presented him to Charles II., who gave him a most Hattering reception, ordered a clavecin to be brought near the royal circle, at which Froberger took his seat, and for an hour enchained the attention and excited the admiration of the king and court by the originality, spirit, and variety of his improvisations, and his perfect mastery over the instrument. The king was so delighted, that he took a gold chain from his own neck, and placed it round that of the musician. From that moment the career of Froberger was one of unmingled and increasing prosperity. He was the favourite of the settle down somewhere on the coast of the Pacific. A STORY OF MODERN ROME. court and the nobility, and continued for many years SOME years ago there dwelt in Rome a baker called Without reflecting for a moment on the absurdity of to enjoy his well-deserved honours. THE LIFE OF A KING SAVED BY A STAGE WHISPER. Tomaso Paffalto, who had a daughter, an only child, This feat was accomplished by Elizabeth Kaiser, a celebrated German cantatrice of the earlier half of the eighteenth century, who was alike remarkable for her vocal talents, her beauty, and the numerous progeny to whom she gave birth. At the early age of fifteen years, she made her debut with the As may easily be supposed from these premises, the most brilliant success at the principal theatre at young fornarina, or bakeress, had plenty admirers, and Dresden, shortly after which she married Charles could have commanded a match considerably above Kaiser, to whom she bore twenty-three children, four the station in which she professionally moved. Among couple of whom were twins. After furnishing this the host of youngsters who sighed in vain for the hand large number of subjects to the state of Saxony, she of the fair Lucia, was Giachimo, who had for many quitted that country, and went to reside at Stock-years been in the service of Tomaso; and though of holm, where she became mistress to Frederic, King daring disposition, felt that he stood at too great a of Sweden. In the opera-house, during a represen- distance below the object of his attachment to make tation at which his majesty was present, a quantity his feelings distinctly known. Not that he did not of scenery and machinery at the bottom of the stage get many a smile and a kind look from her, but the took fire, and the flames burst forth so rapidly, as fornarina bestowed smiles and kind looks upon all men; to set at defiance all the efforts made to extinguish and this Glachimo knew, and daily saw, and he had it, even before the accident became known to the therefore discretion enough left to build no castles on audience. Elizabeth Kaiser, who was playing her such shadowy foundations. Besides, Giachimo's situpart on the stage, became aware of the fatal occur- ation was a very humble one; he was but a jourrence; but, without showing any signs of alarm, she neyman; and having no friends that he knew of in approached, without, apparently, any particular inten- the world likely to give him any assistance, he had tion, the royal box, and, in an under tone of voice, said little prospect of mending his position. Added to all to the king, "Fly for your life; the theatre is on this, the fair Lucia, as he learned, was on the eve of fire." The king fortunately caught her words, and matrimony with Pietro Botta, a husband selected for immediately, but not in a precipitate manner, quitted her by her father. Tomaso had for some time found his box. As soon as Elizabeth Kaiser thought that himself getting old and very fat; and his wife having her royal lover was in safety, she gave the alarm to been long dead, he began to feel the charge of watching the audience by crying out, "Fire!" She then rushed over his beautiful daughter a little irksome. Besides, to her own dressing-room, and after letting down he could not help sometimes reflecting seriously on from a not very high window her son, a child of four what might be her fate were he to die and leave her years of age, she jumped after him herself. unmarried. It is true her conduct had hitherto been quite blameless; nor had she ever even evinced the slightest preference for any one of her admirers-a singularity which might either arise from a natural coldness of temperament, or from having her attention distracted by so great a number of danglers; also from there being no leisure nor opportunity left for any individual to acquire an influence, or stamp an impression deep enough to be lasting. EMIGRATION FROM MISSOURI TO THAT extraordinary spirit of enterprise which ani- "Resolved, that our object in going there is that of peace and good will towards the people and government of California; and our principal inducement for emigrating to that country is, that we believe it, from the best information we have been able to procure, to be more congenial to our interests and enjoyment than that of our present location. That this company wishes to co-operate with all others that may design to emigrate to California the ensuing spring; it is recommended that all companies and individuals intending to so emigrate, rendezvous at the Sappling Grove, on the old Santa Fé route, about nine miles west of the Missouri State line, against the 10th of May next, in which time and place they request the concurrence of all other companies and individuals. That, inasmuch as other companies are expected to join them, the election of the officers to conduct the expedition be deferred till the general rendezvous. That all persons, either single or having families, shall be provided with a sufficiency of provisions and other necessaries to ensure them against want, till they reach the Buffalo region at least, which shall be determined at the general rendezvous. ral rendezvous. With respect to the second clause of the agreement, Tomaso was actuated by no romantic generosity, but by a calculating spirit of foresight. Ile knew very well that his daughter was his real property, and that the shop and oven were merely accidents attached to her, and which, with the whole train of customers, would follow wherever she went. So he transferred the entire concern to the bridegroom, merely stipulating for a liferent for himself out of the proceeds, sufficient to maintain his declining years in ease and leisure. The marriage accordingly took place with the usual festivities, and all parties seem to have been pleased on the occasion, except the forlorn Giachimo, who, resisting all offers to be continued in his situation, as well as all the kind remonstrances of his brother journeyman, Guiseppe, resolved to depart for Rome, and visit the scenes of his infancy in a distant part of the country. With respect to the progress of events for a few months after the marriage, they require no particular detail; and it is only necessary to say, that La Bella Fornarina, now La Signora Botta, who, as formerly, acted shop-mistress, continued to attract purchasers to the establishment over which she so elegantly presided. a private correspondence by means of letters with a worthless intimate of the family, named Paolo Peverino, who one day seated himself in the window of a certain coffee-house to watch for the approach of the usual and humble bearer of the furtive epistles, namely, the lad whose duty was to supply his master's customers with bread. By a singular coincidence, Giachimo, who had in the mean time returned to Rome, seated himself in the same coffee-house; and when he saw his old acquaintance approaching, and obviously desirous of delivering a letter, he imagined it was a communication sent to him from Guiseppe. the supposition that Guiseppe knew of his arrival, and before the boy had got well past the window of the coffee-house, he had started from his seat, rushed into the street, and was just on the point of hailing him and seizing the letter, when he saw the important paper snatched by another hand, and felt himself at the same moment grasped firmly by the collar; whilst the boy, amazed and terrified, dropping his load, took suddenly to his heels, and rushing through the street without even turning to look behind him, never stopped till he had crossed the Bridge of St Angelo, and had taken refuge in the house of a friend on the other side of the river. Indeed, he had good reason to be frightened, for the assailant was no other than Pietro Botta himself, who, having had his suspicions awakened, had followed the lad out of the house, and, by a coup-de-main, had thus possessed himself of the letter, and seized, as he supposed, the person to whom it was addressed, being, unfortunately for Giachimo, in too great a rage to wait till he had ascertained the fact by referring to the superscription. Both under the influence of excessive irritation, the husband from jealousy, and Giachimo from the assault and hatred of the assailant, a violent altercation ensued, wherein free use was made of their tongues, but none of their hands; for they were each unarmed, and Italians rarely strike with their fists. In the course of this war of words, many threats of ulterior vengeance were thrown out by both parties; and when at length, having pretty well exhausted their vocabulary of abuse, they parted, it was with a mutual declaration that the quarrel, far from ending there, could only be terminated by a final consummation that each was warned he might speedily look for; and accord ingly the bystanders entertained very little doubt that one or the other of them, before many days had elapsed, would be dispatched either by the dagger of his adversary, or by the weapon of a hired assassin. Amongst the witnesses to this scene was Paolo Peverino, who, not knowing who Giachimo was, nor understanding the source of his attempt to possess himself of the letter, did not very well comprehend it. He naturally supposed that the stranger was a rival, and therefore, whilst he earnestly hoped that Giachimo would fulfil his threats with respect to Pietro, he felt very desirous that Pietro should have an opportunity of returning the compliment. The most urgent point, however, for him to attend to at the moment was his own safety; for, as he had not obtained a view of the letter, he could not be certain whether there was any thing either in it or on it indicating to whom it was addressed. He therefore hastily quitted the spot, and proceeded to his own lodg ings, where, having clothed himself in female attire, being always provided with such disguises in case of emergency, he thought he might venture an attempt to communicate to the attendant of the fornarina what had happened, and endeavour to obtain some information with respect to the appearance of the mysterious stranger, and the amount of his own peril. With a dagger concealed about his person in case of danger, he sallied forth, and proceeding cautiously along the Strada del Bobbino towards the Strada del Croce, he approached the baker's shop. It was now night, and the lower windows were closed; but he descried a light in a room above, which he knew to be the one occupied by the fair Lucia. Whilst he was looking up, and wondering whether she was alone, and considering how he could attract her attention to his presence, the door opened, and Pietro Botta himself stepped out; and having locked it behind him, turned down the street and walked away. What was the amount of information derived by Paolo at the house of the baker, it is of little consequence to speculate upon, and it will suffice to say, that he departed under the impression that Botta, believing that his attentions were insidiously directed towards his wife, sought to do him a mortal injury. Oppressed with heavy Matters, however, did not go on so smoothly with thoughts, he betook himself on his way homeward. Let the married pair, as the father, in his fond anticipa- us now leave him, and see how Giachimo had in the tions, had expected. In short, the plain and some- meanwhile employed himself. As soon as he had freed what gruff Pietro was any thing but an agreeable himself from Pietro's grasp at the door of the coffeepartner; and Lucia, on her part, took small pains to house, under the influence of rage he flew to the nearest conceal how little affection she felt towards one whom armourer he knew of, and provided himself with the she was legally bound both to love and obey. The means of fulfilling his threat against his detested assailant. At that time, however, it was yet daylight; the very eyes of the jealous Pietro with various indi- and Pietro having, luckily for himself, gone home in viduals of noble lineage, but, like the greater part of the interval, the adversaries did not meet while their the higher order of Romans, men of profligate cha-wrath was upon them; and as Giachimo's spirit was racter, added another cause of offence; the lady, out by no means an implacable one, by the time he had of pique, seeming to take a kind of wicked pleasure in called on a friend or two, and looked out a lodging for vexing her husband on this tender point. The catas the night, his anger had completely subsided. trophe which followed was altogether so remarkable, that it is necessary to prepare the mind of the reader by saying that it was an actual occurrence. That no persons shall be permitted to take any spirituous liquors, except for medical purposes, and this shall be determined by the company at the gene-imprudent conduct of the young wife, in flirting before That a cannon having been presented to the company, and thankfully accepted, Mr A. Overton be selected to have it properly equipped and supplied with ammunition, at the expense of the company. That Marsh's route is believed to be the best by which to cross the mountains." As nothing has been heard to the contrary, it may be supposed that this daring band of emigrants, like a swarm from the parent hive, is now on its way through the defiles of the Rocky Mountains, and will speedily Signora Botta's waiting-maid was a much less conscientious personage than her mistress, and carried on It was night; and, pondering on what was past and what was to come, and keeping in the middle of the dark street, from the recollection that he had an enemy in the city, Giachimo was stepping cautiously along, when, just as he reached the end of the Vicolo dei Greci, a woman, running at full speed, came in violent contact with his person, and nearly upset both him and herself. She, however, recovered her equilibrium, and, without pausing to apologise, rushed forwards; whilst he, after stopping a moment to look after her, moved on the way he was going. But he had not advanced many yards, when curiosity induced him again to turn his head in the direction in which he still heard her receding steps, and at that moment, whilst he was walking blindly forwards, he stumbled over something on the ground, and fell. That it was a human body that had arrested his steps, it needed no light to tell him ; but whose it was, he might not so soon have discovered, had not the words "Accursed woman!" which broke from the lips of the dying man, told him too truly that the victim was no other than Pietro Botta himself. In an instant the whole extent of his own danger rushed upon his mind; and leaving his hat behind him, which had fallen from his head when he stumbled, terror lending wings to his feet, he fled. But, alas! he was not fated to escape so easily. He had not proceeded far, when, as ill fortune would have it, he ran right against the horse of the commander of a troop of carabineers, who happened just then to be going their rounds. "Seize that fellow !" cried the sergeant, irritated by the unpleasant shock which had nearly unhorsed him. "I swear before heaven I did not do it!" cried Giachimo. "It was not I that murdered the man! Ask him yourselves! For the sake of the blessed Virgin, let me go! I call all the saints to witness that I had no hand in it!" of the case, took an opportunity of visiting Paolo's lodgings in his absence, where they found, amongst many other disguises, a suit of female attire, corresponding exactly with that which the waiting-maid and her mistress had described Peverino as wearing on the night of the murder. Moreover, the garment was stained with blood; and, above all, in the pocket of it was found the fatal letter which Pietro had, in evil hour, snatched from the boy, in presence of Giachimo, and which the fornarina swore to her husband's having had about him when he left her, after their last sad interview. Paolo was seized, condemned, and executed; his intriguing correspondent was dismissed from the service of her mistress; whilst the love and sufferings of the faithful Giachimo found their due reward in the hand of the beautiful fornarina, who, under the more judicious management of an affectionate and reasonable husband, became a prudent woman and an exemplary wife. IRISH WAITERS. [From the Seventh Part of Mr and Mrs Hall's work on Ireland. We hear with pleasure, but without any surprise, that this work is meeting with an extraordinary share of success, the sale having reached seven thousand copies.] THE word "waiter" in England suggests a well-dressed, well-behaved, orderly man, with a napkin under his arm, and a bill, either of fare or for payment, in his hand. He is a person of importance, because he ministers to our comforts, and is neither active nor civil beyond the activity and civility he is in duty bound to exhibit to each guest, according to the said guest's station, which he imagines-or rather (for an English waiter does not indulge in imagination) which he knows he can ascertain at once. His bow is conse It may be easily conceived that this sort of address, together with his wild and agitated deportment, was not very likely to obtain his liberty; on the contrary, he was secured, and desired to conduct them to the body of the man he spoke of, which he forthwith did,quently very low to a coach-and-four, while he merely protesting his innocence, and calling on the Virgin and all the saints to justify him, as he went along. But neither those he invoked, nor any one else, appeared to answer his appeal; and his hat being found upon the spot, and a dagger about his person, which, by the laws of Rome, it is penal to carry, the proofs of his guilt were considered sufficiently decisive to authorise his seizure and committal; and it may be easily conceived, that, when on his trial, which immediately followed, the witnesses of the scene at the coffee-house came forward and swore to the quarrel, and the armourer to the subsequent purchase of the dagger, no shade of doubt disturbed the minds of his judges. There was but one circumstance in his favour, which was, that the dagger he carried was not stained with blood, and that the one which occasioned Pietro's death was found sticking in his body. But Giachimo might have provided himself with two; at all events, this single circumstance in his favour was not considered sufficiently weighty to overbalance the strong evidence against him. He was pronounced guilty, and condemned to death. inclines his head to the commercial traveller. He is obsequious to the drinkers of champagne and claret, but hardly nods to the order of a pint of sherry. In Ireland, waiters are altogether a different set of beings lively and erratic, shrewd and observing; anxious, according to human nature, to get the most they can, and yet, in accordance with Irish nature, willing to give all they can in exchange. An Irishman may be a knave, but he is seldom a miser-he has nothing but time and attention to give, and he gladly bestows both. The Irish waiter, except at first-rate hotels, is never well dressed, and is always too familiar to be considered "well-behaved." An Irish waiter does many things which an English waiter never thinks of; but his grand occupation is finding out the business of his master's customers. Well, is there any chance of the weather changing?" "I'm sorry it's not pleasing to you, ma'am, but we've the best weather in all Ireland." "The finest eggs 66 "These eggs are done too much." in all Ireland, ma'am ; but I'll make an alteration in them." "Is your mutton_good?" "The best in all Ireland." "And your cook?" "The best in all Ireland." The mutton, however, was so very underdone, that we pointed it out to our good-natured waiter. Yes, sir-I see, ma'am; the mutton in these parts, as I tould yer honours, is the best in all Ireland; and so juicy, that it's the natur of it-that's it-it's the juiciness of the mutton makes it so. I give ye my honour it's that-ye understand-the quality of the meat, nothing else the goodness of it; but maybe ye'd like the cook to take some of that out of it-I see-she'll do so in five minutes-the finest cook in all Ireland;" and he bore off the mutton as triumphantly as if we had chimed in with his praise. It returned to us after the cutlet fashion. He exclaimed, while laying the dish on the table, with the invariable flourish, "I tould yer honours-the finest cook in all Ireland-two ways, ay, tin ways, with the same thing-it goes down one thing, and comes up another. Ay, faith, the lady would never forget it if she saw her toss a pancake: she'll send it up the chimney out of sight, and down it'll come finished-all but the aiting." At Killarney the waiter was a spruce elderly man, clean, active, and most elaborately dressed, with care, attention, and, above all, good nature enough to furnish half-a-dozen of his class in England. No matter what you required done or procured, he anticipated your wishes. When we were removing our note and sketch books, we also took our own paper-knives, leaving two of arbutus wood upon the table that did not belong to us. The waiter observed it, and with more good-nature than ceremony thrust them between the leaves. "Oh then, sure, sir-sure, madam, you're not going to lave Killarney without something to remimber it—you'd hurt the feelings of the house if you'd scorn such thirifles." We found at Roundwood (the rendezvous of tourists in the county of Wicklow, and long celebrated for the whims and peculiarities of its "Judy" lately deceased) a civil but common-place waiter; and, unfortunately, civil well-conducted persons are much more agreeable to meet on the highways of life than upon paper; but to make up for the waiter's want of national character, there stood by our horses' head-a blind ostler! Without being aware how heavy an affliction had been laid upon him, we asked him if the day was likely to continue fine; he turned his face towards the wind, and then we perceived that he was indeed quite blind; his face was peculiar, long and sallow, with that touching expression of melancholy, utterly without fretfulness or complaint, which commands sympathy; he said the day would be "fine, but showery:" the whiteness of his shirt, the cleanliness of his well-mended clothes, the poor fellow's appearance altogether, won our attendity, and we afterwards learned that he performed the office of ostler and "boots" to perfection, and, what was singular, never mistook horses, harness, or even mispaired the shoes he cleaned. When his work was done, and sometimes it was not finished until past midnight, he would set out alone to his cottage, upwards of a mile (an old Irish mile) from Roundwood. He married, we were told, one of the prettiest girls in the county, who preferred her blind lover to all others, and has had no reason to repent her choice, for he is sober and industrious, and she is careful and thrifty. All was ready; the priest had listened to his earnest asseverations of innocence, and was in the act of giving him his last exhortation and blessing before he ascended the scaffold, when the sound of horses' feet going, and what you are going about. He is free, yet tion. He unharnessed the horse with ease and rapi approaching at full speed, and the echo of many voices, drew the attention of the crowd, and arrested the proceedings of the officials. The republican army of France was advancing on the city; and "The French! the French are at hand!" was the astounding cry "in another hour they will be at the gates !" Who could stop to think of beheading Giachimo at such a moment? Some ran one way, some another; whilst he was dragged back to his prison, permitted to retain his life till a more convenient opportunity offered for taking it away. The history of the French occupation does not concern us further than as it regarded Giachimo; and it therefore suffices to say, that as soon as the invaders had established their sway, and arranged their more urgent affairs, the French magistrates ordered a revision of all the unexecuted sentences, and that such as were confirmed should be forthwith carried into effect; and amongst those that were looked upon as admitting of no question, was this of Giachimo's, who was, therefore, a second time ordered for immediate execution. But, in the interim betwixt the last day of execution and the one now appointed, Giachimo had found friends, who, though with little means, had every desire to serve him. Pending the confusion that reigned in the city during the early days of the invasion, the prisons were less strictly guarded than they had been; and the fornarina, by the aid of her purse, and her beauty's persuasive eloquence, had contrived to obtain an interview with the prisoner, and had not only satisfied herself of his innocence, but was also equally assured of Paolo's guilt; the circumstance of the woman that Giachimo had encountered just before he stumbled over the body, bringing conviction to her mind on the subject. Her strong suspicions were confirmed by her assistant Guiseppe, who, on being shown the dagger that had been the instrument of murdering his unfortunate master, declared that he had frequently seen it in the possession of Paolo. This confirmation of other circumstances appeared to them sufficiently important to authorise their communicating their suspicions to the authorities; who having, by due interrogation, extracted the principal features He is both lazy and active-lazy at his work, and active at his amusements: he will cheat you in a bargain, but he will not rob you; he is almost invariably good-humoured, and as cunning as a fox: from the moment you enter his master's house, he considers you somewhat in the light of his own property; he turns over your luggage until he has discovered your name, and ten chances to one but he manages, before you have been half an hour in the house, to find out, in the most ingenious manner, whence you came, whither you are respectful; "familiar, but by no means vulgar." "I beg yer pardon, ma'am, but there's a cruel draught in that window; stay till I move the chair, and sure I'd rather that the gentleman should catch a salmon than your honour catch cold in Lismore." Indeed, the waiter at Lismore was a rare specimen of his class: he was a stout, sailor-like fellow, with sandy hair and eyes; keen and vigilant where there was any chance of bustle or excitement, but idle enough where only his regular work was to be attended to: he would race half over the town to seek for an angler, a fishingrod or fly, a picturesque beggar, or a piper; but make you wait as long as he pleased the brushing of a cloak or the laying of a cloth. He looked upon us as mere English, and had commenced a set of interrogatories after his own fashion, such as “I hope it was by the Blackwater ye came-sure the likes of you ought to see the country, and it's more than a day or two or three ye'll be for staying here, I'll engage." At another inn, the waiter was an old "knowing"looking fellow, with a sinister expression, not at all Irish, but which he doubtless had acquired in the Spanish "Lageon," from which he told us he was a "returned officer." He was one of the old class who considered your religious faith a clue to your opinions. Something we said about not boating on Sunday, coupled with the possession of a Protestant prayerbook and a letter of introduction to the rector of a neighbouring parish, who unfortunately was from home, led him to the belief that we were "black Protestants;" and when we asked some questions about schools, he said, with a Burleigh shake of the head, "that it was a benighted place intirely-nothing but a national school in the chapel-yard-that, indeed, his people were all Protestants," &c. Circumstances combined to unsettle his opinion; and after a day or two he had arrived at the conclusion that we were of " the right sort." On expressing our belief that the place where so many scholars went to school could not be, as he said it was, "benighted," he made answer, "Oh, sure ye misunderstud me-I meant the place was benighted once;" and on our taxing him with endeavouring to mislead us touching his religious creed, "My people," he exclaimed triumphantly, "only my people, the Lord be praised!" Irish waiters used to be proverbial for their fondness for whisky, but that has been banished by the Temperance Societies. We remember one-but in his extreme old age-Tom Lavery, at a half publichouse, half hotel, frequented, in the days of our fathers and grandfathers, by gentlemen who thought it necessary to make their wills before they started for Dublin, for in those times they travelled on horseback. Tom never considered it necessary to offer an apology for being tipsy after dinner. "I am every thing a gentleman can desire," he would exclaim, when staggering about; "no one can say, Tom Lavery, you take your morning-Tom wants no morning-Tom scorns to touch sperits until any gentleman may take his glass-Tom Lavery is as sober as e'er a judge in the land-ought to be." Tom was a regular "afadavid" man to his employer: whatever he would say, Tom would depose to, professing himself ready to make oath that the "post chay" in their yard would go as aisy on three wheels as on four, and that there wern't such illegant cattle for blood and bone in the counthry whin their blood was up, and they warmed on the road. Very often, he would don a jacket and jackboots, twist a wisp of hay into a saddle, and act postboy. Neddy Kelly was another of the old school of waiters, who "tended upon the quality" in the only inn at a seaside-town, it chose to be called, much frequented in those days by bathers-in the season-and by sailors and smugglers both in it and out of it. Neddy was a free and easy good-humoured cunning old fellow, treated with kindness and familiarity by those who frequented the house; he never hesitated giving his 66 appear to a native ! he cannot obtain as much assistance from the whole as to keep him and his poor daughter from being a parish charge. Most of them, it seems, have large families, and consider themselves unable to afford him sufficient support. But in this case, we would be inclined to think that it is a want of disposition, more than inability, in the children to assist their old father. There are some relatives, however, who conceal the assistance they afford their pauper connexions, lest it should occasion the authorities to reduce their allowance; and perhaps it is possibility support two invalids, and they are not known so in this instance, for 2s. 6d. a-week could not by any to ask alms. old widow above eighty, burdened with a diseased and The last family that has this allowance consists of an imbecile son, and a grand-daughter of weak intellect. This poor woman has brought up a large family of sons and daughters, and affords a melancholy instance of the ingratitude and undutifulness which children too frequently show to their helpless and aged parents. Of all her children, there is not one to give the poor mother the smallest assistance in her present destitute condition. One fortunate and dutiful son she has in America, who, hearing of her situation, sent home L.20 to take her out to him. This sum was uplifted and appropriated by a brother at home, who gives her only undutiful usage in return. She told the writer of this paper, a few days ago, he had sent it her without the knowledge, and against that she had received a shilling from a son-in-law, but that the will, of his wife! It is only justice to the kirk-session to state, that they are using means to recover her money, and that they likewise afford her occasional relief besides her regular allowance; yet, notwithstanding this, and the kindness of individuals, she is often in a state of extreme privation. opinion, whether it was asked or not. One day an baronial castle, the modern country-seat, the farmer's seventy, and has sustained a shock of palsy, which has English gentleman was dining with two Irish ones, humble domicile, and the peasant's lowly cot, at in- quite enfeebled his constitution. The daughter has been and not having been informed of Neddy's habit, tervals meet the eye. On the north, it is terminated long afflicted with a painful chronic disease. This man when he ordered" anchovy or soy," to relish what by rising grounds, mostly arable, with the exception bestowed upon them rather a superior education for his has brought up a large family of sons and daughters, and Neddy termed "a rattling rake," he could hardly be- of one or two little hills, of beautiful green sheep-circumstances. Some of them are respectable tradesmen, lieve the evidence of his senses as the waiter, without walks, which afford an agreeable contrast with the and others in good service; and it is painful to think that moving from the lounging position he had assumed tastefully enclosed and well-cultivated vale below. against the sideboard, replied, “They're not whole- The east and west boundaries of the parish are less some, plaise yer honour !" " Whether or not, my good distinctly marked; in some places a stream, and in fellow," exclaimed the gentleman, "I must trouble you others a ridge or rising ground, forms the line of for one or the other." "Oh! it's no throuble in life, sir; demarcation. A village of considerable magnitude and even if it was, I'm sure the whole counthry knows occupies the centre of the parish, and, as the haunt of that Neddy Kelly has been too long in this establish- busy men, gives an additional interest to the surment to mind throuble. I know my duty, I hope, rounding district, seeing that it is in connexion with yer honour; but as to them furrin things, we've too human beings that the beauty and fertility of the grate a regard for the health-the constitutions, sir, of district are alone appreciable. To the eye of a our customers, to pisin thim with any thing worse than stranger, it might seem as if nature had intended this melted butter, a drop of oil, or a thrifle of pepper: as little Arcadian region for the abode of health, abunto salt, why, the best thing a gintleman can do is to dance, happiness, and tranquillity; and he might be plaise himself." "Oh," said the Englishman, with ready to ask, on contemplating the rich and fair promuch good humour, "then I suppose you are a ply-spect it affords, if indigence and disease, crime and sician" "I'd be long sorry, sir, for living here, I'd its concomitant misery, had ever found their way into have no practice." When the party had arrived, de- its dwellings. Alas, how strange would the inquiry pending on this same waiter's assurance that there was every thing in the house they'd plaise to think of," in addition to the "chickens and bacon," which the Irish gentleman knew could always be obtained of excellent quality, the Englishman had suggested the addition of lamb-chops to complete their dinner. The chickens and bacon, with a dish of potatoes, "laughing," as Neddy said, " ready to break their hearts," made their appearance, but there were no lamb-chops. They were immediately inquired after. "Oh," said the waiter, "the quality runs entirely on chickens and bacon." "But you said you had lamb, and I ordered it," was the Englishman's cool reply. "And I said the truth, sir," answered the unabashed Neddy. "I said we had lambs, let alone lamb, and thought it mighty kind of yer honour to inquire; and, sure, there they are, if ye'll be satisfied to look out of the windy; little waggle-tail, innocent craythurs! sure it was mighty lucky of the old ewe to give us twins these hard times." In those days, an inn of that description afforded neither sauce nor butchers' meat, except on market days; but Neddy would not expose the nakedness of the land, by permitting (if he could avoid it) the supposition that there was any thing his master's house could not furnish. The gentlemen were talking after dinner of the various extraordinary things they had heard of or seen, and telling Munchausen-like tales to while away the evening. At last one told a story more wonderful than the others had achieved. "Now," he exclaimed triumphantly, "let any one beat that!" "It's aisy done!" chimed in Neddy, who had been listening, half inside and half outside the parlour door. "Mary Larey had five husbands, and she made confession on her death-bed to her uncle's, sister, her own aunt that was, that she killed every mother's son of them in their sleep, by tickling the soles of their feet with a raven's feather." THE POOR OF A PARISH. Ir will be remembered that, in June 1840, a paper appeared in the Journal, giving a statement, as exact as possible, of the condition of the poor of a small town in a rural district in the south of Scotland. We now propose following up that statement with one respecting the poor of a rural parish in which there is a village. It seems to us that, independently of all the immediate interest arising from the question of provision for the necessitous poor, as a chapter of national policy, there is some general interest in what we here call an exact statement of the condition of a distinct portion of the poor. Poets, novelists, writers of all kinds, are accustomed to speak of the poor in vague terms, unless it may chance to be their endea Your to concentrate attention and sympathy upon some particular specimen of the class. We are usually left in a state of utter ignorance as to the actual amount of poverty in any district, wide or narrow. We know not how great or how small may be the proportion of individuals resembling the individual who has been described. These are great deficiencies, for a candid person can place no reliance on loose generalities, or the exhibition of single cases. In preparing the article above alluded to, we proceeded upon a different plan; we gauged the poverty of a particular and distinctly marked place, and presented that as a specimen of what we may call a certain species of localities. In this way, the mind of the reader was satisfied with something like exact knowledge. He knew how many poor were there, and what were the means of their support. No room was left for either indifference or undue commiseration. In the following paper the same plan is adopted. It has been drawn up by a person minutely acquainted with the subject, and, we have no doubt, gives as faithful a picture of the poor of a parish of the class described, as our own paper was of the poor of a small rural town. The population of the parish is 1700, of whom 700 reside in the village above mentioned, being generally humble artificers or weavers, of which last class there are 130. The inhabitants of the rural part of the parish are farmers and their servants and dependants. Since 1835, there has been an assessment (rate) in the parish, amounting to 10d. on the pound of rental, and divided equally between landlord and tenant; besides which there still exists an occasional distribution of funds by the kirk-session, as well as a flow of private charity, partly taking shape in the hands of a Ladies' Benevolent Society. Such, also, is the present depressed condition of the manufacturing part of the population, that the proprietors have lately been obliged to enter into a subscription for their relief. We have next a list of fifteen individuals, who receive an allowance of 2s. a-week each. Of paupers regularly receiving relief from the funds raised by assessment, there are forty-seven old and infirm individuals; two young persons of diseased conThe first is an old man, upwards of eighty, with a wife stitutions, one, if not both, of weak intellect; and nine and a son, who is still young, and an unfortunate daughdeserted and orphan children; making in all fifty-ter, who has been deserted by her seducer, and thrown eight paupers receiving regular aid, out of a population helpless upon the old father with her illegitimate offof 1700, which is about 34 per cent., or nearly one to spring. The daughter and boy can both weave a little, every twenty-nine persons. but perhaps not so much as to support themselves, for Of these fifty-eight the poverty and destitution of the family are known to paupers, forty are heads of families, or live in houses be very great, and they are a good deal dependent upon by themselves-the whole families, or inhabited houses, private charity. To add to their other miseries, they are of the parish do not exceed 320-from which it appears said to be bad economists of what they receive-an imthat every eighth householder, or 124 per cent. of the prudence of which the poor are not unfrequently guiltyheads of families, are upon the pauper list. Of these and of which the consequences must be always both felt forty, however, eight are single women, without friend and apparent. Of the paupers who receive the same or relative residing with them. All the others have allowance, and are similarly situated, there is the greatest children or connexions dependent upon them. possible difference, in point of comfort and appearance, entirely from this cause. This poor old man is a remarkable instance of the caprice and instability of fortune. He was at one time in extensive business, had the command of considerable capital, rented a large brewery, farmed extensively, and kept a number of men and horses constantly in his employ. And as long as his circumstances were prosperous, he was blessed with abundance of friends, and was considered a person of superior understanding, and even of remarkable activity. His business, however, became deranged, and, like an honest man, he gave all up to his creditors, and with his means his wisdom and his friends forsook him; and for a number of years he has been reduced to a state of extreme indigence and misery. Yet, amid all his poverty and privations, he continues to possess a degree of urbanity, and a habitual cheerfulness, which are quite astonishing, considering his former and present circumstances. When asked by the writer of this, how he was able to support his poverty, having been long accustomed to better things, he replied, that he did not consider his happiness greatly diminished by his change of circumstances. Of the fifty-eight paupers, eighteen are not natives of the parish; two are Irish, one English; ten have resided in it twenty years and upwards; six, ten years and upwards; and two only three years and one day-the shortest time in which they could acquire a settlement. The largest sum given to any one pauper at present, is to contribute much towards the comfort of the mother. stones on the public roads. In consideration of the large The next family receiving 2s. 6d. a-week, consists of an old man and his sister, both above seventy, and a grandson of the latter. Neither of these old people has been married, but both have lived many years in the same house. The brother was a tradesman, and had at one time a good business, but being addicted to intemperance, he saved nothing for old age. The sister has a natural daughter, a widow, the mother of the boy residing with The parish of II- is situated in one of the finest and most fertile districts in the south of Scotland. In beauty of landscape, salubrity of air, in pure and crystalline fountains and streams, and, generally, in richness and productiveness of soil, it is scarcely to be surpassed.* It is bounded on the south by a beautiful and majestic river, which winds its fertilising course through extensive fields of pasture and tillage, with a delightful variety of woods and lawns, where the ancient them. ing gentleman, and not only manages to pay for the sup- Another family that receives the same sum, consists of month, Paid to the paupers standing on the roll during last twelve- Do. from Ladies' Society, Amount of public charity, £242 19 1 The second is an old widow of eighty-six, who has a daughter living with her, more infirm and helpless than herself; there are also two natural children of the daughter residing with them. These children might at least support themselves-the one, a son, is about eighteen, and the other, a daughter, about twelve-but the old woman complains that they are a burden upon her, and not a help, and she is forced to pursue a regular system of begging for the maintenance of the whole. This old woman has likewise a son, but he has a large family, and can give her no assistance. The third is a female of about sixty, with two natural daughters, who have both illegitimate children, one of whom is an idiot, on whose account chiefly the allowance is given. The daughters work in the fields in summer, for which they receive eightpence a-day, without victuals. In winter, they are occasionally employed in work for weavers, by which they cannot make more than fourpence a-day in the present state of trade. This family may be given as a fair specimen of the condition of many among the labouring class. They are all in good health-all industrious and willing to work when they can find employment-and yet these poor unfortunate daughters often toil a long summer day, on a morsel of potatoes, for eightpence each. The fourth is a widow with a large family, part of which are still young. She has two sons, however, grown up, residing with her, who are employed in weaving, and afford her considerable help. The fifth is an old woman of seventy, who lives with a married daughter, also in very poor circumstances. The sixth is an old female of eighty-six, who lives in a house by herself. This woman was a servant in her youth; and from the excellent character she has always borne, and her present friendless condition, she interests the sympathy of the benevolent a good deal, and receives considerable assistance from private charity. The seventh is an infirm old man of seventy, who has £285 85 brought up a large family of sons and daughters. His wife is still alive, and his family seem to be succeeding well enough in the world, but are not above allowing their father to receive assistance from the parish. This man, before age and disease had unnerved his arm, excelled greatly in performing on the violin, and also taught the art to others. If he had possessed economy, he might at least have been comfortable, if not independent. There is no doubt but his children afford him The eighth is a single woman of about forty, who has had a paralytic shock, which has disabled her from doing any thing for her subsistence. She has, however, wealthy relatives, who grant her a good deal of assistance. assistance. The ninth is a man of about sixty, lame with rheumatism, and unable to do any thing for his support. He has a wife also, who has been long paralytic and quite helpless, and they are both equally objects of charity. They have children, it is true-several sons and a daughter, all grown up-some of them unmarried; but the father affirms that they give him little or no help, and that neither the parish allowance nor the assistance of his children would have saved him and his wife from dying of cold and hunger during a period of severe indisposition, had it not been for the kindness of certain benevolent ladies in his neighbourhood, in whose father's service he had formerly been employed. This man was a soldier in his youth; latterly, he acted as a constable; and till of late years he was able to support himself and wife in some degree of comfort. The tenth is a widow of about sixty, living by herself. She has two married daughters, but both have large families, and are too poor to do any thing for the mother. She is a good deal assisted, however, by a considerate person with whom her husband had lived as a servant. She also knits a little to cke out a scanty subsistence. The eleventh is an old man of eighty, formerly a tradesman, and of sober and industrious habits. He has brought up a large family, by some of whom he has been greatly injured in his circumstances. They have all large families, and none of them are able to afford him any help. The twelfth is a widower of sixty, who lately lost his sight. He was a labouring man, and has two married daughters, with families, one of whom keeps the father for the allowance of 2s. a-week. The husband of this daughter is a farm-servant; the other's husband is a small farmer. This man, like most of the paupers, has repeatedly applied for an increase of his allowance, without effect. The thirteenth is an old man of eighty-six, who has never been married. This man and his ancestors were, for many years, farmers on the lands of * * * * * * * but the prevailing system of laying field to field, and farm to farm, till no place is left for the small capitalist, drove him, in his hoary years, from the residence of his forefathers and place of his birth, into a miserable, dingy hut, in the worst part of the village, where he lingers out the evening of his days in sickness, poverty, and solitude "Like a brotherless hermit, the last of his race." If industry, economy, and moral worth, could have assured him of a comfortable competence at the close of life, he had experienced a happier destiny; but his goodness of heart led him to assist some of his less prudent relatives, and hence his funds became greatly diminished. He had still, however, wherewith to support himself till within a few months ago, when he was reluctantly compelled to apply for parochial aid. This good old man is a pleasing specimen of what the consciousness of a wellspent life, and the hope of a blessed futurity, can avail, in bestowing resignation, contentment, and even positive happiness, amid all the miseries of poverty and the incurable infirmities of old age. The fourteenth is a female, at the age of forty, a pauper, the daughter of a pauper, the natural child of a natural child; and following up the example that had been set her, she has also an illegitimate offspring, some of whom, as was to be expected, have likewise illegitimate children; so that she has in her house the fourth generation of bastards in a direct line. This woman has been for some time paralytic and bedrid. One poor unfortunate daughter, with an infant child, lives with the mother; and with the allowance of 28. a-week, and the miserable pittance of a few pence a-day (at the most fourpence) which she has sometimes an opportunity of making in work for weavers, she has to pay a house rent, support her bedrid mother, herself, and infant child. Such are the miseries of guilt and imprudence. Yet the industry of that poor girl, and her care and affection for her mother and her child of shame, would move the most callous heart to pity her, and to wish she had been blessed with a better example in a parent, and exposed to less contaminating associates, that she might have had a chance of experiencing a happier fate. The fifteenth is an old widow, upwards of eighty, who has a son that is married and has a large family, and daughters who have children, most of them illegitimate. A daughter resides with her, and works in the fields, but she receives most assistance from her grandchildren. She is not considered to be in very uncomfortable circum TRAITS OF HORSES. [From Colonel Hamilton Smith's Treatise, published in Mr Lizars's elegant work, "The Naturalist's Library."] The confidence of a horse in a firm rider and his own courage is great, as was conspicuously evinced in the case of an Arab possessed by the late General Sir Robert R. Gillespie, who, being present on the race course of Calcutta during one of the great Hindoo festivals, when perhaps several hundred thousand people are assembled to witness all kinds of shows, was suddenly alarmed by the shrieks of the crowd, and informed that a tiger had escaped from his keepers. The colonel immediately called for his horse, and grasping a boar spear which was in the hands of one among the crowd, rode to attack this formidable enemy. The tiger probably was amazed at finding himself in the middle of such a number of shrieking beings flying from him in all directions; but the moment he perceived Sir Robert, he crouched with the attitude of preparing to spring at him, and that instant the gallant soldier passed his horse in a leap over the tiger's back, and struck the spear through his spine. The horse was a small grey, afterwards sent home by him as a present to the prince regent. When Sir Robert fell at the storming of Kalunga, his favourite black charger, bred at the Cape of Good Hope, and carried by him to India, was, at the sale of his effects, competed for by several officers of his division, and finally knocked down to the privates of the 8th dragoons, who contributed their prize-money, to the amount of L.500 sterling, to retain this commemoration of their late commander. Thus the charger was always led at the head of the regiment on a march, and at the station of Cawnpore was usually indulged with taking his ancient post at the colour-stand, where the salute of passing squadrons was given at drill and on reviews. When the regiment was ordered home, the funds of the privates running low, he was bought for the same sum by a relative of ours, who provided funds and a paddock for him, where he might end his days in comfort; but when the corps had marched, and the sound of the trumpet had departed, he refused to eat; and on the first opportunity, being led out to exercise, he broke from his groom, and galloping to his ancient station on the parade, after neighing loud, dropped down and died. A YOUNG POET'S MUSINGS. Would that I were upon yon lone green hill, Far, far from those who hunt earth's glittering mammon, I am not one of those at whose heart-strings As I would live, in calm retirement-Fudge. Like night's first peep of morning on the sky, Although the watcher loving were, no doubt; On yon brown mountain, far from human sight, I love the minstrels of the woods and fields, To taste again my youthful joys I burn; About and wheel about, and jump Jim Crow! I hate the shifting fashions of the world; But would not make my house an essence-shop, I must be off now for my summer grassing. T. S. VULGAR ERRORS RESPECTING THE BAROMETER. The barometer has been called a weather-glass. Rules are attempted to be established by which, from the height of the mercury, the coming state of the weather may be predicted; and we accordingly find the words "rain," "changeable," "fair," "frost," &c., engraved on the scale attached to common domestic barometers, as if, when the mercury stands at the height marked by these words, the weather is always subject to the vicissitudes expressed by them. These marks are, however, entitled to no attention; and it is only surprising to find their use continued in the present times, when knowledge is so widely diffused. They are in fact to be ranked scarcely above the Vox Stellarum or astrological almanac. Two barometers, one near the level of the River Thames, and the other on the heights of Hampstead, will differ by half an inch, the latter being always half an inch lower than the former. If the words, therefore, engraved upon the plates are to be relied on, similar changes of weather could never happen at these two situations. But what is even more absurd, such a scale would inform us that the weather at the foot of a high building, such as St Paul's, must always be different from the weather at the top of it. It is observed that changes of weather are indicated, not by the actual height of the mercury, but by its change of height. One of the most general, though not absolutely invariable rules is, that where the mercury is very low, and therefore the atmosphere very light, high winds and storms may be expected. The following rules may generally be relied upon, at least to a certain extent:-1. Generally the rising of the mercury indicates the approach of fair weather; the falling of it shows the approach of foul weather. 2. In sultry weather the fall of the mercury indicates coming thunder; in winter the rise of the mercury indicates frost; in frost its fall indicates thaw, and its rise indicates snow. 3. Whatever change of weather suddenly follows, a change in the barometer may be expected to last but a short time. Thus, if fair weather follow immediately the rise of the mercury, there will be very little of it; and in the same way, if foul weather follow the fall of the mercury, it will last but a short time. 4. If fair weather continue for several days, during which the mercury continually falls, a long continuance of foul weather will probably ensue; and again, if foul weather continue for several days, while the mercury continually rises, a long succession of fair weather will probably succeed. 5. A fluctuating and unsettled state of the mercurial column indicates changeable weather. The domestic barometer would become a much more useful instrument if, instead of the words usually engraved on the plate, a short list of the best established rules, such as the above, accompanied it, which might be either engraved on the plate or printed on a card. It would be right, however, to express the rules only with that degree of probability which observation of past phenomena has justified. There is no rule respecting these effects which will hold good.-Dr Lardner. GENERAL HARRISON ON SCHOOLMASTERS. The late General Harrison, President of the United States, appears, from the following anecdote, to have considered that the moral improvement of the young is of greater value in preventing crime than the ordinary penal checks which are interposed. In his last out-ofdoor exercise, the general was engaged in assisting the gardener to adjust some grape-vines. The gardener remarked that there would be but little use in trailing the vines, so far as any fruit was concerned, as the boys would come on Sunday, while the family were at church, and steal all the grapes; and suggested to the general, as a guard against such a loss, that he should purchase an active watch-dog. "Better," said the general, "to employ an active Sabbath school teacher; a dog may take care of the grapes, but a good Sabbath school teacher will take care of the grapes and the boys too." VULGAR OPINIONS OF GOVERNMENT. Preventive measures rarely receive the same meed of praise as violent and penal policy; the time has not yet gone beyond memory, when the only system of government honoured with the name of strong was that which hanged by dozens, transported by scores, and imprisoned by hundreds; but an administrative course which lightened the calendar by creating respect for the laws and confidence in justice, receives so little credit, that we often feel tempted to join in the cry that ministers do nothing for the money we pay them. Louis Philippe has now held the monarchy of France for about the same number of years that Napoleon possessed the empire, and his stability appears to have increased with time; even before he went to Russia, Napoleon complained that the reins were slipping from his hands, but he did not perceive that the cause was furious driving. Louis Philippe holds them sufficiently firm, for, like a careful driver, he never lets the steeds get into an unmanageable gallop. Yet nine-tenths of the world believe that Napoleon was a greater statesman than Louis Philippe, just as there were people in ancient Ellis who deemed Salmoneous the best charioteer in the city.The Bishop. THE WAY TO GET ON IN THE WORLD. To get on in this world you must be content to be always stopping where you are; to advance, you must be stationary; to get up, you must keep down; following riches is like following wild geese, and you must crawl after both on your belly; the minute you pop up your head, off they go whistling down the wind, and you see no more of them; if you haven't the art of sticking by nature, you must acquire it by art; put a couple of pounds of bird-lime upon your office stool, and sit down on it; get a chain round your leg, and tie yourself to your counter like a pair of shop scissors; nail yourself up against the wall of your place of business, like a weasel on a barn-door, or the sign of the spread eagle; or, what will do best of all, marry an honest poor girl without a penny, and my life for yours if you don't do business! Never mind what your relations say about genius, talent, learning, pushing, enterprise, and such stuff; when they come advising you for your good, stick up to them for the loan of a sovereign, and if ever you see them on your side of the street again, skiver me, and welcome; but to do any good, I tell you over and over again, you must be a sticker. You may get fat upon a rock, if you never quit your hold of it. From a newspaper. Printed and Published by W. and R. CHAMBERS, Edinburgh. Sold by W. S. ORR, Amen Corner, London; J. MACLEOD, Glasgow; and all booksellers. CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE," "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c. NUMBER 500. "I AM AS GOOD AS HE." THIS is a form of phrase often used, and in some circumstances it is entitled to approval as a mark of spirit or of a just self-respect. Where one is unjustly undervalued, or slighted, though it may be by a person superior in worldly consideration, to entertain and express this sentiment seems quite legitimate, for it is only a natural expression of indignation in such circumstances. But the phrase is also used not unfrequently without such provocation, and as a mere burst of unregulated self-esteem. It is often used where a candid bystander, if willing to expose himself to the consequences, might very justly remark "Well, I don't think you are by any means as good as he." This would probably make Self-Esteem look for an instant somewhat blank, and then break forth in a stream of vengeful abuse. Yet it might be quite true. In cases such as we have in view, an intense self-appreciation blinds the individual to the real nature of his own qualifications, as well as those of his fellow-creatures. Nature has probably given him no superior qualities of intellect, but she has given him an amount of the faculty of self-esteem, which makes him think himself either possessed of those qualities, or as good without them as others are with them. He is therefore not content to admire the really superior endowment, as most of his fellowcroatures are; he deems such presumed superiority an insult or grievance to himself, and out comes the natural language of a sentiment overpowering all consideration of how the case really stands-"I am as good as he." We shall also suppose such a person to have attained a position in the social scale by no means equal to his idea of his own importance, while some other person, particularly under his notice, has reached a higher point. Here, too, he stops not to consider how far that other person has been indebted to his superior qualifications for his better place; how far his promotion has been merely the effect of society reposing confidence in him, as a consequence of long trial of his abilities and worth, or any other of those circumstances which contribute to bring men into prominent situations. Piqued by the promptings of a restless and insatiable self-esteem, he only can form the idea-"I am as good as he." Now, in such cases, the one is not as good as the other. He is under an entire delusion in thinking himself so. He is a man with the stamp of ordinary upon him, ineffaceable. He is not prepossessing in any way. He is very well in his own appropriately ordinary place, but would only be ridiculous out of it, and is so in supposing himself fit for any better. Nobody cares in the least about him, except to be angry with him when he annoys them with his self-esteem. In saying "I am as good as he," he puts himself entirely out of concord with the world and the whole system of things, for the world thinks otherwise, and it is his duty to think so too, if he knew it. This may appear a trifling matter in a single supposed instance; but it is in reality a somewhat serious thing for a man to be all his life in a state in which his qualifications and social position are inharmonious with his own estimate of himself. Every day of his life, he must feel pain from the sense of being unjustly under-esteemed and under-placed. Every advancement of a neighbour over himself must be to him as gall and wormwood. He will at length become replete with morbid feeling, and will pass his life in a constant state of subacid mortification and wretchedness. We would, then, endeavour to impress the fact that, when a man cries out "I am as good as he," he is not necessarily to be presumed to be in a right and the other; it is as just with regard to the highest standards of our conduct; and a man may therefore entertain it with as perfect a regard to his own dignity, at least as a human being, if not also as a man of the world, as he may entertain the other. justifiable mood of mind. He may be only hurting himself by kicking against a natural ordinance which no kicking of his would ever affect or alter in the slightest degree. Men are not only not all equal, but they are all unequal; and a subordination amongst them is as truly a decree of Providence as is the The question still remains--what ought to be conmutual attraction of masses of matter, in proportionsidered as superior? We would say, in answer, that into their various volumes and their distances from each dividuals generally feel instinctively, and that through the medium of the sentiment of veneration itself, what is superior to themselves. The man of a certain intellectual power, or of a certain amount of learning, skill, or acquired wisdom, naturally awakes a sentiment of reverence in those who are beneath him in any of these respects, unless when their self-esteem interferes to prevent it, or to stir up a contrary feeling. What we say is, that the interference in question should be checked, and veneration allowed its free play, within the bounds which reason assigns to it. High function and office also naturally command deference. We consider, in such a case, that there would probably be natural qualities of a superior order, where such high function or office was attained to; and we further regard the office itself as a thing of conse quence, in which the functionary partakes. It may be said that all the arrangements connected, for example, with a judge, are of a kind calculated to excite deference; and deference is unavoidably felt towards a judge, by all who are not so near his level as to entertain a familiar idea respecting him. Every important official, whether appointed by one, by few, or by the many, has a similar command over the respect of those who are not too familiar with his character and circumstances, or who are not themselves superior, other. The little heads can no more resist the big heads in this lower world, than can empty waggons resist full ones coming with equal speed against them on a railway. Nature designs each to take his place under each, according to his congenital and acquired gifts; and this is in truth the first basis of social grades and distinctions of all kinds, every thing else being but a modification brought about by the not always rational efficacy of certain sentiments in human nature. And, while thus decreeing different qualifications and different consequent positions, she has been equally careful to implant a sentiment by which, in general cases, superior qualification and superior position produce respect in those gifted and placed inferiorly. This is a sentiment directly the opposite of self-esteem. While the latter excites ideas of our own importance, the sentiment of veneration, as it has been very appropriately called, raises notions of the importance of others. It has its abuses, as its contrary has; but its legitimate function is to create a feeling of respect and deference for whatever is presumed to be superior. Man thus carries in his nature a disposition to look up to what is above him, to yield way and honour to it, to follow its counsel and leadership, and to rest content in being under it. Each is thus kept in his proper place, according to the general extent of his qualifications, and society becomes a chain in which all are mutually connected, and all mutually aiding towards a general purpose. Without this cohesive principle there could be no such thing as society, for every man would refuse to obey another, and no man would be doing the duty for which he was qualified. There could only in such a case be a few independent savages, who would walk the earth in freedom, but also in a state of remarkable exemption from comfort of every kind. for there must be a social consent of some kind to the means by which every official is appointed. Function derived from birth, hereditary rank, and wealth, exercise more dubious influence over the reverence of men. There is unquestionably a disposition to venerate what is far descended: the very idea of the old-established social order in which such pretensions have their origin, and of the power which they have long given, commands a kind of awe. As for wealth, in particular, the influence which it creates in its possessor, would be sufficient in itself to draw a certain amount of respect. But reverence for these things by no means stands on the same footing with a regard for superior attained by virtue of natural qualifications. They natural endowments, or high and important functions depend on secondary sources of esteem, and the feel If it be true, as here assumed, that there is a faculty in our mental constitution for the feeling of deference to what is superior, it must be evident that to yield this deference within a rational extent is only fulfilling one of the ends of Providence. It is to be remarked, that nature does not confer on each mind an amounting of subordination will in their case be ruled much of either the feeling of self-esteem or that of deference by a regard for custom, and other inferior motives. exactly appropriate to the qualifications of the indiWe have only further to remark some domestic vidual; but she has placed each man under the influ- positions which command deference, as that of a paence, to a certain extent, of his neighbours, and thus rent, or other elder relative, with regard to the young enables us all to have something like a fair standard -that of a master with regard to his servants-and of conduct in view, for the correction of errant tenthat of the head of a house with respect to all living dencies. If the man whose self-esteem exceeds his in it. These, and all other protective situations, call for a kind of veneration from the appropriate persons, veneration were to look carefully into society, he would obtain abundant hints for his improvement, for with all the authority of the voice of nature. Disrehe would every where hear ungrounded pretensions spect in such cases shocks and offends all ordinarily ridiculed, and see how good and beautiful a thing it constituted minds. Old age has also a natural claim is to give honour where honour is due. Self-esteem upon the respect of mankind; and this respect is is a very important faculty in our nature, elevating rarely refused. us as it does above mean and unworthy actions, and giving us confidence in the powers we really do possess, so as to exert them efficiently in the business of life. But it is liable to great errors, in as far as it prompts to pride, and, when unchecked by the opposite feeling, to contempt for others. In a well-balanced mind, it is found quite possible at once to have a rational self-respect, and a due degree of reverence for whatever is above ourselves in abilities, virtue, or social position. The latter feeling is as natural as To recapitulate-it appears to us that, while there is an inequality of natural endowment in men, there is also a sentiment charged with the duty or office of causing the inferiorly to look up to the superiorly endowed. While there is also a great inequality in the functions and characters under which men appear in society, the same faculty is commissioned to make each of them an authority over others, and the whole a compact and harmonious mass. Looking upon these as amongst the institutions of nature, we would say |