advancement of the human family it would be,
if, whilst admitting the abstract truth of the
above sentence, men paused awhile ere working
out the theory by one universal rule of
legislation; if they would bear in mind that
there "is a season for all things." Such
worldly-wise philanthropists have yet to learn
that in regard to their "We-are-all-brethren"
idea, what is "sauce for the goose," is not
always "sauce for the gander."

WHAT IS TO BECOME OF US?

MANY people, after peeping into a geological
book, or listening to a geological lecture, take
away the impression that it is all very well
for such ups and downs to have taken place,
before they did the world the honour to come
into it, but, thank Heaven! all those
unpleasant circumstances are over now. The
earth is quiet at last, and has subsided into a
well-behaved composure. What would people
think, indeed, if a new chain of mountains
were to rise up, one night, the whole length
of Regent Street, London? or an unheard-of
crater were to swallow up the greater part of
Hertfordshire? What would cousin Nimrod
say, if the hares and pheasants in papa's
preserves were to be changed into the state
of anoplotheriums and pterodactyls, like
those which the Professor explained to us
on his black board with his long stick?
What would the gamekeeper fancy was come
to the world, if, instead of pike, perch, or eels,
he found some of Agassiz's specimens in his
nets, or at the end of his lines? Oh no!
Geological changes in the nineteenth century
are out of the question. They would cause
great inconvenience. Our settlements are
secured on the family estate, and that, of
course, ought to be a sufficient security. No
one expects his park, timber, or mansion
to be either lifted halfway up to the moon,
into an air-pump atmosphere, above breathing-point,
like a range of the Himalayas; nor to
be dropped into a great deep hole, as if we
deserved to belong to the Dead Sea. Such
ideas are contrary to common sense. Still,
the lecture was very amusing, and the
illustrations to the Professor's book are exceedingly
curious.

It has, however, fallen to my lot to frequent
a district where the securest jointure might
be of little value, and the strictest entail
useless to the rightful heir. An usurper has fixed
himself in that region, who, though he seldom
suddenly seizes an entire inheritance at once,
is the most encroaching grasper, the most
untiring enemy that ever persevered in making
unwelcome intrusions. The commination,
"Cursed is he that removeth his neighbour's
landmark," has no terror for, nor power of,
restraining him. Bit by bit, and yard by
yard, and acre by acre, and field by field, he
obtains possession of property which does not
belong to him. He undermines his helpless
victims in the most insidious manner. Their
very house is not their castle—or their
castle only in ruins. There is no redress.
We may talk of British justice, but he
defies all actions at law, and cannot be
restrained, or injunctioned, by the Court of
Chancery itself. Heavy damages would be
awarded against him, were he not beyond
the reach of Acts of Parliament. When
you reproach him with doing you all the
mischief in his present power—for his
means of aggression are endless and
inexhaustible—he will be calm, and smile as if
nothing had happened; and I fear it can be
taken as no proof of his repentance, that he
does not unfrequently look very blue. His
character ought, therefore, to be exposed for
the good of the public. His name is—Guess!
—Sir Giles Overreach? No!—GERMAN
OCEAN!

A few years since, I saw at Cromer, in
Norfolk, a cottage standing on the edge of
the cliff. Seaward of the building stood a
well for the use of the inmates. But our
unscrupulous intruder had claimed that patch
for his own—and had got it. The earth
was washed away, and the brickwork of
the well stood eminent on the precipitous
slope, like a half-finished factory chimney.
To the cottage was affixed a board on which
were painted the memorable words,

        TO BE SOLD, OR LET,
WITH IMMEDIATE POSSESSION,
       THIS VERY DESIRABLE
       FREEHOLD TENEMENT.
            INQUIRE WITHIN.

Short, however sweet and immediate,
would be the possession of such a residence.
It struck me as being the very place whereto
a man might bring home his bride some
stormy night, with the wind north-west, and
sing, with an allusion for which the lady
might not be prepared, "Fly, fly from the
world, dear Bessie, with me!"

I lately went to look again at this desirable
freehold tenement, to the excitement of the
lodging-house keepers, who took it for granted
that some very eligible family was shortly to
arrive. I found its site in mid-air, the freehold
of the butterfly and the humble-bee.
The cliff, as far as the village extends in
that direction,—that is, westward—had been
cut away into a steep grassy bank, and based
with a handsome and substantial terrace. But
this mode of "doing" the sea cannot, under
present circumstances, on account of its
expensiveness, be made to protect more than a
most inconsiderable portion of the threatened
territory.

Four or five miles further is a village,
called Lower Sheringham, standing on the
very verge of the ocean, and half-eaten up by
it, whose entire male population are fishermen,