of thine! Thou art not among articulate speaking friends, my brother; thou art among immeasurable dumb monsters, tumbling, howling wide as the world here. Secret, far off, invisible, invisible to all hearts but thine, there lies a help in them: see how thou wilt get at that. Patiently thou wilt wait till the mad south-wester spend itself, saving thyself by dexterous science of defence the while; valiantly, with swift decision, wilt thou strike in, when the favouring East, the Possible, springs up. Mutiny of men thou wilt sternly repress; weakness, despondency, thou wilt cheerily encourage; thou wilt swallow down complaint, unreason, weariness, weakness of thyself and others;-how much wilt thou swallow down! There shall be a depth of Silence in thee, deeper than this Sea, which is but ten miles deep; a Silence unsoundable; known to God only. Thou shalt be a great Man. Yes, my World-Soldier, thou of the world Marine-Service,-thou wilt have to be greater than this tumultuous unmeasured World here round thee is: thou, in thy strong soul, as with wrestler's arms, shalt embrace it, harness it down; and make it bear thee on-to new Americas, or whither God wills!

Religion, I said; for, properly speaking, all true Work is Religion; and whatsoever Religion is not Work may go and dwell among the Brahmins, Antinomians, Spinning Dervishes, or where it will; with me it shall have no harbour. Admirable was that of the old Monks, "Laborare est Orare, Work is Worship."

Older than all preached Gospels was this unpreached, inarticulate, but ineradicable, for ever-enduring Gospel: Work, and therein have well-being. Man, Son of Earth and of Heaven, lies there not, in the innermost heart of thee, a Spirit of active Method, a Force for Work ;--and burns like a painfully smouldering fire, giving thee no rest till thou unfold it, till thou write it down in beneficent Facts around thee! What is immethodic, waste, thou shalt make methodic, regulated, arable; obedient and productive to thee. Wheresoever thou findest Disorder, there is thy eternal enemy: attack him swiftly, subdue him; make Order of him, the subject, not of Chaos, but of Intelligence, Divinity, and Thee! The thistle that grows in thy path, dig it out that a blade of useful grass, a drop of nourishing milk, may grow there instead. The waste cotton-shrub, gather its waste white down, spin it, weave it; that in place of idle litter, there may be folded webs, and the naked skin of man be covered.

But above all, where thou findest Ignorance, Stupidity, Brute-mindedness-attack it, I say; smite it wisely, unweariedly, and

rest not while thon livest and it lives; but smite, smite in the name of God! The Highest God, as I understand it, does audibly so command thee: still audibly, if thou have ears to hear. He, even He, with His unspoken voice, fuller than any Sinai thunders, or syllabled speech of Whirlwinds; for the SILENCE of deep Eternities, of Worlds from beyond the morning-stars, does it not speak to thee? The unborn Ages; the old Graves, with their long-mouldering dust, the very tears that wetted it, now all dry--do not these speak to thee what ear hath not heard? The deep Death-kingdoms, the stars in their never-resting courses, all Space and all Time, proclaim it to thee in continual silent admonition. Thou, too, if ever man should, shalt work while it is called To-day. For the Night cometh wherein no man can work.

All true Work is sacred; in all true Work, were it but true hand-labour, there is something of divineness. Labour, wide as the Earth, has its summit in Heaven. Sweat of the brow; and up from that to sweat of the brain, sweat of the heart; which includes all Kepler calculations, Newton meditations, all Sciences, all spoken Epics, all acted Heroisms, Martyrdoms-up to that " Agony of bloody sweat," which all men have called divine! O brother, if this is not "worship," then, I say, the more pity for worship; for this is the noblest thing yet discovered under God's sky! Who art thou that complainest of thy life of toil? Complain not. Look up, my wearied brother; see thy fellow-workmen there, in God's Eternity; surviving there, they alone surviving; sacred Band of the Immortals, celestial Body guard of the Empire of Mankind. Even in the weak Human Memory they survive so long, as saints, as heroes, as gods; they alone surviving; peopling, they alone, the immeasured solitudes of Time! To thee Heaven, though severe, is not unkind; Heaven is kind-as a noble Mother; as that Spartan Mother, saying, while she gave her son his shield, With it, my son, or upon it!" Thou, too, shalt return home, in honour to thy far-distant Home, in honour; doubt it not-if in the battle thou keep thy shield! Thou, in the Eternities and deepest Deathkingdoms, art not an alien; thou everywhere art a denizen! Complain not; the very Spartans did not complain. Past and Present.

TEUFELSDRÖCKII'S NIGHT VIEW OF THE CITY.

I look down into all that wasp-nest or beehive, and witness their wax-laying and honey-making, and poison-brewing, and choking by sulphur. From the Palace esplanade, where music plays while Serene

แ

rale: the suburb Sainte-Antoine rolling hitherward wholly as one man! Such vision (spectral, yet real) thou, O Thuriot! as from thy Mount of Vision, beholdest in this moment: prophetic of other phantasmagories, and loud-gibbering spectral realities which thou yet beholdest not, but shalt. Que voulez-vous?" said De Launay, turning pale at the sight, with an air of reproach, almost of menace. "Monsieur," said Thuriot, rising into the moral sublime, "what mean you? Consider if I could not precipitate both of us from this height," say only a hundred feet, exclusive of the walled ditch! Whereupon De Launay fell silent.

Wo to thee, De Launay, in such an hour, if thou canst not, taking some one firm decision, rule circumstances! Soft speeches will not serve; hard grape-shot is questionable; but hovering between the two is unquestionable. Ever wilder swells the tide of men; their infinite hum waxing ever louder into imprecations, perhaps into crackle of stray musketry, which latter, on walls nine feet thick, cannot do execution. The outer drawbridge has been lowered for Thuriot; new deputation of citizens (it is the third and noisiest of all) penetrates that way into the outer court: soft speeches producing no clearance of these, De Launay gives fire; pulls up his drawbridge. A slight sputter; which has kindled the too combustible chaos; made it a roaring fire chaos! Bursts forth insurrection, at sight of its own blood (for there were deaths by that sputter of fire), into endless rolling explosion of musketry, distraction, execration; and overhead from the fortress, let one great gun, with its grapeshot go booming, to show what we could do. The Bastille is besieged!

On, then, all Frenchmen that have hearts in their bodies! Roar with all your throats of cartilage and metal, ye sons of liberty stir spasmodically whatsoever of utmost faculty is in you, soul, body, or spirit; for it is the hour! Smite thou Louis Tournay, cartwright of the Marais, old soldier of the Regiment Dauphine; smite at that outer drawbridge chain, though the fiery hail whistles round thee! Never, over nave or felloe did thy axe strike such a stroke. Down with it, man; down with it to Orcus: let the whole accursed edifice sink thither, and tyranny be swallowed up for ever! Mounted, some say, on the roof of the guardroom, some on bayonets stuck into joints of the wall, Louis Tournay smites, brave Aubin Bonnemère (also an old soldier) seconding him; the chain yields, breaks; the huge drawbridge slams down, thundering (avec fracas). Glorious! and yet, alas! it is still but the outworks. The eight grim towers with their Invalides' musketry, their paving

stones and cannon-mouths, still soar aloft intact; ditch yawning impassable, stonefaced; the inner drawbridge with its back towards us: the Bastille is still to take! The French Revolution: A History.

ON THE CHOICE OF BOOKS.

into (which appears to be faithfully done. I can truly say the labour you have gone wherever I can judge of it), fills me with astonishment; and is indeed of an amount almost frightful to think of. There seems innumerable reading beings, and tell them to be no doubt the Book will be welcome to much that they wish to know: to me the sheet of Beasts, it [the Critical Dictionary one fault was, that, like the Apostle Peter's of English Literature] took in "the clean and unclean," and thereby became of such unmanageable bulk, to say no more. Readers are not yet aware of the fact, but a fact it is of daily increasing magnitude, and already first grand necessity in reading is to be vigiof terrible importance to readers, that their lantly conscientiously select; and to know everywhere that Books, like human souls, are actually divided into what we may call "sheep and goats," the latter put inexortending, every goat of them, at all moments ably on the left hand of the Judge; and whither we know; and much to be avoided, and if possible, ignored, by all sane creatures!

Carlyle to S. Austin Allibone, Aberdour, Fife (for Chelsea, London), 18th July, 1859.

THOMAS ARNOLD, D.D., born at Cowes, Isle of Wight, 1795, entered Corpus Christi College, Oxford, 1811, and took a First Class in Classics, 1814; in 1815 was elected Fellow of Oriel College, where he gained the Chancellor's Prizes for the two University Essays, Latin and English, for 1815 and 1817, received private pupils at Laleham, 1819-1828, Head Master of Rugby School from 1827, and Regius Professor of Modern History at Oxford from 1841 until his sudden death, June 12, 1842. The History of the Peloponnesian War, by Thucydides, in Greek, the text according to Bekker, with some Alterations, with English Notes, chiefly Historical and Geographical, Oxford, 1830–32–35, 3 vols. 8vo; History of Rome, Lond., 1838-40-42, 3 vols. demy 8vo; History of the Later Roman Commonwealth, Lond., 2 vols. demy 8vo; Introductory Lectures on Modern History, Lond., 1842, 8vo; Sermons, 6 vols. 8vo, and 1 vol. fp. 8vo; Miscellaneous Works, Lond., 8vo.

"His sermons are remarkable as being, by their simple and natural language, one of the first prac

tical protests raised in the nineteenth century against the technical and unreal phraseology generally used in English preaching, and as uniting a high religious standard, a strong imagination, and

a living spirit of devotion, with unaffected good sense, and moral energy and sincerity."-ARTHUR P. STANLEY, D.D. See Stanley's Life and Correspondence of Thomas Arnold, D.D., Lond., 1844, 2 vols. 8vo, 8th edit., 1858, 2 vols. cr. Svo, and Life of Arnold by E. J. Worboise, Lond., 1852, sm. 8vo; Tom Brown's School-Days at Rugby, Lond., 1857, 12mo; (London) Quar. Rev., 74: 507; Edin. Rev.,

Jan. 1843.

EDUCATION OF THE MIDDLE CLASSES. Every man, from the highest to the lowest, has two businesses; the one his own particular profession or calling, be it what it will, whether that of soldier, seaman, farmer, lawyer, mechanic, labourer, etc.,-the other his general calling, which he has in common with all his neighbours, namely, the calling of a citizen and a man. The education which fits him for the first of these two businesses, is called professional; that which fits him for the second, is called liberal. But because every man must do this second business, whether he does it well or ill, so people are accustomed to think that it is learnt more easily. A man who has learnt it indifferently seems, notwithstanding, to get through life with tolerable comfort; he may be thought not to be very wise or very agreeable, yet he manages to get married, and to bring up a family, and to mix in society with his friends and neighbours. Whereas a man who has learnt his other business indiffer

ently, I mean, his particular trade or calling, is in some danger of starving outright. People will not employ an indifferent workman when good ones are to be had in plenty; and, therefore, if he has learnt his particular business badly, it is likely that he will not be able to practise it at all.

Thus it is that while ignorance of a man's special business is instantly detected, ignorance of his great business as a man and a citizen is scarcely noticed, because there are so many who share it. Thus we see every one ready to give an opinion about politics, or about religion, or about morals, because it is said these are every man's business. And so they are, and if people would learn them as they do their own particular business, all would do well: but never was the proverb better fulfilled which says that every man's business is no man's. It is worse, indeed, than if it were no man's; for now it is every man's business to meddle in, but no man's to learn. And this general ignorance does not make itself felt directly, if it did, it were more likely to be remedied: but the process is long and roundabout; false notions are entertained and acted upon;

prejudices and passions multiply; abuses become manifold; difficulty and distress at last press on the whole community; whilst chief now helps to confirm it or to aggravate the same ignorance which produced the misit, because it hinders them from seeing where the root of the whole evil lay, and sets them upon some vain attempt to correct the consequences, while they never think of curing, because they do not suspect the cause.

I believe it is generally the case, at least in the agricultural districts, that a boy is taken away from school at fourteen. He is taken away, less than half educated, because his friends want him to enter upon his business in life without any longer delay. That is, the interests of his great business as a man are sacrificed to the interest of his particular business as a farmer or a tradesman. And yet very likely the man who cares so little about political knowledge, is very earnest about political power, and thinks that it is most unjust if he has no share in the election of members of the legislature. I do not blame any one for taking his son from school at an early age when he is actually obliged to do so, but I fear that in too many instances there is no sense entertained of the value of education, beyond its fitting a boy for his own immediate business in life: and until this be altered for the better, I do not see that we are likely to grow much wiser, or that though political power may pass into different hands, that it will be exercised more purely or sensibly than it has been.

"But the newspapers, they are cheap and ready instructors in political knowledge, from whom all may, and all are willing, to learn." A newspaper reader, addressing a newspaper editor, must not speak disre spectfully of that with which they are themselves concerned: but we know, sir, and every honest man connected with a newspaper would confess also, that our instruction is often worse than useless to him who has never had any other. We suppose that our readers have some knowledge and some principles of their own; and adapt our language to them accordingly. I am afraid that we in many cases suppose this untruly; and the wicked amongst our fraternity make their profit out of their readers' ignorance, by telling them that they are wise. But instruction must be regular and systematic; whereas a newspaper must give the facts of the day or the week,-and if it were to overload these with connected essays upon general principles, it would not be read. I fear that my own letters tax the patience of some of your readers to the utmost allow able length: and that many, perhaps those who might find them most useful, never think of reading them at all. And yet my