no one in the chamber; but on the couch was laid a delicate white robe, ready for use, with a circlet of oak leaves twined with acorns for her hair. She immediately put on the robe, and, binding her hair off her forehead with the green chaplet, stood before the crystal mirror surveying her figure in her new and delicate costume. The sight charmed her amazingly, and the flush of health and beauty mantled in her cheek as she exclaimed, "Oh, that my father and mother could see me now! how little Carl would wonder at me, and love me too!" She then felt a strong desire to explore the fairy regions, and to see whether there were other fairer scenes than that around her. She passed out by a curious archway of stone-work, upon which the chisels of the sculptor had been employed so successfully, that the most minute flowers, with their tiny petals and fibred foliage, were executed with a degree of nicety almost incredible. Each flower bore its own natural colour, and the beautiful effect was considerably heightened by the judicious taste which had grouped them together. There were three scrolls over the archway, bearing in antique characters the following inscriptions :On the right :

Life is but a trial at most.

On the left:

Happy they who use it well.

And in the centre:-

Fear not, and thou shalt win.

(To be concluded in our next.)

THE ECCENTRIC NATURALIST.1

:

"WHAT an odd-looking fellow!" said I to myself, as, while walking by the river, I observed a man landing from a boat, with what I thought a bundle of dried clover on his back. "How the boatmen stare at him! Sure he must be an original." He ascended with a rapid step, and, approaching me, asked if I could point out the house in which Mr. Audubon resided. Why, I am the man," said I, "and will gladly lead you to my dwelling."

The traveller rubbed his hands together with delight, and, drawing a letter from his pocket, handed it to me without any remark. I broke the seal, and read as follows: "My dear Audubon, I send you an odd fish, which you may prove to be undescribed, and hope you will do so in your next letter. Believe me always your friend, B."

With all the simplicity of a back-woodsman I asked the bearer where the odd fish was, when M. de T. (for, kind reader, the individual in my presence was none else than that renowned naturalist) smiled, rubbed his hands, and, with the greatest good humour, said, "I am that odd fish, I presume, Mr. Audubon." I felt confounded, and blushed, but contrived to stainmer out an apology.

We soon reached the house, when I presented my learned guest to my family, and was ordering a servant to go to the boat for M. de T.'s luggage, when he told me he had none but what he brought on his back. He then loosened the pack of weeds which had first drawn my attention. The ladies were a little surprised, but I checked their critical glances; for the moment the naturalist pulled off his shoes, and while engaged in drawing his stockings, not up, but down, in order to cover the holes about the heels, told us, in the gayest mood imaginable, that he had walked a great distance,

(1) From Audubon's Ornithological Biography.

and had only taken a passage on board the ark to be put on this shore, and that he was sorry his apparel had suffered so much from his late journey. Clean clothes were offered, but he would not accept them; and it was with evident reluctance that he performed the lavations usual on such occasions, before he sat down to dinner. At table, however, his agreeable conversation made us all forget his singular appearance; and, indeed, it was only as we strolled in the garden that his attire struck me as exceedingly remarkable: a long loose coat of yellow nankeen, much the worse of the many rubs it had got in its time, and stained all over with the juice of plants, hung loosely about him, like a sack; a waistcoat of the same, with enormous pockets, and buttoned up to the chin, reached below over a pair of tight pantaloons, the lower parts of which were buttoned down to the ankle; his beard was as long as I have known my own to be during some of my peregrinations, and his lank black hair hung loosely over his that any tyro in phrenology would instantly have proshoulders; his forehead was so broad and prominent, nounced it the residence of a mind of strong powers; his word impressed an assurance of rigid truth, and, as he directed the conversation to the study of the natural sciences, I listened to him with as much delight as Telemachus could have listened to Mentor. He had come to visit me, he said, expressly for the purpose of seeing my drawings, having been told that my representations of birds were accompanied with those of shrubs and plants, and he was desirous of knowing whether I might chance to have in my collection any with which he was unacquainted. I observed some degree of impatience in his request to be allowed to see what I had. We returned to the house, when I opened my portfolios, and laid them before him.

He chanced to turn over the drawing of a plant quite new to him. After inspecting it closely he shook his head, and told me no such plant existed in nature; for, kind reader, M. de T., although a highly scientific man, to exist as he had himself seen, or such as, having been was suspicious to a fault, and believed such plants only discovered of old, had, according to Father Malebranche's expression, acquired a "venerable beard." I told my guest that the plant was common in the immediate neighbourhood, and that I should show it him on the morrow. "And why to-morrow, Mr. Audubon? let us go now." We did so; and on reaching the bank of the river, I pointed to the plant. M. de T. I thought had gone mad: he plucked the plants one after another, danced, hugged me in his arms, and exultingly told me that he had got not merely a new species, but a new genus. When we returned home the naturalist opened the bundle which he had brought on his back, and took out a journal, rendered waterproof by a leather case, together with a small parcel of linen, examined the new plant, and wrote its description. The examination of my drawings then went on. You would be pleased, kind reader, with his criticisms, which were of the greatest advantage to me, for, being well acquainted with books, as well as with nature, he was well fitted to give me advice. It was summer, and the heat was so great that the windows were all open. The light of the candles attracted many insects, among which was observed a large species of scarabæus. I caught one, and, aware of his inclination to believe only what he should himself see, I showed him the insect, and assured him it was so strong, that it could crawl on the table with the candlestick on its back. "I should like to see the experiment made, Mr. Audubon," he replied. It was accordingly made, and the insect moved about, dragging its burden, so as to make the candlestick change its position, as if by magic, until coming upon the edge of the table, it dropped upon the floor, took to wing, and made its escape.

When it waxed late I showed him to the apartment intended for him during his stay, and endeavoured to render him comfortable, leaving him writing materials

in abundance. I was indeed heartily glad to have a naturalist under my roof. We had all retired to rest: every person, I imagined, in deep slumber save myself, when, of a sudden, I heard a great uproar in the naturalist's room. I got up, reached the place in a few moments, and opened the door, when, to my astonishment, I saw my guest running about the room naked, holding the handle of my favourite violin, the body of which he had battered to pieces against the walls, in attempting to kill the bats which had entered by the open window, probably attracted by the insects flying around his candle. I stood amazed, but he continued jumping, and running round and round, until he was fairly exhausted, when he begged me to procure one of the animals for him, as he felt convinced they belonged to "a new species." Although I was convinced of the contrary, I took up the bow of my demolished cremona, and administering a smart tap to each of the bats, as it came up, soon got specimens enough. The war ended, I again bade him good night, but could not help observing the state of the room: it was strewed with plants, which it would seem he had arranged into groups, but which were now scattered about in confusion. "Never mind, Mr. Audubon," quoth the eccentric naturalist, never mind, I'll soon arrange them again. I have the bats; and that's enough!"

66

Ile mounts the throne, whilst scornful smiles athwart his fea-
tures played,
Now will I prove how sickly dreams my doting sire betrayed!"
High o'er the loftiest pinnacle that crowns his hall of power,
Where wassail, rest, or reverie dispute the passing hour,
A bell, a little bell he hangs, its brazen chimes to breathe,
That will he sound, that thro' his realm the news may spread
Each time it listeth him to touch the cord that sways beneath.
abroad

How cankering care forsakes his couch, how blissful is its lord.
Fondly he deems no day shall pass, but, that that little bell,
Touched by his willing hand, the tale of cloudless bliss shall tell.
And brightly dawneth day by day, yet ere that day is o'er,
The hopes that morning ushered in, at sunset smile no more:
Oft towards the cord the princely youth his eager glance hath
flung,
Yet something stirs within his breast-the bell remains unrung.
Now deems he his a well-proved friend, what gift with that can
vie?

Sound forth, thou brazen herald thou, for who so blest as 1?" But an envoy stands before him-tears with his tidings blendBaser than basest foe is he, whom thou hast called thy friend!" Again a fond, fond dream is his! he deems her heart his own "Now let my bliss, my matchless bliss, to all the world be known!"

But lo, his minister draws near, with face foreboding wo:

Alas, my liege, and is it thine, nor truth, nor trust to know!" Sorely his soul is chastened, yet hath he not his land, With many a princely treasure there, and many a gallant band? Fairer, I ween, no realm than his e'er pranked beneath the sun, He hies him to the lattice, and he looked far and wide, For God and man, to do it grace, their goodliest had done. And his royal eye is flashing, and his bosom swells with pride. Now will he joyous to the cord, now will he sound-but lo, Within the hall are hurried steps a messenger louts low: Sir King, see there, see there, yon flame that riseth high and clear, Our dwellings burn, our maidens flee, before the foeman's spear!” Ah, caitiff slaves!" bursts forth the King, and stead of silken cord,

Poetry.

[In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author, is printed in Small Capitals under the title; in Selections, it is printed in Italics at the end.]

THE LITTLE BELL

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCIDD.

THE King is on his death-bed, he bids them call his son,

66

He grasps the stripling by the hand, and, pointing to the throne, My son," he feebly faltered forth, “yon royal seat is thine, Yet, ere thou donn'st thy father's crown, think on these words of mine:

Fancy perchance hath pictured fair this vain weak world of ours, Alas for Fancy's dreams! too soon thou'lt find how few its flowers!

In niggard drops it yields its bliss, in swollen streams its woe; But few scant drops 'mid thousand streams have been thy sire's to know."

He said and slept for aye- the youth his words hath heeded not;

Fair as the rose which blooms in May deems he his lordly lot.

He snatches up his trusty mail, and buckles on his sword. Already care hath thinned his locks and dimmed his eagle eye, Yet ever silent rests the bell, the little bell on high. Scarce thinks he to awake its tones-it sways unnoticed now-And should a transient gleam of bliss illume his withered brow, He feels his sands are fleeting fast-he lays him down to die ; hen from without unceasingly he hears a wailing cry. "What mean those sounds of sorrow, what means that note of woe?"

Ah, Sire, our father leaveth us--his children weep below!" "My children, bid them enter!-lov'd they their lord so well?" Oh, Sire, could life but ransom life, their ready blood would

tell!"

But many a stout and sturdy heart is eager thronging in, Once more to bless his dying lord,--once more to see his KingYe lov'd me then, my children?" and thousands faltered "Ave!"

The dying monarch caught the word he raised himself on high, And seized the cord-to Heaven one prayer his upturned eyes addressed,

Then bade the bell peal loud and long, and, smiling, sunk to

No. 59.]

AMONG the numerous charitable foundations existing throughout this part of the kingdom, those are generally the most wealthy and flourishing which have some connexion with the metropolis. The immense increase in the value of property within the ever-widening bounds of London, causes a bequest of land in that city, (however small that bequest may have originally been) to become a fruitful source of wealth to the institution with which it is connected. Thus, in 1567, the bequest of a few acres of pasture land, called the Conduit Close, halfa-mile from the city of London, and then yielding a rent of only ten pounds a year, was the means of raising to wealth and importance that well-known establishment, Rugby School. This Conduit Close (now Lamb's Conduit-street, and the streets adjoining) yields at the present time an income of many thousands per annum a fact that would have appeared utterly incredible to the original founder of the charity. Similar instances are common; among which, we may here particularly notice that of an endowment made in 1587, of a moderate estate in Clerkenwell, yielding at that time a yearly

VOL. III.

rent of about one hundred and twelve pounds. This estate was generously devoted by its owner, Thomas Seckford, Esq., to the support of certain alms-houses built by him in the town of Woodbridge, a few miles from Ipswich, Suffolk, where his own property lay. The original alms-houses comprised seven tenements, with land adjoining, for the residence of thirteen poor men; six of the houses being fitted each for the residence of two pensioners, and the seventh for the remaining pensioner, who was to be called the Principal. Each inmate had a yearly supply of fuel and clothing, and a stipend of five pounds, except the Principal, who had six pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence yearly. The founder of this charity also gave another ténement, and two acres of land for the use of three poor widows, to be nurses to such of the poor men as should be sick and infirm, and to have each a yearly stipend of two pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence.

In the course of time, the Clerkenwell estate rose immensely in value, and the governors of the almshouses improved the property in London, by taking

down many old buildings, and laying out new streets. I The charity estate now comprises Seckford-street, Woodbridge-street, Suffolk-street, one side of St. John street, Aylesbury-street, St. James's-walk, Prison-walk, and Corporation-row, and the whole is said to yield a yearly rental of more than 4,000l. During the progress of all these improvements, the funds of the charity were expended in obtaining acts of Parliament for the contemplated changes, and in paying for their execution, so that in 1830, when the Commissioners of Charities inquired into the affairs of this institution, it appeared that no alterations had been made in the allowances to the alms-people, or other payments since 1768, when the rental of the estate was only 5637. per annum, but that it was the intention of the governors, as soon as the building ground was let, to apply for an act of parliament for the future regulation of the charity funds. The yearly sums paid out of the rents at that time, and for some years afterwards, were to the principal, 271.; to each of the twelve almsmen, 207.; to each of the three nurses, 127.; to an extra nurse, 137.; to the minister of Woodbridge, 107.; to the churchwardens, 10.; to the receiver of the rents, 121.; to the poor of Woodbridge, in clothes and coals, about 1527.; to the parishes of Woodbridge and Clerkenwell, for distribution among the poor, each 107.; with about 501. for the repairs of the alms-houses, for medical attendance, &c.

In 1838, the governors of this charity were enabled to enlarge it altogether, by doubling the number of almsmen and women, who were to receive its benefits, and by building a new hospital befitting the increased wealth of the institution. This handsome edifice is in the Elizabethan style, and comprises two wings, with a chapel in the centre, and has two entrances, with massive bronze gates, and a porter's lodge. The whole was raised at the cost of fifteen thousand pounds, from a design by J. Noble, Esq. In this extensive hospital there is ample accommodation for the twenty-six alms-men and six nurses; each being provided with two rooms and a small garden. The alms men have a yearly stipend of 251., the Principal has 801., and the nurses have each 201. All are supplied with coals, clothing, and medical attendance. The Principal has the superintendence of the other inmates, under the direction of the minister and churchwardens of Woodbridge. Since the erection of this new building, the old alms-houses have been let at very low rents to poor widows.

The founder of this excellent charity lies interred in a private chapel adjoining the north side of the chancel of the parish church of St. Mary Woodbridge. He was one of the Masters of the Court of Requests, and Surveyor of the Court of Wards and Liveries in the reign of Elizabeth. His remains were deposited under a large altar-tomb in this chapel ; but the brass inscriptions and ornaments, &c. were stripped from the tomb in 1643, by Dowsing, the parliamentary visitor. Seckford is said to have been distinguished in the polite accomplishments of the age in which he lived, as well as learned in the law. To his patronage of Christopher Saxton, the public was indebted for the first set of country maps, which were engraved at his expense. This benevolent individual died without issue in 1588, aged 72, having represented Ipswich in three parliaments, and earned to himself the character of a general benefactor to his own town of Woodbridge.

SOME THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT CONDITION OF SOCIETY.

Ir does not usually fall within our province to notice newspaper articles: politics are not our vocation. But our attention has recently been directed to some remarks on a matter altogether removed from political controversy, in a newspaper whose influence over the public mind on every subject which it touches is de

servedly very great; which remarks, partly for their intrinsic interest, and partly on account of the train of thought which they have suggested to our own minds, we venture here to lay before our readers, deeming the subject sufficiently catholic in its character to involve in its treatment no violation of our rule of abstinence from controversial topics. Our remarks will, perhaps, not be very closely connected with the text on which we found them, but sufficiently so, we trust, to excuse us for placing them together.

The newspaper we refer to is The Times, which, in a late number, devotes a leading article to some observations upon a meeting of the Bradford Mechanics' Institute, at which that amiable and accomplished statesman, Lord Morpeth, attended, and delivered a very interesting address. We extract the most striking passages in

the article:

"Without giving our adherence to the creed of those who believe that Mechanics' Institutes are to be the means of redeeming the human race from ignorance and barbarism to knowledge and refinement, we must admit that, under certain conditions and certain management, they may be productive of real good. But they require this certain management-they ought to be governed by these certain conditions-to prevent them from being perverted into ridiculous, if not pernicious, exhibitions. There is, perhaps, no temptation more alluring to the indulgence of froward self-conceit or impertinent garrulity, than that which is presented to a fluent but illinformed speaker by the opportunity of addressing a worse-informed and illiterate audience. In such a case, vanity fans the flame of presumptuous sciolism, and the follies or prejudices of the many are fostered by the self-complacency of one. The flippant speaker and the heedless audience re-act upon one another to propagate and promote erroneous opinions, or inaccurate conjectures, which are more dangerous than utter ignorance. But the case is far different when the teacher is able, erudite, and impartial-the audience docile, confiding, and unprejudiced. And there are few more graceful kinds of intellectual condescension, than that which is manifested by a man of cultivated taste, who courts the opportunity of instructing the uneducated, refining the unpolished, and correcting the prejudices of the halflearned, amongst his less fortunate neighbours. Nor will such an effort, in itself generous and kind, be maimed of its strength or deprived of its reward, if he who makes it add to the natural gifts of talent and of taste the artificial advantages of birth and rank. Those who detest toadying, and despise flunkeyism,' will yet reserve a proper admiration for him who makes rank and birth instruments for raising noble aspirations, and encouraging exalted pursuits. And even those who profess a political detestation of all class distinctions will become reconciled to them in the person of one who not only does not disclaim, but proudly avows, his connexion with and devotion to the humanities of science, of literature, and of art.

"Associations of this kind have become among the facts of the day. They exist, and they will continue to exist. The tone which they take, the spirit by which they are guided, the maxims which they evolve, pass into other assemblies, and animate other associations. They are only one form of that federal propensity which is amongst the characteristics of our time. The advantage, then-nay, the necessity and the duty—of giving them certain tendencies, of infusing into them certain principles, must be too obvious to require any lengthy inculcation. When we recollect the facility with which men are now-a-days leagued together for purposes either social or political-either of good or evil-it is not unimportant that in the minds of the masses the idea of combination should be associated with the example of at least one society where good order is observed, sound

knowledge imparted, and party prejudices repudiated. As Lord Morpeth said, 'It is most salutary to have some common neutral ground, where all can equally at times meet together without any restraint, save that of mutual self-respect.'

*

*

*

*

If they merely bring together persons of different stations and occupations-if they lead the man of rank, the student, and the philosopher, into the haunts of busy industry-they will have done much to consolidate the various elements of our system, and to destroy the too frequent, but not inevitable, causes of repugnance and antagonism. And when once the ice is broken, literature, or science, or music, or amusement, will, at least, have the opportunity of proving their legitimate influences. We can easily understand the Eton aspirations of Lord Morpeth, when he looks forward to the time that some scholar will introduce to the knowledge of the Bradford mechanics the blind old bard of Scio's rocky isle.' Without, however, anticipating that period -perhaps not a distant one-we may profess ourselves content with hearing the bard of all time,' and 'the minstrel of the North' well read and well criticised in an assembly of men who live by the labour of their hands. A multitude which can applaud Shakspeare, and appreciate Scott, must cherish feelings of kindliness and humanity far higher and stronger than the passions of party, or the jealousies of caste. A peer or a doctor of laws expounding the philosophy of Hamlet and the pathos of Midlothian' to a congregation of mechanics, would present a study worthy of remark alike to the admirers and the assailants of our social system.

"We will not pass over Lord Morpeth's advice, that those amongst the busy folks of a busy town who have the opportunity should study the history and constitution of their native land. This advice applies to men higher in the social scale than the simple artisan. How many men are there, well to do and living at ease, who know literally nothing of their country's history! It was a remark of Coleridge, that the Reform Bill would give influence-not individual votes, but the command of votes to the most ignorant portion of the community. Master builders, owners of small houses, publichouse keepers, &c. used generally, a few years ago, to harangue their operatives and tenants with a violence which could only be exceeded by their ignorance. And this mischief passed from words to actions. Perhaps the inhabitants of no other country in the civilized world are so utterly ignorant of their own history and institutions as Englishmen. Foreigners generally remark this. It applies even to professional men and fellows of colleges, but more particularly to the lower part of the trading body. From men of this class come the gross and ridiculous misstatements, the perverse notions, and the shameless lies, which, in times of political excitement, sway the feelings of our mobs. And it is from such men as these-men of uncertain fortunes and unfixed principles-that that very noisy faction, the Anti-Anglican party in America, is continually recruited. It is by men who hate their country, because they are unworthy of it; who libel its institutions, because they know nothing of them; and misinterpret its history, because they never learned it-it is by these that England is dishonoured and calumniated to the world. And so long as our different ranks of society remain apart so long as there is no common pursuit to bring them together; no common study to humanize their sympathies and harmonize their affections-so long will this be so ;-so long must England continue to be a nation of castes, classes, and factions, instead of an empire bold in the confidence, and strong in the might, of undivided and invincible unity !"

"That strain I heard was of a higher mood," pitched to a higher key than we usually hear from such a quarter, though we know no good reason why it should

We

be so. The encountering of a passage like this, amid the stormy columns of a political journal, comes upon us with the same feeling of refreshing relief with which we step aside from a hard dusty road to a grassy path, from whose elastic turf our step springs more lightly, over whose green bosom the air breathes more freshly, and where every object meets the sense through a subduing and softening medium, relieving the glare, and stilling the noise, which had oppressed and wearied us. wish it were oftener the case, that the conductors of our more influential journals of all parties, than whom there can be none better qualified by talent and education, and who occupy a position so secure that they incur little risk in leading, rather than following, the popular taste, indulged themselves in the relaxation of writings addressed more to men, in their widest and most enduring relations, and less to mere political partisans or opponents; that they sought to redeem from the service of party, and restore to their rightful employment, those talents and acquirements which were meant for mankind; that they threw themselves open to the ambition of being writers, not for a day or for an age, but for all time. There would be nothing in this inconsistent, so far as we can see, with the most zealous fulfilment of their duties as exponents and defenders of the views of the great parties in the state, as long at least as those duties continued to be worthy of having the energies of honourable and independent men employed upon them; while the good effect resulting from impregnating with the loftier elements of thought, a stream whose flow is so unintermitting, and which penetrates so deeply into every nook and corner of society, would be beyond our utmost power of estimating it.

We are not going to comment upon the article of The Times which we have quoted, but rather to follow out a train of thought of our own which it has suggested. We therefore do not here enter on the general question of the utility of Mechanics' Institutes and similar associations further than to express our agreement with the opinion of The Times, that everything in regard to them depends upon the conditions under which they subsist, and the management by which they are regulated. In themselves they are nothing more than a mere guarantee for a certain amount of mental activity, which may be valuable or mischievous according to the direction which is given to it. To decry them as necessarily and incurably mischievous, or to hold them up as the grand and unfailing instrument of social renovation, were equally unreasonable and untrue. Abstracted from their conditions and management, they can scarcely be said to have any moral quality at all; they have little or no spontaneous tendency either to good or to evil; they are but instruments-most powerful, it may be irresistible, instruments--but the effects of which are entirely dependent upon the manner in which they are employed. But this is not the subject upon which we wish at present to dwell.

There is no more indispensable qualification for the man who desires, in whatever sphere, to exercise a moral influence over society-whether as statesman, preacher, politician, or public writer-than the capacity to discern, and the disposition to recognise and acquiesce in, the inevitable facts of our condition, so that his efforts may be directed where they can be available for good, not wasted upon that which they are altogether powerless to affect. What Burke says of statesmanship, that it is the most eminent criterion of a wise government "well to know the best time and manner of yielding what it is impossible to keep," applies with equal truth to every mode of dealing with men in society. Natural forces may be directed and regulated-guided into channels in which their operation may be made subservient to the designs of the most enlightened philan