Jew seemed suddenly to have formed a resolution; his eyes, in the darkness of the night, burned like coals of fire; he muttered incoherent words, and snatching from his gaberdine a long dagger, dashed forwards, exclaiming Unbeliever! contemner of the law of Moses! oppressor of our race!' The dagger grazed Shakspeare's breast, but the next moment he had snatched it from the infuriated Hebrew's hand. 'Old man, I woo thy daughter honourably.' 'Son of Belial! even thine honourable love would be infamy! But my dagger is gone-can I have no revenge?' With the quickness of thought he mounted to the balcony that projected over the stairing, and drew the ladder by which he had ascended after him. Shakspeare, although he divined not what the Hebrew's motive might be, waited the result of his action with extreme anxiety. Presently he heard a faint cry like a supplication for mercy; then a shriek broke on the stillness of the night. The father and daughter appeared at the topmost window which overlooked the Thames; Jessy's sleeping-room was there, and it was fully apparent now what the incensed and maddened Jew meditated doing. Shakspeare shouted to him to desist, and began in frantic haste to climb to the balcony. 'Curses on thee, and thy paramour!' exclaimed the Hebrew, dragging forward his struggling child; thou shalt not live to bring this disgrace on my name.' It was over. The unnatural and atrocious deed had been committed. The Jew's flashing eyes marked his child sink into the rushing waters far beneath; a fiendish exultation lit up his countenance, and he smoothed his beard-and laughed. Shakspeare was thrilled with horror at what he witnessed, he plunged into the stream to the rescue of her, the beautiful, the guiltless one. where she sank, but the tide was flowing so rapidly that He dived the current had carried her through the arch. She floated now at a distance-sank again-the agonised swimmer reached her at length, and succeeded in placing her in his boat. 'Jessy! my own Jessy!' cried Shakspeare, straining the beautiful girl to his heart, and printing kisses on her cold lips. Her dark eyes were closed, her fair arms drooped lifeless, and her long wet tresses enveloped her as with a veil. What to the lover now was vengeance on the destroyer?-he thought only of the destroyed. In desperation, he conveyed her to the house of a medical man on the Bankside; but every effort to effect resuscitation proved abortive. The light of life was quenched; the late warm heart would throb with passion no more; and the sweet flower, which had bloomed on the arid soil of a desert, was plucked by death, in the spring-time of its brightness and fragrance.—Friendship's Offering, 1843. JOHN JACOB ASTOR. 235 nies of nations.-Mistaken man, says the philosopher, the abstract condition of power is not greatness; it is the mere organism of a kind of greatness. Greatness consists not in the substance of power, but in the exercise of it. A monarch is doubtless great in comparison to the extent ther his greatness will consist of beneficence or tyranny. of his monarchy, but it depends upon his character wheMind alone is great, however, so that mental power only the innate power of perceiving the beautiful, and of exis true greatness.-I am at one with you, says the poet; pressing the impression in the most beautiful manner, constitutes the acmé of mental greatness.-Pardon me, replies the philosopher, if I consider it of more importance to behold the true. The beautiful is merely an appearance, depending for corroboration upon, perhaps, a defective organ of sense-that is, the visual; the true, on the other hand, is what is: it is essence, which can be demonstrated only, and only perceived by the rational analytical processes of philosophy; therefore philosophical greatness is the superior.-Ah, ha! you may quarrel and argue about beautiful and true as you please, says the millionaire (looking on his money-bags with a smile, and rattling his gold in his pocket with sardonic carelessness), than either of you, with your poetry, philosophy, and but the world has a better appreciation of true greatness nonsense. Kings and governments, poets and philosowith so deferential an air that it is easy to be seen that phers, come to me to borrow of my gold, and they ask it they think me king of a prouder heritage than theirs: the whole cycle of humanity, finding every coterie or wealth alone is greatness.-And thus we may go through circle with its own peculiar notions of greatness. America has just seen two of her greatest citizens deferent in kind. John Quincy Adams was distinguished part within a month; and they, indeed, were widely diffor his talents, his love of justice, his consistency, and his fearless assertion of truth; John Jacob Astor for enterprise and wealth. The one expended his life in struggles energies were directed to the aggrandisement of himself for the elevation of his race; the other's whole mind and and family. Adams was one of her greatest statesmen; Astor was, without exception, her greatest merchant and money-maker. name. village of Waldrop, near Heidelberg, in the duchy of In July, 1763, the worthy and profound bailiff of the Baden, had a son born unto him. He had had several sons, but this particular one was designated John Jacob, two names with wonderfully opposite significations. John is one of your soft, gentle names, full of urbanity, with a touch of dignity; it means gracious, and would suit a condescending monarch well. Jacob, on the other hand, is just the name for a money-maker; it is quite a pecuniary The wealth of Laban of old consisted of flocks, and Jacob manifested as much adroitness in the accumulaGREATNESS, like everything else, has its kinds. The word a supplanter; that is, one who trips up somebody's heels tion of these as in the supplanting of Esau. Jacob means does not symbolise identities, but incongruities; and we and takes his place. John Jacob Astor began life with could easily marshal under its banner a host of elements auguries of success. claiming its name singularly, and which, at the same cautious, and wise father, who did not spare him of good time, if placed side by side, would exhibit anything but advice, and equally good example. The Germans, like He was a German; had a worthy, principles of amalgamation. The time may come when the Scotch, are brought up with a predisposition for emiman will attain a tongue capable of expressly developing gration; one of the German tendencies is to leave home. his thoughts, but that time has not yet come, for words Preparatory to departing from the place of his nativity, that seem at first sight perfectly simple require to be John Jacob Astor had been instructed in what was right qualified in the nicest degree before men can comprehend and wrong in a worldly sense; so that, when he packed the peculiar dogmas of which they are the organs. Great-up his scanty wardrobe and took leave of Waldrop, he deness, says the warrior, consists in the number of victories which a man has gained upon the field of battle-in a fearlessness of death, in a promptitude to resent injuries, and in the successful issue of his quarrels.-Alas! says the Christian philanthropist, the warrior's greatness is a reproach; greatness consists alone in virtue and selfsacrifice. He who has best obeyed the precepts of love, and most meekly and abundantly illustrated its spirit, that man is at once the lowliest and greatest of mankind. -Greatness consists in power, says the monarch; in swaying a sceptre over vast regions, and ruling the desti termined that honesty, industry, and total abstinence that he remained in England. This residence was of advantage to him, however, for he acquired the English tongue, which was indispensable to him in his new sphere of action. The revolutionary war had just ceased; eight years of fiery ordeal had been passed through, the Americans had attained independence, and the hopeful and aspiring youth of Europe were hastening to the now open ports of the New World. With various articles of manufacture as his whole wealth, among the most valuable of which were seven flutes, presented to him by his brother, John Jacob Astor embarked, in November, 1784, as a steerage passenger on board of an emigrant ship bound for the United States. The voyage was long and tedious, the ship being retarded by ice for nearly three months in the Chesapeake. During this protracted detention in the river, the passengers went on shore occasionally, and Astor had time to form and perfect a friendship with a young countryman of his own, a furrier to trade, who induced him to turn his attention to his art, and generously offered to assist him in the acquirement thereof, and to go to New York with him. When he arrived at New York, the young German sold his flutes and other property, and immediately invested the small capital arising therefrom in furs. These he carried to London and sold; and then returning to New York, high in hope, he apprenticed himself to the fur-trade, in Gold Street, where he commenced beating skins. He had not been long here until he sufficiently understood the trade to embark in it as a capitalist; and he had at the same time manifested so much diligence and industry as to obtain the notice of Robert Bowne, a good old Quaker, who carried on an extensive business in New York as a furrier. Employed by Bowne as clerk, Astor recommended himself so highly by his industry and probity as to command the respect of the old Quaker, and his entire confidence. In this situation he made himself thoroughly acquainted with the nature of the fur-trade, coming in contact with the agents, and obtaining a complete knowledge of the methods and profits of the traffic. When the revolutionary war closed, Oswega, Detroit, Niagara, and other posts, were in the hands of the British; and as these were the entrepots of the western and northern countries, the fur-trade had languished after their capture and during their detention. The traders had been either driven away or drafted into the armies; the trappers had ranged themselves on either side of the political contention; and the Indians obtained more fire-water and calico for the use of their mercenary rifles and tomahawks from Great Britain, in this her domestic quarrel with the colonists, than if they had employed them on beavers and squirrels. After much negociation and surveying, and the advancement and consideration of claims, these posts were conceded to the United States, and Canada was open to the fur-trade. Astor had received from his brother Harry, a rich butcher in Bowery, an advancement of a few thousand dollars; these he had already embarked in the fur-trade in 1794, and shortly afterwards the British retired from the west side of the St Clair, opening up to the enterprising sons of America the great fur-trade of the west. The cautious, acute German saw that the posts now free would soon be thronged by Indians eager to dispose of the accumulated produce of several years' hunting, and that the time was now come when he was certain to amass a large fortune by the traffic. He immediately established agencies, over which he exercised a sort of personal superintendence, visiting the stations sometimes, but chiefly devoting himself to the New York business. The result verified the sagacious predictions of the adventurous trader, for in six years he is said to have accumulated the enormous sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. This sum was not stored up, but invested in stock which was likely to yield large returns. The British fur companies had, however, built their block-forts at almost every eligible site on the rivers of the northern and south-western parts of the American continent, and were soon likely to monopolise the whole of the fur-trade, unless some bold measures were adopted to rescue it from them. This Astor attempted in 1803, by establishing the American Fur Company. The hardy adventurers who entered into this project boldly pushed their outposts far into the hitherto unknown prairie, and raised their forts upon the banks of yet unexplored rivers. Tribes unused to see the white man, and who only knew him through vague tradition, or in a passing tale from some visiter of another tribe, now saw and knew him, and brought their abundance of beaver, otter, and buffalo skins, and laid them at his feet for muskets, powder, and fire-water. If there is a genius in money-making, Astor surely possessed it. He had that unsatiable thirst peculiar to genius-that desire that expands and rises with success. The American Fur Company was no sooner established and in operation than he cast his sagacious, cunning little eyes towards the region stretching from the Rocky Mountains to the ocean. He proposed to the United States' government the establishment of a line of forts along the shores of the Pacific Ocean and on the Columbia river, in order to take from the hands of the British all facilities for establishing a trade west of the Rocky Mountains. The project was agreed to, and in 1810 sixty men, under the command of a hardy and adventurous leader (W. P. Hunt), established the first post. This settlement, which took its designation of Astoria from the projector of the scheme, gave its name subsequently to a large tract of country, which was involved in the dispute between the British and United States' governments in 1842, under the name of the Oregon question. Astoria was intended as the trading emporium of the Northern Pacific. A fort was built, houses raised as the dwellings of the voyageurs and trappers, offices for clerks, stores for furs and other merchandise, and dressing-shops for the furriers, together with other tradesmen essentially necessary in the settlement. Commodities from New York were to be sent to this station, and the vessel conveying these was also to supply the Russian trading settlements further north. This ship was to be loaded with furs and dispatched across the Pacific to Canton, then one of the best markets for furs, returning to New York with teas, silks, and nankeens. The first vessel sent from Astoria was wrecked, the second made a successful voyage, but the third also was lost. These mishaps, however, did not discourage Astor nor those engaged with him in the project, and the adventure would have probably succeeded, had not a partner of Astor's (one M'Dougal, a Scotchman) treacherously! sold Astoria to the agents of the British North-west Fur Company. During the war of 1812-14 this station had been exposed to all the disadvantages incidental to that state of mercantile disorganisation produced by war, but it weathered the storm, and at the restoration of peace was on the fair way of prosperity, when it was lost to Astor through the unwarrantable conduct of his partner." From the period of the establishment of the American Fur Company, this enterprising man had not only covered an immense tract of inland country and coast with the depots of his wealth, but he had also multiplied the number of his ships until they exceeded the marine of some of the smaller European states. He had ships freighted with furs trading to the ports of France, England, Germany, and Russia, and carrying peltries to Canton, whence they came laden with teas, silks, spices, and the other products of the east. On every sea, laden with the richest cargoes, and consigned to every port of note, were the vessels of this German lad, who, in 1804, with only a few flutes and several other articles in his chest, * Washington Irving visited the region of Astoria, in company with many adventurers, and he has given several graphic and interesting sketches of the scenery, Indians, and trappers of that territory of the Far-West, under the name of Astoria, or a Journey to the Rocky Mountains. This amiable and gifted author thought very highly of the hopeful courage, kindly disposition, and great energy and sagacity of the late Mr Astor, upon whose estate he is left an executor. N landed from the steerage of an English emigrant ship upon the quay of New York. With the sagacity of a Franklin, Astor purchased a good deal of the land lying round New York. Perceiving the rapid growth of the city, be knew that this land, prospectively, was of immense value, and for a long time he invested two-thirds of his yearly income in the purchase of an estate, which he took care never to mortgage. Through the natural growth of the city, the returns from his real estate yearly increased till it reached an enormous amount. Speculating upon the settlement of Iowa, Missouri, Wisconsin, and other parts of the west, he purchased immense tracts at the government price, which, of course, the settlers will be constrained to take at an advance. The labour of generations yet unborn, the inhabitants of nations yet unknown, is mortgaged in this way to the descendants of John Jacob Astor. From indigence equal to that of the poor itinerant lads who perambulate our streets with organs, this man rose to be second only to the Rotheschildes in wealth, in a shortness of time almost incredible. During a great part of his earlier life he resided in a large and magnificent dwelling at the lower part of Broadway, where he lived in a style of princely grandeur. The richest furniture filled his sumptuous apartments; plate of the most beautiful, elaborate, and costly character covered his sideboards and tables; splendid works of art, consisting of paintings and sculpture, adorned his walls, lobbies, and staircases-so that he may not be termed miserly. The greater part of Astor's property is in real estate and mortgage in New York, and is calculated at the enormous value of fifty millions of dollars, or about ten millions of pounds sterling, the income arising from which is computed at about four hundred thousand pounds annually. It must be mentioned to the honour of this plethoric old Croesus, however, that he has lent his aid to many works of public utility and philanthropy. The princely and magnificent Astor-House, perhaps the largest and most excellently managed hotel in Europe or America, was founded by him. Remembering his own condition at landing, and knowing the disadvantages to which foreign emigrants are exposed from the keepers of private hotels, he reared this stupendous establishment. The old man, only a comparatively short time ago, gave 350,000 dollars for the foundation of a library in New York, the interest of which large sum is to be expended in the erection of a building and the employment of agents for the purchase of books. The following amusing anecdote is told of him, in the double character of a patron of literature and parsimonious money-holder, which appears to be exceedingly characteristic: Among the subscribers to Audubon's magnificent work on ornithology, the subscription price of which was 1000 dollars a copy, appeared the name of John Jacob Astor. During the Or all the marvels that astonished my childhood, there progress of the work, the prosecution of which was ex- is none I remember to this day with so much interest as When I knew ceedingly expensive, M. Audubon, of course, called upon the character of old Father Morris. several of his subscribers for payments. It so happened him he was an aged clergyman, settled over an obscure that Mr Astor (probably that he might not be troubled village in New-England. He had enjoyed the advanabout small matters) was not applied to before the de- tages of a liberal education, had a strong original power livery of all the letterpress and plates. Then, however, of thought, an omnipotent imagination, and much general Audubon asked for his thousand dollars; but he was put information; but so early and so deeply had the habits off with one excuse or another. Ah, M. Audubon,' and associations of the plough, the farm, and country life would the owner of millions observe, you come at a bad wrought themselves into his mind, that his after acquiretime; money is very scarce; I have nothing in bank; Iments could only mingle with them, forming an unexhave invested all my funds.' At length, for the sixth time, Audubon called upon Astor for his thousand dollars. As he was ushered into the presence, he found William B. Astor, the son, conversing with his father. No sooner did the rich man see the man of art, than he began, Ah, M. Audubon, so you have come again after your money. Hard times, M. Audubon-money scarce.' But just then catching an inquiring look from his son, he changed his tone: However, M. Audubon, I suppose we must contrive to let you have some of your money, if possible. William,' he added, calling to his son, who had walked into an adjoining parlour, have we any money at all in the bank? Yes, father,' replied the son, supposing that he was asked an earnest question, pertinent to what 'they had been talking about when the ornithologist came in, we have two hundred and twenty thousand dollars in the Bank of New York, seventy thousand in the City Bank, ninety thousand in the Merchants', ninety-eight thousand four hundred in the Mechanics', eighty-three thousand —.—That'll do, that'll do,' exclaimed John Jacob, interrupting him; it seems that William can give you a check for your money.' Mr Astor married shortly after his settlement in America, and had four children, two sons and two daughters. He did not obtain the same unbroken felicity in his domestic as in the worldly tenor of his way. One of his sons had been imbecile from his birth. The wealth of the old merchant rendered his daughters very eligible matches for European counts; and one of them accordingly became the wife of the Baron Rumpff; she died at Paris, whither she had gone with her aristocratic husband to reside. Her sister, with less of ambition for the glory of a noble alliance, married Mr Birsted, au Englishman, author of a work entitled the 'Resources of America,' and now a clergyman at Bristol, Indiana. On Wednesday morning, 29th of March, 1848, John Jacob Astor died at his residence, No. 585 Broadway, aged eighty-five years. The singular life and growth in wealth of John Jacob Astor offers many interesting reflections. There is assuredly scarcely another individual on the earth who has contrived to accumulate so much of the world's capital. The Rotheschildes and Barings have, it is true, acquired magnificent fortunes through usury, but the process has been infinitely more tedious than that of Astor. The first Rotheschilde started business nearly a century ago, and the house of Baring is of old standing. Their money was acquired through the exigencies of exchequers. Astor's was gained in what is called fair trade-by what may be termed a gigantic system of concentration, through which the wealth of savage tribes was made to flow by semicivilised agents into the coffers of the prime mover of the system, and by taking advantage of that gradual enhancement of the value of real estate incidental to increasing communities. It seems strange that a man should purchase land for ever for one dollar and a quarter per acre, and that when a numerous population and a high state of labour have rendered its produce so valuable that the original purchaser should insensibly grow enormously wealthy. But it is to these causes, the condition of America as an immigrant country, and the comparatively open state of the fur-trade, more than to his personal exertions, that Astor acquired his vast wealth. OLD FATHER MORRIS. A SKETCH FROM NATURE, BY MRS HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, ampled amalgam, like unto nothing but itself. He was an ingrain New-Englander, and whatever might have been the source of his information, it came out in Yankee form, with the strong provinciality of Yankee dialect. It is in vain to attempt to give a full picture of such a genuine unique; but some slight and imperfect dashes may help the imagination to a faint idea of what none can fully conceive but those who have seen and heard old Father Morris. Suppose yourself one of half-a-dozen children, and you hear the cry, Father Morris is coming! You run to the window or door, and you see a tall, bulky old man, with a pair of saddle-bags on one arm, hitching his old horse Lord Jesus and his disciples used to go and sit in the evenings, with Martha, and Mary, and Lazarus. Then the narrator went on to tell how Lazarus died, describing, with tears and a choking voice, the distress they were in, and how they sent a message to the Lord Jesus, and he did not come, and how they wondered and wondered; and thus on he went, winding up the interest by the graphic minutiae of an eyewitness, till he woke you from the dream by his triumphant joy at the resurrection scene. with a fumbling carefulness, and then deliberately stump-you could just see it from Jerusalem.' And there the ing towards the house. You notice his tranquil, florid, full-moon face, enlightened by a pair of great, round blue eyes, that roll with dreamy inattentiveness on all the objects around, and as he takes off his hat, you see the white curling wig that sets off his round head. He comes towards you, and as you stand staring with all the children around, he deliberately puts his great hand on your head, and with deep, rumbling voice, inquires, 'How d'ye do, my darter? Is your daddy at home? My darter' usually makes off as fast as possible in an unconquerable giggle. Father Morris goes into the house, and we watch him at every turn, as, with the most liberal simplicity, he makes himself at home, takes off his wig, wipes down his great face with a checked pocket-handkerchief, helps himself hither and thither to whatever he wants, and asks for such things as he cannot lay his hands on, with all the comfortable easiness of childhood. I remember to this day how we used to peep through the crack of the door, or hold it half ajar and peer in, to watch his motions; and how mightily diverted we were with his deep, slow manner of speaking, his heavy, cumbrous walk, but, above all, with the wonderful faculty of hemming which he possessed. His deep, thundering, protracted a-hem-em was like nothing else that ever I heard; and when once, as he was in the midst of one of these performances, the parlour door suddenly happened to swing open, I heard one of my roguish brothers calling, in a suppressed tone, Charles! Charles! Father Morris has hemmed the door open!' and then followed the signs of a long and desperate titter, in which I sincerely sympathised. On another occasion, as he was sitting at a tea-table unusually supplied with cakes and sweetmeats, he found an opportunity to make a practical allusion to the same family story. He spoke of Mary as quiet and humble, sitting at her Saviour's feet to hear his words; but Martha thought more of what was to be got for tea. Martha could not find time to listen to Christ: no; she was 'cumbered with much serving'-' around the house, frying fritters and making gingerbread.' Among his own simple people, his style of Scripture painting was listened to with breathless interest. But it was particularly in those rustic circles, called in NewEngland 'conference-meetings,' that his whole warm soul unfolded, and the Bible in his hands became a gallery of New-England paintings. He particularly loved the Evangelists, following the footsteps of Jesus Christ, dwelling upon his words, repeating over and over again the stories of what he did, with all the fond veneration of an old and favoured servant. Sometimes, too, he would give the narration an exceedingly practical turn, as one example will illustrate. He had noticed a falling off in his little circle that met for social prayer, and took occasion, the first time he collected a tolerable audience, to tell concerning the conference-meeting that the disciples attended' after the re Thomas not with 'But Thomas was not with them.' them! said the old man, in a sorrowful voice. 'Why! what would keep Thomas away? Perhaps,' said he, glancing at some of his backward auditors, Thomas had got cold-hearted, and was afraid they would ask him to make the first prayer; or perhaps,' said he, looking at some of the farmers, Thomas was afraid the roads were bad; or perhaps,' he added, after a pause, Thomas had got proud, and thought he could not come in his old clothes.' Thus he went on, significantly summing up the common excuses of his peopie; and then, with great simplicity and emotion, he added, But only think what Thomas lost! for in the middle of the meeting, the Lord Jesus came and stood among them! How sorry Thomas must have been!' This representation served to fill the vacant seats for some time to come. But the morrow is Sunday. The old man rises in the pulpit. He is not now in his own humble little parish, preaching simply to the hoers of corn and planters of potatoes, but there sits Governor D., and there is Judge R., and Counsellor P., and Judge G. In short, he is before a re-surrection. fined and literary audience. But Father Morris rises; he thinks nothing of this-he cares nothing-he knows nothing, as he himself would say, but Jesus Christ, and him crucified.' He takes a passage of Scripture to explain perhaps it is the walk to Emmaus, and the conversation of Jesus with his disciples. Immediately the whole starts out before you, living and picturesque: the road to Emmaus is a New-England turnpike; you can see its mile-stones-its mullen stalks-its toll gates. Next the disciples rise, and you have before you all their anguish, and hesitation, and dismay, talked out to you in the language of your own fireside. You smile-you are amused -yet you are touched, and the illusion grows every moment. You see the approaching stranger, and the mysterious conversation grows more and more interesting. Emmaus rises in the distance, in the likeness of a NewEngland village, with a white meeting-house and spire. You follow the travellers-you enter the house with them; nor do you wake from your trance until, with streaming eyes, the preacher tells you that they saw it was the Lord Jesus! and what a pity it was they could not have known it before!' It was after a sermon on this very chapter of Scripture history that Governor Griswold, in passing out of the house, laid hold on the sleeve of his first acquaintance: 'Pray tell me,' said he, who is this minister?' Why, it is old Father Morris.' 'Well, he is an oddity-and a genius too! I declare!' he continued, 'I have been wondering all the morning how I could have read the Bible to so little purpose as not to see all these particulars he has presented.' I once heard him narrate in this picturesque way the story of Lazarus. The great bustling city of Jerusalem first rises to view, and you are told, with great simplicity, how the Lord Jesus used to get tired of the noise;' and how he was tired of preaching again and again to people who would not mind a word he said;' and how, when it came evening, he used to go out and see his friends in Bethany.' Then he told about the house of Martha and Mary: a little white house among the trees,' he said; At another time Father Morris gave the details of the anointing of David to be king. He told them how Samuel went to Bethlehem, to Jesse's house, and went in with a 'How d'ye do, Jesse ?' and how, when Jesse asked him to take a chair, he said he could not stay a minute; that the Lord had sent him to anoint one of his sons for a king; and how, when Jesse called in the tallest and handsomeest, Samuel said he would not do ;' and how all the rest passed the same test; and at last, how Samuel says, Why, have not you any more sons, Jesse ?' and Jesse says, 'Why, yes, there is little David down in the lot;' and how, as soon as ever Samuel saw David, 'he slashed the oil right on to him;' and how Jesse said he never was so beat in all his life!' Father Morris sometimes used his illustrative talent to very good purpose in the way of rebuke. He had on his farm a fine orchard of peaches, from which some of the ten and twelve-year-old gentlemen helped themselves more liberally than even the old man's kindness thought expedient. Accordingly, he took occasion to introduce into his sermon one Sunday, in his little parish, an account of a journey he took; and how he was very warm and very dry; and how he saw a fine orchard of peaches that made his mouth water to look at them. 'So' says he, 'I came up to the fence and looked all around, for I would not have touched one of them without leave for all the world. At last I spied a man, and says I, 'Mister, won't you give me some of your peaches?' So the man came and gave me nigh about a hat full. And while I stood there eating, I said, 'Mister, how do you manage to keep your peaches?'Keep them!' said he, and he stared at me; 'what do you mean?' "Yes, sir,' said I; don't the boys steal them?' 'Boys steal them!' said he; 'no, indeed! Why, sir,' said I, 'I have a whole lot full of peaches, and I cannot get half of them'-here the old man's voice grew tremulous'because the boys in my parish steal them so.' 'Why, sir,' said he, don't their parents teach them not to steal ?' And I grew all over in a cold sweat, and I told him 'I was afeared they didn't.' 'Why, how you talk!' says the man; do tell me where you live?' Then,' said Father Morris, the tears running over, 'I was obliged to tell him I lived in the town of G. After this Father Morris kept his peaches. Our old friend was not less original in the logical than in the illustrative portions of his discourses. His logic was of that familiar, colloquial kind, which shakes hands with common sense like an old friend. Sometimes, too, his great mind and great heart would be poured out on the vast themes of religion, in language which, though homely, produced all the effects of the sublime. He once preached a discourse on the text, 'the High and Holy One that inhabiteth eternity;' and from the beginning to the end it was a train of lofty and solemn thought. With his usual simple earnestness, and his great, rolling voice, he told about the Great God-the Great Jehovah-and how the people in this world were flustering and worrying, and afraid they should not get time to do this, and that, and t'other.' But,' he added, with full-hearted satisfaction, 'the Lord is never in a hurry; he has it all to do, but he has time enough, for he inhabiteth eternity. And the grand idea of infinite leisure and almighty resources was carried through the sermon with equal strength and simplicity. Although the old man never seemed to be sensible of anything tending to the ludicrous in his own mode of expressing himself, yet he had considerable relish for humour, and some shrewdness of repartee. One time, as he was walking through a neighbouring parish, famous for its profanity, he was stopped by a whole flock of the youthful reprobates of the place: Father Morris! Father Morris! the devil's dead!' 'Is he ?' said the old man, benignly laying his hand on the head of the nearest urchin, 'you poor fatherless children!' But the sayings and doings of this good old man, as reported in the legends of the neighbourhood, are more than can be gathered or reported. He lived far beyond the common age of man, and coutinued, when age had impaired his powers, to tell over and over again the same Bible stories that he had told so often before. I recollect hearing of the joy that almost broke the old man's heart, when, after many years' diligent watching and nurture of the good seed in his parish, it began to spring into vegetation, sudden and beautiful as that which answers the patient watching of the husbandman. Many a hard, worldly-hearted man-many a sleepy, inattentive hearer-many a listless, idle young person, began to give ear to words that had long fallen unheeded. A neighbouring minister, who had been sent for to see and rejoice in these results, describes the scene, when on entering the little church, he found an anxious, crowded auditory assembled around their venerable teacher, waiting for direction and instruction. The old man was sitting in his pulpit, almost choking with fulness of emotion as he gazed around. Father,' said the youthful minister, 'I suppose you are ready to say with old Simeon, 'Now, Lord, lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for my eyes have seen thy salvation.'' 'Sartin, sartin,' said the old man, while the tears streamed down his checks, and his whole frame shook with emotion. It was not many years after that this simple and loving servant of Christ was gathered in peace unto him whom he loved. His name is fast passing from remembrance, and in a few years, his memory, like his humble grave, will be entirely grown over and forgotten among men, though it will be had in everlasting remembrance by Him who forgetteth not his servants,' and in whose sight the death of his saints is precious. CLERKS, SHOPMEN, AND APPRENTICES. CLERKS and shopmen, as a class, form a very considerable proportion of the metropolitan population; their number exceeding that of mechanics and artisans, which is estimated at 140,000. One-fifth of this class may be ranked among respectable tradesmen, such men as have the management of large trading establishments, confidential clerks, as well as those in public offices, as bankers' and attorneys' managing clerks. These may, from their education or talent, joined to their responsibility and the nature of their stations, be placed, in point of respectability and consideration in society, among tradesmen in the middle class of life, and above those who are included under the general head of clerks and shopmen, in the common acceptation of the term. That vast body of young men and women who find employment in linen and woollen drapers' shops, haberdashers', milliners', and other retail shops, at salaries varying from £15 to £100 per annum, including board and lodging, come within the class of which we are about to treat. The other portion (oue-fifth) who are in places of trust, are probably the most moral of all the other classes-not excepting even those who follow morality as a trade; their whole life is spent under the immediate eye of control, where nothing but the strictest sobriety and regularity of conduct can insure a retention of their places, even after years of faithful servitude. Distressing cases of loss of employment for slight aberrations daily occur; so necessary it is thought to make an example for every slip in this body from the line marked out for them to walk in; or so unforgiving is man, that revenge for one offence predominates over gratitude for the services of half a century, although that offence may, in the eyes of the world, be vain. Among our merchants and tradesmen, something less than half a century ago, the expected reward for steady and faithful conduct was a share in that business which a man's industry had mainly contributed to make. This stimulus reared up a class of English traders, which, for probity, honour, and punctuality, at one time, had not its equal-and were justly famed as such-throughout the world. This incentive to industry, like that to many other virtues, is abolished; all wages for service being now paid down in a ready money price. No man serves upon trust, hence it is a few that are trusted. The tradesmen of the present day, as soon as they are in possession of a shop, and become masters, or principals, as the modern terin is, think that they should degrade themselves were they to sit down to eat at the same table with those who assist them in carrying on their business, as was the custom, very generally, not many years since. It is the prevailing error of the age, that all the classes of the community are striving invidiously to draw broad lines of demarcation between each other, and to detach themselves entirely from the link which connects them with those upon whom they persuade themselves they may look down as beneath them. This propensity has shaken the compact, and dislocated the articulations in society. The ball and socket principle, upon which the whole formerly so facilely moved, is destroyed; the edges grate, and disturb the entire nervous system. Society is suffering more from this cause than is generally thought of; there is a tendency in it to fly off and form as many grades, sects, and parties, as men may possess property, from one farthing up to a million per annum. Cheating and trickery, in common parlance modified by the word shrewdness, are now the only marketable talent: |