It is strange to observe how blind the common people are, in general, to the ends of public justice. They seem to have almost all taken their notions on this subject from the Judaic law, which awarded life for life, and one article to be substituted for another; and punishment is by them rather looked upon as a revenge to gratify the offended person, or his manes, than as preventative of future crimes. In Scotland, for instance, if a man is to be hanged for stealing the sheep, or breaking the shop, of another, the aggrieved individual is sometimes found to express what he will perhaps consider a graceful regret for the fate of the culprit, as if it were only to avenge his petty quarrel, and not to vindicate the cause of offended justice, that the law was to take its course. This was well reproved, on one occasion, by Justice Burnet. A fellow, whom that judge was about to condemn for horse-stealing, said it surely was a hard thing to be hanged for stealing a horse. “You are not to be hanged, friend,” replied the Justice, “for stealing a horse, but that horses may not be stolen.” LORD BOLINGBROKE. The famous Lord Bolingbroke, being at Aix-la-chapelle, during the treaty of peace at that place (at which time his attainder was taken off), was asked by an impertinent Frenchman, whether he came there in any public character. “No, sir,” replied his Lordship, “I come like a French minister, with no character at all.” WHAT’S IN A NAME. In a party of ladies, on it being reported that a Captain Silk had arrived in town, they exclaimed, with one exception, “What a name for a soldier!” “The fittest name in the world,” rejoined a witty female; “for _silk_ never can be _worsted_!” GREAT ENCOURAGEMENT. A gentleman about to join his regiment, stationed in the West Indies, was making some anxious inquiries of a brother officer, who had returned, after serving several years in that climate, concerning the best means of preserving health; to which the other replied, “During our passage out, many serious discussions took place about the mode of living best calculated to preserve health in a climate, with the fatal effects of which on European constitutions every one is so well acquainted. Some determined to be temperate, and drink nothing but water; others, not to deviate from their usual manner of living. Not to interrupt each other’s plans, we agreed to separate into two distinct messes, which, from their different modes of living, very soon obtained the distinctive appellations of the sober and the drunken club.” “Well,” said the other gentleman, with some anxiety, “and what was the result?” “Why, truly, not very satisfactory: we buried all the members of the sober club in the course of a few months, and I am the only survivor of the drunken.” SIR GEORGE ROOKE.