Divine glory, and angels or the enlightened spirits of the just may decipher the full meanings; but to us it is a mystery.

But, if the arrangements of vegetable tissues are surprising, their composition is no less wonderful. Consider for a moment the variety of materials which form a plant. That the substances which enter into the bulk of a mountain, and form huge chains of Alpine steeps, should also contribute to the existence of a rose, and form part of a tulip, does not appear at first a probability. Crystalline bodies of exceeding minuteness are found to exist in the cells of vegetables, and these are formed of what is called oxalate and phosphate of lime. The former consists of lime mixed with oxalic acid, and the latter is a compound of phosphoric acid and lime, which form the substance called bone, in animals. Here, then, we have another of those points of union which so often startle us when beholding the workings of the material universe; animals and vegetables, with all their diversities, possess one in the bones, the other in the crystalline cells-a common substance. We also find starch, alum, sugar, the elements of flint and potass, in various parts of flowers and shrubs. Thus the simplest plant may be regarded as an epitome of the world itself, as it contains within its leaves and branches the elements which compose, in their accumulated masses,

the crust of the earth.

Another singular circumstance in botanical history is the astonishing difference in vegetable nature, which a slight variety in some element of the plant frequently produces. Thus if we take 1000 parts of purest crystallized sugar, we find it to consist of 560 of water and 440 of carbon. Now it will be admitted that starch and sugar are two very distinct substances, yet how clear is the resemblance in their constituent elements. Twelve parts of water added, and twelve of carbon subtracted, will suffice to produce sugar instead of starch, whilst twelve parts of carbon added, and twelve of water subtracted, produce starch instead of sugar. What is the cause which gives to a few atoms of water and carbon such power? Here again we find the mysteries of the universe rising up, and refusing to answer our queries. No science with which we are at present acquainted enables us to detect the hidden might which regulates the progression of vegetable life, and draws an undistinguishable line between the most diverse substances. Turn from this subject and consider for a moment one peculiarity in the roots of plants, the tendency to descend. What so constantly draws the root in a direction opposite to the stem? Silent must all the schools of philosophy remain while such an inquiry is echoed. If we are willing to amuse ourselves with words, it is doubtless easy to say that "the root descends in search of food into the earth." But what causes such a descent? is again the perplexing question, which must compel the observer of phenomena to confess that something strangely mysterious is at work somewhere, and we see it not. Again, what a subject for long trains of speculation does the vitality of seeds suggest. The principle of life exists in one of these little cells for three thousand years, and then comes forward with its merry green, to look upon the world, and mark the changes which have passed over its fields since the days of the Pharaohs. It is not the mere seed which has been preserved, as in a kind of vegetable mummy, but the life has remained through so many ages, waiting for the moment when a revelation of its energies should be possible. There is nothing like this in animal existence, and it is as if one of the mummies in the British Museum should be revived by the warmth of summer and the noises of the surrounding world, and utter its old language, learned in Thebes or Memphis, in the ears of the modern Londoner. Something like this has been witnessed in vegetable history, when seeds taken from embalmed subjects have been sown, and spring up as bravely as their kindred had done on the banks of the Nile in the days of Joseph. Here again is a mystery over which

we may pore for long ages in vain without seizing the truth behind.

Such are a few of the hidden wonders in plants which compel us to feel that in leaves, branches, roots, tissue spirals and seeds, the All Wise is ever working with a power, the full displays of which no eye of man has seen, though enough is evident to nourish the spirit of adoration, and prompt a ceaseless Te Deum of the he at. W. D.

FRANK FAIRLEGH;

OR, OLD COMPANIONS IN NEW SCENES.'

CHAP. VI.

THE RIDDLE BAFFLES ME!

THE post next morning brought a letter from Mr. Vernon, to say, that, as he found the business on which he was engaged must necessitate his crossing to Boulogne, he feared there was no chance of his being able to return under a week, but that, if it should be inconvenient for Mrs. Coleman to keep Miss Saville so long at Elm Lodge, he should wish her to go back to Barstone, where, if she was in any difficulty, she could easily apply to her late hostess for advice and assistance. On being brought clearly (though I fear the word is scarcely applicable to the good lady's state of mind at any time) to understand the position of affairs, Mrs. Coleman would by no means hear of Miss Saville's departure; but, on the contrary, made her promise to prolong her stay till her guardian should return, however long it might be before that happy event should take place, which, as Freddy observed, involved the remarkable fact, that if Mr. Vernon should be drowned in crossing the British channel, she (his mother) would have put her foot in it. The same post brought Freddy a summons from his father, desiring him, the moment he returned from Bury with the papers, to proceed to town immediately. There was nothing left for him, therefore, but to deposit himself upon the roof of the next coach, blue bag in hand, which he accordingly did, after having spent the intervening time in reviling all lawyers, clients, deeds, settlements, in fact, every individual thing connected with the profession, excepting fees.

"Clara and I are going for a long walk, Mr. Fairlegh, and we shall be glad of your escort, if you have no objec tion to accompany us, and it is not too far for you," said Mrs. Coleman, (who evidently considered me in the last stage of a decline,) trotting into the breakfast room, where I was lounging, book in hand, over the fire, wondering what possible pretext I could invent for joining the ladies.

"I shall be only too happy," answered I. " and I think I can contrive to walk as far as you can, Mrs. Coleman." "Oh! I don't know that," was the reply, "I am a capital walker, I assure you. I remember a young man, quite as young as you, and a good deal stouter, who could not walk nearly as far as I can; to be sure," she added as she left the room, "he had a wooden leg, poor fellow !"

I soon received a summons to start with the ladies, whom I found awaiting my arrival on the terrace walk at the back of the house, comfortably wrapped up in shawls and furs, for, although a bright sun was shining, the day was cold and frosty.

"You must allow me to carry that for you," said I, laying violent hands on a large basket, between which and a muff Mrs. Coleman was in vain attempting to effect an amicable arrangement.

Oh, dear! I'm sure you'll never be able to carry it --it's so dreadfully heavy," was the reply.

(1) Continued from p. 166.

"Take care,--you musn't do so!" exclaimed Mrs. Coleman, in a tone of extreme alarm; “you'll upset all my beautiful senna tea, and it will get amongst the slices of Christmas plum-pudding, and the flannel that I'm going to take for poor Mrs. Muddles's children; do you know poor Mrs. Muddles, Clara, my dear?"

Miss Saville replied in the negative, and Mrs. Coleman continued.

"Ah! poor thing! she's a very hard-working, respectable, excellent young woman; she has been married four years, and has got six children,-no! let me see, it's six years, and four children, that's it,though I never can remember whether it's most pigs or children she has,-four pigs did I say?-but it doesn't much signify, for the youngest is a boy, and they're all very dirty, and have never been taught to read, because she takes in washing, and has put a great deal too much starch into my night-cap this week-only her husband drinks so I musn't say much about it, poor thing, for we all have our failings, you know." With such like rambling discourse did worthy Mrs. Coleman beguile the way, until at length, after a walk of some two miles and a half, we arrived at the cottage of that much-enduring laundress, the highly respectable Mrs. Muddles, where in due form we were introduced to the mixed race of children and pigs, between which clearer heads than that of Mrs. Coleman might have been at a loss to distinguish; for, if the pigs did not exactly resemble children, the children most assuredly looked like pigs. Here we seemed likely to remain for some time, as there was much business to be got through by the two matrons. First, Mrs. Coleman's basket was unpacked, during which process that lady delivered a long harangue, setting forth the rival merits of plum-pudding and black draught, and ingeniously establishing a connexion between them, which has rendered the former nearly as distasteful to me as the latter ever since. Thence glancing slightly at the overstarched night-cap, and delicately referring to the antitea-total propensities of the laundress's sposo, she contrived so thoroughly to confuse and interlace the various topics of her discourse, as to render it an open question, whether the male Muddles had not got tipsy on black draught, in consequence of the plum-pudding having over-starched the night-cap; moreover, she distinctly called the latter article "poor fellow!" twice. In reply to this, Mrs. Muddles, the skin of whose hands was crimped up into patterns like sea-weed, from the amphibious nature of her employment, and whose general appearance was, from the same cause, moist and spongy, expressed much gratitude for the contents of the basket, made a pathetic apology to the night-cap, tried to ignore the imbibing propensity of her better half; but, when pressed home upon the point, declared, that when he was not performing the Circe-like operation of "making a beast of his-self," he was one of the most virtuousest of men; and finally wound up by a minute medical detail of Johnny's chilblain, accompanied by a slight retrospective sketch of Mary Anne's last whitlow. How much longer the conversation might have continued, it is impossible to say, for it was evident that neither of the speakers had by any means exhausted her budget, had not Johnny, the unfortunate proprietor of the chilblain above mentioned, scen fit to precipitate himself, head-foremost, into a washingtub of nearly scalding water, whence his mamma, with great presence of mind and much professional dexterity, extricated him, wrung him out, and set him on the mangle to dry, where he remained sobbing, from a vague sense of humid misery, till a more convenient

season.

This little incident reminded Mrs. Coleman that the boiled beef, preparing for our luncheon and the servant's dinner, would inevitably be overdone, and induced her to take a hurried farewell of Mrs. Muddles,

suggestion as to the advisability, moral and physical, of dividing the wretched Johnny's share of plumpudding between his brothers and sisters, and administering a double portion of black draught by way of compensation, an arrangement which elicited from that victimized child a howl of mingled horror and defiance.

We had proceeded about a mile on our return, when Mrs. Coleman, who was a step or two in advance, trod on a slide some boys had made, and would have fallen had I not thrown my arm round her just in time to prevent it.

66

"My dear madam," exclaimed I, "you were as nearly as possible down; I hope you have not hurt yourself." No, my dear-I mean-Mr. Fairlegh; no! I hope I have not, except my ankle; I gave that a twist somehow, and it hurts me dreadfully; but I daresay I shall be able to go on in a minute."

The good lady's hopes, however, were not destined in this instance to be fulfilled, for, on attempting to proceed, the pain increased to such an extent, that she was forced, after limping a few steps, to seat herself on a stone by the way-side, and it became evident that she must have sprained her ankle severely, and would be utterly unable to walk home. In this dilemma, it was not easy to discover what was the best thing to be done -no vehicle could be procured nearer than Hillingford, from which place we were at least two miles distant, and I by no means approved of leaving my companions in their present helpless state, during the space of time which must necessarily elapse ere I could go and return. Mrs. Coleman, who, although suffering from considerable pain, bore it with the greatest equanimity and good nature, seeming to think much more of the inconvenience she was likely to occasion us than of her own discomforts, had just hit upon some brilliant, but totally impracticable project, when our ears were gladdened by the sound of wheels, and in another moment, a little pony-chaise, drawn by a fat, comfortable-looking pony, came in sight, proceeding in the direction of Hillingford. As soon as the driver, a stout, rosy-faced gentleman, who proved to be the family apothecary, perceived our party, he pulled up, and, when he became aware of what had occurred, put an end to our difficulties by offering Mrs. Coleman the unoccupied seat in his chaise.

Sorry I can't accommodate you, also, Miss Saville," he continued, raising his hat; "but you see it's rather close packing as it is; if I were but a little more like the medical practitioner who administered a sleeping draught to Master Romeo, now, we might contrive to carry three.

"I really prefer walking such a cold day as this, thank you, Mr. Pillaway," answered Miss Saville.

Mind you take proper care of poor Clara, Mr. Fairlegh," said Mrs. Coleman, "and don't let her sprain her ankle, or do any thing foolish, and don't you stay out too long yourself and catch cold, or I don't know what Mrs. Fairlegh will say, and your pretty sister, too,-what a fat pony, Mr. Pillaway; you don't give him much physic, I should think,-good bye, my dears, good bye,-remember the boiled beef."

As she spoke, the fat pony, admonished by the whip, described a circle with its tail, frisked with the agility of a playful elephant, and then set off at a better pace than from his adipose appearance I had deemed him capable of.

"With all her oddity, what an unselfish, kind-hearted, excellent little person Mrs. Coleman is !" observed I, as the pony-chaise disappeared at an angle of the road. "Oh! I think her charming," replied my companion warmly," she is so very good-natured."

"She is something beyond that," returned I; mere good nature is a quality I rate very low; a person may be good-natured, yet thoroughly selfish, for nine times out of ten it is easier and more agreeable to say 'yes'

than no;' but there is such an entire forgetfulness of self apparent in all Mrs. Coleman's attempts to make those around her happy and comfortable, that despite her eccentricities, I am beginning to conceive quite a respect for the little woman."

You are a close observer of character, it seems, Mr. Fairlegh," remarked my companion.

"I scarcely see how any thinking person can avoid being so," returned I; "there is no study that appears to me to possess a more deep and varied interest."

You make mistakes, though, sometimes," replied Miss Saville, glancing quickly at me with her beautiful eyes.

You refer to my hasty judgment of last night," said I, colouring slightly.

The mournful words of your song led me to conclude that in one instance, high spirits might not be a sure indication of a light heart; and yet I would fain hope," added I, in a half-questioning tone, "that you merely sought to inculcate a general principle?"

"Is not that a very unusual species of heath to find growing in this country?" was the rejoinder.

Really, I am no botanist," returned I, rather crossly, for I felt that I had received a rebuff, and was not at all sure that I might not have deserved it.

Nay, but I will have you attend; you did not even look towards the place where it is growing," replied Miss Saville, with a half-imperious, halt-imploring glance, which it was impossible to resist.

"Is that the plant you mean?" asked I, pointing to a tuft of heath on the top of a steep bank by the roadside. On receiving a reply in the affirmative, I continued; "then I will render you all the assistance in my power, by enabling you to judge for yourself" So saying, I scrambled up the bank, at the imminent risk of my neck; and after bursting the button-holes of my straps, and tearing my coat in two places with a bramble, I s.cceeded in gathering the heath.

Elated by my success, and feeling every nerve braced and invigorated by the frosty air, I bounded down the slope with such velocity, that, on reaching the bottom, I was unable to check my speed, and only avoided running against Miss Saville, by nearly throwing myself down backwards.

"I beg your pardon," exclaimed I; "I hope I have not alarmed you by my abominable awkwardness; but really the bank was so steep, that it was impossible to stop sooner."

Nay, it is I who ought to apologize for having led you to undertake such a dangerous expedition," replied she, taking the heath which I had gathered, with a smile which quite repaid me for my exertions.

"I do not know what could have possessed me to run down the bank in that insane manner," returned I; "I suppose it is this fine frosty morning which makes me feel so light and happy."

Happy?" repeated my companion incredulously, and in a half absent manner, as though she were rather thinking aloud than addressing me.

"Yes," replied I, surprised; " and why should I not?" "Is any one happy?" was the rejoinder. "Very many people, I hope," said I; "you do not doubt it, surely."

"I well might," she answered with a sigh. "On such a lovely day as this, with the bright clear sky above us, and the hoar-frost sparkling like diamonds in the glorious sunshine, how can one avoid feeling happy?" asked I.

It is very beautiful," she replied, after gazing around for a moment; "and yet can you not imagine a state of mind in which this fair scene, with all its varied charms, may impress one with a feeling of bitterness rather than of pleasure, by the contrast it affords to the darkness and weariness of soul within? Place some famine-stricken wretch beneath the roof of a gilded palace, think you the sight of its magnificence would give him any sensation of pleasure? Would it not

rather, by increasing the sense of his own misery, add to his agony of spirit?"

"I can conceive such a case possible," replied I; "but you would make us out all famine-stricken wretches at this rate you cannot surely imagine every one to be unhappy?"

"There are, no doubt, different degrees of unhappiness," returned Miss Saville; "yet I can hardly conceive any position in life so free from cares, as to be pronounced positively happy; but I know my ideas on this subject are peculiar, and I am not very desirous of making a convert of you, Mr. Fairlegh; the world will do that soon enough, I fear," she added with a sigh.

"I cannot believe it," replied I, warmly; "true, at times we must all feel sorrow; it is one of the conditions of our mortal lot, and we must bear it with what resignation we may, knowing, that if we but make a fitting use of it, it is certain to work for our highest good; but, if you would have me look upon this world as a vale of tears, forgetting all its glorious opportunities for raising our fallen nature to something so bright and noble, as to be even here but little lower than the angels, you must pardon me if I never can agree with you."

There was a moment's pause, when my companion resumed.

"You talk of opportunities of doing good, as being likely to increase our stock of happiness; and, no doubt, you are right; but imagine a situation, in which you are unable to take advantage of these opportunities when they arise, in which you are not a free agent, your will fettered and controlled on every point, so that you are alike powerless to perform the good that you desire, and to avoid the evil you both hate and fear, could you be happy in such a situation, think you?"

"You describe a case which is, or ought to be, impossible," replied I; "when I say ought to be, I mean that in these days, I hope and believe, it is impossible for any one to be forced to do wrong, unless, from a natural weakness and facility of disposition, and from a want of moral courage, their resistance is so feeble, that those who seek to compel them to evil, are induced to redouble their efforts, when a little firmness and decision clearly shown, and steadily adhered to, would have produced a very different result."

"Oh! that I could think so!" exclaimed Miss Saville ardently: she paused for a minute, as if in thought, and then resumed in a low mournful voice, "but you do not know-you cannot tell; besides, it is useless to struggle against destiny: there are people fated from childhood to grief and misfortune-alone in this cold world-you have a sister?" she inquired, abruptly.

And you love each other?"

"Indeed we do, truly and sincerely."

"And you are a man, one of the lords of the creation," she continued, with a slight degree of sarcasm in her tone. "Well, Mr. Fairlegh, I can believe that you may be happy sometimes."

And what am I to conjecture about you?" inquired I, fixing my eyes upon her expressive features.

What you please," returned she, turning away with a very becoming blush-" or rather," she added, "do not waste your time in forming any conjectures whatever on such an uninteresting subject."

"I am more easily interested than you imagine," replied I, with a smile; "besides, you know, I am fond of studying character."

"The riddle is not worth reading," answered Miss

Saville.

THE RISE AND DECLINE OF CHIVALRY IN

ENGLAND.

PART II.

"The knights are dust,

And their good swords are rust :

Their souls are with the saints, we trust." WHEN shorn of all pomp and external decoration, when performed hastily, and in the battle field, the investment of a knight had ever some accompanying circumstances calculated to work upon the best feelings of the mind; and one of these circumstances inseparable from the ceremony was, that the honour was thought worthless, unless conferred by one of approved valour and conduct. After the battle of Marignan, Francis I. of France chose to receive knighthood from the hands of the Chevalier Bayard alone. Le roy voulut grandement honnorer, car il preint l'ordre de chevalerie de sa main. Il avoit bien raison, car de meilleur ne l'eust secu prendre."

Stern must have been the mould of him whose every feeling of chivalry was not aroused within him on receiving this honourable investment thus amidst the dying and the dead. There are instances on record, where a dying man has exerted every energy of his frame to muster strength to confer knighthood on his faithful esquire or page, as the dearest boon he could bequeath to him; and, on the contrary, it is well known that, after the termination of the strife at Agincourt, Henry V knighted some brave Welsh soldiers even as they lay expiring. This may appear an outrageous outburst of the chivalrous spirit, and we are far from contending that its manifestations were at all times rigidly governed by reason. We read in the romances of the time, that, after the death of the renowned knight and warrior Lancelot du Lac, the right arm of the corpse was used in conferring the knightly accolade on a youth of high lineage and promise, Ysaie. We do not of course refer to the tradition as worthy of the slightest credence in itself; but, as these romances were undoubtedly pictures, though exaggerated ones, of the manners of the times, we have adduced the auec dote as correlative proof of our remark, that the honour of the accolade itself was enhanced by the high knightly character of the arm by which it was conferred. There can be nobody who has not heard of the renown of Sir Lancelot of the Lake.

The ceremonies of the degradation of a knight who had forfeited his claims to that estate were even more solemn than those of his inauguration. The formal degradation was, however, seldom resorted to except in the extremest cases, as there were many modes in which an unworthy cavalier might, as the modern phrase goes, be voted to Coventry, and be sufficiently punished without resorting to the extreme of public degradation. Some of the circumstances of this complete degradation were the depriving him of his armour, which was taken from him piece by piece on a public scaffold, and broken and trampled under foot;-the proclaiming him a rebel, a traitor, and a faith breaker;-the pouring hot water over him, as if to wash away all trace of the sacred character of knight, with which he had been invested; the reading a penitential psalm over him; and in some places the ceremony was so extreme as to place him in a coffin, and read the service for the dead over him.

It is recorded of the wild Normans, that they spent the night before the battle of Hastings in fasting and prayer; and one feels it difficult to reconcile this circumstance with the accounts of their indifference to other religious ceremonies as compared with the Saxons. But, as chivalry progressed to its lustre, frequent prayer was always a habit of the knight, and especially before combat. On one occasion, when the French and English armies were going to engage, "quand vint le Vendredy au matin, les deux osts s'appareillèrent et

Again: "En ce jour se levèrent les Anglois moult matin; et s'appareillèrent pour aller devant Caen. Puis ouit le Roy messe devant soleil levant; et après monta à cheval," &c.

Froissart's Chronicle abounds in similar instances.

But perhaps the most engaging characteristic of chivalry, as it was also its most pervading feature, was its generosity; or what we might perhaps, in modern phrase, describe as the perfect tone of gentlemanly feeling which it almost invariably displayed. To this did Lord Digby trust, judging others by his own standard, when he was taken prisoner in disguise at Hull, and confided his real name and dignity to the rebel governor, Sir John Hotham, who, not insensible to the chivalrous trust reposed in him by his lofty visitor, connived at his escape. By this feeling was King Louis VII. of France actuated when he refused to give up Becket to the messengers of Henry II. Tell your king," said he, "it is the hereditary privilege of my crown to protect the unfortunate."

These beautiful results characterized the whole age of chivalry; but they had their origin in an infinitely more ennobling cause than any conventional mode of manners-even in that Christian charity which believeth, hopeth, and endureth all things. The religion of those days was doubtless imbued with superstition and bigotry, but it was heartfelt, sincere, and influencing, nevertheless. How influencing let one example suffice here. When Louis IX. was kept in hard durance by the sultan, and threatened by the most horrible tortures, the infidel monarch was suddenly assassinated by one of his own followers, who hastened to the French king, informing him of the deed. Louis was transfixed with horror, and, on the demand of the Mussulman to be knighted by him, peremptorily refused, though the sword of the ruthan was at his breast to compel his acquiescence. When you become a Christian," said the undaunted monarch, "I will knight you." We are told that, subdued by the calm unmoved dignity of the king's manner, the murderer rushed from the chamber.

To illustrate further our meaning as to the generosity which the code of chivalry was intended to inculcate, and which was in fact a practical illustration of the divine precept, "Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you," take the following examples from many which lie before us.

In the time of Peter, king of Arragon, when the Spanish admiral, Roger de Luria, a Templar, arrived at the port of Malta, where was the fleet of Marseilles, having taken the provincials by surprise, some of his men cried out, "Now fall on." God forbid," said he, "that I should attack them while they sleep; let the trumpet sound, and I shall wait till they are ready. Men shall not be able to say that I attacked sleeping men.”

| When the Duke de Montmorenci was wounded at the bridge of the Fresquel in 1632, he was within a few yards of his own party, who would have enabled him to escape, when suddenly his horse fell to the ground The officers of the army opposed to him pretended not to see him, that his friends might have time to rescue him.

After the battle of Poictiers, the English and Gascon knights questioned their prisoners, upon their honour, as to what ransom they could pay without inconvenience, and they trusted implicitly to the statement made.

Take a domestic instance. In 1439 the Duc de Bourbon, on his return from an eight years' imprisonment in London, gave an entertainment to his retainers and vassals, on which occasion his agent presented him an immense book, containing a list of the defalcations of all his vassals during his absence. The noble-hearted man did not even open it, but, throwing it into the flames of the fire which burnt in the middle of the hall,