mitted to tender their resignation at once? Brute force is, at all times, a dangerous protection, and power placed in such hands may be made subservient to evil as well as to good. We waive the general question of an efficient police, because, commercially considered, this is radically bad in principle; but if an evil be to be borne, let it be as light as possible.

DUELLING. Another of those murderous follies, duels, has lately been fought, and terminated fatally. One man has lost his life, and three or four others-if they have the feelings of men-their happiness for the remainder of theirs.

Much has been said and written upon the absurdity as well as the criminality of duelling; but every one knows and feels that, constituted as society at present is, and while "honour" is counted something more than a word, personal honour must be protected, vindicated, and sustained, at the hazard of even life itself. Men engage in these deadly meetings, not so much to decide, as by wager of battle, which is right and which wrong: the fall of neither decides that; but rather to indi. cate to the world that they are ready to peril their existence in defence and maintenance of their honour spotless and unblemished. Should the challenged decline the meeting, he is tweaked, posted, and walks the earth a "coward" to his dying day. Now the world heeds little or nothing of the subject of the original dispute-courage versus cowardice is the point it has to adjudicate upon; and if a known scoundrel (moving as a gentleman-and there are many such so moving) has physical courage to call out a man of the highest and acknowledged morality, who, in mental cowardice, or, it might be, for conscience' sake, refuses acceptance, the world stamps " coward" on his brow, and scouts him for ever. But a gentleman does receive a positive insult to his honour from another, and he calls upon him for reparation-for "satisfaction." Now it is a farce to say that the mere act of firing loaded pistols at each other, whose balls may draw blood or may not, can give satisfaction ;that firing until a wound, possibly mortal, be inflicted, can give satisfaction ;—that firing, till one or both of the combatants are shot dead, can give satisfaction. The satisfaction implied is, (and we shall feel it if we reason in and in,) that before the whole world we have done, and are ready to do that which custom has made common, to uphold unimpaired an honourable name. It is the dread of the world's contempt which makes men so keenly sensible of their reputation as honourable beings, and so prompt to avenge an insult given, by meeting in mortal combat. One man gives another "the lie," and both are of unstained honour, He to whom that indigestible word has been applied, makes an immediate arrangement to resent the injury; but is it an injury in reality? The term, we will suppose, was angrily and most wrongfully applied. Then wherein is he injured? Not in the estimation of the world,—he can disprove the allegation; not in his own, he is conscious of innocence. But he has received an insult, and an insult is an injury-therefore he must have satisfaction, by taking the life, or drawing the blood, or firing dry at his adversary; and by exposing himself to the same consequences, Surely it cannot require much philosophy to see that if custom had not ruled such a course of conduct, under such a position of circumstance, these two supposed persons, however nice, delicate, highly elevated, and noble were their innate sense of honour, would never have met. Had there been any less hazardous means recognised by society to adjust the affair, and to leave his honour without suspicion, he would not have pro2 ર

VOL. III.NO. XVI,

posed bulletining probably. Again, Lord A. pulls the Marquis of B. by the nose; custom hereupon rules that they must pull triggers together. A tweak of this description, admitted, is very apt to set the heart drumming, and the blood racing; but if custom had ruled that Lord A. might have resented the foul attack, by first, forgetting the dignity of his rank and station, as the other did, and kicking the Marquis, and then appealing to less bloody umpirage than a duel-primary indignation would most likely have subsided into less deadly feelings. This is a desperately ticklish case, we grant; but the drift of our thoughts is, that amongst intellectual and highly-cultivated beings, some substitute might be established for the brutal and most impious attempt to send another or ourselves before Almighty God, in revenge for an offensive gesture or expression. Now, is it not possible to devise a means by which the rank nonsense and foul wickedness of duelling might be averted, without loosening the ties by which polished society is held together?—by which the offender may be summarily punished for any infraction of the social duties of life;-by which the honour of men may be held inviolable, without the uncertain justification-the very equivocal-guarantee of a pistol wound?-and by which guiltless relations, friends, and survivors may be spared the bitter affliction into which such rash acts too often plunge them?

The establishment of local courts of honour is perhaps the only means: -will it ever be tried?

LAMB, versus BENTHAM, ROMILLY, &c.-Mr. Bentham had an opponent in Mr. George Lamb, during a recent debate in our wise House:We can almost fancy the philosopher smiling benevolently in his peaceful grave. Mr. Lamb could not give his assent to Mr. Lennard's bill for the abolition of death punishment in cases of burglary, when he saw crime increasing all around him! Knowledge, at least commonsense, and humane philosophy, are not on the increase in the House of Commons. In regard of Mr. Lamb, we refer him, not to Bentham, for that were supposing him studious and intelligent, but to certain speeches by Earl Grey-where there are good popular views of the matter which has so puzzled him. Mr. Lamb's speech proved nothing but the utter inadequacy of our system of secondary punishments; a part of our law, to understand and amend which, will, we are afraid, require stronger heads than those of our present Cabinet. The task, at least, is not fitted for the powers of Mr. George Lamb.

THE POPULARITY OF PATRONAGE.-We notice from a report of some meeting of Scotch members, on the subject of patronage, that Mr. Fergusson of Raith denied the unpopularity of the system of presentation in Scotland. It is very clear that these good easy gentlemen are resolved on swamping the Scottish Church. Be it so be it as the venerable Assembly has decreed, for religion will survive! We should be sorry to think so meanly of Mr. Fergusson, as to imagine him caught by the miserable fallacy of his speech. The subject was probably new to him, and he may have spoken in ignorance and without forethought. If he wishes truly to understand this important matter, will he have the kindness to inquire how many in Kirkaldy and its neighbourhood, are indifferent about the question of Patronage, either because they wish the Scottish Church demolished, or care nothing whether it stand or fall? The corporation apathy manifested in regard of this important question is one of the worst properties concerning our venerable mother, with which we are acquainted; and assuredly the man must be blind indeed—unworthy to

give even a hesitating opinion on the spirit and necessities of the present times, who can pervert the silence into a proof or presumption that the people of Scotland are attached to patronage. Mr. Fergusson may do worse than apply himself to this matter during a quiet half-hour; and we would recommend him not to propose the question, which he, as an individual, thinks best, or would desire to prevail;-but what is now practicable—what will be acceptable, and what will again excite for our Church the waning interest and lost enthusiasm of her people?

HYMN TO THE DAYLIGHT.

COME from the crystal chambers of thy rest,
O Light the life of sleep-forsaken eyes!
The Earth has worn a sorrow, since the west
Tracked thy last footstep in the purple skies;→
The air is sick with darkness, and the breast

Of the old deep slow heaves with hollow sighs.
Cast on this world of gloom, and grief, and fear,
Thy torch of sparkling beams; Fair Light, appear!

Come! for the earth shows ghastly; clammy dews
Load the chill forest; dark the meadows lie!
Music is mute; all lovely scents and hues

Are dead or hidden :-through the rack on high
The errant Moon her lonely path pursues,

Hymned by the wailing winds, that pant and sigh,
Like parted spirits o'er the corpse of earth ;-
Bring glory forth: O give the Morning birth!

There be worn watchers thirsting for that sight,
Perplexed with sudden fears, and wan with awe
Old griefs have risen, and moaned the livelong night;
And graves have yielded bloodless shapes, to draw
The shivering wretch's curtain :-vague affright

Hath sate in painted halls and huts of straw,
And bound the strangling sleepers in a chain
Of frenzied dreams. O give them breath again!

And there have been stern visitants, that haste
In the thick darkness to the watcher's ear,
Telling unwelcome histories of the past;
And, raising from the gloom, with words severe,
Guilt, weakness, error suffered or embraced,

Have bid forgotten wrong and shame appear;
Till conscience shrank, and started at the view
Of gathered ill, yet owned the picture true.

Come! there are soft, yet wo-provoking, sprites,
Born of light fancy in the teeming brain,
That chase the soul with shew of fond delights,
And baseless hopes, and prizes none may gain;
Most mocking bliss! that wakened sense requites
With blank regrets, and disappointment vain!
Come! ere the bright possessions grow too fair,
And madness strike the eyes that find them air!

Day hath enough of mourning! Come, and still
The vision-anguish, drawn from phantom themes,
That strikes the passive sense with fancied ill,

And darkens slumber with distressful dreams
Of friends grown false, of bitter wrongs that chill
The spirit's trust; with childish grief, that streams
In tears most passionate from sleeping eyes,
And adds a shade to waking miseries.

Come, and win back to earth the vagrant, Thought;
Haste! for its might grows fearful when alone;
Free from the slumbering clay wherein it wrought,
It seeks to pierce the veil of mystery thrown
Betwixt the seen and hidden; and, distraught

With sounds half-heard, and sights obscurely shewn,
Eager and dizzied with its strange delight,
Throbs o'er the gulf where Life and Death unite.

And Night hath memories. From the broken chain
Of warm affection worn in youth's fair spring,
From loves the tomb hath severed yet not slain ;
From hopes that once were happiness, they bring
A strain of sad bereavement; while a train

Of plaintive spectres to the mourner cling,
Most dear, yet oh! most thrilling; and his breath
Faints at the silent earnestness of Death!

Life may not bear such pangs of sick regret—
Alas! most vain! the task of labouring still
Through Day's incessant toil, and wear, and fret,
They make too heavy. Wake the languid will
To hope and struggle; bid the heart forget

A void it must not feel, and cannot fill;
Chase the fond gloom those dear subduing shades
Cast o'er the soul that craves all strengthening aids.

Shine through the half-lit chamber, where the hours
Creep with slow misery past the sick man's bed;
Allay the restless burning that devours

The fevered frame when fickle sleep hath fled;
Let thy sweet mate, the morning-breath of flowers,
Cool the hot pulses of his weary head.

O! he hath tossed and yearned in long, long strife;
Shed o'er his couch thy smile, O joy of life!

Symbol of freedom, open truth and right,

Shoot thy keen arrows through this gloom below, Where, in the shelter of accomplice night,

The prowling caitiff strikes his coward blow, And pale-eyed traitors' whispering bands unite,

And rapine prowls, and lawless passions glow; Shine out,-abash the guilt that shrinks from day, And scare its slaves, like vultures, from their prey!

Hark! what glad music bursts from Nature's tongue,
To hail the opening of thy seraph-eye!
The mountain peaks in glory forth have sprung,
The sun-kissed waters sparkle to the sky;
The air is quick with fragrance; Earth has flung
Her funeral robe aside: sick phantoms fly;
Vain dreams and sadness, mystery and shade
Are fled: 'Tis day! The wakened world is glad!

V.

WHEN the cormorancy of these realms determined to wage war on republican France, the pilot who gathered the storm which we are trying to weather, substituted, for certain millions of pieces of yellow metal worth twenty-one shillings each, bits of inked paper called bank notes. Strange as it may seem, those bits of paper, though only exchangeable for similar bits of paper, were not only received and paid as money, but multitudes of persons who were not then supposed to be either silly or insane, voluntarily, cheerfully, and without any suspicion, exchanged their metallic money for paper. Nor for a considerable time did much apparent evil result from this incredible substitution. On the contrary, the nation, like Balaam's ass, grew fat, and kicking the few miserable doubters who happened to have brains as well as ears, brayed continually a joyful song, in praise of the transmuter of metals into what seemed to be quadrupled rents, trebled profits, and doubled wages. The poor labourers, indeed, though they too shouted "Billy Pitt for ever!" and "Damn the frog-eating French!" felt that all was not right with them. But John Bull, the tallow chandler, who had expended four hundred golden pounds in building a house, and, to his great surprise, found that he could readily let it for what seemed to be forty pounds a year,gladly consented to expend three hundred pounds in glorious wars; he therefore mortaged his house, gradually paid the money to the tax-gatherers, and believed, on his death-bed, that although he had bartered three hundred pounds for glory, he was nevertheless full one hundred pounds richer than in the vaunted days of golden Peace. Old Tony Lumpkin, Esquire, also, (and his wife, though she was said to be a clever rascal,) finding his rents quadrupled, doubted not that sixpences were, at least, shillings, and swore he would transport to Botany Bay every man, woman, and child, who thought otherwise. And this state of things lasted till the good Squire, as he was called, died full of days and wisdom. But it happened soon afterwards, that is to say, when Napoleon Buonaparte became emperor of Elba, that young Tony Lumpkin went to Paris, where, to his inexpressible astonishment, he was informed, and found, to his cost, that Bank of England notes, purporting to be worth one pound each, would only exchange for thirteen shillings. He knew, indeed, before he left home, that guineas frequently sold for twenty-eight shillings a-piece, but that was owing, his good old father told him, to jacobinism and French principles, and not to any depreciation in the value of the paper money; his mother, however, began to think differently, and sorely plagued the old gentleman, a little before he died, to insist on payment of his rents in specie. Now young Tony was always supposed to be the son of his mother: he was certainly as clever as British blockheads in general; and his eyes being now fully opened, he, as is usual with shrewd fools, resolved forthwith to turn rogue. But will it be believed that the bursting of the paper bubble was the commencement of a delusion still more inconceivable? Such, however, was the fact; for young Tony wrote home to his uncle and cousins, advising them to vote in Parliament for a law to prevent the importation of foreign corn; Then," added he,