new.' Having therefore rambled round the town, we started for Innerleithen-the famed St Ronan's-distant from Peebles about six miles. The walk between the two towns is delightful. When the pedestrian wearies of the dust of the road, he may vary the route by a walk on the side of the Tweed, or, stretching himself on its grassy banks, enjoy a draught of its sparkling waters. The river meanders for nearly the whole distance by the side of the road, which leads you at length, by an acute bend, to the neat little town of Innerleithen. Innerleithen consists mainly of a double line of houses, although near the farther end it breaks up into a more straggling form, embracing two or three large mills for woollen manufacture. The well' lies immediately to the back of the town, on the slope of a hill called the Leepen. It was at one time a favourite place of resort for invalids and idle people; but the fashion seems to have set in another direction, for, when we visited it, although in the height of the season, there was not an individual to be seen. The erections around the springs were got up by the Earl of Traquair, on whose property they rise, and consist of a covered arcade for enjoying a draught of the mineral fresh from the pump, and interior rooms, with garden ground behind. But the whole place appeared to be in a care-worn and desolate condition, as if it had seen better days. Except the old lady who dispensed the once-favourite beverage, and a maid-servant leaning on a broom, who had clearly got no work to do,' no person was visible. The gay belles and handsome beaux which the fascination of Scott's pen brought to the place, had flirted their brief hour, and, like swallows, departed for other latitudes. The literary department seemed in as desolate a condition as the rest of the place, the 'library,' as it was called, consisting of one old newspaper and a few odd volumes of novels! The well, in short, was cursed,' or, what was the same thing, had become unfashionable.' In the cool of the evening we walked out to view the mansion of the Earl of Traquair, which lies a little to the south of Innerleithen, close on the Tweed. A handsome wooden bridge now spans the river at this point, and opens up a new portion of road to Selkirk. Knowing little of the locality, and nothing of the inmates of Traquair Castle, we not inappropriately found ourselves approaching the building from the back entrance. We had no introductory cards, but certain obliging curs were good enough to take up the duty, and to give the inmates warning of our approach. A scout, in the shape of a tall footman, immediately appeared to inquire our business. Taking the first word of flyting,' we politely informed the functionary that we were strangers, and, wishing to inspect the front of his lordship's mansion, would be obliged to be shown the way. It was by this time nearly dark, and we felt that it was an unfortunate time to be asking to see anything; and so apparently thought the lacquey, for he dismissed us with a dry umph!' as if he perfectly understood us to be footpads, rather than (what we believed ourselves) respectable enough people, but in awkward circumstances. Leaving behind us the gloomy old castle, we forded the Tweed barefooted, and, laughing at the ridiculous figure we had cut, scampered merrily off to Riddel's inn (which we had previously fixed on as a temporary abode). Here at all events we were sure of hospitable treatment, of which we took ample advantage, and set ourselves to the discussion and settlement of all sorts of questions, from the nebular theory down to the commercial policy of Sir Robert Peel. These interesting subjects, before we got each other convinced of the soundness of our respective views, occupied rather long, as we judged from a notification being brought by the maid that our beds were ready.' As it was thought necessary to be stirring next morning by four o'clock, the mention of bed,' though breaking up an important discussion, we, on reflection, judged by no means premature, and forthwith proceeded to take possession. Starting almost with the dawn, we set out on the road, a part of which we had traversed the evening before, and, leaving Traquair House on the right, and the Bush aboon Traquair' on our left, shortly arrived at the village of that name-a quiet little spot, with its sweet sequestered churchyard and manse. Except the still smaller village of Pirn, this is the only thing in the shape of a collection of houses which presents itself on the road from Innerleithen to Yarrow-a distance of nine miles; and with the exception of one or two farm-houses, the centre of sheep-farms, the whole district is wild, hilly, and desolate. Arriving at a toll-bar, about eight miles from Innerleithen, we found the keeper lying on the grass before the door, basking in the sun and playing with his youngest child. In this interesting occupation we cordially joined him, and had a crack about things in general.' He gave us a piece of statistics which may be useful to planners of railways when the next mania comes on, and Peeblesshire is again invaded by engineers-namely, that the receipts of the bar which he kept (on the highway between Selkirk and Peebles) amounted to the magnificent sum of £9 yearly! By this time we were half-broiled and desperately hungry, having walked for three hours under a burning sun; but we had now the satisfaction of learning that we were within a mile of the Gordon Arms (for to tell the truth, the name of this inn, in our present plight, was more welcome even than that of the classic Yarrow), and we set off afresh, and had soon the satisfaction of coming within sight of Mount Benger, lying straight before us, which was at first mistaken for the 'inn,' but on turning to the right, we found the Yarrow meandering sweetly through a long pastoral vale, and-double delight-immediately beneath us the much longed-for spot, 'the Gordon Arms.' We are bound to confess (but we don't pretend to be poets) that we felt none of the squeamishness of Wordsworth when nearing the Yarrow-no idea had we of turning aside,' and leaving it as a bonne bouche for another occasion; 'the treasured dreams of times long past' we didn't the least scruple of realising or destroying. And there was a method in our madness; for having our toilet yet to perform-in plainer words, having to wash our faces-and being besides, as the town lady in the Vicar of Wakefield' elegantly expresses it, all in a muck of sweat,' we didn't gaze long on the hallowed stream, but plunged bodily into it, neck and heels. And we believe that if good Mr Wordsworth had been in our circumstances he would not have indulged in so much poetical coquetry. He doubtless was jaunting leisurely in his travelling car, and with his winsome marrow' at his side, and felt none of the inconveniences attendant on poor pedestrians. Had he been situated as we were-with wet shirts and dust-covered faces-he would doubtless have sought the nearest and deepest pool, and Yarrow Unvisited' would have remained unwritten or been turned into A Dip in Yarrow.' Be this as it may, with our shirts spread out to dry, we enjoyed ourselves deliciously under the old bridge leading to Ettrick, and after leaving the water, had a leisurely promenade in paradisaical fashion, on the green sward. Startle not, reader-we had small notion of bringing back the Golden Age all at once; but around us was so full of primeval simplicity (the inn excepted)-the long-stretching hills, green to their summits, which no plough had ever touched, and the white lambs cropping the herbage-the song of birds, and the soft rippling of the waters-that we might perhaps be excused for realising a little of the times when, according to Tasso. leather began to gall our tender feet, we determined on putting our shoes into our pockets, and resuming the walk as barefooted pilgrims. And indeed, though condemned to make a pilgrimage up Yarrow with Wellingtons, and peas (not boiled) at the bottom of them, the scene around would make any one forget his troubles. The locality has been well designated the Arcadia of Scotland; and more peaceful, more pastoral, more brightly verdurous, it seemed to us that even Greece could scarcely be. There was nothing to interrupt the still solemnity of the scene. We had travelled miles without meeting a living creature, and when || we sat down by one of the tributary streamlets of the Yarrew to refresh ourselves with its limpid water, it seemed to us that here was the spot of all we had yet seen, in which We would be certain to spend our days in happiness-the world forgetting, by the world forgot.' Right beside us is Altrive, the last residence of Hogg, the poet-shepherd of the district; and a little farther on we come to the ruined Peel Tower of Dry hope, celebrated as the birth-place of one dear to every lover of ballad-poetry, Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow. We are now in view of the great attraction of the locality, lone St Mary's silent lake,' a considerable sheet of water lying placidly amongst the hills, and in fine harmony with all around. The place has been so often described, and by master-pens, that it would be a kind of desecration in us to attempt it. Scott has beautifully embodied the features of the scene in the introduction to the second canto of Marmion.' 'Thou know'st it well-nor fen nor sedge Marks where the water meets the land. Where swain or woodman lone might dwell. And silence aids-though the steep hills, In summer tide so soft they sweep This description has been often quoted, and not oftener than it deserves, though it contains an error in detail which pedestrians like us alone could detect, but which seems to have escaped all travellers in the district-we allude to those lines wherein the lake is represented as being bordered by 'silver sand.' The appearance of sand is purely deceptive, and is caused by certain slimy materials which gather on the hard angular stones surrounding the lake, when its waters are full, and become afterwards whitened by the sun on their retiring. St Mary's Loch, with all the country around, is a favourite resort of anglers; and if solitude is considered essential to the enjoyment of the mis-named 'gentle craft,' it is here in perfection. But there is something in the aspect of the place so holy and subduing that it seems like profanation to introduce the art of fishing' into so fair a Scene. So we are glad to see at least one angler felt on a recent visit." We carried fishing-rods and tackle with us,' says he, and had determined to devote at least an hour or two to serious angling, but the beauty and novelty of the scenery made us quite unfit to do anything of the Surt, or, in short, to do anything but enjoy nature.' Every visiter to Yarrow must acknowledge that Sir Thomas has imbibed the true feeling of the scene. That feeling is one of majesty and loneliness, which indisposes you to do aught bat look, and wonder, and worship. The poetry associated T's Magazine for August. with the district undoubtedly aids this feeling. It is almost invariably of a plaintive and melancholy cast, as instanced in such pieces as the ballad of the Douglas Tragedy,' 'Willie's Drowned in Yarrow,' Logan's lyric, Thy braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream,' and many others familiar to the lovers of song. Passing on, we speedily arrived at the head of the loch. Here we found-not a regular inn, for we were now beyond the region of Bonifaces-but a place everywhere as acceptable, being a picturesque little cottage embosomed in trees, kept by a Mrs Richardson, better known amongst anglers and in the neighbourhood by the name of Tibby Shiels.' Good, kind, gentle, modest Tibby-we love to think on thy quiet good-natured countenance, and homely hospitable manners-on thy scones,' and milk, and cheese, and everything that is thine! While discussing the good things set before us in this out-of-the-way nook of earth, we began to speculate on where we were, what we had been doing, and (for half of our time was 'up') how we should return. Our feet, unaccustomed to long tramping, were pretty well punished, but the excitement and enjoyment of the scenery had been too intense to think much of them. However, here we were, as if dropped down amongst the hills, and about twenty miles from coaches and gigs, and other convenient et ceteras. Walk we must-but where? Let us see the map. Oh! here at least is one grand object straight ahead, the sight of which must be worth travelling double the distance the highest fall of water in the south of Scotland, the Grey Mare's Tail'-and farther on, after a walk of thirteen miles, we shall arrive at the town of Moffat, where we shall catch the Dumfries mail, and be whirled into Edinburgh in good time for business. We could get night-quarters, too, it seemed, about five miles farther up the valley. Though inclined, like Selkirk, to sigh for the wings of a dove,' this seemed the best arrangement possible, 80 off we started. Passing the smaller loch above St Mary's (the Loch of the Lowes as it is named) we began threading our way amongst the hills on the confines of Selkirkshire. The scenery here partakes of the same characteristics as lower down; similar lofty prominences, clothed with green to their summits, from which the sheep cropped the herbage; the same unbroken silence and solitude; and the sweet Yarrow, now gradually lessening in volume, still bearing us company in the valley below. On the left we passed the farm-house of Chapel hope, the hills at the back of which are noted as the refuges of the persecuted Covenanters. As we proceeded, the road began to ascend along the mountain side, and the peaks of the higher eminences of Moffatdale came into view. The Yarrow is now seen sluggishly struggling through peat-moss, and at length disappears where it has its rise. After a walk of about five miles altogether in some of the ravines of the neighbourhood, from the head of St Mary's Loch, we at length gratefully welcomed the curling smoke from the shepherd's house at Birkhill, which Tibby' had kindly pointed out as our haven of rest for the evening. On entering the humble domicile, we observed a sturdy dame busily engaged in throwing bed-clothes about the room, and were saluted with- Come awa', gentlemen; I was jist expectin' ye' know we were coming here? You haven't got the electric What!' we exclaimed, in surprise; how should you telegraph in this quarter, have you?' in explanation; but, ye see, my Maggie was doon at 'I ken naething aboot yer telegraphs,' said the dame, Tibby's the day, and Tibby tell't her ye were gaun to sleep here the nicht. And sae I was jist makin' yer beds.' 'Oh, very good,' said we, and thanks to Tibby for her attention; but as it is dreadful hungry work travelling amongst these hills of yours, before we think of bed you must get us tea, and eggs, and mutton, and anything else you can find, for we believe we could eat up a sheep. 'Ou aye! ye'se be yappy, nae doot; but I daursa we'll get eneuch tae fill ye.' And the considerate dame was as good as her word, and speedily set before us an ample store of the simple fare of the district. Birkhill, like Tibby's,' being a 'howff' for fishers, had always on hand, we discovered, good supplies of substantials-at least in the fishing season, when we were lucky enough to arrive. The presiding goddess of the place was named 'Jenny'-or in southern style Janny' -retaining her maiden name, according to universal custom in the south. She was an active, bustling, rather masculine lady, full of wonderful stories of her prowess with the wandering Irishers'-tales which formed an excellent accompaniment to the shepherd's toddy, and the latter, not to speak of the wearied limbs, rendering sweet and cozy the shepherd's bed at Birkhill. 6 Starting about four o'clock next morning, we were soon in pretty good trim for a fresh journey. The distance between Birkhill and Moffat being thirteen miles, and as no exact information could be obtained of the hour at which the coach to Edinburgh passed through Moffat, it was necessary to be stirring early. The nature of the landscape changes considerably near Birkhill, and, as we descend into the dale of Moffat, becomes wilder and more abrupt in its features. Right before us is the highest mountain in the south of Scotland, the White Coomb, which towers an immense height, and from the top of which are visible the friths of Forth, Solway, and Clyde, and the range of the Grampians as far as Benlomond. Eminences not much inferior in height rise on each side of the traveller, down whose rocky sides immense torrents force their way so furiously as to carry away portions of the road. But the mountains gradually open as you proceed, and the eye, then escaping from the gloom of the hilly region into the quiet vale beyond, rests delightedly on white farm-houses and cultivated fields. One of the rugged gorges immediately below Birkhill, named 'Dobb's Linn,' was a favourite retreat of the Covenanters, from the inaccessible nature of the ground, and the hill above it was at one time fortified by these resolute defenders of the rights of conscience. Half a mile farther on we arrive at the famous waterfall, 'The Grey Mare's Tail.' The name of the fall conveys an exact idea of its form as seen from the road, but as its waters are poured into a rocky gorge cut deep into the hill-side, it is necessary to ascend a winding pathway leading to the bottom of the fall, in order fully to appreciate this wonder of the south. After some little clambering among the rugged rocks, we stood on the edge of the pool which receives the full dash of the waters. These descend from Loch Skene, a lonely mountain tarn lying amongst the hills about a mile beyond the fall, and here throw themselves down a precipice some three hundred feet high. Little rain had fallen in the district for many days before our visit, and the fall was thus considerably shorn of its common proportions, but enough remained to gratify the admirer of nature's wonders, and to indicate the terrific force of the 'tail' when the swollen waters of Loch Skene are projected in masses over the precipice. But since we could not fully appreciate the scene in its terror, we did so in its calm, by enjoying a cool bath in the pool below the fall. seats as a matter of course; but what was our consterna- After leaving Moffat, the road winds up the side of the steep hill named Erickstanehead, on reaching the top of which a singularly grand view is obtained of the valley and the town below. The richly-cultivated vale is seen stretching away a distance of some sixty or seventy miles, dotted all over with clumps of trees and gentlemen's seats, until the Skiddaw mountains, in the extreme distance, close up the view. It is a scene which for extent and beauty has few parallels in the country. When at the top of the hill, you perceive close beside you the peaks of the kindred mountains of Hartfell, which give rise to two of the largest and most beautiful rivers in Scotland-the Clyde and the Tweed. An immense natural hollow goes sheer down some hundreds of feet from the road; it retains the name of The Devil's Beef-tub,' from the circumstance of being used as a receptacle for stolen beeves by a celebrated border thief. A short distance on the other side of the hill, we arrive at the little hostelry of Tweedshaws, close beside which is pointed out the puny spring which forms the source of the Tweed. A little farther on we see the infant river, with scarcely a bucketful of water in its bed, struggling painfully on through the half dry pebbles. By this time we were getting on familiar terms with our new companions. One was a hardy, middle-aged cattle-breeder from Annan-foot, and the other a young, fresh-looking person, a sheep-merchant, who had once been located at Birkhill as shepherd of the district, where he had become intimate with Jamie Hogg,' and could retail stories about the shepherd' without end. The AnnanOn leaving the Grey Mare's Tail,' we pursued the man was of a dry caustic turn, who couldn't see much in windings of the vale of Moffat, the character of which, ex-Jamie's' poetry but crambo-clink, while the sheep-farmer cept that it is narrower and in a higher state of cultivation, is not dissimilar from that of Yarrow; and after a fatiguing walk of about twelve miles arrived at the town of Moffat. Like Innerleithen approached from Peebles, no signs of a town are visible until a sharp turn of the road discloses it all at once lying before you, sweetly nestled amongst the surrounding hills. Like Innerleithen, also, it boasts of its mineral wells-at present said to be rather more 'the rage' than those of poor St Ronan's; but we had seen and drank enough of water for a time, and were, besides, in very proper condition to feel-not as Byron has it, the strong necessity of loving,' but of eating.' A handsome hotel, The Annandale Arms,' was therefore more to our taste. After a ramble round the town, we waited patiently for the arrival of the vehicle which was to bear us home. The mail drove up in good time, and we prepared to take our was enthusiastic about poetry of all sorts-had a swallow for good, bad, and indifferent-and could recite from all grades of authors, from Byron down to-himself. In this company we got on famously till our arrival at the Crook Inn, sixteen miles from Moffat. Here it was arranged that we should change horses;' and the Annan-man, with an eye to business, immediately on reaching the inn, opened on the landlord in this ejaculatory fashion :- Come! horses! quick! express to Edinburgh! can't wait a moment!' Indeed,' said the landlord, very coolly, 'sorry for it, but there isn't a horse here, and don't expect one till to-morrow.' And such was the truth; the horses were all out,' and we were fairly fixed once more. 'What's to be done?' was the general question. Oh, we shall walk, said the sturdy Annan-man; it's only fifteen miles to Peebles; we'll be there by ten o'clock to-night, and get whirled into town in the morning.' This was by no means 1 social life. a consolatory conclusion for us worn-out vagrants, who had gone over thirteen miles before breakfast, but there seemed no help; and we were about making up our minds for the trial when a carriage drove up from the opposite direction, occupied by a gentleman and a bundle of ladies. While refreshing the horses, it was discovered that the vehicle was posting to Moffat; and the happy idea struck us of proposing to the occupant of the carriage a change of vehicles and horses-ours to proceed with him, and his to return with us. Capital! but mightn't the gentleman be only agent, and disdain to hold confab on such a subject with mere common people like ourselves? Very likely, but we resolved to try him; and, to our great gratification, on consultation with the ladies, the baggage was shifted, and everything arranged. Well, thought we, this isn't such a bad world after all. First, we have one gentleman handing us money ad libitum, and another putting himself to some inconvenience, for perfect strangers in whom neither euld have any interest but the common interest which binds us all-the love of kindness and of courtesy-a feeling dear to the heart even in the most artificial phases of Pedestrian excursions and road-side inns have been long proverbial for introductions to strange characters and adventures, and so we experienced on the present occasion. While lounging about in front of the Crook Inn, waiting till the horses were sufficiently rested and refreshed to carry us on to Edinburgh, an odd-looking figure was observed shuffling along the road. On approaching, he poitely bowed, and taking off his hat, proceeded to inform his hearers that he was a professor of natural magic, and that he proposed giving an exhibition of his science at the Crook' in the evening. He had just been engaged, he said in notifying the circumstance of his arrival to the neighbourhood, and it would afford him infinite pleasure, Why, here was the very thing wanted to while away the three hours it was necessary to wait. The curiosity of the Annan-man was at once roused. Ay, eh man, and are ye a conjuror? An' what dae ye charge, nae?' 'Only tuppence, sir,' said the 'professor.' 'I have performed with the greatest applause in some of the largest towns of England, Ireland, and Scotland, where my demonstrations have been often compared to those of the celebrated Alexandre and the Wizard of the North. I assure you of every satisfaction, or your money shall be returned.' The farmer, however, had one scruple yet to satisfy, embodied in this shape-An' hae ye dealins wi' the deil, nae?'-to which the conjuror solemnly protested that no follower of Herman Boaz pretended to any connection of the kind; their art was mere cleverness, sleight of hand, &c. And indeed a glance at the man was sufficient to remove all suspicion of the kind contained in the farmer's query. The figure before us was a man of about fifty, whose grey hairs and scarred though good-humoured face, gave indications of a life of hardship, if not of suffering. His garments were emphatically of that description called 'seedy-his breeches being literally on their last legs'—his hat was nigh crownless, and in other respects much the worse for wear; with everything else to correspond. But on entering into conversation with him, the poor fellow gave utterance to no Word of complaint; and though labouring under rheumatism, talked as coolly of lying in fields and barns at e'en,' as if he hadn't the slightest claim to a legitimate bed. His exhibition of the evening would produce enough to procure supper and carry him to the next farm-house or hamlet. This seemed the summum bonum of his life-the height of his ambition. The demeanour of the way-side philosopher highly interested us. The questions occurred -What had he been (for surely, thought we, no one is born a conjuror)? how had he fallen on his present way of life?' had he a wife? had children climbed those knees and kissed that face? There was no lack of communicativeness with the poor fellow; and his story was briefly this. The weather-beaten broken-down conjuror had been born a gentleman-his father, wild and unprincipled, had run through the estate; he then, thrown on the world, and amongst loose companions, had taken to the stage, mar ried an actress, had two sons, who entered the army, and whom he had never heard of since. Then his partner died, and, age increasing, he was thrown out of his 'parts' as an actor; but having learned conjuring tricks as an amusement, he now travelled about performing for his bread. Such is a rapid outline of the eventful history of the unfortunate whom chance had thrown in our way. Poor wretch! with no claim on parish funds-no one living soul to care for him-a stray waif floating down the streamhow sad a destiny! But as the exhibition hour approaches, we must not allow sentimentalism to destroy our relish for the performances. The room allotted to the conjuror was a small lowroofed chamber contiguous to the inn, into which we were now ushered. In one corner stood an old bed, which served the purpose of a gallery;' while round the remaining space were arranged forms to accommodate the denizens of the pit.' The exhibition is just beginning. Our friend has placed a screen at one side to conceal the arcana of his art, and before him is set a table, on which are arranged counters, yards of tape, knives, and other adjuncts of the performance. The conjuror is now in his element. He has got his face washed and hair combed, and has altogether assumed an air of smartness which we had scarcely thought possible. The room is pretty well filled with country lads and lasses, in high anticipation of the wonders about to be disclosed. A few introductory remarks must of course preface the entertainment. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' began the conjuror, the sublime art of which I am about to show you a few specimens this evening is one, I need scarcely inform you, which was originally practised by the priests in the temples of Egypt, and learned by the Greek philosophers when they visited(an interruption, the door opens, the conjuror, descending from his descriptive flight, extends his hand to the entrant with- Tuppence, sir, if you please'—and pocketing the money, proceeds)-As I was remarking, Paracelsus—I beg pardon, Anaxagoras-on his visit to the Pyramids, was initiated into the mysteries of the art, and carried the knowledge to his own country, where it was preserved in the Eleusinian ceremonies, and afterwards borrowedTuppence, sir,' again interjected the exhibitor, as another bumpkin opened the door, sit up there, and make room for the gentleman'-and then resuming the thread of his discourse, he proceeded to bring down the history of necromancy to the present times. The scene was intensely funny. Then followed the performances, consisting of the ordinary tricks, and containing nothing to astonish the inhabitants of a large town, but which were rendered highly amusing by the amazement and consternation of the rustics when the magic Presto! quick! begone!' was uttered by the necromancer. Jock, did ye ever see the like o' that? Eh, man, it's awfu'!' and such like exclamations passed freely round amongst the gaping company. The exhibition was scarcely half over when it was announced that the vehicle was ready to bear us home, and very reluctantly we were forced to quit the scene of the conjuror's triumphs. The performance was politely stopped to bid us good-bye, the ladies and gentlemen' stood up to honour our departure, and with a shake of the hand we left the conjuror in his glory.' It was now half-past ten at night, and we had thirty-six miles of travelling before us; but never did time pass more merrily away. The shepherd sung songs and told endless stories of country courtships and life amongst the hills; the Annan-man treated us to his views on all sorts of subjects, from the church question down to the cause of failure in the potato; after everything else had failed, one of our friends improvised verses; and another sung his only song ten times over; and so the hours flew, till at five in the morning, we were set down safely at homethus ending three of the happiest days it had ever been our lot to enjoy. The progress of railways suggests a word in conclusion. The Caledonian Railway, now finished, passes within two miles of Moffat, and coaching on the road is consequently at an end. With coaching disappears all the romance of travelling, and we may thus regard the excursion just detailed as among the last of the pleasurable free-and-easy journeyings which are likely to be enjoyed on this line of road. But substantial advantages remain. Our party, in addition to anxiety and loss of time, were mulcted in rather more than one pound sterling each for a distance which may now be travelled at the cost of one-fifth part of this sum. LOVE AND FAITH. BY MRS CHILD. I THANK my heavenly Father for every manifestation of human love. I thank him for all experiences, be they sweet or bitter, which help me to forgive all things, and to enfold the whole world with blessing. What shall be our reward,' says Swedenborg, for loving our neighbour as ourselves in this life? That when we become angels, we shall be enabled to love him better than ourselves.' This is a reward pure and holy; the only one which my heart has not rejected, whenever offered as an incitement to goodness. It is this chiefly which makes the happiness of lovers more nearly allied to heaven than any other emotions experienced by the human heart. Each loves the other better than himself; each is willing to sacrifice all to the other-nay, finds joy therein. This it is that surrounds them with a golden atmosphere, and tinges the world with rose-colour. A mother's love has the same angelic character; more completely unselfish, but lacking the charm of perfect reciprocity. The cure for all the ills and wrongs, the cares, the sorrows, and the crimes of humanity, all lie in that one word LOVE. It is the divine vitality that every where produces and restores life. To each and every one of us it gives the power of working miracles if we will. 'Love is the story without an end, and angels throng to hear; The word, the king of words, carved on Jehovah's heart.' From the highest to the lowest, all feel its influence, all acknowledge its sway. Even the poor despised donkey is changed by its magic influence. When coerced and beaten, he is vicious, obstinate, and stupid. With the peasantry of Spain, he is a petted favourite, almost an inmate of the household. The children bid him welcome home, and the wife feeds him from her hands. He knows them all, and he loves them all, for he feels in his inmost heart that they all love him. He will follow his master, and come and go at his bidding, like a faithful dog; and he delights to take the baby on his back, and walk him round, gently, on the green sward. His intellect expands, too, in the sunshine of affection; and he that is called the stupidest of animals becomes sagacious. A Spanish peasant had for many years carried milk into Madrid to supply a set of custom ers. Every morning he and his donkey, with loaded panniers, trudged the well-known round. At last, the peasant became very ill, and had no one to send to market. His wife proposed to send the faithful old animal by himself. The panniers were accordingly filled with canisters of milk, an inscription, written by the priest, requested customers to measure their own milk, and return the vessels; and the donkey was instructed to set off with his load. He went, and returned in due time with empty canisters; and this he continued to do for several days. The house bells in Madrid are usually so constructed that you pull downwards to make them ring. The peasant afterwards learned that his sagacious animal stopped before the door of every customer, and after waiting what he deemed a sufficient time, pulled the bell with his mouth. If affectionate treatment will thus idealise the jackass, what may it not do? Assuredly there is no limit to its power. It can banish crime, and make this earth an Eden. The best tamer of colts that was ever known in Massachusetts never allowed whip or spur to be used; and the horses he trained never needed the whip. Their spirits were unbroken by severity, and they obeyed the slightest impulse of the voice or rein with the most animated promptitude; but rendered obedient to affection, their vivacity was always restrained by graceful docility. He said it was with horses as with children; if accustomed to beating, they would not obey without it. But if managed with untiring gentleness, united with consistent and very equable firmness, the victory once gained over them was gained for ever. In the face of all these facts, the world goes on manufacturing whips, spurs, the gallows, and chains; while each one carries within his own soul a divine substitute for these devil's inventions, with which he might work miracles, inward and outward, if he would. Unto this end let us work with unfaltering faith. Great is the strength of an individual soul, true to its high trust-mighty is it even to the redemption of a world. A German, whose sense of sound was exceedingly acute. was passing by a church, a day or two after he had landed in this country, and the sound of music attracted him to enter, though he had no knowledge of our language. The music proved to be a piece of nasal psalmody, sung in most discordant fashion, and the sensitive German would fain have covered his ears. As this was scarcely civil, and might appear like insanity, his next impulse was to rush into the open air, and leave the hated sounds behind him. 'But this too I feared to do,' said he, lest offence might be given; so I resolved to endure the torture with the best fortitude I could assume, when, lo! I distinguished amidst the din the soft clear voice of a woman singing in perfect tune. She made no effort to drown the voices of her companions, neither was she disturbed by their noisy discord, but patiently and sweetly she sang in full, rich tones; one after another yielded to the gentle influence, and be fore the tune was finished, all were in perfect harmony.' I have often thought of this story as conveying an instructive lesson for reformers. The spirit that can thus sing patiently and sweetly in a world of discord, must indeed be of the strongest as well as the gentlest kind. One scarce can hear his own soft voice amid the braying of the multitude, and ever and anon comes the temptation to sing louder than they, and drown the voices that cannot thus be forced into perfect tune. But this were a pitiful experiment; the melodious tones, cracked into shrillness, would only increase the tumult. Stronger, and more frequently, comes the temptation to stop singing, and let discord do its own wild work; but blessed are they that endure to the end-singing patiently and sweetly, till all join in with loving acquiescence, and universal harmony prevails, without forcing into submission the free discord of a single voice. This is the hardest and the bravest task which a true soul has to perform amid the clashing elements of time. But once has it been done perfectly unto the end; and that voice, so clear in its meekness, is heard above all the din of a tumultuous world; one after another chimes in with its patient sweetness, and, through infinite discords, the listening soul can perceive that the great tune is slowly coming into harmony. THE BARONIAL AND ECCLESIASTICAL ANTIQUITIES OF SCOTLAND.* IN a former number we noticed this splendid portfolio of the most ancient and interesting relics of architectural antiquity in Scotland, and we took occasion to recommend it to all those whose love of the past rendered the scenes depicted valuable, and to those also whose abstract love of ornament would induce them to purchase beautifully executed works of art. We can only repeat our recommendation, and express our unqualified admiration of the accuracy and beauty which still distinguish the engravings of this truly national repertory. The publishers still maintain for this work the high reputation with which it started. It has reached its twelfth part, having illustrations of several of the most interesting and noble fragments of the ancient masonic grandeur of Scotland, comprising Holyrood and Linlithgow palaces, with * William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh and London. |