for which we all came into the world,— the
business of transmitting it to the unborn,
better, happier and wiser than it was?

If we were to pull down every booth in
Vanity Fair; if we were to shut up all the
theatres, and hoist a black flag on the Crystal
Palace; if we were to dress the Life Guards
out with crape-scarfs and staves like mutes;
if we were to set the editors of Punch in the
stocks and make laughter felony without
benefit of clergy; if we were to erect
Mr. Shillibeer into prime minister, abolish all
music save that of the clanking of chains, the
shrieking of owls, and the tolling of bells;
if there were a skeleton at every
banquet, and an earth-worm in every bouquet; if
the ladies patronesses of Almack's wore
shrouds over their muslins, as the Jews do
over their garments on the White Fast; if
the Lord Mayor mingled myrrh and vinegar
in the loving cup at every Guildhall banquet,
and an undertaker's man sat in his gold
coach beside him, instead of the man (who
is that man?) in the fur cap, like the slave in
the chariot of the Roman conqueror; if Mr.
Harker the toast-master, instead of entreating
us to charge our glasses, were to confine
himself to repeating the formula of the Eastern
Herald: "Saladin the magnificent, Saladin
the invincible must DIE!" if we fed like
Apollodorus on poisons, and drank only out of
skulls, and delighted, like Lord Portsmouth, in
"black jobs;" if we all turned Trappists, and
went about digging our own graves, and
gravely whispering to each other, "Brother,
we must die;" if the sentry at the palace-
gates were instructed to call out, "Memento
mori!" every quarter of an hour; if the
infant's cradle were made coffin-shape; if
the only study of our lives were to be that
of the inscription on the dial-plate; we
might indeed be giving but a due consideration
to the transitory nature of existence.
But we come into existence for other ends,
and our minds are therefore not formed, being
healthy, to do these dismal things. It is in
their nature, within due bounds, to take their
colour from the present moment, as the
chameleon takes his from the nearest object.

The matter of the moment will preoccupy
the sick man, groaning in the pangs of an
incurable disease. Though he knows his
malady to be far beyond the reach of human
skill; yet an hour's cessation from pain, a
bright day, a new doctor, the visit of a
friend, will light up his face, and ring joy-
bells in his heart. Have you never known
him talk gaily of all he means to do
when he gets well: of the friends he will
visit, the schemes he will mature, the half-
finished tasks he will complete? Have you
never heard the paralytic octogenarian feebly
cackle of the new wing he means to build to
his country house next year, when he has the
use of his lungs again. He knows, they know,
we all know, we must die.

The lad of fifteen knows it as well,
sometimes, as the patriarch of ninety. We all
know that there must come a time when
the movements of armies and the fall of
kingdoms, the marriages of princes and the wars
of giants, will be of no account; when
it shall be all one who reigns, who governs;
when those who love us, and tend us, and
minister to us, will with difficulty be brought
to abide with us alone ten minutes. But as
soon as reason comes, comes also the consciousness
of the imminence of death, and comes,
thank God! that glorious privilege of preoccupation.
We are dust and ashes, we know; the
flowers must fade, the plants and insects
expire, the sun himself must die, before we
can put on immortality; but it is no epicurean
philosophy, no callous indifference, that
teaches us, in reason and kindness, to enjoy
life. It is a better teacher far, than these.
An infinitely higher wisdom than the wisdom
of the Pharisee arid Brother Dolorosus.

THE ROVING ENGLISHMAN.

CAPTAIN JORGEY.

HONOR to worth! There is one Greek, at
least, whom I have known and whom I would
rescue from the contempt which too often
attaches to his countrymen. He is a sea-
captain, a rough, weather-beaten man, with the
heart of a child. Oh, so valiant and gentle!
So true and staunch, that the grasp of his
honest hard-working hand does a man good.
It makes one better to see him among
weaklings and little children: he seems so conscious
of his uncouth strength, and appears afraid of
breaking them. His healthy, merciful heart
would not let him harm a worm.

Captain Jorgey was once rich; but he had
no thought for himself, and was so good and
so simple that bad men took advantage of
him, and now he is only   wealthy in the love
and esteem of all who know him, in the
affection of boys and girls, who greet him
with a shriek of joy, and turn aside from
their path coming home from school when
they see him; in the gratitude of the widow
and orphan, who thank him with moistened
eyes for many benefits, and put him to the
blush with their praises;—and in the kind
thoughts of everybody. Captain Jorgey was
ruined long ago, by a hard, vile man, who
now (lest all should cry shame upon him)
gives his victim an asylum in his house and
protects, insults and makes him useful. But
Captain Jorgey does not seem conscious of
this, and it is very touching to see his loyal
gratitude and affection for one who has
wrought him many cruel injuries. He thinks
he can never do enough to show his
thankfulness for the rude bed and scanty board
which is doled out to him. He has become
as a bondsman to his task master. I wish
I had such a servant as Captain Jorgey: I
would try and treat him better. Upon the
whole I think I would rather have him for
a brother or a very near friend. He is never