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Dear child! thy future life will be

Alternate flower and thorn ;
And dim, gray twilight must succeed

The sunbright hopes of morn;
I read upon thy brow, thou wilt

Feel deeply, and love well;
And many pensive thoughts must rise

Within thy bosom's cell.

May He who form’d each leaf and bud

That charms thee even now,
Who framed the lily's snowy bell,

the rose its glow,-
May He smile on thee evermore,

And guard thee through life's wild ;
E'en till Death's sleep be on thee laid,

God keep thee, gentle child !


Much doubt exists respecting the derivation of the name by which the magnificent ruin, called FOUNTAINS’ Abbey, is distinguished. There are, in its neighbourhood, no springs which can be supposed to have given rise to the appellation which it bears ; but, as a learned writer has observed, the little rivulet called the Skell,-a Saxon word, signifying a fountain,- washes its walls ; and, in consequence, the building was originally called the Abbey of Skeldale. The monks, however, who always wrote in Latin, translated Skeldale into “ De Fontibus ;" and hence, according to the ingenious author above alluded to, is derived the name of FOUNTAINS' ABBEY.

This splendid Abbey, which, with its appendages, formerly occupied ten, or, as some writers maintain, twelve acres of ground, was founded, according to some authorities, in the year 1204, by John de Ebor, or, according to others, in 1132, by Thurstan de Ebor, for monks of the Cistercian order. About two acres of the beautiful park of Studley are now covered by its picturesque ruins.

This splendid wreck of the dissolved monasteries of England is by far the most perfect, as it is also the most extensive of these venerable remains of past times. Its architecture is of a mixed character. The magnificent east window displays a pointed arch; but in other parts of the building the arches are circular. Originally there was, probably, as in most other ecclesiastical buildings, a great central tower.

The great tower at the north of the transept is still standing, and is above one

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hundred and sixty-six feet in height; and being finely proportioned, and in a state of almost perfect preservation, it gives to the picturesque ruins around it a character of imposing grandeur. A window in the north transept bears the date 1283. Near the high altar is a stone coffin, said to contain the remains of Lord Henry Percy, who was buried in this Abbey, in the year 1315. In a chapel near, is a broken figure clad in complete armour, and supposed to represent one of the Earls of Mowbray, the arms of Mowbray being sculptured on the shield.

The length of the church is three hundred and fifty-one feet; the nave, which exhibits the architecture of Henry the Third's time, being sixty-five feet wide.

The chapter-house is a building of magnificent dimensions, with a tessellated pavement of much beauty. The refectory, on one side of which is the reading gallery, is one hundred and eight feet long, and forty-five feet wide. The vaulted cloisters, over which is the dormitory, extend to the length of three hundred feet.

In addition to the stately ruins depicted in the accompanying plate, various detached fragments of the appendages to this once magnificent monastery, are to be found among the surrounding trees and shrubs. In fact, a stranger on entering the Abbey itself, which is roofless, might almost fancy himself in a grove, numerous trees having sprung up within the venerable walls. On the whole, whoever has seen this imposing relic of the past, will be disposed to say of it that which a traveller of some note* has actually said, that “it is the finest ruin that it is possible for imagination to conceive.” The heart must be cold, and the imagination dull, of the spectator who can look on such an object unmoved.

Time-honour'd, ruin'd Abbey,

Dim, gray, and ivy-clad,
While sunshine bright is gilding

The greenwood, gay and glad,

I view thy crumbling arches,

Long, grassy, pillar'd aisles,
That lie in solemn stillness,

Lit up by day's last smiles;

I stand before the altar,

No worshippers are there;
But the briar-rose is blooming,

And the primrose pale and fair.

I muse on days departed,

When on the storied floor,
The noblest of this goodly land,
Proud warriors of yore,

• R. J. Sulivan.

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A shade like sorrow falleth

As I turn slowly home,
And see the glittering starlight

Light up the sapphire dome.

My heart is like this Ruin,

Here standing solemnly ;
Its earthly hopes are blighted,

And lost its buoyancy.

Yet 'neath these mouldering arches,

I look up cheerily,
Fill'd with no painful musings

On worldly joys gone by.

Past is thy pomp and splendour,

Proud Ruin! hoar and gray;
A few brief ages longer

Will end thy slow decay ;

But my sure hope of heaven,

Faith's own celestial ray,
Shall know no blighting, ever,

Nor ever pass away!


The adapting of punishments to crimes has been, in all ages and countries, a difficult problem among legislators. The present state of British Criminal Law may not, perhaps, be altogether satisfactory; but whatever difference of opinion may exist on this subject, all persons must surely find matter of rejoicing in the fact, that a milder code than that formerly in use among us, is now in force in these dominions. “Secondary punishments," as they are called, always have involved, and probably always will involve, great practical difficulties. The stocks for plebeians, and the pillory for persons of somewhat superior rank, were secondary punishments, long in use and abuse in England; and even if it be, indeed, the truth, as some writers have asserted, that they were laid aside precisely at the moment when, in consequence of the spread of education and the increased power of public opinion, they became most efficient, very few persons, we imagine, would desire to see them again in use. China may think, that she finds her advantage in her pantze, or bastinado; or in her TCHA, or CANQUE Such debasing punishments are unsuited to the British character, and quite at variance

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