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ing that the man as has 'em is a kind of happy conjuror, that can talk when he likes with all sorts of good spirits, and never think a flea-bite of half the rubbish in the world about him."

Jem had scarcely uttered this hopeful sentence, when young St. James ran in, quickly followed by Mr. Folder."Yes, yes," cried the child, all happiness," papa says I must forgive him, as we ought always to forgive one another-and you 're to tell him from me that he 's to be a good boy and never do so again."

"Bless your sweet heart!" cried Bright Jem, and the tears sprang to his eyes. The muffin maker said nothing, but coughed and bowed.

come and hab some wine." And then in a still lower tone-"Give you bottle for yuself.”

To this invitation, Capstick made no answer; but having looked up and down at the black, strode to the door. Bright Jem nodded-uttered a brief good morning, and followed his companion into the street, leaving Cesar Gum-who had wholly forgotten Jem's previous indignation at the peculated gunpowder-in astonishment at his rejected hospitality.

"We'll now go to Bow-street," said Capstick ; and fast as they could walk, they took their way to that abode of justice. They arrived there only a few minutes before the arraignment of young St. Giles at the bar; where he stood, in his own conceit, a miniature Turpin.

"There, I think, Mr. Capstick," said Folder in a low voice, "there, I think, is a future treasure for the borough. I trust you 'll not let this "Where are the witnesses-who makes the little story be lost on the good folks of Liquorish. charge?" There were no witnesses. Again and Nobody will appear against the culprit, and there- again his worship put the question. And then he fore take him, and if you can, among you make a said, "No one is here who knows anything of the bright man of him. Good morning, Mr. Cap-matter. The prisoner must be discharged. Boy, stick-good morning," and Folder bowed the vis- don't let me see you here again." Young St. itors from the room. Bright Jem paused at the Giles put his thumb and finger to his hair, jerked door, and looking back at the child cried, "God a bow, and in a few moments was free-free as bless you every day of your life." the air of Hog-lane.

Jem and Capstick followed him into the street. The muffin-maker seizing him, cried-" You little rascal! What do you say for your lucky escape?"

Jem and the muffin-maker were about to quit the house, when they were accosted by Cesar Gum in the hall. In a confidential whisper he said "Come and take some turkey and wine for lunch prime Madeary-den we can go to jail for "Say!" answered young St. Giles-"Why, tief: dreadful ting, taking oder people's goods-I know'd it was all gammon-I know'd they could prove nothin' agin me."

DOGS' SCENT FOR GAME.-There is a notion that, dogs lose their scent or smell for game-birds during the season of incubation. That, however, says a correspondent of the Gardener's Chronicle, I consider to be wrong. I think it is more likely that the birds lose, or rather do not emit, scent or smell during the time in question; hence the notion. I mentioned this to a gentleman well acquainted with dogs and game, and he told me the following in favor of what I have advanced. He was once aware of a partridge's nest that was "hard set upon" near where a party of gipsies had fixed their abode, and although they had three dogs with them, yet the wary bird led off her brood three days afterwards. There must be some truth in what I have stated, otherwise the smell from the bird on the nest would have led the prowling dogs upon her. If my views on this subject are correct, it shows a wise provision of Nature to protect birds from harm during incubation; for if it were not so, they must often fall a prey to canine enemies. It may be asked, how does it happen that birds do not emit smell while sitting on eggs? That may be owing to the habits or conditions of birds being changed; for during the time of incubation, they lose in a great measure all thought of self-preservation.

From the Christian Observer.
WITH AN ALMANAC.

Ir an almanac teach us that life wears away,
It tells us how short-lived our sorrow;

If it register joys that must quickly decay,
It points out far brighter to-morrow.

For then, when the grave shall conclude the brief

year

Of earth-born vexations and pleasures,
To the Christian, uprising aloft from the bier,
New worlds shall but open new treasures.
May the lot then be thine both portions to know,
That to mortals or seraphs are given;
On earth every blessing that earth can bestow,
With reversion of blessings in heaven.

ABBA FATHER!

"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise."

Ar an examination of a deaf and dumb insti

tution some years ago in London a little boy was asked, in writing, who made the world?

He took the chalk and wrote underneath the words

"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth."

The clergyman then inquired in a similar man

ner

"Why did Jesus Christ come into the world?" of the little fellow, as he wroteA smile of gratitude rested on the countenance

"This is a faithful saying, worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners."

A third was then proposed, evidently adapted to call the most powerful feelings into exercise

"Why were you born deaf and dumb, when I can hear and speak?"

"Never," says an eye-witness, "shall I forget the look of resignation which sat upon his countenance, as he again took the chalk and wroteEven so Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight."

66

From Chambers' Journal.

MORNINGS WITH THOMAS CAMPBELL.

It was on a fine morning in May, 1840, that I first called on Mr. Campbell. He then lived in chambers, No. 61, Lincoln's Inn Fields, up two pairs of stairs. He had offered to act as cicerone, and show me the lions of London: and it was with no small pride and pleasure that I repaired to the spot, where he was so often to be seen pacing up and down in solitary meditation. He was always a great walker, and this habit continued with him to the last. I found on the outer door of his rooms, below the brass knocker, a slip of paper on which was written, in his neat classicallike hand, this curious announcement-" Mr. Campbell is particularly engaged, and cannot be seen till past two o'clock." As he had expressly mentioned that I should call between nine and ten o'clock, I concluded that this prohibition could not be meant to be universal, and resolved to hazard an application. He received me with great kindness, and explained that the announcement on his door was intended to scare away a bore, who had been annoying him with some manuscripts, and would neither take a refusal nor brook delay. The poet was break fasting in his sitting-room, which was filled with books, and had rather a showy appearance. The carpet and tables were littered with stray volumes, letters, and papers; whence I inferred that his housemaid was forbidden to interfere with the arrangements of his sanctum. At this time he was, like Charles Lamb, a worshipper of the " great plant," and tobacco pipes were mingled with the miscellaneous literary wares. A large print of the queen hung near the fire-place, the gilded frame of which was covered with lawn paper. He drew my attention to the picture, and said it had been presented to him by her majesty. He valued it highly money could not buy it from me," he remarked. In another part of the room was a painting of a little country girl, with a coarse shawl of network pulled over her head and shoulders. The girl was represented as looking out below the shawl with a peculiarly arch and merry expression, something like Sir Joshua Reynolds' Puck. He seemed to dote upon this picture, praised the arch looks of the "sly little minx," and showed me some lines which he had written upon her. These he afterwards published; but as they are comparatively little known, and are not unworthy of his genius, I subjoin them :

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Than any shawl from Cashmere's loom.
Thou hast not to adorn thee, girl,
Flower, link of gold, or gem, or pearl-
I would not let a ruby speck

The peeping whiteness of thy neck:
Thou need'st no casket, witching elf,
No gaud-thy toilet is thyself;
Not even a rose-bud from the bower,
Thyself a magnet, gem, and flower.
My arch and playful little creature,
Thou hast a mind in every feature ;
Thy brow with its disparted locks,
Speaks language that translation mocks ;
Thy lucid eyes so beam with soul,
They on the canvass seem to roll-
Instructing both my head and heart
To idolize the painter's art.

He marshals minds to Beauty's feast-
He is Humanity's high priest,

Who proves by heavenly forms on earth,
How much this world of ours is worth.
Inspire me, child, with visions fair!
For children, in creation, are

The only things that could be given
Back, and alive-unchanged-to Heaven."

The verses were written on folio paper, the lines wide apart, to leave room for correction-for Campbell, it is well known, was a laborious and fastidious corrector. The passion for children which he here evinces, led sometime afterwards to a ludicrous circumstance. He saw a fine child, about four years old, one day walking with her nurse in the park; and on his return home, he could not rest for thinking of his "child sweetheart," as he called her, and actually sent an advertisement to the Morning Chronicle, making inquiries after his juvenile fascinator, giving his own address, and stating his age to be sixty-two! The incident illustrates the intensity of his affections, as well as the liveliness of his fancy-for, alas! the poet had no home-object to dwell upon, to concentrate his hopes and his admiration. Several hoaxes were played off on the susceptible poet in consequence of this singular advertisement. One letter directed him to the house of an old maid, by whom he was received very cavalierly. He told his story-but "the wretch," as he used to say, with a sort of peevish humor, "had never heard either of him or his poetry!"

When I had read the lines, Mr. Campbell retired for a few minutes. "You can look over the books," he said, "till I return." Who has not felt the pleasure of looking over the shelves of a

"ON GETTING HOME THE PORTRAIT OF A FEMALE CHILD, SIX library, with all their varied and interesting asso

YEARS OLD, PAINTED BY BUGENIO LATILLA.

Type of the cherubim above,
Come, live with me, and be my love!
Smile from my wall, dear roguish sprite,
By sun-shine and by candle-light;
For both look sweetly on thy traits;
Or, were the Lady Moon to gaze,
She'd welcome thee with lustre bland,
Like some young fay from fairy-land.
Cast in simplicity's own mould,
How canst thou be so manifold
In sportively-distracting charms?
Thy lips-thine eyes-thy little arms
That wrap thy shoulders and thy head,
In homeliest shawl of netted thread,
Brown woollen network; yet it seeks
Accordance with thy lovely cheeks,
And more becomes thy beauty's bloom

ciations? The library of a man of genius, too, has peculiar attraction, for it seems to admit us to his familiar thoughts, tastes, and studies. Campbell's library was not very extensive. There were some good old editions of the classics, a set of the Biographie Universelle, some of the French, Italian, and German authors, the Edinburgh Encyclopædia (to which he had been a large contributor) and several standard English works, none very modern. He did not care much to keep up with the literature of the day; and his chief delight was when not occupied with any task-to lounge, in his careless indolent way, over some old favorite author that came recommended to him by early recollections. He occasionally made marginal notes on the books he read. I happened to take down the first volume of "The Beauties of English Poesy, selected by Oliver Goldsmith,"

1767. On the blank leaf of this unfortunate com- | to it for nearly forty years, and am not yet reconpilation Campbell had written the fact, that, "poor ciled to it." He certainly seemed uneasy when Goldy" had inserted among his "Beauties" de- within the full sound of the great Babel and her signed for young readers, Prior's stories of Hans interminable roar. When we got to a quiet alley Carvel and the Ladle. "The circumstance," he or court he breathed more freely, and talked of added, "is as good as the tales, besides having the literature. He expressed his regret at having advantage of being true." I may here remark, edited Shakspeare, or rather written his life for a that Mr. Campbell could scarcely ever read Gold- popular edition of the dramas, as he had done it smith's poetry without shedding tears. hurriedly, though with the right feeling. "What a glorious fellow Shakspeare must have been," said he; "Walter Scott was fine, but had a worldly twist. Shakspeare must have been just the man to live with." He spoke with affection and high respect of Lord Jeffrey. "Jeffrey,' said he, "will be quite happy now. As a judge, he has nothing to do but seek and follow truth. As an advocate, he must often have had to support cases at which his moral nature revolted." Talking of Jeffrey's criticism, I instanced his review of Campbell's Specimens of the Poets, which is copious, eloquent, and discriminating. "You must

The poet soon returned from his dressing-room. He was generally careful as to dress, and had none of Dr. Johnson's indifference to fine linen. His wigs (of which he had a great number) were always nicely adjusted, and scarcely distinguishable from natural hair; while about an inch of whisker on the cheek was colored with some dark powder, to correspond with the wig. His appearance was interesting and handsome. Though rather below the middle size, he did not seem little; and his large dark eye and countenance altogether bespoke great sensibility and acuteness. His thin quivering lip and delicate nostril were have taken great pains with some of the lives," I highly expressive. When he spoke, as Leigh said. "I did," he replied, "yet they say I am Hunt has remarked, dimples played about his lazy. There is a washy, wordy style of criticism, mouth, which nevertheless had something re- and of telling facts, which looks specious, and imstrained and close in it, as if some gentle Puritan poses on many I wanted, above all things, to had crossed the breed, and left a stamp on his avoid that." "You might perhaps have added to face, such as we often see in the female Scotch your specimens with advantage. Part of Thomface rather than the male." He had, like Milton, son's Seasons for example, might have been a "delicate tunable voice," its high notes being given, as well as the first canto of the Castle of somewhat sharp and painful. When a youth, Indolence.' "The Castle of Indolence is a gloCampbell was singularly beautiful, which, added rious poem," was his only answer. It must be to the premature development of his taste and gen- admitted that in his selections from the poets Mr. ius, made him an object of great interest. A few Campbell sometimes betrays the waywardness literary persons still survive (Joanna Baillie among and caprice of a man of genius; but his critithe number) who knew him at this period, and cism is invariably sound, and his style of narraremember him, like a vision of youth, with great tive picturesque and graceful. "Spenser," he enthusiasm. He was early in flower-the fruit, continued, "is too prolix-his allegory too properhaps, scarcely corresponding (at least in quan- tracted. Here Thomson, from the nature of his tity) with the richness of the blossom. Campbell subject, had the advantage. What a fine picture was quite sensible of his interesting appearance, is that of Spenser reading the Fairy Queen to and was by no means disposed to become venera- Raleigh on the green beside his Irish castle! ble. He cared little for the artist who copied na- Raleigh such a noble fellow, and Spenser so sweet ture exactly. Lawrence painted and Baily sculp- a poet; and the country so savage, with its Irish tured him en beau. Late in life he sat to Park, kernes and wild Desmonds, with their saffronthe sculptor, but he would not take off his wig; colored kilts and flowing hair!" And the kindand the bust (a true and vigorous one) was no ling poet quoted some of Spenser's linesespecial favorite because of its extreme fidelity. In personal neatness and fastidiousness, no less than in genius and taste, Campbell, in his best days, resembled Gray. Each was distinguished by the same careful finish in composition, the same classical predilections and lyrical fire, rarely but strikingly displayed. In ordinary life they were both somewhat finical, yet with great freedom and idiomatic plainness in their unreserved communications; Gray's being evinced in his letters, and Campbell's in conversation. Gray was more studious of his dignity; Campbell often acted rashly from the impulse of the moment, careless of consequences. When the late Mr. Telford, the engineer, remonstrated with him on the inexpediency of contracting an early marriage, he said gaily, "When shall I be better off? I have fifty pounds, and six months' work at the Encyclopædia!" To these personal nuga I may add, that his Scottish accent was not strongly-marked, and did not detract from his point and elegance either as a lecturer or converser.

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"I sat, as was my trade,

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Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar, Keeping my sheep amongst the cooly shade Of the green alders by the Mulla's shore." "The Mole," said Campbell," is the Balligowra hills, and the Mulla is the Awbeg river: they should change the names, making Spenser godfather. With equal poetical grace Spenser calls Raleigh the Shepherd of the Ocean,' and the Summer's Nightingale, both fine characteristic appellations. I like the last particularly, for Raleigh was really a poet, and he planted all about his house at Youghal with myrtles and sweetsmelling plants. Spenser's place, Kilcolman Castle, was only a few miles from Youghal, and no doubt they saw many sunsets together." Campbell was here on a congenial theme, and I am tempted to quote what he has said so eloquently and picturesquely on the same subject in his Speci

mens:

We shortly sallied out. Mr. Campbell was "When we conceive Spenser reciting his comrather nervous, and hesitated at the street cross-positions to Raleigh in a scene so beautifully apings. I said the noise of London was intolerable, propriate, the mind casts a pleasing retrospect but that long usage must reconcile people to it. over that influence which the enterprise of the "Never with some," said he: "I have been used discoverer of Virginia, and the genius of the author

of the Fairy Queen, have respectively produced of spring, the rookery, which during the continuon the fortune and language of England. The ance of winter seemed to have been deserted, or fancy might even be pardoned for a momentary only guarded by about five or six, like old soldiers superstition, that the genius of their country hov- in a garrison, now begins to be once more freered, unseen, over their meeting, casting her first quented; and in a short time all the bustle and look of regard on the poet that was destined to hurry of business is fairly commenced." inspire her future Milton, and on the other on the maritime hero who paved the way for colonizing distant regions of the earth, where the language of England was to be spoken, and the poetry of Spenser to be admired."

This would form a fine painting in the hands of Maclise, or some other poet-spirited artist. Only a few fragments of Spenser's castle remain, matted with ivy; but the situation is still lonely and beautiful-undefaced by any incongruous images or associations. Some of Raleigh's myrtles have also been preserved, and his house still stands. The melancholy fate of both these great men deepens the interest with which we regard their residences. The poet, as is well known, was driven from Kilcolman by a furious band of rebels, who set fire to the castle, burning an infant child in the ruins, and causing, within a few months, from melancholy and despair, the death of the gifted Spenser. Raleigh was sacrificed to the cruelty and cupidity of James I. Let us drop a tear over their sad and chequered history, and thank God that genius, taste, and enterprise, now flourish under milder suns and happier influences!

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Campbell was keenly alive to such impressions, and loved to tread as it were in the footsteps of the departed great. He regretted that only one of Milton's London houses should be left-one occupied by him when Latin secretary in Westminster. This house looks into St. James' Park, and is situated in York-street (No. 18,) in a poor and squalid neighborhood; but it was then "a pretty garden-house, next door to the Lord Scudamore's. Milton occupied it eight years-from 1651 to 1659. We went also to Dryden's last residence, in Gerrard-street, Soho. Here "glorious John" wrote his magnificent Ode and his Fables, and here he died on May morning, 1700. The house is a respectable old-fashioned dwelling. It was formerly occupied by a comely dame-a Wife of Bath-who dealt in contraband laces, gloves, &c. The late Lord Holland often called to see the interior; but the cautious mistress, presuming that his portly and comfortable presence was that of a custom-house officer or other government functionary, kept the door in her hand, and steadily rejected the solicitations of the peer. Windmill-street, where Sir Richard Steele ran off on seeing the bailiff, is in the close vicinity, and the incidents are, in character and 'keeping, not unlike each other. There was also Congreve's house at Surrey-street, in the Strand; Johnson's famous residence in Bolt Court, Fleet-street, (now profaned, as he would deem it, by its conversion into a printing-office for a dissenters' newspaper,) and poor Goldsmith's chambers in the Temple, No. 2, Brick Court. His rooms were on the right hand ascending the staircase (as the faithful Mr. Prior relates in his Memoir,) and consisted of three apartments. These are now occupied by a solicitor, who pens law papers in the room where Goldy wrote his plays, or watched the rooks cawing about the time-honored court and garden.

"I have," he says in his Animated Nature, "often amused myself with observing their plan of policy from my window in the Temple, that looks upon a grove where they have made a colony in the midst of the city. At the commencement

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And there they still bustle and hurry in spring, while Goldsmith sleeps without a stone in the Temple burying-ground. The poet's apartments were looked upon as airy and even splendid in their day. The walls are wainscotted, but have now a dingy appearance. Their occupant was thought to have spent an unnecessarily large sum (£400) in furnishing them, yet the sale catalogue (printed by Prior) shows only one department of profuse expenditure-one highly characteristic of the poet's principle foible, personal vanity. He had only one bed, one sofa, and a moderate complement of necessaries, but he had two oval glasses, gilt frames," "two ditto, two light girandoles,' a very large dressing-glass, mahogany frame," and "a three-plate bordered chimneyglass, gilt frame." In this multiplicity of mirrors the poet could dress and admire his little undignified person, arrayed in his bloom-colored coat and blue silk breeches. Goldsmith, though contemned and laughed at in his day, and held far inferior to his illustrious friend Johnson, now overtops the whole of that brilliant circle in real popularity and genuine fame. "The wonder is," as Campbell remarked, "how one leading so strange a life from his youth upwards, could have stored his mind with so much fine knowledge, taste, and imagery. His essays are full of thought, and overflow with choice and beautiful illustration."

"Have you been to Windsor?" asked Mr. Campbell. I replied that I had, and spoke of the magnificence of the palace and the parks. " Ay," said he, "the old oaks-the noble old oaks. Did you notice how they spread out their gnarled roots and branches, laying hold of the earth with their talons?" and he put out his clenched hand to help the expression of his vigorous and poetical image. All Scotchmen visiting London in spring should go, he said, a night or two to Windsor, Kew, or Richmond, to hear the nightingale. It was also heard in full voice in the grove around Sion House, the seat of the Duke of Northumberland. He thought Milton's description of the nightingale's note correct as well as rich—

The Attic bird

Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.

He maintained, also, with Chaucer and Charles James Fox, (a singular juxtaposition,) that the nightingale's note was a merry one, and "though Theocritus mentions nightingales six or seven times, he never mentions their note as plaintive or melancholy." Because it is heard in the silence of the night, generally when we are alone, and amidst the gloom of thick woods, we attach melancholy associations to it. "For pure English nature, feeling, and expression, read Dryden. He is the best informer and expositor." We must understand this as applicable to Dryden's late productions-not his rhyming tragedies and stiff quatrains, which are anything but natural or pleasing.

In the course of our ramble, we called on the poet's namesake, Mr. Thomas Campbell, the sculptor. In looking through the studio, I had occasion to notice the excessive admiration with which he regarded beauty of form and expression A female bust absolutely entranced him. There

66

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was no tearing him away from it. The fascination From the museum we proceeded to the house was as complete as in the instance of the "Child of Mr. Rogers, in St. James' Place. The venSweetheart." This did not seem to be equally erable author of "The Pleasures of Memory" the case with pictures. We were afterwards in gave his brother bard a courteous and kind recepthe National Gallery, and I did not notice any tion. He seemed delighted to see him. "Mr. peculiar susceptibility to the beauties of the few Rogers," said the younger of the poets, "I have very fine pictures in the collection. The charm taken the liberty to bring a friend from the counof the rounded contour, and the effect of the lucid try to see your house, as I was anxious he should marble, in works of sculpture, no doubt, formed not leave London without this gratification." Mr. part of the spell. In his Life of Mrs. Siddons, Rogers shook me cordially by the hand, and said Campbell has recorded his impressions on first see- every friend of Mr. Campbell's was welcome. ing the Apollo Belvidere in the Louvre; and as But, Campbell," added he, "I must teach you the passage is one of the few really worthy of him to speak English properly." [Here the sensitive in that memoir, and illustrates the peculiarity al- poet stared and reined up a little.] "You must luded to, I shall extract it :not abuse that excellent word liberty, as you have "From the farthest end of the spacious room, done on this occasion." We now looked over the god seemed to look down, like a president, the pictures, and works of art-a marvellous colon the chosen assembly of sculptured forms; lection for so small a depository! Mrs. Jameson, and his glowing marble, unstained by time, ap- Miss Sedgwick, and others, have described the peared to my imagination as if he had stepped classic mansion in St. James' Place. The hospifreshly from the sun. I had seen casts of the tality of Rogers is proverbial-his breakfasts are glorious statue with scarcely any admiration; and famous. Indeed, the poet has the credit of estabmust undoubtedly impute that circumstance, in lishing the breakfast-party as a link in London part, to my inexperience in art, and to my taste society. He "refined it first, and showed its having till then lain torpid. But still I prize the use.' Mornings in St. James' Place are scarcely recollected impressions of that day too dearly to inferior to the "delicious lobster nights" of Pope. call them fanciful. They seemed to give my mind With the poet of memory, manners the most bland a new sense of the harmony of art-a new visual and courteous are, even to strangers, united to the power of enjoying beauty. Nor is it mere fancy fullest and freest communication of thought and that makes the difference between the Apollo him- opinion. His delicacy of feeling and expression, self and his plaster casts. The dead whiteness of and his refined taste, are indeed remarkable; but, the stucco copies is glaringly monotonous, whilst in place of rendering him miserable, as Byron has the diaphanous surface of the original seems to surmised, I should say they contributed to his hapsoften the light which it reflects. Every particular piness and enjoyment. His life has been long and feeling of that hour is written indelibly on my prosperous, and his relish of it seems unabated: memory. I remember entering the Louvre with he has had a "latter spring," lusty and vigorous. a latent suspicion on my mind that a good deal of the rapture expressed at the sight of superlative sculptures was exaggerated or affected; but as we passed through the passage of the hall, there was a Greek figure, I think that of Pericles, with a chlamys and helmet, which John Kemble desired me to notice; and it instantly struck me with wonder at the gentlemanlike grace which art could give to a human form with so simple a vesture. It was not, however, until we reached the grand saloon that the first sight of the god overawed my incredulity. Every step of approach to his presence added to my sensations, and all recollections of his name in classic poetry swarmed on my mind as spontaneously as the associations that are conjured up by the sweetest music."

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No person perhaps possesses so many literary relics and curiosities as Mr. Rogers. The beautiful manuscripts of Gray, written with a crow-quill pen, are among his treasures. In his libraryfrained and glazed-is the celebrated agreement between Milton and his publisher for the copyright of Paradise Lost. The great poet's signature, though he was then old and blind, "fallen upon evil days," is singularly neat and distinct. He has also a bust of Pope, the clay model by Roubiliac. My father," said Mr. Rogers, by the side of Pope when Roubiliac was modelling that part of the drapery." A bust of Pope, enriched by such associations, is indeed valuable. The features are larger than the common prints represent. I had seen an original painting of him, We next went to the British Museum. I had taken when he was ten or twelve years younger, previously seen the Elgin marbles and other works by Jervas, but it is greatly inferior in expression. of art, and Mr. Campbell proposed that we should Here we had Pope calm, thoughtful, penetrating, just glance at the library. He sent in his card to somewhat wasted by age, disease and study, but Sir Henry Ellis, who came and conducted us still the clear fine thinker and man of genius. Mr. through the rooms. The poet was warm in his Rogers showed us also an original sketch by Raadmiration of the large room. Sir Henry said phael, for which, if we recollect right, he said the there were about 300,000 volumes in the library. Marquis of Westminster had offered him as much The Louvre contains 700,000 or 800,000; but land as would serve for a villa! Autograph letsingle pamphlets or thin volumes are counted sepa-ters, "rich and rare,' ," abound in Mr. Rogers' rerately; not bound together, several in a volume, positories, with scarce books almost as valuable. as in our national institution. The Cambridge On one of the tables lay a large piece of amber University library consists of about 150,000 vol-enclosing a fly, entire in "joint and limb." Mr. umes-the Bodleian, I should suppose, consid- Campbell mentioned that Sidney Smith, who has erably more; and the rate of increase is about always some original or humorous remark to make 5000 a-year. It is scarcely possible for a bookish on every object, taking up this piece of amber one man, new from the solitude of the country, to survey these princely collections, without echoing the sentiment of James I.-"If it were so that I must be a prisoner, I would have no other prison than such a library, and be chained together with all these goodly authors!"

day, said, "Perhaps that fly buzzed in Adam's ear." After a couple of hours delightfully spent among the books and pictures, Mr. Rogers invited us to breakfast next morning. When we got to the door, Campbell broke out-" Well, now, there is a happy and enviable poet! He is about

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