The penalties were not imposed in the spirit of empty menace. Not long after the act respecting stablers, we find five women banished all at once, because they had "contempnandlie brokin the said statutis, and coft [bought] corn and aittis in greit to regrait agane." The pain of banishment is visited upon many others for the like offences. It is to be observed, however, that, in some instances, the defaulters are in a short time allowed to return, on their friends giving surety for their paying obedience to the town's statutes in future. Thus " Gilbert Skeillis" gives surety for his wife, that she would never again buy hay or oats to sell again; whereupon "the said Gilbertis wyf was relaxit agane to the fredom of the toune as scho was obefor [as she was of before] or [ere] scho was bannist the samyn."

There is reason to conclude that the motive of all these proceedings was a good though mistaken one. There are various statutes respecting hucksters, or retailers, showing that the profit made by these parties on their goods was regarded as an oppression of the lieges; an idea which is still found to exist amongst the working classes in some of our manufacturing districts, but which, we need scarcely say, is totally unsound. In the statutes under notice, every means are taken to compel those who raise country produce to appear in the market and sell it themselves, as if it had been possible thus to obtain the articles at the mere cost of production, the worthy provost and baillies not observing that the producer required in that case to be remunerated for the time he spent as a merchant, and that probably a huckster, combining he goods of many producers, could have afforded to sell the articles at a cheaper rate. An amusing example of the anxiety of the magistracy to keep down prices, is given in a statute "anent seruandis," as follows:-"Item, that because thar is na seruand woman, or nurys [nurse], that gettis in ane gude mannis hous throw hir seruice v or vj merkis, bot scho will tak ane hous of hir awin [take a house of her own], and be ane browstar or huckstar, quharthro the nychtbouris of the toune ar hevelie hurt, and the meit and drink rasit darer throw the bying of the samyn at the secund or thrid hand, that tharfor na seruand woman pas fra hir seruice and tak ane hous, without scho be mariit or pas to the bordall, except scho haif the licence of the provest for gud rationabill causis, under the pane of banasing." For a broker or forestaller of wool and hides to be even seen speaking to the persons who brought those articles to market, on a market day, was an offence visited with punishment. The statute on that subject shows in a peculiar manner how strongly, under the impulse of convenience, private parties were inclined to that division of labour which is really most for their advantage, notwithstanding every effort of erroneous legislation to make them take a different course.

Some familiar traits of the time are communicated in these statutes. We find, for instance, David Cristeson banished "because he is ane young stark fallow [a young stout fellow], and beggis, and will nocht wirk for his leving." For the same reason, banishment is inflicted on "Richman that singis with the lass and beggis." John Anderson, keeper of the tolbooth or jail, obliges himself to keep the statutes of the town in time coming, "under the pane of the daling of ane barell of ale, till gif utheris exempill till brek the said statutis in tyme coming." Leper folk are forbidden to appear in any market, under pain of being burnt in the cheek and banished the town. The provost and baillies order that Jonet Anderson "say na displesour nor injuriouse language till Thomas Wauchope nor his spouse, nother oppinlie nor priuatlie, under the bane of bannesing of the toune." Margaret Smith of her own free will comes before the council, and obliges herself, "that fra this tyme furth scho sall nocht use na injurious wordis, blasfeme, nor schame, Dene Alexander Creichtane, vicar of Sanct Cuthbertis Kirk, nother in word nor deid, under the pament of x li [ten pounds] til be gevin till Sanct Gelis werk." The council seem to have thought themselves entitled to interfere in every thing. They statute and ordain that no person give any wool to card or spin out of their own houses, except "till honest wedowis or honest falit [disabled] personis houshalderis, under the pane of xls." This would be from an anxiety to benefit the poor, for whom there was then no public provision of any kind.

The statutes include a period during which the plague visited Edinburgh, and we are presented with many curious notices of the regulations which were thought necessary to be enforced on such an occasion. In October 1529, the disease is spoken of as raging at St Andrews and other places beyond the Forth. People are therefore forbidden, under great penalties, to approach Edinburgh from those districts, or to receive merchandise from the same quarter. On the 23d of November, learning that the disease had spread in St Andrews mainly from a mistake which prevailed at first, namely, that it was "the het seikness," the council ordain that all sick persons in Edinburgh keep by themselves, and that notice of them be given to the town officers, under pain of banishment. At the same time, none are allowed to pass to the north of the Forth, without the provost's licence. Sick persons appear to have been obliged by formerly existing statutes to go and take up their quarters on the common muir without the town; for Thomas Mereleys, at his own desire, is allowed to come back from the muir to his house in town, "with his self, wyf, barnis, and guddis, unclengeit," he becoming obliged, upon his life, goods, and heritage, that no infection shall come within his house through the "unclengeing" of his goods. In February 1530, finding that the danger deepens as the spring advances, still stricter statutes are made on all these points. On the 18th, Margaret Cok is condemned by an assize for coming from St Andrews with infected clothes, and sentenced to be burnt in both cheeks and banished. On the 20th, the inhabitants of Edinburgh and Leith are forbidden to attend the fair at St Monance, a village in Fife, to which it might be supposed that persons with infected goods would be likely to come. The existence of infected persons in the town is first spoken of on the 25th of May, and all the statutes are again renewed; people are also forbidden to buy or sell old clothes; persons keeping swine are commanded to restrain them from appearing on the street; and then follows the most sensible ordinance of all-"Forasmekle as ther is gret fylth within this toune, baith on the hie gait and in closis [both in the High Street and the alleys leading from it], and als the guttaris of the toune ar full of filith, quharthrow infectionne may spreid and ryse, That tharfore euery man and woman dicht and mak clene befor ther durris and closis, and clenge away the filith tharfra, under the pane of punising of thar personis and gudis at the prouest will." People having houses to let are at the same time forbidden to let them to vagabonds or trampers. Individuals who have been "in Gladois hous the smyth, or oney other houses that are now suspect of this contagius seikness," are commanded to reveal the circumstance to the town's officers. Servant women who have hitherto been in the habit, while conveying their master's clothes to the water to wash, of taking "this womanis coller and that womanis curche," to wash along with their master's clothes, are forbidden to do so any more, as "it is unpossable to keep the toune clene gif sik thingis be usit."

On the same day, a woman who had been in the houses of infected persons, and was now infected herself, without revealing either circumstance, is sentenced to be burnt on the cheek and banished the town for life, and to remain on the muir till she be recovered, under pain of death. On the 4th of June, a woman who had a daughter sick without giving information, is sentenced to the like punishment, "all her barnis" being at the same time adjudged to perpetual banishment. Several cases of the same kind occur throughout June and July; but at length, in August, when probably the danger had become greater, concealment of sick friends is punished with death! An unfortunate tailor, David Duly by name, had a wife sick; he kept her concealed in his house, and even, while she was ill, went to attend mass in St Giles's kirk, thereby "dooand at was in him till haif infekkit all the toune." For this he was adjudged to be hanged on a gibbet before his own door. The sen

tence seems to have immediately been carried into execution, for, in the afternoon of the same day, wo find an entry stating that Duly had been hung up, but that the "raip" had broken, and he escaped at the will of God, for which reason, and because he is ane pure [poor] man with small barnis, and for pete of him," the council banish him instead. A few months afterwards, we find that several women were actually put to death ["drounit in the Quarrell holis at the Grey-frier port"] for concealing their sickness. Throughout August, the business of "clenging," that is, we presume, of completing quarantine, proceeds under the regulation of various statutes. But even after suspected or sick persons had given full satisfaction of their purity from the disease, and had been allowed to come back to their homes with their goods, they were still forbidden to attend mass amongst the other clean people.

Such were a few of the doings and sufferings of our citizens in "the good old times!"

KENNEDY'S NARRATIVE.

THE late campaign of the British army upon the Indus has been attended with the effect, now so common in such cases, of adding one or two entertaining and not uninstructive works to the current literature of the day. The "Court and Camp of Runjeet Sing" was one of the earliest of these productions, and it has lately been followed by a "Narrative of the Campaign of the Army of the Indus in Sind and Kaubool in 1838-9," by Dr Hartley Kennedy, one of the principal medical officers present on the occasion.* Dr Kennedy's narrative comprises a pretty regular view of the whole movements of the campaign, but, to civilians like us, the sketches of personal adventure embodied in such publications, seem always of greater interest than the semi-official parts of the narrative; and the majority of our readers will probably agree in this preference. In the succeeding notice, therefore, we shall only trace the operations of the army in so far as may be necessary to tack together such interesting extracts as chance to fall under our eye.

In the first place, a word may be premised on the objects of the war. The rich and populous districts on the line of the Indus and its springs, comprising Sind, Kandahar, Herat, Peshawar, and others, had long been tributary provinces of the powerful Affghan kingdom of Kaubool, but had been latterly split into separate and independent principalities. Runjeet Sing, an ally of Britain, had become raja of the Punjaub and of Peshawar. Among other changes arising from the disturbed state of the country, ShahShooja, legitimate sovereign of Kaubool, and properly also of Sind, had been expelled from his throne by Dost Mohammed, a soldier of fortune, whose brothers had likewise become masters of Kandahar. When the Persians advanced to besiege the Indo-Persian city of Herat in 1837, the British became suspicious of their ulterior designs, and the more so as Dost Mohammed went openly into their interests, and began to menace the native allies of Britain. The result was, that the governor-general found it necessary to suppress the usurper of Kaubool, and, by restoring Shah-Shooja to his throne, to settle the provinces of the Indus on a new, secure, and peaceful footing.

With this object in view, the British forces under Sir John (now Lord) Keane left Bombay in November 1838, and were transported by sea to the mouths of the Indus. Marching inwards, the army sustained considerable hardships from various causes, the cholera appearing in the ranks before Christmas. On the 29th of January, at which time alarms were beginning to be raised regarding the approach of the enemy, the following strange and fatal personal adventure took place. A hunting-forest, called a shikar gah, in the neighbourhood of the encamped troops, was observed to be in flames, and "many of our officers (says Dr Kennedy) rode out to witness it. Among others, Doctor Hibbert of the 2d or Queen's Royals, and Lieutenants Spark and Nixon of the same regiment, proceeded thither on foot with fowling-pieces and rifles, expecting exercise on the wild animals driven by the fire out of the burning forest. Lieutenant Halkett of the same regiment accompanied them on horseback; and when they plunged into the thickest parts of the wood, and he found it impossible to accompany them, returned to camp, little dreaming of the melancholy fate awaiting them. No servant, and only one dog, was with them; and the poor beast the same evening returned to camp. On their not returning in the evening, some alarm was felt; and as we had supped full of rumours of war for some days before, it was conjectured that they might have been made prisoners by the Beloochies.

On the following morning two parties of cavalry and irregular horse were sent in search of them; and, sad to say, a villager who had been cutting wood in the forest, and probably found it convenient to follow the course of the fire, had discovered and led the way to where their bodies were found, half buried in the smouldering and still hot ashes of the long grass and brushwood by which their clothes had been destroyed.

More pitiable objects were never seen than the three bodies as brought into camp: not a vestige of their clothes remained; the extremities were partially consumed; and the blackened skin, and the limbs

In two volumes. London: R. Bentley.

deed, that they take care of their young for the sake of preserving the breed.' Fell resumed: How many mothers do we see of the human species, who, in point of natural affection, would bear but a miserable comparison with the whale! How many mothers are there in the polite circles who bring forth and send their children abroad to be watched by the alien and the stranger, regretting only the pains they endure, the time they are shut out of society, the inroads made on their beauty, and only look ing anxiously forward to the moment when they will again be able to rush into new scenes of dissipation; but the whale's greatest delight appears to be in nourishing its young, and shielding it from danger, until her tender trust is able to shift for itself, ofttimes eighteen months and upwards.'

By this time they were unconsciously seated round the dinner-table; the cook had shown great justice to the dishes the flavour of the soup, made of the kangaroo's tail, was beyond anything that Solomon had before tasted. The kangaroo steaks were, in his opinion, only surpassed by the fried smell, a part of the whale near the tail which is very delicate eating, to which Mr Sanguine did ample justice, and praised it as much. In the middle of his enjoyment he did not forget to deplore the degeneracy of the age, and their apathy for any great or noble enterprise, and calculated how many families could live comfortably for many days on the delicate parts of the whale they had killed. Afterwards, the tale and song went merrily round, to which Mr Sanguine contributed abundantly, and in the midst of his joy he was heard repeatedly to declare that he never knew what happiness was before."

"MAXIMS, MORALS, AND GOLDEN RULES." [Selected from a neat little work, bearing the above title, published by J. Madden & Co. London: 1839.]

FORBEAR to sport an opinion on a subject of which you are ignorant, especially in the presence of those to whom it is familiar. If it be not always in your power to speak to the purpose, it certainly is to hold your tongue; and though thousands have remembered with pain their garrulity, few, as an ancient remarked, have had reason to repent their silence.

The sure way to be deceived is to believe ourselves more cunuing than others.-ROCHEFOUCAULT.

It is no merit to accomplish an object by difficult instruments, when easy ones are at hand, or to reach an end by a circuitous road, when there is a straight course. Michael Angelo being told of an artist who painted with his fingers, exclaimed, Why does not the blockhead make use of his pencils?"

Trust him little who praises all, him less who censures all, and him least who is indifferent about all.--LA

VATER.

The excesses of our youth are drafts upon our old age, payable, with interest, about thirty years after date.COLTON.

One ungrateful man does an injury to all who are wretched.-PUB. SYRUS.

I am sent to the ant to learn industry; to the dove to learn innocence; to the serpent to learn wisdom; and why not to the robin-redbreast, who chants as delightfully in winter as in summer, to learn equanimity and patience?

He who gives for the sake of thanks, knows not the pleasure of giving.

Most men abuse courtiers, and affect to despise courts; yet most men are proud of the acquaintance of the one, and would be glad to live in the other.-COLTON.

A companion that is cheerful, and free from swearing and scurrilous discourse, is worth gold. I love such mirth as does not make friends ashamed to look upon one another next morning; nor men, that cannot well bear it, to repent the money they spend when they be warmed with drink. And take this for a rule: you may pick out such times and such companions, that you may make yourselves merrier for a little than a great deal of money: ""Tis the company, and not the charge, that makes the feast."-IZAAK WALTON.

A Persian philosopher, being asked by what method he had acquired so much knowledge, answered, “By not being prevented by shame from asking questions when I was ignorant."

Truth will ever be unpalatable to those who are determined not to relinquish error, but can never give offence to the honest and well-meaning; for the plaindealing remonstrances of a friend differ as widely from the rancour of an enemy, as the friendly probe of a physician from the dagger of an assassin.-E. W. MONTAGUE. If you would be known, and not know, vegetate in a village; if you would know, and not be known, live in a city.-COLTON.

In wonder all philosophy began; in wonder it ends; and admiration fills up the interspace. But the first wonder is the offspring of ignorance; the last is the parent of adoration.-COLERIDGE.

Children should be inured as early as possible to acts of charity and mercy. Constantine, as soon as his son could write, employed his hand in signing pardons, and delighted in conveying, through his mouth, all the favours he granted. A noble introduction to sovereignty, which is instituted for the happiness of mankind.-JORTIN.

If a man had no person whom he loved or esteemed, no person who loved or esteemed him, how wretched must his condition be! Surely a man capable of reflection would choose to pass out of existence rather than to live in such a state.-REID'S ESSAYS.

The two most precious things on this side the grave are our reputation and our life. But it is to be lamented that the most contemptible whisper may deprive us of the one, and the weakest weapon of the other. A wise man, therefore, will be more anxious to deserve a fair name than to possess it, and this will teach him so to live as not to be afraid to die.-COLTON.

A kind refusal is sometimes as gratifying as a bestowal: he who can alleviate the pain of an ungracious act is unpardonable unless he do so.

Moderation is the silken string running through the pearl-chain of all virtues.-BISHOP HALL. Be not ashamed to confess that you have been in the wrong. It is but owning what you need not be ashamed of, that you now have more sense than you had before, to see your error; more humility to acknowledge it; and more grace to correct it.-SEED,

A great means of happiness is, a constant employment for a desirable end, and a consciousness of advancement towards that end.

He who saith there is no such thing as an honest man, you may be sure is himself a knave.-BISHOP BERKELEY. Of all sights which can soften and humanise the heart of man, there is none that ought so surely to reach it as that of innocent children, enjoying the happiness which is their proper and natural portion.-SOUTHEY. When we feel a strong desire to thrust our advice upon others, it is usually because we suspect their weakness; but we ought rather to suspect our own.-COLTON. Persons who are always innocently cheerful and goodhumoured, are very useful in the world; they maintain peace and happiness, and spread a thankful temper amongst all who live around them.-MISS TALBOT. Seek not prond riches, but such as thou mayest get justly, use soberly, distribute cheerfully, and leave contentedly.-BACON.

We are often infinitely mistaken, and take the falsest measures, when we envy the happiness of rich and great men: we know not the inward canker that cats out all their joy and delight, and makes them really much more miserable than ourselves.-BISHOP HALL.

If 'tis a happiness to be nobly descended, 'tis no less to have so much merit that nobody inquires whether you are so or no.-LA BRUYERE.

When any calamity has been suffered, the first thing to be remembered is, how much has been escaped.-DR JOHNSON.

Receive no satisfaction for premeditated impertinence: forget it, forgive it, but keep him inexorably at a distance who offered it.---LAVATER.

The race of mankind would perish, did they cease to aid each other. From the time that the mother binds the child's head, till the moment that some kind assistant wipes the death-damp from the brow of the dying, we cannot exist without mutual help. All, therefore, that need aid, have a right to ask it of their fellow-mortals: no one who holds the power of granting can refuse it without guilt.---SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Those beings only are fit for solitude who like nobody, are like nobody, and are liked by nobody.---ZIMMERMAN. He that does not know those things which are of use and necessity for him to know, is but an ignorant man, whatever he may know beside.---TILLOTSON.

It is an old saying, that charity begins at home; but this is no reason that it should not go abroad: a man should live with the world as a citizen of the world; he may have a preference for the particular quarter or square, or even alley, in which he lives, but he should have a generous feeling for the welfare of the whole.--CUMBERLAND.

We ought, in humanity, no more to despise a man for the misfortunes of the mind than for those of the body, when they are such as he cannot help; were this thoroughly considered, we should no more laugh at a man for having his brains cracked than for having his head broke.---Pope.

ERROR OF GIVING MEDICINE TO INFANTS.

Many mothers are continually administering medicines of one kind or another, and thereby deranging instead of promoting the healthy operation of the infant system. Instead of looking upon the animal economy as a mechanism constituted to work well under certain conditions, and having, in virtue of that constitution, a natural tendency to rectify any temporary aberrations under which it may suffer, provided the requisite conditions of action be fulfilled, they seem to regard it as a machine acting upon no fixed principles, and requiring now and then to be driven by some foreign impulse in the shape of medicine. Under this impression, they are ever on the watch to see what they can do to keep it moving; and, altogether distrustful of the sufficiency of the Creator's arrangements, they no sooner observe a symptom than they are ready with a remedy. Such persons never stop to inquire what the cause is-whether it has been, or can be, removed-or whether its removal will not of itself be sufficient to restore health. They jump at once to the fact that disease is there, and to a remedy for that fact. If the child is convulsed, they do not inquire whether the convulsions proceed from teething, indigestion, or worms, but forthwith administer a remedy to check the convulsions; and very probably the one used is inapplicable to the individual case; and both the disease and the cause being in consequence left in full operation, instead of being removed, the danger is increased. I have no hesitation in expressing my conviction that a child can encounter few greater dangers than that of being subjected to the vigorous discipline of a medicinegiving mother or nurse; and wherever a mother of a family is observed to be ready with the use of calomel, cordials, anodynes, and other active drugs, the chances are that one-half of her children will be found to have passed to another world.

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Even when the child is under the care of a professional adviser, it is by no means safe from the risk arising from the exhibition of heterogeneous medicines. Whenever a child is seriously ill, there is not only great anxiety on the part of the mother, but much sympathy on the part of friends and neighbours, every one of whom has her own story of what was done with such another child in the same situation, and the great good obtained from such and such medicines. In vain the mother may urge that the physician has seen the patient, and already prescribed a different course. Entreaties are poured in with an earnestness proportioned to the danger, just to try the vaunted remedy without telling the doctor or interrupting the use of his medicines. Anxious for the

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relief of her child, the mother often yields before her better judgment can come into play to prevent her, and in a short time the child perhaps suffers from this abuse of incompatible or dangerous remedies, which aggravate the original disease. Those who are accustomed to reflect before they act, would be amazed if they were to witness the perilous follies sometimes perpetrated in this way, and the perfect self-complacency with which the anticipated results are looked for from the individual doses, no matter how much they may counteract each other. The system of concealment from the family physician, into which the adoption of "every body's" advice is so apt to lead, is itself an evil of the first magnitude. By inducing him to ascribe effects to wrong causes, it necessarily tends to mislead his judgment, and may thus render him also unwittingly an instrument of mischief. The maternal anxiety which lies at the root of the error is highly natural, and every sensible practitioner will make allowance for its impulses, even where they are illdirected and annoying to himself. But the fair and proper way for the mother is, not to act upon the suggestions of others without the knowledge of the medical attendant, but to state simply, and in an honest spirit, that certain suggestions have been made, and inquire whether they meet with his approbation or not. If they do, they will then be adapted by him to the necessities and peculiarities of the individual case, and the different parts of the treatment be carried on consistently and safely. If, on the contrary, they do not, the physician will have an opportunity of assigning a reason for his disapproval, and of pointing out the greater fitness of the means already employed; and if the parent shall not be satisfied with this explanation, but still insist on the suggestion being tried, he can then either decline farther responsibility, or take care that the trial be made with as much safety and prospect of advantage as possible.-Dr Combe on the Management of Infancy.

RARE DOINGS OF A TAILOR.

The bridge over the Teith at Doune is well worth a passing notice. It is a strong, sturdy erection, though upwards of three hundred years old, and the work of a tailor. In the parapet is the following inscription, still distinctly legible: we shall modernise the spelling. "In God is all my trust, said Spittel. The tenth day of September, in the year of God, 1535 years, founded was this bridge, by Robert Spittel, Tailor to the Most Noble Princess Margaret, Queen to James the Fourth." Mr Spittel was not ashamed of his profession, for, in addition to the designation in the inscription, he has ornamented the parapet with the characteristic emblem of a large pair of scissors! There is a tradition in the district concerning this worthy knight of the shears. There was a ford and ferry about half way between the present bridge and Doune Castle, and Spittel had frequently to pass the ford. The fare was a doit, but Spittel had no smaller coin than a bodle (equal to two doits), and having been at former times ill pleased with the inattention of the ferryman, he very coolly took out his shears, clipped the bodle in two, and gave one-half to the ferryman! The careful tailor grew rich and prosperous, and was a public benefactor. He built two other bridges; one at Bannock, and another at Tulliebody; and he founded an hospital in Stirling, from which widows and orphans are still relieved and supported. Queen Margaret's tailor was, therefore, no ordinary man. He placed a motto on his hospital at Stirling, "The liberal man deviseth liberal things," and he surmounted it again with a representation of his shears-the source of all his liberality. Is Queen Victoria's tailor as proud of his shears, or as well disposed to devise liberal things?—Inverness Courier.

This averages 970 an hour, or 15 in every minute; and it is fair to presume that there is no street in the world where so many carriages pass and repass in one day. On the 1st of September last this gentleman engaged several persons, in order to ascertain the number of foot passengers which passed the factory from eight in the morning till eight in the evening, and the result was as follows: From 8 o'clock till 9 3600 | From 3 o'clock till 4 4480 9 10 4460 4 5 5280 5 6 4480

10

11 4380

...

NUMBER 460.

GLORY.

THE love of fame is, in the main, a generous passion. It does not form the highest of motives, but it is very much superior to many. In its more elevated moods, it approaches even the highest, for then we overlook the earthy present, and contemplate only the praise of posterity-of those we can never know, nor hear, nor see, nor in any way profit by. Apart from this, it will be found that the motives of laudable deeds are mostly material; pains to be avoided, or pleasures to be enjoyed. This alone is an ideal, an intellectual breathing. It is the unbought grace, and will often influence those in whom a sense of religion is dead, or moral ties disregarded. Such being the social importance of a desire of renown, it is of consequence that the passion should be rightly directed, and ignominy or honour justly awarded.

In the early ages, glory was founded on beneficence. Acts useful to man alone raised a mortal to the skies. This was the beginning of hero-worship. All the more celebrated characters who fill the Pantheon of the ancients, earned divine honours by meritorious services, by encountering trials and dangers, by ridding the earth of monsters, of nuisances and oppressors, or by useful arts, discoveries, and inventions. Bacchus taught the use of the vine, and of honey; Esculapius the art of curing diseases. Ceres instructed men in agriculture; Apollo and Orpheus were the inventors of music. Theseus is renowned as the determined foe of robbers and wild beasts; Castor and Pollux of pirates, by which they encouraged navigation: and amongst the labours of Hercules, we have no doubt that one for which he earned as much praise as for any other, was that cleansing of the Augean stable, which has been the prototype of so many reforms of later days. From such characteristic attributes, and in spite of fabulous mystification, it seems clear that the early Pantheon of the ancients was strictly an aristocracy of talent and desert. Its basis was of the Benthamite order, utilitarian; and no one could scale the Olympian heights, and win the glorious apotheosis of a sidereal mansion, save through deeds of valour, philanthropy, or patriotism.

Illusions less profitable to mankind succeeded these dazzling chimeras of a poetical age. The chief was the love of conquest. Heroic toils cease to consist in the abatement of public grievances, in slaying the ravaging lion of Nemæa, in cutting off the heads of the Lernean hydra, or in rescuing a suffering community from an oppressive tribute by the destruction of the devouring Minotaur. In lieu of such patriotic services, heroes occupied themselves in destroying each other, and in subduing and laying waste their respective territories. This was the pride of imperial Rome, her thirst being for universal sway; and the same passion for domination had previously animated the monarchies of Persia, Babylon, Assyria, and Macedon, and the petty and belligerent republics of Greece. It was the corruption of true heroism, whose primitive application consisted in the godlike vocation of doing good to mankind; for which laudable devotion the benefactors were translated to heaven.

A similar perversion of what was meritorious in origin continued through subsequent ages. The hyperborean glories of Odin and his hall of skulls, or of the heroes of Ossian, are too remote to be dwelt upon; but the reign of Charlemagne offers a better defined era. The exploits of this illustrious warrior were mainly directed against the Saracenic invaders, and to the conversion of the Saxons and other German nations to Christianity. The triumphs of the Cross continued for centuries, in western Europe, to be the guiding star of heroic enterprise. Glory consisted in

the diffusion of the Gospel; and Jupiter and Mars were supplanted by the renown of St George of Cappadocia and Montjoye St Denis, whose names became respectively the rallying battle-cries of England and France. This pious fervour attained its meridian heat during the Crusades. In these famous expeditions, the energies of Europe were concentrated; all were roused, from prince to serf; and history offers no other example in which so universal, generous, and ardent an enthusiasm was elicited. The Trojan war, a similar enterprise of associated princes, was for an object which sinks into insignificance in comparison. In the medieval conflicts of Palestine, the single disinterested object sought was to rescue the holy sepulchre from infidel profanation. The struggle was bravely maintained for upwards of a century, under great disadvantages from climate and distance. The flower of European chivalry perished by the sword or disease; and the multitudes and treasure sacrificed in this romantic undertaking are quite incalculable, showing the vast extent of disinterestedness of which men are capable, when once their sympathies are thoroughly excited.

Passing over the religious wars of the Protestant Reformation, we come to the illusions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Among the votaries of a vain-glorious ambition, of this period, stands prominently forward Louis XIV. of France. His history is a lesson to princes, and even to private persons. In him we have a striking example how natural abilities and good dispositions may be perverted by vicious education. Accustomed from earliest infancy to hear only what flattered his pride and depraved tastes, he never learnt what was truly just and elevated in conduct. He was perpetually reminded of the vast power he was born to, never of its corelative duties; of his surpassing greatness, but never how that greatness could be most beneficently illustrated. His long reign, in consequence, was a grand mistake, which he discovered when too late to repair its errors. France never recovered under the elder branch of the Bourbons from the evils entailed by his mistaken policy. She was enfeebled and impoverished by his profitless wars; the choice of her population were slain in battle; the finances were disordered; the industrious orders were weighed down by burdensome imposts, and the seeds of those calamities were sown which ripened into destructive maturity under his successors. The king himself in old age exhibited the usual conclusion of a weak and misspent life-becoming the victim of an intolerant superstition, of selfreproach and disappointed schemes. The people rejoiced at his death, having discovered the emptiness of those objects in which he had wasted the national resources, and by which they had been dazzled in the earlier part of his career.

Contemporary with the latter period of this king's reign, flourished Charles XII. of Sweden. He had drunk heroic inspiration from the pages of Quintus Curtius, and sought to rival the exploits of the Macedonian hero. Without refinement, or sympathy with aught save toil and danger, Charles was formed by nature for the conqueror's vocation. War was enjoyment to him, which he followed as disinterestedly as some individuals do the chase; only, in lieu of a pack of hounds he had a nation in leash, and his game did not consist in partridges and hares, but his brother potentates, whom he deposed or hunted out of their territories, apparently more for sportive occupation than any just cause or settled purpose of extending his dominion. His career was of short duration. For a moment Europe was astonished at the dashing attempt of the adventurous Swede to re

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

vive the ancient drama of universal conquest; but the visionary aspiration was dissolved by the decisive victory of Pultowa, won by Peter the Great-a more prosaic but useful prince, whose leading aim was the civilisation of his own subjects, not the disturbance of his neighbours.

The philosopher-king of Prussia, Frederick II., cannot be reckoned among ordinary conquerors. Much of his reign was certainly spent in desperate warfare, but his wars mostly originated in politic ambition. His paternal kingdom was small, and he sought, by availing himself of circumstances, and of pretexts for aggression not always defensible, to enlarge its boundaries. Louis XIV., indeed, was the last among the old monarchs of Europe who sought to embody Asiatic ideas of empire and regal magnificence. The miserable results of his ostentatious efforts, their enfeebling effects on France and neighbouring states, afforded lessons of instruction that tended greatly to abate the pride and pomp of soldiering. Diplomacy, in place of physical force, began to be more frequently resorted to in the settlement of national differences. The wars that did occur, and in which England participated, mostly originated in commercial jealousy, in disputes about the possession or boundaries of colonies, or grew out of the electoral dominions of the Brunswick family, or were expressly undertaken for the maintenance of a balance of power in Europe, as the best guarantee of general peace and security.

This system continued without essential derangement till the burst of the French Revolution. By this great commotion former ideas and relations among states were disturbed. France became, in the European family, a sort of outlaw, carried away by energies and principles that had no previous type or existence. After undergoing rapid and extraordinary mutations, alternately the dread and astonishment of Europe, she found a temporary resting-place from internal conflicts under the sway of a chief who owed his elevation to her divisions, and his strength to her necessities. Napoleon Bonaparte was formed exclusively on the antique model of Pagan grandeur. He had the ambition of Julius Cæsar, with the craftiness of the Carthaginian Hannibal; and to the end of his public life, Plutarch's heroes formed his standard of excellence. His career is a brilliant episode in modern history, but, like that of the Swedish Charles, Alexander, Tamerlane, and Zinghis Khan, has left few traces proportioned to the vast physical power he called into action. Thrones were overturned, and nations overrun, but it was the lofty flight of the eagle, or the ravages of a hurricane that touched only the high places, leaving the solid structure and heart of European society not materially altered. France owed to his restlessness her greatest humiliation, and the illusions of military glory with which she was transported under his guidance, were as irrelevant to public happiness as those of an impracticable liberty, with which she had been previously intoxicated.

The honours paid to the memory of Napoleon, by the removal of his remains from St Helena, are not a flattering exponent of the spirit of the times. By the apotheosis of his ashes, the god of war is invoked; for in war consisted his chief eminence. It shows, notwithstanding the spread of science, that the objects of idolatry in the modern are not greatly remote from those of the ancient world. Popular rites continue sanguinary; victims still smoke on bloody altars, and the incense of carnage is not unsavoury to the nostrils. This is to be lamented, for, though military force is as yet necessary for defence from both external and internal aggression, it is, in its offensive character, the most detestable of all things. War in itself was

not glory at the beginning, for the first heroes were the benefactors of mankind; and it never has been, and never will be, true glory. For ourselves, we are for the revival of the primitive worship, divested of its corruptions. Ceres and Apollo are the deities who should enjoy our votive offerings, and not Mars and Bellona. We should wish to see honour and glory given to the men who, by useful suggestions and acts, by pleasing accomplishments, and the furnishing of innocent enjoyments, should ensure greater happiness to greater numbers; still more to those who, by im

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line of his wildest conjectures. While he stood in mute amaze, the servant said, "Time presses. The more quickly you come, the better pleased will his lordship be." "But I must go and tell father and mother," replied Joe; "and I must put on my Sunday's jacket." "Pooh, pooh!" said the servant, away just as you are." As he spoke, he led the halfreluctant Joe to the carriage, and was about to pull down the steps. "Come," cried Joe, bursting into laughter in spite of his confusion of mind, "that is a bit over much! me go into a carriage! No, heaven love you, I'll go on the dicky, if I must go at all." "That won't do," said the man; "you must go inside, and I He then half forced our shall pull down the blinds.'

Lord Salso, assuredly knew his name, and who A strange notion as to his parentand what he was. age came across his mind; he might have been a sen of Lord S- placed in infancy under the charge of Goody Ridge; but then he and his reputed father Gaffer Ridge were as like each other as two peas. All was mystery, in short; but Joe had sense enough to resolve upon holding his tongue at all events, and letting the tide of fortune carry him whither it chose. He told his parents that Lord Shad seen him working, thought him an amazingly clever fellow, and was going to make a man of him. But he also said to them that the whole affair would be blown up if they talked about it. The old people were quite ready to believe Joe a genius; these he was delivered two days after, being then carried to London, and put to school, while Lord Spromised to make up privately for his loss to the old people, a promise which he amply fulfilled.

made them better for both time and eternity.

STORY OF JOSEPH RIDGE.

shut the door, and in a few minutes the vehicle was off for London, which was not above eight or nine miles distant.

In his boyish days, Joe wrought, as boys usually work, about a farm adjoining his natal cot; and, as he grew stronger and older, he began to help his father, who had a considerable amount of employment, and was beginning to feel the weight of years. Our young hero had a good heart, and usually assisted his father in a dutiful and manful way; but at times he showed a soul above hedging, and diverged from its sober engagements into pursuits which most folk called idle, and which the neighbouring manorial lords were apt to regard as high misdemeanours, worse than treason against the state. In general, however, Joe behaved himself like a good boy, and Goody and Gaffer Ridge were very proud of him.

One day Joe was returning alone from his regular toils, with his bill over his arm. He was wearied, but went on whistling cheerily, and ruminating at intervals on the comforts attending the consumption of fried bacon, and other little restoratives for a tired frame. A carriage came up behind him, and on reaching his side drew up. A respectable-looking servant out of livery, who was seated on the coach-box, looked hard at Joe, and then leapt down. "Stop a moment, if you please," said he civilly to our young labourer. Joe did come to a pause, but looked a little surprised. The man stared at him for a few moments longer, and then said, "I think I can't be in a mistake. Yes, you are the man. I have a note for you." As he spoke, he tendered a little unsealed and undirected billet to our hero.

"A letter for me!" returned Joe; "bless you, sir, you must be mistaken. Nobody writes to me!" "That may be," replied the other," but this note is for you; I am sure it is," and he held out the paper again to Master Ridge. The latter took it into his hand, looked at it all ways, and then scratched his elbow. "I be'nt very good at reading hand of write," said he; "perhaps you would be good enough to do it for me?" The servant took back the letter, saying quietly, "It is from Lord S-" At this name, which was that of one of the greatest men of the district, and a minister of state, Joe's face turned suddenly to all colours of the rainbow. The memory of various little peccadilloes flashed rapidly across his brain, and he thought to himself" Well, hang it, Joe, you are in for it at last!" The billet, however, gave no countenance to his fears, but on the contrary bore an opposite tenor. It merely desired the party" to whom the letter should be delivered, to accompany the bearer, without a moment's delay, to the house of Lord Sin London, where something might perhaps be disclosed of advantage to his future interests."

"Oh, ho!" cried Joe, a little relieved, "it can't be me he wants. You have come to the wrong hand. My name's Joe Ridge. I am a poor hedger-lad, and have come, you see, from my work-up there by the canal side." This disclosure, which he expected to be perfectly decisive, had no effect whatever. The man-servant only smiled, and said, "I don't at all wonder at your surprise, young man. All will be explained to you. I know your name, and I am sure of the letter being for you, and you alone; and I advise you to come iminediately with me, as it will perhaps be for your own good."

Joseph Ridge was perfectly confounded. To be sent for by a lord was something altogether out of the

The end of the journey arrived, and the carriage was driven to the door of Lord S's splendid mansion in Square. The dusk had fallen in, and Joe was delivered from his place of confinement without observation. He was ushered into a private room, and the unliveried servant went to inform his lordship of the arrival of the visiter. In a few seconds the man returned to bring him to the presence of Lord S. Having never been in London before, Joe's confusion and tremors had returned on being whirled through the crowded streets, and were strengthened at sight of the magnificence around him in Lord S- 's house. Looking at his clumsy hob-nailed shoes, he said hurriedly to the servant, "Shouldn't I take them off?" "No, no," returned the other; "but you need not bring your hedge-bill with you," continued he with a smile, seeing that our confused hero had lifted that weapon, so formidable to hawthorn boughs and green leaves. Joe laid down the bill, and followed his guide to a small but handsome apartment, where sat Lord S alone.

Lord S- was a pale, weakly looking man of middle age. His countenance was fine, but wore a sensitive, nervous expression, indicating more than even the usual languor of luxurious life. The moment that Joe entered, the peer looked fixedly at him, and turning to the man-servant, who had remained in the room after carefully closing the door, he said, "You are right, William; this is he-the very person." His lordship then turned away, and seemed embarrassed-as much so as poor Joe. But the great man recovered himself apparently by an effort, and looking directly at our hero, said, "You know me, young man?-you recognise me?" Joe had seen his lordship several times in the country, and he said, with tolerable composure, "Yes, my lord." The peer again turned his head away for a moment, and then resumed "It is needless to waste words. I will do much for you, if you will be prudent. Can I depend upon your discretion, young man?" Our rustic understood so far what was meant as to know it was fitting to reply, "Yes, my lord." "Then we understand each other fully?" said Lord S-, with emphasis. "Yes, my lord," poor Joe said, but what he thought was soniething very different. "Then, let this subject never be adverted to again. William," addressing the servant, "I know your attachment to me. You hear my wishes. Never let the subject of this evening's meeting be mentioned between us again!-do not even think of it to yourselves!" An expression of pain and confusion passed from his lordship's face as he said to Joe, after a pause, "I will do much for you, young man. I think you have the appearance of good natural abilities, and you shall have wherewithal to cultivate them-you shall have education. You are not yet too old for it. Afterwards, I will take care of your fortunes. Remember only my wishes."

Joseph Ridge was re-conveyed to his parents on the morning succeeding this memorable evening. What were his reflections on the subject of it, it is scarcely possible to describe, the issue of the interview having been so extraordinary-so different from all that he had anticipated. His natural shrewdness led him sometimes to conjecture that there was a huge mistake under the whole affair; but against this conclusion stood out the fact, that the man-servant, and through him

If a bumpkin, Joseph Ridge was certainly rather a clever bumpkin. He profited rapidly by the advantages afforded him, and in the course of no great time became a fair scholar. He was now well clad, well lodged, and well fed; and had sense to see that by strictly following up his lordship's wishes, he had a chance of rising in the world, but none otherwise. He therefore attended to his lessons diligently. In due time he was called, for the second time, before Lord S. "I have the best accounts of you, Joseph," said his lordship; "and am told you are now fitted for a respectable situation. I have got a clerkship for you." Poor Joe was now able to put his gratitude into decent though embarrassed language. "Gratitude!" said the nobleman, interrupting him, "you owe me no gratitude. You have been prudent, and merit every thing I can do for you. Allude no more to this subject. It is painful to me."

Joseph Ridge went away pleased, but more surprised than ever. Again he teased himself with thinking whether or not he could bear some secret relationship, if not that of a son, to Lord S-; but there was no satisfaction to be got in this quarter. He could not doubt his being the son of Gaffer and Goody Ridge, and their lines of descent were known to the whole parish. "Never mind," thought Joe, "up the ladder I go, push me what may." And up the ladder of fortune he did go. Lord Sraised him step by step, and at last fixed him, while still very young, as junior partner in a thriving commercial house. In his course of luck our hero forgot neither his poor old father and mother, nor any other old friends. They shared in his prosperity.

Mr Joseph Ridge had been in his new situation for several years, when William, the confidential servant of Lord S-, came one day with a hurried summons for him to appear at the bedside of that nobleman, who was declared to be dying. Joseph went without delay. "I have sent for you," said his lordship, speaking in a faint voice, "to thank you for having preserved my secret so well." "Secret! my lord," said Joseph. "Yes, I can now talk of it-I could not bear to do so before. It is little that a dying man cares what is said of him, yet you must promise to preserve silence still" His lordship grew exhausted. He pressed the hand of Joseph, and the latter returned the pressure, and this seemed to satisfy the dying peer. Friends and physicians came round him, but he never spoke again.

After all was over, Joseph, more confounded than ever, was retiring from the house, when William, the servant, stopt him and took him into a private apartment. The man was sorrowful, but he composed himself, and said to Joseph, "I have sometimes thought, Mr Ridge, that a mistake was made in your case. Do you, or did you ever know the secret cause of my lord's notice of you?" "To be candid," said Joseph, "I never did." "You have been made a man of, then, by a fortunate accident,” replied the other. A pause now took place, and William seemed thoughtful. "You must feel curious to know the truth," said he at length," and I believe you are too grateful to my lord to disclose it to the injury of his memory. I will tell you the whole. My lord was, you know, an able statesman, and altogether a man of great talents; but he was constitutionally nervous and sensitive in the extreme. One day, some years ago,

a circumstance connected with public business drove him into a state of temporary derangement. He rushed down to his seat in Surrey, accompanied only by myself. When there, he went out alone, about mid-day, and precipitated himself into the canal. Fortunately, I had watched him, and I managed to get him out. A young countryman stood on the opposite bank at the time. He had seen the deliberate attempt of my lord, and rushing up, though he could not help us, saw my lord recover-in short, saw the whole affair. The cold bath effectually restored the reason of Lord S-, but then came upon him a feeling of dreadful alarm lest his suicidal attempt should get wind. The idea of being despised as a lunatic, and the prospect of losing place, character, and influence,, almost hurried his proud and sensitive mind back into its former state, and he gave me instant orders to search for the sole witness of the scene (whom he himself had seen), and to bring him away, in order to secure his silence at any cost. I was left to do this, and his lordship, though ill, rode off for London, to make a public appearance that evening, lest the worst should come out. I found you out, learnt your name, watched you at work near the spot, and was convinced