tion. If we take the last sum, 2 lb. 1 oz. 8 dr. 8 scr. at a cent per scruple, the value in money would be shown, without changing a figure, at £2: 188; or, at a dime per scruple, £218: 8d. At 15 cents per dram for any article, we should perceive at once that we must give 150 for an ounce, 15 dimes for a pound, £15 for a stone, and for a cwt. £150. Again, if 1 cwt. cost £133,200, it would be equally clear that a pound weight was worth £1,332, and a dram (without fractions) 13 cents. Or, if a butt of wine (of 100 gallons) was valued at £115,700, a firkin (of 10 gallons) would be £11,570 or a gallon £1,157. Suppose from the counting-house we go back to the school-room, how would it rejoice the hearts of both master and scholars to be able to do away with the compound rules, and, in short, at once to expunge one-half of the contents of our elementary books of arithmetic! The object of a knowledge of figures is to enable a boy to go through the ordinary occupation of future business. It is absurd, in a high degree, to render this necessary branch of tuition intolerably irksome, protracted, and costly, when a few simple rules alone, as we have shown, need be actually requisite. We are probably on the eve of great changes, no less than of more widely extended means, for the purposes of elementary education. Can we at a more opportune era do better than look at the system of calculation that has hitherto prevailed, and see in what way we can appropriate the improvements of the age to the better training of our youth? Upon the National Council of Education I would urge the expediency of an appeal to the experienced teachers of youth (both in and out of the schools over which it has control) for the correctness of my estimate of advantage in this connexion. Can an enlightened government employ its powers more beneficially than in taking the lead, and thus urging our onward course of social progression ? Nor let it be delayed as regards the object of our immediate inquiry, because no marked expression of public opinion has been exhibited on its behalf. The time never was, nor probably will it ever arrive, when speculative alterations of any kind found favour with the busy world. Generation may follow generation, but no change will come of their seeking; and it will even be well if in this quarter we succeed in securing neutrality. Few, indeed, of this class have sufficiently investigated the subject to be aware of the daily sacrifice they are making. The drudgery of school tuition, and a continued practice afterwards, have familiarised them with a system essentially deficient in all the requisites necessary for brevity and correctness. 'It has done well enough for them; let posterity take care of itself;' and so the world goes on. In conclusion I would say, with Professor De Morgan, that I cannot but think there are few who, looking at the gradual and easy manner in which the new system could be introduced, would count their own share of the necessary inconvenience too much to pay for a real and lasting benefit to society.' PLEASURE-SEEKERS. PLEASURE and happiness are synonymes; they are almost identical in signification, but they differ materially in duration. Pleasure often assumes the exaggerated characteristics of an ecstacy of delight, and it possesses something more glowing in its essence than happiness; but happiness is a more extended and durable state of being than mere pleasure, and consequently more to be desired. Happiness is an essential element of life; pleasure a circumstance. The one is only to be obtained by a faithful adherence to virtue, the other may be stumbled upon by accident. For my part, I have always looked with a favourable eye upon the Aristotelian apophthegm, 'that contemplative happiness, which consists in the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom, It has often been asserted that the probable freedom from error in accounts, and the general facilities that would be consequent on the adoption of the decimal mode in our money, weights, and measures, would enable most places of large business daily to close an hour earlier. is superior to active happiness;' and although some of my friends have hinted that I have grown plethoric and gouty from rumination, assisted of course by deglutition, yet I have never found erratic activity compensate for the sedative enjoyment of a siesta in my arm-chair with my napkin thrown over my head, and I absorbed in a brown study, on a sunny day after dinner. One of the greatest torments which I have felt in this life is the necessity of conformity; you cannot live in a state of individuality unless you have cynical fortitude, and as I have always been remarkable for the want of that especial bump called by phrenologists Firmness, I have often been constrained to sacrifice my own happiness to join in what my cousin Job calls his pleasures. My cousin Job is a pleasure-seeker, and if satisfaction is a result of attainment or consummation, he is as distant from the goal he pursues as Oreleano was from Eldorado, when sailing down the Maranon, or as Friar Bacon was from the philosopher's stone when he discovered the ingredients of gunpowder. Cousin Job is a restless creature, with an insatiable curiosity, which prompts him to a perpetual activity. He is an Epicurean in one sense; I do not mean that he is a disciple of the licentious Aristippus, or the equally immoral Democritus, or of the atomist Protagoras, whose dogmas have been crammed into the scrip of Epicurus; but he is Epicurean enough to believe that pleasure is good in its own nature, and is therefore to be pursued;' and he has so much of the peripatetic in him that he is perpetually flying from place to place without rule or guide. Job's home is the point from which he radiates, and he is here, there, and everywhere, with the celerity of a grasshopper. Two men so essentially antago nistic in structure and temperament nature never before made cousins. I am what I believe is termed lymphatic, that is, of goodly rotundity, with an oiliness of temper that feeds my physical obesity; while Job is like a combination of wires in perpetual electric action. Job has been a great traveller; I do not believe that there is a village or hamlet in his native shire that he is not perfectly acquainted with from personal inspection; and although men like Mungo Park, Clarke, Wolff, and Belzoni, might tackle him about Parmyra, Djoune, Timbuctoo, and Bokhara, I am certain that he could out-discourse any of them concerning the topography of Lodona. I admire my cousin Job, if he would only allow me to indulge my admiration peaceably; but he has a far greater love for my companionship than I have for his, and as he is a very lion for impetuosity and determination, he often obliges me to accompany him in his pleasure jaunts. I used to be very fond of straddling a good stout broomstick, and, by a very convenient modification of my ideas, I rendered it all the horse I ever desired to stride; but Job has got me mounted on jolting old animals, that would soon have taken the pertinacity out of Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea, and has repeatedly led me into a concatenation of troubles that have furnished me with not very agreeable sensations or reflections. "Glorious day,' said my relative to me, one sunny day in spring; come, pull on your boots, and let us off.' 'I don't mean to leave home to-day,' said I, deprecatingly. Oh, stuff!' said Job, imperiously; 'on with your boots; we shall have a glorious day of it!' he exclaimed, rubbing his hands, and changing both his tone and expression, as he saw me passively obey him. "We shall have a sail in the No Monopoly' boat for little or nothing, and I anticipate much pleasure from viewing the northern coast.' Yes; but, my dear fellow, you had the same anticipations when you visited Roslin last, and then you know the bull, by one blow of its head, dissipated not only your pleasure but your senses.' 'You are always reflecting,' said my cousin, peevishly; 'come on.' Job and I were very shortly standing on the deck of the 'No Monopoly' steamer, and assuredly condition had no monopoly of the passengers, who lounged, sat, or strolled upon her deck; they were of all aspects and ages, from the octogenarian to the infant, and from the exquisite, with pin and ring, to the loafer with scarce a coat. Here you might see a prudent father and careful mother, with three or four small editions, who had come to change the air upon the little creatures, who had hooping-cough; there you might behold a bold young fellow, who, in his first coat and hat, was jaunting with his Cara. Groups of gay, flaunting, haughty people, kept themselves apart from the heterogeneous herd; the ladies with their parasols overhead, the gentlemen with cigars in their mouths and their hands in their coat-pockets. On one side you might behold a horologist, whose brown skin, black eyes, and classical features, spoke of Italy, and whose barometers and timepieces indicated a tour of business not of pleasure; on the other you might behold a calm sedate man, whose wrinkled face, deep set grey eye, chequered plaid, and homespun habiliments, bespoke a drover returning from the south with a well plenished dogskin wallet. Lads, who had thrown down their utensils of trade and donned their Sunday attire, were laughing in the fullness of gleeful anticipations; and young maidens, in their best bob and tucker, were smiling most mincingly. This is delightful!' said cousin Job, looking round him with a proud air; but it is nothing to the pleasure in store-nothing!' and Job began to hum 'Ye Mariners of England,' A wet sheet and a flowing sea,' and at last ended with a flourish of the Bay of Biscay,' as the great iron ship began to snort and splash in her might and motion. Slowly, slowly, as if she were trying the power of her steam pulsations and iron muscles, on she moves, now and then puffing, as if impatient for elbow-room, until at last she stretches to it like a race-horse and away she goes, What an amount of pleasant anticipation was beaming from every eye. How delightful!' exclaimed the ladies; chawming,' said the gentlemen, looking in the ladies' faces with a double-entendre leer. 'Hurrah, off she goes!' cried some excited swain, kicking up his heels. My boat is on the shore, my bark is on the sea,' exclaimed a lack-a-daisical youth, with his collar laid over à la Byron. There was bawling, hawling, dancing, sprawling, smoking, joking, laughing, quaffing, teazing, squeezing, jeering, leering, and a thousand et ceteras of mirthful noisy fun and frolic going on amongst the jocund crew, that drowned the voice of ocean in their voices, and made old Neptune's trident tremble in his hand. 'What a pleasant glorious sight,' cried Job, excitedly, 'to behold so large a congregation of human felicity! Why now, don't you acknowledge that this compensates you for your nap at home?' I did not speak; the wind began to blow in fitful gusts, and to drive the drenching spray over the crowded deck; silence gradually settled down on the human cargo; and many of that cargo's individual constituents went down below, to ruminate during the rest of the voyage. The sea is certainly a fitting place for reflection,' whispered my cousin Job to me, as he sedately seated himself at my side, and seemed gradually settling into reflective silence. but if sympathy constitutes happiness, then this No Monopoly' cargo of human beings were happy. There was a total indifference manifested to all outward objects by many on board it is true, for several gentlemen sat upon the deck with their heads inclined upon their bosoms, in a deep and rapt manner, while the salt water swept around them unheeded, and rushed out of the scuppers unnoticed, but every oriental inclination and hysterical ejaculation that took place, on the other hand, found fifty sympathisers. This is pleasant,' said I to cousin Job. My relative only looked a response; his eyes seemed fishy in their aspect, and the white portion of them was of a deep saffron. He tried to smile, but his teeth were clenched with an energy that imparted sundry ideas of lockjaw to me, and prevented the operation. Was I looking through a jaundiced medium, or was the yellow plague creeping between the cuticle and epidermis of all the people on board, like an extract of arinata? What an elongation of jaw, what a daffodil hue pervaded every face on which I turned my heavy eyes. Silence reigned like a dark cloud on a plague-struck city, when suddenly a loud laugh burst upon every ear with its appalling ha, ha! The scream of the albatross or vulture could not have been more unwelcome, and all who were able glared savagely on the human hyena who had disturbed their ruminations. Cool, collected, confident, and smiling, a tall young gentleman, with a brown Taglioni, stood in the midst of a group of companions, and with joke and repartee kept the circle in a roar. 'I feel for you, ladies,' he would exclaim, with mock sympathy, but I am sorry that I cannot feel with you. Will any gentleman have a cigar?' he continued, politely presenting his tobacco abominations to my cousin Job and myself; or perhaps a pork sandwich would be agreeable.' If I had been a Titan, and my fists Pelion and Ossa, I would have driven him to the confines of Neptune's bedchamber; and if I had been Jove, and my eyes thunderbolts, I would have glared him into a transparency; but I was down and he was up, and I could only hope. I watched his eyes as lover watches the light in his ladylove's lattice; I yearned for their fading lustre as weary night-watcher yearns for the first streak of morning; and at last, joy of joys, the tormentor's tongue became silent, his cheeks wan, and his head heavy; I beheld him led to the bulwark and doubled over, like a piece of raiment, and springing to my feet my sickness all was gone. There lay my enemy, stricken down and helpless; there he reclined to be kicked if you would with impunity. I gazed, like the bard in Coleridge's Genevieve, 'too fondly on his face,' and waxing Horatian in my revenge, I exclaimed, ‘Ah, if thou hast one drop of Latinity in thee, thou mayest well say, if not the sacred walls of Neptune's temple, at least the deck of the No Monopoly' can attest that you have consecrated dripping garments to the king of the briny deep.' I fed upon this spectacle until we returned to our destination; nor did I pay the least attention to the sidelong glances of my cousin Job for sympathy in his prostration. How pleasant!' said I, still ruminating, as the small boats pulled to the ship's side for the purpose of debarkaI thought so, for I saw many of our most boisterous tion. My cousin Job hung his head in silence, and prefellow-passengers sitting at last, in the most seriously con- cipitately staggering to the gangway, plunged headlong templative and abstracted moods imaginable, while several into the sea. I had anticipated something of this kind; I fierce-looking gentlemen's cheeks blanched, and several had never beheld that man return from a pleasure party brilliant ladies' eyes dimmed considerably. There was without some such catastrophe; he had been capsized from an apparent impression deepening on almost every indi- gigs and coaches times without number, he had been purvidual on board, which distracted his or her thoughts from sued by cattle through streams and morasses, he had narall external objects, and turned them inwards, to the con- rowly escaped falling into coal-pits and being run down templation of the deep internal workings of an unseen by mail-coaches, in his vain pursuit of pleasure, and now principle, until demonstrations of an ejaculative character here he was walloping in the ocean. What screams and unequivocally called forth a series of sympathetic move- yells rose upon the gale, as my poor relative floundered ments in upwards of a hundred heads and throats. Was about in the Tritonic element-what expostulations and it an operation of the appetite for pleasure that had commands-what fruitless demonstrations of energy, such brought these people together? Was it from the prompt- as clasping of hands and twistings and twinings of face ings of the innate desire for happiness that all the persons and body-what all but effectual sympathies were manicollected in this Amphitrite's cradle had congregated? We fested for poor cousin Job! He was pulled out, however, cannot acclimate motives-we cannot grapple with them— and I had him quickly conveyed home. 1 'Pleasant thing the sea, Job,' said I, when he had re- to receive fresh theories of life, regenerative notions, which covered from its effects. shall add to, not merely alter, existing things, or which may even substitute something for present arrangements. 'Not over,' he replied, shaking his head. 'Great many people always flying about seeking plea- In both ways, then, as indicators of the times and reformers sure and happiness,' continued I. 'I wonder if they ever find it?' said Job. 'I believe they leave it,' said I. 'How?' queried Job. of them, letters and the arts act upon society. A man of letters, indeed, whether as poet, philosopher, or popular journalist, if he be viewed according to his idea, or the grand end for which he is to live, if he is to live at all as a literary man, is the mediator between all classes of society, the nexus by which the upper and lower ranks are kept in a relationship capable of improvement. Viewed in this high and ideal light, he has no private sympathies which can interfere with his impartiality; he belongs to no class, and has no interests except the good of the whole. This freedom from personal and class feelings is realised, not by stripping himself of everything belonging to humanity, but by identifying himself with all its forms, so that each may have an adequate representation in him their exponent. Spirit and not body, he passes into the My cousin Job reflected for a moment, then slowly shak-view-point of his fellow-men, however modified in their ciring his head, he exclaimed to me, for the first time in his cumstances, and from thence looks out upon life, seeing life, I think you are right!' 'Listen,' said I, growing full of my own idea, and swelling out with it. There is a little kingdom called home, cousin Job, and a little metropolitan throne called the hearth, where more of the joys and felicities of life lie enshrined than in all the world beside. Let the pleasureseeker try to create pleasure; let him become the sun of home-love, and he will always be the centre of a galaxy of felicity; let him concentrate heart-affection round himself, and he will be so environed by the influences of peace and joy, that his heart will rest with satisfaction within their circle, and never seek to escape them.' CLASSES: IN RELATION TO MODERN TENDENCIES. II. THE LITERARY CLASSES. LETTERS give articulate voice to a people, expressing by a common symbol what it is fearing, hoping, wishing, is intent on doing, or has already done. In this sublime office letters do not stand alone: the fine arts, in their several ways, accomplish the same purpose; music by melody and harmony, painting by shows addressed to the eye, sculpture by suggestive forms in stone, and architecture by columns and massy piles. All these speak, and speak loudly, either as indicators of the past or of the future, as monitors or instructors, as mere commentators on the times, or as the exponents of a new and yet unrealised era of history. In estimating the tendencies of an age, and consequently the forces at work within it, we cannot hope to fulfil our purpose with any approach to completeness, without taking account of powers so great in their active and reactive effects as those of literature and the arts. In two directions more especially they act upon society; first, in giving form and intelligible utterance to the existing thoughts and feelings of the age; and, secondly, in expounding new ideas, whether of truth, goodness, or beauty, in modes suited to find place for them in the minds and affections of men. By the former of these ways, they provide society with a formula of its present life, which can never be done without either changing its course or intensifying its energy and giving it greater sway over the future; by the latter, they offer a substitute for the life that is, in a theory of life that ought to be-in exhibiting something better, wiser, more lovely, more really desirable, and in every respect more worthy of man, than has been. Neither of these methods of influencing the age is less real and effective than the other; in greater or smaller proportions they are ever operative, perpetuating or reforming society, or fulfilling both functions at once in conserving and innovating upon existing forms of thought and activity. Society cannot become conscious of itself without being affected in one way or other by this self-knowledge. It admires, praises, encourages itself, or takes blame and confusion. Everything, indeed, which has place in miniature in the life and history of an individual, when he becomes sensible of his position, is enacted at large in communities. They move the faster or retrace their steps, go sullen, or angry, or mirthful, presume or hesitate, just as the likeness of themselves, on being shown to them, pleases or displeases their social aims. One thing which hitherto has been must be reversed, another strengthened, a third simply dropped as neutral, a fourth quarrelled with but not yet adjudicated on, and so with the rest: each feature of the times awakening some national feeling either in its favour or against it. On the other hand, society is progressive, and is ready, more often contrary to its will than with it, what it shows to each and how each is likely to judge of it. Returning at intervals to his own central position, with professed intent to utter a word for all, or rather in every word he uses to express spheral thought, he reaches the sympathies of all classes of society. Existing arrangements are judged of by him according to eternal law, not conventional. The evils pressing on one section of society are displayed so as to be understood by the other sections. Through him, therefore, acquaintance with a larger horizon of life than had otherwise been possible is gained by all to whom his works have become accessible. A pure test is applied by him to the phenomena of the times, and, through him, is put into the hands of the general multitude. But this description of the literary character seems rather a burlesque on what it is than a sober statement of what it ought to be. It is true that, as it is, the literary character falls far below the picture of it we have drawn; but so does every reality compared with its idea. Consciously or unconsciously, however, the man of letters, who is worthy of the name, is aspiring with greater or less ardour to justify this account of his functions. Not contented with himself or others, he labours earnestly, habitually, and with stern purpose, to carry forward the world; to hold up to mankind a model of life, drawn from his severe meditations, conducted in every way which nature, experience, and the ideal life within him authorise and point out. Shakspeare, of all men, has made the nearest approaches to a fulfilment of his office as a mouthpiece to humanity. Although exhibiting in his immortal dramas the vilest as well as the most noble types of human character, he leaves no stain upon the mind, by the unspeakable mastery with which he unfolds his men and women, so as, through indirect means, to furnish the eternal law by which they are to be judged and found in various degrees defective. But every age has furnished a few who entered with grand insight into the conception of a literary life. Surrounded by wife and children, by every circumstance which could fix and localise their sympathies, and by poverty, they have nevertheless succeeded in giving their efforts a universal aim: instead of being subdued by their condition, they have turned all its evils into blessings, they have converted the toil and vexation of their lot into means of selfknowledge and self-purification; the times and social influences, so far from fixing the temporary and the accidental upon their works, in any measure tending to render them obsolete, have only served to give greater breadth and profundity to them, to confer upon them more of immortality than external circumstances less trying would probably have induced. The remarkable forms which literature has, in recent times, been assuming, and still assumes, make its relation to modern tendencies one of the most interesting of inquiries, and give incidental emphasis to the remarks which have just been made on the literary character. The dignity of literature as a profession is becoming more generally conceded, and, as a means of social improvement, it is assuming a higher place in the opinion of all who exert any wide influence upon society. Change here, as in other departments of activity, is the most conspicuous thing which the eye has to take notice of; change in the tone, the forms, the circle of readers, and in the general conventions by which the whole mystery is regulated. Tried by the criterion furnished in the idea of the literary man, the literature of our age has gained largely on that of the age before it has improved in respect of its aim, spirit, and social influence; and promises, as other departments of society progress, to rise still higher in its wholesome effects. The audience of our literature, the characteristic features of its matter, and the relation it bears to literary men themselves, may afford topics of remark for the present paper. the body for the support of mental labour; it assists by contrast to stimulate the higher faculties; it furnishes repose to the mind without allowing it to sink with ennui. But the sense of reality which it supplies, and the greater hold which it gives one of the external world, provided it be not too hard and too absorbing, are, perhaps, the noblest benefits of this union of active with speculative labour. In the present state of things, however, and so long as competition tempts cupidity or constrains industry to work at lower labours for so many hours daily, and with so great application, few comparatively can be expected to unite adequately both occupations. Still, we have no reason to despair. Much has been already done towards the amelioration of the working classes, and towards, more especially, the removal of impediments to the free expanOf late years, and in a ratio proportioned to their close- sive cultivation of their mental faculties. More is in proness on our own day, the circle of general readers has mise. A few years may accomplish greatly larger results been growing more and more popular. In every age, than the most sanguine temperament has yet led the indeed, the people have had something to read or to hear speculator on the subject to hope for. What then may be read; and the property of the highest literature is, that the result, we can conjecture, but cannot determine. its symbol is the most universal which the language in Meanwhile, we take note of this phenomenon as giving which it is written affords. Nevertheless, before the pre- character to the literary classes in this age of effort and sent age, authors of genius and enlarged reading, who tendency. addressed themselves to a wide audience, were comparatively very few. The people, indeed, were imagined to be incapable of elevation; their position in society was supposed to have doomed them to instruction merely in the elements of morality and religion. It was only by a sort of providential accident, if we may so speak, that they came into contact with the great minds of their country; poets could not avoid being popular, whatever speculative theory respecting the capacities of the masses they might form. Now, however, the tables are entirely turned. No longer are dukes and duchesses obsequiously sought, at whose feet authors might permissively lay their manuscripts. A popular press is at work, and minds of the finest temper, largest range, and most extensive culture, are spontaneously, and even with a sort of chivalrous zeal, passing their elaborated sheets through it, for the eye of the artizan and the labourer. The improvement in this respect, it must be owned, is greatly owing to the rapid self-development of the working classes. In a sense they fitted one another for becoming a competent audience to men of genius; and genius, on the other hand, it should also be confessed, gladly acknowledged a real and profound sympathy with the unsophisticated manifestations of rude and comparatively unpolished nature, so soon as it became awake. Each class has thus played into the hands of the other. Fit readers have evoked a host of fit writers; action on one side has produced action on another. The people have become the patrons of the man of literature, and he, in his turn, has given a voice to the dumb multitudes who patronise him. In comparing the literature of the last fifteen years, particularly as it comes near the present time, with that which went before, no feature of its matter is more noticeable than its genial and philanthropic spirit. The miseries of the lower orders appear to have been the absorbing idea of literary men from then till now. Causes were at work to direct the attention of observers to this state of matters. The intermittent fever under which the working classes seemed to be suffering, occasionally seizing the brain, and driving them' to secret associations, strikes, risings, and outbreaks of different descriptions, became the subject of anxious consultation. At first, the symptoms were viewed as those of unreasonable discontent, which firmness and sound rebuke would eventually cure or put out of sight. It soon became obvious, however, to those who examined the matter more disinterestedly, that unutterable evils existed, and that these were fast accumulating, so as to threaten the safety of the empire unless an antidote were speedily found for them. The prevalent misery appeared likewise to have sprung from some old injustice, some chronic social distemper, that awakened more sympathy in behalf of the sufferers than anger against them for wrongdoing. The talent brought to light, as evinced in the eloquence of their chief men, however rude and partial it might be, stirred in thoughtful minds a remembrance that these workmen, clothed in rags or not, were heirs of immortality, and consequently that faculties adequate to such a destiny must be in their possession. Other causes besides these conduced to produce the intense sympathy of literary men with the wretchedness of the lower orders. The spirit and presiding genius of literature pointed wholly in this direction. Improvement, elevation, by all loving ways-by fair-dealing, by respect, by assistance in trouble, by generous confidence, by warm affections-is characteristically the doctrine of the true man of letters. In the present times, literature seems to be impregnated with more of this quickening spirit than during any former period. Serials of all sizes are permeated by it. Love, geniality, brotherhood, are now the formulas which express the tendencies of our literature. The working classes themselves, however, are producing writers who are taking their places among the most gifted and cultivated. This was only to be expected, since there was no reason why nature should have stinted their share of faculty, because it had been their misfortune to be severed, by a factitious distinction, from their educated fellow-men. In the fact of the increasing number of powerful and impressive thinkers rising up among the working classes, we have store of materials for the future historian to deal with. Never more can caste have place in this country. Ranks there will be, and probably must It must not be overlooked that woman-blessed woman always be. But the rulers and the ruled are becoming-has been mingling her soft and sweet-breathing voice daily more identified. The press is open to the man working at the anvil, through which he may legislate for the world, provided he has internal might to elaborate thought and throw it off in fit form. In the condition of this class of writers, indeed, there are circumstances more favourable to effective thinking than one is apt to imagine. Labour with the hands seems the natural counterpart to toil with the head. So far from being unpropitious to meditation, it supplies a fuller and more healthy experience as food to it, and more adequate conditions for its exercise, than are usually furnished in the life of the man whose only work is that of the brain. It pours strength into with man's, in this struggle for the good of the poor and neglected. Many dear names of that sex, sacred to genius, purity of aspiration, and all beautiful feminine qualities, adorn the title-pages of several remarkable works. We say, hail and welcome to such; room is making and shall continue to be made for them; they do what man cannot do; they speak in tones which carry consolation to many an unreached heart, and which inspire with benisons those before given only to cursing. In surveying the relations of literature to modern tendencies, another thing conspicuous is, that authors write much more from their personal lives than they used to do. They less seldom prate of things which they have seen with the eye and heard with the ear, but which their hearts do not understand. Life with them is much more now than formerly believed to be the true inspirer of undying utterances, and we more rarely see the author and the man two distinct and separable beings. Our hope for the future lies chiefly in this fact. Individuality is becoming daily more frequent among young writers. It is easy to see that the necessity of writing from life will indirectly tend to improve the general moral and spiritual condition of anthors. Not until they have realised truth and virtue will they feel at liberty to speak about them. All good and holy affections must be habitually cherished, and must find spontaneous egress through every-day actions, before they will be able to describe them with recommendation. In looking forward, we can only hope for the continuance of what is good in our literature, and the realisation of a still brighter idea than has yet been won by those who have entered the field of literary labour. Aspiration, we should say, cannot be too high, nor can any cost be too great, so that the fulfilment of early promise in young and expanding minds be gained by whomsoever promise is given. We wonder whether the present generation of rising writers will carry the enthusiasm, the lofty hopes, the noble desires which they are manifesting, more into their later life than those who have begun in former generations with promise of the same sort! Let us profit by experience. Preparation beforehand for parrying off the weapons of manhood with its settlement and worldly cares, and old age with its dolorous wailings over the past and dissatisfaction with all that characterises the present, may help us to end life as we begin it-a glorious consistency, worthy of the loss of all things. But nothing fit will be done apart from a religious life; we do not of course mean a contentious one, quarrelling with everybody for this or that petty regulation, but a life inspired by a belief in the great God in whom all things centre, and in the Revelation of Himself given equally in nature and in Jesus Christ -an idea to the evolution of which all our faculties may minister, not only without loss or discredit, but with transcendent gain and honour. HURRICANE ON THE GANGES. (From the Manuscript Journal of an Officer.) We started as usual at daybreak, and our boatmen, after a day of toil and tracking, had dragged us some twenty miles. The water was scarce ever ruffled by a passing breeze. The monotony of this, however, was much broken by the sight of numerous alligators and turtles quietly floating on the surface, but sinking as soon as observed, and thus furnishing easy-to-be-missed marks for our rifles. The tall adjutants and cranes of many kinds, as they stood statue-like or marched along in stately majesty over the shallow shores, a solitary pelican sailing with the stream, or the deeply-coloured water-snake wending his liquid way, ravenous and hungry vultures actually tearing at the dead, or hovering expectant over the dying, or perched on and devouring some passing buoyant and putrid human corpse-all these, and sundry others, formed figures in the 'rings' of the Gangetic target, gave us a better chance, and often forfeited their lives for our amusement! The beauty of the banks was enlivened by many villages and towns, with the lofty and pinnacled pagodas of the subtle, sinning Hindoos, or the ponderous-domed mosques of their physical though not mental conquerors-(no! but Brahma and the Crescent in every power shall yet be crushed by the Cross and its now fastforming moral phalanx); and the river itself, smooth as it was, presented to the eye a scene of considerable excitement. Innumerable boats of every sort and size, and hue and colour, and of names never meant for the measures of poetry, however poetical in appearance, passed up and down in rapid succession, and frequently came in contact with our nobler vessel, or we, asserting our naval superiority, gave them the first broadside-and then the uproar of the natives, their fierce and maniac-like gestures, can alone be duly appreciated by those who have seen an oriental tongue-fight. At sunset we stopped, and, with a countless 'fleet of boats, were ranged along the banks of the river; and dinner being prepared and eaten, all, as usual, sought repose till daybreak again, and everything appeared fitted for the required rest. Though the sun set in fire, evening had closed in beautifully, and night never sat more serenely on this mighty river; all was still, save the howling jackal's mournful cry. The restlessness of the sleeper alone, seen by some flickering lamp, omened that something unusual was brooding. in the midnight skies, as, with parched and open lips, he heavily breathed the exhausted and now unsatisfying air. Further warning there was none, till the elements commenced their fearful conflict, and heaven's artillery burst loud and awful on the ear. The blackened sky like a thick ceiling stood;' bolts of livid fire sprung from this cloudy rampart, and ran along the ground, dragging their chariots of thunder in their train, and sweeping all before them. The atmosphere, now still more rarefied by the lightning, and scarce fit to support life, stood aloof, like the Red Sea of old, on the right hand and on the left, ready to pour down at the appointed signal: and on it came-a mighty, rushing wind. In a moment every boat was driven from the shore, and dashed one against another, into the midst of the now foaming Ganges. The roar of the hurricane; the wild and savage yells of the native boatmen-their loud imprecations and frantic gestures; the open jaws and fierce eyeballs of the alligators, as they prowled around for the expected prey; and all rendered vivid by the flashing lightning, made it appear as if hell and its demons, with Phlegethon and its boiling waters, had rushed into the vacuum and were wrestling for their victims. How many became so I know not. It shortly ceased, and all was silent save the murmur of the stream: but some had sunk to rise no more; and many a stately mast and tree that had proudly cast their shadows to the setting sun made low obeisance to the dawning of the morn. How wonderful! the living liquid air, SCOTTISH SCENES. BRIDGE-OF-ALLAN-DUNBLANE. BRIDGE-OF-ALLAN, as everybody knows, is much resorted to in the summer season by persons from all parts of the country. Some seek this calm retreat that, by breathing its balmy air, and drinking its medicinal waters, impaired health may be restored, and new vigour animate their frame. Others pay their annual visit to it as a means of getting quit of a portion of the time that lies heavily (time glides from us all too quickly) upon their hand. While others may be found here glad to escape for a time from the busy mart and close city chambers. Whatever be the motive that communicates the impulse, the season brings a throng of visiters to this favourite watering-place; and we should suppose that the number of those who have their hopes realised is greater than those who have them disappointed. We have known individuals whose sunken eye, wan cheek, and feeble frame, indicated too plainly that disease was working sad havock in the constitution, put on freshness and gather health from visiting its wells and wandering through its wooded braes. Those who at home are killed with ennui, are here inspired with the spirit of activity, and stroll about the live long day, drinking pleasure from the numerous beauties that diversify the scene. The merchant, mingling in the gay circle, forgets his ledger, and exchanges the eternal din of the city for the morning chant of birds and the sweet murmur of rippling waters. This beautiful watering-place is situated in a southern |