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united capital and joint-stock enterprize of the associative plan, and these defects would be remedied by the system of association. Our conclusion is-locate the people upon the land, not in allotments but in an associative way, on pur

chased, inalienable farms, with a union of manufactures and agriculture, and all the benefits of the allotment system will be obtained, its obstacles overcome, and its defects remedied.

G. B.

LITERARY REGISTER.

NATIONAL EDUCATION.

BY DAVID STOW, ESQ.

London: J. Hutchard & Son.

THE writer of this pamphlet is a gentleman who has long taken a very lively interest in the important cause of Education. For the last thirty years, he has been engaged in Glasgow, in founding and maturing that system of education which is advocated, and recommended to public notice in this tract. After so long and intimate a connexion with one of our most celebrated educational institutions, anything, on the subject of education, from the pen of Mr. Stow, cannot fail to have its due weight, and secure the attention of those who take an interest in this vital question.

We state the object of the author in his own words :it is to show that, while great improvements have been made in education of late years, still the wants and condition of the people are not yet met by a system fitted to elevate them morally and intellectually, and more particularly to meet the condition of the youth of large towns." It is to prove that teaching is not training-that the education of the 'child' consists not merely in instructing or teaching his head-that intellectual training is not necessarily moral, although moral training cannot be conducted without its being at the same time intellectualthat the cultivation of the whole man,' or the ' child,' must include the exercise of the affections, as well as the physical habits-that the understanding must be cultivated, and the whole based on the unalterable will and law of God, as contained in the Scriptures of truth.”

The system, then, recommended by Mr. Stow, is that known by the name of the Training system—a name derived from the words of Scripture, "Train up a child in the way he should go," &c. Education, he considers to imply, not merely instruction, but chiefly training, or the formation of right habits in the youthful mind.

In order to work out successfully the training system, two things the author considers to be essentially necessary-the training school premises, and the trained master. Regarding the former he says :-" In education, as hitherto conducted in school, even under the most highly intellectual system, we have had instruction, and not training. Schools are not so constructed as to enable the child to be superintended-the master has not the opportunity of training, except under the unnatural restraint of a covered school-room; and it is imagined, or, at least, stated, that children are morally trained without their being placed in circumstances where their moral dispositions and habits may be developed and cultivated, as if it were possible to train a bird to fly in a cage, or a race-horse to run in a stable."

very considerable expense.

And how is this expense to be met? Mr. Stow admits that the subscriptions of the people will not accomplish this, and considers the assistance of the State absolutely necessary. On this point he says:-"We have always advocated large Government grants for the moral and intellectual training of the young, knowing that otherwise the people would never educate themselves, and that the private subscriptions of the wealthy would fail in providing the requisite funds for that purpose. Let all good men, of every truly Christian sect and party, now heartily unite in the effort of rendering the people of this nation, not merely the greatest, but the best-the most moral-the most intelligent-the most pious in the world. Let our strength lie, not only in our fleets and armies, and mechanical powers, but in an intelligent, a moral, a religious, and, therefore, a prosperous and happy people. Let us show to Government that we can realise all the money it requires of us, and, by the prudence of the expenditure, lay claim to further and much larger sums."

After explaining and illustrating, at some length, the training system, Mr. Stow next occupies a considerable space in noticing the principal systems of education at present in existence-pointing out both their excellencies and defects, which we certainly think he has done in a very fair and judicious manner. Notice is taken of the "Old Rote" system, of the Scottish Parochial school system, of the Prussian system, of the Infant school system, of the Borough Road, or British and Foreign school system, of the National school system of England, of the Irish system of education, of the Intellectual system, of Normal seminaries for preparing teachers and trainers.

At the end of the pamphlet, the reader will find an Appendix, containing several valuable papers and statistics relating to the subject of education.

Mr. Stow deserves all praise for his unwearied and disinterested exertions in behalf of education, in the time that is past, and, by the publication of this judicious and seasonable pamphlet, the public owe him a still greater debt of gratitude. The system he recommends we consider to be admirable, and much needed, especially for the thousands and tens of thousands of young people in our large towns, who, it is to be feared, are totally neglected by their parents, and who, therefore, must receive all their moral training in such institutions as those established by Mr. Stow. It is a system, too, that has been tried-tried for many years, and proved successful. With most of the sentiments and statements in this excellent and sensible tract, we cordially agree, and recommend it to all who take an interest in the cause of education. It will be found to repay a careful and attentive

The machinery thus required must be attended with perusal.

GEORGE LOVELL.

BY J. S. KNOWLES.

fore he had turned marriage fairly over in his mind, and
when he half thought of adopting her as a sister-
when it was a divided case between the two relation-
ships-for Lovell was a perfectly honourable person-he
displayed no little judgment in the course of studies that
he suggested. We shall copy the catalogue of the small
library which was to be handed to his future wife :-
"His first visit was to a bookseller's.
There he pur-

chased a small bible and prayer-book, handsomely, though
that loveable novel, the Vicar of Wakefield-in interest,
not ostentatiously, bound; a pocket copy of Shakespeare;
moral, nature, and genius, the first of all the class-an
extraordinary work! transcendant merit, not unlikely to
be overlooked by nine-tenths of the world, because it is
the works of reputed greater authors are dreams! truth-
so unpretending! palpability, in comparison with which
fulness in romance! situations, incidents, reflections that
bear homewards, that take us to our hearths, and fix us
there, keeping our finest, dearest, most sacred feelings,
est novel and the gravest tract! man and his Creator!
astir! thrilling or gushing as we read! at once the sweet-

To the Vicar of Wakefield he added the Seasons; Campbell's elegant Gertrude of Wyoming, with his imperishable gems of minor poems appended his masterpieces; Charles the Twelfth, in the original; a French Grammar tho Death of Abel; Paul and Virginia; the History of and Dictionary; a compendium of English, Scotch, and Irish history. Such was the portable library which he designed for Phoebe's use."

Phoebe had, however, read a few books before that time; and she had learned French in the following strange fashion :

"And what have you read?'

"The Pilgrim's Progress, sir, Robinson Crusoe, the Book of Martyrs, the History of England, Paradise Lost, and Telemaqué.'

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Telemaqué!' exclaimed Lovell, "What! can you read French?'

Three volumes, London: Edward Moxon. We had this novel put into our hands some time since as we were leaving London. It is a weary thing to travel at night by railway; the lights in the carriages burn badly, and are not designed to make reading agreeable, On this particular journey, we were seated opposite a Frenchman, from some of the manufacturing towns in his country, who was desirous of knowing the name, history and character of everything between London and Liverpool, and who seemed to mistake us for Mr. Bradshaw. Civility to strangers is, however, one of those virtues that must be practised in the present day, when one knows not how soon he may be in return thrown into a strange land, and we were only able to to improve our acquaintance with George Lovell at such moments as the zeal for useful knowledge manifested by the silk manufacturer from Lyons would permit. The result of his inquisitiveness was, that we were kept out of bed to three or four that morning, before the volumes commenced in London were finished in Liverpool. We have not seen any work of a similar kind more thoroughly unexceptionable. The story of the novel is of modern date, and it relates, of course, to the state of society at the present day. Lovell is a commercial traveller, acting for his father, young, inexperienced, but of good principles. His father is desirous that he should marry early; and, like many other old gentlemen, imagined that he could save time and trouble to his son in doing for him what people always like to do for themselves. Accordingly, he proposed that the young gentleman should marry the daughter of a neighbouring merchant in Cornhill or Cheapside. Mr. Lovell, junior, never having had his affections engaged in one way or another, was quite indifferent to the subject, and appeared to have no more objections to marry a wife than to engage a clerk on his father's recommendation. In pursuing his journey northwards, however, young Lovell got enamoured of an outside passenger, in a snowy morning, who was in humble circumstances, and unable to pay for an inside seat. His first act of civility was to give up his own warm corner for the stranger's sake. The story of their attachment is quite as full of romance as anything of the kind can be in the days of mail coaches. There was a duel-a great deal of libertine persecution of the lady by aristocratic vagabonds-a vast number of difficulties and dangerous circumstances; but, finally, the " seamstress," who was met by Lovell, while flying without a name from the persecutions of a clerical and a titled blackguard, was discovered to be the daughter of an old friend of the Lovell family, and everything went on remarkably well. We do not think the plot of the story so nicely managed as the matter hung on it. It is a very good plot, but to say the truth-the moral reflections-the exposure of the "One minute longer, Phoebe we must be prepared world's ways-and the manner in which this is done-are at once against accidents. Something may separate us, all better. To the credit of old Mr. Lovell, by the though I see no likelihood of such an occurrence at precounselling of old Mrs. Lovell, he became a sent. It is best to leave as little as we can to chance. friend of the marriage, not only before his daughter-responding with me.' I must give you my address, and arrange about your corHere Phoebe's countenance bein-law's family were known, but when she was sup- came su ideuly overcast. You will correspond with me, posed to be the daughter of a felon, liable to be hung Phoebe?' inquired Lovell, inferring that she hesitated. for forgery. Mr. and Mrs. Lovell the older are theYou will write to me " greatest characters of the book. But when their son beingly. gan t provide for the education of his protege, just be

warm

"I read Telemaqué, sir, since I went to London. A young Frenchwoman in the establishment taught me. I have read the whole of it, and was half through it, for the second time, when the perfidy of my mistresswhich the good French girl discovered and disclosed to me-obliged me to leave my situation. She was a very kind-hearted creature, sir, and, but for her assistance, I don't know how I should have managed. She changed several coins of her country, which she happened to have by her, into our money, to enable me to come here. She was what they call a Hugenot. A reverse of fortune had brought her parents and her to England. They speak against French women, sir, but, I am sure, a purer minded, kinder hearted creature, than she was, never existed.'

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'How long were you in that establishment?'
Four years, sir.'

"And how old were you when you went to it?'
"Rather more than twelve.'
"Why, then, you are only sixteen!'
"And about a month over, sir.'"'

But Phoebe, although she could read both English and French, could not write, and we quote the reason why, especially as we thoroughly sympathise in all that relates to Rowland Hill:

"The sweet girl hung her head, and shook it despond"What exclaimed Lovell, in astonishment. 'Do

you withhold the first proof of confidence that I require of you-for I must require it-it is necessary.'

"A tear glistened upon the full lid, that half veiled her downcast eye.

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My girl-my good and candid girl!' exclaimed Lovell, what is the meaning of this?'

"I scarcely know how to write, sir. I never learned,' was at last the admission of the now weeping Phoebe. "What! you have learned to read, and you never learned to write!'

"I had no occasion, sir; I had no one to write to,' was her innocent explanation. I might have written, to be sure, to the friend I informed you of; and I often thought of trying what I could do, but the expense of a letter, sir-I received nothing besides my board.'

their due reward, or be content to go without it. The debts that are due to them are seldom, if ever, discharged spontaneously.”

This is a strange story, though such things may be true; but Phoebe soon learned to write when a case of necessity arose. Mr. Lovell, jun., sometimes had evil counsellors. He was wounded in a duel undertaken on account of Phoebe, who was residing in the inn where he lodged. The fighting of duels is one of

those brutal, though once fashionable, practices condemned by Mr. Knowles. The surgeon, who attended Mr. Lovell, was by no means high in morals, and he supposed that the attachment was not one likely to end in marriage. So thus he counselled his invalided patient

"And is there to be no statue to you, Rowland Hill? Do marble and bronze on every hand anticipate, with impatient honours, the rewards of posterity for a hero, "The surgeon was not the very best companion for the who, through the sinews of a hundred thousand warriors, He wa more of a and with the aid of captainship, hardly inferior to his young man at such a moment. voluptuary than exactly consisted with either his years or own, on every side of him, has won a host of fields; and his profession. Defend us from grey hairs and free is there no mould or chisel for you? You who have filled morals. It is an odious union! Profligacy with a sancup the pernicious gulph which poverty and distance intion. One such character is a more prolific source of terpose between man, and the best cherisher of his affec- contamination to youth than the society of a dozen newtions and virtues-his home! Poor artisans!-by whose fledged profligates. In the latter case there is no warfast wasting and disproportionably renewed vigour the rant for folly; in the former it appears to be justified. manufacturer grows fat and sleek, enlarges his little lawn "He talked about indiscretions that are venial-desires, into a domain of miles, and his country-box into a palace which, although it might seem criminal to indulge, it -heed not now though you should be obliged to send your children from you far, far, to seek for better fortune incident to the wisest and best of men-irregularities, was, at the same time, unnatural to mortify-weakness at less toil. Without stinting a meal, you can talk to inseparable from the freshness and glow of youth-opporthem when you please; learn how it fares with them!tunities which it was not to be expected that flesh and counsel them, encourage them; comfort them when they blood could resist-in short, worked our hero up into a need it; keep them still upon their guard, beset if they determination to set at rest that very night all doubt and should be with knavery or lust-almost as though they surmise, by obtaining an interview with the object who were still within the range of the paternal eye. Abstracted from the millions of the land, what a sorry rehad supplied so striking an incident in the business of the evening; and then left him with a congratulatory shake mainder would you leave! What were the land without of the hand, assuring him that he esteemed himself most you? If you are the base of the society, how broad is happy in having found out the cause, as he believed, of that base of what moment that it should be sound; his patient's protracted recovery, and at the same time Rowland Hill has found out the secret of rendering it so, and for preserving it so. suggested the remedy, that would insure acceleration."

"The Revenue! Pounds, shillings, and pence? Dross! Set a sum upon the domestic tie!

Such was the surgeon's morality. Next we give that of an intended clergyman-and it certainly is not better; though neither the medical nor the clerical portraitures want originals in the world :

"And there is no monument for you, Rowland Hill? They wished you a kind good morning at the General Post-office! Justice! But it was politely done. There is nothing for you, or next to nothing-a mighty spirit of gratitude!-sprinkle of a few thousands of pounds! whened the tithe of a million might have been raised for you in mere penny beads, and not the pocket of a contributing errand-boy perceptibly the lighter! But there was nothing flashy, Rowland Hill, about your achievement! It cost neither treasure, nor blood and sweat! It announced by no brawling of Gazettes!—it was celebrated by no public rejoicings the blustering of cannon, fireworks, illuminations. It shook not the world with the struggles of its mighty birth, though for ages it will do what it hath already done-worlds of good. It came upon us as softly as a sheet of French letter-paper falls to the ground, not making any noise at all.

was

"Never, dear Rowland Hill-we use the epithet in hearty earnest-never was public testimonial botched and bungled so lamentably as yours! Thoughtlessness, apathy, and stupidity, must have foisted themselves upon your friends, as the promoters of it. There ought to have been arranged a simultaneous demonstration of thanks to you, in every city, town, village, and hamlet throughout the United Kingdom! If we have heard aright, the compliment cost something short of twenty thousand. Why, London alone might have paid the shot for the rest of the empire, without doing anything to wag its head for, after all! But, Rowland Hill, we fear you want the knack. You may have the talent, the benevolence, the patriotism, to plan and suggest a benefit, perhaps one of the most important that the country ever received from the services of a single man; but we suspect you lack the cunning to know that patriotism, benevolence, and talents, must either directly or indirectly bestir themselves, and thoroughly too, to secure

"Well sir; I entered college. My abilities obtainme a tuition, and that tuition insures me independence. I have abandoned the idea of entering the church, as the calling does not exactly square with my notions of enjoyment. A far better prospect has been opened to me by my friend. His father is on his last legs. In the course of a year or two, the son will certainly step into his shoes, and so necessary have I made myself to him, that the moment he does so, I may regard myself as the agent for the whole of his estate; preparatorily to which I have latterly turned my attention to the law, sir. I might have taken orders and entered the church with advantage, as my friend has a living in his gift, which, in the course of things must shortly become vacant, the present incumbent having already lived to an unusually advanced age; but the living, sir, only brings in a poor thousand a-year, subject to reduction from the necessity of maintaining a curate, as what rector would be tied to his flock from year's-end to year's end, when by sacrificing a tithe of his income, he can transfsr the better half of his duties if not indeed the whole of them, to the charge of another? But the agency, sir, will be twice as productive, upon the very lowest calculation; so that, as you must perceive, there is no comparison whatsoever between the relative eligibility of the two speculations.'

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Religion a speculation!' thought Lovell. The plan of the Godhead, for the redemption of man, perverted into a scheme for mere worldly speculation!'

"Yes, sir,' resumed the agent presumptive, 'my friend could never do without me. At this very moment he is playing a game, in which, without my assistance, the odds are a hundred to one that he would have been defeated. He is not sure of it even now, sir.'

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'What kind of game?' inquired Lovell, whose curi- | insects. They were ferocious animals. The locusts of the osity began now to be excited. East were trifles when compared with them-not for bulk,

"A game of the heart, sir.

The most beautiful crea

ture, I have every reason to believe, that ever occasioned a heart-ache, though I never caught more than a glimpse

of her and that but once.

Mr.

The government, it is said, have offered Sheridan Knowles a pension of one hundred pounds per annum. We regret that they should have offered that sum. Knowles is the novelist of morality, if we may use that term. We might go farther and say, in relation, at least, to George Lovell, that he is the novellist of religion; and that not a sickly sentimentalism under this high name-but the religion of the New Testament. Mr. Knowles is a grateful man. He had received some kindness in Glasgow, and thus he remembers it in his first volume :-

but numbers and destructive qualities. They destroyed all green leaves; and of course they began with the potatoes, as we know at this day to our cost.

As years

He got

The proposed victim in this game of the heart became went forward, the insect grew, quite in the march of evil Mrs. Lovell. pointed out by the trade. It attacked the beans next. | Then it turned to the corn crop. A general famine was necessarily the consequence, and mankind would have been extirpated; but that "set a thief to catch a thief;" the man who galvanised this judgment into existence contrived a means of destroying it, or of securing the fields on which his patent anti-insect mixture was spread against the ravages which his insects made. He was a very scientific man, and lodged with a coarse money-making chair and table broker, named John Cash ; for the deer of all this mischief was very poor. John Cash saw that the composition might be valuable. "And yet can we ourselves forget the welcome that instructed in the secret, and then being undesirous greeted us, when, poor-almost stark naked in our cir- | of a partner in this money making business; and findcumstance--we entered as a foreigner-a perfect strangering the recipe quite right, he managed to have his in-a city, the inhabitants of which share with their countrymen the reputation of exclusive clannishness, with only half a dozen letters of recommendation in our hand. How these letters were honoured! How those to whom we brought them collected their connexions and friends around us!-feasted and fostered us! How their kindness warmed into attachment, not slowly but rapidly: not transiently, but permanently! How that attachment has cheered and gladdened us for nearly thirty years! How it manifests, now, all the solicitude and fervour of an own brother's love! Glasgow! capital of hospitable cities! we neither drew our breath in you, nor spent our youth in you. You are neither part or parcel of our fatherland! yet base were we to utter penury of mind and heart, did we not feel as your son; for never son of your own was cherished by you more fondly, more cleavingly than we were! Were! ay, and May your civic motto be ever fulfilled. May you flourish, old Glasgow!"

are!

SIXTY YEARS HENCE.

Three volumes. London: T. K. Newby. We may mention this work, now that the potato disease is checked-we hope it is past, and Mr. Smees' Avis Vastator is sickly. We were frightened at the volumes previously, and had some doubts of the propriety of doing anything towards extending their publicity. The corn speculators would have made double fortunes by quoting them in their circulars, if they had known of their existence. And wild as these volumes really are, we could make up commercial volumes of circulars almost equally frantic. Mr. Bull of New York, who kept writing to us all perpetually that there was no more corn in America, could write this novel. Mr. Bull is one description of the Joseph Ady school.

He keeps fortnightly advising something to your advantage; but for two or three months past it has always turned out to our disadvantage, on this side of the Atlantic, until last arrival, when the advices were rather in our favour; as it was discovered that the corn stocks of America were not quite run out.

Sixty Years Hence might have furnished the Mark Lane Express, our friend of The Economist, and similar journals, with valuable extracts during all this corn struggle. They seem, however, to have overlooked the book.

Its story hangs on galvanism. One person learned in all black arts discovered how to make most mischievous

By-the-bye, we are past the times when lunatic asylums can be used for these purposes; but John Cash had founded a small one of his own as a testimony to his benevolence. Many years passed onward. The inventor of the insect was in his hopeless prison. John Cash was on the Exchange trading with his anti-insect corrosive, and making enorConvulsions spread in society. Tumults,

structor committed to a lunatic asylum.

mous wealth.

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revolts, rebellions, revolutions famine-made, appeared everywhere. Thrones were cast down. Nations were obliterated. All southern and western Europe were united in one government, under one legislature. Paris was its metropolis. The money-power was its tyrant. Gold its idol and its curse, The book, or its anonymous author, gets very wild before all these things ar effected, as may be readily supposed. There is no doubt that under "an allegory" the author meant to describe the progress of the money power. Living men sit for his pictures. Nobody can doubt Sir Robert Peel's. Lord Brougham's is clear like history. A name could be attached to John Cash; but as two or more have been mentioned, and Cash is a desperate villain-while his supposed types are respectable wealthy men-we dare not disclose the secret.

The composition of the Parisian Legislature of the united monarchies sixty years hence is extravagantly mad. The money qualification to the lower house is ten thousand pounds. Our sterling money still keeps its superiority, it may be observed. To the Upper House a much higher qualification is necessary. In our opinion, property qualifications for legislators will not exist sixty years hence, neither in Paris nor in London. John Cash becomes interminably rich, as a consequence of working both the insect and the insect killer; and as the fatal consequence of the money power, he becomes ultimately dictator. At this time the insect maker has escaped from his living grave; and has instructed a younger and a better man in his mysteries. The disciple wet his parched lips with very much kindness. `But still the old man was desperate. In his worst mood of misanthropy, this insect maker constructed an immensely superior animal in ferocity, and let it loose on men, and died, muttering curses as the new destructive element was launched into the world. John Cash

had no recipe against its power. None but the new disciple could tell how it might be combated, and his knowledge was imperfect. But John Cash seized him and sunk him to the lowest cell of his Benevolent Asylum. From that he broke out finally by the influence of his galvanistic power. He wrought a miracle! The bolts, bars, and solid masonry were fused in the lightning that he conjured down on the building, if he did not create it. The conjuror alone escaped unhurt. No discased imagination was ever more thoroughly wild in its conceptions than that of this author, and yet he is not, we believe, in John Cash's Lunatic. And while there is absolute madness in some of his imaginings, there is beauty in his quieter thoughts, and genius in his descriptive passages. The last incident we have mentioned is beautifully described :

"The dreariest hour in the captive's solitude-when the mouse leaps out of his bitter loaf, when the tadpole and the leech from his dungeon moat defile the water he raises to his fevered lips, when motionless with sickness he dreads the tooth and feels the cold feet of the carnivorous rat patter over his forehead, when the rude hand of the jailor has crushed the beetle or the spider grown tame from long companionship, or rooted out the lonely plant whose growth he had learned lovingly to watch-is nothing to that of his first restoration to the cell from which he had been suffered to emerge, after long confinement, to breathe the pure air of heaven, and dream that he was free.

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Hope-where the future is hopeful-withers in the most sanguine breast. What, therefore, must have been the desolating thoughts of Tempest pent in that living sepulchre without a chance of egress, and without one prospective ray to illuminate the despair of that dank dark dungeon's night?

"There was nothing to relieve, but everything to sharpen his anguish. The very thought, that his sufferings were unmerited, added to their poignancy. He was not even in the situation of those who, though still clinging to existence with the tenacious instinct of the love of life, have yet been in some measure sated with its experiences. Tempest-without the consciousness of having lived, without the memories and regrets which satisfy the soul they sadden-was arrested on the threshold of the world that wooed him, withheld from the fruition of untried delights which disappointment had not leavened, and consigned to the oblivion of the grave-an artificial grave without the repose, and divested of the hopes of that in which out-worn humanity finds refuge.

"The night and day were one in his gloomy prison; but though he made no effort to mark the time-for what was time to him?-it became evident that a night or day at least had elapsed without the appearance of the jailor to bring him food or drink.

Then his growing thirst began painfully to mark the hours, and the horrible suspicion flashed across his mind, that he was devoted by his present guardian to a death of

famine.

"After long-repeated and exhausted cries, he relapsed into silence. The last chance vanished that, accidentally forgotten, his voice might still have been heard. If murder were designed who would heed the shout of the supposed maniac? Why, therefore, longer rouse the echoes of those unpitying walls?

"He sat down a cold shudder ran over him. The sensations he exhibited were those of one buried in a trance when awakening in the coffin. The very air seemed close and suffocating. He gasped for breath. All the distinctive horrors of death by starvation he had ever heard or read of came, crowding on his harrowed memory. The gnawing pang-the acute despair-the wolfish howl-the longings of the cannibal, were vividly present in his thoughts. Imagination conjured up the draught of blood from the sufferer's own veins-the long delirium-the wasted frame-the afterwards discovered skeleton, whose

fingers' gnawed, and horrible contortion, argue the unspeakable agonies of vitality thus departing.

"The maddening contemplation of such a death was almost enough to urge the victim of it to dash out his brains against the walls. Yet this was the death to which his connexion with the galvanist had led-from which the galvanist might have saved him-the reserved, not for him alone, but perhaps for all mankind.

"At this thought a curse inexpressibly bitter gathered in his heart. He began to doubt the justice of the Supreme Power, whose abstinence from all exceptional control over terrestrial weal or woe, beyond that proceeding from his primordial laws, he had once recognised as distinctive of eternal wisdom.

"There came a change, but no relief in these weird imaginings. The vivid promptings of despair gave way to the dull monotony of desolation, and then succeeded to it.

"At length, rather a mechanical instinct than a hope urged the captive to try the walls and fastenings of his cell.

"Both seemed to mock his efforts. The wall was solid stone, the door did not even respond by a faint vibration to the most desperate concentration of his strength.

"But yet, so utter was the darkness that he had been obliged to explore by the touch the sides and flooring of his cell, and as his finger travelled over them he lighted on certain inequalities, which he discerned to be characters rudely graven on its surface. Was he awake and saw, or was it the delusion of delirium? those characters formed the name of his departed master.

"This, then, was the dungeon in which the deceased galvanist had been for so many years immured. Even here, then, there was hope so long as there was life; but how long would there still be life for Tempest?

"Beside this name there was the date; beside the date were other characters- innumerable characters-the smoothness of the wall was roughened by their multitude, the work of the captive's dreary leisure. Deprived of writing implements, he had made a note-book of the stone, and scratched upon the wall whole passages of his mind's history in hieroglyphics, unintelligible to all but their inventor, except to Tempest, his initiated disciple. "Nothing but that insatiable thirst for knowledge, which had marked his early life, could for a moment have diverted his thoughts from the burning thirst then throbbing in his veins and husky in his throat. Once or twice he essayed to read, and then-with breathless interest-he read on, unmindful of his pain, forgetful of his misery.

"Hours passed, and Tempest thought no more of his thirst or of his despair.

"His mind, if not his eyes, devoured the unexpected record. That which he had longed so ardently to know was here made manifest. He followed, step by step, the process of his predecessor's thoughts. One by one he discovered and connected the missing links of his own imperfect knowledge, till, by degrees, the secrets of the galvinist were revealed.

Tempest had thus appropriated all the galvinist had withheld.' He had possessed himself of more than his predecessor's power; because gifted with the intellect to compass, and with the energy to master, weapons which the old man had never dared to wield. The youth was now, as he had so long dreamed, lord of the grey-beard's spell! From the exultation of absorbing thought, he was at last recalled to a sense of the stern reality.

"If it were terrible to die before, Tempest felt that to perish then would be to die a thousand deaths: he was resolved to live. He willed it with that energy of volition which overcomes impossibilities. He tried the powers he had mastered as a new-fledged bird which essays its wings, or as the blind restored will sometimes open their eyes and glance at the offended sun with rash impatience.

"Too reckless and unpractised, at every effort he risked annihilation from the fluids, which flashed and roared like the summoned spirits which howled round the necromancer in old tales, to tear him into atoms in the first error in his incantation.

"His cell-filled with a fitful brightness, whose intensity increased or waned-was light as day. His glance

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