Observe, at the annual exhibition of the Royal Academy, how one painter will continue to give laborious reproductions of knights in chain armour; another, elaborations of battle-fields in gorgeous colours; another, some severe classical scene, with set figures and stage drapery; another, nymphs bathing, being studies of the nude; another flies to history, and paints chapter after chapter, becoming famous at last for his pertinacity alone. These, as a rule, are men without imagination. Now and then there do spring up a Haydon and a Ward, capable of grappling with the great events of past time; but generally this class of painters is one of the brush solely, resplendent in accessories, but beggarly in idea and mean in sentiment. Their ambition urges them to reproduce what they have not power even to conceive. Wilfully ignoring that the proper study of mankind is, as Pope tells us, man, and that, whatever changes, he does not, and is the only model of his species, they draw upon their own speculations, and fashion out a large-limbed animal, little short of a monster as to size, with perfect features (or he would not be romantic, they think), and under all forms, false whether as knight in chain armour, king in ermine, cavalier in doublet, squire on horseback, warrior mangled in the foreground, conspirators in altercation in the back, false. And because the painter had no faith in nature (though probably she had by this time, after producing him, the painter, exhausted herself), he must take his materials from the past. But it is from the present that all great painters take their materials, however remote may be the events they select. Titian's "Venus," Raphael's and Corregio's Madonna," Domenichino's Angels," were flesh and blood of the period, true to human nature and eternal nature in colour, proportion, and lineament.

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Shakspere and the old dramatists shook hands, drank ale, and heard the chimes at midnight with the most famous of those characters they have handed down to us. Men with passions like Othello's, with ambition like Macbeth's, with devouring dotingness like Lear's, with malignant treachery and subtle intellect like Iago's, Shakspere knew. He knew Falstaff, and had watched Bardolph's nose many a night. He had but to invent situations, and he was familiar with the hearts of kings. His fairies are youthfully human. All is human with him, all natural, all true, because he copied nature and schooled his imagination. Shakspere saw, as do all great poets (though none ever as he did, seeing deeper), the romance of the days he lived in. Admitted, they were men more romantic than our own have been for some years; nevertheless, Algernon Lacklore has seen and conversed with heroes whose names yet fill the world. But what of that? The age that purchases not his poem is prosaic to the last degree, unutterably cast-iron, disgustingly utilitarian. For him-to quote a couplet that he rather prides himself upon

The fair aspects of creation fly,
Beheld through Indigestion's yellow eye.

It is a question with some whether science has given or taken from the romance of life. It is not a question with Algernon, who unhesitatingly condemns every new invention, abhors railways and the steam-engine as destructive to the ideal of life. This age is an express engine; we must take it at its own time, and put entire trust in it, or it will leave us at our several stations without compunction. Science itself is a practical romance of the days we live in. We marvel at no fictions more than at some of its moderu achievements. The flying horse of the Indian, mounted by the Prince of Persia, in the Arabian Nights, was a wonderful crcature, though rather intractable; but he bore only one at a time, and was altogether an aristocratic animal, not to be compared to the people's horse of steam which the necromancer,

James Watt, produced, after a little reflection, from the mixture of two elements. No picture of ancient incantations by wizards and magicians ever impresses the mind so much as that of Watt sitting quietly by his fireside, looking towards his kettle as it boils, while that admirable instrument, beloved of housewives, for the first time since it learned to boil and overboil, finds an interpreter of the mysteriously-exulting song it has so long and so constantly been singing.

So it is with everything else around us. As of old, the dragon in his cave guarding treasure, so now we know that a secret is lurking on all sides rich with undiscovered marvels; and that like those knights who devoted themselves laboriously, with patience, diligence, discretion, devotion, to the bringing those treasures to the light of day, we also have a task equally onerous, chivalrous, pregnant with reward for all time. The world is in its manhood, and is little tolerant of aught but what tends practically to elevate and strengthen man. It is one of its modern discoveries to have found a use in everything. The question is, how to apply that use for the benefit of our species. Depend on it, that if we are not romantic to ourselves, there will come an after-age when the strivings and doings of this nineteenth century will be looked upon with veneration and wonder by beings born in the harvest-time of human endeavour.

A FEW MORE SCOTCH PROVERBS.

EVERY nation has its store of maxims, bearing testimony to the beauty of goodness. Human nature surely is not all bad, but indeed has in it the germs of all good; wanting only proper development, culture, and discipline. Ane never tires (loses) by doing good.

There is therefore good policy in well-doing. It is true this is putting it on low ground, but nearly all proverbs have a practical, worldly bearing.

It is not necessary that we should spend money in order to be good and kind to others. A kind word, help at the right time, sympathy and advice, are worth more than money.

A man may be kind and gie little o' his gear (wealth).

There is also this advantage in helping others--that at some future time they may help you. Giff gaff makes good friends. Every man is dependent to a greater or less extent upon his fellow men. The laird may be a laird and yet need his hind's (labourer's) help. Take care that you make no enemies, not even of the meanest classes; for The king's errand may come in the cadger's gate (the hawker's way). Do a poor man an ill turn, and he may some day, if he forget it not, be in a position to return it. I may come to break an egg in your pouch— not by any means a pleasant matter.

It is a great secret of a quiet life to avoid meddling in what does not concern us. Never scaud (scald) your lips in other folks' cail (broth). And if you are disposed to speak angrily of another's doings or another's concerns, it will be well if you bethink you in time, to Keep your ain breath to cool your ain crowdie (brow). On the whole it is well to keep out of all contentions, even with knaves; for It is better you should kiss a knave than cast oot wi' him.

There is a virtue and good policy in keeping quiet and going on diligently working. Silence grips the mouse; and The still sow eats up the draff. Quantities of words, no matter how pleasant, will not do much for one; for Fair words winna gar (make) the pot boil.

If you have a real difficulty to encounter, set to work and overcome it. Set a stout heart to a stay (steep) brae. Do not pursue speculative things to the neglect of practical, otherwise it may be said, Ye glowred (gazed)

at the moon and fell on the midden. If you venture on impossible attainments, you may be jeered with the proverb, Ye'll get the cat wi' the twa tails!

Sometimes an attempt is made to extract money when no money is to be got-to pursue a poor debtor for that which he cannot pay; and here the proverb comes pat, It's ill (difficult) gettin' the breeks off a Highlandman.

Do not be deceived by appearances, for It's no a' good that glitters; and They're no a' saints that get holy water.

Some pretend they can't get on because they have not the proper instrument; but An ill shearer never had a guid hook.

Of all things beware of satirizing "the cloth," or you arc sure to get into trouble: It's kittle (difficult) shooting at corbies (crows) and clergy.

It may be some consolation to the ugly to know that The theifer like the better sodger; but no excuse for the drunkard, that When drink's in wit's out. One proverb says, that Want of wit is worse than want of wealth; but then It's ill bringing butt (forth) what's no benn (within).

It is true that A wee mouse may creep under a great corn stack; and A wee bush is better than nae beild (shelter).

We must, however, come to an end, otherwise our illustrations of homely Scotch proverbs may become tireTo which we will only add, that Everything has an end and a puddin' has tea.

Some.

A MODERN BULL-FIGHT.

I COULD not be at Madrid without being anxious to see a bull-fight, and thus judge for myself of the real nature and extent of the excitement produced by this last and singular remains of the amusements of a former time, when education and civilization had not softened the national character of the rest of Europe, and when bull-fights were well represented amongst our ancestors, by cock-fights, bear-baiting, dog-fights, and other similar exhibitions, at least equal in barbarity and barbarisin to the peculiar glory of Spain-its tauromachia.

It happened that on the very day of my first entrauce to the capital, a solemnity of this kind was about to take place. I procured a ticket for a good place in the shade, and at the proper time (four P.M. when the intense heat of the sun was abating) proceeded to take my seat. The whole of the noble street leading to the principal gate, outside which is the amphitheatre, was crowded with people of all classes, anxiously bending their steps to the one great centre of attraction. Omnibuses, crowded inside and out, and drawn along at full gallop by six horses-carriages of all kinds, from the britschska of the nobleman to the shabbiest of shabby cabs-and foot-passengers innumerable, completely filled the broad pathway. All the lower classes were in full costume, some of them being mounted on horses, whose scarlet housings were really magnificent and the general effect of this part of the population, with a large sprinkling of water-sellers, fandealers (for everybody, male as well as female, takes a fan to the battle-field), cigar-lighters, and numerous others, following in their wake, and screaming their occupations at the top of their voices, produced a scene quite as exciting as any ordinary public amusement could be.

The appearance within the amphitheatre was extremely fine. The building itself measures about 600 feet in diameter, and holds, when crowded, at least 8,000 people. When I entered it was nearly full. Near the ground the mass of people were already seated, in all varieties of Spanish costume, both male and female, but the waving of fans almost obscured the details. Higher up, and in the boxes, the dresses were more gay and rich, but less

picturesque. The central area, open to the day, was ocenpied by boys and stragglers, who, at a signal, were soon dispersed; and a procession, consisting of about twenty men-at-arms on horseback, and headed by two men in full Castilian costume, paraded round the course. These were followed by a number of others, in the gayest spangled dresses, in regular order, whose business it is to excite and tease the bull, by holding out cloaks of the brightest colours, and then running away, inducing the bull to follow. These are called capeas, and escape when pursued by jumping over a strong barricade into a recess, where it is very rarely that the bull can follow them. Then came five men on horseback, in full black dress; afterwards six picadors, each armed with a spear, and padded so as to be safe from ordinary accidents; then a number of led horses, harnessed in threes, whose business it is to earry off the dead animals; next, ten men in a blue dress; and, last of all, a number of men leading bull-dogs, the last resource when a bull refuses to show fight, and is not thought worthy of being killed by the sword.

All these at first merely pass in review and then leave, except two of the picadors and a number of the capcas, dressed in bright colours, with their cloaks on their arms; and the door is immediately opened for the bull to rush out.

It may well be imagined that very great difference will exist in the node in which these animals behave when thus admitted into an open space, perplexed by a multitude of cuemies close at hand, surrounded by a vast concourse of people shouting at the utmost pitch of their voices, and with a military band playing martial airs close to them. To watch this first impression was both interesting and exciting. The first bull on the present occasion, bred near Madrid, was bold as well as fierce. He charged the picador, who met him bravely with the lance, but the horns of the animal tore open the horse's belly; and although he again and several times withstood a similar charge, the man was at last thrown and the poor horse killed. Meanwhile the capeas were not idle, but worried and teased their victim till he was nearly exhausted.

A new set of tormentors, the bandarillos, then entered with darts covered with paper flounces, each dart having a sharp barbed point; and these were very cleverly stuck into the animal's neck, and infuriated him once more. The espada, or swordsman, at length appeared, his hair curiously knotted behind like that of a woman, and his whole appearance rather effeminate; standing in front of the bull, he dared him to the charge-exciting him with a scarlet cloth. While being rushed at, however, the espada steps adroitly aside, and plunges his long sword into the neck of the animal towards the heart. When the bull is dead, the horses that have been killed are first carried out by the team already described, and then the carcase of the bull is conveyed off in the same way at full gallop, the band playing a triumphant air in honour of the victory.

Such, with certain exceptions, is the march of events in those cases in which the bull is stanch, and the men well-experienced. If, however, the bull is not sufficiently courageous, and will not charge the mounted picador, dogs ("los perros") are loudly called for by the spectators, and are soon brought in, and allowed to worry the animal.

The breed of bull-dogs used for this purpose did not seem to me particularly fine, but they soon succeeded in their object, although, in one case, not without some mischief being effected, and one poor dog killed.

Of the eight bulls brought out on the occasion in which I was a spectator, only one was really powerful, fierce, aud determined; and the combat in his case had much that was grand and even terrible. He was bred in Seville. a black and white animal, with large spreading horns and a noble head. He fought with every enemy that presented himself, never refusing to attack. He killed four

horses and mortally wounded two others, being himself killed at length by two stabs, fighting to the last, and rushing at the espada, after he had received one swordthrust to the hilt, with almost as much vigour as if the battle had only just commenced.

One other, a black bull, also from Seville, showed much fight, and killed three horses, but was not so determined as the last. The rest were far inferior, one of them refusing even to attack the unarmed men, and being casily killed by three dogs.--Professor Ansted.

THE BEAR-CHASE. (From the French.)

ONE evening, a short time after the battle of Fontenoy (1745), a group of the king's bodyguard was congregated near the Latona basin, at Versailles, listening to two of their number discussing a subject which at that period was rarely a matter of controversy in military circles.

"Refuse a duel after a public affront!" exclaimed the tallest of the speakers, whose bronzed features were rendered almost ferocious by a thick red mustache: "it is a stain that all the waters of the deluge would not wash away."

"I repeat, Monsieur de Malatour," replied the other in a calm, polite tone, "that there is more true courage in refusing than in accepting a duel. What is more common than to yield to passion, envy, or vengeance; and what more rare than to resist them? Therefore it is a virtue when exhibited at the price of public opinion; for what costs nothing, is esteemed as worth nothing."

"A marvel! Monsieur d'Argentré, I would advise, if ever the king gives you the command of a company, to have engraven on the sabres of the soldiers the commandment- Thou shall do no murder.””

"And wherefore not? His majesty would have better servants, and the country fewer plunderers, if we had in our regiments more soldiers and fewer bullies. Take, as an example, him with whom you seem so much incensed: has he not nobly avenged what you call an affront by taking, with his own hands, an enemy's colours, while your knaves most likely formed a prudent reserve behind the baggage"

"Cowards themselves have their moments of courage." And the brave also their moments of fear."

The expression is not that of a gentleman."

It is that of Monsieur de Turenne, whose family equalled either of ours, and who avowed that he was not exempt from such moments. Everybody has heard of his conduct to a braggadocio, who boasted in his presence that he had never known fear. He suddenly passed a lighted candle under the speaker's nose, who instantly drew back his head, to the great amusement of the bystanders, who laughed heartily at this singular mode of testing the other's assertion."

"None but a marshal of France had dared to try such a pleasantry. To our subject, sir. I maintain that your friend is a coward, and you

"And I," repeated D'Argentré, his eyes flashing, and his lips firmly compressed.

"Holla, gentlemen!" exclaimed a third party, who, owing to the warmth of the argument, had joined the group unperceived. "This is my affair," said he to Monsieur d'Argentré, holding his arm; then turning to his adversary, added-" Monsieur de Malatour, I am at your orders."

"In that case, after you, if necessary,” said D'Argentré, with his usual calmness.

"By my honour you charm me, gentlemen! Let us

go."

"One moment," replied the new comer, who, young as he was, wore the cross of St. Louis.

"Too great haste in such cases evidences less a contempt for death than an anxiety to get rid of his phantom." I listen, sir!"

"Monsieur d'Argentré just now stated that the bravest have their moments of fear. Without taking as serious his anecdote of Monsieur de Turenne, I shall add that, with the exception of the difference that exists between muscles and nerves, the courage of the duelist is more an affair of habit than of principle; for it is the natural state of man to love peace, if not for the sake of others, at least for himself. Do you wish me to prove it ?"

Enough, sir: we are not here to listen to a sermon.” "Yet a moment. Here is my proposition: we are all assembled this evening previous to our leave of absence: I invite you, then, as also these gentlemen present, to a bear-hunt on my estate, or rather amongst the precipices of Clat, in the Eastern Pyrenees. You are very expert, Monsieur de Malatour-you can snuff a candle with a pistol at twenty paces, and you have no equal at the small-sword. Well, I shall place you before a bear, and if you succeed-I do not even say in lodging a ball in his head, but merely in firing upon him-I shall submit immediately after to meet you face to face with any weapons you choose to name, since it is only at that price I am to gain your good opinion."

Are you playing a comedy, sir?"

Quite the contrary. And I even repeat that this extreme haste shows more the courage of the nerves, than of the true courage arising from principle."

"What guarantee have I, should I accept your proposition, that you will not again endeavour to evade

me?"

"My word, sir; which I take all my comrades to witness, and place under the safeguard of their honour.”

There ran through his auditory such a buzz of approbation, that De Malatour, though with a bad grace, was obliged to accede to the arrangement. It was then agreed that, on the 1st of September, all present should assemble at the Chateau du Clat.

Whilst the young lord of the manor is making the necessary preparations for their reception, we shall explain the accusation of which he was the object, yet which had not branded him with any mark of disgrace among a class of men so punctilious on the point of honour.

The young Baron de Villetrcton, in entering amongst the gentlemen who formed the household guard of the king of France, carried with him principles which remained uncorrupted amidst all the frivolities of one of the most licentious courts in Europe. Such, however, is the charm of virtue, even in the midst of vice, that his exemplary conduct had not only gained him the esteem of his officers, and the friendship of his companions, but had attracted the attention of the king himself. One alone among his comrades, Monsieur de Malatour, took umbrage a this general favour, and, on the occasion of some trifling expression or gesture, publicly insulted him. Villetreton refused to challenge him, as being contrary to his principles, but determined that this seeming cowardice, in not fighting a well-known duellist, should be redeemed by some action of éclat during the campaign just commenced. That moment had arrived; and for his noble couduct in taking the English colours at the battle of Fontenoy, he received the cress of St. Louis from the king's own hand on the field, the eulogium of Marshal Saxe, and a rcdoubled enmity on the part of De Malatour.

The first care of the young baron on arriving at his estate was to call his major-domo, an old and faithful servant.

I have business of thee, my master," said he, cordially shaking him by the hand. "Speak, monseigneur," replied the pareur, who was

deeply attached to his young lord: "you know the old hunter is yours to his last drop of blood."

"I never doubted it, my old friend. Did you receive my letter from Paris ?"

Yes, sir; and those gentlemen, your comrades, will have some work before them."

Are there bears already on the heights then?" asked Villetreton, extending his hand in the direction of one of the lofty peaks, whose summit, covered with snow, glittered in the morning sun.

Five in all-a complete ménage-father, mother, and children; besides an old bachelor, whom the Spaniards had driven to this side."

In less than a week we shall go in pursuit of them. Do you know, pareur, some of my comrades are rather rough sportsmen: there is one of them who is able to snuff a candle with a pistol at twenty paces."

"Easier, perhaps, than to snuff a bear at four," replied the old man, laughing.

"That is what I said also. But as I should wish to judge for myself of his prowess, you must place us together at the same post-at the bridge of Maure, for instance."

Why?"

Because, to guard this post, a man ought to be in a state of grace, for he will be between two deaths-the bears and the precipice."

"I know the one, and do not fear the other; thanks to your lessons."

"I am sure of that. But, with your leave, I should like to guard the bridge myself."

You are sure, then, that the bears will pass that way?” "Sure-yes; but quite sure-no. Recollect that they are sullen and prudent beasts, which never confide their plan of route to any one."

It is agreed on. I shall guard the bridge with my comrade. Now, go and have the trackers ready."

Very well, very well," murmured the pareur, as he retired; "I shall have my eye on him."

Eight days afterwards, all those invited, not excepting Monsieur de Malatour--who, despite the delicate attentions of the host, preserved a cold reserve-were assembled at the château. The magnificent grandeur of the Pyrenees, their shining summits relieved against the blue sky of Spain, was an unlooked-for pleasure to the greater number of the guests, who for the most part belonged to the rich and fertile plains of the interior.

The morning following their arrival, a body of trackers and scouts, provided with all manner of discordant instruments-trumpets, saucepans, drums, &c. &c. were assembled under the walls of the château, with the pareur at their head; while by his side stood the mandrin, who proudly guarded a dozen large mastiffs, held in leash by his vigorous helpers. The young baron and his friends, armed with carabines and hunting-knives, had scarcely appeared, when, by a sign from the pareur, the whole troop moved silently forward. The dogs themselves seemned to understand the importance of this movement; and nothing was heard but the confused tramp blending with the noise of the distant torrent, or, at intervals, the cry of some belated night-bird flying heavily homeward in the doubtful glimmer of the yet unopened day.

feet,

As the party reached the crest of the mountain which immediately overhung the château, the first rays of the sun breaking from the east glanced on the summit of the Pyrenees, and suddenly illuminating the landscape, discovered beneath them a deep valley, covered with majestic pine-trees, which murmured in the fresh breeze of the morning.

Opposite to them, the foaming waters of a cascade fell

for some hundreds of feet through a cleft which divided the mountain from the summit to the base. By one of those caprices of nature which testify the primitive convulsions of our globe, the chasm was surmounted by a natural bridge-the piles of granite at each side being joined by one immense flat rock, almost seeming to verify the fable of the Titans; for it appeared impossible that these enormous blocks of stone could have ever been raised to such an elevation by human agency. Sinister legends were attached to the place; and the mountaineers recounted with terror that no hunter, with the exception of the pareur, had ever been posted at the bridge of Maure without becoming the prey of either the bears or the precipice. But the pareur was too good a Christian to partake of this ridiculous prejudice: he attributed the fatality to its real cause--the dizziness arising from the sight of the bears and the precipice combined, by destroying the hunter's presence of mind, made his aim unsteady, and his death the inevitable consequence. He could not, however, altogether divest himself of fears for his young master, who obstinately persevered in his intention of occupying the bridge with his antagonist.

After placing the baron's companions at posts which he considered the most advantageous, the pareur rejoined his men, and disposing them so as to encompass the valley facing the cascade, commanded the utmost silence to be preserved until they should hear the first bark of his dog. At that signal the mastiffs were to be unleashed, the instruments sounded, and all to move slowly forward, contracting the circle as they approached the cascade. These arrangements being made, the pareur and his dog, followed by the mandrin alone, disappeared in the depths of the wood.

For some minutes the silence had remained unbroken, when suddenly a furious barking commenced, accompanied by low growling. Each prepared his arms; the instruments sounded; and the mastiff's being let loose, precipitated themselves pellmell in the direction of the struggle. Their furious barking was soon confounded with the cries of the hunters and the din of the instruments, mingled with the formidable growling of the bears, making altogether a hideous concert, which, rolling along the sides of the valley, was repeated by the distant echoes. At this moment the young baron regarded his companion, whose countenance, though pale, remained calm and scornful. "Attention, sir," said he in a low voice. "The bears are not far from us: let your aim be true, or elseKeep your counsels for yourself, sir!"

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Attention!" repeated Villetreton, without seeming to notice the surly response-"he approaches!"

Those who were placed in front of the cascade, seeing the animals directing their course to the bridge, cried from all parts, "Look out, look out, Villet reton!” But the breaking of branches, followed by the rolling of loosened stones down the precipice, had already given warning of the animal's near approach. Malatour became deadly pale; he, however, held his carabine firmly, in the attitude of a resolute hunter.

A bear at length appeared, with foaming mouth and glaring eyes, at times turning as if he would fain struggle with his pursuers; but when he saw the bridge, his only way of escape, occupied, he uttered a fearful growl, and raising himself on his hind legs, was rushing on our two hunters, when a ball struck him in the forehead, and he fell dead at their feet.

Malatour convulsively grasped his gun-he had become completely powerless. Suddenly new cries, louder and more pressing, were heard.

"Fire! fire! he is on you!" cried the pareur, who appeared unexpectedly, pale and agitated, his gun to his shoulder, but afraid to fire, lest he should hit his master.

The latter, perceiving his agitation, turned round: it was indeed time. On the other side of the bridge, a bear,

much larger than the first, was in the act of making the final rush. Springing backward, he seized the carabine of his petrified companion, and lodged its contents in the He rolled, in animal's breast ere he could reach them. All this was the death-struggle, to where they stood. the work of an instant. The knees of the hardy old pareur shook with emotion at the escape of his young master; as for Malatour, his livid paleness, and the convulsive shuddering of his limbs, testified the state of his mind.

"Take your arms," said the young baron, quickly rehere are our complacing in his hands the carabine; rades-they must not see you unarmed; and, pareur, not a word of all this."

"Look !" said he to his companions, as they gathered around, pointing to the monstrous beasts-" one to each. Now, Monsieur de Malatour, I wait your orders, and am ready to give the satisfaction you require."

The latter made no reply, but reached out his hand, which Villetreton cordially shook.

That evening a banquet was given to celebrate the double victory. Towards the end of the repast, a toast to the vanquishers," was proposed, and immediately accepted. Monsieur d'Argentré, glass in hand, rose to pledge it, when Malatour, also rising, held his arm, exclaiming,-"To the sole vanquisher of the day!-to our noble host! It was he alone who killed the two bears; and if, through his generosity, I have allowed the allusion to last so long, it was simply for this reason: the affront which I gave him was a public one-the reparation ought to be public likewise. I now declare that Monsieur de Villetreton is the bravest of the brave, and that I shall maintain it towards all and against all."

This time, at least, I shall not take up your gauntlet," said Monsieur d'Argentré.

There's a brave young man!" cried the pareur, whom his master had admitted to his table, and who endeavoured to conceal a furtive tear. "Nothing could better prove to me, sir, that, with a little experience, you will be as calm in the presence of bears, as you are, I am sure, in the face of an enemy."

IV.

I am sometimes inclined to doubt whether an extreme anxiety to honour the mortal remains of the departed be in accordance with the spirit of true religion.

Under the Pagan system, colossal mausoleums, from the Pyramids to the tomb of Adrian, attested the vain ambition of man to perpetuate, by indestructible monuments, the memory of his fleeting existence. The essential materialism of idolatry found appropriate expression in the pompous epitaph and the lofty column; and where the rank of the defunct did not warrant such costly mementos, a similar homage was paid in the rude sculpture or still more humble mortuary tribute which decorated every plebeian grave.

As Christianity prevailed, its spiritualizing influences modified these practices, and that homage which heretofore honoured the earthly tabernacle of humanity gave place to the more exalted reverence with which religion solemnises the departure to its last home of the immortal spirit. Accordingly, we do not find that either statues or cenotaphs were erected in honour of the great men of the early Christian times, and the devotional respect paid to relics is altogether distinct from and even opposed to the idea of that Pagan image worship which terminated In later times, in the deification of dust and ashes. monumental adulation seems to have been reserved for the great ones of the earth; but in every case where the religious feeling predominated in connection with the dead, the tomb, the chantry, or the shrine, however rich in material or costly in workmanship, was sure to be accompanied by such humiliating symbols of the nothingness of this life, that it could not fail to rebuke the pride of man, and raise his mind to the contemplation of the dread hereafter. Thus, while consigning to its kindred mould the frail tenement which so long imprisoned, and perchance defiled, the immortal spirit, religion prescribes the solemn requiem, the lustral rite, and the atoning sacrifice; but it takes no heed of the "house of clay," the old worn-out stuff," the "body of death," as St. Paul calls it, now about to become the prey of worms. The above reflections were suggested by a visit which I recently made to one of those extra-mural cemeteries near London, of which modern improvers are so proud. I contrasted its rich monuments, its close-shaded lawns, and its well-kept avenues, with the desolate and grassgrown aspect of many an old Catholic burying-ground in Ireland. Ill-shaped mounds, covered with rank herbage, rude slabs, and unsightly crosses, here meet the eye on all sides, and haply shock the taste of some dainty tourist; but in the midst of the crumbling enclosure will generally be found the venerable ruins of a chapel; and rarely will the picturesque there be wanting to animate the scene, figure of a kneeling mourner, who, bending over the narrow bed of some recently-interred loved one, pours out the full tide of commemorative affection, exhibiting itself not in the sentimentalism of votive wreaths and sepulchral decorations, but in the deep fervour and ardent