Meanwhile tidings of this truly dreadful tragedy were | brought to Offa, who in an ecstasy of grief shut to" the door of his chamber, and forbade all access to his presence. There he remained in strict seclusion for many days, and, when he again came forth, his first act was giving command that the guilty Drida should be thrown headlong into a well! An awful death! just retribution for her many crimes! But, whether Offa were actuated by right feeling—whether he sacrificed his consort to a stern sense of kingly duty, knowing that "mercy but murders, sparing those that kill," is very doubtful. "To show an unfelt sorrow is an office, Which the false man does easy." And the king's after conduct seems to prove that his ignorance of the wicked designs of his wife was only feigned; and his subsequent grief and indignation af fected, on finding how hateful in the eyes of his subjects was the crime committed. For, hardly was the latter sentence against his hapless partner executed, than he seized the inheritance of her victim, and joined the kingdom of East Anglia to that of Mercia. Fearful testimony against himself,-going well nigh to prove, that, for the much coveted "parcel of ground," he had been willing the once loved Drida should steep her hands in blood, in order that he might reap the advantage, while she was made to pay the penalty! 0 closely woven tissue of dark sins! Soon did they rise like mocking demon forms to haunt his noonday path and midnight couch. "Uneasy lies the head that wears an" ill-got "crown," and sleep forsook the monarch's eyes, and peaceful slumber his eyelids. Each night in his soul's bitter anguish did he cry "Better be with the dead, Than in the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy!" To "cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon the heart," a sense of untold guilt, Ofla sought the confessional, and with the priestly absolution received command to build a stately monastery, and endow it with rich lands in expiation of his crime. To this he willingly acceded, giving, moreover, a tithe of all his "worldly goods" to "Holy Church," and undertaking for his "soul's health" a pilgrimage to Rome. This he accomplished in 791, when he renewed his promise of erecting a building, worthy to be dedicated to God and his Saints. On returning to his native land, he turned all his thoughts towards the means he should adopt for performing his solemn engagement, and prayed earnestly to God, that, "as he had often delivered him from the danger and assaults of his enemies, and from the traps and snares of his wife, so he would vouchsafe to grant him further light and information to enable him to complete his vow of founding a monastery!" This prayer, we are assured, (though, it must be confessed, on somewhat doubtful authority,) was answered by the voice of an angel, who, when the king was sojourning at Bath, not long after appeared by his bedside in the stillness of night, and bade him raise from the ground the remains of the blessed martyr Alban, place them in a noble shrine, and raise above it the stately edifice he proposed erecting. Thus was obviated the great difficulty he had hitherto met with in the choice of a fitting site for the monastery, and the selection of a Saint, on whom to bestow the honour of its dedication. No sooner had morning dawned than he despatched missives to the nobles and prelates of his kingdom, commanding them to meet him at Watlingcester, on a day appointed. A goodly company of all ranks, sexes. and ages, accompanied the king on his journey, and, as they neared the place of their destination, they saw, to their great astonishment and delight, a bright and beaming light shining over it. This they regarded as a favourable omen; but another difficulty still awaited them, for, during the devastating wars carried on by the Saxons, first against the Britons, and then against themselves, all trace of the martyr and the place of his sepulchre had been lost. How to overcome this, Offa was at a loss to divine, when heaven, we are told, again interposed in behalf of the repentant king, and suddenly there "stood over" the summit of the hill of Holmehurst, a "ray of fire," like the wondrous star, which, as a beacon light, led the wise men of the east to the lowly manger of Bethlehem. With exceeding gladness, the bishops who accompanied Offa, (after having fasted, prayed, and distributed abundant alms,) proceeded to open the ground, whereon the miraculous light shed its encouraging beam; and there, to their inexpressible joy, they beheld the bones they had so earnestly sought, still resting unmolested in the same coffin in which Germanus had placed them 344 years before. At this "most joyful sight," all present, with one accord, "lift up their voice and wept." And a strange and most moving sight must that have been, of a warlike prince surrounded by a vast multitude of the great, the noble, and the fair, all mingling with his, their tears of gratitude and joy! All distinctions were for the time unheeded, or forgotten; and the haughty Thane, with the despised Briton,-the cloistered monk, with the worldly courtier, -the blue-eyed beauty of high descent, with the low-born daughter of the serf,-each and all joined with the monarch and the slave in paying honour to the Saint! His remains were raised from the ground and carried in solemn procession to a little chapel without the walls of Verulam; which, from its insignificance and secluded position, had escaped the ruthless hands of the destroying Saxons. This cell the king decorated in every possible way, and there, on the first of August, 791, five hundred and seven years after his death, with a circlet of gold bound around his fleshless skull, bearing his name honourable resting-place.... Having chosen from the and title, the martyr was consigned to a temporary, but Monastery of Bec, in Normandy, a monk named Willegod, of piety and wisdom, to be appointed to superintend the building of the monastery he had vowed to erect, and to take the government of it when completed, Offa with great pomp laid the foundation stone thereof, on the very spot where Alban had laid down his life for the truth, and where his remains had been discovered by the light vouchsafed from heaven. Kneeling on the bare ground, with hundreds prostrate around him, the concluded by commending the house about to be built king pronounced the prayer of dedication, which he to the protection of "Thee, O Jesus! and to thee, O martyr Alban! and to thee, O Willegod! with maledictions on all who shall disturb it, and blessings on all who shall be its benefactors !" (To be continued.) Poetry. [In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author, is printed in Small Capitals, under the title; in Selections it is printed in Italics at the end.] SONNET. META. LIGHT dwells with shadows! mountains frown o'er vales! THE VISION OF ST. JOHN'S EVE. BY ANNABEL C-~. MAIDEN, o'er thy young blue eye Deep thy guileless sleep; Softly on thy forehead white Falls the moonbeam's hallowing light, "Tis the eve of good St. John; Though thou know'st it not; Bright the sun, and bright the sky, Field, and flower, and blossoming tree, All are strangely fair. Fairer seemed they to her then And she felt she knew not why- That her soul was free. Then there came the morning pale, And she woke, while on her brow Then she knew her doom was sealed, Quietly to bear; For she knew, if in that night When her mother saw her face, Much she marvelled that her child Much she marvelled, day by day, And she grieved sore; For her laugh's clear ringing sound, Day by day, and week by week, Paler grew the maiden's cheek,- Thus she passed on towards the tomb, In her youth's rich early bloom, And no moan she made: Never mourned she that the light They bear her to a southern shore, Fairest roses those would be, Now the fluttering sails at rest, Then they bear her to the shore, Then she knoweth well the shore, Bright the sun, and bright the sky, Field, and flower, and blossoming tree, All are strangely fair. For it is the land that shone 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. PAINFUL DUTIES OF THE SCHOOLMASTER. THERE is neither fortune nor fame to be acquired in fulfilling the laborious duties of a village schoolmaster. Doomed to a life of monotonous labour, sometimes requited with ingratitude and injustice by ignorance, he will often be oppressed with melancholy, and perhaps sink under the weight of his thankless toil, if he do not seek strength and courage elsewhere than in the views of immediate and personal interest. He must be sustained and animated by a profound sense of the moral importance of his labours. He must learn to regard the austere pleasure of having served mankind, and secretly contributed to the public weal, as a price worthy of his exertion, which his conscience pays him. It is his glory to aspire to nothing above his obscure and laborious condition, to make unnumbered sacrifices for those who profit by him, to labour, in a word, for man, and wait for his reward from God.-Guizot. To be humble to superiors, is duty; to equals, is courtesy; to inferiors, is nobleness; and to all, safety: it being a virtue, that, for all her lowliness, commandeth those souls it stoops to.-Sir Thomas More. VOL. IV. No. 90.] London Magazine: A JOURNAL OF ENTERTAINMENT AND INSTRUCTION FROM A PAINTING BY E. DUNCAN, ESQ., IN THE NEW BRITISH WATER-COLOUR EXHIBITION. MYSTERIES OF VEGETABLE LIFE. WHEN the child plucks a cowslip from its sunny bank, he pauses not to inquire respecting the secret wonders of its growth, but goes merrily from brake to dell, increasing the number of his flowery captives, and then hastening home, presents the rich bunch of wild beauties to his little sister for a fanciful wreath. With similar emotions may the man nurtured in the school of Art behold the flowery kingdoms, as tribe after tribe emerges from the secure retreats where the echoes of the north wild have been unheard, and the keen frosts of winter unfelt. He is content with gazing on the beautiful vision, and delights to enrich his imagination with the bright images suggested by a thousand delicate flower bells trembling in the evening breeze, and seeming, in the ear of fancy, to utter a fairy peal of melody. But there are also times when reason proposes her questions respecting these creations of the spring, and urges the mind to look beyond that veil of material beauty which so often hides the wonderful workings of God from the eyes of men. It is undoubtedly much easier to ponder with a soft and dreamy delight on the fascinations of the visible, than to go on a voyage of careful examination into those realms of natural science, which force not their mysteries on our view, but quietly wait for the investigations of men. We must ever remember, that, if "the works of the Lord are great," so is it declared, they are "sought out by all them who have pleasure therein." Let us, therefore, at certain times turn from the luxury of seeing the beautiful, to the work of studying the hidden wonders on which all the visible charm of nature depends. The various forms of vegetable life must, at this season, attract the attention of all, from the peasant, passing in the grey dawn of the morning, through lanes adorned with wild flowers, to the Queen, who beholds the opening beauties of Windsor park and forest. larity with which they are placed around the stem and branches. Hundreds of little artistically constructed reservoirs meet the eye of him who examines the architecture of many water-plants, or beholds with delight the fine air-tubes in stems appearing to the eye but a solid mass of vegetable. As much regularity and symmetry can sometimes be detected in these cell systems, as in the arrangement of a city, planned and erected by the genius of some great architect. But these are not the only hollows which excite the admiration of the botanist: others exist throughout the most solid portions of plants, and in the heart of oak Let the reader take up a exhibit their minute caves. is this substance? What is its basis, that from which piece of deal, mahogany, or other wood, and ask, What it chiefly rises? Perhaps he has not hitherto suspected that wood is but a mass of globes, that the trunk of a tree is composed of myriads of spheres, so small that the dimensions of many are not equal to the 500th part of an inch. Thus, in a fragment of wood about the size of a marble, ten millions of such minute circles may exist. These cavities may be seen by the unaided eye, in every piece of wood; in the hard mahogany of the table or writing desk, or in the trunk of a tree just felled: it is, however, through the microscope that we discern the full development of this vegetable cellsystem, and ascertain that some of the walls of seedcaves are formed from fine plates of vegetable matter, not more than the 2000th part of an inch in thickness. The first element of vegetable life appears to exist in such exceedingly minute cells, for the whole growth of the largest oak may be traced to a dark speck, not exceeding one 60,000th of an inch in diameter, placed in the middle of a hollow filled with transparent fluid. but their whole substance is composed of such circular Vegetables not only arise from these atomic spheres, bodies. Thus, the globular form appears diffused through the universe, being found in the stars and planets, in the atoms of fluids, (such as water, and blood,) and in the organization of plants. A vegetable may, therefore, be said to contain within itself a whole system,-a universe, of globes, each being hollow, and filled by some fluid, the workings of which are as necessary to the well-being of that particular plant, as the movements of the heavenly bodies to the stability of the solar system. The laws, too, which regulate the operations of these countless hosts of botanical spheres, are the same with those which determine the sweep of a comet's path, or the movement of the sun and all What are the causes which bind these vegetable globules the planets round their common centre of gravity. together? which fill them with fluids of different kinds, and form, from such almost invisible pulps, the mast of the hundred-gun ship, the rich colours of the tulip, or the tints of the rose? These are questions involved in mystery: we may elaborate our guesses, and utter, with the solemn look of mystified gropers, the words Amongst the mysteries of vegetable life must be mentioned the system of air-cells, which the researches of botanists have detected. These are hollows found in different parts of plants, and, being filled with air, doubtless contribute to preserve the vitality of the vegetable, or increase its reproductive powers. Great numbers of such cells are found under what may be called the skin of plants, and are exceedingly numerous in the various aquatic species. Thus the graceful stem of a Calla (or Arum), which appears but a mass of soft, green, stalky substance, presents an elegant arrangement of air-cells into which the atmospheric gases pour Electricity!" "Attraction!" and such like phrases; their energies. Plants and animals have a resemblance but still the darkness lowers over our philosophy, nor in this respect; the lungs of the latter being but a does light appear in reply to our cabalistic mutterings. complicated machine to act upon the air, whilst the air-Thus the mind, whilst grasping at infinity, and looking cells of the former indicate a somewhat similar mechanism in some of our most delicate flowering vegetables. Some may here exclaim against the use of such an engineering term as "mechanism" in connexion with the beauties of the floral kingdom. But let us assure thee, lady or gentleman, as the case may be, that the most refined engineering, and the highest mechanism, are developed by quiet violets in their leafy nooks, and by the numerous flowers which give a grace to our drawing rooms, or enrich our conservatories. The mechanism of a steam-engine is not a more appropriate expression, than the mechanism of a flower; for numerous are the contrivances by which life is im-joicing life. parted and preserved in a rose or a lily. That these air-cells are connected in some important way with the life of a plant, is evident from the regu upon the circle of things created as a field for the victories of the understanding, finds her genius baffled by a weed turned up by the plough. The cells of a plant, and the delicate structures of the vegetable membranes. puzzle the keenness which can detect the past history of the earth, and read the chronicles of a bygone world in the cleft recesses of the Andes or Himalayas. It must, however, be evident, that the simplest vegetable is a most complex structure, and possessed of a machinery by which all the singular productions of flowers, the diversity of colours, and the whole charmed cirele of vegetable beauty, spring into a luxuriant and re So extensive is the influence of the delicate tissue organization in plants, that botanists have been compeiled to classify the various kinds of such structure observed in the thin membranes of vegetables. When, the interior of a branch or stem exhibits multitudes of fine lines, the tissue is called fibrous, and may be likened to a cord spun from a number of threads. These fibres are often not more than 1-10.000th of an inch in thickness, and some are supposed to be hollow, and filled with a transparent fluid, which may bear the same relation to the life of a plant as the blood of animals to their existence. The solidity of the fibrous threads is asserted by some, and upon this delicate question philosophers may debate with as much earnestness as upon some more stirring problem in human history; but the reader will probably feel little desire to enter on so abstruse a discussion. It is not, however, useless for him to know, that there is something in the leaf of a cactus or a campanula which excites the curiosity, while it baffles the skill, of first-rate physiologists. It is well to feel how closely around us the mysterious presses, lest we forget the wonders of the Divine works, amid the common things and pursuits of our daily life. higher up in the opposite. From what principle do these plant-fingers arise; what cause directs them when to turn to the right, and when to the left? The question is one which a prattling child may put to its nurse, but to furnish a sufficient reply has hitherto perplexed the acutest thinkers. Some reader, unconscious of the grand mysteries to which little things may supply the key, will probably exclaim, "And why should man employ his lofty intellect, and waste his imagination, in meditating over the twistings of a weed? What matters it whether the pea tendril turn east or west, north or south!" Let such a one learn that a high importance may in some way attach to a fact, which man, with all his powers of research, and the methods of the Baconian philosophy at his disposal, cannot understand. Surely it is not a trifle which thus lifts up its head before man in his own world, and eludes his deepest scrutinies. Such studies would not be useless did they only tend to restrain our exaggerated notions of the powers of the human intellect, of which we sometimes speak as if it were the lord of nature, and the diviner of surrounding mysteries. To be baffled by a fact in the history of a weed, must surely recall our vaunting spirits to a juster apprehension of their weakness than we are wont to cherish. But such studies are not so unworthy men of the highest knowledge and the most comprehensive understanding as some may suppose. Goethe, the great Gerinan poet, whose genius dwelt amid the strange life of the "Faust," and depicted the depths of tempted hearts, found in this subject-the spiral tendency of vegetation-a theme full of interest for his mind. One remarkable fact connected with this spiral structure is the peuliar arrangement of the leaves round the stems of many plants. If the reader will examine the branch of an apple or pearthat a thread passed round the twig close by cach leaf, will form what is called a spiral. And the convolutions of these leaves follow a peculiar mathematical law, so that a certain number of turns make one spiral, upon which a fixed number of leaves is found. To express this fact, botanists have called in the aid of arithmetical fractions; thus in one species of digitalis, we find that eight turns are made before the spiral is completed, and that twenty-one leaves exist along the whole line of the convolution; to express this we write the upper line, 21′ or numerator, denotes the number of windings round the stem in a spiral, and the bottom line, or denominator, the number of leaves. Such a fraction, therefore, represents one system of spirals, many of which may exist upon a branch. The reader may perhaps ask, "What is the difference between a turn and a spiral?' Suppose the first leaf of a spiral be observed, and the reader follows the leaves once round the branch till he comes exactly over the first leaf; if another leaf or bud be in that spot, then the spiral will be completed in one turn; but if not, let him continue to follow the leaf line till he again comes over the first bud; if a leaf be in that part of the stem, the spiral is finished in two turns. Thus the botanist forms his systems of spirals, which the mighty causes working in the silent deeps of nature had previously produced. As we know not the causes of these appearances in vegetation, neither can we at present say what peculiar results may hereafter flow from the recognition of such laws. But the first great object is to notice the facts in nature, then to extract a meaning which may lead to further discoveries. The spirals and twinings of plants may be the key to unlock the recesses of some hidden power now working beneath a thick veil, through which neither physiological nor chemical skill can pierce. Whenever, therefore, the reader observes the tendrils of a honeysuckle, or the spirals along a pear-branch, he may feel that in such a simple fact he beholds the boundary line of human knowledge in that direction; all beyond may be most marvellous, most overpowering in its displays of the The next class of tissue structure is called the cellular, in which the whole substance of the plant is composed of a countless host of minute cells, formed of matter so delicate and transparent, that the finest productions of human art would resemble coarse canvass, if brought into comparison with these elegant membranes. Each cell is placed close to the next; and as all generally possess a globular form, the shrub or tree may be considered as consisting of an accumulation of spheres. This is most abundant in the more delicate plants, and fruits; and he who crushes a strawberry may feel assured, that thousands of crystal vases have been shivered by the act, and their rich fluid poured out as wine from shattered bottles. These cells frequently assume other forms than the spherical; sometimes exhibiting layers of little cubical bodies, resembling fairy-tree, and observe the position of the leaves, he will see like gems, cut into tiny plates, from which a poet might form a palace for Oberon or Titania. Often these cavities take a starry shape, and exhibit to the scrutinizing naturalist an endless diversity of elegant outlines, whilst, at other times, he observes the tissue arranged in the form of columns, as if supporting the roof of some minute floral temple. These various cells may be regarded as the laboratories of the plant, in which the fluids are prepared by a wonderful system of silent and invisible chemistry. They are at first filled with a clear liquid; this changes into starch, and thus exhibits a decisive proof, that powerful agencies have been operating on the fluid. We soon find a resinous substance in the cells, which is supposed to furnish the colouring matter to the sap, and from it proceed the various oils and gummy matter supplied by many plants. Thus, in millions of cells invisible to the human eye, a secret chemistry works through every spring, and summer, with unerring results, in all the regions of the globe. We gaze with surprise at some development of human art when the metallurgist produces his bright metal from the rude ore, or when the glass-worker brings his transparent production from a heap of ashes and sand; but around us, and beneath our very feet, in our lanes and gardens, more wonderful phenomena exist, bearing powerful witness to the all-glorious workings of God in the world of matter. What a witness to His ever present agency are the delicate cells of plants, in which He works as gloriously as in the more visible operations of the celestial movements. We may now notice a peculiarity in vegetation which has excited the most searching inquiries of studious botanists; we allude to the singular winding structure exhibited in many plants; so that the tissue tends to grow in spirals, and produces a series of convolutions on the stems and branches. The most careless man must have observed this in climbing shrubs, the tendrils of which generally wind in a fixed direction, some species turning from left to right, others from right to left, and a few present us with alternations of such convolutions, twisting in one direction for a space, and 8 |