of Robinson's pitched; he sporteth light, and hath other ridiculous fancies; he loveth to stand umpire on big-side; he putteth himself forward on all occasions as the representative of cricket, and many other little weaknesses he hath which are evident to all. Neither is he that is a football swell an agreeable companion, for in the football season he is perpetually telling of his prowess, and in the cricket season he is ever wishing for opportunities of displaying it. In the football season he recounteth the hacks he hath obtained and given; he accuseth his rivals of timidity; he talketh of that beautiful drop of Brown's, or that place-kick of Smith's; he is sanguinary, and doeth much to lower the character of the game. In the cricket season he talketh of football whenever he can get another swell to listen to him; he goeth round the close and seeth the cricketers and mocketh them, pointing out the superiority of his own game; he hangeth his cap up in his study and almost worshippeth it; he surveyeth his navvies with a look of fond regret, and spendeth his time in calculating the position of each house. But though these be slow companions, how much slower is the thorough classical swell: he is but seldom seen abroad; he stoopeth and moveth as though he had a Liddell and Scott, and an Andrews on his head; he cultivateth the Masters' good opinion in an oleaginous manner; he hath a great contempt for the athletic swell, which is mutual; he also hath a great contempt for all that are not so clever as he is; he abjureth games of all sorts; in "the good old times" he was bullied, now, in these "degenerate years, each feebler than the last," he is cut. When he leaveth, he goeth to college, taketh orders and becometh a country curate, where he goeth to seed prematurely. But though these be the general rule of swells, yet there be many and noble exceptions. A cricket swell may be kind hearted, or even clever: a football swell may play at cricket well, and talk not of his hacks: and a classical swell may make a good companion, if he talk not " shop" but that these last are exceptions, most will acknowledge. So I would say to all, be not a swell; but if you be, let none suspect it. E. : ATHLETIC GAMES. TO THE EDITOR OF THE NEW RUGBEIAN. Sept. 30th, 1858. SIR,-In looking over the list of prizes to be given in the athletic games, I have been much surprised at seeing that, with the single exception of throwing, there are no chances of distinction held out to those who excel in strength of arm or wrist, which seems a kind of tacit acknowledgment that a pair of stout legs are not only the "summum", but also the "solum bonum." Now if anything, I think that the arms are more important than the legs; for though the last-mentioned appendages may be of great use in avoiding danger, yet a fine development of muscle in the arms. would be of more material assistance in facing it. Of course there may be a happy combination of both, which is by far the most desirable; for although Homer represents Achilles as remarkably Todas kus, yet he never ventures for an instant to insinuate that that gentleman was in the habit of using his swiftness for any improper purpose. The only arm exercise which used to exist in our Athletic Games, besides throwing, has been discontinued. D I allude of course to vaulting; the worst part of which is, the difficulty of judging whether the vault be fair or no. I imagine the definition of it should be something of this kind: "That vaulting consist in clearing the pole by one "continued action, touching with no part of the body but "the hands." I take then the opportunity which your publication offers me to call attention to the fact that at most other places where Athletic Games are held, there are prizes for vaulting, throwing the hammer, and many other things which, in my opinion, might be advantageously adopted here also. I am, Sir, Your obedient servant, G. THE ANCIENT AND MODERN DEIST. DOUBTLESS there are but few of my readers who have ever read an account of the funeral supper of the doomed Girondins without being greatly struck with the wild coruscations of Vergniaud's eloquence. His younger companions were on that famous evening indulging in an affectation of gaiety and pleasure which ill became the few remaining hours of their lives, and with smiles of indifference, and almost of mockery, they regarded the welltimed gravity of some of their chiefs. Their merriment however was at length broken.-"What shall we be doing "at this time to-morrow?" asked Ducos, half seriously half in jest. "We shall be asleep," said some. Voices sank: smiles passed away: the accents became more solemn Forced reasonings had led these men to believe in the motto, which at that moment was glittering in letters of gold over the French Pantheon, "Death is an eternal 'sleep." Conscience would have convinced these men to the contrary, had not its warnings been disregarded. 66 Up to this time on that evening Vergniaud had been sitting in silence, until called upon by his friends, he took up the subject. After bringing forward all the moral proofs of the existence of God-after citing from the works of ancient and modern sages proofs of the instinct of a second life—after enthusiastically urging the certainty of this life being continued in a brighter form hereafter, he concludes with these striking words: "Death is only the most power"ful act of life, for it heralds in a superior life. Were it "not so," he added, "were it not so, there would be something greater than God. No! Vergniaud is not greater "than God, but God is more just than Vergniaud, and "will elevate him to a scaffold, to justify and avenge him "in the future." 66 The next morning saw the little band of Girondins marching towards the place of execution, and, with one voice as it were, raising that well-known musical cry, "Contre nous de la tyrannie "L'étendard sanglant est levé." Hand in hand they ascended the platform of death, singing their glorious hymn; each stroke of grim Samson's axe made one voice less in that solemn choir. Last of all came Vergniaud's turn. The chorus is worn out. Thus in an enthusiastic contemplation of eternity died the best of the Modern Deiets. Yet though Vergniaud was born but a hundred years ago, his sentiments were uttered in heathen Athens three hundred years before Our Lord's birth, by one who was not as Vergniaud born in a Christian land, and brought up in the profession of Christianity; and the scepticism of those young Girondists who scoffed at Vergniaud found its exact counterpart in the sneers and conceit of the Greek sophists. Socrates was the man who taught what Vergniaud taught. That great heathen philosopher did not shrink from standing on his own ground and pulling down the foolish speculations and vain conceits of his opponents. His conscience, or Saíuwv as Plato calls it, said to him, "Know thy work and do it," and to his conscience he ever lent a willing ear. We admire Moses and Milton because they speak, not what men think, but what they think. And so it was with Socrates "Man is his own star, and the soul that can "Our fatal shadows that walk by us still." This poor derided philosopher was a man that relied on himself; a man who was not afraid of walking along the hitherto unbeaten track which conscience had marked out for him; a man who saw through the empty speculative theory of the philosophers who walked the groves of ancient Athens; a man who at first groping about in the dark, sought for realities. Like Vergniaud, Socrates felt sure that there must be a Supreme Being, from whom all creatures emanated; like Vergniaud, he was convinced that the soul could not die, but must live for ever. This great man had no written revelation to appeal to, but he had the revelations of his own conscience. They were the solutions of his soul's own questions; and these solutions, these great truths, Socrates' intellect alone at that time could grasp. It was the boast of this truly |