might as well be expected to hold sweet communion with each other; and in every instance that has ever come under our observation, we have clearly seen that a rural population is always best off that is presided over by a man of moderate talents and attainments, of very small imagination, and no ambition.

As the volume before us closes with his closing Sermon at Kilmany, we have now only to do with his life until then; and undoubtedly there is in this record of his early life much that powerfully interests the reader and commands his admiration. Some splendid scenes are depicted to us in this narrative, of the triumph of intellect, trampling down in its onward progress all that was opposed to it, and yet unconscious meanwhile that the snarlers and sneerers were trodden upon in the dirt, and had become the laughing-stock of the beholders. What a scene must the General Assembly have presented when addressing himself to the Moderator he said: "Why, Moderator, according to the catalogue of church laws there is almost nothing which I may not do. I may catch rats if I please. Well, then, this is the employment which I choose to betake myself to, and in the prosecution of it I may carry it with proud defiance against all my ecclesiastical superiors." There was no frowning down a man who had a hundred thoughts for another man's one idea, and who had a hundred different modes of expression for every thought that was formed in his mind, and which he desired to transfer to the mind of another.

But the intellectual superiority of Dr. Chalmers is very far from being the most interesting disclosure of this volume-it discloses, indeed, that he would have been pre-eminently distinguished in any science or branch of human learning he devoted himself unto; but the most remarkable of its revelations, is his extraordinary humility and selfabasement in spiritual things-his unceasing longings after truth till he attained to it his unwearied researches-his patient investigationshis extensive readings-his contrite prayers, and holy aspirations, and the gradual dawning of the truth upon his mind-the gradual withdrawal of his thoughts from all secular pursuits-till all the once favourite subjects of study and investigation were laid aside; and the once distinguished mathematical professor could say, "Alas, sir, I once thought that a devoted attention to the study of mathematics was not dissonant to the proper habit of a clergyman; so I thought in my ignorance and pride, blinded as I was; but then, sir, I had forgotten two proportions of magnitude,-I thought not of the littleness of time-I recklessly thought not of the greatness of eternity."

We consider it, indeed, a privilege, one of great price and great use, to look into the daily workings of so active a mind, and so stirring a conscience, and so benevolent a spirit, as were possessed by Dr. Chalmers his anxiety to do right was as fervent as his endeavours to learn what was right to be done, and the record which he has here left of his own thoughts and feelings on the most solemn and important of all subjects, will enable him to preach far more effectually to the hearts of others, far more impressively and beneficially, in this silent manner from his grave, than ever he did in all the brilliancy of his impassioned eloquence from the pulpit.

AMERICAN HUMOUR.

THAT BIG DOG FIGHT AT MYERS'S.

A STORY OF MISSISSIPPI. BY A MISSISSIPPIAN,

"WELL, them was great times, and men lived about here, them days, too!-not sayin' they 're all dead, but the settlements is got too thick for 'em to splurge, an' they are old; besides, they 're watin' for thar boys to do somethin' when they gits men! I tell you what, if they lived till kingdom come they wouldn't be men. I'd like to see one single one of 'em that ever rid his horse up two pair of stairs, jumpt him through-"

"Stop, stop, Uncle Johnny! Myers's."

Do tell us about that big dog fight at

"Ha, ha, boy! You thar? Had your bitters yet? Well, well— we'll take 'em together; licker is better now than it used to was; but people don't drink so much, and that's strange! ain't it? Well, I was talkin' to these men about old Greensville, and about them same men, for they was all at that same dog-fight-Featte, the Devil! never be a patchin' to what old Greensville was about the times Old Col' was sheriff! I'll just bet all the licker I ever expect to drink, that thar ain't no second story in Featte that's got hoss tracks on the floor and up agin' the ceil-"

"I must stop you again, Uncle Johnny; Fayette is yet in its youth, and promises-'

"Youth, H-1! yes, like the youth of some of my old friends' sons -upwards of thirty, an' they 're expectin' to make men out 'n 'em yet! I tell you what, young men in my time 'd just get in a spree, sorter open thar shirt collars, and shuck tharselves with a growl, and come out reddy-made men; and most on 'em has staid reddy for fifty-one year! I ain't failed now, yet, and-"

"Uncle Johnny, do stick to the dog story: we'll hear all this after-"

Ah, you boy, you never will let me tell a story my way, but here goes:-Let me see-yes, yes. Well, it was a grate dog in Greensville, anyhow-Charly Cox had run old Saltrum agin' a hoss from the Redlicks, and beat him shameful-run right plum up the street in Greensville so as everybody might see. Well, a power of licker was wastednily ev'ry house in town rid through-women and children skeared out, and ev'ry drink we took was a ginral invite, and about night thar was one giural in town-Ginral Intoxication. Well, 'bout sun-down the old ginral-Lud bless him!-called up his troops; some of the same ones who was at Orleans; let's see, thar was the high sheriff, Dick, Bat, Jim, old Iron Tooth, an

"Iron Tooth! who's he?" suggested I.

Why, he's the man what fit the dog! Ain't you never seen a man here in Featte, when he gits high up, just pulls out his knife, and goes to chawin' it as if he'd made a bet he could bite it in two?” "Yes, yes, go on."

Well, the ginral made 'em all mount, formed line, and rid right

into the grocery-formed line agin, had a big stir-up drink handed to 'em all, an' when the ginral raised his hat and said the Hero of Orleans,' the yell that went up, put a bead on that man's licker that staid nily a month, I hearn. We come a rarin' out'n the grocery— charged up and down two or three times, cleared the streets of all weak things, then started out home, all in a brest; every one of us had a Polk stalk.'

"

"Hel-lo!-Polk stalks that early?"

"Well, well, hickry sticks-same thing. Out of town we went, chargin' ev'ry thing we see-fences, cattle, ox-teams; and at last we got to old Myers's, farly squeelin' to rar over somethin'! Old Myers's dog was awful bad-the worst in anybody's knolledge-why, people sent fifty miles to git pups from him! Well, he come a chargin, too, and met us at the gate, lookin' like a young hyena. Iron Tooth just turned himself round to us, and says he,Men, I'll take this fight off'n your hands; so down he got, ondressed to his shirt, stock, and boots-got down on his all-fours in the road, walkin' back'ards and for'ards, pitchin' up the dust and bellerin' like a bull! When the dog see him at that sort of work, he did sorter stop barkin', but soon as he see our animal strut up to the gate and begin to smell, then, like another dog, he got fairly crazy to git through at him; rarin', cavortin', and tarin' off pickets! Our animal was a takin' all this quite easy-smellin' through at him, whinin' me-you me-you me-you-struttin' back'ards and for'ards, histin' up one leg agin the gate.

Well, after a while the dog begin to git sorter tired, and then our animal begin to git mad! snap for snap he gin the dog, and soon the dog was worse than he had been. Thar we was settin' on our hoses, rollin' with laughin' and licker, and thought the thing was rich, as it was; but just then, our animal riz on his hinders, onlatched the gate, and the dog lunged for him. Ain't you never noticed when one dog bounces at another, he sorter whirls round sideways, to keep him from hittin' him a fair lick? Well, jist so our animal: he whirled round sideways to let the dog have a glancin' lick, and true to the caracter, he was goin' to allow the dog a dog's chance, and he stuck to his afours. The dog didn't make but one lunge, and he stopped-as still as the picter of the wolf in the spellin' book-for you see our animal was right starn end facin' him, and standin' mighty high up on his hind legs at that! We all raised the old Indian yell, for you never did see sich a sight, and thar stood the dog with the awfullest countenance you ever seen a dog ware! Our man, sorter thinkin' he'd bluffed the dog, now give two or three short goat-pitches back'ards at him! Ha! ha! ha!"

"What did he do? What did he do?"

"Do? why run! wouldn't a hyena run! The dog had a big block and chain to him, and soon our animal was arter him, givin' some of the awfullest leaps and yelps-'twarn't but a little squar picket yard round the house, and the dog couldn't git out, so round and round he went; at last, turnin' a corner the chain rapt round a stump, and thar the dog was fast, and he had to fight! But he did give powerful licks to get loose! When he see his inemy right on him agin, and when Iron Tooth seen the dog was fast, round and round he 'd strut; and sich struttin'! Ain't you never seen one of these big, long-legged, short-tailed baboons struttin' round on the top of the lion's cage? Well, so he'd go-sorter smellin' at the dog (and his tongue hanging

VOL. XXVII.

NN

out right smart, for he was tired), me-you! me-you! Snap! snap! the dog would go, and he begin to show fight plain agin, for our varmint was a facin' him, and he seen 'twas a man arter all! But our animal know'd how to come the giraffe over him-so round he turns agin! That farly broke the dog's hart, and he jist rared back a pullin' and got loose! One or two goat-pitches back'ards and the dog was flat on his back, playin' his fore-paws mighty fast, and perhaps some of the awfullest barks you ever hearn a dog gin! Old Iron Tooth he seen he had the dog at about the right pint, and he gave one mortal lunge back'ards, and he lit with both hands on the dog's throat, turned quick as lightnin', div down his head, and fastened his teeth on the dog's ears. Such a shakin' and howlin'! The dog was too skeared to fight, and our animal had it all his own way. We hollered to give him some in the short ribs,' but he only held on and growled at us, playin' the dog clean out, I tell you. Well, thar they was, rollin' and tumblin' in the dirt-first one on top, and then t'other-our animal holdin' on like pitch to a waggin wheel, the dog never thinkin' about fightin' once, but making rale onest licks to git loose. At last our varmint's hold broke-the dog riz -made one tiger lunge-the chain snapped-he tucked his tail, and -and-but you all know what skeared dogs will do!

66

'Nobody ain't never got no pups from Myers since-the blood run right out!"

THE GENIUS OF GEORGE SAND.

THE COMEDY OF FRANÇOIS LE CHAMPI.

SCARCELY half a dozen years have elapsed since it was considered a dangerous experiment to introduce the name of George Sand into an English periodical. In the interval we have overcome our scruples, and the life and writings of George Sand are now as well known in this country as those of Charles Dickens, or Bulwer Lytton. The fact itself is a striking proof of the power of a great intellect to make itself heard in spite of the prejudices and aversion of its audience.

The intellectual power of George Sand is attested by the suffrages of Europe. The use to which she has put it is another question. Unfortunately, she has applied it, for the most part, to so bad a use, that half the people who acknowledge the ascendancy of her genius, see too much occasion to deplore its perversion.

The principles she has launched upon the world have an inevitable tendency towards the disorganization of all existing institutions, political and social. This is the broad, palpable fact, let sophistry disguise or evade it as it may. Whether she pours out an intense novel that shall plough up the roots of the domestic system, or composes a proclamation for the Red Republicans that shall throw the streets into a flame, her influence is equally undeniable and equally pernicious.

It has been frequently urged, in the defence of her novels, that they do not assail the institution of marriage, but the wrongs that are perpetrated in its name. Give her the full benefit of her intention,

and the result is still the same. Her eloquent expositions of illassorted unions-her daring appeals from the obligations they impose, to the affections they outrage her assertion of the rights of nature over the conventions of society, have the final effect of justifying the violation of duty on the precarious ground of passion and inclination. The bulk of her readers of all readers-take such social philosophy in the gross; they cannot pick out its nice distinctions, and sift its mystical refinements. It is less a matter of reasoning than of feeling. Their sensibility, and not their judgment, is invoked. It is not to their understanding that these rhapsodies are addressed, but to their will and their passions. A writer who really meant to vindicate an institution against its abuses, would adopt a widely different course; and it is only begging George Sand out of the hands of the jury to assert that the intention of her writings is opposed to their effect, which is to sap the foundations upon which the fabric of domestic life reposes.

Her practice accords harmoniously with her doctrines. Nobody who knows what the actual life of George Sand has been, can doubt for a moment the true nature of her opinions on the subject of marriage. It is not a pleasant subject to touch, and we should shrink from it, if it were not as notorious as everything else by which she has become famous in her time. It forms, in reality, as much a part of the philosophy she desires to impress upon the world, as the books through which she has expounded her theory. It is neither more nor less than her theory of freedom and independence in the matter of passion (we dare not dignify it by any higher name) put into actionrather vagrant action, we fear, but, on that account, all the more decisive. The wonder is, how anybody, however ardent an admirer of George Sand's genius, can suppose for a moment that a woman who leads this life from choice, and who carries its excesses to an extremity of voluptuous caprice, could by any human possibility, pass so completely out of herself into another person in her books. The supposition is not only absurd in itself, but utterly inconsistent with the boldness and sincerity of her character.

Some sort of justification for the career of Madame Dudevant has been attempted to be extracted from the alleged unhappiness of her married life, which drove her at last to break the bond, and purchase her liberty at the sacrifice of a large portion of her fortune, originally considerable. But all such justifications must be accepted with hesitation in the absence of authentic data, and more especially when subsequent circumstances are of a nature to throw suspicion upon the defence. Cases undoubtedly occur in which the violent disruption of domestic ties may be extenuated even upon moral grounds; but we cannot comprehend by what process of reasoning the argument can be stretched so as to cover any indiscretions that take place afterwards.

Madame Dudevant was married in 1822; her husband is represented as a plain country gentleman, very upright and literal in his way, and quite incapable, as may readily be supposed, of sympathising "with what one of her ablest critics calls her "aspirations towards the infinite, art and liberty." She bore him two children, lived with him eight years, and, shortly after the insurrection of July, 1830, fled from her dull house at Nohant, and went up to Paris. Upon this step nobody has a right to pronounce judgment. Nor should the world penetrate the recesses of her private life from that day forward, if her life could be truly considered private, and if it were not in