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order, but when it once begins to go it goes rapidly. The village of Lake, two miles further on, has a wayside inn, where the traveller, as he regales himself, may observe the curious fire-dogs and open hearth still common in this part of the country. I must still enquire, for the way to Stonehenge seems lengthening instead of shortening, and I am fain to ask at the blacksmith's forge just reached. One of the boys was starting for a farmhouse with a load of horse-shoes at his back which I should have hesitated to carry half a mile, and as he was going some two miles in my direction I was glad of his guidance.

Once abreast of him I began to wonder whether my pedestrian powers were on the wane, for the way in which this short, thick-set youth, with his bag of horse-shoes slung at his back, pushed along with a steady, relentless step, was enough to keep me on the strain, although my umbrella was my only baggage. In his quiet country way he told me of his life, a constant series of marches from one farmhouse to another to keep the horses properly shod; and I came rapidly to the conclusion that if ever I desired to outstrip Weston in a walking tour, the best thing to make or mar me for the enterprise would be to go as a blacksmith's apprentice somewhere on Salisbury plain.

He chatted on as easily as if he had been cracking walnuts instead of carrying a bag of irons, and told me of the numbers of people who went in summer time to see the big stones. He gravely informed me of the frequent parties who went there on Midsummer eve, and camped all night in the Druidic circle, to see the sun rise on the following morning. On that day, so the story went, a Lamb was seen in the centre of the sun's disc, as he rose amid the mystic ruins. He had heard of several people himself who had seen it. There is a strange survival in this superstition of the country side, and it illustrates the course of such traditions. The sun was the great centre and symbol of the religion of the ancient Britons. Not regarded, perhaps, as their chief God himself, but rather as the dwelling-place, the glorious palace of that God; their Cromlechs were always open to the east, and the time of the morning sacrifice was always the most acceptable. Then the vision of God was most probable, sometimes seen in the sun's disc as a white bull, with crescent horns, in token of his power; sometimes as a man, a king or a priest in robes of judgment, in token of his wisdom, his beneficence, or his protection. What time more likely for the beauteous vision of Deity than from the precincts of his chief temple in the British Isles on the very Midsummer morning. We can imagine the savage yet noble chiefs of our ancient country gathered together during the night about the sacred place; the priests in their long white robes, their heads bound with wreaths of oak leaves now in the fulness of their summer growth; the Eubates, or sacrificers, ready to slay the victim for the burnt-offerings; the Bards, stringing their wild harps, and preparing to accompany their stirring music with the words of their hymns of morning praise. We can picture to ourselves all this as the early dawn flushed along the eastern sky; the saffron hues began to brighten, the fiery arrows of the sunrise pierced the parting clouds, and dyed them with the deep crimson of the morning,

The sun goes down in glory, and the Queen of Night rises over roads where one hardly meets a wayfarer for miles. The crescent horns of the moon remind one of the white bull once sacrificed here in her honour, and the ancient British camp of Sarum frowns grimly on the left; while the silver radiance gleams through the bare branches of the Druidic oaks, or dances in rippling light like a sylvan deity on the flowing river to the right. I reach Salisbury in haste, after a toilsome walk, for no vehicle was to be had in any village I passed.

"It is the new station, Sir; end of the platform and under the tunnel.” I hurry on, but am only just in time to see the red light of the receding train leaving the station. I wire my friends at Winchester, as this is the last train at night. I find mine host of the "Angel," who kindly receives the pilgrim and equips him for his night's sojourn. Refreshed and rested I concluded my journey the following day.

How great a stretch of religion and history is included in the monuments of the small strip of country over which in these few papers I have again travelled. They afford much food for thought, many pleasures of memory; and I can only hope, in conclusion, that anyone following the same course, or tempted to go over the same ground, will find as much to interest and delight him as I have tried to express in my brief and hurried notes of the journey.

JOT.

THE AMUSEMENTS OF THE PEOPLE.

THE sage who desired to make the songs of the people, as being a business of much greater importance than that of law-making, spoke for the times in which he lived. At a period when reading was an accomplishment by no means common among the masses of the people, and the press, fettered as it was, appealed mainly to the upper and middle classes, the street ballad must have exercised a large amount of influence on the unlettered throng. Had he lived in the nineteenth century his aspiration would probably have been to have initiated and controlled the amusements of the people; that is, if it were possible in a climate such as ours to have provided rational and harmless outdoor amusements for the greater amount of leisure now enjoyed by working

men.

In treating of the character of the amusements which are patronised by the mass of the English people, it is impossible to avoid noticing how little is done in the direction of fostering or encouraging these by means of imperial or municipal legislation. It will probably be said in reply to this that any effort to interfere in matters of this kind by the

state would be foreign to the system of free trade in such concerns, which infallibly provides for a want if it is proved to exist. But it may very reasonably be urged that, inasmuch as people will inevitably seek for amusement of some kind or other, it might not be beneath the attention of statesmen or philanthropists, from the point of view that harmless and well-directed amusements, conducted on a bold scale, would prove a formidable competitor to the attractions of the publichouse, and its evil influences. The history of our Police Courts furnishes this same monotonous story of crime engendered by drunkenness, and it is becoming increasingly evident, and, indeed, it is now almost universally admitted, that intemperance is caused by the utter absence of any other means of social intercourse and enjoyments for the poorer classes than that offered by the publican. The success of the coffeehouse movement abundantly proves that there are vast numbers of the poorer class who appreciate this effort to provide places of social resort which do not depend for their support on the misery and wretchedness of their customers, and the latest experiment in this direction, that of a Coffee Music Hall, has had sufficient success to encourage further efforts in the same direction.

My contention, however, is, that what is beneficial in a small degree would be all the more so in proportion to the scale on which such efforts were undertaken. It is not enough that the inner man should be provided for, he should be amused. Otway wrote:

"Give but an Englishman his home and ease,

Beef, and a sea-coal fire, and he's yours for ever."

But he puts these words into the mouth of a Spaniard, who might, reasonably enough, be supposed to have but a poor opinion of English taste. But the fact is, that it is much easier to amuse an average Briton than has been generally supposed. Music of the right class always attracts the most stolid of workmen, and this is one of the amusements the provision of which, if stimulated by municipal or imperial subsidies, would tend largely to elevate the mass of the people, and render them more independent of public-house influences. On the Continent they undoubtedly understand and act upon this principle to a much larger extent than is generally understood in this country, and an anecdote illustrating this may not be out of place. During the political excitement in Austria, in 1848, a riotous meeting was being held in one of the principal squares of Vienna, and the officers in command of the garrison ordered a regiment to attack and disperse it. This course, if acted upon, would inevitably have resulted in a bloody conflict between the troops and the people, but one of the subalterns, who evidently "knew his countrymen's disposition well," obtained permission to march one of the principal regimental bands, playing popular airs, past the place of meeting. The effect was magical. A large proportion of the excited crowd followed the music as being more attractive than the "stale sedition" of a disappointed demagogue, and the remainder of the crowd was easily dispersed by the police.

Within the limits of the present paper it would of course be impossible to treat fully of such a scheme as would provide amusements for the people on such a gigantic scale as would be necessary if the principle were generally accepted. But it may be allowable to indicate how, even within the area of our own town, a stimulus might be given to such a movement if the municipal body could be brought to see its desirability. Birmingham now possesses several public parks, the two most important ones being the gifts of a lady whose name will long be remembered as a synonym for unostentatious munificence. In continental towns the provision of orchestral music would be looked upon as an essential part of the attraction such places should offer, whereas in our own the only thing done in this direction consists of a voluntary performance given by the police band for an hour or two one evening in each week in the summer months. Now supposing a really good band of, say, thirty or forty performers were to be engaged for two or three evenings in each week, and that chairs were provided around the orchestra at a small charge, it would not be taking a very sanguine view of the experiment to anticipate that the expenses would be met in this way, whilst thousands would be attracted to the parks who would otherwise be absent in search of some less healthful amusement. Should the Corporation in its wisdom ever appoint a Committee of Public Amusements there would be no difficulty in effecting such a desirable object as this undoubtedly is.

It hardly needs a reference to the success attending the Saturday evening concerts given by the Musical Association to prove the fact that the working classes will always appreciate, and be attracted by, good music of a popular character. But there is still something wanting. Orchestral music is at present only to be enjoyed occasionally at Town Hall concerts or-and this only in a minor degree-at the theatres. Why should there be such a dearth of this class of music, the very kind which appeals most strongly to the patriotic feelings of the people? It is simply a question of cost, and it is idle to "lay the flattering unction to our souls" that we are a musical people until we understand better, and do more to encourage, orchestral music. The meagre assistance received by our Rifle Volunteers in their efforts to maintain their regimental bands is an apt illustration of this, and it is a reproach to Englishmen that the begging-box should have to be sent round to support them even in their present skeleton form.

That music is not the only description of amusement which might be advantageously encouraged and supported in the interests of sobriety and morality is obvious enough. The various Board Schools might without any extravagant expenditure be utilised as working-men's institutes, providing alternately concerts and lectures of an instructive tendency. Let us hope that the time may come, and that at no very distant future, when our rulers will feel it as incumbent on them to encourage and support healthful and beneficial amusements as they now do to supply gas, water, or sanitary appliances.

YULIELMAS,

NOT MY WILL.

I could not tell whither, nor yet
How, I went this I forget;
I only know the way was dark,
And feared lest I should miss my mark,
And watched the hours.

As night came on the darkness grew,
And still I kept my end in view;
Foot-sore I journeyed on alone,

And chose not if the path were strown
With stones or flowers.

I never doubted I was sent,
So sure of my upright intent;

I dared not lag behind in will,
And said to all my fears, "Be still,
The path is right."

I wandered on till weariness

Chained my limbs; I could but miss The way and end. And gone was hope. My will with weariness could not cope In this dread night.

The struggle ended in defeat,

And will was dead. And in the seat
Of life there came appalling chill,
As though all life were gone with will.
What doth life mean?

This is the way that God doth plan :
He sends life's weariness to man
To bend his will; when will is slain,
The way and end of life are plain,
And God is seen.

R. L. C.

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