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IT is easier to still the wave of passion than to break the dead sea of indifference, which, like the Lake Asphaltes, destroys the energies of all that approach it, until, like the birds that are said to drop lifeless on its dull surface, the heart sinks to rise no more. POOR young thing! She fainted away at the washtub, and her nose went right into the soapsuds. Some said it was overwork; others, however, whispered that her beau had peeped over the back fence and called out, Hullo, there, Mary, is Miss Alice at home?" THE RISK OF CAMBEBWELL.-In point of population, Oamberwell offers, perhaps, the most striking example of increase which can be found throughout the metropolitan suburban area—the number of its inhabitants having grown from 7059 in 1801, to the astonishing amount of 111,306 in 1871. It seems, indeed, that, with the dawn of this century, Oamberwell suddenly broke through the trammels which had been imposed upon suburban buildings during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and had made their prescriptive influence felt throughout the eighteenth. Happy would it have been, both for th9 citizens and the City of London, had those laws been maintained and enforced in a salutary, judicious, and moderate manner. Then, it has been remarked, we should not have seen, as we do now, so many square miles of fertile agricultural ground covered with useless bricks and mortar, the crowded habita- tions of a seething population; then, indeed, we should not have had miles of beggarly two-storeyed tenements swallowing up all the open spaces about the metropolis, but should have adapted a system of building more consonant with the principles of sanitary laws, as well as with those of social and political economy. In few matters, during the first half of the present century, has there been a greater change than in the mode and pace of travel- ing and abundant illustration of this fact is shown by a retrospect of the character of the communication between London and Oamberwell as existing in the years 1796 and 1877. In the former year, one Oamberwell caach waa advertised to leave the "Anchor and Vine," Oharint; -jirosa, twice daily, and another to leave the" Kings and Key," Fleet-street, three times daily. Now, besides omnibuses, whose name is legion, there are several railway stations in Oamber- well, and, likewise, a line of tramway from West- mmater to Oamberwell-green and New Cross, besides other tramway lines from Oamberwell to Blackfriars and the City. By means of its railway and tramway communication, in addition to the ordinary omnibus service, Oamberwell is now placed within easy reach of the central portion of the metropolis.—Old and New London. THE BOOXB OF SAMUEL.—The books of Samuel bears distinct eridence of being to & certain extent a compilation from earlier sources, though the unity of style shows that they must have been works of the same age, or that the compiler adapted them to the style of the age in which he was writing. The only source actually named is The Book of Jasber (i.e., The Book of the Upright "), from which David's lamentation over Saul and Jonathan, entitled the Song of the Bow," is quoted (2 Sam. i. 18). If the conjecture that the Book of Jasher was a collection of historical poems be well grounded, it is possible that the other poetical compositions contained in the Books of Samuel may have been borrowed from it. But, notwithstanding the learning and ingenuity which has been devoted to this book, our knowledge of its con. tents and character is still too indefinite to allow us to say whether these ancient odes are derived from that, or from other sources.—The Btbl* Educator. CHRISTOPHER NORTH AS AN ANGLER.-Has he not sketched himself a hundred times in his books ? Nay, does he not limn his own portraiture, uncon- sciously, yet none the less delightfully, in every line of them ? We can see the well-knit yet bulky frame, the long hair curling down the neck of Ajax—no love- locks for lady's chamber, but playthings for wind and water on his wild moorland excursions, yet hyacin- thine withal, as befitted the friend of the muses, the favoured son of Apollo—we seem to hear the cheery VOIce, now toned in unison to some grand simile of Homer, now dinging some native lay of tragic love, and then again raised till the welkin rings as he shouts to his henchman Hamish to gaff the salmon that he is leading downwards to the one rocky ledge where alone the feat would be possible. Yet whether on his loved carpet of heather, or in the lecture room, or the reviewer's study, it is always the same great heart beating kindly to the universe, sympa- thising with every form of good, and assimilating beauty from all that is exalted in nature, or history, or man's life—a soul fired with the true enthusiasm of humanity reflecting all that is pure and noble and of fair report about it, as the summer sea catches the tints of heaven in its bosom. But we have now to do with Wilson merely as angler and, to dwell first upon the practical side of angling, never was more censum- mate artist than he in choice of flies and ability to send thirty yards of silk and hair across a roaring stream so that the line should light on the very spot behind the big boulder where lurks the salmon. His eagerness for sport, too, was unbounded; his appetite for fresh air, exercise, and wading, regard- less of cramp or rheumatism, insatiate. Ao moor- land with its thick crop of heather, no rugged mountain of granite, swathed in mists and dipping down to bogs which would swallow up an army, deterred his venturous steps when grouse were to be shot or trout taken. His mind was well stored with philosophy and poetry, and he was never weary of dilating on both with more of enthusiasm, perhaps, than of sound critical judgment, but still with a suf- ficiency of learning, a fund of humour, and a love of his own country's literature in particular, which made him a delightful companion by lock or river. If Sir H. Davy be the philosopher of angling, Wilson is as indubitably its poet. Let him once close his hand on the butt of the nyrod, and what charming rhapsodies on Nature, what touching reminiscences of youth does he not pour forth! Who can forget the inimitable progress of the angler, from the unbreeched child at the brookside with crooked pin and cotton line, through the boy catching his first trout, to manhood's struggle with a forty-pound salmon, which ae traces BO eloquently that we reflect while reading wherein lies the true poetry of the craft ? Angling, he shows us, binds together everyageof human life with a chain of sympathetic memories, when a man is once smitten with enthusiasm for it. As Wilson wanders on from pool to pool, here extracting a grilse from" Bluidy Breebs," there a sea-trout from the Gurly," but ever attended bv a supreme love for Nature, we are in. sensibly reminded of a brother poet's picture of one who Murmured by the running brooks, A music sweeter than their own. Nothing is too prosaic for him to glorify. The salmon-fly, dressed like Iris, has often been celebrated in song; who but Christopher North could wax poetic over a fishing-rod ?—Frater's Magazine.



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