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soon engaged in full pursuit. The struggle in the case of the infantry was more severe. The conflict lasted long between the first divisions on both sides; at length, in the extremely bloody hand to hand encounter, both parties fell into confusion, and were obliged to seek a support in the second divisions. The Romans found that support; but the Carthaginian militia showed itself so unsteady and wavering, that the Mercenaries believed themselves betrayed, and a hand-to-hand combat arose between them and the Carthaginian civic force. But Hannibal now hastily withdrew what remained of the first two lines to the flanks, and pushed forward his choice Italian troops along the whole line. Scipio, on the other hand, gathered together in the centre as many of the first line as still were able to fight, and made the second and third divisions close on the right and left of the first. Once more on the same spot began a still more fearful conflict; Hannibal's old soldiers never wavered, despite the superior numbers of the enemy, till the cavalry of the Romans and of Massinissa, returning from the pursuit of the beaten cavalry of the enemy surrounded them on all sides. This not only terminated but annihilated the Punic army; the same soldiers who, fourteen years before, had given way at Cannæ, had retaliated on their conquerors at Zama. With a handful of men Hannibal arrived, a fugitive, at Hadrumetum.

THE GERMAN FATHERLAND.

[ERNST MORITZ ARNDT, patriot, scholar, traveller and poet, was born Dec. 26, 1769, at Schoritz, in Rügen. His prose and poetry alike are of high excellence and have taken strong hold upon the national feeling.]

Which is the German's fatherland?

Is't Prussia's or Swabia's land?

Is't where the Rhine's rich vintage streams?
Or where the Northern sea gull screams?—
Ah, no, no, no!

His fatherland's not bounded so!

Which is the German's fatherland?
Bavaria's or Styria's land?

Is 't where the Marsian ox unbends?
Or where the Marksman iron rends?--
Ah, no, no, no!

His fatherland's not bounded so.

Which is the German's fatherland?
Pomerania's, or Westphalia's land?

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[JEREMY BENTHAM, the eminent writer on ethics and jurisprudence, and founder of the utilitarian school of philosophy, was born in London, February 15, 1748, and died June 6, 1832. Among his works are: Defence of Usury (1787); Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (1789); Treatise on Civil and Penal Legislation (1802); and Rationale of Judicial Evidence, (1827). "The style of Mr. Bentham," says Hazlitt, "is unpopular, not to say unintelligible ... His works have been translated into French-they ought to be translated into Euglish." Macaulay says that Ben

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tham found English jurisprudence a gibberish and left it | overcome the natural aversion to laboura Science.]

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which has bestowed on man the empire of the earth-which has led nations to give up their wandering habits-which has created a love of country and posterity. To enjoy quickly- to enjoy without punishmentthis is the universal desire of man; this is the desire which is terrible, since it arms all those who possess nothing against those who possess anything. But the law, which restrains this desire, is the most splendid triumph of humanity over itself.

TO THE SEA.

[FREDERICK LEOPOLD, COUNT OF STOLBERG, a popular

chiefly lyrical, although he wrote also odes, didactic
poems
and dramas.]

Thou boundless, shining, glorious Sea,
With ecstasy I gaze on thee;
Joy, joy to him whose early beam
Kisses thy lip, bright Ocean-stream!

Thanks for the thousand hours, old Sea,
Of sweet communion held with thee:
Oft as I gazed, thy billowy roll
Woke the deep feelings of my soul.

The laws, in creating property, have created wealth; but, with respect to poverty, it is not the work of the laws,-it is the primitive condition of the human race. The man who lives only from day to day, is precisely the man in a state of nature. The the in society, I acknowledge, savage, poor obtain nothing but by painful labour; but in a state of nature what could he obtain but at the price of his toil? Has not hunting its fatigues, fishing its dangers, war its uncertainties? And if man appear to love this adventurous life-if he have an instinct greedy of these kinds of peril-if the savage rejoice in the delights of an idleness so dearly purchased-ought it to be concluded that he is more happy than our day labourers? No, the labour of these is more German poet, born 1750, died 1819. His poems are uniform, but the reward is more tain; the lot of woman is more gentle; infancy and old age have more resources; the species multiplies in a proportion a thousand times greater, and this alone would suffice to show on which side is the superiority of happiness. Hence the laws, in creating property, have been benefactors to those who remain in their original poverty. They participate more or less in the pleasures, advantages, and resources of civilized society; their industry and labour place them among the candidates for fortune; they enjoy the pleasures of acquisition; hope mingles with their labours. The security which the law gives them, is this of little importance? Those who look from above at the inferior ranks see all objects less than they really are; but, at the base of the pyramid, it is the summit which disappears in its turn. So far from making these comparisons, they dream not of them; they are not tormented with impossibilities; so that all things considered, the protection of the laws contributes as much to the happiness of the cottage as to the security of the palace. It is surprising that so judicious a writer as Beccaria should have inserted, in a work dictated by the soundest philosophy, a doubt subversive of the social order. The right of property, says he, is a terrible right, and may not, perhaps, be necessary. Upon this right tyrannical and sanguinary laws have been founded. It has been most frightfully abused; but the right itself presents only ideas of pleasure, of abundance, and of security. It is this right which has VOL. VIII.-175

Drunk with the joy, thou deep-toned Sea,
My spirit swells to heaven with thee;
Or, sinking with thee, seeks the gloom
Of nature's deep, mysterious tomb.

At evening, when the sun grows red,
Descending to his watery bed,
The music of the murmuring deep
Soothes e'en the weary earth to sleep.

Then listens thee the evening star,
So sweetly glancing from afar;
And Luna hears thee when she breaks
Her light in million-colored flakes.

Oft when the noonday heat is o'er,
I seek with joy the breezy shore,
Sink on thy boundless, billowy breast,
And cheer me with refreshing rest.

The poet, child of heavenly birth,
Is suckled by the mother Earth;
But thy blue bosom, holy Sea,
Cradles his infant fantasy.

The old blind minstrel on the shore
Stood listening thy eternal roar,

And golden ages, long gone by,
Swept bright before his spirit's eye.

On wing of swan the holy flame
Of melodies celestial came,
And Iliad and Odyssey

Bose to the music of the Sea.

LITERATURE IN GAUL FROM THE SIXTH TO THE EIGHTH CENTURY.

[FRANÇOIS PIERRE GUILLAUME GUIZOT, a distinguished French historian and statesman, born at Nimes, 1787, died at Paris, 1874. From his earliest days, Guizot was devoted to literature; at twenty-two he published a dictionary of French synonyms, and in 1821 and the year following his History of the Origin of Representative Government, and a treatise on the government of France since the Restoration. He became lecturer on history at the Sorbonne, and edited two great collections of Memoirs on the English Revolution and on the history of France. His great work, History of Civilization in

France, with the General History of Civilization in Europe, which introduced it, appeared in 1828-30. He wrote a life of Washington, a critical work upon Shakspeare, a history of his own times in eight volumes, besides a multitude of other works, critical, historical, religious, biographical and political. The political career of Guizot was conspicuous, although he proved rather conservative and unpopular with the country.]

In studying the state of Gaul in the fourth and fifth centuries, we find two literatures, the one sacred, the other profane. The distinction was marked in persons and in things; the laity and the ecclesiastics studied, meditated, wrote; and they studied, they wrote, they meditated, upon lay subjects, and upon religious subjects. Sacred literature dominated more and more, but it was not alone,-profane literature still existed.

From the sixth to the eighth century there is no longer any profane literature; sacred literature stands alone; priests only study or write; and they only study, they only write, save rare exceptions, upon religious subjects. The general character of the epoch is the concentration of intellectual development in the religious sphere.

The fourth and fifth centuries, you will remember, were in no want of civil schools, of civil professors, instituted by the temporal power, and teaching the profane sciences. Towards the end of the sixth cen

tury everything is changed: there are no longer civil schools; ecclesiastical schools alone subsist. Those great municipal schools of Trèves, of Poictiers, of Vienna, of Bordeaux, etc., have disappeared; and in their place have arisen schools called cathedral or episcopal schools, because each episcopal see had its own. The cathedral school was not always alone; we find in certain dioceses other schools, of an uncertain nature cient civil school, which, in becoming metaand origin,-wrecks, perhaps, of some anmorphosed, had perpetuated itself. In the diocese of Rheims, for example, there existed the school of Mouzon some distance from the chief place of the diocese, and in high credit, although Rheims had a cathedral school. The clergy began also, about the same epoch, to create other schools in the country, also ecclesiastical, destined to form young readers who should one day become priests. In 529 the Council of Vaison strongly recommended the propagation of country schools; they were, indeed, multiplied very irregularly, numerous in some dioceses, scarcely any in others. Finally, there were schools in the great monasteries.

.

Even in nunneries study was not neg lected; that which Saint Césaire founded at Arles, contained, at the commencement of the sixth century, two hundred nuns, for the most part occupied in copying books, sometimes religious books, sometimes, probably, even the works of the ancients. The metamorphosis of civil schools into ecclesiastical schools was complete. Let us see what was taught in them. We shall often find in them the names of sciences formerly professed in the civil schools-rhetoric, logic, grammar, geometry, astrology, etc.; but these were evidently no longer taught except in their relations to theology. This is the foundation of the instruction: all was turned into Commentary of the Scriptures,historical, philosophical, allegorical, moral commentary. They desired only to form priests; all studies, whatsoever their nature, were directed towards this result.

Sometimes they went even further: they rejected the profane sciences themselves, whatever might be the use made of them. At the end of the sixth century, Saint Dizier, Bishop of Vienne, taught grammar in his cathedral school. Saint Gregory the Great, sharply blamed him for it. not fit," he writes to him, "that a mouth sacred to the praises of God, should be

It is

A SERIOUS SYMPTOM OF BIBLIOMANIA.

opened for those of Jupiter." I do not power.
know exactly what the praises of God or of otherwise.
Jupiter had to do with grammar; but what
is evident is the crying down of the profane
studies, although cultivated by the priests.
The same fact is visible, and far more
plainly, in the written literature. No more
philosophical meditation, no more learned
jurisprudence, no more literary criticism;
save some chronicles, some occasional
poems, we have nothing belonging to this
time except religious works. Intellectual
activity appears only under this form, dis-
plays itself only in this direction.

A still more important revolution, and less perceived, is manifested: not only did literature become entirely religious, but, religious, it ceased to be literary; there was no longer any literature, properly so called. In the finest times of Greece and Rome, and in Gaul, up to the fall of the Roman Empire, people studied, they wrote, for the mere pleasure of studying, of knowing, in

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It was in an eminent degree
We find in it, upon look-

ing nearer, a world, as it were, of writings;
not very considerable, it is true, and often
little remarkable, but which, from their
number and the ardor which reigns in them,
attest a rare movement of mind and fertil-
ity. They are sermons, instructions, ex-
hortations, homilies, and conferences upon
religious matters. Never has any political
revolution, never has the liberty of the press,
produced more pamphlets. Three-fourths,
nay, perhaps ninety-nine in a hundred of
these little works have been lost: destined
to act at the very moment, almost all im-
provised, rarely collected by their authors,
or by others, they have not come down to
us; and yet an immense number remains
to us; they form a true and rich literature.

MANIA.

[THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN, D. D., was born in Cal

cutta, in 1776. Among his best known works are Bibliomania; The Bibliographical Decameron, or Ten Days' Pleasant Discourse on Illuminated Manuscripts, etc. (1817); and Reminiscences of a Literary Life. He died in 1847. Our extract is from Bibliomania.]

order to procure for themselves and for A SERIOUS SYMPTOM OF BIBLIOothers intellectual enjoyment. . . At the epoch which now occupies us it was otherwise; people no longer studied in order to know; they no longer wrote for the sake of writing. Writings and studies took a practical character and aim. Whoever abandoned himself thereto, aspired to immediate action upon men, to regulate their actions, to govern their life, to convert those who did not believe, to reform those who believed and did not practice. Science and eloquence were means of action, of government. There is no longer a disinterested literature; no longer any true literature. The purely speculative character of philosophy, of poetry, of letters, of the arts, has vanished; it is no longer the beautiful that men seek; when they meet with it, it graphical History of England. no longer serves merely for enjoyment; Granger's work seems to have sounded the positive application, influence over men, tocsin for a general rummage after, and authority, is now the end, the triumph of plunder of, old prints. Venerable philosoall works of mind, of all intellectual devel-phers, and veteran heroes, who had long opment.

Lysander.-A passion for books illustrated, or adorned with numerous prints, representing characters, or circumstances, mentioned in the work, is a very general and violent symptom of the Bibliomania. The origin, or first appearance of this symp tom, has been traced by some to the publication of the Rev. Granger's Bio

reposed in unmolested dignity within the magnificent folio volumes which recorded their achievements, were instantly dragged forth from their peaceful abodes, to be inlaid by the side of some clumsy modern engraving, within an Illustrated Granger !

It is from not having taken proper heed to this characteristic of the epoch that, in my opinion, a false idea has been formed of it. We find there scarcely any work, no literature, properly so called, no disinterested intellectual activity distinct from posi- Nor did the madness stop here. Illustra tive life. It has been thence concluded that tion was the order of the day; and Shaks this was a time of apathy and moral steril-peare and Clarendon became the next ity, a time abandoned to the disorderly objects of its attack. From these it glanced struggle of material forces, in which intel-off, in a variety of directions, to adorn the lect was without development and without pages of humbler wights; and the passion,

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or rather this symptom of the Bibliomania, yet rages with undiminished force. If judiciously treated, it is of all the symptoms, the least liable to mischief.

There is another mode of illustrating copies by which this symptom of the Bibliomania may be known; it consists in bringing together, from different works (including newspapers and magazines, and by means of the scissors, or otherwise by transcription,) every page or paragraph which has any connection with the character or subject under discussion.

Lisardo.-Forgive me if I digress a little. But is not the knowledge of rare, curious and beautiful prints-so necessary, it would seem, towards the perfecting of illustrated copies-is not this knowledge of long and difficult attainment?

Lysander.-Unquestionably, this knowledge is very requisite towards becoming a complete pupil in the school of Granger. Nor is it, as you very properly suppose, of short or easy acquirement.

Almanda.-How so? A very little care, with a tolerably good taste, is only required to know when a print is well-engraved.

Lysander. -Alas, Madam! the excellence of engraving is oftentimes but a secondary consideration!

Belinda.-Do, pray, explain.

Lysander. I will, and as briefly and perspicuously as possible. There are, first of all, all the varieties of the same print to be considered! whether it have the name of the character, or artist, omitted or subjoined; whether the head of the print be without the body, or the body without the head-and whether this latter be finished in the outline, or ghostly white! Then you must go to the dress of this supposed portrait: whether full or plain; court or country-fashioned: whether it have a hat or no hat; feather, or no feather; gloves, or no gloves; sword, or no sword, and many other such momentous points.

Now let us next discuss the serious subject of the background!—whether it be square or oval; dark or light; put in or put out; stippled or stroked; and sundry other similar, but most important, considerations. Again; there are engravings of different sizes and different periods, of the same individual or object: and of these the varieties are as infinite as of any of those attached to the vegetable system. I will not even attempt an outline of them. I had nearly forgotten to warn you, in your

But

Rembrandt prints, to
The Burr !

Alman. Mercy on
Burr?

look sharply after

us-what is this

Lysand.-A slight imperfection only; which, as it rarely occurs, makes the impression more valuable. It is only a sombre tinge attached to the copper, before the plate is sufficiently polished by being worked; and it gives a smeared effect, like smut upon a lady's face, to the impression! But I am becoming satirical. Which is the next symptom that you have written down for me to discourse upon?

THE SCHOOL BOY'S DREAM

ON THE NIGHT BEFORE THE HOLIDAYS. "Twas the half-year's last day, a festal one; Light tasks and feast and sport, hoop, cricket, kite, Employed us fully, till the summer night Stole o'er the roofs of happy Alderton. Homer in-doors, and field games out of school, Made medley of my dreams; for, when I slept, The quaintest vision o'er my fancy swept, That ever served the lordship of misrule: Our hoops through gods and heroes ran a-muck; Our kites o'erhung the fleet, a public gaze! And one wild ball the great Achilles struckOh! how he towered and lightened at the stroke! But, tho' his formal pardon I bespoke, I told him plainly 'twas our holidays."

CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER.

CHILDREN.

"Heaven lies about us in our infancy," says Wordsworth. And who of us that is not too good to be conscious of his own vices, who has

not felt rebuked and humbled under the clear and open countenance of a child?-who that has not felt his impurities foul upon him in the presence of a sinless child? These feelings make the best lesson that can be taught a man, and tell him in a way, which all else he has read or heard never could, how paltry is all the show of intellect compared with a pure and good heart.

He that will humble himself and go to a child for instruction, will come away a wiser man.

If children can make us wiser, they surely There is no one more to can make us better.

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