catholic Germany to enlist volunteers for a crusade for the Holy Father. Every believer would draw on one side, every gendarme would ask him for his passport. In our harmless trustful world it would be considered a sheer impossibility that such a physiognomy could sit in the Sacred College, much more that it could conduct the affairs of Christ's re- presentative on the earth. Punch, Charivari, or Kladder- adatsch could never have invented this lusus nature. Atonelli's face is divided into two halves, which must have been put together from different parts of creation. The upper half is Egyptian, Asiatic; t"o restless eyes roll in large circles under black bair. From a strictly physical point of view these eyes are fine, clear, light in the darkest ground,—much as the beast of prey of the desert has fine eyes but their uncertainty and incessant motion, their permanent rolling, shooting, and piercing are so demoniacal, that one could wish better eyes to the personator of Me- ph istopheles. They are eyes of the sphinx, from which a human soul seems to look when there is none there it is Ithe mockery of advancing nature, which would gladly become man, but cannot get possession of a single attribute, and therefore is enigmatical, disquieting, uneasy. Just in the moment when you would embrace it with love as something congenial, you are icily touched by something most foreign, and you shudder. The lower half of the face dates still further back by a few hundred thousand years. When this jawbone and mouth appeared, there were as yet no men on the earth all was still gigantic amphibia, the organic existence an everlasting devouring. The motion of the facial musles shows what was the employment of those oxygen-breathers, for they go regularly up and down, down and up, even when there is no booty at hand for the moment. The corners of the mouth are continually going half-way up to the ears and back again. Each time they go up you have a fresh alarm, for you see in the open hollow the remains of an elephant. The Cardinal has wonderful teeth, and he makes a regular show of them. Thus the newest incarnation of the politics of the Church of Rome sate opposite me. The word was made flesh, Jesuitism government. My glance flew in search of safety from the antediluvian mouth to the Egyptian eyes and now I understood with horror the black pupils, which revolve so amourously in a circle. They ring themselves for the destructive spring, they encircle, wind round, cling to their chosen victim, and, as soon as the prey struggles in the loving claws, it is slang into those teeth, from whenee there is no return. Jesuitism become man is always eat- ing; it chews air at need as a gymnastic exercise. The Cardinal always had an effect on me as if he ate those who conversed with him. What we talked of? Naturally not of that which we were thinking of. He bombarded me with his sphinx-like eyes, and devoured me; I composed his portrait. At times I caught as in a dream a word or so of Rome, of the greatness of ita art-treasures. Then I heard myself say, Rome was a labour, aod caused weariness, my eyes were bnrned up by the sun of beauty. Once I woke up a little, namely, when the Cardinal jabbered broken French about the care that the Pontifical Government had always bestowed on the Fine Arts, when he talked of the things (in futuro) which were to take place, such as the extension of the Christian Museum in the Lateran. I started up a little more from sleep when I heard that the Loggie of Raphael, in the Vatican, were not to be restored, but copied. A good idea I replied. For the Romish artistic restorations are as bad as the political. But this I only thought. I talked to the Cardinal of Milan, of the 44 Last Supper" of Leonardo da Vinci, complained of the unheard-of barbarism of the French, who had lived there as badly as the legions of Mummius at Corinth. On this, with wild laughter and widely-grinning teeth, his Eminence remarked that the great army of the first Napoleon had also encamped in the covered aroades of the Loggie, and no one knew what might happen yet. He seemed to have a tigerish joy in blackening the French before me. It was evident that lie heard to-day for the first time of Leonardo da Vinci's existence, and of the Last Supper" in Santa Maria delle Grazie at Milan. We had got on the subject of art, and we remained on it. The Vatican and its gallery of pictures came in turn. I said the finest picture in the Vatican was the II Massacre of the Innocents." He listened. He bad never heard of the pic- ture, but he took good care not to expose himself. I relieved him from the embarrassment by saying that Rhaphael's Transfiguration" killed daily all the other pictures there, which lay like so many innocents before the tetrarb of painting. He burst out loudly, Voi/s ares raison, voits avez raison," six times in succession. I suffered the pains of death. I really thought he was going to embrace me. I should have been lost then. At last I rose, and begged him to pardon me for having so thoughtlessly taken possession of his valuable time. He quite neighed with pleasure. Three times lie toik my hands, gave me the assurance of his very particular consi- deration, informed me that every wish of mine in liome would be a command to him, and let me forth. The canonicus and the swarm of servants made me reverences of ninety degrees I had been half an hour in the cabinet of the almighty. The remaining articles in this number are- Gra- duation Day at Edinburgh," Notes on Flying," and The Life and Poetry of Percy Bvsshe Shel- ley-" THE ST. JAMES'S MAGAZINE. In this number fiction is fully and ably represented. Mrs. S. C. Hall's remarkable story Can Wrong be Right ?" has reached a very delicate point, and the painful impression it produces upon the mind is not for a moment removed by the sympathy we naturally feel for the heroine who from a morbid sentiment refuses to claim her rightful husband, who has married again under a conviction that his wife is dead. But, we suppose her conduct will furnish an answer to the question 44 Can Wrong be Right ?" Isabell Carr," a Scottish love story, by the author of Maryaret Maitland, has sufficient reality and incident to keep alive the attention while engaged in pondering an oft told tale. 44 My Uncle's First and Last appearance at the County Assizes of Eastminster," is barely up to the mark. Old Matthew's Puzzle" is amusing, and youthful readers will be delighted with Humpty Dumpty." There are several readable articles. The Japanese" is instructive and not over done. In speaking of the language of these people, the writer says- One of the greatest obstacles the European has to over- come ere he arrives at the mysteries of Japanese society, is his ignorance of the language-or, rather, languages for they have two—(as they have tso fcmprrors)-a written and a spoken, a hieroglyphic and a phonetic language. The first is foreign, and imported from China and the aeeond is native born, with an alphabet of forty-seven letters. Ac- cording to Mr. Alcock, who has published a Japanese Gram- mer, this spoken language, the one most necessary to foreigners, is very difficult to learn. Its genius is wholly dissimilar to that of our Western langbsges, ancient or modern. Its nouns have no gender its pronouns have no fixed personality-or, more property, the language wants personal pronouns altogether. It cannot but appear strange to us that a people can be in daily intercourse without thou- ing and you-ing one another; but it seems that the Japanese dispense with a direct reference to persons by a refined mode of circumlocution. There is a bewildering variety in the modes of expressing the important word 1. in Japanese, and scarcely less for all the other persons. Thou, and he, and she, with their plurals, from this cause become formid- able entities, requiring long and careful study. Mr. Alcock has given a table of six or seven forms for each as the lowest number for the student, warning him at the same time that there are still many additional forms to be acquired. There i8 a different form of personal pronoun for every condition in life; every variation in rank, age, and sex, demanding the use of some different form of addreps and it is a most grievous solecism in manners among this people to apply the pronoun belonging to one condition of life to the person of another. It would cost a coolie his life to address a noble or Damio with the Thou belonging to an inferior rank, or, speaking of himself, to make use of the Ego that belongs exclusively to the Damio class -it would sound very like 'I blasphemy, and one of the two swords that arm th* side of every Hamio's retainer would be sure to leap from the scab- bard, and avenge the Toul affront as soon as it was uttered. The man of a humble condition is b)uud to use the circum- locution that particularizes a person in that condition. For instance, we find one of the terms for 1, speaking humbly to a superior, to be Temaie, literally, 44 the person ttut is before your hand." Wutalsooshi, another term for I, means literally something private, something pertaining t3 tb. person using it, but not himself. Again, Anata Thou is a term signifying your side," not exactly you. The personal prunoun is a pure at,str iction, or rithi r, proxy or deputy, representing this person or that person, ar(orditig to his or her condition in life, and not tte pels III himself or herself. We have something resembling this to a small extent in some of our European languages. One Italian meeting an- other will say, "I kiss your Signorita's hand. I hope it carries itself well this morning," —meaning solely the Signorita, and ignoring the person who wears it. In referring to the manners of the people he sa ys— The privilege of riding on horseback is extended to the nobles and their ret-tineis and to the Govfrnment officers only-but only to a portion of these last. But even among the classes to whom this privilege ic accorded, there is a law of distinction. Should a man of inferior rank meet one of a superior- on the highway, the law obliges him to dismooot until the other rides past. This class-law has a good deal to do with the hostility with which foreigners are generally sainted. The foreigner is not supposed to be confined by native law or etiquette. He can move about in whatever manner he has a mind to he can perambialate all their s'reets and roads on horseback; and to see him-the despised vagabond and wanderer—thus superbly dressed, while they themselves have to pad on foot, is offensive to all those to whom the privilege is denied. At the same time, it is offensive to the equestrian classes, since the same free- dom from law which allows the foreigner to ride, allows him to ride past without condescending to dismount and do them homage in passing. Hence they have frequently tried to close the road between Yeddo and Kanagawa to foreigners, and various unpfeasant rencontres have taken place, when members of the Legations have had to pass a Japanese noble with a retinue of retainers. Besides the higher nobles themselves, there are their re- tainers and the officers of Government, all of whom. if not privileged to go a-horseback, are privileged to wear two swords. These are the oriental types of that extinct speci(a which once flourished rather luxuriantly iu our own country under the name of s wash- bttekkr8 -swaggering, blustering bullies, with just enough of courage to strike an enemy in the back, or cot down an unarmed inoffensive man. These gentry are addressed by the common people, and even by what may be termed the middle class, with the salutation of Sama," or "My Lord." With a rolling straddle in his gait, the Japanese officer moves along in a very ungainly fashion—the hilts of his two swords sticking out a foot in advance of his person, and, to all appearance, a* ready to the hand of an enemy in front as to that of the wearer him- self. One of them is two. handed the other short, like the old Romllo sword and both are always kept in a serviceable state, as sharp as razors. In the use of them he is no mean adept; he strikes home at a single thrust, having no dread of the gallows before him, for he takes special good care to strike none but such as are of the unprivileged classes, and have neither Government nor Damio to avenge them. To all such ruffians, all life-loving and peaceable people give as wide a berth as they can. Often drunk and always insolent he is sure to be met in the quarters where the tea-houses most abound, or returning about dusk from his day's de- bauch, with a red, bloated face, and not over-steady legs- the 'error of the street dogs and all the unarmed population. The fellow is in a rather humane mood when he contents himself with fleshing his sword on poor dumb animals but it as often happpens that he is in the heroics—and then, pity the coolie or shopkeeper, or even foreigner, who stumbles in between the wind and his nobility! The unfortunate wretch is instantly and mercilessly cut down. In January, 1860, the British Minister's linguist was met and murdered at the gate of the Legation by one of these ruffians, a follower of one of the Damios. He was seen, by some women and children standing near, to go up crouching and cat like be- hind his victim and strike him in the back, with such ferocity that the sword went through and through, and protruded out of the left breast. In November, 1859, the Minister himself was nearly falling a victim to one of these ruf- fians.- Mr. Alcock was returning on horseback at a quiet pace from the American Legation, with a groom on foot to take care of his horse, and a servant on horseback. He met in the Tocudo," and all along the road home, many officers, armed with their two swords, and all of them more or less intoxicated. They were not only insolent and offensive in gesture and language, but some of them came in before him and attempted to stop him and provoke such an altercation as would justify itheir drawing and laying on. But Mr. Alcock, by dint of silence and moving his horse from side to side, got quietly through till within fifty yards of his own gate, when a fellow more insolent than the rest fastened on his groom, who was on foot Mr. Alcock saved his groom by spurring his horse in between them. At this the Japanese hector grew wroth and dangerous, and blood would have been spilt had not the servant on horseback pulled out a pistol-the only weapon in their possession—and threatened to shoot him if he drew bis sword. The sight of the pistol cowed him; the half-drawn bilboa slipped back into the scabbard, and, muttering between his teeth, the ruffian turned round and sneaked off. Mr. Alcock sent a despatch to the Japanese Minister for Foreign Affairs, detailing this attack, but he has never heard of the case being taken up and the officer punished by Government. Perhaps it was done with the connivance of Government. From the statements of our envoy Mr. Alcock-an autho- rity not be disputed-we have to learn that the mass of the Japanese people are in a state of complete serfdom, and that the nobles and their retainers-the Governments and its offiei&lo-oan do whatever they have a mind to. unin- fluenced and unbound by the laws that bind all the claaaea beneath them in chains to triple steel. To find a parallel to this state of society we must go back to the feudal ages, to the twelfth and thirteeth centuries, when there were but two classes in this country-a Norman minority, all-power- ful and oppressive and a Saxon majority, whose labour, property, and lives were wholly at the mercy of their masters, and who were looked upon, and who even looked upon themselves, as little superior to the beasts of the field. But, so far as our knowledge yet extends, the Japanese nobility posses a stronger and heartier authority over their serfs than the nobility of Norman England. This authority is patriarchal rather than feudal; the nobles themselves are as much chiefs as nobles, and they seem possessed with something like the double character which the head of the House of Campbell had in the seventeenth century. They are, at one and the same time, Macallummores and Mar quises of Argyle. Their retainers seem more devoted t- their principals than those of our old nobility, and, in cono dition and feeling, approach nearer to the Highland clans- man than the Lowland vassal. The article on The Cinque Ports" is historical and descriptive. The other contributions are- Re- port of the Education Commissioners," Our Sick Sailors," and 44 Some of London's Wants." THE ART JOURNAL.—The large engravings are The Gipsy," from Phillip's picture in the Royal Collection at Osborne; A Frosty Morning," by Turner and an engraving of 44 Peace-the Princess Helena," from the statue by Mrs. Thorneycroft. It would be superfluous to add a single word as to the style in which these engravings are done, but we must remark that the large illustrations were never better finished than they are now. And this is high praise, because the position the Art Journal has attained is entirely owing to its artistic merits. We ought to have included the wood-cuts, which intersperse the letter press. Some of the more prominent contributions are 44 The Pilgrims of the Middle Ages," British Artists," and The Hudson from the Wilderness to the Sea." Besides these there are contributions on many subjects connected with art and of general interest. THE SIXPENNY MAGAZINE. We find some in- dications of improvement in the number for this month, and with a little care in the selection of articles and the introduction of original contribu- tions of greater literary merit than hitherto, the Sixpenny Mayazine will become a formidable rival to its higher priced contemporaries. The table of contents is varied and full, there being no less than twenty-two contributions in the number. BEETON'S ILLUMINATED BIBLE.-This beautifully printed Bible now publishing in monthly parti, is all that it professes to be. The cartoons and ornamental headings are tastefully done, and, in fact, the whole work is handsomely got up. THE ENGLISH WOMAN'S JOURIAL.-Tllc articles this month are nearly all of them eminently prac- tical. We specially commend Miss Cobbe's ex- cellent paper on The Preventive Branch of the Bristol Female Mission," and The Colonies and their Requirements," which were read at the Social Science Congress. Their reappearance in the English Woman s Journal will no doubt be attended with further benefit. The memoir of Miiw Cornelia Knight is acceptable, although following so close upon the publication of the work from which the facts are gleaned. There are several subjects of interest to all who sympathise in the movement of which this journal is the organ, in the letter from 44 Our French Correspondent," and in the letters collected under Open Council." THE ENGLISH WOMAN'S DOMESTIC MAGAZIXE.- The plates of fashions and needlework are worth double the price of the magazine, and can only be fully appreciated by ladies. They appear to us useful, and certainly they are tastly pre- pared. The literary portion is entertaining, and some of it is also instructive; we refer to the his- torical and scientific chapters. THE Boy's OWN MAGAZINE is a special favorite its legends and stirring tales of adventure, and its directions in manly exercises and various games are admirably fitted for boys. The Family Herald, and Cabell's Illustrated Family Paper present no new feature, but they are as well conducted and as popular as ever.