Another idea suggests itself in connection with the above, namely, the deceptiveness of a great part of historical evidence. We say unhesitatingly, on the authority of the Egyptian monuments, that that people were at war with a red-haired tribe called the Rebo, whom they soundly thrashed. Now will not future historians, if they trust to similar evidence, say as unhesitatingly, on the authority of Chinese records, that that people were at war with a red-haired tribe called the English, whom they soundly thrashed?

unequal to the demand, and the more flagrant cul- I though it is found upon a great number of mumprits have been used up-fancy the poor man rush-mies, it is merely the effect of imperfect embalming, ing distractedly about, piteously asking his friends which has changed the natural color of the hair. whether they think his hair is really so very red- It would appear, from the terms "red-haired fancy him, more eagerly than Titmouse, grasping barbarians," and "red-haired-devils," which the at every receipt warranted to produce a deep and Chinese have been wont to employ towards us permanent black-fancy him sneaking nervously | English, that in that country a similar antipathy through the streets, imagining that every one who prevails. looks at him is saying to himself, "That's the Now I want to know what right the Chinese man for the bonfire." What can the poor man do? have to call us "red-haired!" They may call us If he were to flee to another city they would burn" barbarians" or "devils," if they like, for that is him all the more readily as being a stranger, in a matter of opinion, but as to the color of our hair preference to one of their own townsmen. If he that is a matter of fact, and I submit that they have were to have an artful wig made, the perruquier no right to take the exception for the rule. might be a conscientious man, and feel it his duty And here I would call attention to a curious coto denounce him. The time draws nearer and incidence of idea between these two people. It nearer, and as the dread truth that his hair is un- was in honor of Typho, or the devil, that the questionably the reddest in the place begins to ooze Egyptians annually burned a person with red hair, out by degrees, his agony is redoubled. It is the and red-haired devils" is the term which the last night; unable in the extremity of his anguish Chinese employ towards us, both nations appearto form any plan, or take any measure, he passes ing to associate the idea of devils with red hair. the time walking distractedly about his house, exclaiming, "O this dreadful red hair!" The morning dawns; for the ten-thousandth time he rushes to his glass. Ha! what is this? His hair is no longer red, fear and anguish have turned it white. He leaps high into the air. Ha-ha-cured in an instant!" But he dares not trust the evidence of his own bewildered mind. He calls all his household around him, and puts the question to each of his servants in turn, What color is my hair?" They all tell him it is white, and their looks of astonishment assure him that they speak the truth. A loud knocking is heard at the door. His heart leaps within him, yet he feels that he is safe. Then a horrible qualm comes over him, fear and anguish had turned his hair white-perhaps joy may have turned it red again. Once more he rushes to his glass. No, it is all right. But he cannot bear the suspense, and rushes to the door himself. He sees the priests come for him—the magistrates, and all the little boys. Some of them may be his friends, but it is a religious ceremony, and all private feeling must give way. However, they think it proper to look grave as they inquire, "Is Mr. within?" I am, Mr. -," he cries with trembling eagerness. His fellow-townsmen are taken aback. They had known him well -many of them often dined at his house, and therefore it would have been interesting to see how he behaved when burnt (our amateurs will tell you that there is a great deal more pleasure in seeing a man hanged whom you know.) However, there is no help for it-it would be monstrous to burn a man whose hair was not red. So they hypocritically congratulate him, and he goes off with a lightsome heart to see his neighbor burnt.

We find another instance of the manner in which this peculiarity of individuals has appeared so striking to an Oriental nation as to induce them to make it the characteristic of the people, in the prophecy current among the Turks, that Constantinople shall one day be retaken by a yellow-haired nation, in which prophecy the general opinion is that the Russians are referred to.

But we can scarcely wonder at the delusion of the Chinese respecting the color of our hair, when we find that a similar idea (based probably on the same foundation as that of our selling our wives) used to prevail very generally among our well-informed neighbors across the Channel. I believe, however, that this impression has very much died away since a certain French traveller was candid enough to contradict it. "I spik," said he, "alvays de truth, and I vill say dat I have seen English which had not red hair."

If we turn to the ancient Romans we find that that people had as strong a penchant in favor of yellow or golden hair as the above-named nations had a prejudice against red. Among them yellow hair was so much admired that their ladies were in the habit of making use of cosmetics to change the It is right, however, to remark, that Sir Gardner color of their raven locks. The hue most esteemed Wilkinson throws doubt on the whole story, upon was probably a very dark shade, and almost a brown, the general ground that the Egyptians were too as the epithet (flavus) made use of by Horace to civilized a people to permit such a barbarous cus- describe it is the same which he constantly employs tom. Seeing, however, that it is not a couple of to describe the color of the Tiber. Judging by centuries since old women were served in the same what we know of the color of the Tiber, the epithet way in England, I think his reason scarcely suf- appears to be by no means complimentary, but the ficient. As to the fact that this people had a vio-affections of the Romans for their river made them lent antipathy to red hair, there is no dispute, and imagine it to be everything that was beautiful. In the reason may probably be found in the circum- this respect they were the reverse of ourselves, stance of their being, as we learn from the sculp-who make a point of abusing the Thames, for the tures, continually at war with a red-haired people dirt we ourselves have put into it.

called the Rebo, and it is probable, that if the The predilection of the Romans has descended above savage rite was ever actually performed, the to the modern Italians, among whose women we victims were the prisoners taken in war. Among find many beautiful varieties of the golden hue so their own nation red hair was very uncommon, for much prized by the ancient connoisseurs among the

ancient, as among the modern Greeks, we find a similar penchant, and the ancient custom of employing ornaments of gold to heighten the effect of the darker-colored hair, as bronze is set off by or-molu, is preserved to the present day.

To the violent antipathy of the Spaniards I have already had occasion to allude. In our own country golden hair has always been admired, and in the middle ages a similar practice to that of the ancient Romans was in fashion among our ladies. They were in the habit of dyeing their hair yellow, and thinning their eyebrows-the latter custom exactly the reverse of that so common in the East.

In the Lowlands of Scotland yellow hair is a still more general favorite, for we find that of almost all the popular songs a "yellow-haired laddie," or a "yellow-haired lassie," is the hero, or the heroine, as the case may be.

On the other hand, among some of the Highland clans, red hair is regarded with so much aversion as to be considered a positive deformity. I remember an amusing instance of this, though I do not at present recollect the authority. A certain nobleman paid a visit to an old Highlander, and was introduced by him to his family, consisting of six fine, stalwart sons. The nobleman, however, happened to be aware that there were seven, and inquired after the absent member. The old man sorrowfully gave him to understand that an afflictive dispensation of Providence had rendered the seventh unfit to be introduced in company.

“Ah, poor fellow," said the sympathizing visitor, "I see some mental infirmity !"

"On the contrary," replied the father, "he is by far the cleverest of the family-there is nothing the matter with his mind."

"Oh, then, by all means let me see him!" said the nobleman, and, while the old man went in quest of the unpresentable youth, he prepared a kind word for the cripple, whom he expected to be produced. To his astonishment, however, the father returned, followed by a fine, tall, handsome young fellow, by far the most prepossessing of the family. "Excuse me," stammered the nobleman; "but I-in fact—I—see nothing the matter with him." "Nothing the matter with him!" mournfully exclaimed the afflicted parent; "nothing the matter with him! Look at his hair!"

The nobleman looked; sure enough his hair was red!

It is probable that this bitter aversion may have originated in some quarrel between the different clans, as we find that there are clans in which red hair preponderates.

From Tennent's Christianity in Ceylon.

THE GREAT TANKS OF CEYLON.

No monuments of antiquity in the island are calculated to impress the traveller with such a conception of the former power and civilization of Ceylon, as the gigantic ruins of the tanks and reservoirs, in which the water, during the rains, was collected and preserved for the irrigation of their rice-lands.

The number of these structures, throughout vast districts now comparatively solitary, is quite incredible, and their individual extent far surpasses any works of the kind with which I am acquainted elsewhere. Some of these enormous reservoirs, constructed across the gorges of the valleys, in order to throw back the streams that thence issue from the hills, cover an area equal to fifteen miles long by four or five in breadth; and there are hundreds of a minor construction.

These are almost universally in ruins; and some idea of their magnitude and importance may be derived from the following extract from my diary, of a visit made to one of them in the year 1848:

The tank to which I rode was that of Pathariecoloru, in the Wanny, about seventy miles to the north of Trincomalie, and about twenty-five miles distant from the sea.

The direction of the pathway had never been chosen with a view to the convenience of horsemen, and it ran along the enbankments of neglected tanks, and over rocks of gneiss which occasionally diversify the monotonous level of the forest, and on the sloping sides of which it was difficult to keep a secure footing. So little is the country known or frequented by Europeans, that the odear, or native headman, who acted as our guide to the great tank, told me I was the third white man who had visited it in thirty years.

About seven o'clock we reached the point of our destination, near the great breach in the embankment, having first, with difficulty, effected a passage over the wide stream which was flowing towards it from the basin of the tank. The huge tank itself was concealed from us by the trees, with which it is overgrown, till we suddenly found ourselves at its foot. It is a prodigious work, nearly seven miles in length, at least three hundred feet broad at the base, upwards of sixty feet high, and faced, throughout its whole extent, by layers of squared stone. The whole aspect of the place, its magnitude, its loneliness, its gigantic strength even in its decay, reminded me forcibly of ruins of a similar class, described by recent travellers, at Uxmal and Sir Walter Scott seems to have had a decided Palenke, in the solitudes of Yucatan and Mexico. penchant for golden locks-at least I judge so from The fatal breach, through which the waters the number of his heroines to whom he has gives escape, is an ugly chasm in the bank, about two hair of that color, and from the fact of his invaria-hundred feet broad and half as many deep, with the bly comfortably marrying them, while their dark-river running slowly away below. haired companions are frequently much less satisfactorily disposed of. His reason for this seems to be an idea that they are more gentle, less ambitious, and less apt to get into mischief. Thus the amiable, golden-haired, Brenna marries the interesting Mordaunt, while the dark-haired and high-souled Minna spills her affection upon a goodfor-nothing pirate. Thus the gentle Rose Bradwardine marries the interesting Waverley, while poor Flora M'Ivor's gallant heart is wasted in chivalrous and unprofitable loyalty. I somewhat doubt the correctness of his theory, for I think the spirit of the old sea-kings not unfrequently descends with the inheritance of their golden hair.

This breach affords a good idea of the immense magnitude of the work, as it presents a perfect section of the embankment from summit to base.

As we stood upon the verge of it above, we looked down on the tops of the highest trees, and a pelican's nest, with three young birds, was resting on a branch a considerable way below us.

We walked about two miles along the embankment, to see one of the sluices, which remains so far entire as to permit its original construction to be clearly understood, with the exception that the principal courses of stones have sunk lower towards the centre.

From its relative position, I am of opinion that

66

the breach through which the water now escapes, | digious capabilities, that it might be made to fertilize was, originally, the other sluice, which has been a district equal in extent to an English county. carried away by the pressure of some remote period. And who were the constructors of this mighty The existing sluice is a very remarkable work, not monument? It is said that some one of the sacred merely from its dimensions, but from its ingenuity books of Ceylon records the name of the king who and excellent workmanship. It is built of layers built it; but it has perished from the living memoof hewn stones, varying from six to twelve feet in ry of man. On the top of the great embankment length, and still exhibiting a sharp edge, and every itself, and close by the bench, there stands a tall mark of the chisel. These rise into a ponderous sculptured stone, with two engraved compartments, wall immediately above the vents which regulated that no doubt record its history; but the odear inthe escape of the water; and each layer of the work formed us that the characters were Nagari, and is kept in its place by the frequent insertion, end-the language Pali, or some unknown tongue which ways, of long plinths of stone, whose extremities no one now can read." project from the surface, with a flange to prevent the several courses from being forced out of their places. The ends of these retaining stones are carved with elephants' heads and other devices, like the extremities of Gothic corbels; and num-fact, the absence is one of the causes to which the bers of similarly sculptured blocks are lying about in all directions, though the precise nature of the original ornaments is no longer apparent. About the centre of the great embankment, advantage has been taken of a rock about two hundred feet high, which has been built in to give strength to the work. We climbed to the top of it; the sun was now high and the heat intense; for, in addition to the warmth of the day, the rock itself was still glowing from the accumulated heat of many previous days. It was covered with vegetation, which sprung vigorously from every handful of earth that had lodged in the interstices of the stone; and amongst a variety of curious plants, we found the screwed euphorbia, the only place in which I have seen it in the island. But the view from this height was something very wonderful; it was, in fact, one of the most memorable scenes I remember in Ceylon. Towards the west, the mountains near Anarajapoora were dimly visible in the extremest distance; but, between us and th sea, and for miles on all sides, there was scarcely a single eminence, and none half so high as the rock on which we stood. To the furthest verge of the horizon there extended one vast unbroken ocean of verdure, varied only by the tints of the forest, and with no object for the eye to rest on, except here and there a tree, a little loftier than the rest, which served to undulate the otherwise unbroken surface.

Turning to the side next the tank, its prodigious area lay stretched below us, broken into frequent reservoirs of water, and diversified with scattered groups of trees. About half a mile from where we stood, a herd of wild buffaloes were lumbering through the long grass and rolling in the fresh mud. These, and a deer, which came to drink from the water-course, were the only living animals to be seen in any direction.

What, too, must have been the advancement of engineering power at the time when this immense work was undertaken! It is true that it exhibits no traces of science or superior ingenuity; and, in destruction of the tanks of Ceylon has been very reasonably ascribed, as there had been no arrangement for regulating their own contents, and no provision for allowing the superfluous water to escape during violent inundations. But irrespective of this, what must have been the command of labor at the time when such a construction was achieved! The government engineer calculates that, taking the length of the bank at six miles, its height at sixty feet, and its breadth at two hundred at the base, tapering to twenty at the top, it would contain 7,744,000 cubic yards, and, at Is. 6d. per yard, with the addition of one half that sum for facing it with stone, and constructing the sluices and other works, it would cost £870,000 sterling, (or $4,176,000,) to construct the front embankment alone!

But inquiry does not terminate here. What must have been the numbers of the population employed upon a work of such surprising magnitude? and what the population to be fed, and for whose use not only this gigantic reservoir was designed, but some thirty others of nearly similar magnitude, which are still in existence, but more or less in ruin, throughout a district of a hundred and fifty miles in length from north to south, and about ninety from sea to sea? Another mysterious question is still behind and unanswered. What was the calamity, or series of calamities, which suoceeded in exterminating this multitude? which reduced their noble monuments to ruin, which silenced their peaceful industry, and converted their beautiful and fertile region into an unproductive wilderness, tenanted by the buffalo and the elephant, and only now and then visited by the unclad savage, who raises a little rice in its deserted solitudes, or disturbs its silent jungles to chase the deer, or rob the wild bee of its honey?

As to human habitation, the nearest was the village where we had passed the preceding night; FEMALE MEDICAL COLLEGE.-The second annual but we were told that a troop of unsettled Veddahs catalogue of this institution at Philadelphia (Pa.) had lately sown some rice on the verge of the reser-shows that it now has forty female students of Medvoir, and taken their departure after securing their little crop. And this is now the only use to which this gigantic undertaking is subservient-it feeds a few wandering outcasts; and yet, such are its pro

icine, all of them being from Pennsylvania, except six, one of whom hails from England, two from Massachusetts, and one from each of the States of New York, Ohio, and Vermont.

The LIVING AGE is published every Saturday, by E. LITTELL & Co., at the corner of Tremont and Bromfield Streets, Boston. Price 12 cents a number, or six dollars a year in advance. Remittances for any period will be thankfully received and promptly attended to.

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.-No. 374.-19 JULY, 1851.

From the North British Review.

1. The Personal History and Experience of David Copperfield the Younger. By CHARLES DICKENS. London, 1850.

It is admitted that both writers are as well represented in their last as in any of their previous proVoice of the critics, is one of the best of Mr. DickCopperfield," according to the general

ductions."

2. The History of Pendennis. By WILLIAM MAKE-ens' stories, written with decidedly more care and effort than its immediate predecessors, as if the PEACE THACKERAY. London, 1850. author had determined to show the captious public THACKERAY and DICKENS, Dickens and Thacke- that his genius was as fine and fresh as ever. And ray-the two names now almost necessarily go though we have heard "Pendennis" described as together. It is some years since Mr. Thackeray, a mere continuation of "Vanity Fair," and no whose reputation as an author had until then, we advance upon it in point of excellence, we believe believe, been of somewhat limited extent, suddenly the general opinion to be that Mr. Thackeray has appeared in the field of literature already so success- not discredited himself by his recent performance, fully occupied by Mr. Dickens. But the intrusion, but has rather increased his popularity. Moreover, if it may be called such, was made with so much no two stories are better calculated to illustrate, in talent, and so much applause followed it, that since the way of contrast, the characteristic peculiarities that time the two have gone on as peers and rivals. of their respective authors. The very spirit and From the printing-house of the same publishers philosophy of all Mr. Dickens' writings is that they have simultaneously, during the last few years, which we find expressed in the character and life sent forth their monthly instalments of amusing fic- of David Copperfield, so that, did we want to detion-Dickens his " Dombey" and his " Copper- scribe that spirit and philosophy in a single term, field," and Thackeray his "Vanity Fair" and his we should not be far wrong in calling it Copper"Pendennis." Hence the public has learned to fieldism; and, on the other hand, in no work has think of them in indissoluble connexion as friendly Mr. Thackeray exhibited so fully that caustic, competitors for the prize of light literature. There thoroughly British, and yet truly original humor, is, indeed, a third writer often and worthily named with which he regards the world and its ways, as along with them-Mr. Douglas Jerrold. But in his sketch of the Life and Adventures of Mr. though, when viewed in the general as humorists Arthur Pendennis. When we say "Pendennis" and men of inventive talent, the three do form a and "Copperfield," therefore, it is really the same triad, so that it is hardly possible to discuss the as if we said Thackeray and Dickens. And this merits of any one of them without referring to the facility of finding the two authors duly contrasted other two, yet, as the characteristic form of Mr. in the two stories, is increased by the fact that the Jerrold's literary activity has not been specially stories are in some respects very similar. In both that of the popular novelist, he is not associated we have the life and education of a young man with his two eminent contemporaries so closely, in related, from his childhood and school-time to that this denomination, as they are associated with each terminus of all novels, the happy marriage-point; other. As the popular novelists of the day, Dick- in the one, the life and education of the orphan ens and Thackeray, and again, Thackeray and child of a poor gentleman in Suffolk; in the other, Dickens, divide the public attention. And as the the life and education of the only son of a West of public has learned thus to think of them together, England squire, with a long Cornish pedigree. In so also, using its privilege of chatting and pro- both, too, the hero becomes a literary man, so that nouncing judgments about whatever interests it, it the author, in following him, finds room for alluhas learned to set off the merits of the one against sions to London literary life. There are even some those of the other, and to throw as much light into resemblances of a minuter kind, such as the existthe criticism of each as can be derived from the ence in both stories of a mysterious character of trick of contrast. One party of readers prefers the outlaw species, who appears at intervals to ask Dickens, and points out, with an ardor almost money and throw the respectable folks of the drama polemical, that Thackeray wants such and such into consternation; from which one might imagine qualities which are conspicuous in their favorite; that the authors, during the progress of their naranother party wears the Thackeray colors, and ratives, were not ashamed to take hints from each contends, with equal pertinacity, that in certain re- other. But, however that may be, there can be no spects Thackeray is the superior writer. Very doubt that the general external similarity that there much the same things, we believe, are said on this is between the two stories will serve to throw into subject both by ladies and by gentlemen at all liter-relief their essential differences of style and spirit. ary parties. Now, though we cannot say that the public has as yet gone very deep in their discriminations between the two favorites, and though we are of opinion that, with all our grumblings and criticisms, we should be willing to leave both writers to go on in their own way, and only be too glad that we have such a pair of writers to cheer on against each other at all; yet we think that, in this notion of contrast, the public has really got hold of a good thread for a critic to pursue, and we mean, as far as possible throughout this paper, to avail ourselves of it. CCCLXXIV.

LIVING AGE. VOL. XXX. 7

These differences are certainly very great. Although following exactly the same literary walk, and both great favorites with the public, there are perhaps no two writers so dissimilar as Mr. Dickens and Mr. Thackeray. To begin with a matter which, though in the order of strict science it comes last, as involving and depending on all the othersthe matter of style or language; here everybody must recognize a remarkable difference between the two authors. If Messrs. Bradbury and Evans. would furtively supply us with a page of the manuscript of " Copperfield," together with a corres

ponding page of the manuscript of "Pendennis,' "I have been flat blasphemy against the system to have we should probably be able, on comparing the two, hinted such a doubt then, I looked out for the peniand examining the state of their penmanship, to tents as diligently as I could. And here again I had detect some characteristic differences in the habits great misgivings. I found as prevalent a fashion in of composition of the two novelists, and to say the form of the penitence, as I had left outside in the which of them is, on the whole, the more careful forms of the coats and waistcoats in the windows of and trained, and which the more easy and fluent the tailors' shops. I found a vast amount of profeswriter. Nay, even without having such an unusual little (which I thought exceedingly supicious) even in sion, varying very little in character: varying very facility afforded to us, we might, by way of a first words. I found a great many foxes, disparaging attempt in the graphiological art, try to infer some- whole vineyards of inaccessible grapes; but I found thing or other (and we advise our readers to infer very few foxes whom. I would have trusted within it) from a comparison of the free and somewhat reach of a bunch. Above all, I found that the most dashing penmanship of Dickens, as exhibited to the professing men were the greatest objects of interest; public in the printed specimens, with the neat and and that their conceit, their vanity, their want of elegant writing of those stray autographs of Thacke- excitement, and their love of deception, (which many ray, which, in exploring the albums of our fair of them possessed to an almost incredible extent, as friends, we have occasionally seen. But in such a their histories showed,) all prompted to these profescase we prefer having recourse to a receipt of our sions, and were all gratified by them.-Copperfield, own, which we have usually found effectual when PP. 603, 604. we wanted some insight into the mechanism of an author's style. This receipt, which we impart to the reader on the condition that he make no ungrateful application of it, is that the critic should deliberately copy out with his own hand a suitable paragraph or two from the author whose manner he wishes to study. By this means the critic attaches himself, as it were, to the author in the act of composition, and is able to discover much not only haste or slovenliness, if there is any; not only superfluous expression, false metaphor, or bad punctuation; but also the tricks of association, the intellectual connexions and minute flights by which the author leaps from thought to thought and from phrase to phrase. We have selected a passage from " Copperfield," and one from " Pendennis," whereon the reader, while enjoying them for their own sake, may, if he chooses, try his ingenuity. That the test may be the fairer the passages selected are as nearly as possible in the same sentimental key.

Glance at a Model Prison.—It being then just dinner time, we went, first into the great kitchen, where every prisoner's dinner was in course of being set out separately, (to be handed to him in his cell,) with the regularity and precision of clock-work. I said aside, to Traddles, that I wondered whether it occurred to anybody that there was a striking contrast between these plentiful repasts of choice quality, and the dinners, not to say of paupers, but of soldiers, sailors, laborers, the great bulk of the honest working community, of whom not one man in five hundred ever dined half so well. But I learned that the "system" required high living; and, in short, to dispose of the system, once for all, I found that on that head and on all others, "the system" put an end to all doubts, and disposed of all anomalies. Nobody appeared to have the least idea that there was any other system, but the system, to be considered. As we were going through some of the magnificent passages, I inquired of Mr. Creakle and his friends, what were supposed to be the main advantages of this all-governing and universally over-riding system. I found them to be the perfect isolation of prisoners so that no one man in confinement there knew anything about another; and the reduction of prisoners to a wholesome state of mind, leading to sincere contrition and repentance. Now, it struck me, when we began to visit individuals in their cells, and to traverse the passages in which those cells were, and to have the manner of going to chapel, and so forth, explained to us, that there was a strong probability of the prisoners knowing a good deal about each other, and of their carrying on a pretty complete system of intercourse. This, at the time I write, has been proved, I believe, to be the case; but as it would

Glance at an Inn of Court.-If we could but get the history of a single day as it is passed in any one of those four-storied houses in the dingy court where our friends Pen and Warrington dwelt, some Temple Asmodeus might furnish us with a queer volume. There may be a grave parliamentary counsel on the ground-floor, who drives off to Belgravia at dinner time, when his clerk, too, becomes a gentleman, and goes away to entertain his friends and to take his briefless in some garret of the Inn; lived by stealthy pleasure. But a short time since he was hungry and literature; hoped, and waited, and sickened, and no clients came; exhausted his own means and his friends' kindness; had to remonstrate humbly with duns, and to implore the patience of poor creditors. Ruin seemed to be staring him in the face, when behold, a turn of the wheel of fortune, and the lucky wretch in possession of one of those prodigious prizes which are sometimes drawn in the great lottery of the Bar. Many a better lawyer than himself does not make a fifth part of the income of his clerk, who, a few months since, could scarcely get credit for blacking for his master's unpaid boots. On the first floor, perhaps, you will have a venerable man whose name is famous, who has lived for half a century in the Inn, whose brains are full of books, and whose shelves are stored with classical and legal lore. He has lived alone all these fifty years, alone and for himself, amassing learning and compiling a fortune. Не comes home now at night from the Club, where he has been dining freely, to the lonely chambers where he lives a godless old recluse. When he dies, his Inn will erect a tablet to his honor, and his heirs burn a part of his library. Would you like to have such a prospect for your old age, to store up learning and money, and end so? But we must not linger too long by Mr. Doomsday's door. Worthy Mr. Grump lives over him, who is also an ancient inhabitant of the Inn, and who, when Doomsday comes home to read Catullus, is sitting down with three steady seniors of his standing, to a steady rubber at whist, after a dinner at which they have consumed their three steady bottles of port. You may see the old boys asleep at the Temple Church of a Sunday. Attorneys seldom trouble them, and they have small fortunes of their own. On the other side of the third landing, where Pen and Warrington live, till long after midnight sits Mr. Paley, who took the highest honors, and who is a fellow of his college; who will sit and read and note cases until two o'clock in the morning; who will rise at seven, and be at the pleader's chambers as soon as they are open, where he will work hard until an hour before dinner-time; who will come home from the Hall and read and note cases again until dawn next day, when perhaps Mr. Arthur Pendennis and his friend Mr. Warrington are returning from some of their wild expeditions. How differently employed Mr. Paley has been! He has not