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to sustain its load of care, consequently that a constitutional effect prejudicial to the development . bodily energies may be produced. We have often observed an extraordinary sedateness about German youth, which perhaps has arisen from a maturity thus too early forced. The Gymnasia are day-schools, and in these all the youth designed for the learned professions are educated. The cost is but from £1 16s. to #28s. per annum, for an education very far superior in scope to that of our public schools. Latin, Greek, French, German, mathematics, arith: metic, physics, mental and moral philosophy (the head class), history and geography, natural history, writing, singing, drawing, and for future clergymen and schoolmasters the Hebrew, are all well taught. Scholars designed for commercial pursuits are sent to a class of schools somewhat dearer than the above, where Greek always, and Latin frequently, are omitted, and modern languages substituted, with instruction analogous to the pursuit of business. We have not space to notice the account of the German universities, nor the other subjects treated of relative to education in this little volume, which cannot but be interesting to those who desire to extend their knowledge upon a most important topic.

FAREwell. To The Pope : or, Reasons for RENouncing The Church of Rome. By J. J. MAURETTE, late Priest of the parish of Serre (Ariège.) Edmonds. The able Maurette, late a Catholic clergyman in France, having come over to Protestantism, gives in this little brochure his reasons for the change of his sentiments. In an introduction by Dr. Cumming it is stated that the publication has caused a great sensation on the Contiment, and it is recommended here on account of the Protestant divines who are apostatizing to the Church of Rome, in order to show that in other places the tide is taking an opposite direction.

Paice's MoDERN GARDENER; with the proper Mode of using Guano as a ure. Dean and Co.

A condensed and practical little work, put together by one who evidently understands the subject upon which he treats, well adapted for such as are their own operators in the shrubbery, kitchen, or

flower garden, plainly written, and valuable more particularly to those who are novices in the pursuit.

DOUGLAS JERROLD’S
SHILLING MAGAZINE.

THE HISTORY OF ST. GILES AND ST, JAMES, *
BY THE EDITOR.
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CHAPTER XXXIII.

SNIPEToN liked to be duped. He hugged himself in the knowledge of his weakness, mightily enjoying it. And so, he suffered his wife to nestle close to his chair—to place her hand upon his shoulder—to look with earnest, pleading eyes upon him—to talk such fluent sweetness, melting his heart And whilst Clarissa assured him that, in a playful moment, she had placed the miniature about the housekeeper's neck, that it was a wickedness, a calumny, to think otherwise, that, in very truth, it would cause her—his wife, the wife he so professed to love—such pain and remorse to think suspiciously of Mrs. Wilton,-Snipeton, that learned man as he deemed himself in the worst learning of the world—that sage, who picked his way through the earth as though its fairest places were all the closelier set with gins and snares,-he would not see the sweet deceit in his wife's face ; he would not hear the charitable falsehood flowing from her lips; no, he would be filled with belief. He would commit a violence upon his prudence and blindfold her. She might rebel and struggle somewhat; nevertheless, she should wear the bandage.

This wise determination still grew in his heart; in truth, the soil was favourable to the deceit ; and therefore next morning, enjoying the amenities of breakfast, Mr. Snipeton assured his wife that—whatever his thoughts had been—he now felt the deepest, sweetest confidence in Mrs. Wilton. She had shown herself a most considerate gentlewoman, and he should ever respect her for it. “Poor thing! I never knew anything of her private history—for private histories, my dear"—this tenderness had become almost familiar to the husband—“private histories are very often like private wasps' nests; things of danger, with no profit in 'em ; nevertheless, she always appeared to me too good—yes, too good for her situation. That's always a pity;” and Snipeton continued to breakfast very heartily. “True, husband, true,” said Clarissa; “such inequalities of fortune are very sad.” “Very inconvenient,” cried Snipeton; “for you see, my dear, people who are too good for their employment are generally too bad for their employers. There is no such lumber in the world as broken down gentility. Always out of place—never fit for anything. A decayed gentleman as he's called is a nuisance; that is, I mean, to a man of the world—to a man of business. For you see, there's always impertinence in him. He always seems to be thinking of what he has been—you can't get him to think of what he is. He becomes your clerk, we'll say. Well, you tell him to call a hackney-coach, and he sets about it in a manner that impudently says to you—‘ Once I kept my own carriage ' ' You order him to copy a letter or what not; and he draws down the corners of his mouth to let you know that—‘ Once in his day, he used to write cheques!' Now this is unpleasant. In the first place one doesn't like any insolence from anybody; and in the next, if one happens to be in a melancholy, thinking mood, one doesn't like to be reminded by the bit of decay about one, what, for all one knows—for it's a strange world—one may drop down to one's self. A decayed gentleman to a rich man is-well—he's like a dead thief on a gibbet to the live highwayman. Ha! has What's the matter ?”—asked the mirthful man, for he saw Clarissa shudder at the illustration, though so very truthful and excellent to the maker. “To be sure, I'd forgot; you've a tender heart— I love you all the better for it—and don't like to hear about such matters. And then again. I'd forgot—to be sure, what a fool I am I"—And then Mr. Snipeton remembered that, in his virtuous denunciation of bankrupt Plutus, he had forgotten—led away by the dazzling light of simile—the condition of Clarissa's father: had, in the heat of speech, failed to remember that he had bought the bridal victim of the necessities of her parent. But, Mr. Snipeton, as he thought, made immediate amends. For taking his wife's hand, he pressed it very tenderly; kissed her, and then repeated—“What a fool I am I ?” (Now this confession—a confession that the very wisest of us might, without any hesitation, make to himself three times a day: and we much question whether the discipline so exercised would not carry with it more profitable castigation than aught laid on with knotted rope—this confession was not to be expected of so sage and close a man as Ebenezer Snipeton. Some sudden satisfaction must have betrayed him into the avowal: some unexpected pleasure, tripping up habitual gravity, and showing its unthought of weakness. Much, indeed, did the wife of his bosom, as he would call her—and why not ? for do not rocks bear flowers ?— much did she marvel at the humility of her husband that, even for a moment, placed him on the flat level with other men. But great happiness, like great sorrow, will sometimes knock the stilts from under us; admirable stilts, upon which so many of us walk abroad, ay, and at home too; though the world, provoking in its blindness, will often not perceive how very tall we are.) “But the truth is, dear Clarissa"—continued Snipeton—“I had a sort of respect for Mrs. Wilton, and though I often spoke of it, I really had not the heart to turn her from the house. I often threatened it; but it's a comfort to know it—I couldn't have done it. Now she's gone, I feel it.” “Gone !” exclaimed Clarissal “Discharged herself, my dear,” said Snipeton, as upon his defence. “I found this upon the breakfast table.” Hereupon Snipeton, unfolding a note, placed it in his wife's hand. Silently, with trickling tears, she gazed upon the paper. “I shall have no objection to give her a character; none at all: for I feel very easy about the plate. I've no doubt, though I've made no inquiry as yet, that all's safe to a salt-spoon. Not that she tells us where she's gone; nevertheless, I feel my heart at ease about the proCome, come, now—don't be weak—don't be silly. You should not attach yourself in this way to a servant. It's weakness —worse than weakness.” Thus spoke Snipeton to his wife, who had sunk back in her chair, and covering her face with her hands, was sobbing piteously. At this moment Dorothy Vale moved into the room. “Will mistress ride to-day, the man wants to know.” “Yes, she will. Yes, my dear, you will”—repeated Snipeton, moving to Clarissa, and very tenderly placing his arms around her; and shuddering, she endured him. “You hear; let the horses be ready in half-an-hour. Go.” And Dorothy went ; but not a thought the faster for the thundering monosyllable discharged at her. “You’ll see me on my way to town 2 Some way; not far ; no, a mile or so. 'Tis such a morning : there's so much heaven come down upon the earth. Such weather You'll take health with every breath. Eh, Clarissa 7” And again the old man threatened an embrace, when the victim rose, “Be it as you will, sir,”—said Clarissa—“in half-an-hour, I shall be ready.” And she left the room. Now was Snipeton delighted with her obedience; and now, he paused in his triumphant strides about the room, to listen. Had she really gone to her chamber 7 Ashamed of the doubt, he walked the faster—walked and whistled. And then he was so happy, the room was too small for his felicity: he would forth, and expand himself in the garden. He so loved a garden; and then he could walk amid the shrubs and flowers, with his eye upon the window that enshrined the saint, his soul so reverently bowed to. How frankly she yielded to his wish Every day—he was quite sure of it—he was becoming a happier and happier husband. He looked forward to years and years of growing joy. To be sure, he was growing old: but still looking onward, the nearer the grave, the less we see of it. * “If you please, sir,”—said St. Giles to his new master, as he entered the garden,_"do you put up both the horses in the city?" “No : your mistress will come back,” said Snipeton. “Alone; sir?” asked St. Giles; and the husband, as though the words had stung him, started. “Alone! Why, no : dolt. Alone!” There was something hideous in the question: something that called up a throng of terrors. Clarissa alone, with the world's wicked eyes staring, smiling, winking at her 1 “Humph : I had forgotten. As yet, we have but two horses. Fool that I am | " A second confession, and yet early day! And Śnipeton, musing, walked up and down the path; and plucking a flower, rolled it betwixt his finger and thumb to assist his meditation. She had consented—so kindly, blithely consented to his wish; that it would be cruel to her—cruel to himself—to dis*PPoint her. “Now, my man, be quick. Run to the Flask, and in my name get a horse for yourself. In a day or two, we must

* Continued from page 300, Vol. IV. NO. XXIII.-WOL. I.W. C. C.

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