and as he silently with his finger pointed it out, a deep | sich escaped him. Luitgarde fully understood what was passing in her uncle's mind, at the sight of the wellknown walls; she too was silent, thus respecting his sorrows; and, oppressed by gloomy thoughts and painful sentiments, she for the first time entered the castle which was to be her future abode. But her clear good sense soon chased away those disheartening images, and, even when, in the large and half empty halls, in the lofty chambers, where here and there damaged furniture recalled the past devastations, a desponding tendency seemed to seize on her, she resisted it with energy; she took heart, and found occupation for herself; she solaced herself with the bright anticipations of a happy future, when the dear playfellow of her youth, and her future husband, whom she had not seen for so many years, should animate by his presence this deep solitude; and those wishes and hopes which often rose up in her mind would redeem and reconcile everything. Yes, indeed!" replied the count; and the two old men now got into deep conversation, upon what was the principal topic at that time, the sorrows and sufferings of their fatherland, and their unhappy consequences upon its children and children's children. The clergyman remarked, in the first place, the brutalization of the people, when pressing want stimulated to deeds of violence, and men's passions were held under no restraint by the fear of God. He spoke of bands of robbers assembled in the forests, consisting partly of deserters or discharged soldiers, that peace rendered no longer necessary, assisted by impoverished and helpless peasants; he knew a number of terrible stories of them. And the count, in whose bleeding heart those subjects found an echo, now reverted to the past, and related the sad events which had taken place in earlier years, from this cruel internecine war. "One of my friends has lost his only son, the heir of great possessions, and that noble house becomes extinct. Have you, sir, known Count Lansky?" Lansky!" exclaimed Luitgarde, who listened attentively. But Count Frederick did not make his appearance. Affairs detained him at Vienna, where he arrived immediately after his father's departure, and where he proposed to arrange the important collections, the fruits of his travels, under the inspection of learned men, before giving himself up finally to his rural retirement. For this Luitgarde upbraided him in her letters, but she endeavoured to employ the time as well as possible; Yes," continued her uncle, "Count Lansky, the she undertook the management of all the household friend of my youth, who at one time was the intended affairs; gave the necessary directions for the works to be husband of your mother. Private reasons broke off that executed for the improvement of the devastated castle; plan; Lansky went to his possessions in Silesia, and I in fine weather she rode through the surrounding have scarcely ever seen him since. He married concountry, and in bad weather she was sedulously occupied formably to the wish of his father, and found his sole with her female household; and the evenings were passed consolation for that ill-sorted marriage in the birth of a at the friendly fireside, with her uncle and the clergyman. handsome, promising boy. Then the wave of devastating On one of the first days, while yet everything in the war rolled over these countries; the savage Mansfeldt, castle excited her curiosity, and neither furniture nor pursued by Wallenstein, marched with the remainder of painting attracted her observation, she discovered, in a his bandit troops, cutting his way through Silesia, in hall through which she was obliged to pass in going order to reach Bethlen Gabor, at the Siebenbürgen. All from her own apartments to those of her uncle, a portrait the horrors and devastations which accompany a flying of half-size, which strongly attracted her notice; and the army, destitute of everything for its support, visited the more she examined it, the more it fixed her attention. properties of my friend. Mansfeldt's troops carried fire It appeared to represent a subterranean prison, probably and sword into the villages; the castle was set on fire; a dungeon of ancient times. The foreground of the the plunderers broke into it; what the flames did not painting consisted of a retiring range of lofty arcades, consume fell into their hands, or under their swords. which deepened, in the distant background, into Thus was lost the son of my friend. In the chamber he terrific darkness; to the right hand of the beholder, had occupied was found the corpse of one of his attendant still in the foreground, there was, in the highest part, maids, half consumed by the fire; no one knew what one round opening, through which the light from the became of the child. Long had the unhappy father moon fell on the person of an imprisoned knight, who, cherished the hope that the child, a lovely boy of four laden with heavy chains, sat on his bed of straw. It years old, might still be found, because his body had was not possible to see his face, from the thick black not been discovered; but more than twenty years of locks of hair that fell on it, and because his head was useless expectation and fruitless researches have at turned away from the beholder; but the mournful posi-length convinced him that his son had fallen a prey to tion of the head, supported by one hand, whilst in the feeble grasp of the other were seen some tallies, on which notches had been made with a rusty nail that lay close by, probably the number of his days of confinement, indicated too clearly the sufferings of the prisoner. The general effect of the composition, seen by the faint light of the moon's rays, produced a painful impression, and filled Luitgarde with mysterious horror. Long did she stand before the painting, and it was with difficulty she could tear herself away; and afterwards, as often as she passed through the hall, she would stop to gaze on it, and to reflect on the sad scene, and the feelings of the forlorn captive, till at last, one evening, she ventured to question her uncle about the painting, and the history of the imprisoned knight. Count Martinitz had little information to impart on the subject; he said that very probably the whole composition was simply a fancy of the painter's, whose name he mentioned;-if, however, it had a foundation in history, as in his youth he had heard it related by his grand-aunt, who was the living chronicle of her house, the portrait represented one of her noble ancestors, who lived in the times of the wars of the Hussites, and who, on account of his religious the flames, and Lansky now lives without a child to inherit his large domains, which since then have never recovered those devastations." The pastor broke out into fresh complaints and anathemas against the war; a deep sigh rose from Luitgarde's breast; she raised her dark eyes with melancholy expression on her uncle, and said, "Was not the lost boy's name Victorin, uncle?" "I believe so," replied he. "My beloved mother has often related to me," she continued, slightly blushing, "of a betrothing Count Martinitz took up the word, and said, "Quite right; you were the destined bride of this Victorin. Since his father could not possess your mother, this ardently desired union was to bring happiness to their children; however you were scarcely born, when heaven, as if to destroy every possibility of a union between our houses, snatched away by death your intended bridegroom." "Providence has richly repaid me for the loss," replied Luitgarde, with a blush, whilst she placed her uncle's hands to her lips. "Yes," said the old count, "my Frederick is a noble youth. I hope, with God's help, he will make you as happy, dear child, as you deserve to be." "Amen!" said the pastor, devoutly clasping both his hands. Luitgarde sighed, as she pressed her uncle's hand to her breast, "Ah, if he were but here now!" With such like conversation were the long autumnal evenings passed, not without pleasure; but, if Luitgarde related much, indeed most of what fell in her way, there was yet one incident which she did not impart to her uncle. Upon one of the first fine days she passed at the castle, she strolled, as was her custom, into the garden, and from thence to the forest close by. A hillock, on which grew a clump of beautiful beech-trees, was the usual limit of her wanderings, from which spot she commanded a fine view of the neighbouring country, and of the river that here wound round the hill. On this day curiosity invited a farther walk; she descended the hillock, and expected easily and without an obstacle to reach the river; but, after a descent of a couple of hundred steps among bushes, she suddenly came on a gaping precipice, under which the Moldaw rushes furiously, with loud breaking noise, hemmed in by narrow and rugged shores. The wild grandeur of the prospect charmed her; she stood still, and looked down with admiration upon the alternating movement of the waters, which now bubbling up cast its foam on the shore, and now flowed down over higher rocks like a polished mirror. A little boy was playing on the shore, with flat pebbles and all sorts of playthings, which he skilfully threw along the surface of the water with great delight; the light objects at one moment appearing on the point of the waves, at another sinking into the deep. There was a rustling in the thicket near the shore, and a man of tall stature, in dark coloured dress, came out, but in such a way that Luitgarde could not see his face, which was turned towards the river, and stood and looked attentively into the stream; then gently unbuckled his belt, drew with violence a broad sword from a steel scabbard, and stooped down towards the water in order to wash away from it some blood stains, which Luitgarde clearly discerned. The stranger's dress gave no indication to what class in society he belonged; the suddenness, almost wildness of his movement, his sinister exterior, the blood on the sword, all made a disagreeable impression on her mind; and she recalled all the histories of robbers and murderers which the priest had related. Still she could not avoid observing the stranger's lofty, proud air, heightened by his fantastic costume. She remarked the nobleness of his movements, and she remained in a kind of doubtful emotion between terror and admiration, when suddenly a frightful shriek from the boy, who had fallen into the water with his playthings, alarmed her. Luitgarde, at the moment, cried out with anxiety; while the stranger came forward, flung away hat, sword, and mantle, sprang into the river, and drew out the terrified child; then hastily took up his different parts of dress, and, wildly looking around, ran as rapidly as he was able into the thicket. Luitgarde stood amazed, confused at the scene she had witnessed; even the boy looked round in astonishment after his deliverer, but he had disappeared; and this first impression of something unpleasant pressed more forcibly on her mind. Still the unknown had behaved in so noble and manly a way towards the strange child, he could not be a common person; then he did not wish to be seen;-there was some mystery; and this decided her to ascertain who was the chivalrous preserver of the boy. She did not speak of the accident at the castle, but she liked to recall the event in her solitary hours, and to trace, as much as was possible for her, the rapidly seen features of the stranger, and, from all she had and had not seen, to draw a whole which should explain this singular apparition. In the mean time the reports of the robber bands extended farther; that they had taken possession of forests, and devastated castles, and that distress and sorrow were diffused over the whole neighbourhood. The most frightful and strange histories were told of one of those bands, of which the chief was called "the Black Fritz," who was universally acknowledged as the most daring and resolute among them. By some persons he was said to be a Mansfeldt freebooter; others represented him as a swarthy-coloured Italian, who had served in the Cardinal-Infant's troops; and others asserted that he was the son of a charcoal manufacturer of Saxony, who by courage and skill had raised himself to be an officer in the Swedish troops, and that from want and discouragement he had taken to the forests, and become the chief of a troop of hardy adventurers, who meant now to revenge on the unfortunate people, what fate, according to their opinion, had inflicted on them. A crowd of anecdotes were related of this Black Fritz, and of his troop; at one time they were terrific, at another extraordinary, and again sanguinary; never, however, common-place; and all, especially those where the chief himself took a part, bore the stamp of a wild greatness, not without soine remains of humanity, indeed often magnanimity, and a daring contempt of every danger. Luitgarde was never present at such conversations without bringing to her mind the stranger of the shore of the Moldaw; the blood on the sword, the similarity of dress, the swarthy complexion, even the apprehension with which he flew, all appeared to point him out to her as a member of that terrific band, if not indeed the chief himself, the far-famed Black Fritz; and she regretted still more that she had been so little able to distinguish his features. Still she listened with lively interest to all the conversations about him, and, if her right feeling turned aside with horror at the narrated acts of violence, she was not able to suppress a generous pity, arising from the contemplation of so much courage, so much force of character, and daring, joined to a deep regret for the misuse of so much power. She could not but reflect on what these noble endowments might have been under other circumstances, and what was now to be the lot of their possessor, in this world and in the other. More near and more abundantly did the traces of this band begin to show themselves in the vicinity of Luitgarde's habitation. Count Martinitz thought seriously on active preparations against its attacks, and, during these movements and discussions, there arrived a letter from Count Frederick, which indicated an early day for his arrival. Even at Vienna he had heard the reports that were circulated of the insecurity of the neighbourhood; to him also Black Fritz was represented as a terrific monster, and therefore he took every precautionary measure for his journey; he was accompanied by many domestics, would only take short days' journeys, would never travel by night, and, to clear his road, had escorts placed from the nearest military posts on the most dangerous points. The old count was much pleased at these prudent precautions of his son, whose journey had long disquieted him. Luitgarde was delighted at the near arrival of her early playfellow, the true partner of her solitude, and therefore decided to pay a visit which she had long promised to make to a female friend in the neighbourhood, in order afterwards to enjoy undisturbed the presence and society of her intended husband. The uncle acquiesced; the friend's house was not distant more than two hours' journey, and Luitgarde was to take with her armed domestics. She was to go on the morning of one day, and to return on the morning of the third; and, to avoid all danger, to take the open road over the mountain. Luitgarde adopted all these recommendations, though in her heart she had no fear. The journey proceeded happily, and, having made her visit, she set out on her return home. She had reached a bad part of the road, which from neglect and autumnal weather had become quite a morass; she had long lost sight of her friend's castle, when, half way up the hill, where the road inclines towards the steep bank of a mountain stream, and when the horses were scarcely any longer in a state to draw the carriage through the deep ruts, a wheel broke, and all was upset. The lamentations of the maid, the imprecations of the domestics, attracted the attention of a man, who, dressed in the guise of a quiet citizen, came down the hill out of his road; he saw the accident and hastened to the spot, actively laid hold of and drew out the terrified females from the upset coach, whilst the domestics in a state of confusion ran here and there incapable of assisting. The maid sprung into his arms; he set her down on a dry spot, and hastened back to the carriage. Luitgarde had risen; she held out her hand to the stranger-her eye met his, and- a purple glow stole over her cheeks. Never had she seen so handsome, interesting, and manly a countenance; large, dark, brilliant eyes shone under the handsomely arched hazel-coloured eyebrows; a regularly shaped nose descended to finely cut lips, and between dark mustachios appeared teeth white as ivory-whilst he gracefully and in elegant language offered his assistance. The stranger even appeared confused at the aspect of the fair saved one, and Luitgarde easily observed that he treated her with more than ordinary courtesy. He offered his arm to her, conducted her with care, and begged her permission to take her in his arms over a very marshy spot, an offer which she had no alternative but to accept, unless she wished to sink up to the knees. He respectfully took her up in his arms; no intrusive forwardness, no presumptuous look, offended the unprotected position of the maiden; without raising his eyes towards her, without proffering one word, he carried her over, placed her upon the dry edge of the road, and ventured only to retain her until she came to herself, lest, seized by giddiness, she might have fallen into the morass. When her self-possession had returned, she thanked the stranger in a very obliging manner, who accepted her acknowledgments with evident confusion, and immediately hastened to see what was to be done to the car riage. By advice and assistance he did the best that was possible; he rapidly prepared everything, observed everything; he directed, he commanded the attendants; there was not one who attempted to gainsay him, to whom even it occurred to hold himself back at the stranger's commanding tone; the carriage was put together as well as possible, and led down the hill gently to the house, which the stranger pointed out to them, and where they were to find conveniences, working implements, and helping hands. He now went back to the females, and asked Luitgarde whether she would not wish to go down to the house to rest herself, and wait there with greater convenience until the carriage could be got ready again. The stranger conversed in polished language, and indicated a manner of thinking and habits, that appeared far beyond what his dress announced. Among other things, he asked her why she did not prefer the convenient lower road which led through the forest, as the road over the mountain was always at this time of the year very bad. Luitgarde smiled, and said, after some reflection," The lower road through the forest must be insecure; my uncle has been afraid of my travelling by it." And you, noble lady, are you not afraid?" "No," replied Luitgarde; it is said the robber chief, Black Fritz, as he is named, has always correct information on every matter, and so he will have known that a young lady, who travels to visit a friend with a couple of domestics, brings no treasures with her which would be able to attract him." Very good, young lady; but Black Fritz must not simply be a plunderer; he must even be audacious and eruel, and often ferocious." No," answered Luitgarde with firmness, " I do not believe this,—that, without an object, without the prospect of a rich booty, simply to do harm for its own sake, that man will commit any crime." Have you, then, a better opinion of him than the world has?" asked the stranger, doubtingly. "I have," answered Luitgarde. 66 Really!" continued the man," and why?" "It may, perhaps, appear singular to you," answered Luitgarde, quietly, as she inferred from the vehemence of the question that he disapproved of her opinion; "it may appear singular to you, but, once for all, I cannot believe all the wickedness which is related of Black Fritz." The stranger stood a moment, and looked at Luitgarde with a peculiar expression. "In truth, noble lady, do you think so?" 66 Yes," replied Luitgarde, "although it appears you are not of my opinion, but agree with the multitude;" and now she related to him very affably all kinds of anecdotes she had heard of Black Fritz, and in all of which she imagined she could find, among wild deeds and blameable enterprises, a certain greatness of soul, and no common manner of thinking. Often did the stranger contradict her; he professed to view the robber chief in a very unfavourable light; he appeared to be well-informed of his undertakings; he told her many things that were unknown to her of him, and among others, assured her that he had once been a Swedish officer, had served with distinction, but, at the peace, from mortification and desperation, had taken to his present manner of life; and ended, however, by declaring himself decidedly against him. "I cannot, indeed, contradict you, since you are so wellinformed," said she at last; "but I assure you, I renounce with a heavy heart my better opinion of this man." The stranger sighed and looked sorrowfully down. "Were men generally capable of so noble a confidence as you, young lady, probably then this wretched man would not have fallen so low." "Do you think so? now you are, at bottom, even of my opinion, and I can therefore tell you, that more than once I have already with warm heart prayed for him to God, that He might enlighten him, and bring him back from his evil ways to rectitude and virtue." The stranger appeared violently affected; and Luitgarde, as she was recalling what she said, wondered at herself, how she came then to reply with so much earnestness to a man wholly a stranger to her, whom she saw for the first time, whose name and position were equally unknown to her. But there was something in the deportment of the man which opened her heart as if by force. THE question of late hours is, perhaps, not more a question of philanthropy, than of necessity-good men begin to plead, and impatient ones to clamour, for a relaxation of the present stringent system. The good men plead;-" Give these men time to cultivate their minds, to prepare for a better world." Impatient ones clamour; "We are men, not machines,—we must have rest; the orderly returns of day and night suggest it; our tired limbs and jaded intellects demand it. Are we mill-horses? Were we born without, or are we to quench, every spiritual craving of our nature? Did the poets of our country sing, the painters paint, and the wise men instruct for Englishmen, leaving us out of the question? We have borne it too long; we will bear it no more. Oh, happy days, when old Izaak Walton, with his six-feet wide shop in Cheapside, could spare | makers, and he will see that this is an injury crying loudly time to study the aspects of God's creation!" for redress to a Christian people. The agitation will result in good; employers and employed will be the better for it. We see the end; right MUST conquer, but it depends on each and all of us, how long first. It is a question which admits of no delay; our brothers are born, and work, and die, while we look on and say, "All will be right in time, only, patience!" Yes; to the brothers, the wives, the families, bereaved through this overworking system, spectators whisper "Patience." Patience is very well when the stone is set rolling from the top of the hill,-we know it must reach the bottom in time; it is a different affair when the folks at the bottom start it,-they must watch and push, and never desert their charge till it be safely fixed on the summit. This is our case; but we will not kick our stone, or be angry with the thousand causes that give it a downward tendency; but " Onward and Upward," must be our motto, and you will forgive a little earnestness in a great cause. : A. keeps a linen-draper's shop in a street in the city he employs many shopmen; they open at eight, and close at ten. One hour a day is allowed for meals; A. is not very exacting; he is a "moderate" master. B. is a grocer in the next street: he also employs young men, and treats them as well as he thinks he can afford to do; keeps the same hours as A. Both A. and B. might sell all they sell in twelve hours as well as in fourteen. This is the secret-B.'s wife is what is called "a capital manager;" she has a large family, is always at work for them; she snatches a few minutes, after the little ones are in bed, to go shopping. If only B.'s wife did this, her few minutes would be of little consequence, but C.'s and D.'s and E.'s, and many more people's, do the same; the consequence is the few minutes not in every case presenting themselves at the same time, instead of ending with minutes, the extra time comes to hours. Perhaps A.'s wife and the rest serve B. in a similar way; and so on, through the whole alphabet; so everybody keeps late hours, to oblige everybody, with the important exception of everybody's "young people." The "young people" say, "Mrs. B. might come shopping in the morning, and mend stockings at night, instead of vice versa. Mrs. D. need not lounge about all day, reading a novel, and drop in at seven or eight o'clock, for white gloves to attend a party; Mrs. C. might once now and then spare her servant half-an-hour in the morning to procure herself what she requires." The "young people" are right, but Mesdames A. B. and C. being experienced ladies do not like to be taken to task. Out of spite, or forgetfulness, or indifference, they continue late shopping. Meantime, the "young people" come from the country, get seasoned, or fade away and die,-nobody seems to care which. So long as Mrs. B. gets her drapery, she does not think of the pale young man who used to wait on her always at A.'s, but has not lately served her. It is not, at this stage of the affair, her business. The pale young man must make his appeal, and Mrs. B. will, perhaps, allow the justice of his claim, perhaps not. Let him not be discouraged; if Mrs. B. stands out, some one else will yield, and the one who yields being, (as she proves herself,) a woman of sense, will influence others. The honest, old, good managers, will become ashamed of overworking other people, for a supposed saving of time to themselves, and will give in too. Mrs. B. will be glad she yielded, when Mrs. A.'s "clever" young man, "who has become so attentive to Isabella," is enabled, by his superior intelligence, acquired by early hours, to become a partner in his house. Every one will feel the benefit resulting from the improvement, those most who complain to us now. This is no fiction of social wrong, springing from the fanciful brain of an author. Let any one read the evidence given before the House of Commons, relating only to milliners and dress This holding human life so cheaply is a crime. 1 shuddered to hear it, who killed off a clerk every six have heard of a mercantile house in London, and months. It is unimportant how man may look upon such inconsideration; but does the Father of masters and servants view with indifference the supporters of the overstraining system? Let conscience answer. Mental and physical strength in men go to make a great nation; on our growing up young men we depend tards the progress of England. But how are our young for the next generation; each generation helps or remen to acquire strength either of body or mind, when even necessary cessation from toil is denied them? An instrument whose strings are never tightened will get out of tune, but one whose strings are always submitted to excessive tension will soon have none. We plead for the middle, the reasonable, the just course: shall we plead in vain? No; the day will come when the shopmen and shopwomen in London shall have at least an hour or two a day of leisure available for purposes of education. The cathedrals, the picture-galleries, the concert-rooms, the sources of cheap and good education-the newspapers, the magazines, shall be for them. In the economy of the hive, the comfort and convenience of the working-bees shall be consulted. Such a day is coming, all things are tending to it; but perseverance as well as patience must chace away the shadows till "Jocund day Stand tiptoe on the misty mountain top." Let the injured be true to themselves; let them culti vate, to the utmost of their opportunities, the talents they possess, that the cold and distrustful may be convinced, or at least silenced. There are many who have great confidence in the persons to be benefited. I, as one of the hopeful, say, "We do not believe that you will misuse additional privileges. We do not believe that in supporting this movement for the relaxation of the system pressing so heavily on you, we are diffusing principles which will encourage idleness and dissipation. We believe that Milton, Shakspeare, and Dryden, will be good company for many a now desolate home; we believe that men will learn to value and to love something beyond the trade that brings them money; we believe that the beautiful and the good will be discovered or cherished in many bosoms, where they are now faintly existing, if existing at all. We know that "wisdom is better than rubies, and all the things that may be desired are not to be compared to it;" and we believe that you will seek to obtain wisdom when your opportunities are extended. The assertion that you would abuse your rights is not only untrue, but insulting to our sense of justice. Am I to rob my neighbour because he wastes his fortune! The steps by which an amelioration of the late-hour system is to be accomplished are these: punctual and faithful discharge of duty; a steady united pursuance of the object in view, maintained through meetings and by the press; a conscientious discontinuance of late shopping by all in any degree interested in the question; and in this commercial country, who among the middle classes is not interested in it? Employers will find a graceful compliance earn them the thanks of their people, assiduous attention to commands, and additional respect; but all this is more than their due, for it is a question of justice, although their position gives them the power to make it one of favour too. Let them remember, "Bis dat qui cito dat." "soil our pure ambrosial weeds WHEN We made our first bow to our readers this | a most enviable and delicious privilege, if we can time last year, we then told them how they might only maintain ourselves at this elevation, nor, by easily get rid of us if our presence was disagreeable, once descending, irrecoverably or felt to be unnecessary,-by simply letting us alone; that no active steps to expel us would be required; but that, by merely abstaining from troubling themselves about us, they would very soon find themselves relieved from whatever an noyance our periodical call at their doors might occasion. We had no intention of dragging on a sickly existence of a few months under the chilling breath of public neglect. We were fully resolved, if we found a frost fairly set in against us, to walk quietly away, while we had yet toes left wherewith to perform the feat with some degree of decent dignity. A little time must of course always be allowed for the public to know its own mind,for the engine to arrive at its speed, so as fairly to test its powers,-but after that, if a favourable judgment is not pronounced, the most ardent selfesteem must yield to the conviction that the field which has been entered upon must be left for more skilful hands to till, and for more fortunate adventurers to reap its fruits. A year has now elapsed, and here we are still, vigorous and hopeful,—a circumstance from which the reader may infer, with truth, that we have not been disappointed with the degree of patronage which we have received. The public has not thought proper to let us alone; we have not been chilled by the cold breath of neglect; the frost has not set in against us; and our toes are warm and sound, and able to carry us forward many a long league, without a wish for, or thought of, retreat. With thankful hearts, therefore, and buoyant hopes; with feelings of sincere gratitude for much favour and indulgence; and with a resolute purpose to deserve more, if possible, but never less, the support we have received; we now gird up our loins, and address ourselves for our third start. It is a pleasing circumstance connected with a publication of this kind,-most pleasing to us who conduct it,-pleasing also, we doubt not, to those who read it,—that, as we are under no necessity of touching upon subjects of a controversial character, we need never have our minds agitated, or our tempers disturbed, by controversial feelings. This advantage we gain, not by cautiously and cannily taking care to express, on all subjects which we treat, opinions so undecided as to oppose no resistance to whoever advances with a disposition to contest them, but by moving entirely above the whole class of subjects about which men usually dispute. We (we do not mean ourselves individually, but our class,) have it in our power, if we adhere to our proper business, to With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould." this elevated region as our proper sphere, we are Let it not be supposed that, by laying claim to confessing an unfitness for a mission of every-day practical usefulness. The influences which descend the ground, are those which have their source bewith the most cheering and fertilizing effect upon yond the edge of "this visible diurnal sphere;” it is the desolating storm,-the blinding mist,-the poitheir dwelling close to, the earth. Neither are we sonous miasma,-which spring from, and have to be imagined so absurd as, by fixing our place so high, to arrogate to ourselves any peculiar loftiness of flight, or soaring sublimity of genius. It is not by power of wing, but by pure singleness of purpose in our flying, that the elevation is reached, -by reducing our specific gravity, and by throwing off all downward tendencies, so that "in our proper motion we ascend." A metaphor is sometimes a dangerous steed to get astride of, and we therefore descend from ours, readers should imagine we intended to represent lest, were we to remain mounted much longer, our ourselves as always in the clouds, and should feel the magnificence of our present language, and some inclined to institute ludicrous comparisons between paper of very simple plainness, to be found, we the generally unpretending character with which doubt not, without much difficulty in our pages, and it is our study to invest this Magazine. Our meaning, however, cannot well be mistaken. Dealing with subjects not of local, temporary, or party place, time, and persons, our whole aspect and interest, but of universal interest as regards character is necessarily peaceful. We have nothing to do with those things about which men generally quarrel, and for which they call one another names. If we take up an incident of history, it is curiosity, partly to illustrate some point in human partly to stimulate at once and satisfy a laudable character, some prevailing motive to action,-never politics. If we touch upon morals, it is that we to bring it to the support of any view of present may enforce practically that upon which all good men are agreed in theory,-never that we may dip our hands into the disturbed waters of metaphysical condition of any class of the people-of its wants— or religious polemics. If we speak of the present of its sufferings-perhaps of its crimes, it is that we may call into action everywhere those feelings and principles, whose unfettered operation unfailingly tends, by the admission of all thinking men, to the general good,-never to excite, in any single breast, one angry or discontented feeling. And we have, besides, a wide and fertile field into which |