A SYRIAN CHRISTIAN AND PHILOSOPHER.—­When supper was brought in Amu Lyas, or Uncle Lyas, as Iskender always respectfully called him, said a grace of twenty minutes before he sat down, and one of equal duration after he got up.  He was perpetually counting his beads and uttering devout sayings—­which partly accounted for his influence with the priests.  He and I agreed very well at the beginning, although in our very first conversation he forced on a religious discussion, and plainly told me to what place all heretics were irrevocably doomed.  On this and other occasions he strictly maintained that the earth is stationary, that it is surrounded by the sea, that the moon rises and sets, and that the stars are no bigger than they seem; and turned pale with indignation at any contrary statements, which he asserted to be direct attacks on the foundation of the Christian religion.  Further experience taught me that he was a very fair representative of public opinion among a large class of Syrian Christians.  He was an ardent desirer of French domination, and entertained the most stupid prejudices against the English.  I generally found that the Levantines preferred the French, whilst we are great favorites with the Arabs.—­Two Years in a Levantine Family.

* * * * *

THE BRITISH HIERARCHY.—­The Eternal Anarch, with his old waggling addle-head full of mere windy rumor, and his old insatiable paunch full of mere hunger and indigestion tragically blended, and the hissing discord of all the Four Elements persuasively pleading to him;—­he, set to choose, would be very apt to vote for such a set of demigods to you.—­Carlyle’s Latter-Day Pamphlets.

* * * * *

[FROM BOHEMIAN POEMS, TRANSLATED BY A.H.  WRAITSALL, M.A., JUST PUBLISHED IN LONDON.]

  Whither, oh, whither, now all things are over? 
    We to our journey and he to his home;
  Eyes cannot pierce through the vail that must cover
    Him whom we laid in the still silent tomb. 
  He hath but ended his journey before us,
    We for a season are sojourning still
  On the same earth with the same heaven o’er us,—­
    Turn we, oh, turn we, our tasks to fulfill! 
  Whither, oh, whither, now all things are ended? 
    We to our labor and he to his rest;
  Let not the heart by its woe be offended,
    Man seeks the pleasant, but God gives the best.

* * * * *

FROM HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

THE YOUNG ADVOCATE.

Antoine de Chaulieu was the son of a poor gentleman of Normandy, with a long genealogy, a short rent-roll, and a large family.  Jacques Rollet was the son of a brewer, who did not know who his grandfather was; but he had a long purse and only two children.  As these youths flourished in the early days of liberty, equality, and fraternity, and were near neighbors, they naturally hated each other.  Their enmity