stealing, the second time for life-seventeen years after which he escaped, betook himself immediately to his old vice, and was again arrested, when he hanged himself. Werneking, who furnished these particulars, knew him ten years in prison, and during that time, though remarkable for his attention to divine service, and for other good traits, it was ascertained that he had been in the habit of stealing continually. Spurzheim, in his Phrenology, (re-published at Boston,) speaks of a “well-bred" individual who was given to thieving from his infancy. He entered military service in the hope of correcting the habit, but continued stealing, and narrowly escaped being hung. He then studied theology, and became a capuchin, but he "could not”—that is, did notresist gratifying his inclination even in the convent, where he embezzled candle-sticks, snuffers, scissors, glasses, &c. It is observable, however, that he did not conceal these goods, and that he intimated he had no wish to appropriate them to any use. The same was the case of a person employed by the Austrian government, at Presburgh, who filled two rooms with stolen articles, which were never used.

Cases of this kind-of the indulgence of the propensity, with no apparent view to the result beyond the act itself-are very numerous. Lavater mentions a physician who never left the rooms of his patients without putting keys, knives, scissors, thimbles, buckles, or something else, into his pocket, but invariably sent them back again to the owners.

We have the history also of a chaplain in a Prussian regiment, a very intelligent man, and much esteemed by his commander; but the latter, whenever he saw his reverend friend approaching, scrupulously locked up his desks, cupboards, &c., for nothing which the chaplain could lay hands on was safe from his grasp. Spurzheim says "He seemed almost to act without a motive, for he restored with pleasure the things he had stolen." Spurzheim himself, and Gall also, saw in the Copenhagen prison a convict who distributed among the poor the profits of his filching; and there was another, who, after being imprisoned seven times, petitioned that he might be detained there, (since he could not cure himself,) and furnished with the means of getting his living.

Combe, and other respectable writers, speak of a young Calmuck, who came to Vienna in the suite of the Austrian ambassador to Russia, and who fell sick on being denied by his confessor the privilege of stealing, and was cured by a permission to resume his practice, with the understanding that the property taken should always be returned. He began by stealing the watch of the holy father himself, during the consecrating mass, and restored it, when the service was over, "leaping with joy." The thieving habits of the Calmucks generally are proverbial among travellers.

The miserly habit, it is well known, is carried to great excess by individuals who nevertheless carefully keep within the bounds of the law, but who, as it seems to us, deserve scarcely more respect than those who steal for stealing's sake alone. Both vices indicate a deplorable degree of moral imbecility, but the miser has commonly the advantage arising from a vigorous exercise of some of his controlling and calculating powers, which serve at least to preserve him from the clutches of

justice. When both habits-excessive acquisitiveness and avarice-are combined, as they often are, in one man, a more despicable character can hardly be conceived. We have heard, within our own sphere of experience, of a wealthy gentleman who secreted some thousands of bricks in a retired corner of the yard of his boarding-house, by dint of industriously putting one or more at a time into his capacious pockets, in the course of his walks-but whether for the pleasure of taking, or of using, or both, we have never been able to learn.

We will only add to our desultory remarks on this disagreeable, but we hope not wholly unprofitable, subject, that thieves and misers both, who like, as all wrong-doers do, the authority of great names in favor of their wickedness or weakness, may be consoled in this instance by the fact which history records, that Victor Almadeus I., king of Sardinia, was one of the greatest plunderers, on a small scale, of his day— being in the habit of robbing every body who came within the reach of his "pickers and feelers." Dr. King, in his Political and Literary Anecdotes of his own Times, after remarking, in rather strong terms, that “an avaricious man is born and framed to a sordid love of money," &c., mentions, in illustration of the effects of cherishing that wretched appetite on the individual's mind in advanced life, that Lord Chancellor Hardwick was a remarkable miser, and that the Duke of Marlborough was distinguished in latter life by the predominancy of the same propensity in a most remarkable degree. Such frailties in such men cannot suggest to us too much matter of serious reflection.

B. B. T.

* In the Memoirs of the Marchioness de la Roche Jaqueline, the interesting character of this young hero is delightfully portrayed. He was, in truth, a complete "Heros de romance," and, although scarcely arrived at years of maturity, was the soul of the brave band who so long repelled from L. Bocage the encroaching tide of Anarchy. In this sylvan country, the Nobles enjoyed the most entire confidence of their dependants. They resided in their feudal castles, and, untainted by the vices of the metropolis, were regarded by the simple-hearted peasantry as fathers and benefactors. When the Revolutionists, unsatiated by the blood of their monarch and the unnumbered victims of the guillotine, extended their sanguinary proscriptions to the remote provinces of France, Le Bocage became the theatre of war. All flew to arms, and Henri de la Roche Jaqueline soon distinguished himself among his compatriots by his unparalleled bravery. "I then observed," says Madame de la Roche Jaqueline, speaking of the first warlike movement of her friends,-"I then observed that eagle look which never afterwards forsook him." After a brief but brilliant career, he was slain while attempting to save one of the soldiers of the enemy.

In sylvan depths of La Vendee,*
The unscar'd warbler pours his lay;
The maiden wanders there at even,
As fearless as if earth were heaven;
And yet few years have sped their flight
Since round them flash'd war's ghastly light.
Awhile, and distant roll'd the tide

That fair France delug'd, far and wide;
But onward came its waves at last,
And the fond dream of peace was past.
Each Peasant donned the warrior's garb,
Each Noble mounted on his Barb;

For arms the Shepherd chang'd his crook,
And flocks and herds at once forsook.

No more in Le Bocage was seen
The evening dance upon the green;
No more before the cottage door
The Patriarch told his tales of yore.
With 'kerchief red, each brow was bound,
With crimson sash, each waist was wound,
And marshalled was the brave array
'That earn'd the name of La Vendee-
Roche Jaqueline! heroic name,
First in the rolls of deathless Fame!
How oft, Henri, those shades among,
Thy glorious deeds at eve are sung;
How oft beneath those spreading trees,
Thy dirge is wafted on the breeze!

Within a proud baronial hall,
The scene of many a festival,
Whose gothic arches, bold and high,
Bear impress of antiquity,

The valiant chiefs of La Vendee
Plan conquests for the coming day.
At last, they one by one have gone,
And Henri lingers there alone.
'Tis glowing summer's highest prime,
And sun-shine clogs the wings of Time-
The vine leaves cluster round the door,
Luxuriant as in days of yore.

The breeze comes balmy through the hall,
As erst in hours of festival.

The Lindens cast their peaceful shade

In a long vista down the glade,

And chirping birds and humming bees
Are busy, mid the flowers and trees.

But he that young and valiant lord-
Has droop'd his head upon his sword;
And thoughts come rushing through his soul
That mock his efforts to control.
To-morrow-aye, to-morrow's sun
Far other scenes shall look upon.
Instead of lawns of brightest green,
Shall sights of blood and woe be seen.

Instead of sounds of insect mirth,

Shall war's loud 'larum shake the earth;
And where the evening shadows lie,

Shall gasping warriors pant and die.

Before the revolution this section of France was termed "Le Bocage," (the thicket,) but after that sanguinary struggle it obtained the proud appellation of La Vendee.

These were the badges of La Vendeé, and were first assumed by Henri de la Roche Jaqueline. Although giving their wearers the appearance of Brigands, they must have rendered the warfare singularly picturesque,-carried on, as it was, among Nature's fastnesses. Salvator Rosa could have desired no finer subjects for his pencil.

No more for them the day's rich light,
No more for them the starry night;
For them no more the breeze of even
Shall waft earth's odorous breath to heaven;
And if the flowers for them shall bloom,
"Twill be as garlands for the tomb.
Who has not felt descending dews
While yet earth wore its richest hues?
And thus, ere death's dark night shuts in,
Will chill forebodings oft begin.

The morrow dawns. Loud thunders roar,
Like tempests lashing ocean's shore.
The red glare dims the mid-day sun,
Wild Havoc's orgies are begun.

With "civil swords" the fields are bright,
And charging squadrons join in fight.

"On! Vendeans, on!" young Henri cries

From rank to rank the watch-word flies;

And while the hero cheers them on,
The day is theirs-the field is won!

They fly-they fly! the foemen fly!
And shouts of triumph rend the sky.
Now, Mercy, guide the warrior's arm-
Stay the red brand, the tumult calm;
While parting souls thou bear'st above,
Oh let thy whispers breathe of love!
Roche Jacqueline-the young-the brave,
Now sought his yielding foes to save:
He mark'd uprais'd a glittering blade-
For life the trembling victim pray'd.
The hero dash'd the steel aside,
Ere it had drank the vital tide;

But the pale wretch-his nature's shame-
Repaid life's gift with deadly aim;

The fatal ball too surely sped,

And Henri slumber'd with the dead!

Mourn, Vendee! mourn thy bravest son,
Whose race was all too early run.
The glances of his eagle eye

Oft lit the torch of Victory,
And in his bosom glow'd a fire,
Whose embers never shall expire-
A mystic flame but seldom given,
Lest the rich boon impoverish heaven!

E. B. C.

INDIA AND CHINA:

WITH CONSIDERATIONS ON THE RELIGIOUS HISTORY AND CONDITION OF THOSE REGIONS.

THE Consideration of the spiritual welfare of so large a portion of the human family as is to be found in India and China, brings home to the mind a deep sense of the awful responsibility attached to those who have the means and the power to promote so important an improvement. The well-known parable of the talents is applicable to every man, but more especially to every Christian, in his intercourse with his generation; and there can be no doubt that a wilful sin of omission is equally as great as one of commission, in the eyes of the all-seeing Creator of the uni

verse.

This consideration has been brought the more directly and strikingly to the bosom, by reflections upon the arguments contained upon the subject, in the August number of the Knickerbocker, and the writer has conceived that the matter may be still further enlarged upon, with a view to reduce some of the ideas to practice, for the benefit of those communities.

It is surprising to observe how much may be effected by small, quiet, imperceptible, but determined efforts, in a cause known to be advantageous. The early European settlers in Hindostan were struck with a holy horror at the sacrilegious rites hourly performed by the natives. They were at once moved with derision and indignation, on perceiving the homage, which they knew to be due only to Almighty God, lavished upon stocks and stones, bullocks, and monstrous images; they felt horror and disgust at the sight of the superstitious and ridiculous ceremonies, as senseless in themselves, as they were contemptible in the sight of Omniscience; and they felt themselves bound to over-rule and put down the odious practices, which they considered to be equally oppressive both to God and man, to vindicate the cause of reason and truth, and to force the barbarous professors of so insane a religion, into the right way.

But force cannot make converts, although it frequently makes martyrs. Things which, by myriads of human beings, had been considered holy and venerable during the space of three thousand years, or more, were not likely to be abrogated in a moment, at the pleasure of a few strangers, the latter having, also, the disadvantage of being looked upon as intruders in the land, and despoilers of its fair possession. Accordingly, among the principal inhabitants of India, they listened with open ears, but closed understanding; and things went on with, perhaps, increased veneration for their ancient creeds. In China they restricted the intercourse to one or two trading ports, and imposed such restrictions upon the movements of the foreigners, as to render almost nugatory their attempts at communion. Whilst among the fierce and haughty islanders of Japan, they first extirpated the missionaries, with the most sanguinary violence, and then restricted the mere landing on their shores, to a few natives of a land that cared little for any thing but sordid pecuniary