the proposition, that "a beggar is an awful personage," affords noteworthy proof of this. For example: "In spite of his [the beggar's] position, in the world and out of it, he is more than an arbiter, if he deals out his benedictions and maledictions as he will, and they are regarded or feared. There is a superstition in his favour, and he knows it. The unbelieving authorities have tried to put him down, but they cannot; he is more potent than the Pope, for he maintains his title, and his ground-and none laugh at his anathema. Is not a beggar awful? Is there not a mystery in him, that he should be above the world, or below it; and above it by being below it? He is on firm ground who can fall no lower; the low becomes his height-he takes it as his own, his choice, more fixed than a king's throne. He is neither the Stoic nor the Cynic, a little more of the Epicurean; but he is an epitome, a personification of every philosophy. He, and he alone, can perfectly endure, despise, and enjoy. . . . He is ever cap in hand, with a sublime humility and independence, not like the courtier, who, bare-headed, makes a leg for favours in expectation, and is bound to present slavery. Remembering that it is more blessed to give than to receive, he yields with a submission that ennobles him. . . . His revenues come to him without trouble; all the world are his tenants, as it were, and make no deductions for repairs. He never hears complaints of failing crops, and a murrain among the cattle. Every man is his contributor; thus is he the universal creditor, and no man's debtor. He is not obliged to keep books. He disdains the intricacies of arithmetic; delivers in no accounts in a bankruptcy court. . . . His merchandise is all profit, and no loss. Thieves affect him not; he may sing an he like in robbers' presence

Cantabit vacuus coram latrone Viator.

life

He is a philanthropist from experience, for he sees the best part of society -those who give. His mind and temper are kept sweet, feeding on charitable and kind looks. He is not disgusted with hope deferred-the law's delays. He is out of the reach of dishonesty, subject to no petty frauds. Innumerable are his privileges; he may be at a feast, a merrymaking, a wedding-and is not obliged to put on black at a funeral. Where is most joy, there is his rent-day. . . . He leads a merry among his chosen friends, and does not always wear his professional gravity. He disappears, nobody knows how or where, with the mystery of Edipus. No undertaker ever looks him in the face, as calculating his exit and custom. He is above the vanity of tombstone, and carved angels' heads. His memory will never be disgraced by mutilated monuments. . . . No disparaging biographies will be written of him. Doctors' Commons have no eye upon him for probate to his will. He is in the 'Long Annuities,' for his annuities are as long as he lives-with this difference, that they dwindle not, but rise in value, as he wanes. He makes food, and healthy subsistence, out of complaints and infirmities; and yet need not of necessity have them. He may put them on and off, when he pleases thus he lives merrily upon sorrows which he does not feel." And so the sententious description runs on, for pages together, with all the tidal flow, and much of the quaint conceit, and sportive speculation, and whimsical idealism, not only of Charles Lamb, but of Sir Thomas Overbury, or Bishop Hall, or any other approved master of sentences, schoolmen of the old Essay school.

:

MABEL AND THE QUEEN.

BY WALTER THORNBURY.

Time-The Reign of Elizabeth. Hampton Court Gardens.

SCENE I-A JUNE MORNING, 15—.

A ROYAL Sunlight filled the air,
The kingly sapphire's deepest blue
Ruled all the sky; the white clouds flew
Before the south wind, blowing fair.
The fickle sun went in and out,
Tracking the shadows all about.

The fountain leaped in sunshine up;
A creature merry at the heart,
It rose, a water-lily tall;

It sprang forth like a silver dart.
The deer were "belling" in the brake,
Bird music made the copses shake.

Blue slate roofs shone with filmy gold,
Red sunny brick was glowing white;
Armed statues on the terrace walk
Defied the blaze of fiery light.
In caves of shadow lay the trees,
Unshaken by a single breeze.

Upon the lawn, in sunshine soaked,
The peacock paced about,
As proud as steward when he struts
Leading a masking rout.

In whirls of white the dovecots threw
Their squadrons to the snowy blue.

O! maypole high, with garlands red
The crimson roses climbed,
Below the clock-tower, where the bell
For dying moments chimed :

In June, the rose month-month so dear,
The sweetest month of the whole year.

SCENE II. THE STATUE ON THE TERRACE.

Between the beds of matted flowers
I met my Mabel, eyes cast down,
So all amort, alone, and sad,

Smitten by sneer and cruel frown:
The Queen had turned away her face-
Withdrawn the sunshine of her grace.
We sat down by the marble god

That, twined with ivy, tiptoe stands;
His wings a-flutter with delight,

His snake rod trembling in his hands.
I kissed and soothed her till she told
Her story-sweetest-heart of gold!

The rose flame mounted to her cheek,
Her cheek a lily in the sun;
I loved her, of all maids most meek,
Of all the dames, the only one
Who never spoke a scornful word,

Or stabbed with tongue-the woman's sword.
I knew our Queen-the painted hag,

Her wrinkles choked with red and white,
Heaped up with diamonds, till she shone
A tinsel goddess zoned with light;
Her ruff a wheel of stiffened starch,
Her painted eyebrows on the arch.
With prickly smile and ogling eye,

She trips among her waiting lords.
Their satin cloaks are sewn with pearl,

Rich jewels sparkle on their swords;
Soft scents of perfume round them rise:
Such balsam from the flower-wind flies.
There's Leicester, cheek all swarthy red,
Fierce Essex, with rebellious eyes;
There's Raleigh, sullen, sour of face,

And Harrington, with smart replies:
They bow, and cringe, and shrug; but love
They know not. Do they, Mabel-DOVE?
Whene'er she looks upon her train,
The foremost of them veils his eye,
As if sun-blinded: sad to be

So vermin low, and yet so high!
Then one upon his tablets writes,

His cheek flour-blanched with sleepless nights.

This crone, our Queen, drinks to the dregs
The poison cup of Flattery;

And yet her smiles and witch's tears

Are loathsome, horrible to me.

Lo! hard and withered cold, she stalks

No goddess prouder-yon she walks!

Hard and imperious, envy's sneer

On her prim mouth and miser lips; If she but frowns, on every face

The sunshine turns to cold eclipse. Ah, see! her glance at Mabel's face, Bewitching in its modest grace.

SCENE III.-THE TAPESTRY ROOM.

But to my story. Yesternight
The maidens sat at tapestry—
Queen Sheba meeting Solomon-
Dear Mabel there was full of glee,
Patient and still, and bending down,
Intent on broidering a crown.
The Queen sat in the window-sill;
With bent, inquiring brow,
She said: "My ladies fine and fair,
I have a question now:
Should Juno or should Dian reign ?"
"DIAN," replied the fawning train.

"Much of marriage-so a father

Would consent to bless my love." "You seem so honest, bold, and true, I for that blessing mean to sue." Mabel looked thankful; dearest girl,

I could have kissed her then and there! Such loving hope rose in her eyes,

She looked, if possible, more fair. "I shall be happy, please your grace," She only said, with blushing face.

Her father came-her eager suit

The Queen obtained, as queens will do; He knew not that his Mabel loved,

Or that the youths had dared to sue. "My free consent I give," he said, And bent his grave and snowy head. "Be mine the rest," the Queen replied, And calling Mabel quiet apart With cheering smile, as one who draws

A sick child to one's heart of heart. The cat-like Queen! Who, all the while, Had thought our mistress would beguile? But when the two were well alone

The Queen burst out. Semiramis
Was never fiercer. "Out," cried she,
"On such a wanton wench as this!
Thy father yields to me his power:
Slow comes for thee the bridal hour.

"Thou'lt be as happy as thy Queen,
As maids and virgins ever are;
No fools should ever dare to wed

Till they are wise as they are fair.
Go to thy business, bold one, go,
And learn true happiness to know!"

To-night, dear Mabel, then we fly

To France, and wait this beldam's doom, Till she who hates true love to see

Shall follow Death to some great tomb. To-night, dear Mabel, horses wait; Be careful!-at the postern-gate.

609

SCIENCE AND ROYALTY UNDER HIGHLAND SKIES.

THE British Association, which keeps the light of science burning like the Persian fire upon the hill-tops, has this year carried it towards the Highlands of Scotland, and in the prosperous seaport of Aberdeen it has lately sat enthroned, receiving the homage of a royal devotee and attracting votaries from afar.

Founded twenty-nine years ago for the purpose of giving a stronger impulse and more systematic direction to scientific inquiry, promoting the intercourse of its cultivators, obtaining a more general attention to its objects, and facilitating its progress, the British Association encourages an army of philosophers to go forth into the great realm of knowledge, following the various inductive sciences in their divergent roads, each division taking its own special science, but all working for the common object of discovering the laws of Nature, and as pilgrims to the Holy Land of Truth.

In this age the philosopher is no longer a member of some exclusive fraternity jealously guarding the mysteries of science, but the cultivator of his special branch of inductive philosophy for the general use of man, labouring in a spirit of profound humility, and knowing that though he should devote a life to his pursuit he must still be a learner. For, as the Prince Consort, in his appropriate and modest address at the Aberdeen meeting remarked, the boundlessness of the universe, whose confines appear ever to retreat and enlarge as we advance, strikes our finite mind with awe, no less when new worlds are revealed to us in the starry crowd of heaven by every improvement in the telescope, than when in the drop of water or particle of rock the microscope discloses new worlds of life, or the remains of such as have passed away. By the intercourse of the cultivators, the comparison, discussion, and publication of their labours, the knowledge acquired by the philosopher in his seclusion, and by the traveller in his journey, is made available for future students and for the advancement of knowledge. The geologist is aided by the chemist, the geographer by the naturalist, the astronomer by the student of physical laws and applied mathematics; and instead of one mind being occupied with the thoughtful acquisitions of the past, as in the science of our youth, new thought is produced by the contact of many minds, and new relations are established between the various departments of philosophy. In one department for example, that of "Zoology and Botany," a satisfactory proof was mentioned at the Aberdeen meeting of the more extended attention which has been given to the laws and phenomena of natural organisation since the first meeting of the association twenty-nine years ago: zoology and botany were then represented by only five members and one paper, whereas no fewer than seven hundred and nineteen papers and reports in this department alone were read down to the close of the Leeds meeting last year. It is satisfactory to see this increasing recognition of the importance of animal and vegetable products to the use of man; such investigations, moreover, are full of interest and information, and continually illustrative of the power and beneficent design of the Creator. This is especially the age in which discoveries in applied science, or, in other