How deeply implanted in the human heart is the love of fame! Vast are the benefits conferred upon mankind, which spring from the desire to be well spoken of by our fellow-men. Even in the humblest grades of life we do not lack proofs that a fondness for fame is cherished to a very great extent. The countenance of the sturdy ploughman beams with delight, when he hears that the neighbours of his master have been praising him for the manner in which he has just ploughed his portion of a field. This praise stimulates him to further exertions. Every time he takes hold of the plough, if the land be “at all like" (as he expresses it), we can see that he labours with the pleasing idea uppermost in his mind that he is increasing his own fame, as well as performing his duty to his employer. The master, too, begins to feel proud of his servant's capabilities, and a more kindly feeling, each for the other, is gradually generated. Another servant on the same farm follows this example, and excited as it were, by a similar impulse, he strives with all his might to cause his "team to be admired On every occasion when he passes through the neighbouring town, he looks upon his horses with a feeling of pride, being perfectly certain that their appearance will reflect credit upon him. He listens with anxious ears to catch the observations of the townspeople in favour of his team-aye, he even looks for these observations. He indulges the idea that everybody is noticing his "turn out," whether they are or not. The clever thatcher, too, walks and talks like a man who feels conscious that few can equal him at "trimming round stacks." He will boast that he likes September better than any month in the year. It is September that gives him an opportunity for displaying his skill, and for showing his perfect mastery over straw, "tar-marl," and "thack-pegs." Love of fame, rather than the weekly wages, produces in him a desire to exhibit in his master's stack-yard, that appearance which has such a very pleasing effect Many a man, in middle life, feels a commendable pride at being thought a pattern of integrity and honesty; and to him it is fame to have it said of him, that he was never known to be in debt."

This longing desire for fame travels upwards through all ranks of society, and it seldom makes use of any pursuit which is capable of gratifying its aspirations, that is not, at the same time, productive of good in some form or other. The public writer will tell you that all his yearnings, all his studies, all his energies, are directed and devoted to the good of his country; that he has a desire to see his countrymen just, generous, and loyal. He

*F

urges men

in times of peace, to turn their attention to the amelioration of abuses, to the extension of arts and sciences, to the development of the country's resources, to the abolition of oppressive restrictions upon commerce, to the promotion of education among the masses, and to the diffusion of general benefits. He is at his post again in times of war, and, for the "love of Fatherland," he urges men to exhibit a patriotism, which shall be "terrible as an army with banners." He declares his feelings with such earnestness that he is applauded as a man who deserves well of his country, and he is wafted onward on the wings of fame to the temple where the goddess Reputation loves to crown her heroes. We believe there have been hundreds of public men, who have written with all the sincerity of which the human heart is capable, and achieved well-merited honours; but, we are also of opinion, that, in many instances, where the love of fame has been the dominant impulse, the very same results have been arrived at. The Temple of Fame has been entered, without doubt, indirectly by numbers of devotees, who have made a niche in its penetralia the only goal of their cherished hopes.

Laudable, however, and to be encouraged for the good it leads to, is this longing for popular reputation. The master bard of England has affixed upon it the sanctioning impress of his seal.

"The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is-spotless reputation; that away,

Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay."

Turn we our attention to the soldier, "jealous in honour," and "seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth." We are filled with admiration at the display of fortitude and endurance which our military ranks have presented to our view-unheard of hardships are spoken of as "trifles light as air," when the reputation of a general and his officers is recognized by their countrymen. Still it was the firm belief in this eventual recognition which gave these warriors strength to be the heroes they were; and they do but enhance their present fame by making light of their past deeds. See the statesman, night after night during the session, labouring by his regular presence in the House of Commons, by his energy in debate, and by every means in his power, to gain the favour of his constituents. Away, say we, with the idea of paid members! The full approval of the majority of those who send an independent man to parliament, is ample reward for him.

When we use the word reputation, we mean a notoriety in the best sense of that term. We do not like to see a man labouring to obtain a doubtful notoriety, by exhibiting an eccentricity which borders upon the absurd, for the especial delectation of a certain clique. We do not like to see a member becoming isolated by always harping on the same string. If a man, unfortunately, is under the influence of but one solitary idea, it is not becoming that he should insist, at all times, and in all places, that that idea is connected with all things that are in heaven and on earth. To endeavour assiduously to recommend the adoption of one idea as a general specific, which will guarantee the health of the whole British constitution, is simply to become ridiculous instead of famous. A thirst for a reputation having this tendency, is very different from a thirst for genuine fame, and it betrays an aberration of intellect of no ordinary kind, in the individual thus afflicted.

The love of fame which fills the bosom of a statesman, it is true, may operate injuriously to mankind, as well as beneficially; but we trust the days have for ever gone by, that have witnessed the passing of injudicious acts

which have loaded the memory of their promoters with an unenviable fame. We hope the statesmen comprising the rival parties of our own day, will continually bear in mind that it is only the memory of the just that is blessed. The love of fame does very great service to the cause of charity, and although this kind of fame springs from a feeling akin to pride, we should be very sorry to find fault where so much real benefit is produced. The love of being first on a list of subscribers to some charitable purpose, is a motive with which we ought not to quarrel, when we know what an inducement it affords to others to follow the example. The love of posthumous fame, too, has also benefited mankind very largely. Men who have not been distinguished for liberality in their life-time, have, by a singular caprice, become famous on their demise, by some extraordinary bequest. Upon the motives which induce men to live after they are dead in the grateful hearts of widows and orphans, and those who are afflicted, we can hardly venture to speculate; and we will make no remarks of an uncomplimentary nature, lest the alms-. houses and hospitals which have been founded by their dying wishes, should seem to call into question the justness of our remarks. Strong in the hour of death is this love of praise. Even an Emperor of Rome on his dying couch summoned his courtiers around him, and begged them with his latest breath, if they thought he had played his part in life well, to give him their applause.

November, 1864.

LEO MYRON.

(Continued from page 93.)

One afternoon as Leo sat drawing in the parlour with only Sarah and Frances, who were engaged on fancy needlework, those young ladies conversed with each other in French, knowing that to do so would tease Leo, to whom they owed a little grudge for his teasing them in the earlier part of the day. He heard his own name mentioned by them, which roused his curiosity, and immediately after, the word "amant;" on hearing which he guessed at the purport of their conversation.

He clapped his hands and burst into a loud exulting fit of laughter, which so greatly astonished the young ladies, that they eagerly enquired the cause of his hilarity. He could not answer them for some moments, but when his laughter had somewhat subsided, he repeated the word "amant,” in a manner which could not be mistaken, and crimson blushes instantly covered their cheeks. A merry laugh from the trio followed, and before it had ceased, Sarah and Frances made a hasty retreat from the room. The time passed as merry as a marriage bell."

One morning while at

the breakfast table, a letter arrived for Leo from his father, informing him that a situation had been procured for him with a Mr. Eastman, an apothecary in the town, near which his parents resided, and desired him to conclude his visit at Peterborough on the following Friday and return home.

The Friday morning arrived; and, as usual, Leo seated himself beside Sarah at the piano. It was the last morning he would hear her sweet voice, and she sang his favourite song twice, and did a slight violence to her feelings

in promising not to sing any French songs that morning. She sang, instead, several songs, on that favorite subject with all young people-love; and from the tenor of their words, he flattered himself into the belief, however erroneous it might be, that she gave him encouragement to speak more fully of his affection for her; the existence of which he had only intimated to her by the silent but expressive language of the eyes. He made up his mind to take the present opportunity of speaking on this point, more fully and boldly, and prepared to steal a kiss by way of preface He fancied he already felt her rosy lips pressing his own-his face was moved close to hers, under the pretence of reading the words of the song, which she was singing— when, oh, contrary fate! the door opened and Arthur made his appearance, announcing that breakfast was ready. Sarah instantly rose from the music stool, and led the way to the breakfast parlour. Shortly after this meal was concluded, the time for the coach's departure arrived, by which Leo Myron was to leave his friends. After bidding them all farewell, and warmly thanking Mrs. Bladen for the kindness and attention she had shewn him, he left the house and was accompanied to the "Talbot," by Arthur, where they separated. "Crack went the whip, and round went the wheels," and the coach rolled away.

CHAPTER II.

Our hero leaves his home to follow his profession.

It was arranged for Leo to enter on his new employment on that day week, on which he should return from his visit, and likewise that he should have one month on trial. Time flew by with rapid wing; the day arrived. It was a dull, heavy morning, it looked inclined for rain, but none came; it was not bright and clear, there was nothing which inspired the hope of its turning out a fine day, and the mind of Leo (a mind accustomed to regard the future with a prophetic eye), was filled with ideas of a desponding character; and when it occurred to him, that it was likewise that most unlucky of all days, Friday (for he was deeply superstitious), a heavy gloom like a dark cloud that hides the sun, which before looked smiling, settled upon him, shutting out all the bright rays of hope.

After wishing as many 66 adieux" and "farewells" to his mother and sister, as most people would consider necessary, if on the eve of departure for our distant Eastern Empire, Leo left his home, and accompanied by his father, proceeded leisurely towards the town. They soon arrived at Mr. Eastman's residence, which was situated in the principal street. On entering the shop, no one for a moment appeared, until Mr. Eastman himself descended from his high and commodious desk, which was situated close by the window, and was his favourite "perch." He received Mr. Myron, who immediately introduced his son, with a degree of stiffness, which he doubtless thought becoming the dignity of his position, as the principal of an establishment, and the future master of Leo, but from his small, spare person and peculiar style of countenance, its centre being distinguished by a formidable nasal organ, and his cheeks fringed with a bushy pair of carroty whiskers, added not a little to his insignificance. He was about forty-five years of age, of a florid complexion, stuffed to the very throat with conceit, grovelling towards his superiors, possessed of a little mind, and of very limited comprehension. He was likewise a snuff taker, which filthy habit he might have contracted, from believing