ers.

But however much we may be impressed with the imagined spectacle of a host of disciplined barbarians fighting with swords and bucklers, we cannot keep out of sight that they would have been chaff before the wind in the presence of modern military science. Ulysses and Agamemnon were ten years in aking the city of Troy. Ulysses Grant with his batteries would have taken it in ten minutes. Artists, historians and poets depict even now the memorable battles of Alexander and Cæsar. But half a dozen shells would have scattered the Macedonian phalanx, and the Roman Empire could not have stood many days after a modern war steamer should have found its way up the Tiber.

The march of military improvement has not yet balted in its course. The great war of American conservation has been eminently a war of science, and has changed by its inventions the whole face of modern conflicts. Huge forts and strong war ships no longer protect ha bors from the inroads of invulnerable enemies. The wooden walls of England, so long her defence and her boast, like the walls of Jericho, have fallen flat before the sound of the distant crashing of rams and monitors and torpedoes. If the time shall ever come when classical readers shall tire at the monotonous championship of Trojans, Greeks and Rutulians, they will kindle with wonder over that miracle of romance and reality, "The Bay Fight" of Mobile, by Henry Howard Brownell,

the guidance of men like themselves, of men who had been cleavers of wood and sewers of garments, who had wrought as farmers, as tanners, and as homely manufacturers, who knew the genius and character of their constituents and the roads through which they were to be conducted to natural and necessary success.

At this moment no nation of the globe can be called more truly powerful than one which has peacefully absorbed into its interior depths half a million of veterans, with discipline in their history, arms in their hands and education in their heads. The most formidable ruler whom the world now knows, is a self-educated man, who could hardly read and write at the age of twenty.

It is a fact so generally admitted, in this country at least, as to have become almost a trueism, that prescriptive and hereditary positions are declining in social influence. Personal unworthiness or incompetency cannot be covered up by personal privilege. It is better to be the founder of a great name, than its disreputable survivor. When a marshal of France, Duke of Abrantes and Governor of Paris, was reminded by others of the obscurity of his birth, he proudly replied, "Moi je suis mon ancêtre" (I am my own ancestor). In this great and original country, which is now treading in the van of a new reformation, we have thousands yet untaught, who are to become ancestors in fame, ancestors in fortune, ancestors in science, ancestors in virtue. May their descendants be worthy of them.

These are the men who may well claim to "constitute a State." They are, as it were, the granite substratum which underlies the rich coal fields and the arable soils of the earth's exterior surface. Like that they will last when softer and richer tracts shall have been swept away. Yet a continent as extensive and various as ours should

It is the duty of educational institutions to adapt themselves to the wants of the place and time in which they exist. It needs no uncommon penetration to see that we are now living in a great transition period, and that the world is resting its future hopes, and quieting its future fears in reliance on an educated and enlightened democracy. When Andrew Johnson, at the inauguration ceremony of 1865, somewhat hastily de-be capable of furnishing all soils and mateclared himself a plebeian, dependent on rials for all needful and desirable producthe will of the people, and applied the same tions. When the necessaries which sustain impeachment to his fellow functionaries, life are provided, the luxuries which adorn like Paul of old, he was not mad, but spoke and gratify it must follow in their order. forth the words of truth and soberness. The " In every country," says Buckle, "as soon last few years of history, the greatest and as the accumulation of wealth has reached most momentous that the world has ever a certain point, the produce of each man's witnessed, bear testimony to the power of labor becomes more than sufficient for his an educated common people to perceive support; it is no longer necessary that all and to carry forward their own true inter- should work; and there is found a separate ests. Against the wiles of an astute and class, the members of which pass their lives determined oligarchy, against the frowns for the most part in the pursuit of pleasure; of foreign privileged orders, amid the vicis- a very few, however, in the acquisition and situdes of good and evil fortune, this great diffusion of knowledge." This statement is people have advanced to their final triumph, a good exposition of the law which rules in not of revolution but of conservation, under the affairs of this country; it contains the

danger and the safety, the bane and the youth with vigorous and varied powers will antidote, of our social destiny. In a nation not easily restrict himself to a beaten track, in which "the government is made for the but as his mind grows he will become dispeople, and not the people for the govern- cursive in his aspirations. He will carry ment," whose fundamental requisite is "the along with him, not only the adopted or segreatest good of the greatest number," edu- lect pursuits which has enabled him to serve, cation, elementary and practical, such as to impress or to excel others, but he will common schools can furnish, must be made also be prompted, both before and after he accessible to all who can be withdrawn, has grown up, to entertain himself and to either from labor or idleness, for a sufficient extend his relations with those who surtime to realize its advantage. Afterwards round him, by devoting his surplus time, those whom favor of fortune or strength of which his very success has given him, to the will has qualified to approach higher paths enlargement of his sphere of occupation. of intellectual culture should be encouraged, Every professional man, however efficient assisted and excited to enter and occupy and prosperous he may be in the discharge either one or many of the more difficult of his daily routine, must have, if he would fields of literature and science, preferring not rust, some collateral pursuits, some bythose that best harmonize with the adopted play of life, in which he may recreate himpath which is to be the occupation of life. self and keep up a wholesome freshness by And as to the residuary class, not numerous intercourse with congenial minds, and at in any country, to whom is left the option times with the ideal world. Our country of pursuing pleasure or knowledge, it is for- has been called in reproach the arena of a tunate when there is judgment enough to cultivated mediocrity. Happy would it be perceive that these two objects can be if all mankind could be brought up even to identified in one pursuit. Knowledge is that level. A cultivated mediocrity is the never so successfully cultivated as when it boundless soil from out of which must spring becomes a pleasure, and no pleasure is more at times the vigorous and favored shoots permanent than the successful pursuit of of genius, sparse and exceptional though knowledge, combined, as it should be, with they may be, yet sufficient to supply the moral progress. Natural gifts and varia- just needs of mankind, — various and ections of aptitude qualify men to tread with centric in their character, yet conspiring to advantage the special paths of art and sci- dignify and ennoble our race. Men cannot ence; and such gifts are most frequently all be geniuses, yet there are many in whom born in and with them, and cannot be im- exist the germs of art, poetry and eloquence, parted from without. A musical ear, an the love of beauty, the sense of the ideal, artistic eye and a poetic sense are not to be and the perception of the unseen. created in any man. We might as well are the men who, when discovered and expect to endow him with the sagacity of brought out, delight, attract, and impress the the hound, the quick ear of the hare, or the world; who are generally appreciated, lightning sense of danger which preserves though not often followed; whose presence and insures the perilous life of the summer and inspiration are necessary to the enjoyinsect. ment and the upward progress of the huThe man of robust though ungainly frame, man race. They spread the sails in the admay make a first-rate labourer; the slender, venturous and perilous voyage of life, while shy and delicate youth may shine in the others hold the helm and labor at the ropes. walks of literature; the man of strong voice Our country, with its vast territory, its and prompt and comprehensive intellect inviting regions, its various population, its may take precedence as an orator. But untrammelled freedom, looks forward now transpose these conditions, and we have a to a future which hitherto it has hardly result of mistakes and failures. What God dared to anticipate. Let us hopefully await hath put asunder, man cannot well join to- the period when the world shall do homage gether. to our national refinement, as it now does

These

I have dwelt on the importance of a spe- to our national strength; when the column cial and well selected path of study as lead- shall have received its Corinthian capital; ing to success in education, and not less in and when the proportions of the native oak subsequent life. Nevertheless, the necessity shall be decorated, but not concealed, by of absolute confinement to this path is to the cultivated luxuriance of vines and be accepted with great modifications. A flowers.

place like this? What pleasures do I get out of it? That comes of marrying and keeping up one's name in the county respectably! What do I care for the county? D-the county! I often wish that I'd been a younger son,

perfect faith; -if only he would have been a brother to her.

But it was too late now for doubting, and on the next day she found herself getting out of the old Redicote fly, at Colonel Asas you are." kerton's door. He came out to meet her, Captain Aylmer had no answer to make and his greeting was very friendly. Hitherto to all this. It was, no doubt, the fact that there had been no great intimacy between age and good living had made Sir Anthony him and her, owing rather to the manner altogether incapable of enjoying the kind of life adopted by him than to any cause of of life which he desiderated, and that he mutual dislike between them. Mrs. Askerwould probably have eaten and drunk him- ton had shown herself desirous of some soself into his grave long since had that kind cial intercourse since she had been at Belof life been within his reach. This, how-ton, but with Colonel Askerton there had ever, the son could not explain to the fa- been nothing of this. He had come there inther. But in fitting, as he endeavoured to tending to live alone, and had been satisfied do, his father's words to his own case, Cap- to carry out his purpose. But now Clara tain Aylmer did perceive that a bachelor's had come to his house as a guest, and life might perhaps be the most suitable to he assumed towards her altogether a new his own peculiar case. Only he would do manner. "We are so glad to have you," nothing unhandsome. As to that he was he said, taking both her hands. Then quite resolved. Of course Clara must show she passed on into the cottage, and in a herself to be in some degree amenable to minute was in her friend's arms. reason and to the ordinary rules of the "Dear Clara; dearest Clara, I am so world; but he was aware that his mother glad to have you here." was hot-tempered, and he generously made up his mind that he woul I give Miss Amedroz even yet another chance.

At the hotel in London Clara found a short note from Mrs. Askerton, in which she was warmly assured that everything should be done to make her comfortable at the cottage as long as she should please to stay there. But the very warmth of affection thus expressed made her almost shrink from what she was about to do. Mrs. Askerton was no doubt anxious for her coming; but would her cousin Will Belton approve of the visit; and what would her cousin Mary say about it? If she was being driven into this step against her own approval, by the insolence of Lady Aylmer, if she was doing this thing simply because Lady Aylmer had desired her not to do it, and was doing it in opposition to the wishes of the man she had promised to marry as well as in her own judgment, there could not but be cause for shrinking. And yet she believed that she was right. If she could only have had some one to tell her, -some one to whom she could trust implicitly to direct her! She had hitherto been very much prone to rebel against authority. Against her aunt she had rebelled, and against her father, and against her lover. But now she wished with all her heart that there might be some one to whom she could submit with perfect faith. If she could only know what her cousin Will would think. In him she thought she could have trusted with that

"It is very good of you."

"No, dear; the goodness is with you to come. But we won't quarrel about that. We will both be ever so good. And he is so happy that you should be here. You'll get to know him now. But come up stairs. There's a fire in your room, and I'll be your maid for the occasion, because then we can talk." Clara did as she was bid and went up stairs; and as she sat over the fire while her friend knelt beside her, for Mrs. Askerton was given to such kneelings,

- she could not but tell herself that Belton Cottage was much more comfortable than Aylmer Park. During the whole time of her sojourn at Aylmer Park no word of real friendship had once greeted her ears. Everything there had been cold and formal, till coldness and formality had given way to violent insolence.

"And so you have quarrelled with her ladyship," said Mrs. Askerton. "I knew you would."

"I have not said anything about quarrelling with her."

You

"But of course you have. Come, now; don't make yourself disagreeable. have had a downright battle; - have you not?"

66

Something very like it, I'm afraid.” "I am so glad," said Mrs. Askerton, rubbing her hands.

"That is ill-natured."

"Very well. Let it be ill-natured. One isn't to be good-natured all round, or what`

would be the use of it. And what sort of woman is she?"

"Oh dear; I couldn't describe her. She is very large, and wears a great wig, and manages everything herself, and I've no doubt she's a very good woman in her own way."

"You are ashamed that he should know that you are here," said Mrs. Askerton, in a tone of reproach.

"Ashamed! No; I am not ashamed. But I would sooner that he had not been I can see her at once; and a very told, - as yet. Of course he would have pillar of virtue as regards morality and been told before long." going to church. Poor me! Does she know that you have come here?"

"I've no doubt she does. I did not tell her, nor would I tell her daughter; but I told Captain Aylmer."

"That was right. That was very right. I'm so glad of that. But who would doubt that you would show a proper spirit. And what did he say ?"

"I won't trouble you about him. I don't in the least doubt but all that will come right. And what sort of man is Sir Anthony?"

"A common-place sort of a man; very gouty, and with none of his wife's strength. I liked him the best of them all."

66

Because you saw the least of him, I suppose.

He was kind in his manner to me." "And they were like she-dragons. I understand it all, and can see them just as though I had been there. I felt that I knew what would come of it when you first told me that you were going to Aylmer Park. I did, indeed. I could have prophesied it all.

"It would have done no good; - and your going there has done good. It has opened your eyes to more than one thing, I don't doubt. But tell me, have you told them in Norfolk that you were coming here?"

66

"But you are not angry with me?" Angry! How can I be angry with any one who is so kind to me?"

That evening passed by very pleasantly, and when she went again to her own room, Clara was almost surprised to find how completely she was at home. On the next day she and M.s. Askerton together went up to the house, and roamed through all the rooms, and Clara seated herself in all the accustomed chairs. On the sofa, just in the spot to which Belton had thrown it, she found the key of the cellar. She took it up in her hand, thinking that she would give it to the servant; but again she put it back upon the sofa. It was his key, and he had left it there, and if ever there came an occasion she would remind him where he had put it. Then they went out to the cow, who was at her ease in a little home paddock. "Dear Bessey," said Clara. "See how well she knows me.' But I think the tame little beast would have known any one else as well who had gone up to her as Clara did, with food in her hand. "She is quite as sacred as any cow that ever was worshipped among the cow-worshippers,” said Mrs. Askerton. "I suppose they milk her and sell the butter, but otherwise she is not regarded as an ordinary cow at all." "Poor Bessey," said Clara. "I wish she had never come here. What is to be done with her?" 66 Done with her! She'll stay here till she dies a natural death, and then a romantic pair of mourners will follow her to her grave, mixing their sympathetic tears comfortably as they talk of the old days; and in future years, Bessey will grow to be a divinity of the past, never to be mentioned without tenderest reminiscences. I have not the slightest difficulty in prophesying as to Bessey's future life and posthumous honours." They roamed about the place the whole morning, through "the garden and round the farm buildings, and in and out of the house; and at every turn something was said about Will Belton. But Clara would not go up to the rocks, although Mrs. Askerton more than once attempted to turn in that direction. He had said that he never would go there again

"No;-I have not written to my cousin." "Don't be angry with me if I tell you something. I have."

"Have what?"

"I have told Mr. Belton that you were coming here. It was in this way. I had to write to him about our continuing in the cottage. Colonel Askerton always makes me write if it's possible, and of course we were obliged to settle something as to the place."

"I'm sorry you said anything about me.' "How could I help it? What would you have thought of me, or what would he have thought, if, when writing to him, I had not mentioned such a thing as your visit? Besides, it's much better that he should know."