might remain up to partake of it, and the little boy was highly delighted; indeed, so much did he think of the honour, that he ate a good deal more than was good for him, and Mrs. Fenner was obliged to order his plate to be taken away from him, before he would desist. Soon afterwards he went to bed, and after tumbling and tossing for some time, fell into a heavy slumber. About the middle of the night, Edward was awakened by a sensation as if something heavy were sitting upon bis chest; looking down from under his nightcap, his eyes met those of an enormous cat, who had folded her paws, and made herself perfectly comfortable at his expense, for he could scarcely breathe. In vain the little fellow struggled and writhed, he was not able to discharge the intruder, and at length he fairly groaned with horror and fright. To his astonishment, his groan was echoed by the immense animal upon his breast, in a mocking, sneering tone, which added rage to his astonishment. "So you think you are hardly treated, my little man," said Grimalkin, opening her feline mouth, and displaying her small white teeth and pink tongue; "You think me rude and disagreeable for taking up my position here. Pray what do you suppose my daughter thought of you only yesterday afternoon?" "Yesterday afternoon! Your daughter!" gasped the boy, for he had really some difficulty in speaking, so overpowering was the weight upon his organs of respi ration. "Yes, Thursday afternoon; it is now four o'clock on Friday morning, and before I part with you I shall give you a lesson that you will remember as long as you live," said the cat, her eyes gleaming through the darkness like emeralds. "But what have I done to you?" asked poor Edward, whose teeth chattered again with fright. downwards, fainting bees deprived of their stings, caterpillars suffocating under a coating of oil, dying frogs and toads, tortured birds, and a number of other victims, who all turned their eyes upon the cruel boy, whose amusement it had been to watch their contortions. Edward turned away and groaned, for his awakened conscience punished him severely; the large cat, which still squatted upon his chest, advanced her flaming eyes close to his. "Do you now begin to see" she hissed, "how much your feeble hand has contributed to the undeserved misery of God's lower creation?" Spare me," cried the boy, "I will never hurt anything again." "Your punishment is not yet complete. Advance!" cried she, again waving her paw. The pictured throng of animals and insects grew into life, and left the curtain; forming themselves into companies, they marched round the counterpane, and ever as they marched they became more numerous, crowding the boy until he could scarcely breathe; the donkeys brayed, the dogs howled, the cats mewed, the chickens chirped with a note of pain, the mice and birds squeaked, the insects buzzed; and high above the uproar were heard the piercing cries of Kitty, who placed herself at the head of the assailants, and was evidently urging them to revenge themselves upon their cowardly persecutor. But the horror became too great, Edward gave a desperate kick, which freed him at once from half his tormentors, and uttering an agonizing shriek, he awoke, and "behold it was a dream." As soon as he could collect his scattered senses, he became aware of a light weight upon his breast, which had doubtless given form to his horrible nightmare. He scarcely dared to look downwards, for he feared to see the fierce Grimalkin; but instead of her flaming eyes and "Done! just look there." And, majestically waving cruel mouth, he beheld only the slender frame, and her paw, Grimalkin pointed to the white dimity bed-tumbled fur, of poor little humble Kitty, who had nestled curtain, over which was diffused a faint mysterious light, that was neither candle, nor moon, nor yet dawn of day. Edward's eyes followed the paw, and there he saw, acted over again, as in a pantomime, the scene of the afternoon; poor Kitty hung over the back of the chair, and Spring was jumping at her, while an image of himself stood enjoying the cruel sport; Mrs. Fenner again approached, and the mimic Edward untied the kitten, and let her go. But as she went she writhed with pain, and the real Edward understood how he had hurt her. "That is what you have done," said the cat, "and my poor Kitty will never again be the same kitten that she was before; but your punishment is not over. Behold!" Another scene passed athwart the curtain. Edward beheld himself standing in a large window, where many flies were buzzing in the sunshine. From some he plucked the wings, and they crawled away disgraced and branded things, and their winged relations buzzed contempt at them as they passed into the darkest corners of the room, there to hide their shame until starved to death or crushed by some heedless foot; others were deprived of their legs, and flew away as if hoping to escape their pain; but they could not always fly, the muscles of their wings grew tired, and they fell upon the window-ledges, and thence on to the floor, with many a sore bruise; from others the shadowy Edward severed the heads, and the real Edward was able to distinguish how long the spark of life glimmered in their quivering trunks. Then came rapidly over the picture, a confused crowd of worried and bleeding dogs and cats, maltreated donkeys, chickens plucked of their feathers, mice with strings tied to their tails, and their little hearts beating almost loud enough to be heard, impaled butterflies and beetles, spiders with their legs dry and shrivelled as by the flame of a candle, earwigs crushed from the waist there upon the blanket, for warmth and company, forgetting all his cruel treatment of the day before. From henceforth, the boy and the kitten were fast friends, and the innocent and helpless had no more to dread from Edward Stapleton; indeed, he became so much attached to animals, he conceived such a tender pity for their lot, that when he grew up, he enrolled himself in a society for their protection; and scarcely a day passes that he does not feelingly remonstrate with some thoughtless man or boy for cruelty to his dumb dependents. DAGUERRE AND HIS SUCCESSORS. We have seen the rise and progress of Photography, as applied to prepared metallic plates; it now remains for us to detail the no less interesting process of reproducing images by the chemical action of light on common paper. In 1834, when the name of Daguerre was yet unknown, an Englishman, named Talbot, had attempted to reproduce on paper the images formed by the camera obscura. Indeed, long before this period, an idea of the possibility of such an achievement haunted the minds of scientific men. In 1802, Sir Humphrey Davy, whose name connects itself with the origin of so many great modern inventions, tried some experiments with respect to it, in conjunction with Wedgewood. They succeeded in obtaining on paper, saturated with nitrate of silver, a reproduction of engravings and transparent objects. They tried also to fix the images of the camera obscura; but the weak sensibility of the nitrate of silver presented an insuperable obstacle. Besides, the images were inverted, the shades of the model being lights in the copy, and vice versa. They had no means either of preserving the picture from the alterative effects of light; when exposed to the sunshine it gradually became quite black. These ephemeral productions then could be examined only by the feeble light of a lamp. Mr. Talbot succeeded in overcoming the double difficulty of fixing on paper the images of the dark chamber, and preserving them from ulterior change. In 1841 he detailed the process, in a letter addressed to the Academy of Sciences in Paris; but it excited little attention. Some persons indeed tried to repeat the experiments in a careless manner, and, having failed to produce the desired result, photography on paper fell for a time into unmerited oblivion. From this it was rescued, in 1847, by an amateur of Lille, M. Blanquart-Evrard. With some modifications, he revived Talbot's process; but his description of it was much more full and precise than that given by the English savant. diately decomposes the iodide of silver. In order to obtain a picture having its lights and shadows in their natural position, the negative proof is placed on a paper impregnated with chloride of silver; both are then pressed between two glasses, the negative proof being uppermost, and exposed either to the sunshine or the diffused light of day. The necessary duration of the exposure varics from half an hour to four hours to the diffused light, and from fifteen to twenty minutes to the bright sunshine. As the gradual formation of the picture can be followed by the eye, the operator is always enabled to decide when the lines are sufficiently strong. Then, to fix the image, it is put into the solution of hyposulphate of soda, which removes the excess of the unimpressed chloride of silver. It appears that by prolonging or shortening the duration of its sojourn in this bath, the proof may be made to assume any variety of tint between light brown and deep black. The negative proof may be successfully employed to reproduce a vast number of positive designs. We will now briefly explain the general theory of the operation. Salts of silver, originally colourless, when exposed to the action of light, either solar or diffused, There is another species of photography on paper, rapidly become black, in consequence of a chemical which has the advantage of giving at once a direct design, decomposition caused by the luminous agent. If you without the intervention of an inverted one. It consists place in the focus of a camera obscura a sheet of paper | in placing in the camera obscura a sheet of paper in pregimpregnated with any salt of silver, the image formed by nated with chloride of silver, previously blackened by the the object will imprint itself on the paper; because the action of light, and then dipped in a solution of iodide of parts which are vividly enlightened will blacken its sen- potassium. The mixture of these two compounds prositive surface, whilst the obscure parts, remaining power-duces a curious effect. The luminous image destroys the less, will leave to the paper its original whiteness. Thus black coating, and consequently forms a direct white is obtained a sort of silhouette, in which the lights of picture on a dark ground. By this method the most the model are represented by shades, and the shades by perfect specimens that have yet been seen of photography lights. This is called an image inverted, or negative, on paper were produced: indeed the finest engraving according to the technical phrase. Now, if this be placed cannot equal their beauty. There is however one objec on another sheet, likewise impregnated with salt of silver, tion: under the influence of light they fade visibly, and and both exposed to the direct action of the sun, the after some time become totally effaced. No method of negative proof will allow the light to pass through the fixing these proofs permanently has yet been discovered, transparent parts of the picture, and will prevent its as the process is still in its infancy. Indeed photography transit through the opaque portions. The solar ray acting on paper is far from having, in any respect, reached perfecthus on the sensitive paper placed beneath the negative tion. As works of art, its productions, while free from proof, will create an image, in which the lights and sha- that disagreeable reflection which attends metallic proofs, dows take their natural position, and a picture will be are far inferior to them. The perfectly smooth and poformed direct, or positive. Such is the general principle | lished surface of a metal, offers unparalleled facility for of photography on paper. By placing an engraving or a the process; while, on the contrary, the fibrous texture lithograph on a sheet of paper impregnated with chloride of the paper, its comparative roughness, the capillary of silver, and exposing the whole to the sun, the print communication between the unequally impressed portions will be reproduced in a very simple manner, without any of its surface, are all so many obstacles opposed to the optical apparatus. This little experiment is both inte- severe exactness of the outline, and the gradation of the resting and useful: a name has been created to designate tints. We must not then expect to see photography on it; it is called Autophotography. paper supplant photography on metal: each branch of the art enjoys its own peculiar advantages, and is useful in its own way. The daguerreotype will be employed in reproducing the images of grand artistic sites, of monuments, portraits, and all the delicate and minute objects with which Natural History is concerned. Photogenic papers will be familiar to the hand of the traveller who has never learned to draw, or of the artist who wishes to save time. The practical performance of the first-described process consists in two distinct series of operations; the one having for its object the preparation of the negative, the other that of the positive image. The first is obtained by receiving the object in the camera obscura on a paper endued with iodide of silver. As this salt becomes impressible much more rapidly when humid, the photogenic paper is placed on some folds of paper moistened with water, and, to give it a perfectly smooth and even surface, it is pressed between two pieces of glass. Matters being thus arranged, the whole is placed in the focus of the camera obscura, the interposition of the transparent glass not interfering with the action of the light. At the end of from thirty to fifty seconds, the luminous effect is produced, the iodide of silver is found decomposed on the enlightened portions, and, in the points on which the rays have acted, the oxide of silver is liberated. This chemical alteration, however, is not yet visible on the surface of the paper, no design can be discovered on it until it is plunged into a solution of gallic acid. This liquid, with But, modern invention did not stop here; it yet rethe liberated oxide of silver, forms a salt, the gallide of sil-mained to add to those exquisite designs the charm of ver, of a deep black hue, and the image suddenly appears. colour. But, was this feasible? did not the spontaneous It remains to carry off the unimpressed portions of the reproduction of natural colours overpass the limits of silver, in order to preserve the proof from the ulterior modern science? Had this question been proposed in the action of the light, and this is accomplished by plunging year 1847 to any learned optician, he would scarcely have it into a solution of hyposulphate of soda, which imme- hesitated to reply:-"Nothing in the known range of Besides photography on metal and on paper, there is also photography on glass. A short time since, M. Niepce de St. Victor proposed to substitute for the metallic plate, a piece of glass, or a thin flexible sheet of mica. On these is spread a layer of albumen, and then Mr. Talbot's process for obtaining proofs on paperis proceeded with. The evenness of the layer, and the polish of the surface, secures the production of images almost equal in finish to those formed on metal, and combining the ordinary advantages of those on paper. chemical and optical science can justify the hope of such an achievement. Viewed theoretically, there is no difficulty in accounting for the principle of Daguerre's invention it was only necessary to find a substance, which, under the action of light, would pass from white to black, or from black to white; but, the spontaneous impression of colours demands very different conditions. It would be necessary to discover one homogeneous substance, which, under the chemical action of luminous rays, should be influenced in such a way, that each unequally coloured beam might provoke a peculiar chemical change; and moreover, that this modification should create a number of new compounds, capable of faithfully reproducing the colour proper to the luminous ray which struck them. These requirements so far transcend the ordinary phenomena of physical science, that we may fairly pronounce the desired result impossible." Had our imaginary savant answered thus, he would probably have found few to contradict him; yet, an unlooked-for experiment changed the aspect of the whole question. In the beginning of 1848, M. Becquerel succeeded in impressing on a silver plate an image of the solar spectrum, or in other words, the oblong coloured band of the seven prismatic colours, produced by decomposing a ray of light. This brilliant image (a miniature, and so to speak, artificial rainbow) M. Becquerel imprinted in a durable manner on a silver plate previously exposed to the action of the chloride. This fact sufficiently proves that the photogenic reproduction of colours is at least within the bounds of possibility, although we are not to exaggerate what has been done. M. Becquerel's experiment possesses a theoretic value of the first importance, but it does not furnish any practical method of reproducing colours. As yet, this coloured image has not been fixed by any chemical agent; and consequently, when it is exposed to the daylight, the chloride of silver continues to be impressed, and the entire surface gradually becomes black: in order to preserve the picture it must be kept in complete obscurity. Another unfavourable circumstance is, the extreme slowness with which the luminous impression is made: an exposure of two hours to the direct rays of the sun is indispensable. Moreover simple colours, the isolated tints of the spectrum, are all that have hitherto been reproduced; the compound colours of ordinary objects do not imprint themselves on the chloride of silver. White objects, for example, paint their impress in black. Yet limited as the practical application of M. Becquerel's discovery is, we may from it confidently anticipate that future well-directed researches will discover new chemical agents better adapted to photogenic purposes, than chloride of silver. Light, of all natural agents, is perhaps the least understood, and the one, concerning which, the most marvellous modern discoveries have been made. In conclusion, we will say a few words on the scientific bearing of the discovery made by Niepce and Daguerre. An important branch of physics, Photometry, which treats of comparing the intensity of different lights, has borrowed from photography its most valuable experimental resources. Previously to the discovery of the daguerreotype, the comparative intensity of two luminous sources could be rigorously determined only when both were shining simultaneously. Thus, the precise difference between the light of the sun, and that of the moon or stars, had never been fixed with accuracy. A daguerrian plate being exposed to the chemical action of the image formed in the focus of a lens by a luminous object, the degree of alteration endured by its surface, serves as a measure for the intensity of the light emitted. In this manner, the dazzling rays of the sun and those of the moon, three hundred thousand times more weak, have been compared with ease and precision. Messieurs Fiz, and Foucault have had recourse to this plan in order to estimate the relative power of various kinds of light, artificial as well as natural. Photography has also been employed to register the indications of meteorological instruments, such as the barometer, the magnetic needle, &c. At present, in many European observatories, the instruments, by this means, register their own observations. The indicating needle is suspended over the surface of a cylinder, turning on its axis with an uniform movement, and completing a revolution in the space of twenty-four hours. This cylinder, being prepared like a daguerrian plate, preserves in a continued track the mark of the indicator, and thus presents a curve, each section of which determines the state of the instrument at a certain hour, by its corresponding trace. Many philosophers thought they perceived that the solar light, emitted two or three hours before noon, differs in some repects from that emitted during the corresponding periods in the afternoon; but formerly they had no means of ascertaining the amount of the difference. Mr. Herschel and others have constructed an instrument named an actinograph, which determines it easily. The degree of alteration endured by a layer of bromide of silver, serves as a measure for the intensity of the chemical action of the light emanating from the sun at each period of the day. Such are the services which photography has already rendered to the physical sciences: its application to the purposes of Natural History is yet more varied. The facility for obtaining, in a few moments, exact likenesses of plants and animals, bestows on naturalists who travel, the power of indefinitely increasing their collections for study. The interesting, but hitherto neglected science of the human race, will find in photography a powerful ally. The actual imperfection of anthropology is chiefiv caused by the want of a museum of authentic types: it is easy to conceive how the daguerreotype can remedy this defect. The photographic portraits of the Botocudes, or aborigines of South America, brought to France in 1844 by M. Thiesson, and the studies of African types, collected by the same artist in a subsequent expedition, show sufficiently how much comparative anthropology may fairly expect from the daguerreotype. M. Donne, the author of the "Atlas of the Microscope," has daguerreotyped for that valuable work the magnified images of minute objects. For example, the image formed in the solar microscope by globules of blood, has been received and imprinted on an iodized plate, and afterwards reproduced on a page of the atlas. Is it necessary to add that photography may also usefully subserve the labours of the cosmographer, of the archæologist, and of the architect. "To copy the millions of millions of hieroglyphics which cover the vast monuments of Thebes, of Memphis, and of Karnak," said M. Arago, in a report presented by him to the Chamber of Deputies, "would require a number of years, and a legion of artists. With the daguerreotype, a single man may accomplish it. Furnish the Egyptian Institute with two or three of M. Daguerre's instruments, and on the trophies of our immortal expedition, may be represented real, not fictitious hieroglyphics, surpassing the work of the most skilful artist, in their geometrical fidelity." The powerful auxiliary of physics, of natural history, and of the fine arts-Photography may justly rank among the most useful discoveries of modern times. SOME enter the gates of the Temple of Fame with golden keys, and take their seats with dignity among the august assembly; some burst the doors, and leap into a niche with savage power, while thousands consume their time in chinking useless keys, and aiming feeble pushes against the inexorable doors. A CITY SONG. Go look into the City's face, That spreadeth over tens of miles; Go wander through the Merchant place Of busy brains and countless piles. From palace halls to cellar floors, In broad highway and narrow street, From beggars' dens to princes' doors, Go look, and note what ye shall meet. Close pent, and dim, the God of Gain Dwells there within his home of stone, Content with kennel and with chain, So that he gnaw a golden bone. Ah! gloomy are the Winter days That close around the traffic mart, And short-lived are the Summer rays That fall upon the City's heart. Yet dear Old Nature, fresh and fair, For ever fond; and even there We see her sweet smile peeping through. Mark the dim windows ye shall pass, The broad geranium, in its pride, Looks out to kiss the scanty gleam, And rose-bud nurslings, by its side, Are gently brought to share the beam. Hands, with their daily bread to gain, May oft be seen, at twilight hour, Decking their dingy garret pane With wreathing leaf or sickly flower. Smile not to see the broken cup, With dusty mould and starting seed; The one who fills it renders up An offering that God may heed. Look kindly on the housecrop patch, For not "all evil" is the one Who fondly twines some dwindling leaves Now to the life-stream of the sun, Then to the rain-drops from the eaves A trace of something goodly still And seeks to call up woods and fields. A pleasant sight it is to see The Spirit of Creation haunt The City paths in some old tree, Where butterflies and rooks may flaunt. Though Toil and Dust may hem us round, And drink the freshness of our Life, Some Eden trace will yet be foundSome olive branches in the strife. The child will smile at these fair things Who never saw the grassy sod, Telling how faithfully man clings To that which links him to his God. Oh! let us look with grateful eye On branch and bloom within a City; They seem, we know not how or why, To cheer us like a minstrel's ditty. They tell of something which defies The lust of Wealth and dread of DeathThey point to brighter, bluer skies, And whisper with a seraph's breath. Though mean they seem, though weak they be, ELIZA COOK. DIAMOND DUST. THE envious love nothing but the dead, and them they only pardon. ALCOHOL-a clothes-brush celebrated for destroying the coats of the stomach. NOTHING is more frightful than active ignorance. It is always safer to err in favour of others than of ourselves. THE slightest thing we do sends a thrill vibrating along the endless chains of cause and effect to the utmost limit of time, through the whole grand machine of future existence. Man dies, but not one of his acts ever dies. Each is perpetuated and prolonged for ever by interminable results, affecting some beings in every age to come. SHOOTING the longbow-stretching a fact till you have made it as long as you want it. HE that considers how little he dwells upon the condition of others will learn how little the attention o others is attracted by himself. HOURS have wings, and fly up to the author of time. COMMONPLACE people are content to walk for life in the rut made by their predecessors, long after it has become so deep that they cannot see to the right or left. This keeps them in ignorance and darkness, but it saves them the trouble of thinking or acting for themselves. COUNTERACTION-a balancing provision of nature, for the prevention of excess, whether in morals or mechanics. A GREAT part of our existence serves no other purpose than that of enabling us to enjoy the rest. NONE are so hard to please as those whom satiety of pleasure makes weary of themselves; nor any so readily provoked as those who have been always courted with an emulation of civility. LET the slandered take comfort; it is only at fruit trees that thieves throw stones. WE feel the neglect of others towards ourselves; but we do not even suspect our neglect of them. GENIUS, inspired by invention, rends the veil that separates existence from possibility, peeps into the dark, and catches a shape, a feature, or a colour in the reflected ray. Talent though panting pursues genius through the plains of invention, but stops short at the brink that separates the real from the possible. TELL-TALES are contemptible beings. To retail in one house what is seen or spoken of in another is a treason against society, which cannot too thoroughly be despised. MARTYR-that which all religions have furnished in about equal proportions, so much easier is it to die for religion than to live for it. Ir is, indeed, at home that every man must be known by those who would make a just estimate either of his virtue or felicity; for smiles and embroidery are alike occasional, and the mind is often dressed for show in painted honour, and fictitious benevolence. INDULGING in dangerous pleasures is like licking honey from a knife and cutting the tongue with the edge. THE longest pleasure with which we are familiar is of a passive kind, namely, sleep. HAPPINESS is like wealth; as soon as we begin to nurse it and care for it, it is a sure sign of its being in a precarious state. IN every heart there are secrets which are never disclosed, and which cannot be wrested from it. Printed and Published for the Proprietor, by JOHN OWEN CLARKE, (of No. 8 Canonbury Villas, in the Parish of St. Mary, Islington, in the County of Middlesex) at his Printing Office, No. 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, in the City of London, Saturday, June 8, 1850. A FEW WORDS ON RAILWAYS. NOTWITHSTANDING the cloud which has for some time been suspended over the railway interest, the splendid railway system makes steady progress. Though shareholders are not yet realizing those profits, the prospect of which lured them into railway enterprise, the public at large are unquestionably enjoying the benefits of rapid, cheap, and safe transit for themselves and their varied products, over the iron roads which now traverse the empire in all directions. About sixty millions of persons are computed to have travelled by railway in the course of the past year, and probably not less than 25,000,000 tons of goods of various kinds were conveyed during the same period. [PRICE 1d. "There were giants in those days." The most powerful of the empires of antiquity, commanding though they did immense treasures of wealth and an enormous mass of servile labour, have done nothing, so far as is known, to compare, in utility and in amount of work, with the railways constructed by the British people alone during the last twenty years. Their greatest works took ages to complete, and one generation of labourers succeeded another in the process of their construction. But the railway works to which we refer, have been begun and ended under the eyes of the generation now living and not yet grown old. Not a penny of tax has been imposed upon the people to promote the works; the whole of the requisite funds have been provided by themselves, out of their own accumulated savings, and this, without at all limiting their energies in other directions. These extraordinary results afford a splendid example of the wonderworking power of Association and Co-operation--a power which is yet destined, we believe, to accomplish as great results in the moral and social world, as it has already accomplished for the material interests of mankind. We are not blind to the follies and frailties so incident to a half-developed state of humanity, which have been mixed up with the railway speculations of the last few years; but while we deplore these things, we cannot shut our eyes to the greatness of the results, to the grandeur of the work, and to the great promise of blessings presented in the magnificent railway works of our country. Above two hundred millions sterling have already been invested in the construction of 5,950 miles of railway in Great Britain; and, during the year 1849, the traffic receipts of the various lines amounted to not less than £11,700,000 sterling,-facts which go to prove the solid and substantial wealth of our country. And this great system, be it remembered, is not the offspring of Government, of aristocratic patronage, or of fictitious aid of any kind, but has sprung spontaneously from the native energy and enterprise of our people. Parliament, instead of facilitating railway development and promoting railway progress, has thrown numerous obstructions in its way, and imposed heavy burdens upon railways; while it has, at the same time, laid them open to the assaults of ravenous hordes of landowners, lawyers, and parish overseers and surveyors, in every direction. Yet the interest stands and survives, growing stronger daily. Magnificent works of art, in the shape of tubular bridges, high-level bridges, tunnels, viaducts, and such like, are observed along all the great lines of railway; valleys are bridged over, rivers and narrow seas are spanned, hills are penetrated, to enable the flying load of passengers or goods to speed from town to town, and from city to city. One could have wished that the men who have done the hard work of this great railway epoch had been more carefully provided for-that the railway Navvies had been taught how to accumulate their savings, and provide against the loss of employment consequent upon the completion of their various undertakings; that they had been brought under the influence of more civilizing habits, manners, and customs than those which, unfortunately, were native to them-that some fund had been provided for the support of the maimed and the wounded, and for the relief of the widows and children of those who were slain in the great battles which have been done with the powers of earth and water. For, it is a striking fact, that the average loss of life among the workmen engaged in the construction of most of the great railway tunnels, has been greater than that of the soldiery engaged in our severest campaigns. While the deaths (according to the official returns) in the four battles of A single generation has done all this-has accomplished a greater amount of work than was required to build all the Pyramids. No generation that has ever before lived, has stamped its mark on the earth more vigorously than this generation has done; and future generations may say of us, as men in past times spoke of their ancestors |