Bayreuth, an unfinished manuscript being placed on his coffin, and an ode by Klopstock sung over his grave. Thus ended the life of one who, however great he may have been in intellect, was still greater from the beauty of his domestic character, his modesty, his humility, and his uprightness. His writings, consisting of poetry, prose fiction, and philosophy, are unfortunately unsuitable to the current of sentiment in English minds, and they must therefore, like most German productions, continue to be little known in this country. PASSAGE OF THE COL DU GÉANT. THE passage of the Col du Géant, one of the lofty Alpine points in the vicinity of Mont Blanc, is generally considered by tourists too dangerous to be attempted. In making a journey through Savoy in 1844, I was resolved, however, to make the experiment the pleasure of overcoming a great difficulty, such as is often experienced by Englishmen, being one of the motives of my enterprise. It was on the 30th of July, while at Chamouny, that I notified to the chef des gardes my wish to attempt the passage. He readily appointed three guides to accompany me, and we entertained hopes of being able to start that same afternoon. But the weather in a few hours changed for the worse, and continued very unfavourable, with snow, rain, and frequent thunder, for some days. Without inserting here a meteorological journal for the period of my detention at Chamouny, it will be sufficient to state that, on the 5th of August, the weather towards the middle of the day improved so much, that I decided upon starting at two o'clock, with my guides, for the Montanvert, with the intention at anyrate of passing the night there, and of proceeding the next morning for the Col du Géant, should the weather continue fine. Besides the three guides, two of whom had several times made the passage, I was attended by a young man in the character. of guide-aspirant, who hoped one day to be enrolled among the regular Chamouny guides. Of course he was not engaged on the same terms as the other three. We arrived early in the afternoon at the Montanvert, after a very hot walk. Here we found the customary number of visitors of all nations, who had been recreating themselves during the day with the wonders of the Mer de Glace, and were now assembling in various groups, preparing to descend to Chamouny. My arrival so late in the day, with my rather formidable tail of guides, seemed to cause some surprise, which increased when my intentions transpired. However, a goodhumoured conversation naturally sprung up, which ended with good wishes being showered upon me from all sides. Adieu, monsieur; bon voyage!' said a Frenchman at parting; adding, with as near an ap proach to a sub-sardonic smile as his politeness would permit, Et beaucoup de plaisir!' with which words the last party disappeared down the steep mountain path, leaving me to the avalanches and my meditations. I retired into the little hospice, where I and my guides supped, and betook ourselves to rest betimes. The weather seemed settled, and, if possible, improving. Before one o'clock in the morning I heard my guides stirring, and soon after we all met, and congratulated each other on the fineness of the weather. The planet Jupiter was shining magnificently over the summit of the Grandes Torasses, and the moon, three weeks old, was just rising over the Aiguille du Dru. I had felt a little uneasy during the night, owing to my having heard some strong gusts of wind; but they had now quite died away, and the silence was unbroken, save by the steady roar of the many small torrents falling from the opposite rocks and lesser glaciers into the Mer de Glace. It was not in the least cold. By a quarter after two we were on foot; and after half an hour's walk by moonlight, we came to the precipitous face of rock called Les Ponts, a point which we passed without difficulty, after which we were soon fairly launched, and on foot, upon the great glacier itself. We took the route leading to the Jardin, as far as the moraines at the foot of the Couvercle, and then coasted along them as far as the Tacul, where we arrived at half-past four. The sky now appeared of the most exquisite rose-colour over the Couvercle, and of a fine yellow over the Aiguilles Rouges, behind the Flégère, at some distance on the other side of the vale of Chamouny. Once, before it was light, during our progress, one of the guides cut a step or two for us in the ice with the axe that he carried for that purpose, and it was curious to see it strike fire on the gritty surface. At the foot of the Tacul I had some spiked nails screwed into the soles of my shoes. enjoyed nearly the same view before when I visited Here I gazed with renewed wonder, although I had the Jardin, at the Glacier du Taléfre, and at the Glacier du Tacul, which we were shortly to be busily engaged in scaling. The sun was now shining brilliantly on the highest peaks, there was neither cloud nor vapour visible, and no wind, save a moderate pleasant breeze. Nothing could be more wonderful than the conviction that there were many hours of uncertain labour before the clear morning air, appeared so little formidable. us in the passage of the glacier, which from hence, in The weather was so fine, that the eye was deceived as to height and distance even more than usual. At about half-past five, on a steep slope of snow considerably above us, under the Aiguille du Grésson, I saw to my great delight a troop of about fifteen chamois. They were not at all behaving like the chamois of the picture-shops-neither tumbling down precipices upon their heads, nor exhibiting themselves in any confile, gently across the snow, one after another, just as ventional attitudes; but were making their way, in a you see deer in a park; nor did they appear to take any notice of us. Hereabouts we came to some ugly crevasses in the glacier, with snow-bridges over them, which had a treacherous look, owing to the snow which fell freshly, and in considerable quantities, only three days ago (on August 2), and which lay thickly on this part of the a considerable height. Next we came to several creglacier. In fact we were now beginning to attain vasses in succession, extending, to all appearance, right across the glacier; these were of a very variable width, so that we readily found places narrow enough to enable us to pass them with ease. By six o'clock we had ascended the glacier, at a guess, to about the level of the Jardin, which we could see at a distance, opposite to us, in its solitude, insulated in the upper part of the Glacier du Taléfre.* Soon after this we got into the heart of the Glacier du Tacul, and Alexandre Devonassond went ahead of us all to explore the way. Here we came to some really bad places, which we passed with care and patience, and not without a sensation of horror on seeing a mass of ice roll from above, and disappear with a thundering crash. Hurrying forward with all possible care, we at length got some breathing-time on a small plain of snow; and afterwards, for a little while, continued our progress up the glacier without having to encounter any bad crevasses: we were aided too, rather than impeded, by the new-fallen snow-the softness of which took off the danger that would otherwise have existed of slipping upon the ice. Hitherto our progress had been very slow, and we had been obliged to make many countermarches, so that it was now past seven o'clock. I will observe, by the way, that it is quite impossible the sea of the lowest part of the Jardin is 9042, and of the highest According to Professor Forbes, the height above the level of part, 9893 English fest. for the most extravagant pencil to exaggerate the outlines of glacier scenery-its wild fantastic forms, icy cliffs, crags, pyramids, pillars, and huge projecting masses, all making up an extraordinary study for the artist. more chamois, but we saw none. Mont Blanc now appeared on our right, in a rocky opening by the side of the glacier, astonishingly diminished in height, and apparently close to us; yet in reality it was more than six thousand feet above us, and on that side wholly inaccessible. From hence we pursued our course up a long and steep ascent of snow, in one monotonous zigzag, interrupted only by our sinking knee-deep into the soft snow, and by the countermarches it was neces sary to make in order to find snow-bridges strong enough to bear us across the crevasses with which the snow was at this height intersected. Some of these bridges had a downward, and not an upward curve; fringed with icicles many feet long. Such bridges as these we carefully avoided. In many places we saw creases in the smooth snow, under which we found incipient cracks and crevasses of a few inches only in width, that seemed to show that these wonderful regions were in a perpetual state of lapse and change, so that in all probability no two journeys across them can be made under similar circumstances. We apsuddenly as we at first got entangled among them. And now the bare outline of the Col seemed to lie just before us; it was not, however, until after nearly another hour's labour over the inclined plane of eternal snow, glacier no longer, that we actually found ourselves upon the ridge (according to Forbes), 11,142 feet above the level of the sea: having attained our point not without some hard work, and undergoing some risks, but without sustaining any painful degree of fatigue, and without experiencing any ill effects whatever from the rarity of the air; symptoms of which may always be expected to be experienced as soon as an elevation of ten thousand feet is attained. The cool, silent precautions of my guides throughout were beyond all praise. Soon afterwards, in consequence of our coming to a very bad crevasse, Devonassond was again sent out to explore a passage in one direction, and Coutet to explore in another, leaving me and the two others together. Here a large wasp, apparently puzzled like ourselves, came buzzing round and round us. We were at fault here for some time. At last a very narrow bridge of ice was seen at some little distance, which, by its darker colour, appeared to be old ice, and therefore, by comparison, firm. This bridge, if such it may be called, lay on our right, many feet above us, and the question was, how to reach it. Devonassond, with admirable coolness, yet running risks, as I thought, which made me feel almost faint with anxiety as I witnessed them, managed, by the help of steps which he cut with his axe in the solid ice, to scramble up to the base of a small column of ice that communicated with a sort of platform, on which there was firm, though scanty standing-peared to have got out of our main difficulties quite as room, and from whence the bridge might be immediately reached. The ice-column looked insecure, and the more so from the quantity of brilliantly-white fresh-fallen snow that had lodged against it. Its firmness, however, was put to the proof by blows with an ice-pole, and it was partially cleared of the fresh snow. Devonassond then cautiously cut steps round its exterior surface, and so ascended to the platform, followed by another guide, who held one end of a strong cord, the other end of which was tied round my body. I then followed them. The two guides, now firmly placed on the platform, held the cord slackly, not intending to use it unless it was required. It was agreed that they should tighten it if I called out to them to do so, but not else. Thus I wound my way, in the footsteps of those who preceded me, carefully round the column, with literal precipices and yawning gulfs of ice, formed by crevasses intersecting crevasses in every possible direction, beneath me; steadying myself with one hand as I walked, and holding the cord loosely between the finger and thumb of the other, like a child who learns to walk alone by hold-Mont Fréty, on the side towards Piedmont. In crossing up its frock before it-for confidence in the succour at hand was the only support really required. The other two guides followed me. We then all crossed the narrow bridge of ice without difficulty; and, descending by a low, yet perpendicular cliff of ice, we resumed our line of march, leaving this formidable intersection of crevasses behind us. It was now eight o'clock. Soon after this, the glacier changed its appearance altogether. As we ascended, we found more fresh snow, and fewer crevasses; but there was still great need of caution. Here we all tied ourselves together with two stout cords, and proceeded for half an hour more, until we came to a convenient place for halting, where we stopped, and took some breakfast, having had a laborious walk of more than six hours from the Montanvert, almost entirely over ice. Here I accidentally let fall on the snow the case of the green spectacles I wore on this expedition. It immediately began to glide away, as if animated, and disappeared down a crevasse, at about eighty yards below us. Nothing is safe for an instaut if not well-looked after on these treacherous slopes. In order to prevent a like mischance happening to our poles, the loss of any of which would have been a serious matter, we took care never to let them out of our hands without first sticking them firmly upright in the snow by their pointed ends. Whilst we were in the middle of the glacier, I could not help remarking what ridiculous figures we all were, equipped with blouzes, frieze gaiters, green spectacles, veils, and slouched hats, pacing along with the most solemn gravity. The journey had made us very hungry, and we fell to our repast with excellent appetites, after which we resumed our line of march exactly as before. At a quarter before ten we came on the fresh track of But it is not desirable, and it is scarcely possible, to remain long on the uppermost ridge. You must make immediately for the rocky buttress on which De Saussure's cabin stood. In order to attain this spot, you pass a very dangerous steep slope of snow, terminating abruptly in a precipice on the summit of the glacier of ing this slope, the new-fallen snow stood us in good stead. It was exactly of the proper consistency for walking upon safely and easily; nevertheless, it appeared to me to be a place where, in some states of the weather, an avalanche might easily be detached, that would carry all before it and with it to destruction. Devonassond told me that on one occasion, on passing this spot, he found it an entire sheet of ice, so that he was obliged to cut steps right across its whole length in order to reach the rocks. These, however, we now attained without difficulty; and on arriving, we congratulated one another on the entire success that had, up to this point, attended our expedition, and commenced a vigorous attack upon our remaining provisions. Here, then, we were fairly stationed upon the summit of the Col du Géant, at a height, as I have before stated, of more than eleven thousand feet above the level of the sea. From this point the view to the north is quite shut out; but on turning to the south, on your right hand, is the summit of Mont Blanc, with its dependent glaciers, and awful buttresses and outworks; in good truth, a most sublime and astonishing sight! Below, lies the Allée Blanche; farther, amidst a wilderness of alps, not fewer than five enormous peaks of mountains, apparently little lower than Mont Blanc, and of outlines to the full as grand; nearer rose the Cramont and the Pain de Sucre, hard by which was the little town of Courmayeur, with the adjacent valleys; and thus, not to catalogue the remaining mountains, the eye passed eastward towards Mount Rosa, and the glorious Cervin. Most fortunately there was no haze or vapour to intercept the wonders of the view; there were only a few white clouds here and there, rather setting off than marring the proportions and magnitudes of the mountains before us, infinite in number and majesty. In fact no description can convey anything like an adequate idea of this side of Mont Blanc, and of the appearance of the descent, our destined route, from the summit of the Col du Géant towards Courmayeur. Whilst gazing at the view, our attention was arrested by a hissing sound, which we found to proceed from the snow on a very long and precipitous slope to our right, the surface of which, under the influence of the noonday sun, began to slide in gentle avalanches down towards the rocks beneath. We immediately, merely for the sake of amusement, commenced hurling stones, as large as we could lift, down the slope, in hopes of augmenting the avalanches; but it was wholly without effect. The velocity, however, which these stones acquired before they reached the bottom of the slope, and the force with which they dashed against the rocks below, bursting asunder in clouds of dust, was a striking sight. Two of my party succeeded in detaching a very large mass, which rolled down with prodigious violence, but it had no more effect on the snow than the smaller ones. Some of the boards of De Saussure's cabin, before alluded to, still remain on this spot. Here it was that, in his devotedness to science, that distinguished philosopher passed seventeen days and nights. The débris of rock here contain a vast quantity of crystals. Here, too, we picked up the broken stem of a thermometer. We also saw several butterflies whilst we remained on the summit. We had, earlier in the day, seen several dead and dying insects on the surface of the snow, and one or two dead half-fledged birds. We remained on the summit of the Col until a quarter before one o'clock. I forgot to note the exact time of our arrival, but I think we remained on the summit nearly two hours, enjoying the uninterrupted calmness and beauty of the weather. We now commenced our descent towards Courmayeur. Our way lay down a long precipice of loose rocks and stones, fortunately free from snow. This descent, together with a glissade of snow much lower down, and after that a steep descent of rude mountain pasture, occupied us, without intermission, until past three o'clock, when we made another halt at the tail of a snow-slope, from under which there issued a delicious clear stream of ice-cold water. Here we finished what wine we had with us, and congratulated each other sincerely on the success of our expedition, for now all difficulties were past; and I will not deny having looked up at the frowning battlements of ice, on which we had been so lately standing, with the most exhilarating sensations. During the descent, I was much struck with the towering magnificence of the Mont Velen, which I had seen in great beauty when on an excursion to the Great St Bernard a fortnight before. The beauty of the scenery below, about Courmayeur, as seen during the descent, exceeds anything which the vale of Chamouny affords. Other steep pastures, fir-woods, and a succession of sloping green meadows, led us finally down into the vale of Courmayeur at a quarter past five. Here, just as we had reached the bottom, although I felt in no respect unpleasantly fatigued, I was attacked by a giddiness so sudden and violent, that I fell against a young ash-tree, and thence headlong down a soft grassy bank. My guides, in alarm, ran to my assistance, and in less than a minute I was perfectly restored; nor was I in the least hurt by the fall. This kind of attack I had never before experienced. I have no doubt but that it was occasioned by changing the air of the glacier, and of the mountain, for that of the valley, which we all found very hot and close. I continued my walk with great caution for a little way, being apprehensive of a return of the seizure; but finding that, on crossing a narrow wooden bridge over a foaming torrent, I could stand and look at the troubled waters without inconvenience, I dismissed the subject from my mind, convinced that the indisposition was merely transient. And so it proved. We at length reached Courmayeur at six o'clock, having been on foot fifteen hours and threequarters. In the evening I experienced a very slight bleeding at the nose. I slept well that night, and the next morning felt little or no remains of fatigue. There is no part of the passage of the Col du Géant, from Chamouny to Courmayeur, that is extraordinarily fatiguing; though the glacier is sure to be in a state more or less dangerous, and the summit of the Col, towards Courmayeur, may be in a very dangerous state indeed. The excitement is unceasing, and the attention perpetually occupied. I have been very fortunate in all my mountain excursions, and have been well rewarded for paying a little patient attention to the turns of the weather. We had scarcely arrived at Courmayeur, when dark clouds began to gather round the summit of Mont Blanc, and soon after enveloped the Col du Géant; and at dusk it came on to rain heavily, with thunder and lightning. With respect to passing the Col du Géant, I think, on the whole, it is better to go, as we did, from Chamouny to Courmayeur, than from Courmayeur to Chamouny. It may be a question, in case of bad weather, which is the better place of the two to be detained at: but at Chamouny you are sure of getting good guides at a short notice; and if you intend starting from Courmayeur, you must send round to Chamouny for a guide to be the leader of the party, and must keep him with you till you start. Also, on the Chamouny side, in passing the glacier, you are going up hill all the way, whereby you obtain a better sight of your chief diffi culties, which also you thus encounter early in the day's work. But, on the other hand, should the rocky precipice on the side of Courmayeur have any snow upon it, the ascent of it would probably be better than the descent. However, in such a case, it would perhaps be the more prudent plan to defer the expedition altogether. The next morning, August 7, was fine after the rain and thunder of the night; but we observed that fresh snow had fallen on the heights, and that the precipitous rocky descent from the Col was now gray with snow; so that had we delayed our expedition a single day, it would in all probability have failed. At eight o'clock I left Courmayeur with my guides, and proceeded by the Col de la Seigne to Chapice, a wild little mountain village, our quarters for the night. We were scarcely housed, about dusk, before a thunder-storm came on; during which I saw, by a blaze of lightning, three children of the hamlet sitting on the grassy slope of the mountain, not heeding the weather, and no one heeding them. The rain at last drove them in. One had a bowl of milk in his hand, and another a wreath of Alpine flowers. The next morning we went on by the Col du Bon Homme to the baths of St Gervais. Here I bade farewell to my trusty guides, shaking them all four cordially by the hand at parting. They were of course going home to Chamouny. I went on to St Martin, and the next morning returned by the diligence to Geneva. MUSIC OF FISHES. of the means of making themselves heard; and if they comAquatic animals are generally supposed to be destitute municate with each other, it is usually supposed that it must be otherwise than by sound. The seal has, it is believed, a peculiar and distinct cry; and the grampus snorts as it attains the surface. Frogs, and other amphibious animals, croak long and loud enough; but in all these cases the sounds are emitted, not under, but above the water, and by creatures rarely more than half-aquatic. The cetaceous races have warm blood, and suckle their young; and fishes, properly so called, are considered, as we shall presently show, erroneously a silent race. mentioned in history; and a scaly creature emitting long-cared Balaamite is justly reckoned the strangest ass sounds may truly be reckoned a very odd fish indeed. A party lately crossing from the promontory in Salsette, called the Neat's Tongue, to near Sewree, were, about sunset, struck by hearing long distinct sounds, like the The protracted booming of a distant bell, the dying cadence of an Eolian harp, the note of a pitchpipe or pitchfork, or any other long-drawn-out musical note. It was at first supposed to be music from Parell, floating at intervals on the breeze; then it was perceived to come from all directions almost in equal strength, and to arise from the surface of the water all around the vessel. The boatmen at once intimated that the sounds were produced by fish abounding in the muddy creeks and shoals around Bombay and Salsette: they were perfectly well known, and very often heard. Accordingly, on inclining the ear towards the surface of the water-or, better still, by placing it close to the planks of the vessel-the notes appeared loud and distinct, and followed each other in constant succession. The boatmen next day produced specimens of the fish-a creature closely resembling in size and shape the fresh-water perch of the north of Europe-and spoke of them as plentiful, and perfectly well known. It is hoped that they may be procured alive, and the means afforded of determining how the musical sounds are produced and emitted, with other particulars of interest supposed new in ichthyology. We shall be glad to receive from our readers any information they can give us in regard to a phenomenon which does not appear to have been heretofore noticed, and which cannot fail to attract the attention of the naturalist. Of the perfect accuracy with which the singular facts above related have been given no doubt will be entertained, when it is mentioned that the writer was one of a party of five intelligent persons, by all of whom they were most carefully observed, and the impressions of all of whom in regard to them were uniform. It is supposed that the fish are confined to particular localities-shallows, estuaries, and muddy creeks, rarely visited by Europeans; and that this is the reason why hitherto no mention, so far as we know, has been made of the peculiarity in any work on natural history.-Bombay Times. FACTS ON THE POST-OFFICE. At an entertainment lately given at Manchester to Mr Rowland Hill, the originator of the penny postage, some remarkable statements were made by that distinguished benefactor of his country. 'He wished,' he said, 'to convey to his hearers some idea of the magnitude of the institution. Were he merely to state that so many millions of letters passed through the Post-office in a year, no one could form any accurate conception of the reality. The best mode, probably, to convey any idea of the whole, would be for him to describe some part. For instance, last night when he left London, he was at Euston Square when the mail was brought in to go by the train-this being only one of many which are despatched by railways. It was considered an exceedingly light mail; but small as it was, it literally filled six large omnibuses; and the heavy mails forwarded on a Saturday night filled nine carriages of a similar description. Again, the number of dead letters, since the adoption of prepayment, had become a very small fraction-less than the 200th part of the whole; nevertheless the average amount of money found in such letters, in coin, bank-notes, and bills of exchange, was L. 100,000 per annum. Many thousands of pounds were actually found in letters with no address whatever. It might seem to many absurd that letters should be carried past a town for which they were intended, and then brought back; but it was not really absurd. It arose from the impossibility of every town making up a bag for every other town. There were about 1000 post-towns, and if every one of these made up 1000 bags, there would be 1,000,000 bags; in fact, more bags than letters. It had often struck him that some pains should be taken to make the main features of the Post-office system intelligible to the people. There was no department of government which came so much into contact with the people, and it was advisable that they should know what arrangements were capable of improvement, and what were not. Perhaps it might be interesting to the company to revert to a few facts connected with the change produced by the plan of penny postage. Immediately before the introduction of the reduced rate of postage, the number of chargeable letters-not including franks-delivered amounted to 75,000,000 annually. Last year it amounted to 299,500,000, or to fourfold the original number. It would require something more than that to bring the Post-office revenue up to the former gross amount; but less than fivefold would effect that object. At the present moment, the number of letters delivered in the London district, com prising a circle of a radius of twelve miles round the Postoffice in St Martin's-le-Grand, was quite as great as that which, under the old system, was delivered in the whole United Kingdom. The increase was rapidly going on, and amounted to 28,000,000 more last year as compared with the previous year. It was the opinion of many gentlemen that the introduction of the penny rate increased the difficulty of effecting improvements. It was said they could not afford to give cheaper postage and greater facilities also; but in fact improvements had followed one another more rapidly since the penny postage came into operation than before. When the plan was first proposed, the large towns had only a single mail connecting them with London; now they have two mails per day. Again: in England and Wales there were formerly only 2000 post-offices of every kind; now there were 4000. There was a growing conviction in the minds of all connected with the Post-office, that to make the establishment profitable, they must make it as useful as possible, and to that great object his efforts should be devoted.' THE SWING. UPWARD she wings her flight afar, A bird amid the quivering bowers; Then, shooting downwards like a star, Just skims the dew, and stirs the flowers. One moment, like the huntress fair, She stoops to kiss Endymion's eyes; The next, rebounding in the air, Shoots Parthian arrows as she flies. Love-banished, and recalled by love, She paints the passion false and vain: Yet no; for though she seems to rove, She still obeys the master's chain. Now on the earth, now in the air, Now won, now lost, her fleeting charms; Gliding aloft, a phantom fair, Then pressed an instant in my arms: THE ROUND TOWER. A SONNET. L. R. IN London, queen of cities, you may see, Where hung sonorous the resounding bell? We sce, whose uses nobody can tell?'Twas answered, Who 'twas built it know I not; But 'tis, I know, the Tower for Patent Shot.' -Old newspaper. CHARACTER OF UNHEALTHY DISTRICTS. All these districts have the same character. The streets are narrow, badly paved, badly cleansed, and badly drained; the houses ill-constructed, without the means of cleanliness and decency, over-crowded and unventilated; and, as a consequence, the streets are covered with filth, and the houses full of impure air. The condition of the streets and houses generates filthy habits, and the habits once formed, react upon, and exaggerate the state of things to which they owe their origin; till at length filth, disease, destitution, and crime, come to dwell together as natural and inseparable companions.-Sanitary State of the Metropolis. EDINBURGH JOURNAL CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE, CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c. HISTORICAL TABLEAUX. SERFDOM. A READER of history is startled with no fact more curious, or more suggestive of melancholy reflections, than this: among every people aspiring to the rank of a nation has there been a tendency to a condition of slavery-slavery less or more modified, according to circumstances, but still, in any of its forms, a condition of personal degradation and dependence. Accustomed in the present day to associate ideas of injustice and violence with the condition of slavery, we are naturally disposed to imagine that slavery in all ages must have been maintained exclusively by force. Violence no doubt has been mainly a cause of slavery; but history demonstrates, by unchallengeable evidence, that, in numerous instances, it has also been a voluntary condition-a condition into which men have peacefully gravitated, and actually chosen in preference to liberty. In pretty nearly all modern dissertations on slavery, this latter fact has been somewhat disingenuously kept out of sight, possibly from a well-meant desire to do no damage to the cause of slave emancipation. We think it consistent with a truer morality to look the truth unflinchingly in the face; humanity, as we conceive, being always best served by a fair representation of facts, and the philosophy which can be drawn from them. The oldest record on which reliance can be placed is the Bible-a work, it is to be presumed, in every one's hands. If we peruse with even moderate diligence the historical portion of that ancient record, we may observe, from various passages, that in the patriarchal and subsequent ages slavery was an institution regulated by express injunction. The Hebrews were to have no sort of scruple in buying or selling strangers. Both thy bondmen and thy bondmaids, which thou shalt have, shall be of the heathen that are round about you; of them shall ye buy bondmen and bondmaids. Moreover, of the children of the strangers that do sojourn among you, of them shall ye buy, and of their families that are with you' (Lev. xxv. 44, 45). With respect to the buying and selling of each other, however, this ancient people were placed under some kind of limitations. If a Hebrew bought one of his own nation, the slave was to serve him only seven years, and receive certain presents at departure; but if it happened that the slave, from affection to his master, would not leave him, then he was to be kept in perpetual bondage. The ceremony on such occasions is distinctly prescribed: Then thou shalt take an awl, and thrust it through his ear unto the door, and he shall be thy servant for ever; and also unto thy maid-servant thou shalt do likewise' (Deut. XV. 17). The tenure by which personal freedom was held was PRICE 1d. exceedingly slight all over the East. Liberty might at any time be forfeited by impoverishment, or any other misfortune; and so little was it prized, that men did not scruple to gamble away their entire property in themselves and their families. In the infancy of institutions, buying and selling are the ready methods of negotiating a thousand intricate transactions. Contracts of various kinds resolve themselves into a matter of exchange. We accordingly find that, in all ancient marriages, the symbol of buying and selling was introduced. Every man obtained his wife for a certain quantity of goods or money, or, as in the case of Jacob, for a length of servitude. And till this day, in most rude nations, the same practice prevails. Among the North American Indians, a wife is purchased by a present of peltry, and other articles suitable to the fancy or necessities of the seller. In ancient times, inability to pay a debt was a fruitful source of slavery. In the narrative of events recorded in the fourth chapter of the second book of Kings, an affecting story occurs: it is that of a poor widow, whose children are about to be taken from her, and carried into slavery, in liquidation of an unpaid debt of their father. In the woman's despair she comes to Elisha, and after telling him that her husband is dead, adds that the creditor is come to take unto him my two sons to be bondmen.' The prophet, it will be remembered, interposes to prevent this calamity, by multiplying her vessel of oil, out of which she is desired to pay the demands of her ruthless creditor. From this simple fact, it would appear that people who could not pay their debts became, with their families, the property of their creditors. The seizure and sale of the person was, in all probability, the only available means of settling a claim of this kind; the law threw no mantle of protection over the liberty of the unfortunate debtor. The readiness with which large masses of men became the property of wealthy owners, accounts in a great degree for the large public works of ancient times. What was wanting in capital and science was made up by the animal force of slaves. All the huge stones for building the Pyramids were dragged on sledges, from distant quarries, by long rows of men, yoked together with cords, and impelled to exert their utmost strength by attendant companies of soldiers. The raising of these blocks to their respective places was likewise effected by bands of slaves pulling at ropes attached to rude mechanical contrivances. In the Great Pyramid of Cheops there are six million tons of stone, piled on a surface of eleven acres, and rising to a height of four hundred and sixty-one feet. A steam engine could have elevated the whole mass without a single pang to a human being. But, according to Herodotus, relays of a hundred thousand slaves toiled for twenty years in raising the stones to their places. The sacrifice of |