children of the past, than as the parents of the future; for they have only six thousand years behind, but an eternity before them. And if riches have their duties as well as privileges, what an awful responsibility is entailed upon the generation inheriting all the moral wealth that has been accumulating since the creation! "The child's the father of the man," and the comparatively young world of TO-DAY, will transmit its character to the adult world of another day. Can there be a more cogent motive for improving the moral estate we have inherited, so that our legacy to posterity may exceed that which was bequeathed to us by antiquity, and that the incalculable numbers who are to come after us, may not have reason to reproach their ancestors? Let no living man finally pass away, without having endeavoured to deposit upon the altar of human advancement, an offering suitable to his means and opportunities. As his efforts towards this great and glorious consummation will best embalm his memory among his fellowmortals, so may he humbly hope that they will form his surest passport to a blissful immortality. HOW TO FIND THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE. WHEN Hobbes the philosopher was lying on his deathbed, and consulted as to what inscription was to be placed on his tombstone, he replied, with a smile, "The Philosopher's Stone." HOLT, speaking of the wonderful increase and riches of commercial cities says, "This is the true Philosopher's Stone, so much sought after in former ages, the discovery of which has been reserved to genius when studying to improve the mechanic arts. Hence a pound of raw materials is converted into stuffs of fifty times its original value. And the metals too are not indeed transmuted into gold-they are more for the labour of man has been enabled to work the baser metal by the ingenuity of art, so as to become worth many times more than its weight in gold." A NEW SONG TO THE OLD TUNE. 1. 'Tis true his lips have never Breathed of love, except in sighs; But he courted me for ever With his fond and wooing eyes. A lover's suit he tender'd, Though he gave it not a name, And the heart was soon surrender'd 2. That heart as soon was broken When his fickleness was proved; But never be it spoken, In reproach of him I loved. MANUFACTURES. THE ambition of excelling all the world in our manufactures sounds in the first instance very much like the Meanness that soars, and pride that licks the dust; for what is it, in point of fact, but the glory of doing all the drudgery and dirty work for the rest of our species, of being cosmopolitan "hewers of wood and drawers of water," not to say catholic scavengers and nightmen? We boast of being the freest nation in the world, yet we voluntarily make ourselves the slaves of the most slavish that will give us orders-for our manufactures. We are a people of unemancipated white negroes. Does any one ask what we have gained by thus rendering ourselves the slaves of the whole world? We have become masters of the whole world! We have literally stooped to conquer. Commerce, an everpropitious impersonation of both Neptune and Mars, has given us the command of the sea, which, in the present dependence of nations upon each other, includes, to a certain extent, the dominion of the land. We have not" beat our swords into ploughshares, and our spears into pruning-hooks," that so we might become a judge over the nations; but on the contrary, conquering by the instruments of peace, we have made lances of our shuttles, battering-rams of our steam-engines, and brandishing the manufacturer's hammer, we have first wielded it, like that of Thor, to knock down our enemies; and secondly, like that of the auctioneer, to knock down our goods to the best bidder. IN MEDIO TUTISSIMUS IBIS. THE average standard, whether of body or mind, is the best adapted to the wear and tear of life. Tall men must often stoop, if they wish to avoid knocking their heads-short ones must stand on tiptoe if they desire to see as much as their neighbours. Great intellects are ever exposed to injury by knocking against the angles of some narrow prejudice, little ones are liable to be squeezed or trampled upon by their larger-minded fellow-mortals. "Even if you think like the wise," says Roger Ascham, "you should speak like the common people." Distinguished talent excites envy-mediocrity throws nobody into the shade, and therefore appeals to the sympathies of every body. Horace, indeed, maintains Mediocribus esse poetis Non homines, non dii, non concessere columnæ, But critics have granted it, for I myself have been more than once lauded as if I had written like Wordsworth or Bulwer. And why? Because the praise of mediocrity is the surest way to annoy the higher order of merit. FINE ARTS. THERE is a story extant of a mad dog that in his progress through the St. John's Wood-road, flew and snapped at every passenger in his way except one,-whom instead of biting, he saluted in passing with a wag of the tail. The individual thus favoured, is said to have been a certain well-known painter, whose pictures of animals have been universally admired. The poor brute had perhaps sat or stood to him, aforetime, for its portrait; or possibly the acknowledgment was of a more general nature, for no man, except the Great Novelist, has done so much for the canine race as Edwin Landseer. Thanks to the pencil and the partiality of this painter, the Dog now occupies a distinguished station in our galleries. He is become as it were one of us, and is honourably hung in effigy amongst historical personages of our own species. In every exhibition he has a prominent place-not unworthy for sagacity to appear beside a full-length Lord Mayor-for courage close to a Field Marshal-for honesty, on the right or left of an AttorneyGeneral-for attachment, next to the "Portrait of a Gentleman,' and for fidelity, by the "Portrait of a Lady." Thus his virtues, his acts, his form and features, are commemorated, and the Dog, who otherwise would only have enjoyed his proverbial day, is made immortal! To such pictures it would not be very fanciful to attribute the introduction of a certain Bill into Parliament, and which ought to have been called "an Act to prevent Dogs being treated like dogs." They are certainly not more cruelly used than many other animals, including some classes of our own species. The poorest of them are not sent to Northleach, nor the wickedest of them to Knutsford. The turnspit's wheel is out of date, whereas the treadmill is in full activity. The same of other punishments. Now and then a young hound gets publicly or privately whipped, but so do some juvenile delinquents and unfortunates of human kind-and for severity, the keeper's or huntsman's whip is milder by some degrees than a red-hot rod, a billy-roller, or a cat-o'-nine-tails. As to the halter, there are more men hung than curs; it may be unpleasant to dance in a red jacket upon compulsion; but it is worse to dance upon nothing. Then as to labour, the brutes would gain nothing by exchanging into our mines or factories, "receiving the difference." A terrier now and then has to grope underground for a fox or rabbit, but that employment is literally sport, to the boring in the bowels of the earth for metals and minerals. No-it was not the cruelty but the degradations inflicted on the animals in question, that produced the Dog Bill, and enlisted the sympathies of its supporters. They had just seen the portrait of the Friend of Byron Who never knew but one, when they met a Newfoundlander harnessed to a truck. They had been gazing at the Shepherd's Chief Mourner, when they encountered a creature of the same breed, dragging a barrow, full of carrion. Fresh from looking at that dignified Dog in Office-or like a Lord Chancellor-they had stumbled on a Poodle, begging on his hind legs, for paltry coppers, with an old greasy hat in his mouth! We have been led into these speculations, as well as the following verses, by a print from the celebrated picture called "Laying Down the Law." It is a highly-finished Engraving in Mezzotint, by the painter's brother, Mr. Thomas Landseer. The physiognomical expressions are well preserved-the texture of the poodle's fleece is perfect, and the plate altogether will be an attractive and acceptable one to a Lover of the Fine Arts and of the Faithful Animal. LAYING DOWN THE LAW. BY THE EDITOR. I am Sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips let no dog bark. MERCHANT OF VENICE. If thou wert born a Dog, remain so; but if thou wert born a Man, resume thy former shape.-ARABIAN NIGHTS. A POODLE, Judge-like, with emphatic paw, A batch of canine Counsel round the table, Thou great Pictorial Esop, say, O say, accomplished Artist! Was it thy purpose, by a scene so quizzical, So over-partial to the means called Physical, Sticks, staves, and swords, and guns, the tools of treason?— The very Brutes abandoning Brute Force, The worry and the fight, The bark and bite, In which, says Doctor Watts, the dogs delight, And lending shaggy ears to Law and Reason, In equity, not iniquity? Or was it but a speculation On Transmigration, How certain of our most distinguish'd Daniels, Transform'd to mastiffs, setters, hounds, and spaniels, Methinks, indeed, I recognise A celebrated Judge too prone to tarry, So slow, indeed, was justice in its ways, Going to law in those expensive days Was much the same as going to the Dogs! * See the story of Sidi Nonman in the "Arabian Nights." |