sympathy of wife, daughter, or friend for it is very consistent with his 'kindly, ure. with only a hired nurse and a footman beside personifications of indifference and curiosity. Perhaps in that last scene the poor player would willingly have exchanged lives and deaths with some faithful, simple, boorish Yorkshire Curate! In the fourth chapter of Mr. Fitzgerald's first volume, Ensign Roger Sterne, father of Laurence Sterne, is introduced to us as the prototype of Uncle Toby. The chapter opens with an abstract from the memorandum of family history given by the great humourist to his daughter Lydia :-"My father was a smart little man active to the last degree in all exercises most patient of fatigue and disappointments, of which it had pleased God to give him full measHe was in his temper somewhat rapid and hasty, but of a kindly, sweet disposition; void of all designs, and so innocent in his own intentions that he suspected no one; so that you might have cheated him ten times a day if nine had not been sufficient for your purpose." Mr. Fitzgerald asks: Can anyone doubt but that this genial and spirited little sketch, which seems to overflow with a tender yearning and affection, is the original design for that larger canvas from which stands out the richly-coloured, firmly-painted, and exquisitelyfinished figure of Uncle Toby?. . . . It requires no great penetration to guess that the same gentle images must have been rising before him while he sat at his desk in his Sutton vicarage, suffusing his eyes and softening his heart, as he thus filled in the portrait of the brave officer who had also served in the Flanders wars: My Uncle Toby was a man patient of injuries, not from want of courage. I know no man under whose arm I would sooner have taken shelter. Nor did this arise from any obtuseness or insensibility of his intellectual parts. But he was of a peaceful, placid nature, no jarring elements in it; all was mixed up so kindly within him; my Uncle Toby had scarce heart to retaliate on a fly.' Then follows the famous incident of the fly, and its subsequent happy discharge into that world which was wide enough both for itself and its captor. Contrasting the two brothers, he says that Mr. Shandy was quite the opposite of his brother in this patient endurance of wrongs.'. . . . He was ten years old, Tristram writes, when the fly adventure happened, which might indeed have been a little incident in Ensign Sterne's life; sweet disposition, void of all design.' But my Uncle Toby, with all this gentleness, could yet rouse himself when the occasion called for a necessary display of temper; and thus he was always in the habit of calling the Coporal Trim,' excepting when he happened to be very angry with him." Putting this picture beside the origi nal," continues the biographer, "we see that Ensign Roger Sterne, with that kindly, sweet disposition, void of all design' (words which in themselves come sweetly and melodiously off the lips), could nevertheless be in his 'temper somewhat rapid and hasty.' . . . It breaks out, does this likeness, in innumerable little touches-hints, rather, and delicate shadowings. . . . . Like the famous Sir Roger, of Addison's make, this figure of my Uncle Toby, starting somewhat mist ily, fills in as it goes, with a wonderful clearness and brilliancy. He scarcely knew at the outset how it would grow under his hands." the I feel sure that these conjectures convey a measure of truth. But they do not in the least set aside the Dacre tradition. "The scenery and costume of Queen Anne's wars "the Ramillie wig,' blue and gold suit laid by in the great campaign trunk, and which was magnificently laced down the sides in the mode of King William's reign"-"the wonderful scarlet roquelaure in which Captain Shandy mounted guard in the trenches before the gates of St. Nicholas " - all these things had most likely been long treasured in Sterne's memory before he sat down to write the first page of his "Tristram." A clever littérateur would know how to make good use of the recollections of his childhood, vague as they might be, and to blend them with studies of character made at a later time of life. The reader will now stand with me at the old gates of Preston Castle. At the southern side of those broad meadows we can rebuild, in fancy, the quaint, embattled residence. And we may see a tail, thin, strange figure passing out into the narrow lane, hedged with hawthorn and holly. It is Yorick going back to The Hoo. Those sly, comic features which Lavater speaks of the expressive features of "the arch, satirical Sterne wear a look of triumphant humour. He has just made a sketch of Captain Hinde, and feels that it will be his masterpiece. The work wi'l be true to na ture, but he will finish it with the thou- | release. All honor to the wise, kind sand graceful touches of his unique pen- Churchman! Wise and kind people, havcil, and give it the rich costume and col-ing read the "Pilgrim's Progress," felt our of the bygone days of Marlborough. that the writer had heart and intellect for The bright eyes of Yorick's pale face a broad Catholic faith, and that nothing grow brighter with the inspiration of would narrow him into a mischievous genius, and he rides away in his gayest sectarian. So he left the dismal old gaol mood, certain to be more brilliant than ever at Lord Dacre's. 66 on Bedford Bridge, and went out into the world as a preacher. It was probWe who thus dreamily stared at the ably some time after this release in 1671 Preston gates, and call up the shadows of that Bishop Bunyan, as he was popularly Laurence Sterne and Captain Hinde, may, called, made Hertfordshire part of his in a moment, cast behind us another hun- diocese. Justices and constables paid dred years. We shall then see close to tribute to his character by allowing him us a marvellous man, whose face and fig- to preach in several counties. But as the ure, homely though they be, are yet times were full of danger, he was often touched by the rays from the Celestial obliged to travel in disguise, and the peoCity. Within a few hundred yards of ple of his pastorate met during the night, those gates, and in the midst of a thick and in places from which they might wood which borders the Castle meadows, easily escape. One such place was found is a green space called "Bunyan's Dell." in Preston Wood, three miles from In this hollow in the wilderness a thou- Hitchin. When we look at Bunyan's sand people would once assemble to listen Dell" we can see the midnight "Meeters," to their Baptist- the inspired Tinker of and their preacher. The dense thicket of Bedford. A Protestant may admire Igna- trees around-the starry sky-the multius Loyola, or the gentle St. Francis, and titude of enthusiasts half buried in shadow the most severe Churchman must give due honour to the memory of John Bunyan-the saint-errant of Dissent. Anyone who reads his life may see that he lived through his own spiritual romance. Surrounded by the wild passions and blind bigotry of the seventeenth century, "his pure and powerful mind" fought a good fight with Apollyon, passed with trembling anguish through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and escaped serene and blameless from Vanity Fair. No doubt the "Meeters" who came to the Preston wood to hear Bunyan's rousing and searching sermons understood very well that he was the Christian hero of his "Pilgrim's Progress." Living in Hertfordshire, from sixteen to twenty miles from Bedford, they would probably "Once I dreamed that I saw two perknow much of his history. A prisoner for sons whom I knew in hell; and methought Nonconformity and illegal preaching, Bun- I saw a continual dropping, as of great yan had spent twelve weary years in Bed-drops of fire, lighting upon them in their ford gaol. Though not shut up in the Ve- sore distress. Oh, words are wanting netian pozzi, he must have suffered severely in his dull, dark, damp chamber, built over the river. There, with only two books-the Bible and "Foxe's Book of Martyrs "he gave himself up to studies more absorbing than those which endeared the "Martin Tower" to the "Wizard Earl of Northumberland." And there he resolved to remain "until the moss grew on his eyebrows" rather than promise not to preach. At length Dr. Barlowe, afterwards Bishop of Lincoln, is said to have obtained his unconditional this is a scene to inspire John Bunyan with the best of "his powerful and piercing words." Such words, though drawn from the common language of tinker and peasant, can work wonders. We feel that they would probably make a more lasting impression than any one of the Reverend Mr. Yorick's "dramatic sermons," preached before judge, ambassador, or king. Like Dante, Bunyan is able to produce a sublime effect and a strong sense of reality by a few bold, abrupt touches. He has come, like the great Florentine, from la valle d'abisso doloroso, and he tells of its horrors with the vivid brevity of intense feeling. Let me read a passage from his "Sermons on the Greatness of the Soul: " thoughts are wanting-imagination and fancy are poor things here! Hell is another place than any alive can think." This is truly Dantesque. But Bunyan devoted his Dantesque genius to the loving purpose of an Evangelist. Shall we contrast the "glorious dreamer" with the historian of the Shandys?the grave, devout pilgrim, with the gay trifler who made the Sentimental Journey? Let us not contrastnor judge, nor moralize. Many of us have a library in which we receive a STATION AMUSEMENTS LAND.* From The Spectator. 66 large company of illustrious men and hensive answer to the general question, women. If we have known them from an account of the simple pleasures which childhood, as dear, familiar friends, we were composed of a solid layer of useshall think of them in their best mo- fulness underneath the froth of fun and ments, and regard them with unfailing frolic," and which might indeed be charity. If we possess the least trifle classed under the head of play rather which belongs to the life or literary his- than work. In that probably lay the tory of any one of them, we shall value secret of the amusingness of these amuseit as a priceless treasure. In this spirit, I ments; they are so real, and so reasondelight to find the tradition of Bunyan's able. Boredom seems to be an unknown Dell, and to rescue from the darkness element in lives of this kind, and animal and dust of years, the curious old por- spirits, the power of enjoying, to be altrait of Captain Hinde Sterne's Uncle ways present, and predominant over all Toby. care, anxiety, and vexation. If Lady Barker had not included among station Amusements the story of how they bought "a run," which turned out a hopeless loss to them, and was a disgraceful swindle on the part of the person who sold the run, we should have thought it out of place; but she laughs at it so heartily, No book of all the multitude that have she describes their great expectations, been written about colonial life, made the alacrity with which they set off to people in England understand it so well inspect their new property, the difficulties as Lady Barker's Station Life in New at once dangerous and absurd which they Zealand. It told them exactly the things encountered, the utter impossibility of which they wanted to know, in the pleas- doing anything with the Lake-Wanaka antest, brightest, cheeriest way; it made run when they got there, with such drolthe interests, the occupations, the anxie-lery, that it is impossible not to laugh at ties, the resources of the distant island a robbery which the victims make so colony as real as our own, and as near as amusing. The whole scene of the purthe next street, and it fixed attention chase is admirably humourous, as good upon two persons as effectually as any as the interview between Martin Chuzzlenovel could do. Who does not remem-wit and Scadder in the Eden Land Office ber the great snowstorm of 1867, as Lady at New York; with Lady Barker in the Barker has told the story of it?-taking background, delighted when her husus with her through every phase, from surprise at the persistency of the snowflakes, to the despair of the great white burial, the famine within the house, the ruin without, and the terrible revelation of destruction among the "mobs" of starved and smothered sheep. The occupations and interests of the successive seasons, the healthful exercise, the beautiful climate, in spite of its high winds and the calamity of the snow, the constant business without overwork, the charm and refinement of the home picture which Lady Barker painted so delicately, so simply, set the book apart from all preceding colonial books, and made New Zealand decidedly the favourite among the colonies in popular imagination. Since the author's return to England she has been frequently asked, "How did you amuse yourself up at the staHer present work is a compre tion?" *Station Amusements in New Zealand. By Lady Barker, Author of "Station Life in New Zealand," Stories About," "Ribbon Stories," &c. London: William Hunt & Co. band's use of "that sociable little word 'we,' "" in his proposal to "go up to the run, and look round it," revealed to her that she was to go too, though she adds, she had prudently concealed from the company that she had ever had givings on that point: any mis "That won't do at all, my dear fellow," said the owner of the run;" I am going to England by the next mail steamer, which you know sails next week, and the reason I am literally giving away my property is that I don't want any suspense or bother. Take it or leave it, just as you like. There's Wilkinson, and Fairwright, and a lot of others all clamouring for the refusal of it, and I've only waited to see if you really wanted it before closing with Fairwright. He is walking about with a cheque all ready filled up in his pocket, and only begging and praying me to let him have be weatherbound or kept there for a month, the run on my own terms. Why, you might and what shall I do then? No, it's all just as I've told you, and you can call it your own tomorrow, but I can't possibly wait for you to go and look at it." No words of mine can give any idea of the tone of scorn in which our guest ing at an intended purchase was at once the "First pronounced these last three words; as if look-attending over-exertion could not exist in such an atmosphere. One felt like a happy child, pleased at nothing, content to exist where existence was a pleasure." Even the north-westerly gales, which blow with such tremendous force that neither man nor beast can face them, are business adviser, "but this transaction can no more than trifling drawbacks to such hardly be said to be in the dark; here are the a climate as this, for they are always sucplans and the Government lease and the trans- ceeded by delicious rain and sparkling fer deeds, all regular and ready." With this weather. Sport is scarce - indeed, in he produced the plans, and it was all up with the strict sense of the word, it does not us. Who does not know the peculiar smell exist - but Lady Barker tells some capof tracing-paper, with its suggestions of own-ital stories of pig-stalking, and gives us ership? When these fresh and crackling a delightful account of how they went drawings were opened before us, they resembled nothing so much as a veritable paradise. eel-fishing, and how the preparations There shone the lake-a brilliant patch of were in themselves alarming, because the cobalt blue-bordered by outlines of vivid first enemies to be overcome were Spangreen pasture and belts of timber. Here and iards" and "Wild Irishmen." The first there, on the outskirts, we read the words, name is given to an extraordinary vege"proposed townships," "building lots," "prob- table production, "like a gigantic artiable gold-fields," "saw-mills." F- laid his choke, with slender instead of broad hand down over a large wash of light-green leaves, set round in dense, compact order." paint and asked, "Now, what sort of country As these formidable creatures are from is this; really and truly, you know?" class sheep country, four to six feet in circumference, and usugive you my word," replied the owner, eagerly; "only wants to be ally two feet high, as their leaves are as stocked for a year or two." firm as bayonets, and taper to the fineness of a needle, drawing blood at the least Nothing but Scadder's toothpick is touch, it is not surprising that a fall into a wanting to the picture! The journey to Spaniard is to be avoided with all possible Lake Wanaka, and what that desirable care. The Wild Irishman" is a stragproperty looked in reality, form perhaps gling, sturdy bramble, which grows among the most amusing portion of the book. the Spaniards in clumps, ready to catch Its new owners must have rather envied and scratch you if you avoid his neighMr. Fairwright, who was still walking bours. How they did not escape either, about with his cheque in his pocket. A how she sat for hours with Nettle, her picnic in the bush, with materials for dog, in intense darkness, and silence as dinner and tea carried on one's saddle-deep, and warned by the gentlemen that bow, must be one of the pleasantest "the eels are all eyes and ears at this things in the world. Lady Barker makes hour; they can almost hear you breathe "; one feel the elation, the delight of the how they all got cross, and cold, and beautiful scenery, of the wooded cliffs, sleepy; and how, when I returned, and the exquisite shrubs, the ferns such as asked, "How many have you caught? we cannot at all realize, the bush-covered she replied, "None, I am happy to say; mountains rising to the steep, naked what could Nettle and I have done with cliffs, which stand out from the glacier the horrible things, if we had caught region of the range that forms the back-any?" and the terrors of the return, are bone of the beautiful middle island; and told in a chapter full of the pleasantest then she tells how vain it would be to humour. On the subject of domestic try to convey an idea of the atmosphere grievances Lady Barker is delightful; around, quivering in a summer haze in she must have been the Mark Tapley of the valley beneath, and stirred to the "station" life, making everything easy faintest summer wind-sighs as it moved and pleasant to everyone, and extracting among the pines and bushes overhead. fun from everything. If anybody could "Its lightness was its most striking pe- get sunbeams out of cucumbers, it cerculiarity. You felt as if your lungs could tainly must be the lady who tells us never weary of inhaling deep breaths of about the "Swaggers," about bullock such an air; warm without oppression, sledges, about the natural Montagne cool without a chill. I can find nothing Russe, and F's new patent sledge, on Lut paradoxes to describe it. One's which she consented to become a "pas muscles might get tired, and need rest, senger; "about her amateur servants, in but the usual depression and weariness particular one Captain George, a gallant the sun says he's got his window-frames in now, and The successors of Euphemia and Lois are equally amusing, and the household troubles are all put in a ludicrous aspect, which robs them of their misery. Lady Barker is reticent upon the subject of the efforts which she made for the benefit of the people among whom she lived, and would evidently have told us still less about the Sunday meetings at her house, and her instruction of the shepherds and stockmen, if she had not been tempted into letting us get peeps at the oddities of character and manners which afforded so much entertainment to herself. Concerning animals she is a charming writer, full of sympathy and kindness for them, not only in a general way, but with the particular individual apprecia young ex-dragoon, who had gone out to going, then?" I inquired, turning to my paleNew Zealand to try whether he could faced cook, who actually coloured a little as live on £120 a year, and who volun- she answered, "Well, mem, you see, Moffat teered his services on a certain occasion when Lady Barker flattered herself she had made some very artful arrangements to provide the family with something to eat during the servants' absence. With what zest she tells the story of that week, and what an awful time she must have had of it, while the pigs were feasting on Captain George's failures - who used suddenly to cease to take any interest in his occupation, and seating himself sideways on the kitchen dresser, begin to whistle through a whole opera, or repeat pages of poetry and the gentlemen fell on all her stores, and devoured them. One of the best chapters in the book contains some sketches of "servantgalism" which are infinitely amusing. Lois and Euphemia, Lady Barker's maids, were discovered by her one morning sobbing in one another's arms. The kettle was singing, was shining, everything was bright, snug, and comfortable: "What in the world has happened?" Ition of their characters and manners gasped, really frightened. Nothing, mem; which comes of understanding as well it's only them sheep," sobbed Euphemia, as loving them, and which affords "calling like. They always makes me cry.' scope to her sense of humour. This vol"Is it possible you are crying about that?". ume introduces us to several estimable Yes, mem, yes! said Euphemia, in heart-dogs, to a monkey named Joey, whose broken accents, clasping Lois, who was howl-acquaintance we should have much liked ing, closer to her heart. "It's terrible to hear to cultivate; and to Kitty, a hen, whose 'em. They keeps calling and answering each history does her mistress great credit. other, and that makes us think of our home and friends." Now both these girls had starved as factory-hands all their lives, and had certainly never seen a sheep until they came to New Zealand. "What nonsense!" I cried, half laughing and half angry. "You can't be in earnest. You must both be ill; let me give you each a good dose of medicine." I said this encouragingly, for there was nothing in the world Euphemia liked so much as good substantial physic, and the only thing I ever needed to keep locked up from her was the medicine drawer. Euphemia seemed touched and grateful, and her face brightened up directly, but Lois looked up with her frightful little face more ugly than usual, as she said spitefully, "Physic won't make them sheep hold their tongues. I'm sure this isn't the place for me to find my luck, so I'd rather go, if you please, mem. I've prospected up every one of them gullies and never seen the colour yet, so it ain't any good my stopping.' "Why did you think you should find gold -"Because they do say it here?" I asked. lics in all these mountain streams," she an 66 nasty From The Spectator. THE WARM FULL MOON. POETS have so long sung of the cold, chaste Moon, pallid with weariness of her long watch upon the Earth (according to the image used alike by Wordsworth and Shelley), that it seems strange to learn from science that the full moon is so intensely hot that no creature known to us could long endure contact with her heated surface. latest news which science has brought us respecting our satellite. The news is not altogether unexpected; in fact, reasoning had shown, long before the fact had been demonstrated, that it must be The astronomer knows that the sur SO. Such is the face of the moon is exposed during the swered, sullenly, "and I'm always dreaming of long lunar day, lasting a fortnight of our nuggets. Not that a girl with my face and terrestrial time, to the rays of a sun as figure wants 'dust' to set her off, however. powerful as that which gives us our daily But if it's all the same to you, mem, I'd rather heat. Without an atmosphere to temper leave when Euphemia does.". "Are you the sun's heat as ours does not, in - |