put somebody else on horseback, and stick him up, at the cost of a few
thousands? You have already statues to most of the "benefactors of
mankind" (SEE ADVERTISEMENT) in your principal cities. You walk through
groves of great inventors, instructors, discoverers, assuagers of pain,
preventers of disease, suggesters of purifying thoughts, doers of noble
deeds. Finish the list. Come!

Whom will you hoist into the saddle? Let's have a cardinal virtue! Shall
it be Faith? Hope? Charity? Ay, Charity's the virtue to ride on horseback!
Let's have Charity!

How shall we represent it? Eh? What do you think? Royal? Certainly. Duke?
Of course. Charity always was typified in that way, from the time of a
certain widow downward. And there's nothing less left to put up; all the
commoners who were "benefactors of mankind" having had their statues in
the public places, long ago.

How shall we dress it? Rags? Low. Drapery? Commonplace. Field-Marshal's
uniform? The very thing! Charity in a Field-Marshal's uniform (none the
worse for wear) with thirty thousand pounds a year, public money, in its
pocket, and fifteen thousand more, public money, up behind, will be a
piece of plain, uncompromising truth in the highways, and an honor to the
country and the time.

Ha, ha, ha! You can't leave the memory of an unassuming, honest,
good-natured, amiable old duke alone, without bespattering it with your
flunkeyism, can't you? That's right--and like you! Here are three brass
buttons in my crop. I'll subscribe 'em all. One, to the statue of Charity;
one, to a statue of Hope; one, to a statue of Faith. For Faith, we'll have
the Nepaulese Embassador on horseback--being a prince. And for Hope, we'll
put the Hippopotamus on horseback, and so make a group.

Let's have a meeting about it!

THE QUAKERS DURING THE AMERICAN WAR. (FROM HOWITT'S COUNTRY YEAR-BOOK.)

George Dilwyn was an American, a remarkable preacher among the Quakers.
About fifty years ago he came over to this country, on what we have
already said is termed a "Religious Visit," and being in Cornwall, when I
was there, and at George Fox's, in Falmouth--our aged relative still
narrates--soon became an object of great attraction, not only from his
powerful preaching, but from his extraordinary gift in conversation, which
he made singularly interesting from the introduction of curious passages
in his own life and experience.

His company was so much sought after, that a general in