"It's a meeting as will tell in the conneotion," said Tozer, with unconscious fore sight; "a candid mind in a congregation aint so general as you and me would like to see, Mr. Vincent, and it takes a bit of a trial like this, sir, and opposition, to bring out the real attachment as is between a pastor and a flock."

smiles, her sweet looks, her kind words, even "Yes," said the minister, who was moving that magical touch upon his arm, which had about his papers, and did not look up. The once charmed him out of all his troubles? butterman began to be alarmed; he grew A groan came out of the young man's heart, more and more enthusiastic the less response not loud, but deep, as that thought moved he met with. him. The very despair of this love-dream had been more exquisite than any pleasure of his life. Was it all to pass away and be no longer? Life and thought, the actual and the visionary, had both come to a climax, and seemed to stand still, waiting the decision which must be come to that night. From these musings the entrance of Tozer roused the minister. The excellent butter- "Yes," said Vincent again. The deacon man came in all flushed and glowing from did not know what to make of the minister. his success. To him, the meeting, which Had he been piqued and angry, Tozer thought already the Nonconformist had half lost sight he might have known how to manage him, of under the superstructure of subsequent but this coldness was an alarming and mysevents, had newly concluded, and was the terious symptom which he was unequal to. one occurrence of the time. The cheers In his embarrassment and anxiety the good which had hailed him master of the field butterman stumbled upon the very subject were still ringing in Tozer's ears. "I don't from which, had he known the true state of deny as I am intoxicated-like," said the ex-affairs, he would have kept aloof. cellent deacon; "them cheers was enough "And the meeting as was to be to-morto carry any man off his legs, sir, if you'll row night?" said Tozer; "there aint no believe me. We've scattered the enemy, need for explanations now-a word or two that's what we've been and done, Mr. Vin- out of the pulpit is all as is wanted, just to cent. There aint one of them as will dare say as it's all over, and you're grateful for show face in Salem. We was unanimous, their attachment, and so forth; you know a sir — unanimous, that's what we was! I deal better, sir, how to do it nor me. And never see such a triumph in our connection. about the meeting as was called for to-morHurrah! If it warn't miss as is ill, I could row night ?-me and the missis were thinkgive it you all over again, cheers and all." ing, though it's sudden, as it might be turned into a tea-meeting, if you was agreeable, just to make things pleasant; or if that aint according to your fancy, as I'm aware you're not one as likes tea-meetings, we might send round, Mr. Vincent, to all the seat-holders to say as it's given up; I'd do one or the other, if you'd be advised by me."

"I am glad you were pleased," said Vincent, with an effort; "but I will not ask you for such a report of the proceedings."

"Thank you-but I can't do either one or the other," said the Nonconformist. "I would not have asked the people to meet me if I had not had something to say to themand this night's business, you understand," said Vincent, with a little pride, "has made no difference in me."

"Pleased! I'll tell you one thing as I was sorry for, sir," said Tozer, somewhat subdued in his exultation by the pastor's calmness-"I did it for the best; but seeing as things have turned out so well, I am as sorry as I can be—and that is, that you wasn't there. It was from expecting some unpleasantness as I asked you not to come; but things turning out as they did, it would have done your heart good to see 'em, Mr. Vincent. Salem folks has a deal of sense when you put things before them effective. "No, sir, no-to be sure not," said the And then you'd only have had to say three perplexed butterman, much bewildered; words to them on the spur of the moment," but two meetings on two nights consecuand all was settled and done with, and every-tive is running the flock hard, it is. I'd give thing put straight; which would have let up to-morrow, Mr. Vincent, if I was you." them settle down steady, sir, at once, and not kept no excitement, as it were, hanging about."

To this insinuating address the minister made no answer-he only shook his head. Poor Tozer, out of his exultation, fell again

into the depths. The blow was so unlooked at the child asleep on the sofa by her, unfor that it overwhelmed him. conscious of the long and terrible interval "You'll not go and make no reflections, between the danger which that child had sir?" said the troubled deacon; "bygones shared, and the delicious security to which is bygones. You'll not bring it up against her mind had all at once awakened. To them, as they didn't show that sympathy Susan's consciousness, it appeared as if her they might have done? You'll not make no mother had suddenly risen out of the mists, reference to nobody in particular, Mr. Vin- and delivered the two helpless creatures who cent? When a flock is conscious as they've had suffered together. She could not press done their dooty and stood by their pastor, it close enough to this guardian of her life. aint a safe thing, sir, not to turn upon them, She held her arms round her, and laid her and rake up things as is past. If you'll take cheek against the widow's with the depenmy advice, sir, as wishes you well, and hasn't dence of a child upon her mother's bosom. no motive but your good, I'd not hold that Mrs. Vincent sat upon the bed supporting meeting, Mr. Vincent; or, if you're bent her, herself supported in her weariness by upon it, say the word, and we'll set to work love and joy, two divine attendants who go and give 'em a tea-meeting, and make all but seldom together. The two talked in things comfortable. But if you was pru- whispers,-Susan because of her feebleness, dent, sir, and would go by my advice, one or the other of them two is what I would do."

"Thank you, Tozer, all the same," said Vincent, who, notwithstanding his pre-occupation, saw the good butterman's anxiety, and appreciated it. "I know very well that all that is pleasant to-night is owing to you. Don't suppose I don't understand how you've fought for me; but now the business is mine, and I can take no more advice. Think no more of it; you have done all that you could do."

I have done my humble endeavour, sir, as is my dooty, to keep things straight," said the deacon, doubtfully; and if you'd tell what was in your mind, Mr. Vincent

the mother in the instinct of caressing tenderness. The poor girl told her story in broken syllables-broken by the widow's kisses and murmurs of sympathy, of wonder and love. Healing breathed upon the stricken mind and feeble frame as the two clung together in the silent night, always with an unspoken reference to the beautiful, forlorn creature on the sofa — that visible symbol of all the terrors and troubles past. "I told her my mother would come to save us," said poor Susan. When she dropped to sleep at last, the mother leant her aching frame upon some pillows, afraid to move, and slept too, supreme protector, in her tender weakness, of these two young lives. As she woke from time to time to see her child sleeping by her side, thoughts of her son's deliverance stole across Mrs. Vincent's mind to sweeten her repose. The watchlight burned dimly in the room, and threw a gigantic shadow of her little figure, half erect on the side of the bed, still in her black gown and the close white cap, which could not be less than dainty in its neatness, even in that vigil, upon the further wall. This was all the satisfaction Tozer got The widow slept only in snatches, waking from the minister. He went home much often and keeping awake, as people do discouraged, not knowing what to make of when they grow old; her thoughts, ever it, but did not confide his fears even to his alive and active, varying between her projwife, hoping that reflection would change the ects for the future, to save Susan from all pastor's mind, and resolved to make another painful knowledge of her own story, and effort to-morrow. And so the night fell over the thankful recollection of Arthur's rescue the troubled house. In the sick-room a from his troubles. From echoes of Tozer's joyful agitation had taken the place of the speech, and of the cheers of the flock, her dark and hopeless calm. Susan, roused to imagination wandered off into calculations life, lay leaning against her mother, looking of how she could find another place of hab

But the young Nonconformist gathered up his papers, closed his desk, and held out his hand to the kind-hearted butterman. 66 My sister has come back almost from the grave to-night," said Vincent; " and we are all, for anything I can see, at the turning-point of our lives. You have done all you can do, and I thank you heartily; but now the business is in my hands."

itation as pleasant, perhaps, as Lonsdale, | Tozer-who was as restless as the minister, and even to the details of her removal from and disturbed his wife by groans and murthence, what portions of her furniture she murs, of which, when indignantly woke up would sell, and which take with her. "For to render an account, he could give no exnow that Arthur has got out of his troubles, planation - knew or suspected anything. we must not stay to get him into fresh diffi- Whether to take up his anchors altogether culties with his flock," she said to herself, and launch out upon that sea of life, of with a momentary ache in her thankful which, much as he had discussed it in his heart; and so dropped asleep for another sermons, the young Nonconformist knew half-hour, to wake again presently, and enter next to nothing. The widow would not anew into the whole question. Such was have mused so quietly with her wakeful eyes the way in which Mrs. Vincent passed that in the dim room next to him, had she known agitated but joyful night. what discussions were going on in Arthur's mind. As for the congregation of Salem, they slept soundly, with an exhilarating sensation of generosity and goodness,—all except the Pigeons, who were plotting schism, and had already in their eye a vacant Temperance Hall, where a new preaching station might be organized under the auspices of somebody who would rival Vincent. The triumphant majority, however, laughed at the poulterer, and anticipated, with a pleasurable expectation, the meeting of next night, and the relief and delight of the pastor, who would find he had no explanations to make, but only his thanks to render to his generous flock. The good people concluded that they would all stop to shake hands with him after the business was over. "For it's as good as receiving of him again, and giving him the right hand of fellowship," said Mrs. Brown at the Dairy, who was entirely won over to the minister's side. Only Tozer, groaning in his midnight visions, and disturbing the virtuous repose of his wedded partner, suspected the new cloud that hung over Salem. For before morning the minister's mind was finally made up.

In the adjoining room Arthur sat up late over his papers. He was not writing, or doing any work; for hours together he sat leaning his head on his hand, gazing intently at the lamp, which his mother had adjusted, until his eyes were dazzled, and the gloom of the room around became spotted with discs of shade. Was he to permit the natural gratification into which Tozer's success had reluctantly moved him, to alter his resolve? Was he to drop into his old harness and try again? or was he to carry out his purpose in the face of all entreaties and inducements ? The natural inclination to adopt the easiest course-and the equally natural, impetuous, youthful impulse to take the leap to which he had made up his mind, and dash forth in the face of his difficulties -gave him abundant occupation for his thoughts as they contended against each other. He sat arguing the question within himself long after his fire had sunk into ashes. When the penetrating cold of the night drove him at last to bed, the question was still dubious. Even in his sleep the uneasy perplexity pursued him ;-a matter momentous enough, though nobody but

A TURKISH GREAT EXHIBITION.-The example of the International Exhibition seems not to have been lost on the Porte. A grand show of native produce and industry has been decided on, and will be held in Stamboul during the coming Ramazan. To secure the successful realization of this idea, special local delegates are to be at once appointed in all the principal districts of the empire, for the collection and classification of samples. These last will be forwarded to the capital free of all custom or other dues, and at the Government expense. As in London, sales of the articles exhibited will be

allowed, and, in the event of their not being so disposed of, the Government will engage to buy all the smaller parcels. Prizes, in money or medals, will also be given to the successful exhibitors. Wholly new though this idea is in the history of Turkish industry, and obviously suggested also by the London enterprise, if intelligently and energetically carried out, it can hardly fail to have the best effect as a stimulant to the agriculturists and manufacturers of the country. The initiative in the matter is, we believe, wholly due to the Grand Vizier.-Levant Herald.

From Blackwood's Magazine.
JOHN WILSON.*

THERE are some men who receive their fame warm from the hearts of their contemporaries, and some to whom it is tardily meted out by the hands of posterity, that

slow but certain arbiter of human greatness. It is rarely that the present and the future come to an immediate agreement in such cases; and the greatest of reputations generally suffer a momentary eclipse before their full magnitude is understood and acknowledged. After the personal fascination dies away, it is time to set forth in veritable lines of fact and history the character to which we are inclined to do but scanty justice, because our sires have glorified it so much; and it is perhaps only after the verdict of his contemporaries has been confirmed by their successors, that any man can be considered to have fully achieved his fame.

This final and conclusive decision is now

day. The veriest tyro in literature has some conception, however slight, of the exuberant, brilliant, irregular, and splendid critic, who threw such a fervor of life and spontaneity into his criticism as to carry that secondary and subordinate craft into the rank of an art. The very fact of this universal knowledge made it harder to write him down in calm portraiture, and disentangle his actual figure from the maze of shining mists in which it was wrapt. But the task has been tenderly and successfully accomplished in the Mrs. Gordon seems volumes now before us.

to have spared no pains to make the story of her father's life as complete and perfect as it was in her power to make it. She has investigated the early years in which his genius dawned and his troubles began, and has traced with a touch of love, which is better than art, his progress through all the struggles and honors of his maturer life. The gleam of extravagance which, in the popular imagination, mingled with all the wisdom off from the real man as represented in this and the wit of the author of the Noctes fades affectionate biography; where his virtuous and honorable domestic life sets the visionary dissipations of Ambrose's in their true light, and helps the reader to reconcile the tender poetic musings of the "Lights and Shadows" with the wild force and Berser

the most stirring doings of a time when men no higher applause of a book which records were unscrupulous in speech and dauntless in invective, and of a writer unsurpassed in his powers of slaughter, than to say that no old wounds will sting nor new rancors be

demanded from us in respect to the remarkable man whose name heads this page. John Wilson received the liberal applauses of his generation, during his own lifetime, to an extent rarely equalled. It remains for us now to confirm or to cancel that contemporary fame. What his exact place may come to be when this age, like all that have gone before it, shall have "orbed into its perfect star," we shall not venture to deter-kerrage of the great critic. And we can add mine; but we are fully assured that his permanent reputation, when he is judged by his works, will not be less than it was when his living influence fascinated all around him. It is unnecessary for any one (and above all for us) to tell the world who and what he was. Perhaps no man of purely literary character ever so thoroughly pervaded his generation. Sir Walter Scott gave to our John Wilson was born on the 18th May, fathers and the universe the most remarka-1785, in Paisley, one of the least lovely and ble and brilliant series of works known to least attractive of Scotch towns, yet the modern times; Wordsworth and his brotherhood gave them a renewed and freshened stream of poetry; but Christopher North gave them their opinions, breathed the breath of life into their private estimate of the national literature, and threw the light of his genius with a lavish hand upon all things, worthy and unworthy, of the passing

"Christopher North: A Memoir of John Wilson, late Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. By his Daughter, Mrs. Gordon. Edinburgh: Edmonston and Douglas.

awakened, by means of a memoir so temperately and judiciously compiled.

birthplace of a sufficient number of notable men to give it a name more enduring than that conferred by its shawls and muslins. He was the son of a man wealthy but undistinguished-born of the fresh soil and vigor

life and mighty frame usually are; and had a mother of the ancient Scotch type, handsome, witty, and imperative, as became the mother of a man of genius. He was the eldest son, and seems to have early become the hero of the family, his childish adven

ous native stock, as men of such exuberant

ration between the childhood so joyously spent and the youth so precociously begun. In Glasgow he lived with Professor Jardine, the Professor of Logic, where he seems to have early progressed into society, but where he also appears, through the medium of old

tures, drolleries, and wisdoms being laid up among the traditions of the house. At three he ran away from his nurse's custody to fish with a pin in the nearest burn; at five he preached quaint sermons on the duties of parents to the delighted audience in the nursery; and while he was still of very memorandum-books, in all the virtue and tender years, was despatched to school at propriety of an exemplary schoolboy, noting the Manse of the Mearns, an adjacent par- down his juvenile expenses and balancing ish, "wild, pastoral, moorland, and sylvan," his innocent sixpences with the most laudawhere, amid the best and most genial influ- ble exactness. Here his country training ences, he entered into all the delights of that and growing strength disclose themselves in rural life which he was afterwards to illus-records of races and pedestrian feats of varitrate with so many noble pictures, and from ous kinds, in boxing matches, and other which he was to draw so much inspiration. such vigorous diversions. He fell in love What he saw and heard among these woods too, as was natural, as he grew older; and and wastes, his snatches of delight and wrote and dedicated a volume of poems in storms of terror, his fights, his frights, his manuscript to the Margaret of his thoughts. weapons, and his playfellows-perhaps the Of the progress of his studies there is no most beautiful picture of a schoolboy's ex- great evidence, but a token of budding perience ever attempted in words-the reader genius, much more characteristic of his will find recorded in the papers entitled, future career than any number of verses, Christopher in his Sporting Jacket. Noth- appears in the shape of a letter to Wordsing could be more exquisite than the land- worth, written when the young student was scape and the child, the one completing and but seventeen. It was shortly after the pubelevating the other, which appear in these lication of the " Lyrical Ballads," over which wonderful sketches, where the student of so great a storm arose; and, though full of opinion and public sentiment may trace the enthusiasm for the poet and his work, refirst germ of that enthusiasm for athletic veals the future critic with a most interestsport and open air which has since become ing and significant distinctness. Here the a kind of popular gospel, and which the Scotch lad addresses, like a young monarch, founders of the modern school of Muscular the great singer, whom he feels himself able Christianity claim to have first suggested. to estimate and deliver judgment upon. He Mr. Kingsley himself, however, may consent to yield the palm, at once of landscapepainting and life, to the Paisley boy, just escaped from the close enclosure of the little town, whose heart is intoxicated with the very air, and whose long-hoarded recollections rise up with all the radiance of first love, illuminating every tuft of heather on the moor and every stretch of country in the sunshine. Many a deluding line of imaginary autobiography came from the same hand to mystify the public; but there is no mystification possible about the records of that brightest childhood, in which everything is so fresh, so new, so lavish in light and color and happiness.

Vivid, however, as these impressions are, he was only twelve when, with the usual premature transition of Scotch training, he was transferred to Glasgow College-the death of his father forming a point of sepa"Recreations of Christopher North."

is not abashed as he enters the poet's presence, although the name of poet is almost the highest of earthly titles to his youthful eyes; but he is reverent, modest, serious, as becomes one who is profoundly aware of the greatness he approaches, and aware also of his own birthright, which makes his approach natural. Fervent as the praise is, it is not in the mock-heroical strain of ordinary enthusiasm, nor is the young critic afraid to deliver his full opinion. It is thus that he addresses, with youthful composure, the poet over whom all the reviewers of the day were fighting, and who aimed at nothing less than establishing a new poetical creed in the agitated world:—

"But, sir, in my opinion," he says, after various commendations of the loftiest description, "the manner in which you have executed' this plan (of the Idiot Boy') has frustrated the end you intended to produce by it; the affection of Betty Foy has noth