from a political opponent, and revamped and reissued from time to time in the interest of those who desire to weaken the pillars of our nationality. In the disturbed era preceding the adoption of our Federal Constitution, when the form of government to be instituted in the United States was still an open question, Hamilton believed and taught that in the history of mankind the best example of civil liberty combined with social order had been afforded by the government of Great Britain. And what he said was true. Let him who can, point to a solitary state, ancient or modern, in which the liberty of the citizen has been as well guarded as under the constitution of the British monarchy. The Cromwellian principle was that every Englishman shall be protected if it requires every other Englishman to do it. And this very day, if in one of the provinces of Great Britain a company of political thugs and midnight assassins should bind themselves with an oath, put on masks, and sally forth to terrify, burn, and murder, the eyeballs of the British lion would turn green with rage, and in three days he would make Rome howl

All this Hamilton said-and more. He said it when the question of government in America was still an open question. He constantly cited the precedents of English liberty, and kept his countrymen ever reminded of that which they were ever prone to forget, namely, that it was English liberty which the Americans fought for and won in the war of the Revolution. He would have the people remember that in the glorious era of the Commonwealth England had fought a battle for America, just as America had now fought a battle for England. Their Cromwell was our Cromwell, and our Washington was their Washington. Their Milton was our Milton, and our Franklin was theirs. To say this, and to repeat it over and over, was not to utter sympathy with monarchical institutions: it was the soundest of all republicanism. It was the most loyal political truth in the world.

Jefferson was not a competent witness against Hamilton. The testimony of Alexander H. Stephens and Robert Toombs would hardly be accepted against the political principles of Sumner and Morton. Jefferson was honest, but he was embittered. Every vein in him was tide-full of the virtues and vices of radicalism. He was fired with intense prejudices. He had brooded over the evils of tyranny until he could have distrusted the moon for having the shape of a crescent. He could have mistaken the shadow of a stork in the marshes of the Chickahominy for the living apparition of George III. Jefferson was for a democracy or nothing. A man who could say that he found more pleasure in planting peas than he did in the Constitution of the United States was not a competent witness against the framers of that Constitution. He who, while holding the second office in the gift of his country, declared that under the administrations of Washington and John Adams the government of the United States had been more arbitrary and tyrannical than that of England, at the same time saying that the old State governments were the best in the world, could hardly be expected to speak the truth of one who had striven with all his might to give the Union additional power and prerogatives. Jefferson openly accused Washington of being a monarchist. He said that John Adams and Edmund Randolph were monarchists. He declared that all the Federalists were monarchists, and that with the continuation of Federalism the Revolution would have been fought in vain. He croaked on this question through all the figures and forms of speech. It is amazing to what extent he carried his denunciations of those who held the doctrine of a consolidated Union. Even after the close of Washington's administration, when the United States under the Constitution had taken high rank among the nations of the earth, he poured out in the Kentucky and Virginia Resolutions of '98 all the rank poison of

nullification and State rights. Calhoun and Hayne never went beyond him in his reckless attacks on national supremacy. If the Kentucky Resolutions, now existing in Jefferson's own hand, had been penned by Alexander H. Stephens in the palmiest days of the Rebellion, they could not have been more heavily freighted with the deadly heresies of secession.

Upon this man's testimony we are asked to believe that Hamilton-Hamilton who wrote the preamble to the Con

| stitution, and fought for that instrument a victorious battle against a two-thirds majority in the convention at Poughkeepsie—was a monarchist. The evidence is not sufficient, In after years when Jefferson was hard pressed to give some substantial evidence of his oft-repeated charges against Hamilton he could adduce nothing more tangible than an afterdinner remark which Hamilton was said to have made at Jefferson's own table, to the effect that the British constitution might be regarded as the best in the world. The evidence does not conviet. And even if it did, it is high time for the American people to be plainly told that such a government as that of Great Britain, with its magnificent House of Commons and responsible Ministry, is better, is to be preferred, is a safer refuge for civil liberty than any nondescript secession confederacy. But while this is true, be it never forgotten that the consolidated, indivisible, republican Union, to the defense of which Hamilton contributed the vast resources of his genius, is infinitely better than either confederacy or kingdom. Vive la Republique! In the United States the problem has been not only to emancipate man and keep him free, but also to create a nation of freemen with whom the will of the majority shall have the force of sovereign law. Jefferson seized the first part of this problem; Hamilton grasped it all. It was because Jefferson could not and would not see the importance of transforming the United States into a nation that he remained to his dying day wedded to the destructive theories of democracy. He was a great patriot, and a bad statesman. His ability to destroy existing evils was only equaled by his inability to create new institutions. He could write the Declaration of Independence, but could not appreciate the grandeur of the Union. He could declare the rights of man, but could not construct or even conceive the organic forms necessary to preserve them.

Ladies and gentlemen, I say without prejudice or passion that the later governmental theories of Thomas Jefferson have been the bane of American politics. The Jeffersonian | Democracy, by itself, means anarchy and ruin. It means the dissolution of political unity and the lapse of all things into chaos. If one plan, one purpose, one hope, one destiny be good for the American people, or for any people, then the Jeffersonian Democracy is not good except in so far as it yields to the Hamiltonian Union. In the history of the past the democracy has done marvels. It has pulled down the thrones of despotism. Here in the West it has lighted a torch which shall never be extinguished. It has startled the nations by its courage and magnanimity. It has written Sic Semper Tyrannis in a record that shall outlast the obelisks of Egypt. It has made arbitrary power odious and damined the doctrine of the domination of the few over the many with an everlasting curse. It has given to liberty a new definition in the language of mankind. It has preached the pure gospel of human nature in the presence of trembling kings, and has painted an aureole of glory about the head of him who dares to die for freedom. But the Jeffersonian de mocracy, great as it is, must bend the knee to the Hamiltonian Union. Otherwise there is nothing before us but discord, dismemberment, and death.

The democratic instinct is still ready, as it has ever been, to defeat itself by audacity. It cries out for liberty, equality, fraternity; but it forgets that liberty, equality, and frater

I am for all the rights of the Jeffersonian Democracy, and I am for all the powers of the Hamiltonian Union. I am for the Jeffersonian Democracy under the Hamiltonian Union. This is the key of American liberty. Give us the unobstructed exercise of democratic rights under the unobstructed exercise of national supremacy, and you have the prize for which the ages have contended. But if any man will put the Hamiltonian Union under the feet of a disruptive Democracy turn upon him the guns of Gettysburg.

As between the nation and the state, I say, down with the state and up with the nation. The Hamiltonian maxim is the one thing cardinal in American politics. How otherwise shall the rights of man be made secure except by the supremacy of law and the oneness of the nation? Where shall we go for the maintenance of individual liberty except to the flag of "the States in Empire?" How shall the precious rights of local self-government-the right of every man to adjudge his own affairs according to his will-be guaranteed and perpetuated except by the supreme power of unequivocal nationality?

This one thing essential to the perpetuity of his country Hamilton grasped with greater sagacity and profounder penetration than did any other man of the epoch. The rest doubted, wavered, compromised; he only stood fast, holding the anchor. He divined the future. He saw in the distance the storms and perils to which the American people were to be exposed. He understood the besetting sins of democracy as well as he understood the vices of despotism. The study of history gave him his materials; genius gave him his insight. Every relapse of antiquity he analyzed to its elements and causes. Every abortive project of the human race struggling for freedom he read as an open book. Every complication and tendency of modern Europe he knew by heart. "Hamilton avait divine l'Europe," said Talleyrand. To the wisdom of the philosopher he added the vision of the prophet. With the lore of the jurist and statesman he joined the virtues of the patriot and philanthropist.

If Alexander Hamilton could have had his way he would have choked the serpent of disunion even as Hercules strangled the Hydra. If he could have had his way the pernicious doctrines of secession and dismemberment, whether in New England or, Carolina, would have died without an advocate. If he could have had his way the patriotic but infatuated people of the Southern States would never have closed their hearts to the blessed memories of the Revolution and rushed blindly after the shameful banners of disunion, into the dark gorges of blood and death. If Hamilton could have had his way the atrocities of Fort Pillow and Belle Isle, the horrors of Andersonville and Libby would never have stained the escutcheon of our country or blackened the annals of the world. If he could have had his way the fairest portion of our land would not to-day be sitting in darkness and gloom, crouching in the corner of the temple of liberty, but half recovered from the wild insanity and fierce hatred of bloody war. O that the day may speedily dawn when the distrust and suspicion of the disruptive and hostile South shall give place to returning confidence in the glory of the nation and love for the starry banner of that indissoluble union made sacred by the sorrows of our fathers!

NAMES OF THE POPES.-The custom of each Pope taking a fresh name on his assuming the pontificate originated A. D. 687 with Pope Sergius, whose original name signified Swine-snout.

[Mr. Henry Bergh lectured in Association Hall, in New York, one evening in the early part of February, on vivisection, thus pushing his battle to prevent cruelty to animals to the very door of the medi-cal colleges. He said:

"If we have no right to torture a man, why torture a dog? Why not perform these vivisections on a human being?" Here there were groans and hisses from medical students in the gallery, and applause from the audience on the floor. After stating that not a singlefact tending to benefit mankind had been evolved by vivisection, Mr. Bergh said: "Accident is the parent of all original discoveries, though millions of animals have been tortured in vain." A storm of hisses was created by the remark. "Practical physiology is a sole-cism, and not a science. It learns nothing, teaches nothing.

"The moth eaths your garments for subsistence," said Mr. Bergh, in conclusion, and the savage Indian scalps you for revenge, but the vivisectionist should be placed under a social ban, for Hades can not produce the scenes they do. Are these the men to call to the bedsides of your families? Why, such professional men are worse than disease itself."

This question is attracting a great deal of attention in Europe, and it is being elaborately and ably discussed in some of the leading English magazines. Our readers will find below the main portion of an article on "The Biologists on Vivisection," by R. H. Hutton, in the Nineteenth Century.]

When this controversy first arose, Professor Ray Lankester, a most distinguished man among English physiologists, wrote as follows to a weekly journal:

If Professor Schiff has carefully and intelligently experimented with the dogs entrusted to him, there is certainly no reason to re-proach him with their large number. [The statement was that 700 dogs had been vivisected by the Professor.] If you allow experiments at all, you must admit the more of it the better, since it is

very certain that for many years to come the problems of physiology demanding experimental solution will increase in something like geometrical ratio, instead of decreasing.*

I have heard Professor Ray Lankester blamed for this language as if it were hasty and ill-considered; but it seems to me that whether prudent or not for the cause he had at heart, it was at any rate perfectly candid, and a thoroughly just corollary from the demands which the physiologiststhen put forward; nay, that the tone of the profession, though it has since been sedulously reserved as to the quantity of pain it may be necessary to inflict, has been steadily coming up to Professor Ray Lankester's standard in the attitude it has assumed. And it is indeed obvious that if phy-siologists themselves are the only fit judges of the pain they ought to inflict, if they are right in asserting, as all those who have considered the question, and who take this side, do assert, that no thoroughly educated physiologist should shrink from performing any number of well considered experiments, however full of torture to the victims, which he deems essential to the eliciting of any important truth, then there can be no escape from Professor Ray Lankester's position. In investigations of this sort a large enough number of experiments to yield a safe average is at least as necessary, probably more so, than in purely physical investigations; for in the highly organized beings there is more risk of capricious variations due to the peculiarities of individual constitutions, and unless errors of this kind can be eliminated, the deductions from them may be entirely vitiated, and may prove misleading instead of trustworthy. Not a physiologist of them all has been found to condemn Profes-sor Rutherford's reduplicated series of severe operations on dogs paralyzed, but not rendered the less sensitive to pain, by curari, experiments avowedly made solely to test the effect of various drugs in stimulating the secretion of bile. Nor can any one who maintains the principles of Sir James Paget, much less of Dr. Wilks and Professor Owen, consist-ently condemn such reduplicated experiments. They set out with the assumption that any amount of animal pain which any properly educated physiologist is willing to inflict in the cause of science is justifiable, and that it must *Letter to the Spectator, January 10, 1874.

rest with the individual judgment and conscience of the individual physiologist to decide whether the play is worth the candle or not; and they can not therefore say in any individual case, "Clearly this man has gone too far; his object was scientific indeed, but trivial, and the number of his victims was too great." They dare not say "Thus far and no farther," without laying themselves open to the reply that they had already conceded the scientific judgment of the individual operator ought to be the sole judge there. Indeed if we are to look at physiology solely as an experimental science, and in no other light, I should suppose that Professor Lankester is right. The more of wisely-adjusted experiments you perform for a specific end, the better will be your progress in the understanding of the physiological laws involved. At all events, we know as a matter of fact that wherever these experiments are pursued without restriction, the more numerous grow the new problems which they suggest, whether the solutions of the old problems furnished by them be satisfactory or otherwise. If the physiological laboratory is to flourish in England as it flourishes in Germany, France, and Italy, the chances are that Professor Lankester's anticipations will be verified, and that "the problems of physiology demanding experimental solution will increase in something like geometrical ratio instead of decreasing." What is required, then, by the physiologists is this, that while endeavoring to put down all the cruel amusements, and to substitute for the cruel modes of terminating life the most speedy and painless we can find, we shall at the same time sanction the unrestricted growth of a new profession of very great dignity and inHuence, in which animal torture when weighed against human gains of any kind, whether purely intellectual or directly beneficial to the bodily health and life of men, are to be accounted just as light in the balances as the individual investigator chooses to consider it. Does any man in his senses really believe that such a revolution as this can be effected without lowering enormously the popular consideration for animal suffering? If it is to be a final answer to every question as to the "why" that the utility of the result far outweighs the mischief of inflicting so much pain, how are we to answer the brutal wagoner or the brutal ratcatcher who declares that as it is essential for the duty he has undertaken to obtain a certain result in a certain time, and at a certain cost, the end must justify the means, even though the team be over-driven, or the rats poisoned by the most agonizing of all poisons, to obtain it? You can not by any possibility inaugurate a new and highly distinguished profession of persons whose business it is known to be to inflict on animals any amount of suffering requisite for the special purpose of benefiting men, without giving a new impulse to the selfishness of men in every other grade of life, and postponing indefinitely the possible acceptance of the humaner creed to which the act for preventing cruelty to domestic animals gives at once public expression and a new authority.

And, as a matter of fact, I do observe that since this subject was first discussed amongst us, the physiologists have caused a considerable change for the worse in the professional estimates formed of the anguish inflicted by this kind of experiment;-estimates changed for the worse chiefly in this, that there is a visible tendency now to whitewash even those most "cruel vivisectors" whom the great physiologists of the past most earnestly denounced. At the time the commission on vivisection was sitting, six years ago, no expression could be found too strong for the cruelty of physiologists like Magendie. The late Professor Sharpey, for instance, spoke of some of Magendie's experiments as exciting "a very strong feeling of abhorrence, not in the public mind merely, but especially among physiologists," and he characterized one of these experiments as

"the famous, it ought rather to have been called the infamous experiment." But if you read the medical journals now, there is hardly a trace of the same tone of passionate indignation against very agonizing experiments. Compare the Lancet of 1875 with the Lancet of 1881, and no one can fail to be struck with the extraordinary change of tone, the disappearance almost of the apologetic line of excuse for vivisection, and the appearance in its place of a strongly aggressive scorn for the humanitarians, and of a tone of assertion for the absolute right of physiologists, so long as they have had a complete education on these matters, to do what they will in the cause of science without being called upon to render an account to any one. Even in speaking of Magendie, so humble and noble a thinker as Sir James Paget now expresses none of the disgust which evidently filled the late Professor Sharpey at the mention of that scientific tormentor's name. I was extremely struck by the sedulously moderate tone of this passage:

I think it probable that the pain inflicted in such experiments as I saw done by Magendie was greater than that caused by any generally permitted sport; it was as bad as that I saw given to horses in a bull-fight, or which I supposed to have been given in dog-fighting or bear-baiting. I never saw anything in his or any other experiments more horrible than is shown in many of Snyder's boar hunts, or in Landseer's "Death of the Otter.”

If any one will look at Professor Sharpey's account of the "infamous" experiment to which he refers (which, however, Sir James Paget, perhaps, may not have seen), it will be difficult, I think, for him to imagine any anguish which "sport," however cruel, could inflict that could come near it. But the fashion nowadays-a fashion partly, I think, due to the frequent use of curari in all experiments in which anæsthetics are not used, a poison which, by paralyzing the motor nerves, prevents all the usual signs of agony-is to speak in the most minimising and depreciating tone of the probable amount of pain suffered by the victims of physiological experiment, the contortions of whose bodies have perhaps all been stilled by a poison which, in Claude Bernard's opinion, rather increased than diminished the sufferings under the knife. It is to me perfectly clear that the first effect of the new movement has been, by familiarizing men with the subject, to diminish in a most striking degree the professional abhorrence of even the cruelest vivisections; and as one result of this, though no doubt a result produced without their own knowledge, to persuade the professional apologists for the practice that the actual sufferings inflicted on the victims are in almost all cases comparatively trifling, though it is quite certain that if any one were to propose to inflict the same on a criminal under a sentence of death, humane men like Sir James Paget, Professor Owen, and Dr. Wilks, would be utterly scandalized and horrified. If any one were to propose to them to have all the murderers under the sentence of death put under curari, and their bile-ducts opened by a surgical operation in order to inject various drugs, this process, with frequent reopenings of the wound, lasting for eight hours at a time, and the patients' lungs being kept all the time artificially in motion by the use of an engine in order to prevent their death through that paralysis of the lungs which curari causes, not only would these gentlemen be justly indignant, but all England would expect, and rightly expect, the humanest of our professions to lead the cry against a cold-blooded proposal. The criminal himself would no doubt ask, "Is thy servant a dog, that he should suffer this thing?" and the inquiry would be most pertinent. For when this treatment is inflicted upon a few score of dogs, and we indignantly denounce it, we are rebuked by this most humane of professions for our grossly sentimental and injurious comments. And yet Dr. Anthony, the pupil and dissector of Sir Charles Bell, assured us when he was

giving his evidence to the Royal Commission, that in his opinion the domestic animals are subject to the same special sensibility of the nerves-hyperesthesia, the doctors call it-to which civilization has rendered civilized human beings liable.

I may be asked how far I would carry my objection to the infliction of pain upon animals for the sake of men. And I think the question a most reasonable one. Unless we are prepared to lay down some principle for our guidance in these matters, there is nothing but bewilderment on the humanitarian side of the question, while the scientific men have the advantage of consistency in claiming to inflict any pain whatever of which they think the result likely to yield a decided balance of good. Yet I may say in passing that even they can not persuade men to take much account of the same sort of calculation of the amount of health to be gained or life to be saved, where the set-off on the other side is not animal suffering, but a very much smaller amount of human liberty, pleasure, or privilege to be renounced or forbidden. The absolute prohibition of all alcoholic drinks, except as a drug in the pharmacopoeia of the medical man, would probably save a hundred times as many lives, and a thousand times as many constitutions, as all the painful experiments upon animals put together; yet no combination of doctors will ever force that upon us, and I think it is quite right that they should not be able to do so. Again, the refusal of weak nations to defend themselves against their adversaries would probably prevent infinitely more cruel deaths and crueler wounds than all the tortures inflicted on animals since the science of medicine had its rise have contributed to the same result; and yet men are quite right in not saving their lives and their constitutions at the cost of their liberty and their national life. I believe that no argument is practically weaker with men, in a case where moral considerations can be ranged on the other side, than the plea of utility to health and life. You might prevent numberless and complex diseases by prohibiting the marriage of men and women of unsound constitutions, but moral considerations will not allow the state to do it. Now what is the moral consideration which, in my belief, will outweigh all the pleas of the vivisectionists, and prevent mankind from accepting their estimate of the question at issue? I believe it is this-that while we are bound to keep animal life in subordination to that of man, we are also bound to kill humanely any creatures whose destruction is needful for our life, and regard them and treat them as bonâ fide fellow-creatures, in so far as their nature is akin to ours, and to associate our happiness with theirs. We are indeed bound to spare them just as much as we, if we were in the power of a higher race as they are in our power, should expect to be spared by that higher race, ourselves. Thus it seems to me that all those sufferings in which the lower animals only share our own fate-as the horse, for instance, shares the liabilities of his rider in war, or in dangerous journeys; or as the dog shares the abbreviated life and the various hardships of the St. Bernard monks in their work of mercy at the Swiss hospice-are perfectly legitimate. Such sufferings of the lower races tend to draw them closer to us, and to make us more kindly to them; and therefore sentimental writings about such mild discipline as that of the whip or the reins, or the captivity of cage birds, or any other pains which mutatis mutandis are of the same order as we would be willingly subjected to ourselves by a higher race for the sake of being identified with the life and aims of that higher race, sound maudlin, unmanly, and absurd. Suffering of some kind is the fate of all mortal beings; and, indeed, the sufferings of wild animals which have no association with man are probably quite as severe, and not nearly so ennobling, as the sufferings of domesticated animals when humanely trained by those who

have a true sympathy for them. But I can not conceive it possible that we can once begin to treat the lower races of animals as destined to benefit us chiefly by their agonies, without extinguishing in ourselves that genuine sympathy which our common nature and common susceptibilities, and indeed, as many men now hold, our common origin, ought to excite. I think that in a rough way we may put ourselves in the place of the lower animals, and ask what we, with their pains, and their sensitiveness, and their prospects of life, and pain, and happiness, might fairly expect of beings of much greater power, but of common susceptibilities. Small pains, and sufferings, and risks, such as we ourselves would willingly undergo (were our lots as simple as theirs, and were there none dependent upon us) for the sake of helping those above us, we may fairly require of the creatures beneath us. I, for my part, have always thought that the genuine inoculations-the only really very fruitful experiments amongst those of recent timesshould be included in this class, except in the rare cases where they are known to involve far more torture than the ordinary diseases to which animals are liable, especially as these inoculations may well benefit not only men but the very creatures which suffer them. Indeed, there have been not a few medical men who have tried the effect of such inoculation upon themselves; and there would have been many more of such experimenters were not the claims of kindred among men so much more urgent than any claims amongst the lower animals possibly can be. But directly you come to the point where no man would willingly undergo the torture you propose to inflict, and where any man who proposed to inflict it on another human being, even though he were a condemned criminal, would be thought to be degrading his humanity by the proposalthen I say you also reach the point where to inflict it upon one of the lower creatures for the sake of man, is utterly destructive of the true tie between all sensitive beings, and of the true attitude with which civilization itself requires that we should regard the fellow-creatures in the ranks of life beneath us. Yet I tried in vain in the Commission on Vivisection to get any physiologist to put limits of any kind to the agony which he thought it right to inflict for what he called "a sufficient end." Now it seems to me that if we are to separate the lower races of animals so entirely from man, that we may inflict any amount of anguish upon them purely for our own benefit-anguish which we should feel it utterly atrocious to inflict on the most criminal for the same end-we sever all ties of sympathy with the lower races of animals, and compel ourselves to assume toward them the moral attitude of selfish tormentors. And the result of that would, I believe, be so disastrous to our civilization, that we should lose infinitely more in the tone and character of our humanity than we could ever gain in the lives we might save, or the limbs we might heal, or the diseases we might cure, by the knowledge derived from such tortures or from the sanatory resources which they might reveal.

BEHIND THE SCENES.

[This bright little poem was written on the occasion of a wedding among the C. L. S. C. tribe of California. The high contracting parties were a Mr. Jones and a Miss Bell, members of the Society of Friends. She has been a Chautauquan. If all readers of the poem could know how many Chautauquans were interested in the wedding, and especially how popular and beloved the lady has been as a single Bell, their appreciation of the poem would be greatly enhanced. -ED. CHAUTAUQUAN.]

All good Chautauquans now burn midnight oil,
And hang enraptured o'er the classic page,
Pore over torsos, statues, busts, and spoil
Their eyes on frescoes dim with dust and age.

Thus late I mused, when' o'er my sight there crept
A mist which grew into a mighty cloud;
Strange sounds assailed my ears, and round me swept
The forms which erst did old Olympus crowd.

Jove nodded to me from his lofty seat,

Endymion and Diana wandered by, Venus I saw, and Mercury's flying feet,

While, last and least, young Cupid met my eye.

Low at his beauteous mother's feet he lay,

Clapping his hands and quite convulsed with glee, Yet mid his laughter I could hear him say,

"I've caught 'em both, they'll ne'er escape from me!

"She thought her Quaker garb a coat of mail,
He fancied he could baffle all my arts;
Ha! ha! we'll see them now begin to quail,

I've sent an arrow straight through both their hearts!"

"Hush! silly child," said Venus; but his side

I neared and begged his victims' names he'd tell. Up sprang the boy and frowned-" Victims!" he cried, "I've hung a chime where was a single Bell!"

LAVENGRO.

A DREAM OR DRAMA; OR, A SCHOLAR, A GYPSY, A PRIEST.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Presently a man emerged from the tent, bearing before him a rather singular table: it appeared to be of white deal, was exceedingly small at the top, and with very long legs. At a few yards from the entrance he paused and looked round, as if to decide on the direction which he should take. Presently, his eye glancing on me as I lay upon the ground, he started, and appeared for a moment inclined to make off as quick as possible, table and all. In a moment, however, he seemed to recover assurance, and coming up to the place where I was, the long legs of the table projecting before him, he cried, "Glad to see you here, my lord." "Thank you," said I, "it's a fine day."

"Very fine, my lord; will your lordship play? Them that finds, wins-them that don't finds, loses."

"Didn't you? Well, I'll soon teach you," said he, placing the table down. "All you have to do is to put a sovereign down on my table, and to find the pea, which I put under one of my thimbles. If you find it—and it is easy enough to find it-I give you a sovereign besides your own: for them that finds, wins."

"And them that don't find, loses," said I; "no, I don't wish to play."

have no money, you can't play. Well, I suppose I must be seeing after my customers," said he, glancing over the plain.

"Good day," said I.

"Good day," said the man, slowly, but without moving, as if in reflection. After a moment or two, looking at me inquiringly, he added, "Out of employ?"

"Yes," said I, "out of employ."

The man measured me with his eye as I lay on the ground. At length he said, May I speak a word or two to you, my lord?" "As many as you please," said I.

"Then just come a little out of hearing, a little further on the grass if you please, my lord."

'Why do you call me my lord?" said I. as I arose and followed him.

"We of the thimble always calls our customers lords," said the man; "but I won't call you such a foolish name any more; come along."

The man walked along the plain till he came to the side of a dry pit, when, looking around to see that no one was nigh, he laid his table on the grass, and. sitting down with his legs over the side of the pit, he motioned me to do the same. So you are in want of employ," said he, after I had sat down beside him. "Yes," said I, "I am very much in want of employ."

"I think I can find you some."

"What kind?" said I.

66

'Why," said the man, "I think you would do to be my bonnet." "Bonnet!" said I, "What is that?"

"Don't you know? However, no wonder, as you had never heard of the thimble and pea game, but I will tell you. We of the game are very much exposed; folks when they have lost their money, as those who play with us mostly do, sometimes uses rough language, calls us cheats, and sometimes knocks our hats over our eyes; and what's more, with a kick under our table, causes the top deals to fly off; this is the third table I have used this day, the other two being broken by uncivil customers; so we of the game generally like to have gentlemen go about with us to take our part, and encourage us, though pretending to know nothing about us; for example, when the customer says, I'm cheated,' the bonnet must say, 'No, you a'n't, it is all right;' or, when my hat is knocked over my eyes, the bonnet must square, and say, 'I never saw the man before in all my life, but I won't see him ill used;' and so, when they kicks at thetable, the bonnet must say, 'I won't see the table ill-used, such a nice table, too; besides, I want to play myself;' and then I would say to the bonnet, 'Thank you, my lord then that finds, wins ;' and then the bonnet plays, and I lets the bonnet win."

'Yes," said I, "like the cant words "Bonnet is cant," said the man; We of the thimble, as well as all clyfakers and the like, understand cant, as, of course, must every bonnet; so, if you are employed by me, you had better learn it as soon as you can, that we may discourse together without being understood by every one. Besides covering his principal, a bonnet must have his eyes about him, for the trade of the pea, though a strictly honest one, is not altogether lawful; so it is the duty of the bonnet, if he sees the constable coming, to say the gorgio's welling.” "That is not cant," said I," that is the language of the Rommany Chals."

"Do you know those people?" said the man.

"Is it possible?" said I.

“Good wages, a'n't they?" said the man.

"First-rate," said I; "bonneting is more profitable than reviewing." "Anan?" said the man.

"Or translating; I don't think the Armenian would have paid me at that rate for translating his Esop."