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GÖTTINGEN.

GÖTTINGEN is a German city of some importance, situated in the kingdom of Hanover. It was formerly comprised in the principality of Kalenberg, and is now the chief town of the principality of Göttingen, which is one of the eleven provinces composing the kingdom. It stands on the banks of the little river Leine, at the end of a long valley: the country around it is spoken of as delightful, both for its fertility and the beauty of its scenery. The town itself has a very favourable appearance; Mr. Russell calls it "one of the most agreeable and cleanly-looking towns in Germany," and Mr. Hodgskin says that "without having any very good buildings, it is altogether a neat clean-looking town." The streets are wide and regular, and for the most part possess the rare advantage of being furnished with pavements; the houses are chiefly modern, and though exhibiting few pretensions to elegance, are characterized by a neat, light, and airy appearance, very different from that presented by some other University towns in Germany.

The city is encircled by ramparts, which are used as public walks; it has no suburbs beyond the walls, but simply gardens and orchards. The public squares are three in number; the principal of them is the Market Place, which is decorated with a handsome fountain. There are five or six churches; one of them, the Church of St. Nicholas, is represented in our engraving. The number of inhabitants is about 10,000, and the greater part of them are Lutherans. The importance of Göttingen is chiefly derived from its University; indeed, it was a place of scarcely any note at all until the foundation of that establishment, to the growth of which its own increase and prosperity are entirely attributable. It would be more pleasant, as Mr. Hodgskin observes, could we trace the increase of Göttingen to natural causes, which having a permanent existence, might ensure a continuance of prosperity. The town had been lying in a state of ruin ever since the Thirty Years' War, when George the Second, and his minister Munchausen, selected it in 1733 as a proper place in which to establish a University. Of so little consequence was Göttingen before that period, that many of the professors who were invited to it, are said hardly to have known in what quarter of Germany it was situated. The first instruction was given in store-houses, and the inhabitants are said to have regarded the first anatomical professor with great horror. They nick-named him a man-flayer, and could not, even by bribes, be induced to bring him wood and

water.

The University was opened in 1735, exactly 100 years ago, and dedicated two years afterwards; it bears the royal title of Georgia Augusta. The reputation of its professors and the number of its students increased quickly, and Göttingen soon became by far the most celebrated and flourishing of the German Universities. It would appear at the present day to have lost that pre-eminent rank, but still its fame is high. It is the National University not only of Hanover, but also of Brunswick and Nassau, the inhabitants of which states consider it their alma mater; every one of them who seeks an employment under the government of either, must study in it for a certain period. The Rector of the University is always the King of Hanover; in that capacity, the office is at present held by our own sovereign.

The professors of this University are not very highly paid; their emoluments consist of an allow ance from the government, for their lectures in the

particular departments to which they are appointed, and of the fees which they derive from the students for lectures which they please to give upon subjects not comprised within it. It is a strange peculiarity of the German Universities, that a professor may give lectures on any topic, however little connected with the department assigned to him; and may thus interfere, if he choose, with the provinces of his colleagues. He must teach his own branch of learning, but he may also lecture upon any other; "the professor of Latin must teach Latin, but if he chooses he may lecture on Mathematics. Thus it becomes a practical question, who is held to be the more able instructor; and if the mathematics of a professor of Greek be reckoned better than those of the regular mathematical professor, the latter must be content to lose his scholars and his fees."

The library which is attached to this establishment is always spoken of as excellent, and a great attraction for the teacher and the learner; it is this indeed which, in a great measure, renders a professor's chair at Göttingen so desirable. It is more useful than splendid, the object of those by whom it has been formed having been rather to collect the solid learning and literature of the world, than curious and sumptuous specimens of the art of printing. When Heyne took charge of it in 1763, it possessed only 60,000 volumes; it now counts nearly 200,000.

The establishment of Universities in other parts of Germany of late years, has materially affected the interests of that of Göttingen; the superior talent and scientific opportunities which Berlin possesses, have recently caused a material diminution of students. In 1818 they were 1158, and the professors and teachers 70; in 1829, there were 1264 students, and 89 teachers. The number of professors, lecturers, &c. appears extremely great; but so it is in all German Universities. In 1833 the number of students did not exceed 700 or 800.

About one-half of the number of students are generally foreigners,-that is to say, not natives of the kingdom of Hanover; though by far the greater portion are natives of Germany. The proportion of lawyers appears to be extravagantly large; according to Mr. Russell, more than one-half of the whole number of students in 1821, entered for the law. "The reason of this," he says, "is that from the mode of arrangement common to all the German states, there is an immense assemblage of small offices connected with the administration of justice, to which, trifling as the competence they afford may be, numbers of young men look forward as their destination, and which require a legal education, or at least what passes for a legal education. It is true that such a person is badly paid; but then to say nothing of his own chicane, there are legal imposts on the litigants, which give him a direct interest in fomenting and protracting suits; and under so imperfect a system of control as every where prevails, he must be a marvellously stupid, or a marvellously honest Dorfrichter (village judge,) who cannot raise his genius to a very ample recompense for his talents. The same person is occasionally judge in two different small districts. It sometimes happens that it is necessary for the judge of the one to notify something that has happened,— the escape of a thief for instance,-to the judge of the other; and instances have actually occurred of the same person in the one capacity, writing a letter to himself in the other, and then answering his own letter, that he might lose none of the fees attached to the performance of these duties,”

PROGRESSIVE MOTION IN MAN. STRICTLY speaking, it is impossible for even the strongest man to remain on his legs, in precisely the same position, for any considerable length of time. The muscles in action soon become fatigued, and require to be relieved by varying the points of support, so as to bring other muscles into play. Hence the weight of the body is transferred alternately from one foot to the other. The action of standing consists, in fact, of a series of small and imperceptible motions, by which the centre of gravity is perpetually shifted from one part of the base to another; the tendency to fall to any one side being quickly counteracted by an insensible movement in a contrary direction. Long habit has rendered us unconscious of these exertions, which we are, nevertheless, continually making; but a child, learning to walk, finds it difficult to accomplish them successfully. It is one among those arts which he has to acquire, and which costs him, in the apprenticeship, many painful efforts, and many discouraging falls. But whenever nature is the teacher, the scholar makes rapid progress in learning; and no sooner have the muscles acquired the necessary strength, than the child becomes an adept in balancing its body in various attitudes, and, in a very short time, is unconscious that these actions require exertion.

In walking, the first effort that is made consists in transferring the whole weight of the body upon one foot, with a view to fix it on the ground; and then the other foot, being at liberty, is brought forwards. By this action, the centre of gravity is made to advance, till it passes beyond the base of the foot: in this situation the body, being unsupported, falls through a certain space, and would continue its descent, were it not that it is received on the other foot, which, by this time, has been set upon the ground. This falling of the body would, if not immediately checked, become very sensible; as happens when, on walking inattentively, the foot we had advanced comes down to a lower level than we were prepared for; in which case the body, having acquired a certain velocity by its greater descent, receives a sudden shock when that velocity is checked, and thus a disagreeable jar is given to the whole frame. While the weight of the body is thus transferred alternately from one foot to the other, the centre of gravity not only rises and falls, so as to describe, at every step, a small arch, but also vibrates from side to side, so that the series of curves it describes are somewhat complicated in their form. This undulation of the body, from one foot to the other, would scarcely ever be performed with perfect equality on both sides, if we trusted wholly to the sensations communicated by the muscles, and if we were not guided by the sense of sight, or some other substitute. Thus a person blindfolded cannot walk far in a straight line; for even on a level plain, he will incline unconsciously either to the right hand or to the left.

In all quadrupeds, the fore extremities, more or less, contribute to the support and progression of the body it is only in man that they are wholly exempted from these offices. In the power of executing an infinite variety of movements and of actions, requiring either strength, delicacy, or precision, the human arm and hand, considered in their mechanism alone, are structures of unrivalled excellence; and, when viewed in relation to the intellectual energies to which they are subservient, plainly reveal to us the Divine source from which have emanated this exquisite workmanship, and these admirable adjustments, so fitted to excite the deepest veneration, and to fill us with never-ceasing wonder.

[Dr. ROGET's Bridgewater Treatise.]

THE USEFUL ARTS. No. IV.
BREWING.

BEFORE the malt can be used, it must be ground, or crushed; this operation must be performed with care: if the grain be reduced to powder, it clogs, or forms a paste with the water in mashing; if, on the other hand, the skin or shell of the seed be not sufficiently broken to detach it from the farina within, all the goodness of the malt will not be extracted in the next process.

This is mashing, and consists in making a decoction of the ground malt in hot water, for the purpose of dissolving all the saccharine matter. To produce this effect, the depends on the kind of malt, from 170 to 190 degrees of water must not be boiling; the precise degree of temperature Fahrenheit may be considered as the limits. The more the malt has been dried, the hotter may be the water.

The mashing is done in a vessel called the mash-tun; and while the grain is soaking, it requires to be well stirred about, for if it were not, the malt, being heavier than water, would lie at the bottom, and only the upper stratum would be acted on by the water. In small breweries, the stirring is done by hand; a small, stout frame, of a rhomboidal form, fixed at the end of a long handle, being used for the purpose: but in large public breweries, where the mash-tun is an immense vat, capable of containing several thousand gallons, a stout, upright post, carrying a horizontal arm, is fixed in the middle of the vat, and is kept turning round by a steam-engine; a series of rakes are appended to the arm, which effectually stir up the malt, and mingle it with the water.

The water when it has dissolved the saccharine matter of the malt is called wort; and in order to draw it off clear from the grain, the mash-tun is made with a double, or false bottom, the upper one, being perforated with small holes, acts as a sieve, and strains the wort, the tap being

inserted between the two bottoms.

The first quantity being thus drawn off, more hot water, and of a higher temperature, is poured on the grains, and left to stand a longer time; by this a further portion of sugar is obtained from the malt, but this is inferior in quality as well as quantity, the heat of the liquor having also extracted other principles which injure the flavour. In many cases, the grain is submitted to a third, and even a fourth mashing; and, in public breweries, beer of different qualities, is prepared from these different worts.

The wort is a clear, thin liquor, having a sweet sickly taste, and partaking of the colour of the malt. From the mash-tun it is received into a vessel called an under-back, from which it is pumped into a copper to be boiled. In small breweries, the second vat is dispensed with, and the wort is poured into the copper from the mash-tun; but in either case it should be got into the copper as soon as possible: first, that no heat may be lost unnecessarily, and secondly, because if left standing to cool, it would soon begin to ferment, and would be spoilt. The object in reboiling the wort, is to strengthen the liquor by evaporating some of the water, and to improve its flavour, and increase its power of keeping, by the admixture of some vegetable bitter principle, and the hop is generally used for the

purpose.

THE Hop is a perennial-rooted plant, with an annualclimbing stem; it belongs to the same order as the common nettle, and is diacious, the male and female flowers being produced on different plants; the latter are collected in heads, each flower having a large, membranous, floral leaf beneath it, which give the whole an appearance resembling that of a fir-cone. The hop is cultivated in Kent, Hampshire, Essex, and Worcestershire; it is a tender plant, liable to be affected by blight and insects, so that the crop is precarious, notwithstanding the care bestowed on it during every period of its growth: tall stakes are put for it round these supports, have caused a hop ground to be to climb up, and its elegant vine-like foliage wreathing called the English vineyard.

Though originally introduced into this country from abroad, the hop has become partly naturalized, and grows wild in our hedges; but as it is the heads of female flowers that are used, the female plant alone is cultivated. The the stakes pulled up with the plants still clinging to them, blossoms are gathered in September, the vines are cut down, and are laid across a rough kind of crib or bin made of boards, and having four handles by which it may be carried. Boys and girls carefully pick off the heads of flowers, and

HOP-PICKING, IN KENT.

same effect is produced by putting the hops in a muslin bag, and hanging it in the copper, which allows of their being withdrawn when sufficient bitter principle has been extracted from them, and obviates the necessity for straining the liquor after boiling, as must otherwise be done, to separate the hops from it.

The wort is drawn off from the boiler into a vessel called the cooler; the object now being to cool the liquid as rapidly as possible, this vessel is made shallow, so that a large surface may be presented to the air to accelerate the escape of the heat, and the wort is seldom suffered to lie more than three or four inches deep in the cooler. If the liquor were suffered to cool slowly in deep vessels, there would be danger of its turning sour before the proper fermentation was carried far enough.

When the temperature of the liquid is reduced to about sixty degrees, the wort is allowed to run from the coolers into the fermenting-vat, or tun, and the proper proportion of yeast is added, and well mixed up with it, to accelerate the process of working, as the fermentation is technically called. This chemical action causes a froth to rise on the surface, and the gas evolved produces, by its escape, a hissing sound: when the fermentation has passed its maximum, the yellowish foam, which had increased considerably, and consisted of large bubbles, begins to subside, and at a certain stage is skimmed off and preserved, this foam being the yeast used for baking. (See BAKING.)

It is now necessary to arrest the fermentation, lest it should pass on to the acetous, or lest instead of fermented ale or beer, with spirit or flavour, we should have a cask of alegar or vinegar. To effect this check, the liquor is drawn off from the fermenting-vat, into smaller casks, which are suffered to stand a few days with their bung-holes open, to allow the escape of the carbonic acid gas, which is again evolved in considerable quantities. The agitation of the liquor caused by drawing it off, renews the fermentation, and if the gas were confined by closing the vessel, it would, by expanding, either burst the cask, or at least drive out the cork, and waste the beer, an accident that happens frequently, notwithstanding this precaution, especially in

warm weather.

When the working in the small casks again subsides, the bung is driven in, and the process of brewing is concluded, but a considerable time should be allowed to pass before the liquor is drank. The object of this delay is to allow the beer to fine itself, or to allow the sediment of yeast and other matters, to separate from the rest and subside. To save this delay, which, in large concerns, would be productive of loss, owing to the warehouse-room necessary for storing the casks, and the stagnation of capital, brewers fine the drink by pouring into each cask a small quantity of a solution of isinglass, in stale beer, the effect of which is to clarify the liquor in a few hours.

There are two principal kinds of malt-liquor, of which all others are only varieties,-Porter and Ale; and these only differ in the former being of a deeper colour, which is, or was, given by the malt being dried quickly, or slightly scorched. Butas malt thus prepared to impart colour, does not contain so much saccharine matter as the pale malt,

drop them into the crib, which is removed when it is full. The flowers are dried in a kiln as malt is, and are afterwards closely packed for preservation, in large sacks, called bags, and pockets.

A PROPER quantity of the dried hop-flowers are put into the copper to be boiled with the wort: in large breweries, there is a piston, with a cross frame at bottom, made to fit a hole in the lid of the copper, or boiler; this piston is kept moving up and down, and stirring up the liquid, to prevent the hops from settling at the bottom, and being burnt, an accident that would injure the flavour of the beer. The

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and is consequently more expensive, since more must be used to produce beer of the same strength, Spanish liquorice, burnt sugar, and frequently less innocent substitutes*, are had recourse to for imparting that dark colour so absurdly prized by porter-drinkers. The Kentish hop, as being stronger and more pungent, is employed in brewing this liquor; while the best ale is obtained from pale malt, and the Worcestershire hop.

Table-beer, of different strength, is only the produce of the second or third mashings in ale-brewing.

It should be mentioned that malting is by no means essential to obtaining fermented liquor from barley or other grain; good beer, and equally strong, may be brewed from raw barley, but the process is more troublesome, and the liquor is more liable to turn sour. The use of raw grain in brewing is also forbidden by our Excise laws.

Pearl-barley, used for making puddings, barley-water, &c., is prepared in the following manner. The grain, when coarsely ground, is boulted in the usual way, and the hard grains left in the separator consist of the embryo of the seed, or the finest part of the meal: this meal is ground between wooden cylinders, which work in a tin-plate box, pierced with rough holes, like a grater; this process rounds off the grains and polishes their surface. Wheat treated in the same mode is called semolina.

INDIAN CORN.

THIS plant is also known by the names of Maize and Turkey-corn; the latter name has been bestowed on it, because it is generally cultivated in the Levant; though if Maize might be called the corn of every country the latithis were a valid reason for bestowing an appellation, tude of which does not exceed 46°. Next to rice it supplies food to the greatest number of the human race. cultivated for food; when growing luxuriantly it has the Maize is the largest and handsomest of all the grasses character of a tropical plant, attaining a height of from five to six feet, while its broad leaves springing from its straight thick stem, its elegant spike of male flowers at the summit, and the two or three thick ears of female flowers, with their silken tufts rising from the end of the membraneous spathe enveloping the grain, present altogether a combination of form rarely surpassed.

Maize furnishes abundance of flour, but this does not possess sufficient gluten to allow of its making good bread; accordingly, when it is employed for this purpose, a large made to extend the cultivation of this plant in England, proportion of wheat-flour is added. Attempts have been but as yet without success; for though the mean temperature of our summer is sufficient to ripen it, a cold and wet succeeds perfectly, and deserves more general culture, for one renders the crop fruitless. As a garden-vegetable it the ears boiled, when green, are of a delicate flavour.

maize to all other corn; poultry of all kinds fatten on it, There is no domestic animal or bird that does not prefer and oxen, horses, and sheep all eat it with avidity. In

aloes, quassia, gentian, wormwood, horehound, capsicum, ginger, It has been ascertained that opium, henbane, Cocculus indicus, sulphate of iron, potash, lime, salt, cum multis aliis, have been used as ingredients in London porter.

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THERE are few pleasant associations connected with the name of this genus of Cerealia; it constitutes the food of the greatest part of the human race, but wherever it is so extensively used, the population are in the poorest and lowest state consistent with the civilization of any longestablished society. The friend of his species must rejoice in every circumstance that tends to raise the standard of the common food of the people. A peasantry accustomed to consider wheaten bread as a necessary of life, must be as certainly and as far removed from all apprehensions of absolute famine, as they are from the oppressed and degraded state of one that lives on rice. If any extraordinary natural occurrences were to d..ninish or injure the graincrop of Britain, so that the lower orders were reduced to employ oats, or barley, or rye, for their bread, they would regard it as so intolerable a grievance, that all their energies would be roused to remedy the evil. Not so the population of a country like China and the greatest part of India, which, for ages, has fed on rice, or which has been brought up to consider the scantiest and poorest diet all they are entitled to or can require; if that fail, their enfeebled bodies are incapable of any additional exertion, and they possess no moral incentive to the attempt; they have no inferior scale of food to fall back upon, so, regarding the calamity as inevitable, they abandon themselves to their fate, and die by thousands from absolute want.

But it must be understood, that it is only as the sole or principal grain for food, that we deplore its extensive culture; in combination with other grain, rice is both a nutritious and agreeable addition to our tables; and that it is considered so, is proved by the great increase in the quantities imported into Britain within the last ten years. Rice succeeds best in a low marshy soil; in most countries, indeed, it is raised on lands which are absolutely flooded for weeks together; hence its cultivation is the most unhealthy of all agricultural pursuits. The seed is sown in drills, sufficiently wide apart to admit of deep and frequent inter-tillage; the water is then let on for a week or ten days, which promotes the germination of the grain, and when this takes place the water is drawn off. The fields are left dry for a month or more, till the young plants are three or four inches high,

when the plantations are again flooded, and left in that state for two or three weeks; this soaking destroys the weeds which have sprung up with the rice. After this the plants are left dry till the ears are formed, being repeatedly hoed between and kept clear of weeds; the irrigation is again renewed, and the water left on the ground till the grain is ripe, which, in Carolina, it generally is in August. The rice is cut with a sickle like corn.

The outer skin, or the husk, adheres more closely to the seed of rice than it does to that of wheat; the former grain is not, therefore, threshed, but is passed between mill-stones, placed far enough apart just to separate the seed from the husk without bruising it. The grain is then pounded in large mortars to free it from the pellicle, which constitutes the true fruit, this operation corresponding to the boulting of wheat.

Latterly, rice has been imported from Bengal with the husk on, because it is found to keep better in that state than when cleaned; this is called paddee. Most of the supply to Britain comes from India or from Carolina.

Bread can be made from rice, but it soon becomes dry and harsh. In the years of scarcity of corn, rice has been mixed with wheat to make bread, but its principal consumption in England is for puddings, and in other dishes.

THE RAINBOW.

THE evening was glorious, and light through the trees
Play'd the sunshine and rain-drops, the birds and the breeze,
The landscape, outstretching in loveliness, lay

On the lap of the year, in the beauty of May.

For the Queen of the Spring, as she pass'd down the vale, Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale; And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, And flush in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers. The skies, like a banner in sunset unroll'd, O'er the west threw their splendour of azure and gold, But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increas'd, Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith, and east. We gazed on the scenes, while around us they glow'd, When a vision of beauty appear'd on the cloud;'Twas not like the Sun, as at mid-day we view, Nor the Moon, that rolls nightly through star-light and blue. Like a spirit, it came in the van of a storm! And the eye and the heart, hail'd its beautiful form. For it look'd not severe, like an Angel of Wrath, But its garment of brightness illumed its dark path. In the hues of its grandeur, sublimely it stood, O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood; And river, field, village, and woodlands grew bright, As conscious they gave and afforded delight. 'Twas the bow of Omnipotence; bent in His hand, Whose grasp at Creation the universe spann'd; 'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime; His vow from the flood to the exit of time! Not dreadful, as when in the whirlwind he pleads, When storms are lis chariot, and lightnings his steeds, The black clouds his banner of vengeance unfurl'd, And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world;In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire, And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire, And the sword, and the plague-spot, with death strew the plain, And vultures, and wolves, are the graves of the slain: Not such was the Rainbow, that beautiful one! Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone-the Sun; A pavilion it seem'd which the Deity graced, And Justice and Mercy met there, and embraced. Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom, Like Love o'er a death-couch, or Hope o'er the tomb; Then left the dark scene; whence it slowly retired, As Love had just vanished, or Hope had expired. To all who beheld it, these verses belong; I gazed not alone on that source of my song: Its presence to all was the path of the Lord! Each full heart expanded,-grew warm, and adored! Like a visit the converse of friends-or a day, That bow, from my sight, passed for ever away: Like that visit, that converse, that day-to my heart, That bow from remembrance can never depart. 'Tis a picture in memory distinctly defined, With the strong and unperishing colours of mind: A part of my being beyond my control, Beheld on that cloud, and transcribed on my soul.-CAMPBELL

THE HEAD-STONE.

THE Coffin was let down to the bottom of the grave, the planks were removed from the heaped-up brink, the first rattling clods had struck their knell, the quick shovelling was over, and the long, broad, skilfully-cut pieces of turf were aptly joined together, and trimly laid by the beatingspade, so that the newest mound in the church-yard was scarcely distinguishable from those that were grown over by the undisturbed grass and daisies of a luxuriant spring. The burial was soon over; and the party, with one consenting motion, having uncovered their heads, in decent reverence of the place and occasion, were beginning to separate, and about to leave the church-yard.

Here some acquaintances, from distant parts of the parish, who had not had opportunity of addressing each other in the house that had belonged to the deceased, nor in the course of the few hundred yards that the little procession had to move over from his bed to his grave, were shaking hands quietly but cheerfully, and inquiring after the welfare of each other's families. There, a small knot of neighbours were speaking, without exaggeration, of the respectable character which the deceased had borne, and mentioning to one another little incidents of his life, some of them so remote as to be known only to the gray-headed persons of the group. While a few yards further removed from the spot, were standing together parties who discussed ordinary concerns, such as the state of the markets, the promise of the season, or change of tenants; but still with a sobriety of manner and voice that was insensibly produced by the influence of the simple ceremony now closed, by the quiet graves around, and the shadow of the spire, and gray walls of the house of God.

Two men yet stood together at the head of the grave with countenances of sincere, but unimpassioned grief. They were brothers, the only sons of him who had been buried. And there was something in their situation that naturally kept the eyes of many directed upon them, for a long time, and more intently than would have been the case, had there been nothing more observable about them than the common symptoms of a common sorrow. But these two brothers, who were now standing at the head of their father's grave, had for some years been totally estranged from each other, and the only words that had passed between them during all that time, had been uttered within a few days past, during the necessary preparations for the old man's funeral.

No deep and deadly quarrel was between these brothers, and neither of them could distinctly tell the cause of this unnatural estrangement. Perhaps dim jealousies of their father's favour-selfish thoughts that will sometimes force themselves into poor men's hearts, respecting temporal expectations-unaccommodating manners on both sidestaunting words that mean little when uttered, but which rankle and fester in remembrance-imagined opposition of interests, that, duly considered, would have been found one and the same-these, and many other causes, slight when single, but strong when rising up together in one baneful band, had gradually but fatally infected their hearts, till at last they who in youth had been seldom separate, and truly attached, now met at market, and, miserable to say, at church, with dark and averted faces like different clansmen during a feud.

Surely if any thing could have softened their hearts towards each other, it must have been to stand silently, side by side, while the earth, stones, and clods, were falling down upon their father's coffin. And doubtless their hearts were so softened. But pride, though it cannot prevent the holy affections of nature from being felt, may prevent them from being shown; and these two brothers stood there together, determined not to let each other know the mutual tenderness that, in spite of them, was gushing up in their hearts, and teaching them the unconfessed folly and wickedness of their causeless quarrel.

A head-stone had been prepared, and a person came forward to plant it. The elder brother directed him how to place it a plain stone, with a sand-glass, skull, and crossbones, chiselled not rudely, and a few words inscribed. The younger brother regarded the operation with a troubled eye, and said, loud enough to be heard by several of the by-standers, "William, this was not kind in you: you should have told me of this. I loved my father as well as you could love him. You were the elder, and, it may be, the favourite son; but I had a right in nature to have joined you in ordering this head-stone, had I not?"

During these words the stone was sinking into the earth, and many persons who were on their way from the grave returned. For a while the elder brother said nothing, for he had a consciousness in his heart that he ought to have consulted his father's son in designing this last becoming mark of affection and respect to his memory; so the stone was planted in silence, and now stood erect, among the other unostentatious memorials of the humble dead. The inscription merely gave the name and age of the deceased, and told that the stone had been erected "by his affectionate sons." The sight of these words seemed to soften the displeasure of the angry man, and he said, somewhat more mildly, "Yes, we were his affectionate sons, and since my name is on the stone, I am satisfied, brother. We have not drawn together kindly of late years, and perhaps never may; but I acknowledge and respect your worth, and here, before our own friends, and before the friends of our father, with my foot above his head, I express my willingness to be on other and better terms with you, and if we cannot command love in our hearts, let us, at least, brother, bar out all unkindness."

The minister, who had attended the funeral, and had something intrusted to him to say publicly before he left the church-yard, now came forward and asked the elder brother, why he spake not regarding this matter. He saw there was something of a cold and sullen pride rising up in his heart, for not easily may any man hope to dismiss from the chamber of his heart even the vilest guest, if once cherished there. With a solemn and almost severe air, he looked upon the relenting man, and then, changing his countenance into serenity, said gently

Behold how good a thing it is, | Together such as brethren arc,
And how becoming well, In unity to dwell.

The time, the place, and this beautiful expression of a natural sentiment, quite overcame a heart, in which many kind, if not warm, affections dwelt; and the man thus appealed to bowed down his head and wept. "Give me your hand, brother;" and it was given, while a murmur of satisfaction arose from all present, and all hearts felt kindlier and more humanely towards each other.

As the brothers stood fervently, but composedly, grasping each other's hand, in the little hollow that lay between the grave of their mother, long since dead, and of their father, whose shroud was haply not yet still from the fall of dust to dust, the minister stood beside them with a pleasant countenance, and said, "I must fulfil the promise I made to your father on his death-bed. I must read to you a few words which his hand wrote at an hour when his tongue denied its office. I must not say that you did your duty to your old father; for did he not often beseech you, apart from one another, to be reconciled, for your own sakes as Christians, for his sake, and for the sake of the mother who bare you, and, Stephen, who died that you might be born? When the palsy struck him for the last time, you were both absent, nor was it your fault that you were not beside the old man when he died.

"As long as sense continued with him here, did he think of you two, and of you two alone. Tears were in his eyes; I saw them there, and on his cheek, too, when no breath came from his lips. But of this no more. He died with this paper in his hand; and he made me know that I was to read it to you over his grave. I now obey him. My sons, if you will let my bones lie quiet in the grave, near the dust of your mother, depart not from my burial till, in the name of God and Christ, you promise to love one another as you used to do. Dear boys, receive my blessing.'

Some turned their heads away to hide the tears that needed not to be hidden; and when the brothers had released each other from a long and sobbing embrace, many went up to them, and in a single word or two, expressed their joy at this perfect reconcilement. The brothers themselves walked away from the church-yard, arm in arm with the minister to the manse. On the following Sabbath, they were seen sitting with their families in the same pew, and it was observed, that they read together off the same Bible when the minister gave out the text, and that they sang together, taking hold of the psalm-book. The same psalm was sung, (given out at their own request,) of which one verse had been repeated at their father's grave; a larger sum than usual was on that Sabbath found in the plate for the poor, for Love and Charity are sisters. And ever after, both during the peace and the troubles of this life, the hearts of the brothers were as one, and in nothing were they divided.-WILSON,

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