Miscellaneous.

"I have here made only a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own, but the string that ties them."-Montaigne.

LONGEVITY OF THE TORTOISE.

IN the library of Lambeth Palace is the shell of a tortoise, brought there in 1623. It lived till 1730, and was then accidentally killed. Another, in the palace at Fulham, procured by Bishop Laud in 1628, died in 1759. Tortoises are proverbial for their longevity; one at Peterborough lived 220 years.-Sir Richard Phillips.

CUNNING OF THE FOX.

WHEN living in Ross-shire, I went one morning in July, before daybreak, to endeavour to shoot a stag, who had been complained of very much by an adjoining farmer, as having done great damage to his crops. Just after it was daylight, I saw a large fox come very quietly along the edge of the plantation in which I was concealed; he looked with great care over the turf wall into the field, and seemed to long very much to get hold of some hares that were feeding in it, but apparently knew that he had no chance of catching one by dint of running; after considering a short time, he seemed to have formed his plans, and having examined the different gaps in the wall by which the hares might be supposed to go in and out, he fixed upon the one that seemed the most frequented, and laid himself down close to it in an attitude like a cat watching a mouse-hole. Cunning as he was, he was too intent on his own hunting to be aware that I was within twenty yards of him with a loaded rifle, and able to watch every movement he made; I was much amazed to see the fellow so completely outwitted, and kept my rifle ready to shoot him if he found me out and attempted to escape. In the mean time I watched all his plans: he first, with great silence and care, scraped a small hollow in the ground, throwing up the sand as a kind of screen between his hiding-place and the hares' meuse. Every now and then, however, he stopped to listen, and some times to take a most cautions peep into the field; when he had done this, he laid himself down in a convenint posture for springing on his prey, and remained perfectly motionless, with the exception of an occasional reconnoitre of the feeding hares. When the sun began to rise, they came one by one from the field to the cover of the plantation; three had already come in without passing by his ambush ; one of them came within twenty yards of him, but he made no movement beyond crouchiing still more flatly to the ground. Presently two came directly towards him; though he did not venture to look up, I saw by an involuntary motion of his ears that those quick organs had already warred him of their approach the two hares came through the gap together, and the fox, springing with the quickness of lightning, caught one and killed her immediately; he then lifted up his booty and was carrying it off like a retriever, when my rifle ball stopped his course by passing through his backbone, and I went up and dispatched him. After seeing this I never wondered again as to how a fox could make a prey of animals much quicker than himself, and apparently quite as cunning.-Wild Sports and Natu ral History of the Highlands, by Charles St. John, Esq.

THE BEAUTY OF THE SKY.

Ir is a strange thing how little in general people know about the sky. It is the part of creation in which nature has done more for the sake of pleasing man, more for the sole and evident purpose of talking to him and teaching him, than in any other of her works, and it is just the part in which we least attend to her. There are not many of her other works in which some more material or essential purpose than the mere pleasing of

man is not answered by every part of their organization; but every essential purpose of the sky might, as far as we know, be answered, if once in three days, or thereabouts, a great black ugly rain cloud were broken up over the blue, and everything well watered, and so all left blue again until next time, with perhaps a film of morning and evening mist for dew. But instead of this, there is not a moment of any day of our lives when nature is not producing scene after scene, picture after picture, glory after glory, and working still upon such exquisite and constant principles of the most perfect beauty, that it is quite certain it is all done for us, and intended for our perpetual pleasure.-Modern Painters.

THE CAPTAIN MASTERED.

"The

Another of our skipper's stories was the finding a vessel yawing about in a most fearful way, steering wild. He at first determined to give her a wide berth, He therefore hailed her, "What ship is that?" but afterwards thought he would inquire the longitude. Samuel Walker." "Where are you from?" Bosting, down east." "Who commands her?" "Why, I undertuk her, but I swear she is too much for me."Echoes from the Backwoods.

"From

I have often been astonished at the softness in which

other minds seem to have passed their day: the ripened pasture and clustering vineyards of imagination: the mental arcadia in which they describe themselves as having loitered from year to year. Yet, can I have faith in this perpetual Claude Lorraine pencil-this undying verdure of the soil-this gold and purple suffusion of the sky-those pomps of the palace and the pencil with their pageants and nymphs, giving life to their landscape; while mine was a continual encounter with difficulty, a continual summons to self-control?-A march, not unlike that of the climber up the side of Etna; every step through ruins, the vestiges of former conflagrations; the ground I trode, rocks that had once been flame; every advance a new trial of my feelings or my fortitude; every stage of the ascent leading me, like the traveller, into a higher region, of sand or ashes; until, at the highest, I stood in a circle of eternal frost, with all the rich and human landscape below fading away in distance, and looked down only on a gulph of fire.-Marston.

THE Chinese proverb says, "A lie has no legs, and cannot stand; but it has wings, and can fly far and wide."-Hochelaga.

THE noblest part of a friend is an honest boldness in He that tells me of a fault, the notifying of errors. aiming at my good, I must think him wise and faithful; wise, in spying that which I see not; faithful, in a plain admonishment, not tainted with flattery.- Feltham's Resolves.

It is startling to reflect that all the time and energy of a multitude of persons of genius, talent and knowledge, is expended in endeavours to demonstrate each others' errors.”—Liebeg."

Poor Ellen ran out to the meeting,

And soon returned-with 'wildered eye
And breathless haste her father greeting-
Into the farm-house tremblingly.

"Oh help!" she cried, "a mournful wailing
Comes from the reedy waters dun!

'Tis George-he cries-his strength is failingOh father! haste! to save your son!"

The old man looked up. and shook lightly
His hoary locks, "My child! thou know'st
An hundred years there wandered nightly,
Just there, the noble Gertrude's Ghost.
Astray at night among the marshes
Her horses and her carriage sank,
The Countess o'er the moor still paces,
And warns the traveller from the bank."

"Oh! ere his heart break! come !" cried Ellen, "And speak not of an idle tale!

His cries upon my ear were swelling!
Could I to know his accents fail ?"
Yet, trusting to the village saying-
Though on her knees she begged-in doubt
Sate Martin yet, his help delaying,
And in despair she hurried out.

"Oh help!" she cried at every dwelling,
"A man is drowning in the lake!
He groans-oh! list the tale I'm telling-
I ask it for our Saviour's sake!"
Yet-as were all in league united—
"It were but so much labour lost."
They stupid said-her misery slighted--
""Tis nothing but the Lady's ghost.

"Oh God!" she cried, her arms extending, "No heart of rock would aid allowThou-who art Love-let that, descending,、 Give me the strength to save him now!" Then quickly felt she that a fountain Of courage in her breast arose,

And swiftly rushed she 'neath the mountain, Whence still the wild lamenting goes.

The old man in the house felt dreary

As all the world upon him lay,

And through the fields he hastened, weary,
That stormy winter's night away.
He called 'midst roaring wind and water
On Ellen's name an hundred times,
But 'stead of his beloved daughter
There answered only echo-chimes.

The village his lamentings raising,
The men all now to rescue throng-
And twenty torches' light was blazing
At midnight all the Pool along.
There found they-horror all surpassing!
Close to the shore, in sedges wide,
Their stiffened bodies yet embracing
Whom death itself could not divide.

White as a spectre with his sorrow
Sank Martin in his neighbours' arms,
And this disastrous night no morrow,
No joy from memory ever charms.
A grey stone, with two doves abiding,
The country mason's labours gave,
With-"Flee from Superstition's guiding!
That laid them in their early grave."

WORDSWORTH.

The river dividing Thanet from the continent of Kent fell into the sea at Sandwich, and was called the Stour, and this (or rather another stream which flowed into it), winding to the north-west so as to form the island, reached the sea again near Reculver, where it was called formerly the Yenlade, but afterwards, as the waters began to fail, it was known by the appropriate appellation of Wantsume, a name which it still retains. At both these mouths the sea rushed freely, and flowed entirely round the island, forming, as we have said, a broad estuary, which offered a safe and inviting passage for ships of the largest burthen, and was indeed the accustomed route from France to London. The water at the narrowest part was upwards of a mile and a half in width, and in some places four miles.

was noted, but the alteration had become quite visible in Bede's time. The Stour was neither so wide nor so rapid as it had been; the Yenlade was beginning to be known as the Wantsume; and the proprietors were inadvertently adding to the mischief, by securing those lands from which the sea had retired, from the possibility of being again overflowed.

At the time this estuary was as we have described it at first, the lands along the course of the river which now are luxuriant pasture were of course beneath the waters, which also flowed over the low grounds almost as far as Canterbury; and on the coast from Ramsgate to Deal extended one broad bay, the tides of which washed the foot of the hill on which Richborough Castle stands, now two miles inland. Ebbsflete, where a narrow creek ran inland, was a common and convenient landing place, and the site of the present town of

Sandwich was under the waves.

It was probably as a successor to or substitute for Richborough, when the sea retiring from it destroyed its utility as a port, that Sandwich was built, on ground also redeemed from the ocean. It was built along the southern margin of the river Stour, and on the sea sands, as it name Sond-wic or Sondwych fully testifies; and this title also evidences its Saxon origin. The name first occurs in history about the year A.D. 664. The town was also called Lundenwich, as lying in the way, or rather being the usual passage, to London.

From the time of its origin, the property of this town was vested in the reigning monarch, until the year A.D. 979, when King Ethelred gave it to Christchurch in Canterbury to the use of the monks, free from all secular service and fiscal tribute except the repelling invasions, and the repairing of bridges and castles. King Knute confirmed, or rather (for all the property of the island was his by conquest) renewed this gift, after having partly rebuilt and considerably improved the town. William the Conquerer, and Henry the Second, confirmed to the monks of Christchurch all their liberties and customs in Sandwich. But in the reign of Edward the First, these reverend proprietors gave up to the king a chief proportion of their rights in exchange for land in another part of Kent: and, the reservations made in this agreement being found practically inconvenient, a further compromise was made in the reign of Edward the Third, whereby the monks ceded all their rights, privileges, and possessions in the town and port of Sandwich. It was in Edward the Confessor's reign, who resided here for a considerable time, that Sandwich was made a Cinque Port, and it has always ranked next to Hastings in precedency. It was first incorporated by Edward the Third, and the meeting by which the Mayor is annually elected is convened by the blast of a brass horn of great antiquity, which is sounded before the house of every one qualified to vote. All municipal elections, decrees, &c. are made by the corporate body assembled by the blast of this ancient horn.

Some of these ancient laws are amusing. In 1493 it was decreed that a person refusing to take a particular office, to which he was appointed by the meeting, should not be permitted to bake or brew, or that, if he did bake or brew, the Commons might seize the bread and beer, and apply it to their own use. We can hardly in these days understand how very awkward a predicament this must have been, when beer shops and public bakehouses were not.

Another decree of about the same period was that no person be elected a jurat, who has not dwelt and kept house in the town a year and a day, he and his wife together. A general law of this kind might become a national benefit; or would it not rather perhaps in these days become the nucleus of another league to agitate for repeal?

Sandwich seems gradually to have increased in wealth and consequence from the time when, from the decay of the Portus Rutupinus (Richborough), it became a substitute for, and successor to, that celebrated haven, though, like other towns on this coast, it suffered at times fearfully from the ravages of the Danes. But the inhabitants made a spirited, and not unfrequently a successful, opposition to these pirates. To enter into any detailed account of these times, would merely be to multiply

descriptions of cruelty, always disgusting and never profitable. Pass we therefore over them. Rather would we assist the over-proud and over-zealous yet well-intentioned Bishop and Martyr, St. Thomas à Becket in his flight, when after a close concealment of many days at Eastry, he passed hastily through Sandwich, and, leaving the town by the Fishers' Gate, embarked in a small fishing boat which had been secretly hired for him, and landed at Gravelines the same evening. Or gladly would we join the throng who are so eagerly crowding towards the quay just six years afterwards, to welcome the Prelate on his return to his home, and to escort him with honour through the Canterbury Gate.

But a few years pass, and a still more illustrious exile, a crowned and lion-hearted king, steps on the quay at Sandwich, amid the deafening acclamations of his subjects, assembled from every quarter four miles around, to obtain a glance of the brave monarch, who, on his return from the Holy Wars, was betrayed by the guile of the cowardly Duke of Austria, and, in defiance of every feeling of chivalry and honour, was by him cast into a dungeon. For months he languished there, and, as every body knows, the place of his confinement was discovered by a faithful minstrel. He was at length released, finished his journey safely, and is now treading his own soil, breathing his native air. Loud, deafening, are the heartfelt shouts that greet him, splendid the carriage prepared for him, magnificent the cortège which awaits him. But he withdraws from all; declines all honours, all state, all parade, and in humble guise and on foot, he proceeds from Sandwich to Canterbury, there to offer before the High Altar rich gifts and oblations, and the more acceptable sacrifice of a heart softened by gratitude for the perils he had escaped. This paramount duty performed, Richard "is himself again.'

Many such scenes of thrilling interest the annals of Sandwich bear witness to, and many passages of a highly chivalric nature occurred here, for, as we have said, this town ranked second among the Cinque Ports. At first it furnished only five ships to the general quota, but so rapid was its advance in wealth and importance, that, various alterations being made from time to time in the allotments according to the varying circumstances of the Ports, instead of five, Sandwich was shortly taxed to the amount of ten ships and a half. It is said to have been the first place in England where ships were built.

Sandwich was very often the rendezvous for fleets which were especially commanded by the king in person; and this was particularly the case in the reign of the chivalrous Edward III. Indeed, during all the French wars of these times, it was the accustomed rendezvous of the fleets and armies, and the most usual place of embarkation and debarkation. It is said by some authors, that, after the battle of Poictiers, when the Black Prince threw his former laurels into insignificance by the bright ones he gathered there, he landed at Sandwich,' with his royal prisoners, John, King of France, and Philip, the monarch's youngest son, a promising youth of fourteen, who had fought bravely at his father's side, and yielded his sword at the same time.

While in the zenith of glory and prosperity,

(1) Some authors say Plymouth.

while vigorously engaged in commerce, and while the favourite rendezvous and port for kings and armies to sojourn and embark, Sandwich was also rich in those charitable institutions which at all times illumine and sanctify worldly pomp, but which formed a peculiar feature of those times of rude pomp and barbaric splendour.

In early times the bishop of a diocese was taxed with the care of all the poor; but afterwards, when churches acquired fixed revenues, a certain proportion was laid aside for the behoof of the poor, and houses of charity were built for their accommodation. But such works of piety were not confined to those who had assumed a religious garb. Many a lofty chieftain has immortalized his name by a charitable donation, without which his "deeds of derring do," chivalrous as they might be, would have been forgotten; and the name of many a noble matron has descended through after generations in the prayers of those to whose welfare she had sacrificed her worldly wealth.

The Hospital of St. Bartholomew, in Sandwich, is one of those institutions originating in private beneficence. In its original it was meant only for pilgrims and travellers. Leland describes it as "an hospital, withoute the town, fyrst ordeined for maryners desesyd and hurte."

It is worthy of note, that very many of these ancient hospitals in and near the Cinque Ports, if not especially founded for travellers (as this seems to have been), were yet all expressly bound by the rules of their foundation, not merely to show hospitality as the general rule of the age, but to be especially careful of pilgrims and travellers-to show them every solace, to provide them every succour, and to furnish them, as far as possible, with the means of prosecuting their journey. This affectionate solicitude for the wayfarer arose, doubtless, from the national excitement with regard to the Holy Wars, which would make all bound to or returning from them objects of especial interest; and still more, from the feelings of respect, and almost of veneration, which attached to all those pilgrims who, from motives of piety, sought

"Those holy fields,

Over whose acres walked those blessed feet, Which eighteen hundred years ago were nailed, For our advantage, on the bitter cross.' Thousands of pilgrims were annually passing and repassing "the Ports."

The Hospital of St. Bartholomew remains where it was originally founded, on the high road, or rather, at the junction of two high roads, about a mile out of Sandwich, the site being chosen as convenient for travellers. As it existed in the beginning of the fourteenth century, the brethren and sisters had comfortable apartments, but not separate houses. The whole was a connected building, with public hall, bakehouse, and kitchen, with the chapel a few paces off. But now each brother and sister has a separate abode; and the sixteen cottages, embosomed each in its own garden, and surrounded by rich orchards and corn-fields, convey to the mind every idea of comfort and abundance.

A reference to some of the peculiar domestic regulations, which were strictly enforced here formerly, will be acceptable, as throwing light on the manners of the times.

"Every fortnight the sisters go to oven,' and

(1) A common phrase in this part of Kent: orig. eunt ad furnum.

make bread for the hospital. The allowance is seven loaves to each person for fourteen days.

Every brother and sister is allowed twopence a week for beer; and, once a year, towards Christmas, each person is to have a hog out of the common stock.

"Every day there is prepared in the kitchen, for common use, a quantity of porridge, of beans, peas, or other vegetables, and every person may put his or her meat into the common pot; and the cook shall return it when sufficiently boiled, with a basin of porridge. But no one shall be permitted to make use of a separate pot, on the common fire, because the hospital is not bound to provide a fire but for the common boiler.

"Every Sunday after dinner the brothers and sisters assemble together in the hall, and receive from the master a penny a-piece; of which each contributes a farthing for a jug of ale, which they drink_together, to promote brotherly affection: and the master obliges every one to attend this meeting. At their departure, and every day at the same hour, they should pray for the founders and benefactors of the hospital, and for all the faithful, living and dead."

Some of the customs of St. John's Hospital, which, impoverished, decaying, and insignificant, does yet also exist in Sandwich, were more peculiar.

The daily allowance here to each brother and sister was a mess of porridge, a farthing loaf, and a farthing for beer, if the income would admit of it. When any part of the building wanted repair, however, they inevitably lost the beer money, as the income of the house did not suffice for both.

Some of the brothers attended the churches in Sandwich every Sunday with a pewter dish, soliciting money to buy meat for dinner on that day. Another brother was deputed to go through the county of Kent, or wherever the brethren and sisters should direct, on an ass, with a public letter, soliciting charity on behalf of the hospital: and he collected sometimes ten shillings a year, sometimes a mark above his expenses.

One of the brothers went about in harvest with a cart, collecting wheat and other corn, which was made into bread, and divided amongst them. And at Christmas they sent a brother with a sack to the houses of the better sort of people in the town and its neighbourhood to beg bread, which was likewise divided equally amongst them.

Less decayed than this, but far from emulating the life and prosperity of St. Bartholomew's, is the Hospital of St. Thomas, which still affords a shelter and provision for four women and eight men. On a desk in the homely, ancient, low-browed hall, is chained a tattered copy of Foxe's Acts and Monuments, and also an ancient Bible. A few pictures hang round the walls; one of a beautiful lady, who bled to death from having pricked her finger. Another represents a fresh-coloured, fleshy, somewhat heavy-looking man, in a snuff-brown coat, with wide cuffs and large pockets, and a full-bottomed wig, evidently intended for George I. An ancient inmate of the hospital, who seemed to be somewhat of a literary turn, said that "he had been told that it was George I., but he was himself inclined to think that it was Charles I. Didn't I think so?" Overpowered at the moment by the idea of the refined, sensitive, martyred Charles, with chubby cheeks, and in a Dutchman's coat, Í