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large majority of most unmitigated landsmen.

A man may acquire a taste for hunting or shooting, or the turf; he may become a tolerable rider, or a decent shot; but if he takes to yachting, the heart and the stomach for the sport must be born with him. A yacht is either, like any other vessel, a prison with the chance of being drowned, or it is the palace of a poet. You must have a horror of a yacht (as most wives have, by the by), or you must love her "like a woman." Go down to Cowes or Ryde the first week in August, and you will find the gentlemen who live afloat at ease, a capital representative body of the British and, we • may add, of the Irish race. There is the duke of half a dozen counties, the tired statesman, the great city merchant or banker, the successful tradesman, the engineer, the country squire, the clergyman, the lawyer, the soldier, and the naval man, who, like the actor who always goes to the play when he is not acting himself, goes a-yachting while he is waiting for a ship. In that little Thames cutter there is a theatrical manager who spends his leisure moments on board in making up his play-bills for a huge public. Each transpontine club has its own rendezvous; but all these yachtsmen belong to a national volunteer service, and in that pleasure navy there is a real esprit de corps. No class or order of men contains a larger number of " eccentricities," and nowhere is a fairer field for eccentricity to be found. This characteristic of yachting breaks out in all manner of shapes and forms: sometimes in the costume, half naval, half piratical, of the owner and his crew; sometimes in the discipline and trim of the craft. The ladies, who constitute an important and delightful section of the yachting world, enter eagerly into the spirit of these eccentricities, and adopt the fashion of the craft to which they are attached with enthusiasm. Indeed, on these pleasant shores of the gentle Solent all the conventionalities of dress and demeanor are willingly, and as if by common consent, thrown aside for a season by "all hands," and the result is wonderfully picturesque and refreshing after the faded and factitious society of the London season.

As we write a past generation of yachtsmen and women comes sailing up the silent sea of memory I

It is Sunday morning, and our little schooner is one of a fleet of eighty sail in Cowes Roads, with the broad pendant of that gallant old Commodore and prince of yachtsmen, Lord Yarborough, in the midst. There, too, is the Commodore of the "Thames," in his trim little twenty-five ton cutter ready to blow you out of the water with a salute from his plucky two-pounders. What a spectacle for a foreigner who is studying the secret of " naval supremacy!" Here are the finest craft in the world, manned by something like a thousand picked seamen. The Commodore's flag-ship, the Kesj trd, is a private man-of-war, as trim, as ! smart, as clean as a frigate. The old lord who attended the battle of Navarino in his own ship, the Falcon, surveys his squadron I with honest pride. The boatswain's pipe is busy in the Kestrel, and the signal midshipman has no sinecure. The Commodore "makes" eight o'clock, and up go all the ensigns and burgees; at church time up goes the church pendant to the peak; twelve o'clock is " made," and so is sunset. How splendidly those gigs' crews "give way " to the Club-house steps! There the talk is all of next week's matches, and of the squadron which is to go down Channel on the day after the squadron ball, under the Commodore's orders. Ah! the blue and breezy sky, and the fresh sunshine! Twetity-two yachts were we, as we took station according to tonnage and tacked in succession before the Commodore. Just as we clear the roads, fourteen sail of the " Thames " miniature squadron appear in line and exchange salutes. And now we are away through the Needles passage. Presently the Commodore signals us to " make all sail without regard to stations," and the longest legs make the shortest miles of it. Before sunset we are all becalmed, but before we come on deck from dinner we are rushing through the water with a spanking breeze on our quarter. Xiglit brings thunder and lightning and a gale, and when the morning breaks we are beating into Weymouth with two reefs down. What a merry reckless company we are on board, giving to storm and calm alike "a frolic welcome," and resolved to be jolly under all changes of wind and weather! It is a lovely dawn when we come to an anchor iu I'm bay with all our consorts once more in company. That was the last squadron the good Lord Yarborough was destined to command. Before another summer came round, our much-loved Commodore had gone aloft!

Of course, we cannot admit that there are such yachts or yachting-men in these degenerate times. The best" eleven " and the best "eight" are always the " eleven" and the "eight" of our own Eton days. Certainly in the far time we are recalling, not without a pang, yachting was in all its glory. Only remember that match round the island in which two schooners were dismasted! And the match between the Corsair and another cutter (whose name we have forgotten) round the Eddystone in half a gale of wind! When those two cutters returned through the Needles, they were so close together that the Corsair won by four minutes and a half. And what "characters " we had among us in those days! There was a famous cutter whose owner "and commander," as he insisted on being called, was a perfect martyr to man-of-war principles. He carried a brass band which was the terror of the Channel, and his boatswain piped like an omnibus conductor. One day he invited a party to divine service on board, which he read himself with one eye fixed on the church flag at the peak. To set this flag, the mainsail had been expressly hoisted—in harbor—and while we were all praying, a sudden squall sent down the mainsail by the run, and we are sorry to say that those who came to pray remained to scream with laughter, and morning service ended abruptly with some very strong language from the officiating minister. Are there any such "characters" now?

Yachts and yachting, like the navy, have undergone a revolution since those days. The America taught a trick or two to builders, and since her victories schooners have almost superseded cutters, and the long

wave-line of bow has taught us how a vessel may be fast and dry, neither sacrificing speed to comfort, nor comfort to speed. Another change for the better is in the trim of racing yachts. Some years ago, the yachts that won the prizes were good for nothing else; now the racing craft are often admirable seaboats. Now-a-days, too, the silly practice of " carrying on" is given up, and the advantage of sailing as much as possible on an even keel is better understood. The nice question of measurement, if not quite equitably solved, is not so prone to abuse as it was formerly. Throughout all these changes it is curious and interesting to find that the old Arrow and the old Alarm (transformed into a schooner) have scarcely yet found their equals in a long day's contest. The introduction of steam-yachts is, we humbly confess, a novelty we cannot find it in our hearts to approve. Screw engines cost too much, and take up too much space, to be compatible with any but the largest yachts and the richest owners; and steam appears to us essentially repugnant to the genius of yachting — to the noble independence of all restraints of time which becomes a yachtsman. Before many years have come and gone, it may be that the British navy will consist of enormous iron barges, studded with cupola towers, and of Noah's arks with steel fixings. Only at the yachting stations will the tapering spars and the snowy wings of the skimmers of the seas be found. We devoutly hope that it may be reserved for our posterity to witness this hideous conversion of the British navy into iron-clasped safes and batteries. Let our yachtsmen, at all events, be content with spars and sails, remembering that even men-of-war are forbidden to " down screw " as long as they can "up stick."

Turner says (vol. 1, p. 311), "there can be no doubt that tho majority of the British population was preserved to be useful to their conquerors." I think the totnl change of language disproves this; and thnt the nature and length of the contest also shofr thnt the separation was almost complete. No doubt they preserved the slaves, who would mostly be of their own stock. —Southey.

A Clear inference drawn from Crcsar, that tho Britons knew the use of letters,—else why should the Druids have forbidden their doctrines to be written,—but because they were like their worthy successors, the Romish priests, desirous of concealing the records which might be examined to their prejudice.—Script. Rev. Hibern, p. 1, Proleg. xxx.

From The Spectator.

BODLEY'S LIBRARY AND ITS TREAS-
URES.*

The Reading-room of the British Museum, with its magnificent dome, its blue and gilt spandrils, its books in the newest of bindings, its easy lounges and capacious d*ska, is a sight worthy of the metropolis. Zadies in crinolme and fashionable bonnets, gentlemen in wide-awakes, pork-pies, and unimpeachable tweeds, sit down to the literary fare, provided for them by the munificence of the trustees, with as much ease and comfort as in their clubs or their drawingrooms. Learning is stripped of its rust and repulsiveness. It has put on the gayest of garbs. It needs no apologist for its want of politeness. And if Plato could come upon earth again, he would no longer have to apologize for the manners of the learned —so far, at least, as the Reading-room of the British Museum may be considered as the type of modern scholarship—by saying that scholars were like "the gallypots of apothecaries, which, on the outside had apes and owls and antiques, but contained within sovereign and precious liquors and confections." It is a sign of the times when it is no longer necessary for the votary of science to bid farewell to the world and shut himself up in section, when a life of activity is not incompatible with learning, and Mr. Mbnckton Milnes is in no fear, like his predecessor Gascoigne, of having his return petitioned against in the House of Commons, on the bare fact of his being a poet. All this is very well. Let the applause of Mr. Fanizzi, the trustees, and their Readingroom reach to the highest honors this generation can bestow; let it ring from spotless lemon kidgloves, perfumed with the choicest of Rimmel's toilet vinegar.

But old and mighty Bodley is old and mighty still: unchanged and unchangeable; and long may it continue so! Murky in its antiquity, redolent of old bindings, "fragrant with moth-scented coverings!" No morocco, red, citron, or green, later than the days of the historian De Thou, profanes with flaunting colors the sober calf-skins which, more venerable than Nestor, have reigned supreme over three centuries of learning, and look down with dignified contempt upon

# Jlackman't Cataloyue of the Jenner MSS. in the Bodleian. Clarendon Press.

degenerate men who have gradually declined from lofty folios to tiny duodecimos; from Ockhatn and Thomas Aquinas to the last shilling volume of the Parlor Library. Here may the reader bury himself for hours with no visions of petticoats; no vanities of this day, not even of "Vanity Fair." He may dine with Duke Humphrey; he may realize to himself an age when learning condescended to nothing short of a folio; when stout hearts beat high beneath black gowns; when trencher-caps shook with agitation at the serried logic of rival Nominalists and Realists, and the glory of a University was imperilled in a Syllogism. Or, to descend still lower, here, without effort, may he transfer himself to the times when the latest new sensation book upon Philosophy was the Novum Organon of Bacon, and doctors turned pale over the heretical audacity of a Lord Chancellor, who had taken Plato and Aristotle to task, and stigmatized the wise dictators of antiquity as ricketty children, competent to nothing else than blare and babble. What feet have ever trodden the Reading-room of the British Museum except penny-a-liners, foreign correspondents of the daily press, or young gentlemen intent on cribs? Even Lord Macaulay died some years too soon for his own reputation and Mr. Panizzi's masterpiece. No Seldon, no Laud, no Milton, no Cromwell, Owen, Clarendon, Dryden, Pope, Bolingbroke or burly Johnson, or quaint Charles Lamb, to say nothing of earlier worthies,—Hooker, or Ben Jonson, or Burton, have cast their shadows over the spick and span new paint I and gilding of the Metropolitan Reading! room. By no effort of imagination can its j visitors repeople the Reading-room of the I British Museum, as we can hardly avoid doing Bodley, with the glories of the past. Its brilliancy, whatever it may be, is of the future exclusively. It belongs to the generation of railways and locomotives, of competitive examinations, and fast trains'. Not so Bodley and its treasures. Once a year the I delegates of the library march round in solj emn train, as they have done since the days of the first Stuarts, with vice chancellor, beadles, and silver maces, to survey the shelves and their sacred treasures. No proi fane bookbinder violates the sanctity of that repose, Heaven be praised, or intrudes his ! gilt gingerbread and modern frivolities on

the sober decorum of Bodley. Only within its founder, to the present century, from the comparatively recent period have the chains days when Queen Elizabeth, in ruff and farbeen removed which locked its books to- thingale, with Burghley and Walsingham at gether in the close and loving embrace of a her side, harangued the doctors and Heads Macedonian phalanx, and nearly proved fa- of Houses in well-poised Latin, to the time tal to an ambitious author who, Icarus-like,. when the Allied Sovereigns celebrated the soared too high, and hung himself in their advent of peace within its walls, or Queen iron tendrils. Still more recently has hot air Victoria inscribed her name among its m;mbeen introduced into one division of the li- uscrip'ts! And no wonder that its treasures brary for the benefit of luxurious masters of of books, manuscripts, and rarities should arts, who could not keep themselves warm partake of the character of the place and over Duns Scotus or Athanasius, but, in the have a sort of uniqueness and quaint antiqpride of their hearts, descended to the ex-' uity about them not found elsewhere. For ternal world, and took to polished leather j here, in undisturbed repose, griii still better, boots and thin potations. With these ex- fresh and unchanged, as in their primitive ceptions, Bodley was and is what it was in state, are the collections of Dr. Dee, the the days of its founder—goodly to look upon j earliest of spirit-rappers, "who did observe as he i that "full solempne man," who and write down what was said by the spirits, thought, if we should "cancel all our theo- Kelley (his assistant magician), seeing and ries, axioms, rules, and tenents," as Bacon interpreting." Here, too, is garnered up all advised, "it would instantly bring us to bar- the correspondence of Hyde, Lord Clarenbarism, and, after many thousand years, don, and the little notes that passed between leave us more unprovided of theorical furni- him and Charles I. in the lobby of the House ture than we are at the present." Save of Commons during those debates which also, and excepting that ruthless necessity, I cost the king his crown. Here, too, in its in the shnpe of those same masters of arts, bands of red silk, is the correspondence of has marred the quaint device of Sir Thomas I the same monarch with his children, when (who wished to preserve the remembrance i they had taken refuge in France; and here, of his Christian name T. in the shape of his j in sombre winding-sheets of black silk, and library), and, by developing one end of it,' seals to match, are the letters that passed have metamorphosed it into an H. But for I after Charles' execution. «Here are the corthis, the mullioned windows, the fragrant respondence of the parliamentary generals, air from the College gardens, the solemn J the papers of the unhappy non-jurors; of pealing of bells—they have rung out gener- j Archbishop Bancroft, and of Bishop Ken, ations of students, and shall ring in genera- I whose name lives forever in the Morning tions of students yet to come—repeat from ' and Evening Hymn. And here are the dehour to hour, and year to year, the pious tails of the Pretender's doings, and his secret deeds of our English forefathers, and the friends in England, in the reigns of Anne, dim traditions of the past. "Antiquity! j George I., and George IL And what else thou wondrous charm, what art thou, that, there may be of curious lore and unrevealed being nothing, art everything? What mys- mysteries in that capacious and undisturbed tery lurks in this retroversion? Or what receptacle of "Mighty Bodley," who shall half Januses are we that cannot look for- j tell us?

ward with the same idolatry with which we i Of late some attempt has been made by forever revert? The mighty future is as the authorities of Oxford to sort and tabunothing, being everything! The past is late their treasures; and Mr. Hackman's

everything, being nothing!"

catalogue, which we have until this late

In these respects the Bodleian Library is period in our article unconsciously omitted unique, not only in England, but in Europe. to notice—rapt in reminiscences of Bodley No library of similar extent possesses the —is partly the result of these new efforts. same conventual character. Paris, Brus- ; We wish to deal gently with Mr. Hackman's sels, Frankfort, Augsburg, Munich, Valla- labors. His errors of omission and commisdolid, and Madrid have nothing like it. sion in the execution of his task we will not Associated with all the great traditions of censure heavily; for who that has had dealEngland, from the age of Duke Humphrey, ings with manuscripts does not know how and even tar oeyuuu, w ^—TM ...... —,

inevitably, spite of all vigilance and precautions, all sorts of errors will creep in? But Mr. Hackman's notions of a catalogue, and of the requirements of those who are likely to consult one, seem to us more strange, uncouth, and antiquated than Dr. Dee's spirit-rapping, or a non-juror's advocacy of the claims of the Pretender. If Mr. Hackman had spent his academical life in trying to produce a catalogue as unlike in its plan to any now in existence, and as repulsive and inconvenient in the using as possible, he could not have succeeded better. The imlvt to his book is considerably larger than the book itself; and to use it, the student must take learning by the tail, and proceed rearwards like an irritated crab. Mr. Hackman (ominous name !) separates the addresses from the substance of the let

ters, printing the former in the body of the work, and the latter in the index. So for every entry the reader has to turn backwards and forwards, and incur at each step, as Mr. Hackman himself must have done, a needless amount of double labor. When Mr. Hackman goes home, we suppose that he despises the door of his chambers in Christ Church, and gets in at the windows. "VVe look for better things under the librarianship of Mr. Coxe, for we shall expect a more complete analysis of papers to be catalogued, a more intelligible order, a more thorough knowledge of the wants of modern students; in short, catalogues as unlike Mr. Hackman's, in all these respects, as Mr. Hackman's labors are unlike the labors of his predecessors and contemporaries.

the early age of three, four, or five years, | the family of the Americo-Liberians express to learn English and to acquire civilizj habits. Among the natives, to understaj English is the greatest accomplishment aj

Tns first Alfred while ho was a refugee Ireluntl became "deeply versed in litcrntul and enriched Ins mind with every kind or leal inR." His fourth successor Cehvulf was also scholar. "Bedo at the very juncture v»H Britain mo't abounded with scholars, offer) his History of the Angels for correction, to tl prince more especially; making choice of I authority, to confirm 'by his high station wh had been well written; and of his learning1 rectify by his talents what might be carder expressed."

There were Borne Nunneries founded by some of our forefathers, wherein it was appointed that some should be tanght the knowledge of the Saxon tongue, on purpose to preserve it, and transmit it to posterity by communicating it down from ono to another. Such was the Nunnery at Tavistock and many others which he (Archbishop Parker) could have named.— Stri/pe's Parker, p. 536.

These foundations must have been made by Saxons under the Norman kings.—Southey.

William sent Harold's standard to the Pope: "it was sumptuously embroidered with gold and precious stones, in the form of a man fighting."

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IN THB WOODS.

And So she learned to wander in the woods,
As if in search, not knowing where she went,
And she put on a statelier beauty, grew
More beautiful through sadness, while the years
Led her to womanhood with persuasive hands.
Not Aphrodite coming in her shell,
When those four seasons met her on the shore,
Was lovelier; being in beauty more divine,
But missing her sweet grace of humanness.
And she grew up n perfect woman pure,
With passion in her, well subdued to truth;
Saddened at most things as she went by them:
And made the Dryads weep at her sad looks.
And all her heart and being yearned for love.
She peeped into the leafy nests of birds,
And wondered what could make them twit and
sing. —Thomas Ashe.

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