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of an ironical compassion for the folly of mankind, and the restlessness which had at first impelled him to seek relief in a change of scene gave place to a spirit of curiosity and observation. learned to mix freely with all orders of men, save one, and rejoiced to find the narrow mysticism which he had imbibed from his previous education gradually yielding to contact with the great world. From one class of men, indeed, he learned nothing-the priests, whose society he eschewed with scrupulous vigilance, nor did he ever enter the temples of the Gods. Diviners, augurs, all that made any pretension whatever to a supernatural character, he held in utter abhorrence, and his ultimate return in the direction of his native country is attributed to his inability to persevere further in the path he was following without danger of encountering Chaldean soothsayers, or Persian magi, or Indian gymnosophists.

He cherished, however, no intention of returning to Phrygia, and was still at a considerable distance from that region, when one night, as he was sitting in the inn of a small country town, his ear caught a phrase which arrested his attention.

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"As true as the oracle of Dorylæum." The speaker was countryman, who appeared to have been asseverating something regarded by the rest of the company as greatly in need of confirmation. The sudden start and stifled cry of the ex-priest drew all eyes to him, and he felt constrained to ask, with the most indifferent air he could assume

"Is the oracle of Dorylæum, then, so exceedingly renowned for veracity?

"Whence comest thou to be ignorant of that?" demanded the countryman, with some disdain.

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Aye, and that the first he rendered should have foretold the death of an aged woman, one of the ministers of the temple."

"Ha!" exclaimed Eubulides, "how was that?"

"He prognosticated her decease on the following day, which accordingly came to pass, from her being choked with a piece of gold, not lawfully appertaining to herself, which she was endeavouring to conceal under the root of her tongue."

"The Gods be praised for that!” ejaculated Eubulides, under his breath. "Pshaw! as if there were Gods! If they existed, would they tolerate this vile mockery?

To keep up the juggle-well, I know it must be so; but to purloin my name! to counterfeit my person! By all the Gods that are not, I will expose the cheat, or perish in the endeavour."

He arose early on the following morning and took his way towards the city of Dorylæum. The further he progressed in this direction, the louder became the bruit of the oracle of Apollo, and the more emphatic the testimonies to the piety, prophetic endowments, and personal attractions of the priest Eubulides; his own resemblance to whom was the theme of continual remark. On approaching the city, he found the roads swarming with throngs hastening to the temple, about to take part in a great religious ceremony to be held therein. The seriousness of worship blended delightfully with the glee of the festival, and Eubulides, who at first regarded the gathering with bitter scorn, found his moroseness insensibly yielding to the poetic charm of the scene. He could not but acknowledge that the imposture he panted to expose was at least the source of much innocent happiness, and almost wished that the importance of religion, considered as an engine of policy, had been offered to his contemplation from this point of view, instead of the sordid and revolting aspect in which it had been exhibited by the old woman.

In this ambiguous frame of mind, he entered the temple. Before the high altar stood the officiating priest, a young man, the image, yet not the image, of himself. Lineament for lineament, the resemblance was exact, but over the stranger's whole figure was diffused an air of majesty, of absolute serenity and infinite superiority, which excluded every idea of deceit, and so awed the young priest that his purpose of

rushing forward to denounce the impostor and drag him from the shrine, was immediately and involuntarily relinquished. As he stood confounded and irresolute, the melodious voice of the hierophant rang through the temple:"Let the priest Eubulides stand forth."

This summons naturally created the greatest astonishment in every one but Eubulides, who emerged as swiftly as he could from the swaying and murmuring crowd, and confronted his namesake at the altar. A cry of amazement broke from the multitude as they beheld the pair, whose main distinction in the eyes of most was their garb. But, as they gazed, the form of the officiating priest assumed colossal proportions; a circle of beams, dimming sunlight, broke forth around his head; hyacinthine locks clustered on his shoulders, his eyes sparkled with supernatural radiance; a quiver depended at his back; an unstrung bow occupied his hand; the majesty and benignity of his presence alike seemed augmented tenfold. Eubulides and the crowd sank simultaneously on their knees, for all recognised Apollo.

All was silence for a space. It was at length broken by Phoebus.

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"Well, Eubulides," inquired he, with the bland raillery of an Immortal, has it at length occurred to thee that I may have been long enough away from Parnassus, filling thy place here while thou hast been disporting thyself amid heretics and barbarians?"

The abashed Eubulides made no response. The Deity continued—

"Deem not that thou hast in aught excited the displeasure of the Gods. In deserting their altars for Truth's sake, thou didst render them the most acceptable of sacrifices, the only one, it may be, by which they set much

store. But, Eubulides, take heed how thou again sufferest the unworthiness of men to overcome the instincts of thine own nature. Thy holiest sentiments should not have been at the mercy of a knave. If the oracle of Dorylæum was an imposture, hadst thou no oracle in thy own bosom? If the voice of Religion was no longer breathed from the tripod, were the winds and waters silent, or had aught quenched the everlasting stars? If there was no power to impose its mandates from without, couldst thou be unconscious of a power within? If thou hadst nothing to reveal unto men, mightest thou not have found somewhat to propound unto them? Know this, that thou hast never experienced a more truly religious emotion than that which led thee to form the design of overthrowing this my temple, the abode, as thou didst deem it, of fraud and superstition."

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'But now, Phoebus," Eubulides

ventured to reply, "shall I not return to the shrine purified by thy presence, and again officiate as thy unworthy minister?"

“No, Eubulides," returned Phoebus, with a smile; "silver is good, but not for ploughshares. Thy strange experience, thy long wanderings, thy lonely meditations, and varied intercourse with men, have spoiled thee for a priest, while as I would fain hope, qualifying thee for a sage. Some worthy person may easily be found to preside over this temple; and, by the aid of such inspiration as I may from time to time see meet to vouchsafe him, administer its affairs indifferently well. thou, Eubulides, consecrate thy powers to a more august service than Apollo's, to one that shall endure when Delphi and Delos know his no more.'

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"To whose service, Phoebus ?" inquired Eubulides.

To the service of Humanity, my son," responded Apolio.

R. GARNETT.

FRENCH AND ENGLISH FARMING.*

MR. RICHARDSON has produced a work which is at the same time instructive and entertaining. To ensure a large circulation it is only needful that the public should be made aware of what he has to tell them, and, it may be fairly added, of the manner in which he has performed his task. Farming is a pet hobby of the well-to-do Englishman. From the most modest poultry yard, to the costly model farm, the rearing of stock for amusement, and even to some extent for economical purposes, is a favourite mode of employing a portion of time. From the cottage garden to the large and wellstocked farm the distance is very considerable. But the same spirit of interest in watching and aiding the operations of nature is alive in the cottager and in the great farmer. And happiest, as well as most successful, are those in whom the full information afforded by science is added to the natural instinct of the agriculturist.

It may be thought that a competent knowledge of English agriculture is the first requisite for the education of the farmer, whether amateur or professional. In that wide variety of soil and local climate which reaches from the Scottish mountains to the Lincolnshire and Norfolk fens, there may, indeed, be found an ample field for study. The pro

ducts of the soil are as varied as is the aspect of the country. And it would be an admirable thing for England if the wise method, adopted in some French provinces, of drawing up an agricultural catechism, specially adapted to the wants of the district, and making it the text-book of the village schools, were introduced in our country districts. But apart from the fact that the knowledge of the manner in which other people do work very similar to that which we have to do may give us many a valuable hint, there is a special reason why the English farmer, the English gentleman, and the English labourer, should know a good deal more than they usually do as to the state of farming in France. It is the case that within the past twenty-five years the French farmer has made a progress of which we are, for the most part, entirely in ignorance. He has turned the tables upon us, as it were, behind our backs. Few convictions were stronger, at all events half a century ago, than that French beef could not compare with English beef. In fact, the admitted excellence of French cookery has been not unfrequently attributed to the need of exercising art in order to render palatable the viands produced by nature in that part of Europe.

However true this opinion may

* "The Corn and Cattle Producing Districts of France." By G. Gibson Richardson. Illustrated. London: Cassell, Petter, and Galpin. 1878.

at one time have been, it is certainly true no longer. While in England great progress has been made in farming on a large scale, and especially in the improvement of vegetable crops, by steam ploughing and by chemical manure, a still more remarkable progress has been made in France in the breeding and feeding of stock. As to sheep, indeed, we may be said still to hold the pre-eminence. The French, as a rule, are not fond of mutton; nor is the soil of France so suitable for the sheep farmer as are many broad districts of the United Kingdom. But in the rearing of horned cattle, of horses, and even of pigs, there is much that we may learn from our neighbours. Far more of that systematic precision which aims at definite and wellconsidered results will be gathered from Mr. Richardson's book to be familiar to the French breeders than is at all common in England. The study of the points required, whether it be strength and hardihood for labour, abundance of milk, rapidity in producing meat, or delicate flavour as food; and, again, the consideration of the special circumstances of soil or climate, which render either of these different qualifications specially attainable in certain localities, have been carried in France to a remarkable pitch. The study of pedigree has been as carefully and systematically carried on with regard to certain breeds of cattle as is the case in the English racing stables. And the result is, that while in the yield per acre of cereals and some other crops England is far richer than France, the reverse is the case in the yield per acre of milk and of meat.

One fact, which is at once an

evidence and a result of the excellence attained by the French cattle farmers and dairymen, comes home to us all. Most housekeepers are aware of the extraordinary extent to which French butter is now displacing English butter in our family consumption. But few persons may be altogether prepared to hear that in 1876 we paid between three and four millions sterling for 600,000 cwt. of French butter. Nor is this a question of quantity alone. There is not only an excellence, but a regularity of excellence, about the best brands of French butter which few English dairies can rival. The most famous brands are those of Gournay, in Seine Inférieure, and Isigny, in Calvados. For the latter the prices run from seven to ten guineas per cwt., salted. But this latter price, which is equal to 1s. 103d. per lb., is far from being the highest commanded by the Isigny butter. In Paris, in the winter, this product of the dairy sells for as much as 3s. 6d. per lb. wholesale, in large quantities. delicate care which is given to the whole process of the manufacture, during which the cream and butter are never touched by human fingers, is the main cause of an excellence which is rewarded by such a price.

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We have not space to dwell further on the details of Mr. Richardson's excellent book. We cordially recommend it to all those who take any interest in the produce of the farm, and more especially in the produce of the dairy. The illustrations give an admirable idea of the special peculiarities of the most famous French breeds of cattle, sheep, horses, pigs, and dogs.

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