We have only to record that it sold well,
and that the Warilows of Welland, and more
recently of Scarthin Farm, are now flourishing
on another and more pleasant Welland on
the Hudson. There is a certain tall, town-
like house which the traveller sees high on a
hill amongst the woods, on the left bank of
the river, as the steamer approaches the
Katskill Mountains. There live the Warilows,
and, far back on the rich slopes that lie behind
the mountains, and in richer meadows,
surrounded by forests and other hills, rove the
flocks and herds of Joe; and there comes
Squire Sam, when the Session at Washington
is over, and, surrounded by sons and nephews,
ranges the old woods, and shoots the hill-
turkey and the roe. There is another comely
and somewhat matronly lady sitting with the
comely and sunny-spirited Millicent, the
happy mistress of the new Welland; and a
little Millicent tumbles on the carpet at their
feet. The Warilows of Welland all bless the
Prodigal Son, who, unlike the one of old, came
back rich to an indigent father, and made the
old man's heart grow young again with joy.

GENIUS AND LIBERTY.

NOTHING has been so deservedly dear to
the best part of the human race as liberty;
nothing has been so longed for, fought for,
praised. And yet few things have been so
much misunderstood or abused, or have so
often been made a cloak for unworthy designs.
"O, Liberty!—how many crimes have been
done in thy name!" was the mournful
exclamation of the beautiful and gifted
Madame Roland, as she mounted the steps to
the guillotine; and never did the free and freedom-
loving Englishman regard his favourite
goddess so steadfastly as during the recent
convulsions in Europe.

The connection between liberty and genius
is neither forced nor imaginary. It is no
mere figure of the rhetorician, giving glitter
to his sentence at the expense of truth.
Sunshine is not more needful to the flower than
liberty is to the growth of genius. Without
it the intellectual powers never reach their
full development—never put forth that flower
of the mind which we call Genius.

All history proves that liberty in a nation—
the spirit of nationality—is essential to the
development of genius; that genius never
springs up but where there exists pride of
country and the self-respect of the freeman;
and that, where existing, it never survives
their extinction. Let us transport ourselves
back two thousand years, and take a picture
from the annals of Greece. Let us shadow
forth, however faintly, that divine excellence
in art which has immortalised the country of
Homer and Phidias, and inquire whence it
came and how it disappeared.

Serene beneath a cloudless heaven, golden
in the light of a mellow sunset, we behold
Athens, radiant with temples and statues,
smiling from the summit of her Acropolis
upon the glittering waters of the Bay of
Salamis, and lifting into her calm bright skies
a thousand shapes of dazzling marble. On
that temple-crowned summit, within the noble
walls of the Pantheon, Aspasia and the great
and high of Athens are gazing in admiration
on the matchless statue of Minerva, just
placed on its pedestal; while hard by stands
Phidias, surveying calmly, thoughtfully, his
newly completed master-piece, the Temple of
the Virgins, the world-renowned Parthenon.
—It is the golden age of Sculpture and
Architecture.

Yonder the lively, impressible Athenians are
pouring at mid-day from the open portals of the
Theatre, with heart and soul still vibrating to
the wonderful tragedies of Æschylus and
Sophocles—the earliest which the world ever
saw, and still uneclipsed in their stern colossal
grandeur. As the crowd spread themselves
over the public square, they are arrested by
the ever-welcome sight of a master-piece of
Xeuxis, A picture of a boy and grapes is
suspended there for public criticism. So
admirable is the limner's skill—thus runs the
legend—that the passing birds stoop to peck
at the glowing fruit. But beside it hangs a
rival effort of painting—and the citizens must
decide to which the prize of merit is to be
awarded. The crowd gaze curiously upon a
drapery which seems to hide it from view.
They wonder what loom could produce so soft
a texture; colours of such glowing harmony.
"Withdraw now your curtain!" exclaims
Xeuxis, proud of the tribute which the
wanderers of the air have rendered to his genius,
and no longer able to control his curiosity.
Parrahisius, his rival, smiles triumphantly:—
"Xeuxis deceives birds: / deceive Xeuxis!"
That drapery was the picture!—It is the
heyday of Painting.

A crowd in the Agora! The varying
robes bespeak the mingling of noble and
artisan alike; and that assembly is swaying
to and fro with tempestuous impulses—
shouting for the supremacy of Athens,
demanding the gauntlet of mortal combat to be
flung in the teeth of all Greece, and longing,
as with the fiery vehemence of youth, to add
the sword of Mars to the olive-bough of
presiding Athené. But lo, how that surging
crowd is stilling?—Mark, how the clang of
voices subsides! Pericles is mounting the
rostrum. Beautiful in form, fiery and
comprehensive in intellect—ever self-possessed, as
if the calm of the passionless gods were in
his breast—supreme in wielding the hearts of
men to all lofty purposes—in that hour of a
people's frenzy,

"He called across the tumult,
And it fell!"

His audience said it thundered and lightened,
as they listened to that rolling flashing
eloquence.—It is the triumph of Oratory.

But the genius of Greece is rising in beauty