eminent Englishman; and, pitying him that his wife had gone to England for the education of their children, said: "You must be very lonely. But of course you have a number two." "I tried to explain to him," said the Englishman, "that that was quite out of the question. My wife would be in a great rage if I took a second wife, and my government would punish me severely.' The Chinese diplomatist was astonished; but after a pause he said, "You Europeans have so much more intercourse with China now, that we may hope you will soon become sufficiently civilized to act as we do." In this spirit the Chinese diplomatist started for Europe, and in this spirit he will probably return. Yesterday we went to the doors of the Temple of Heaven, which were quickly closed as we approached. It is too holy for foreign foot to enter; but all round about it the filth, the indecencies, the open sewers or drains, through which our mercifully sure-footed donkeys guided their steps, were such as no town in Italy or France could equal in its most neg. lected districts; and here they extended right up to the sacred portals. The Summer Palace is not to be seen just now, not even its ruins; indeed, none of the sights of Peking are on view at present. But the road to Peking is; the roads of Peking are. There is a raised roadway in the middle; a sort of ditch on either side into which the middle part may drain; in either ditch rows of booths. Then at either side there is a sort of footway; but donkeys go upon it, and I think carts. Camels do not. The roads are so wide that a hundred camels can lie down in circles of a dozen or so round their baggage without blocking the traffic. China and curios are laid flat on the dust of the road; carts stick in the ruts. I saw three at once under a single city gateway yesterday. The little ponies and mules were so tired with struggling to get them out, that they were all resting as I came up. People say the poor do not suffer that they are light-hearted. So were the negro slaves. I asked the Sisters of St. Vincent if the poverty and suffering here were greater than they had seen in France. They answered, so incompara bly greater that there could be no comparison. And how can it be otherwise when Peking produces nothing, and everything has to come by cart from Tientsin, or in the somewhat easier way we came by boat from Tientsin up the Peiho to Tungchow, towed by men, or poled, or some times sailing? We had very favorable winds, and the journey took three days and a half. Then came thirteen miles by road, to be accomplished by cart. Those thir teen miles took six hours. I held on with both hands and so escaped actual concussion of the brain, though three times my head was dashed against the side. In the end I got out and walked. For the road was made by the Ming dynasty, before the Mantchus conquered the long-suffering Chinese. It was laid down with huge blocks of stone, some of which are worn away, others altogether gone. The road has never been repaired since the Mantchus got the management of things. And along this stony road tenderly walk long strings of camels carrying brick tea to Mongolia. The quantity of hard physical labor that has gone to the conveying of that tea, even before it reaches Tungchow and is committed to the camels, is stupendous. From The English Illustrated Magazine. PHILOLOGISTS VERSUS CRITICS. As it does not seem advisable to me to thrust a walking-stick into a hornet's nest as a way of diversifying a country stroll, I would rather not say much in these peaceful pages about a subject which has some interest for me I mean the academical controversy concerning the teaching of English literature. The pot of dispute, I see, is bubbling away as merrily as ever at Oxford, and occasionally, in moments of peculiar ebullience, spurting a jet into the newspapers and reviews. Some Swift ought to write a new battle, not of the books, but of the bookmen. The quarrel so innocently stirred up by Sir William Temple was not more remarkable for violent prejudice on both sides. The philologists can see nothing in the bellelettrists but a coterie of fribbles, and the belle-lettrists refuse to see anything in the philologists but a congregation of dry-as-dusts. To the "literary "disputant it seems impossible to admit that his learned adversary can possess the slightest taste or feeling for the aesthetic side of language; while the man of linguistic erudition finds it inconceivable that the "æsthetic criticism" of literature should be anything but a convenient excuse for the encouragement of a frivolous preciosity. The situation is full of comedy, and only wants its Aristophanes. Even the conflict between just and unjust discourse in the "Clouds," which the late Dean phases Shall trace by our guidance, and roam Through delectable mazes of exquisite phrases, Until it is time to go home. Now would be the turn of the C. of P. And they might set forth their rival claims after this wise: Mansel imitated so happily in his "Phron- | Our pupils his genius through each of its tisterion," is hardly more full of dramatic contrast than is the opposition of these two schools. Imagine each of them represented by a chorus in the style of the Athenian old comedy, and advocating their respective claims before their common academical mother. The Chorus of Critics might begin somewhat in this style :Mother of Students! "Alma" hight, Thou stately presence and benign, Who, ever watchful for the light, Makest the cause of Culchaw thine! Awake! arise! Set to thine hand! And, ere it utterly departs, Oh, rescue from a dullard band The ancient glory of thine Arts! We are the thinkers of accurate thought, Save only the Philologist. Nay more, we may say, we're in private agreed To which, no doubt, the Chorus of Philol- Nor can language be ever known thoroughly ogists would reply: - while 'Tis believed to bear blossom and fruits, And we hear with a smile about flowers of C. of C. Detestable pedants! Contemptible fribbles! What sounds of strife are these? Methinks Both. Ye gods! shall the care of our litera Skills not, nor angry lightnings of the eyes. Are the words that we polish and set! With beauties, our own, we can so interlard With our richly exuberant prose. So give us our heads! for 'twas ever our To discourse of poetical truths, ture go C. of C. To the grubber who plods? And then, of course, the two contending For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents. ADVICE TO THE GIRL OF THE PERIOD. | Seeking for peace in toil, which only brought its Phases, Of the three laws of Newton, of gases expanding, Of how to preserve equilibrium when standing, Of what is the green coloring matter in plants, Of the structure of elephants, beetles, and ants; You should also be able to fluently chatter Never mind learning "to play" or "to sing," Red faces and fingers ar'n't student-like looking; In all household duties, whate'er there's to do, Let your brothers see to it, they've more time than you; At table, gulp down your food, don't try to talk, Don't waste precious time by taking a walk, Don't heed the broad hints about spoiling your looks, Let health, beauty, pleasure go, stick to your books; Be sure a fixed hatred of mankind you show, "Superior women don't marry," you know. Dull discontent and weariness of brain. "Where art thou, Peace?" I cried: "Oh, soothe this pain I GIVE this hour to sorrow: nay, refrain, Bethink thee skies e'en now are somewhere bright For others, the green leaves are dancing light, And lovers meet where blossom in the lane Flowers, the sky-children of the sun and rain. And somewhere torrents in their youthful might, Scorning the smooth path, leap the dizzy height, And mountain summits glisten pure of stain. Somewhere for poet-brows Fame twines her wreath; Somewhere to noble purpose souls are won By holy living or heroic death; Brave hearts endure, nor quail at Fortune's frown; And somewhere there is rest for all who breathe, Somewhere a land where sorrow is unknown. From The Fortnightly Review. I SUPPOSE the words right and wrong bound jurisconsult, Justitia est constans et perpetua voluntas jus suum cuique tribuendi. Wrong has been referred, not to the exterior act but to the interior mental state, Mens rea facit reum. The world on the whole has not doubted that what is just exists by nature, that universal obligation is a prime note of right, that a violation of right entails, according to the laws of the universe, retributive suffering upon the wrong-doer. I do not, of course, mean that the vast majority of men have ever held these views as philosophers. They made their way into the popular mind through the religious traditions which are the only philosophies available for the multitude. The morality of the old civilization of Egypt, of India, of Judea, was up with their religions. The same may be said of the ancient phase of Hellenic and, more strongly still, of Roman civilization. It is the special glory of Buddhism that it established the supremacy of the moral law over gods and men and the whole of sentient existence. To Christianity the human race owes the supreme enforcement of the autonomy of conscience as the voice of Him whom it But now the is better to obey than man. old ethical conceptions are everywhere falling into discredit. The very princi ples on which the ideas of right and wrong have hitherto rested are very widely questioned, nay, more than questioned. "No one," observes a recent thoughtful writer, can deny either the reality or the intensity of the actual crisis of morality. Nor is the crisis confined to certain questions of casuistry. On the contrary, it extends to the most general rules of conduct, and through those rules to the very principles 66 of ethics themselves."* "By-and-by," a popular professor in the Paris School of Medicine recently prophesied to his admiring pupils, "by-and-by, when the rest of the world has risen to the intellectual level of France, and true views of the nature of existence are held by the bulk of mankind, now under clerical direction, the present crude and vulgar notions regarding morality, religion, divine providence, Deity, the soul, and so forth, will be swept entirely away, and the dicta of Beaussire, Les Principes de la Morale, p. 25. |