munity a faith in spiritual laws and realities, in the persistence and final triumph of truth and good. That, in our feverish nineteenth century, among all the tumult and turmoil of warring parties and creeds and opinions, a man should have appeared who, with a quiet heart, could let the world go by, could take his stand indomitably on his own instincts and wait until the huge world came round to him, is both a marvel and an inspiration to those who have entered into his great legacy of thought. As I picked some of the wild grass that grows on his quiet grave I thought with grateful reverence of the enrichment that his life had been to me and to multitudes, how-a man of world-wide celebrity-he left undone no act of kindly forethought and sympathy, no lowliest charity of common life. To him may truly be applied the

words which were written of the one Englishman whom of all he most revered, and to whom some of his admirers have detected in him so great a resemblance:

66

Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart, Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea,

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, Thus didst thou travel on life's common way

In cheerful Godliness, and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on itself did lay."

Such a soul triumphs over the material. It fashions to itself its environment and renders the commonplace sacred. The home of such a spirit becomes a temple, and of all spots which Englishmen and Americans alike hold dear and consecrated there are few that surpass in interest the little town in which lies the fair and peaceful home of Emerson.-Temple Bar.

WHEN a man has travelled many miles through an unpopulous country, not in the comfort of a railway carriage, but by some more independent method of progress (it may be on foot or on cycle), a time comes when he begins to long for some temporary shelter where he may take a brief rest and satisfy his thirst and hunger. He who is of a stoical and valorous spirit will sometimes postpone the alleviation of his physical wants merely through a desire to experience the extreme of exhaustion; but even he will in time yield to the crying-out of the flesh, if he have any regard for the continuance of his days. But the means are not always ready to hand, and he will sometimes strive for miles with his fatigue ere he reach the desire of his heart. Mean

while, his senses have become dulled; he has ceased to observe the delightsome aspects of the way, the sunlight sifting through the green trees, the blue sky shimmering above, the pleasant fields, the distant hills, all that had made for

his enjoyment when he started in the fresh, early morning; and he struggles on in a listless stupor that is good for neither body nor mind.

When he has arrived at some cottage by the wayside where he beholds in the window a ticket announcing "Lemonade," a grateful satisfaction wells up in his heart; he drops from his bicycle with tremulous limbs, leans it against the fence that encloses a plot of flowers, and knocks at the door for admission. It is probably opened by a motherly dame, who subjects him to a brief scrutiny while he states his wants. If he be not a churlish fellow, he will not resent this, for those who dwell in outof-the-way places must look well to whom they admit within their doors. And, indeed, he is in no mood to be over-particular about the manner of his reception so long as he finds himself on the way to food and drink.

The cottage consists of a room on either side of the door, that on the right being the owner's dwelling-room. The

wayfarer is led into the room on the left, which bears some resemblance to a shop, inasmuch as it contains a short counter upon which stand a pair of scales and some boxes of chocolate. Cases of aerated waters, dear to the traveller's heart, are piled in the corner against the wall; the shelves, which run a few inches below the ceiling, are loaded with anything from square biscuit-boxes to packets of black-lead; the meagre window-ledge is occupied by collections of highly colored, indigestible sweetmeats, rolls of thick black tobacco, some clay pipes, and a few penny whistles. The atmosphere of the place is rendered somewhat stuffy by the presence of certain oils and bacon, but the traveller finds his appetite in no wise abated on that account. While the woman produces some rolls from a low case of drawers, he seats himself unceremoniously upon the counter and dangles his limbs in an ecstasy of ease; for to gain a sitting posture after hours of muscular tension is as refreshing as cold water to a parched tongue. When the wayfarer's strength is exhausted, his brain becomes dull, so that it is but with a halting tongue that he responds to the remarks of his interlocutor. But in another minute he has become the possessor of a glass of lemonade and some diminutive loaves left, perhaps, two days before by the baker's van from the distant county town, and, though he be the least greedy of mortals, he will cause the honest woman to open her eyes with wonder at his repeated demands, continuing until her slender stock of rolls is exhausted and biscuits are the next resort. To such a pass can the primitive requirements of his nature reduce a man.

Sometimes the student of manners may have profitable converse over such a wayside counter if he continue to rest a few moments after he has stayed his hunger; but in the greater number of cases he finds a stolid, irresponsive demeanor or else a chatterer concerned solely with amiable trifles. If this be his fate, he will hurry hence when he has paid his reckoning. Not till then, indeed, does he take note of the surroundings of his brief resting-place, for

on his arrival his senses were too jaded to care for such circumstances. The vendor of the means of life to wayfaring mortals does not select his place of trade with a view to their convenience. In fact, this occupation is usually a subsidiary means of support, attended to by his wife while he is engaged upon out-of-doors labor. Seldom does his cottage stand where four ways meet. More frequently is it to be found in a shadowed nook somewhat withdrawn from the road, where the low whitewashed wall gains distinction from the sombre color of the thatched roof and the green overhanging trees, amid which the blue smoke flies upward to the open air. Close to the wall is an array of blue cornflowers, rich-hued fox-gloves, sweet William, and bachelors' buttons, while in the plot between the cottage and the fence is a fine profusion of marigolds, sweet peas, blush-roses, and all the homely old-fashioned flowers of the cottar's garden.

The sentimentalist who travels by such pleasant places is sometimes put to a sore temptation to forswear the artificiality of town life and the affectations of the schools, and to betake himself to some such quiet abode where he might live with love and spend his days in composure and a sweet content, studying the neighboring landscape in all its minuteness and viewing the pageant of the year in one place. For to one who is constant to a single patch of country for his pleasure there is given a fuller, finer perception of the changes it suffers, not only its obvious renascence and decay, but likewise those elusive anticipations and aftersuggestions which are not revealed to the casual passer-by. But the world is so much with us that back we go in spite of it all, closing our ears to Pan's pipings, and engaging once more in the dust and hurry of Babylon. Hence it comes that the wayside cottage is no more than the occasion for a pleasing fancy as we hasten toward our goal.

All morning I had been wayfaring over moors with never a dwelling in sight. From an open sky the sun shone upon the brown bent and the budding

heather, and the loudest sound was the grasshopper's whir in the grass at the roadside. Hot air hovered over the moor, the light was dazzling, and there was nothing to meet the eye on this side of the blue hills. To travel long under such conditions is less than pleasurable, and I had begun to hope earnestly for some means of slaking my thirst when, rising with a slight undulation in the road, I perceived afar off a low, slated roof seeming to lie upon the moor itself, and, as the road sloped upward and downward by little stages, the slates, shining in the sun, rose and fell from view. Presently, as I came nearer, I beheld a lonely cottage sunk in a hollow, whither one could descend from the road by steps. A sparkling array of bottles arranged on the window-sash caught my notice, and in another minute I was knocking at the door. It was such a place as Mr. Hardy might tell weird tales of; and, indeed, there is something strange about a human habitation placed amid such desolate surroundings. Should mortals be found there, one naturally expects that their destiny and relations will be correspondingly strange; and so there is a field for romance ready to hand. Nay, more, the everyday elements of life are unexpected, and the commonplace is likely to seem incongruous.

Should

Here I was too far from highways to expect any semblance of a shop such as townsmen use. A young woman ushered me into the "living-room" of the place, which was really a kitchen with a bed in the wall. By the fireside sat an aged woman, the grandmother, I supposed, of the child she held on her knee. Moorland women-folk are the most suspicious beings of my experience, and I felt during the three or four succeeding minutes that I was there only on sufferance. The grandam, from whom one might have expected more humanity, sat with never a word on her tongue, while the younger woman moved about with, I thought, something of defiance in her air. And I am sorry to say that I had given them some slight ground for suspicion before I was quit of them, departing from

the door without paying the twopence due. The younger woman, coming forth in pursuit, found me calmly employed in making a new disposition of my luggage. Her manner was distinctly aggressive as she informed me of my unintentional offence, and it was in silence that she received the coins and the apology. Yet it remained true that I had not hurried hot-foot from the neighborhood, so that, perhaps, I was not so badly thought of.

When I had completed the arrangement of my luggage, I hastened to be clear of so churlish surroundings. The folk were not, indeed, inharmonious with their neighborhood, but I shall be loth to seek refreshment in the same quarters the next time I pass that way. Besides, it was the scene of my slip from virtue, and a man is naturally shy of the localities of his crimes.

But it is not always in the last stages of exhaustion that one alights at such wayside stopping-places. They are most pleasantly associated with halts cried on calm summer afternoons, or cool evenings when one is engaged on whimsical journeys to remote valleys, or, perhaps, in the still forenoon when one goes leisurely, yet hotly, through open country in the heat of the day. Once I had kept company with a fair stream for many miles. The road ran among trees at the foot of steep, richly wooded banks, and overhead there had been the clear sky. Toward evening I came to a small cottage at the end of a bridge. I entered, and was forthwith engaged in talk with a kindly woman, who, as she supplied my wants, exhibited a profound interest in the art of cycling. We eventually drifted into more profitable conversation, and I obtained from her a long family history for which I had been seeking vainly. Her account of it was not unmixed with shrewd comments on character. When I took my leave, she came to the door to watch my departure on my bicycle, as though I were a visitant from another planet of whom it were well to take note, or some stranger animal than that which the Mexicans thought they beheld when Spanish cavalry came. upon their shores. Such humane ex

periences befell in the days when cycling was an art practised by few.

One July evening, travelling on the high road between two cities, I came to a small dwelling on the side of the way that looked as though it had been a toll-house in the days when tolls were imposed upon the land. It was whitewashed and dirty, and a card hung within the small window bore the customary advertisement. The exterior was scarcely attractive; but, knowing the fallible nature of appearances, I resolved to venture. The door was spread open by one who stood jacketless, and on my asking if I might be permitted to have lemonade, he merely turned on his heel and walked inward. I supposed that my request was too contemptible to require a verbal response from one who, I fancy, drank beer every day of his life. I ventured to follow him into a room where sat a woman with two dirty children sprawling on a threadbare strip of carpet. But what was least agreeable was the heat of the room, which, I suppose, had not been aired for a twelvemonth. The couple who dwelt here kept their aerated goods on a shelf close to the ceiling, so that when I came to drink my lemonade I was nearly sickened by the warmth of it. To such fare must the gentleman tramp occasionally condescend, though, indeed, his lines usually fall in pleasanter places.

Another wayside trafficker, the strangest of all, rises in memory. This time I was almost within the shadow of a great town, but my throat was already parched, and I was disinclined to prolong the agony until I should have covered the few miles that

remained of my journey. When I crossed the threshold I thought no one was present, but in another moment I observed an old man sitting in a chair with a pair of crutches leaning against it, and somewhat doubtfully I proffered my request. He directed me to a certain shelf where I might obtain what I wished, and when I gave him a silver coin from which a certain sum of change was due to me, he bade me open the till and extract the necessary amount. So, for the first time in my life, I opened a till to which I had no right. The old man explained that when his daughter, who usually had charge of the shop, had to go out, he was left to take what care of it he might. He recited to me the most pitiful story of his own misfortunes that I have heard at first-hand from any man. Yet I may not set it down here, save the end of it, that disabled as he was he lacked the few pounds of capital that would have made him independent. It was the desire of his heart to perambulate the streets in a wheeled chair, and play his fiddle for the passers-by, and by this means he expected to have been able to make a livelihood for himself. But the necessary vehicle was wanting, and it was beyond his power to remedy the defect in his fortunes. So he was obliged to sit in idleness, obedient to the will of others. There was something affecting in the sight of a man who had been a giant of strength brought to such helplessness by the accident of a moment. He seemed to me like some broken gambler without a farthing to make another bid for fortune.-Gentleman's Magazine.

hatred of their foreign rulers, and in consequence produced a widespread conspiracy for a simultaneous rise all over India on May 31, 1857, for an indiscriminate massacre of Europeans, which was providentially frustrated by

the premature outbreaks at Meerut and Delhi that served to put us on our guard. In May and June mutinies and appalling massacres were of constant occurrence, culminating in the Cawnpore catastrophe. I had a remarkably providential escape from being involved in that awful massacre. It happened in this way. On my arrival at Cawnpore a splendid opportunity seemed then to invite me to better my prospects as a married man, inasmuch as several of the native regiments there were in want of interpreters; and as I had passed in such high examinations as for high proficiency in Hindee, the interpreter's examination in Persian, etc., and the thousand-rupee prize examination in two languages, I very naturally thought that I therefore ought certainly to get what I had such a good claim to if I only asked for it. I consequently made personal applications to the commanding officers of those regiments in want of interpreters. But, strange as it appeared, my efforts to procure a nice addition to my lieutenant's pay were unsuccessful, and Major-General Wheeler, commanding at Cawnpore, little thinking of what he was saving me from, was the cause of this remarkable failure, by saying, when he heard of my application, "No; this officer is required to take recruits to his regiment." I was much vexed at the time at my ill success in not getting what seemed so needful to me. But how thankful I felt to the Almighty a few months afterward, when I perceived how He had mercifully saved me, with my wife and child, from being involved in the terrible Cawnpore massacre! I had been unwittingly seeking my own destruction; but God turned a great disappointment to a great deliverance! Truly God's ways are the best, and He is the wisest who with childlike simplicity recognizes this fact at all times and under all circumstances.

Agreeable to the General's requirements, I took recruits up to my regiment stationed at Agra. The two Sepoy regiments here, who had planned a scheme for a surprise massacre on Sunday, May 31, were circumvented by

NEW SERIES.-VOL. LXVIII., No. 6.

a remarkable interposition of Divine Providence, and on their being disarmed, I had the satisfaction, with a party of soldiers, of safely conveying their arms into Agra Fort. My first battle in the suppression of the Indian Mutiny was the sanguinary one at Shahgunj on Sunday, July 5, the day after the mutiny of the Kotah Contingent at Agra. If we had honored the Lord's Day by postponing the attack till Monday, I believe that the disaster about to be related would not have occurred.

The enemy consisted of the 72d Regiment Native Infantry, the 7th Regiment Gwalior Contingent, the Kotah Contingent, two troops of the 1st Light Cavalry, four troops of the Mehidpore Horse, and one troop of horse artillery. Their guns were placed half on one flank, and half upon the other, and were screened by rising ground and trees. Their infantry were posted inside the village as well as behind it, and their cavalry were massed in rear of both flanks. The miniature little army, led out to the attack by Brigadier Polwhele, was composed of about five hundred men of my regiment, with Captain D'Oyley's troop of artillery, and nearly sixty mounted militia, amounting altogether to about seven hundred men, who were in good spirits and eager for the combat.

The mutineers outnumbered us by quite seven to one. Having had some experience of war in the Sutlej campaign, I was put in command of a company. We commenced operations by pounding away at the mud-walled village with our six and nine pounders, which only raised a harmless dustindeed, the only gun that did the enemy any damage was our howitzer, that sent shells inside their position. This bungling and waste of precious time gave the enemy the victory. Polwhele's attempt to silence the enemy's artillery failed, and the mutineer gunners, having got our range, exploded two of our ammunition-wagons, blowing up our poor artillerymen, and dismounted one of the guns. Captain D'Oyley, mortally wounded by a grape-shot, exclaimed, "I am done for. Put a stone

49