of columns, is in general from twenty to thirty feet; in some parts it may, for a short distance, be nearly forty. From this account are excluded the broken and scattered pieces of the same kind of construction, which are detached from the sides of the grand Causeway, as they do not appear to have ever been contiguous to the principal arrangement, although they have been frequently comprehended in the width, which has led to some wild and dissimilar representations of this causeway, in the different accounts that have been given. Its highest part is the narrowest, at the very spot of the impending cliff, whence the whole projects; and there, for about the same space in length, its width is not more than from twelve to fifteen feet. The columns of this narrow part incline from a perpendicular a little to the westward, and form a slope on their tops, by the unequal height of their sides; and in this way a gradual ascent is made at the foot of the cliff, from the head of one column to the next above, to the top of the great Causeway, which, at the distance of about eighteen feet from the cliff, obtains a perpendicular position, and lowering from its general height, widens to between twenty and thirty feet, being for nearly three hundred feet always above the water. The tops of the columns being, throughout this length, nearly of an equal height, form a grand and singular parade, which may be walked on, somewhat inclining to the water's edge. But from the high-water mark, as it is perpetually washed by the beating surges, on every return of the tide, the platform lowers considerably, becoming more and more uneven, so as not to be walked on but with the greatest care. At the distance of a hundred and fifty yards from the cliffs, It turns a little to the east, for the space of twenty or thirty yards, and then sinks into the sea. The figure of these columns is, as we have already said, with few exceptions, pentagonal, or composed of five sides; and the spectator must look very narrowly indeed to find any of a different construction, having three, four, or six sides. What is very extraordinary, and particularly curious, is, that there are not two columns in ten thousand to be found which either have their sides equal among themselves, or display a like figure.

The composition of these columns, or pillars, is not less deserving the attention of the curious observer. They are not of one solid stone in an upright position, but composed of several short lengths, nicely joined, not with flat surfaces, but articulated into each other like a ball and socket, or like the joints in the vertebrae of some of the larger kind of fish, the one end at the joint having a cavity, into which the convex end of the opposite is exactly fitted. This is not visible unless on disjoining the two stones. The depth of the concavity or convexity is generally about three or four inches. It is still farther remarkable, that the convexity and correspondent concavity of the joint are not conformable to the external angular figure of the column, but exactly round, and as large as the size or diameter of the column will admit; consequently, as the angles of these columnus are in general very unequal, the circular edges of the joints are seldom coincident with more than two or three sides of the pentagonal, and are, from the edge of the circular part of the joint to the exterior sides and angles, quite plain. It ought likewise to be noticed as a singular curiosity, that the articulations of these joints are frequently inverted, in some of them the concavity being upwards, in others the reverse. This occasions the variety and mixture of concavities and convexities on the tops of the columns, which is observable throughout the platform of this causeway, without any discoverable design or regularity with respect to the number of either.

The length of these particular stones, from joint to joint, is various; they are in general from eighteen inches to two feet long; and, for the greater part, longer towards the bottom of the columns than nearer the top, the

articulation of the joints being there somewhat deeper. The size, or diameter, likewise of the columns is as different as their length and figure; in general they are from fifteen to twenty inches in diameter. Throughout the whole of this combination there are not many traces of uniformity or design, except in the form of the joint, which is invariably by an articulation of the convex into the concave of the piece next above or below it; nor are there traces of a finishing in any part, whether in the height, length, or breadth. If there be particular instances in which the columns above water have a smooth top, others near them, of an equal height, are more or less convex or concave, which shows them to have been joined to pieces that have been washed away, or by other means taken off. It cannot be doubted but that those parts which are constantly above water have gradually become more and more even, at the same time that the remaining surfaces of the joints must necessarily have been worn smoother by the constant action of the air, and by the friction in walking over them, than where the sea, at every tide, beats on the causeway, continually removing some of the upper stones, and exposing fresh joints. As all the exterior columns, which have two or three sides exposed to view, preserve their diameters from top to bottom, it may be inferred that such is also the case with the interior columns, the tops of which alone are visible.

I would not willingly essay a full description of the Causeway. Many a writer has relinquished his attempt; and many another has stayed his ardent goosequill in despair. If ever the works of Almighty God were particularly manifested in oppressive grandeur-if ever an atheist feels his atheism quail within him-it is at the Giant's Causeway. To see such cliffs -five hundred feet high-beautiful in their component parts, and in their columnous construction even and regular, as though a mason and rule had been at work. O, it is marvellous! No pompous unit, with a bit of humanity clinging to his heart, can go there and retain his pomposity. He visits the Pleaskin, the Giant's Stack, the Cliffs at Fairhead, and his vain folly trembles on its pedestal and falls to rise no more.

Cliffs five hundred feet in height; columns and separate, yet aggregate, and standing in layers not unfrequently thirty feet; these meet his wondering gaze; and if he were able to uncover the area above, he would probably find the interior columns still regular and compact; three-sided, seven-sided, eight-sided! And their hues! Hire a boat; go out to sea,still how distinguishable and how delicate. Now, row in, and lay on your oars, they spread from east to west, above, below, in colours shading from a white to a crimson. Dig beneath where they join the coast; they are

still there!

No marvel that, on a tempestuous night, when the moon was veiled and the seas rough, the ireful Spaniards of King Philip's Armada, beating off the coast, thought those three basaltic columns were Irish peasants' chimney-pots; and, in very malice of the worst sort, because useless and unpro voked, fired their cannon thitherward. To this day the marks of Spanish shot are shown on the face of those imperishable columns; and, only the other month, & relic of that unfortunate Armada, came up on the ironbound coast, a rusty anchor, which the smith forged hoping and believing it would find an anchoring ground, not in the Irish Scas, but in the English Channel.

I might tell you of my lonely walk on the headland; I might discourse of the setting sun, as seen from Hamilton's Cave at the famous Pleaskin; I might fill page after page with a fruitless, because imperfect, ac count of the Causeway; but the night has come, the daylight departed, and I lay down my pen to revive again, in thought, the mingled feelings which arose in my astonished mind, when surveying that most

wondrous of His wondrous works. And when, in addition to what I have described, you shall have seen the evidence of basalt in fusion (pointed out by King on the authority of Buckland); the stratum of ochre oxidized; the marvellous Giant's Stack; the Highlander's bonnet; those parts of the Causeway called "the Wild," "the Honeycomb," " the Middle," and "the Grand ;" the boulders, which were once the scum of the basalt lava;-when I say, you shall have seen these marvels, and the Giant's Organ, forty-five feet in height, row back to Portrush and cautiously explore the wondrous caves which are on your way. Observe the overhanging crags, the spacious dome which echoes Alexander's shout, and is the abiding place of many a dark-coated gull, whose cry is like nought human; take a long look at the Giant himself, whose profile arrests you as you voyage on, and causes you to exclaim "Can this be solid rock and Nature's art!" Then, when the beach of Portrush, is in sight, pass your flask to your honest guide and let him drink his usual toast, "Here's to yer 'onor's health, and here's to me, and here's to my good old mate!"

DECEMBER.

THE whispering foliage-song no more
Along the air is sweeping;

But hush! 'twill chorus as before-
The spirit-leaves are s'eeping:
December's breath awhile shall be

The cradle of their memory.

Though flowers not now their varied hues
In charméd union mingle,

Yet look! the eye more richly views

The flower in beauty single:

And o'd December's smile shall be

The perfumed tints of blazonry.

Though warblers from the grove are gone,
Here's yet a joyous fellow;

For hark! 'tis Robin's song, no one

Was ever half so mellow:

And old December chirps to be

So welcomed by that minstrelsy.

Though cold and storm-fill'd clouds career,
And o'er the casements darkle,

They make-turn round, the hearth is here-
The blaze more brightly sparkle:
December clasps his hands in glee,
Most jovial round the hearth is he.

Then hail, December! let the soul
The moments dark appearing

Make bright-for it can change the whole
To beauty rich and cheering:
Old guest to thoughts in harmony,
December ever welcome be !

RECENT LEGISLATION AFFECTING
ODD-FELLOWSHIP AND FRIENDLY SOCIETIES.

BY CHARLES HARDWICK, P.G.M.

ENGLISHMEN are proverbially said to be grumblers. A large proportion, indeed, not only plead guilty to the indictment, but, like the fanatical devotee or the overwrought enthusiast, actually pride themselves on the peculiarity which, to others differently constituted, savours largely of mental or moral weakness. John Bull believes in the existence of a healthy species of grumbling which he terms vigilance; and he knows well (in his own estimation at least) how to discriminate between this freeman's privilege and constitutional virtue, and the habitual carping of splenetic incapacity, or the eternal wailing of a dyspeptic philosophy which somehow contrives to exist in perpetual horror of the speedy advent of a social or political nightmare. John especially claims the privilege of grumbling at the government; no matter whether his friends or political opponents, for the time being, hold the reins of power. He has immense faith in the potency of his own action upon the paces of the legislature, and consequently relies, to a considerable extent, upon what is termed the " pressure from without," for the attainment of good and cheap government. In fact, in this very power to grumble, John recognises the rugged husk that enshrines and protects the precious germ of constitutional liberty.

John invariably declares that the popular wisdom is in advance of that of the constituted authorities. Unfortunately, as a rule, there is too much truth in this assertion. But there are exceptions to this, and striking ones too, as to all other rules. With respect to legislative enactment for the encouragement and protection of the friendly societies of the provident working men, government has, in the main, outstripped the efforts of those for whose especial benefit such legislation was designed. Nay, it has been, and not without some reason, charged with meddling too much with what really and truly is outside its function; with nursing and "codling," in fact, into a "ricketty" imbecility the healthy offspring of English manly self-dependence. The great value of the friendly society or self-dependent principle was recognised by the House of Commons as early as the year 1773. The peers, however, rejected the bill passed by the lower house, which professed to provide for the "better support of poor persons in certain circumstances, by enabling parishes to grant them annuities for life upon purchase, and under certain restrictions." Sixteen years afterwards a similar measure met with a precisely similar fate. The first act on the statute book having reference to friendly societies was passed in 1793. Its preamble sets forth "that the protection and encouragement of friendly societies in this kingdom, for securing, by voluntary subscription of the members thereof, separate funds for the mutual relief and maintenance of the members in sickness, age, and infirmity, is likely to be attended with very beneficial effects, by promoting the happiness of individuals, and, at the same time, diminishing the public burthens.". Many other acts followed, from time to time, all approving of the great principle, and some of them endeavouring to regulate the financial arrangements of the societies so as to secure future stability. The act of 1846 required, as a condition of legal protection, that all societies assuring benefits which were influenced by the laws of sickness and mortality, should procure a

certificate from the actuary of an insurance company testifying that, in the said actuary's opinion, the rates of contribution and benefit were such as might with safety be acted upon. The compulsory production of an actuary's certificate, however, proved so distasteful to the great mass of the members of friendly societies, that, in 1850, when Mr. Sotheran's bill became law, the principle was abandoned to a great extent, and the question of financial improvement virtually severed from that of legislative protection. In all cases, however, where deferred annuities are subscribed for, the actuary's certificate is still necessary to secure enrolment.

It

It is certainly singular that an enlightened government should for a long period have subjected institutions which it professed to foster, to the ban of outlawry, merely because it was not quite satisfied whether the arithmetical knowledge of the members was or was not adequate to the perfect development of their own self-dependent provident efforts. seems to have altogether escaped the attention of those who promoted this species of legislation, that the working-men who embarked their money in friendly societies were not paupers soliciting relief, but self-dependent men providing for their own necessities and the probable contingencies of ill health, etc. Government might with equal propriety refuse the benefit of common law and the statutes to all merchants and tradesmen who were unable to procure an actuary's certificate that their business was conducted upon such principles as effectually precluded the possibility of their troubl ing the insolvent or bankruptcy courts. Working men very properly could not understand the nature of that anxiety for their welfare which was manifested in such a manner as virtually handed them over to the tender mercies of any adventurer who might first win their confidence, and afterwards abstract their cash. Whatever evils may eventually result from the imperfect financial systems adopted by many of these societies will have to be borne by the members themselves, who are their own law makers; and who, consequently, as they advance in knowledge, will for their own interest gradually introduce such improvements as experience may demonstrate to be necessary. It is scarcely right even to say that a club founded upon insecure principles is a positive evil. While it does exist it is continually dispensing good; when it collapses it merely ceases its previous commendable action. Those who fail to receive the assistance they anticipated know that the misfortune lays at their own doors. They have no government agent or honorary mismanagement to throw the blame upon; while they have the satisfaction of reflecting that the money subscribed has, at the least, been productive of a vast amount of benefit to their more unfortunate brethren.

I have often heard past officers in the Manchester Unity declare that if the lodge to which they belonged should unfortunately be compelled to suspend payment when they became old and liable to heavy sickness, they should not on that account regret the payment of their annual subscription; simply because, in the spirit of true philanthropy, they did not perceive in what way they could better have spent the money. And these men, it must be understood, are staunch advocates for the most full and complete reform of our financial imperfections, and are prepared to make heavy personal sacrifice in order to effect so desirable a consummation.

It is undoubtedly true, that the Manchester Unity and other affiliated bodies were, for a lengthened period, excluded from the protection of the law, for reasons quite independent of their inability or their indisposition to procure the stipulated actuary's certificate. The secret Friendly Societies of the past generation were looked upon with the utmost jealousy, not only by the governing body, but by the well-affected and "respectable" citizens of every class in society. The great provident object of these institutions was not originally