stamp. I'm nearly heart-broken from him myself; and the sergeant-major threatened suicide if compelled to continue drilling him. I could not knock anything into his head, or out of his heels; so I thought it no harm to try whether his hands could not perform some military movement. He is getting on very well at it; and I am sure the general would be quite pleased to hear the fine tone he brings out of the instrument.' Had the general not been present, it is probable that the affair might have passed off as a harmless trick; but restrained by this, and a sense of duty, the colonel frowned down his rising mirth, and said: 'You have done wrong, sir, to allow your private feelings to influence you in the discharge of your duty; you have abused the authority I gave you over a young officer, and endeavoured to make him the butt of the regiment. This mock-instruction must be discontinued; and I trust you will see the propriety of apologising to Mr Rooke for what has passed. I trust you are satisfied, Sir Hannibal.' 'No, I am not satisfied; very much the reverse,' said the general, his choler rising as he became gradually aware of the extent to which his nephew and himself had been imposed on, until between the state of the thermometer and internal warmth, he seemed on the point of spontaneous combustion. Go to your quarters instantly, Mr Wright, and consider yourself under arrest.' Whereupon the culprit left the room without speaking, and the general soon after took his leave, vowing vengeance against Wright; declaring that he would make an example of him, and that he was fully determined to bring him to a court-martial for such outrageous conduct. To all this tirade, Colonel Hardy wisely made no reply; but, soon after the general's departure, sent him a note, saying that he hoped Sir Hannibal would, on mature reflection, view the case more favourably, as Wright was a young man of excellent principles, and a first-rate officer, though sometimes led away by high spirits; that it would be impossible to frame charges for a court-martial without making his nephew he did not venture to say himself the laughing-stock of the service; and, moreover, that if ever the matter came to a trial, he would feel bound to state that Sir Hannibal Peacocke, a general officer commanding a division, fully believed that learning the drum formed an integral part of an officer's education. By this time, Sir Hannibal's wrath had time to cool; and seeing the cogency of these arguments, he replied that to oblige Colonel Hardy, he would treat the case as leniently as his duty would permit; that Mr Wright might be released from arrest; but as he could not pass over such conduct without publicly expressing his disapprobation of it, the lieutenant in question should attend at the general's quarters the following morning, when, in the presence of all commanding officers and staff in the station, he would receive such a reprimand as the major-general might deem it fit to administer. Sir Hannibal Peacocke was a particularly neat man; the scrupulous exactness of his person was only equalled by the cleanliness of his house, and elegance of his bachelor ménage. Every one else's linen looked yellow in comparison with the immaculate purity of his; a speck on his white trousers, a soil on his boots, a stain on his table-cloth, or a particle of dust on the table itself, made him quite uncomfortable; but the presence of a fly or spider set him wellnigh distraught, and he would interrupt the gravest conversation to make slaps at an intruding bluebottle, and prided himself not a little on the dexterous manner in which he crushed the offender between his extended palms. Next morning, at the hour indicated, commanding officers and staff assembled as directed at the general's quarters, all in full-dress, to look as imposing as possible. When Sir Hannibal entered the room, without noticing any one, he fixed his eyes on the wall, which a large speckled spider was slowly ascending on his return from a successful foraging expedition, taking with him a supply of ant-meat for the nourishment of his family. The bearer, loudly summoned, warily and slowly approached the unsuspecting spider, and when arrived within springing distance, made a dash at it with the cloth he held in his hand; then removing it triumphantly, displayed the crushed remains of the spider, surrounded by a gory stain, on the wall. Instead, however, of the approbation he looked for, his master was so enraged at the mark on his spotless chunam, that he pulled a flash pink turban off the bearer's head, wiped the obnoxious stain with it, then threw it in his face, and kicked and pommelled him out of the room, to the great amusement of those who witnessed this practical commentary on the general's favourite exordium against maltreating native servants. Then gravely seating himself at the head of a table covered with writing materials, Sir Hannibal motioned the other officers to chairs on either side; and they had hardly time to compose their faces, when Wright entered, looking so preternaturally solemn, that any one who knew him, would at once have suspected there was some mischief brewing. Knowing Sir Hannibal's entomophobia, he had employed some of his spare time in capturing a number of flies and immuring them in a paper-box, perforated with innumerable pin-holes, in order to keep its inmates in a state of active vitality. This he held inside his shako with one hand, and by keeping his finger on an orifice in the lid, let them escape when he wished. The general, not being gifted with much extempore eloquence, had written the wigging he intended to administer, and now commenced reading it aloud. 'Lieutenant and Adjutant Wright, I regret'Buzz, buzz went an audacious blue-bottle within an inch of the pretorian nose. Slap, slap from the general, and the enemy retreated in good order, leaving him master of the field. He had hardly recommenced reading, when he was again interrupted in a similar manner; but this time he had better success, for the intruder was destroyed. Complacent at the successful result of his coup de main, he made a third essay. 'Lieutenant and Adjutant Wright, I regret to find that'- Here a score of flies, rampant from their newly acquired liberty, made an onslaught, together with such a brisk hum of insolent defiance, that, dropping the paper he held, the general vigorously smote the air, in a vain attempt to rid himself of his persecutors. Imitating the example of their chief, the other officers rose to assist him in banishing the unwelcome visitors. Furor arma ministrat; each seizes what he can lay hold of-books, cocked-hats, and hand-punkahs are converted for the nonce into fly-flappers. A dragoon major, more zealous than skilful, grasped a long ruler sabrewise, and making 'cut two' in most approved style, missed the blue-bottle, and nearly floored the garrison-surgeon, whose bald head it encountered in its descent. The adjutant-general, in making a vigorous sweep with his arm, knocked off the commissary's spectacles; and the latter functionary, purblind from their loss, and surprised at such an unlooked-for assault, upset the ink-bottle in groping to recover them, dashing its contents over the formidable foolscap whereon the reprimand was written, and extending its ravages to the snowy integuments which covered the general's nether man. Solvuntur tabulæ risu. Such a scene of confusion ensued, that Sir Hannibal, finding it impossible to restore order, dismissed all present, intimating, however, at the same time his intention of reassembling them at some future time for the same purpose. It would seem, however, that a convenient time for the purpose never came, as no one ever afterwards heard Sir Hannibal allude to the subject; nor, stranger still, does any mention of it appear in the life and memoirs of that gallant and distinguished officer, published after his lamented decease, several years subsequently, and it has consequently remained unchronicled up to the present moment. THE LATE SAMUEL BROWN. WHEN a brilliant and powerful intellect has passed away without leaving any written works behind, it is difficult to make the world believe in what it has lost. The deep and subtle influence which a great man leaves on other minds by personal association, can neither be told nor accounted for; and those who loved and honoured the dead, must be content with their own profound conviction of his greatness. But the case is even harder when something is left -good, indeed, and precious, but utterly inadequate as the expression of the power or possibilities of the writer. To leave such fragments uncollected, and suffer them to be lost among the mass of ephemeral literature, would be wrong; but to have them set up as the measure of their author's mind, would be still more unjust to his memory. The difficulty of deciding between these two risks must have been felt by the editors of these Essays; for, beautiful and interesting as they are, they are infinitely below what Samuel Brown might and would have done; and it would be most painful to those who eagerly watched the promise and growth of that noble intellect, to think that these few and scattered utterances should be in any way looked upon as its whole result.* If things that pain and trial had taught him, cannot be told here. But there are many who look back to his example with loving gratitude, and treasure his words in their inmost hearts as a precious legacy of strength and consolation. How pathetic to think that this intense and bright nature Appearing ere the times were ripe should so "soon come to confusion," that he should suffer as he did, and die with little else fulfilled but pain-his hopes withered, his secret purposes broken off, his years unaccomplished, fame and a great place in the world's history, merely seen from under the opening eyelids of the morn, and then vanishing away; his sun going down while it was yet day; the tree of mortal life withering in all the leaves of his spring-all this is strange and sad; but what in this world has not in it something both sad and strange ?' Thus much it seems necessary to premise before speaking of the merits of these Essays, for some of them were written in extreme youth, and while they overflow with its fire and generosity, they also bear the marks of it, in occasional rashness of conclusion and extravagance of words. Others were composed in the rare intervals of comparative ease which occurred during his last years of suffering and weakness, and we can but look with tender admiration on the spirit which could so far overcome pain and exhaustion as to write them at all, while we wonder at their brilliancy and power. The range of subjects they embrace is very wide. Though science has the larger share, art and poetry are treated of with the insight that comes only from sincere love and feeling. A few of his own poems are in the first volume, and are very pure and fine; but it is rather in his prose writing we feel what a true poet he was. There the bright imagination continually lights up the sternest subjects, not with conscious rhetoric or fine writing of any sort, but with a pervading feeling for what is lovely and picturesque, and the fine instinct which seizes the noblest and most poetic aspect of everything, and revels in it with that enthusiasm which never fails to awaken a corresponding delight in the reader. It is the mixture of poetic feeling and calm reasoning which gives its chief charm to the book. In the generality of obscure geniuses and possible great men, common sense refuses to believe, and most justly; for it is a second-rate talent only that needs to be nursed by circumstances into greatness. there be one spark of the real divine fire of true genius, it can never be quenched by external conditions; poverty only braces it-contest only rouses it-sorrow only purifies it-and, sooner or later, it will find its appointed mode of expression. But over genius itself, disease and death are victorious; and Samuel Brown was early called to a martyrdom that only ended with his life. After a youth of strenuous labour and extraordinary attainment, just when his mental powers were matured, the instruments of knowledge within his grasp, and visions of long-young-souled Greeks from whom phlogiston came sought truths opening brightly before him-then came the fatal disease which held him fast for ever. From this time, says the preface, and till his death, seven long years, he was probably never for an hour, except in sleep, free from pain, and often in extreme agony his existence being little else than the fulfilling of his capacity for suffering. When in Russia, he had typhus fever; and it is likely he never was sound afterwards, and carried his death within him in the form of an internal disease, necessitating pain of the sharpest and steadiest kind. He died in the full exercise of his intellect and affections, having fought his disease to the last.' How nobly he bore this stern fate, how brightly the soul shone out through all these clouds of suffering, how humbly and thankfully he spoke of all the deeper * Lectures on the Atomic Theory, and Essays Scientific and Literary. By Samuel Brown. Edinburgh: Thomas Constable & Co. The first volume is mainly devoted to the history of chemical science, and part of it is a sort of reproduction of the brilliant lectures which Dr Brown delivered in Edinburgh in 1849, and of which those who heard them will be glad to be reminded. However unacquainted with science the reader may be, he will find in the series of Essays which commence with Alchemy and the Alchemists,' some of the most fascinating sketches that can be conceived. "The playful and apparently successless childhood of chemistry may be said to have passed among those down. They asked such profound questions of nature that they could not understand her motherly responses, yet the very putting of those questions foreshadowed the whole history of the science. Its busy but little-doing boyhood was spent in the east, under califs and physicians whose very names are fragrant with romance; its ardent and imaginative pubescence, in the unbroken Christendom of the middle ages, amid the hum of scholasticism and under the shadow of Gothic architecture; and we have just seen something of its sturdy youth of somewhat positive effort during the reign of phlogiston. The fifth of its ages, that of victorious and self-confident manhood, now offers itself to the attention of the historical student.' Along this pleasant path, so full of variety and interest, we are carried in a series of vigorous and characteristic descriptions of the lives and labours of workers in chemistry, beginning with the Greeks, and then pausing among the oriental alchemists, whose mystical theories have caused their earnest investigations of natural facts to be undervalued'sincere, devout, industrious men, who, toiling away among their crucibles and furnaces, discovered many new facts and new processes, and did many a good thing;' and next, among their European successors; where, foremost in his own school, and mighty among all schools of natural science, in all time, appears the great name of Roger Bacon, one of whom England has just cause to be proud; but his legendary fame as a magician has eclipsed his true glory as a man of science. That he believed in the elixir of life and the philosopher's-stone, like the rest of his contemporaries, is confessed, but he did not devote himself to searching for them; and 'in truth,' says Dr Brown, 'we should never look at the little particular beliefs and notions of great spirits in the history of science, but to their great ideas, otherwise we shall run the risk of despising men so exalted in character as to remain for ever incapable of despising us.' And again: "There is indeed no room for national or epochal vanity in the study of the history of science; there is rather occasion for humility and emulation; for those old men worked with grand ideals and small means upon an obdurate and an unbroken soil, while we stand on fields which they have ploughed, armed with an elaborate instrumentation, and too often guided by ideals which savour more of the shop than of the universe.' The sketches of Paracelsus and the rest of that race are vivid and interesting, but they cannot be quoted without spoiling them; for the history must be read as a whole, and the thread of their real discoveries followed, as it runs bright and clear through the strange webs of their romantic fancies, and still more romantic lives. In the next essay on 'Phlogiston and Lavoisier,' we pass through another long epoch of true experiment and mistaken theory, and read the stories of Beccher and Stahl, Priestley and Cavendish, Black and Watt, till the young Lavoisier appears, with the inexorable balance in his hand, to change the whole form of chemical science; to open a new path to all succeeding philosophers, and to perish in the very midst of his labour, and in the zenith of his powers; one amongst a batch of victims in the high frenzy of the first French Revolution. The two or three pages in which his short life is related are full of pathetic beauty. A brilliant and genial essay on Sir Humphry Davy, full of cordial appreciation of his character and discoveries, worthily completes this striking series, and is in itself a delightful piece of biography. With one more short extract, we must close this volume: egotist of a single pursuit, and to refresh himself with the inexhaustible variety of nature and of life.' The rest of the Essays are on a great variety of subjects, and we can do little more than name a few of them. Among the most interesting are those on George Herbert's poetry; on Physical Puritanism,' including vegetarianism, hydropathy, &c.; on David Scott the painter, a most touching account of that great but wayward genius, who, like Samuel Brown himself, died before he had accomplished half his work; as a tender and friendly memoir of the artist, and as a piece of general art-criticism, it is a striking and excellent essay. Ghosts and Ghost-seers,' the last of the Essays, is also one of the best, and contains some of the most striking remarks. How true and well put is the following: 'Few people are aware of the extreme difficulty of the art of simple observation. That art consists not only in the ability to perceive the phenomena of nature through uncoloured eyes, but also of the talent to describe them in unobstructed and transparent words. To observe properly in the very simplest of the physical sciences, requires a long and severe training. No one knows this so feelingly as the great discoverer. Faraday once said that he always doubts his own observations. Mitscherlich, on one occasion, remarked to a man of science of our acquaintance, that it takes fourteen years to discover and establish a single new fact in chemistry. An enthusiastic student one day betook himself to Baron Cuvier with the exhibition of a new organ-we think it was a muscle-which he supposed himself to have discovered in the body of some living creature or other; but the experienced and sagacious naturalist kindly bade the young man return to him with the same discovery in six months. The baron would not even listen to the student's demonstration, nor examine his dissection, till the eager and youthful discoverer had hung over the object of inquiry for half a year; and yet that object was a mere thing of the senses! In a word, the records of physical science are full of instances in which genuine researchers-men formed by nature and trained by toil for the life of observation-have misstated the least complicated phenomena. Nor would the intelligent public fail to be amused, as well as astonished, if they only knew how very few of the noisy host of professing men of science, in even this matter-of-fact country, ever discover a single new fact; ever describe with irreversible fidelity a new phenomenon of any significance; ever add one true word to the written science of the world.' With these words, important to every aspirant after real knowledge, and to every lover of exact truth, we take leave of this remarkable book, earnestly commending it to a close and attentive perusal. THE CHANNEL BRIDGE. ONE of those little difficulties which are common to the matrimonial state, even among the best regulated couples, are constantly occurring between my wife and me with regard to a continental tour. So surely as the autumn shews its face, she wants to visit that 'dear darling Paris,' or that 'exquisite Chamouni,' or some other absurdly belauded spot beyond the sea, instead of being content with the bracing airs of Brighton, or the yellow sands (and slippers) of Margate or Ramsgate. She affirms that there are no dresses to be got in Regent Street fit for a lady to wear, and no mountains worthy of the name to be seen in all Great Britain. To this I reply, that if such be the case, she must abandon her outer garments alto "There are poets who wonder at the spectacle of such keen spirits as Humphry Davy, for example, labouring with might and main at the dry births of stone and iron, when they might well be abroad among the strong and the beautiful, stirring the life of man in its auguster depths. But a man must work where he is placed; and he must also obey the hint of his peculiar talent, else he will never do the most he can for the race and for himself. These are two of the great rules of duty. There is little matter what a man finds to be his proper task, so he rest not until he have won all it can teach him; so he relax not until he have made the most of it for the world; so he relent not before he has adorned it with his proper virtue, and ennobled it by his proper genius. Truth is a globe like the world; and it is of small moment where you begin to dig, for you will come as near the centre as another, if you dig deep enough. It is at the same time an important, though a second-gether, and content herself with a comparatively level ary duty of the industrious miner, to ascend every now and then from his particular shaft, both to see what others are about, in case he should become the country, for that out of England, or I'm a Dutchman, she does not get me to stir. Now, the true reason of this I do not care to own to her, and shall therefore carefully keep this particular Journal out of her sight; but the fact is, that I become so absolutely and hopelessly wretched so soon as I set foot on board a steamer, that I am well determined never to encounter the misery of it again. Of course, the sea has a good deal to do with it; but the steamer-the rolling, the throbbing, the heat, the panting of the steameris quite sufficient for this result, without the sea. I am rendered intellectually an idiot, and physically a helpless log, from the instant the terrible yell of departure is raised by the escape-valve, and when the first halfturn of those hissing wheels gives me a whole one. The arguments I address to her ear are national and patriotic; such as, how right it is that every Briton should spend his money in his own country, and by no means pour it into Frenchmen's pockets; with other even nobler sentiments, which I have culled diligently from the newspapers of my native land; but my real and sole objection-which I keep, as I have said, in my private bosom-is simply to the sea-passage, the crossing of the Channel. I know that she who halves my sorrows, and doubles my joys,' as the poet satirically sings, would urge-before she gave up the contest as hopeless, and began to call names-that it was only a little suffering after all,' and 'the inconvenience is over in no time,' and I should not be able to convince her to the contrary. The term 'suffering' does not in the least express the mental and bodily agony of my position on ship-board; and after I land-after I have been carried on shore inanimate-I don't recover for a week. 'Never,' quoth I, the last time I was dropped like a sack on Folkestone pier-never, if I know it, and remain in my right mind, do I catch myself on board | ship again. This resolution I have kept, and mean to keep; but yet, may be, I may take my wife to Paris nevertheless. The French engineer, Mathieu, so long ago as the First Consulate, and when railways were entirely unknown, considered the scheme of a roadway under the Channel practicable, and laid it before the great Napoleon. More recently, other Frenchmen of science have proposed various plans for land-communication between England and France, under much more favourable circumstances. One of these ambitious projectors has within the last few months procured for himself something more than interest and attention. A commission of eminent engineers appointed by government to report upon his stupendous theory, has returned a favourable verdict. It has, moreover, recommended that twenty thousand pounds should be granted for experimental examinations. Finally, and above all, Napoleon III. is a believer in the matter himself. The submarine ground has been accurately surveyed already, and nothing is wanting but the following little preliminary arrangements to the tunnel of M. Thomé de Gamond. His scheme is doubtless worthy of our highest admiration, but still I cannot dismiss from my mind his aristocratic name. What chance, I wonder, upon this side of the Channel, would an engineer of the name of Tommy Gammon have, who proposed such operations as these: To tear up rocks, and having carried the same out to sea, to drop them in the Channel. To form thirteen islands in that fashion in the said Channel. To dig down through the above islands into terra firma under the sea, and there to begin the tunnel, east and west. There are a few other difficulties to be overcome, whereof one is the formation of a sort of Swindon Station in mid-channel, with a well-staircase leading up to an artificial island in the open air; but they are scarcely worth dwelling upon in comparison with those we have mentioned. The great objection which attaches to M. de Gamond's tunnel, in connection with the trip of myself and my wife to Paris, is, that I know she will never be got by any means to travel by it. She will not even go to Bath on account of the existence, between our home and that city, of the Box Tunnel. Her behaviour during any subterranean passagewhenever I have caught a glimpse of her by light of lamp or shaft-is ridiculous, and personally uncomfortable in the extreme. She shuts her eyes very tightly, takes her under-lip between her teeth, puts a finger into each of her ears, and, in short, assumes a state of physical tension, which it would be impossible for her to maintain during half the time consumed by this proposed subterranean journey. As far, therefore, as we two are concerned, M. Thomé de Gamond might just as well never have existed; but I am by no means inclined to say the same of Mr Charles Boyd, of Barnes, Surrey, the projector of the Marine Viaduct, or Continental Railway Bridge. I have his pamphlet now lying before me, written with all seriousness and gravity, and with a charming section of the viaduct, by way of illustration, on the scale of an inch to a hundred feet, and shewing the greatest depth of the Straits of Dover, and the relative space afforded for the passage of shipping. The book is of a yellow cover, like a Bradshaw, and of so amusingly convincing a character, that one is quite disappointed not to find the hours of starting of the super-channel trains, both ordinary and express, week-day and Sunday, at the end of it. The marine viaduct will consist of a succession of tubes 50 feet deep by 30 feet wide, made of wroughtiron, riveted and braced together, interspersed with ventilators and sky-lights, and supplied with the ordinary lines of railway within. This is to be supported by 190 towers, and to be raised, one tube at a time, to the required height of 300 feet above the level of the sea, by means of hydraulic machinery placed in pontoons. This great elevation will admit of the passage of the tallest ships in the highest tides, with 45 feet to spare, in case of vessels being built of unprecedentedly large dimensions. The space between the towers will be sufficient not only for three line-of-battle ships to sail through abreast, but even for three Leviathans, should so many giant brethren ever chance to be keeping such close company. Each tower will be of 100 feet in diameter, and, after rising upon its pedestal 260 feet, is to be continued 60 feet above the viaduct for the formation of a light-house, and again 50 feet higher still for that of a belfry or gong-tower, and for a central air-shaft for the viaduct. These light-houses, whose illuminating surfaces are to be forty-three feet in diameter, are to reflect a bright red light on the south side, and a vivid blue one on the north, in order that vessels may clearly ascertain their own position with regard to the Channel Bridge. The belfries will hold a gong-a bell not being loud enough, and a whistle liable to be confused with that of the steam-engines-to be struck by a hammer propelled by clock-work. The light-houses are to be lit up at sunset throughout the entire length of the bridge by electricity, and the same power will set the gongs sounding in case of fog. All the towers are to be fitted at water-mark with fenders, consisting of spindles of wrought iron, very thickly coated with India-rubber, and made to revolve vertically in an iron framework attached to the tower bases, in order to repel collision; so that any vessel concussing not at right angles with the fender, would be simply sent on her way. The towers are to bear the arms of France and England alternately; and in summertime, on occasions of any increase in the Napoleonic family, will, I daresay, be tastefully decorated with flowers. Thus far, every part of the scheme looks HINTS TO NOVELISTS. not only practicable but alluring-only we have yet seems to be of great importance in the sense of comto inquire, upon what are these towers which support parative safety it will convey to the passenger; while the viaduct to stand?' This, as it seems to me, is the circumstance of it being admitted through a an almost insurmountable difficulty, but not so does it sky-light will prevent him seeing the horrors of his seem to Mr Boyd. He proposes to form, as founda- way, and also, perchance-for a glimpse of the tossing tions for these towers, enormous pedestals, which ocean would be sufficient for me-from getting seawill be formed by sinking into the bed of the Channel sick. For persons of stronger stomachs, there might blocks of stone each of several tons' weight, securely be easily constructed a promenade-protected, of riveted through their centres with iron bolts, and course, by balustrades-above the viaduct, where with their connecting faces strongly cemented, so that sea-air might be imbibed as on a pier, at a certain a succession of blocks will form one ponderous and charge, or which might be used by an active pedesimmovable mass. The operation of placing them-trian instead of the railway; a turnstile being placed this art of sinking-is to be conducted by means of at both its French and English terminations, as at machinery on board ship, or on pontoons at anchor; the Middlesex and Surrey ends of Waterloo Bridge. 'so that each block may gradually sink therefrom into its proper place below, first ascertained by the compass-bearings on deck, and by divers, who will be employed with diving-bells to examine the bed of the channel, to arrange, secure, and connect the blocks and other materials as they descend: and who are to communicate with the workmen on board by signallines and speaking-tubes. In addition to the blocks so placed, strong iron grapnels chained together at short distances apart will be fixed around and to the base of the pedestal, to prevent any movement of the blocks when once in position.' The bases are to be 300 feet square, and the pedestals will gradually rise at an angle of 75 degrees until they reach the level of the sea, and there form an insular plain 40 feet high by 150 square, for the reception of the tower. The French terminus-as in M. Thomé de Gamond's plan is to be at Cape Grisnez, which, however, being only 147 feet above the sea, will require to be brought to the same elevation as the English terminus at Dover, of 300 feet. "To relieve any anxiety that may be entertained by the proposed union of Britain with the continent, it is intended that the English approaches shall be commanded by the batteries of Dover Castle, and that a battery shall be erected to cover the French terminus, as a part of the viaduct could then be suddenly disconnected without damaging the whole structure; and when hostility ceased, the injury done might be repaired in a few weeks, and the traffic be readily resumed '-an arrangement for destruction and reparation which seems to me to be a very pleasant satire upon war. By the detailed official statement of the commerce between the United Kingdom and the continent, and by the calculations made thereon by Mr Boyd of the probable sources which will make his marine viaduct their channel, it seems that the necessary outlay for this ambitious project will be returned to an enterprising company in eight years; the various items of each outlay being nicely estimated to a pound, and amounting in the aggregate to the trifling sum of thirty millions. 'It is calculated that the entire structure can be concluded and thrown open to public traffic in three years, as the whole of the pedestals, with their assigned towers, can be erected simultaneously;' the workmen being lodged upon, or rather over, the spot which is the scene of their labours, in vessels prepared for that purpose. The tubes may be also constructed simultaneously upon shore, so that the entire edifice may be erected almost in the same space of time which is devoted to one pedestal, tower, and intermediate tubes. Finally, says Mr Charles Boyd, "This bridge will form the high road to Europe, India, China, and all parts of the Mediterranean, and testify to the World, by its visible presence, the Power and the Unanimity of the greatest Nations of the Earth;' in addition to which to descend to small letters and the practical -there will then be some probability of my wife and myself recrossing the British Channel. The fact of the light of the sun illumining this viaduct by day THE novelists are, after all, 'dull dogs.' Travelling in one continual narrow round of characters and relations of character, they never observe the infinite variety of others which go to form the web of society. Always, with them, the rich man is an oppressor or a fool, and poverty the inseparable associate of talent, learning, and virtue. Always the new rich man is vulgar, and a despiser of all left behind him in the race; always the governess a paragon of the amiable and accomplished, amongst mean, harsh, ungenial employers; though, strange to say, when she sets up a boarding-school, she is just as sure to be a grasping, pretentious, hypocritical, pupil-starving humbug. A person bearing the name of stepmother never can do anything that is right. In an action at law, justice, as a matter of course, is exclusively on the side of the party whose circumstances are the meanest; only, law being so costly, the really poor man seldom gets his rights advocated. It is almost absurd to insist how partially all such things are true. Yet we may just take leave-for the information of these slaves of the conventionalisms of their art-to assert, that we continually meet rich and titled men who are neither fools nor oppressors, and generally find talent, learning, and virtue in tolerably good worldly circumstances; that our experience finds self-raised men often possessed of the most cultivated tastes, and rather humble in mind and modest in their social predilections, even where their origin is not generally known; that, singular as it may appear, a governess is now and then unreasonable in her expectations amongst people immensely her superiors in both amiableness and accomplishment, while, on the other hand, the mistress of the institution for young ladies' is frequently a painstaking, conscientious, and essentially kind-hearted woman struggling with a thankless profession. Só also step-mothers in real life, so far from being necessarily harsh to the young brood they have adopted, are often only too kind and forbearing, as fearful to abuse that power in correction which a real mother would have used unsparingly. So also, we have known poor people prosecuting unjust or imaginary claims at law, and thus inflicting infinite annoyance and damage upon rich people who had been their best benefactors. In all of these actual relations of life there is surely a rich fund of new material for the fictionist, if he would open his eyes and see it. Why does he not give us, as a new kind of comedy, some of the persecutions and hardships suffered by rich people? Why should we not have from him a tragedy founded on the sufferings which a jealous, rancorous mother-for such a character exists-has it in her power to inflict upon her children? A well-treated governess who would be unhappy, a kind step-mother, a worthy boarding-school keeper, a penniless raiser of vexatious lawsuits-all of them creatures of frequent occurrence in actual life—are all perfect novelties |