by the neighbourhood of the scenes he so charmingly | of America more than five times as broad as from Dover
delineates, I was surprised and grieved to peruse
his elaborate attack on classical learning as the chief
object of education at our great English schools, and on
the studies of the university which follows it. The
pretty exhibition of a school at the scene of the Ser-
pent's Bath,' a name of odious fascination, seems to have
awakened in his accomplished mind an admiration for
the Nassau system, at the expense of our own, which
I lamented in proportion to my respect for our accuser.
I was the less prepared for his enthusiasm of invective,
because in an earlier part of his work he had expatiated
with pride, so graceful in his assumed character of an
old man, on the symbols of moral and intellectual
nobleness presented in the appearance of a party of
young English Collegians, specimens of the operation of
the system which he deprecates, in comparison with that
of their fellow-voyagers, who have been fashioned under
that which he prefers. Indeed, after having inveighed
against the whole tenor of classical scholastic education,
he admits, that in spite of all its disadvantages, a set
of high-minded, noble-spirited young men, eventually
become an honour to their country.' But asserts, that
'this is no proof that their early education had not
done all in its power to prevent them.' I do not
understand what other proof can be required or given,
or why, while the fact exists, any apprehension should
be entertained of the advance of other classes of society
in branches of knowledge now within their sphere of
opportunity, and the scope of their actual use. If,
indeed, classical instruction taught no more than an inti-
mate acquaintance with the dead languages, and a fine
perception of the beauties of the greatest works of ancient
genius, surely such results could not follow the devotion
of a large portion of studious boyhood to its labours.
It is not for these accomplishments chiefly, that it is
selected for the first place in education; it is because
experience has shown it to afford the best means of
training the young mind to patient, continuous, un
ruffled habits of toil; because the study of words,
especially of exquisite words, is the best introduction to
the knowledge of things; because it does not in the first
instance apply to the faculty of unripe reason, which is
better developed and strengthened, when it can be
exercised on knowledge already mastered, than when
incited to try its unfledged energies amidst 'worlds not
realized, but to strengthen the memory, to refine the
taste, and to form the habit of cheerful and obedient
toil. It is because the knowledge it communicates is
not what is called useful,' because it does not supply
the scholar with some information at once to be
brought into productive exercise, of which he may be
'justly vain,' and with which he may rest contented,
that it is wisely presented as a succession of difficulties
to be surmounted by years of study, though cheered on
the way by glimpses of the beautiful and sublime, dis-
turbed by no controversial strifes, but giving to the
labours of boyhood a harmony and a substance, and
teaching at the same time that there are higher and
nobler things in life to be cherished than those which
tend to its outward convenience and enrichment; nay,
that there are things compared to which life itself, with
all its utilities, is worthless. Our English classic (for
such unquestionably the author is), laments his own
lot, as having left a classical school at the age of
fourteen, scarcely knowing the name of a single river
in the new world, tired almost to death of the history of
the Ilissus. In after life (he continues) I entered a river

to Calais; and with respect to the Ilissus, which hid
received in my mind such distorted importance, I will
only say, that I have repeatedly walked across it in
about twenty seconds without wetting my ancles!!
Surely our accomplished author recognises a strange
scale by which to estimate the value of a knowledge of
rivers in the opening or matured mind! While he
probably owes much, however unconsciously, of that
graceful spirit which bubbles up in his style as sparklingly
as the fountains he celebrates, to his researches border-
ing on the Ilissus, it is difficult to sympathize with
his distress in not having learned the names of all the
American rivers. Of what earthly use would it be to
any English gentleman to know them all as familiarly
as Mrs. Malaprop her parts of speech? If he visits
a river in America, the name of which he happens not
to know, he will learn it in a minute from the first
backwoodsman who will honour him with a civil
answer; and if he stays at home, what interest has he
in the name of a river he will never see, though it
should be five times as broad as the sea between Dover
and Calais, and should lose in its breadth all the attri
butes which give to rivers a place in our recollection or
fancy? It would be a vast addition to his knowledge
to know all the names of all the inhabitants of London
and Westminster, with the numbers of their houses, as
authentically collected and alphabetically arranged in
the Post Office Directory-information likely to be far
more convenient than the recollection of all the names
of all the rivers in the new world. But would it be
wise, therefore, to fill the memory with such a nomen-
clature rather than with the names of the heroes of the
Trojan war, which are indexes to heroic deeds? To
know that there are rivers in America one hundred
miles in breadth may be well for one whose imagina
tion has power to embrace such a waste of water; but
beyond that "great fact" what blessing does a nominal
acquaintance confer, unless the names are themselves
pictures, as Abana and Pharpar lucid streams! If
the value of an unseen river to the mind depends on
its breadth, Sir Francis Head would prefer by ten-
thousand-fold the St. Lawrence to the Jordans which he
might have passed with as dry, though not so con
temptuous a foot as the Ilissus; and he may strike the
balance of the interest, according to gallons of water,
between the muddy flood of the Mississippi and “Siloa's
brook, that flowed fast by the oracle of God.'”

(1) "As we proceeded up the Rhine there issued from one of the old romantic castles we were passing, a party of young English lads, whose appearance (as soon as they came on board) did ample justice to their country, and comparing them while they walked the deck with the rest of their fellow-prisoners, I could not help fancying that I saw a determination in their step, a latent character in their attitudes, and a vigour in their young frames, which being interpreted, said-

We dare do all that may become a man,
Who dares do more is none."

A CHURCH ANTIQUARIAN. BROWNE WILLIS, the first person who undertook a detailed and general survey of the English Cathedrals, acquired his love for this pursuit by passing many of his idle hours in the Abbey when a Westminster boy. That Abbey was open to the boys till of late years, when they were deprived of a liberty which produced some injury to the monuments, and some annoyance to the visitors and showmen. Browne Willis, who became one of the oddest of old men, had his share of peculiarities as a boy. The monuments were his books, and before he left school he imbibed there a love of churches and church antiquities, which fixed the bent of his after life; he was a great repairer of churches and steeples, attended cathedrals and churches, whenever he could so time his visits, upon their dedication days; and when he went to Bath, would lodge nowhere but in the Abbey-house. A lively lady described him as having, with one of the honestest hearts in the world, one of the oddest heads that ever dropped from the moon. He wrote the worst hand of any man in England, it was more unintelligible than if he had learned to write by copying the inscriptions upon old tomb-stones; he wore three or four coas at once, each being of a different generation, and over

their place and make up in duration for what they want in extensiveness.-Quarterly Review.

A LOST CHILD.

A FEW years ago, in the parish of Sydney, in the province of New Brunswick, America, the following circumstance occurred :

them an old blue cloak lined with fustian, all of which | but it was ordered otherwise, and the heart of the were girt with a leathern belt, giving him the appearance young man was filled with grateful emotion. He of a beg rar, for which he was often taken in the course learned from the child that she had been sent by of his enthusiastic wanderings. His weather-beaten wig her mother to carry a basket of food to her father, was of a colour for which language affords no name; who was chopping in the wood near the house; his slouched hat, having past the stage between black but that, by some mischance, she had strayed from and brown, was in the same predicament as the wig, the path, and, misled by the echo of her father's and the lower parts of his equipment had obtained for him in his own neighbourhood, the appellation of Old axe, she had wandered away in an opposite direcWrinkle Boots, for during the wear and tear and repair her deeper and deeper into the wood; but still she tion. Every attempt to retrace her steps only led of forty years, the said boots had contracted as many wrinkles as their quantum of calf-skin would contain, went on. At first, she said, she cried a great deal; and consequently did not reach half way up the legs but finding her tears and lamentations brought no which they once covered. Being far too deeply engaged relief, she consoled herself with eating some of the with past ages to bestow any portion of his thoughts food she had brought with her. When night came and cares upon the present, he suffered a fair fortune to on, she was overcome with weariness, and lay down be deteriorated by neglecting his worldly affairs; and to sleep in a sheltered place, and rose with the first haring lived long enough to hold a distinguished place sound of the birds to pursue her hopeless way. among antiquities himself, he left behind him the When she had exhausted her provisions in the character of a diligent and faithful antiquary, in which basket, she beguiled her sorrows by seeking for he will long continue to be remembered. Reputations herbs and berries. Fortunately it was the season this class are not like those of fashionable authors, of summer fruits, or else the poor wanderer must who "come like shadows and so depart" they keep have perished. On the third night she lay down to sleep, and heard, as she supposed, the tread of cattle near her. She said she was very glad, for she thought the dark creatures she saw moving about in the dim light must be her father's oven; and she called to them very often, "Buck, Bright!' but they did not come nearer; and she wondered she did not hear the ox-bell. Another night she said she saw two great black shaggy dogs, which she thought were neighbour Hewet's dogs; but when she called them by their names, they stood up on their hind legs, and looked hard at her, but did not come near her, and soon went away into the wood: and she knew they were dogs, for that night she heard them howling. In all probability these animals were bears, for the woods abounded with those animals, and the stream the hunter had crossed bore the name of Bear Creek; the howling, most probably, arose from wolves; but her innocent heart knew no fear. The day after this she found herself near a deserted shanty; the clearing on which it stood was overgrown with strawberries and raspberry-bushes; and here she remained, picking the berries, and sleeping beneath its sheltering roof at night. She led the hunter to her solitary hut, where he proposed leaving her whilst he went in search of help to convey her home, or to some dwelling house; but the little creature clung to him with passionate weeping, and implored him so pathetically not to leave her again alone in the dark lonely forest, that his heart was not proof against her entreaties; and, though weary with his own wandering, he took the little foundling on his back and proceeded on his journey, occasionally resting on the fallen timbers to ease him of his burden. The shades of night were closing in fast upon them; and the weary pair were making up their minds to pass another night under the shade of the woods, when the sound of water and the working of mill-wheels broke upon their ears; and soon the light of the last glow of sunset broke through the trees in the distance; and the child, with a shout of joy, proclaimed they must be near a clearing at last, for she saw light through the stems of the trees. Gladly did the poor way worn travellers hail the cheerful sight of the mill and the neat log-house beside it; and gladly did the kind inmates of the place receive and cherish the poor lost child, who had been sought for till hope had departed from the hearts of her sorrowing friends,

A young gentleman who had been out for some days on a hunting or shooting expedition, reached the banks of Bear Creek, which he was desirous of crossing, being anxious to make his way home before night-fall. To his disappointment, the logbridge which he had passed the day before had been carried away by the current, which happened to be very strong in that place. Remembering, however, having noticed a fallen tree across the stream lower down, he pursued his way. Just as he had reached the spot, and was preparing to cross over, his ear was attracted by the sound of footsteps upon the dry sticks; the sound was accompanied by a cautious rustling movement among the thicket of wild raspberries that covered the opposite space. With the alertness of a sportsman, anticipating a shot at a deer or bear, his finger rapidly found its way to the lock of his rifle; and while his keen eye was warily fixed on the bushes, a slight attenuated hand, stained purple with the juice of the berries, was quietly raised to reach down a loaded branch of fruit; another instant, and the fatal ball had been lodged in the heart of the unconscious victim. A cry of terror and of thankfulness burst from the lips of the hunter as he sprang with eager haste across the stream and approached the child. It was a little girl, apparently not more than eight years old: her torn garments, soiled hands, dishevelled locks, and haggard face, betrayed the fact that she had strayed from the forest path, and been lost in the trackless wilderness. The child appeared overjoyed at the sight of the stranger, and told her artless tale with a clearness and simplicity that drew tears from the eyes of her preserver, who felt, indeed, as if he had been an instrument in the Divine hand, sent to rescue the forlorn being before him from a melancholy and painful death. Had not the loss of the bridge led him to seek another spot whereby to gain the opposite bank, she would in all probability have perished in that lonely spot;

With tyre of truthe, which God's good worde dothe teache said, "that since my lord would not take him at eighty

No. 65.]

London Magazine:

A JOURNAL OF ENTERTAINMENT AND INSTRUCTION
FOR GENERAL READING.

JANUARY 23, 1847.

Dora.

(See page 207.)

UNSTAMPED, 14d
STAMPED, 24d.

splendid action she has, to be sure, and giving tongue all the time too. She's in first-rate training, 'pon my word; I thought she'd have sewn me up at one time-the pace was terrific. I must walk into old Coleman's champagne before I make a fresh start; when I've recovered my wind, and had a mouthful of hay and water, I'll have at her again, and dance till all's blue before I give in."

"My dear fellow," said I, "you must not dance all the evening with the same young lady; you'll have her brother call upon you the first thing to-morrow morning to know your intentions."

"He shall very soon learn them, as far as he is concorned, then," replied Lawless, doubling his fist. "Let me have him to myself for a quiet twenty minutes, and

I'll send him home with such a face on him, that his
nearest relations will be puzzled to recognise him for
the next month to come at least. But what do you
really mean?"
"That it's not etiquette to go on dancing with one
young lady the whole evening; you must ask some one
else."

"Have all the bother to go over again, eh? what a treat! Well, we live and learn; it will require a few extra glasses of champagne to get the steam up to the necessary height, that's all. And there they are going down to supper; that's glorious!" and away he bounded to secure Miss Clapperton's arm, while I offered mine to the turbaned old lady, to compensate for her

late alarm.

of the wax candles, which had not been extinguished in its fall, had rolled against the ball-dress of Miss Saville. who happened to be seated next the table, and set it fire. After making an ineffectual attempt to put it or with her hands, she became alarmed, and as I approached, started wildly up, with the evident intention of rushing out of the room. Without a moment's hesitation. I sprang forward, caught her in my arms, and flinging the worsted shawl over her dress, which was just begin ning to blaze, enveloped her in it, and telling her if she only remained quiet she would be perfectly safe, la her on the floor, while I continued to hold the thick shawl tightly down, till, to my very great delight, I s ceeded in extinguishing the flames.

By this time several gentlemen had gathered round After supper the dancing was resumed with fresh us, eager with their advice and offers of assistance. energy, the champagne having produced its usual exhi- | Having satisfied myself that the danger was entirely larating effects upon the exhausted frames of the dancers. over, I raised Miss Saville from the ground, and, making Notwithstanding my former repulse, I made a success- my way through the crowd, half led, half carried her ful attempt to gain Miss Saville's hand for a quadrille, the nearest sofa. After placing her carefully upon it, I though I saw, or fancied I saw, the scowl on Mr. Ver-left her to the care of Mrs. Coleman and Lney Markham, non's sour countenance grow deeper, as I led her away. while I sought out the turbaned old lady, whose shawl My perseverance was not rewarded by any very interest- I had so unceremoniously made use of, and succeeded in ing results, for my partner, who was either distressingly making my peace with her, though, I believe, in her ow shy, or acting under constraint of some kind, made secret breast, she considered Miss Saville's safety dearly monosyllabic replies to every remark I addressed to her, purchased at the expense of her favourite whittle. A and appeared relieved when the termination of the set I approached the sofa again, the following words, in the enabled her to rejoin her grim protector. harsh tones of Mr. Vernon's voice, met my ear.

"Of all the disagreeable faces I ever saw, Mr. Vernon's is the most repulsive," said I to Coleman; "were I a believer in the power of the evil eye,' he is just the sort of looking person I should imagine would possess it. I am certain I have never met him before, and yet, strange to say, there is something which appears familiar to me in his expression, particularly when he frowns." "He is a savage-looking old Guy," replied Freddy, "and bullies that sweet girl shockingly, I can see. 1 should feel the greatest satisfaction in punching his head for him, but I suppose it would be hardly the correct thing on so short an acquaintance, and in my father's own house too; eh?"

"Not exactly," replied I, turning away with a smile. When Lawless made his appearance after supper, it was evident by his flushed face, and a slight unsteadiness in his manner of walking, that he had carried his intentions with regard to the champagne into effect; and, heedless of my warning, he proceeded to lay violent siege to Miss Clapperton, to induce her to waltz with him. I was watching them with some little amusement, for the struggle in the young lady's mind between her sense of the proper, and her desire to waltz with an Honourable, was very apparent, when I was requested by Mrs. Coleman to go in search of a cloak appertaining to the turbaned old lady, whom I had escorted down to supper, and who, being delicate in some way or other, required especial care in packing up. Owing to a trifling mistake of Mrs. Coleman's, (who had described a red worsted shawl as a blue cloth cloak, which mistake I had to discover and rectify,) my mission detained me some minutes. As I re-entered the ball-room, shawl in hand, I was startled by the crash of something heavy falling, followed by a shriek from several of the ladies at the upper end of the room; and on hastening to the scene of action, I soon perceived the cause of their alarm. During my absence, Lawless, having succeeded in overcoming Miss Clapperton's scruples, had re-commenced waltzing with the greatest energy; but unfortunately, after going round the room once or twice," the pace," as he called it, becoming faster at every turn, the combined effects of the champagne and the unaccustomed exercise rendered him exceedingly giddy, and just before I entered the room, he had fallen against a small table supporting a handsome China candelabrum, containing several wax lights, the overthrow of which had occasioned the grand crash I had heard. The cause of the shrick, however, still remained to be discovered, and a nearer approach instantly rendered it apparent. One

"I have ascertained our carriage is here; as soon. therefore, as you feel strong enough to walk, Clara, Ly dear, I should advise your accompanying me home; quia and rest are the best remedies after such an alarm as this." "I am quite ready, Sir," was the reply, in a faint touc of voice.

66

Nay, wait a few minutes longer," said Lucy Mark ham, kindly; "you are trembling from head to foot even yet."

"Indeed I am quite strong; I have no doubt I can walk now," replied Miss Saville, attempting to rise, ba sinking back again almost immediately from faintness "Can I be of any assistance?" inquired I, coming forward.

"I am obliged to you for the trouble you have already taken, Sir," answered Mr. Vernon, coldly, "but will not add to it. Miss Saville will be able to proceed with the assistance of my arm in a few minutes."

After a short pause the young lady again announced her readiness to depart; and, having shaken hands with Mrs. Coleman and Lucy Markham, turned to leave the room, leaning on Mr. Vernon's arm. As I was standing near the door, I stepped forward to hold it open ter them, Mr. Vernon acknowledging my civility by the slightest imaginable motion of the head. Miss Savile, as she approached me, paused for a moment, as if about to speak, but, apparently relinquishing her intention, merely bowed, and passed on.

"Well, if it's in that sort of way people in modern society demonstrate their gratitude for having thei lives saved, I must say I don't admire it," exclaimed Coleman, who had witnessed the cool behaviour of Mr. Vernon and his ward; it may be very genteel, but, were I in your place, I should consider it unsatisfactory in the extreme, and allow the next inflammable young lady who might happen to attract a spark in my pre sence, to consume as she pleased, without interfering › and peace be to her ashes!"

"It was most fortunate that I happened to have that thick shawl in my hand," said I ; " in another minute her whole dress would have been in a blaze, and it would have been next to impossible to save her. What courage and self-command she showed! she never attempted to move after I threw the shawl round her, till I told her all danger was over."

66

Very grand, all that sort of thing," returned Freddy, but for my own part I should like to see a little mer feeling; I've no taste for your marble maidens; they always put me in mind of Lot's wife."