which we meet with it Confucius is represented as saying, "What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others;" the second is when one of his disciples tells him, "What I do not wish men to do to me, I also wish not to do to men." The merit of this remarkable saying is undoubtedly Confucius's own; and without at all detracting from it, or refusing him the meed of admiration which he deserves on its account, a moment's comparison between it and the rule laid down by the Saviour will discover how greatly inferior it is to his. The precept, as given by Confucius, is only negative, not positive. He simply enjoins us not to do to others what we do not wish them to do to us. This, it will be obvious, proceeds upon a far lower principle of action than our Saviour inculcates. He not only forbids us to do what we feel to be wrong and hurtful, but commands us to do what we feel to be right and good; and requires us to begin such a course of conduct as is thereby indicated, irrespective altogether of the conduct of others toward ourselves. In respect of universal application, too, the maxim of Confucius falls far short of that given by Christ. There is no reason to believe that Confucius intended it to apply to every individual and every offence. On the contrary, the doctrine which he teaches regarding the lawfulness and duty of revenge, puts it beyond question that he had no idea of including within its range offences and offenders of magnitude. In the second book of the Li Ki, or book of Rites, is the following passage: "With the slayer of his father, a man may not live under the same heaven; against the slayer of his brother, a man must never have to go home to fetch a weapon; with the slayer of his friend, a man may not live in the same state." Viewed in the light of such a full and emphatic inculcation of the lex talionis as this, it must be owned that the much-celebrated maxim of Confucius, about not doing to others what we would not wish them to do to us, comes immeasurably short of the golden rule laid down by the Saviour.

The many excellent lessons taught in the classic books of the Chinese are far more than counterbalanced by the serious errors and deficiencies by which they are marked. Not only is there no recognition in them, of the palpable fact of man's sinfulness, but that fact is expressly denied, and he is invariably represented as a being naturally and inherently good. Mencius affirms, "that all men are naturally virtuous, as all water flows downwards. All men have compassionate hearts, all feel ashamed of vice." The same doctrine is also taught, if possible, even more explicitly, in the San-Tsze-King or Three-Character Classic, a kind of Chinese Primer used in all schools throughout the empire. It is composed in rhyme, and begins with the bold announcement

"Men at their birth are by nature pure,"

and then qualifies the assertion

In this all are alike, but they differ in practice." "If left uneducated, nature deteriorates."

That, imbued with such teachings, the Chinese should find it hard to be convinced that they are sinners, unless when they hap

pen to break the laws of the empire, may be readily imagined. It is not, however, erroneous teachings like these that invest their classics with the painful and pernicious character which they possess so much, as their many serious deficiences. Nothing is said in any of them upon the great questions which concern man as an immortal being. Whatever views Confucius himself entertained regarding a future state, he carefully shunned all allusion to its existence in his teachings. When a disciple ventured to ask him about death, he replied, "While you do not know life now, can you know about death." To another disciple, he said, "You need not wish Tsze to know whether the dead have knowledge or not. There is no present urgency about the point. Hereafter you will know it for yourself." Again, in answer to the question-What constitutes wisdom? he said, "To give one's-self earnestly to the duty due to men, and while respecting spiritual beings, to keep aloof from them, may be called wisdom." Thus, a species of secularism is the only religion which his writings inculcate. They do not even contain any express recognition of the existence of a personal Deity. When Confucius speaks of a Supreme Being, it is always by the name of Heaven, never by the personal names of Te or Shang-te, which the Chinese use for God. His conduct in this respect may not warrant us to regard him as an atheist, but there can be no doubt, that it has had a most pernicious influence upon his countrymen, and has done more than anything else to divest their minds of all true religious feeling, and to expose them to the charge of universal atheism.

Of general literature, the Chinese are not altogether destitute. They possess many extensive works in the various departments of geography, history, and biography, although none of any great interest or value, save a few relating to the geography and antiquities of their own country. Their literature also comprises numerous poetical and dramatic works, as well as many tales and novels. The latter are, perhaps, the most objectionable books the Chinese have, as they generally consist of stories, the greater part of which is more or less demoralising. On subjects of a scientific kind, the literature of China is an entire blank. It has, indeed, a few works which treat of natural history, medicine, and physiology, but they are destitute of any value. The spirit of investigation and research has been so repressed among the Chinese, by the training to which they have for years been subjected, that they never think of going beyond the beaten track. Not until they are freed from the dominant and pernicious influence of their sacred literature, will they be led to take a higher and wider range of thoughts; and this can only be done by putting within their reach a literature, whose foundation and pervading element are the holy and expansive teachings of the Bible.

NOTES OF A TOUR IN AMERICA.

(Concluded from the December Number)

QUEBEC is about the most crooked, irregular city we have scen. Cooped up as long as there was an inch of ground to build on within the walls, the laws of order have altogether been ignored. The principal streets have most of them a gate to set them a-going, and away they straggle up towards the citadel. An hour spent in rambling over the latter gave us a very good idea of what an impregnable fortress is like. On an esplanade overlooking the river, a monument has been erected to the memory of Wolfe and his adversary Montcalm, who both fell in the siege which resulted in the overthrow of French power in this part of the world. Not far from the city, on the plains of Abraham, a pillar marks the spot where the English commander fell. The most interesting object which we visited was the Parliament House, the minature St Stephen's. Both upper and lower house are exceedingly handsome, the former especially, with its throne and splendid canopy, looks quite imposing. In one of the antechambers a series of photographs are exhibited of the new houses of parliament which are being erected at Ottawa, a hundred miles north of Montreal. When the seat of government is removed there, a vexed question, which was likely a few years ago to set the whole colony in a blaze, will have received its final solution. The fair and promising future of the country is somewhat marred by the existence of so many discordant elements in the eastern and western provinces. Differing in origin, language, and religion, we fear they never will amalgamate so as to do away with all feelings of jealousy and distrust. At present they are bound together in a common loyalty to the British crown. When that tie is dissolved, an extraordinary measure of wisdom and mutual forbearance will become necessary to reconcile their contending interests. The alacrity with which, twelve months ago, the spirited little nation stepped forward to take up the gauntlet, which it was supposed had intentionally been thrown down to the mother country by the United States, gave a very satisfactory proof that her liberal policy had been fully appreciated. The people of Upper, and the priests of Lower Canada, are firmly persuaded that in the connection with Britain lies their surest hope of ultimate independence. French and English, whatever other disagreements they may have, are agreed in this. How the loyalty of the French part of the community would stand the test of a war with France, it would be difficult to say. When we remember that the colony came into our possession by conquest, it seems almost impossible that an invading force, hoisting the same flag, speaking the same language, and professing the same religion, would be received otherwise than with open arms. Yet the feelings of many of the French with whom we conversed on the subject seem quite of a different nature. "We never saw France, and we neither know nor care anything about it. We were born under the British government, and we would die under it. No change could improve our present circumstances." These were the words of a very intelligent gentleman with whom we had considerable intercourse, and we believe they are the expression of the sentiments of the majority of the people. May they long continue to be.

A drive of seven miles took us to the picturesque Falls of Montmorency. The road is almost uninterruptedly lined with the cottages of the habitans, who are a very tidy and respectable class. The whole district is intensely Roman Catholic, as shewn by the number of little chapels and crosses which one meets with by the side of the highway. The following day we drove to Lorrette, a distance of ten miles. The Falls are not very much to be praised. The Indian village is a miserable, squalid-looking place, decorated with snow shoes and other articles, the manufacture of which obtains the greater share of the skill and industry of the former lords of the soil. Quite a host of youthful aborigines, with bows and arrows, followed us through the dirty,

sloppy streets, vociferating at the top of their voices in broken English, "Teach to shoot:""Teach to shoot for a penny." The inducement to remain and acquire a knowledge of the art at the hands of such able instructors, and at so moderate a charge, was no doubt great, but time pressed, and we hurried on.

A few hours later, we have done with Quebec. Crossing the St Lawrence to Point Levi, we take our places in the express train. A very rapid passage of seven hours, one time through dense forests undisturbed as yet by the axe of the emigrant, at another through fine tracks of cleared land, and last through the tube of the Victoria Bridge, brings us back to Montreal. It was Saturday night. On Monday morning we left for the south. At the head of Lake Champlain, we pass first a British, and shortly afterwards an American fort. Close by the latter our train stops. We have recrossed the frontier, and are once more under the jurisdiction of the "stars and stripes."

We are now entering on a long stretch of magnificent scenery, which reaches from the confines of Canada to the city of New York, following the line of the lakes and the Hudson. This valuable water communication was a source of sore trouble to the early colonists. The restless Indians launching their canoes at the spot where we now are, easily made their way to the very heart of the settlements, and with tomahawk and firebrand left the cruel proofs of their inroad in the smoking ashes of the homes and the blood of the household. Under the dark shadow of the pines may still be discovered ditches and mounds, the remains of the little strongholds erected to check these savage incursions.

In the course of a few minutes, we resume our seats in the train, and away we go on the wings of the wind along the shore and over the water until, about half-way down the lake, we arrive at Burlington. Here we exchange the dust and discomfort of the railway for the comforts of the steamboat. The day is sultry. A haze hangs like a pall over the lake, and effectually conceals its beauties. The sail, notwithstanding, is pleasant. At Ticonderogo we disembark, and after the delay of an hour, we get mounted on the top of the coach for Lake George. This ride is one of the most delightful and interesting that could be had. The scenery is unusually picturesque, and the sad reminiscences of troublous times now long gone by, which almost every new turn of the road brings up, give an additional interest. Often have the wild war whoop of the red man, and the shrill blast from the trumpet of his pale-faced antagonist, awaked the slumbering echoes of those silent hills. Scarcely has the traveller got fairly located on his elevated position, and before he has accommodated himself to a series of the most merciless joltings, when his attention is called to the shattered and mouldering walls of Fort Ticonderogo. The vicissitudes through which it was hurried by the fortunes of war ended with its demolition by the British in the war of Independence. A little farther on, the road cuts through the advanced line of earthworks where many a time the blood of English, French, and Indians has been poured out like water. Again, still farther on, by the side of a brawling river, a sign-board indicates the place where Lord Howe fell. About half-way we cross the Mohawk, at a spot invested with a fictitious interest by the author of the "Last of the Mohicans." It would have been difficult for him to have found a more romantic locality into which to introduce his red and white heroes and heroines. But, alas! the utilitarian spirit of the age is no respecter of natural beauty, and the noise of the saw-mills now almost overwhelms the music of the waters. At length we came in sight of the tranquil Lake George, lying in the deepest seclusion amongst the mountains which rise abruptly from its shores. At the place where Lord Howe's expedition landed, we embarked in the little "Mine-haha." As we sailed down its glassy waters and viewed the various beauties of the lovely picture, we could not but feel thankful to our friend in Philadelphia who had said, "Don't miss Lake George." In most of its features it

bears a remarkable resemblance to the "Queen" of our Scottish lakes. At the foot of it we disembarked on the grounds of Fort William Henry Hotel. Here and there the smooth green slope of the lawn is disturbed by the bastions and earthworks which a very proper reverence for relics has carefully preserved. A solemn stillness reigns around, which is almost oppressive. A short walk in the evening brings us to the remains of Fort George. The forest has now taken it in force, and with difficulty we trace its lines and angles amongst the broom and brushwood with which it is covered. What a lonely habitation it must have been for the poor soldier compelled to drag out his weary days and nights in such awful solitudes! One day we lingered on the shores of Lake George. Fain would we have prolonged our stay, but the day was rapidly approaching which must terminate our sojourning in America, and carry us from its hospitable shores.

The first fifteen miles of our journey to Saratoga was by coach over a plank road. We had not proceeded far until a granite obelisk, rising above the sumachs and acacias presented itself before us at a little distance from the road-another memento of dark days. It points out the place where a gallant officer fell in a fray with the French and Indians more than a hundred years ago. Close by, the waters of the "Bloody Pool" conceal the bones of those that were slain on that occasion. In the course of two or three hours we reached our destination, the resort of belles and beaux from all parts of the country. The mineral water is the ostensible attraction; but constitutions that can stand the tear and wear of the gaieties of the place, must verily be in little need of the good influences of any such elixir. At an early hour in the morning, three or four of the largest hotels in the Union, besides many smaller ones, pour forth their thousands to the different springs, After swallowing the proper quantity of what is not a very palatable potion, the multitude disperses in every direction, and for the rest of the day the village wears rather a deserted aspect. The evening, however, again calls them out, and the streets and walks are crowded with promenaders now in full dress. About eight o'clock the music commences. The magnificent ball-rooms begin to absorb the attention of the gay and giddy throng, and dancing is carried on till exertion colours the complexion, and improves the appearance, if it does not improve health.

Satisfied with our peep at "Vanity Fair," we next make for Boston. A long run it is through a beautiful and well-cultivated tract of country, and through the town where the first blood was shed when "Greek met Greek" in the revolutionary war. In the evening, we reach the old hotbed of rebellion. Most of its objects of interest are connected with that stormy period when America reluctantly rose to assert its rights. There is Fanueil Hall, within whose old walls many a burst of patriotic eloquence has fired the zeal, and united the efforts of its brave citizens. At the end of the hall, a large historical painting, representing Daniel Webster addressing Congress, is supported right and left by the portraits of George III. and his troublesome subject George Washington. Bunker's Hill, close by the city, is another interesting memorial of those days. Here the first important struggle took place between the king's troops and the colonists. Within the monument erected on it, two of the first four small cannons made use of in the war are preserved. The other two, the inscription informs us, were captured by the enemy. Two miles or three out of town, a fine old tree stands in the middle of a crossing" Washington's Elm." Under its wide-spreading branches the hero stood whilst addressing his troops. Not far from it, is what once served as his head-quarters, but which is now invested with an additional interest by being the residence of the poet Longfellow. Apart from the "Common" and its neighbourhood, there is nothing prepossessing in the appearance of the city. A visit to Harvard College and some other literary institutions, finished our sight-seeing in Boston.

A day at Lowell amongst the factories, whose fame had often created in us