and is natural only by fits and starts.  After he has been striding along for a short time with a free, manly gait, he suddenly bethinks himself that he is writing a book.  The malign influences of Cambridge University begin to work upon him.  The loose stride is contracted; the swing of the vigorous shoulders is restrained, and, instead of an honest fellow tramping sturdily after his own fashion through the paths of literature, we are treated to an imitation of Dr. Johnson, done by an illiterate butcher’s son.  We are afraid that the Cantabs have been at the bottom of John Brown’s fine writing.  How valuable, for instance, are the following philosophical reflections upon Napoleon, which John Brown makes when he beholds the dethroned Emperor standing sadly upon the poop of the Bellerophon!

“Here, then,” remarks John, “had ended his dream of universal conquest; here he lay prostrate at the foot of the altar,” (we are informed a few lines before this that he had taken his stand on the poop,) “on which he sacrificed, not hecatombs, but pyramids, of human victims.” (Beautiful antithesis!) “As his ambition was boundless, posterity will not weep at his fall.  But that he insinuated himself into the hearts of a generous people is too true; they worshipped him as a demi-god, until,” etc.  Farther on, we learn the startling intelligence, that “for a time his adopted country was enriched by the spoils and plunder of other lands.”  (Did Alison know this?) “He formed the bulk of the population into an organized banditti, and led them forth in martial pomp to do the unholy work of bloodshed and robbery....  All the independent states of Europe leagued together to put down this infamous system of national plunder.”  (Russia among the rest of the independent states, we suppose.)...  “Had he been desirous of establishing just principles on earth, and crushing despotism, the sympathies of the entire human race would have been enlisted on his side.”  Certainly, John.  Two and two make four, and things that are equal to the same are equal to each other.

After having in a street-fight pommelled an unhappy Cambridge student into jelly, and reduced him to a state which he picturesquely describes as resembling that of “a dog in a coal-box,” he picks him up and philosophically informs him that “all the different styles of fence were invented and established for man’s protection, not for his destruction.  Besides,” he adds, with much profundity, “the laws thereto appertaining are based on certain strict principles of honor, which you have unquestionably violated in this case.  Now, take my advice, never again engage in fight without having some just cause of quarrel.  Thus, at least, you will always come off with credit, if not with victory.”  And having delivered himself of this stupendous moral lesson, Dr. Samuel Johnson Mendoza John Brown puts on his hat (he surely ought to have had a full-bottomed wig under it) and walks off, leaving his opponent doubtless more like a dog in a coal-box than ever.  He sees Dr. Abernethy, and rises into this inspired strain:  “To me, who have ever held genius and talent in veneration, as being