great human purposes." The idea was certainly a most striking and original one; like a flash of light, it illuminated in an instant an entire field of science. JEFFERSON ON PUBLIC DEBTS AS the struggle for independence. He was the author of place between himself and Dr. Buckland on | made to work, as in that locomotive for one of his favorite theories as to the formation of coal. But the result was, that Dr. Buckland, a much greater master of tonguefence than Stephenson, completely silenced him. Next morning before breakfast, when he was walking in the grounds deeply pondering, Sir William Follett came up and asked what he was thinking about? Why, Sir William, I am thinking over that argument I had with Buckland last night. I know I am right, and that if I had only the command of words which he has, I'd have [THOMAS JEFFERSON (1743-1826), third President of the beaten him." "Let me know all about it," United States, was one of the most accomplished scholars said Sir William, "and I'll see what I can and original minds in the early history of the United do for you." The two sat down in an arbor, States. He wrote the Declaration of Independence of where the astute lawyer made himself thor- the United Colonies, adopted July 4, 1776. His Notes on oughly acquainted with the points of the Virginia (1783), reprinted in more than twelve editions, case; entering into it with all the zeal of an are full of acute observation, careful and scientific stateadvocate about to plead the dearest interests ment and copious suggestions for improvement. Jefferof his client. After he had mastered the son's early studies into the sources of law and political subject, Sir William rose up, rubbing his institutions gave him great prominence as a leader in hands with glee, and said: "Now I am ready the Virginia statute of entire religious freedom, the for him." Sir Robert Peel was made ac-founder of the University of Virginia, and a zealous adquainted with the plot, and adroitly intro-vocate of common schools and the abolition of slavery. duced the subject of the controversy after Governor of Virginia, Minister to France, the first dinner. The result was, that in the argument Secretary of State in Washington's Cabinet, Vice-Presiwhich followed, the man of science was over- dent of the United States, and President for eight years come by the man of law; and Sir William (1801-1809), he retired to his plantation, the most popuFollett had at all points the mastery over lar of American citizens next to Washington, spending Dr. Buckland. "What do you say, Mr. a serene old age at Monticello in study, correspondence Stephenson? asked Sir Robert, laughing. and agricultural pursuits, and in watching over the "Why," said he, "I will only say this, that university which he founded.] of all the powers above and under the earth, there seems to me to be no power so great as the gift of the gab." . . One Sunday, when the party had just returned from church, they were standing together on the terrace near the hall, and observed in the distance a railway train flashing along, throwing behind it a long line of white steam. "Now, Buckland," said Mr. Stephenson, "I have a poser for you. Can you tell me what is the power that is driving that train ?" "Well," said the other, "I suppose it is one of your big engines." "But what drives the engine?" “Oh, very likely a canny Newcastle driver." "What do you say to the light of the sun?" "How can that be ?" asked the doctor. "It is nothing else," said the engineer; "it is light bottled up in the earth for tens of thousands of years-light absorbed by plants and vegetables, being necessary for the condenзation of carbon during the process of their growth, if it be not carbon in another form and now, after being buried in the earth for long ages in fields of coal, that latent light is again brought forth and liberated, At the time we were funding our national debt, we heard much about a public debt being a public blessing;" that the stock representing it was a creation of active capital for the aliment of commerce, manufactures and agriculture. This paradox was well adapted to the minds of believers in dreams, and the gulls of that size entered bona fide into it. But the art and mystery of banks is a wonderful improvement on that. It is established on the principle that "private debts are a public blessing." That the evidences of those private debts, called bank notes, become active capital, and aliment the whole commerce, manufactures and agriculture of the United States. Here are a set of people, for instance, who have bestowed on us the great blessing of running in our debt about two hundred millions of dollars, without our knowing who they are, where they are, or what property they have to pay this debt when called on; nay, have made us so sensible of the blessings of letting them run in our debt, that we have who Suppose, again, the If exempted them by law from the repayment | nor public blessing. of these debts beyond a given proportion, public to owe nothing. (generally estimated at one-third). And to lent his money to the public, would be in fill up the measure of blessing, instead of possession of it himself, and would go into paying, they receive an interest on what business without the previous operation of they owe from those to whom they owe; for selling stock. Here again, the same quantity all the notes, or evidences of what they owe, of capital is employed as in the former case, which we see in circulation, have been lent though no public debt exists. In neither to somebody on an interest which is levied case is there any creation of active capital, again on us through the medium of com- nor other difference than that there is a merce. And they are so ready still to deal public debt in the first case, and none in out their liberalities to us, that they are now the last; and we may safely ask which of willing to let them run in our debt ninety the two situations is most truly a public millions more, on our paying them the same blessing? If, then, a public debt be no premium of six or eight per cent. interest, public blessing, we may pronounce à forand on the same legal exemption from the tiori, that a private one cannot be so. repayment of more than thirty millions of the the debt which the banking companies owe debt, when it shall be called for. But let us be a blessing to any body, it is to themselves look at this principle in its original form, alone, who are realizing a solid interest of and its copy will then be equally understood. eight or ten per cent. on it. As to the pub"A public debt is a public blessing." That lic, these companies have banished all our our debt was juggled from forty-three up to gold and silver medium, which, before their eighty millions, and funded at that amount, institution, we had without interest, which according to this opinion was a great pub- never could have perished in our hands, and lic blessing, because the evidences of it would have been our salvation now in the could be vested in commerce, and thus con- hour of war; instead of which they have verted into active capital, and then the more given us two hundred million of froth and the debt was made to be, the more active bubble, on which we are to pay them heavy capital was created. That is to say, the interest, until it shall vanish into air, as creditors could now employ in commerce Morris's notes did. We are warranted, then, the money due them from the public, and in affirming that this parody on the princi make from it an annual profit of five per ple of "a public debt being a public blesscent., or four millions of dollars. But ob- ing," and its mutation into the blessing of serve, that the public were at the same time private instead of public debts, is as ridicu paying on it an interest of exactly the same lous as the original principle itself. In both amount of four millions of dollars. Where cases, the truth is, that capital may be prothen is the gain to either party, which makes duced by industry, and accumulated by ecoit a public blessing? There is no change nomy; but jugglers only will propose to in the state of things, but of persons only. create it by legerdemain tricks with paper. A. has a debt due to him from the public, of which he holds their certificate as evidence, and on which he is receiving an annual interest. He wishes, however, to have the money itself, and to go into business with it. B. has an equal sum of money in business, DIDO, THE CARTHAGINIAN QUEEN. but wishes now to retire, and live on the interest. He therefore gives it to A. in exchange for A.'s certificates of public stock. Now, then, A. has the money in business, which B. so employed before. B. has the money on interest to live on, which A. lived on before; and the public pays the interest to B. which they paid to A. before. Here is no new creation of capital, no additional money employed, nor even a change in the employment of a single dollar. The only change is of place between A. and B. in which we discover no creation of capital, [VIRGIL (PUBLIUS VIRGILIUS) a famous and popular Roman poet, born near Mantua, Oct. 15, 70 B. C. Ho lived in the time of Augustus, the first Emperor of Rome, and was much helped by his chief adviser Mæ cenas. The poet was of delicate health, and so retiring in manners that he could hardly have pushed his way without Mæcenas. His principal writings are the "Bu colics," also called " Eclogues," the "Georgics," and the "Eneid." In the "Georgics" we learn all that the Romans knew of farming and such matters. Virgil died in Brundusium, on his way home from Greece, when fifty-one years old (Sept. 22, 19 B. C.). His grave is near Naples. We give from the Rev. W. Lucas Col lins'" Ancient Classics" the following extract from "The Eneid." Eneas, on his flight from Troy, has reached Carthage and relates his adventures.] "So King Æneas told his tale While all beside were still— The Carthaginian queen has been an eager listener to Eneas's story. She is love. stricken-suddenly, and irremediably. But she is terribly ashamed of her own feelings. She finds relief in disclosing them to a very natural confidant-her sister Anna. She confesses her weakness, but avows at the same time a determination not to yield to it. The stranger has interested her deeply, after a fashion which has not touched her since the death of her husband Sichæus. "Were not my purpose fixed as fate With none in wedlock's band to mate, Were bed and bridal aught but pain,- "E'en as a deer whom from afar Where Cretan woods are thick, Has left the dart to stick: She wanders lawn and forest o'er, But her sister-suiting her counsels, as all confidants are apt to do, to the secret wishes rather than to the professions of Dido-encourages the passion. Perpetual widowhood has a romantic sound, but it is not, in Anna's opinion, a desirable estate. Besides, upon the scene. The powers of Olympus here come again Juno sees, not without a in this newly-planted colony, surrounded as secret satisfaction, the prospect of an enthey are by fierce African tribes, an alliance tanglement between Eneas and Dido, which with these Trojan strangers will be a tower may detain these hated Trojans in Africa, of strength. The stout arm of such a hus- and so prevent their settlement and domin band as Eneas is much needed by a wi-ion in Italy. So Carthage, and not the dowed queen. His visit-so Anna thinks -is nothing less than providential"'Twas Heaven and Juno's grace that bore, I ween, these Trojans to our shore." By all means let them detain their illustrious visitor with them as long as possible -his ships require refitting and his crews refreshment-and the result will not be doubtful. The advice suits with the queen's new mood too well to be rejected. Together the sisters offer pious sacrifices to the gods-to Juno especially, as the goddess of marriage -to give their sanction to the hoped-for alliance. The restless feelings of the enamoured woman are described in one of the finest and most admired passages of the poem : Rome of the future, may yet be the mistress of the world. She addresses herself at once to the goddess of love-not without a sneer at the success of her snares in poor Dido's case; a sorry triumph it is indeed-two divinities pitted against a weak woman! But come-suppose in this matter they agree to act in concert; let there be a union between the two nations, and let Carthage be the seat of their joint power; its citizen shall pay equal honours to the queen of heaven and the queen of love. Venus understands perfectly well that Juno's motive is at any cost to prevent the foundation of Rome; but having a clearer vision (we must presume) than her great rival of the probable results, she agrees to the terms. There is to be a hunting-party on the morrow, and Juno will take care that opportunity shall be given for the furtherance of Dido's passion. The royal hunt is again a striking picture, almost mediæval in its rich colouring: "The morn meantime from ocean rose: Forth from the gates with daybreak goes The silvan regiment: Thin nets are there, and spears of steel, And dogs of keenest scent. The appearing of the queen: With gold and purple housings fit Then Earth, the venerable dame, And Juno, give the sign; Heaven lightens with attesting flame, And bids its torches shine, And from the summit of the peak The nymphs shrill out the nuptial shriek That day she first began to die; A rejected suitor of the Carthaginian Stands her proud steed, and champs the bit queen,-Iarbas, king of Gætulia,-hears the His foaming jaws between. At length with long attendant train Joins their proud ranks, and steps along, To Delos' isle Apollo fares; Behind him sounds his bow ;- But young Ascanius on his steed He passes these, now those : Meantime, loud thunder-peals resound, * This was the dye procured from the shell-fish called murex-especially costly, because each fish contained but a single drop of the precious tincture. news amongst the rest. He is a reputed son of Jupiter; and now, furious at seeing this wanderer from Troy-"this second Paris," as he calls him-preferred to himself, he appeals for vengeance to his Olympian parent. The appeal is heard, and Mercury is despatched to remind Eneas of his high destinies, which he is forgetting in this dalliance at Carthage. If he has lost all ambition for himself, let him at least remember the rights of his son Ascanius, which he is thus sacrificing to the indulgence of his own wayward passions. The immortal messenger finds the Trojan chief busied in planning the extension of the walls and streets of the new city which he has already adopted as his home. He delivers his message briefly and emphatically, and vanishes. Thus recalled to a full sense of his false position, Æneas is at first horror-struck and confounded. How to disobey the direct commands of Heaven, and run counter to the oracles of fate; how, on the other hand, to break his faith with Dido, and ungratefully betray the too confiding love of his hostess and benefactress; how even to venture to hint to her a word of parting, and how to escape the probable vengeance of the Carthaginian people;-all these considerations crowd into his mind, and perplex him terribly. On the main point, however, his resolution is soon taken. He will obey the mandate of the gods, at any cost. He summons the most trusted of his comrades, and bids them make secret preparations to set sail once more in quest of their home in Italy. He promises himself that he will either find or make some opportunity of breaking the news of his departure to Dido. This is the turning-point of the poem; and here it is that the interest to a modern reader, so far as the mere plot of the story is concerned, is sadly marred by the way in which the hero thus cuts himself off from all our sympathies. His most ingenious apologists-and he has found many-appeal to us in vain. Upon the audience or the readers of his own time, no doubt, the effect might have been different. To the critics of Augustus's court, love-or what they understood by it-was a mere weakness in the hero. The call which Heaven had conveyed to him was to found the great empire of the future; and because he obeys the call at the expense of his tenderest feelings, the poet gives him always his distinctive epithet-the "pious" Æneas. The word "pious," it must be remembered, implies in the Latin the recognition of all duties to one's country and one's parents, as well as to the gods. And in all these senses Eneas would deserve it. But to an English mind, the "piety" which pleads the will of Heaven as an excuse for treachery to a woman, only adds a deeper hue of infamy to the transaction. It "Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse." But our story must not wait for us to discuss too curiously the morals of the hero. Eneas has thought to make his preparations without the knowledge of the queen while she the fire and bitterness of the original. The "False as thou art, and more than false, forsworn! Sigh when I sobbed, or shed one kindly tear? All symptoms of a base ungrateful mind-- of man's injustice why should I complain? Faithless is earth, and faithless are the skies! I saved the shipwrecked exile on my shore: I took the traitor to my throne and bed: Fool that I was!-'tis little to repeat The rest-I stored and rigged his ruined fleet. But go: thy flight no longer I detain— Of heavenly powers were touched with human fate! Go seek thy promised kingdom through the main! When death has once dissolved her mortal frame, "Still dreams her happy dream, nor thinks That aught can break those golden links." But as the poet goes on to say, "Who can cheat the eyes of love?" Dido soon learns his change of purpose, and taxes him openly Dido shall come, in a black sulph'ry flame, with his baseness and ingratitude. The whole of this fourth book of the Eneid "The Passion of Dido," as it has been called-is of a very high order of tragic pathos. The queen is by turns furious and pathetic; now she hurls menaces and curses against her false lover, now she condescends to pitiable entreaty. The Trojan chief's defence, such as it is, is that he had never meant to stay. He is bound, the pilgrim of Heaven, for Latium. His father Anchises is warning him continually in the visions of the night not to linger here: and now the messenger of the gods in person has come to chide this fond delay. The grand storm of wrath in which the injured queen bursts upon him in reply has severely taxed the powers of all Virgil's English translators. They seem to have felt themselves no more of a match for "the fury of a woman scorned" than Æneas was. Certainly they all fail, more or less, to give At least my shade thy punishment shall know: "Her speech half done she breaks away, And to her marble chamber bear." The Trojans prepare to depart; but the enamored queen makes one more despair. ing effort to detain her faithless guest. She sends her sister to ask at least for some short space of delay-until she shall have schooled herself to bear his loss. Æneas is obdurate in his "piety." Then her last resolve is taken. She cheats her sister into |