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as carrying it back to the most besotted supernat- you will find the same intense feeling of life, the ural stage of knowledge. supreme superiority of the present moment of which we are conscious.

We think, therefore, that Mr. Agassiz overcame a temptation, rather than yielded to one, when he The diocese of the Easy Chair pity the friends broke through the technical limitations of his sci- of Lorenzo de Medici for supposing they lived in ence, and passed from laws to ideas, and from ideas such a happy period, when really they were living to God. But we have stronger proof, that no de- in a cloud of political uncertainty and national consire to propitiate popular prejudices induced him test. But how different is it with us? Instead to run the risk of offending scientific prejudices, in of petty battles at Imola and Faenza, at Pisa and the qualities of character impressed on his work Milan, we are contemporary with great wars in itself. The task of criticism is not merely to apply the Crimea, in India, in China-and where next? laws but discern natures; and certainly Mr. Agas- Signor Nicolo Machiavelli was a very unscrupu siz, in the "Essay on Classification," has exhibited lous statesman, and Signor Cæsar Borgia a villain. himself as clearly as he has exhibited his subject. | Did villainy and unscrupulosity perish with those An honest, sturdy, generous, self-renouncing love Signori? There are poetic theologians who assure of truth, and willingness to follow whithersoever us that every man's life repeats the whole story of it leads to atheism, if the facts force him that way; the creation and history of the world: that he eats to theism, if the facts conduct him to God-this is the forbidden fruit, is expelled from the Garden, is the characteristic which his broad and open nature confounded in building his Babel, is dispersed into has stamped unmistakably on his page. Every the four quarters of heaven, builds his Greece and sentence speaks scorn of intellectual reserves, and Rome, sees the Cross in the clouds and founds the innocence of intellectual guile. And it is this Eastern empire, then sinks into Dark Ages and destruthful spirit animating his labors which gives to olation, becomes Pope of Rome and restores Greek his results no small portion of their value and sig-learning and fosters the arts, until finally he pronificance; for falseness in the character is likely in the end to become falseness in the intellect; and a thinker on the great themes which interest all mankind is shorn of his influence if his qualities of disposition are such as to cast doubts on his mental honesty, and to put his readers continually on their guard against observations he is supposed capable of making willfully inaccurate, and reasonings he is supposed capable of making willfully fallacious.

Editor's Easy Chair.

LOOD-MORNING, kind friends, and a happy

G New Year!

It

To-day is the very fellow of yesterday. would take sharp eyes to see that the world had changed in any thing; but there is a change. A name is a change, a feeling is a change. It is no longer fifty-seven, it is fifty-eight. We are not the same. The Easy Chair is older, but it prays you may not discover any signs of decay. A virtuous Chair would hope, like wine, to improve with years; and that when the moment of separation with its old and long-familiar friends arrives, it may be said of it, still as of old wine, that the last taste was the best. Editors and ministers are busy just now. They are mending their pens and their memories, both to record what has happened during the year, and to moralize upon the result. Let the Easy Chair do likewise. It is itself its own pulpit and editorial column. It speaks ex cathedra. It looks with other furniture upon the great pageant of the world, leans on its own arms, and walks upon its own legs. It backs itself up. It has bottom-how else could it be Easy? Ah! fond old Chair, having Bottom hast thou also Titania, and what thou hearest is it with asses' ears?

Let us talk of the year that is gone. We will not parade a chronicle of events, nor draw the moral from all. Is not our name Easy, and is that not the character of our conversations? Great things have happened at home and abroad. History records no year better worth living in than the one just gone. The world was not used up when we came, and it will be quite as fresh when we are gone. Dip into any old history-into Machiavelli, into Thuanus, into old Stowe, and Holinshed-and

tests and struggles and conquers, and finally emerges a finished gentleman of the nineteenth century, having previously discovered America, and cut off the King's head.

The logic of the myth is, that America is Paradise regained, and the present year of grace is the Millennium. This was perhaps not strictly true of fifty-seven, but let us hope better things of fiftyeight. If every man in the world would take hold and resolve it should be so, it would be so. The Millennium is always possible, if you suppose mankind. -as butter is, if you suppose cream. At this moment it is, perhaps, only cream. Churn vigorously for fifteen minutes, and by the time your bread is baked you have fresh butter for it. So, now, we have only mankind. But turn to, and make them what they can be, and you have churned out a Millennium.

Politics and political events of the year we do not discuss. The head of our respected Collector knows whether the Chair that has to do with politics is Easy. Perhaps a contemplative Easy Chair has its opinions even upon questions in the great debatable region of politics. If it has, it is able to keep them. But when it sallies forth for its monthly chat with its friends, it has other matters of discourse. It wishes to sit down by the family fire, to show itself under the friendly evening lamp, to let the newspapers be laid aside, and to converse, not to debate. Debate is good; great questions compel discussion; but when the Easy Chair drops in for a friendly evening call, do you think it is going to subject itself to being thrust into the fire? Hath not an Easy Chair arms? Hath not an Easy Chair legs? Hath not an Easy Chair a back? Do you think an Easy Chair can not feel the fire? How do you know but it has felt it, and is like a burned child?

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is not wont to swell with peculiarly lofty emotions for doing the work of the city most cheaply, but when it stumps along in the shadow of Wall Street for doing the work expensively by partisans of its palaces. It does not feel that the spirit of that own-preferring those partisans even when they region is any more a continuation or practice of would not do the work but for twice as much as the the spirit preached in the edifice which fronts the sum for which others were willing to do it. head of the street, than that its architecture is a prolongation of Trinity Church. In truth, Broadway, at the head of Wall Street-Trinity on the one side with its significance, and the street upon the other with its significance-seems to the feeble intellects of this Chair as broad and impassable a gulf as could well be, and that not by reason of the omnibuses.

But if it does not believe Dives to be a saint because he has great piles of shekels, it certainly does not suppose him to be necessarily a sinner for that reason. Nor will any sensible man or Chair ever hold that the pieces of gold in the rich man's purse are so many drops of the poor man's blood.

But the good Alcalde, or chief of the city, sighed to see the corruption that prevailed around him. He was called The New Broom-because he swept away all kinds of dishonesty and chicanery, and, forgetting himself, aimed only at the good of the city. But when, at length, great disaster fell upon Spain, and she was entangled in commercial ruin, then the good Alcalde was carried away by his own benevolence. His heart swelled until it encroached upon his head, and his sense fell a victim to his sensibility.

The soul of the good Alcalde was wrung with sympathy for the suffering poor who were thrown out of employment, and beheld a hard winter beYet there is always this jealousy lurking in the fore them. Knowing that his own private means darkest corners of the popular mind like a savage-which had been slowly and honestly amassed, monster, and he is a public criminal who tempts it forth into action. In the decrepit days of Rome, and in all the dark hours of revolution and social confusion, the appeal to this prejudice has been always sufficient to excite bloodshed and anarchy, but never has it achieved a solitary good result. And when the appeal has been made, it was always either by an impracticable and ignorant philanthropic enthusiast, or a demagogue who preferred his own chance of advancement to the public peace.

and which he gave away in extravagant abundance-would not purchase flour and meat for all the poor of the city, he desired that the city itself should do it. Overcome by his philanthropy, he did not remember that he and his associates were trustees of funds for certain purposes, and could not spend the money of the citizens just as they pleased. Full of Christian charity, he did not know that if the city might feed one class, it would have to feed all that if he gave bacon to the makers of tenpenny nails he would also be called

Listen, then, to a story of long ago: the tradi- upon to give bread to the makers of tacks. Blindtion of the good Alcalde.

There was a city in Spain sadly misruled. It was in those remote and childish day's of the world when even grave men supposed that people could govern themselves, and before the wholesome and restraining influences of the most Holy Inquisition had cherished all that was noblest in human character, and developed that manly independence, and intellectual freedom, and religious temper, which have given the Spaniards their just celebrity, so constantly maintained, in every domain of literature and art, and that eminence of moral conduct which is among the least of the praises of the humane and Godly Holy Office.

It has been urged, indeed, that the popular excesses of those earlier days were favorable to human progress, because, say the Catholic Doctors, if the people of those times had governed themselves wisely, the Holy Office, with its attendant train of blessings, could never have found an entrance into the country; but, laus Deo! the Almighty educes good from evil, and makes even the shortcomings of men to praise Him.

The moral of which observation of the Doctors seems to be, that if any city should ever try that childish business of governing itself, it must take great care how it governs, lest by license and extravagance an opening be made, and an excuse suggested for the formation of institutions which may be in themselves a great deal better (as, for example, the Holy Inquisition may be much better than a system of religious toleration), but which, however better they may be, are quite incompatible with the preceding state of things.

Thus, then, there was a city in Spain sadly misruled-and yet it was ruled by the people. They paid enormous taxes, and yet no man was secure of his life or property. They elected a Diet to regulate expenses, and the Diet spent the money, not

ed by benevolence, the good Alcalde did not perceive that he was attacking the very foundation of the popular government upon which the city rested; for it is despots who feed and amuse their subjects, in order that they may tyrannize over them without resistance.

"Now, citizens," said the good Alcalde to the men who were trying to get honest work for honest wages, "now the winter is coming on, and you will find it impossible to procure employment. You and your families, in dreary hovels, will have no fire or food. But close by you, in splendid palaces, are men who never work, and who roll indolently in luxury. You are a great deal stronger than they are; you earn your money more righteously than they do. You can break open their doors, and cut their throats, and steal their money, and their roast beef, if you choose—and hunger has no law."

The good Alcalde, an enthusiast of generosity and philanthropy, ended; and the poor people said among themselves, "Hold! that is true. We never thought of that. Let us try the doors, whether they be strong, and the roast beef, whether it be tough."

But the tradition relates that as they were on the march to the attack, the Diet caused work to be furnished and stayed their arms. And when the people had done the work, they returned to the Diet for more; and when any workman, of any kind, fell out of labor, he repaired straightway to the Diet and demanded it. If the Diet demurred the workmen elevated a banner, on which was inscribed "Work or Death!" So the Diet squeezed the people with overwhelming taxes to supply work, and pay for work, to those who demanded. The populace became turbulent and tyrannical, as happened always under such circumstances in older countries. The Diet was compelled to raise and

support an army to control the laborers they em- | posed to muskets is simply ferocity. Hunger in

ployed; until, at last, the army and the laborers uniting, destroyed the Diet, possessed themselves of the city, and after a long period, in which prosperity and peace were unheard of, the most Holy Inquisition came sailing in over a sea of blood, and the foolish little city was disciplined by that benign institution.

But just before these events and this final fall, some friends of the good Alcalde said, in an open meeting of the citizens,

"We must forgive the mistaken virtue and charity which lead straight to anarchy and blood. But an insanity of virtue is still dangerous; and ought we not to take good care that lunatics, however well-meaning and humane, are not put into responsible situations? A city like ours, with so much positive ignorance and crime to manage, ought to consider seriously whether it can afford to gratify its fondness for philanthropic propositions and sympathies, when that gratification imperils the actual well-being of the citizens."

the state is simply despair, and when its real pressure is felt, the advance of its columns is like the sudden and overwhelming rise of the tide in the Bay of Fundy.

That made the curious and doubtful interest of the processions and meetings in the autumn, and in that lies the moral which we can now draw from those meetings. In this country, so long as labor is plenty and well paid, and food is consequently easily accessible, there is little danger of a serious or permanent revolt among the citizens. Hence the troubles of last June could not be regarded as very serious. At the worst a few volleys would end them. But in November the times were so sadly disjointed, that when swarms of people crowded through the streets and into the Parks crying, "Bread or Death!" there was room enough for the suspicion that there might be such real, stinging, griping hunger in the city, that all that hunger has done in other countries and times it would do here.

There is a certain philosophy in these events. In countries where a few rule, or one man rules, it is not always difficult for a skillful conspirator to overturn the government and rule himself; but where we all have an equal interest in the state, and understand that if we are out of power it is because there is a majority of numbers against us, there is nothing that can reverse the order of things but a moral sentiment suddenly seizing the people, or the grinding point of hunger and actual personal deprivation.

But this harangue, which had an aristocratic tone, and seemed to reprove the sentiments of the good Alcalde, was not tolerated for a moment. All the honest people who wished a peaceable and economical government took sides with the good Alcalde "because," said they, "although his heart may be too tender, and his sympathies too irrepressible, yet how much better is benevolence, even misguided, than deliberate dishonesty!" And all the people who sneered at political principle, and who preferred party to decency or good government who declared that it made no difference who was But-and this is the special sermon of the Easy Alcalde, because all men were rascals alike-togeth-Chair to all hard working men who, it hopes, find er with ignorant people lately arrived in Spain, and all the bullies and rioters of the city, arrayed themselves against the good Alcalde.

-

It was all in vain, however; for in this world, and especially in Spain, virtue is always triumphant. The good Alcalde was retained, and he and his Diet had their way, although, as has been already related, out of his philanthropy came chaos, and out of his charity confusion.

"But, laus Deo!" quoth an old Spanish Father, "it appears that the men of that city knew so little of the principles of their own government, and so perversely refused to study History-declaring that they were an exceptional people, and that, in their coarse phrase, History might go hang'-that it is no wonder their ignorance and credulity were overruled, for the benefit of mankind, and of the most Holy Office which, in its great goodness, hath lately appointed a solemn auto da fé, whereat five blasphemers will be burned at the stake, for sacrilegiously refusing to believe in the efficacy for saving souls of the holy relic in the cathedral, which, as all the faithful know, is a piece of the paring of the sacred thumb-nail of the most blessed saint, his Holiness Pope Alexander VI., the virtuous Rodrigo Borgia.'

There is good reading in many an old chronicle. But, after all, it is a waste of time; for why should a man devote the leisure which would enable him to read the last novel to perusing pages whose lessons have no bearing upon his daily life, like the advertisements of Parr's Pills and the Corn Doctor in the daily journals?

HUNGER is the most unreasoning thing in the world, and the most formidable. It flouts remonstrance, and laughs guns to scorn. Hunger op

some repose and recreation in its embrace--this state of actual destitution must be limited to the city. Consequently, if the laborers of New York, driven to desperation, should take up arms and sack the stores, how long would the supplies last them? and how long before their rising would be smothered in their own blood? Any speaker in Tompkin's Square might justly have said, “I'd as lief be shot down as starved down," and therefore try to seize a loaf to satisfy his present hunger. Yes, and when he is shot down, how has he helped his family? It is a dreadful case that he should be forced to the alternative; but he ought to see that it is a great deal better that he should run the risk of starving for himself than the risk of a riot for his family.

Of course, as hunger is unreasoning, he will not consider this when he is pinched. But as he reads these words now calmly and quietly after his supper, let him understand the case, so that when he marches after a banner with the motto of "Bread or Death!" he may know just what he is doing, and how it is going to help those he loves, and would die for.

IF you have ever watched a particular dandelion in a field deprived gradually of its golden rays, and left a little cloud of gossamer upon the stalk, and have then seen it whirled aloft and away, torn and scattered upon thorny bushes, and dashed into annihilation upon an angry stream, were you not reminded of the hapless thing as you read the report of a case of shame which filled the eager newspapers in the autumn?

There is something so pitiful in the circumstance of a forlorn woman, however foolish and even faithless she may have been, who is suddenly struck by

the scorn of the world, against which she can offer | in going and coming, in all the most delicate, and no more resistance than the gossamer of the dande-airy, and persuasive ways? lion to a November storm, that the Easy Chair has no right to leave a word unspoken which, now that the immediate interest of the case has gone by, may arrest the attention-might it even hope the steps-of some similar thoughtless butterfly.

If we measure our sinlessness by the quantity of stones we generally throw, what an immaculate generation it is! But this time the victim was in a situation so appealingly wretched, that nobody could be found quite virtuous enough to stone her, while, as was only just, the name of her paramour has become a proverb of incredible infamy and unspeakable shame.

Think of it, Thistledown, even you, pretty and smiling Thistledown, who love your flounces, and your flirtations, and your primrose gloves. It was not the matter of a moment. Great shames grow from little infamies. The things so small that they are not worth talking about become catastrophes so sad that they can not decently be mentioned. You have not escaped the eye of the Easy Chair as you frolicked and wantoned, skipped and smiled along your easy way. To be "fast," just a little, to be noted as a gay girl, to astonish every day with a pretty audacity, with a fresh toilet, or an intenser flirtation. To believe that life was a long season at Saratoga, and you the belle at its ball-behold the sum of your feeling and your ambition!

But, Thistledown, the moment you had met a man to flirt with (and how could you tell his kind from that of other men?), who was "smart" enough to conceive and execute meannesses so vile that he was sure nobody could ever be suspected of them, what was to become of you? What is to become of you if such is still the game of your life, and it is only a question of time when you do meet him?

Men are so much worse than you can believe! They are capable of holding you in such abject slavery, of which your own weak fears and foolish passions are the chains. Flirtation is, of all games, the most dangerous, not so much because it may break your heart, as because it may ruin your honor and the happiness of those who love you; and there is rarely a flirtation in which the man is not the master. Even if he be not so, the world will not consider him otherwise. When he turns aside, and quits you for another flower, the pity of the "world" is poured out upon you, and the lees of such pity, which come last and cover you, are contempt.

But if you are not a girl, but a married woman, then, you poor little Thistledown, what possible chance have you?

You are introduced to Bluster, and you think him a handsome, stylish man, or an intellectual man, or any kind of man that you choose to make your hero represent.

Now, Thistledown, you may have married unhappily, you may not love your husband, your husband may be unkind to you, you may or may not be a mother, and for all these reasons you may have found excuses for toying with Bluster until you discover that you have given him your heart, that he has fascinated you, and does with you what he will. You may even have said to yourself, "I am a human being, born with a right to happiness (and every man and woman is, spite of Professor Teufelsdröckh), and endowed with affections that may secure that happiness. I am unhappily mated; and now comes the hero with whom I was born to be satisfied, and with whom life becomes a rapture," etc., etc. You can find it in the poorer kind of French novels.

Now if you believe in your love deeply enough to follow wherever it leads, you may at once leave every thing behind, and fly with Bluster to the antipodes. Such a course compels faith in your sincerity, and shows that you are not playing at a ghastly travesty of the most solemn human relations. But, under all the circumstances, ought you to go? Granting the worst, ought you to go? Have you no other duties than those to your lover and to yourself? If you have married a man you did not love, ought you to escape the penalty? Would a noble woman shirk the consequences of her own fault? Have you no duties to friends and relations, whose hearts will be tried and torn by your flight? If you have children, you clearly commit a crime in going.

But suppose you don't mean to fly; that you are going to bewail your hard fate and enjoy all the immunities and consideration of a faithful wife, while you gratify all the passion of your heart by intimate conversation and correspondence with Bluster.

Then an Easy Chair will only weep over your fond fatuity, and remind you of this, that if Bluster be an honorable man, no such man will allow himself to be wheedled by his love for a woman into exposing that woman to the chance of exposure and shame. If he continue the intimacy, even although it be not, in the technical sense, criminal, you may know that his passion is stronger than his respect, and such feeling is not love; and that, if he be not a knave, as he probably is, he is a weak man, who will sooner or later betray you.

Then weakness is next to crime. The moment a selfish man, like the paramour in this case, discovers the extent of his despotism, he will use it to the basest ends. Whether actually criminal or not, you are equally lost, and you have sacrificed every thing for nothing. Here was a pretty little woman, who was a belle at watering-places and had thirty dresses. How many pretty little women who go annually to the same places have any other ambition? They carry books, do they? Indeed! They take the exercise of bowling, and rid

-Husband? Well, husband is at home, and you are sure he would be delighted to have you attended by such a perfectly comme faut gentle-ing, man. Besides it is so lonely here (let us suppose Paris), and really a married woman, unprotected, ought to have a friend to call upon.

How long before he is your lover? How long before he knows it, and you know it, even if nothing has been said, but only sung, and looked, and insinuated in every tone of the voice, in every glance of the eye, in every movement of the body, VOL. XVI.-No. 92.-S

and driving? Ah! Then they go to church every Sunday, sometimes twice, and always once. Oh! then an apologetic Easy Chair begs their pardon. Then it is clear that they are studious, healthy, pious people. Then it is demonstrated that they have no consuming vanities, no belittleing jealousies and rivalries, no envious ambitions. Then it is beyond question that the watering-place hotels are rather Brobdignagian Sunday-schools

or hospitals, where all the Virtues lie-in and pro- | at our table are writing with all the genial plenifusely multiply; that they are academies of mod- tude of their genius, who dares to sigh for better esty, economy, and charity, in which this poor fare-who can persuade himself that other days butterfly we are talking about and her particular were better than our days? friend are eminent professors.

More than once the Easy Chair has advised its friends to yield to the literary customs of the time. The great novelists will write their stories in monthly parts, and they should be read as written. And so many of them will write at once, that unless you do read them in the monthly parts, you are likely to be so appalled by the magnitude of the completed work as not to read it at all.

Whatever your taste, however, you can not es

Thistledown, you have read that affidavit, you have led this life of thirty dresses and flirtation, and you know whither it leads. Shame generally comes to your sex through weakness. The very bitterness with which you are assailed, after the catastrophe, is partly the result of a spiteful jealousy that the critic was not bold enough to win the éclat or shame-which you have won. For many But if you choose to be perverse and stop your an uncensured person fancies there is a certain pi- ears while Thackeray is repeating his chapterquancy in disgrace-until disgrace comes. There meaning to wait until you can have it all at once is Madame Turbidart, whose idiocy is called inno-then you may turn to his neighbor, Mrs. Gaskell, cence, and who has just sense enough to wish she who spins the whole of her yarn together this dared to be sinful; she would not spare you, This-month, or to Wilkie Collins, who will do the same tledown, if once you gave her a chance to censure. next month. If you are content with the adulation of fools, you will be annihilated by fools in the hour of misfor-cape satisfaction. The givers of the feast owe it tune. The poor little woman, who loved to frisk to themselves to take care that none of their vast and flutter in her flounces and to be "fast" with company goes away discontented. Their Monthly wild young men, had as little thought as you have Magazine is like a banquet in a colossal palace. of the sad morrow with its dreadful, irreparable From every quarter throng the guests, and from public disgrace. every side the good things are gathered to feed them. And the great company constantly increases. Every month there are more and more who crowd to the tables, and there is space enough and food enough for all. And the hosts are well aware that they must spare no pains nor cost in its preparation. Wishing well to all others, they will do the best they can for themselves. What that best is the more than a million monthly guests are well aware. Let them also know, and let all the other thousands who are yet coming know, that if genius, money, energy, and good-will can please them, they will be every month more and more pleased.

Think of these things, Thistledown.

It is always pleasant to find one's self in good company. Even an old Easy Chair is not above the satisfaction arising from the perception that it is surrounded by honest, honorable, and fascinating companions. Good company promotes good manners. When Gunnybags invites the Easy Chair to dinner, the Chair puts on its most shining conduct, so to say, and feels that by the side of Gunnybags's mahogany it should be as polished as possible. So if the sagacious reader, being in London, should be asked to join the little weekly feast of the men who brew the Punch in which the whole world delights, how natural it would be for him to remember the brilliant Richard Brinsley Sheridan, and like that witty, but not very wise, gentleman, prepare his impromptus, and elaborate his good things.

THE fall of Delhi was good news for the world. The whole Indian campaign, thus far, has shown the supremacy of that indomitable English pluck which keeps England victorious, spite of the faults of her military system, which does not always put the right man in the right place.

How proud and careful—even if a little nervous and ambitious - should an Easy Chair be, which Who really wanted England to be beaten, exhelps make out the company of which such fa- cept, perhaps, the hope of a vague ambition in Rusmous people as (the ladies first) Mrs. Gaskell, and sia and France? There was, as we said last month Dickens, Thackeray, Bulwer, Wilkie Collins, and as all England admitted, at one time serious Charles Reade, and many other most fit and hon-question of the duration of British rule in India. orable guests are parts! That is the Easy Chair's It held that great country by military occupation. happy but dangerous fate in the monthly banquet It had not colonized; it had not exterminated; it of this magazine. yielded every where, as far as it could, to native In this very number, for instance, it sits by the prejudice and superstition. It was the appeal to side of Mrs. Gaskell, Thackeray, and Reade. There that superstition which aroused the rebellion. But are no literary companions dearer to the public, nor certainly the steady progress of the repression of more worthily dear. Thackeray alone is a host- the revolt seems to show that the general policy although, on this occasion, he is but one of many of England in India had not alienated the great guests. He has opened for us his generous sym- body of the nation. The leading chiefs in the pathies, his shrewd and kindly observation; and in country have remained faithful to the British, and that sweet Saxon which is the perfection of the the insurrection was almost entirely among the most exquisite style in our literature, he com- Sepoys. It was partly the great uncertainty of mences his story of "The Virginians." He gives the situation of affairs which made the aspect so it to our monthly feast, with all the rich and racy direful and foreboding. From the beginning the illustrations with which his prompt pencil waits siege of Delhi seemed to be accepted as the type of upon his pen. It opens with that simple, easy the war. "When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall power which is the sign of a master. As you read fall." If Delhi fell, then the insurrection fell with the pregnant lines there is a placid and profound it. If Delhi maintained itself, and the besiegers satisfaction in the conviction that we are contem- were destroyed, then a darker and more disasporary with the still surviving greatness of En- trous day rose upon India than any this century glish letters. While such men as he and others has seen.

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