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Close to this point the luckless vessel drove,
And for the shore the emigrants soon strove-
When a most unexpected fate befell
The living cargo-terrible to tell!

The seeming land a monster proved to be-
Lurking along the waters side was he-
He oped his jaws, and with a horrid frown, [down;
Murdered the queen, and knocked the admirals
Negroes and maids were worried by his jaws,
Or crushed beneath the pressure of his paws.
Oh! horrid fate, to startle human sight-
It woke poor Grandpa' in a nervous fright,
For it was GEORGE'S BOAT, which the old man
had seen

Driven on the point so treacherously green.
Though dreams are drowsy fancies-how often do

we see

The visions of our sleep assume reality.
Some truth is even here-on board of George's ship
It might be very possible this cargo to equip.
For this great crowd of passengers, the queen, and
royal train,

And all the parties named in this poetic strain,
Alive, full grown, within her hull, sufficient space
Although her ounceage counteth merely four
Now George and all his friends are left to name
the crew;
[did view.
And all which Grandpapa in his strange dream
Though George and friends may fail, the facts
shall all be told,
And the grey-headed man a moral will unfold.



By F. T. MOTT, Cheapside, Leicester,

(To whom the Editor has awarded the Gold Watch.-See p. 325, Vol. II.)

LIST, George and Katie, while I here unfold The puzzle dear old Grandfather has told. 1. Carbon and Oxygen those brothers be,

Two members of the numerous family 2. Of simple elements-or such supposed,

As having never yet been decomposed. [thers, 3. Most metals, and some gases are their bro

Sulphur, and phosphorous, and several others. 4. The round world, with its continents and seas, Mountains and hollow vales, is built of these; 5. But chiefest of them all to beasts and men,

Are Carbon, and his brother Oxygen; And in the forms and changes of these two Lie all the wonders which have puzzled you! 6. The diamond, costliest of all gems that shine In the rich coffers of the blazing mine, Is but a crystal of the first;-the same

7. With coal, and soot, under another name; But while one soils the miser and the crone, The other 'tis the monarch's pride to own. 8. The life-stream of the fish, the coursing blood, Spread in the gills receives the watery flood, Whence Oxygen, into its channels led, Colours the sanguine stream with vivid red; 9. And when the fish to portly size is grown, And on the shore by some bold angler thrown,

* For the Editor's Solution, See p. 351, yol, ii.

Fire-which is Carbon burnt with OxygenShall boil, or fry it into food for men. 10. Carbon is soft, and brittle, dark, opaque,

In coal; transparent as the mountain lake
In the hard diamond, sharp, and firm, and

11. It makes the head ache, and it dims the sight, When in close rooms for lack of Oxygen

It clogs the blood that circles round the brain. 12. These two in certain quantities combined Produce Carbonic Acid, whence, we find,

The oak-tree draws its life, but the bird death-
Poison to this, to that reviving breath;

13. This gas, too, thrills in the loud cuckoo's note,
Driven from the lungs along its hollow throat.
By strong affinity these friends are bound,
And their united product all around
Since earliest time throughout the world has


15. But being invisible is seldom seen! 16.

[bright, When Christmas fires are blazing warm and One yields the glow, the other fans the light; The Carbon of the coal draws from the air His brother Oxygen, and the red glare


That follows is the proof that both are there.
When in deep stillness, solemn and profound,
The maiden sits in contemplation bound,
Between the distance and her musing eyes
In the warm vapours of her breath they rise!
The lover's whispered vows 'tis thus they bear,
And thus they linger where soft lips draw



20. Carbon enwreaths the victor's laurelled brow,
21. And Oxygen rides on the rusted plough.
22. In the sweet sugar of the grape there lies [skies

A measure of both-but the warm summer
First swell the fruit, then speed it to decay,
And fermentation driving both away


Through opening fissures in the swollen rind,
Leaves but the dangerous alcohol behind.
'Tis Oxygen that in the bracing air,
Makes the lip rosy and the cheek more fair,
Dives to the lungs, and reddening the dark

24. Rescues the carbon from the turgid flood; 25. The sounding voice expels them from the [to west. And spreads them through the air from east 26. Thus, as carbonic acid gas, they speed


To the dim forest, where the green leaves need

Their presence, and by vital action strange, Back to its elements the compound change; 27. Absorb the Carbon in the flowing sap, 28. And let the Oxygen alone escape,

Which soars away to new adventures then,
And renovates the air for beasts and men!

Thus, George and Katie, is the riddle read,
The puzzle solv'd, and all the mystery fled!
But while you laugh at Grandpapa's bright wit,
Admire the wonders here so lightly writ:
With what consuinmate skill this world is plann'd!
The means how simple! the result how grand!
Gaze with new interest on the glowing coals,
Where the dark smoke-wreath in the chimney

Feel with awaken'd sense the heaving breast,
The bounding pulse that asks nor pause nor rest;
And when the woods put their green summer
garb on,

Think of these brothers-Oxygen and Carbon !


PROBLEM No. XIII.-BY M. GROSDEMANGE.-White to move, and mate in five moves.



1. K. P. 2.

2. Q. P. 2.

3. K. Kt. to B. 3. 4. Q. B. P. 1.

5. K. B. to Q. B. 4. 6. Castles.

7. K. Kt. to Kt. 5.

8. P. takes P.

GAME No. XIII.-Played without seeing the
Board, or Men by MR. HARRWITZ, against the
White-Mr. Harrwitz. Black-Rev. Mr. Oxendon.

9. Q. Kt. P. 2. 10. Q. to B. 3. 11. R. to K. 12. Kt. takes B. 13. Q. Kt. P. 1. 14. R. takes P. 15. Q. to K. 2. 16. P. takes Kt. 17. Q. B. P. takes P. 18. Q. B. to R. 3. 19. Q. Kt. to B. 3. 20. Q. Kt. P. 1. 21. Q. B. to B: 5. 22. P. takes B. 23. Q. R. to Q. (ch.) 24. R. to Q. 6. 25. R. takes P. (ch.)

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5. Q. Kt. to B. 3.

6. K. Kt. to B. 3.
7. Q. P. 2.

8. Kt. takes P.

9. Q. to Q.
10. Q. B. to K. 3.
11. Q. to Q. 2.


1. Q. B. P. 2.

2. P. takes P.

3. Q. to Q. R. 4. (ch.)
4. K. P. 2.

12. P. takes Kt.
13. Q. Kt. to K. 2.
14. Q. to Q. B. 2.
15. Kt. to K. 6.
16. Q. takes R.
17. Q. to Q3.
18. Q. to Q. 2.
19. Kt. to K. Kt. 3.
20. K. to Q.
21. B. takes B.
22. Q. to Q. B. 3.
23. K. to K. 2.
24. Q. takes Q. B. P.
25. K. to Q.

26. Kt. to K. 4.
27. Q. to Q. 2. (ch.)
28. Kt. to Q. 6. (ch.)
29. Q. to Q. 5.
20. B. to B.

31. Q. takes Q.
32. Q. Kt. P. 1..
33. P. takes R.

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26. Q. to Q. R. 6.
27. K. to Q. B.
28. K. to Q. Kt.
29. Q. to B. 8. (ch.
30. Q. to Q. B. 3.
31. P. takes Q.
32. K. to B. 2.
33. R. takes Q.

coming Q.

34. Kt. to K. B. 5.
35. Kt. to Q. 4.
36. R. takes Kt.
37. R. takes P. (ch.)
38. P. takes P.
39. R. to K. Kt. 4.
40. R. to K. B. 4.
41. K. Kt. P. 2.
42. R. to B. 7.
43. R. takes Q. R. P.
44. B. to K. Kt. 2. (ch.)
45. K. R. P. 1.

46. Q. R. P. 2.

And after a few more moves, Black resigned.

34. R. to K. B.
35. Q. B. P. 1.
36. P. takes Kt. (a.)
37. K. to Q. Kt. 3.
38. R. to Q.
39. R. to Q. B.
40. R. to Q. B. 8.
41. K. to Q. B. 3.
42. R. to Q. 8.
43. R. takes Q. P.
44. K. to B. 4.

45. K. R. P. 1.


(a.) He would evidently have lost another piece if he had taken the R., by White's checking with Kt. Black only plays on in hope that his adversary, playing blindfold, would make some mistake, which should enable him to draw the game.






FROM a disturbed sleep, in which the wild and beautiful, mingled with the hideous and impossible, came and went in strange and uncontrollable succession, Frank was suddenly startled by his mother's shriek. What had woke him he could not tell; and whether the shriek was a part of his dream, or a reality, he could not discover. He had been dreaming of his "Hot Mince-pie Company," the chairman of which was to eat all the pies; and he thought that he had already entered upon his arduous duties. He fancied that his father and mother sat by, delighted to see the honours conferred upon their child; and that "Maudy," as he called his mother in his fondest moments, never was so beautiful, or so dear to him. The pies, all hot and fragrant, were brought in, and presented to him, but somehow or other though the change produced no surprise-it was not a mince-pie, but Mr. Capel who was being eaten. He dreamed that he helped himself to another, and that that turned out to be Mr. Bamford; while a third which he devoured he recognised as Mr. Billing. Nevertheless, his appetite was not yet satiated, and another mincepie was between his lips, when-oh, horror! he found himself about to eat his own father-and awoke.

At first he could not discover why he was not in his own cot, nor remember what had passed the night before; but the moment it flashed upon his memory, he sprang out of bed and ran to the room where he had fallen asleep upon his mother's knee.

Fainting and death are fearfully alike, and when first seen by the young, produce a shock, the memory of which is deeply engraven on the brain for ever. Comprehending nothing of any other life beyond and above the present, or only deriving ideas of the future from the form and modes of earthly things, they attach all their conceptions of existence to the material body; and when suddenly that material body is VOL. III.-NO. XVI.

deprived of sensibility, and all those signs of life cease, a cold and instinctive dread closes round them. A gulf is created, on the brink of whose precipitous sides they totter helpless, and whose chasm they know not how to fill. However much they may have been previously taught, parrotlike, to repeat on the awful subject, they first then only know that they can die. The child lives like an angel; his life is an eternity to him; he remembers no beginning, and cannot, therefore, imagine any end; he has no past, and knows no future; he lives in a Now, which he sees no reason to suppose may not be everlasting. But the sight of the seeming dead breaks the spell, destroys the certainty of that which seemed so real, and leaves a gloomy vacancy where all seemed so clear and joyous. In after years religion may encourage us to stand untremblingly on the chasm's brink, while faith and knowledge throw a bridge over the abyss, and tell us of the charms of the bright spirit-land beyond the gulf-but childhood has no such support to rely upon. To him death is a vacuum more fearful than any reality.

Frank found his mother where she fell. He was shocked to see her beautiful black hair so dishevelled, and the tears upon her face, which was deadly pale. He knelt beside her, and spoke softly to her, thinking in his gentleness that it would be unkind to wake her suddenly.

"It is only little Frank, Maudy," said he. "Mamma! Maudy dear! tell me tell Frank you are not ill."

The rosy cheeks of the boy grew paler as he spoke; his heart misgave him. He took his mother's hand in his; its touch blanched his lip, and sent a horrible thrill through every nerve. Trembling, he tried to call aloud, but the sound that he fain would have uttered, stuck in his throat. His tongue refused its office. He dared not go, and feared to stay. An undefinable fear came upon him, that seemed to chill his heart to stone.

If some relief had not come to him, the gentle boy would have died where he knelt; but his mother heaved a sigh-it broke the spell, and he knew she was not dead. He raised her head gently in his hands, and called to her again: "Maudy dear! Maudy dear! speak to me.-Why won't you speak to your little Frank?"


Fast flowed Frank's tear-drops on his mother's face, but she seemed to be unconscious of his presence. Then he laid her head down gently, and ran out upon the staircase, screaming aloud. Again and again he shrieked the names of the servants, who, startled by the early and extra-leave the room, ordered the attendants to ordinary summons, hurried from their prepare warm applications, and other reschambers to the room where Mrs. Mean-toratives, without delay.

Marine Joint-Stock Mining Company," the destruction of which was "town's talk." Having laid his fingers on the patient's pulse, he despatched one of the gossips for a respectable nurse, who lived in a small street hard by, and requesting the others to

"Frank, my boy," said Mr. Keen,

well lay. "Do, oh! do help dear mamma.-Oh! | mildly, "don't cry any more just now; it make haste!-Poor mamma!" screamed may make your mother worse. We will Frank between his sobs. hope she will be better soon.'


The lad looked scrutinisingly into the doctor's face, and then, with a convulsive sigh, said-"Oh, pray let her be better soon-and don't let me be sent away."

"You shall be her little attendant, dear Frank," replied the surgeon, smiling to see the joy his words created.

The attendants raised Mrs. Meanwell, and laid her upon the bed from which Frank had just risen, and the neighbours having been aroused, medical assistance was sent for immediately. As is too commonly the case in such circumstances, the precious minutes which should have been employed in efforts to sustain the flickering flame of life, were wasted in idle inquiries how the catastrophe had come about. Questions, whose rapid succession rendered it impossible for Frank to reply to them, if he had been collected enough, were pressed upon him by the servants and female gossips, who are always plentiful on such occasions, and who seem to love the morbid excitement of such scenes. Their curiosity was, however, doomed to be disappointed.

"Oh, poor mamma! Poor dear mamma! Oh, help poor mamma," sobbed the boy as his only answer.

He crept to her bedside, and pressed his mother's pale cold hand between both his own, and cried as if his heart would break, still entreating the bystanders to help "his dear mamma!" Then he would passion-low ately call to his mother by the term of affection he had preserved since babyhood, and beseech "his dear Maudy to tell him she was not ill." But his mother gave no reply.

It was not long before the nurse, a fussy old woman, great in apron strings and starched cap, made her appearance, and received the directions which Mr. Keen gave her. The surgeon, however, did not leave till restoratives had been so successfully applied that Mrs. Meanwell manifested signs of reanimation, or reviving consciousness. At last the tide of returning life seemed gradually to flow, and the breathing became perceptible. Frank sat by the bedside with his large dark eyes intently watching every sign of awakening life, and scarcely daring to draw his breath, lest he should disturb the silence which had been so strictly enjoined.

At last the sufferer spoke. The nurse anxiously listened to the muttered sounds, but for some time the syllables were so that no words could be detected. Alas! when with returning strength the words were distinctly spoken, they showed only that the mind had received a severer shock than the body that reason was quite overthrown, and her thoughts "Like sweet bells jangled out of tune, and ..harsh."

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The doctor, Mr. Keen, came at last. He was a benevolent-looking man, and his face was a true index of his heart. Possessing an insight into the importance of the mysterious connexions which link the body to the mind, and the influence of mental emo-Once, her eye, that for the most time resttions upon bodily health, he anticipated, lessly wandered, fell upon Frank, and a even before his arrival at the house, the gleam of sense came over her as she said nature of the case which was to be sub-with great tenderness

She uttered no words of complaint. She took what was offered to her, but asked for nothing, and appeared to know nothing.

mitted to his care, for he knew that Mean- "Don't cry, Franky, he will come by well was a large shareholder in the "Grand and by."

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abroad, and that she did not know when he would return; and added that the house was to be given up, she believed, for the furniture and effects had been consigned to a broker, and would shortly be sold.

Thus from house to house the questioners with various motives went, and for some time obtained no clue to what had become of the man for whom they sought. At last a servant of Mr. Keen's learned what has been related in the previous chapterviz., that Meanwell had last been seen going towards Parker's house in a state of great exasperation. No further trace of him could be obtained, however, and the doctor therefore determined to go to Mr. Parker's residence himself.

The snow had ceased to fall, but still encumbered the streets, and rendered travelling slow and difficult. The wind no longer roared aloud, but streamed frostily along the streets, and raised the snow in little ripplings on the whitened and crisp fields, which reflected the powerless and pale sunlight with a cheerless glare. Here and there the blackened hedge-rows had shaken off their shining load, to shelter from the frosty air the violets and primroses which slumbered in the banks at their feet, waiting to be disturbed by the early call of their handmaid gentle Spring. The depth of the snow was great upon wide and open heaths, but lay in vaster heaps where the drifting wind had left it in fantastic shapes, like frozen billows. In the valleys, houses had been overwhelmed, and the flocks had perished in the mountains. The most beaten roads in the city were bright and slippery, while the less frequented, far out in the country, were impassable.

So difficult was transit, that it was several hours before the surgeon's carriage deposited him at the door of Parker's house, in the Uxbridge Road. The inmates manifested the greatest alarm, and would only open the door as far as the chain which was attached to it would permit. Mr. Parker had not been seen for two days and nights; nevertheless, his absence would not have alarmed them had it not been that he had been inquired for by many anxious and many violent visitors. The servants stated that, amongst others, a gentleman named Meanwell had been to the house on the previous day—had insisted upon enter

But with the moment it was gone, and all was incoherency again.

As soon as there remained no longer any doubt of Mrs. Meanwell's temporary restoration, the surgeon endeavoured to learn from Frank some history of the circumstances which had produced such alarming consequences; and to discover, if possible, the means of immediately communicating to Mr. Meanwell the precarious state of his wife's health; but so shocked and alarmed was the boy in the novel circumstances in which he was placed, that he could not convey what little he knew in an intelligible form. It was very touching to hear him, when he felt that the doctor was disappointed in his answers, exclaim, crying bitterly, as he pressed his head on the pillow beside his mother's-"Oh, dear Maudy! do be better, and tell them all about it." Then he would turn to Mr. Keen, and, sobbing, implore him to help his dear mamma.

Inquiries having been instituted among Meanwell's immediate friends and acquaintances, and nothing having been heard of him, information was sent to the police, with a view to secure his immediate presence at his wife's bedside. In many families where he was sought, the poignancy of their own sorrows seemed to have frozen up all sympathy for others; moreover, from some of the doors the inquirers were spurned, with imprecations on the man they sought, or, with insulting answers, had the doors slammed in their faces.

"Oh! he is off too, is he?" said one person in answer to the anxious questioner. "It is just what I expected. And you want to know where he is, do you?-as if you didn't! But there will be many a score wanting to discover his whereabouts before nightfall, and that more sincerely than you are seeking it."

Mr. Capel, Mr. Meanwell's clerk, whose salary seemed to be in some jeopardy, was a busy searcher after his master, and ran shivering in the biting wind from house to house, coinciding in all the abuse which was heaped upon his employer, whom he knew to be a ruined man, and therefore of no further use to him. Billing's office was shut up, and his house also. On inquiry being made at Mr. Bamford's residence, a female servant answered the door, and timidly said that her master was gone


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