Mrs. Hemans was delivered by Mr. H. SMITH. The lecturer touched upon the principal incidents in the life of this amiable woman with highly graphic ability. The peculiarities of the poetess were brought out in the most vivid manner. Her admiration of the ideally grand-her high veneration of the romantic antique-her love of lineage and the circumstance of nobility, and her warm patriotism-were severally adverted to with great truth and discrimination. Some extracts from her poems were delivered with real taste and feeling. Among these no one claimed greater attention than the beautiful verses entitled "Homes of England," in the recitation of which the lecturer was perfectly enthusiastic; indeed it appeared throughout the Lecture that the poetry of Mrs. H., as a whole, was very congenial with his taste. The Lecture was ample, and prepared with a hearty determination to do justice to the poetess. It was pervaded by a vein of calm philosophy-by strong reflection-and by a searching analysis. The language was easy, explicit, and opulent. Those who knew nothing of Mrs. H. before listening to this Lecture, must have left with a beautiful portrait of her; whilst those to whom she was familiar, supplied the lapses of memory, and perfected their general conception of her. YORK INSTITUTE OF POPULAR SCIENCE AND LITERATURE.-We have before us the Fifteenth Annual Report of the Committee of this Society, and it gives us great pleasure to see that the Institution is rapidly progressing in usefulness and prosperity. The number of members at the present time is 350, whilst last year it was but 237. Under the head of "Lectures," it appears that some very interesting discourses have been delivered by talented professors; the selection seems to us as excellent as it is varied. The Classes are, generally speaking, in a prosperous con.. dition, and well attended. The Library has been increased to some extent, and the present number of volumes is about 1,750. One of the most interesting portions of the Report is the account of the Fourth Annual Winter Meeting, which was held in the Merchant's Hall, in January last. A musical entertainment took place, and afforded much delight to a numerous and elegant audience. Another pleasing fact in the Report is that the Institution has a balance in the hands of its Treasurer; we know several societies that would be very glad indeed to have it in their power to say likewise. MECHANICS' INSTITUTION, STALEY BRIDGE.-We have received the Seventeenth Annual Report of the proceedings of this Society, and we are happy to perceive by it that the Institution is in a flourishing condition. The Library contains 454 volumes, and the circulation of the year was 1860. Several new works have been purchased, and a few presented. The Report gratefully acknowledges the exertions of Mr. Thomas Taylor and Mr. Thomas Wagstaffe, in lecturing gratuitously to the members. The Classes appear to be very well attended, especially those which combine amusement with instruction, viz: the Singing and Elocution Classes. The financial statement--that rock on which most Institutions split, is very satisfactory, and shows a balance in hand. We extract the closing paragraph; "Before closing the Report, your Committee beg to make a few observations on the present state of the Institution. In the early part of the year 1841 the number of members was only 35. This small number led the Committee to make inquiry as to the cause. Various reasons were assigned; but the prevailing opinion was, that the rate of contribution was too high for the majority of the working class. A proposition was made and agreed upon at two general meetings to alter the rate of contribution from 3s. to 2s. per quarter. This came into operation at the quarter commencing September, 1841; and its effect was to raise the number of members to 100 in the first six months; but the unexampled distress and privation which exist, and the scanty earnings of the operatives, have rendered this rate of contribution too high for the working man to pay. Your Committee have great pleasure in stating that there are yet 80 members on the books, being an increase of 45 over last year." We are compelled, by want of space, to postpone the insertion of several Institutional Reports until our next number. It is our intention to give a full Report, next month, of the interesting Question now under discussion at the City of London Literary and Scientific Institution, viz.—“ Are the Mental Capacities of the Sexes equal?” THE MELANCHOLY MAN. “Buttery, Pembroke Coll. Cambridge, Dec. 7, 1842. "To Nicodemus East, Esquire, &c. &c. &c. "SIR,-I hasten to forward you intelligence which I have this day received from China, by the Overland Mail, of the truly lamentable death of The Melancholy Man. Having applied himself to opium-eating, as a relief for his many sorrows, he had proceeded to Hong Kong in the suite of the Right Hon. Lord Saltoun, in order to obtain the free use of his favourite drug in all its freshness and potency. He, however, unfortunately yielded to excess, and in a sudden fit of excitement, caused by an extraordinary dose, plunged himself into the Yang-tse-kiang river, and sank beneath the waves. When his remains were recovered from their waterygrave, the inclosed lines were found in his waistcoat-pocket. "I have only to add that the Rev. Dr. Gutzlaugh is about to prepare a memoir of his life and death for the ensuing number of the Evangelical Magazine.' "I am, Sir, yours, with profound respect, "BENJAMIN BUSH. Formerly the faithful gyp., and now the sole and sorrowing legatee of The Melancholy Man.' "STATUTUM EST HOMINIBUS SEMEL MORI. "Though life we spend in sunny bowers, Yet we must die. We have not the pleasure of knowing the Mr. BENJAMIN BUSH who has sent us the foregoing communication, and we have no wish to hurt his feelings, but we have strong reasons for suspecting, either that he is endeavouring to impose upon us, or that he has been imposed upon by others. In the first place we believe, from what we know of The Melancholy Man, that he is not so mean-souled a fellow as to quit the world in the miserable style described by Mr. Busн, without giving due notice to his friends. In the second place, we have a letter from him by the very last overland mail-the same conveyance as that which professes to bring the news of his untimely end-and in that letter he promises us a communication for our February number, and says nothing about the Yang-tse-kiang river. Now we know that he is a man who respects his promises, and we are quite sure that we shall have the packet in its proper time, and be able to contradict the above report. We disbelieve, too, the statement about the Rev. Dr. Gutzlaugh. It is a most unlikely story. It would take twenty Doctor Gutzlaughs to write a memoir of The Melan choly Man; and as to the Evangelical Magazine-it's all stuff (we do not mean the Magazine, but the assertion)-that periodical has biographies enough of melancholy men as it is. THE CITY OF LONDON MAGAZINE. VOL. I. FEBRUARY, 1843. THINK OF LIVING! "Sanza la qual chi la sua vita consuma, No. V. Qual fummo in aere, od in acqua la schiuma."-Dante. I WISH I had the skill to construct a speaking-head, which would give unceasing utterance to any phrase I might choose to prescribe for it. I don't want an oracular pate like that which belonged to grim Odin, nor should I be satisfied with the untractable thing fabricated by Friar Bacon, which flew to pieces after it had pronounced an oration of half-a-dozen words by instalments. All I want is an everlasting tongue, capable of repeating a single phrase of Goethe's, "Gedenke zu Leben," or, if its dialect were English, "Think of living." If Professor Wheatstone, or any other scientific man, should ever succeed in constructing a talking apparatus, it can have no better employment than that of a Street Missionary. There should be one sermonizing in every great thoroughfare-Wisdom should lift up her voice from the Mansion House steps, and cry aloud at the Elephant and Castle. I would unhorse King Charles at Charing Cross, and mount a duly ordained prattler in his place. It would be well also if the blackamoor figures of Pitt, Fox, Canning, and their confederates, could be vocalized; but great skill would be required in their mechanical adjustment, to prevent them breaking into a furious parliamentary skirmish, which would inevitably ensue if these redoubtable orators were in hail of each other. Occasionally, when my bump of benevolence has been particularly fidgetty, I have indulged a wild extravagant notion, which, if executed, would perhaps excite more ridicule than it would produce good. Statues won't talk, either at the rising of the sun, like Memnon's, or at the going down thereof; and, therefore, I have often thought it would be highly benevolent to engage a number of living apparati, and plant them at various points throughout the town, with the injunction to repeat aloud in every passenger's ear, the portentous words of the great German, "Gedenke zu Leben." I doubt they would cry as vainly as Wisdom of old. It is a glorious thing to live at all. That little unpretending monosyllable, Life, enfolds a world of meaning, which no intellect, perhaps, but that of the Deity can adequately comprehend. It is the title of the magnificent volume of being, wherein the histories of so many races, and the occurrences of so many epochs, have been registered. The marvellous narrative of action and passion, of joy and woe, of triumph and defeat, of all the changing impulses and conflicting agencies which have been operating upon spirit for VOL. I. S so many ages, is condensed in that simple term, LIFE. One is tempted to ask, how came this diminutive word to perform the task of an Atlas, and sustain a meaning as vast and unlimited as existence itself? Yet, by the way, it is not unworthy of remark, that the weightiest ideas-such as God, soul, death, joy, woe-are expressed by terms as simple and elementary. Life has been compared to everything noxious and abominable under the sun. At the prompting of human petulance, and under favour of a very un-poetical licence, it has been termed a burden, a fever, or a struggle, so frequently, that existence must have got into sad disrepute. One wonders it is not considered an ungentlemanly thing to live at all; it is so very common-so tedious-so miserable! People seem quite annoyed to find that they have to spend a few years on this beautiful earth. They inhale the breath of life with such an air of aristocratic disdain, that you might conclude it was not good enough for a dog. "It's a bitter, nauseous draught," say they, after swallowing their daily dose with many a wry face, "concocted of sorrow and suffering, where it should have been composed of joy and content." Now, it is very true, as everybody knows, that sorrow and suffering are excessively vulgar and unpalatable things, and may, perhaps, comport better with the humble con stitution of the brute than with the haughty temperament of man. But are there not richer ingredients in the cup? Is not the draught merely accidulated that it may provoke a greater relish, and afford more stimulus to the palling taste? Consider-where was this beverage prepared? Whence came it on our earth? And then say whether it was originally the turbid corrosive draught which men deem it to be. The wonder, say I, is that people do not sometimes become inebriated when quaffing the rich "wine of life.' It is a beverage fit for the Gods: a luscious nectar which might have intoxicated Jove and his jovial crew, when drunk pure and sparkling upon the summit of high Olympus. Our true hearty Bacchanalians are those who drink copious draughts of that rich spiritual existence which flows and circulates endlessly around us. Had old Anacreon tuned his lyre to celebrate the joys of such spiritual-not spirituous-potations, its strings would have trembled in ecstasy, and its mournful response of "Love only" been drowned in its most ravishing strains; whilst the soul which treacherous wine had enfeebled, would have glowed with a purer flame than grape-juice has ever inspired. Much more, I doubt, has been said and sung in praise of Falernian and Champagne than of the common but priceless Elixir of Life. "Leben ist eine Krankheit des Geistes," says one of the subtle thinkers of Germany. If so, I had almost said "may I enjoy such a sickness to a ripe old age! But truly, when the feverish bustle and bewildered movements of ordinary life are contrasted with the pursuits of a loftier existence, from which all ledgers and day-books, shops and banking-houses, are banished, one may well deem it a sickness a disease-of the soul. It is not often, however, that the spiritual part of man is aged and enfeebled by preternatural activity; he is born not to be-but to act; not as a passive, silent spectator, to amuse himself with the movements and operations of nature, but as an interested and responsible actor in its ever-varying scenes. Yet, ensconced in his little opaque shell of self-interest, you only recognize his spiritual vitality by a few occasional buzzings, which indicate faintly some remote affinity to the glorious intellects who have demonstated the might of the human mind when duly exercised. Indeed, it is a much more difficult thing to live creditably than some people imagine. If existence consists in the consumption of fat turkeys and venerable wine, men will find this world, notwithstanding its tariffs and income-taxes, a very comfortable pasturage, and may graze contentedly until summoned to another fold. It requires no great skill or exertion to spend a few years in training horses, or running down unfortunate hares-in superintending the sale of many thousand bales of goods, or calculating the price of many miles of ribbons. But to live with a proper consciousness of our varied and wondrous being-to know that we are lodged in a world which has been built and decorated by the Deity for our enjoyment-to look round its vast apartments, and recognize our relations to the numerous associates with whom we have to co-operate-to glance through its crystal windows, and feast our vision upon the magnificent universe which stretches onward and onward into the blue depths of spaceto know that amongst stars and suns, amongst senseless material forms and sublime spiritual essences, we have our appointed place and our appointed work-and then, soaring in thought above all, to wing our way upwards until the mortal eye catches some glimpse of the majesty which covers and encircles all-this, and this habitually, is a task which demands more wisdom than men seem generally to possess, and more energy than they choose to display. Indeed, it is not too much to say, that some of our species scarcely live at all. The wonderful mechanism of their corporeal life has been properly wound up, and continues its movements for the allotted period, like a seventyyears' clock. But there is no corresponding activity of spirit, no preestablished harmony between them, as Leibnitz would have said. Such souls seem to have been made without springs; there appears to be no impelling power within. Beings of this nature can only be said to grow not to live; they are curious links between the human and vegetable kingdoms, indicating, like the sponge or sensitive plant, the close alliance which subsists between the several provinces of Nature's dominion. Their bodies have been long in existence, as the parish register or old family bible may shew, but the mind has yet to be born! They are walking, talking, drinking, digesting machines, within which the soul lies "cabined and confined." It is astonishing how long the corporeal man may live-how many pounds of flesh and gallons of fluid he may consume-before he is fairly brought into being! The real population of our globe is by no means so great as political economists imagine. A philosophical census, confined to living souls only, would not shock the philanthropy of the most nervous child-fearing Malthusian. We should not have to complain of superabundant population, any more than we can of superabundant intellect. The best of us enjoy but a very few years of active spiritual life; we never can boast of longevity in this sense. It is late when we awake-if at all-to feel the value and enjoy the privileges of our being; it is seldom that we continue long in the |