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 invitation was given, by his hospitable and wealthy entertainer, to all the Friends of the town and neighborhood to come, and hear, and see him; and evening by evening, their rooms were crowded by visitors, who sat on seats, side by side, as in a public lecture-room. Among other things, he related, that during the time of the revolutionary war, one of the armies passing through a district in which a great number of Friends resided, food was demanded from the inhabitants, which was given to them. The following day the adverse army came up in pursuit, and stripped them of every kind of provision that remained; and so great was the strait to which they were reduced, that absolute famine was before them. Their sufferings were extreme, as day after day went on, and no prospect of relief was afforded them. Death seemed to stare them in the face, and many a one was ready to despair. The forests around them were in possession of the soldiers, and the game, which otherwise might have yielded them subsistence, was killed or driven away.