And when we reward a great man, we do it not for the sake of himself so much as for that of others. Perhaps he is best without it certainly all great men have thought very little

of rewards at all.

So foolishly have kings rewarded favourites, so recklessly have dukes and knights and baronets been made, so much have titles been made matters of place, riches, and position, that they have grown ridiculous and foolish in the eyes of many. In America they have been abolished. Puritanism and Protestantism do not agree with orders of chivalry of apocryphal saints, with orders of the Holy Ghost, of Saint Louis (a king), and of Queen Brenhilda. Modern religion, hating vows, does not want men to be knights of the Order of Chastity, of Poverty, or of the Defence of the Ladies. The lawyer's blue bag and horsehair wig, the policeman's staff, the steel pen of the writer-these are the arms of knighthood in our days. Yet, with the old titles, useful if they again could be made full of truth and life, others have taken up, and many wear them proudly. But, of all follies in the world, what idiotcy is that which makes it incumbent on a king to distribute honours to those who are accidentally brought in contact with him—to knight a busy county-town lawyer because he brings up an address, and to make a Lord Mayor a baronet because during his mayoralty an heir was born to the throne ! Can we wonder that we have laughed at City baronets in play, song, and pasquinade for a hundred years, or that we shall at them laugh for a hundred more? They best defend the order of nobility who allow only the truly great to be noble. When dullards and rich adventurers, men made of money, or who have made money anyhow, are

rewarded, no wonder that Cobden refused place and title, and that man after man, ending with Tennyson, has rejected the Queen's offer of a baronetcy, and has been content to refuse any mere honorary distinction, to reject the handle to his name given by a knighthood or baronetage, and has consoled himself with the quotation, " Amen ! and Virtue is its own reward."

LTHOUGH many people kick against the Catechism, and although the charity-children make sad havoc of the Queen's English as they drawl it out, we all agree with the principles enunciated in it; and that especially is not a bad notion of duty which boys are taught in it-that they should keep their tongues from evil-speaking, lying, and slandering. The rule is truly a golden one; but it is seldom earnestly or thoughtfully followed. Talk about the "evil eye," which the Easterns fear, what is that to the evil tongue? It is our worst enemy, and not one of us can keep it closely shut between our twoand-thirty teeth. It will waggle; wag, wag, waggle. do so like to hear the sounds that it makes; it rattles away quicker than a cherry-clapper in a high wind; but, if we could only pull ourselves up "sharp" with a text or a sentence, "God shall curse thee, O thou false tongue!" whenever we repeat a slander, we should do good.

We

Of a truth, however, let us say it piously-we need not call upon God to curse a false tongue, for it curses itself. It makes many a bitter enemy; it tickles its owner, but it

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earns him despite, hatred, discomfort, trouble, and disgust. When a man is a good talker he will need something to talk about: hence we have more gossips in the villages than in the towns; because in gossiping the listeners do more than half, or half at least; and no one will listenit is not in the nature of humanity—unless his ear and his understanding be tickled. Then in villages there is less political and social matter to debate. Living far away from great events, the unhappy villagers care little about the Ministry, Church, State, or foreign affairs, and the gossiper has to draw-poor man !-on a bank nearer home. Thence arises the insinuation, when news is not to be had, a good talker will invent it. "If," says Lord Chesterfield, some solemn prig bores you with a quotation, invent some aphorism in the manner of his favourite author which is plainly against him, and quote it as the author's." So gossipers must invent; they must be piquant, fresh, startling, and new. They cannot dwell in decencies for ever. To know the surface truth is very common; but to be behind the scenes, to know the acute why and wherefore, to read by owl's light, to see the man who plays the puppets pull the wires, to be amongst those who are "pipe-layers,” wirepullers, dodgers, the real actors, the masters of the situation that is the ambition of the gossiper. A friend who knows a lady who is a friend of a gentleman who dines with a Queen's equerry, and can tell the very latest, freshest on dit about the royal family, that is the person to know. He would make the fortune of a Lounger at the Clubs or a London newspaper correspondent; and, upon the testimony of at least as many hands or tongues as these, we receive

our gossip. Such news has two tendencies which serve to make it corrupt; the first is that of exaggeration, and the second is that which always "spices" it with ill-nature.

When Dr. Johnson was talking with a learned mathematician at Cambridge, he startled his opponent by saying that "the Devil was the first Whig, for he wished to set up a reform in heaven." The suggestion and parallel were ingenious, but it is less true than that the Devil was the first scandalizer, as his name shows. If we call scandal a diabolical report, we are right enough in the application of the adjective; for the Greek diabolos and Latin diabolus are derived from the verb diabolo-to calumniate, to slander, to accuse-and the Devil himself stands prominently forward in some of the apostolic and patristic writings as the accuser. Perhaps anything more diabolical than some scandals, made up in the very wantonness of a wish for something to say, can hardly be conceived; for it is to be noted that the reports one hears spread are often about persons indifferent to, and often indeed unknown to, the scandalizers, save by name. Shakspere says, and not without reason, "Thou shalt not escape calumny." The most innocent persons, chaste as ice and pure as snow, suffer from it, as well as the guilty ones. A good, plain, unsullied reputation, without a blot upon it, is that which tempts the calumniator, just as you find boys are tempted by a fair white wall or a newlypainted door to throw mud or to scratch and write upon it. It angers some gossips to hear that A. has nothing said against her, or that B. has hitherto borne an unsullied reputation; their tongues are therefore sharpened, and “ at it" the scandalizers go.