go and visit his old father, and get indispensable papers. He afterwards returned, and married the marquise. Thus the poor officer on half-pay became a rich proprietor.

Some days after the wedding, a fat individual, in a blue jacket and cap d'Astracan, presented himself in the saloon, just after breakfast.

Pardon, excuse, monsieur and madame," said he, with a canting smile; "you do not recognise me!"

"Ah!" said the marquise, "you were conductor when we were stopped on the highway! Very well, there was no harm in it."

"Indeed, madame! There's a reasonable person! They do not at all resemble you in the post-house. They want even to make me pay for the wheel which the rob bers broke, and I come to ask for a certificate

Very willingly, my friend," said the captain, without giving him time to finish his sentence. What is your name?"

"Jean Crochart."

"Jean Crochart!" said the captain.

Jean Crochart!" repeated Madame Thiery, with that disdainful air which women always have towards men who have proved themselves unworthy. "Jean Crochart, formerly a jockey?"

Yes, madame, at your service."

Very well, sirrah! Go down to the office; my husband will send you the certificate you want; and if the administration of the post make you pay for the broken wheel, write to me, and I will reimburse you."

Jean Crochart obeyed, and left the chateau de BelleChasse without ever suspecting that he had refused the hand of Madame Thiery, or by what strange chance Susanne and Charles had been reunited, after one had acquired glory, and the other fortune.

BONNIE MARY.

Come hither to my side, bonnie Mary,
And let your een be dried, bonnie Mary!
Though faint I lie and weak,

Ae kiss upon thy cheek,

My love for thee will speak, bonnie Mary.

Oh lang I've lo'ed and weel, bonnie Mary,
As thy faithfu' heart maun feel, bonnie Mary;
To thee I've aye been true,

But my days are ended now,

Death's hand is on my brow, bonnie Mary.
Love's but a gowden dream, bonnie Mary,
A rainbow on the stream, bonnie Mary;
But the dream o' love is gane,
Hope's bow is chang'd to rain,

And a' life's joys are vain, bonnie Mary.

There's silence in the air, bonnie Mary,
The mavis sings nae mair, bonnie Mary;
The birdie on ilk tree

Hath closed its weary e'e,

To fa' asleep, like me, bonnie Mary.

Aft hae I sung to thee, bonnie Mary;
Beneath the hawthorn tree, bonnie Mary;
For oh! thou wert mine ain,

The muse o' ilka strain;

But I'll never sing again, bonnie Mary!

SUPERFLUITIES.

J. P. ROBSON.

What man, in his right senses, that has wherewithal to live free, would make himself a slave for superfluities? What does that man want who has enough? Or what is he the better for abundance, that can never be satisfied?

DIAMOND DUST.

SOCIALLY, we may all easily be divided into two classes in this world, at least in the civilized part of it. If we are not the people whom others talk about, then we are sure to be the people who talk about others.

THE parent who would train up a child in the way he should go, must go the way he would train up his child in.

Or the sixty-nine words which compose the Lord's Prayer, only five are not Saxon.

HEART.-A rare article, sometimes found in human beings. It is soon, however, ossified by commerce with the world, or becomes fatal to its possessor.

JURY.-Twelve prisoners in a box to try one at the

bar.

WEALTH.-The most respected quality of man. RELATIONS.--People who imagine they have a right to rob you if you are rich, and to insult you if you are

poor.

WE can never die too early for others when we live only for ourselves.

GOOD GRAMMAR FOR INNOCENT SPECULATORS IN ENGLISH GOLD MINES.-A Californian grammarian and gold-miner, whose fingers were burnt, has favoured the world with the following grammatical moral:-" Positive, mine; comparative, miner; superlative, minus.”

CONSCIENCE and covetousness are never to be reconciled. Like fire and water, they always destroy each other, according to the predominancy of either.

How difficult you would find it to convince a miserly heart that anything is good which is not profitable, or a libertine one that anything is bad which is pleasant.

THAT man comes off with honour who governs his resentments instead of being governed by them.

BEAUTY, like truth, never is so glorious as when it goes the plainest.

SENSIBILITY. A quality by which its possessor, in attempting to promote the happiness of other people, loses his own.

MY DEAR.-An expression used by man and wife at the commencement of a quarrel.

WHEN we record our angry feelings let it be on the snow, that the first beam of sunshine may obliterate them for ever.

He who buys too many superfluities may be obliged to sell his necessaries.

A FOOL generally loses his estate before he finds his folly.

A MAN that hoards riches and enjoys them not, is like an ass that carries gold and eats thistles. BORROWED garments seldom fit well.

CAST no dirt into the well that has given water when you were thirsty.

EXPENSIVE fish and fine guests often get unpleasant when three days old.

HASTE very often trips up its own heels.

MEN often blush to hear of what they were not ashamed to act.

PRIDE is a flower that grows in the Devil's gardens. MORE are drowned in the wine cups than in the ocean. WHAT is not needed is dear at any price.

TOWERS are measured by their shadows, and great men by their calumniators.

WHEN rogues give a dance the Devil is sure to be fiddler.

SOME sort of charity will swallow the egg and give away the shell.

Printed by Cox (Brothers) & WYMAN, 74-75, Great Queen Street, London; and published by CHARLES Cook, at the Office of the Journal, 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street.

"COME OUT OF THAT!"

BY ELIZA COOK.

VERY imposing and very important is the position of a woman when she is hailed as grandmother," or, we should say, "grand-mamma "- -we beg pardon for the mistake-mothers are out of the fashion now. There is something seriously responsible and equally flattering in having the charge of my son's little girls or my daughter's little boys, and a very pleasant privilege withal in permitting them to ride rampant over everything in the establishment-from good manners at the table to balustrades on the stairs. They are such "dear little creatures, bless their hearts!" and my grandchildren, moreover, which is quite enough to warrant them in any atrocity under the domestic firmament. Now we do not happen to be "a grandmamma," but we have the next right of consanguinity to smack and spoil a few of the rising generation under the name and authority of "aunt," and in this capacity are often induced in our prejudiced benevolence to undertake the care of a brother's eldest son "just turned of six." The lady who owns him, frequently appeals to our tenderness and charity, and writes a heart-rending note, stating that symptoms of scarlet fever, whooping-cough, measles, or some such nursery plague, are appearing in the family, and that as the eldest born is free from contagion as yet, she will be eternally grateful if we will have him for a week or two. We are mentally convinced that these symptoms are "got up," for the number of times they have appeared without further development is fabulous in medical history. We are perfectly aware of the plain fact that Master Harry is one of the most tiresome and mischievous children ever possessed by doting parents, and that his mamma flies in desperation to any subterfuge that will possibly form an excuse to "get rid of him" for a bit. A short time since a most fearful anxiety was expressed by the said mamma that the "baby" was threatened with a complaint which might become epidemic in the family,-we believe it was nothing less than Asiatic cholera-and as Harry had not yet evinced any symptoms of the same, it would be a merciful kindness on our part to let her send him to us for a few days. Of course Harry came, and our usual peace and order were broken at the wonderful shrine of the darling little Harry's precocious "cleverness." We could relate much of the young gentleman's work that might be sport to our

[PRICE 14d.

readers, though it was death to us, but we do not intend making this a facetious article, merely an illustrative one, so we shall proceed to state at once that the darling little fellow, after leading a life of unceasing activity that emulated the trials of Job, contrived to extract a promise from us that we would take him to the Crystal Palace. "Anything for a quiet life," said we, and as he had broken our letter-balance, picked all our choice yellow roses, and upset a pail of water in the passage during the morning, we thought it would be a wise course to get him out of the house at any inconvenience. We dressed him with all possible elaboration and taste, in his best velvet tunic, silk socks, and the various et ceteras of small dandyism, finishing our labour with pushing, pulling, and screwing on a pair of tight kid gloves-a deed of toil which afforded us the silent conviction that we were a fool for our pains; however, we did our scrupulous duty by our nephew, and trimmed him off to perfection, strictly bidding him stay in the parlour and amuse himself with a volume of Punch while we put on our bonnet and walking accessories. We were busy at our toilet under a most nervous pressure of haste, when we accidentally glanced ont of the bedroom window and beheld Master Harry at the bottom of the garden, velvet tunic, silk socks, and all, with a dirty rake in his hand, up to his eyes in a cucumber-frame, wherein a quantity of moist preparation had been placed for vegetable productions. We threw up the sash in alarm. "Harry, you naughty boy, come out of that!" shrieked we at the top of our voice. "I'm only mixing it up, aunty; I like it-it's such fun," was the audacious reply. "Pray come out of that," we shouted again with extra vigour, but there he remained in independent indifference. We clutched at our parasol, thrust a handkerchief into our pocket, and nearly broke our neck over the carpet in our undue haste to get downstairs. The cook detained us for a minute or two on the landing; we gave some incoherent orders and hastened to the cucumber-frame, which we reached at the very moment when Harry contrived to tumble into the worst corner of the bed that he possibly could, and he arose before ns in a plight which, as newspapers say, may be more easily conceived than described. We are afraid that we indulged in a sudden exacerbation of shaking, slapping, and scolding; but the Genoa robe, the royal blue sash, and the elegant kids were destroyed for ever. The Crystal Palace excursion was impracticable, and, altogether, there

was some excuse for a dereliction from Christian fortitude. Master Harry incurred such a serious expostulation, and such an extra box on the ear from his doting papa, who chanced to call at the unfortunate moment, that some effect was created. The wilful young gentleman seemed to think that "fun" might be purchased at too high a price, and within a few hours he came to us, exclaiming, in a tone of forlorn repentance, "Oh! do forgive me, dear aunty, I know I was a naughty boy, and I do wish I had come out of that' when you told me, for I had only dirtied my shoes a little then." We looked on the weeping culprit with philosophical reflection, and thought that his wish that he "had come out of that in good time, might be chorussed by older disciples of folly and rebellion. We went on thinking discursively, and regretted that the homely warning of "coming out of that" is not more generally heeded by grown-up children of mischief before it is too late. Our tiresome nephew had given us a text for a few remarks, and here they are.

Often have we passed the corner of a street, where the brilliant glare of gas, broad swinging mahogany doors, and rich plate-glass windows, gemmed with rainbowcoloured cordial bottles, point out the "dram-shop where the artisan first enters with a tidy jacket and healthy face; where the poor man takes his initiate

drains" with steady hand and natural voice; where the foolish mother ministers the first glass to herself and the first drop to her babe, with a decent dress on her back and a degree of comeliness in her smile. What would we say to them as they enter the infernal region of misery and ruin? What would we whisper in their ears, before their fingers begin to tremble round the fiery glass, and their eyes to exchange the lucid glance of reason for the bleared and bloodshot leer of idiotcy?

We would only say "Come out of that" in time, or the jaws of Death will yawn above the merrily-slamming portal doors, and the miasma of prisons will breathe from those prismatic cordials. "Come out of that" welldoing workman, before your fustian jacket is in rags, and your brains incompetent to guide your hands in its daily craft. "Come out of that "offspring of Poverty, before Desperation and Disease bring you to the lazar house of Infamy and Insanity. "Come out of that" young wife and mother, before the flame of "drink" has burnt up the god-like springs of womanhood in your bosom, before your child becomes a living curse to you, and your days and nights are spent in unholy wretchedness. Beware of the dram-shop, and turn in time to any voice that says Come out of that."

We have known the well-bred youth-the gently-nurtured and the fondly-loved-go forth into life with Plenty and Ambition to lead him on his way. Two temples are before him. Here is a plain, but nobly solid Pantheon, filled with the illustrious toilers in the cause of humanity and commerce. Those who enter it must work, and earn an honourable niche, made glorious by the respect of man and the approbation of God. There is an arabesque saloon of gaudy aspect and alluring attraction. The gambler's cards are within it, wreathed with flowers, and steeped in perfume. The ruby wine and the fairfaced Houris are enticing the young spirit to their seductive influence. The music of flattery is sounding sweetly over the choice viands, and the cheers of boon companions are breaking on the miduight hours. Jollity and recklessness are there, and Temptation flaunts in her gayest garments. The youth is taken, like the moth by the wax-flame. Beware, Young Man, retrace thy steps, before the evils of dissipation have fixed their serpent hold. Listen to the friend who stands beckoning at a distance, "Come out of that."

and says,

How frequently do we observe the mercenary son of Prosperity growing cold as the metal he worships. Look at his calculating eye, and close-set mouth. Mark the

rigid character of his brow, where one can fancy they see the figures of a heavy sum in " addition," with the sharp furrow-lines beneath embracing the sum total." He is absorbed in "heaping up riches," not knowing who shall gather them. He is turning away from the sunshine of Affection, and the green fields of Happiness. He would cut the silvery clouds into bank-notes, and coin the yellow buttercups into sovereigns if he could, and think the world improved thereby. He tells the stricken spirit beside him that Sympathy and Feeling are of no use to anybody. "Don't care for anything, only put money in thy purse," says he; and here ends his noble teaching. Son of Prosperity! whither are you going? Have a care. You are on the threshold of the stone sarcophagus of Avarice. Pass not into it too far, or your parchments and ducats may close up the entrance, and bury you before you are dead. Be a little foolish in your wisdom, lest men rejoice when you have departed from amongst them, and your name be but remembered as an item in Fortune's ledger. The marble sepulchre which holds the living covetous is dreary and unblest. Listen in time while the cherub sprites of Generosity and Impulse can approach nigh enough to breathe at your elbow, "Come out of that!"

Let us walk through the choking purlieus and fetid courts of this fine city. Turn from the palace gate, the mansion portico, the fashionable park, and gay promenade, and let us inhale the foul atmosphere, where dark cellars and darker kennels reek with disgusting impurity, where Fever, Pestilence, and Death hold their unceasing festival, and the faces of the dwellers therein serve but as way marks to a charnel-house. What shall we exclaim as we close our nostrils and avert our eyes from the surrounding horrors? This is what we will utter, "Rulers of the laud, look at your poor neighbours. Belgravia has been drained, why not Bell Alley? The blood of the weaver's child needs the fresh light and air as much as that which flows in the veins of the heir to England's crown. Turn to your poor neighbours," we repeat, "teach them practically that Cleanliness is next to godliness.' Help them in their struggle with Filth, Suffering, Ignorance, and Degradation, and say to them with kindly accent and lifting hand, Come out of that!" "

We could carry on our theme to probably an unwelcome length, therefore we will terminate our speculations, hoping our readers are not scanning our trifling paper, and wishing we would "Come out of that!"

Let a few "parting words" be given, and then we have done. We would seriously advise all who are getting into the Cucumber Frame of questionable contents - let that Frame be in what mental, moral, or physical shape it may--to take warning by the result attending the obstinacy of our clever nephew. Do not persevere in a foolish course, until velvet tunic, silken sash, and the chance for rational pleasure are ruined and lost; but if a kindly or experienced voice says, "Come out of that;" if a sister's tears,

a mother's entreaty, a father's injunction, a husband's wish, a wife's prayer, or a friend's advice become the medium of the homely but much-meaning request, obey at once with sense and readiness, so that you can say, "I did well in coming out of that,' ""while "only my shoes were a little dirty."

SOMETHING ABOUT ROSSINI.
CHAPTER III.

Two months afterwards, La Gazza Ladra was represented. Rossini received for it, altogether, 1,500 ducats, 500 from Barbaja, and 1,000 from Ricordi, the music publisher, in whose back shop, by the way, it is said that two of its finest duets were composed in less than an hour,

amid the noise occasioned by a dozen "readers," dictating music to as many copyists. First satisfying the claims of his numerous creditors, he now paid a visit to his native town, Pesaro, and there, as everywhere else, was received with transports of enthusiasm. Banquets, escorts of torch-bearers, serenades-the Pesarese decreed him all the honours. He stayed with them a week, and then hurried back to Naples, and within five months wrote three new operas-Armide, Ricciardo e Zoraide, and Ermione, and the well-known oratorio of Moses. Then followed the famous mass, written in three days, which made the Neapolitans, when they first listened to it, forget they were in a church, and applaud as though they were in a theatre; and by the spring of 1820 its author had produced still three more operas-La Donna del Lago, Bianca e Faliero, and Maoemeto Secundo.

Hitherto, he had not crossed the Alps; his life, nomade ns it had been, had passed entirely in voyaging from one Italian city to another. Still, idolized as he was in Italy, his fame was as great in other countries as in his own. They speak of him," wrote a German author in 1819, 'they speak of him every day in every part of the civilized world; at Rome and at Moscow, at London and Calcutta, at Paris and Bombay, at Vienna and Mexico! With the exception of Napoleon, no man of these ages has enjoyed a fame so wide, for its bounds are only those of civilization; Napoleou not excepted, no man has enjoyed a fame so glorious! And yet he is not thirty years of age!"

The numerous entreaties to visit them which now came to him from all the capitals of Europe, made the wings of the "Swan of Pesaro" tremble. But before complying with any of them, he resolved upon taking a far more important step-that, namely, of marrying the Signora Colbraud.

His determination to marry the "Black Nightingale of Madrid," who was not only the most charming cantatrice, but also the most superbly beautiful woman of her time, was now not less than seven or eight years old. It dated from the day on which he first presented himself before the Signor Barbaja, that being also the occasion on which he first saw the Signora Colbraud. He was struck at first glance with her unparalleled beauty, but it was not on its account that he resolved that he would one day marry her. It was because she was the object upon which Barbaja delighted to lavish his untold wealth, the Dane at whose feet the mighty Jupiter of San Carlo deposed a vast proportion of his uncounted treasures. For his own part, he was poor, and had lived too gay a life to permit of his longer caring much for love, or of his looking upon marriage as anything other than a means whereby to enrich himself. He would certainly render it such by marrying the Signora Colbrand, and would certainly never meet with any one else so rich, who would be half so likely to be willing to marry him. So he formed his determination at once. He would marry her.

Nor was the fair Angelique herself at all behindhand in forming a similar resolution with regard to the maestro. From the first she was quite as desirous of one day marrying him, as he was of sooner or later marrying her. And her motives were of no worthier an order than were his; love had as little to do with the matter upon the one side as upon the other. The passions of both parties were pretty nearly burnt out; what each wished was simply to drive an advantageous bargain. By marrying the signora, Rossini would gain wealth; by marrying the maestro, the signora would gain a rank in the world prouder and more honourable than the one she held at present, and one which she would not lose with the loss of her beauty, or that of her talents.

But notwithstanding the designs which each had thus upon the other from the first, fear of the jealousy of the terrible Barbaja, upon whom alike both parties depended,

for a long time prevented a declaration being made on either side. And after it was made, they hesitated, for even a longer time still, to take the step which must inevitably change so powerful a friend into as powerful an enemy. It was not until the spring of 1822 that they deemed themselves in a position to break with him. On the 8th of the May of that year, however, they fled from Naples together, and seven days afterwards were married at Bologna. Nozarri, Ambrogi, and David, the heroes who had won so much renown under the banner of the bridegroom, assisted at the solemn ceremony. They carried the news of it to Barbaja the next day. How he bore it, history has not recorded.

Immediately after the celebration of their marriage Rossini and his wife departed for Vienna; and if the grand maestro, as the presiding genius of the school of music of all others the most opposed to that of the Germans, had felt any doubt with regard to the welcome he would meet with in the classic laud which had given birth to Haydu, Mozart, and Beethoven, and had always been the rival of melodious Italy, they were instantly dispelled by the reception that was given him there. As soon as the news of his arrival was spread abroad he became the object of the most flattering attentions; and when he appeared at the theatre, in the box of the Neapolitan ambassador, the whole audience rose, and saluted him with triumphal plaudits, repeated thirteen times. The next night one of his own operas was represented; and thereafter, so long as he remained in the Austrian capital, no work by another author was performed at any of the theatres. They sang his music both in German and Italian; and the enthusiasm which it and the presence of its author together excited knew no bounds.

One evening he gave a supper in honour of his wife, and all the wealth, beauty, and talent of Vienna surrounded the banquet board. At that period Rossini was not only the greatest composer of his time, but also the finest appreciator of the things of the table. His cook was withont a rival, and upon the preparation of this supper he had expended all his art. Dish succeeded dish, as at the table of Lucullus, each being rarer and more delicate than the last. To sit at such a table, and amongst such guests, was an honour to be coveted, but to sup off such viands was a treat to be had once in a life, and thereafter only remembered, not renewed.

When the cloth was drawn the richest wines of Hungary and France were poured forth freely, and the conversation became as animated as it was brilliant. Suddenly, how, ever, there was heard above it a murmur as of a multitude without. Rossini went to the balcony, and found that the house was in reality besieged by an immense crowd, who had come there in consequence of its having been rumoured all over Vienna that the maestro and some of his guests would that night sing upon the balcony to whomsoever chose to come and hear them. Great, at first, was Rossini's perplexity upon discovering this, for he knew that the effects which disappointment would produce upon the crowd were to be feared. But he soon decided not to disappoint them. "Signors," he said to those of his guests who had gathered round him, "it would be a shame to let so many brave people come here for nothing; so, since it is a concert they desire, why, let us give them one!"

Upon this, a piano was placed upon the balcony, and the maestro, with his table-napkin hanging from his button-hole, sat down and sang a ritornello from Elizabetta. The audience applauded lustily; " Viva! viva! sia benedetto! ancora! aneora!" was vociferated with all their might by a thousand voices. David and Mdle. Eckerlin then advanced and sang a duett, which was followed by the same plaudits and the same entreaties to continue. Nozarri succeeded with a cavatina from Zelmira, and then the maestro wrought the enthusiasm

of the assembly to a climax by singing, with his wife, the admirable duett from Armide-Cara per te quest, anima. He intended that the delicious accents of this duett should close the concert, and attempted to retire amid the applause which followed it. His intention being perceived, however, the cries of "Bravo!" were changed for others of "Fora! fora! il maestro!" and he was obliged to advance to the border of the balcony and bow his acknowledgments to the excited multitude. A cry of "Cantare! Cantare!" then proceeded from all sides, and the maestro replied by singing in his gayest manner the famous melody from Il Barbier, Figaro quà, Figaro là." This ended, he considered the matter carried far enough, and retired into the interior, ordering the shutters to be closed and the lights upon the balcony put out. But though he had had enough of it the crowd had not, and when it perceived that there was no hope of the concert being continued, it became enraged beyond all bounds at the disappointment, and gave vent to its fury by throwing brickbats at the windows of him in whose favour, only a few moments before, it had witnessed so idolatrous an enthusiasm. Had it not been for the intervention of the police, it is probable the outrage would have been carried to a very serious extent. So fickle is the favour of the populace, so little to be depended upon the worship of the mob!

By the time Rossini had sojourned in the Austrian capital three months, the famous Congress had assembled at Verona. In obedience to a royal invitation, the maestro and his wife repaired there too; and the emperors, archdukes, and other illustrious personages who had met to settle the affairs of Europe, gave him the most flattering of welcomes. The members of the Congress not only danced every day, they sang also, sometimes at the house of the Duke of Wellington, sometimes at the palace of Prince Metternich, sometimes at that of the Count Nesselrode. Rossini, the veritable king of these musical festivals, in order to witness to the assembled sovereigns his gratitude for the many attentions he received at their hands, composed in their honour a cantata, which was executed at the Philarmonic Theatre by Velutti, Orivelli, Galli, and La Tosi. It won him the public expression of the thanks of three archdukes and two emperors, a hundred louis-d'or, a golden snuff-box for himself, and a necklace of pearls and diamonds for his wife.

Over the remainder of his life we must pass rapidly. When the Congress broke up he departed for Venice, and produced there his last Italian opera, La Semiramide. This represented, he repaired to Paris, arriving there early in 1824. Of his sojourn in the French capital nothing need be said, further than that it was one grand ovation. It lasted till December, in which month the maestro passed over into this country. Here he experienced the same reception, and passed six months in the society of the highest personages in the land, being even admitted into the intimacy of the king. He then returned to Paris, and remained there eight or ten years, producing in the mean time his last work, Guillaume Tell. He left Paris in 1834, and till the revolution of February, lived in retirement in a handsome palace at Bologna. Not liking, however, the aspect which things then bore in that city, in 1848 he established his household gods at Florence, and there the illustrious composer has ever since resided.

This is not the place in which to speak of the merits of his music. Like everything else that has been extravagantly praised, it has also been extravagantly blamed. It doubtless has many faults, but they are principally those of the school to which it belongs; and it certainly has the grand merit of having delighted greater multitudes than the works of any other composer, ancient or modern, and of still being able to delight to intoxication all but the most hypercritical of listeners.

written.

LANCASHIRE STUMP ORATORY AND REMINISCENCES OF THE LABOUR BATTLE. BY A PRESTONIAN.

CHAPTER VI.-COMMERCIAL ENTERPRISE.

THE most precious of metals, in its pure state, is almost valueless for commercial or artistic purposes till its purity has been somewhat reduced and its temper hardened by the admixture of inferior substances. So, it appears, true religion and pure morality, in every age, is, from an all powerful necessity, inoculated with some baser ingredients, when fashioned for the wear and tear of actual life. An alloy of individual selfishness and temporising expediency, fused almost unconsciously with religion and virtue, produces a kind of spiritual Corinthian brass, which I call conventional morality. The fashionable idol, which usurps the domain of practical virtue, varies much in its character and aspect. The worshipped of one age or country may be the despised or contemned of another. And yet the latter may have merely changed the grosser portion of the amalgam, without adding a particle of genuine truth to the newer conventional compound! The simple fact that ministers of the Gospel can be plentifully found in certain portions of North America, who deteriorate Christianity by an attempted recouciliation of negro slavery with its doctrines of universal love and universal freedom, forms a most striking illustration of my position. Yet I remember the same thing being done in England. The "vested interest" fought long and sturdily for the "rights of property;" and pecuniary consideration and not moral conviction struck off the fetters from the limbs of the slaves in the British colonies!

It is truly astonishing what a large amount of worthlessness and even positive vice a really good and brilliaut thing will sometimes conceal within its shadow. Poor

Liberty" has been made the stalking-horse for every petty passion and every individual vanity. "Law and order' have spread their snowy wings complaisantly over the blackest successful crimes, and sanctified deeds the most atrocious. Every great virtue or true principle in practical life is befouled more or less by shoals of parasitical vermin! Power, or wealth which gives power, prepares the virtuous purgative in the manner most agreeable to its digestion! Passion, prejudice, ignorance, and a host of other influences, each condiment the moral food to their respective palatal eccentricities!

Amongst the many virtuous dogmas and "respectable" phrases whose potent influences were brought to bear upon the labour question, few were honoured with more resonant ovations than " our commercial enterprise." The tone in which it was uttered had something of the twang of infallibility about it. You would have been set down for an infidel or at least a heretic had you refused unlimited sacrifice at the shrine of this small modicum of mysterious verbiage! must Commercial enterprise

be encouraged and fostered, like the capture of Silistria, at any cost!" To the omnipotent necessity of its "free" action all things else must yield. The slightest legal interference with the " divine right" of " commercial enterprise would be the death blow to our national prosperity! And many believed it with a faith bordering on fanaticism, because they had been in the habit of regarding the simple acquisition of great wealth in a few