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charters were granted to towns; London received confirmation of her charter, and witnessed the completion of her proudest workher Bridge.

From henceforward, very suggestive is it to remark how, “ by the River's side,” became the chosen site for great public establishments. The Fishmongers built their stately hall at the bridge-foot; the Hanseatic merchants of the Steel Yard built there their warehouses, and that tall minaret-like watch-tower, that looks so picturesque in the old views of London. The merchants of the Vintry-no longer dwellers at Southampton—reared their “ fayre stone houses " along the Vintry Quay; and many a stately mansion of the London merchant and the noble graced Thames-street. And westward arose the convents of the Black Friars and the White Friars, close to the water's edge; and then the noble Preceptory of the Templars, with its fair gardens-gardens which have not, even now, wholly lost their greenery; and still farther, the splendid palace of Peter of Savoy, and the mansion of the Archbishop of York; while the newly-built Abbey, and the stately Palace of Westminster, closed the view “ by the River's side.” Beautiful certainly was medieval London, and very stirring her history ; suggestive, too, each building-Convent, Preceptory, Merchant's-Hall, Royal Palace, and right Royal Abbey. We must, however, close here; but perhaps we will take, ere long, dear reader, another walk “by the River's side.”

IV.

A CHAPLET FOR THE HERO.

FLOWERS amaranthine ! leaves of changeless green !

Hearty acclaim from all the good and true ;

Beauty's pure homage, graceful honour's due :
Hail for the hero ; hail ! and world-wide scene.
There strideth hitherward, strong man, I ween,
Proudly defiant, while the concave through

Ring trumpet clangour, and a wild halloo ;
And sword and breastplate flash their lightning sheen.
Ha ! but there trails behind a moaning crowd,

Hearts desolate and homeless ; and there rise
Sad lamentations, and despair avowed ;

The widow's wail, and children's orphan-cries.
Honour the brave ! the claim though disallowed :

War has too solemn woes and miseries!

II.

Who is the Hero ? lo, in grand array,

With panoply, and pageantry of state,

And glittering garniture, and welcomes great In lusty tones, from hosts beneath his sway ;Room for the rich ! free largess strews the way,

And hand profuse makes reckless pact with fate,

Doling out purchase fee at thronged gate, Where luxury fêtes its humour day by day. Alas for riches ! when the rebel heart

Makes golden calf out of its proper good; And, apathetic, worships all apart;

Diffusive impulse slighted or withstood. Hero not thou ; from out life's sordid mart,

However bold and arrogant thy mood.

III.

Leaves evergreen, with fresh and fragrant flowers !

Who cometh then, the chaplet-wreath to claim !

Hark! the tumultuous voices shout a name, While Flattery boasts incomparable powers; The eloquence that upward grandly towers;

Climax concentrated, and pith of fame,

Moving a nation or to praise or blame;
While foes retire, and opposition cowers.
A-well-a-day! while flattered and upraised

To giddy eminence of thankless toil ;
Thy brow is furrowed, and thy heart amazed

Knows and laments the swell, and sharp recoil
Of popular voice, and how the eye is dazed

With the world's turbulent mockery and moil.

IV.

Give place ! to grouping of wild revelry :

The joyance and frivolity of cheer; Glad songs, melodiously thrilling clear ; And tales of merry times that used to be. The minstrel roundelays, and fantasie

Of fairy lore, that young heart loves to hear ;

And narratives of times of stirring fear,
Plague or the famine, moaning dismally.
Lo, many a hand is stretched to seize the prize,

And crowding friends, presuming, claim the right; But wisdom listens with averted eyes,

Profound repugnance, and a stern affright; Till the loud tumult with its mysteries,

Whirls, trackless, through the gloom of starless night

Wreath amaranthine for a hero's brow!

Who is the hero that shall win and wear ?

Alas, amid the gaudy haze and glare,
Where votaries to various influence bow,
And multitudes a grovelling faith avow,

With reckless aptitude to do or dare ;

And little time to think, and little care ;
And scanty heed, though pureness disallow.
O bauble-hunting world, with gaze depressed,

And greedy habitudes all purposeless ;
To wait on thee, of hero-life in quest,

What vexing, wandering, and weariness!
How false and foolish, charged with all unrest,

Thy promise, fashion, prattle, and impress.

VI.

Listen! from out the depths where dull despair

Holds its unsunned abode, and sorrows deep

With mildew taint, in dismal silence creep;
Where wants are many, hope and comforts spare ;
With soothing words of solace for life's care.

And ministry of help to hearts that weep,

And urgent rousing to resist the sleep
Of drear dismay—there comes a voice of prayer !
While kind, true hand, uplifts the veil that hides

The daylight, from the dark where wretches grope ;
Till into unaccustomed haunts there glides

The promise and expectancy of hope ;
While patience to time's brighter aspect guides,

And teaches faith a holier creed and scope.

VII.
O brave and beautiful ! the earnest zeal

Self-sacrificing, with its holy aim,

Life's ease and quietness, its wealth and fame,
To mitigate its sorrows, and reveal
Thoughtful solicitude for other's weal;

Bold disregard of worldly scorn and shame,

Folly's loose merriment, and scandal's blame;
Strong faith to persevere, and love to feel.
The gentle touch that would not pain, but cheer ;

The whispered word suggesting hope and joy :
O blessed consecration in the fear

And love of God, to His Divine employ.
The welcome toil, to bring Christ's Gospel near,

That souls may know the peace without alloy.
VOL. III.

22 VIII.

Who is the Hero ? he who, strong and true,

In God's loved service renders devoir free;

Teaching what blessedness and peace to be
Christ-like, so rendering the homage due,
With adoration ever glad and new :

Helping the throbbing heart to feel and see,

The happiness of holy fealty;
The bliss of patient waiting, life-time through.
Lo, with a loving heed, and gentle tone,

With quiet words and aspect calm and bright;
Strong in a strength far mightier than its own,

And humble-minded in the world's despite ;
No hero this by poet's record known,

Yet grandly good in wisdom infinite !

IX.
Hero ! to whom life is a battle-field ;

Whose faith is steadfast, and whose hope serene :

Unselfish and unfearing, though the scene
Of labour never recompense may yield :
True hero! God will help thee still to wield

Thy weapons deftly, as thy wont hath been ;

And amaranthine chaplet, fresh and green,
Is thine, albeit yet bearing spear and shield.
Good angels watch thee with a thankful gaze ;

The spirits of the just thy deeds approve ;
God helpeth mightily thy righteous ways,

And waits to comfort with untiring love.
Courage ! rejoicing in eternal praise
There cometh rest, and perfect peace above !

HR

DOWN IN A DIVING-BELL.

OUGIT a man to be blamed if he feels somewhat nervous when he 1 lowered, for the first time, into the waters of the ocean! I think at Let everyone who holds a contrary opinion try the experimet? Heroes have faltered when required to bathe, and valour of the best order has not always proved insensible to the miseries of a mountary dip. Courage under water is a different thing from courage abute Take. and it would be hardly logical to assume that a person who cail, through a battle with composure, might not feel rather faint wie

he found himself hanging in the deep with nothing but a great bubble of air around him to preserve him from suffocation,

Let us suppose, good reader, that you and I have taken our seats in a diving-bell. It shall be one of the open style--such as they used to employ at the Polytechnic in Regent-street. You know the principle of its construction ? Place an insect or two upon a cork in a pail of water -invert a tumbler over that cork--then push the apparatus to the bottom of the vessel ; and, on raising the glass to the surface, the little voyagers will come up perfectly safe and unsoaked. The bell is our tumbler : the sea is our tub; and we are the insects in question (species undescribed).

The tackle begins to creak, and the mouth of the machine dips into the water. I look rather pale, don't I? Quite natural! You feel pretty much as if you were going to the place of execution ? Nothing more reasonable! I should like to know who would not share in my pallor and your perturbation, if forced into a similar situation. Some individuals might indeed attempt to conceal their emotions; but let us be honest, and confess that we are dreadfully alarmed!

First of all, it occurs to you that the bell may perhaps tilt up or turn over on one side just as would happen to the tumbler if it were not kept quiet. And such might be the case, were not the machine weighted at the lower part so as to preserve it perfectly upright in its descent, spite of currents or other disturbing causes. Dismiss your fears, therefore, on this score ; we shall go down as straight as a plummet, and come up again-so I fervently hope, and so you feryently respond—without ever deserting the true perpendicular.

In the next place, you will naturally feel some solicitude respecting the supply of air. I do. Show me the man that would not, if he knew a particle about the chemistry of respiration. Shut up in a closed vessel like this for more than a few minutes, we should perish like the poor mice which philosophers have occasionally subjected to scientific torture in an exhausted receiver. Let a man be fastened up in Westminster Hall, every crevice in the building being hermetically sealed, and the prisoner would go on abstracting oxygen from the atmosphere until it became thoroughly vitiated, when of course death must promptly ensue. Hence the due renovation of the air is a vital point in the management of the diving-machine. The force-pump is the safest contrivance for feeding the apparatus with this cheap, but indispensable element. Dr. Halley employed a couple of barrels, which were raised and lowered alternately, like buckets in a well. The contents of each cask were successively decanted into the machine through a leathern pipe, a hole being left in the lower part, in order that the pressure of the water might drive out the air. A valve, at the top of the bell, permitted the diver to discharge the corrupted atmosphere from time to time; and then a rush of bubbles to the surface covered the sea for some small distance with white foam, and made it boil as if Behemoth were disporting himself beneath. By these means, the Doctor was enabled to remain under water for four hours and a half ;

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