A Sunday at the sea-side, or as Scotch people prefer calling it, a Sabbath, is an enjoyable thing. The steamers that come down on Saturday evening are crammed to the last degree. Houses which are already fuller than they can hold, receive half-a-dozen new inmates, how stowed away we cannot even imagine. We cannot but reject as apocryphal the explanation of a Glasgow wut, that on such occasions poles are projected from the upper windows, upon which young men of business roost until the morning. Late walks, and the spooniest of flirtations characterize the Saturday evening. Every one, of course, goes to church on Sunday morning; no Glasgow man who values his character durst stop away. We shall not soon forget the beauty of the calm Sunday on that beautiful shore: the shadows of the distant mountains; the smooth sea; the church-bells, faintly heard from across the water; the universal turning-out of the population to the house of prayer, or rather of preaching. It was almost too much for us to find Dr. Cumming here before us, giving all his old brilliancies to enraptured multitudes. We had hoped he was four hundred and odd miles off; but we resigned ourselves, like the Turk, to what appears an inevitable destiny. This gentleman, we felt, is really one of the institutions of the country, and no more to be escaped than the income-tax. Morning service over, most people take a walk. This would have been regarded in Scotland a few years since as a profanation of the day. But there is a general air of quiet; people speak in lower tones; there are no joking and laughing. And the Frith, so covered with steamers on week-days, is to-day unruffled by a single paddle-wheel. Still it is a mistake to fancy that a Scotch Sunday is necessarily a gloomy thing. There are no excursion trains, no pleasure trips in steamers, no tea-gardens open: but it is a day of quiet domestic enjoyment, not saddened but hallowed by the recognised sacredness of the day. The truth is, the feeling of the sanctity of the Sabbath is so ingrained into the nature of most Scotchmen by their early training, that they could not enjoy Sunday pleasuring. Their religious sense, their superstition if you choose, would make them miserable on a Sunday excursion. The Sunday morning service is attended by a crowded congregation: the church is not so full in the afternoon. In some places there is evening service, which is well attended. We shall not forget one pleasant walk, along a quiet road bounded by trees as rich and green as though they grew in Surrey, though the waves were lapping on the rocks twenty yards off, and the sun was going down behind the mountains of Cowal, to a pretty little chapel where we attended evening worship upon our last Sunday on the Clyde. Every now and then, as we are taking our saunter by the shore after breakfast, we perceive, well out in the Frith, a steamer, decked with as many flags as can possibly be displayed about her rigging. The strains of a band of music come by starts upon the breeze; a big drum is heard beating away when we can hear nothing else; and a sound of howling springs up at intervals. Do not fancy that these yells imply that anything is wrong; that is merely the way in which working folk enjoy themselves in this country. That steamer has been hired for the day by some wealthy manufacturer, who is giving his 'hands' a day's pleasure-sailing. They left Glasgow at seven or eight o'clock: they will be taken probably to Arran, and there feasted to a moderate extent; and at dusk they will be landed at the Broomielaw again. We lament to say that very many Scotch people of the working class seem incapable of enjoying a holiday without getting drunk and uproarious. We do not speak from hearsay, but from what we have ourselves seen. Once or twice we found ourselves on board a steamer crowded with a most disagreeable mob of intoxicated persons, among whom, we grieve to say, we saw many women. The authorities of the vessel appeared entirely to lack both the power and the will to save respectable passengers from the insolence of the roughs.' The Highland fling may be a very picturesque and national dance, but when executed on a crowded deck by a maniacal individual, with puffy face and blood-shot eyes, swearing, yelling, dashing up against peaceable people, and mortally drunk, we should think it should be matter less of aesthetical than of police consideration. Unless the owners of the Clyde steamers wish to drive all decent persons from their boats, they must take vigorous steps to repress such scandalous goings-on as we have witnessed more than once or twice. And we also take the liberty to suggest that the infusion of a little civility into the manner and conversation of some of the steam-boat officials on the quay at Greenock, would be very agreeable to passengers, and could not seriously injure those individuals themselves. What sort of men are the Glasgow merchants? Why, courteous reader, there are great diversities among them. Almost all we have met give us an impression of shrewdness and strong sense; some, of extraordinary tact and clevernessthough these last are by no means among the richest men. In some cases we found extremely unaffected and pleasing address, great information upon general topics-in short, all the characteristics of the cultivated gentleman. In others there certainly was a good deal of boorishness; and in one or two instances, a tendency to the use of oaths which in this country have long been unknown in good society. The reputed wealth of some Glasgow men is enormous, though we think it not unlikely that there is a great deal of exaggeration as to that subject. We did, however, hear it said that one firm of 511 And so, in idle occupations, and in gleaning up particulars as to Glasgow matters according to our taste wherever we went, our sojourn upon the Frith of Clyde pleasantly passed away. We left our hospitable friends, not without a promise that when the Christmas holidays come we should visit them once more, and see what kind of thing is the town life of the winter time in that warm-hearted city. And we shall certainly go,-for ten hours and a half will take us,-unless in the interim we should be appointed Attorney-General, which we should have been long ago if preferment at the bar went according to merit. We think it very likely that a few days in Glasgow then may make us acquainted with some Scotch manners and customs, some talk about which may prove interesting to the readers of Fraser. And meanwhile, as the days shorten to chill November, -as the clouds of London smoke drift by our windows,-as the Thames runs muddy through this mighty hum and bustle away to the solitudes of its last level,-we recal that cheerful time with a most agreeable recollection of the kindness of Glasgow friends, and of all that is implied in Glasgow Down the Water. THE IN RICHMOND PARK. HE ferns are withered, but the oak stands green Shall blossom, and yet heartier holly show His stiff robe gemmed with red, through frost and snow. Gone now is youth, gone lightsome longings all, 12th October, 1856. J. T. MEMOIRS OF FREDERICK PERTHES.* THERE is perhaps no sort of reading more improving than biography, when the biography is a true, genuine book, and presents a real picture of the man-not a romance written in his name. The real history of a man's life, both with reference to the outward world and the development of his own mind and soul, whether it serves as an example or as a warning, is perhaps the best sermon that can be presented to us. The book before us belongs to this class; it is written with extreme simplicity, and bears internal evidence of truth. No man can lay it down, we think, without experiencing a certain feeling of exultation, a thrill of satisfaction, over the simple history of a noble-minded man, whose whole life affords an elevating picture of human nature. Born to great poverty, and neither seeking nor attaining worldly distinctions, but studious only to follow his vocation as a publisher of books with all rigour and fidelity, Frederick Perthes has left a history which cannot fail to exert a very widespread influence over his countrymen, an influence, too, which cannot be limited to his native land, for every ardent man striving after good must recognise in him a brother and a guide. The essential difference between German biographies, and those of any other nation, is that they treat always of the inner rather than the outward life. In whatever circumstances a German may be cast, and whether Christianity or Philosophy be his guide, the culture of the inner being is his first object, and the aim of all his strivings. We think this quality gives a deep and peculiar interest to a German biography, very different from the feelings with which we read the semi-historic series of anecdotes and adventures which we are accustomed to in memoirs at home. The candour with which they lay bare their own faults, and the searching manner in which they investigate their own strength and weakness, are especially instructive to ourselves, little accustomed to such mental training; though, carried too far, it may end in a sort of intellectual selfishness. Perthes, however, has nothing selfish or egotistical about him: with him action is never lost in meditation; he lived all his life, but his happy domestic ties, and his public business life, were both subservient in his eyes to the culture of that immortal part which shall live for ever. The quality which pervades the book from beginning to end is truth, and truth, earnestly sought, is found after a time in a full recognition of the doctrines of Christianity, which once received, shed a steady light upon his path to the end of his long, useful, and happy life. It is essentially a cheerful book, though dealing of times of woe and disaster; when war and famine were spread like a flood over the Continent, and the French were fulfilling their mission of chastisement on Germany; and when a calamity more devastating than the sword of Napoleon was laying waste the minds of men, and infidelity like a pestilence spread over the land, cutting off from the miserable sufferers all hope of a future;-earth being a mere prison-house of sorrow, and all beyond a blank. In these troublous times Perthes lived, married, brought up a large family, passed a very happy and useful life, and closed his eyes, at peace with God and man, in the year 1843, before the struggles of 1848-49 had convulsed his beloved Germany, and raised the hopes and the fears of the good of both parties; hopes never to be realized-fears only too fully verified. The ancestors of Perthes appear to have been pastors and physicians for generations in the town of Erfurt; his father, however, held an office in the Court of Rudolf Schwartzburg, one of the petty German Principalities, but died when his son *Memoirs of Frederick Perthes; or, Literary, Religious, and Political Life in Germany, from 1789 to 1843. From the German of Clement Theodore Perthes, Professor of Law in the University of Bonn. 2 vols. 8vo. Edinburgh: Thomas Constable and Co. 1856. 1856.] Boy Life-Journey to Leipzig. was an infant, leaving his widow and child perfectly destitute, a pension of twenty-one florins being all their worldly possessions. The boy was brought up by the compassionate kindness of an uncle, his mother's brother, and an aunt, an upright and excellent, but rather unlovable personage. To the affectionate care of these two worthy people may be ascribed much of the earnest integrity, the love of good, and hatred of evil, which influenced him through life. His uncle early taught the child to think, and especially to feel and appreciate his own responsibilities: he provided for him such a desultory education as lay within his means, and did all in his power to strengthen and mature his principles. The society of an old military cousin was also very useful to the boy. With this old man he wandered through the Thuringian forest, and followed the wild-fowl up the mountain slopes and through the dark pine forests of that romantic country; often enduring personal hardships, and seeking shelter for nights in the huts of the fowlers. No doubt the solitary intercourse with nature in her grandest aspect, where the Schwartze rushes through a rocky channel into the Saal, imbued the boy's mind with a love of the noble and lofty, and a contempt for the base and the mean, such as mountain scenery may well inspire; while the historical traditions with which that beautiful valley abounds, fed his passionate love for his country -a love which was the moving principle of his life, and which ennobled and adorned the prosaic routine of trade. At the age of fourteen, it became necessary to choose a profession for the lad, and having an uncle already in the book trade, it was naturally suggested as a suitable calling, and he was taken to Leipzig, at the time of the great fair, to seek a master. Some of the booksellers despised him on account of his shy manner and slender growth; others, because he could not conjugate the verb amo; finally, he found favour in the eyes of a certain Herr Böhme, who having stipulated that he should be sent home for a year to grow, re * 513 The ceived him as an apprentice. journey to his new home, after the lapse of a year, is worth transcribing from the original : 'Why, On Sunday, the 9th of September, 1787, the boy of fifteen took his seat in the open mail, to begin the great journey of life. 'In the evening at Saalfeld I felt very sad,' he wrote to his uncle, 'but I met with many kind people.' On a cold and rainy day, he passed through Neustadt, Gera, and Zeitz; and on Tuesday, the 11th of September, at three o'clock in the afternoon, reached his master's house in Leipzig. boy, you are no bigger than you were a year ago, but we will make a trial of it, and see how we get on together,' exclaimed Böhme. His wife and her six daughters and little son, as well as an apprentice who had been resident four years, all received him kindly. 'I like Leipzig very much,' wrote Perthes, immediately on his arrival; and I hope all will go well, especially as my comrade is a very honest fellow. The young ladies also seem extraordinarily kind; Frederika, my master's second daughter, came into my room in order, as she said, to drive away fancies and whims.' Herewith,' writes his master, 'I have the honour to inform you that young Perthes has arrived safe and in good health. I hope we shall be pleased with each other. His pocket-money, which, according to this day's exchange, amounts to one dollar and twenty groschen, I have taken charge of, for we cannot tell into what company he might fall. One request I have to make, and that is, that when in future you favour me with your letters, you will have the goodness to omit the Well-born'* on the address, for it is not at all appropriate to me.' On the morning after his arrival, the first words young Perthes heard were these, Frederick, you must let your hair grow in front to a brush, and behind to a cue, and get a pair of wooden buckles-lay aside your sailor's round hat a cocked one is ordered.' This once universal custom had latterly disappeared, but Böhme tolerated no new fashions among his apprentices. 'You are not to leave the house, either morning or evening, without my permission. On Sundays you must accompany me to church. The two apprentices certainly were not spoiled by overindulgence. Their master's house was in Nicholas-street, and there they had an inner chamber up four pair of stairs, so overcrowded with two beds and stools, the table and the two trunks, which Wohlgeboren-Esquire. constituted its whole furniture, as scarcely to admit of their turning in it. One little window opened on the roof; in the corner was a small stove, heated during the winter by three small logs of wood, doled out every evening as their allowance. Every morning at six o'clock they both received a cup of tea, and every Sunday, as a provision for the coming week, seven lumps of sugar, and seven halfpence to purchase bread. 'What I find hardest,' said Perthes to his uncle at Schwartzburg, 'is, that I have only a halfpenny roll in the morning-I find this to be scanty allowance. In the afternoon, from one till eight, we have not a morsel-that is what I call hunger; I think we ought to have something.' Dinner and supper they took with the family, plentifully and well; but alas for them when some fat roast with gourd-sauce was set upon the table, for it was a law that whatever was put upon the plate must be eaten. The difficulties of Perthes' situation were indeed great, and such as required the exercise of much patience, prudence, and fortitude. The warm-hearted boy felt his isolation deeply, and though writing to his uncle in a spirit of great thankfulness, the following little touch shows how his heart yearned for kindness and for home. In his letter he says: Here in a neighbouring village, called Gohlis, there is a cowherd, who blows his horn as skilfully as the Schwarzburg trumpeter of yore. I can hear him in my bed, and you cannot imagine what a strange feeling comes over me, in the peculiar kind of sadness to which it gives rise. Besides hard work and scanty food, he suffered so dreadfully from cold, that one winter his feet were frostbitten, and amputation was almost deemed necessary. A severe illness ensued, during which, however, he found a friend and comforter in the shape of his master's daughter, the young Frederika; the good child sat and knitted by him, read to him, and ministered to him in every way she could, she was his first friend, and afterwards his first love, a sentiment which she did not return; still, when he lay on his death-bed, fiftyfive years afterwards, he remembered with gratitude the kindness of that young child; and spoke with thankfulness of the happy influence she had had upon his youth. We would willingly linger on these pages, when the young man's character was formed in the school of adversity, and which offer a very interesting picture of German life at that time, and of the feelings with which the great events in France were received by men of different views and classes. Conservative as he became in his latter years, like many other good men, Perthes hailed the French Revolution of 1792 with joy, as the commencement of a new era, and a step towards perfection, a perfection in the possibility of which he then perfectly believed. But these views, though modified by the difference of country and nationality, are much the same as were held by a pretty wide circle among ourselves; men who had a larger faith in humanity than experience has warranted. After six years of patient toil, Perthes was released from Leipzig and its narrow influences, and in a more liberal establishment at Hamburg, was able to complete much that was wanting in his own education, and finally to enter into business on his own account; and few men have dignified their calling more. His first wish in life was to make his profession a means of real usefulness to his country. To disseminate the best books, to encourage the best men, were his first objects; and to make the book-trade a widely spread medium for infusing a vigorous and healthy German life through the length and breadth of Germany, was the highest aim of his ambition. And this, too, without any sectarian onesidedness. An earnest Protestant himself, he could see and sympathize with piety in a Catholic, and love of truth and earnestness in those who differed (very painfully, we think) from either. Earnestness, truthfulness, patriotism, under whatever form they appeared, he would have sacrificed anything to uphold; for the scoffer and the mocker alone he had no tolerance. Brought in those stirring times into contact with all sorts of persons, and on terms of great intimacy with many men of high condition, he remained the simple bookseller, full of self-respect, and with no vulgar craving for social position, or those verbal distinctions so much prized in Ger |