stood up unfettered and alive. In modern resembled. He could not accept those history no man armed only with spiritual who differed with him, except as instruweapons, strong only in his cause, his ments. He no more in his heart tolerated genius, and his character, has ever per- the House of Savoy than the House of formed such a feat, or made so deep a per- Hapsburg, or thought Italy perfect as a sonal impression on the history of mankind. Monarchy than as a prey to petty despotTo find a parallel, we must look back into isms. His ideal was always with him, and the only history Englishmen cannot under- latterly, we suspect, events had only deepstand, and watch the men who, in defiance ened the force of his convictions. As a of circumstances and probabilities and young man he had seen three visions, every power which to men seems strong, the unity of Italy, the enfranchisement of have from time to time remodelled and Rome, and the rise of bis half-inspired revived the Roman Catholic Church. It Assembly; and if, in spite of all probabiliis among the greater Popes that we must ties, almost of all possibilities, of hostile seek for the analogue of Joseph Mazzini, kings, and victorious armies, and enfeebled the serene man possessed of and by a faith, peoples, two of the visions had come true, who could use all weapons, and mould all why should he despair of the third, or surmen, and disregard all circumstances; render any portion of his faith, or be false whose gentleness was as inflexible as other even in appearance to the mission with men's obstinacy; to whom earthly tempta- which he was entrusted from on high? tions had no meaning and earthly scruples He could make no terms, and he made no force; who could not pause, or change, none, and while his judgment on every or tremble, and who therefore at once other point grew cooler, and he saw and achieved the lofty success and roused the admitted the greatness of England, which undying hatreds which attend the course he loved next to Italy, and saw and deof the man who lives for an idea. Un-nounced the cruel selfishness of the Comstirred by the ordinary ambitions of men mune, and saw and proclaimed the moral and unaffected by their ordinary passions, strength of Germany, he held fast to his an ascetic by habit rather than conviction, first faith, and laboured for the Republic incapable of envy as of doubt, irresistible as he had laboured for Italy, and seemed in his power over hearts, which he used to Italian moderates, as to many otherwise only to further his great cause; personally as gentle as a woman, but for his ideas implacable as a statue; eloquent with the eloquence which can persuade an individual or a Senate, yet averse to life in public; never induced even by his own genius to swerve for a moment from his appointed course; an immovable fanatic, with all the knowledge and all the tact of a finished grandee, Joseph Mazzini was what in the Roman Catholic ideal every Pope should be. Years ago men who knew nothing of him except his name, but regarded him as a modern Marat, took delight in accusing him of cowardice, of provoking other men to dangers he never shared, and wondered why the taunt, so deeply resented on the Continent, never stirred him even to a reply. They might as well have taunted Gregory VII., or Sextus Quintus, or any other man so placed that to his end, which alone he values, courage may be as injurious as fear, who has risen out of all that range of emotions into the serener atmosphere where men become as tranquil as the gods.

friendly Englishmen, an unappeasable agi-
tator, a firebrand who would destroy any
institution of which he was not the author.
He was nothing of the kind, not even a
Revolutionist, but an idealist who con-
ceived himself to be burdened with a trust
which he could not lay aside. Compro-
mises were as sinful as bribes, truces as
unworthy as concessions, and to every ar-
gument and every offer, whether pressed
by statesmen, or urged by followers, or
suggested by hearty friends, the sweet-
natured, gentle-mannered, immovable old
man answered as the Church which, if
character were the equivalent of destiny,
it should have been his fate to rule,
"Non Possumus. I cannot give away the
heritage of the Lord."

From The Spectator. TAPPY'S CHICKS.*

Tappy's Chicks is altogether too insignificant a title for so delightful and valuable a little book. We suppose children's books sell best, and that the title will at

The political faults of Mazzini were all of the same type as his virtues, and may all be indicated in a sentence. He was as incapable of compromise as the Church whose greater chiefs he in mind so closely don: Strahan and Co.

Tappy's Chicks. By Mrs. George Cupples. Lon

tract these little customers, but it certain- | pense, trouble and anxiety." Well, we are

not prepared to accede to the first part of the statement, -so much depends on the training; nor altogether to the last, for we have known pets who have not been banished from the parlour when troublesome or unwelcome, as children certainly would have been. But this is cavilling, and not to the point.

ly gives no idea of the charming riches of those Scotch tales, or of their graver and higher meaning. We should adopt the second title, and call the book "Links between Nature and Human Nature." It is impossible to close the volume, which has given us some quiet hours of very pure enjoyment, without sincere regret that we are not opening it instead, and without a We wish Mrs. Cupples had given us curious feeling that we have been living in some idea, either in a preface or notes, of a different world, in a world in which the whereabouts of the boundary line bethe relations between animals and men tween fact and fiction, which it is often are quite unlike those which usually exist impossible to get at. Much seems to be or rather which do not exist at all, for unvarnished truth, but so much unmistakaanimals are too much regarded as either ble fiction-as, for instance, all the details things to be killed for food, or locomotive of the poaching expedition of the tailor's machines, or ornaments, or, at best, play- and shoemaker's cats that we should things. When the present writer first met much like to be told what is history and his own little Waif, his dignified tom-cat, what is due to Mrs. Cupples' lively imaginaand his motherly old puss, after reading of tion working upon materials gathered by Mrs. Cupples' pets, it seemed as if his eyes close observation, but used to add plausibilwere opened to their real nature, as if ity to her theory of character and motive as they themselves looked at him with an ex-identical in human beings and the humpression of happy triumph that at last they bler animals. Not that we are the least were understood and appreciated, as if inclined to scoff-we are humble and willthe mere fact of their dumbness had ing disciples, and ready to believe, as strangely blinded humanity to the intel- Mrs. Cupples has certainly brought herlect and the heart of their four-footed de- self to do that our little friends underpendents, as if the days of kicking them stand what is said to them, and that the out of the way, of locking them up in sounds they make mean questions and anstables and not saying "how do you do?" swers, and exclamations of gratitude, afand "good bye!" to them, or making fection, reproach, or indignation. Once, proper arrangements for their happiness and once only, we note an inclination to and comfort, must soon pass away for- doubt her own beloved theory, and we reever from the civilized, as indeed it has spect the honesty - it must have cost her not passed away, but never obtained in a sharp struggle - with which she sugthe uncivilized world, where dogs, and gests the common-place explanation of horses, and dumb creatures generally are what happened, while her pen must have the companions, and not the mere tools of lingered over the desire to score it out, their owners. Superior people who smile and leave to the sentiment of the incident good-naturedly from their height of good-all its touching power to convince our sense on enthusiasts for the animal crea-hearts. It is in the story of the Rookery, tion will be inclined to ask us who this where the rooks follow the proprietor's Mrs. Cupples is? Probably, the "Mrs." fallen fortunes, and poor Mrs. Cupples, is a pardonable fiction, they will surmise, with the courage of the righteous but with invented to give her book more authority, tears, we are sure of bitter mortification, and save it from the disregard that might suggests that the noise on the days of aucfall on the lucubrations of an amiable old tion perhaps drove them away, and that maid. And to be honest, there is no evi- the woods of the late proprietor's new and dence that she possesses children, though humbler domain were the nearest to go to. she certainly has a "gudeman." But is it Take courage, good and dear Mrs. Cupples, not rather an argument in favour of the and put away this morbid conscientioushigh claims that she makes for her favour-ness in your next edition; it is clear to ites, that they seem so well to fill the place our critical and unbiased mind that the for childless folk that the bairns fill for lame rook, Jacky, so kindly tended and their more favoured parents? "More fav- cured by the good old man, had planned oured, indeed!" we think we hear some and carried out the removal of the colony animal-lovers exclaim, "why, parents have to the woods, that should in future give not half the comfort out of their children! music as well as shade and shelter to their Animals are infinitely more affectionate and beloved old friend. The same story obedient, and cause a hundred times less ex- 'like each of the others, indeed — contains

delicious and quite original sketches of ever beheld her; an' she was the kindest freend human as well as what we are accustomed I had on earth. And when I saw the bit cage

to call animal character, and we will note put up, says I to mysel' "I'll hae that if it one or two of them before turning again should cost me my last bawbee, for the sake o' We got another to the less self-asserting, but more promi- her that's awa'." nent heroes and heroines of our authoress. glimpse of Tibbie and her precious purchase, Here, then, is an illustration of the joy of standing beside our friend Sandy Dawson, who proprietorship, common alike to the vul-Just you bring it yont to the shop, Tibbie,' was examining it with a critical but kindly eye. he said, in what he intended to be a whisper. I'll mend the wires for ye; an' wo'll maybe manage to get a canary-bird or a bit lintie tae put in't; for it's rather daft-like to see a cage withoot a bird in't.'"

gar parvenu and the long-descended laird, to the owner of a county or the lord of a back yard. It reminds us- for the very words are almost the same-of a small boy we once knew who had been recently appointed to his first service, with authority over a pony and a spade, a wicker carriage and a watering-can. He stood where the miniature lawn abutted on the miniature offices, waving his small right hand majestically, now towards the shrubbery and now towards the shed, exclaiming in an undertone of concentrated enthusiasm, controlled by a calm dignity, "All this belongs to me! belongs to me! belongs to mel" But to the parallel. A rich lawyer had bought the Eden-side estate; a tenant is telling the tale :

"The first night that Mr. Jeffrey had full occupation o' the place he was walking about in the moonlight, looking over everything-taking, so to speak, what he wad ca' an invent'ry o' the place, doon to the very grass and stanes, and says he to himsel' loud out in the hearing o' Jock Tamson, turning round in the fullness o' his heart, This house is my house,' and he gaed a wave wi' his right han'. This lawn is my lawn,' says he. These trees are my trees,' pointing up to the fiue auld timber that had grown up wi' the Beetons frae auld days lang syne; and he struts about like a peacock, jestering away. At that moment some o' the craws begin to caw, caw, an' says the stupid cratur o' a lawyer body, These crows are my crows.' It was sinfu' to say the least o't, as if the birds o' the air belanged to onybody but their Maker, and could be bought and sold wi' the lave."

And here is a little touch of true sentiment. A servant of the outgoing family is talking to an old woman who has been

at the auction:

66 6

Ay, me, Janet; I've bought the auld bird-cage, the man knocked it down to me for threepence, though I was ready to pay a hale saxpence for't.' When Janet had further expressed her surprise at such a purchase, and asked Tibbie what she meant to do with it, she said, 'I'm no' going to do onything wi' it; it's no' an ordinary bird-cage, woman. Did I no' see the auld mistress that was afore your time, Janet-stanin' afore that very cage, cheepin' to her yellow canary when she was stickin' the bit lumpie o' loaf-sugar in atween the wires? Ay, Janet, woman, it was the last time my eyes

And here is another old woman mourning over the good old times : —

"Ay, mem, they talk about the improvement o' the age, a' body's sae clever, ye ken; but div ye no see it's knocking out the word 'thrift' frae the knowledge o' folk a'thegither? In my young days we were made to gang 'oot and gather the rushes; I needna say made, for we liket it fine, and we wad come hame as happy lengths for the cruise. That's the auld-fashas ye like, and peel them, and break them into ioned wee oil lampie, ye ken,-ye'll see them on the pictures o' the wise and fuilish virgins. Then we made spunks enough to serve a the winter; but noo folk will no be content wi' them, but maun hae their boxes o' safety matches. I'm wae for folk whiles, when I see such thriftlessness."

It is a remarkable fact, which we need not examine too closely, that Mrs. Cupples has such a large circle of humble friends who all share her devotion to animals, and further, who all endorse her opinionsnot merely as to their intelligence, but as to their power of comprehending the meaning of what is said to them, and even what is said in their hearing, if it be about them and are as ready as herself in suggesting the line of thought and argument which the pet in question is following. So that the old fables and fairystories seem to be re-written for us in a form far more captivating, since the incidents of natural history, and the thoughts and feelings which close observation has a right to deduce from the manners and actions of the dumb creatures, are substituted for the perfectly absurd conversations and performances of the artificial monsters of the fairy-tale and the fable. In no story is this more cleverly done than in the one referred to of the poaching cats. The timidity and yet the pleasurableness and novelty of independence evinced by Snow, and the mingled contempt and pity of the old delinquent Tom, who is undermining her morals, are admirable. "Once, in her agitation when she had given vent to a

very gentle 'mew,' he had turned upon] While of affection for a master, that of the her quite fiercely, and asked with a very sailor's monkey is the most tonching exsternyow,' if she wanted the keeper to ample. His master had gone to sea again: find them out." We have not many of the commoner sort of anecdotes of remark

able sagacity. It is the heart and feeling existing in her favourites to which Mrs. Cupples more particularly wishes to draw our attention; but one story combines both, and we must give it. It is such stories as this that we should like to have been assured were true:

"Weel, yes mem,' replied Mrs. Harvey. to this mem.' And the good woman took from 'Yet he hasna forgotten Johnnie a grain. See a press an old blue jacket, that had evidently seen hard service at sea, and laid it on a chair. No sooner was this done than the monkey, who had been watching her movements for some time, came crawling out of its hiding place, and whisked itself into the chair. After feeling the coat carefully, with a cry of joy he lifte up a fold, and, crawling under it, lay down with an unmistakable expression of happiness beaming in his twinkling black eyes. Puir fellow,' said Mrs. Harvey, stroking the animal's head cautiously, where's your master? He might hae bidden a wee thing langer wi' his mither, Whether he understood what Mrs. Harvey said mightna he, Jackie? But he's awa' again;'.

"The winter set in very early that year, and one afternoon Andrew was returning homewards from his usual rounds. He had got safely through the village of Moonzie. About half a mile beyond the Manse, he got out of the cart to help Beauty up a slight incline. This he managed to do with great difficulty, and was in the act of getting into the cart again, when Beauty slipped on the frosty road, and her master's foot being on the wheel he lost his or not I cannot say, but he sobbed quite auhold and fell. When he tried to rise he dis-dibly, the tears trickling down his cheeks. covered his leg was broken at the ankle, and he Every now and then he wiped them off, while had to sink back on the frosty road perfectly like o' that, mem? the puir beastie, he's greetMrs. Harvey kept saying, Saw ye ever the helpless. Poor Beauty was in a great state of in' for my Johnnie.'' distress, but when she found that her master could not get up, and that after a time he ceased to be able to speak to her, she did the very best thing she could have done in the circumstances, proving that her amount of sense was indeed, as Andrew expressed it, by-ordinar. They had called at the Manse that night in passing homewards; and, when the family heard a horse neighing and pawing the gravel outside, the minister went out himself to see what it was. Great was his surprise to find Beauty back again, and without her master." Another instance of pure sagacity is that of the turkey cock who roosted in the ple tree, and kept a profound silence till the young robbers were well in the tree, when-indifferent to the fact that it was night and sleeping time - he rushed at them and put them ignominiously to flight. That autumn the crop was gathered and housed for the first time. One of the most remarkable stories of affection for their kind is that told in Tappy's Chicks of a little cock and hen named Abram and Sara.

ap

We find a theory, which we have stated in these pages before, on the question of "What's in a name?" supported and substantiated by Mrs. Cupples, in the tale of the poacher's Jock, and there is no more graphic or touching passage than the one in which she describes the joyful homecoming of the puppy, unconscious of his own degradation, sunk from the high estate of a thorough-bred terrier to that of a poacher's crop-eared and lop-tailed cur, and the ignominious and crestfallen retreat, when he finds himself despised and rejected by his aristocratic relations. "He paused with an expression of delight in his eyes, and a look as much as to say, Won't they be pleased to see me again!" For a moment he stood up, facing them boldly on three feet, his fore-leg raised, and the paw hooked inquiringly. Then he took a long look at his mother and his old home, gave a most pathetic whimper almost approaching to a moan, and turned and fled." The pride of the Strange though it may seem, it is never- laird's stag-hound is grandly described; theless true, that Sara after losing her little but Mrs. Cupples knows all her humble companion pined every day more and more, till friends equally well, from a man to a starat last she refused to eat any food whatever. ling, and we have to leave a hundred favAbout a fortnight after Abram disappeared ourite little bits unquoted. The pictures she died. It's weel kent [known],' said Barbara, with the tears standing in her kind are not so good. The man and dog in the honest grey eyes, what Sara has died o', mem, an' that's nothing but a broken heart, for she was the brawest young hen in a' the village afore Abram was lost, an' nothing ailed her

Abram was lost:

that I could see.'"'

66

one on page 111 are absurdly out of perspective; the latter is looking straight before him at a cat, at least a quarter-of-amile behind him; and the dog's headsqueezed under the planking-in page

to go half-way to meet the impos

115, looks more like a bit of some fabulous | race reptile. Nevertheless, the frontispiece, tor. Even where no claim has been actusome of those in the story of the tailor's cat, and others, are very good, and children will find them, we do not doubt, a great addition to the charm of the book.

From The Saturday Review.
THE USES OF TATTOOING.

ally put forward, the popular imagination is ready to invent an appropriate legend in order to satisfy its own natural longing for the marvellous. The history of simpler times is full of such occurrences. When

ever a great hero died in an obscure manner, a legend immediately grew up, telling how he was waiting in some enchanted land, or beneath the roots of some mysteriqus mountain, for the day when he should once more reappear in his ancient glory. Sometimes a clever pretender took advantage of this state of mind, but the legend was able to maintain itself even without such a nucleus around which it might crys

ing to believe in the death of her son, and always on the look-out for his return, is merely a type of the popular state of mind when any object of widely-spread interest has vanished from the world. Royal per

DAVID tells us that he was hasty in asserting that all men are liars ; but he might have said deliberately that most men are either liars, or the unconscious accomplices of liars. The quantity of sheer unmixed lying which exists in this world is, we sus-tallize. The poor Lady Tichborne, refuspect, greatly under-estimated by most people; and of the quantity of false statement which is not quite lying, because it begins by self-deception, few persons have even a faint conception. The reason of this seems to be simple enough. For prac-sonages are now surrounded so closely by tical purposes we are obliged to assume observers of all their actions, they are so that people speak the truth. A certain much in the habit of being interviewed, quantity of mutual trust is necessary in even at the moment of death, that there is order to carry on the business of life; little chance of the uncertainty which is and we naturally make the mistake of con- necessary to generate even a popular delufounding a provisional assumption, which sion. They are no longer withdrawn in a for ordinary purposes is accurate enough, cloud from our midst like a Homeric hero with a statement of actual facts, and then from a battle, but take their leave of us in apply it to cases where it is more frequent- as public a fashion as that in which princes ly falsified than verified. We infer from used to be ushered into the world. And the practical necessity of trusting people yet, even in our days, there were probably in trifles that they are always trustworthy large districts in France where Napoleon even in serious matters; and thus we exag-III. would easily have been accepted rather gerate beyond all bounds the weight which as a new avatar of the First Emperor than should properly be attached to a simple as his nephew. In families of a position unsupported assertion. If a respectable beneath Royalty there are, of course, more person that is to say, a man in a black frequent opportunities for fraud; and now coat who has not been convicted of picking that a conspicuous example has been prepockets tells us the wildest story of sented, we may possibly expect to see a ghosts or rapping-tables, the one hypothe- repetition of the experiment. It is, persis which the ordinary mind altogether re- haps, not quite out of the question that a fuses to admit is the surely not inconceiv-new Sir Roger may yet start from the Ausable one that he is a liar and a cheat. It tralian bush or the backwoods of America. is thought to be almost paradoxical to assert that any one, outside of the criminal classes, is ever guilty of downright falsehood. The weakness is certainly amiable; and yet it may fairly be doubted whether a capacity to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, is not as rare as the habit of unequivocal lying.

It seems, then, at first sight rather singular that personation is not a more common trick than it appears to be in fact. For this is one of those cases in which there is a natural predisposition among persons of ill-regulated minds- or, in other words, among the great majority of the human

The profession of a personator is not altogether so disagreeable as many other modes of precarious existence. The claimant may be certain of a good deal of popular sympathy if he shows a moderate amount of skill in making out his case; some of the difficulties in his path have been buoyed out by the last adventurer; and, if the worst comes to the worst, he will ultimately be provided for at the public expense. Probably, after a short time, the pangs of what serves him for a conscience, if he is rash enough to maintain such a luxury, would be satisfactorily quenched. It is a question which can never be satisfactorily