some dismal object to their minds, which now by no means, no labor, no persuasions, they can avoid. They may not be rid of it; they cannot resist.

ROBERT BUrton.

CHARACTER OF RICHARD III.

and they will hardly be drawn from them or willingly interrupt. So pleasant their vain conceits are that they hinder their ordinary tasks and necessary business; they cannot address themselves to them or almost any study or employment. These fantastical and bewitching thoughts so covertly, so feelingly, so urgently, so continually, set upon, creep in, insinuate, possess, overcome, distract and detain them; they cannot, I say, go about their more necessary business, stave off or extricate themselves, but are ever musing, melancholizing and carried along, as he (they say) that is led round about an heath with a Puck in the night. They run earnestly on They run earnestly on in this labyrinth of anxious and solicitous melancholy meditations, and cannot well or willingly refrain or easily leave off winding and unwinding themselves, as so many clocks, and still pleasing their humors, until at last the scene is turned upon a sudden by some bad object, and they, being now habituated to such vain meditations and solitary places, can endure no company, can ruminate of nothing but harsh and distasteful subjects. Fear, sorrow, suspicion, discontent, cares and weariness of life surprise them in a moment, and they can think of nothing else; continually suspecting, no sooner are their eyes open but this infernal plague of melancholy seizeth on them and terrifies their souls, representing

now entreat, was in wit and courage egal with either of them; in body and prowess, far under them both-little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook-backed, his left shoulder much higher than his right, hardfavored of visage, as such as in states called warlye, in other men otherwise. He was malicious, wrathful, envious and from afore his birth ever froward. None evil captain was he in the war, as to which his disposition was position was more meetly than for peace. Sundry victories had he, and some time overthrows, but never in default for his own person either of hardiness or politic order. Free was he called of dispense, and somewhat above his power liberal. With large gifts he get him unsteadfast friendship, for which he was fain to pil and spoil in other places, and get him steadfast hatred. He was close and secret, a deep dissimuler, lowly of countenance, arrogant of heart, outwardly coumpinable where he inwardly hated, not letting to kiss whom he thought to kill, dispitious and cruel, not for evil will alway, but after for ambition, and either for the surety and increase of his estate. Friend and foe was much what indifferent, where his advantage grew; he spared no man's death whose life withstood his purpose. He slew with his own hands King Henry VI., being prisoner in the Tower. SIR THOMAS MORE.

MORAL TEACHINGS IN SIAM.

FROM A SPEECH DELIVERED AT THE WORLD'S PARLIAMENT OF RELIGIONS, SEPTEMBER 15, 1893, BY HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE CHANDRADIT CHODHA

RHARN OF SIAM.

Now

OW comes the question, What is good and what is evil? Every act, speech, or thought derived from falsehood, or that which is injurious to others, is evil. Every act, speech, or thought derived from truth, and that which is not injurious to others, is good. Buddhism teaches that lust prompts avarice, anger creates animosity, ignorance produces false ideas. These are called evils because they cause pain. On the other hand, contentment prompts charity, love creates kindness, knowledge produces progressive ideas. These are called good because they give pleasure. A good man is characterized by seven qualities: he should not be loaded with faults, he should be free from laziness, he

should not boast of his knowledge, he should be truthful, benevolent, content, and he should aspire to all that is useful.

A husband should honor his wife, never insult her, never displease her, make her mistress of the house, and provide for her. On her part, a wife ought to be cheerful toward him when he works, entertain his friends and care for his dependants, never do anything he does not wish, take good care of the wealth he has accumulated, not be idle, but always be cheerful when at work

herself.

Parents in old age expect their children to take care of them, to do all their work and business, to maintain the household, and after death to do honor to their remains by being charitable. Parents help their children by preventing them from doing sinful acts, by

guiding them in the path of virtue, by educating them, by providing them with husbands and wives suitable to them, by leaving them legacies.

When poverty, accident, or misfortune befalls man, the Buddhist is taught to bear it with patience, and if these are brought by himself, it is his duty to discover their causes and try, if possible, to remedy them. If the causes, however, are not to be found here in this life, he must account for them by the wrongs done in his former existence.

Temperance is enjoined upon all Buddhists for the reason that the habit of using intoxicating things tends to lower the mind to the level of that of an idiot, a madman, or an evil spirit.

JAMES SHIRLEY.

AMES SHIRLEY was born in London in

J 1596. He was educated at Cambridge, where he took the degree of A. M.; afterward he embraced Catholicism and became a schoolmaster. Leaving this employment, he settled in London as a dramatic writer, and between the years 1625 and 1666 published thirty-nine plays. In the civil wars he followed his patron, the earl of Newcastle, to the field, but on the decline of the roya! cause returned to London, and there kept a school in Whitefriars, where he educated many eminent characters. What benefit the Restoration brought him as a Royalist we are not informed. Both he and his wife died on the same day, immediately after the great fire of London in A. D. 1666, by which they had been driven out of their house, and probably owed their deaths to that event.

S. O. BEETON.

HOVE off, sir," said he. "Let fall! give way!" cried I to the men, who sprang to their oars with alacrity, making the boat skim through the water lightly and fleetly as a swallow through the air. In less than five minutes we were floating alongside the stone quay at the Water Port, as the principal and strongly-fortified entrance to the garrison from the bay is called.

"You will wait here for me," said the commodore as he stepped out of the boat; "and should I not return before the gate is closed, pull round to the Ragged Staff" (the name of the other landing-place) "and wait there."

"Ay, ay, sir!" said I, though not very well pleased at the prospect of a long and tedious piece of service, fatigued as I already was with my vigil of the previous night and the active duties of the day. The old commodore in the mean while stepped quickly over the drawbridge which connects the quay with the fortress, and presently disappeared under the massive archway of the gate.

For a while the scene which presented itself at the Water Port was of a kind from which an observant mind could not fail to draw abundant amusement. The quay beside which our boat was lying is

a small octangular wharf constructed of huge blocks of granite strongly cemented together. It is the only place which boats, except those belonging to the garrison or national vessels in the harbor, are permitted to approach, and, though of but a few yards square in extent, is enfiladed in several directions by frowning batteries of granite mounted with guns which by a single discharge might shiver the whole structure to atoms. Merchant-vessels lying in the bay are unloaded by means of lighters, which, with the boats of passage continually plying between the shipping and the shore, and the market-boats from the adjacent coast of Spain, all crowd round this narrow quay, rendering it a place of singular business and bustle. As the sunset hour approaches the activity and confusion increase. Crowds of people of all nations and every variety of costume and language jostle each other as they hurry through the gate. The stately Greek in his embroidered jacket, rich ple cap and flowing capote strides carelessly along; the Jew with his bent head, shaven crown and coarse though not unpicturesque gaberdine glides with a noiseless step through the crowd, turning from side to side, as he walks, quick, wary glances from underneath his downcast brows; the Moor wrapped close in his white bernoose stalks sullenly apart, as if he alone had no business in the bustling scene, while the noisy Spaniard by his side. wages an obstreperous argument or shouts in loud guttural sounds for his boat. French,

pur

English and Americans, officers, merchants and sailors, are all intermingled in the motley mass, each engaged in his own business, and each adding his part to the confused and Babel-like clamor of tongues. High on the walls the sentinels, with their arms glistening in the sun, are seen walking to and fro on their posts, and looking down with indifference or abstraction on the scene of hurry and turmoil beneath them.

Among the various striking features that attracted my attention from time to time as I reclined in the stern-sheets of the cutter gazing on the shifting throng before me, there was one whose appearance and manners awakened peculiar interest. He was a tall, muscular, dark-looking Spaniard whose large frame and strong and well-proportioned limbs were set off to good advantage by the national dress of the peasantry of his country. His sombrero, slouched in a studied manner over his eyes, as if to conceal their fierce rolling balls, shaded a face the dark sunburnt hue of which showed that it had not always been so carefully protected. From the crimson sash which was bound round his waist, concealing the connection of his embroidered velvet jacket with his nether garments, a long knife depended, and this, together with a sinister expression of countenance and an indescribable something in the general air and bearing of the man, created an impression which caused me to shrink involuntarily from him whenever he approached the boat. He himself seemed to be actuated by similar feelings. On first meeting my eye he drew his sombrero deeper over his brow and hastily retired to another part of the quay, but every now and then I could see his dark face above a group of the intervening throng, and his keen black eyes

seemed always directed toward me, till, perceiving that I noticed him, he would turn away and mix for a while among the remoter portion of the crowd.

My eyes were endeavoring to follow this singular figure in one of his windings through the multitude, when my attention was drawn in another direction by a loud long call from a bugle sounded within the walls, and in an instant after repeated with a clearer and louder blast from their summit. This signal seemed to give new motion and animation to the crowd. A few hurried from the quay into the garrison, but a greater number poured from the interior upon the quay, and all appeared anxious to depart. depart. Boat after boat was drawn up, received its burden and darted off, while others took their places, and were in turn soon filled by the retiring crowd. Soldiers from the garrison appeared on the quay to urge the tardy into quicker motion, mingled shouts, calls and curses resounded on every side, and for a few minutes confusion seemed worse confounded. But in a short time the last loiterer was hurried away, the last felucca shoved off and was seen gliding on its course, the sound of its oars almost drowned in the noisy gabble of its Andalusian crew. As soon as the quay became entirely deserted the military returned within the walls, and a pause of silence ensued ; then pealed the sunset gun from the summit of the rock; the drawbridge by some unseen agency was rolled slowly back till it disappeared within the arched passage; the ponderous gates turned on their enormous hinges, and Gibraltar was closed for the night with a security which might defy the efforts of the combined world to invade it.

Thus shut out at the Water Port, I directed the boat's crew, in compliance with the orders.