in musical language, generally in figures: but the thoughts "breathe," the words "burn." A writer in an early number of the Edinburgh Review-I think Sir James Mackintosh-says, "The grand distinction which exists between poetry and prose is, that poetry, independent of elevation of principle, presents two or more ideas linked or massed together; when prose presents only one." That splendid prose-poet, the Rev. George Gilfillan, in his book on "The Bards of the Bible," says, in one of his electric sentences: "Poetry is an incarnation; it is Truth enshrined in Beauty.” In his Second Gallery of Literary Portraits, he says, in his own warm and glowing style, speaking of poetry: "It is tuned philosophy, winged science, fact on fire, truth springing from earth, high thought involuntarily moving harmonious numbers." Another very powerful and eloquent writer, speaking of poetry, says, "It is the glorious prerogative of this art, that it makes all things new' for the gratification of a divine instinct. It indeed finds its elements in what it actually sees and experiences in the worlds of matter and mind; but it combines and blends these into new forms, according to new affinities: breaks down, if we may so say, the distinctions and bounds of nature; imparts to material objects life, and sentiment, and emotion, and invests the mind with the powers and splendours of the outward creation; describes the surrounding universe in colours which the passions throw over it, and depicts the soul in those modes of repose or agitation, of tenderness or sublime emotion, which manifest its thirst for a more powerful, or joyful existence. To a man of literal and prosaic character, the mind may seem lawless in these workings; but it observes higher laws than it transgresses-the laws of the immortal intellect: it is trying and developing its best faculties; and in the objects which it describes, and in the emotions which it awakens, anticipates those states of progressive power, splendour, beauty, and happiness for which it was created."

Poetry expands the powers of the soul. It conveys as, by the magic power of genius, through the most delightful

fields of imagination and thought; it kindles the soul into love and harmony; it makes us loathe the mean and grovelling, and aspire to the exalted and the refined. Coleridge said, that he had found poetry to be its “ own exceeding great reward." And it is a source of joy and thankfulness, that, through the invention of printing, you may have access to the most exalted sons of song. They will enter your quiet room, and sing to you those strains to which nations have listened. You will never need to seek for gratification in low and grovelling pursuits, if you cultivate a love for good poetry. Pollock will sing to you in flowing numbers, and with much power, "The Course of Time." Young will unfold to you, in solemn and grand eloquence, his "Night Thoughts." Thompson will help you in the winter evenings to contemplate the "Seasons." Cowper, the "amiable Bard of Olney," will melt you by his pathos, amuse you by his humour, inspire you with hatred of error and wrong, and teach you to be gentle, pious, and kind. Coleridge will make you acquainted with his mind, and magic power, and sing in moving strains his "Rime of the Ancient Mariner;" and Wordsworth will conduct you through the various stages of his elaborate "Excursion.” Montgomery will sing in sweet strains his "Songs of Zion." Elliott will make you hate oppression, and love goodness and truth. Bailey will lead you through the gorgeous pages of his "Festus." The ancient as well as modern poets will be accessible to you. I know you love poetry; and the poems of those authors whose names are mentioned in this letter, you may read without a fear of meeting with moral poison. Many more names might be mentioned, and much more said in praise of Poetry, but I must close this letter. Again heartily wishing you a happy new year, hoping to write you next month on “the Poetry of Milton," I remain, yours very affectionately,

UNCLE JOSEPH.

LYING-IN-STATE OF THE DUKE OF

WELLINGTON.

I SUPPOSE, my young friends have heard of the great

event, which has been the cause of so much excitement in our nation. Arthur, duke of Wellington, the great military hero, whose name reminds us of wars, and conquests on the plains of India, Spain, Portugal, and Belgium, and the prostration of the power and glory of the great Napoleon-the great military duke has passed away from among the living. He is gone, full of years, and martial glory. "How are the mighty fallen; and the weapons of war perished!" The conqueror has been conquered; the king of terrors has forced submission to his sway. Death has separated the duke's soul from his body-his spirit from matter-the one has gone into the eternal state, the other lingereth here. His body "sleepeth!" and shall sleep on till the Son of man awakens the solitudes of death, and "every conscious spirit" shall re-enter its own re-animated home. But you will be anxious to know something about the "Lyingin-State." I wish I could fully describe it, but I cannot; I must be satisfied by giving you a very brief and imperfect description of the gorgeous scene.

The entry was by a corridor, or passage, into an octagonal, or eight-square porch, hung with black cloth. The moment we arrived in this place, a harsh voice demanded reverence by shouting, "Off hats, gentlemen! Instantly another low voice said, “Silence! Silence!" In the porch, or vestibule, were soldiers in full uniform, who stood mutely leaning on their muskets. Over their heads were escutcheons, or coats of arms. In front of us were a great number of flags, looking very old, tattered, and torn; upon some of them might be seen the mottos of the nations from which they had been taken. Around these flags was a wreath of laurel-the emblem of victory. On the left was the chapel, darkened with cloth, and dimly lighted. To the right was the hall, the place of the pompous scene- -the pall, the splendid coffin, the winding

sheet, and the dead. Here was a solemn silence, broken only at intervals by the policeman's subdued whisper of "Move on, move on, ladies and gentlemen!" Now all was in sight, and I heard soft exclamations of "Ho! ho! bless me! I didn't think it was half so grand!" And other persons said, "O this is not worth so much trouble to come to see." Thus was expressed the surprise, pleasure, or disappointment of the visitors. The hall in which the duke lay in state is 138 feet long, by 38 wide, and 49 high. On our right hand was a large space, railed off from the rest for the accommodation of the police. Against each wall stood a number of picked soldiers, placed at regular distances, who leaned on the butt-end of their muskets. Throughout the hall, at regular distances and in double rows, were distributed 54 massive silverplated candlesticks. They were seven feet high. The candlesticks near the walls were raised several feet higher than the others. The walls and ceiling of the hall were hung with black cloth, so as to present a tent-like appearance; and the black scene was relieved by tastefullyarranged white bands. From the top hung a number of white tassels; and the whole was elegantly arranged. Between the folds of the drapery were seen escutcheons of the duke's family, enclosed within wreaths of laurel in green and silver. The stand on which the mortal remains of the deceased reposed was covered with a cloth of gold.

The bier was formed of black velvet; on the end of the bier was suspended a very great number of stars and orders. The whole of the bier was surrounded by a magnificent silver balustrade, adorned with very showy figures. From this projected four gilded lion supporters, bearing the banners of the following countries,-Great Britain, Hanover, Austria, the Netherlands, Portugal, Russia, Prussia, and Spain. At the back was our Queen's coat of arms. The gorgeous pomp surrounding the coffin was crowned with a large splendid canopy. Upon its head was a magnificent plume set in a silver socket. This canopy reached to the ceiling. Its hangings and curtains

were very rich and costly. They were formed of black velvet, lined throughout with silver cloth. There were nearly as many lights under the canopy as in the whole of the remainder of the hall. There were hollow columns, composed of spears, crowned with feathers, and surrounded with laurel. These had gas jets concealed behind them, and the light was cast by reflectors on the gold and silver work. In addition to all this, around the

Such

canopy were seated the yeomen of the guard. The chair of the chief mourner was at the head of the coffin. is a very brief and imperfect description of the magnificent and splendid pageantry, connected with the lyingin-state of the mortal remains of the victorious warrior.

Now I have no doubt but that most of you would have been pleased to see this great sight. But if you had been thus privileged, it would have afforded you only a short-lived pleasure; it would not have given real satisfaction. There are many greater sights than it was. There is the Gospel glass, in which you may see the excellency of the Divine character as set forth in the life of Jesus Christ. While I was looking upon the mournful pomp in the hall at Chelsea, I might have thought of the burning of the world-of the falling of the stars—of the ocean's tumult-of the opening graves-of the rising dead -of the Son of God coming forth in the glory of his Father-of his vast retinue of angels and saints-of the great white throne-of an assembled world-of the lefthand crowd, all trembling and paralysed with fear. But my mind did not revert to the miseries of the wicked; my attention was engaged with thoughts of the future happiness of the righteous. The promises from the Sacred Word said to my heart, "Thine eyes shall see the King in his beauty." What a sight! Christ Jesus, the glorified man; the God man. The "Immanuel "-God with usGod in all the glory of his character. Thine eyes shall see;" not cast a passing glance at him, but see-look on

gaze on his glorious face for ever.

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"There we shall see His face,

And never, never sin;