advanced life (though he was still in full fame, writing his Lives of the Poets), and Wilberforce in early life; at which epoch to each it was, that they were cotemporary. Their political creed was also much the same. There is doubtless more of approximation now between these two classes in England, than in Johnson's time, and prior to his time. Their still nearer approach might improve authors in their intercourse with the world, and strengthen literature and science in the circles of influence and power; each class lending aid to the other, as in all intercourses among the enlightened.'

Dining one day with the Duke of Wellington, and the conversation naturally turning to military matters, his Grace remarked that the British army was the most expensive in Europe, and the Dutch next. General Moreau was spoken of; who fell at Dresden. I said that when he was in the United States, I had once passed an evening in his company; and that he spoke of his sensations of delight on gaining his first victory, saying that he then 'felt on a level with his profession.' The Duke remarked, that were he to speak of his feelings when it had been his fortune to gain a battle, he would say that they had generally been painful; for there was grief for those who had fallen; and next, it imposed instantly the necessity of doing more, as no commander could remain quiet after victory; a larger view opened to him, often causing anxiety from the difficulties to be overcome for insuring further advantages. I said that it was a remark of Moreau's, made on the same occasion, that the fault with most commanders, however brave, was backwardness in taking the last step to bring on a battle, especially when armies were large, arising from deep moral anxiety; and, after all, the uncertainties of the issue. The Duke said it was a just remark. The Archduke Charles of Austria being spoken of, the Duke repeated in effect what I had heard him say to my distinguished countryman, General Harper, of Maryland-namely, that he probably had more military science than any of the generals of Europe cotemporary with him. The conversation proceeding, the Duke remarked, in this connexion, that a general might stand too much upon the rules of science while an engagement was going on; there could not be too much attention to them in all his arrangements beforehand, he said; but the battle once begun, the main thing to think of was hard fighting.''

6

In reference to the style of speaking in the House of Commons, Mr Rush quotes an observation he heard from Sir James Mackintosh, that the true light in which to consider it, was as animated conversation on public business,' and that it was rare for any speech to succeed in that body which was raised on any other basis.' This view of the matter was subsequently confirmed by Mr Canning:

'I mention to him Sir James Mackintosh's remark; he accedes to it; says it is true as a general rule, that their speaking must take conversation as its basis, rather than any thing studied or stately. The House was a business-doing body, and the speaking must conform to its character: it was jealous of ornament in debate, which, if it came at all, must come as without consciousness. There must be method also; but this should be felt in the effect, rather than seen in the manner; no formal divisions, set exordiums, or perorations, as the old rhetoricians taught, would do. First, and last, and every where, you must aim at reasoning; and if you could be eloquent, you might at any time, but not at an appointed time. To this effect he expressed himself, though I do injustice to his language. Foremost as a speaker in the House of Commons for his day, perhaps in its most brilliant sphere of oratory, I listened with interest whilst such a master casually alluded to its rules. I spoke of the House of Lords; remarking, that in that body, indeed, I had anticipated a style of speaking somewhat more like conversation, not only from its fewer numbers, but component materials; but that, to my observation, as yet its oratory seemed rather elaborate and ambitious, with much that would seem to indicate painstaking, in a degree be

yond that which I had witnessed in the House of Commons. He acquiesced; but added, that some of its chief speakers had been formed in the House of Commons. I replied, that perhaps that might account for what had also struck me so far, in listening to the debates of each House-namely, that the average speaking among the Peers was best. He agreed to it, as a present fact; remarking, that another reason perhaps was, that the House of Peers, for its numbers, was better stocked with men thoroughly educated.'

We shall conclude with the following entertaining account of the after-dinner pastimes at Gloucester House, then the residence of the lamented Canning :—

'It would not have been easy to assemble a company better fitted to make a dinner-party agreeable, or to have brought them together at a better moment. Parliament having just risen, Mr Canning, and his two colleagues of the cabinet, Mr Huskisson and Mr Robinson, seemed like birds let out of a cage. There was much small talk, some of it very sprightly. Ten o'clock arriving, with little disposition to rise from table, Mr Canning proposed that we should play Twenty Questions.' This was new to me and the other members of the diplomatic corps present, though we had all been a good while in England. The game consisted in endeavours to find out your thoughts by asking twenty questions. The questions were to be put plainly, though in the alternative if desired; the answers to be also plain and direct. The object of your thoughts not to be an abstract idea, or any thing so occult, or scientific, or technical, as not to be supposed to enter into the knowledge of the company; but something well known to the present day, or to general history. It might be any name of renown, ancient or modern, man or woman; or any work or memorial of art well known, but not a mere event, as a battle, for instance. These were mentioned as among the general rules of the game, serving to denote its character. It was agreed that Mr Canning, assisted by the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who sat next to him, should put the questions; and that I, assisted by Lord Granville, who sat next to me, should give the answers. Lord Granville and myself were, consequently, to have the thought or secret in common; and it was well understood, that the discovery of it, if made, was to be the fair result of mental inference from the questions and answers, not of signs passing, or hocus pocus of any description. With these as the preliminaries, and the parties sitting face to face, on opposite sides of the table, we began the battle.

First question (by Mr Canning).-Does what yea have thought of belong to the animal or vegetable kingdom? Answer-To the vegetable.

"Second question.-Is it manufactured, or unmanufactured? Manufactured.

Third.-Is it a solid or a liquid? A solid. [How could it be a liquid, said one of the company, slyly, unless vegetable soup!]

Fourth.-Is it a thing entire in itself, or in parts?

Entire.

'Ninth.-For ornament or use? Both. Tenth.-Has it any connexion with the person of the King? No.

Eleventh. Is it carried, or does it support itself! The former.

'Twelfth.-Does it pass by succession? [Neither Lord Granville nor myself being quite certain on this point, the question was not answered; but, as it was thought that the very hesitation to answer might serve to shed light upon the secret, it was agreed that the question should be counted as one, in the progress of the game.] "Thirteenth.-Was it used at the coronation? Yes.

"Fourteenth. In the Hall or Abbey ? Probably in both; certainly in the Hall.

Fifteenth.-Does it belong specially to the ceremony of the coronation, or is it used at other times? It is used at other times.

'Sixteenth.-Is it exclusively of a vegetable nature, or is it not, in some parts, a compound of a vegetable and a mineral? Exclusively of a vegetable nature.

'Seventeenth.-What is its shape? [This question was objected to as too particular; and the company inclining to think so, it was withdrawn; but Mr Canning saying it would be hard upon him to count it, as it was withdrawn, the decision was in his favour on that point, and it was not counted.]

Seventeenth (repeated).-Is it decorated or simple ? [We made a stand against this question also, as too particular; but the company not inclining to sustain us this time, I had to answer it, and said that it was simple.] Eighteenth.-Is it used in the ordinary ceremonial of the House of Commons or House of Lords? No. 'Nineteenth. Is it ever used by either House? No. Twentieth.-Is it generally stationary or movable? Movable. The whole number of questions being now exhausted, there was a dead pause. The interest had gone on increasing as the game advanced, until, coming to the last question, it grew to be like neck-and-neck at the close of a race. Mr Canning was evidently under concern lest he should be foiled, as by the law of the game he would have been, if he had not now solved the enigma. He sat silent for a minute or two; then, rolling his rich eye about, and with his countenance a little anxious, and in an accent by no means over-confident, he exclaimed, 'I think it must be the wand of the Lord High-Steward!' And it was-EVEN SO. This wand is a long, plain, white staff, not much thicker than your middle finger, and, as such, justifies all the answers given. In answering the ninth question, Lord Granville and I, who conferred together in a whisper as to all answers not at once obvious, remembered that some quaint old English writers say that the Lord High-Steward carried his staff to beat off intruders from his Majesty's treasury! When at the twelfth, Mr Canning illustrated the nature of his question by referring to the rod of the Lord Chamberlain, which he said did not pass by succession, each new incumbent procuring, as he supposed, a new one for himself, I said that it was not the Lord Chamberlain's rod; but the very mention of this was 'burning,' as children say when they play hide-and-seek; and in answering that it was not, I had to take care of my emphasis. The questions were not put in the rapid manner in which they will be read; but sometimes after considerable intervals, not of silence -for they were enlivened by occasional remarks thrown in by the company, all of whom grew intent upon the pastime as it advanced, though Mr Canning alone put the [ questions, and I alone gave out the answers. It lasted upwards of an hour, the wine ceasing to go round. On Mr Canning's success, for it was touch-and-go with him, there was a burst of approbation, we of the diplomatic corps saying, that we must be very careful not to let him ask us too many questions at the Foreign Office, lest he should find out every secret that we had!'

FORGET ME NOT.

You know those little wild flowers, with pale bluecoloured petals and green-pointed leaves, that are found growing on the margins of rivers and lakes, their roots in the water-which the least breath of air agitates, and the rippling of the current frets into motion. Botanists have named them Myosotis Scorpioides. The following is the reason why they are called Vergis mein nicht; that is to say,Forget me not.' There is a tomb at Mayence, the name engraved on it being long since worn out; it is used for the same purpose that, in the early age of Christendom, the Potter's Field was applied to-namely, to bury strangers in. But the general belief is, that it belonged

in times past to a German minstrel, musician, and poet, whose family name is now no longer on record. He was called Henreich, and his verses (none of which, we believe, exist at this day) being always in praise of the fair,' and above all, of her he was wont to call 'Mary,' he was surnamed Henreich Frauenlob-which signifies, the woman's poet.' When Henreich took his departure from Mayence, depressed and poor in circumstances, to try his fortune in a foreign land, alone and without friends, save his romances and talents, he left behind him a young girl-one who looked forward with the fondest solicitude for his return; watching the elements on all stormy nights, pale and oppressed at heart, and who, at such times, unceasingly prayed for him. If we desire the cares, the loves, the charities of human nature, they must be looked for in woman. After a tedious and painful absence of more than three years, Henreich returned, rich and of good reputation. But before his arrival Mary had heard the name of her lover much talked of in the town of Mayence, and always mixed up with praise and admiration of his great genius and virtues: but a noble confidence and well-grounded affection told her that neither profit nor glory could impart half as much joy to her friend as the first welcome from the maiden who had constantly borne him in mind, and had waited so long.

When Henreich saw afar off the smoke ascend from the houses of the town, he stopped, overcome with emotion, and, sitting down on a grass bank of the river, gave vent to a simple but melancholy strain, not unmingled with sensations of pleasure. 'Tis said, 'The melody

Of his small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound.' The next day, towards sunset, the bells of the church of Mayence rang a cheerful peal, announcing, it should seem, the intended nuptials of Henreich and Mary, which were to take place the following morning. At this moment the lovers were walking in the long shady alley that winds beside the shelving borders of the Rhine. They sat down on a carpet of 'gay green' sward, and passed long and fugitive moments, looking at one another in silence-so full were their hearts, and so inexpressible by words were their feelings.

The purple glow which the setting sun had left on the horizon, was now burning pale and yellow, and the deep shades of twilight were advancing from one end of heaven to the other. Both seemed to feel that it was time to return. Mary, wishing to preserve the recollection of this happy day, pointed with her hand to some of those little blue flowers which were growing upon the banks of the river. Henreich, readily conceiving her meaning, gathered some of these flowers, but, in so doing, his foot slipped, and he was immersed in the water. Twice was the river stirred into motion, and twice he re-appeared, struggling for life, his eye-balls starting from his head with beamless stare,' and twice did the insatiate element engulph its victim. He would have cried out, but the waters choked him. At the second time of reaching the surface, he turned a last look on the bank where he had left Mary standing, and raising one arm, he threw her the flowers (which a nervous contraction still retained in his hand), but this movement again overwhelmed him— and

'A dreary giddiness dissolved his brain.'

The river holds on its course, and 'turns in black eddies round'-the waters closed on him, and in an instant became smooth and confluent as a mirror! Then all was still, as if the fearful chasm had just been made a grave' as if the spirits of doom had been appeased by a sacrifice!'

Thus perished Henreich Frauenlob.

Poor Mary continued a spinster, and died one of the sisters of a religious community. They have translated the eloquent but speechless adieu of Henreich, and named the little blue flower, Vergis mein nicht; that is to say, Forget me not.'-Odd Fellow.

CONSECRATION TO GOD.

I must give God the body, I must give God the soul. I give him the body, if I clothe the tongue with his praises-if I yield not my members as instruments of unrighteousness-if I suffer not the fires of unhallowed passion to light up mine eye, nor the vampire of envy to suck the colour from my cheek-if I profane not my hands with the gains of ungodliness-if I turn away mine ear from the scoffer, and keep under every appetite, and wrestle with every lust-making it palpable that I consider each limb as not destined to corruption, but intended for illustrious service, when, at the trumpet-blast of the resurrection, the earth's sepulchres shall be riven. And I give God the soul, when the understanding is reverently turned on the investigations of celestial truth-when the will is reduced to meek compliance with the Divine will --and when all the affections move so harmoniously with the Lord's, that they fasten on the objects which occupy his. Rev. H. Melvill.

AN OBJECT OF ENVY.

I have no propensity to envy any one, least of all the rich and great; but if I were disposed to this weakness, the subject of my envy would be a healthy young man in full possession of his strength and faculties, going forth in a morning to work for his wife and children, or bringing them home his wages at night.-Paley.

TASTE FOR THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE.

Deficiency of fancy and sensibility is unfortunate amidst a creation infinitely rich with grand and beautiful objects, which, imparting something more than images to a mind adapted and habituated to converse with nature, inspire an exquisite sentiment that seems like the emanation of a spirit residing in them. It is unfortunate, I have thought within these few minutes, while looking out on one of the most enchanting nights of the most interesting season of the year, and hearing the voices of a company of persons, to whom, I can perceive, this soft and solemn shade over the earth, the calm sky, the beautiful stripes of cloud, the stars and waning moon just risen, are things not in the least more interesting than the walls, ceiling, and candlelight of a room.-Rev. J. Foster.

BURNS' POEMS.

Burns' pictures of human life and of the world are of a mental as well as national kind. His 'Twa Dogs' prove that happiness is not unequally diffused: 'Scotch Drink' gives us fireside enjoyments: the Earnest Cry and Prayer' shows the keen eye which humble people cast on their rulers: the Auld Mare' and the Address to Maillie' enjoin, by the most simple and touching examples, kindness and mercy to dumb creatures: the 'Holy Fair' desires to curb the licentiousness of those who seek amusement instead of holiness in religion: 'Man was made to mourn' exhorts the strong and the wealthy to be mindful of the weak and the poor: 'Hallowe'en' shows us superstition in a domestic aspect: 'Tam o' Shanter' adorns popular belief with humorous terror, and helps us to laugh old dreads away: the 'Mouse' in its weakness contrasts with man in his strength, and preaches to us the instability of happiness on earth: while the 'Mountain Daisy' pleads with such moral pathos the cause of the flowers of the field, sent by God to adorn the earth for man's pleasure, that our feet have pressed less ungraciously on the 'wee modest crimson-tipped flower' since his song was written. Others of his poems have a still grander reach. The 'Vision' reveals the poet's plan of Providence, proves the worth of eloquence, bravery, honesty, and beauty, and that even the rustic bard himself is a useful and ornamental link in the great chain of being. The Cottar's Saturday Night' connects us with the invisible world, and shows that domestic peace, faithful love, and patriotic feelings, are, of earthly things, most akin to the joys of heaven; while the Elegy on Matthew Henderson' unites human nature in a bond of sympathy with the stars of the sky, the fowls of the air, the beasts of the field, the flowery vale, and the lonely mountain.-Allan Cunningham.

SIMPLE TASTES.

Knowledge, so far from being incompatible with simplicity of pleasure, is the quickest to perceive its wealth. Chaucer would lie for hours looking at the daisies. Scipio and Lælius would amuse themselves with making ducks and drakes in the water. Epaminondas, the greatest of all the active spirits of Greece, was a fluteplayer and a dancer. Alfred the Great could act the whole part of a minstrel. Epicurus taught the riches of temperance and intellectual pleasures in a garden. The other philosophers of his country walked between heaven and earth in the colloquial bowers of Academus; and the wiser heart of Solomon, who found every thing vain because he was a king, has left us panegyrics on the spring, and the voice of the turtle, because he was a poet, a lover, and a wise man.

VARIETIES OF EXCELLENCE.

Very excellent men excel in different ways: the most radiant stones may differ in colour when they do not in value.-Howe.

SONNET S.

SUMMER.

Her spouse the sun, her ministers the showers,
Sce Summer comes! Beneath her feet more green
Grows the green earth; and, as she bids, the bowers
Put on more lavishly their leafy screen,
While all the gorgeous regiment of flowers
Don their bright colours for the Seasons' Queen.
All sights and sounds of joyaunce with her come:
Skies of serenest blue and glassy seas,

The birds' blithe carol and the insects hum,
The kindly sunshine and the cooling breeze,
Romantic glade, and wood, and waterfall-

These God hath given perennial power to please:
Please shall they ever-never shall they pall,
But still to gentle souls grow dearer, one and all.

BEAUTY.

Oh! what is Beauty? Strays it o'er the check
On which the rose and lily blend their hue?
Or say must we the subtle essence seek

In eye of burning black or bonny blue?'
In pouting lips that kisses seem to sue,
Long shady lash, or brow of peerless snow?

Lurks it in laughing dimples mirth that woo? Search, if you list, them all. Hast found it? No. Then what is beauty? 'Tis the apparent soul

That bids the eloquent blood" in blushes glow— The expressive power that causeth woman's eye Kindle with love's soft light, with pity's tear o'erflow 'Tis that which gains the captive heart's control, And makes a living thing of cold dead statuary.

MILTON'S BLINDNESS.

It is clear that, by whatever argument the poet might reconcile himself to his blindness, there were moments when he felt most bitterly the deprivation. In his poverty he could not employ a skilful and learned amanuensis, who could take down his expressions with facility: the aid and consolation of books, except at the mercy of others, were shut to him. He grieved for the loss of that outward view of the face of nature in which he had delighted: he could no longer roam alone at his own will amid the woods, and forests, and green fields: he sat of a sunny morning in his house-porch enjoying the fresh air; but this was in a suburb of the great city, in a confined garden: the freedom of limb, the exhilaration of boundary exercise, the breasting of the blowing wind, the charge of the fresh breeze, which varies with each contending step, were not his! 'Oh, dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon!'-Sir E. Brydges, Bart.

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