crosses stretch forth their sinister arms; from time to time, carts drawn by oxen pass by, with the carter asleep under his cloak; and peasants on horseback, with a fierce expression of countenance, and their carbines at the saddle-bows. In the middle of the day the sky is the colour of melting lead, and the ground of a dusty grey, interspersed with mica, to which the greatest distance hardly imparts a bluish tint. There is not a single cluster of trees, not a shrub, not a drop of water in the bed of the dried-up torrents; nothing, in fact, is there to relieve the eye, or to gratify the imagination. In order to find a little shelter from the burning rays of the sun, you must follow the narrow line of scanty blue shade cast by the walls. We were, it is true, in the middle of July, which is not exactly the time of year for cool travelling in Spain; but it is our opinion that countries ought to be visited in their most characteristic seasons-Spain in summer, and Russia in winter. . . .

While waiting for our repast, we went to take a siesta: this is a habit which you are compelled to follow in Spain, for the heat from two to five o'clock is something that no Parisian can form an idea of. The pavement burns, the iron knockers on the doors grow red hot, a shower of fire seems to be falling from the sky; the corn bursts from its ears, the ground cracks like the porcelain of an over-heated stove, the grasshoppers make their corslets grate with more vivacity than ever, and the little air which reaches you seems to be blown forth by the brazen mouth of a large furnace; the shops are closed, and with all the gold in the world you would not induce a tradesman to sell you the slightest article. In the streets are to be seen dogs and Frenchmen only,

according to the popular saying, which is anything but flattering for us. The guides refuse to take you to the most insignificant monument, even though you offer them Havannah cigars, or a ticket for a bullfight-two most seductive things for a Spanish cicerone. The only thing you can do is to sleep like the rest, and make mind to do so; you very soon up your for what else can you do in the midst of a nation fast asleep!

THEOPHILE GAUTIER, " Voyage en Espagne."

WASHINGTON.

Washington had none of those brilliant and extraordinary qualities which strike at once upon the human imagination. He was not one of those ardent spirits, eager to explode, driven onwards by the energy of their thoughts or of their passions, and scattering about them the exuberance of their own nature, before either opportunity or necessity has called forth its exercise. Unacquainted with aught of inward agitation, and with the promptings of splendid ambition, Washington did not anticipate circumstances, nor did he aspire to the admiration of mankind. His firm intellect and his noble heart were profoundly calm and modest. Capable of rising to the level of the highest destiny, he could without a pang have remained ignorant of his own powers, and he would have found in the cultivation of his estate enough to satisfy those vast faculties which were to prove equal to the command of armies and the foundation of a government. But when the opportunity occurred, when the need was felt, with

out an effort on his part, and without surprise on that of others, or rather, as has been just shown, in conformity with their expectations, the wise planter shone forth a great man. He had, to a very high degree, the two qualities which in active life fit men for great achievements; he could trust firmly in his own thoughts, and resolutely act up to them, without fear of responsibility.

GUIZOT," Washington."

DEFENCE OF PATRIOTISM.

Is, then, that land like every other land, in which we first beheld the light, in which we have grown up, and which has given us our first impressions, our language and habits, everything in fact that makes a man? We might as well say that our mother is no more to us than any other woman. The Greeks of former times held that they were born of the very soil they cultivated: is not this belief a symbol for all other nations? May we not say that each nation is born of its own soil, to which it is attached by a thousand invisible roots, and that to a certain degree it reproduces its temperament ? Races are plants adapted to the soil and climate which have produced them; each occupies its place, fulfils its appointed part, accomplishes its evolution, gives its note; while the whole forms, as it has been said, the "gamut of human aptitude." Attempt to amalgamate the nations, alter their personality, and you will have false notes, the gamut will be destroyed, and consequently all harmony in that vast concert of nations will be impossible. A distinction between

nations is as necessary as between individuals, if you wish to preserve to each group of humanity its peculiar instincts and capabilities.

Doubtless this distinction degenerates into rivalry; but the multiplicity of social ties, complicated interests, and habits of neighbourly kindness will gradually soften that tendency. To attempt to substitute philanthropy for patriotism, is to endeavour to replace instinct by pure ideality, and to raise logical speculations above the claims of gratitude and early associations. Were the thing possible, what would you gain? Only a diminution of the faculty of devotion. At present man instinctively and spontaneously attaches himself to his country; he could not so attach himself to humanity, without reflection and a virtuous effort. The great portion of mankind require simple, visible duties, an involuntary affection, and an aim within reach of the smallest minds and shortest arms. The accomplishment of your wish supposes a world of stoic philosophers versed in the most difficult rules of the algebra of duty, and not the ignorant and impulsive crowd which will always constitute the mass. By endeavouring to stretch the feelings of solidarity and devotion too far, you risk their snapping altogether; let them develope themselves in patriotism, and do not place us between an ideality we cannot grasp and our own personality, or we shall be borne away by the latter, and you will lose patriots without making men. The love of country is still the best teacher of hearts, and, above all, preserves on this earth the traditions of courage, patience, and self-devotion.

EMILE SOUVESTRE, "Mémorial de Famille."

PETER THE HERMIT.

Peter the Hermit traversed Italy, crossed the Alps, visited all parts of France, and the greatest portion of Europe, inflaming all hearts with the same zeal that consumed his own. He travelled mounted on a mule, with a crucifix in his hand, his feet bare, his head uncovered, his body girded with a thick cord, covered with a long frock, and a hermit's cloak of the coarsest stuff. The singularity of his garments was a spectacle for the people; whilst the austerity of his manners, his charity, and the moral doctrines that he preached, caused him to be revered as a saint.

He went from city to city, from province to province, working upon the courage of some, and upon the piety of others; sometimes he appeared in the pulpits of the churches, sometimes he preached in the high roads and public places. His eloquence was animated and fiery, and filled with vehement apostrophes which carried away the multitude. He reminded them of the profanation of the holy places, and the blood of the Christians shed in torrents in the streets of Jerusalem. He invoked, by turns, Heaven, the saints, the angels, whom he called upon to bear witness to the truth of what he told them. He apostrophized Mount Sion, the Rock of Calvary, and the Mount of Olives, which he represented as resounding with sobs and groans. When words failed him to paint the miseries of the faithful, he showed the assembled people the crucifix which he carried with him, sometimes striking his breast and wounding his flesh, sometimes melting into tears.