don't want to lose any time in getting there; I may be locked out by Mr. Edward Arundel if I don't take care."

Mrs. Weston and her brother went back to the farmyard. It was sixteen miles from Kemberling to Stony-Stringford; and the ponies were steaming, for Lavinia had come at a good rate. But it was no time for the consideration of horseflesh. Paul took a rug from the empty seat, and wrapped himself in it. He would not be likely to be recognised in the darkness, sitting back in the low seat, and made bulky by the ponderous covering in which he had enveloped himself. Mrs. Weston took the whip from the boy, gathered up the reins, and drove off. Paul had left no orders about the custody of the old farmhouse. The boy went home to his master, at the other end of the farm; and the night-winds wandered wherever they listed through the deserted habitation.

Thus it is.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "TWICE LOST."

THE languid world went by me as I found
A jewel on the ground;

Under a silent weed

A nameless glory, set for none to heed.

"Stoop, see, and wonder!" was my joyful cry ; But still the languid world went only by.

And secret of my praise,-the thing was mine.
They left it to me with a bland disdain,

And hugged their tinsel to their hearts again.

VOL. X.

We know it is a diamond-you and I!"
Coldly he answered, "If you love it so,
You need not me to praise it. Let me go."

"It is my sin," I cried, with bitter tears,
"That no man hears.

I'll fling it down:

Some nobler hand shall set it in a crown.
I shall behold it honoured ere I die;
But no one could have loved it more than I."

E

S. M.

Renan's "Vie de Jésus."

CHRISTIANITY, says M. Renan, has been intolerant; but intolerance is not of its essence. Intolerance is essentially Jewish, since Judaism was the first to erect the theory of the absolute in religion, and laid down the principle that every innovator should be greeted with stones and pelted without judicial or other investigation. More than eighteen centuries, he adds, have been required for the blood of Him who abrogated this principle to bear its fruits.

We must say that its fruits are pretty evident in this year of grace eighteen hundred and sixty-three, and that M. Renan's book is their best testimony. It may figure on the Index Expurgatorius, and have had showered upon it all the sesquipedalian epithets of the Sacred College. Zealous Roman-Catholic bishops may have denounced it in their pastorals, and earnest Protestant journalists inveighed against it in their columns. Even quiet people, who never abuse any body, and are satisfied to fight their own individual battles with evil, without mixing themselves up in sectarian contention, may have been profoundly wounded by the publication of a work which they have not much cared to read. But the Life has not been burned by the common hangman, and we have heard of no attempt upon the author's ears. It has gone through several editions, been read by thousands of people, reviewed in scores of periodicals, and freely admitted into circulating-libraries. Toleration cannot go much further. And believing, as we do, that such toleration is the peculiar glory of our times, which, far more than scientific results or grand mechanical triumphs, will ennoble this century in the estimate of future ages, we avail ourselves of it to follow the example of our contemporaries, and will give an unvarnished, calm, and brief account of a volume whose importance it would be sheer affectation to ignore.

Previously to its appearance, there were comparatively few Englishmen so much as acquainted with the name of its writer. Nor is this to be wondered at, however much some may think it is to be regretted. Most amongst us are so hard-worked, spend so many hours in harness, and have to devote such an amount of energy either to making for themselves a position, or to maintaining themselves in it, that when the work can be suspended, the harness put off, and the energy relaxed, the last thing to which they think of betaking themselves is an author who, having himself deeply reflected and laboured, demands labour and reflection from his reader. An antisoporiferous romance, a book of almost fabulous travel, or the mild opiative of a cunning magazine, acts as a sort of couch for the overtasked, or as a stimulative to the jaded attention. And so it comes to pass that, though persistent advertisements which

they who ride may read make them perforce acquainted with the names of their more profound and speculative countrymen, they are content to take it upon trust that these are very learned gentlemen, and, for aught they know, are very worthily employed. The neglect which they thus bestow on their literary compatriots can scarce be complained of by those who extend the breach by writing learnedly in what to many is still a learned language. Political exile, or a questionable morality, may induce a certain portion of the English public to dip into their pages, and even to insist on their being translated; but we question if there ever was a time when Continental literature was more a matter of indifference to the mass of our readers than it is now. M. Renan's literary reputation in France, or at any rate in Paris, has long been equal to that of any of his contemporaries; but the ocean put bounds to his fame, as imperatively as to Canute's authority. His deposition from the Chair of Hebrew in the College of France brought him momentarily-perhaps for a couple of days-before the curious in "Foreign Intelligence;" but it is not likely that his name lingered in foreign brains. It brought under their notice that he was a distinguished Semitic scholar, and appeared to have ventured on heterodox opinions: the latter being nowadays so common, and the former always so uninteresting a fact, that both were swiftly forgotten. Yet no one writes with less pretence of learning, or in a style more suitable to ordinary understandings; and in his Essais de Morale et de Critique many would have hailed an entertaining instructor. But half the population is too busy, and the other half too indifferent, to be stirred by any thing much short of an earthquake or a thunderbolt; and as some easily-terrified people have newsed it abroad that the Vie de Jésus partakes of this character, M. Renan has at last become famous amongst us.

Those who have recently visited Paris, and whilst there went to inspect the new rooms of the Musée du Louvre, could not fail to remark the interesting objects which are the result of fresh explorations in ancient Phoenicia. They were discovered, under the direction of M. Renan, now nearly three years ago. His scientific journey brought him, of course, into immediate contact with the Holy Land, and more especially with its north-eastern portion, or Galilæa. He describes himself as astounded at the reality which a history, hitherto nebulous to his imagination, assumed in these sacred. wanderings. He had before him a fifth gospel, disfigured, but still legible. So striking was the agreement between the biblical text and the localities which he traversed, so faithful was the evangelical colouring to the landscape which he surveyed, that his travels became to him a sort of revelation. The abstract Being, about whose existence doubt was to him theretofore possible, shaped itself into an admirable figure, the centre-piece of the surrounding land. Seeking rest during the summer heats at Ghazir, he there struck out the rapid outlines of which this Life is the completion. He