became associated with the moon, as that of Hu the Mighty with the sun, and that all the other divinities of the Britons, if they were not indeed merely personified attributes of these two, were grouped around them in quite a secondary and subordinate position.

It is a remarkable proof of the tenacity with which old ancestral superstitions will cleave to a people, especially when sequestered, as the Welsh have been, by language and position, from intercourse with other nations, that even to this day distinct traces of these mythical diluvian legends are found lingering in the traditions and proverbs of the country. There is scarcely a lake or sheet of water of any extent throughout Wales, around whose margin these fabulous stories do not even yet plentifully grow,-of fearful inundations which overflowed their banks, or of large cities submerged beneath their waters, and even ominous prophecies connected with the future, foreboding the destruction of large and flourishing towns, by some terrible diluvian catastrophe. Of Hu Gadarn and his oxen similar relics may be everywhere discovered. Nothing is more common than to hear at this time from the peasantry of South Wales, the expression, Hu Anwyl! (Beloved Hu!) as an exclamation of astonishment or alarm,—a phrase equivalent to the Good God! which is still too prevalent in English conversation. And doggrel verses referring to the achievements or sufferings of the sacred oxen,* are repeated by every school-boy in some parts of the Principality; so obstinately do these indigenous weeds cleave to their native soil, even after centuries of spiritual cultivation.

Perhaps it may gratify our readers to have a specimen of these legendary tales, derived no doubt in the first instance from the Bardic mythology, which are still found lingering among the mountains, and around the lakes of Wales, and which, though "they live no longer in the faith of reason," continue, to the simple-minded and superstitious dwellers among the hills,

"To people space

With life and mystical predominance."

It relates to Llyn Savaddan, which is about two miles to the east of

* It is not long since there was shown at a place called Llanddewi-brefi, in Cardiganshire, (the radix of the name, Brefi, signifying bellowing, or the place of bellowing,) a relic, called Matkorn yr Ych Bannog, the horn of the brindled ox, which is described in Gibson's Camden, as resembling the interior horn of an ox, and yet so weighty, that it seemed absolutely petrified. It is full of large cells or holes, and the circumference of it at the root is about seventeen inches. The incurious gentleman who communicates this information, adds, that "the sexton who showed him the relic, told him the fabulous tradition of the oxen called Ychain Bannog, but which, he says, I shall not trouble the reader with, as being no news to such as live in Wales, nor material information to others."-Camden's Britannia, p. 645.

the town of Brecon. The story was preserved by the Rev. Edward Davies, author of the Celtic Researches, &c., as related to him by an old man in the town of Hay.

"The site of the present lake was formerly occupied by a large city; but the inhabitants were reported to be very wicked. The king of the country sent his servant to examine into the truth of this rumour, adding a threat, that in case it should be well-founded, he would destroy the place, as an example to his other subjects. The minister arrived at the town in the evening. All the inhabitants were engaged in riotous festivity, and wallowing in excess. Not one of them regarded the stranger, or offered him the rites of hospitality. At last he saw the open door of a mean habitation, into which he entered. The family had deserted it, to repair to the scene of tumult, all but one infant, who lay weeping in the cradle. The royal favourite sat down by the side of the cradle, soothed the little innocent, and was grieved at the thought that he must perish in the destruction of his abandoned neighbours. In this situation the stranger passed the night; and while he was diverting the child, he accidentally dropped his glove into the cradle. The next morning he departed before it was light, to carry his melancholy tidings to the king. "He had but just left the town, when he heard a voice behind him, like a tremendous crack of thunder, mixed with dismal shrieks and lamentations. He stopped to listen. Now it sounded like the dashing of waves; and presently all was dead silence. He could not see what had happened, as it was still dark, and he felt no inclination to return into the city; so he pursued his journey till sunrise. The morning was cold. He searched for his gloves, and finding but one of them, he presently recollected where he had left the other. These gloves had been a present from his sovereign. He determined to return for that which he had left behind. When he was come near to the site of the town, he observed with surprise that none of the buildings presented themselves to his view, as on the preceding day. He proceeded a few steps,-the whole plain was covered with a lake. Whilst he was gazing on this novel and terrific scene, he remarked a little spot in the middle of the water; the wind gently wafted it to the spot where he stood; as it drew near, he recognised the identical cradle in which he had left his glove. His joy on recovering this pledge of the royal favour was only heightened by the discovery that the little object of his compassion had reached the shore alive and unhurt. He carried the infant to the king, and told his majesty that this was all which he had been able to save out of that wretched place."

Mr. Davies thinks that this is one of the Mabinogion, that is, tales for the instruction of youth, in the principles of Bardic mythology, of which there is a large collection, some of which have been of late learnedly edited and published, with an English translation, by Lady Charlotte Guest.

In reviewing thus the faded remains of one of the ancient mythologies, a thoughtful mind will be conscious of other feelings than those of mere curiosity, far less of contempt. We may indeed in the light of a clearer revelation, well feel astonishment and pity at the confused and extravagant conceptions which they cherished of the spiritual world, and the degraded forms into which "they changed the glory of the incorruptible God;" yet when we remember that these exuvia of an obsolete superstition were once the symbols of an infinite

mystery, and the objects of profound and unutterable reverence to myriads of human hearts,-that they were the formula, through which the indestructible instincts of our religious nature struggled for developement and utterance, albeit in confused and inarticulate accents, as those of lisping childhood, they cannot fail, however fantastic or grotesque some of them may seem, to have something sacred and venerable even to our eyes. Nor is it less than affecting to see how fondly and tenaciously men will cling, through the long lapse of ages, to some fragment of a Divine truth, which they have traditionally inherited, as if they had a dumb consciousness of its worth, even when grievously defaced by the very excess of their superstitious veneration. One of the most remarkable facts in the spiritual history of mankind is the deep and indelible impression left on the universal mind of the race, not unaccompanied by some dim perception of its solemn moral significance, of that fearful catastrophe in the early destinies of the species, "whereby the world that then was being overflowed with water, perished." These diluvian vestiges imbedded in the soul and heart of the world, furnish corroborative testimonies to the truth of revelation, which cannot be disturbed by the shifting theories of geological science as to the physical appearances which the earth presents while on the other hand, the gradual but inevitable process, by which the simple elements of patriarchal history became so encrusted, in the growth of these ancient mythologies, with gross foreign accretions, as to disfigure and almost conceal the primitive tradition, proves how unsafe a depository for the truth of God, are the corrupting traditions of men, and what infinite obligations we owe to Him who hath given us "the more sure word of prophecy, whereunto we shall do well to take heed, as unto a light that shineth in a dark place."

THE NEW PASSAGES OF PASCAL.

In our number for January last, there appeared at pages 31—35, a review, from the pen of an eminent scholar and theologian, of a work published last year in Paris, entitled, "Pensées, Fragments, et Lettres de Blaise Pascal, publiés pour la première fois conformément aux Manuscrits Originaux, en grande partie inédits, par M. Prosper Faugère," that is, Pascal's Thoughts, &c., with many important additions of passages suppressed at the first publication, now supplied from the originals in the Royal Library, and other sources." This article awoke in the minds of many persons familiar with the original edition, a strong desire to see the numerous and important passages which have been recovered from the Royal Archives at Paris. A correspondent, long resident in France, has obliged us by undertaking to translate for us these newly

discovered fragments, of which we present our readers with a portion. It is due to our friend to state, that he has undertaken no easy task; for Pascal's idioms are so peculiarly epigrammatical and characteristic of his own age, that it is in fact extremely difficult to render him into our modern English. As some passages will be found untranslatable, a somewhat paraphrastic version must be occasionally permitted.

EDITOR.

MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS.

1. Monsieur de Roannez said, "Reasons come to me afterwards, but at first the thing pleases or shocks me without my knowing the reason; and yet the thing shocks me by the very reason which I do not discover until afterwards." But I believe not that the thing shocked by those reasons which one afterwards finds, but that one only finds these reasons because the thing shocked.—vol. i. p. 177.

2. When our passion induces us to do anything, we lose sight of our duty as we love a book, and read it even when we ought to be doing something else. But in order to remind oneself, we ought to propose to do something which we hate, and then we excuse ourselves on the plea of having something else to do,-one is reminded of one's duty by this means.

3. The most unreasonable things in the world become the most reasonable on account of the disorder of mankind. What is there less reasonable than to choose the eldest son of a queen to govern the realm? We do not choose to steer a boat the man of all the passengers who is of the highest descent: such a law would be ridiculous and unjust. But because the forms are, and will be, always chosen, it becomes reasonable and just; for who else shall they choose?-the most virtuous and clever? Here we shall be straightway in collision ; for each claims to be the most virtuous and clever. Let us, then, attach these qualities to something incontestable. It is the eldest son of the king. That is clear, there is here no point of dispute. Reason cannot do better, for civil war is the greatest of all evils.-vol. i. p. 178.

4. The power of kings is founded on the reason and on the folly of the people, and by far the most on the folly. The greatest and most important thing in the world has weakness for its foundation: and this very foundation is admirably safe, for there is nothing more sure than this, that the people will be weak. That which is founded upon sound reason is very badly based, because of the light estimation of wisdom.

5. Civil wars are the greatest of all evils. They are certain, if one would reward merits; for all will say that they are deserving. The evil to be feared from a fool, who succeeds by right of birth, is neither so great nor so sure.-vol. i. p. 179.

6. To be well dressed is not to be too vain; it is to show that a great number of persons work for you: it is to show by your hair that you have a valet-de-chambre, a perfumer, &c.; by your collar, the thread, the lace, &c.

Now it is not a mere surface, nor a mere trapping, to employ many hands. The more hands you have, the stronger you are. To be well dressed is to show your strength.

7. The populace have very sound opinions: for instance,

i. To have preferred amusement and the chase to poetry. The superficially wise ridicule this, and triumph in proving therein the folly of the world; but from a reason they cannot discern, the people are in the right.

ii. To have distinguished men by externals, as by nobility or by fortune the world triumphs again in proving how unreasonable this is; but this is very reasonable.

:

iii. To take offence at having received a blow; or greatly to desire fame.

But this is very desirable, on account of the many essential advantages which are combined with it; and a man who has received a blow without resenting it, is loaded with injuries and privations.

iv. To labour for an uncertainty; to go upon the sea; to lean on a rotten staff.-vol. i. p. 180.

8. Men are so necessarily mad, that it would be to become mad by another feat of folly, not to be mad.

9. The world judges well of things, for it is in that natural ignorance which is the true judgment-seat of man.

The sciences have two extremities which meet. The first is that pure natural ignorance, where all men find themselves at birth. The other extremity is, that where arrive the great minds, who, having travelled through all that men can know, find that they know nothing, and meet with themselves again in that same ignorance from whence they had set out. But it is an enlightened ignorance which knows itself. Those between the two extremities, who have got out of their natural ignorance, and have not been able to reach the other, have some tint of this sufficing science, and make the knowing ones. These trouble the world, and judge wrongly of everything. The populace and the clever compose the course of the world. Those despise it, and are despised; they judge badly of all things, and the world judges well.

[The following thought refers to Descartes' System of the World. -ED.]

9 bis). One should say in toto; it forms itself by figure and movement (or form and motion) for that is true; but to say which, and to compose the machine, is ridiculous, for it is useless, and uncertain, and painful; and when it should be true, we do not estimate that