the reader some notice of what he is to expect | in the miscellaneous scraps that follow, and some intimation of the spirit in which I have made and in which I would wish him to read my collections.

I.

"As precious gums are not for lasting fire,
They but perfume the temple and expire:
So was she soon exhaled, and vanish'd hence,
A short sweet odour, of a vast expense.
She vanish'd, we can scarcely say she died;
For but a now did heaven and earth divide."
DRYDEN. Eleonora.

Dryden was so fond of this quaint distinction between dying" and being "exhaled," &c. that he has introduced it in connexion with another simile :

"Thus then he disappear'd, was rarified;
For 'tis improper speech to say he died:
He was exhaled; his great Creator drew
His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.”

On the Death of a very young Gentleman. This latter passage seems to have furnished Young with his conceit-(full is he of conceits, though generally far from "miserable conceits") respecting Narcissa :

"Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven." Night Thoughts, b. v. Had Wordsworth in view the labours of his poetic predecessors when writing the charming lines to H. C.? If he had, they "come mended from his" pen :—

"What hast thou to do with sorrow,

Or the injuries of the morrow?

Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings forth,
Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks,

Or to be trail'd along the soiling earth;

A gem that glitters while it lives,

And no forewarning gives;

But at the touch of wrong, without a strife,
Slips in a moment out of life."

To H. C. six years old, 1802.

It were, perhaps, too ludicrous to inquire whether the idea of "exhalation" is derived from

ancient Pistol's rant

"The grave doth gape, and doting death is near, Therefore exhale."-K. Hen. V. Act. ii. sc. 1.

On which I have read the following comment: Exhale, perhaps, here signifies draw, or, in Pistol's language, hale or lug out; but more probably it means, therefore breathe your last, or die; a threat common enough among dramatic heroes of a higher rank than Pistol, who only expresses this idea in the fantastic language peculiar to his character." It may be added that Scott, in the last chapter of "Kenilworth," makes Varney

(1) Compare Dickens: "In shady spots the morning dew sparkled on each young leaf and blade of grass; and where the sun was shining, some diamond drops yet glistened brightly, as in unwillingness to leave so fair a world, and have such brief existence.' Barnaby Rudge, chap. xxix.

sneeringly report the death of Alasco with the phrase, "Our friend has exhaled."

And, once again, let me add an example of the word under notice, (which I chanced to observe after arranging the preceding quotations,) from Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy," (1651,) "How we were affected here in England for our Titus, 'delicia humani generis,' Prince Henrie's immature death, as if all our dearest friends lives had exhaled with his !"-p. 237, 16th ed.

II.

"To-day the French,

All elinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they Made Britain, India: every man, that stood, Show'd like a mine."-K. Hen. VIII. Acti. sc. 1. "What a rich mine of jewels above ground, all so brave, so costly!"-[at a court masque.]-Fuller; Holy State. IV. 13.

"The whole a labour'd quarry above ground."

POPE, Moral Essays. Ep. iv. The resemblance (imitation or not) between Shakspere and Fuller is obvious. Had Pope in view Fuller's addition, "above ground," when he converted a kindred image to the purposes of

satire?

"The accusing spirit who flew up to Heaven's Chancery with Uncle Toby's oath," &c. is a serioludicrous bit of Sterne, well known to most readers who have read even a book of elegant Chancery" seems yet more quaint in the devoextracts. A kindred image to that of "Heaven's tional poetry of the saintly Herbert :

"How happy were my part,

If some kind man would thrust his heart
Into these lines; till in Heaven's Court of Rolls
They were by winged souls

Enter'd for both, far above their desert !"-Obedience. And in the "Meditations and Vowes" of Jos.

Hall (1621), "I acknowledge no Master of Requests in Heaven, but one; Christ my Mediator." And Cowley, as he often does, runs into perfect burlesque when he says that

"Second Citizen. Consider you what services he has done for his country?

"First Citizen. Very well; and could be content to give him good report for it, but that he pays himself | with being proud."-Coriolanus, Act i. sc. 1.

"There are many good things which are wholly spoiled if they do but touch the tongue; . . . the doing favour, and acts of kindness. If you speak of them, you pay yourself, and lose your kindness."-JER. TAYLOB, Serm. on the Good and Evil Tongue.

"To John I owed great obligation; But John unhappily thought fit

To publish it to all the nation:

Sure John and I are more than quit.”—PRIOR.

"Tis the world's debt to deeds of high degree;
But if you pay yourself, the world is free."
YOUNG, Satire IV.

A kindred subject is amusingly illustrated in the following passages:

"It was an ill sign when he (Jehu) said to Jonabad, 'Come with me and see my zeal for the Lord.' Bad inviting guests to feed their eyes on our goodness. But hypocrites rather than they will lose a drop of praise will lick it up with their own tongue."-FULLER, Holy and Profane State, V. 9.

"Still the compliment had not sauce enough for the lady's sated palate; so, like a true glutton of praise, she began to help herself with the soup ladle."-ScoтT, St. Ronan's Well.

Another variation by Scott, on the same theme, runs thus:

"I think I make no habit of feeding on praise, and despise those whom I see greedy for it, as much as I should an under-bred fellow who, after eating a cherry tart, proceeded to lick the plate."-Diary, 1826.

VII.

"We see many children fairly planted, whose parts of nature were never dressed by art, nor called from the furrows of their first possibilities by discipline and institution, and they dwell for ever in ignorance, and converse with beasts; and yet, if they had been dressed and exercised, might have stood at the chairs of princes, or spoken parables amongst the rulers of cities."—JER. TAYLOR, Holy Dying, iii. 6.

Compare this poetry, for splendid poetry it is, with the (intentionally or not) similar passage in Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard:""Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul."

VIII.

"These violent delights have violent ends,

And in their triumph die; like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in its own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite."

Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. sc. 6.

"Joy has her tears, and Transport has her death."
YOUNG, Night VII.

"All now was sober certainty; the joy
That no strong passions swell till they destroy:
For they, like wine, our pleasures raise so high,
That they subdue our strength, and then they die."
CRABBE, Tales of the Hall. The Brothers.

(To be continued.)

THE BROTHERS.

S. M.

"IN the shadow of the chancel wall,
Just where, when Morn awakes,
Gleams from the bright east window fall
Like severed rainbow-flakes,

A lonely grave it stands

With the dry earth black and bare,
It seems no loving hands
Were ever busy there.

"Nun-lilies cloistered in their leaves,
Violets like infants' eyes,
Myrtles embalming summer eves,
All these the unwilling earth receives
And buries, ne'er to rise;
For on that dreary bed

Grows not a living thing,

There comes a breath from the unseen dead To blast them as they spring.

"Still and white is the spire aloft,

Still and white as the dead man's face, And the quick clouds nod and whisper soft The secret of the place.

The very Cross hath not

Its wonted pitying air,

Its gaunt arms wave me from the spot,
They tell me of despair!

"We were in youth's first bloom,

Two brothers, loving-hearted.--
Oh! Memory, how thy faint perfume
Breathes of the Morn departed!
Like a calm river ran

The course of his pure will,
And from a child he grew a man,
But kept his childhood still.

"But I was full of wayward fears

And starts of angry feeling, Loving the bitterness of tears, Unconscious of their healing: Mistrusting love that never failed, For scorn mistaking sadness, His very peacefulness availed

To lash me into madness!

"Yet could his love subdue

The tumult into rest,The music of his presence drew The demon from my breast; Till once, the hour, the place, Abide with me for ever; Seals on the burning wax that trace An image, fading never!

"O softest twilight veil!

O shadows dim and dreary! O stars, as tender and as pale

As eyes with weeping weary!
Ye were the witness of my crime,
Ye spake my condemnation;
Nature's fresh chorus for all time
Is made to me a funeral chime,
A knell of desolation.

"I mocked him for his tears

With cold and cruel wit;

His sweet 'Good night' rings in mine ears, And I cannot answer it!

I rose, in wrath, at morn,

Still brooding, in my blindness,

How to encounter scorn with scorn,
And quell him by unkindness:
These bitter things, and more,

In my dark heart I said;

And they met me at my chamber door,
And told me he was dead!

"I did not see him where he lay
With his white lips apart,

I could not look upon the clay,
Though I could bruise the heart!
I kissed him not in brother-guise,
I did not stoop to see

How the lids upon those childlike eyes
Were settled heavily.

"But I heard them telling that his breath
Passed like a babe's in sleeping,
And yet that on his face in death
There seemed a trace of weeping;

And I fled, like Cain who fled
From vengeance unforgiving,
There came no pardon from the dead,
No comfort to the living!

"And I have watched his tomb

Through many a mournful night, And watched my garland's waning bloom With the waxing of the light. Each living thing I touch must fade, The bare earth has not even a blade, I am accursed of Heaven! What do I see? a bud,-a leaf,A green shoot, dear as hope to grief,O Christ! am I forgiven?"

A still pale form was found

Upon that cold grave lying,
His arms about the Cross were wound,
And so he smiled in dying;
Beside him grew the symbol-flower,
It sprang and blossomed in one hour,
Out of the dry sod breaking.
We raised his head in silent fear,
For we knew the sleep was very near
Which knows no earthly waking.
Somewhat he spake of childlike eyes
That seemed to greet him from the skies,
And of a bright, calm face,

Then raised his arms like one who tries
To answer an embrace,

And died so softly, that we deemed
'Twas but the quiet sleep it seemed.

THE SUMMER'S EVE.

Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er, Conducts the eye along his sinuous course Delighted-There, fast rooted in their bank,

Stand, never overlooked, our fav'rite elms,
That screen the herdsman's solitary hut;
While far beyond, and overthwart the stream
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale,
The sloping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying on its varied side the grace
Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tow'r,
Tall spire from which the sound of cheerful bells
Just undulates upon the listening ear,
Groves, hills, and smoking villages, remote.
The Task, Book i.

VISIT TO THE CENTRAL TELEGRAPHIC
STATION.

We have seldom experienced more gratification in a visit to a scientific exhibition than we have derived from the inspection of the new building and telegraphic arrangements of the Electric Telegraph Company. The Central Telegraph Station is in a position well known to those whose daily avocations lead them into the regions of wealth in the heart of the metropolis. It presents itself with a bold architectural front at the bottom of a cul-de-sac, known as Founder's Court, Lothbury; but its position will be more readily recognised by our informing the reader that it is just at the back of the Bank of England, and is surrounded by all the private repositories of wealth with which that plot of ground is so thickly studded. From the fact that the court or alley at whose termination the Station stands is not more than twelve or thirteen feet in width, little room was left for architectural display. Notwithstanding this disadvantage, the façade, though simple, has an imposing aspect, and the massive doorway, and handsome electric clock above, illuminated at night, are sufficiently striking objects to arrest attention, even in those domains where men rush along with an energy and speed themselves akin to the electrical. The pregnant words, "Central Telegraph Station," sculptured in bold letters above, inform us that here man's triumph over time and distance is practically demonstrated.

On entering, we found ourselves in a noble hall, whose elegant proportions and light effect are equalled by few public edifices of a similar kind. It is lit by a massive skylight roof, crossed by large beams transversely and longitudinally, so as to leave vacant spaces, which are glazed by large thick sheets of ground glass. The ornaments descend even to the minutest details; rich flowers, pendants, spirals, and elegant mouldings, appear in their appropriate places, with a profuseness one is almost inclined to call extravagant, were it not that, remembering the diminished frontage, allowance is to be made for a highly embellished interior. At the east and western ends of this wall, a handsome screen divides the space devoted to general business, from the counters and Correspondence