spring, all the streets of the Jews' quarter were under water. The old synagogue is preserved as an antiquity by the government, and is not allowed to be repaired or altered. How old it really is seems to be unknown, and the respectable old Jew who shews it to strangers cannot quite be depended on when he states that it is more ancient than Prague itself, and was built in the year 600, and underground for concealment, a hill covering it. That it is very old is, however, certain. The walls are of the most sombre hue, having been painted black after the persecution of the Jews by the Crusaders, who had permission from the pope to massacre them. They rushed into the synagogue, put all they found to the sword, and exhumed the bodies in the graveyard. At that time, as a mark of grief for such a calamity, and to conceal the stains of blood on the walls, they were painted black. During the inundation of the Moldau, the water rose in the synagogue to the height of three ells (a little more than a yard and a half), and entering into the tabernacle, injured the Holy Seriptures. These are never allowed to be copied but in writing, and the oldest scripture we saw was 400 years old; one end was somewhat blackened and injured by the water, but was still quite legible.

It is something affecting when a Jew speaks to us Christians of his history and his faith, to which we have ever been opposed. Our friend was an old man, gentle-voiced and well spoken; when he related in the same tone-it seemed sad, but without reproach-the massacre of his people by the Templars one could not but feel how erring man is even in his best intentions; the earthly part in him leads him so easily into evil.

The graveyard is a wonderful place. Amongst the Jews nothing is allowed to be planted on graves; but elder trees had sprung up here and there and twined their writhed stems round the gravestones; many were sunk so deep into the earth, or rather the earth so risen around them, that they were scarcely to be seen; in other places they were thronged together and in all stages of confusion and decay. So high a mound was raised in one spot by the burial of

the dead over each other that it resembled a barrow near some battlefield. It is eighty years since any one was buried there, a new burialground having been granted outside the town. The place is the scene of many ghost-stories, which sheds a fearful and mysterious hue over it. From the inscriptions on the gravestones may be seen of what root the deceased was. If of Aaron, a pair of hands is engraven on the tombstone in the attitude of the priest blessing the people; if of Levi, a chalice is engraven, denoting the ministration in the temple where the Levites washed the priests' hands; if of Israel, a bunch of grapes, a lion, fish, or hen, betokening that such was the deceased's name. It is the custom that those who go to pray on their family graves leave an offering in money on the tombstone-a little stone laid upon it ensures its safety. We found in our ramble two silver pieces of Zwanzigers thus left, and many little stones were lying about that had been similarly used. This offering is to assist in keeping up the burning of the daily lamp in the temple. We went into the deadhouse where the coffins are made, and where a man was at work. The dead bodies used formerly to be washed on a stone table in the centre, but this is no longer done; still, the coffin in which a Jew is buried is nothing more than planks of wood put together in the roughest manner. No unnecessary room is left inside, and planks are laid loosely on to cover it. The deceased is buried in a linen dress, which dress, if he is married, his betrothed made for him with her own hands, and gave to him on his wedding-day. This dress he wore, when living, once a-year, namely, on Midsummer-day. ranks are buried in the same rude coffin, and a child of a year old has also such a one; but under that age they are buried in an ordinary little wooden box.

All

The Laurenzoberg, which lies on the south side of the Hradsjin, is a beautiful spot from whatever point it is viewed. The side of the hill is covered with mulberry and chestnuttrees, on the top it is bare and wildlooking, wild rosc-shrubs growing about on the uneven sod. The hill seems devoted to the uses of war and

religion; fortifications run all round the summit, and at the top are storemagazines built into the hill. On the side of the hill that overlooks Prague are the nine stations with frescoes by Führich of Vienna, and at the top is the chapel of St. Lawrence. It is a lovely walk up to the top, and from thence is to be had a fine view of the city with its many towers-eighty-two in number-and of the undulating brown-coloured land round it, over which the setting sun sheds such rich colours. The distant faint blue line of mountains marks the Riesen Gebirge, or Giant Mountains. There is a little prospect hillock raised for the benefit of those who wish to enjoy this lovely scene.

Reader, should you ever visit Prague, forget not to go to the Sophien Insel; there twice or thrice in a week plays the Palombini band. This little island has really a magical appearance on a fine autumn evening, when, at the cool hours, numbers of well-dressed, cheerful people sit in the open air, under the little grove of pollard chestnuts, and regale themselves and their friends with ices, coffee, chocolate, &c.; the most substantial suppers may also be had. As the evening draws in, lamps and chandeliers, suspended from the trees, add a beauty to the scene, and it assumes the most friendly and social aspect. Should you prefer it, you can saunter round the little island, adorned with well-kept paths and beds of flowers; or on the edge of it, close to the water, guarded by a row of trees, growing on the brink, you may choose a resting-place. Through the stems and branches, some of them dipping into the water, brightly gleams the Moldau, quivering in the sun's declining rays, and

the eye then, finding an opening, may look out afar and watch the changing hues and softening blue of land and water in the distance, while the heart muses on futurity. Meanwhile are heard, played with the greatest precision and beauty, the finest overtures and sparkling polkas -these last not the dull imitation fashion has lately produced, but the true children of the soil, combining so strangely sadness and mirthSehnsucht and Heiterkeit—that one knows not which predominates. I should be inclined to say the former, for I never listened to these tunes without feeling triste. They are singular productions; there is so much expression of feeling in them, they wind into the recesses of the heart as the changing passages return again and again, and one could sit and listen for ever. The last time I was in this charming little island I heard Weber's overture to Oberon performed, and certainly it was not an ill-suited choice for the spot in which it was played.

On leaving Prague we lingered for some days in one of the villages of Bohemia. Every morning winding our way through an orchard, we came to a deep, clear rivulet, on the brink of which we sat in the long grass. The children of the village used daily to pass us returning from school, and greeted us with "Gelobt sei Jesus Christus" -"Praised be Jesus Christ," to which we should have answered "Amen." We were scarcely initiated into the primitive and holy custom. It has been said, "The proof of an enjoyment is its remembrance." When I left Bobemia I did not know how sweetly I should remember it. Adieu, friendly land! Auf Wiedersehen!

Ir we rightly understand the theory of the representative system as embodied in our constitutional form of government, it is an important part of the duty of a member of the House of Commons to urge in the general assembly of the people the grievances of his constituents. Whatever may be the ostensible object for which he is summoned to parliament, this would seem to be the purpose for which he is elected. An ingenious and liberalising construction, however, of this obligation, has widely extended its efficacy. The member for a particular borough or county no longer sits in parliament as the exclusive agent or guardian of the constituency which sent him to the House of Commons, but, by a constitutional fiction, as the representative of all the constituencies in the kingdom. So, at least, our political philosophers have said; and so the good people of Great Britain and Ireland believe.

Of course a scheme of such widespread philanthropy and disinterestedness could scarcely be expected to exist in its full completeness and integrity anywhere but on paper; otherwise, a living flourishing Utopia would be found in these happy islands, and the perfectibility of man, at least as an animal capable of being governed, would well-nigh have been gained. Dreams like these serve well to turn a period, or terminate with a flourish an electioneering speech; but facts-those unrelenting rocks on which so many argosies of theory have been wrecked-forbid the hope that they ever will prevail in practice. Still we shall find, as now, class arrayed against class, and interest against interest, in the popular assembly of the nation; still see the county members fighting only for country objects, the town members struggling on behalf of the populations of the towns alone. long as political feeling continues to exercise influence among us, as long as there are ranks and grades in society whose laws can never be made by a power at once despotic

As

and impartial, so long shall we thus continue to amuse ourselves with our theory while stultifying ourselves with our practice.

But amidst this universal delusion, this emulation of political hypocrisies, this struggle of rampant interests, in which the poor British public would seem likely to be trampled on at least, if not utterly forgotten and neglected, it is a consolation to know that there are to be found some persons of that devoted generosity of spirit, that utter obliviousness of self, that appetite for martyrdom, men so comprehensive in their charities, and so persevering in their benevolence, that they will step forward voluntarily as the champions of the deserted and the distressed. It is cheering to see, that if the great majority of members of parliament by their conduct seek to prove that the constitutional fiction we have spoken of is a delusion, that, in fact, they represent their own personal interests, or those of the class to which they belong, to the exclusion of the people generally, there are men ready to come forward and take the whole weight of the responsibility upon their own shoulders, to become Tribunes of the people at the shortest possible notice to become contractors as it were, for the redress of each and every grievance-nay, in the exuberance of their patriotism and public spirit, even to go farther, and create them where they do not exist, rather than let an ancient and honourable office fall into disuse. That such men should spring up by a spontaneous growth in a diseased condition of society-that they should multiply in inverse ratio to the necessity for their interference, and grow louder and more bold in their advocacy in proportion to the probability of its being rendered unnecessary, these are, indeed, satisfactory evidences that the British constitution will never be allowed to grow rusty for want of its machinery being well tested; and that the good old custom, so cherished by John

Bull, of grumbling and presenting grievances, will never be let to die away so long as any advantage is to be gained by keeping it alive.

there

Yet there are such paragons; always have been, and there always will be. How honest soever a government may be, there will always be found men opposed to it so transcending it in purity, the crystalline transparency of whose motives shews to such advantage before the opaqueness of official apathy or corruption, that an admiring public shall look up to them with sympathy and approbation as true patriots and their best friends. You think, perhaps, that all this noble devotion to the service of their fellow-men cannot be quite disinterested, that they must have some object to gratify, some purse to fill, or some ambition to satisfy. But what do we see? That they are daily making sacrifices; that they, perhaps, have been educated to professions in which, by a course of honourable diligence, they might have attained respectability and wealth. Here you will see a doctor voluntarily giving up the chances of what he might earn as a "general practitioner," in the ordinary sense of the term, by applying a clear mind and active habits to his business, in order to become a "general practitioner" on the body politic, with no reward save what chance may turn up in the long run. There

you will note a barrister, fresh from the sessions, and nobly giving up his hope of successful practice, or, at all events, his chance of a brief, that he may with the more freedom hold a self-ordained advocateship for the people in the House of Commons; a sort of watching brief in the great cause, "the Millions versus the Ministry." At another turn you detect among the candidates for the patriot's gown, some scion of a noble house, some second-hand Mirabeau, with a strong dash of the Adonis, and patriotism gracefully tempered by fashion; you will see him working day and night in this same holy cause of the people, advocating openly and in the full security of impossible fruition principles subversive of the order to which he belongs, flinging slanders and imputations on public servants as if they were so many cock-shies and he only engaged in

holyday pastime; and when you see such a man, accustomed to mix with the first society of his day, the envy of the men and the admiration of the women,-when you find him so careless of what may come 'twixt the wind and his nobility as to be on shaking-hands terms with the Jack Cades of contemporary politics, while he outrages all his natural connexions by the violence and republicanism of his opinions, shall you not say that he also is making sacrifices? that he is affixing the stamp of sincerity on his professions? True, if you find the 26 'general practitioner" at last developing into a coroner; the briefless barrister discarding the ignoble stuff of his early gown for the more soft and honourable silk, with, perhaps, a commissionership hanging from one pocket, and the hint of a future solicitor-generalship in the other; and if you see the young sprig of aristocracy enjoying present immunities and privileges, while in the administrators of the day there seems to be a growing disposition to do something or other to silence a bold tongue, and divert to other service clever but inconvenient tactics, and, at the same time, "the best society" does not seem to look so very coldly on its quondam outcast demagogue, from an apparent suspicion that he cannot be in earnest ;-if, we repeat, these appear to be almost necessary consequences, sooner or later, of the voluntary patriotism we have referred to, the awe and astonishment with which one looked up to so much public virtue becomes sobered down into a more rational and common-sense view of the case; we see the sacrifice, but we do not feel the same paralysing weight of obligation when we find it accompanied, in the long run, by a comforting and counterbalancing quid pro quo.

The House of Commons is at the present time peculiarly rich in the possession of patriots of this order. The successive crops of former years having gradually become absorbed in various administrations, room has been left for others to advance to the front ranks. It is found, too, that they are not confined, as was the case formerly, to the class of politicians called Radicals, but that thinkers who, if they had lived twenty years ago, would have been shocked at the

idea of setting traps for popular excitement, now think it not beneath them to enter into occasional rivalry with the regular demagogue. Thus a Roebuck meets a parallel, for good, wholesome, jaundiced patriotism, in a Bickham Escott; and a Disraeli finds it good policy to attack

from the rear institutions which a more open antagonist faces boldly in front. But, above all, the British public have among their champions a Duncombe and a Wakley; and to the first of these we will for the present confine our observations.

is the most gentlemanlike demagogue of whom we have any recollection. Of course we speak of the exterior man alone, not desiring to go the length of assuming that other men, of perhaps more ardent patriotism, but of manners more rough, may not possess quite as many of the real qualities of the gentleman, those which are independent of conventional customs, habits, and dress. In those externals, however, let their worth be what they may, Mr. Duncombe is certainly distinguished from the members generally of the House of Commons, so much so, that a stranger entering the assembly would naturally observe the singular elegance and finish of his attire as distinguishing him even in a place where well-dressed men are rather the rule than the exception. We have been almost tempted to think, too, that in proportion as his Tribunitian displays grow more bold, and his principles more democratic, he has become more and more anxious to preserve his old character as one of the most fashionable men about town,- thus, as it were, drawing the personal distinction more and more strongly, the more he approximated towards the principles of the working classes. Strange as it may seem, the most able parliamentary advocate of the "great unwashed" is himself a perfect model of every thing that is recherché in dress, manners, and carriage,-nay, he has even been called the "Dandy Demagogue." One

thing, at least, is certain, that he is, to look at, almost the very last man from whom you would expect such powerful, nervous, and humorous speeches as he has made during the last few years, or the bold and clever tactics, followed out under every disadvantage, and against overwhelming odds, with which he has puzzled and sometimes discomfited the most dis

VOL. XXXIV, NO, CCI,

tinguished masters in the petty strategics of party politics.

we

It is well that we should get over our surprise at this contrast between the man and his doings, because we shall then be better able impartially to estimate the value of those doings, and to examine the machinery by which he has obtained his unquestionable influence in the debates of the House of Commons, besides exciting a certain degree of interest in the public mind on behalf of whatever subjects he may choose to bring before parliament; otherwise should be continually puzzled with practical contradictions. Not in his careful attention to dress alone does he so differ from his colleagues in Radicalism; the contrast extends to his physical and mental organisation, his whole bearing and demeanour. There is not one of them, however honest may be his intentions, or respectable his conduct, who does not prepossess a casual observer unfavourably rather than favourably. They have all some physical defect to overcome, or some want of mental training, or some jaundiced, distorted view of things, grating on the feelings of a lazy public, and creating a predisposition not to attend to their representations. A Wakley is considered too palpably to embody in his person and style of speaking some of the more commonly received ideas of the demagogue. With all his shrewdness, clear-sightedness, and information, he still has a stout array of prejudices to overcome, before he can make his way to the feelings of a fastidious audience. A Roebuck, on the other hand, with fewer natural disadvantages, more authorised pretensions, and more regular training, wilfully deprives himself of these privileges, by indulging in distorted views of existing things, and in a habit of spiteful but pointless per

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