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comes; pride can admit no fellowship. Many will recollect, perhaps with gratitude alloyed and saddened by disappointment and pain-how the early voices that exultingly cheered them on in life when there were few or none to help, became feeble when that help arrived, still lowering in tone as the prosperous alliances which those voices had predicted and encouraged were actually accomplished, and at length lapsing into a perverse and settled silence in the day of success! Indifferent to its brilliancy, almost resentful of its attainment.

Yet we may forgive the generous spirit that starts well in the pursuit of good for another, but cannot hold out, and is careless and weary when the stake is won; seeing how men so often pursue their own dearest objects in life in exactly the same way-flying eagerly to their accomplishment, flagging as the chase promises to end its pains and struggles successfully and in honour, and then receiving the oncedesired prize, weary, thankless, and unenjoying.

As an affair of conscience, moreover, there is something naturally agreeable to natures of a certain order (as we at first hinted) in this noble patronage of unconscious ability in the back-ground, and goodness so undiscovered, that it never even found out its own excellence. By celebrating virtue that is unknown, some atonement seems made for neglecting merit that is known; and while there is nothing to be gained by praising talent which everybody rejoices to admire, it has a handsome look to lavish praises upon talent in obscurity, when its eulogists know perfectly well that it can never rise up to mortify them by its success.

While their celebration of these qualities proves the liberality of their disposition, the happy discovery of them establishes their claim to sagacity. The glory of what they were the first to find out is reflected upon the finder; and though the thing itself be invisible, its reputation dazzles the eye. They have discerned what the rest of the world failed to see, and take rank with great discoverers:--with a Halley, who has a comet of his own, which he found one night; and with an Elgin, whose name is inseparably connected with imperishable marbles, which he is supposed by some to have chiselled—though, in fact, he only chiselled the real owners.

But to take a kindlier, because a more universal view of this principle of idol-worship in social intercourse, and to vindicate the assertion that " Every man has his Dr. Johnson!" Is it not true that every one has, in some shape or other, an object of reverence, before which all the multitudinous individual interests of the world bow! Is it not true that, certainly at one, perhaps at every successive period of his life, he has some darling and cherished creature beside him, about him, or at least alive with him upon earth, superior, incomparably, immeasurably superior in interest and beauty, to all that earth can survey, produce, or glory in! A being brighter in his eyes than sun, moon, or stars-deeper and richer in hidden wonders than the everaccumulating ocean. This has every man living, or had, to whom natural affections have not been utterly denied.

Why, the proud, fond, young mother possesses such an object in her only child. Love and rapture are in her caresses, but there is a sacred sentiment awakened within, which no tender caress, no passionate look, no honied breathing of affection, can ever express. It is too subtle to be embodied even in such glances, kisses, and sweet words. The senses are shallow and clumsy expedients for disclosing

There is no

what passes in her soul. She idolizes rather than loves. hero-worship like hers, none. The boy sets up the Johnsonic principle at school. Of the halfdozen good fellows he likes, there is always one for whom he entertains a deeper feeling of regard, to whom he looks up more admiringly and earnestly, and of whose heart he craves a share. This early preference this choice of the one youth whose disposition, temper, and manners, supply the desired model, and win the boyish homage-may often continue, and ripen into permanence in after-life. But, should it terminate, as it often does, with the youthful period in which it began, and which it made a time of emulation, social confidence, and delight, from the waking to the sleeping hours, still it is sure to be renewed in later years, in a sympathy just as ardent and exclusive.

For the schoolboy preference again asserts itself then, in the selection of a friend, who, as before, supplies a standard by which to try the worth of all feelings and opinions; an authority to which the judgment is ever inclined to defer, but which the heart, as though instinctively, leaps to recognise and obey. And even in latest age, when a choice is perhaps denied, when clear grounds of preference are no longer to be discerned, and new friendships are not to be found for the short, dim future, the mind, still true to its habits of partiality, will shoot back into the past, and fix reverentially upon some model of old, some example of superiority it once witnessed, which it may admire and venerate to the last. It has its Dr. Johnson always, and swears by him while it can articulate.

And if it be a prejudice and a weakness that begets this hero-worship, if it be a blind and erring feeling that leads us to the altar, let it not be forgotten that it inculcates and demands the repose of an unfeigned affection, and an unquestioning faith, in at least one of our countless fellow-creatures-which is something to link us closer to life, than he can be, who locks such love and confidence from all. Even for the sake of this small something, it is as well to have one's Dr. Johnson. Hero-worship may have its uses, and therefore its pardon, if it but teach those who are without veneration of any kind, to fasten themselves enthusiastically upon some hero or other, however diminutiveGeneral Tom Thumb!

SONNE T.

ΤΟ

BY THOMAS ROSCOE.

THEY know thee not, thou solitary one!

The world and the world's hopes are not with thee;
Far from its presence thou art fond to flee,
And wrap thee in the thoughts of seasons gone;
But when great Nature puts her terrors on-
Calls in the mountain thunder, and the sea,
And wakes in storms her wintry revelry,-
Then dost thou live-glad in thyself alone!
For at her awful voice, swift burst in twain

The bonds of Earth, and the freed spirit soars,
And claims a part of all around her! Vain-
Vain is her triumph!-earthward soon she lowers,
The heavy heart-the burning of the brain
Recal the bitter tears she ceaseless pours.

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THE FLIGHT AND PURSUIT.-THE ENCOUNTER.

AWAY, away, away,* with almost lightning speed, flew Manesty, while Oglethorpe, another constable, and Hibblethwaite, rushed on his track as if they were hunting some foul beast of prey. At starting from Wavertree, the merchant was about a hundred yards a-head of his pursuers an advantage which his white mare, Prue, was not long in increasing. Whether Manesty had any specific object to attain in the course he took will presently appear; but certain it is, he avoided the banks of the Mersey, and struck eastward across the country. Words of encouragement to his mare were mingled with sharp strokes of the spur, and Prue, being in good condition, kept up the advance she had gained.

Still, the man-hunters were not far behind. Manesty could plainly distinguish between the shouts of Oglethorpe and Hibblethwaite, and even heard the rapid trampling of their horses. He, nevertheless, would not suffer any distrust, however slight, to cross his mind, but fully relied on the known fleetness, blood, and constancy of his mare.

"Well done, Prue," said he, patting her neck; "thou only canst save thy master. Keep up, old lass; we shall have a hard run. I know thou canst do it, Prue. Keep up."

Thus encouraged, the good steed, as if she had understood her master's words, strained her limbs, and in a few minutes the sound of the pursuers, though still heard, grew more and more faint; and Manesty, having already reached Knotty Ash, a distance of four miles, took the road towards Prescot, hoping, in the next four miles, to get further from those who were chasing him; and intending, as he approached the town, to avoid it by diverging from the highway, with a view to baffle Oglethorpe and Hibblethwaite, who he thought would be likely to lose time in the streets by making fruitless inquiries after him.

Prue still kept gallantly a-head. In a little time the lights of

The exploit, described in this chapter, may possibly recal to some of our readers certain passages in the Ride to York, recorded in ROOKWOOD. The resemblance is rather striking, it must be owned, and at first we seemed to recognise some old acquaintances; but, on nearer inspection, Manesty's mare proved to be white, while Turpin's was black-if it had been grey, it might have proved the better horse-to say nothing of the pursuers being called Oglethorpe and Hibblethwaite, instead of Coates and Paterson. The scenery and machinery are, we admit, pretty much the same, except that as the road here lies between Liverpool and Manchester, the names of places required, of necessity, alteration. All this is very gratifying, and we should have been well content with the compliment paid us by such unintentional imitation, had we not feared that we, ourselves, might be suspected of having some share in the new equestrian performance. This, we beg to say, is not the case.-ED.

Prescot were visible. Manesty glanced rapidly behind him; but, though the moon was bright, he could discern nothing of the pursuing party, neither did any noise indicate their approach.

"Bravo, Prue!" exclaimed he. "I knew thou wouldst try their mettle. But the race is not won yet, my lass. On-on!"

Putting in practice his plan of making a circuit outside the town, in order, according to hunting phraseology, to "balk the scent," Manesty turned into a by-lane, and his mare having leaped a clumsy gate, the horse and rider were soon in open fields. Hedges and ditches were no impediment to their headlong speed. About two miles were thus traversed, when the fugitive thought it best once more to take the road, which he soon regained. Here he had the mortification to find that his manœuvre had failed, and that, by doubling the distance in his circuit, he had given great advantage to Oglethorpe and Hibblethwaite, whom he now heard close in the rear. The race became more desperate than ever; but seeing that his mare was still in good wind, Manesty uttered a few coaxing words, gave her a taste of the spur, and the poor animal, once more making a tremendous effort, seemed rather to fly than to run. It was now getting rather late; and as Manesty dashed through Rainhill, he perceived that the houses were all closed. Bold and Sankey were soon left behind; and on crossing Sankey Bridge, the fugitive had the gratification to find that his pursuers were again at a considerable distance from him. A few minutes more brought him into the main street of Warrington.

"Poor Prue!" said Manesty, "thou hast done this eighteen miles gloriously. Ah! thou dartest a sidelong glance at that inn; but we mustn't stop here, my lass. Away-away!"

Arriving at Martin's Croft Green, Manesty perceived the first formidable obstacle he had yet encountered-namely, a turnpike. Both the gate and lodge were closed. His very life hung upon the few moments that must be lost by rousing the gate-keeper. Prue shewed a little sign of distress; but, hit or miss, she must take the leap. Manesty knew how to humour her. Making a tremendous exertion, the noble creature sprang into the air, and both man and horse descended safely on the other side the gate.

"Well done, Prue," said Manesty. "Oglethorpe and his follower will never be able to manage that. Dick might, perhaps; but the others must be left behind. Even if Dick comes up with me, it will be only man to man; and I don't mind that, though it won't do to provoke an encounter, as the other fellows will still be in the rear.

Oglethorpe, his follower, and Hibblethwaite, soon came in view of the gate. "Confound it!" ejaculated Dick, "Manesty has leaped that 'pike. We shall lose him unless we do the same."

"I wouldn't attempt it for a hundred pound," gasped Oglethorpe, who was already pretty nearly exhausted. "Besides, I don't know

how. I should be smashed to atoms; I'm sure I should."

"You're a fool, Oliver," returned Dick. "I'm not going to be foiled in this way. We're near the gate now. My mare must take it, at all hazards. You will follow as well as you can. Here goes!"

If Hibblethwaite's mare was not so thorough-bred as Manesty's, yet, as Dick was a much lighter man than the merchant, the leap was pretty well accomplished.

Oglethorpe now thumped at the door of the lodge. It was no easy matter to wake the inmate, but at last he appeared; and, amidst a torrent of maledictions from the constable, opened the gate.

"We'll do our best, Tom," said Oglethorpe to his companion, as they spurred on again. "We're obligated to do that, you know, as officers, to say nothing of the blood-money. It's lucky, however, that we've got rid of Mr. Hibblethwaite. He kept us too tight at it. I'm blest if both I and my horse arn't thoroughly blown. John Manesty rides like the devil. We won't give in just yet, though there's no manner of use in following him. Come on, Tom; but we'll take it a little more easy this time."

Manesty was now considerably in advance, even of Hibblethwaite. On-on, at full speed passed he through Bixton and Cadishead Green. Arriving at Irlam, and perceiving that poor Prue seemed much exhausted, he was tempted to stop and bait at the Nag's Head, from the bar of which a cheering light threw its beams across the road. Alas, he must not pause! If his mare could hold on eight miles more he should be in Manchester, in the intricacy of whose bye-streets he might refresh himself and horse without much danger of being traced by Hibblethwaite.

Prue was now covered with foam, out of wind, and labouring terribly. Knowing that Dick's horse could not fail to be equally distressed, Manesty allowed the poor creature to take her own pace, which, though not so fleet as before, got over the ground rapidly. On-on! Peel Green, Eccles, and Pendleton were soon left behind; and having crossed Salford Bridge, the fugitive soon found himself in the thick of Manchester.

It was now between twelve and one at night, yet Manesty succeeded in gaining admission to an obscure inn, situated in a squalid part of the town; and having consigned Prue to the care of the ostler, with all manner of tender injunctions, our fugitive recruited himself with a glass of brandy and water. Wonderful were his coolness and selfpossession! How knew he whether a "hue and cry" was not raised against him over the whole county? His mare had evidently been ridden within an inch of her life; and his appearance in such a part of the town at such an hour was calculated to excite suspicion. In spite of all this, Manesty talked with the ostler as if nothing had happened; went to the stable to see that Prue had been well tended, and then sat down, with seeming unconcern, to a cold supper.

"I shall be in no hurry," said he to himself. "Prue must have some rest, poor thing! I could manage, I dare say, to get a fresh horse here in Manchester; but on no other than Prue can I place reliance. Dick Hibblethwaite must, by this time, be somewhere about the town. If he gets another horse, he'll shoot ahead of me; and, as he can't know the direction I'm going to take, he'll be confoundedly out in his reckoning. If he keeps to his own mare, why she'll need the stable as much as mine. As to Oglethorpe and the other fellow, I value them not a rush on the road. There's no hurry. I doubt if Prue will be fit for work again this morning; at all events, she must have as much rest as possible. If I can gain the point I seek, I may conceal myself there awhile, and baffle pursuit; after which, I must stretch across to Hull, disguised, and on foot-a weary way—and

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