the Polish; but the impatience of emperors and
tzars could only be satisfied by edicts, whose
object was the more speedy extirpation of these
national emblems. Then it was that the
Hungarian and the Polonian mothers pressed their
infants more warmly to their bosoms, and
whispered with sweeter and more emphatic eloquence
the mother tongue into the ears of the child.
This was an influence no despotism could reach,
a right against whose exercise no tyranny could
avail. The banned languages waxed stronger
because they were bathed in the waters of
adversity, and the violence with which it was
endeavoured to break the bonds only bound and
riveted them more tightly and more lastingly.

The current opinions with regard to the
origin and dispersion of races and languages
are alike unobservant, unphilosophical, and
unfounded. It is a sound as well as an ancient
doctrine that we ought to reason from the known
to the unknown, in other words to build, if
possible, our theories upon the solid foundation
of knowledge and experience, and not upon
the shifting sands of uncertainty or paradox.
But, instead of reasoning from the present,
which is clear, up to the past, which is obscure,
most writers on Tribes and Tongues have chosen
to take their departure from the darkness of
departed days, and thence, with some preconceived
theory—generally a current common-place—to
grope their way through twilight into light. If,
starting from the fields of observation which
now surround us, we would take the torches of
present positive knowledge to illuminate the
mistiness of "auld lang syne," we should
assuredly not so often lose our way in hunting those
Wills-o'-the-wisp, which may be amusing enough,
but are more treacherous than amusing.

For an example. By far the greatest, the
most compact, the most peculiar, the most
self-resembling, the most national of all the
peoples of the world, is the Chinese people.
They comprise certainly more than one-third of
the whole human race. We have very lately
obtained censuses of the population from
independent sources, and we may with tolerable
certainty aver that the Chinese empire contains
about four hundred and thirteen millions.
Surely a little reflection would teach us that
such a multitudinous nation was likely to have
an origin of its own, to be descended from the
aboriginal possessors of the soil, and rather to
have given character to, than have received an
impress from, the neighbouring nations. We
know that at the present hour, tens of thousands
—nay, millions—of Chinese migrate to every part
of the Oriental world. We find them
everywhere in the East, mingling with and
modifying the native races, and producing the most
marvellous changes in the physical, phrcnological
and physiognomical character of man.
Yet what absurd fancies have been circulated as
to the ancient races of China, what they were, and
whence they came. The Jesuits would have it
that they descended from a Hebrew colony, and
that we were to look to Judæa as the cradle
of the Chinese people. Sir William Jones
believed that they emanated from Hindoo
tribes who wandered from India to the Flowery
Land. More than one writer insists that they
came from the red people of Western America;
nay, I have lately seen a speculation that they
are of Cambrian origin, a Welsh woman
having declared on a visit to Canton that she
both understood and was understood by the
Chinese people, so many of the words were
Welsh. But the most accepted, and the least
irrational supposition is, that the Chinese
nation has for its ancestry the Manchuriun races,
who, marching as emigrants, are supposed most
naturally to march, towards the rising sun, found
the fertile fields of China more attractive than
the snowy steppes or the misty mountains of
their primitive abodes.

There is no satisfactory authority for any of
these surmises. The Tartar tribes, no doubt,
Manchus and Moguls, have made their way
into China, conquerors in war, settlers in peace.
They have established dynasties, possessed
themselves of the powers of government, yet they
remain from the Chinese multitude nearly as
distinguishable and as separate now as at the
first moment of their intrusion. In the great
cities they occupy separate quarters; scarcely a
word of their language has found its way into
Chinese conversation or into Chinese books.
Their numbers have been calculated at from
eight to ten millions. It is probable that much
more than half of that estimate have melted into
the four hundred millions of the Chinese, having
forgotten their own dialects, and lost their
distinguishing characteristics. And what we can
ascertain to be passing now, we may safely
suppose to have occurred in remoter times. History
is generally a repetition of itself; and there is
profound wisdom in the axiom that there is
nothing really new under the sun. The study of
what is—and we stand on safe ground when
engaged in that study—will be our best guide
to the knowledge of what was.

FAIRIES AND FLOWERS.

CHILDREN who gather common flowers at will,
    And leave them, withering, on the path to lie,
Dream not that sprites, in pain, cling to them still,
    And cannot wander till the moon is high;
When evening's hush is felt on hill and dell,
    The fairies of all flowers round them meet,
And charm the night with tones ineffable,
    And circle o'er the grass with glimmering feet.

The fairies gathered round, with pity view
    The broken flowers lying helplessly,
And trick out the crushed leaves with diamond dew;
    But when the moon is high, the sprites are free.
These, long unhappy, now at freedom set,
    Yet linger for a moment quite forlorn,
Droop o'er their faded flowers with regret,
    Then fly to find new homes before the morn.

Good fairies guard and guide them through the night,
   To waiting buds these lonely sprites they bring,
And to the beauty yet concealed from sight,
   Link them by magic of their wondrous ring;