oh! who can possibly estimate the amount of misery which the wife and children of a madman like this are destined to endure. I have not overdrawn the picture in the abstract-take an individual instance : harsh, but the least evasion of his strict commands in spect of drink was sure to be visited with great sever How wretchedly inconsistent was this man's practs Other misdemeanours of an infinitely greater degre moral crime were winked at, nay, encouraged by In the spring of 18- I was living, on a visit with a The young men were not naturally vicious; but v friend, in the neighbourhood of a small country town in they found that they could with impunity curse and s one of the most fertile and prosperous districts of the in their father's hearing-when they found that m island. The population was almost entirely free from that some of the graver offences against society could be co abject and squalid poverty which is the lot of the Irish mitted without their father's reprehension-was it a peasantry beyond that of all other descriptions of civilized wonder that they should soon grow ripe in wickedne people. I remarked particularly of this neighbourhood, Matt and Dick, in their personal appearance, showed ev that it had a larger proportion of respectable farmers, and token of the accomplished village scamp-battered a of that species of country gentlemen called squireens, than jauntily carried on one side of the head; rusty shooti any other part of the country I had ever lived in. To coats of bottle green, with an amazing plurality of pock this latter class belonged the heads of two branches of the knee-breeches of once-white corduroy, insufficiently t same family, both of whom resided in the immediate toned over coarse worsted stockings, and heavy bregs vicinity of my friend's house. Their names were Peter with nails like the rivets of a steam-boiler. These and James Kavanagh. Peter was by many years the elder the hardiest betters of the ball-alley, the keenest lade of the two; his family consisted of three grown-up sons the roulette-table, the deadest shots at a mark over and one daughter. Peter had married in early life, and the countryside. Plenty of money had they, and his wife died in giving birth to a fifth child, which did not dared to ask them how they came by it? Their fa long survive its mother. James had a large family of had lots of cash lying by, and selfish as he was, and kna young children. Peter's only daughter, Alice, had beening as he was, many a heavy handful of hard silver brought up in her uncle's house in order that she might he relieved of by his dutiful sons. Hence the dashing receive the education and care which a girl of her tender age, without a mother, might expect from the kindness of her nearest female relative. of blood' which carried Dick and Matt alternately over t stubbles-hence the couple of spaniels and the leash greyhounds, which had the reputation of being the noses or the fleetest feet in the county-hence the doch barrelled Rigby' belonging to Dick, which was the miration and envy of his acquaintances. As they grew and cared less for the anger of their father, vicious hata became more settled-looking and systematic with the They drank to frightful excess whenever they had slightest opportunity. No one ever saw them for twer minutes at a time without having full proof that they wer slaves to as odious and disgusting a tyranny as ever the depraved tastes of human creatures created for mankin The family of Peter Kavanagh, then, consisted of himself, his three sons, and a single in-door servant as housekeeper, who was already an old woman and of indolent habits. The household of a widower in the middle and humbler ranks of life is rarely ordered with regularity and decorum, and Peter's was no exception to the general case. Every room had an aspect of untidiness and discomfort. Seldom were the boards of the floors or staircases washed or swept-seldom were the window panes cleansed or the hearth-flag whitened, or the tables rubbed, or the chairs dusted. Things soiled were never cleaned-things broken-I mean, no one ever saw them for so long a time with were never mended-things lost were never replaced. Each of the family felt in turn the inconvenience of this state of things, but one threw the blame upon the other, and nothing was done to remedy the evil. Every one thought it strange that such a good practical farmer and shrewd man of the world as Peter Kavanagh should care so little about the comforts and conveniencies of everyday existence-but so it was. Peter, however, had or thought he had one especial household virtue to be proud of. Very early in life he had narrowly escaped disgrace and ruin by severing himself from a parcel of dissipated associates, who had led him, step by step, into all the labyrinths of premature debauchery. He receded before it was quite too late, and the recollection of what he had suffered (for he did suffer) was sufficient to make him resolve that his sons should never be tempted in a similar manner. The eldest of these, Richard, was now one-and-twenty; the second, Matthew, nineteen; and the youngest, Gerald, fifteen years of age, at the time I lived near P―; and they had never yet partaken of any spirituous liquor at their father's table. That father, however, was by no means so abstemious as he had compelled his boys to be. Every day since they had first learned the taste of whisky toddy had they been tantalized with the sight of the materials' for their father's favourite beverage. Peter Kavanagh was indeed a temperate man, but he was not a generous man. He was not one of those kind parents who cannot bear to gratify their appetite with any delicacy, whether much or little, dear or cheap, while their children are looking on with wistful eyes and watering mouths in vain expectancy. He had his reward. One day the two eldest lads, Dick and Matt, were carried home from a neighbouring fair stupidly drunk. It was the first time they had ever been so, and the quantity they had taken was perhaps trifling; but the father was thenceforward more watchful than ever to prevent them from repeating the excess. In his usual manner to his sons Peter Kavanagh was not particularly out a tobacco-pipe between their teeth, and surrounded by every one of the usual nastinesses which accompany th practice when carried to a hateful extent; and yet, even as they were, the county could not boast of two manlier looking fellows than Richard and Matt Kavanagh, whet dressed for Sunday mass, which they still attended with a punctuality which would be more praiseworthy if a sprang from anything but a motive of vanity and pri Under different culture they might have become excellen members of society. They had still some faint pretensis to generosity and spirit, and many a pretty girl of neighbourhood would have trusted to her sole powers d persuasion for their reclamation. Gerald Kavanagh, the youth of fifteen, was a lad of ferent stamp. He was open-featured and open-hearted both. He was never seen with a pipe in his mouth, or a tattered 'racing calendar' sticking out of his pocket; while his brothers were out upon their sporting expe tions, or amusing themselves in a less innocent way, it was poor Gerald's pleasure to scamper across the fields to uncle James's garden, and walk, or talk, or read, or plas with his pretty little sister Alley, or romp with his pretty little cousins Bill, and Bess, and Peter, and Dick, after school hours-the time he knew he would find most com pany looking out for him. Alley and he were as fiti as they could be of each other, and not the less so because they did not live entirely together. Absence makes the heart grow fonder,' is as true a line as ever was penned. whether we apply it to the lover and his mistress, or the brother and his distant sister. Many of us, with sighs ab tears, can testify this. It was a lovely sight to see that affectionate boy and his fond sister sauntering along the borheens in the wild-strawberry season, with their ar round each other's necks in the intervals of their fruit-finding, until they bade each other good-bye for another day, and returned, with lingering steps and slow,' to homes, alas, how different! Such were these three youths when Peter Kavanagh, r a short illness, died, and left his property, such as Tas, to be equally divided among his children. may venture to say that Richard and Matt were not ry for the loss of their father. On the night of the grand ake' they collected all the idle and profligate young 1 of their acquaintance together at the house, and adful was the depth of drunkenness to which they sank, night be expected. Every more prudent person pret saw how it was-saw that the previous restraint was ut to be amply atoned for-and many a shake of the id was intended to be prophetic of coming calamity. On that same night-early in the night too-little ley perceived that all was not right with her brother rald. She had seen Richard plying him with liquor, ich he at first refused, but afterwards acceptedalthily, however, and with an abashed and crimsoning e as he met the first reproachful glance of Alice. adually the temptation worked, and again and again the ught was repeated with less hesitation at the request his brothers, who seemed happy in the idea of making ir innocent companion as guilty as themselves. The il surely has those in his clutches who find comfort and tsolation in the visible abandonment of the fair and tocent to the miserable pleasures for which they have d their own souls. At length she was frightened to perve that Gerald had grown hardy and boastful of his feat he had asked for more whisky, and had been given it by ck, who, half drunk himself already, was determined to ke Gerald drunk for once in his life. The boy was now the condition wished for by his brother; he had slunk hind Matt's chair; Alice could see his head hanging on one shoulder, while his eyes were closing in the por of intoxication-he was about to fall to the ground. netly she stole to his side, and leaning her head upon s shoulder she whispered, Gerald, darling, I didn't ink you would drink so much—why did you do it?' Don't tell Uncle James, Alley, if he hasn't seen me is way, and I'll never drink so much again.' Hold up your head for another bucket, you dog,' said att, with sundry drunken hiccupings, as he heard the boy eaking behind his chair, and proffering at the same me a fresh bumper. Come, Gerald, my boy, it will you no harm-sorrow's dry, they say, and you've ubbered enough all day for a little fellow.' 'Matt, dear Matt, don't ask him,' said Alice. Matt, however, was not to be thwarted: with a brutal iff he struck his little sister to the ground, and tried to rce the liquor upon Gerald's acceptance. In the attempt he glass fell from his hand, and Alice rose and drew her rother softly from the room. The funeral took place, and there was another carouse ore disgraceful than the first, and another, and another, nd another, until the week was out. When Gerald's ncle saw how completely besotted his nephews had beome, he took Gerald to live with him, but not until it ad become too painfully evident that the boy had acquired a liking for the liquor which had turned his two rothers into human beasts. Poor little Alice wept over he change. There was no more reading, or playing, or wandering through the country together. He sat sulky and silent in the house all day, more like a poor relation on charitable allowance than the joint-heir of the largest farm in the parish. But this was to have an end! A month had passed away since the death of Peter Kavanagh, and the zeal of the eldest heirs had by this time drunk up his entire stock of mountain dew,' when in some out-of-the-way nook or other they discovered five gallons of malt whisky, which, perhaps, had lain there forgotten for twenty years. It was on a Saturday morning this was found, and one of the Kavanaghs was heard to swear that he would never quit it until the last drop was drained. It was to be the last bout before they set off for Australia, whither they intended to emigrate that very spring, having, with their uncle's consent on behalf of the two younger orphans, converted their land into money for the purpose. One or two choice spirits had been invited to join them, but these begged to be excused-even these were appalled at the dreadful excesses of their boon companions. Towards evening Gerald had been missing from his uncle's house. James Kavanagh guessed how it was, and with little Alice in his hand repaired to his late brother's dwelling. The door was locked on the inside, and on asking for Gerald he was told that he was all safe there, with the saucy addition that 'there wasn't any admission for teetotallers.' Shocked and grieved, James Kavanagh went away with his dejected niece. The next day was Easter Sunday. The festival had occurred that year unusually late in the spring, and there was already a foretaste of summer in the air. A lovely noon it was when James Kavanagh, his wife, Alice, and the children, walked out in Sunday trim to the parish chapel. The sky was fretted with light silver clouds; the fields were already green with the new growth of the grass; the hawthorn bushes were almost visibly bursting their buds; the whin braes were in a blaze of golden beauty; the birds, especially the redbreast, were chirping away with intense glee, being, in the glorious language of the poet Shelley, 'Many a voice of one delight!' They continued to walk on; and now the bells of the neighbouring church struck out their Easter jubilee with such exquisite sweetness as we might fancy arrested the sceptical purpose of the despairing Faust in Goethe's surpassing drama, when the heart-touched metaphysician exclaimed, 'Oh, those deep sounds-those voices, rich and heavenly! Yes! indeed, those bells almost distinctly said to the heart as they swung in the soft air of that delicious noon, 'Christ our passover is sacrificed for us; therefore let us keep the feast!' They passed the church-groups of joyous children were playing in the graveyard-five or six immense chestnuts towered, coeval and almost coequal with the ancient steeple, and in these there was a rookery, now in full din-the voices of the children and the cawing of the rooks, disturbed by the sudden peal of the bells, mingled with the chime without discord to the ear. Alice's eyes glistened for a moment when she recognised her youthful playmates; but she suddenly felt she could not laugh with them-her heart was heavy. At length they stood before the door of the brother's house. No signs of wakefulness had it yet exhibited. Let us go in, uncle, and tell them to get up,' said the little Alice. 'Let them sleep it out, the scoundrels!' was the indignant reply of James Kavanagh. They passed on to the place of worship. In about an hour and a half from this time the same group were on their way homewards, with hearts elevated by the imposing service which they had just been witnessing. A gloom was, notwithstanding, perceptible upon the face of James Kavanagh and of his little niece, as they walked along in company with their happy and smiling neighbours. None of the three sons of Peter Kavanagh had ever before been known to have absented himself from Sunday mass, and their absence on that most holy day was of course a subject of much wonder. 'I could not have thought it possible,' said James Kavanagh, gravely, that they could become so wicked all at once. God forgive them! God help them!' 'Oh, uncle!' cried Alice, as they came in view of the house of guilt once more, they are not up yet. See, the shutters are still closed!' They were now in front of the house. Dear uncle,' said Alice, entreatingly, go in to them-do, dear uncle, bring out poor Gerald to eat his Easter dinner with us.' A thought struck James-he knocked loudly at the door; there was no answer. Another loud knock, and a long pause; and still no sound within the house. · Alice's little heart echoed the last unsuccessful knock -it almost said, Wake, Gerald, with the knocking.' She could endure the suspense no longer, and, running to the gripe at the road-side, she took up a heavy stone, with which she battered the panels of the hall-door as long as her strength permitted her. When she was obliged to desist, her screams might be heard afar off, and still there was no sound in the house. James Kavanagh had dispatched one of his little boys to a neighbouring cottage for a crowbar. The boy quickly returned with one, and James, assisted by the crowd who gathered near, was not long in forcing the door. head towards Alice in recognition of their presence. A faint pleasure was expressed in his glassy eyes as he di so. "Wont you speak to me, Gerald? Wont you speak t your own Alley ?' The boy shook with a convulsive shudder, but could no utter a syllable. 'Don't die, dear Gerald; don't leave poor Alley all alone in the world! Och, och, och!' said the little girl, in the very agony of childish despair, 'he'll never be the same again-he'll never speak to me again!' The boy made an effort to bring Alice's ear to his clammy lips; she strove to hear the almost inarticulate whisper which hovered upon them-'Is-Uncle Jameshere ?' gasped the dying lad; tell him—I—couldn't torted by the last pang of dissolution, died away, and with it the spirit of poor Gerald Kavanagh. 'Good people,' said he to the anxious company outside, 'don't come in till I tell you there's no use in further—help it! Oh! Alley! oh!' Gradually the groan, exexposing the shame of my brother's house.' He and Alice, with one or two particular friends, entered the hall with faltering steps, and they closed the door behind them. The first object which met their eyes was Peggy, the old housekeeper, lying on the mat at the foot of the staircase, in a trance of intoxication: she had evidently fallen down stairs in her attempt to reach the door, and had been for hours perhaps insensible. Alice jumped over her, and darted up stairs with the speed of lightning. James and his companions, after a vain attempt at arousing the housekeeper, slowly followed her. They entered the room which fronted them on the landing. The thick stench of tobacco-smoke, mingled with the fumes of ale and whisky, almost overpowered them. The room would have been quite dark had it not been for the flickering remnants of two candles, which still glared in the heated sockets of a large old-fashioned branch candlestick. James went to the window, opened the shutters, and let down the sash. The glorious sunshine streamed into the reeking apartment, with the blessed air of the Sabbath. How strange-how painful was the paling glimmer of those expiring candles in that holy light! The three young men were lying on the floor at some distance from each other, around the legs of a crazy table in the centre of the room. On the table were huddled together the fragments of salt herrings, the parings of cheese, broken glasses, half-emptied decanters, and the other usual paraphernalia of a low debauch. The whole meaning of the scene was taken in at a glance by James Kavanagh, as soon as he had opened the window. He stooped over one of the prostrate forms-it was that of Richard. He turned up the face-it was the face of a livid corpse! A smothered groan burst from James: he rushed towards the next-Matt Kavanagh was dead also, quite dead and stiff! James and his friends looked at each other solemnly, and without speaking a word. They turned their glance simultaneously to the place where Gerald was lying. They moved or rather tottered to the spot. There he lay, with Alice in a swoon beside him, his eyes glazed, the skin of his face tightened over his nose and cheek-bones, his lips covered with viscid froth, and his beautiful brown hair tossed backwards from his damp forehead, glistening in a streak of sunshine which came full upon it from the window. He is alive still!' they all three exclaimed: he may yet be saved!' One of them ran to the window and made a sign to the neighbours to come in. The room was soon full of horrified spectators. They parted Alice from her dying brother, and both were brought out into the open air as quickly as possible. Amidst the cries and lamentations of the bystanders Alice recovered. She sat for a while on the grass trying to recall her scattered senses. The sight of Gerald lying near her, as the crowd opened to admit the air to his face with a freer freshness, brought the whole terrible truth to her mind. She rose with difficulty, but, gathering strength with recollection, she succeeded in breaking from the woman who had her in charge, and in a moment the head of Gerald was pillowed upon her bosom. The soft cooling breeze had restored the unfortunate boy to a momentary consciousness. He was barely able to turn his Alice perceived what had happened as soon as any of the bystanders, but high and shrill her scream mounted over the wailing which arose from the others, ere she once more sank down in the swoon which the excess of her anguish had so mercifully caused. On the following day a coroner's inquest was held upon the bodies of the three sons of Peter Kavanagh, in a public-house not far distant from the scene of this fatal debauch. A surmise had been afloat that poison had somehow or other been the cause of their death, and an examination of one of the bodies was considered needful. The result was a verdict to the effect that the three Kavanaghs had died from the excessive use of ardent spirits.' I commenced by saying I feared that this narrative might fail in pointing a moral. It has a moral-a moral to selfish and ill-judging parents, and equally ill-judging societies, who lay the flattering unction to their souls, that coercion will have a better effect than a fair and consistent example. Verily, the Spartan nobles, who exhibited the drunken slave before their children, and then placed the wine-cup within their reach, had a better knowledge of human nature than the father who would exorcise the demon of alcohol out of his children by pledges of abstinence, or threats of punishment, while, in the security of his own experience, he feels he can habitually enjoy the luxury of spirituous drink. 6 ETHNOGRAPHY. FIRST PAPER. THE true end of knowledge, as Lord Bacon finely observes, is the glory of the Creator and the relief of man's estate;' yet how few cultivate their minds, or lay up stores in their intellectual garner for this blessed purpose! The motives that actuate them are as various as their natural appetites, and sometimes not more ennobling. For there are some,' as another great man (St Bernard) remarks, 'who wish to know to the end, only that they may know: and an ignoble curiosity it is. And there are some who wish to know, that they may be known and this is a shameful vanity. There are some also who wish to know, that they may sell their knowledge for money and honours: a shameful traffic. there are others also who wish to know, that they may edify: this is charity; and others again that they may be edified, and this is prudence. Noble ends, and within the reach of all-to edify and be edified. Few, indeed, have such an invincible strength of mind, and such an unquenchable thirst after knowledge, as for its sake : But to scorn delights, and live laborious days.' True, it is given to the few only to dive into the deep recesses of nature, to lay bare the mysterious workings of the human mind, or to penetrate into the sacred penetralia of the heart, and extract thence jewels of priceless value: but all may, in some ratio—in the degree of their industry and attainments-enjoy the treasures they have amassed. Unlike the hoards of the miser-which he mean ly hugs to his bosom, and conceals from the knowledge and sight of his fellow-men-the treasures of knowledge, of litera ture and science, gathered from all lands, are at the command of all. The magnificent creations of Milton, the sublime discoveries of Newton, the heart revelations of Shakspeare, are the common property, the inherited right of the human race. And yet there are short-sighted and timid, though no doubt well-meaning disciples, who tell us to abstain. They imagine that there is some moral poison mixed up in the cup of secular learning. Science, and, above all, physical science, has been much decried by them, because, as they allege, it leads to unbelief. The amiable and pious Cowper perhaps gave countenance to the opinion, though, in his case, and with reference to the particular theories which he was aiming at, there is much to excuse. In alluding to the speculations of geologists, who have certainly often unwisely and hastily generalized, he exclaims, 'Some drill and bore The solid earth, and from the strata there This is severe, but, in its general application, unjust. The first beginnings of science are almost always involved in doubts and difficulties. Mists hover around its mountain source, and mislead and bewilder the inquirer after truth. Many an ignis fatuus of idle curiosity or intellectual vanity leads him astray, and others are led into innocent error by his example. But by degrees the veil is withdrawn; the road seems less indistinct; and at last, to the mind of the earnest and humble investigator, the clear radiance of eternal truth strikes into the gloom and dissipates it-the infant fountain is seen glittering in the sun, widening its channel, receiving tributaries from other lands, and in turn refreshing them with its waters and enriching them with its treasures. So all sciences in their fuller development, however much they may alarm in their crude and incipient form, will ultimately accord with the voice of revealed truth. The God of revelation is the God of nature, and his operations in the latter, when fairly investigated, cannot be irreconcileable with the truths of the former; nay, indeed, though for a time their mutual bearing may be very imperfectly discerned by the keenest vision, yet they will ultimately be found to harmonize with and strengthen each other. The Divinity for some good end may shroud the truth in clouds and darkness, like Eneas in the Virgilian fable; but they will soon divide and dissipate, and the heaven-born issue therefrom with celestial radiance and godlike proportions. 'Scindit se nubes et in aethera purgat apertum, Os humerosque deo similis.' It indicates a feeble and unmanly tone of mind, to be for ever balancing consequences instead of looking a subject fairly in the face, and seriously setting about to master its difficulties, fathom its truths, or drag its errors and mischief to the light of day. Truth can never be at enmity with truth. The Christian church has no interest in the repression of philosophical inquiries and scientific pursuits. Their errors are for a season only, but the refutation of them enriches the evidences of religion throughout all time. Some of the richest spoils that have been laid on her altar have been won in the battle with error. The stream of human learning rolls over golden sands, and we should take its scattered grains,' says the great ornament of the Western Church, for the rightful purpose of preaching the Gospel.' Perhaps no science has appeared at times to be more fatal to the accuracy of the Sacred Narrative than that of ethnography, or the classification of nations from the comparative study of languages; and none, certainly, in its latest development, has tended more strongly to demonstrate its truth. We are told in Genesis that the whole earth was of one language and one speech,' and that at the building of Babel, God confounded their language that they could not understand one another's speech.' The prevalent opinion among commentators concerning the nature of this sudden change, was, not that the abolition of the original language took place, but only the introduction of such modifications as would make the various tribes be unintelligible to each other. By earlier inquirers, therefore, an original tongue was sought after, and almost every existing one found its zealous supporter. As soon as a similarity of words was found in any languages, zealous etymologists immediately directed their skill to detect the original germ of the words in their favourite original tongue. Words were distorted, dissected, and mangled with the most admirable sang froid; and the most whimsical absurdities were perpetrated by grave and solemn scholars, verifying the wellknown remark of Cicero, that there is nothing too absurd for philosophers. Goropius Becanus, for instance, accounts for the occurrence of the word sack in so many languages, on the ground that no one at Babel would forget his wallet, whatever he might leave behind; and he confirms this opinion by the fact, that a person who was outrageously mad on every thing else, never forgot a bag of dollars which he kept under his pillow. No wonder, then, argues the philosopher, that none at Babel should forget the name of so interesting an article! The Semitic, or the languages of Western Asia, united most suffrages, and among them the Hebrew was long the favourite; but subsequent investigations shook this view, and it is now quite untenable. The fact is, that there were two grand errors committed in the investigation of the subject. The first was, that filiation, or the actual lineal descent of one tongue from another, was almost the only relationship admitted; the notion of their parallel descent from a lost original tongue was never imagined. As soon as two or more languages, therefore, were found related by some resemblance in their vocabularies, it was concluded that one must be the offspring of the other. They did not compare the words of two or more languages in order to discover if any, or what affinities existed between them; but it was deemed enough to establish a connexion or resemblance in etymological forms. After these errors had been acknowledged, the next step was to collect materials-to draw up vocabularies deduced from various languages. Travellers and others deposited store after store in public libraries. Reland compiled vocabularies of the Malayalim, Cingalese, &c., from manuscripts of this sort, which had been preserved in the Leyden library. Collections of the Lord's prayer, in various languages, were made by Schildberger, Postel, and Bibliander. Many others, among whom may be mentioned Gesner, Müller, Wilkins, and Chamberlayne, made subsequent collections, until the genius of Leibnitz gave them consistency, and laid down the fundamental principles of the science. He announced that there was nothing of more service in determining the connexion of nations than their languages. He complained of a want of materials, and that travellers who visited distant lands too often forgot to make inquiries into the languages of the people, and were consequently unable to afford us such a knowledge of their vocables and grammatical forms as to guide us in investigating their origin. He requested his friends and others to collect words into comparative tables. The accumulation of materials went on; Pandura published quarto on quarto; Catharine II. of Russia encouraged the study with her patronage and example; in 1784 the Asiatic Society was established at Calcutta, Sanscrit was successfully studied, and Chinese yielded to the industry and skill of oriental scholars; and in 1817, the magnificent work, the Mithridates, of Vater and Adelung was completed. But how did all this tend to confirm the Mosaic narrative? The old tie, which was supposed to hold all languages in a connexion, was broken; numberless tongues, apparently indigenous (so to speak) to the lands where they were spoken, were discovered; we were receding farther and farther from any probability of reconciling the original oneness of human speech with the endless diversity that was daily brought within our knowledge. Inextricable confusion seemed to be the herald of general scepticism, and every new discovery increased the perplexity. Rash speculations were rife. The number of dialects that were spoken in America almost exceeded belief. The reports of Humboldt were severely scanned by believers: they could not reconcile with the Scripture narrative the story of such distant tribes-so many thousands of miles from the cradle of the human race, and separated by mighty oceans-speaking tongues so innume rable and unintelligible to each other. Sceptics, on the other hand, eagerly adopted the facts, and as eagerly rushed into dangerous speculations. Klaproth talked of the story of Babel,' which, like many others in the history of Western Asia, he said, seemed to have been invented to suit the meaning of a local name. But out of this chaotic confusion order was about to arise: the spirit of harmony was already brooding over the troubled waters, and light was visibly penetrating the gloom. poverty, after the manner of monks. Uniting in the selves the two most popular qualities of the age, devotion and valour, and exercising them in the most popular) all enterprises, they soon acquired a splendid reputation and the most illustrious warriors of Christendom aspire to the honour of being enrolled members of the frate nity. Such was the origin of the renowned order of the Templars. They derived their name from the edif vulgarly called the Temple of Solomon, on the summit d Mount Moriah, which was assigned them for their habit tion by the King of Jerusalem, nineteen years after the conquest of that city by the crusaders. The protecti of the pilgrims was their first object; but they se determined, in addition to this, to make the defence the christian kingdom of Jerusalem, the eastern church, and all the holy places, a part of their particular profsion. St Bernard, the famous abbot of Clairvaux, warn espoused the cause of the fraternity; and their rule revised and corrected by him, were sanctioned by the council of Troyes (A. D. 1128), and confirmed by a papal bull. An astonishing enthusiasm was excited througho Europe in behalf of this chivalrous association; prines and nobles, sovereigns and their subjects, vied with each other in heaping gifts upon them, and scarce a will importance was made without an article in it in their vour. Many illustrious persons, on their deathbeds, tod the vows, that they might be buried in the habit of the order; and sovereigns, quitting the government of the kingdoms, enrolled themselves amongst the fraternity, and bequeathed even their dominions to the master an brethren of the Temple. The order, in consequence, son became enormously wealthy. Its annual income in Europe has been estimated at six millions sterling; a according to Matthew Paris, it possessed nine thousa manors or lordships in Christendom, besides a large revenue and immense riches, arising from constant chi ritable bequests and donations of sums of money by pies persons. IN whatever light we may regard the motives which impelled the nations of Western Europe to engage in the desperate, and, in the end, fruitless crusades for the possession of Palestine, it is impossible not to admire the devoted heroism to which those enterprises gave rise, or to overlook the influence they have exercised on the character and civilisation of the modern world. For centuries the devout Christians of all countries had gratified their curiosity or excited their piety by laborious pilgrimages to those interesting localities which had been the theatre of the labours and sufferings of our blessed Lord. When at length the Holy Land fell under the dominion of the Saracens, and still later when it was overrun by the Turkish hordes, those visits became more dangerous, and probably on that very account more frequent. The humble and defenceless palmers then became the victims of every species of insult and oppression; and their piteous tale of suffering roused the sympathy and indignation of Christendom. That 'inflammable The order was governed by a grand-master, provincial mass of enthusiasm' which pervaded Europe was at length grand-masters, preceptors, &c. The provincial grap kindled into a flame by the preaching of Peter the Her- masters were controlled by visiters general, specially d mit, who had himself been an eye-witness of the suffer-puted by the grand-master and convent of Jerusalem : ings of the pilgrims and natives of Palestine; and when, in 1095, the council of Clermont decided on attempting its deliverance, the shout of the expecting thousands-'It is the will of God!' was re-echoed from one end of Europe to the other. Four years after, the victorious banner of the cross floated over the heights of Jerusalem; a Latin kingdom, co-extensive with the ancient dominions of David, was established under Godfrey of Bouillon; and the total rout of the Egyptian sultan at Ascalon seemed to warrant its stability. The laws, language, and feudal jurisprudence of the Franks were introduced; and then also arose those two famous orders of military friars, the Knights of the Temple of Solomon, or the Knights Templars as they came to be called, and the Knights of the Hospital of St John-two of the most singular associations recorded in history, and who long continued the firmest bulwarks of the Christian power, both in the East and West. In the present sketch we propose submitting to our readers an account of the origin and history of the former of these rival brotherhoods, premising that we have been indebted for the main facts of our narrative to a work entitled 'The Knights Templars,' from the pen of C. G. Addison, Esq. of the Inner Temple, London." After the capture of Jerusalem in 1099, as above alluded to, vast crowds of pilgrims, from all parts of Europe, hastened to the Holy City. The roads from the sea-coast to Jerusalem were infested by armed bands of Mussulmans, who issued from their strongholds among the mountains, and robbed and murdered the pilgrims. For the protection of the latter, nine noble knights, who had greatly distinguished themselves in the siege and capture of the city, formed a brotherhood in arms, and took the vows of perpetual chastity, obedience, and visit the different provinces, to reform abuses, make n regulations, &c. The body was divided into three great classes-knights, priests, and serving brethren-all be together by the vow of obedience to the grand-mast All those of the first class were men of noble birth, and were not admitted to the vows till after they had receive the honour of knighthood according to the laws of chivalry The serving brethren were what their name implies they were armed with bows, bills, and swords; and i was their duty to attend the person of the knight, to s ply him with fresh weapons or a fresh horse in case need, and to render him every succour in the affray, The Templars had always a large number of retainers, and of mercenary troops officered by the knights. The were clothed in black or brown garments, to distinguish them from the actual members of the order, who wer habited in white. The white mantle was a regular me astic habit, having a red cross on the left breast, and was worn over armour of chain-mail. When they took the field, the grand-master commanded in chief; the marsh was second in command; and the balcanifer bore the famous Beauseant, or black and white war-banner of the order, and was supported by a certain number of knights and esquires, who were sworn to defend it, and never suffer it to fall into the hands of the enemy. The Templars acted a very conspicuous part in the long and bloody wars between the Christians and Mahommedans for the possession of the Holy Land, and were the mainstay of the Latin kingdom during the whole period of its stormy existence, till it expired in blood amidst the ruins of Acre. In what follows we shall endeavour t present our readers with some of the more striking inci dents connected with their military history. |