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prospect before us was far from agreeable. A journey of six hundred miles on horseback, through a desert country, with only four towns, or rather villages, on the way, seemed to us almost fearful; and the result proved our anticipations to be correct.

We commenced our journey at daybreak. Altogether we formed a large cavalcade, with a bullock-wagon in the rear containing our tents, baggage, and provisions. This ought to have been up with us early every evening at our halting-place; but to our great disappointment it always arrived so late, that we were able to put up our tents only four times during our long journey. Nearly every night we had to sleep in the bushes. Our daily march was much as follows:-Up at daybreak (four o'clock in the morning), we breakfasted, rode on for about six hours, until the heat grew too intense, then off-saddled,' as it is called here, rested for a couple of hours, and rode again for four more. In the evening we sometimes came to a farm-house, where we generally procured forage for the horses: the host always offered us beds, such as they were; and one night we felt so tired, that we resolved to try them; but we paid dearly for the experiment, and vowed never to accept of one again. These Dutch Boors have all the appearance of hospitality; but as they possess not the concomitant virtues, I have come to the conclusion that they suffer you in their houses, some only through fear, and others only because they expect a solid return. Religion they have none, though nominally Dutch Lutherans, and they generally have a Bible on their table. To me, after the Germans, they appear almost savages, degraded to a pitiful degree, and without one idea beyond the circle of their own farms, few of them ever having been farther. So stupid or brutal are they, that frequently they could not tell us the way to the next farm, though they had been living in that spot all their lives. People in England have no conception of country life here in Africa. I remember, years ago, reading one of Miss Martineau's tales of colonisation here. She can know nothing of this country. The farmers never live as she has represented them, in villages, as it were, with all goods to a certain extent in common. Their farms are always isolated, many miles from each other, and lonely and desolate to the last degree. This sort of life necessarily causes much selfishness in their character. They do not speak a word of English, though their barbarous dialect seems to be a mixture of our language and platt Deutsch,' or low German.

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The country through which we passed is, with one single exception, perfectly frightful for about fifty miles beyond Prince Albert. Excepting at the farmhouses, a tree is nowhere to be met with; and the whole way from Colesberg to Swellendam, a distance of five hundred miles, we never saw one blade of grassnothing but dirty weeds, gravel, and sand! Very different from Caffreland, where the pasture is so good.

We were about four days in getting to Richmond, which is a new village. We were again seven or eight days in riding to Beaufort, travelling as I have already described, sometimes burnt by the scorching sun, at others wet to the skin for hours together with rain such as is not to be conceived in England. And then, to add to our misery, we could only look forward-not to a good fire, as the Dutch have no fires, but to standing shivering in our wet clothes until our wagon came up. Our sole remedy in such cases was brandy and water, and blankets: but very poor comfort they proved. Game was very plenty on the road in the shape of gnous, zebras, springboks, and ostriches; and on one occasion we saw a tiger, which they said had carried off a goat from the farm every night for the past week. Thus we journeyed on through Beaufort and Prince Albert, neither of which villages is worthy of remark. On leaving the latter place, we came once more into a world of troubles. About four hours beyond Prince Albert (we count distance here by hours) is a broad river, which, as is usual in this country, may one hour be only

ankle-deep, and the next impassable even to a horse. We crossed it ankle-deep in the morning, and rode on for six hours farther. At night there was no appearance of the wagon, nor yet at ten o'clock next morning. At length I determined to ride back in search of it, when, on my arrival at the shallow stream of yesterday, to my great astonishment I found the wagon had been unable to cross, from the swollen state of the river, which had risen in less than half an hour after our passage. We had no resource but to swim our horses across. My servant got over safe enough; but my horse became so frightened with the noise and the rapid current, that alighting by chance on a rock in the middle of the river, he reared up in a most terrific manner. Fortunately I had sufficient presence of mind to let the reins loose, and give him his own way. He then gave a vigorous plunge up against the stream, but in doing so, I very nearly lost my life. Both my stirrups were carried away. At length he leaped on shore, yet not until he had indulged his humour by rearing again several times; then, having sent off provisions to the rest of my party, I relished my own dinner, after a fast of thirty hours. I was forced to remain for two days with the wagon before we could effect a passage. On the third we succeeded. The rest of my party were then several days in advance, and I could not overtake them for ten days longer, when we arrived at Swellendam. Six days of that time we passed in the bush without seeing a farm-house, and three days without water. During the whole journey, the water was often so brackish, it was impossible to drink it, and we were frequently rejoiced to meet with some as muddy as in the dirty ditches by the roadside. At Swellendam we stopped for several days to rest ourselves and horses. Without exception it is the prettiest town in this part of the world: that, however, is not saying much. We had still five days of the march to make, differing, however, in no particular from all preceding them, except that gradually we perceived ourselves returning to civilised life. Good grass and pasture was more plentiful, the farms more numerous, and closer together, and a little English was now and then spoken.

When within a couple of days' march of the Cape, I heard by chance that about four hours' ride from our halting-place was the large Moravian establishment of Genadendaal. This I determined to see; so leaving my companions, I took a Hottentot guide, rode over, spent the evening and half the next day there, and overtook my friends the following morning at Caledon, after accomplishing a ride at full gallop of eighty miles out of my way. Here, as before, my knowledge of German stood me in good need. The Moravians are always civil to strangers; but on my addressing them in their native language, their kindness and attentions were redoubled. The establishment consists of a very large village of Hottentots (about two thousand inhabitants), who are certainly the most civilised of their race I have seen, twelve missionaries, all of whom are married, and one unmarried, who is the bishop. The most prominent object is a very large church or meeting-house with a school attached. This occupies one side of a large square; on the corresponding side are the houses of the missionaries; whilst the other two are filled up by the workhouses and the shops belonging to them. Here every imaginable trade is carried on. The artisans are all Hottentots, taught by the missionaries, each of whom is a mechanic, and has been brought up to some trade. A missionary superintends every branch; and whenever one dies, his place is forthwith supplied on application to their great depôt Herrnhut in Saxony. Good-will and regularity certainly appear to be there the order of the day. There are certain rules which must be kept in the village, certain hours in which the men must work, the children go to school, the women stop at home; and all attend church every evening. If these regulations are not complied with, the offending party is expelled from the place. The Society are fol

lowers of John Iluss, but they do not reject any other denomination of Protestantism, although all must conform to their rules of discipline. All their establishments in Germany, New South Wales, America, and Africa, are subject in everything to a committee of management in Herrnhut, and which is elected every five years. Nothing can be done without its consent. All the surplus revenues of the different settlements are sent home to the common stock, and the most exact accounts are kept for the revision of the committee. Every large institution has a bishop. Whatever spiritual influence may be comprehended by that term, the bishops seemed to me little more than overseers. The one I saw was walking about in a baize jacket and nankeen trousers. The most extraordinary regulation of the Society is that relating to marriage: they never see their wives until they come out here. When a man wants a wife, he writes home to Herrnhut: there all the girls draw lots, and she who gets the prize is married at home by proxy, forthwith starts on her voyage, and is remarried in person on her arrival here. I thought it a cruel plan; and the results doubtless prove very painful, if one may judge from the melancholy countenances of the majority of the women in Genadendaal. I left the place pleased in many things, and must certainly give these missionaries credit for their evident good-will and unwearied exertions in the civilisation of the poor natives.

The day after, we came in sight of Cape Town, from what is called Sir Lowry Cole's Pass, at the top of a mountain overlooking Simon's Bay, and the whole valley between it and Table Bay. If this were cultivated like Richmond plain, and not a desert waste as it is, the view would be surpassingly fine. You see the two bays at either end, and this immense valley of full fifty miles in extent, with Cape Town and Simon's Bay in the distance. Nothing can be more magnificent. The view of Cape Town was to us travellers almost like the sight of the shores of England again. Next day we found ourselves comfortably resting from all our fatigues and dangers, while the town was in the bustle of preparation for the reception of Sir Harry Smith, whose arrival was daily expected. Triumphal arches and happy faces met one everywhere. Never was man more popular, and never did governor better deserve it.

Before he had attained his thirteenth year, he was qualified for the appointment of registrar to the cattlemarket of Villiers le Bocage.

At seventeen, he mentioned to his father his desire to quit the paternal roof for a sphere larger and better adapted for realising the objects of his ambition. His father made no objection; but when the moment of separation came, he found himself obliged to confess that, in a time of great distress, he had expended the greater part of the savings which Richard had intrusted to his care, and that he had now not more than twelve francs (ten shillings) to give him. This communication did not discourage our enterprising youth. He took a most affectionate leave of his father, and assuring him that he was only too glad to leave him this little earnest of the prosperity which he hoped yet to work out for him, set off with his new clothes in his bag and his ten shillings in his pocket. He arrived at the chief town of Normandy with a light purse, but with as light a heart, buoyant with hope, and with a spirit of enterprise and determination that defied all difficulties. He deemed himself fortunate in at once obtaining the situation of clerk to a petty merchant; but unhappily for him, his master was a rude, ignorant, and avaricious man, incapable of appreciating such a mind as that of Richard. He made the young Norman his servant rather than his clerk. So long as it was only a matter of cleaning horses, helping to cook, and waiting at table, the youth made no complaint; but at length his master having bought a new equipage, in order to make a suitable figure in some civic ceremonial, wanted him to act as footman; but shrinking from this public exhibition, he positively refused, and quitted the house of the merchant.

And now his thought by day, his dream by night,' was to get to Paris, where he might attain his darling object of acquiring a knowledge of mercantile business. But for this money was necessary, and to procure it, Richard became a waiter at a small coffeehouse, where for one year he steadily laid by everything he received, till he found he had in halfpence a sum sufficient for his journey. Arrived in the capital, it was not very easy for a poor youth, without either friend or relative in Paris, to find the means of subsistence. After many unsuccessful efforts to get into a merchant's employment, he was obliged to resume the apron in a coffeehouse kept by one of his countrymen. The perquisites there being much more considerable than at Rouen, he found himself, at the end of the year, the possessor of forty pounds and a few shillings. Nothing could henceforth check his progress: he devoted his little store to the purchase of some pieces of English dimity, a ma

about till he disposed of all most advantageously. He renewed his stock as fast as it was exhausted; and when, after a year's labour, he summed up his accounts, he found a balance in his favour of L.1000!

FORTUNES OF A FARMER'S BOY. FRANÇOIS RICHARD was born in 1765, in the obscure little hamlet of Trelat, commune of D'Epinay, in France. He was the son of a poor farmer, who shared the hardships at that time the common lot of the agriculturist-nufacture then unknown to France, and hawked them hardships that can scarcely be conceived by those who know not what habit, patience, and, still more, Christian resignation, can enable men to endure. His early years, though passed in poverty, obscurity, and retirement, were yet full of excitement; his young and ardent Richard continued his trade till 1789, when, by a imagination was for ever devising new projects; and fraudulent trick of an agent employed by him, his ineven his sports and childish tricks betrayed his specu-dustry was suddenly checked by the loss of his whole lative turn of mind. At twelve years old, he gave him- stock. He was even arrested for an alleged debt of self up to the rearing of pigeons, and carried on a little sixty pounds. He could easily have paid this sum, and trade in them, with success sufficient to encourage and recovered his liberty; but his honest and independent stimulate his spirit of enterprise. But his dovecot mind revolted from every species of injustice: he knew gave umbrage to the lord of the soil, and he was com- that he had not incurred the debt, and he preferred repelled to sell it to him, receiving for it a sum equal to maining in prison to allowing roguery to triumph. about thirty-five shillings. Richard thought himself a rich man, and resolving to have some enjoyment from his wealth, he purchased leather shoes, which, amongst those who knew only the wooden shoe of the peasant, made him be looked upon as almost a gentleman.

Richard had nothing so much at heart as being no longer a burden to his father, whose poverty was indeed a grief to him. After the sale of his dovecot, he commenced speculating in dogs. This new trade gave him in a short time the means of procuring decent clothing; so that, by his rustic finery, he threw his schoolfellows as far into the shade as he had already done in much better things, by his progress in useful knowledge.

The revolutionary convulsions that afterwards shook society to its very foundations were now beginning in France. On the 13th of July the riot broke out, and after pillaging the house of the manufacturer Reveillon, the mob fell upon La Force, where Richard was confined, broke it open, and set the prisoners free. Once again was Richard in the streets of Paris, with a toilet somewhat more neglected than usual, and twelve sous in his pocket; but he remembered his father's twelve francs, and thanked God and took courage. The house in which he had lodged his money had stopped payment during his imprisonment; but he borrowed a few crowns, resumed his old trade of hawker, and six

months after, his credit was re-established, and his trade flourishing. He now thought he might extend his operations, and took a large establishment in the Rue Française, and in 1792 was rich enough to purchase a domain near Nemours. But the revolutionary storm now broke forth in its full fury; and Richard, whose peaceable disposition shrunk from the sanguinary struggles that rent his country, soon saw that a considerable time must elapse before there could be any security for trade, or any field for commercial enterprise. He accordingly settled his accounts, closed his warehouse, and, accompanied by his wife, Marie Alavoine, whom he had married in 1790, went to visit his father, and happily arrived at the very time that afforded him another opportunity of proving he had not forgotten the pledge he had given on leaving the home of his boyhood, of being yet the means of prosperity to his aged parent. The transports of joy at his unexpected arrival had not yet subsided, when two bailiffs entered the house with a warrant to distrain. The father had become security for the toll-collector, and the old proverb was found true in this case--the surety was obliged to pay; and the old man's goods would have been seized but for Richard's fortunate arrival and interposition. When the madness of the people was somewhat calmed down, he returned to Paris, and to fresh speculations. A very short time after his return, he became acquainted with a young merchant of the name of Lenoir-Dufresne. These two superior minds at once understood each other, and a partnership was entered into which was to end only with the death of one of the parties, so long known and respected as the firm of Richard and Lenoir.

There were many points of resemblance between the two partners. Both possessed the same acuteness and almost intuitive tact in business, but the perhaps too boldly speculative mind of Richard found a happy counterbalance in the coolness and steadiness of Lenoir. Their trade was principally in English manufactures; and so extensive did it become, and so wonderfully did it prosper, that, two years after their partnership commenced, they had realised on the L.240 which they had invested a net profit of L.4560.

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three months, constructed twenty-two of these frames and as their former premises were now too narrow for this addition, the two partners took from the government a spacious mansion in the Rue de Thougny; and the house, once the abode of luxury and wealth, was suddenly metamorphosed into the workshop of the poor but industrious artisans. The number employed now became so great, that they were soon obliged to add to their concerns a large convent in the neighbourhood. A few days after, Napoleon came to visit their establishment; and he was so struck with the completeness of the novel machinery, with the clearness of Richard's judgment, the elevation of his views, and the boldness with which he laboured for the commercial freedom of France, that he offered any encouragement he yet needed; and on finding that their establishment was not even yet large enough, he gave a grant of another convent at the opposite side of the street.

The manufactory of Richard and Lenoir now assumed an almost colossal importance, realising a monthly profit of L.1600. The indefatigable Richard set up successively three hundred spinning-jennies in different villages of Picardy, forty at Alençon, and one hundred in the Abbey of St Martin. Nor was his native province forgotten, for he opened a manufactory there which gave bread to six hundred workmen. Neither did his enlightened benevolence stop here. Incessant were his efforts to raise those in his employment in the social scale, by placing educational advantages within their reach. In an asylum which he founded for the orphan children of both sexes of those workmen who died in his employment, he not only endeavoured to inspire them with a spirit of industry, but had them taught reading, writing, arithmetic, and music; carefully providing also religious instruction. He waged open war with the spirit-shop; and in order that his workmen might not go to the public-house for recreation, he opened for their use a reading-room and a music-room.

For more than ten years, Richard and Lenoir seemed to mount from step to step to the pinnacle of human prosperity. But in 1806, a sad and unexpected event broke up a partnership which might have served as a model; so perfect was the agreement, yet so remark

the most beneficial results. Lenoir died suddenly, and Richard found himself alone at the head of the establishment; and having no one now to restrain him, he gave full scope to his gigantic views. He set up two more factories at Caen and Laigle, which made the number under his superintendence amount to six, all in admirable order, and provided with every essential for working. But one object of his ambition still remained to be attained: he wished France to be no longer obliged to import the raw material from countries that did not acknowledge her sway. In Napoleon's career of conquest, Italy had now become, as it were, but an appendage of his vast empire; and it was to the generous soil of Naples that Richard purposed confiding his cotton plantation. Seeds were often found in the bales of cotton coming from America, and these he had now carefully collected, and when he had got a sufficient quantity, he conveyed them to Castel a Mare, where they succeeded so entirely, that one year after, he brought into France, as the produce of his first crop, twenty thousand weight of raw cotton.

And now Richard conceived a noble project indeed-able the combination of opposite qualities of mind to the introduction into France of the cotton manufacture, hitherto monopolised by England; and his perseverance, aided by an apparent accident, happily obtained for him the means of accomplishing his purpose. Having ripped some calico, he perceived, to his surprise, on weighing a certain quantity of thread, that a piece valued at L.3, 6s. 8d. only took 10s. worth of the raw material! What a profit for the manufacturer! From that instant he hesitated no longer: his purpose was fixed and irrevocable. However, not wishing to do anything without his partner's consent, he communicated his project to Lenoir-Dufresne, who at first tried to dissuade him from attempting so bold and novel a plan; but seeing that his determination was not to be shaken, finally left him at full liberty, though declining any interference. Richard's first step was the purchase of one hundredweight of cotton, and to get some looms made after the rough plans given him by a poor English mechanic. They were set up in a shop in the Rue de Bellefonds. The first essay was crowned with complete success in every point but the stamping of the calicoes; and as the printing of them was indispensable to their being saleable, Richard employed three months in en- Up to this point Richard could only be regarded as deavours to discover the secret of this process; but his the most encouraging example of the union of perseverefforts were vain; till at length his partner, whose pre-ing industry with bold and enterprising genius. It is judices had been removed, and who began to take an interest in the manufacture, gave him a clue to the discovery.

The manufacture now became so sought after, as to make the want of machinery sensibly felt. Richard was anxiously devising some mode of procuring a model of the English machine now so well known under the name of spinning-jenny, when he was again fortunate enough to meet with an Englishman, who, in less than

to be regretted that he must serve also as warning against speculations that now took the character of rashness. The union between Holland and France threw an immense quantity of cotton goods into the market, and Richard could no longer find sale for what he had on hands; and with six factories perpetually at work, the quantity manufactured was very great. This was the origin of his first difficulties. Vainly did his friends urge him to close some of his establish

ments for a short time; vainly did his confidential clerk intreat him to strike a balance, and retire from trade:You have done enough for France, and nobly maintained your reputation; think now of your interests, and of taking the rest you have so well earned.' Richard was deaf to every argument, and continued manufacturing in ruinous quantities.

His involvements increased to an overwhelming degree, and he was obliged to have recourse to the Emperor, to whom he frankly stated his situation. Napoleon, who had ever respected him, and had but very lately conferred upon him the cross of the Legion of Honour, did not keep him long in suspense; and a loan of fifteen hundred thousand francs enabled him to meet the immediate demands upon him. But the great cause of the evil still remained, and Richard at length thought of adopting the manufacture of wool instead of that of cotton. This new undertaking succeeded at first, and was attended with considerable profits; but soon fresh disaster occurred; and when the year 1813 arrived, so pregnant with reverse of fortune to the Emperor, ruin was impending over the enterprising manufacturer.

But personal anxieties were not suffered to make him indifferent to the fate of his fellow-citizens. When in the defence of Paris against the enemy's troops a number of men had been wounded and conveyed to hospital, Richard, in visiting them, saw that they were lying on the bare ground. He immediately supplied, at his own expense, eight hundred straw-beds, and employed the boiler of his bleach house at Bon Secours to make broth, daily carried to them by his servants and clerks, who attended on them in the hospitals. We need scarcely say that this heavy expense was incurred without either expectation or desire of indemnification.

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And now the troops of the allied sovereigns took possession of Paris, entering it on the 31st of March. Richard, though greatly attached to Bonaparte, from his kindness to himself personally, and therefore deeply grieved at his fallen fortunes, yet saw clearly that the fate of thousands of his dependents was involved in protection being extended to his manufactories by the restored Bourbons, and therefore he did not refuse to head the legion he commanded, when it was ordered out to receive the Count d'Artois at the barriers. But any hopes he might have entertained of their patronage were fallacious. The exhausted state of the public finances at the restoration, besides many other reasons, compelled the Bourbons to yield to the demand of England, that the duty upon cotton should be altogether taken off. The bill to that effect, which was passed without any clause of indemnity to the present holders of stock, found Richard with a fortune of eight millions, and rendered him poorer than when he first left his native village.

Even in this extremity, Richard, supported by his perseverance and fortitude, did not despair. He resolved to hold on, though now less to maintain his commercial reputation, than not to plunge into utter destitution the twenty thousand workmen in his employment. But he had soon exhausted all his own resources, and he was obliged to have recourse to loans, for which so high an interest was exacted, that in a little time his ruin was complete. He at length retreated from his struggle with adverse circumstances, almost pennyless, yet respected and esteemed by his fellow-citizens. But the change from almost incessant activity, to a life which seemed to him now without an object, was too sudden and too great. He had now to struggle with all the privations of poverty; and the bent and furrowed brow, once so clear, so open-the pale, melancholy features, once so animated-proved how utterly this blow had prostrated all the energy of his character. It was not till October 1839, nearly twenty years after the ruin of his fortunes, that death put a period to his mental suffering. His remains were followed to the grave by a numerous assemblage of those very workmen to whom he had been not merely a patron, but a father; and many were their tears of heartfelt sorrow.

LIFE'S JOURNEY.

BY CALDER CAMPBELL.

IT were a happy thing to dwell
On expectations merely,
Without one fear to quench or quell
Desires we nurse so dearly;
And looking aye on pleasant things,
And seeing still beyond them
Skies brighter far than even these are,
With bright waves to respond them.
But, well-a-day! 'tis only youth

That waiteth thus, undreading
The shock of time, the death of truth
Beneath the false world's treading;
For there is that within the mind
Which warns us not too boldly
To look before, nor yet behind,
Where cold ghosts gibber coldly.
The eye, which for an instant takes
Rose-visions from the future,
Beholding there all that is fair,

Finds Reason soon to tutor

And teach it all, that glows so bright
Is born of the ideal,

While o'er the prospect gloomy night
Brings darkness dense and real.

We cannot tread the smallest space
Without Hope's help to cheer us;
But we should look Toil in the face,
Nor faint to find it near us;
Nor in our need too largely draw

From Expectation's fountain:
Alas for him who fails in limb

When half way up the mountain!
Hope not too much-nor yet despair

By backward looks, that weaken
Those energies which make us bear
The burdens we have taken:
The memory of the past should be
A thing to nerve, not scare us—
Our hopes no flimsy phantasy,

But staff to onward bear us!
Time, as it flies, upon its wings

Takes joys as well as sorrows:
The rose that dies, in dying flings
Faint perfumes for to-morrows;
But though the fragrance of the past
May rise like incense o'er us,
Let's hail it as a welcome cast

By flower-beds on before us!

Then do thy task-thy journey go-
Nor waste thy time lamenting
For misspent hours, whose memories show
But grounds for sad repenting:
Welcome the waves that come to take
Our steps from deserts lonely!
The surge which bears away the past,
Brings back its memory only!

HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTIONS.

THE first volume, price 2s. 6d. cloth boards, is now issued. The work will be completed in three volumes; and will comprehend an account of the First Revolution in 1789, the Consulate and Empire under Napoleon, the Restoration, the Revolution of 1830, the Reign of Louis Philippe, and the Revolution of 1848.

W. and R. CHAMBERS, Edinburgh; and sold by all Booksellers.

Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, High Street, Edinburgh. Also

sold by D. CHAMBERS, 98 Miller Street, Glasgow; W. S. One, 147 Strand, London; and J. M'GLASHAN, 21 D'Olier Street, Dublin.-Printed by W. and R. CHAMBERS, Edinburgh.

EDINBURGH

JOURNA

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,' 'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c.

No. 245. NEW SERIES.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 1848.

THE STRUGGLES OF PRINCIPLE. We have to picture in the mind one of those long and straight roads in Germany, so long and straight, as almost to seem interminable, lined as usual with apple and walnut-trees, and which, unrelieved by any moving object, basks in saddening silence under a burning sun. While gazing on the scene, a living creature at length appears at first a speck on the horizon, it increases as it approaches, and we perceive it is a man, dressed in the blouse of the country, and who, from the long hammer which he carries in his arm, is seen to be a cantonnier, or road-mender of the district. Let us follow his motions, and trace his humble history; for it is the history of a struggle with principle-a conflict of the heartand may afford us some material for reflection.

Stephen, as our hero is called, has been on his way to his daily labour, and now reaches a large heap of stones. He involuntarily lifts his cap, as a kind of salutation to his daily work. He now ties on his wooden shoe, and sets hard to work, for out of the stones comes his bread, scanty though it be.

For two good hours Stephen has worked thus, seldom allowing himself a moment's rest to take breath. Now he stops; lays the pad upon the heap of stones; fills himself a pipe, as a reward for his toil; pulls on a wadded glove, and sitting down, falls to hammering away at the stones. As it strikes eleven, a barefooted boy comes up from the village with a jug well wrapt in a coarse cloth; he brings a large hunch of bread and a jug of warm soup to his father, who eats it with a right good appetite, and works on again until nightfall; then he shoulders his hammer, takes up his pad and his wooden shoe, and goes his way home.

Stephen lives in a small cottage just off the high road; his little girl, of three years old, is standing behind the casement, and exclaims, Here comes father!' And with a shout she runs to meet him.

Leading his child by the hand, Stephen enters the kitchen, and with a silent nod to his wife, who is busy on the hearth, he goes into the sitting-room, takes his little girl up in his arms, and casts a look at the cradle, where a little boy lies stuffing a corner of the blanket into his mouth, and kicking out his feet at his father. Then Stephen goes into the little room beyond, and asks, How are you, granny ?'

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A voice answers, in a whining tone, Ah, deary, the children are all so wild and noisy, and Peter has run off with my beans. I'll tell his master when I get about again, and can go to school!'-granny, be it known, having become childish in her old age, and acquired an impression that she was once more a girl at school. Her sole amusement consisted in tossing up beans, and catching them on the backs of her fingers, as school-girls are in the habit of doing when at play,

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and of repeating hymns out of a hymn-book, that she might receive the approbation of her imaginary teacher. 'I have brought you some more beans, my good mother,' said Stephen in reply to granny's observation. 'Ay, ay, fine long brown beans, and some round white ones too-eh?'

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Both,' said Stephen; and he went back into the kitchen.

Why did not Stephen remain to talk with poor granny? He was hungry, and out of humour. Disinclined for conversation, he seated himself behind the table, under a large framed picture, to which a big seal was affixed, and sat waiting till the candle and supper came.

The supper was so long in coming, that Stephen rose and fetched himself a candle; and now we can see what the large framed picture is all about. It is nothing more nor less than the certificate of merit given to Stephen Huber on his leaving the army, after having served eleven years in the fifth regiment. The ink has turned brown, the arms upon the seal are almost all chipped off, and the flies are going through their last autumn manœuvre upon the smooth pane of glass.

There sits Stephen staring into the candle; the child, too, upon his knee sits quiet, and with a fixed look, as if lost in thought like her father; for he sees nothing that is going on around him-his past life shifts before him like a dream.

A joyous day was that when he entered the army; no father or mother wept at parting from him; he had been early left an orphan. From the service of one master he passed into the regiment, where all served like him. Years flew by, he knew not how, and when the appointed term of his service expired, he enlisted again for five years more.

In the course of the last few years he had made the acquaintance of his Margaret. Many comrades as he had in the barracks, Stephen now for the first time seemed to belong to some one in the world. Now came days full of joy and full of sorrow; for his soldier's life grew burdensome to Stephen, and after another year of faithful service, he asked for his dismissal. Then he married Margaret, and went to live with her and her mother on a small property they possessed; his own small savings helping to begin housekeeping creditably.

During his service in the army Stephen had grown a stranger to village life, he had been so long accustomed to wear gloves; but hard labour soon tanned the skin upon his hands, and formed a glove which he could not pull off. All work was at first distasteful to him; and yet this would not have mattered much, for a man in good health soon accustoms himself to anything. But another sad consequence had resulted from his past life: Stephen had lost the habit of providing for himself.

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