probable, from not knowing how otherwise to bring this child of his fancy to an end.

It is hoped the foregoing critique will enable our readers to understand thoroughly, and appreciate at its proper value the work which it has been our pleasing duty to review; and we can only say, that if so desirable a consummation is attained, we shall rest perfectly satisfied; and if our humble efforts have enabled them to understand the poem, we can only further say, that it is more than we do ourselves, but that we do not begrudge others any enjoyment they may derive from its perusal. LEX JUNIOR.

borace, Lib. i., Car. iv.

(A PARAPHRASE FREELY RENDERED.)

OFTLY the gentle breezes blow,

And Spring dissolves the Winter snow;
The keels, that long remained ashore,
Are launched upon the waves once more;
No longer huddled in the fold,

The cattle shelter from the cold;
No longer husbandmen desire
To linger round the cheerful fire;

No more the hoar frost's spangled sheen
Sparkles along the meadows green.
Already in the dewy meads

The Queen of love her revel leads;
Graces and nymphs with tunèd feet
The measured round responsive beat;
While stooping from the azure sky,
And with slow footstep wandering by,
The full-orbed moon the scene surveys
And pours, unclouded, all her rays.
And ruddy in the gorge below,
The flames of Vulcan's furnace glow,
Where Cyclops grim the anvil smite,
And toiling, flit athwart the light.
'Tis meet that now the anointed head
With myrtle green be garlanded,
Or with the fragrant flowers that wave,
New risen from their wintry grave.
And meet it is in woodland shade
That ancient Faunus' rites be paid,
While, wafted on the winds, uprise
The fumes of grateful sacrifice.

Pale death with equal footstep treads
Through royal halls, and lowly sheds.
O happy Sestius! Health is thine,
And eager joy, and hope divine;
But the brief span of life destroys
All confidence in distant joys.
Soon gloomy night, and direful tomb
Shall close o'er thee, a narrow home;
When once the closely guarded portal
Thou shalt have passed, a trembling mortal,
No more shalt thou preside in hall,
The ruler of the festival;

No more with raptured glance behold
Young Lycidas of matchless mould,
Whom all our youths admiring eye,
For whom the maidens soon will sigh.

A Reminiscence of 1839,

COTTESWOLDE.

B

And

ETWEEN forty and fifty years ago the excitement in England, and in Birmingham especially, consequent upon the Chartist agitation, was as intense as that now produced by the agrarian outrages in Ireland, and the Fenian alarms throughout the kingdom. although I was a mere lad at the time I can well recollect that it was the principal topic of conversation, and a source of continual apprehension. What the three points of the Charter*-Universal Suffrage, Vote by Ballot, and Triennial Parliaments-really meant, I had but a very vague notion indeed; and, in common with many others who ought to have known, I imagined them to be something much more terrible than they really were.

Nevertheless, there was a certain fascination to me, as a boy (I was then a pupil at King Edward's School), in the meetings of the Chartists, and in the marchings through the streets. In fact, in humble imitation of their organisation, I, and about twenty more thoughtless lads, used to assemble on certain nights in the week in St. Philip's Churchyard, which at that time rejoiced in a beautiful avenue, with trees on either side, making a complete circuit of the ground. Here, under the command of the biggest boy, who had a passion for playing at soldiers, we were put through a certain sort of drill, and finally marched in procession to Nelson's Monument in the Bull Ring.

*Afterwards increased to six points.

That such a freak should have been permitted, would seem astounding to any of the present generation of Birmingham men, but at that time, I believe, there were not more than twenty policemen, or "runners,” as they were then called, to preserve order in the town.

Night after night we clung to the railings round the monument, listened to the speeches of the various agitators; cheering when the crowd cheered, and groaning when they groaned; and thoroughly enjoying the excitement of the scene.

By degrees, however, the outlook became more serious. Appeals to physical force were more openly made; "pikes," daggers, and other formidable weapons were discovered in various parts of the town; and it was evident that a collision with the authorities must soon occur. The secret of our little band of infantry became known to the parents of most of its members, and before long the army was disbanded. My father, however, was in happy ignorance of these juvenile assemblages, and therefore had not prohibited me from attending them, so that as soon as my school lesson for the morrow was finished, I continued to repair to the old spot, little dreaming of the risk I was so soon to run. It was a lovely evening in July when I made my way for the last time to the Bull Ring meeting, and took my accustomed place at the railings. Thoughtless as I was, I could not help noticing that those who had then assembled appeared to be more serious than usual, and that there were fewer loiterers hanging about. No thought of trouble, however, affected me, and I listened, and cheered, and groaned, as I had so often done before. Suddenly the speaker ceased; there was a low murmer of voices, and then arose the cry of "The London Police." The mob swayed to and fro for a moment in a dense mass, and then dispersed in various directions. Now, for the first time I caught sight of a body of men which seemed to me like an army of giants. Quick as lightning I slid from my perch, rushed across the street, and crept, half dead with fright, behind one of the pillars of the Market Hall.

I did not dare to peep out from my hiding place, but I could hear, only too distinctly, the shrieks and yells of the infuriated mob, the rattle of stones, and the thud of blows. From time to time there came a rush of footsteps towards my place of concealment, and I gave myself up for lost. Fortunately I was not discovered, but I could judge from the triumphant shouts of the people that the police were over-matched. At length I heard the tramp of horses' feet, the rattle of sabres, and the steady tread of infantry, and I knew that at last the Dragoons and the Riflemen had arrived on the scene, and from the silence that ensued I inferred that the rioters had fled.

What my sensations were during these moments, I leave the reader to imagine. After a time I ventured to take a furtive glance: the Bull Ring was clear of the mob; and the soldiers were drawn up in line at the end of Moor Street. Frightened as I was, my instincts told me that this was the time to make my escape. Swift as thought I ran down the steps and turned sharp to the right; here, at the corner by the Nelson Hotel I fell over a body, but whether policeman or civilian I did

not stay to discover. Quickly recovering myself from the fall, I rushed along Bell Street and Worcester Street, never stopping until I reached home, faint and speechless from fear and exhaustion.

How intense had been the anxiety of my parents when they became aware of my absence, I could judge from their joy at my safe return; and when I had sufficiently recovered to tell my adventure, they were far too grateful for my escape to reproach me for my foolhardiness.

Terrible, however, as were the events of that night, they were but the precursors of still more terrible scenes later on. For a week or more, the town bore the appearance of being under martial law.

Day after

day the streets were patrolled by artillery, dragoons, riflemen (or sharpshooters as they were then called), and special constables, in addition to the picked men of the London Police. No one was permitted to remain in the streets; no windows were allowed to be opened while the troops were passing.

On the 15th of July the crisis came. The Chartists, choosing their opportunity when the troops where temporarily withdrawn, reassembled in the Bull Ring and for a considerable time were suffered to pillage and burn without the slightest hindrance. What subsequently took place is now a matter of history, and I have a vivid recollection of the brilliant reflection of the flames of the burning buildings lighting up the spire of St. Martin's Church; and I recollect hearing the remarks of the men and women who rushed past our house during the night; the latter with their aprons filled with articles stolen from the shops of the tradesmen whose premises had been wrecked.

To sleep that night was out of the question, especially as my father was on duty as a special constable. At about four o'clock in the morning, when comparative quiet had been restored, I was permitted to accompany him as far as the Public Office. The fire was still burning though the firemen were working hard to overcome its fury. The Bull Ring was literally covered with articles thrown out of the various shop windows; feathers, wool, tea and sugar, being the most conspicuous. Some of the soldiers were bivouacking on the pavement in front of the Old Church, and from time to time prisoners were brought to Moor Street, by the riflemen and police; and the wounded, each lying across the saddle, in front of a dragoon, were continually being brought in. As it is not my intention to do more than describe the scenes of which I was an actual eye-witness, I will not attempt to enter into any further details, tempting as the subject may be. I will only say that although nearly half a century has passed away since these riots took place, the impressions remain on my memory as vividly as if they had only recently occurred; and I cannot help thinking now, as I thought at the time that 66 someone had blundered."

B.

A

A Dusty Hook of an Earlier Age.

'MID the ceaseless routine of change that continues our present-day life, it is somewhat startling to step at once into a recess which the broom of time appears to have missed, leaving in its unaltered aspect the characteristics of centuries ago.

Such a spot is the Muniment Room, or Library of Wimborne Minster; deeply interesting for its old world appearance; full of a deeper interest on account of its curious and valuable contents.

Ascending a narrow stair leading from the Vestry the room is entered, and around us are relics of the mighty dead. A few of them fraught with a living power which still breathes among us in new editions; the majority dead as the bones of their writers. A few of the most rare and interesting books are placed upon the centre table, while the shelves around are filled with ponderous tomes and folios, rich in the lore of the 16th and 17th centuries.

The most striking feature of the place is the means which were adopted for the protection and preservation of these treasures. The shelves are closed in by iron bars-reminding one of the cages in a menagerie--between which the books seem to peer out in vain endeavour to send forth the knowledge they possess. From these bars hang chains (strongly suggestive of small dog-chains) to which the various volumes are attached, so that they could not be carried away, either for legitimate or nefarious purposes, but had to be perused within the limited space allowed by the tethers. Most of the books are thus fastened now, some of the chains have, however, become detached or broken, but still hang down in their places, suggestive, if useless. How fitly do these bars and chains represent the cramped and narrow bounds to which learning was confined at the time this library was formed. How they carry the mind even farther back to the old days of monks and recluses, when all scholastic attainments were limited to the very few, by a darkness and unholy bigotry hardly imaginable in our own time. And yet this Library is actually one of the earliest waves of that tide of enlightenment which in the present is pressing education upon all classes of the people. It was formed by the Rev. William Stone, and presented in the year 1686, for the free use of the townspeople of Wimborne. Here, and in a few similar institutions, may be found the germs of the modern system of free public Libraries, in the possession of which our own town and neighbourhood stand so well to the front, and it would be a very interesting study to trace their development.