The good man, overcome by his own earnestness, paused; his head drooped on the young student's breast, and all three were long silent.

CHAPTER XXI.

Whatever ridicule may be thrown upon Mr. Dale's dissertations by the wit of the enlightened, they had a considerable, and I think a beneficial effect upon Leonard Fairfield—an effect which may perhaps create less surprise, when the reader remembers that Leonard was unaccustomed to argument, and still retained many of the prejudices natural to his rustic breeding. Nay, he actually thought it possible that, as both Riccabocca and Mr. Dale were more than double his age, and had had opportunities not only of reading twice as many books, but of contracting experience in wider ranges of life—he actually, I say, thought it possible that they might be better acquainted with the properties and distinctions of knowledge than himself. At all events, the Parson's words were so far well-timed, that they produced in Leonard very much of that state of mind which Mr. Dale desired to effect, before communicating to him the startling intelligence that he was to visit relations whom he had never seen, of whom he had heard but little, and that it was at least possible that the result of that visit might be to open to him greater facilities for instruction, and a higher degree in life.

Without some such preparation, I fear that Leonard would have gone forth into the world with an exaggerated notion of his own acquirements, and with a notion yet more exaggerated as to the kind of power that such knowledge as he possessed would obtain for itself. As it was, when Mr. Dale broke to him the news of the experimental journey before him, cautioning him against being over-sanguine, Leonard received the intelligence with a serious meekness, and thoughts that were nobly solemn.

When the door closed on his visitors, he remained for some moments motionless, and in deep meditation: then he unclosed the door, and stole forth. The night was already far advanced, the heavens were luminous with all the host of stars. "I think," said the student, referring, in later life, to that crisis in his destiny—"I think it was then, when I stood alone, yet surrounded by worlds so numberless, that I first felt the distinction between mind and soul." "Tell me," said Riccabocca, as he parted company with Mr. Dale, "whether you think we should have given to Frank Hazeldean, on entering life, the same lecture on the limits and ends of knowledge which we have bestowed on Leonard Fairfield."

"My friend," quoth the Parson, with a touch of human conceit; "I have ridden on horseback, and I know that some horses should be guided by the bridle, and some should be urged by the spur."

"Cospetto!" said Riccabocca; "you contrive to put every experience of yours to some use—even your journey on Mr. Hazeldean's pad. And I see now why, in this little world of a village, you have picked up so general an acquaintance with life."

"Did you ever read White's Natural History of Selborne?"

"No."

"Do so, and you will find that you need not go far to learn the habits of birds, and know the difference between a swallow and a swift.—Learn the difference in a village, and you know the difference wherever swallows and swifts skim the air."

"Swallows and swifts!—true; but men—"

"Are with us all the year round—which is more than we can say of swallows and swifts."

"Mr. Dale," said Riccabocca, taking off his hat, with great formality, "if ever again I find myself in a dilemma, I will come to you instead of to Machiavelli."

"Ah!" cried the Parson, "if I could but have a calm hour's talk with you on the errors of the Papal relig—"

Riccabocca was off like a shot.

CHAPTER XXII.

The next day, Mr. Dale had a long conversation with Mrs. Fairfield. At first, he found some difficulty in getting over her pride, and inducing her to accept overtures from parents who had so long slighted both Leonard and herself. And it would have been in vain to have put before the good woman the worldly advantages which such overtures implied. But when Mr. Dale said, almost sternly, "Your parents are old, your father infirm; their least wish should be as binding to you as their command," the widow bowed her head and said,

"God bless, them, sir, I was very sinful—'Honor your father and mother.' I'm no scollard, but I know the Commandments. Let Lenny go. But he'll soon forget me, and mayhap he'll learn to be ashamed of me."

"There I will trust him," said the Parson; and he contrived easily to re-assure and soothe her.

It was not till all this was settled that Mr. Dale drew forth an unsealed letter, which Mr. Richard Avenel, taking his hint, had given to him, as from Leonard's grandparents, and said, "This is for you, and it contains an inclosure of some value."

"Will you read it, sir? As I said before, I'm no scollard."

"But Leonard is, and he will read it to you."

When Leonard returned home that evening, Mrs. Fairfield showed him the letter. It ran thus:

"DEAR JANE—Mr. Dale will tell you that we wish Leonard to come to us. We are glad to hear you are well. We forward, by Mr. Dale, a bank-note for L50, which comes from Richard, your brother. So no more at present from your affectionate parents,

"JOHN AND MARGARET AVENEL."



The letter was in a stiff, female scrawl, and Leonard observed that two or three mistakes in spelling had been corrected, either in another pen or in a different hand.

"Dear brother Dick, how good in him!" cried the widow. "When I saw there was money, I thought it must be him. How I should like to see Dick again. But I s'pose he's still in Amerikay. Well, well, this will buy clothes for you."

"No; you must keep it all, mother, and put it in the Savings' Bank."

"I'm not quite so silly as that," cried Mrs. Fairfield with contempt; and she put the fifty pounds into a cracked teapot.

"It must not stay there when I'm gone. You may be robbed, mother."

"Dear me, dear me, that's true. What shall I do with it?—what do I want with it, too? Dear me! I wish they hadn't sent it. I shan't sleep in peace. You must e'en put it in your own pouch, and button it up tight, boy."

Lenny smiled, and took the note; but he took it to Mr. Dale, and begged him to put it into the Savings' Bank for his mother.

The day following he went to take leave of his master, of Jackeymo, of the fountain, the garden. But, after he had gone through the first of these adieus with Jackeymo—who, poor man, indulged in all the lively gesticulations of grief which make half the eloquence of his countrymen; and then, absolutely blubbering, hurried away—Leonard himself was so affected that he could not proceed at once to the house, but stood beside the fountain, trying hard to keep back his tears.

"You, Leonard—and you are going!" said a soft voice; and the tears fell faster than ever, for he recognized the voice of Violante.

"Do not cry," continued the child, with a kind of tender gravity. "You are going, but papa says it would be selfish in us to grieve, for it is for your good; and we should be glad. But I am selfish, Leonard, and I do grieve. I shall miss you sadly."

"You, young lady—you miss me!"

"Yes. But I do not cry, Leonard, for I envy you, and I wish I were a boy: I wish I could do as you."

The girl clasped her hands, and reared her slight form, with a kind of passionate dignity.

"Do as me, and part from all those you love!"

"But to serve those you love. One day you will come back to your mother's cottage, and say, 'We have conquered fortune.' Oh that I could go forth and return, as you will. But my father has no country, and his only child is a useless girl."

As Violante spoke, Leonard had dried his tears; her emotion distracted him from his own.

"Oh," continued Violante, again raising her head loftily, "what it is to be a man! A woman sighs, 'I wish,' but man should say 'I will.'"

Occasionally before, Leonard had noted fitful flashes of a nature grand and heroic, in the Italian child, especially of late—flashes the more remarkable from their contrast to a form most exquisitely feminine, and to a sweetness of temper which made even her pride gentle. But now it seemed as if the child spoke with the command of a queen—almost with the inspiration of a Muse. A strange and new sense of courage entered within him.

"May I remember these words!" he murmured half audibly.

The girl turned and surveyed him with eyes brighter for their moisture. She then extended her hand to him, with a quick movement, and, as he bent over it, with a grace taught to him by genuine emotion, she said,—"And if you do, then, girl and child as I am, I shall think I have aided a brave heart in the great strife for honor!"

She lingered a moment, smiled as if to herself, and then, gliding away, was lost among the trees.

After a long pause, in which Leonard recovered slowly from the surprise and agitation into which Violante had thrown his spirits—previously excited as they were—he went, murmuring to himself, toward the house. But Riccabocca was from home. Leonard turned mechanically to the terrace, and busied himself with the flowers. But the dark eyes of Violante shone on his thoughts, and her voice rang in his ear.

At length Riccabocca appeared, followed up the road by a laborer, who carried something indistinct under his arm.

The Italian beckoned to Leonard to follow him into the parlor, and after conversing with him kindly, and at some length, and packing up, as it were, a considerable provision of wisdom in the portable shape of aphorisms and proverbs, the sage left him alone for a few moments, Riccabocca then returned with his wife, and bearing a small knapsack:

"It is not much we can do for you, Leonard, and money is the worst gift in the world for a keepsake; but my wife and I have put our heads together to furnish you with a little outfit. Giacomo, who was in our secret, assures us that the clothes will fit; and stole, I fancy, a coat of yours for the purpose. Put them on when you go to your relations; it is astonishing what a difference it makes in the ideas people form of us, according as our coats are cut one way or another. I should not be presentable in London thus; and nothing is more true than that a tailor is often the making of a man."

"The shirts, too, are very good holland," said Mrs. Riccabocca, about to open the knapsack.

"Never mind details, my dear," cried the wise man; "shirts are comprehended in the general principle of clothes. And, Leonard, as a remembrance somewhat more personal, accept this, which I have worn many a year when time was a thing of importance to me, and nobler fates than mine hung on a moment. We missed the moment, or abused it, and here I am, a waif on a foreign shore. Methinks I have done with Time."

The exile, as he thus spoke, placed in Leonard's reluctant hands a watch that would have delighted an antiquary, and shocked a dandy It was exceedingly thick, having an outer case of enamel, and an inner one of gold. The hands and the figures of the hours had originally been formed of brilliants; but the brilliants had long since vanished. Still, even thus bereft, the watch was much more in character with the giver than the receiver, and was as little suited to Leonard as would have been the red silk umbrella.

"It is old-fashioned," said Mrs. Riccabocca, "but it goes better than any clock in the country. I really think it will last to the end of the world."

"Carissima mia!" cried the Doctor, "I thought I had convinced you that the world is by no means come to its last legs."

"Oh, I did not mean any thing, Alphonso," said Mrs. Riccabocca, coloring.

"And that is all we do mean when we talk about that of which we can know nothing," said the Doctor, less gallantly than usual, for he resented that epithet of "old-fashioned," as applied to the watch.

Leonard, we see, had been silent all this time; he could not speak—literally and truly, he could not speak. How he got out of his embarrassment, and how he got out of the room, he never explained to my satisfaction. But, a few minutes afterward, he was seen hurrying down the road very briskly.

Riccabocca and his wife stood at the window gazing after him.

"There is a depth in that boy's heart," said the sage, "which might float an argosy."

"Poor dear boy! I think we have put every thing into the knapsack that he can possibly want," said good Mrs. Riccabocca musingly.

The DOCTOR (continuing his soliloquy.)—"They are strong, but they are not immediately apparent."

Mrs. RICCABOCCA (resuming hers.)—"They are at the bottom of the knapsack."

The DOCTOR.—"They will stand long wear and tear."

Mrs. RICCABOCCA.—"A year, at least, with proper care at the wash."

The DOCTOR (startled.)—"Care at the wash! What on earth are you talking of, ma'am!"

Mrs. RICCABOCCA (mildly.)—"The shirts to be sure, my love! And you?"

The DOCTOR (with a heavy sigh.)—"The feelings, ma'am!" Then, after a pause, taking his wife's hand affectionately—"But you did quite right to think of the shirts; Mr. Dale said very truly—"

Mrs. RICCABOCCA.—"What?"

The DOCTOR.—"That there was a great deal in common between us—even when I think of feelings, and you but of—shirts."

CHAPTER XXIII.

Mr. and Mrs. Avenel sat within the parlor—Mr. Richard stood on the hearth-rug, whistling Yankee Doodle. "The Parson writes word that the lad will come to-day," said Richard suddenly—"let me see the letter—ay, to day. If he took the coach as far as ——, he might walk the rest of the way in two or three hours. He should be pretty nearly here. I have a great mind to go and meet him: it will save his asking questions, and hearing about me. I can clear the town by the back way, and get out at the high road."

"You'll not know him from any one else," said Mrs. Avenel.

"Well, that is a good one! Not know an Avenel! We've all the same cut of the jib—have not we, father?"

Poor John laughed heartily, till the tears rolled down his cheeks.

"We were always a well-favored fam'ly," said John, recomposing himself. "There was Luke, but he's gone; and Harry, but he's dead too, and Dick, but he's in Amerikay—no, he's here; and my darling Nora, but—"

"Hush!" interrupted Mrs. Avenel; "hush, John!"

The old man stared at her, and then put his tremulous hand to his brow. "And Nora's gone too!" said he, in a voice of profound woe. Both hands then fell on his knees, and his head drooped on his breast.

Mrs. Avenel rose, kissed her husband on the forehead, and walked away to the window. Richard took up his hat, and brushed the nap carefully with his handkerchief; but his lips quivered.

"I'm going," said he abruptly. "Now mind, mother, not a word about Uncle Richard yet; we must first see how we like each other, and—(in a whisper) you'll try and get that into my poor father's head?"

"Ay, Richard," said Mrs. Avenel quietly. Richard put on his hat, and went out by the back way. He stole along the fields that skirted the town, and had only once to cross the street before he got into the high road.

He walked on till he came to the first milestone. There he seated himself, lighted his cigar, and awaited his nephew. It was now nearly the hour of sunset, and the road before him lay westward. Richard from time to time looked along the road, shading his eyes with his hand; and at length, just as the disc of the sun had half sunk down the horizon, a solitary figure came up the way. It emerged suddenly from the turn in the road: the reddening beams colored all the atmosphere around it. Solitary and silent it came as from a Land of Light.

CHAPTER XXIV.

"You have been walking far, young man," said Richard Avenel.

"No, sir, not very. That is Lansmere before me, is it not?"

"Yes, it is Lansmere; you stop there, I guess?"

Leonard made a sign in the affirmative, and walked on a few paces: then, seeing the stranger who had accosted him still by his side, he said—

"If you know the town, sir, perhaps you will have the goodness to tell me whereabouts Mr. Avenel lives?"

"I can put you in a straight cut across the fields, that will bring you just behind the house."

"You are very kind, but it will take you out of your way."

"No, it is in my way. So you are going to Mr. Avenel's?—a good old gentleman."

"I've always heard so; and Mrs. Avenel—"

"A particular superior woman," said Richard. "Any one else to ask after—I know the family well."

"No, thank you, sir."

"They have a son, I believe; but he's in America, is not he?"

"I believe he is, sir."

"I see the Parson has kept faith with me," muttered Richard.

"If you can tell me any thing about him," said Leonard, "I should be very glad."

"Why so, young man?—perhaps he is hanged by this time."

"Hanged!"

"He was a sad dog, I am told."

"Then you have been told very falsely," said Leonard, coloring.

"A sad wild dog—his parents were so glad when he cut and run—went off to the States. They say he made money; but, if so, he neglected his relations shamefully."

"Sir," said Leonard, "you are wholly misinformed. He has been most generous to a relative who had little claim on him; and I never heard his name mentioned but with love and praise."

Richard instantly fell to whistling Yankee Doodle, and walked on several paces without saying a word. He then made a slight apology for his impertinence—hoped no offense—and, with his usual bold but astute style of talk, contrived to bring out something of his companion's mind. He was evidently struck with the clearness and propriety with which Leonard expressed himself, raised his eyebrows in surprise more than once, and looked him full in the face with an attentive and pleased survey. Leonard had put on the new clothes with which Riccabocca and wife had provided him. They were those appropriate to a young country tradesman in good circumstances; but as he did not think about the clothes, so he had unconsciously something of the ease of the gentleman.

They now came into the fields. Leonard paused before a slip of ground sown with rye.

"I should have thought grass land would have answered better, so near a town," said he.

"No doubt it would," answered Richard; "but they are sadly behind-hand in these parts. You see that great park yonder, on the other side of the road? That would answer better for rye than grass; but then, what would become of my Lord's deer? The aristocracy eat us up, young man."

"But the aristocracy did not sow this piece with rye, I suppose?" said Leonard, smiling.

"And what do you conclude from that?"

"Let every man look to his own ground," said Leonard, with a cleverness of repartee caught from Doctor Riccabocca.

"'Cute lad you are," said Richard; "and we'll talk more of these matters another time."

They now came within sight of Mr. Avenel's house.

"You can get through the gap in the hedge, by the old pollard oak," said Richard; "and come round by the front of the house. Why, you're not afraid—are you?"

"I am a stranger."

"Shall I introduce you? I told you that I knew the old couple."

"Oh no, sir! I would rather meet them alone."

"Go; and—wait a bit—harkye, young man, Mrs. Avenel is a cold mannered woman; but don't be abashed by that."

Leonard thanked the good-natured stranger, crossed the field, passed the gap, and paused a moment under the stinted shade of the old hollow-hearted oak. The ravens were returning to their nests. At the sight of a human form under the tree, they wheeled round, and watched him afar. From the thick of the boughs, the young ravens sent their hoarse low cry.

CHAPTER XXV.

The young man entered the neat, prim, formal parlor.

"You are welcome!" said Mrs. Avenel, in a firm voice.

"The gentleman is heartily welcome," cried poor John.

"It is your grandson, Leonard Fairfield," said Mrs. Avenel.

But John who had risen with knocking knees, gazed hard at Leonard, and then fell on his breast, sobbing aloud—"Nora's eyes!—he has a blink in his eyes like Nora's."

Mrs. Avenel approached with a steady step, and drew away the old man tenderly.

"He is a poor creature," she whispered to Leonard—"you excite him. Come away, I will show you your room."

Leonard followed her up the stairs, and came into a room—neatly, and even prettily furnished. The carpet and curtains were faded by the sun, and of old-fashioned pattern, but there was a look about the room as if it had long been disused.

Mrs. Avenel sank down on the first chair on entering.

Leonard drew his arm round her waist affectionately: "I fear that I have put you out sadly—my dear grandmother."

Mrs. Avenel glided hastily from his arm, and her countenance worked much—every nerve in it twitching as it were; then, placing her hand on his locks, she said with passion, "God bless you, my grandson," and left the room.

Leonard dropped his knapsack on the floor, and looked around him wistfully. The room seemed as if it had once been occupied by a female. There was a work-box on the chest of drawers, and over it hanging shelves for books, suspended by ribbons that had once been blue, with silk and fringe appended to each shelf, and knots and tassels here and there—the taste of a woman, or rather of a girl, who seeks to give a grace to the commonest things around her. With the mechanical habit of a student, Leonard took down one or two of the volumes still left on the shelves. He found SPENSER'S Fairy Queen, RACINE in French, TASSO in Italian; and on the fly-leaf of each volume, in the exquisite hand-writing familiar to his memory, the name "Leonora." He kissed the books, and replaced them with a feeling akin both to tenderness and awe.

He had not been alone in his room more than a quarter of an hour, before the maid-servant knocked at his door and summoned him to tea.

Poor John had recovered his spirits, and his wife sate by his side holding his hand in hers. Poor John was even gay. He asked many questions about his daughter Jane, and did not wait for the answers. Then he spoke about the Squire, whom he confounded with Audley Egerton, and talked of elections, and the Blue party, and hoped Leonard would always be a good Blue; and then he fell to his tea and toast, and said no more.

Mrs. Avenel spoke little, but she eyed Leonard askant, as it were, from time to time; and after each glance the nerves of the poor severe face twitched again.

A little after nine o'clock Mrs. Avenel lighted a candle, and placing it in Leonard's hand, said, "You must be tired—you know your own room now. Good-night."

Leonard took the light, and, as was his wont with his mother, kissed Mrs. Avenel on the cheek. Then he took John's hand and kissed him too. The old man was half asleep and murmured dreamily, "That's Nora."

Leonard had retired to his room about half-an-hour, when Richard Avenel entered the house softly, and joined his parents.

"Well, mother?" said he.

"Well, Richard—you have seen him?"

"And like him. Do you know he has a great look of poor Nora?—more like her than Jane?"

"Yes; he is handsomer than Jane ever was, but more like your father than any one. John was so comely. You take to the boy then?"

"Ay, that I do. Just tell him in the morning that he is to go with a gentleman who will be his friend, and don't say more. The chaise shall be at the door after breakfast. Let him get into it: I shall wait for him out of the town. What's the room you give him?"

"The room you would not take."

"The room in which Nora slept? Oh, no! I could not have slept a wink there. What a charm there was in that girl!—how we all loved her! But she was too beautiful and good for us—too good to live!"

"None of us are too good," said Mrs. Avenel with great austerity, "and I beg you will not talk in that way. Good-night—I must get your poor father to bed."

When Leonard opened his eyes-the next morning, they rested on the face of Mrs. Avenel, which was bending over his pillow. But it was long before he could recognize that countenance, so changed was its expression—so tender, so motherlike. Nay, the face of his own mother had never seemed to him so soft with a mother's passion.

"Ah!" he murmured, half rising, and flinging his young arms round her neck. Mrs. Avenel, this time, and for the first, taken by surprise, warmly returned the embrace: she clasped him to her breast, she kissed him again and again. At length with a quick start she escaped, and walked up and down the room, pressing her hands tightly together. When she halted her face had recovered its usual severity and cold precision.

"It is time for you to rise, Leonard," said she. "You will leave us to-day. A gentleman has promised to take charge of you, and do for you more than we can. A chaise will be at the door soon—make haste."

John was absent from the breakfast-table. His wife said that he never rose till late, and must not be disturbed.

The meal was scarce over before a chaise and pair came to the door.

"You must not keep the chaise waiting—the gentleman is very punctual."

"But he is not come."

"No, he has walked on before, and will get in after you are out of the town."

"What is his name, and why should he care for me, grandmother?"

"He will tell you himself. Now, come."

"But you will bless me again, grandmother. I love you already."

"I do bless you," said Mrs. Avenel firmly. "Be honest and good, and beware of the first false step." She pressed his hand with a convulsive grasp, and led him to the outer door.

The postboy clanked his whip, the chaise rattled off. Leonard put his head out of the window to catch a last glimpse of the old woman. But the boughs of the pollard oak, and its gnarled decaying trunk, hid her from his eye. And look as he would, till the road turned, he saw but the melancholy tree.

(To be continued.)

FOOTNOTES:

[8] This aphorism has been probably assigned to Lord Bacon upon the mere authority of the index to his works. It is the aphorism of the index-maker, certainly not of the great master of inductive philosophy. Bacon has, it is true, repeatedly dwelt on the power of knowledge, but with so many explanations and distinctions, that nothing could be more unjust to his general meaning than to attempt to cramp into a sentence what it costs him a volume to define. Thus, if in one page he appears to confound knowledge with power, in another he sets them in the strongest antithesis to each other; as follows, "Adeo, signanter Deus opera potentiae et sapientiae diseriminavit." But it would be as unfair to Bacon to convert into an aphorism the sentence that discriminates between knowledge and power as it is to convert into an aphorism any sentence that confounds them.

[9] "But the greatest error of all the rest is the mistaking or misplacing of the last or farthest end of knowledge:—for men have entered into a desire of learning and knowledge, sometimes upon a natural curiosity and inquisitive appetite; sometimes to entertain their minds with variety and delight; sometimes for ornament and reputation; and sometimes to enable them to victory of wit and contradiction; and most times for lucre and profession;"—[that is, for most of those objects which are meant by the ordinary citers of the saying, 'Knowledge is power;'] "and seldom, sincerely, to give a true account of these gifts of reason to the benefit and use of men; as if there were sought in knowledge a couch whereupon to rest a searching and restless spirit; or a terrace for a wandering and variable mind to walk up and down, with a fair prospect; or a tower of state for a proud mind to raise itself upon; or a fort or commanding ground for strife and contention; or a shop for profit or sale—and not a rich storehouse for the glory of the Creator, and the relief of men's estate."—ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING, BOOK I.



UNCLE JOHN; OR, THE ROUGH ROAD TO RICHES.

England affords, even in these degenerate days of peace, innumerable examples of the class called "lucky fellows;" that is to say, men who have begun life with a charity-school education and a shilling, and are now prosperous in wealth and station. Perhaps it is hardly fair to impute to good-luck, what may be mainly owing to industry, frugality, patience, and perseverance. But, after all, one may starve with all these virtues, in spite of all that copy-book maxims may say to the contrary. There is good-luck in success, whatever may have been the qualities by which that good luck has been seized at the right moment and turned to good account. Industry, frugality, patience, and perseverance, form a perfect locomotive—good-luck is the engine-driver who turns the handle and sets them in motion at the right moment.

Men who have been the "architects of their own fortunes," never admit that good luck has had any thing to do with their prosperity. Their pardonable vanity at their own success makes them guilty of a species of ingratitude to Providence. Listen to one of these old gentlemen holding forth to his hopeful son or nephew on his, the said old gentleman's, past life; on his early poverty, his self-denial, his hard work, and his subsequent reward; and the burden of his discourse is ever the same,

"Alone I did it, boy!"

Should the listener at any point be tempted rashly to exclaim "how lucky!" the old gentleman will turn on him with a severe frown and say, "luck, sir; nonsense. There's no such thing as luck. Live on a crust, sir; that's the only way for a man to get on in the world." The old gentleman quite forgets that if his first venture in the Chutnee East Indiaman had been a failure; or his first dabble in the stocks had not been followed by the battle of Leipsic; or his senior partner, who had nine-tenths of the profits of the business, had not departed this life suddenly in an apoplectic fit, he would have held a very different position in the world, and probably have been now a denizen of the second floor over his counting-house in the city, instead of a resident in Hyde Park Gardens.

An excellent specimen of this class of old gentlemen is "Uncle John." The obscurity of his early days is so great that even he himself finds it difficult to penetrate it. That he had a father and a mother is incontestable; but these worthy people seem to have left this world of sin at so early a period of "Uncle John's" existence, that, for all practical purposes, he might as well have been without them. His first juvenile recollections are connected with yellow stockings, leather shorts, a cutaway coatee with a tin badge on it, and a little round woolen cap with a tuft in the middle of it, resting on a head formed by nature to accommodate a cap of double its dimensions. In a word, "Uncle John" was a charity-boy.

It must not be imagined that the above fact has ever been communicated by Uncle John himself; for the worthy man is weak enough to be ashamed of it, though he will discourse of his early privations in a mystical manner, with the design apparently of inducing you to regard him rather as a counterpart of Louis Philippe in his days of early exile, than as a commonplace, though equally interesting (to a right-thinking mind) young gentleman in yellow stockings. It is a fact, however, as indisputable as that Uncle John is now worth thirty or forty thousand pounds.

Emerging from the charity-school, and exchanging the leather shorts and yellow stockings for corduroys and gray worsted socks, Uncle John obtained the appointment of office-boy to a Temple attorney. His duties were multifarious—sweeping the office and serving writs, cleaning boots and copying declarations. His emoluments were not large—seven shillings a week and "find himself," which was less difficult, poor boy, than to find any thing for himself. But Uncle John persevered and was not disheartened. He lived literally on a crust, and regaled himself only with the savory smells issuing from the cook's-shop, which was not only an economical luxury, but had the advantage of affording a stimulus to the imagination. He actually saved two shillings a week out of his salary, not to mention an occasional donation of a shilling on high days and holidays from his master.

Uncle John was never idle. When he had nothing to do for his master, which was rarely the case, he used to take a pen and any loose piece of paper or parchment, and copy, or imitate, the lawyer's engrossing hand—known as court-hand—till he became a good penman in this cramped style of writing. Having accomplished this object, Uncle John determined to "better himself," by getting a situation as copying clerk instead of office boy. He succeeded in his attempts, and was installed in another attorney's office as engrossing clerk at twelve shillings a week—a salary which appeared to him, at the time, enormous. But riches did not turn his head. The only increase which he made in his previous expenditure, was in wearing a rather cleaner shirt, and discarding corduroys for some more genteel material. Uncle John was too wise and too self-denying to be seduced inside the cook's-shop yet.

He was now saving at least six shillings a week, which is L15 a year! For four years no change took place in his condition. He still lived in his solitary garret; worked hard all day, and borrowed law books from the articled clerks in the office, which he read at home at night. At home! poor fellow—what a name for his miserable little room up in the tiles of a house in a narrow court out of Fleet-street! But Uncle John was a brave fellow, and worked on without stopping to sentimentalize.

A promotion now took place in the office, and Uncle John was made chief common-law clerk at one pound a week. He had rendered himself quite competent for the duties by his midnight studies. He was never absent from his post, never forgot any thing, and was never ill; for he had the strength of a horse. It is suspected that about this time, Uncle John paid one or two visits to the cook's-shop; but it must not be supposed that the visits were more than one or two. As a rule, Uncle John dined on a piece of the cheapest meat he could purchase, boiled by himself in his garret.

He was wise enough, however, to be very neat in his dress, and thereby gained the credit of being a very respectable young man in the eyes of his employer; for it is a very remarkable fact that clerks are always expected to dress like gentlemen when their salaries are not even large enough to buy them food.

Another four years passed away, when one day Uncle John, having duly screwed up his courage, walked into his master's private room, and, after a little preliminary hesitation, ventured to hint that he should like to be articled! The master stared—the clerk remained silently awaiting his answer.

"Are you aware," inquired the former, "that the expense of the stamp, &c., is one hundred and twenty pounds?"

Uncle John was aware of it, and he was prepared with the money. He had saved it out of his miserable salary.

The master stared still more. But, after a short time, he consented to article Uncle John, and to continue his salary during the term of his articles. Uncle John was in ecstasies, and so far forgot his usual prudence that evening as to indulge in half a pint of bad port wine—a taste, by the way, which he has retained to this day.

He was now a happy man. Every thing was "en train" now to make him one day a "gentleman by Act of Parliament"—as attorneys are facetiously termed. It would certainly require something more than even the omnipotence of an Act of Parliament to confer the character on some of the fraternity.

During the first year of his articles the managing clerk died, and Uncle John was promoted to that office with a salary of two hundred a year. Here was, indeed, a rise in life—from seven shillings a week to two hundred a year! Happy Uncle John. But you deserved it all; for you had plenty of the courage which is prepared for all ills, and endures those which it can not conquer.

Long before the five years of his articles had expired, the clerk had made himself so absolutely necessary to the master, that the latter could scarcely have carried on the business for a month without him. Therefore, when the time arrived at which he ceased to be a clerk and became himself an attorney, Uncle John hinted to his master that he was going to leave him. Cunning Uncle John! You had no such intention; but you knew that your master would take alarm, beg you to stay, and offer you a partnership. Of course—and he did so.

Uncle John's path in life was from henceforth comparatively smooth. He was the working partner in a business which was both profitable and of good quality. Within a few years his partner was foolish enough to quarrel with him, and to demand a dissolution of the partnership. Uncle John readily consented, and all the clients knowing well who was the man that understood the business and transacted it, followed him; and he became an attorney with a practice of two thousand a year, and no partner to share the profits.

His economical habits never forsook him. He married and kept a decent table; but save in a love of good wine (or at least what his uneducated taste considered so), he had nothing but the ordinary necessaries of life. How much he saved each year who shall say? He had no children, and his practice increasing while his wants stood still, he became what he is now—a prosperous and highly respected old gentleman.

It is the fashion of the old to point out such men as models for the imitation of the rising generation. The young, on the contrary, make them the subjects of their ridicule, for their bad grammar and worse manners. Let us see if we can find out the truth, unbiased by either party. Uncle John is now a rich man, an honorable man, a hardworking man, and in the main a sensible man. He has attained his position in life by patience, perseverance, and industry, favored also by a little of that good luck to which we first referred. But Uncle John is deficient in many of the characteristics which adorn human nature. Is it not natural that he should be so? Where was he to learn the gentler feelings of his kind—affection, sympathy, benevolence? In his garret, alone and unfriended? He is mean and parsimonious. He is worth forty thousand pounds, and his deceased brother's child is starving with his wife in a suburban garret. Uncle John will not aid him with a penny. Who aided him? Did he not live in a garret, and save money too? Was he such a fool as to marry before he could keep a wife? Uncle John was guilty of no weaknesses in those days; he can not forgive them in another.

His only brother dies, leaving a large family and a widow—unprovided for: for the children have eaten up all he could ever earn. Uncle John does not like the widow (perhaps because she had so many children), but he gives her L50 a year. His own income is about four thousand.

His only sister is also left a widow without a sixpence. Uncle John gives her L50 a year. "People should not marry imprudently. He can afford no more; he has a great many calls upon him." Perhaps so; but the answer to such calls is always, "not at home."

He has many clerks now. He makes them all work twelve hours a day. Why not? He worked twelve hours a day.

He has articled clerks too. They must work twelve hours a day also. He did it. True, Uncle John; but you had your salary for it; while they, on the contrary, pay you for the privilege of working for you.

There is an old adage that a slave makes the worst tyrant. Uncle John exemplifies it. Because he suffered poverty and privation, he thinks that every youth should endure the same. Because nature had given him the constitution of a horse, he thinks that every one should have a similar one.

Such men as Uncle John are striking examples of certain qualities; and of those particular qualities which conduce to success in life. Their highest praise (perhaps there is no higher praise in the world) is their unflinching integrity. But we can not bring ourselves to think them—on the whole—models for imitation. After all, there is selfishness at the bottom of their first motives, and this quality grows with their growth, and strengthens with their strength, till, in their old age, they are impatient at all the enjoyments of youth. The hardships of their younger days are not only to be pitied for the pain they must have inflicted at the time, but because they have closed up all the avenues through which the gentler, nobler, and more generous sympathies of our nature find their way into the heart. Their want of education has not been of the mind alone, but of the affections; and as it is ten thousand times more difficult to learn a language or a science in old age than in youth, so it is infinitely more difficult (if it be not impossible) to teach the science of the affections, and the language of the heart, to the old man whose youth has known nothing of either. Affliction and adversity teach oft-times sympathy and benevolence; but to do so they must have followed on happier times, and not have been a birth-portion. You may praise and respect "Uncle Johns," but you can not love them—neither can they love you.



DARLING DOREL.

Dorothea Sibylla, Duchess of Brieg, was born at Coeln, on the River Spree, in Prussia, on the 19th of October, 1590. She was the daughter of Elizabeth of Anhalt, and of John George, Margrave and Elector of Brandenburg, of the old princely Ascanian race. At the death of her husband in 1598, the widowed margravine retired to Crossen to superintend her daughter's education. In due time, suitors were not wanting for the hand of young Dorothea Sibylla: among others, the King of Denmark; but he sued in vain. Dorothea, at length, fixed her affection on John Christian, Duke of Liegnitz and Brieg, who enjoyed a great reputation for virtue, ability, and integrity. To him, after a short courtship. Dorothea was married on the 12th of December, 1610, at Crossen; and reached Brieg—the small capital of her future dominions—on the first of January in the following year.

Such is the dry sum of a charming Court biography, which first appeared in a periodical published in 1829, in Silesia, and which has been twice republished in a separate form—once (in 1838) at Brieg, under the title of "Passages from the Life of Dorothea Sibylla, Duchess of Liegnitz and Brieg." It purports to consist of extracts from the journal of a certain tanner and furrier of Brieg, named Valentinus Gierth, an occasional guest at the ducal castle, and ardent admirer of the duchess. As a simple, and—if internal evidence be worth any thing—truthful picture of German-Court life during the early part of the seventeenth century, it is not to be gainsayed; although suspicions of its authenticity have been cast upon it, similar to those which damaged the charms of the "Diary of Lady Willoughby," by eventually proving it to be a fiction.

Dorothea is described as a pattern of goodness, common sense, virtue, and piety. In domestic management, she was pre-eminent. For her own immediate attendants, she appointed fourteen maids of honor; and the first families of the land looked upon it as an inestimable privilege to place their daughters at the ducal court; which was a high school of all noble virtues and accomplishments, "whereof the duchess herself was the chief teacher and most perfect model."

Nothing could be more primitive than the duchess's intercourse with the townspeople. Occasionally she walked in the streets of Brieg accompanied by her maids of honor, and chatted with such of the townspeople as were sitting on the benches outside their doors. The little children looked forward with the greatest delight to these town walks of the duchess; for the ladies-in-waiting invariably carried about with them in their pockets all sorts of sweetmeats, which the duchess distributed among the little claimants. For this reason, the little children stood peeping round the corners of the streets, when it got wind that the duchess was about to walk out; more especially when it was surmised that the duke would not be with her. So soon, therefore, as Dorothea Sibylla left the castle gate, the little urchins would run through the town, like wildfire, crying out, "The darling Dorel is coming!—the darling Dorel is coming!"

The manner in which this endearing designation first came to her ears is related with affecting simplicity. "It happened," says Master Gierth, with true German particularity, "on the 10th of September (old style) in the year of our Lord, 1613;" that being the Feast of St. Sibylla—one of the duchess's name-saints—and also the second birth-day of her son George. There was a great feast at the castle; to which the towns-folks and the children of the High and Guild Schools were invited.

"From the terrace," quoth the chronicler, "the whole procession moved along a wide, smooth walk before the orangery; where the quality, as well as the children, were richly treated with strong, spiced wine, orange-water, and confectionery. Her ladyship did, likewise, lay certain presents before the young lord, her son; she did, likewise, examine the children's school-books, and the master's report, wherein the conduct of the children was noted, and did put apposite questions to them touching their Christian belief, and the like; and, on receiving right proper answers, her face did shine like an angel's.

"One little maiden, however, which was weak and ignorant, was not able to answer the questions aright; whereupon her ladyship did ask:

"'My child, what is your name?' Whereunto she did answer, 'Anna Pohlin.'

"'Well,' asked her ladyship, 'and what is my name?'

"Straightway the little maiden did answer, 'Darling Dorel!'

"Hereupon Master Valentinus Gierth was somewhat affronted, but did quickly recover himself and, stepping up to her ladyship, did say:

"'Most gracious lady! I trust your ladyship will pardon these words, and not take them amiss; inasmuch, as it is true that the women of this town, as well as of the neighboring villages, when they do speak of your ladyship, do commonly call your ladyship the Darling Dorel.'

"Then did the duchess fold her hands, and, raising them to heaven, did say:

"'God be praised for such a precious title! the which, as long as I am in my senses, I would not exchange against 'Your Majesty!'

"The duke did, thereupon, embrace her ladyship, saying:

"'Away with the title, 'princely consort!' I will ever henceforth call thee by none other save 'Darling Dorel!'"

We by no means intend to follow the good tanner through his minute records; but merely write thus much, as necessary preface to a quaint little love story. Premising that the duchess had sent, after her usual fashion, a marriage present to a certain lady, by two of her maids of honor (by name Agnes and Mary), we shall transfer the narrative to our pages in Master Gierth's own manner.

After the presentation of the gifts, and when the marriage ceremony was concluded, the two maids of honor were preparing to return to Brieg, when the bride's father stopped them, saying:

"'How? Shall I suffer two such angels of joy to depart, without tasting of my food and my drink? Nay, noble damsels, ye must abide here awhile beyond the marriage festivities, and be of good cheer! I will immediately dispatch a trusty messenger on horse to her most gracious ladyship, the duchess, and obtain leave for your sojourn here.'

"The two damsels did, therefore, abide there the space of three days, and became acquainted with two gallants of the place; with whom they did exchange love-tokens and rings. But when the two damsels returned to Brieg to render an account of their mission, the duchess did note the rings on the fingers of the two damsels, and questioned them how they came thereby. So soon, therefore, as the two damsels did confess the truth, their mistress, half-jestingly, and half in earnest, said unto them:

"'How now, ye gad-abouts! ye have scarce chipped the egg-shell, and have, as yet, no means to make the pot boil, seeing that ye are poor orphans, and under age; and ye yet dare to listen to the nonsense of strange gallants, unbeknown to your foster-mother! Tell me, foolish young things, ought I not to take the rod to you? Take off the rings from your fingers, and give them to me. I will send them back; seeing that the betrothal is null and void, and mere child's play.'

"The young damsels did then obey her ladyship, but wept apace the while. This caused her ladyship to have compassion upon them, and she did minister comfort to them thus:

"'Ah! beloved daughters! ye shed bitter, hot tears that ye do not already wear the curch [the German head dress of married women]. But if ye did but know the heaviness of being wedded wives, even when the cares are lightest, ye would rejoice! Meanwhile, the matter hath been carried on against all Christian order. I have always heard that the lover first maketh his suit known to the parents or the guardians, and that then the betrothal taketh place. Your suitors must needs be in great haste. Why stand they in such great necessity of pushing their suit?'

"Hereupon the damsel Agnes plucked up an heart, and said quickly,

"'Most gracious lady! the gentlemen did come with us; and have already the consent of their own parents to make their suit if they be but encouraged by a sign of approval.'

"'Ah! Heaven have mercy!' cried the duchess, joining her hands. 'Have ye, scape-graces indeed, brought your gallants hither? I dare not inquire further. May be, ye have hidden them in your chambers? Meggy (the duchess's nurse), beg his lordship to come hither; I must talk the matter over with him.'

"'After the duke had come and heard that which had befallen, he straightways asked the names of the gallants; and when the damsels had informed his grace thereof, his lordship did turn unto his consort, saying:

"'Listen, Darling Dorel: the parents, on both sides, are most worthy persons, and of unblemished birth. I advise that thou shouldst give thy consent thereunto! Remember, dearest, that we twain were of one mind long before I made known my suit unto thy mother.'

"Whereupon her ladyship did strike her lord upon the mouth with her kerchief, and said,

"'Well!—well!—but we must first look at these youths, and learn what they are like. Tell us now, young damsels, where are your lovers hidden, and what is the signal ye have agreed upon?'

"Agnes did immediately tell her ladyship that the gallants were housed at the Golden Pitcher; and, whereas the Lion's Tower, in the palace, could thence be plainly discerned, they had agreed to tie a white kerchief round the neck of one of the lions as a signal that there was hope for them! The gallants had agreed to abide at the hostel the space of eight days. Should the matter, however, turn out ill, the kerchief displayed was to be black.

"'Well done,' said the duchess to her husband; 'they wish to take two fortresses at once; and would have the white flag wave without firing a shot, and without attempting a storm.'

"Hereupon the Duke Christian did take the hand of his beloved wife, and spoke, somewhat in an under tone:

"'Darling wife! was not the green branch so often stuck in your window at Crossen; also a white flag? Moreover, thou knowest little of a siege; preparations for storming a citadel are not made during the daylight; but secretly, in the night season, in order that the garrison perceive them not. Shots may already have been fired. Tell me, young girls, have ye already kissed the gallants? Mary, do you speak; ye have not yet opened your mouth: make a clean breast.'

"'Ah! most gracious liege,' answered Mary, 'the gentlemen have, indeed, squeezed hands in secret, while we sat at table; and during the marriage-dance, and at sundry other dances, we kissed each other—seeing that others did the like. But we could not be alone with them at any other time; for the bride's mother was always about us, and we lay in her room. Neither, on the way home, had we much liberty; seeing that the old secretary, whom her ladyship did send with us, did observe us most narrowly. But, when the old man did look out of the window of the carriage, then did the gallants look tenderly upon us, and did kiss their hands to us."

"'There, now,' said his lordship, turning to his wife, 'you see that the siege was conducted with vigor. The squeezing of hands was the parley; the kisses the cannon-balls, sent so freely; and the tender looks the shells. Depend upon it the storm can not long be delayed. Listen, darling wife, my heart melts when I bethink me that we also, in our youth, could not brook a long delay.'

"'Let the drums beat the chamade [parley], and let us show our colors!' said the duchess; while she threw her arms round her husband's neck, and stopped his mouth with a kiss. The duke did then ask her, jestingly, 'But which flag shall it be?'

"Hereupon the two young damsels did cry aloud, as with one voice:

"'The white!—most gracious liege!—the white!'

"The duchess could not choose but laugh heartily, and his lordship did immediately order a servant to mount the tower, and to tie a white kerchief round one of the lion's necks. His lordship did then sing an old song the children are wont to sing on May-day:

"'A stately house my lord doth keep, Two maidens from the windows peep; A kerchief white the one doth wave, Because they fain would husbands have.'

And then did depart to put on better apparel, wherein to await the coming of the wooers. He did also command that all the court ladies and the courtiers should be present at the wooing. Meanwhile, 'Darling Dorel' did ask the damsels where they had gotten the rings which they had presented to their gallants in return for theirs? Thereupon Agnes did reply unto her ladyship:

"'Most gracious lady! we are but poor orphans, and possess nought save poor little gold rings belonging to our departed mothers, And these we could not bear to part with. We have therefore promised to buy rings with our savings, and deliver them to our gallants on some fitting opportunity.'

"'In this case,' said her ladyship, 'ye are but half betrothed, and there is yet time to think twice of the matter;' nevertheless, her ladyship did praise the young damsels, inasmuch as they did not part lightly and rashly with their mothers' trinkets. She advised them, moreover, to tarry; as they or their gallants might change their minds.

"This speech did much alarm the damsels, who did then believe the whole matter to be postponed; and they did forthwith begin to weep, and to beseech her ladyship, not for this account, to cause their lovers to alter their mind, seeing that they, the damsels, were poor, and were not likely soon to get other suitors.

"The duchess did then say unto them: 'The misfortune would not be so great! I would find husbands for you soon enough.' Hereupon, she turned to old Meggy, and said,

"'Ah! most worthy nurse, what a life does a wretched princess lead! Had I but married an honest burgher, then should I have had nothing but my household duties and my children to attend to; I could have gone quietly to bed, slept without care, and waked with pleasure; but in my position every thing is otherwise. Alack, when my other damsels come hither, and learn that these silly girls are already betrothed, they will all run mad, and I shall have to send them to all the marriage feasts throughout the duchy to pick up husbands.'

"Hereupon, she sent the nurse Meggy for her jewel box, opened it, and gave to each of the two damsels a handsome ring, the which they might present to their lovers, and thus return their pledge; but under this condition, that they were not to deliver their rings until the duchess gave them a sign thereunto with her kerchief.

"While all this was going on, the duke on his part had entered the duchess's apartment, accompanied by the chamberlain, all the gentlemen of his court, and the maids of honor. The lovers, meanwhile, were on the look out, and were not aware that matters had gone to such a length touching their love affairs. They had joyfully obeyed the white signal, and stood near unto the gates of the castle waiting for some opportunity of seeing their betrothed. The duke perceived this, and hereupon opened the window, and called unto the soldiers on guard, 'Arrest me those two fellows, and conduct them to the guard-house, until further orders!'

"Hereupon the damsels, Agnes and Mary, were exceedingly afraid. The duke, however, did comfort them with the following words:

"'This is on your account; hasten and put on proper attire; ye still have got on your old clothes, and must adorn yourselves.'

"The damsels ran gleefully and quickly into their rooms; whither the duchess sent after them two other damsels to aid them in plaiting their hair. They soon returned; and each of the damsels about to be betrothed had put on the bridal wreath belonging to her mother.

"The duke now ordered the lovers to be summoned from the guard-house. They were sore abashed when they entered the room; especially when his gracious lordship addressed the following questions to them:

"'What are your names? Have you passports? and what is your will?'

"The young men twirled their caps in their hands; stared first at their loves, and then at their gracious lieges; but could not utter a word, and stood looking very sheepish.

"'Ah!' said his lordship, 'never in my life did I meet with two such dumb fellows. My dominions will soon touch those of Oppeln, and you serve excellent well as landmarks! can neither of ye say 'yea or nay?' Answer me straight! Have ye got the consent of your parents to propose for those two chits; and are ye ready to affirm the same on your word of honor, as gentlemen?'

"Then did the young men recover their speech, and they both answered, 'Yea.'

"'Well,' said the duke, 'I will now believe ye, and keep you at my court some few days; but as ye may be rogues and vagabonds for all that I know, I will therefore send a messenger on horseback to your parents to get further intelligence, and ye must have patience the while.'

"Hereupon the damsel, Mary, turned to the duchess, and said to her with great simplicity,

"'Most gracious lady, the gentlemen have spoken truth! Their parents have given them permission to woo us. We have concealed nothing from them, but confessed in the presence of the old lady Wentzkin, that we were poor orphan girls, and have no dower. But the mothers of our two lovers said that all was well; if only we brought a blessing from Darling Dorel, they should value it more than an earldom! This Agnes and I can affirm on oath.'

"On hearing this, the duchess folded her hands in prayer, looked toward heaven with tears in her eyes, and still praying, and gave the signal with her kerchief. Immediately the damsels placed the rings on the fingers of their lovers, knelt down before the duchess, and besought her blessing. The duchess laid her hands upon the heads of the young girls and said,

"'God alone, who is in heaven, knows whether this will prove a blessing or a curse; but, if God hear the prayer of a weak woman, it will prove a blessing! Bethink ye of your deceased parents; and may their blessing evermore accompany ye! And therefore, let us most fervently utter the Lord's Prayer.'

"Hereupon all present fell upon their knees, and prayed in a low voice; but her most gracious ladyship did say the Lord's Prayer aloud.

"After the prayer was finished, the duchess made a sign to the chief lady about the court, who did thereupon bring, on a silver salver, two half wreaths, which were twined in the hair of the two damsels, Agnes and Mary, after they had taken off their own wreaths; for it was the custom, in Brieg, for betrothed maidens to wear only half wreaths until their wedding-day, when they wore whole ones. The chamberlain did hereupon display from the window a red flag; upon which signal the ducal band did strike up a merry tune with trumpets and kettle-drums from the castle tower; whereupon a crowd gathered in the town to know the cause of such rejoicing at the palace.

"So soon, therefore, as the betrothed couples had duly thanked his grace and the duchess by kissing the hems of their garments, her gracious ladyship did announce to the betrothed damsels, that they should tarry with her for the space of one year, in order more fully to learn their household duties, and to strengthen them in the practice of the Christian virtues; seeing that they were still, as the duchess said, as ignorant as callow geese! Moreover, their clothes and furniture had to be provided, and the like. But to the gentlemen, she said:

"Mind, gentlemen, ye must also make the best of it! Ye are scarce out of leading-strings, and must go through some sort of ordeal. I would advise you to travel, if so be your parents can afford it.'

"'By all means,' added the duke; 'my Darling Dorel is perfectly right: you must travel; and, if ye know not whither, go to Jericho, and get ye some beards to your faces.'

"As it was yet early in the day, his gracious lordship did order dinner to be prepared: to which, besides the Town Council, and their wives and children, Master Valentinus Gierth and his wife Susanna, were invited.

"His gracious lordship was exceeding merry, and the duchess was most kind in her manner; nevertheless, the guests did not fail to mark that her gracious ladyship did oftentimes look toward the new brides, and that big tears did sometimes roll down her cheek the while."



COURTESY OF AMERICANS.

I like the Americans more and more: either they have improved wonderfully lately, or else the criticisms on them have been cruelly exaggerated. They are particularly courteous and obliging; and seem, I think, amiably anxious that foreigners should carry away a favorable impression of them. As for me, let other travelers say what they please of them, I am determined not to be prejudiced, but to judge of them exactly as I find them; and I shall most pertinaciously continue to praise them (if I see no good cause to alter my present humble opinion), and most especially for their obliging civility and hospitable attention to strangers, of which I have already seen several instances.

I have witnessed but very few isolated cases, as yet, of the unrefined habits so usually ascribed to them; and those cases decidedly were not among the higher orders of people; for there seems just as much difference in America as any where else in some respects. The superior classes here have almost always excellent manners, and a great deal of real and natural, as well as acquired refinement, and are often besides (which perhaps will not be believed in fastidious England) extremely distinguished-looking. By the way, the captains of the steamboats appear a remarkably gentlemanlike race of men in general, particularly courteous in their deportment, and very considerate and obliging to the passengers.—Lady Emeline Wortley.



Monthly Record of Current Events.

POLITICAL AND GENERAL NEWS.

THE UNITED STATES.

The past month has been remarkable for general quiet and for an absence of excitement of any kind, rather than for events either of political or general interest. It has often been noted as characteristic of the American Republic, that, however fierce and menacing popular excitement may appear to be, it disappears with the immediate event which gave it birth. A presidential election, for instance, calls forth the most embittered and apparently dangerous contests between different sections of the Union, and an observer, unacquainted with the character of our people, and the practical working of our institutions, would naturally expect that the result, whatever it might be, would excite the defeated party to armed resistance, and plunge the country into civil war. But the whole country is never so quiet—the public mind is never so free from agitation, as immediately after an excited election contest. The adjournment of Congress has had a similar effect. Stimulants to sectional or party feeling are no longer there applied; the public attention is no longer fastened upon public men, and social and civil life resume their ordinary channels of quiet and harmonious progress.

Some of the State Legislatures are still in session, but their action is too local to excite general interest. A very important Act has passed the Legislature of the State of New York, re-organizing the Common School System of the State, and placing it partially upon the free basis. By the law of 1849 all the common schools of the State were made entirely free, their cost being paid by county, town, and district taxation. This was found to be highly obnoxious, chiefly from that provision which gave the voters in any district power to tax the property of the district ad libitum for school purposes. The new law was passed to remedy those objections. By its provisions a State tax of $800,000 is annually imposed upon the property of the State, and distributed among the schools. The balance, if any should be required, is to be collected by rate-bill from those who send to school, indigent persons being exempt, at the expense of property of the town. The bill has become a law and will go into operation next fall. Another very important measure has been introduced into the Legislature, concerning the enlargement of the Erie Canal. The Constitution of the State sets apart the surplus revenues of the canals in each year, for the completion of the enlargement; but the rapidly increasing competition of railroads has led the Legislature to perceive the necessity of accomplishing this work more rapidly than it can be done in the way hitherto adopted. The bill referred to proposes to borrow money on the credit of the surplus revenues set apart by the Constitution; and with the money thus procured, to complete the enlargement forthwith, setting apart the revenues as a fund to redeem the certificates. The measure was very strenuously resisted by the Democratic party, chiefly on the ground that it was unconstitutional. This, however, was denied by the friends of the bill. It was argued with great ability and zeal on both sides. In the Assembly the bill passed, by a vote of 76 ayes and 21 nays In the Senate it is still under consideration. We have already recorded the attempt and failure of the Legislature to elect a Senator in the Congress of the United States. On the 18th of March the effort was renewed by a joint resolution, and after a session protracted until two hours after midnight, it resulted, through the absence of two Democratic Senators, in the choice, by separate nomination of each House, of HAMILTON FISH. In the Senate there were 16 votes for, and 12 against him. In the House he received 68 votes and there were but 8 against him. He has accepted the office.—The members of the Legislature and the State Officers paid a visit of three days to the City of New York, on the invitation of the Mayor and Common Council. They visited the different public and charitable institutions, of this city and Brooklyn; and were entertained at a public dinner at the Astor House, on the evening of March 22d. This is the first visit of the kind ever made.—A bill for the suppression of gambling, containing some stringent provisions, having been introduced into the Senate, and referred to a committee of three, GEORGE W. BULL, sergeant-at-arms of that body, endeavored to enter into negotiations with the reputed proprietor of a gambling "hell" in New York to delay or defeat the bill, for an adequate compensation. He managed to procure a note from the committee to the effect that the bill would not come up the present session. The attempt was exposed, and the offender forthwith dismissed from his office. An unsuccessful attempt was made to implicate the senatorial committee in this scandalous affair, upon the ground that they could not have been ignorant of the purpose for which their note was procured.

Nothing of special importance has occurred in any section of the country. In Ohio the Legislature has adopted a series of resolutions concerning the Fugitive Slave law, urging a faithful execution of the law, but recommending such modifications as experience may prove to be essential. In view of the Act of the Legislature of South Carolina, providing for the appointment of delegates to a Southern Congress, the General Assembly of Virginia has passed a series of resolutions to the following purport: 1. That while Virginia sympathizes in the feelings excited by the interference of the non-slaveholding States with the domestic institutions of the South, yet the people of that State "are unwilling to take any action, in consequence of the same, calculated to destroy the integrity of this Union." 2. That regarding the Compromise measures, "taken together, as an adjustment of the exciting questions to which they relate, and cherishing the hope that if fairly executed, they will restore to the country that harmony and confidence, which of late have been so unhappily disturbed, the State of Virginia deems it unwise, in the present condition of the country, to send delegates to the proposed Southern Congress." 3. Virginia appeals to South Carolina "to desist from any meditated secession upon her part, which can not but tend to the destruction of the Union, and the loss to all the States of the blessings that spring from it." 4. Believing that the Constitution provides adequate protection to the rights of all the States, Virginia "invokes all who live under it to adhere more strictly to it, and to preserve inviolate the safeguards which it affords to the rights of individual States, and the interests of sectional minorities." 5. Reprobates all legislation or combinations designed to affect the institutions peculiar to the South, as derogatory and offensive to the Southern States, and calculated to "defeat the restoration of peaceful and harmonious sentiments in these States." These dignified and temperate resolutions passed with singular unanimity: the 3d with but three, the 1st with only one, and the 4th and 5th without a single dissenting voice, out of 118 members present and voting. They were directed to be transmitted to the Executive of each of the States, with the exception of Vermont. In the Senate an amendment was passed, omitting this exception of Vermont; but the House refusing, by a very close vote, to concur, the Senate receded.

There is little doubt that these resolutions embody the prevalent sentiment of the South. The Richmond Enquirer, one of the ablest and most influential Southern papers, affirms them to be "such an expression of sentiment as will harmonize with the universal sentiment of the South, with rare exceptions. South Carolina," it goes on to say, "still wears the front of resistance and war; and in a portion of Mississippi we expect to hear of secret pledges of dark import, of maps, drawings, and lines of demarkation for a Southern Confederacy, of a President in embryo, foreign ministers in expectancy, and, in short, all the paraphernalia of a Southern Court. We have watched the Southern horizon with a steady and keen eye, and with the slight exceptions alluded to above, we can not but regard it as a fixed fact that the South has already acquiesced in the Compromise measures."

In Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, and Kentucky, all the indications of public sentiment are of the same tendency. In Missouri the State Convention has adopted an address and resolutions in favor of the course pursued by Mr. Benton in opposition to those who are regarded as the enemies of the Union.

In South Carolina, the tone of the press and of public men is decidedly hostile to the Union. It is, however, a significant fact that the election of delegates to the State Convention failed to draw out a third of the vote of the State. Col. ISAAC W. HAYNE, the Attorney-General of the State, and member-elect from Charleston, of the State Convention, has published a letter in which he laments this apathy on the part of the voters. He affirms that any State has "a right to withdraw from the Union, with or without cause;" that he has begun to "loathe the tie which connects us with our miscalled brethren of the North." "Not the victims of the tyranny of Mezentius," he goes on to say, "could have shrunk in more disgust from the unnatural union of warm and breathing life with the rotting carcass of what had once been a brother man, than I do from this once cherished but now abhorred and forced connection." The policy which he recommends, now that the occasion which the "admission of California and the dismemberment of Texas" might have afforded, has passed away unimproved is, "to teach that disunion is a thing certain in the future; to direct, in contemplation of this, all the energies of oar people first to preparation for a physical contest," and then "to develop all our own resources, and cut off, as far as possible, all intercourse with the offending States. This done, to hold ourselves ready to move on the first general ferment in the South, which, my life upon it, will occur full soon, and in the meanwhile, to cultivate the kindest relations, and to keep up, industriously and with system, the closest intercourse with our sister States of the South."

A letter from Senator PHELPS of Vermont to a member of the Virginia Legislature, respecting the Vermont law in relation to fugitives, appears in the Southern papers. It bears date in January, but we believe it is now first published. He gives it as his opinion that the law of Vermont, of which a synopsis may be found in our January Number, was passed in haste, and without due consideration, and does not embody the deliberate sense of the people or of the legislative body of that State. He affirms that the entire Congressional delegation of the State agree with him in deprecating its passage; and expresses the opinion that it will be repealed at the next session of the Legislature.

Chevalier HULSEMANN, the Austrian Charge, in reply to the famous dispatch of Mr. Webster, says that the opinions of his Government remain unaltered with respect to the mission of Mr. Mann; but that it "declines all ulterior discussion of that annoying incident," from unwillingness to disturb its friendly relations with the United States. Austria has not demanded, and will not demand any thing beyond the putting in practice the principles of non-intervention announced by President Fillmore; and is "sincerely disposed to remain in friendly relations with the Government of the United States so long as the United States shall not deviate from those principles." Mr. WEBSTER, in reply, states that the President regrets that the dispatch was unsatisfactory, but is gratified to learn that the Imperial Government desires to continue the present friendly relations; and also that it approves the sentiments expressed in his Message, in accordance with which he intends to act. He says that the Government of the United States is equally disinclined to prolong the discussion; but declares that the principles and policy avowed by the United States are "fixed and fastened upon them by their character, their history, and their position among the nations of the world; and it may be regarded as certain that these principles and this policy will not be abandoned or departed from until some extraordinary change shall take place in the general current of human affairs."

AMIN BEY, the Turkish Commissioner, in taking leave of the President, preparatory to returning to his own country, read an address expressing his appreciation of the courtesy shown him upon his visit, and his sense of the progress and resources of this country. He carries with him to Constantinople many valuable works, presented by Government and by private liberality, relating to the agriculture, industry, and commerce of the United States.

In Ohio the Constitutional Convention closed its labors on the 10th of March, having been in session nearly six months. The Constitution which they framed is to be voted upon on the third Tuesday in June. It embraces 16 articles, divided into 168 sections. It provides for freedom of religion, equality of political rights, trial by jury, the habeas corpus, freedom of speech and of the press, and no imprisonment for debt. The right of suffrage is vested in all free white male adult citizens. All patronage is taken from the General Assembly; judicial and executive officers are to be elected by the people; and the public printing to be given to the lowest responsible bidder. No new county can be formed without the sanction of the majority of voters in all the counties of which the boundaries would be changed. Provision is made for the liquidation of the State debt; and no new debt can be created by the General Assembly except in case of war or insurrection, or to a limited amount to meet any temporary deficiency; and funds borrowed for these purposes can be used for no other. No special act of incorporation can be granted; but a general law, subject to alteration or repeal, may be passed, under which associations may be formed. The General Assembly is prohibited from assuming the debt of any county, town, or city; from loaning the credit of the State to, or becoming a stockholder on any corporation or association. No divorce can be granted by the Legislature. An article prohibiting licenses for the sale of intoxicating liquors is to be separately voted upon. Provision is made for law reform, and for amendments to the Constitution from time to time. Every twenty years the question of a Constitutional Convention is to be submitted to vote. The details of the legislative, executive, and judicial systems, are not essentially different from those which generally prevail.

In Virginia a Constitutional Convention is now in session. It is at present occupied in discussing the question of the basis of representation. The section of the State east of the Blue Ridge, with about four-ninths of the free population, pays nearly two-thirds of the taxes. They desire that one half of the representatives should be apportioned in the ratio of the voters; and the other half in that of taxation; which would secure the preponderance to the eastern section. The west demand that representation shall be in the ratio of the voters, which would give the political supremacy to their portion of the State. The debates have been protracted and exciting.

The frontiers of Texas continue to be harassed by marauding parties of Indians. An expedition has been fitted out to bring them to terms.

The little village of Socorro, in New Mexico, has been the scene of a fearful tragedy. A band of desperadoes had gradually collected there, who indulged in the most wanton acts of outrage and barbarity, upon the Mexican residents, finally ending in more than one deliberate murder. A few members of the Boundary Commission who had been left there, headed an organization which captured a number of the gang, of whom three were tried and hung on the spot. The ringleader, who had made his escape, was soon after taken, and shared the same fate.

From California we have intelligence up to the 5th of March. The amount of gold received during the month, exclusive of that in the hands of passengers is about $1,817,000. The production continues abundant; though the profits of agriculture are represented to be quite equal, and more sure, than those of mining. Hostilities with the Indians still continue. Another engagement has taken place, in which 40 of the Indians were killed, without loss on the part of the whites. In Sacramento City, a gambler engaged in a brawl, shot down a citizen who attempted to prevent outrage. The murderer was seized by the populace, tried by Lynch law, found guilty, and in spite of the efforts of some citizens, hung from the branch of a tree, within a few hours of the commission of the murder. In San Francisco two men came near sharing a similar fate for an attempt at murder and robbery. They were, however, finally rescued from the populace, and handed over to the civil authority. No Senator has been elected. The Legislature met in joint convention; but after 144 ballots, finding no probability of succeeding in making an election, adjourned sine die. The whole number of votes cast was 49; thus making 25 necessary for a choice. The highest number for Mr. Fremont was 16. Mr. Heydenfeldt, formerly of Alabama, was for a time the leading Democratic candidate. He was opposed by a portion of his party, on the alleged ground of having formerly advocated disunion. This is denied by himself and his friends. Mr. Weller was subsequently taken up; and at the last ballot received 18 votes. The Whig candidate throughout was Mr. King, whose highest vote was 20.

MEXICO.

From Mexico the general aspect of intelligence is gloomy enough. It would seem doubtful whether there is sufficient vitality left for the re-organization of society, without an infusion of a more fresh and vigorous blood. The administration of Arista has not thus far realized the anticipations which had been cherished of it. The country is infested with predatory Indians and brigands. On the 15th of February, a train of wagons was attacked in broad daylight, a few miles from the capital, by a band of 15 robbers who drove off the military escort and carried away a large amount of goods. The Minister of War and Marine urges the establishment of military colonies upon the frontiers; and recommends the desperate measure of incorporating into these colonies the agricultural Indians, such as the Seminoles, who are accustomed to the use of arms, and are disposed to settle in fixed habitations, so that they may serve as a barrier against the marauding Camanches, Lipanes, and Apaches. The highroad leading from Mazatlan to the mines is held by the Indians. In Yucatan fears are entertained of the extermination of the whites. The refractory Bishop of Michoacan has at length consented to take the oath to sustain the constitution and laws. An act of the Legislature of Queretaro, restoring the Jesuits to that State, has been pronounced by Congress to be a violation of the Constitution. The exclusive right for 100 years to construct a railroad from Vera Cruz to Madellan has been granted to Don Jose Maria Estellan.

GREAT BRITAIN.

Our last Record closed amidst the unsuccessful attempts to find somebody who would undertake to carry on the government of the country. Stanley and Russell, the representatives of the Free-trade and Protection parties, felt too weak. Gladstone would not help Stanley, nor Graham help Russell; and nobody would help Lord Aberdeen. At last the advice of the Duke of Wellington was solicited; in accordance with which the former Ministry were invited to resume their places. They left office on the 22d of February because they were unable to obtain the confidence of the House, and resumed on the 3d of March, under the pressure of the same inability, every man his old office. At a meeting of the members of the House who usually supported him, summoned by Lord John Russell, he announced, among other measures, that it was the determination of the Government to proceed with the Ecclesiastical Titles Bill, with certain modifications. This aroused vehement remonstrances from a number of Catholic Whigs, who announced their determination to oppose the Ministry at all hazards. When the bill came to be presented, it was found that all that remained was the prohibition for Catholic bishops to assume titles derived from the name of any place in the United Kingdom. Dr. Wiseman must not call himself Archbishop of Westminster, or Dr. M'Hale sign himself "John of Tuam," under penalty of L100, if Government should have the folly to prosecute. Meanwhile they may address each other by these titles, and all Catholics may consider and address them so unharmed. The bill, as modified passed to a second reading on the 22d of March, by 438 ayes to 95 nays—a majority of more than four to one. Such is the finale of the absurd and disproportionate agitation with respect to the "Papal Agression." Nobody is satisfied. The Church party, who mourned over the shortcomings of the bill as originally presented, are of course still less pleased with it as emasculated. The Catholics who then opposed it as an injury, now resent it as an insult.

The Ministry has sustained a series of annoying defeats and checks on unimportant measures; and have therefore kept back all the leading business, such as the presentation of the Budget. The Protection and Free-trade parties are mustering their strength throughout the country, preparatory to a general election, which will probably take place at the close of the present session.

The prevailing crime at present seems to be poisoning by arsenic. Wives poison their husbands, husbands their wives, and servants both. A bill has has been introduced by Lord Carlisle prohibiting the sale of arsenic except in the presence of a witness, who with the purchaser, are to register their names in a book. It is also proposed to enact that all arsenic sold shall be mixed with substances which by their taste or color will give warning of its presence.

An insurrection has broken out among the Kaffirs at the Cape, which promises to be annoying and expensive. The ultimate cause is the gradual expulsion of the savages, which always follows the colonization of their territories by civilized nations. Thousands are driven from their lands, and compressed into a space only sufficient for scores, and begin to think it as well to die fighting as starving. The Governor at the Cape having formally deposed and outlawed one of the powerful native chiefs, dispatched an expedition to seize his person. This body of troops, consisting of 600 men, was attacked in a narrow defile by the Kaffirs, and suffered some loss. Attacks were then made upon three of the frontier settlements, and the colonists, to the number of 70 massacred. A levy en masse of all males between the ages of eighteen and fifty was summoned by the Governor, "to destroy and exterminate those most barbarous and treacherous savages, who for the moment are formidable." Several smart engagements have taken place, in which the savages, though worsted, displayed great daring, and considerable skill and discipline.