At the end of the cemetery nearest to Duke-street stands the oratory. It is placed upon a rock, and on one side is thirty or forty feet above the level surface of the burial-place. It is a neat building of the Doric order, and made after the model of some Grecian temple. Its interior is fitted up in a judicious and impressive manner, and the ceremony of the consecration of the grounds for their present purpose was performed by the Lord Bishop of the diocese. There are a great number of pretty monuments scattered about, but it would add much to their solemn influences if there was less fulsome and indiscriminate praise of the individual who rests below. Some writer justly observes, that he only wished the world contained as many affectionate husbands and wives and dutiful children as we read of on the tomb-stones of every church-yard. And then, too, how often do we find all solemnity shocked by the doggerel of some village moralist. In France there is attached to all the burial-grounds a 'Bureau des Inscriptions,' to regulate and correct the epitaphs, none being allowed that are in decidedly extravagant or ludicrous taste. Some office of this kind is much needed in England, where more ribaldry is to be found cut deep in stone and marble, than in any other land in all Christendom. But few, to be sure, of this description are to be found in the cemetery we allude to; but then even here the false spelling and old see-saw doggerels with which many pretty monuments are defaced are truly disgusting. A very universal custom here—and it strikes us as rather an odd one — is to inscribe upon the tomb-stone, at the same time that it commemorates the virtues of the defunct, the particular trade or calling for which he was famous while an inhabitant of upper air. Of what importance it can be to be told in epitaph that the departed Mr. Snooks was an excellent blacksmith, or that the lamented Mr. Green was a clever stone-mason, we are at a perfect stand-still to discover: it might do well enough as a sign-board announcement for the living, but seems quite out of place 'after life's fitful fever' is over; yet this custom is universal in all English church-yards, burial-grounds, and depositories for the dead.

Near the centre of the cemetery there is an ill-proportioned hectagonal building, enclosing the statue of the distinguished statesman, the late Mr. Huskisson. His mortal remains were deposited beneath. This ugly building has on one side a small half-glass door; and it is only by peeping through the unwashed, dirty panes of small glass, that the visitor is permitted an imperfect glance of this most beautiful statue. It stands upon a pedestal of white marble; and the resemblance that it bears to the original in life is said to be most striking.

This shameful spirit of hiding elegant monuments from the public sight is strongly characteristic of the English people: with very few exceptions, every thing in the way of art is carefully shut up from the public, and can only be seen by a long routine of application to one functionary or another, or else by a system of feeing that is no less disgraceful than it is illiberal.

To return to our subject. It will be recollected by many that Mr. Huskisson, one of the cabinet ministers of England, met with his death by an accident on the Liverpool and Manchester Rail-road, on the day it was first opened to the public, in the year 1830. The injury that befell him was a compound fracture of the thigh-bone, or, as the surgeons

1851.]

technify it, a comminuted fracture, by which the bone is broken into small pieces; in this case the ends of the fractured bone were protruded through the flesh of the thigh, and the hemorrhage was frightful. This terrible disaster happened at what is now called the Parkside station, about seventeen miles from Liverpool. There are three distinct notches that were cut in the rail on the precise spot where the accident happened, and on the stone-wall close by is a large marble slab sunk in the wall, and bearing the following inscription:

This Tablet,

A TRIBUTE OF PERSONAL RESPECT AND AFFECTION,

HAS BEEN PLACED HERE

TO MARK THE SPOT WHERE, ON THE FIFTEENTH DAY OF SEPTEMBER, IN
THE YEAR 1830, THE DAY OF THE OPENING OF THIS RAILWAY,

THE RIGHT HONORABLE WILLIAM HUSKISSON, M. P.,

Singled out by the decree of an inscrutable PROVIDENCE from the midst of the distin-
guished multitude that surrounded him, in the full pride of his talents and the per-
fection of his usefulness, met with the dreadful accident that occasioned
his death, which deprived England of an illustrious statesman,

and Liverpool of its most honored representative.

There is another cemetery at the opposite end of the town, called the Necropolis. In this burial-place business is done on a more liberal scale, since here the particular religious opinions of the deceased are no objection to his interment. This degree of religious liberality to those not of the established church is qu te rare in England, where the spirit of persecution and insult is often visited upon the poor remnants of mortality itself, as if the mouldering dust of those who differ from the established creeds of the land were a becoming subject for the petty vengeance of a nation. We remember to have met a tomb-stone on the side of a public road, placed there over the remains of a Jew, who was not allowed interment in any consecrated ground:

'The last sad vengeance that the state could take.'

But a short walk from the Necropolis, pas ing from the dead men to the living beasts, we reach the Zoological Gardens. They occupy a very large space of ground, and are well arranged, with gravel walks bordered by pretty and well-scented flowers, with thick shrubberies, fine young trees, and little ponds of water, to the surface of which little consumpt.ve red fishes now and then pop, hoping from the visitor a crumb of bread. The menagerie contains a well-selected assortment of caged-up animals, lions, tigers, panthers, bears, wolves and monkeys, with the other rare beasts usually met with in such places. During the summer season and on certain other particular occasions, concerts are given here, and pitiful efforts are sometimes attempted at an illumination. A few spare strings of variegated colored lamps are suspended from tree to tree, with here and there a light about as large as an ordinary tallow candle of six to the pound; then, for what are called fire-works, some half a dozen unambitious rockets, that hardly rise, with a few dim squibs, lighted only to make one feble hiss and expire; then, again, a very faint cannon: ding, with a flash or two of gunpowder, three candle-stuffers, with turbans on their heads and swords i hand,unning about and smashing at each other in front of a paste-board ca tle, make up what was styled the grand spectacle of the storming of Seringapatam and the death of Sir John Moore! Sir John Moore and Seri. gapatam! Genius of history, where art thou?

However, all these things together, with the lion's roar, the chattering of the monkeys, the hyena's howl and braying of the jackass, made up on the whole one of the most extraordinary medleys that can be conceived; while outside the gate a huge boy, dressed in a red jacket and a bit of coarse white cotton cloth twisted round his head, his face grimed with soot and ringing a bell exclaiming, Valk up and see! sixpence the grand hillumination tuppence the bears.'

That this is considered no small affair in the way of a show, may be understood from the extravagant expressions of delight from crowds of well-dr ssed people that flock to see, and from the remarks that incidentally drop from their lips. A worthy English merchant, by whom we were accompanied, as we came out together, exclaimed:

Ah, Sir, don't you think this is uncommon nice? Upon my word, it was wonderful!· dear me! And 'ow them lions roared! must 'ave strong cages for them fellows. Ah! I suppose you never saw nothink like this in America, Sir?'

The reply was, of course, 'No, never."

A CHILD,

With full blue eyes and softly clustering hair,
An orphan, by the flinty-hearted world
Forgot, one evening in the dewy light
And calm sereneness of the blessed stars,

Knelt to her MAKER. She had learned to pray,
Catching deep, holy whispers from the lips

Of her sweet mother; and while now she prayed,
Large tears of grief and bitter loneliness

Welled from the hidden fountain of her heart.

She prayed: and, like some wingéd dream, her prayer
Flew upward to the throne of GOD, and HE
Received it to His bosom; and there came,

Mingled with star-light, a soft, inaudible

Response, that filled her soul with balmiest hope;
And, burdened with the excess of the new feeling,
She sobbed herself to sleep.

Then she prayed

With a full heart of gratitude, so long
As on the earth she walked, and ever said,
And taught her children thus to say,

'Our HEAVENLY FATHER, blessed be THY NAME!' Ingleside,' 1851.

Rorus HENRY BACON.

FLATTERY,

FRIENDSHIP,

AND

LOVE.

ONCE 't is no matter when -a fay
(Another ARIEL, authors say,
In gentle girldhood's likeness dressed)
A little parchment book possessed,
Upon whose leaves of spotless white
Did Flattery, Love, and Friendship write.
First, in a fair Italian hand,

These verses witching Flattery penned:
"There's not a fay in fairy land,

There's not a nymph by DIAN kenned,
Whose vaunted beauty would, my fair,
With thy rich loveliness compare.
Thy mind is mirrored in thy face;
Its charms I will not seek to trace,
Lest Justice should not have her due,
Nor half thy worth be brought to view.
Envy must own, and Truth proclaim,
Perfection ought to be thy name.'

The quill next smiling Friendship took,
And thus she wrote within the book:
'My fair, may gladness e'er as now
Sit throned upon thy lovely brow:
Although between us seas should roll
Wide as the space 'twixt pole and pole,
Though high you sit, though low you be,
This aye will be my prayer for thee.
And oh! should aught of ill e'er seek
To pale the roses on thy cheek,
My care 't will be to soothe the pain,
And make those roses bloom again.
The world may shun thee, and deride,
Yet Friendship will not leave thy side.

Love next advanced; he grasped the book,
Cast toward the fair an ardent look,
Then touched by Hope, who chanced to be
That moment gliding noiselessly
Along the way, he traced these lines:
By every star in heaven that shines,
By every power that rules above,
I love thee, nymph, thee only, love!
Thee at my side, oh! life to me
One long bright day of joy would be.
Permitted in thy smiles to bask,
Light, light would seem the heaviest task.
Should changeful Fortune ever lower,

I ne'er should heed the frowning power;

Of such a gem as thee possessed,

I never could be aught but blest!'

The nymph then taking up the book,
On Flattery's page first chanced to look.
Though well the little fairy knew

That Flattery's words were all untrue,
Yet, while she read them, one could spy
A laugh of pleasure round her eye.
Next glaced she to the leaf which showed
The lines that Friendship's hand bestowed

'Oh, nymph!' she said, 'were 't not for thee,
A dreary desert life would be!

Our joys would joys no more remain,
Our ills would be acuter pain.

Oh, what a dismal cave the breast,
Shouldst thou refuse to be its guest!
Though Flattery's voice is sweet, I own,
Thine, thine hath a far sweeter tone.'

The fair, from legends old we learn,
Did next to Love's warm verses turn.
She read; she blushed, and then she smiled:
Those looks declared the words had wiled
Her little heart: she read them o'er
Again, and blushed and smiled once more.
The heart found free from Love's soft chain,
True love will rarely fail to gain:

This to herself the nymph confessed;

Love caught her glance, and both were blest!

Sketch-Book of Ale, Meister Karl.

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.

THE GAST HAUS IN FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN.

Op de reyse moet men doen als de bien, en niet als de spinne-coppen.'- FLEMISH PROVERS ['Travellers should act like bees, and not spiders.']

'To what hotel, Sir?'

'To the first.'

6

Midnight-in Frankfort—at the beginning of the annual fair! I knew that all the Gasthäuser would be crowded, and application to at least a dozen would be necessary ere a room could be secured; as it indeed proved, for the Roman Emperor' was full; the English' and 'Russian Courts' fuller; and the Schwan' and Weidenbusch' fairly overflowing. The landlords were in high feather, charging double prices, and happy as angels; while the waiters and police ran around busy as devils. Dim visions of hiring the Lohnkutscher's vehicle as a temporary residence, and eating wherever it might please GOD, flitted past the gate of my soul; but the coachman drove them away with the remark, 'If the Herr would not mind roughing it for the night, I could take him to a quiet little tavern near by to-morrow may bring better things.'

On we went, up one street and down another, through court, lane, and alley, until I thought that the Cretan Labyrinth had come again. After chasseing all over the city, we stopped at the low door of a house whose overhanging stories and old-fashioned carvings indicated, if not respectability, at least age; while the double tin triangles which swung and creaked over the door, gave the usual German intimation of beer and schnapps.

'Du lieber Gott!' swore the stout little landlord, bustling to the door,