The Sun. — London, England, 1866-04-04 00:00:00

UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH. - -o INSTALLATION OF MR. CARLYLE AS RECTOR. On Monday Mr. Thomas Carlyle was installed in office as Rector of the University of Edinburgh, and delivered his inaugural address. The event had been looked forward to with the keenest expectation, and the demand for tickets was far beyond the pow er of accommodation of the M usic-hall. Th e s tudents, as the constituents of the Rector, espe cially looked forward with enthusiasm to the visit of Mr. Carlyle, who, though not in the first instance unanimously chosen, was at least unanimously wel comed. By a little after 1 o'clock the front gallery bad been filled by ladies, who were admitted by the Rose-street entrance, and before the half-hour the front-doors were thrown open, when the entire area of the hall was filled in a few minutes by the stu dents and by graduates who had the fortune to ob tain tickets. The back of the platform was also quickly filled by the overflow from the area of the hall. The assemblage must have numbered alto gether about 2,200. In the interval that elapsed before the ceremony the students amused themselves by lively demonstrations, but at the same time keep ing perfect order. The academic body moved in procession to the platform, the Rector, who wore the robe of office, being immensely cheered. The Rev. Dr. LEE opened the meeting with prayer. Mr. GIBSON, chairman of Mr. Carlyle's committee, said —Mr. Vice-Chancellor, in the name of the students of the University, I present to you Mr. Carlyle as the Rector whom we have chosen. (Tre mendous cheering.) It would be strange indeed if we were to omit from the list of those we wish to honour our University's most distinguished son— the foremost of living Scotchmen. (Loud cheers.) More than 50 years ago he was a student in our class-rooms, and now we rejoice that it has been our good fortune to bring him back to you, and to give to him the highest of all the honours we have to bestow. (Cheers.) I beg you will install him as our Lord Rector. (Loud cheers.) The ceremony of presentation for the degree of LL.D. then took place. Professor Muirhead then severally presented to the Vice-Chancellor, as gentlemen whom the Senate had adjudged worthy to receive the honorary degree of Doctor of Law, Mr. Erskine, of Linla then, advocate, a gentleman who had attained a high reputation for eloquent scholarship both in classical and Biblical literature ; Professor Huxley, who had vindicated his claim to be regarded as one of the most accomplished naturalists of the day ; Dr. John Rae, who had, by personal exploration, largely extended our knowledge of the Arctic re gions; Professor A. Crombie Ramsay, to whose personal services the success of the geological survey of the United Kingdom was mainly to be attributed ; and Professor Tyndal, the worthy successor of Davy, and colleague of Faraday. These gentlemen were severally invested with the doctor's hood. Mr. CARLYLE, when the loud applause with which he was greeted had subsided, said—Gentle men, I have accepted the office you have elected me to, and have now the duty to return thanks for the great honour done me. Your enthusiasm towards me, I admit, is very beautiful in itself, however un desirable it may be in regard to the object of it. It i s a feeling honourable to all men, and one well known to myself when I wasin a position analogous to your own. I can only hope that it may endure to the end—that noble desire to honour those whom you think worthy of honour, and come to be more select and discriminate in the choice of the object of it ; for I can well understand that you will modify your opinions of me and many things else as you go on. (Laughter and cheers.) There are now 56 years gone last November since I first entered your city, a boy of not quite 14-56 years ago—to attend classes here and gain knowledge of all kinds, I know not what, with feelings of wonder and awe-struck expectation ; and now, after a long course, this is what we have come to. There is something touch ing and tragic, and yet at the same time beautiful, to see the third generation, as it were, of my dear old native land rising up and saying, " Well, you are not altogether an unworthy labourer in the vineyard; you have toiled through a great variety of fortunes, and have had many judges." As the old proverb says, " He that builds by the wayside has many masters." We must expect a variety of judges ; but the voice of young Scotland, through you, is really of some value to me, and I return you many thanks for it, though I cannot describe my emotions to you, and perhaps they will be much more conceivable if expressed in silence. (Cheers.) When this office was first proposed to me, some of you know I was not very ambitious to accept it at first. I was taught to believe that there were more or less certain im portant duties would lie in my power. This, I con fess, was my chief motive in going into it—at least in reconciling the objections felt to such things ; for if I can do anything to honour you and my dear old Alma Mater, why should I not do so? (Loud cheers.) Well, but on practically looking into the matter when the office actually came into my hands, I find it grows more and more uncertain and ab struse to me whether there is much real duty that I can do at all. I live 400 miles away from you, in an entirely different state of things ; and my weak health—now for many years accumulating upon me, and a total unacquaintance with such subjects as concern your affairs here—all this really fills me with apprehension that there is really nothing worth the least consideration which I can do on that score. You map , however, depend upon it that if any such duty does ar i se in any form, I will use my most faithful endeavour to do whatever is right and pro per according to the best of my judgment. (Cheers.) In the meanwhile, the duty I have at present— which might be very pleasant, but which is quite the reverse, as you may fancy—is to address some words to you on some subjects more or less cognate to the pursuits you are engaged in. In fact, I had meant to throw out some loose observations—loose in point of order I mean —i n suc h a way as th ey occur to me_the truths I have in me about the business y ou are engaged in, the race you have started on, - what kind of a race it is you young gentlemen have begun, and w h a t sort of arena you are lik e ly t o fi n d I in this world. I ought,believe,according to custom to have written .that do n paper and h'whenai it read out. That would have bee n much handier forme l at the present moment—(a laugh).- but, tempted to write I found that I was not accustomed.- to write speeches, and that I did not get on very well. So I flung that away, and resolved to trust to the inspiration of the moment—just to what came up permost. You will therefore have to accept what is readiest, what comes direct from the heart, and you must just take that in compensation for any good order or arrangement that there might have been in it. I will endeavour to say nothing that is not true as far as I can manage, and that is pretty much all that I can engage for. (A laugh.) Advices, I believe, to young men, and to all men, are very seld om muc h v alued. There is a g reat deal of advising, and very little faithful performing. And talk that does not end in any kind of action is better suppressed altogether. I would not, therefore, go much into ad • vi sing ; but there is one advice I must give you. It is, and you have in tfaiet, the summary of all advises, heard a thousand times, I dare say; but I must nevertheless let you hear it te thousand and first time, for it is most inte nsely you will believe it at present ornoo true, whether above all things the interest of nam ' ely, that wYhi c ul e o r m i O t e w is l t i ca l l i l f e e d de pends upon being diligent now, to day, in this place where you have edu cation. Diligent ! That includes all virtues vues i n it that a student can have ; I mean to include in it all qualities that lead into the acquirement of real in struction and improvement in such a p l ace. If you will believe me, you who are young, yours is the golden season of life. As you have heard it called, se it verily is, the seed-time of life, in which, if you do not sow, or if you sow tears instead of wheat, vou cannot expect to reap well afterwards, and you will arrive at indeed little; while in the course of years, when you come to look back, and if you have not done what you have heard from your advisers —and among many counsellors there is wisdom—you will bitterly repent when it is too late. The habits of study ac quired at Universities are of the highest importance in after -life. At the season when you are in young years the whole mind is, as it were, fluid, and is capable of forming itself into any shape that the THE SUN, LONDON, WEDNESDAY EVENING, APRIL 4,186 b owner of the mind pleases to order it to form - whichthe Romans gave the name of virtue, manhood, itself into. The mind is in a fluid state, but it as the one thing ennobling for a man. In the literary hardens up gradually to the consistency of rock or ages of Rome, that had very much decayed away ; iron, and you cannot alter the habits of an old man, but still it had retained its place among the lower but as he has begun he will proceed to go on to the classes of the Roman people. Of the deeply religious last. By diligence I mean, among other things, and nature of the Greeks, along with ther beautiful and very chiefly, honesty in all your inquiries of what sunny effulgences of art, you have a striking proof, you are about. Pursue your studies in the way your if you look for it. In the tragedies of Sophocles, conscience calls honest. More and more endeavour there is a most distinct recognition of the eternal to do that. Keep, I mean to say, an accurate sepa- justice of Heaven, and the unfailing punishment of ration of what you have really come to know in crime against the laws of God. I believe you will your own minds and what is still unknown. Leave find in all histories that that has been at the head all that on the hypothetical side of the barrier, as and foundation of them all, and that no nation that things afterwards to be acquired, if acquired at all; did not contemplate this wonderful universe with an and be careful not to stamp a thing as known when awestricken and reverential feeling that there was a you do not know it. Count a thing kno w n only great unknown, omnipotent, and all-wise, and all when it is stamped on your m i n d, so that you may virtuous Being, superintendin 0- all men in it, and all survey if on all sides with i n t e lligence. There is such interests in it —no nation ever came to very much, a thing as a man endeavouring to persuade himself, nor did any man either, who forgot that. If a man and endeavouring to persuade others, that he knows did forget that, he forgot the most important part of about things when he does not know more than the his mission in this world. In our own history of outside skin of them, and he goes flourishing about England, which you will take a great deal of natural with them. (" Hear, hear," and a laugh.) There pains to make yourselves acquainted with, you will is also a process called cramming in some universi- find it beyond all others worthy of your study ; be ties—(a laugh)—that is, getting np such points of causelbelieve that the British nation—andl include ' things as the examiner is likely to put questions in them the Scottish nation—produced a finer set of about. Avoid all that as entirely unworthy of an men than any you will find it possible to get any honourable habit. Be modest, and humble, and where else in the world. (Applause.) I don't know diligent in your attention to what your teachers tell in any history of Greece or Rome where you will you, who are profoundly interested in trying to get so fine a man as Oliver Cromwe ll. ( A pp lause.) bring you forward in the right way, so far as th ey An d we h ave h a d m en worthy of memory in our have been able to understand it. Try all things be- little corner of the island here as well as others, and fore you in order, if possible, to understand them, our history has been strong at least in being con and to value them in proportion to your fitness for netted with the world itself—for if you examine well them. Gradually see what kind of work you can you will find that John Knox was the author, as it do, for it is the first of all problems for a man to were, of Oliver Cromwell ; that the Puritan revolu find out what kind of work he is to do in the uni- tion would never have taken place in England at all verse. In fact, morality as regards study is, as in if it had not been for that Scotchman. (Applause.) all other things, the primary consideration, and That is an arithmetical fact, and is not prompted by overrides all others. A dishonest man cannot do national vanity on my part at all. (Laughter and anything real, and it would be greatly better if he applause.) And it is very possible, if you look at were tied up from doing any such thing. He does the struggle that was going on in England, as I nothing but darken counsel by the words he utters. have had to do in my time, you will see that people That is a very old doctrine, but a very true one, and were overawed with the immense impediments lying you will find it confirmed by all the thinking men in the way. A small minority of God-fearing men in that have ever lived in this long series of generations the country were flying away with any ship they of which we are the latest. I daresay you know could get to New England, rather than take the lion very many of you, that it is now 700 years since by the beard. They dursn't confront the powers with Universities were first set up in this Europe of ours. their most just complaint to be delivered from idola- Abelard and other people had risen up with doctrines try. They wanted to make the nation altogether in them the people wished to hear of, and students conformable to the Hebrew Bible, which they un flocked towards them from all parts of the world. derstood to be according to the will of London ; and There was no getting the thing recorded in books there could be no aim more legitimate. However, as you may now. You had to hear him speaking they could not have got their desire fulfilled at all to you vocally, or else you could not learn at all if Knox had not succeeded by the firmness and what it was that he wanted to say. And so they nobleness of his mind. For he is also of the select gathered together the various people who had any- of the earth to me —John Knox. (Applause.) thing to teach, and formed themselves gradually What he has suffered from the ungrateful genera under the patronage of kings and other potentates tions that have followed him should really make us who were anxious about the culture of their popu- humble ourselves to the dust, to think that the lations, nobly anxious for their benefit, and became most excellent men our country has produced, to a University. I dare say, perhaps, you have heard whom we owe everything that distinguishes us it said that all that is greatly altered by the inven- among modern nations, should have been sneered tion of printing, which took place about midway at and abused by people. Knox was heard by Scot between us and the origin of Universities. A man land—the people heard him with the marrow of has not now to go away to where a professor is their bones—they took up his doctrine, and they actually speaking, because in most cases he can get defied principalities and powers to move them from his doctrine out of him through a book, and can read it. "We must have it," they said. It was at it, and read it again and again, and study it. I that time the Puritan struggle arose in England, don't know that I know of any way in which the and you know well that the Scottish Earls and no whole facts of a subject may be more completely bility, with their tenantry, marched away to Dunse taken in, if our studies are moulded in conformity hill, and sat down there; and just in the course of with it. Nevertheless, Universities have, and will that struggle , when it was either to be suppressed continue to have, an indispensable value in society or brought into greater vitality, they encamped on —a very high value. I consider the highest interests the top of Dunse-hill-30,000 armed men, drilled of man vitally intrusted to them. In regard to for that occasion, each regiment around its land -1 theology, as you are aware, it has been the study lord, its earl, or whatever he might be called, and of the deepest heads that have come into the world eager for Christ's Crown and Covenant. That was —what is the nature of this stupendous universe, the signal for all England rising up into unappeas and what its relations to all things, as known to able determination to have the Gospel there also, man, and as only known to the awful Author of it. and you know it went on and came to be a con- In fact, the members of the Church keep theology test whether the Parliament or the King should rule in a lively condition—(laughter)—for the benefit of ----whether it should be old formalities and use and the population, which is the great object of our , wont, or something that had been of new con- Universities. I consider it is the same now intrin- 1 ceived in the souls of men—namely, a divine de sically, though very much forgotten, from many termination to walk according to the laws of God causes, and not so successful as might be wished at' here as the sum of all prosperity—which of these I all. (A laugh.) It remains, however, a very curious should have the mastery ; and after a long, long truth, what has been said by observant people, agony of struggle, it was decided—the way we that the main use of the Universities in the pre- know. I should say also of that Protectorate of sent age is that, after you have done with all Oliver Cromwell's—notwithstanding the abuse it your classes, the next thing is a collection of has encountered, and the denial of everybody that it books, a great library of good books, which you was able to get on in the world, and so on—it ap proceed to study and to read. What the Univer- pears to me to have been the most salutary thing in sities have mainly done—what I have found the the modern history of England on the whole. If Oli- University did for me, was that it taught me to ver Cromwell had continuedit out,l don't know what read in various languages and various sciences, so it would have come to. It would have got corrupted that I could go into the books that treated of these perhaps in our hands, and could not have gone on, things, and try anything I wanted to make myself but it was pure and true to the last fibre in his mind master of gradually, as I found it suit me. What- ' —there was truth in it when he ruled over it. ever you may think of all that, the clearest and Machiavelli has remarked, in speaking about the most imperative duty lies on every one of you to be Romans, that democracy cannot exist anywhere in , assiduous asaGovernment it is an impossibility 1 readers, which is, perhaps, a more difficult thing . that it should be continued, and he goes on to prov than you imagine. Learn to be discriminative in ing that in his own way. I do not ask you all to your reading—to read all kinds of things that you follow him in all his convictions—(hear) --but it is have an interest in, and that you find to be really to him a clear truth that it is a solecism and impossi fit for what you are engaged in. Of course, at the \ bility that the universal mass of men should govern present time, in a great deal of the reading incum- \ themselves. He says of the Romans that they con bent on you you must be guided by the books re- tinued a long time, but it was purely in virtue of this commended to you by your professors for assistance item in their constitution—namely, that they had all towards the prelections. And then, when you get the conviction in their minds that it wassoleinnly ne out of the University, and go into studies of your cessary at times to appoint - a Dictator—a man who own, you will find it very important that you have ' had the power of life and death over everything—who selected a field, a province in which you can study degraded men out of their places, ordered them to and work. The most unhappy of all men is the execution, and did whatever seemed to him good in man that cannot tell what he is going to do, that has the name of God above him. He was commanded to got no work cut out for him in the world, and does . take care thatthe Republic suffered no detriment, and not go into it. For work is the grand cure of all 1 Machiavelli calculates that that was the thing that the maladies and miseries that ever beset mankind purified the social system from time to time, and en , 1 —honest work, which you intend getting done. If ' abled it to hang on as it did—an extremely likely 1 you are in a strait, a very good indication as to thing if it was composed of nothing but bad and tu choice—perhaps the best you could get—is a book ' multuous men triumphi ng i n genera l over t h e b etter, you have a great curiosity about. You are then in and all going the bad road, in fact. Well, Oliver the readiest and best of all possible conditions to Cromwell's Protectorate, or Dictatorate if you will, improve by that book. It is analogous to what lasted for about ten years, and you will find that no doetors tell us about the physical health a n d appe- thing that was contrary to the laws of Heaven was tites of the patient. You must learn to distinguish allowed tolive by Oliver. (A laugh, and applause.) between false appetite and real. There is such a I For example, it was found by hi s P ar li ament, ca ll e d thing as a false appetite which will lead a man into " Barebones"—the most zealous of all Parliaments vagaries with regard to diet, will tempt him to eat probably—(laughter)—that the Court of Chancery spicy things which he should not eat at all, and in England was in a state that was really capable of would not but that it is toothsome, and for the no apology—no man could getup andsay thatthat was moment in baseness of mind. A man ought to in- a right court. There were, I think, 15,000 or 1,500 — quire and find out what he really and truly has I (laughter)—l don't really remember w hi c h , b u t we appetite for—what suits his constitution ; and that, shall call it by the last—(laughter)—ther e were 1,500 doctors tell him, is the very thing he ought to have caseslying in it undecided, and one of them, I remem in general. And so with books. As applicable ber, for a large amount of money, was 83 years old, and to almost all of you, I will say that it is highly it was going on still. Wigs were waving over it, and expedient to go into history—to inquire into what lawyers taking their fees, and there was no end of it, has passed before you in the families of men. The upon which the Barebones people, after deliberation history of the Romans and Greeks will first of all about it, thought it was expedient, and coin concern you ; and you will find that all the know- mended by the Author of Man and the Fountain of ledge you have got will be extremely applicable to Justice, and for the true and right, to abolish the elucidate that. There you have the most remark- court. Really, I don't know who could have dis able race of men in the world set before you, to say rented from that opinion. At the same time, it was nothing of the languages which your professors can thought by those who were wiser, and had more ex better explain, and which, I believe, are admitted to perience of the world, that it was a very dangerous be the most perfect orders of speech we have yet thing, and would never suit at all. The lawyers found to exist among men. And you will find, if began to make an immense noise about it. (Laughter.) you read well, a pair of extremely remarkable na- All the public, the great mass of solid and well-dis tions shining in the records left by themselves as a posed people who had got no deep insight into such kind of pillar to light up life in the darkness of the matters, were very adverse to it, and the president past ages ; and it will be well worth your while if of it, old Sir Francis Rouse, who translated the you can get into the understanding of what these Psalms—those that we sing every Sunday in the people were and what they did. You will find a church yet—a very good man and a wise man—the great deal of hearsay , as I h ave found , that does not Provost of Eton—he got the minority, or I don't touch on the matter ; but perhaps some of you will know whether or no he did not persuade the majo get to see a Roman face to face ; you will know in rity—he at any rate got a great number of the Par some measure how they contrived to exist, and to liament to go to Oliver the Dictator, and lay down perform will find h n e d s e a thing in the world; I believe, also, their functions altogether, and declare officially with you n ot much noted, that there was their signature on Monday morning that the Parlia t feats a very great deal of deep religion in its form in both ment was dissolved. The thing was passed on Satur nations. That is noted by th e wisest of historians, day night, and on Monday morning Rouse came and particularly by who is particularly and said, "We cannot carry on the affair any well worth reading on Roman history 7 • and I believe longer, and we remit it into the hands of your w as he Ferguson, ry an alumnus in our own university. His I Highness." Oliver in that way became Protector a book is a ve creditable book. He points out the second time. I give you this as an instance that profoundly religious nature of the Roman Oliver felt that the Parliament that had been dis notwithstanding —Jupiter Ma the w ild ness and ferociousness of missed had been perfectly right with regardto Chan their nature.people, eery, and . that there was no doubt of the propriety They believed that Jupiter Optimus X11:11 that he had appointed considered it, and this is what he the Romans to become the kind of way. Ile —to brave all difficulty, Maximus —_w lo r d of the. universe, and of abolishing Chancery, or reforming it in some chief of men, provided they followed his commands did. He assembled GO of the wisest lawyers to be and to st an d up w ith an found in Englan d. Ha pp il y , there were men g reat invincible front—to be ready to do and die ; and who valued the laws as much as also to have the same sacred promise, to integrity, and regard to veracity,l suppose. 0. laugh.) Oliver all" Go and examine this thing, and in the virtues that sur- said to them, round that noblest quality of necessary to be men--courage—to the name of God inform me what is oto anybodyilatheiad:s lad'--men versity of the country. (Hear, hear.) Well, I en tirely participate in everybody's approval of the movement. It is very desirable. I should be re sponded to, and one expects most assuredly will. At least, if it is not, it will be shameful to the coun try of Scotland, which never was so rich in money as at the present moment, and never stood so much in need of getting noble Universities to counteract many influences that are springing up alongside of money. It should not be backward in coming for ward in the way of endowments—(a laugh)—at least, in rivalry to our rude old barbarous ancestors, as we have been pleased to call them. Such muni ficence as theirs is beyond all praise, to whom I am sorry to say we are not yet by any manner of means equal or approaching equality: (Laughter.) There is an overabundance of money, and sometimes I cannot help thinking that, probably, never has there been at any other time in Scotland the hundredth part of the money that now is, or even the thousandth part, for wherever I go there is that gold-nuggeting (a laugh)—that prosperity. Many men are counting their balances by millions. Money was never so abundant, and nothing that is good to be done with it. (" Hear, hear," and a laugh.) No man knows— or very few men know—what benefit to get out of his money. In fact, it too often is secretly a curse to him. Much better for him never to have had any. But Ido not expect that generally to be believed. (Laughter.) Never theless, I should think it a beautiful relief to many a man that has an honest purpose struggling in him to bequeath a handsome house of refuge, so to speak, for some meri torious man who may hereafter be born into the world to enable him a little to get on in his way. To do, in fact, as those old Norman kings as I have described to you—to raise a man out of the dirt and mud where ho is getting trampled, unworthily on his part, into some kind of posi tion where he may acquire the power to do some good in his generation. I hope that as much as possible will be done in that way ; that efforts will not be relaxed till the thing is in a satisfactory state. At the same time in regard to the classical department of things, it was to be desired that it were properly supported—that we could allow poople to go and devote more leisure possibly to the cultivation of parti cular departments. We might have more of this from Scotch Universities than we have. lam bound, however, to say that it does not appear as if of late times endowment was the real soul of the matter. The English, for example, are the richest people for endowments on the face of the earth for Universities : and it is a remarkable fact that since the time of Bentley you cannot name anybody that has gained a great name in scolarship among them, or consti teda, point of revolution in the pursuits of men in that way. The man that did that is a man worthy of being remembered among men, although he may be a poorer man, and not en dowed with worldly wealth. One man that actually did constitute a revolution was the son of a poor weaver in Saxony, who edited his " Tibullus" in Dresden in the room of a poor comrade, and who, while he was editing his " Tibullus," had to gather his pease-cod shells on the streets and boil them for his dinner. That was his endowment. (Laughter.) But he was recognized soon to have done a great thing. His name was Heine. I can remember it was quite a revolution in my mind when I got hold of that man's book on Virgil. I found that for the first time I had un derstood him—that he had introduced me for the first time into an insight of Roman life, and pointed out the circumstances in which these were written, and here was interpretation ; and it has gone on in all manner of develop ment, and has spread out into other countries. Upon the whole, there is one reason why endowments are not given now as they were in old days, when they founded abbeys, colleges, and all kinds of things of that descriptton, with such success as we:know. All that has changed now. Why that has decayed away may in part be that people have be come doubtful that colleges are now the real sources of that which I call wisdom, whether they are anything more —anything much more—than a cultivating of man in the specific arts. In fact, there has been a suspicion of that kind in the world for a long time. (A laugh.) What is an old saying, an old proverb, " An ounce of mother-wit is worth a pound of clergy." (Laughter.) There is a suspicion that a man is perhaps not nearly so wise as he looks, or because he has poured out speech so copiously. (Laughter.) When the seven free Acts on which the old Universities were based came to be modified a little, in order to be convenient for or to promote the wants of mo dern society—though, perhaps, some of them are obsolete enough even yet for some of us—there arose a fear that mere vocality, mere culture of speech, if that is what comes out Of a man, though he may be a great speaker, an elo quent orator, yet there is no real substance there—if that is what is required and aimed at by the man himself, and by the community that set him upon becoming a learned man. Maid-servants, I hear people complaining, are getting instructed in the " ologies," and so on, and are apparently totally ignorant of brewing, boiling, and baking —(loud laughter)—above all things, not taught what is necessary to be known, from the highest to the lowest—strict obedience, humility, and correct moral conduct. Oh, it is a dismal chapter, all that, if one went into it ! What has been done by rushing after fine speech ? I have written down some very fierce things about that, perhaps considerably more emphatic than I would wish them to be now, but they aro deeply my conviction. (Hear, hear.) There is very great necessity indeed for getting a little more silent than we aro. It seems to me the finest nations in the world—the English and the American—are going all away into wind and tongue. (Applause and laughter.) But it will appear sufficiently tragical by-and by, long after .1 am away out of it. Silence is the eternal duty of a man. He won't get to any real understanding of what is complex, and what is more than any other pertinent to his interests, without maintaining silence. " Watch the tongue" is a very old precept, and a most true one. I do not want to discourage any of you from your Demosthenes, and your studies of the niceties of language,, and all that. Believe me, Ivalue that as much as much any of you. I con sider it a very graceful thing and a proper thing for every human creature to know what the implement which he uses in communicating his thoughts is, and how to make the very utmost of it. I want you to study Demosthenes and know all his excellences. At the same time, I must say that speech does not seem to me, on the whole, to have turned to any good account. Why tell me that a man is a fine speaker if it is not the truth that he is speaking ? Phocion, who did not speak at all, was a great deal nearer hitting the mark than Demosthenes. (Laughter.) He used to tell the Athenians, "You can't fight Philip. You have not the slightest chance with him. He is a man who holds his tongue ; he has great disciplined armies ; he can brag anybody you like in your cities here ; and he is going on steadily with an unvarying aim towards his object ; and he will infallibly beat any kind of men such as you, going on raging from shore to shore with all that rampant non= sense." Demosthenes said to him one day, " The Athenians will get mad some day and kill you." "Yes," Phocion says, " when they are mad, and you as soon as they get sane again." (Laughter and applause.) It is also told about him going to Messintt on some deputation that the Athenians wanted on some kind of matter of an intricate and contentious nature that Phocion went with some story in his mouth to speak about. He was a man of few words —no unveracity ; and after he had gone on telling the story a certain time there was one burst of interruption. One man interrupted with something he tried to answer, and then another ; and, finally, the people began bragging and bawling; and no end of debate, till it ended in the want of power in the people to say any more. Phocion drew back altogether, struck dumb, and would not speak another word to any man ; and he left it to them to decide in any way they liked. It appears to me there is a kind of eloquence in that which is equal to anything Demosthenes ever said —" Take your own way and let me out altogether." (Applause.) All these considerations, and manifold more connected with them—innumerable considerations, resulting from observation of the world at this moment—have led many people to doubt of the salutary effect of vocal educa tion altogether. Ido not mean to say it should be entirely excluded ; but I look to something that will take hold of the matter much more closely, and not allow it to slip out of our fingers, and remain worse than it was. For if a good speaker—an eloquent speaker—is not speaking the truth, is there a more horrid kind of object in creation ? (Loud cheers.) Of such speech I hear all manner and kind of people say it is excellent; but I care very little about how he said it, provided 3 understand it, and it be true. Excellent speaker! but what if he is telling me things that are untrue, that are not the fact about it—if he has formed a wrong judgment about it—if he has no judgment in his mind to form a right conclusion in regard to the matter ? An ex cellent speaker of that kind is, as it were, saying, "Ho, every one that wants to be persuaded of the thing that is not true, come hither." (Great laughter and applause.) I would recommend you to be very chary of that kind of excellent speech. (Renewed laughter.) Well, all that being the too well-known product of our method of vocal education— the mouth merely operating on the tongue of the pupil, and teaching hitu to wag it in a particular way—(laughter)—it had made a great many thinking men entertain a very great distrust of this not very salutary way of proce dure, and they have longed for some kind of practical way of working out the business. There would be room for a great deal of description about it if I went into it; but I most content myself with saying that the most re markable piece of reading that you may be recommended to take and try if you can study is a book by Gothe—one of his last books, which ho wrote when he was an old man, about 70 years of age— I think one of the most beautiful he ever wrote, full of mild wisdom, and which is found to be very touching by those who have eyes to discern and hearts to feel it. It is one of the pieces in " Wilhelm Meister's Travels." I read it through many years ago; and of course I had to read into it very hard when I was translating it— (applause)—and it has always dwelt in my mind as about the most remarkable bit of writing that I have known to be executed in these late centuries. I have often said - there are ten pages of that which, if ambition had been my only rule, I ws#ald rather have written .than have written all the books that have appeared since I came into the world. (Cheers.) Deep, deep is the meaning of what is said there. They turn on the Christian religion and the religious phe nomena of Christian life—altogether sketched out in the most airy, graceful, delicately-Wise kind of way, so as to keep himself out of the common controversies of the street and of the forum, yet to indicate what was the result of things he had been long inedttattnz, upon. done with regard to it. You will see how we may clean out the foul things in it that render it poison to everybody." Well, they sat down then, and in the course of six weeks—there was no public speak ing then, no reporting of speeches, and no trouble of any kind; there was just the business in hand— they got 60 propositions fixed in their minds of the things that required to be done. And upon these 60 propositions Chancery was reconstituted and re modelled, and so it has lasted to our time. It had become a nuisance, and could not have continued much longer. That is an instance of the manner in which things were done when a Dictatorship pre vailed in the country, and thatwas what the Dictator did. Upon the whole, Ido not think that, in gene ral, out of common history books, you will ever get into the real history of this country, or anything particular which it would beseem you to know. You may read very ingenious and very clever books by men whom it would be the height of insolence in me to do any other than express my respect for. But their position is essentially sceptical. Man is unhap pily in that condition that he will make only a tem porary explanation of anything, and you will not be able, if you are like the man, to understand how this island came to be what it is. You will not find it recorded in books. You will find recorded in books a jumble of tumults, disastrous ineptitudes, and all that kind of thing. But to get what you want you will have to look into side sources, and inquire in all directions. I remember getting Col lins' " Peerage" to read—a very poor peerage as a work of genius, but an excellent book for diligence and'fidelity—l was writing on Oliver Cromwell at the time. (Applause.) I could get no biographical dictionary, and I thought the peerage book would help me, at least tell whether people were old or young, and about all persons concerned in the ac tions about which I wrote. I got a great deal of help out of poor Collins. lie was a diligent and dark London bookseller of about 100 years ago,who compiled out of all kinds of treasury chests, ar chieves, books that were authentic, and out of all kinds of things ont of which he could get the infor mation he wanted. lle was a very meritorious man. I not only found the solution of anything I wanted there, but I began gradually to perceive this im mense fact, which I really advise every one of you who read history to look out for and read for—if he has not found it—it was that the kings of England all the way from the Norman Conquest down to the times of Charles I. had appointed, as far as they knew, those who deserved to be appointed, peers. They were all royal men, with minds full of justice and valour and humanity, and all kinds of qualities that are good for men to have who ought to rule over others. Then their genealogy was remarkable —and there is a great deal more in genealogies than is generally believed at present. I never heard tell of any clever man that came out of entirely stupid people. If you look around the families of your acquaintance, you will see such cases in all directions. I know that it has been the case in mine. I can trace the father, and the son, and the grandson, and the family stamp is quite distinctly legible upon each of them, so that it goes for a great deal—the hereditary principle in Government as in other things ; and it must be recognised so soon as there is any fixity in things. You will remark that if at any time the genealogy of a peerage fails—if the man that actually holds the peerage is a fool in these earnest striking times, the man gets into mischief and gets into treason—he gets himself extinguished altogether, in fact. (Laughter.) From these docu ments of old Collins it seems that a peer conducts himself in a solemn, good, pious, manly kind of way , when he takes leave of life, and when he has hos pitable habits, and is valiant in his procedure throughout; and that in general a king, with a noble approximation to what was right, had nominated this man, saying, " Come you to me, sir ; come out of the common level of the people, where you are liable to be trampled upon ; come here and take a district of country, and make it into your own image more or less; be a king under me, and un derstand that that is your function." I say this is the most divine thing that a human being can do to other human beings, and no kind of being whatever has so much of the character of God Almighty's Divine Government as that thing we see that went all over England, and that is the grand soul of England's history. (Cheers.) It is historically true that down to the time of Charles I. it was not un derstood that any man was made peer without hav ing a merit in him to constitute him a proper subject for a peerage. In Charles I.'s time it grew to be known or said that if a man was by birth a gentle man and was worth £lO,OOO a year, and bestowed his gifts up and down among courtiers, he could be made a peer. Under Charles 11. it went on with still greater rapidity, and has been going on with ever in creasing velocity until we see the perfect breakneck pace at which they are now going. (A laugh.) And now a peerage is a paltry kind of thing to what it was in these old times. I could go into a great many more details about things of that sort, but I must turn to another branch of the subject. One remark more about your reading. Ido not know whether it has been sufficiently brought home to you that there are two kinds of books. When a man is reading on any kind of subject, in most de partments of books—in all books, if you take it in a wide sense—you will find that there is a division of good books and bad books—there is a good kind of a book and a bad kind of a book. lam not to assume that you are all very ill acquainted with this ; but I may remind you that it is a very im portant consideration at present. It casts aside altogether the idea that people have that if they are reading any book—that if an ignorant man is read ing any book he is doing rather better than nothing , at all. I even call that in question. I even ven ture to deny it. (Laughter and cheers.) It would be much safer and better would he have no concern with books at all than with some of them. You know these are my views. There are a number, an increasing number, of books that are decidedly to him not useful. (Hear.) But he will learn atso that a certain number of books were written by a supreme, nobler kind of people--not a very great number, but a great number adhere more or less to that side of things. In short, as I have written it down somewhere else, I conceive that books are like men's souls—divided into sheep and goats. (Laughter and applause.) Some of them are cal culated to be of very great advantage in teaching —in forwarding the teaching of all generations. Others are going down, down, doing more and more wilder and wilder mischief. And for the rest, in regard to all your studies here, and whatever you may learn, you are to remember that the object is not particular knowledge—that you are going to get higher in technical perfections, and all that sort of thing. There is a higher aim lies at the rear of all that, especially among those who are intended for literary, for speaking pursuits—. the sacred profession. You are ever to bear in mind that there lies behind that the acquisition of what may be called wisdom —namely, sound appreciation and just decision as to all objects that come round about you, and the habit of behaving with justice and wisdom. In short—great wisdom—great is the value of wisdom. It cannot be exaggerated. The highest achievement of man—" Blessed is he that getteth understanding." And that, I believe, occasionally may be missed very easily ; but never more easily than now, I think. If that is a failure, all is a failure. However, I will not touch further upon that matter. In this University I learn from many sides that there is a great and considerable stir about endowments. Oh, I should have said in regard to book reading, if it be so very important, how very useful would an excellent library be in every University. I hope that will not be neglected by those gentlemen who have charge of you—and, indeed, I am happy to hear that your library is very mucb improved since the time I knew it ; and I hope it will go on improving more and more. You require money to do that, and you require also judgment in the selectors of the books—pious in sight into what is really for the advantage of human souls, and the exclusion of all kinds of clap-trap books which merely excite the astonishment of foolish people. (Laughter.) Wise books—as much as possible good books. As I was saying, there appears to be a great demand for endowments—an assiduous and praiseworthy industry for getting new funds collected for encouraging the ingenuous youth of Universities, especially 4 this chief Among others, he introduces an aerial, flighty -kind of way, here and there a touch which grows into a beauti ful picture a scheme of entirely mute education, at least with no more speech than i 3 absolutely necessary for what they have to do. Three of the wisest men that can be got are met to consider what is the function which tran scends all others in importance to build up the young gene ration, which shall be free from all that perilous stuff that has been weighing us down and clogging every step, and which is the only thing we can hope to go on with if we would leave the world a little better, and not the worse of our having been in it for those who are to follow. The man who is the eldest of the three says to Grath°, " You give by nature to the well-formed children you bring into the world a great many precious gifts, and very frequently thesef are best of all developed by nature herself, with a very slight assistance where assistance is seen to be wise and profitable, and forbearance very often on the part of the overlooker of the process of education ; but there is one thing that no child brings into the world with it, and without which all other things are of no use." Wilhelm, who is there beside him, says, " What is that ?" "All who enter the world want it," says the eldest ; perhaps you yourself." Wilhelm says, '• Well, tell me what it is." "It is," says the eldest, "reverence." Ehrfurt--" Reverence !" " Honour done to those who are grander and better than you, without fear ; distinct from fear." Ehrfurt— •" The soulof all religion that ever has been among men or ever will be." And he goes into practicality. He practically distinguishes the kinds of religion that are in the world, and he makes out three reverences. The boys are all trained to go through certain gesticulations, to lay their hands on their breast and look up to heaven, and they give their three reverences. The first and simplest is that of reverence for what is above us. It is the soul of the Pagan religion ; there is nothing better in man than that. Then there is reverence for what is around us—reverence for our equals, and to which he attributes an immense power in the culture of man. The third is reverence for what is beneath us—to learn to recognise in pain, sorrow, and contradiction, even in those things, odious as they are to flesh and blood—to learn that there lies in this a priceless blessing. And ha defines that as being the soul of the Christian religion—the highest of all religions—a height, as Gothe says; and that is very true, even to the letter, as I consider—a height to which the human species was fated and enabled to attain, and from which, having once attained it, it can never re trograde. It cannot descend down below that permanently, Gothe's idea is. Often one thinks it was good to have a faith of that kind—that always, even in the most de graded, sunken, and unbelieving times, he calculates there will be found some few souls who will recognise what that meant ; and that the world, having once received it, there is no fear of its retrograding. He goes on then to tell us the way in which they seek to teach boys, in the sciences particularly, whatever the boy is fit for. Wilhelm left his own boy there, expecting they would make him a Master of Arts, or something of that kind ; and when he came back for him he saw a thundering cloud of dust coming over the plain, of which he could make nothing. It turned out to be a tempest of wild horses, managed by young lads who had a turn for hunting with their grooms. His own son was among them, and he found that the breaking of colts was the thing he was most suited for. (Laughter.) This' is what GUthe calls art, which I should not make clear to you by any definition unless it is clear already. (A laugh.) I would not attempt to define it as music, painting, and poetry, and so on ; it is in quite a higher sense than the common one, and in which, I am afraid, most of our pain ters, poets, and music men would not pass muster. (A laugh.) He considers that the highest pitch to which human culture can go ; and he watches with great industry how it is to be brought about with men who have a turn for it. Very wise and beautiful it is. It gives one an idea that something greatly better is possible for a man in the world. I confess it seems to me it is a shadow of what will come, unless the world is to come to a conclusion that is perfectly frightful ; some kind of scheme of education like that, presided Ivor by the wisest and most sacred men that can be got in the world, and watching from a dis tance—a training in practicality at every turn ;no speech in it except speech that is to be followed by action, for that ought to be the rule as nearly as possible among them. For rarely should men speak at all unless it is to say that thing that is to be done ; and let him go and do his part in it, and say no more about it. I should say there is nothing in the world you can conceive so diffi cult, prima fade, as that of getting a set of men, gathered together—rough, rude, and ignorant people. Gather them together, promise them a shilling a day ; rank them up, give them very severe and sharp drill, and by bullying and drill—for the word drill seems as if it meant the treat ment that would force them to learn—they learn what it is necessary to learn ; and there is the man, a piece of an animated machine, a wonder of wonders to look at. He will go and obey one man, and walk into the cannon's mouth for him, and do anything whatever that is com manded of him by his general officer. And I believe all manner of things in this way could be done if there were anything like the same attention bestowed. Very many things could be regimented and organized into the mute system :of education that Gothe evidently adumbrates there. But I believe, when people look into it, it will be found that they will not be very long in trying to make some efforts in that direction ; for the saving of human labour, and the avoidance of human misery, would be un accountable if it were set about and begun even in part. Alas! it is painful to think how very far away it is - any fulfilment of such things; for I need not hide from you young gentlemen—and that is one of the last things I am going to tell you—that you have got into a very troublous epoch of the world; and I don't think you will find it im prove the footing you have, though you have many ad vantages which we had not. You have careers open to you, by public examinations and so on, which is a thing much to be approved, and which we hope to see perfected more and more. All that was entirely unknown in my time, and you have many things to recognize as advan tages. But you will find the ways of the world more anarchical than ever, I think. As far as I have noticed, revolution has come upon us. We have got into the age of revolutions. All kinds of things are coming to be sub jected to fire, as it were ; hotter and hotter the wind rises around everything. Curious to say, now in Oxford and other places that used to seem to lie at anchor in the stream of time, regardless of all changes, they are getting into the highest humour of mutation, and all sorts of new ideas aro getting afloat. It is evident that whatever is not made of asbestos will have to be burnt in this world. It willnot stand the heat it is getting exposed to. And in saying that, it is but saying in other words that we are in an epoch of anarchy—anarchy plus the constable. (Laughter.) There is nobody that picks one's pocket without some policeman being ready to take him up. (Renewed laughter.) But in every other thing he is the son, not of Cosmos, but of Chaos. He is a disobedient, and reckless, and altogether a waste kind of object—a commonplace man in these epochs; and the wiser kind of man-the select, of whom I hope you will be part—has more and more a set time to it to look forward, and will require to move with double wisdom ; and will find, in short, that the crooked things that he has to pull straight in his own life for round about, wherever he may be, are manifold, and will task all his strength wherever he may go. But why should I complain of that either ?—for that is the thing a man is born to in all epochs. He is born to expend every particle of strength that God Almighty has given him in doing the work he finds he is fit for—to stand it out to the last breath of life, and do his best. We are called upon to do that ; and the reward we all get—which we are perfectly sure of if we have merited it is that we have got the work done, or at least that we have tried to do the work ; for that is a great blessing in itself ; and I should say there is not very much more reward than that going on in this world. If the man gets meat and clothes, what matters it whether he have £lO,OOO or £10,000,00 0 , or £7O a year. He can get meat and clothes for that ; and he will find very little difference intrinsically if he is a wise man. I warmly second the advice of the wisest of men-" Don't bo ambitious ; don't be at all too desirous of success ;be loyal and modest." Cut down the proud towering thoughts that you get into you, or see they be pure as well as high. There is a nobler ambition than the gaining of all California would be, or the getting of all the suffrages that are on the planet just now. (Loud and prolonged cheers.) Finally, gentlemen, I have one ad vice to give you, which is practically of very great im portance, though a very humble one. I have no doubt you will have among you people ardently bent to con sider life cheap, for the purpose of getting forward in what they are aiming at of high ; and you are to consider throughout, much more than is done at present, that health is a thing to be attended to continually —that you are to regard that as the very highest of all temporal things for you. (Applause.) There is no kind of achievement you could make in the world that is equal to perfect health. What are nuggets and millions ? The French financier said, "Alas why is there no sleep to be sold ?" Sleep was not in the market at any quotation. (Laughter and ap plause.) It is a curious thing that I remarked long ago, and often turned in my head, that the old word for "holy" in the German language heilig—also means "healthy." And so Ileilbronn means " holy well," or " healthy -well." We have in the Scotch "hale ;" and, I suppose, our English word " whole"—with a " w" all of one piece, without any whole in it—is the same word. I find that you could not get any better definition of what "holy" really is than "healthy"—" completely healthy." Mens sana in corpore sano. (Applause.) A man with his intellect a clear, plain, geometric mirror, brilliantly sensitive of all objects and imprCssions around it, and imagining all things in their correct preportions—not twisted up into convex or con cave, and distorting everything, so that he cannot see the truth of the matter without endless groping and manipu lation—healthy, clear, and free, and all round about him. We never can attain that at all. In fact, the operations we have got into aro destructive of it. You cannot, if you are going into any decisive intellectual operation—if you are going to write a book—at least, I never could—without getting decidedly made ill by it, and really you must if it is your business—and you must follow out what you are at— and it sometimes is at the expense of health. Only re member at all times to get back as fast as possible out of it into health, and regard the real equilibrium as the centre of things. You should always look at the heilig, which means holy, and holy moans healthy. Well, that old etymology—what a lesson it is against certain gloomy austere, aesthetic people, that have gone about as if this world were all a dismal prison-house. •It has, indeed, got all the ugly things in it that I kayo boon alludingto ; ! but there is an eternal sky over it ; and the blessed sunshinr, verdure of spring, and rich autumn, and all that in it too. Piety does not mean that a man should make a sour face about things, and refuse to enjoy in mode ration what his Maker has given. Neither do you find it to have been so with old Knox. if you look into him you will find a beautiful Scotch humour in him, as well as the grimmest and sternest truth when necessary, and a great deal of laughter. We find really some of the sunniest glimpses of things come out of, Knox that I have seen in any man ; for instance, in his "History of the Reforma tion," which is a book I hope every one of you . will read— (applauso)—a glorious book. On the whole, I would bid you stand up to your work, whatever it may be, end not be afraid of it-not in sorrows or contradiction to yield, but pushing on towards the goal ; and don't suppose that people are hostile to you in the world. You will rarely find any body designedly doing you ill. You may feel often as if the whole world is obstructing you, more or less ; but you will find that to be because the world is travelling in a different way from you, and rushing on in its own path. Each man has only an extremely good will to himself— which he has a right to have—and is moving on towards his object. Keep out of literature as a general rule, I should say also. (Laughter.) If you find many people who are hard and indifferent to you in a world that you consider to be inhospitable and cruel—as often, indeed, hap pens to a tender-hearted, stirring young creature—you will also find that there are noble hearts who will look kindly on you, and their help will be precious to you be yond price. You will get good and evil as you go on, and have the success that has been appointed to you. I will wind up with a small bit of verse that is from Goethe also, and has often gone through my mind. To me it has the tone of a modern psalm in it in some measure. It is sweet and clear—the clearest of sceptical men had not anything like so clear a mind as that man had—freer from cant and misdirected notion of any kind than any man in these ages has been. This is what the poet says : " The Future hides in it Gladness and sorrow, We press still thorow; Nought that abides in it Daunting us - Onward ! " And solemn before us, Veiled, the dark Portal ; Goal of all mortal : Stars silent rest o'er us— Graves under us silent. "While earnest thou gazest, Comes boding of terror, Comes phantasm and error Perplexes the bravest With doubt and misgiving. " But heard are the voices, Heard are the Sages, The works and the Ages : ' Choose well, your choice Brief and yet endless. " Here eyes do regard you In 2,ternity's stillness : Here is all fulness, Ye brave, to reward you : Work, and despair not.' " One last word. Wir heissen euch hoffen—Wro bid you be of hope. Adieu for this time. (Mr. Carlyle resumed hie 1 seat amid loud and prolonged applause, after speaking fo r an hdur and a half.) The benediction was then pronounced, and the assem blage separated, Mr. Carlyle being followed to his lodging by an enthusiastic band of students. lOUN TAY MAiLii.ET LEEDS-TUESDAY. The possible rupture between Austria and Prussia has influenced the trade to-day, and good-conditioned parcels of both white and new red wheat were in fair demand, at prices rather beyond those current last week. Not much old offering, but rather more inquiry. No alteration in other articles. MELTON MOWBRAY.—TUESDAY. There was an average supply of wheat for the time of year at our corn market to-day. Of barley there was not much on offer, and the trade was moderate, at hardly late prices. There was a short supply of oats, at about recent quotations. White wheat, 49s to 55s ; red, 42s to 48s per 36 stone. Barley for malting, 34s to 38s per qr ; feed, 30s to 32s per 30 stone. Oats 27s to 345. Beans, old, 50s to 525; newt 43s to 47s per qr. LIVERPOOL-T UESDAY. At to-day's market there was about an average attond auce ; wheat meeting a slow sale at the currencies of this day weak. Flour quiet and prices unchanged. Indian corn in fair demand at a decline of 3d per quarter. Oats unchanged. Beans held for is to is 6d per qr. advance. MARKET HARBOROUGH.—TUESDAY. Our corn market to-day was fairly supplied with wheat. The tone of the trade was not active. Oats changed hand o at late prices. Beans about the same as last week. Old white wheat, 50s to 54s ; new red. 44s to 49s per 3 6 stone. Barley, fine, 41s ; other kinds, 28s to 34s per 30 St. Oats, new, 22s to 28s; old, 29s to - 33s per qr. Beans, old, 48s to 51s ; new, 42s to 45s par qr. SHEFFIELD-TUESDAY. A scanty show of barley on offer ; fine parcels fetched recent rates, other kinds in buyers' favour. There was a small supply of oats, and extreme rates were realised. Beans sparingly shown, and fully as dear. Red wheat, per load of 3 imp. bushels....l7s fid 198 61 White do , do ....19s Od to 21s ~d New led do do '6s 61 7s 6d New white do do lBs Od 20s 61 Beans do do l.B Od 19s 6d Peas, per qr. . 3Bs Od 40s 0,1 Grinding ha ley, per qr 3•8 Od 37s od Malting barley, c o 3BB Od 41s Od Oats, do 27s Od 328 ud F10ur....1a td to 2s Od per 141 b. NEW CLUBS seem the order of the day. We men' tioned last week two, both relating more exclusively to the . clergy and members of the universities ; to-day we have to mention three more. First is the " Whitehall" Club, which has taken premises in Parliament-street, and giv°', notice that it will be opened on May 1. Next comes the "Metropolitan," which hangs out the "non-political" flog at 20, Piccadilly, and lays itself open especially to gen tle', men interested in social reforms." Last comes what styles itself " The One o'Clock Young England Chits" which hot; flied itself at 13, Cockspur-street, and which seems to W e only one special feature about it, that of being open dol . and:night. —Guardian. [ ADVERTISEMENT.] Holloway's Pills.—Dyspepsia, To' digestion Flatulency, Heartburn, Biliousness, Nause a ; Want of 'Appetite.—French philosophers trace the moll , ' feelings of the mind to the state of the stomach, and the'° is much wisdom in the speculation. The stomach to tll O human body is more than the kitchen to the domesti c establishment, be it ever so slightly disordered the wh olc internal economy is deranged. The young may smile 1 33 ' the simile, and disbelieve the tremendous sacrifice indigos' tion exacts' from its victim. The day will come when thei will lament over their dyspepsia, as thousands stronge r than themselves have done, when it will be well for thei r comfort and happiness if they will remember these pro phetic words, anti hold in readiness Holloway's pills a cot' tain safeguard. [ADVERTISEMENT.] Dyspepsia (indigestion), constipa tion, debility, consumption, an i all nervous, bilious, atomaen; and liver complaints in every stage. are only aggravated and accelerated by drugs of every description, but perfectly cur' able by Du Barry's health-restoring Revalenta Arabl` Food, as proved by thousands of cases which had been Cow sidered hopeless, such as—cough, asthma, also dtarrhoo , haemorrhoids, liver complaints, flatulency, nervousnes s, biliousness, fevers, sore throats, diphtheria, catarrhs, colds' influenza, no'ses in the head and ears, rheumatism, gout, purities, eruptions, hysteria, neuralgia, irrit Ability,sieeploos' ness, acidity, palpitation, heartburn, headache, debility' dropsy, cramps, spasms, nausea and sickness, even in pre=:" nanny or at sea, sinking fits, bronchitis, scrofula, tightness e i the chest, pains in the pit of the stomach and between the shoulders, &c. We quote a few :—Cure No. 46,276. ltdrJatee6, Roberts, timber merchant, of Friml,y, Surrey, of 30 years diseased lungs, spitting of blood, liver derangement, and par' tial deafness.—Cure No. 47,121. Miss Elizabeth Jacobi, of ex. treme nervousness, indigestion, gatherings; low spirits, and nervous fancies. —Cure No. 1,771. Lord Stuart de Decies, lord lieut. of Waterford, of many years' dyspepsia.—No. 49,8 3 Fifty years' indescribable agony from dyspepsia, nervousnes s asthma, cough, constipation, flatulency, spasms, slake ess, and vomiting—Maria Joly —Cure No. 54,8:6. The Rev, Jam es T. Camiell, Fakenham. Norfolk, of indigestion and torpid" ity of the liver, which had resisted all medical treatment. -- In tine, 11b, 2s 9d; 21b, 4s 61; 51b, Ils ; 121 b, 225; 241b' 405.--Barry Du Barry and Co., No. 77, Regent-street, London also Phillips, tea dealers, 8, - King William-street ; likew/e 9 at 61, Gracechurch-strut ; 4, Cheapside ; 49, Bishopsgate' street Within ; 63, 150, and 298, Oxford-street ; 330, Strand; 54, Upper Baker-street; 103, 'Tottenham-court-road; 96 ' Upper-street, Islington, N.; Harvey, Notting-hill; Close Brothers, 65, 11igh-street ; and Stubbs, queen's-terrace, St' John's-wood, London; and all respectable grocers and OW mists.—Beware of spurious imitations. Births. Go)rnEY--On the 2d inst., the wife of George Godfrey, of 11, Poultry, E.C., of a daughter. HARTLEY—On the 2d inst., at 15, Blessington-road, Lee, the wife of John Hartley, Esq., of a son. OTTER—On Easter Sunday, at 47, Montagu-square, •the wife of Charles Otter, Esq., of a son. PowELL—On the Ist inst., at 11, Duchess-street, Portland' place, the wife of Captain F. G. Powell, of a son. Marriages. EDBRIDGE—SUTTON — On the 2d inst., at Great BartA Suffolk, Captain F. L. Edbridge, H.M.'s 20th Regimen t, to Ruth Isabella, eldest daughter of F. Sutton, Esq./ formerly Captain 11th Hussars. RADDIN—BixsTBAD— On the 3d inst., at the parish church of Si. Marylebone, George Raddin, late of Dorset-stree t, Portman-square, to Mary Ann e iinstead, of Islewortl i i Middlesex. Deaths. the 2d inst., at Chipping, Campden, in the county of Gloucester, J. F. Hiron, Esq., aged 62. HARDIE On the 31st ult., at Henley-upon-Thames, F. 1 , • Hardie, second son of the late W. C. Hardie, 6, Wooe r ' street, Cheapside. SMITH —On the Ist inst., at Alva House, Clifton, Lieut.' Col. Henry B. Smith, late Bth Madras Light Cavalry' aged 76. TATNER—On the 2d inst., at Slough, Mr. Charles Tatar , of the Eagle Brewery, aged 56. .on don : Printed and Published by WILLIAM A NIAREWS' of No. 112, Strand, Piiater, at Tn.; SUN Office, No. 112 2 1 Strand, in the Precinct of the Savoy .in the CouritYl, Bliddlosexi—Weclucetlay, April 4,1866.