filthy. Mrs. Pharisee was on her way to even-funeral song: "But for him I had never known ing prayers; and the woman had just stolen beans, for her children, she said, looking halfimploringly at Mrs. Pharisee.

"And you see where your theft has brought you and them," said Mrs. Pharisee, answering her look. "Why will people be bad, when, in these days of light and of the dispensation of the Gospel, it is just as easy to be good?"

The Fool Catcher choked.

"Fall in line!" he gasped, when he had recovered breath. "If all the virtues and proprieties have been able to make nothing better of you than this, I wonder what you would have developed had you been born, like this woman, not to days of light, but to days of darkness; not to the dispensation of the Gospel, but to the dispensation of the devil! Fall in line, Mrs. Pharisee."

what the communion of man with man means. His was the freest, brotherliest, bravest human soul mine ever came in contact with. I call him on the whole the best man I have ever, after trial enough, found in this world, or now hope to find." In a very few minutes after the doors were opened the large hall was filled in every part, and when up the central passage the Principal, the Lord Rector, the Members of the Senate, and other gentlemen advanced toward the platform, the cheering was vociferous and hearty. The Principal occupied the chair of course, the Lord Rector on his right, the Lord Provost on his left. When the platform gentlemen had taken their seats every eye was fixed on the Rector. To all appearance, as he sat, time and labor had | dealt tenderly with him. His face had not yet lost the country bronze which he brought up with him from Dumfries-shire as a student fifty

And so we marched on-Mrs. Pharisee, Mrs. Gnat, Miss Blew, Mrs. Worreit, Mr. Mene, Cru-six years ago. His long residence in London et, the Similar Cases, Dash, the Editor, Mrs. Scragge, Tornado, the Hon. Mr. Boreas, Nullus, Mrs. Merrywell, Miss Sharpe, young Tandem, Mrs. La Place, the Fool Catcher, and I.

had not touched his Annandale look, nor had it -as we soon learned-touched his Annandale accent. His countenance was striking, homely, sincere, truthful-the countenance of a man on whom

the burden of the unintelligible world" had weighed more heavily than on most. His hair was yet almost dark; his mustache and short beard were iron gray. His eyes were wide, melancholy, sorrowful; and seemed as if they had been at times aweary of the sun. Altogether in his aspect there was something aboriginal, as of a piece of unhewn granite, which had never been polished to any approved pattern, whose natural and original vitality had never been tampered with. In a word, there seemed no passivity about Mr. Carlyle—he was the diamond, and the world was his pane of glass; he was a graving tool rather than a thing graven upon -a man to set his mark on the world-a man on whom the world could not set its mark. And just as, glancing toward Fife a few minutes before, one could not help thinking of his early connection with Edward Irving, so seeing him sit beside the venerable Principal of the University, one could not help thinking of his earliest connection with literature.

On the day of the address the doors of the Music Hall were besieged long before the hour of opening had arrived; and loitering about there on the outskirts of the crowd, one could not help glancing curiously down Pitt Street, toward the "lang toun of Kirkcaldy," dimly seen beyond the Forth-for on the sands there, in the early years of the century, Edward Irving was accustomed to pace up and down solitarily, and "as if the sands were his own," people say, who remembered, when they were boys, Time brings men into the most unexpected seeing the tall, ardent, black-haired, swift-ges- relationships. When the Principal was plain tured, squinting man, often enough. And to Mr. Brewster, editor of the Edinburgh CyclopaKirkcaldy too, as successor to Edward Irving in dia, little dreaming that he should ever be Knight the Grammar School, came young Carlyle from of Hanover and head of the Northern MetropoliEdinburgh College, wildly in love with German tan University, Mr. Carlyle-just as little dreamand mathematics-and the school-room in which ing that he should be the foremost man of letthese men taught, although incorporated in Pro- ters of his day and Lord Rector of the same vost Swan's manufactory, is yet kept sacred and University-was his contributor, writing for said intact, and but little changed these fifty years- Cyclopædia biographies of Voltaire and other an act of hero-worship for which the present and notables. And so it came about that, after years other generations may be thankful. It seemed of separation and of honorable labor, the old to me that so glancing Fife-ward, and thinking editor and contributor were brought together of that noble friendship-of the David and Jona-again-in new aspects. The proceedings bethan of so many years gone-was the best prepa- gan by the conferring of the degree of LL.D. ration for the man I was to see and the speech on Mr. Erskine of Linlathen-an old friend of I was to hear. David and Jonathan! Jona- Mr. Carlyle's-on Professors Huxley, Tyndall, than stumbled and fell on the dark hills not and Ramsay, and on Dr. Rae, the Arctic exof Gilboa, but of Vanity; and David sang his plorer.

That done, amidst a tempest of cheering and any case, there is no other intellectual warehouse hats enthusiastically waved, Mr. Carlyle, slip-in which that kind of article is kept in stock. ping off his Rectorial robe-which must have Criticism and comment, both provincial and been a very shirt of Nessus to him-advanced metropolitan, have been busy with the speech, to the table and began to speak in low, wavering, making the best and the worst of it; but it will melancholy tones, which were in accordance long be memorable to those who were present with the melancholy eyes, and in the Annandale and listened. Beyond all other living men Mr. accent, with which his play-fellows must have Carlyle has colored the thought of his time. been familiar long ago. So self-contained was He is above all things original. Search where he, so impregnable to outward influences, that you will, you will not find his duplicate. Just all his years of Edinburgh and London life could as Wordsworth brought a new eye to nature, not impair, even in the slightest degree, that. Mr. Carlyle has brought a new eye into the The opening sentences were lost in the applause, realms of Biography and History. Helvellyn and when it subsided the low, plaintive, quaver- and Skiddaw, Grassmere and Fairfield, are seen ing voice was heard going on, "Your enthusi- now by the tourist even, through the glamour of asm toward me is very beautiful in itself, how- the poet; and Robespierre and Mirabeau, Cromever undeserved it may be in regard to the ob- well and Frederic, Luther and Knox, stand at ject of it. It is a feeling honorable to all men, present, and may for a long time stand, in the and one well known to myself when in a posi- somewhat lurid torch-light of Mr. Carlyle's gention analogous to your own." And then came ius. Whatever the French Revolution may the Carlylean utterance, with its far-reaching have been, the French Revolution, as Mr. Carreminiscence and sigh over old graves-Father's lyle conceives it, will be the French Revolution and Mother's, Edward Irving's, John Sterling's, of posterity. If he has been mistaken, it is not Charles Buller's, and all the noble known in easy to see from what quarter rectification is to past time—and with its flash of melancholy scorn. come. It will be difficult to take the "sea"There are now fifty-six years gone, last No- green" out of the countenance of the Incorruptivember, since I first entered your city, a boy of ble, to silence Danton's pealing voice or clip his not quite fourteen-fifty-six years ago-to at- shaggy mane, to dethrone King Mirabeau. If tend classes here and gain knowledge of all with regard to these men Mr. Carlyle has writkinds, I knew not what-with feelings of won- ten wrongfully, there is to be found no redress. der and awe-struck expectation; and now, after Robespierre is now, and henceforth in popular a long, long course, this is what we have come conception, a prig; Mirabeau is now and henceto." (Hereat certain blockheads, with a sense forth a hero. Of these men, and many others, of humor singular enough, loudly cachinnated!) Mr. Carlyle has painted portraits, and whether "There is something touching and tragic, and true or false, his portraits are taken as genuine. yet at the same time beautiful, to see the third generation, as it were, of my dear old native land, rising up and saying, 'Well, you are not altogether an unworthy laborer in the vineyard. You have toiled through a great variety of fortunes and have had many judges.'"

And thereafter, without aid of notes or paper preparation of any kind, in the same wistful, earnest, hesitating voice, and with many a touch of quaint humor by the way, which came in upon his subject like glimpses of pleasant sunshine, the old man talked to his vast audience about the origin and function of Universities, the old Greeks and Romans, Oliver Cromwell, John Knox, the excellence of silence as compared with speech, the value of courage and truthfulness, and the supreme importance of taking care of one's health. "There is no kind of achievement you could make in the world that is equal to perfect health. What to it are nuggets and millions? The French financier said-'Alas! why is there no sleep to be sold!' Sleep was not in the market at any quotation." But what need of quoting a speech which by this time has been read by every body? Appraise it as you please, it was a thing per se. Just as, if you wish a purple dye you must fish up the Murex; if you wish ivory you must go to the east; so if you desire an address such as Edinburgh listened to the other day you must go to Chelsea for it. It may not be quite to your taste, but, in

And this new eye he has brought into ethics as well. A mountain, a daisy, a sparrow's nest, a mountain tarn, were very different objects to Wordsworth from what they were to ordinary spectators; and the moral qualities of truth, valor, honesty, industry, are quite other things to Mr. Carlyle from what they are to the ordinary run of mortals-not to speak of preachers and critical writers. The gospel of noble manhood, which he so passionately preaches, is not in the least a novel one-the main points of it are to be found in the oldest books which the world possesses, and have been so constantly in the mouths of men that for several centuries past they have been regarded as truisms. That work is worship; that the first duty of a man is to find out what he can do best, and when found, "to keep pegging away at it," as old Lincolu phrased it; that on a lie nothing can be built; that this world has been created by Almighty God; that man has a soul which can not be satisfied with meats or drinks, or fine palaces and millions of money, or stars and ribbons—are not these the mustiest of commonplaces, of the very utterance of which our very grandmothers would be ashamed? It is true they are most commonplace to the commonplace; that they have formed the staple of droning sermons which have set the congregation asleep; but just as Wordsworth saw more in a mountain than any other man, so in these ancient saws Mr. Car

lyle discovered what no other man in his time | been a sort of Moses leading them across the has.

And then, in combination with this piercing insight, he has, above all things-emphasis. He speaks as one having authority-the authority of a man who has seen with his own eyes, who has gone to the bottom of things and knows. For thirty years the gospel he has preached, scornfully sometimes, fiercely sometimes, to the great scandal of decorous persons not unfrequently; but he has always preached it sincerely and effectively. All this Mr. Carlyle has done and there was not a single individual perha in his large audience at Edinburgh the other day, who was not indebted to him for something-on whom he had not exerted some spiritual influence more or less. Hardly one perhaps and there were many to whom he has

desert to what land of promise may be in store for them; some to whom he has been a manycounseled, wisely-experienced elder brother; a few to whom he has been monitor and friend. The gratitude I owe to him is-or should beequal to that of most. He has been to me only a voice, sometimes sad, sometimes wrathful, sometimes scornful; and when I saw him for the first time with the eye of flesh stand up among us the other day, and heard him speak kindly, brotherly, affectionate words - his first appearance of that kind, I suppose, since he discoursed of Heroes and Hero-Worship to the London people-I am not ashamed to confess that I felt moved toward him, as I do not think in any possible combination of circumstances I could have felt moved toward any other living man.

Editor's Easy Chair.

IT is often observed that after death the lines of

Scott's political career, therefore, was altogether unfortunate. He had neither the proper perception, nor temper, nor manners for political success. He had the ill-luck of raising the laugh against him

faces most worn with age and sorrow soften and change, and the fresh and long-vanished expression of youth steals over them again and remains. So now that General Scott is dead, the brave and skill-self. But happily the ridicule was felt to be superful soldier, the hero of Lundy's Lane, and Chippewa, and Mexico, is alone remembered. His long life of eighty years was full of services to the country, many of them illustrious, all of them patriotic. It was his misfortune that the severest trial of his ability came when his powers were weakened, but not so far that he did not see that the time had arrived at which he should formally retire from official station, and he did so, with the national gratitude undiminished. No man was ever better known in all his foibles as well as in his virtues, and it was a touching proof of the kind of hold he had upon the respect of the country that even party-spirit could not disturb it.

His military career during the war of 1812 and in Mexico, with his semi-military negotiations upon the Canada border in 1837, were the most conspicuous and valuable portions of his public life. He had great personal bravery and the talent of military organization and command, with the enthusiasm which inspires an army and implies victory in advance. Unfortunately the lustre of his action in the field and of his real capacity was obscured by an overweening sense of personal importance and of powers which he did not possess. It is the common mistake of military men. The immense and resounding applause which justly hails their achievements in the direction of their peculiar gifts bewilders and deceives them. They accept it as a credential of general power. With their admiring countrymen they forget that it is very, very seldom, as Hawthorne says in speaking of Nelson, that "warlike ability has been but the one-sided manifestation of a profound genius for managing the world's affairs." Military ability is usually a special talent, and a talent usually incompatible with that of statesmanship. Wellington, the greatest of modern English Generals, was the poorest of modern English statesmen. Our own history also gives us a striking instance. Andrew Jackson was a good soldier and one of the worst of statesmen.

ficial, and could not affect his true position. Indeed there was a time when even his political attitude was full of dignity. This was when President Polk intrigued against Scott during the Mexican war, because of Scott's probable success and his consequent dangerous importance as a Presidential candidate. It was poor business for a President, but fully harmonious with the purpose of the wara war totally without honor to this country except in the conduct of our soldiers and the skill with which they were directed. If any American is inclined to ask contemptuously why Europe should go to war at this time, and proceed to draw a moral against monarchies, let him remember the purpose and the pretext of the Mexican war, and learn that even Republics are fallible.

His political disappointments undoubtedly tried General Scott sorely. How deep his feeling was appears from his autobiography-one of the most melancholy books ever written. But as LieutenantGeneral of the army his position in the country was unique. The rebellion found his patriotism clear and stanch. He was a Virginian like Robert Lee, his Adjutant. But his oath as a soldier of the United States prevented him from resigning when his flag was insulted, even had his mind been less truly informed of the duty of an American citizen. He was too old in mind and body to plan or to conduct the stupendous operations of such a war, and after a few months during which the country reluctantly surrendered its confidence in his adequacy to the occasion, he withdrew forever from public service.

At the ripe age of eighty General Scott died, and amidst all the signs of national respect was buried at West Point, a historic spot of which he was always peculiarly fond, and to which his grave will now impart fresh interest. He will always be counted among our most illustrious soldiers, and may be truly cited as a successful General, whose ambition was perfectly restrained by patriotism

who never for a moment forgot the duty of the citizen in the glory of eminent military command. Nor can any vague regret linger around Scott's grave; for his successor has thus far shown only those qualities which are the most precious to a Government like ours.

GEROME'S picture Deux Augures, which is well known from the photograph, was among the works at the late exhibition of the Allston Club in Boston. It represents the Augurs, of whom Cicero speaks, as wondering that they could look in each other's faces without laughing, standing over the coops of sacred chickens, whose peckings they were to interpret. The story has served to illustrate many a sharp criticism, and at last appears in art; and it is certainly very effective, except that Cicero never said any thing of the kind, and that it was not the Augurs who performed that duty. This fact is stated by D. in a pleasant note to the Boston Advertiser, which does a service to scholarship and popular accuracy which we are glad to acknowledge. How many other of our stock classical illustrations would shrink under the same shrewd eye! D. says:

ed. There are extravagant and foolish writers here as in England, simply because folly is not local; but we challenge any reviler to find any where in American writing so turgid and ridiculous a piece of bathos as Henry Kingsley's description of the manner in which Jefferson Davis would hear of Thackeray's death-which the Easy Chair quoted at the time; while every steamer from England brings newspapers and magazines in which our most astounding "reportorial efforts" are outdone.

This absurdity of style is most conspicuous in personal descriptions and allusions, and in those we can not compete with our brother Bull. The truth is, that Jenkins is a purely British product. We have toadies and weak brains, but the perfect snob is found only among the proud Britons, who never, never, never will be slaves. The most daring efforts of the Yankee Jenkins are tame when measured by the great original. Here, for instance, is the manner in which he speaks of the Queen's letter to Mr Peabody, thanking him for his generous gift to the London poor-a letter which was properly womanly and polite:

"We have this week to record an act of grace so rich, and of glory so pure, on the part of her Majesty the Queen, as will more than requicken the sentiments of reverence which all her subjects, of every order and every class, have been accustomed to entertain toward her. We refer to the letter-couched in terms of right noble simplicityaddressed by her Majesty to Mr. Peabody, in acknowledg ment of the splendid gifts which that gentleman has made to the working-classes of this country."

"Here's richness!" quoth Mr. Squeers. But from Jenkins merely groveling we ascend to Jenkins in the vein of pure sentimental "hifalutin." If the Yankee "reportorial style" has produced any thing so amusing we have not seen it. Here is Mr. Gladstone driving up to the House of Commons on the evening when he was to introduce the Reform bill:

"More than a century and a half ago the great Bentley took the trouble to expose this blunder at full length in his celebrated Letter of Phileleutheros Lipsiensis. The reader, who has any taste for classical learning in an entertaining form, can not do better than to refer to the passage there, and indeed to read the whole letter. But the substance on this point may for convenience be given here. "Cicero neither ever himself said, nor reported the elder Cato as saying, any thing of the kind about the Augurs. They were both of them Roman Tories, stanch supporters of church and state in Roman politics; and whatever Cicero may have thought or said in private as a philosopher, he was not the man to hold up, in a published treatise, the College of Augurs and the state religion to ridicule. If Lord Derby were to write that Lord Eldon said that he wondered that two English bishops could look each other "Four o'clock had struck, and the crowd, making up in the face without laughing, the scandal and improba- its mind that Bright had gone in earlier, was only held bility would hardly be greater. Besides, Cato and Cicero together by the chance of seeing Gladstone. It had not were themselves Augurs, while Eldon and Derby were not been an indifferent crowd-rather a crowd keenly inquis quite bishops. How comes the story, then, to have such itive, honestly in earnest. Its cheers, originated by a few currency? Simply by substituting for a Roman Augur a men here and there, had been far more hearty than, in very different character, an Etrurian soothsayer (Harus- England, expressions of opinion are wont to be. But hithpex). The highest churchman might ridicule the episco- erto there had been nothing which could honestly be called pal character of a Methodist bishop or an Irvingite arch-enthusiasm. In fact, the people were waiting for that one angel. Haruspex, as distinguished from Augur, is the word used by Cicero in both passages, from which the familiar allusion is derived. The Haruspex was in common with the Augur a professed diviner from natural signs, but in all other particulars they differed essentially, as much as a Catholic and a Methodist, though both are professed Christian divines. Their sacred books even were not in common. The origin and nature of their systems, the sources of their authority, and still more their political and social positions, differed widely. The Haruspex was usually and properly regarded as a foreign religious adventurer; the Angur was always a man of high political and social station in Rome. But it is unnecessary to pursue the detail, which is to be found not only in Bentley, but in any of the standard manuals on Roman antiquities. With all this knowledge accessible to them, the wonder is that two magazine writers should recall their witty allusions to the two Roman Augurs without a laugh at their own, or at least at each other's, expense; and M. Gerome might, it seems, make a third in the party."

THE extravagance and absurdity of style of much of our Yankee newspaper writing is a favorite topic of censure with many among ourselves, and of the most scornful contempt with writers in England. Indeed, John Bull's affectation of contempt for our general literary style is as ludicrous as it is unfound

leader in whose splendid brain and whose generous heart they put their whole faith. At last there came a sway. ing about of the crowd-a cheer went ringing and rolling along the line-the police tried to keep men back, and men wouldn't have it a sort of electric telegraphy seemed to flash and sparkle from face to face, and those behind cried, Who is it?' and those in front were too busily cheering to answer the inquiry. It was wonderful-the change from the calm, indifferent, jesting manner of the crowd to the sudden earnestness with which the leader of the Liberals was welcomed. Up went the voices, and off went the hats; and all that an unimpassioned spects. tor could see through the tempest of applause was a pale, grave, gallant face, firmly set; then a light on the face, as the great orator was compelled to raise his hat in recognition; and by his side a lady, graciously proud of her husband's fame.

"Said one working man to his neighbor, 'Looks pale, don't he?'

"Answered the other, 'He'll make the Tories look a deal paler afore he's done!'"

But the meanness of spirit which animates both these performances is not surprising in a country where etiquette prescribes that the whim of a dull youth may interfere with the intellectual enjoy ment of scholars and cultivated men and women. At a late meeting of the Royal Society Dean Stan