connection with this new arrangement concerning the business of the House may be mentioned a singular fact. The resolution was originally proposed by Sir R. II. Inglis, and is called "Inglis's Resolution," and it is a somewhat singular coincidence that it was acted upon, for the first time, on the day that the baronet's death was announced in the Times.

There is another curious ceremony which is occasionally seen at the House, and, as it once led to a laughable scene, it is worthy of notice. When her Majesty gives her assent to bills, either in person or by commission, "Mr. Speaker" is summoned to the House of Peers. The summoning officer is "the Usher of the Black Rod," who, in full court-dress, marches in grand state, with the black rod on his shoulder, to the door of the House of Commons. On his approach the door is locked by the Sergeant-at-Arms, and to gain admittance the usher has to knock three times, which he does with grave solemnity. The door is then thrown open; the doorkeeper walks to the bar and shouts "Black Rod," and the usher, accompanied by the sergeant with the mace on his shoulder, marches up to the table of the House, both bowing as they advance. At the table, the usher holds his rod upright, delivers his summons, and then, still accompanied by the Sergeant-at-Arms, backs out of the House, stopping at every three or four steps to bow. Having arrived at the door, he turns round, and, followed by "Mr. Speaker," proceeds to the House of Peers. There "Mr. Speaker" hears the Royal assent given, and then, in due state, marches back to the House of Commons. When the Black Rod leaves the House of Commons, the doorkeeper calls out, "Make way for Black Rod;" and then, on the approach of the Speaker, "Make way for Mr. Speaker.'"

On the night alluded to, when "Black Rod" arrived, Lord Palmerston was answering Mr. Disraeli, and was speaking in a more impassioned manner than usual. The House was crowded in every part. All was silent as the grave, excepting the noble Lord, who had just said, "Is this the party -?" when, before the sentence could be finished, the doorkeeper started forward and shouted out, "Black Rod." The noble Lord dropped as if he had been shot, and laughter long and loud, now sinking and now rising again in a fresh peal, rang through the House. At first the noble Lord seemed completely stunned, but he soon recovered, and joined in the laughter as heartily as any one, and even " Mr. Speaker" could hardly draw down his risible muscles to a due tension, as the Black Rod marched up the House. When her Majesty gives her assent in person, her concurrence is

previously communicated to the clerk-assistant, who reads the titles of the bills, on which the royal assent is signified by a gentle inclination. If it be a bill of supply, the clerk pronounces in audible tone: “La reigne remercie ses bons sujets, accepte leur bénévolence, et ansi le veult." "The Queen thanks her good subjects, accepts their benevolence, and answers, 'Be it so."" To other public bills the form of assent is, "La reigne le veult."- "The Queen wills it so." To private bills, "Soi fait comme il est désire.”—“ Be it as prayed." She holds the prerogative of refusing her assent to laws passed by both Houses, but this right has not been exercised by any sovereign since the refusal of Queen Anne to sanction the Scotch Militia Bill in the year 1707.

When her Majesty opens Parliament, she goes in state to the House of Lords, and takes her seat upon the throne. The Commons are then summoned, and such members as please attend, with "Mr Speaker," at the bar. The royal speech, prepared beforehand by the Ministry, is handed to the Queen by the Lord Chancellor, and read by her; after which, her Majesty retiring, the business of the session commences. The Commons return to their department, and, by way of form, read some bill to keep up their privilege of not giving priority to the royal speech. Two members appointed by Government then move and second "the address" in either House, thanking her Majesty for her "gracious" speech, and each appoints a deputation to present it. In former days the debate upon the address was often very vehemently contested, and " amendments" or alterations, implying a refusal to accept the intended policy of the Ministry, were frequently proposed; but of late, although the leaders of the Opposition in each House usually criticise closely the topics contained in or omitted from the speech, the address is generally passed without further opposition. When Parliament is opened by Commission, the royal speech is read by one of the Commission, and the address passed in like manner.

There are other ceremonies and customs which might be described, but let those to which we have referred suffice. All such formulas no doubt appear trifling, and unsuitable to this practical age and country. They, however, can do no harm, and are, at all events, interesting memorials of other times.

But, while the simple usages described may, perhaps, be tolerated as harmless, the red-tape and circumlocution system practiced not only in the governmental departments, but in every public office-civil and military—is much to be deplored. True, Red-tape, Routine & Co. do not confine their operations to monarchical institutions, as we have had sufficient opportunities of experiencing during the early progress of

our late rebellion; nevertheless, in England, they are carried out to an extent certainly unparalleled. In illustration, let us take the correspondence to which that gallant, tough old "British Tar," Admiral Sir Charles Napier, was subjected on receiving his appointment as full Admiral. In an appeal to the House to appoint a Commission of Inquiry into the management of the Navy, Sir Charles, with characteristic humor, refers to the facts thus: "The Secretary of the Admiralty sent me a written letter, telling me I was an Admiral, and then sent me a printed letter to tell me I was Admiral; then came a letter signed by two Lords of the Admiralty to tell me I was an Admiral. I then received a letter telling me to hoist my flag, and subsequently another letter telling me to lower it, with other communications from the Accountant-General and the Admiral at Portsmouth. What ridiculous nonsense!"

It would, perhaps, be impossible to find a more apt illustration of red-tapism than this, though there is little to exult over by way of contrast in modern legislation.

PALLAS ATHENÆ.

BACK to thy feet I come,

Pallas Athenæ-low on bended knee

What evil spirit tempted me to roam,

My beautiful, from thee.

I left thy vestal shrine,

And crushed thy sacred olive in my track,
Now worn with labor, sick with husks of swine,
I come repentant back.

I sowed thy precious seed,

In my wild wanderings, oft with tears and toil
Alas! no harvest in mine hour of need

Gave the ungrateful soil.

All needful things I lack,

And yet a crown fell on me at by birth;

Pallas Athenæ, give my jewels back,

Free from the stain of earth.

Fill high the wreathed bowl

With clear Castalian waters, as of yore,
And with that wondrous baptism of the soul
My father's name restore.

How carelessly we hold,

Poor prodigals, the gifts the gods have given!
How many birthrights are for pottage sold-
What title-deeds of heaven!

We battle for a life,

In robe of sackcloth, and with mouldy crust,
Till our good angel wearies of the strife,
And dust returns to dust.

Pure Goddess, at thy feet,

Humble and penitent and sad, I lie;

My wanderings o'er, crown me with olive sweet,
And guide me till I die.

THE VALLEY OF THE MISSOURI.

WHO, that has read the history of the early settlements upon the shores of the North American Continent, has not been entranced with its romance? There is something magnificent in the idea of leaving the haunts of civilization and sallying forth into the wilderness to found new empires. These are "castles in the air" worth building. It is not to be wondered at, that the dashing cavalier, who found his fortunes failing at home, should have had retainers, when he proposed following in the direction pointed out by the great Columbus; nor that the enthusiastic philanthropist or reformer should have turned his eyes that way also; and it would have been strange if the oppressed and the unfortunate of the over-populated, despotic, and priest-ridden nations of Europe had not sought relief and escape, by sailing over the blue waters to the fair wilderness so gorgeously portrayed by the early navigators. Doubtless, the imagination of all Europe was stirred-like leaves by the wind-when the beautiful picture was exhibited by the editor, the lecturer, the poet, of those days. Councils were held among neighbors, schemes laid and abandoned—whole lives spent in dreaming about projects of colonization, abandoned from real or imagined difficulties-well-laid schemes frustrated by the impossibility of excluding certain men or women deemed unsafe or distastefulcharters or grants, applied for by men of influence and ability, defeated by stronger influence coupled with enmity. But at last a beginning was made, and emigration commenced-not always, indeed not generally, under the most favorable auspices-while the shrewd and conservative of those days prophesied failure and distress. The calm

away

and beautiful sea of their dreams, now it had to be embarked upon, became a raging and devouring element-the magnificent groves which had lined the shores of their promised land now swayed with roaring winds, and swarmed with wild beasts and savages. Now they thought of the cold winters and the deep snows, which before had escaped their minds; but they were booked for the voyage, and every consideration of courage and self-respect forbade their drawing back, and so with tearful eyes they took a long and last farewell of their weeping and remonstrating friends, and husband and wife, and boy and girl, stepped on board the little fragile craft which was to bear them from the Old to the New World-from the known to the unknown. There are two sides to the history of their experience. It was not all sunshine, neither was it all darkness. Nor would it have been either one or the other anywhere. The angel of death places his mark indiscriminately upon the doorposts of the high and the low, the rich and the poor, and as well might the drops upon the crest of the wave exult over those in the trough of the sea, as one to exult over another in this unsteady world. There was sickness and death, they were threatened with famine, but these they had encountered before. They had battles with the jealous natives, but they were not more fierce or cruel than European battles. The sun, the moon, the stars, the blue sky, the earth, the flowers, the summer breeze, were theirs, and the precious boon of FREEDOM, Civil and RELIGIOUS, compensated them for the lack of, if need be, all things else; and long before the first generation of those early settlers had passed away, even the memory of their father or motherland had faded in their minds. For the faith had taken possession of their souls, that they were the pioneers of a great nation that should spring up on this continent, and, some time, they little thought how soon, rival the proudest nations of the Old World. Considering the character of the early emigrants, it may well be doubted that they were the losers, in any material sense, by the change; for they were not of the favored or fortunate class. They were, in the main, composed of those born to struggles, and their very sufferings brought out the strength and heroism which fitted them to be founders of Empire.

Happy forefathers! thus to be able to connect yourselves with so sublime an era in the world's history as laying the corner-stone of the American nation. Unborn millions will praise and venerate your memory; and no deeds of the present or the future can eclipse the halo that will linger around the record of achievements! your