tants is powerfully described in his letters. In September, 1806, he left Copenhagen for Prussia, to become joint director of a Government bank in Berlin. Scarcely had he accepted this office, when the defeat of the Prussian by the French army created confusion and alarm, and caused him to withdraw from Berlin to Stettin, and thence to Dantzic, Konigsberg, and Memel, retreating, as occasion required, from one town to the other. The conduct of the statesmen of Prussia excited his strong indignation. They at once declared on the side of France-Stein alone, a great man and a great minister, being faithful among the faithless. It became necessary for the kingdom of Prussia to raise a loan, to prevail on the French to leave their country, and Niebuhr was sent to Holland to negotiate accordingly. Difficulties almost insurmountable met him in discharge of this duty, and he was about to return, with his mission unaccomplished, when a Dutch house came forward to advance the money. With the policy of Hardenberg, the Prussian minister, Niebuhr did not concur, and, consequently, was desirous to be relieved from connection with the Court. In 1810, he was appointed by the king historiographer, and entered upon his professorship at Berlin-an appointment as well merited by his services to the state, as it was congenial to his own tastes, and favourable to the cultivation of his immense literary powers. It is altogether amazing, that, amid the distractions of his life for the past ten years, when political duties in a time of war and most responsible cares were lying heavily upon him, he seems never to have lost sight of, or even abated, his philological researches. His power of memory was a remarkable faculty, and of great service to him throughout all his career. His wife and sister, on one occasion, examined him from 'Gibbon's His tory,' selecting events and circumstances of trivial and minute detail, in not one of which did he fail to give the correct answer. At another time, he was present at a discussion, in which some Austrian officers were engaged, as to the battle of Marengo. In some matter of detail as to the positions of the armies, Niebuhr ventured to say he thought they were wrong; and, on the production of pro per maps, he was found precisely and minutely accurate in his view. And, to give one more specimen of this extraordinary power, he, on one occasion, in conversing with Professor Welchen of Bonn, on the weather, quoted results of barometrical observations in different years, as far back as 1770.

The three following years of Niebuhr's life were probably the calmest, happiest, and most profitable he ever enjoyed. They were purely devoted to literature and history, apart from the jar of politics and public life. At the opening of the university, he delivered lectures on Roman history, which were the foundation of that work which is his best monument; and such was his industry, that by the middle of 1811, the first volume of his History' was far advanced for the press. After the closing of the session, he indulged himself with a visit to Holstein, to see his now aged father, who had been left desolate by the death of his wife, the gentle and much-loved mother of Niebuhr, the historian. 'Niebuhr, as a lecturer,' writes one who knew him well in this capacity, 'was a singular phenomenon. He delivered his discourses extempore, and without having any written notes before him to assist his memory. The form in which he delivered them was that of a familiar and lively conversation with friends, in which he made use of his most varied and inexhaustible stores of knowledge and personal experience to illustrate the subjects of his discourses, and in which he abandoned himself without restraint to the expression of his strong feelings, as they might be called forth by the subjects under consideration. When Niebuhr spoke, it always appeared as if the rapidity with which the thoughts occurred to him obstructed his power of communicating them in their regular order of succession. But, notwithstanding this deficiency as a lecturer, there was an indescribable charm in the manner in which he treated his subjects: the warmth of his feelings, the sympathy which he felt with the persons and things he was speaking of, his strong conviction of the truth of what he was saying, his earnestness, and, above all, the

vividness with which he conceived and described the cha racters of the most prominent men, who were to him living realities, with souls, feelings, and passions like ourselves, carried his hearers away, and produced effects which are usually the results only of the most powerful oratory.' The spring of 1812 was ill-suited for studious pursuits. French troops were constantly passing through Berlin, on their way to Moscow, and the incessant annoyance created by the billeting of soldiers, and martial parade of an army preparing for battle, were not favourable to the calm quiet so much desired by the scholar. Notwithstanding all this, the second volume of his History' was ready for the press in May. In October of this year, Niebuhr lectured on Roman antiquities. Hitherto he had read his lectures free of charge, but now he accepted fees, and devoted them to the assistance of distressed families. In February, 1813, the French troops evacuated Berlin, and Niebuhr joined heartily in the consequent rejoicings. Not only so, but when the Landwehr was called out, he insisted on enrolling himself as a volunteer, his friends wondering not a little when they heard he was drilling for the army. The state of public feeling at this time was greatly excited, and in France, we find, recourse was had to a system of tyrannical oppression, such as in our own day we witness and deplore. In one of his letters, we find Niebuhr writing'Have you heard that Madame de Stael has received an intimation not to hold intercourse with Schlegel? A violent resentment reigns against him at the French court, because it is supposed it was he who inspired her to praise the German literature.' Amidst the harassments caused by public affairs, and also by domestic sorrow-for his wife was too plainly sinking under disease-Niebuhr was gratified by the reception his History' met with. From Goethe he received a letter of unqualified praise, given in the most generous and friendly spirit.

But it was not destined for Niebuhr to remain in the quiet retreat of his professorship. In 1818, he was summoned to Dresden, where the King of Prussia and Emperor of Austria had met, and where a central council had been formed, charged with the provincial administration of the German countries recovered from Napoleon. Various delicate and important negotiations devolved upon him, and at a time when his mind was fully occupied and his heart overburdened with private griefs. The death of his father deeply affected him, the failing health of Madame Niebuhr filled him with sorrow, and the public difficulties and dangers seemed to be accumulating on all sides. Napolcon had returned from Elba, and re-established his power in France; and the protracted struggle likely to ensue could not but fill his mind with serious apprehensions. Meanwhile, the Crown Prince (the present King of Prussia) sought in Niebuhr an instructor and a friend; and we find the historian at the court giving lessons in finance to his future sovereign.

The spring of 1815 brought with it a bitter trial. Madame Niebuhr gradually sunk under prolonged illness, and died in the arms of her husband, on the 21st of June. It is not easy to exaggerate the severity of this trial. Never were two people more deeply attached to each other, or more admirably adapted to each other in habits and pursuits. Joined to a singularly attractive and amiable disposition, Madame Niebuhr possessed a comprehensive mind and cultivated taste. She could share in all her husband's public anxieties, advise with him in difficulties, and join in his pursuits and studies with keen relish and encouraging effect. Her dying request was that he should finish his

History,' well knowing how important a work it was, and how well qualified her husband was to accomplish it. The death of his wife not only saddened him for a time, but tinged his whole future life with sorrow; for, although he married again, and had much happiness in the alliance, we find him always looking back, and writing about his Amelia, and reflecting with melancholy on her removal from him.

He was somewhat roused from the deep dejection immediately following his bereavement by his appointment as ambassador to Rome. The arrangement of some prelimi

nary matters interfered to prevent him taking up his post at once, and during this interval he wrote an admirable biography of his father, and with wonderful diligence carried forward other literary work. In 1816, his sister-inlaw, Madame Hensler, came to visit him (along with Margaret Hensler, a niece of her husband), intending, at his urgent request, to accompany him to Rome. Meanwhile, Niebuhr engaged himself to Margaret Hensler, and married her before leaving Berlin.

In 1816, he left for Rome, and writes in one of his letters: The Crown Prince has taken a very affectionate leave of me, and shed tears at parting.' Dr Brandis, now the distinguished professor of philosophy at Bonn, accompanied him, as Secretary of Legation. 'It was with solemn feelings,' Niebuhr writes, that this morning, from the barren heights of the Moory Campagna, I caught sight first of the cupola of St Peter's, and then of the view of the city from the bridge, where all the majesty of her buildings and her history seems to be spread out before the eye of the stranger.' He soon found himself in very agreeable relations with the court of Rome, a good understanding having sprung up between Pope Pius VII. and himself. Generally, however, he found few friends in the ancient city, and we find him writing-The frescoes of Raphael and Michael Angelo, and some ancient statues, are all that is really living at Rome.'

In April, 1817, his wife bore him a son, an event affording him intense delight.' It is somewhat amusing to find him writing, within a month of his child's birth-He is full of health, looks briskly about him, and already begins to take notice. I can handle it very well, and it becomes quiet with me directly. I am thinking a great deal about his education.'

was taking an active interest in civic matters, and was probably in constant consultation as to political affairs in Prussia. In 1826, he obtained a dispensation from attending councils of state, and was thus enabled, with more undivided energies, to pursue his studies, and make progress in his 'History.' In 1828, he visited Holstein for the last time.

His career was now drawing to its close, and was destined to terminate after a short illness. In 1831, an attack of inflammation prostrated him, and it soon became evident that he was not to recover from this stroke. Two days before his death, his faithful wife, who had exerted herself beyond her strength in nursing him, fell ill, and was obliged to leave him. He then turned his face to the wall, and exclaimed, with the most painful presentiment, 'Hapless house, to lose father and mother at once.' And to the children, he said, 'Pray to God, children. He alone can help us.'

His wife survived him only nine days, and they were buried in the same grave, over which the King of Prussia has erected a monument to record at once his own love for him and the services of his faithful subject. The third volume of his History' was left unfinished, but has been prepared for the press by M. Classen; of the first two volumes, he had himself superintended and corrected a second edition before his death.

It will not be considered a breach of our promise to make this a simple narrative, if, before concluding, we very cursorily glance at Niebuhr's character.

His untiring industry at once strikes our attention, and we marvel at the grasp of mind and decision of action which enabled him to direct the most important political movements while pursuing his researches, and writing largely and influentially at the same time.

His thorough unselfishness at all times displays itself, not with ostentatious parade, but in the calm and steady course of duty. His going to Rome was in every sense a sacrifice of his own comfort and inclinations, excepting in so far as it enabled him to pursue congenial studies and illustrate his 'History.' The formalities and splendour of a court he had no fancy for. Personal aggrandisement was never his object, for he does not appear at any time to have possessed a large income.

Niebuhr remained at Rome until 1823, previous to which the business more especially calling for diplomatic aid had been arranged. Hardenberg, the Prussian minister, happened to visit Rome just in time to carry through the negotiation with the Papal court; and the whole merit of its completion was awarded to him. This was willingly acceded to by Niebuhr, whose only wish was to see matters arranged, but who seems to have been fully entitled to the credit of successfully carrying through the negotiations. He now became desirous to leave Rome, but could not get relieved of his appointment. On the plea of a long furlough, however, he was enabled at length to return to Germany, an arrangement which his wife's failing health, and other considerations, made extremely desirable. After a hurried visit to Naples, Florence, and Heidelberg, he arrived at Bonn, and resolved, for a time, at least, to remain there. After some trouble and delay, he was formally relieved of his appointment at Rome, and once more returned to his literary work. His History,' which for a time had lain aside, was now resumed with energy. Affairs of state, however, called him, after a time, to Berlin, and, while there, he seems to have been constantly with the Crown Prince. During this absence from his family, who remained at Bonn, he lost one of his children, and writes in the most affecting manner of his bereavement. Gladly would he have been with his wife at such a season of trial, but his presence was still necessary at the court; and here, as always, he was ready to sacrifice personal inclinations for the public weal. At length he returned to Bonn, and in 1825 lectured on the history of Greece. At this time, also, amid all his professorial and editorial labours, he

His conscientiousness was a leading feature in his cha

Of his large and comprehensive mind, it is only needful to say, that it at once commanded and obtained the respect due to its grasp and power. No statesman with whom he came in contact was ever unimpressed with his enlightened views, while the extent of his information, and accuracy of his acquirements, aided by a most wonderful memory, enabled him to speak on all subjects with the same breadth of view and power of illustration.

Of Niebuhr as a historian, it is not needful here to give an opinion. Goethe has done so in unmeasured terms of approbation; and English scholars have considered it a worthy task to be his translator and interpreter here.*

The late Dr Arnold of Rugby, in his preface to his History of Rome,' founded on Niebuhr's lectures, says, Amongst the manifold accomplishments of Niebuhr's mind, not the least extraordinary was his philological knowledge. His acquaintance with the manuscripts of the Greek and Roman writers was extensive and profound; his acuteness in detecting a corrupt reading, and his sagacity in correcting it, were worthy of the critical ability of Bentley. On no point have I been more humbled with a sense of my own inferiority, as feeling that my own professional pursuits ought in this respect to have placed me more nearly on a level with him. But it is far otherwise.' This is a high testimony from one who is admitted by most men to have been a great scholar, and by all to

It would, of course, be altogether foreign to the design, and heyond the limits of a paper like this, to enter upon any discussion of Niebuhr's views on the wide subject of 'History.'

As a Christian man, there is much in Niebuhr to admire, much to desiderate, something to regret. The following passages are full of truth and full of Christian boldness. To a friend he writes, After all, the most difficult matter is to walk in humility and to govern one'sself.' Again, in opposition to the spirit of vain philosophy in religion so rapidly extending itself everywhere, and with especially accelerated speed in Germany, he says, 'A Christianity after the fashion of the modern philosophers and pantheists, without a personal God, without immortality, without human individuality, without historical faith, is no Christianity at all to me, though it may be a very intellectual, very ingenious philosophy. I have often said that I do not know what to do with a metaphysical God, and that I will none but the God of the Bible, who is heart to heart with us.' Writing after the birth of his son, he says, It is my most ardent wish that Marcus may be sincerely and earnestly pious.' But, with all this, one cannot fail to be struck with the general absence, in such a voluminous correspondence, of the subject of religion; with the strange fact recorded by himself, that, during an alarming crisis in his second wife's illness, he besought in prayer the aid of his former beloved partner; and that the works read to him on his deathbed were the Parisian newspapers, the Jewish History of Josephus, and a novel of Cooper, the American. We mention these facts, because we are not at liberty to conceal them from ourselves or others, not forgetting, however, that he lived during a period singularly trying to serious minds, when in almost all churches religion was decaying or dead-a state from which his own church was not exempted.

One remark he makes is calculated to call forth all our sympathies for the Continent, and to urge the churches of the Reformation to leave no open door unoccupied by faithful preachers of the truth. The growing disgust with which Popish forms and doctrines are regarded by intelligent men had then, as now, the effect of driving many from its pale only to land in pantheism and infidelity. We scarcely wonder at this, after reading such a passage as the following, from a letter of Niebuhr's :-The Catholic religion, such as it is in these parts, is called, even by orthodox Catholics, benighted heathenism. For example, in processions to a place in this neighbourhood, a fellow dances on a tight-rope, with a banner in his hand, to the sound of Turkish music, as soon as the litany is over;' and Niebuhr adds, 'The clergy is constantly sinking into deeper ignorance.'

It is this Pantheism and Romanism,' says Isaac Taylor, in his recent work, which, from the earliest periods known to history, have, under different names, shared between them, in shifting forms, the empire of the human family; the one shaping itself always in counter-conformity to the other and the two, like binary celestial masses, revolving round a common centre, are found to be necessary the one to the other-annihilate either, and the other would fly off from its orbit, and be lost in infinite space. Each, silently conscious of its dependent relationship to the other, has been tolerant of the other; and thus it is that, while Romanism under cover of mysticism reserves a place for Pantheism, Pantheism has been used to say, and is now saying aloud, 'Inasmuch as the mass of mankind, the herd high and low, must and will have a dogmatic belief of some sort, and must have an ostentatious worship, Romanism supplies both in a mode that is well adapted to satisfy the instincts and to meet the prejudices of the unthinking many.''

The life and letters of Niebuhr are worthy of a careful study. The short and imperfect sketch we have given may possibly induce some to give them a full and fair perusal. Lord Bacon has said, 'Knowledge is not a couch whereupon to rest a searching and restless spirit, or a terrace for a wandering and variable mind to walk up and down with a fair prospect, or a tower of state for a proud mind to raise itself upon, or a fort or commanding ground for strife and contention, or a shop for profit or sale, but a rich storehouse for the glory of the Creator and the relief

WHITTLINGS FROM THE WEST.

BY ABEL LOG.

HEAP THE SEVENTY-FIFTH.

I HAD just parted with Lascelles, and was about to return to the house, when Mr Headley met me in the garden, and begged that I would follow him immediately, for that poor Molson had been brought home upon somebody's shutter.

'He attempted to drown himself,' said Mr Headley, 'and, I fear, has partially succeeded. Miss Fitzherbert requests you will not lose a moment, as she considers herself in some measure the cause of the catastrophe.' I found Mr Molson in his chamber. They were holding him heels uppermost, under the supposition that the water he had swallowed would under this treatment be induced to eject itself from his stomach. I was somewhat ridiculed, therefore, when I stated that he had not swallowed any water at all, and, laying him on the bed with his head a little raised, resorted to the usual mode of resuscitating drowned persons. My labours were soon crowned with success, and Mr Molson opened his eyes, but immediately shut them again. I am constrained to acknowledge that he was not quite so poorly as he pretended to be. He recovered his senses rather unexpectedly. I intimated my suspicions to Mr Merrivale. 'Where am I?' asked Mr Molson.

said

Do

'O, come, come, let us have none of this nonsense,' Mr Merrivale; you know very well where you are. not talk in this way, or I shall believe you to be a greater goose than I was disposed to think you.'

'Pray, how did the accident happen?' I inquired of Mr Headley, who was endeavouring to disentangle Leonard's dishevelled locks, and reduce them to some order with a brush and comb.

'Accident!—it was no accident at all,' chimed in Mr Merrivale. 'He made some absurd proposal to our friend Fanny as they rode out together on horseback, and, not meeting with the reception he expected, what does my gentleman do but dismount very gravely, and walk into the Hudson. In justice to his own prudence, I should tell you he did not believe the depth to exceed three feet; but, finding it more than that, he squalled lustily for help, and had the luck, just as he was about to be drowned in good earnest, to be rescued by one of the North Carolina's crew, who hooked him by the small-clothes, and had the humanity to convey him up hither. If I have wronged you by any misstatement, Molson, pray speak,' said Mr Merrivale.

Here there was a knock at the door, and a tender inquiry after Mr Leonard's health.

'Ŏ, there is not the least occasion for any alarm, ladies, I assure you,' replied Mr Merrivale; he is quite in a fair way of recovery. Mr Molson improves rapidly, and will be able to thank you for your kindness in person tomorrow.'

I went in again the last thing before I retired for the night, to see Mr Molson. He looked pale, and motioned me to a seat by the bedside.

"Remember that my watch and seals are for my mother,' he said sepulchrally; my writing-desk and books I give to you.'

What, are you determined to die, then, after all ?' 'Will you oblige me by opening that drawer, and handing me the square box it contains?'

He

I obeyed. Mr Molson opened the box, and took from it a pair of handsome rifle pistols. I supposed he was about to bequeath them to me also, but, O, dear no. loaded one of them, with a frightful calmness of manner, capped it, cocked it, and begged that, if I entertained the slightest regard for him, I would not stay his hand. I promised on my word of honour that I would not. He

There was a step upon the stair. Mr Molson clapped the pistol into the case, tucked the case under the bedclothes, drew the bedclothes up to his chin, and left nothing but his nose visible. I wished him a good night's rest, and left the room.

The next morning found Mr Molson not only alive, but perfectly well, and at the breakfast-table. There was a certain roguish twinkle in the eyes of every one present; but, with a delicacy and kindness that did them credit, not the slightest allusion was made to the occurrence of the night before, and it would have provoked no comment or attention whatever, had not Mr Molson's old and inveterate enemy, the parrot, crammed his head suddenly through the bars of the cage, and, surveying the repentant suicide with a droll leer that was quite irresistible, cried, 'Poor Molson!' and then burst into another of those loud and insulting fits of laughter which were always so irritating to the individual against whom they were directed. Nor did Nabob's merriment appear to be at all feigned, for he several times repeated the words 'Poor Molson !' and continued to laugh until (like some elderly gentleman troubled with short breath) he was obliged to stoop with the violence of it, and at last ended in a species of choke. Miss Westbrook, therefore, very considerately ordered a servant to remove Nabob to an adjoining parlour; and Mr Molson, who had all the time kept his eyes fixed heroically upon the ceiling, to our great relief shortly afterwards quitted the room also.

...

What

I read Tregenza's friendly letter several times. he had stated was very true. I was fond of change, and time, just at present, was of no particular value to me. Ernest was a pleasant fellow, and I had a strong inclination to accept his proposal. But then, on the other hand, I was anxious to see the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, and to visit Boston, more particularly as I had been promised an introduction to that talented lady, Miss Sedgwick; and I had a friend to seek out in Philadelphia, and I had a number of other places to visit and things to do which could not be neglected or forgotten. The captain's offer is a very handsome and seductive one,' pondered I, 'but I cannot accept it-I must not do so; and I had better write him to that effect at once.'

Tregenza replied again in person. He used every argument that he thought likely to make me waver in my resolution, and, finding me firm, went away in a pet. He left his walking-cane behind him, and, as I was admiring it, the lower part slid off, and discovered a beautiful little rapier. The point for two inches and upwards had a dull stain upon it. Mr Headley pronounced it to be blood; and Mr Merrivale, scraping off a portion of the dust, and applying it to his nostril, nodded his head. Ernest had evidently pinked somebody with it very lately.

HOW CHILDREN ARE MADE AND KEPT THIEVES. How different would have been the condition of the great majority of the hundreds of boys and girls committed to our borough prison during the past year, had they been sent to school, and not left to the license and contamination of the streets! Instead of being, as now, driven on to moral shipwreck, they might have been in the way of becoming happy and honourable members of society. For the most part, they came from the streets that stand lowest in the educational scale; and what is the remedy we apply?

:

'Brooklyn, Tuesday evening. Date doubtful.

Mon cher Abel,-My numerous engagements (and none of them of a tender nature, believe me) have prevented my seeing you for the last few days, or even taking my customary stroll round the Battery Gardens. Those accursed mosquitoes, too, bite so plaguily toward sunset, that one has scarcely any comfort in venturing abroad. It would be some consolation to me to see you bitten half as badly as I have been on one or two occasions.

To talk soberly: I have a proposal to make you. I think I stated the other day (at all events, I meant to do so), that my little vessel (why have you not accompanied me on board here ere this?) will sail very shortly. You know her destination. What say you to make the trip with me? A cruise to sea would do you good. I want a companion, and, as you have seen a little of the world, and learned to laugh at it, and have now and then a pleasant knack at tagging couplets together, I think you would suit me charming well. To the point, then: I will take you out, and bring you back again. Time is of no particular value to you, and variety, as somebody says, is pleasing. I can promise you pure air, constant change of scene, and (though that, you will say, is a gross inducement) the best of good cheer. If you should be seized with one of your studious fits, too, there are books-at any rate there shall be, as I was about to order a dozen or two volumes for my cabin shelves. Go thou into the best store Broadway boasts, and make a selection for, very sincerely yours, Abel Log, Esquire. ERNEST TREGENZA.

P.S.-I forgot to tell you that we shall be absent about twelve months-not longer-unless we touch at those romantic islands of which we spoke. The gentlemen are truly barbarous, but the ladies are particularly friendly and agreeable.

P.P.S.-My mate is a most refined and polished personage-a perfect Lord Chesterfield; but we can either have his company or not, just as you may wish and arrange.'

prison chaplains tell us, with almost agonised feelings, that the jail is the very last place to which children should be sent; that to send them there is the sure way to indoctrinate them more deeply in the love of vice, to make them a greater burden to society, and to seal their own moral ruin. Is it not cruelty, as well as folly, thus to hang a millstone about the neck of childhood, and sink it irrecoverably in the morass of crime? Many of these little ones are more sinned against than sinning: left to wander in desolate and deserted orphanage, or, worse still, trained in wickedness, and sent forth to steal, by those who should be their safeguard and guide, they are far more objects of pity than of blame. Had we been placed in their circumstances, should we be better than they? Were our children exposed to the same perils, would they not manifest the same passions? The bark will move as the rudder directs; and they to whom the pilotage of the youthful mind is given, may guide it in safety and honour to the port, or drive it onward upon the rocks of ruin, to cover with its heart-wreck the breakers of time. If human justice could be perfect, if it could trace the effect to its true cause, many a parent would be punished in the place of his child, or at least would share in the penalty as in the crime. I have known a little girl for upwards of three years, who is not yet fourteen years of age, and during the whole of that period she has pursued a dishonest course, in consequence of the evil precepts, and worse example, of a degraded and drunken mother. The father is in receipt of good wages, and is a man who takes care of his work, but he is very ignorant, and possesses but little moral power to put forth for the protection of his child. Again and again has the girl been in prison: the only effect of such punishment, apparently, being to give her more art and wariness in carrying on her practices so as to escape detection. She will watch her opportunity, and enter poor people's houses in the neighbourhood where she lives, with cat-like stillness ascend the staircase, and steal clothing and bedding from the upper rooms, whilst the unsuspecting inmates are sitting below; or she will stealthily enter shops, and rob the till, or carry off provisions, finding at her own home,

and in her wretched mother, a ready receiver of her illgotten gains. This is only one of a large and gloomy catalogue of similar cases which I might quote; and surely it is as impolitic in regard to the pecuniary burdens of society, as it is subversive of all hope of reformation on the part of the offender, to deal as we do at present with our juvenile criminals. On this subject a voice speaks from the grave. The late presiding magistrate of the policecourt, Liverpool, with his clear judgment and large heart, taught us a more excellent way' of treating young offenders; and let not the words of one so deservedly beloved and so deeply lamented be allowed to pass away without effect. Let the reformatory school which he devised be speedily raised as the most fitting monument to his memory; and there let children, who, from the loss of parents, or from their parents' faithlessness, have been brought within the outer vortex of crime, be rescued from the dark gulf to which they would otherwise be drawn down.-Rev. F. Bishop's Domestic Mission.

THE BARONIAL AND ECCLESIASTICAL

ANTIQUITIES OF SCOTLAND.*

THIS magnificent work, to which we have more than once directed the attention of our readers, has now attained completion. It is unnecessary for us to do more than repeat the expression of our strong admiration at the way in which it has been conducted, the beauty and minute accuracy of the plates, and the unostentatious and lucid verbal sketches which have accompanied each.

Antiquarianism has received many a shrewd brush from the fierce spirit of practical energy of which our age is generally considered the impersonation; and old Dryasdust, with his long retinue of societies, compilers, rummagers, and sketchers, has been first formed by rhetorical personification, and then unmercifully laughed at. But antiquarianism is valuable nevertheless. Never was there a 'rusty airn cap' or 'jinglin' jacket,' but told some quiet little story of the eye that had once flashed under it, the heart that had once beat beneath its folds. Deep is the sympathy which binds us with the past; strange it is to think of the generations which once trod so firmly, smiled so cheerily, and made such noise under the sun all so silent now. In these days of steam-looms, steampresses, steam-carriages, and universal, immeasurable physical onrushing, it seems in our breasts an almost childish emotion when the thrill of sorrowful, yet kindly and pleasing sympathy, excited by any relic or memorial of our fathers, passes over us. It is now almost sentimental to feel one's eyelid quiver at the reading of an old ballad, at seeing or hearing of an old churchyard; but we must acknowledge that the temper of our hearts is not yet sufficiently ferreous to be insensible to the influence. Poor old Dryasdust never wiped up an old Culloden pistol, an old Bannockburn horseshoe, an old hammer of the brazen era, without bringing us into more immediate contact with the olden time, and opening the eyes of those who could see at all, upon the faces of the sturdy and enduring men whose blood is in our veins. Antiquarianism looks into the very heart of the years gone by, goes to the fireside, to the festive hall, to the marriage procession, and, bringing thence actual visible realities, bodies forth the figures of our fathers, surrounded with a true and tangible human interest.

Antiquarianism is the handmaid of history; and it is from her unostentatious but unwavering and piercing torch that history often borrows the light which she flashes over the ages. We hear a great deal against Dryasdust; but, on reflection, we shall find really an immense deal to be said in his favour.

But it is not to the antiquarian alone that the present work is of interest; let Dryasdust be serviceable or unserviceable, he has little to do here. If the study of art is

*Containing 240 quarto steel plates, and 65 engravings on wood, with letterpress descriptions of the principal ancient edifices in Scotland. By ROBERT WILLIAM BILLINGS. Edinburgh and London: W.

Blackwood & Sons.

commendable and useful; if a knowledge of the methods by which, and the manner in which, at various stages of our national history, the ideas of beauty were bodied forth, and the various faculties of invention, construction, combination, and adornment were exercised, is necessarily included within the compass of a full and thorough education, then assuredly this work is a most valuable one. Architecture is one of the noblest of the arts. Without the delicate grace of painting, or the definite life of sculpture, it has a massive majesty peculiar to itself, and is powerfully reflective of ethnological characteristics. The staid, stately, and unadorned Doric, the luxuriantly ornate Corinthian, the sublime and massive Gothic, all speak, in silent but profoundly expressive terms, of the character of their framers. Its study is therefore one of deepest interest and profit; not the antiquarian alone, but the historian, the ethnologist, and, may we not add, the philosopher, must find architecture worthy of close and continued attention.

Mr Billings is not a Scotchman; and we seriously feel that we nationally lie under an important obligation to him, for having presented us with such a work as the present. It has been a work of long and arduous endeavour, and, as yet, at least, as we regret to see, it has not been remunerative: it has supplied a want which must have been felt deeply by every student of architecture and every student of Scottish history; and it has been executed in a masterly style.

In the exquisite plates which accompany the sketch of Iona, there is to us a deep and touching interest. How strange it seems, to dream one's-self back to those ancient years, when the hymn and the organ peal, in that solitary isle, mingled with the everlasting moan of the ocean; when the Scottish nation was just beginning to take shape and stand forth, from the still dense clouds of barbarism and never-ending internecine warfare, as a distinct power in the earth; and ere the light of the Cross had yet spread to its recesses. How strange that, in such a wild untutored age, the serene light of Christianity should gradually beam over the nation from a lonely rock in the ocean! About those graves, about those vacant walls, about the very rocks of that wave-beaten isle, there is to us a profound interest, a really inexpressible pathos. Do the bones of the old Pictish and Scottish kings lie there, the noise and fame of whose achievements have now so completely passed away? How did their fierce and shaggy followers look, as the warrior-kings were laid in the tomb? What sort of days were those which the quiet old monks dreamt away in the ancient cloisters, or enjoyed, with an intellectual relish beyond the age, in their library? How looked the demure nuns in their prison isle, as they attended upon that comfortable prioress of whom we hear? Question follows question, reflection springs from reflection, in seemingly endless succession; so mysteriously do our sympathies link us with the past. This great work, for which we are so grateful to Mr Billings, is worth a good many histories; or, we should rather say, it is in some sort a strictly historic work, and one of national importance.

Round the old baronial halls, too, there hangs a deep and peculiar interest. These were the towers under which were transacted the great affairs which form the epochs and originating springs of Scottish history; these were the chambers through which swept, in their flowing drapery, the lovely brides of Scottish song; there loved, and wed, and it may be died, those knights, and ladies, and barons bold, so dear to the lovers of Scottish minstrelsy. On the whole, the work is an admirable one, and the more we see of it, the better we like it. We present our readers with the following extract from the description given of

ROSSLYN CHAPEL.

An endless, eccentric, and almost bewildering variety predominates throughout this structure-in the window tracery, the flying buttresses-the crockets, pinnacles, and mouldings of all kinds. It is remarkable,' says Slezer, in his prosaic way, that in all this work there are not two cuts of one sort,' Yet, by cunning adaptations and gra