such a philosopher as you.' This epithet of philosopher had been bestowed upon the old schoolmaster in the village partly from esteem, partly in badinage; it was, at the same time, a harmless criticism on his taste for 'wise saws and modern instances,' and a homage which was rendered by all to his cheerful temper and the undisturbed serenity of his mind.

The old man smiled good-humouredly at the summons thus addressed to him by the wealthy farmer, and pushing open the gate, entered his enclosure. Mr Wakefield then showed him, with the satisfied air of a proprietor, the new additions he was making to his already extensive buildings; by means of which he would now have an excellent lock-up coach-house, several spare rooms for his friends, and a small conservatory wherein his wife might indulge her taste for exotics.

All this will cost a great deal,' said Mr Wakefield; 'but one must never regret the expenditure of money when it really adds to one's comfort.'

'You are in the right,' replied Allan: a man who has nothing to annoy him, is worth two discontented men any day.'

"Without reckoning, besides, that we shall gain in health by the change! And this reminds me, friend Allan-do you know that when I was passing your house yesterday an idea struck me all of a sudden?'

That must happen to you more than c.ice in a day, neighbour, I should suppose,' replied the schoolmaster with a smile.

'No, but, without joking,' resumed Wakefield, 'I have found out the reason of your suffering as you do from rheumatism: it is the fault of that row of poplars which masks your windows, and shuts out the air and light.'

'Yes,' replied the old man, at first they formed only a little leafy wall, which was refreshing to the sight, attracted the birds as a nesting place, and allowed a free course to the sun's cheering rays. I used mentally to bless my neighbours the Rengtons who had planted such a border to their garden; but since then, the wall has risen in height, and that which at first lent a charm and gaiety to the scene, is now transformed into a source of gloom and of discomfort. Thus is it too often in life-that which seems graceful and amusing in the child, is hateful and repelling in the man; but now the thing cannot be helped, so it is as well to make the best of it.'

Cannot be helped!' exclaimed the farmer; and why not? Why should not the poplars be cut down?'

To have a right to do that, one must buy them first,' objected the schoolmaster.

'Well, then, I will buy them,' said Mr Wakefield: 'I shall not regret the price, if your rheumatism will only leave you in peace.'

Old Allan expressed the warmest gratitude to the proprietor of Stoke; but the latter laughingly exclaimed, Do not thank me: I only do it to prove that money is good for something.'

Say for a great deal,' replied Allan.

I should say for everything!' rejoined Wakefield. The schoolmaster shook his head. Oh, I know your opinions, old philosopher,' continued the farmer; 'you look upon money with a sort of prejudice.'

'No,' replied Allan, I look upon it as an instrument, which may be powerful in our hands either for good or evil, according to the spirit in which we use it; but there are things in the world which do not bow before its rule.'

And I say that it is the king of the world!' interrupted Wakefield; I say that it is the source of all our enjoyments in life, and that to escape from its influence, one must become an angel in Paradise.'

At this moment a letter was placed in his hand; he opened it, and had no sooner glanced his eye over it, than he uttered an exclamation of joy, and exclaimed triumphantly, Here is another proof of what I have been saying: do you know what this letter contains?'

'Good news, I hope,' replied Allan.
'My nomination as justice of the peace.'

The schoolmaster offered his sincere congratulations to the proprietor of Stoke on his attainment of this little distinction, which he knew to have been long the object of his ambition, and which he felt that his friend justly merited.

'Merited!' repeated Wakefield; and can you venture to say in what respect I have merited it, my good neighbour? Is it because I am the cleverest man in the neighbourhood? My next neighbour, Mr Hodson, knows ten times more of the law than I do. Is it because I have rendered greater services to my neighbourhood than anybody else? Here is old Lawrence, who, by his courage and presence of mind, saved ever so many people from being burnt in the late conflagration, and who last year found out a means of curing the rot amongst the sheep. Is it because there is no other honest, right-minded man in the parish of Moreton? Are not you here, Father Allan-you who are old Honesty himself, dressed up in a coat and pantaloons? It must therefore be quite clear to you that I have received the appointment simply as the most influential man in the parish, and that I am the most influential, because I am the richest. Money, my friend, always money! A few minutes ago, I was proving to you that it could purchase health and comfortable ease: now you see how it procures me an honourable appointment which I wished for: to-morrow it will satisfy some new desire. You see, therefore, that the world is a great shop, whence everything is to be had for ready money.' 'Has Peter sold you his dog?' inquired the schoolmaster, waiting a decided answer.

Wakefield looked at him with a smile, and then slapping him on the shoulder, exclaimed, Ah! you want to prove that my theory was at fault! You defied me to persuade Peter to give me up Growler for his weight in gold.'

His weight in gold!' said the schoolmaster; 'that would be a great deal; but I know that the shepherd loves and values his dog as if he were his bosom friend.'

'Well, this bosom friend is now in my possession!' triumphantly rejoined the farmer. Allan started with surprise. Yes,' replied Wakefield, he has been mine since yesterday. Peter had signed a security for his sister: yesterday the bill fell due, and the money was not forthcoming: he came himself to offer to sell me Growler.'

'And the dog is here?'

'Yes, chained up in the inner yard, where he has been supplied with everything which constitutes the happiness of a dog-namely, a well-filled trencher, and a kennel comfortably lined with straw; but come and see for yourself.'

The farmer led the way into the yard, followed by the schoolmaster. They had no sooner entered it, however, than they descried the trencher upset, the chain broken, and the kennel empty. The dog had taken advantage of the night to break his chain, and to escape over the wall.

Is it possible,' exclaimed the astonished farmer, 'he has actually made his escape?'

To return to his old master,' observed Allan. 'And what on earth has he gone in quest of down there? What can he have wanted?'

That which you could not purchase with him,' gently replied the old schoolmaster; even the sight of the man who nourished and cherished him until now! Your kennel was warmer, your provision more abundant, and your chain lighter than that of Peter; but in Peter were centered all his recollections, as well as his habits of attachment; and for the beast, as well as for the man, there are some things which can neither be bought nor sold. Money can purchase indeed almost every earthly good, except the one which lends its value to them all-affection. You are a wise man, my friend; do not forget the lesson which chance has thus taught you: remember, henceforth, that though one may in

deed purchase the dog for money, one can only acquire his faithful attachment by tenderness and care.'

'Yes,' replied the farmer thoughtfully, I now see that there is something which money cannot buy.'

NATURAL LAW OF CLEANLINESS. In these days of universal wash-house, bath, and scouring propensities, it may be amusing as well as interesting to learn what has been long since taught in the kingdom of nature by the silent but impressive method of example.

In endeavouring to illustrate our subject, we shall not enter into its minute details, but seek to glean the general truth from a variety of facts cursorily mentioned. Beginning even with inanimate nature, we find the lesson of cleanliness on her first page. Who that surveys the most ordinary landscape, unfitted perhaps to inspire the poet or awaken the imagination of the romancist, can point to any stain upon its smiling face, if the defiling contact of man be not manifest? The fresh raiment of the fields, the hard features of the rocks, the stream descending in clear, sparkling, laughing, tumbling waters, or stealing in slower measure | through the plain; the spotless aspect of the driven snow, the smooth-laid surface of the sandy shore, the deep pellucid waters of the great ocean-these are all clean. There is no spot of filth to be seen in them, except when the purificatory process is actually going on. Then the heavens assume what we might perhaps consider a filthy aspect-the sky becomes clothed with sackcloth, the hills disappear in murky fogs, the mountain stream comes down in floods of mud, hurling along heaps of degraded materials; the sea casts up its mire and dirt, and at these times the law appears suspended; but, on the contrary, this is the very process itself by which the general result is obtained. In a little while all this seeming disorder ends, and the landscape only looks cleaner than ever when it is over. A vast practical benefit results from a chain of circumstances apparently so trifling as the gathering and discharging of a rain-cloud. All the impurities which a state of change necessarily entails are thus removed; not only is the face of the earth renewed, and the crowding vegetation which luxuriates upon its fertile bosom re-invigorated, | but it is also washed clean, exposed afresh to atmospheric influences, while the gatherings of previous weeks are all swept down and deposited out of sight beneath the surface of the blue wave. Water thus appears the principal restorative of beauty to nature's countenance; but it is no doubt aided materially by winds, which scatter into the air the dust and other extraneous particles, which might and do collect upon the face of all natural objects.

We have a series of beautiful illustrations of the same attention to cleanliness of appearance in the vegetable kingdom, which, though in accordance with received usage we class them under inanimate nature, we conceive to have a just claim to a different position.* The provisions for cleanliness, however, are principally of the passive order. At first sight, one would be inclined to believe it almost impossible that a blade of grass, in immediate proximity as it is to a filthy soil, could be kept clean; the dirty splashings of a shower, or the down-pressing influence of a breeze, would suffice to take all the beauty out of an artificial grass-blade. How different the result! Pick a handful of the tender herb from the worst field, the very slushiest meadow, and it is found clean, fresh, shining, without a spot of dirt or any such thing, so that it looks as though it had but just left the hands of the Great Artificer. This result is principally due to the lustrous coat of silex with which the blade is provided, and the polished, glittering surface of which denies attachment to a spot of dirt. Grass, however, is by no means the only class of plants furnished with a similar provision, a glazed

* Vide Indications of Vegetable Instinct, Journal, No. 136.

surface, evidently intended principally for this end. While meditating upon this subject, we have been much struck with a thought probably new in its application. Before our study stands a beautiful evergreen; here are leaves which were new just a year ago; clouds of dust have enveloped every artificial object exposed during the same period; but the leaves of this holly are as glossy and clean as though the creation of last week. Let the reader extend this remark, and remember how large a number of evergreen plants are apparently specially provided with highly-varnished surfaces for this very purpose, that the leaves, being peculiarly liable to become dirty, by reason of their long duration, may effectually resist the polluting influence of time. It is not forgotten that other ends may be in view also; but it is a well-known fact to the naturalist, that in the works of creation many effects are produced by a very limited number of causes. That this cleanliness of aspect is, however, due to something more than a nice disposition of surface, will appear when we reflect upon the utter impossibility of keeping any artificial substance, however highly polished, in a similar condition of cleanliness when exposed to similar dirt-disposing causes. Look at our window-panes, for instance: here is a surface which should resist filth, if that were all that is necessary; but a little time elapses, and while the evergreen leaves are ever fresh and shining, the reflected pane has become clouded with dirt. This effect is doubtless attributable to the cutaneous transpiration which is constantly taking place, and which loosens the attachment of dirt, so that the next shower washes all away, and the leaf is as glistening as ever. The velvety clothing of other plants contributes likewise to the same end; for dust will not, and water cannot, adhere to such a surface. Our beautiful and delicate companions the flowers are also furnished with a wax-like structure, by which means they are able to cast off the accidental pollutions of the ambient air. This effect is materially assisted by the position of the parts of the vegetable creature, such as the generally dependent curve of the leaf, the drooping of flowers; and at the period of their death, the dead portions drop, by a natural process, from the stem, fall to the earth, and are speedily hidden from view in the soil, from which, in a little while, they come not to be distinguished. Doubtless, also, the sober brown colour of the mould, as well as the generally subdued tone of every natural landscape, adds much to the clean and unsoiled aspect of the whole, by, as it is commonly called, hiding the unavoidable dirt. The opposite effect would have resulted had the ordinary colours of earth been similar to its extraordinary ones: what, for example, would have been the uncomfortable-looking condition of things if the earth had been bright-red, or yellow, or blue, in its ordinary tones? Things, however, have been differently ordered; and while we survey all nature, we may fully join in the expressions of Dr Macculloch, and say that it presents that universal book of cleanliness and neatness, which is as striking as if there was a hand perpetually employed in no other office, preserving an order which we cannot maintain in our possessions without constant labour.'

Few minds will be found, we believe, which will resist the evidence here adduced to the existence of a law of cleanliness in creation; but if we turn to the animal kingdom, the testimony becomes quite conclusive. Many precautions against dirt in this, as in the other division of nature, are passive. No one that looks upon the glittering corslet of a cockroach, inhabiting, as it does, the dusty cracks and crannies of our kitchen floors all night, and spotless as it is, can deny the conclusion, that there is an admirable proviso against filth in this insect. And the same may be said of the metallic-coated family of beetles, whose burnished backs repel alike the minutest speck of dirt or the heaviest pelterings of a summer shower; and the wing-covers of these beautiful insects are without doubt, while they

are the shields, also the dirt-repellers of the delicate gauze-like wings so artfully folded up beneath them. Again, in the same division of zoology, consider the down and hair-clothed insects; or those that are cased in the loveliest array of scales, as the butterflies; nothing defiling will stick here, and the unsoiled aspect of every such insect sufficiently testifies the perfection of the arrangement. The glossy surface of the hair of animals is a similar provision for a similar end; and the facility with which it repels water, man often recognises, and applies to his own purposes for coats, aprons, hats, or caps.

We probably judge rightly in supposing that the active demonstrations of cleanliness are the most interesting, and are likely to be the most impressive. The several means by which this is accomplished, supply us with the order in which we shall mention them. These are combing, brushing, licking, and washing, four divisions to which nearly all may, we think, be reduced. One of the commonest and most curious examples of combing, for the purposes of cleanliness, may be observed by closely watching a common garden spider. These insects are particularly exposed to dirt; the dust of the air, particles of their webs, or defilement from their prey, become entangled in the hairs of their legs, and would probably both materially add to the discomfort and to the disability of the insect for its active life, were they not removed. The wants of the creature have not been forgotten, and its mouth is furnished with serratures like the teeth of a comb. The insect puts its leg into its mouth, and gradually draws it through these teeth, so as entirely to comb off every particle of dust and dirt, which it then collects into a pellet, and carefully tosses away! In order that this operation may be thoroughly done, and no part of the leg escape, a little curved hook is added, which bends down over the edge of the comb, rendering the escape of any part of the leg impossible. When this self-cleaning operation is perfect, the insect with fresh strength betakes itself to its occupation. This curious fact appears long to have been unnoticed, and was first discovered by Mr Rennie, who mentions it in an interesting paper published at the Royal Institution. The bird well known as the fern-owl, or night-jar, has an instrument on purpose to effect this object, a real comb. One of its claws differs from all the rest in length, and in the remarkable fact of its being serrated or toothed like a comb; and such is the intention of the contrivance. It was long mistaken for an instrument with which to wound its prey. Other naturalists perceiving its resemblance to a comb, and considering the whiskers of the bird, conceived that it was intended to comb the bird's whiskers. But against this ingenious hypothesis it must unfortunately be mentioned, that some of the species possess the comb without the whiskers, in which case its function must be, on that supposition, unnecessary. The celebrated Alexander Wilson, the ornithologist of America, decided the question by finding in the whip-poor-will,' a bird belonging to the same group, and the inner edge of one of the claws of which is also pectinated, portions of down adhering to the teeth. He therefore very rationally concludes that this instrument is most probably employed as a comb to rid the plumage of the head of vermin, this being the principal, and almost the only part so infested in all birds. In another portion of that splendid work, he mentions that the night-heron, or 'qua-bird,' possesses also a pectinated or comb-like claw, which has from thirty-five to forty teeth, and is used for a similar purpose to that in the last case mentioned.

Under the head of combing we are doubtless to include what is called the 'preening,' or, more correctly perhaps, the pruning of birds. Probably no creatures are more attentive to personal neatness than the generality of birds, and this they principally effect by embracing their feathers with the beak, then drawing the beak to the extremity, by which means all dirt and soil are speedily removed. In this healthy exercise it has been

well said they have been 'commanded to delight,' for while it is a sanitary act, it is also one which seems to afford them great gratification. Were it not that this beautiful part of creation is always thus employed, what filthy objects would many become who have to seek their food in mud or in the earth! But, as Drayton has said, they are always

'Pruning their painted breasts :'

and thus, under the most disadvantageous circumstances, the lustre of the bird of paradise, or the snowy purity of the swan, is never to be seen dimmed by dust or defiled by mud. Still, under the division' combing,' we may mention the most familiar example of all, the common blow-fly. Who that has watched the ludicrous care with which this insect attends to its personal appearance, has not been reminded of human actions. When we remember our own manoeuvres with the clothes brush, and compare them with those of the fly dusting his jacket, the action has all the oddity of a caricature. How carefully he sweeps down the wings, and then his eyes and head, as if he were on the very point of presenting himself at court, or to the considerations of some fair friend! The microscope reveals his instrument. It consists of two rounded combs placed at the bottom of the foot, and consisting of two or three rows of teeth, somewhat like a currycomb; and this contrivance perfectly removes all extraneous matters, so that the cleanly insect flies off a complete beau, if lustre and absence of dirt would constitute one.

Brushing is the next division. The bee gives us a good example in point. This unwearied insect, in her perpetual search for honey, has to penetrate many flowers, which abound in pollen or farina-the light delicate powder produced by the anthers of flowers. When she comes home, she looks quite an altered character, all dusty as she is with yellow pollen, so that she could scarcely be recognised as the modest brown insect which the morning saw depart from the hive. The principal cause of this is the hairyness of her body, the pollen particles sticking fast in the pile. The insect stops, and raising her hind-legs, which are set with thick hairs, she brushes every particle clean off; but as the pollen is valuable, she does not throw it away; on the contrary, she kneads it into little masses called beebread, and then enters the hive, having stowed it away in certain little pockets behind. Many spiders are provided with brushes of close-set hairs, which effect the same purpose; and the foot-cushions of the cat must be considered as instruments of similar intention, We are often presented with examples of licking as an operation of this kind. The cat takes incessant pleasure in it, and is very particular about her children too, whom she licks continually when they are young. Other animals have similar propensities, and hence arose the popular myth about the bear licking her cubs into shape, when she was, in fact, only giving them a maternal purification. Insects are equally fond of it, and repeatedly lick one another. By the same means they free their eggs or pupæ from dirt. Every one must also have witnessed again and again the scrupulous care with which many animals wash themselves. Birds are very fond of this practice, and perform the operation with a skill which evidently manifests that the instinct is heaven-taught. To get a mind-drawn picture of this feat, let the reader think of the manœuvres of a duck at a pond, or the more stately performance of a swan in a stream.

One of the most curious illustrations our subject admits of was discovered by the talented entomologist before-mentioned. It is a special apparatus for cleaning a very peculiar insect. At the bottom of a hole near an old tree Mr Rennie found a curious grub, which he had never seen before. Taking it home, with a few small snails found in the same place, and watching the creature, he found it employed in a very anomalous manner. Its tail was turned up, and bent over its back, and every now and then removed again. For some