"The former part of this statement, your Grace will allow, places the practicability of preserving discipline in a regiment, composed of British troops, without the coercion of the lash, beyond all doubt, and establishes it as an adamantine axiom, on which the lance of the most logical antagonist must be eternally shivered.

"Let me, then, entreat your Grace to abrogate this law in toto et instanter: so shall fair Mercy's hand entwine, amidst your triumphant laurels, some of her aramanthine flowers, which shall bloom and emit a fragrance grateful to posterity, when the voice of the war-trumpet shall be hushed for ever, and valour become superfluous and obsolete.

"I remain, your Grace's very humble but faithful friend,

"ISAAC REEVE."

How stands the law? It appears a discretionary power is given to commanding officers. Some, and they the bravest too, use this mercifully, and punish not; but lead men to feel themselves to be men. But others, mark you, still with this discretionary power, stretch the discretion even to ensure deadly punishment. We cannot understand this. The merciful man uses his discretion, and has his reward. The tyrant uses his; and he too, if Truth and Mercy speak the same language, shall have his.

This principle of discretion, so faulty, so lenient, so tyrannical, remains unaltered. The mild, affectionate officer, will leave the fifty untouched. He has never needed the higher number, why should he need this. The fierce martinet

will make multiples of his fifty; and still go on, the master of a cat-the ruler of degraded men.

"I repeat then, that this law militates more against the character, and consequently the spread of Christianity, and tends more to swell the ranks of infidelity, than most of the vices by which the decalogue is violated, and human nature disgraced. For the infidel cannot say that the principles either of Christianity or of our Government encourage the practice of theft, drunkenness, swearing, for they are bitterly denounced by the scriptures, and are also punishable by the law of the land; but he can say that the odious, inhuman, and fiend-like law for flogging was enacted by a Christian government, enforced by

or

a Christian court-martial and executed, by Christian farriers !

"I say fiend-like, and I re-call not the epithet; for that in which a fiend would delight is fiendish or fiend-like. Milton, in his 'Pandemonium,' has given us a graphic description of the conversation and sentiments of infernal beings, and of the savage delight they feel in witnessing the misery of man; but it requires not a very poetic eye to picture these fallen spirits watching with interest all instances of man's tyranny and cruelty towards his fellow-man. And surely they gaze with peculiar gratification on every such tragic scene as that which was lately exhibited at Hounslow."

One sterling idea, shewn to be truth, appears in the first page of this "Address to her Majesty;" it is that, flogging is not only opposed to the meek and benevolent principles of Christianity, but hostile to their progress. Here is strong ground, that cannot be shaken. For if it unfits men for the reception of its principles, we may in vain look among our fellows--the military-for its progress.

"FIRST.-That all offences, formerly punishable by flogging, shall henceforth be punished by solitary confinement; the duration being proportioned to the offence, and regard ever paid to the offender's bodily health.

"SECONDLY.-That proper steps be taken to give better instruction to the soldier, and to elevate his character in a religious, a moral, and an intellectual point of view. For this purpose, let a library of instructive and entertaining works be formed in every barracks throughout the kingdom, for the use of

the soldiers. Let there also be a master appointed, not merely to teach the children, but also capable of instructing the soldiers themselves, and competent to give lectures on some of the most useful and popularly interesting branches of science, and to illustrate the same by striking and varied experiments."

For the present law, our author submits the above two. We imagine we have shown enough of the character of this unpretending, yet eloquent pamphlet, to cause it to find its way unchecked. We should rejoice to see one in every man's hand; one on every library table, public and private. Believing, as we do, this to be an age of the greatest movements of all kinds, we hail our friend's appeal; and give him,

in our feeble phrase, every encouragement to continue in his righteous opposition to a cruel decree. He will yet live to see this his merciful attempt crowned by total abolition; and dear as fame is to the heart of every man, dearer to him will be the recollection, that he came forward, boldly and manfully, when mercy required his energies, and poured into the very ear of royalty itself, the thrilling words and powerful descriptions which, by-and-bye, will have their reward, in the joyful intelligence, that our brave soldiers and noble sailors are to be punished by "NOT ONE LASH."

Frazer's Magazine for Town & Country. London: Nickisson.

AMONG the many interesting papers in the last month's mumber of this excellent periodical will be found an article called "Hair Love," that cannot fail awakening a host of recollections in all who may chance to read it. For ourselves, we acknowledge having been forcibly struck, not only with the feeling which led its author to select a subject so simple, yet so eloquent in its sympathies, as this must appear to every one; but also by the easy, yet forcible style in which it is written. It is really a charming article, and not the less attractive from its containing internal evidence of being by the hand of one of the fair sex; the best appreciators of the sentiment and affection conveyed in one apparently of the most trifling presents, -a lock of hair. We select a bit or two for our readers.

"There was a pale, quiet-eyed girl, governess in a family with which we were once intimate, who used to be very kind to us children, and let us rummage her bag of embroidery silks, or set her cotton-box 'to rights,' as we termed it, just whenever it suited us, and seemed glad to purchase a few hours' peace at any price. Poor thing! it was but little rest she got, what with one and another; and then she was so good-natured, so wonderfully sweet-tempered, never saying an angry word to any of us. We all loved her dearly, and sometimes, when we saw her resting her head upon her hands, and looking so sad and weary, would whisper to each other that poor Miss M - had the headache, and hush our wild sports all at once, but the worst of it was we soon forgot it again, growing as noisy as ever, and she never thought to chide us.

"In the aforesaid cotton-box was one little packet which had frequently excited our curiosity. It was carefully sealed up, and she always evaded our questions on the subject, taking it gently away, and declaring that she would not lose it for all the world; from which we naturally concluded that it must be something very valuable indeed. It chanced, however, on one particular evening, when we had as usual begged hard for a sight of this concealed treasure, that she smiled sadly, and prepared, with a sweet and patient kindness, to gratify our restless curiosity. But we noticed that her hands trembled as she untied the slender fastenings.

"Only a lock of hair!' was our first exclamation of wonder and disappointment. And then followed a whole string of inquiries. Whose is it? Your parents? Or your brother's, perhaps?' for we knew that she had a brother in India.

"The poor governess only shook her head; but we could see the tears falling fast and silently upon this little relic; and, half sorry that we had prevailed upon her to open it, dared not ask any more questions.

"Not long after this Miss M -'s health became so delicate that it was

thought best she should return home for a while, and try the effects of her native air. Every one was sorry to part with her, and hoped that she would get quite well, and come back to them again very soon. But we never saw her any more. Some say that she died of consumption; others of a broken heart! Anyhow, the story of her secret grief so long and meekly borne, together with that of the much-treasured curl, was buried with

her.

"Hair-love is equally for the rich and the poor. The relic may be gorgeously set, but in that case it hallows the gold, and not the gold it; and is not a whit more precious in the jewelled casket, than simply tied with a faded end of riband. A love-token which all may exchange. Flowers wither; miniatures, however like, are but a resemblance. But this is a part, as it were, of the beloved one! An actual and living relic, speaking to the heart with a strange power; and recalling many a sweet bygone hour of a happiness which we felt even then must be too great to last.

"The old man turns over the hoards of his youth. There is a cold, mocking smile on his thin, compressed lip. His

brow is wrinkled and contracted, his eyes stern and deep-sunken; and, worse than all, his heart has become seared and hardened. Merrily leap up the devouring flames on that comfortless and lonely hearth, as he flings into them, one by one, the records of past days.

66 Ap A pocket-book, a purse delicately embroidered, a white kid glove, for it was white once, some withered flowers, a MS. poem! Yes, he was a poet, that proud and aged man, or would have been, had not the fountain of song been too soon turned into bitterness and scorn. Next came a tress of hair the same bright hair whose silken folds he had so often twined around his fingers in happier days and now, unbidden, and like sea-birds,' as dear old Christopher North calls them, 'that come unexpectedly floating up from some inland vale,' a tide of past recollections swept across the old man's heart, until he bowed down his stern head, and wept like a child. A blessing upon those white seabirds of memory! touching the floodgates of bygone thoughts and feelings with their gentle wings, and nestling and brooding over the world-wearied soul, until it grows calm and peaceful beneath their soothing influence.

"A young girl sits alone, with a pale cheek and flashing eyes, holding in her trembling hands, a tress of black, shining hair-her own! but which she never thought to have received again thus. What a tale of heart-withering misery does such a scene present! and we fear it is far from being an uncommon one. How well does she recollect when he half begged, half stole it from her, with many a fond caressing word and earnest vow! And how she would have staked her very life at that moment upon his fidelity, as she had already done her happiness! They had just heard of the estrangement of some mutual friends, and wondered together. It seemed impossible for those who loved one another ever to quarrel. Alas! for the hour when we first wake up from this sweet dream, and see the dark summer-cloud gathering over the sunshine of an affection that had withstood so many trials, and we fondly thought would never fail us. Well, if that cloud pass away in showers of weeping only; but far oftener it deepens into a tempest of fierce wrath, whose angry waters make shipwreck of our peace for evermore! A word, perhaps, might have allayed its fury. One drop of the oil of human kindness flung upon the raging

billows of passion-but we are too proud to utter it--and repenting only when it is too late, sit down amid the ruins and pray to die!

"No one who saw that young girl a few years afterwards would ever have imagined the tress of raven hair to be hers, which had turned since then into a silvery grey; or, but for the pale cheek and withered form, suspected the dreary weight of woe, so long and smilingly endured, for she was too proud to complain. They pitied her when her heart broke at length; they should rather have rejoiced!

"The absent daughter, married and far away, sends home a tiny curl in a letter-it is that of her first-born! The softest, silkiest, brightest hair, she verily believes, in all the world! And its dear

little head is quite covered with it, like so many rings of gold. Ah, if they could but see it!' Why it seems but yesterday she was a child herself, the merriest of the household band-the most mischief loving, provoking, and yet fascinating being, one can well imagine. Threats and reproof were alike thrown away upon her; but a fond word would bring her to her mother's side in a moment all penitence and humility, although, ten to one, the next she was as wild as ever. But she became grave all of a sudden, married, and took to housekeeping by instinct, as it were, for she could have had but little previous experience in these matters; but love makes us apt scholars, and became a very pattern wife and mother. We need not say how that tiny curl will be kept and prized by that happy grandmother, who wept for joy as she remembered all this. Mindful, at the same time, with the sad experience which is the heritage of old age, of the precariousness of all human felicity, and how many as bright a bud of fair promise as that golden-haired child were now among the angels of heaven!

"The young soldier, perishing on the field of glory, prays with his dying breath that a lock of his hair may be cut off and sent in remembrance of him to his mother and his poor Mary. And when it reaches them, having travelled perhaps hundreds of miles, how sacred and holy is such a relic! We can fancy the aged mother's tears and kisses, and 'his Mary' laying it on her heart, and never been known to smile again on earth, although she continues meek and patient to the last. The death of a be

loved object seldom fails to sanctify and make us better-to wean us gently from earth to heaven; such, at least, is the intention of all our afflictions, if we could but think so; while change and estrangement harden and petrify the affections until they seemed turned to stone! 'It is a perilous thing,' says Frederica Bremer, 'when the beloved image in the heart of man is destroyed, since with it the best of his life is annihilated.'

"The lover sends a lock of hair to his mistress, friend to friend, parent to child, child to parent. We verily believe the same hair-love to be universal, and pregnant with a thousand romantic and touching episodes.

"An old lady, dwelling in the wildest and most beautiful part of Derbyshire, and whose house had the reputation of being haunted, why we known not, unless that it was the very place of all others a spirit might have been supposed to fancy for its wanderings, once kept a quantity of pale brown, silken hair, in a drawer- thick clustering tresses, half as big as a person's head, and long in proportion. They had belonged to her only child, and the poor mother found a sad consolation in stealing away to look at, and kiss, and weep over them by the hour together. "Helen W was far from beautiful, but her eyes were bright and gentle, and her hair the admiration of all beholders. It swept the ground when she stood upright-but then, to be sure, she was not very tall; and when braided and twisted around that small classiclooking head, after a peculiar fashion of her own, formed a rich and yet simple coronet that a queen might have envived. Some people said that it was a sign of weakness and ill health; but such was not the case with Helen.

"There were never thought to be any spirits then haunting those ancient halls; perhaps the girl's sweet voice, which might be heard singing up and down the gloomy corridors, from morning till night, served to exorcise them, or the living sunshine of her presence banished every darker superstition. Nor were they so lonely then, for the youthful and the noble came to stay there for weeks together; at which time they danced every night in the old banqueting-hall until the faded banners seemed to catch the contagion of their wild mirth, and swayed to and fro with a quick, restless motion. It was on one of these occasions that Helen's long hair, escaping from its

fastenings, swept the marble floor as she whirled round and round in the gay waltz, and then stooping all of a sudden and colouring to the very tips of her little slender fingers, took as long again in her agitation as there was any need to wind it up, while her partner's whispered praises only served to increase her embarrassment.

"Helen knew that she had beautiful hair, she had been told of it a thousand times, but it was something quite strange to hear that she herself was also beautiful-at least in his eyes, who poured forth all this sweet flattery, and if so, she cared for no other admiration in all the world. But she would not tell him this; but only laughed and shook her head, declaring that she did not believe one word of all those pretty speeches — but her blushes betrayed her.

"The following morning, the young Count de V- - called to ask her of her mother for his bride; and the news soon spread over the country that the gentle Helen W

was engaged to be married to him in the spring, after which event, they were still to reside, for the present at least, at the old hall; which was good tidings for the poor, who loved her dearly, and would have been sorry indeed to have lost their kind benefactress.

"Helen never danced so much after this, but loved better to sit apart, but not alone, in the deep recess of the oldfashioned window. Some of her young companions used to wonder among themselves what they could find to talk about night after night, but grew wiser perhaps before long. Not only the Count, who might be supposed to be somewhat pre. judiced by his affection, or the fond and happy mother, but even the very domestics, noticed the striking improvement in Helen's personal appearance she really was growing beautiful! There was a bright colour upon her fair cheek, a light on her tranquil brow, and in those meek, loving eyes, inexpressibly touching.

"A few weeks before the wedding was appointed to take place, the Count de V had an occasion to go up to London, on business of importance, which was not, however, expected to detain him above a day or two; but lovers' partings are always solemn things. For the first time, the timid Helen not only suffered, but returned his embrace, clinging to him with a sad, foreboding tenderness And when he would have

quitted her at length, she called him back once more to her side, as if she could not bear the thought of their separation, even for so short a time.

666

Why, I scarcely know what to make of you, my little Helen!' said her lover. Your cheeks are burning, and yet your hands feel as cold as ice!""

"Yes, I am silly to agitate myself in this manner, when you will be back again soon. There, go now, and God bless you!'

That night the girl was in a high fever, caught, it seems, at a neighbour ing cottage, where she had been to visit a poor sick child.

"Mother,' said she, in the intervals of her delirium 'I am glad that Henri is not here; he would have been so grieved at my illness, and I shall be well again by the time he comes back.'

"I hope so, dearest!' And Mrs. W likewise thought that it was best he should be absent, since his presence could not do any good. Like Helen, she had no fear. But, meanwhile, the fever increased in violence; and the physician himself evidently grew anxious as to its results.

"Mrs. W

cut off all Helen's beautiful tresses with her own hands, for she knew her life was at stake; and now that the invalid felt it also, she never moaned or shrunk back, for life was very dear to her. And then, gathering it together, the fond mother put it carefully aside, with many tears. Helen could not weep; her eyes were dry and burning, her temples throbbed strangely. A few hours afterwards she beckoned to her mother, and asked her to send for Henri, which was immediately done; but it was all over when he came back, and he had only to follow his young betrothed to her early grave.

"Soon after this the Count de V went abroad, and the poor bereaved mother was left alone, with nothing but that sweet hair-love to console her.

"We can remember a girl at school, who kept the hair of all her young companions and friends, braided in neat little braids, with the initials of the original

possessors attached to each, and had already accumulated quite a store of these treasures, to which she was continually adding; for Catherine was possessed of one of those happy and affectionate dispositions, that seem to love every thing and every body, that comes in its way. She was, perhaps, somewhat too vision. ary and romantic for this cold and everyday world; but that was far from being a fault in our eyes then-or now, for the matter of that; only that we pity where we used to sympathise. 'Alas for those of the passionate feeling and the dreaming hope!' Meeting her some time afterwards in society, we inquired concerning these school-day treasures. Catherine laughed.

"Ah!' said she, 'I have burnt them all, long ago. What was the use of keeping such silly things?

"So it is,' as poor L. E. L. saysand no writer was ever better skilled in the hidden revealings of the human heart, except that they bore, in general, too much the sombre hue of her own sad and prophetic spirit So it is. What changes are wrought in a few passing years! How do we grow cold, indifferent, and incredulous,we who were so affectionate, so eager, so confiding! We set out in life with believing too much, and end in believing too little.'

"Leigh Hunt mentions some one who, as he writes, 'in pure classic taste and graceful tenderness, kept the hair of a deceased friend, in two marble vases.' But to us there seems something cold and overdrawn in this exquisite refinement of sensibility, and we infinitely prefer the poor old country-woman's glass-bottle!

"We were told the other day of a little school-child, who cried bitterly upon being shewn the hair of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, queen of France, which is said to have turned as white as snow, in one single night of terror. She had heard and read of this many and many a time, without thinking much about it, but that was very different to the real sight of that silvery tress, 'bleached by sorrow.'

"Which would you rather have?' asked her mother, -'the hair, or the ring?' The latter was of a massive gold, and sparkling with gems; but the veneration in that child's heart was brighter still.

"The hair, to be sure, mamma! '

"Oh, yes, hair is more precious than jewels a thousand times, especially when