whilst we enjoy the remotest products of the north and south, we are free from those extremities which gave them birth; that our eyes are refreshed with the green fields of Britain, at the same time that our palates are feasted with fruits that grow between the tropics.

For these reasons, there are not more useful members in a commonwealth than merchants. They knit mankind together in a mutual intercourse of good offices, distribute the gifts of nature, find work for the poor, add wealth to the rich, and magnificence to the great. Our English merchant converts the tin of his own country into gold, and exchanges his wool for rubies. The Mahometans are clothed in our British manufacture, and the inhabitants of the frozen zone warmed with the fleeces of our sheep.

CIVIL AND MILITARY POWERS CONTRASTED.

A person having spoken highly of the merit of military men, and degradingly of magistrates and civil officers, in the presence of the Emperor Sigismond, he silenced him with this reproof: "Hold your peace, blockhead; if the latter always did their duty, the former would not be

wanted."

THE PRICE OF A VICTORY.

Good news! great news! glorious news! cried young Oswald, as he entered his father's house. We have got a complete victory, and have killed I don't know how many thousands of the enemy; and we are to have bonfires and illuminations!

And so, said his father, you think that killing a great many thousands of human creatures is a thing to be very glad about.

Os. No-I do not quite think so, neither; but surely it is right to be glad that our country has gained a great advantage.

F. No doubt it is right to wish well to our country, as far as its prosperity can be promoted without injuring the

rest of mankind. But wars are very seldom to the real advantage of any nation; and when they are ever so useful or necessary, so many dreadful evils attend them, that a humane man will scarcely rejoice in them, if he considers at all the subject.

Os. But if our enemies would do us a great deal of mischief, and we prevent it by beating them, have not we a right to be glad of it?

F. Alas! we are in general little judges which of the parties has the most mischievous intentions. Commonly they are both in the wrong, and success will make both of them unjust and unreasonable. But, putting that out of the question, he who rejoices in the event of a battle, rejoices in the misery of many thousands of his species; and the thought of that should make him pause a little. Suppose a surgeon were to come with a smiling countenance, and tell us triumphantly that he had cut off half a dozen legs to-day-what would you think of him?

Os. I should think him very hard-hearted.

F. And yet those operations are done for the benefit of the sufferers, and by their own desire. But in a battle, the probability is that none of those engaged on either side have any interest at all in the cause they are fighting for, and most of them come there because they cannot help it. In this battle that you are so rejoiced about, there have been ten thousand men killed upon the spot, and nearly as many wounded.

Os. On both sides.

F. Yes-but they are men on both sides. Consider now, that the ten thousand sent out of the world on this morning's work, though they are past feeling for themselves, have left probably two persons each, on an average, to lament their loss, either parents, wives, or children. Here are then twenty thousand people made miserable at one stroke, on their account. This, however, is hardly so dreadful to think of as the condition of the wounded. the moment we are talking, eight or ten thousand more are lying in agony, torn with shot or gashed with cuts, their wounds are festering, some hourly to die a most excruciating death, others to linger in torture weeks and months, and many doomed to drag on a miserable exist, ence for the rest of their lives, with diseased and mutilated bodies.

At

Os. This is shocking to think of, indeed!

F. When you light your candles, then, this evening, think what they cost.

Os. But every body else is glad, and seem to think nothing of these things.

F. True-they do not think of them. If they did, I cannot suppose they would be so void of feeling as to enjoy themselves in merriment when so many of their fellow-creatures are made miserable. Do you not remember when poor Dickens had his leg broken to pieces by a loaded wagon, how all the town pitied him?

Os. Yes, very well. I could not sleep the night after, for thinking of him.

F. But here are thousands suffering as much as he, and we scarce bestow a single thought on them. If any one of these poor creatures were before our eyes, we should probably feel much more than we now do for all together. Shall I tell you a story of a soldier's fortune, that came to my own knowledge?

Os. Yes-pray do.

F. In the village where I went to school, there was an honest, industrious weaver and his wife, who had an only son named Walter, just come to man's estate. Walter was a good and dutiful lad, and a clever workman, so that he was a great help to his parents. One unlucky day, having gone to the next market town with some work, he met with a companion, who took him to the alehouse and treated him. As he was coming away, a recruiting serjeant entered the room, who seeing Walter to be a likely young fellow, had a great mind to entrap him. He persuaded him to sit down again, and to take a glass with him; and kept him in talk with fine stories of a soldier's life, till Walter got fuddled before he was aware. The serjeant then clapt a shilling in his hand to drink his majesty's health, and told him he was enlisted. He was kept there all night, and next morning was taken before a magistrate to be sworn in. Walter had now become sober, and was very sorry for what he had done; but he could not get off without paying a guinea smart money. This he knew not how to raise; and being likewise afraid and ashamed to face his friends, he took the oath and bounty-money, and marched away with the serjeant without ever returning home. His poor father and mother,

when they heard the affair, were almost heart-broken; and a young woman in the village, to whom he was about to be married, had like to have gone distracted. Walter sent them a line from the first stage to bid them farewell and comfort them. He joined his regiment, which soon embarked for Germany, where it continued till the peace. Walter once or twice sent word home of his welfare, but for the last year nothing was heard of him.

Os. Where was he then ?

F. You shall hear. One summer's evening, a man in an old red coat, hobbling on crutches, was seen to enter the village. His countenance was pale and sickly, his cheeks hollow, and his whole appearance bespoke extreme wretchedness. Several people gathered round him, looking earnestly in his face. Among these a young woman, having gazed at him awhile, cried out, it is Walter-oh! it is Walter! and fainted away. Walter fell on the ground beside her. His father and mother being fetched by some of the spectators, came and took him in their arms, weeping bitterly. I saw the whole scene, and shall never forget it. At length the neighbors helped them into the house, where Walter told them the following story:

"At the last great battle that our troops gained in Germany, I was among the first engaged, and received a shot that broke my thigh. I fell, and presently after, our regiment was forced to retreat. A squadron of the enemy's horse came gallopping down upon us. A trooper making a blow at me with his sabre as I lay, I lifted up my arm to save my head, and got a cut which divided all the sinews at the back of my wrist. Soon after, the enemy were driven back, and came across us again. A horse set his foot on my side, and broke three of my ribs. The action was long and bloody, and the wounded on both sides were left on the field all night. A dreadful night it was to me, you may think! I had fainted through loss of blood, and when I recovered, I was tormented with thirst, and the cold air made my wounds smart intolerably. About noon, next day, wagons came to carry away those who remained alive; and I, with a number of others, was put into one to be conveyed to the next town. The motion of the carriage was terrible for my broken bonesevery jolt went to my heart. We were taken to an hospital, which was crammed as full as it could hold; and

we should all have been suffocated with the heat and stench, had not a fever broke out which soon thinned our -numbers. I took it, and was twice given over; however, I struggled through. But my wounds proved so difficult to heal, that it was almost a twelvemonth before I could be discharged. A great deal of the bone of my thigh came away in splinters, and left the limb crooked and useless as you see. I entirely lost the use of three fingers of my right hand; and my broken ribs made me spit blood a long time, and have left a cough and difficulty of breathing, which I believe will bring me to my grave. I was sent home and discharged from the army, and I have begged my way hither as well as I could. I am told that the peace has left the affairs of my country just as they were before; but who will restore me my health and limbs? I am put on the list for a Chelsea pensioner, which will support me, if I live to receive it, without being a burden to my friends. That is all that remains for Walter now!

He

Os. Poor Walter! What became of him afterwards? F. The wound of his thigh broke out afresh, and discharged more splinters after a great deal of pain and fever. As winter came on, his cough increased. wasted to a skeleton, and died the next spring. The young woman to whom he had been engaged, sat up with him every night to the last; and soon after his death, she fell into a consumption, and followed him. The old people, deprived of the stay and comfort of their age, fell into despair and poverty, and were taken into the workhouse, where they ended their days.

This was the history of Walter the Soldier. It has been that of thousands more; and will be that of many a poor fellow over whose fate you are now rejoicing. Such is the price of a victory.

THE PHYSICIAN AND THE LAWYER.

THE Physician and the Lawyer are both very useful to society. The physician relieves our sufferings, cures the diseases which may afflict our body, and often prolongs our life. The lawyer comes forward to our help, or in