menced his task, of writing some great poem for posterity, "which the world could not willingly let die." Bossuet, when a youth, was presented to a number of prelates by one of the bishops of his church, who said of him, when he had left,- "That young man who has just gone forth will be one of the greatest luminaries of the church." Mazarin early predicted the brilliant career of Louis XIV. He said of him,-"He has in him stuff for four kings:" and at another time,-" He may take the road a little later than others, but he will go much further." One day, a mason, named Barbé, said to Madame de Maintenon, who was at that time the wife of Scarron,-"After much trouble, a great king will love you; you will reign; but, although at the summit of favour, it will be of no benefit to you." He added some remarkable details, which appeared to cause her some emotion. Her friends rallied her about the prediction, when the conjuror said to them, with the air of a man confident of the truth of what he said," You will be glad to kiss the hem of her garment then, instead of amusing yourself at her expense." On the other hand, Louis XIV. one day observed to the Rochefoucauld and the Duc de Crequi,"Astrology is altogether false. I had my horoscope drawn in Italy; and they told me that after having lived a long time, I would fall in love with an old woman, and love her to the end of my days. Is there the least likelihood of that?" And so saying, he burst into laughing. But this did not, nevertheless, hinder him from marrying Madame de Maintenon, when she was fifty years old! So that both the predictions of the mason and of the Italian conjuror came true at last. When Voltaire was engaged in the study of classical learning, the father Lejay was once very much irritated by the insolence of his repartees, and taking him by the collar, shook him roughly, saying,"Wretched youth! you will some day be the standard of deism in France." Father Palu, Voltaire's confessor, did not less correctly divine the future career of his young penitent, when he said of him, "This boy is devoured by a thirst for celebrity." Sterne has told an anecdote of what happened to him once at Halifax. The schoolmaster had got the ceiling newly whitewashed, and the mischievous boy mounting the steps almost before the job was completed, daubed with a brush on the ceiling, the words, in capital letters, LAU. STERNE. For this, the usher cruelly beat him, at hearing of which the master expressed his displeasure, and said, before Sterne, that he would not have the name effaced, seeing that Sterne was a boy of genius, and certain to make a reputation in the world. Many predictions were made respecting Napoleon, about whose youth there must have been something remarkable. His aged relative, the archdeacon of Ajaccio, when dying, said to the young Buonapartes kneeling around his bedside to receive his last blessing, -"You need not think about the fortune of Napoleon he will make it himself. Joseph, you are the eldest of the house; but Napoleon is the chief. Have a care over his future." Not only his uncle, but all who knew Napoleon, predicted that he would become an instrument for great purposes. He was scarce fifteen years old, when M. de Kergerion said, -"I perceive in this young man a spark which cannot be too carefully cultivated." And Paoli said of him," He is a man of Plutarch mould." The rhetorician Domairon described him as 'granite heated in a volcano." And finally, Leguille, one of " his teachers at the Military School, spoke of him in a note, as-"Napoleon Buonaparte, a Corsican by birth and character: this gentleman will go far, if circumstances favour him." Let us conclude by adopting the thought of Goethe, -"Our desires are the presentiments of the faculties which lie within us,-the precursors of those things which we are capable of peforming. That which we would be, and that which we desire, present themselves to our imagination, about us and in the future: we prove our aspiration after an object which we already secretly possess. It is thus that an intense anticipation transforms a real possibility into an imaginary reality. When such a tendency is decided in us, at each stage of our development a portion of our primitive desire accomplishes itself, under favourable circumstances, by direct means; and, in unfavourable circumstances, by some more circuitous route, from which, however, we never fail to reach the straight road again." 66 "FAST" NEW ZEALANDERS. Colonel Mundy gives an amusing account, in his Antipodes of the Wellington races, in New Zealand, at which he was present, and naturally expresses his surprise at sight of the young natives, whose fathers and mothers were pure savages, and, most probably, cannibals, exhibiting themselves in the aspect of civilized "exquisites," and in a manner that would do credit even to a Londod dandy at Epsom or Ascot. He says:*- In my eyes, the most singular and significant feature of this animating scene, showing the gradual adoption of English habits by the present and rising generation of Maoris,-a feature not observable in the north,- -was the number of young native exquisites riding about the course and the strand, with new English saddles and snaffle-bridles, dressed in neatfitting round jackets, and forage-caps of blue cloth, with white trowsers, a cheroot stuck jauntily in the corner of the mouth, chatting, laughing, and betting, -some, I regret to say, drinking with their companions. And these are the lineal successors to the tatooed, mat-clad, cannibal old caterans, strenuous opponents of every innovation which, by elevating and enlightening the minds of their subjects and slaves, must overturn their own hereditary influence. Too late and vain their resistance! Progress is amongst them; yes, it is all over with the "fine old Maori gentleman, all of the olden time!' No more "long pig" for him! Not much more feudal observance. "Young New Zealand" is almost of age; votes" all that sort of thing" rococo. A well-dressed man no longer, in Maori parlance, signifies a wellcooked one; a writ of habeas corpus is not an invitation to a cannibal dinner! The New Zealander of the day has rubbed intellects with the European, and he finds there is no great difference in their natural abilities. Tommy Mauperha, and a hundred others, can read, write, and cypher, and what is more, expound the Scriptures. Why should he not go a step further, and " wag his pow in a pu'pit?" and if capable of attaining proficiency in spiritual learning, surely he and they may, with hopes of success, study other learned professions." But the New Zealander must be admitted to stand very high as regards moral and intellectual capabilities amongst "Nature's children;" the native New Hollander, living on nearly the same latitude, seems to be almost incapable of civilization, and has, as yet, learnt little of Europeans, except their vices. But the New Zealander has an ardent thirst for knowledge, is industrious, perseverant, and frugal, and, in fact, possesses all the elements requisite to form a member of a prosperous, civilized, and intelligent nation. (ORIGINAL.) THE BAY-TREE. I NURSED a tree in early youth,-a beautiful young tree, The freshest and the sweetest thing that poet's gaze could see; I found it in a fairy land, but know not how or where, I only know it seemed to me the fairest of the fair. within my eye; I planted it where Love and Hope-twin children— came to play, And, joining hands, we leaped about the beautiful young Bay. It grew awhile beneath the sun 'mid dew, and warmth, and light, Its fragrant stem held too much sap, its branches were too bright; Its leaves burst out like revel guests, a rich and clustering throng, But lovely as the green Bay seemed, all saw it was not strong. What could it be that ailed the tree? no shade, no weed was round, The bee and bird were all that stirred about the grassy mound; And as the summer rays poured down on valley, glade, and hill, 'Twas plain to see the lovely tree was growing weaker still. But lo! there sprung beside its root a sharp and tangled thorn, A little time,- a dark night came,- — a cypress-shoot was born; The autumn wind began to wail, and leaden clouds to loom, A little time, and then the tree was wrapped in misty gloom : The grass around it wove a cloak of dock and darnel leaf, The stem was clasped by emblem arms of Pain, and Death, and Grief; But, strange to say, the fair young Bay, that sickened in the light, Grew bravely 'mid the weeds and shade, a thing of health and might. Sweet Bay-Tree, symbol of the song that dreaming Poet sings, We list the wild heart-lyre of Youth, and love the silvery strings ; But never will the heart-lyre yield its strongest or its best, Till cypress Pain and thorny Truth have struggled round the breast. The Bay-Tree is a bonnie tree, but never is it known To flourish in the richest soil that holds the Bay alone; The bramble and the bitter leaf must share the self same sod, And then the Bay Tree rears its head, and springs toward its GOD. ELIZA COOK. DIAMOND DUST. PLEASURES Come like oxen, and go away like posthorses. NATURE never says one thing and wisdom another. HE that is ignorant of himself, knows less of others than he thinks. A CHILD's magnifying-glass has no lens for troubles. A FRIEND is to a friend sun and sunflower at once; he attracts and is attracted. TRUE living is not thinking what to act, but acting what we dare to think. LOVE, only, unlocks the door upon that futurity where the isles of the blessed lie like stars. A MAN with knowledge, but without energy, is a house furnished but not inhabited; a man with energy, but no knowledge, a house dwelt in but unfurnished. WILL is the root, Knowledge the stem and leaves, Feeling the flower. THE helve of the hatchet disputed against the blade, which was the worthier. Nay, said the wise raven, which listened to the argument, and had not spoken for a thousand years before, the steel will hew a hundred handles for itself, but the hundred handles could never shape one blade. HE who is satisfied with existence as long as it shines brightly, forgets that snuffing the candle will not prevent it from burning to the socket. MEN narrow their views in order to see more distinctly, as they go to the bottom of a well to see the stars at noon; but it is a poor exchange to give sunlight for starlight. THE human heart is made for love, as the household hearth for fire; and for truth, as the household lamp for light. To wish that others should learn by our experience is sometimes as idle as to think that we can eat and they be filled; but when we find that we have ate poison, it is doubtless mercy to warn them against the dish. GREATNESS may build the tomb, but goodness must make the epitaph. AN unproductive truth is rare; but there are products which cannot be weighed, even in patent scales, nor brought to market. WE learn to climb by keeping our eyes, not on the hills that lie behind, but on the mountains that rise before us. AFFECTION is the stepping-stone to God. WE are not merely working, intellectual machines, but social puzzles, whose solution is the work of a life. DAILY customary life is a dark and mean abode for man; and unless he often opens the doors and windows, and looks out into a freer world beyond, the dust and cobwebs soon thicken over every entrance of light; and in the perfect gloom he forgets that beyond and above there is an open air. THERE can be poetry in the writings of few men, but it ought to be in the hearts and lives of all. OATHS are the weapons a coward wields, the froth which tells the water's shallowness. Printed by Cox (Brothers) & WYMAN, 74-75, Great Queen Street, London; and published by CHARLES Cook, at the Office of the Journal, 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street. THE AMERICAN PARLIAMENT. WE gave the reader, a short time since, a reminiscence of our old House of Commons; we may now string together for him a few notes on the law-making assemblies of America. It is interesting to contrast the two, especially as, year by year, they are assimilating; the senators of Saint Stephens merging their Elizabethan formality in the simple manners which become the legislators of a free state; and those of Washington refining their carelessness of appearance towards the standard of polished society. The Capitol of Washington is not buried, like the Palace of Westminster, amid a confused mass of dingy buildings in the most ancient part of an ancient city. It stands on a lofty site, with greensward smooth as marble, and almost as hard, sloping down from every side, and shrubberies, fountains, parterres of flowers, and yellow gravel walks, forming a scene the most fairy-like and picturesque. Seen by moonlight from the shade of the high-bowering groves that wave around, it affords perhaps one of the most romantic spectacles in the world. Built of white stone, the structure rises from its elevated site like some pale temple of the antique times of Greece. A deep Corinthian portico, approached by a grand double flight of steps, is surmounted by a dome, crowning the whole picture with its fine proportions. Pedestals for statuary flank the ascent, and on one of these, Columbus holds a New World in his hand. In the portico is a niche with emblematical figures of peace and war, on either side of the door. Passing through this, you enter an immense rotunda, lighted from the domed roof, and with the walls divided into panels, frescoed with incidents of American history. In the left wing is the House of Representatives; in the right the Senate. We enter first the House of Representatives, for that is the popular assembly. It is an enormous semi-circular chamber, with a lofty vaulted roof. A row of massive, polished columns sweeps round the walls, and behind these runs the strangers' gallery. The speaker's chair occupies, as it were, the centre of the chord of the arc, in front of a screen of slender pillars, supporting a small gallery in a recess, to which members introduce their private friends. The seats of the members, leaving a space for officials in front of the chair, radiate back like those in a Roman [PRICE 14d. amphitheatre. The whole has an effect of vastness, but the acoustic arrangements are not complete. Besides the galleries, the floor of the House is sometimes opened to strangers. We therefore seat ourselves near the Chair to note the aspect of this far-famed assembly, where freedom unbounded makes regulations for its own use. Bright as the day may be, the hall, with its sombre colours and sad decorations, is always dingy; but there is light enough to see a curious spectacle. A strange congregation is before you. There the American people, in its unlimited power and late-born grandeur, is displayed. Half a continent has sent its best men to occupy those benches. There sits the representative of Maine, fresh-complexioned, with hardy frame, evidently from the north, where his. constituents wrap themselves in fur. There is a dry and sallow face from the hot plantations of Alabama. There is one from beyond the Alleghanies, ay, even from the fountains of the Mississippi, with sharp eye and weather-beaten face, showing he has left the adventurous Far West. Next to him is a luxurious Carolinian, while around a Babel of nations seems to have melted into one, and, released from the ancient curse, to be speaking again a common language. For what race and what soil has not aided to form that assembly of about two hundred men? The Celt, with high cheek-bones, dark hair and dark eyes; the Saxon, fair-skinned, sleek and long in the back; the Dutchman, with full outline and contented face; the Spaniard, with olive cheek, and many others appear to have shaded from their original characteristics to a general similitude, yet we perceive enough difference to mark the variety of their origin. They have come, through their fathers, from every quarter; they have left, by their ancestors, every form of civilization; and they have united triumphantly to create a new race with new institutions for the example of mankind. The House of Representatives in Washington is certainly not so formal or so quiet as the House of Commons in Westminster. It is not composed of the same class of persons. The merchant and the manufacturer; the tobacco, the cotton, and sugargrower; the hirer of labour and the labourer himself are there;-men not polished to the niceties of etiquette, but statesmen, nevertheless; and though not all wealthy, invariably uncorrupt. Each receives eight dollars a day, that he may spare his time to make or improve the laws for his fellow-citizens. But amid the throng,-though an honourable member from Ohio may have one button too little on his coat, and though an honourable member from Arkansas may have an ancient hat brushed the wrong way, there are many of gentlemanly bearing, with ease and dignity of manner-the very models of courtesy and graceful demeanour. Hanging in mid air above them like the gods in our theatres are the sovereign people, who generally attend in considerable numbers to observe the proceedings of their representatives. There is one curious difference between the English and the American Parliament. With us members keep their hats on, except when they speak, and strangers must uncover. With them, strangers keep their hats on, while honourable members must take theirs off. With them, too, the presence of ladies is recognised, and clusters of pretty faces may daily be seen brightening the space between two noble columns behind the chair. You In England, too, there is a very distinct division of parties in the House. Members sit either as ministerialists, or as oppositionists, or as on the "independent" benches. In America, Whigs and Democrats manage to keep their opinions separate without having a table and a floor between them. can never, by glancing at the House, see the relative strength of parties. As a general rule, it is true, those who sit on the speaker's right, support the Government, and those on his left oppose; but a Whig frequently declaims from amid a mass of Democrats, and a Democrat sits comfortably side by side with one whom, in a moment or two, he will be denouncing as one of the most unpatriotic men in the world. Perhaps, as we enter, some one is speaking. The echoes, however, are so numerous, and the interruptions so frequent, that you cannot at once learn what he is saying. He pitches his voice at the highest key; emphasises his words even to exaggeration ; and adopts all the forms of elocution to command a hearing, but usually addresses only a group of listeners collected around him. Some few members are walking about; others are leaning forward in their armchairs and talking loudly to others a dozen paces off; others are scratching with their pens; and above all, there is continually heard a succession of reports like the discharges of a small pistol. This sound puzzles a stranger exceedingly. The cause of it is rather characteristic of the place. Every member has a desk with his name affixed to it, and filled, at the expense of the State, with all sorts of stationery, penknives, &c. Accordingly, he writes all his letters here, there being a Parliamentary Post Office in the building. Whenever he wants to send a letter to the Post, or a motion, or amendment, or message to the Chair, he strikes the desk before him with the flat surface of a quire of paper, and this operation being performed, with no little energy, produces the comical sound alluded to,-which is at once multiplied by fifty echoes to the furthest recess of the hall. At the summons a boy rushes to attend; but as it generally happens that nearly all the members want the boys at once, there is a regular platoon firing kept up, sometimes rising into a perfect volley, amid which the speaker may ring his bell, or rap his hammer to command order, but the orator goes on mindless of all, and only resolved to finish "what he has to say." "These boys," says a traveller, "are quite a feature in the coup d'ail of the House. When they have a moment's rest, they frequently meet on the vacant space on the floor in front of the table, where they sometimes amuse themselves with pantomimic gesti culations, not altogether compatible with the dignity of the House. More than once, when something had occurred to disturb their equanimity, have seen two of them meet and shake their heads at each other, accompanying the action with a by-play which unmistakeably indicated a mutual castigation as soon as the forms of the House would permit." On grave occasions, however, there is nowhere in the world a more calm and majestic assembly than the House of Representatives. And it has this advantage over the House of Commons,-which is sometimes as unruly as it can be,-that a speaker is never attempted to be put down. The members will not listen unless they choose, but they allow every man to speak. When any grand debate is occurring, the crowded hall is as still as death. The dropping of a pin might be heard. So it was when the correspondence with Great Britian on the Oregon question was read from the table. There had been an offer of friendly arbitration, and it was refused. There seemed no hope of peace. The exciting and terrific thought of a bloody appeal brooded over the whole body of men, and as one by one the hostile letters were read, the first deep murmur of emotion subsided into a death-like silence, amid which the voice of the clerk, monotonous and solemn sounded like a prophecy of war. Whenever, too, a man, influential or eloquent, rises in debate, he is respectfully listened to and loudly cheered; but the fault of the American House is, that every member feels he must speak. If he only voted, his constituency would think him good for nothing. The pride of the electors is in a 'thorough talking man," who will always speak his own opinions or theirs "now or sooner.' If he makes a long speech, it is printed and sent down in bushels for the perusal of his friends and the public." Fortunately, no one may occupy more than an hour with one oration, and at the end of that time, though the eloquence may be up in heaven with the larks, a rap from the speaker's hammer brings it down like a bullet peremptorily and flatly to the ground. American oratory is often too prodigal of figures, -too plethoric of fine words,-too loaded with historical allusions. Scarcely a set speech is made without reference to the voyage of Columbus,-to the achievements of the pilgrim fathers,-to the deeds of Washington, and the glories of the war of independence. The American Eagle, too, is made to fly over every object, from a tax on cart-wheels to the addition of a state to the Union. "It is high time," says an amusing writer, "that this poor bird were taken under the protection of the Animal's Friend Society." He is never at rest; he is perpetually spreading his wings, sweeping over the length and breadth of the continent,-sweeping down on some fell savage,-frightening the British Lion,-or surveying with proud eye some imperial panorama soon to be called his own! He is now sent to perch on some sublime mountain whence he may pick up a rock, and just drop it so as to sink a fleet in the Atlantic. Then he is instructed to swallow up the whole of Oregon. Next he is to keep a good lookout on Canada, as he has already made a prey of New Mexico, and then he is expected to shake his wings over Cuba in due time. This is all well, and we hope that wherever an American sail is spread the Union will one day be erected; but we do think that the poor Eagle might be spared a little leisure to himself to plume himself and whet his bill. The eloquence of the House of Representatives, nevertheless, is often of a grand and temperate character. Highly impressive scenes are frequently enacted, especially at the close of exciting debates, When the discussion is over, there are two ways of taking the sense of the House. The speaker may call for the ayes and noes, as with us, and cry, "The ayes have it," or the noes, as the case may be or he may name two members who stand on the middle of the floor, the pros and cons passing between them, and being counted as they pass. To a stranger, the confusion of this proceeding appears inextricable, for the whole House seems to be pouring into two whirling eddies, filing off to the right and left of the tellers. How those gentlemen contrive to count everybody, and how they escape counting some six times over, it is not easy to imagine. Where the minority, before the division is complete, finds itself hopeless, it sometimes surrenders and gives up the struggle. But even after this, a member may demand the "yeas" and "nays;" when every member, in alphabetical order, is called to the table, that his vote may be formally recorded. Going through this process, we may leave the Representatives, and crossing the rotunda, observe what is going on in the Senate. The Senate Chamber is constructed on a similar plan, but is smaller, lighter, and neater than the House of Representatives. It is admirably adapted for public speaking. There are galleries for the public, and seats for ambassadors, judges, and such members of the Government as choose to witness the deliberations of this assembly. For, it should be remembered, that there is this difference between the Parliamentary usages of England and America. Here, the principal ministers must be members of the House of Lords or Commons; there, they are disqualified by law from serving either as Representatives or Senators. Glancing at the personnel of the assembly, we may see among the foremost, Mr. Allen of Ohio,- a great politician in foreign affairs, very warlike in his tone occasionally. When he speaks, he swings about his arms like those of a windmill, sometimes even making the blood spirt from his knuckles by the force with which he strikes them on the polished desk before him. Near him is the famous Mr. Benton, of Missouri, with light hair, and a face like that of Louis Philippe, "He is generally writing or reading, being apparently indifferent to all that is going on around him, but with a watchful eye on everybody and everything all the while. If he sleeps it is with his eyes open. He seems never to attend, and yet he is never taken by surprise. Watch how, if anything interesting is said, he quietly shuts his book, keeping his finger at the page, listens until he is satisfied, and then resumes his reading; or how, when any personal squabble arises, he leans upon his elbow and enjoys it." Then there is a member called the War-Hawk, with a short figure, low brow and square head, who chews tobacco all day. Opposite him, perhaps, is a tall, loose-jointed man, with an oily appearance, a high, narrow forehead, and a small, cunning eye. He is dressed in grey homespun, and lolls back in his chair with one leg thrown over his desk, engaged in whittling away at wooden cigar lights, which he has brought from the hotel. In default of these, he cuts to pieces every pen that comes within his reach, and the floor about his chair is strewn with the debris of a day's work. That is the celebrated Sam Houston, the "liberator" of Texas, who added a vast territory to his country, out of which a whole family of happy States may arise. There, a little way off, calm and dignified, sat, till lately, Daniel Webster, whose funeral has just been wept over by a whole race. He was generally busy with books and papers, seldom speaking except on grand occasions. "Is that a check-book he is signing? No, but a lady's album, which the little boy beside him, for a douceur, has smuggled into the Senate, with the intention of procuring for the owner of the said album, the autographs of the most remark. able men in the body. It is next handed to Mr. Crittenden, of Kentucky, who signs it as if he were used to it, without asking any questions." The manner in which each speaker, as he rises, is recognised by the President of the Senate, gives an impressive idea of the vastness of that fortunate confederacy represented in the right wing of the Capitol. He does not announce Mr. Calhoun, or Mr. Benton, but "the Senator from South Carolina," or "the Senator from Missouri," as though we should say," the Member for Ireland," or "the Member for England." Now one rises from the St. Laurence; then, leaping the breadth of the continent, one from the Mississippi. Anon a senator stands up to speak the will of two millions gathered about the sources of that mighty river; and another of two millions congregated about its mouth; one from the Lakes, and one from the Gulf; one from the seabord of the Atlantic States, and another from that of California! The general bearing of these men is calm, full of diguity, temperate, and suggestive of wisdom and patriotism. In one circumstance the Upper Chamber of the United States contrasts strongly with our House of Lords,-in the larger attendance of members. Unless detained by illness or peremptory business, every senator is present, daily, during the sessions. In the gorgeous chamber at Westminster, on the other hand, there are seldom more than a dozen peers and often not half that number. On one occasion, the duke of Buccleugh, after moving the second reading of a bill, was about to unfold an elaborate statement of his reasons in favour of it, when he was stopped by Lord Lyndhurst, then chancellor, who was standing by the woolsack impatient to go away and dine, and who asked him "if he was addressing himself to the noble lords opposite?" Now there was not a single noble opposite,-the mover, the seconder, Lord Stanley, and the chancellor, forming the entire House! So the duke moved, and the lord seconded, and the question was put, and the motion was carried, and the Government was satisfied, and the chancellor went home to his dinner. With this final peep into the Lords apropos of the American Parliament, we leave legislators for the present. AN UNLOOKED-FOR CATASTROPHE. THE impressions of my boyhood have left deep traces on my memory, especially those derived from events which occurred during two of its Christmases. Our state that of myself and parents-was one of utter poverty; and this, too, in its cruelest aspect--genteel poverty. My father, the Rev. Mr. Renton,-when curate of a parish in the vicinage of Coventry, had the presumption to fall in love with Margaret Asbury, the only daughter of Houston Asbury, Esq., of Asbury Hall, in the same county of Warwickshire; and she unwise and guileless maiden-was silly enough to hearken to her lover's frantic pleadings, and bestow herself clandestinely in marriage upon one who literally possessed nothing but a pleasing exterior, fair talents, and one of the truest, gentlest, most affectionate hearts that ever throbbed in mortal bosom. The consequences-foreseen by all except the two love - blinded enthusiasts were quickly developed. The rash bride had no longer a father save in name; and thanks to that incensed father's influence with the rector, her husband at the end of a few months had no curacy, nor any probable |