The Sun.
London, England, 1862-04-15 00:00:00

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THE SUN, LONDON, TUESDAY EVENING, APRIL. 15, 1862,

PUBLICATIONS.

sensitive but mistaken young minds to that subtle monster
—pride. In my subsequent travels round the world I be-
held soma of its effects. In the streets of Melbourne I have
seen the well educated son of a bankrupt merchant carrying,
in a baker's basket, the daily bread of others in order
to obtain his own. In tracing the sad spectacle to its
origin, I discovered that the bearer of the basket,
rather than carry a small parcel in his native land,
had abandoned a lucrative position, as the representa-
tive of an old and eminent mercantile house, in order to
improve his position at the Antipodes. On the gold fields
of Victoria, I have seen the son of a poor baronet working,
like an English " navvy," mid .deep in water—because in
the mother country the pride of the aristocratic labourer
prevented him from accepting a subordinate Government
appointment which had, with difficulty, been obtained
through the influence of his father. Farther in the interior
of Australia, a picture of a still more depressing tendency
arrested my at ention. Riding one day over a part of the
country in which kanga'oos and oppossums were more
plentiful than the human race, I overtook a team of bullocks
on their way to the remote station of a well-known squatter.
On asking the coarsely clad, unshaved, but youthful bul-
lock driver the nearest way to the point whither I was
bound, the young man, after having signalled his cattle to
stop, looked intently at his inquisitor, raised both arms in
a manner that indicated great surprise, and in a tone of
voice that betrayed something between joy and madness,
exclaimed :
" be mistaken; no, I-9,
Here he drew nearer the horse on which'l was mounted,
and after an earnest survey of the rider, sealed by a slight
but expressive motion of the head right and left, he re-
peated with increased emphasis,
"No ; I can't be mistaken—l'm sure I can't. But you
don't know me—no ?'"

" Indeed, I do not," I replied.
At this moment there confronted my vision a look I have
never forgotten and can never forget. A fiery glance from
the eye of the most eminent actor that ever lived never
made a deeper impression on a spectator than was suddenly
produced on the writer by ths, mute yet eloquent expres-
sion on the countenance of the bullock driver. It seemed
to open out a volume—not in a word, but in a look. That
laok conveyed to my mind twenty questions at a blush.
Who, or what is he ? To whom does he belong ? From
what part of the world did he come? As these and other
queries were crossing the imagination they were inter.
rupted by :
" Yes ; I know you well ; but you don't wish to know me.
You and I are not now—that is lam not what 1 was. I
am the—the same person, bui.
His speech faltered, and as he turned his head to conceal
the tears that damped his cheek, I could'nt, for the life of
ms, avoid following suit, although satisfied the thing was
altogether a mistake. Recovering his self-possession, the
young man evidently wished to pass off, unnoticed, the
symptoms of a sensitive heart, and in a volume of sound
somewhat more bold than clear, he continued,
" When you have passed the next creek turn your horse
to the right, and the rider will soon find the spot he en-
quired for. Good morning, sir. In time past I might have
said, Frank."
The familiar sound of my own name, coupled with a style
of speech superior to that of most bullock drivers, com-
pletely electrified me; and as the young man withdrew to
proceed with his team of cattle, I muttered a sort of half
stifled, " aye," or " ho-i" as a signal for him to return.
This was answered by a clear and emphatic :
"No, sir. I have no wish to intrude my conversation or
my company on anyone. Time was when Charles —,
the present bullock driver, would have received a different
sort of greeting from his old school-fellow."
1 he name of Charles —, the disfigured student, threw
instant light on the subject. A moment, and I was dis-
mounted ; another, and the hands and arms of two old
schoolfellows were like so many pump-handles in rapid
motion, while the liquid drops that bore testimony to the
sincerity of the operation were as warm, if not so con-
tinuous, as any stream that ever flowed from a natural
course.
What took place after the somewhat difficult task of per-
sonal recognition, or subsequently at the house of the
squatter in whose service my friend filled an unenviable
situation, may be passed without comment. Although the
early history of one who had falleu from a good position to
that of bullock driver was soon revealed, the details of that
revelation will not be required here. It is enough for the
reader to know that the primary cause of the young man's
fall was—pride.

abandoned, returns toManchester, steals home in the
evening, o'erhears her father's malediction, and then
is lost to view. Frank now, having given a friend
instruction to search her out, takes a trip to the
Rhine, returns, enters the mill as manager, marries
Margaret Hall ; Mary is found, her character is
cleared, and all ends well. The story is very agree-
ably told, and contains some clever character paint-
ing—especially good is the vulgar but plausible
Benjamin Wills, picture dealer, wine merchant, and
general humbug by profession. The keen but good-
natured manufacturer also is well drawn, and the
hero, if at first weak and unstable, settles down
creditably at last. The minor characters, too, are
real, and the story is moderate in length.

The Gospel in the :Wracks of Christ. By the Rev.
Richard Travers Smith, M.A. Smith, Elder,
and Co., Cornhill.

A series of essays, rather than sermons, the view
taken by the writer will be best understood by the
following passage from the introduction The
New Testament is a book of fact ; for it is
altogether occupied either with events or the
explanation and application of them. But
the life and death of Jesus Christ are the
conspicuous and important fact of the whole
volume. And just so, within the life of Christ it-
self, the most striking and characteristic facts are
the miracles; and thus the miracles, also, may have
different uses to different minds. They afford a
firm basis of evidence on which faith may be built,
and a call to even faithless minds. The varieties
of their power and their love lead us on toward the
full knowledge of that which the miracle worker
is employed in teaching, that is toward the full
knowledge of himself. But, still more, we find in
them His salvation itself. They are instances of His
saving work, as well as proofs of it, and helps to
learn it." The discourses are fourteen in number,
including an introduction and conclusion. They
seem perfectly orthodox, and to a large section of
the religious community they will doubtless be
welcome.

The Curability -of Consumption. By Francis H.
Ramadge, M.D., Oxon, &c. Thirteenth Thou-
sand. Longman and Co.

The papers which compose the bulk of this little
work were published in the Medical Times many
years ago. The attention they excited caused the
author to collect them, a proceeding amply justified
by the extent of the sale. An idea of the nature of
the contents will best be given in his own words.
In the preface to the first edition he says, " After
an experience of upwards of thirty years, during
which no less than 30,000 cases of consumption,
in all its various stages, have come before me,
I have no hesitation in saying—notwithstanding a
different opinion is entertained by some medical
practitioners—that this disease, when judiciously
and skilfully treated, is as curable as any other
disease, the curability of which is not disputed."
The effects of the disease are thus explained :
"In consumption the lungs are not fully inflated,
and the walls of the chest undergo gradual contrac-
tion. The normal relation between the powers of
inspiration and expiration is lost. The great air
passage becomes, as it were, too wide for the dimi-
nished volume of the lungs. 'Whatever, therefore,
restores the normal relation between the lungs and
the windpipe contributes to arrest the progress of
tubercular disease." And he thus describes his
mode of treatment :