peril, and by his blessing ensuring to our country the continuance of

In

"The sweets of liberty, and equal laws."

consequence of which, as the same poet beautifully sings:

"Their deeds as they deserve

Receive proud recompence. We give in charge
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic muse
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down
To latest times; and Sculpture in her turn
Gives bond in stone, and ever-during brass,
To guard them, and immortalize her trust."

From the monument of Pitt, we walked towards that of Percival. It was by the same artist, and appeared of equal, if not superior excellence, and of great interest. The bas relief represents the affecting scene which took place in the lobby of the House of Commons, when the assassin had accomplished his purpose. The Chancellor, in his robes of office, is laid out on a couch, or mattress, beautifully executed in white marble. Three figures surround him-one at the head, a female, like a Roman matron, with the fasces at her feet, which, said Edward, must be his wife. The two other figures at the bottom of the couch, one of which, only half draped, and exquisitely beautiful, represents a youth, which the boys imagined, must be meant for his son, as they also ignorantly thought the female form near him must be his daughter. But the learned expositor, who accompanied us, assured us, that they represented three persons, called Power, Truth, and Temperance. This impersonation of the virtues seemed to me somewhat out of date in the 19th century; and in the course of our walk through the Abbey, I had occasion to caution my young friends not to be led astray by the perpetual paganism of the arts. I said just as much of the character of the friend of Pitt-illustrious man-as was sufficient to excite inquiry in the mind of my elder pupil, who needed only to be stimulated to dig after knowledge, and to seek for her as for hid treasure.

Sir Isaac Newton, reclining on four goodly quartos, next attracted our attention. Above him is the figure of Astronomy, seated on a celestial globe, on which she has sketched the track of a comet. Two beautiful infant cherubs, with open lips, as if they were talking to each other of the wondrous

works of God, appear holding a scroll before the eyes of the philosopher, while he reads. Many other subjects are detailed on the other parts of the monument, indicative of the studies, the discoveries, and the achievements of that mighty mind, which saw in all he viewed the hand of God, and gave Him all the glory.

"Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage!"

Not only a sagacious reader of the works, but of the word of God, his was the true philosophy

"Philosophy baptized

In the pure fountain of eternal love."

From patriots, statesmen, and philosophers, we passed on to contemplate the effigies of a vast multitude of men. Many of whom, in their day, had been lights of the world, and had left to posterity their quota of wisdom, or of learning-the benefit of their example-the effects of their prowess, or their worth. There were many, of whom the muse of elegy recorded that they were the gallant sons of gallant sires-the friends of princes or of kings-masters of the buck hounds or of the mint-monks or abbots-barons or knights. But of all, one thing only was said in common, whether most humble or most illustrious-Saxon or Norman-Plantagenet or TudorStuart or Brunswick-the red rose or the white-ALL had DIED! Some indeed had been slain-drowned-assassinated. Yet all had died! In this respect there was no precedenceno distinction-crowns and titles-and banners and shields— infancy or age-made no change here-all had died! But of how few was it said, "These died in the faith." All had fallen asleep; but of how few was it written, "I shall be satisfied when I awake with Thy likeness!"

My dear boys, I said, affected with the melancholy train of thought into which the last circumstance of each man's life had plunged me, do not think I undervalue the eminent merit of eminent men, in any department of social or public life, or in the more retired and sacred haunts of learning. This only I would seek to impress upon your minds-the comparative unimportance and worthlessness of all human wisdom, honors, or riches, when unaccompanied with the wisdom that cometh down from above-that wisdom which makes "wise unto

salvation," which is the gift of God, the purchase of Christ, and the fruit of the Lord the Spirit.

As I said this, I lifted up my eyes, and found we were standing opposite the monument of Kempenfelt. The sculpture was simple and touching-not of the man so much, as of his vessel. It represented a ship of war in the idlesse of a summer day, with her sails partly hanging loose, as if, after a shower, they had been unfurled to the sun-beams; but no part of the ship, save the masts and rigging are visible—she is going down into the fathomless deep, and the calm of the mighty waters is closing over her! She is going down with her twice four hundred men! The image highly poetical, in all the whiteness of the pure, cold Parian, spoke volumes to the heart. "Toll for the brave!

The brave that are no more!
All sunk beneath the wave,

Fast by their native shore!"

Little Edward gave a sigh as I repeated Cowper's words—for he thought of the sandy tumuli of the Dover, where we had so often walked over the graves of the dead.

But not to weary my young readers with descriptions which may appear tedious, I shall advert only to one subject more, and it is this—that as we passed from the more modern monuments in this most magnificent mausoleum, to those which were more ancient, I was struck with the difference between the eras of earlier and of later history, as they were commemorated by the art of the sculptor. To this I was drawn by the pensive tone of voice in which Edward was pointing out the figures, on a tablet of marble, erected more than two centuries before. "See, Henry," he said-" how sad! A baby dead-Mother dead-one little girl, and these must be her two brotherskneeling and here is the father weeping," added the little narrator, himself affected to tears. It was here that we found persons more generally represented in the attitudes of devotion. Many of these, indeed, were stiff and starch-the joints of their armour, the folds of their robes, and the curls of their hair, as non-elastic as the granite, or the marble of which they were formed. Yet I liked to see the gallant knight upon his knees, and the little children with their hands clasped, and their eyes

upraised, as in the act of adoration, or of prayer. Modern taste seems quite to throw out, or disapprove any marked allusion to religion in the cemeteries of the present day. Allowing that the more ancient were the creation of an age of superstition; yet who that thinks and feels aright on such a subject, would not give a preference even to the credulity that sometimes believed too much, rather than to the apparent infidelity or indifference, which, if it do not reject the truth altogether, at least exhibits a forgetfulness of God. What is the sin charged upon the great mass of mankind, but that "God is not in all their thoughts!" And against whom is final misery denounced-if not against "the nations that forget God?"

Edward, who had at first looked upon all this scene rather with astonishment than pleasure, had now become so much interested in it, that with difficulty I could get either him or Henry to withdraw. Unwilling, however, that the impressions they had received should, if too greatly multiplied, be altogether lost, I drew them away, as they took their last look at the monument of Fox; Henry saying, that the negro kneeling beside him was the most beautiful thing he had seen; and certainly nothing could be more beautifully imagined or finished-his woolly curls under the last polish of the chisel were inimitable!

In the evening, one of those domestic festivals, which, at this season of the year concentrate the distant members of a family, brought us all together in the drawing-room at Belmore Place. There, as I sat apart for a little while, leaving my young charge to enjoy the holiday of their companions' society, I was pleased to find, that the objects we had seen in the morning were not the least interesting topics of conversation. "My papa," said Edward, "has promised to read me some account of the different characters we heard of to-day— and to tell us something about Nelson, who, in one of his battles, gave as a watchword-" Victory or Westminster Abbey." And Mr. Andrews says, that Henry is old enough to have the Life of Pitt. I have already found Cowper's Elegy on the Loss of the Royal George; but before we can understand about the knights and the banners, I must read the history of chivalry, and papa says I am much too young for that."

While this gossip was passing between Edward and his cousins, they were seated round a large table, under the beautiful light which fell upon their young heads from a coloured lamp. The table was covered with portfolios, prints, and albums. Their brother Richard, at home during the Christmas vacation, was looking over some drawings with a eareless air, while another youth, also an Oxonian, his companion, was examining them with a critical eye. A third party, consisting of mamma and her friends, were seated at another table, some of whom were at work. While the younger children, taught to amuse each other, and to find among themselves, and in their own occupations, both delight and instruetion, presented to my mind the most interesting group in the room. Two or three of this party were engaged with the albums of the year; and the little JUVENILE, with its pretty stories, and pretty pictures—its Babes in the Wood-its Princes in the Tower-its young Fiancée before the Priest-and all its other little lovelinesses, was exciting wonder, admiration, and delight, in the bosoms of its equally juvenile students, causing their eyes to sparkle with joy, like dew drops in the sun.

I drew near to another party equally young, who were busy dissecting and re-arranging maps, puzzles, and picture historics. The beautiful story of Queen Esther was portrayed before them, in all its bright orientalism of colour and costume. The King's gate-Shushan the palace-the haughty and irritated Vizier-the unbending and devoted Jew—the fair and beautiful Hadassah, each appeared in the separate sections of the piece, one after another. The subtile courtier is represented as calumniating a certain people scattered abroad, and dispersed among all the provinces of the kingdom, which it is not for the "king's profit to suffer." While the king is observed to draw his ring from his finger, and give it into the hand of the son of Hammedatha. Again, the king's scribes are seen gathered together on the thirteenth day of the first month, and a mandate in the name of Ahasuerus is written, in all due form, "to destroy, kill, and cause to perish, all Jews, both young and old, little children, and women," and is sealed with the king's ring. The city Shushan is perplexed, and Esther, on her knees, is resolved to go in to the king, saying, "If I perish, I perish !"