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ing Mr. Parker's private apartment, and had, they afterwards discovered, ransacked his desk and drawers, while left alone to write a note to their master. The housekeeper went so far as to hint mysteriously, that if Mr. Parker was not found shortly, she should connect Meanwell with his disappearance; "for," said she, "that man came into the house like a madman, and left it raving like a maniac." She was sure that he had done something dreadful.

There was less light in the surgeon's eye as he listened; and when he heard the last sentence, and connected it with the words which Frank had told him that his father had uttered before he rushed out of the breakfast-room, the benevolent beams were extinguished altogether. He stood in silence upon the door-step for a minute or two, as if trying to combat some suspicion which had fallen upon him, and then, speaking with difficulty, inquired if Mr. Parker had been heard of during his strange absence from home. A hesitation and whispering within the door followed, and the man-servant requested the name of the inquirer, and the purpose he had in view in asking the question; which, when Mr. Keen had explained, led to another consultation among Parker's domestics in a low tone. After a short delay, however, the housekeeper came to the partly-opened door, and explained that as Mr. Parker was known occasionally to visit a gamblinghouse in St. James's-street, they had made inquiries for him late on the previous night, and had learned that he had left that place intoxicated about two o'clock in the afternoon, with the intention, it was understood, of going home, but nothing had since been heard of him. The surgeon's eye grew darker still as he turned towards his carriage, and ordered his servant to drive homewards as quickly as possible.


Mr. Keen had directed that the strictest silence should be observed in Mrs. Meanwell's room, and that the household should be kept as quiet as possible. It was in vain, however; knocks in quick succession came at the street door, and the visitors were loud in their vociferations and abuse. Though the invalid appeared to have no distinct conception of what was passing, the sound of these angry voices seemed to pain her, and she would sigh more deeply, or mutter in a low wail, as she listlessly picked

the bed-clothes. The knocker was muffled, but thundered with a dull booming sound through the house, as one after another, closely following-men with ruined homes and desperate hearts-came to speak with the active promoter of the Grand Marine JointStock Mining Company, in which they had invested their all, in consequence of his example and recommendations.

At length night came and brought silence with it. The surgeon made a late call upon his patient, but his face was sadder and even paler than it was wont to be. Of his visit to Parker's house he said not a word, nor did he inquire if Mr. Meanwell had been heard of; but, having administered a draught to his patient, and given directions to the nurse, he kissed Frank very tenderly, and left the house.

A wretched night was it in the chamber of the invalid; a night of tears and sighs, of mutterings and cries of anguish! A wretched night it was, too, in other homes, where, impatient of the darkness, they cried, "Would that it were morning!"

At last the day dawned—a gloomy winter day. The invalid grew worse, the surgeon more sad. In other homes, too, the gloom darkened, and, impatient of the twilight, and of passing time, they cried, "Oh! would that it were night!"

So days passed on. In the meanwhile a meeting of the Grand Marine Joint-Stock Mining Company was called by some of the shareholders, to inquire into the real merits of the project, and to adopt such means as might be deemed necessary to conclude or carry on the affairs of the Company. The meeting was fixed for an early day in February, and steps were to be taken to secure the attendance of a majority of the shareholders, and to influence the govern ment to bring the question before Parlia ment, with a view to the punishment of the promoters, should it be proved that they had been guilty of any deception.


The day upon which the meeting was
appointed came.
It was a miserable thaw.
The weather had broken up that day; and
while the sky above was a sickly gloom,
through which the sun-rays could not enter,
all below was comfortless and dirty. The
foggy air pierced through the warmest
clothing, and made all things damp and
chill. Through the wet and sloppy streets,
where muddy water, mingled with half-

thawed ice and snow, lay deep upon the paths, the crowds pressed forward beneath the dripping eaves, whose frozen spouts had not yet re-learned to flow. The dim and smoky haze which obscured the light, gave B a cheerless and gloomy aspect to everything, and seemed but an ill omen for the unfortunate shareholders, who hurried to obtain a place at the conference of the Grand Marine Joint-Stock Mining Company.

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with its gloomy and comfortless thaw, was the type of what was passing everywhere. The extravagant and brilliant visions of the

The meeting was crowded, violent, and unmanageable. Those of the directors who had moral courage enough to meet the shareholders, barely escaped with their lives, and required an escort of police to 1 secure their safe transit home. No explanations would be heard, and the meeting appeared likely to break up with no satisfactory result to any parties. No accounts could be produced, for Parker had not been found, and no monies were refunded. It was not till a late period in the pro-hour, like the snow, had been breathed upon ceedings that the assembly became calm by the south-west wind of truth, and to! enough to consider any other measures but they melted into bitter tears. 6 those of revenge; when it was stated that several gentlemen, the promoters of the meeting, had formed themselves into a committee, had examined the papers which had been found in the office, and had taken the trouble to obtain all possible evidence on the matter upon which they had met. The report was read. Its contents were to the effect that no such prospects as those which had been held out by advertisements of the Company existed; that large sums of money had been expended in puffing the project; and that large sums had been paid through Mr. Bamford's hands to his accomplice Billing, for legal expenses. The commmittee went on to state, that they had anticipated that there would be found a large amount in the bank to the credit of the Company, after all these expenses were paid; but they regretted to be obliged to state that most of the funds had been paid at the office, and had never been remitted to the bank. The report concluded by showing that the assets of the Company, if power could be obtained to distribute its property, would not allow of a greater return than half-a-crown for each share, for which originally twenty-five pounds had been paid. It was contemplated, however, to apply for powers to compel Messrs.

Mrs. Meanwell still lies delirious upon her bed. Strange rumours of her husband are whispered by her side, and Frank has begun to look unnaturally old and careworn. Nothing has yet been heard of The doctor Meanwell, nor of Parker. comes and goes without a word, except sometimes a tender one for Frank, whom he tries to lure away, if only for an hour, from the room of his suffering parent.

(Continued at p. 63.)


THE architecture of the Anglo-Norman ages was of a very remarkable character. The nation advanced in this noble art from one point of progress to another, until the very apex of perfection seemed to be reached. First there was the Norman style, prevailing partially among the English Saxons before the Conquest; but Bamford, Billing, and Parker. who ap-chiefly developed by the Normans during

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peared the ostensible offenders, to refund some part of their ill-gotten wealth.

Thus did the fabric of the Grand Marine Joint-Stock Mining Company crumble to pieces. In its ruin it involved the welfare of thousands, who had, with a mistaken purpose, sought, by its means, to obtain wealth without labour. Moreover, it was not alone. The numerous other growths of speculation with which the time was rife, lost their dazzling glitter-were tested, found wanting, and demolished.

That which had taken place in nature seemed to have affected the spirit of the time. Things that a few days before had looked solid and secure, were now broken up and melting away.




the reigns of William the Conqueror, and

his immediate descendants.

If you have ever walked with observing eyes in a cathedral town of ancient date, such as Lincoln, York, Canterbury, or Exeter, you must have seen examples of this style. Its peculiar features are not to be mistaken. These consisted of circular arches; heavy walls designed for defence, protected by mounds of earth and ditches; narrow windows, constructed so as to afford little advantage, if any, to an enemy-frequently mere loopholes; every part of the building massive and strong; general elevation low, and the only ornaments of a hard and rather formal character. In this style there was no grace, no beauties of a lighter kind, but the general effect was often highly impressive, severe and majestic, gloomy and warlike. It was a style that arose naturally out of the troubled circum-in stances of the country, every church as well as every dwelling of a Norman baron requiring to be strongly fortified, lest, in an unguarded hour, the Saxons might fall upon their oppressors, and destroy them.

Most Norman buildings appear to have been provided with deep dungeons, and subterranean outlets beyond the foundations. These were the last resources of the barons and their dependants, when close pressed by their foes, although it is difficult for us to understand how they managed to breathe in such places. Indeed, their homes and buildings of general resort were altogether most unwholesome; it being impossible under such circumstances to keep them clean, well ventilated, or sufficiently lighted with the light of day; and you have read enough, my dear children, to know these are prime requisites. You cannot expect to escape diseases if you do not live in cleanliness, pure air, and light.

arch-an improvement, like many others in architecture, probably derived from the East, during the Crusades. The edifices rose higher, with lofty towers; the windows expanded, the walls were less massive, the gateways less formidable. Some of the noblest structures in the land are mainly built in this style. It first appeared in the reign of Henry II.

Before this time, in the reign of Henry I., stained glass had been introduced-one of the greatest improvements ever made in ornamental architecture. Modern England has lost much of this beautiful art; but attempts have been made recently to reproduce the exquisite hues, rich and enduring, of the old English stained glass.

I will read to you the poet Keats' description of the lovely effects produced by painted windows of the kind that appeared

churches and abbeys about the reigns of Henry II., John, Henry III., and Edward I.

The second great advance in English architecture was what is called the Early English, which gradually became a new and noble style. The circumstances of the Normans had by this time changed in England; they were beginning to assimilate with the Saxon English; the mutual hatreds were on the decline. The nobles built their castles and churches with rather less attention to defence, and more to ornament. The round arches also began to mingle with, or give way to the pointed

"A casement high, and triple-arch'd there was,
All garlanded with carven imageries
Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,
And diamonded with panes of quaint device
Innumerable, of stains and splendid dyes,
As are the tiger-moth's deep damask'd wings;
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,
shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,


and kings.

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seen was a narrow, graceful bow window, divided into compartments by slender buttresses and beautiful tracery; the whole elaborately finished. Sir Walter Scott describes such an oriel in Melrose Abbey, Scotland:

"The moon on the east oriel shone

Through slender shafts of shapely stone,
By foliaged tracery combined;

Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand
'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand

In many a freakish knot had twined;
Then framed a spell, when the work was done,
And changed the willow wreaths to stone.'

The light ornamental buttresses, or projections, often ranged in parallel rows, also characterised the Decorated English. In that beautiful description of Melrose Abbey by moonlight, from which I have just quoted, we read :—

their beneficent Maker, and by patience and industry, work out true principles. Mere mechanical work is all but valueless in art. Mere imitation is worthless, except as a means of gaining power. Labour then, in all you do, to master principles.

"When buttress and buttress alternately Seem framed of ebon and ivory, When silver edges, the imagery,

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die." If you look at a good engraving of one of the many crosses erected by Edward I., to perpetuate the memory of his beloved Queen Eleanor, you will see another beautiful feature of this most beautiful style the numerous delicate, and finely-wrought pinnacles, terminating every upward projection.

Then again, in these same crosses, and in the tomb of Eleanor, the national progress in the art of sculpturing the human form is visible. The statues of the queen were as graceful in outline, and elevated in sentiment, as all the other parts of the Decorated English.

Our great cathedrals, each

I will now tell you an anecdote:"The Saxon church of Worcester having been burned, it was begun to be rebuilt on a grander scale by the good Bishop Wulfstan. When the workmen were pulling down the remains of the older and ruder fabric, the prelate was observed to weep. One of his attendants told him he ought rather to rejoice, since he was preparing a building of greater splendour, and more adapted by increased size to the increased number of his monks. The reply of Wulfstan shows what had been the simplicity of the Saxon worship; his words are very remarkable. 'I think far otherwise; we de

stroy the works of our forefathers only to
get praise to ourselves; that happy age of
churches, but under any roof they offered up
holy men knew not how to build stately
themselves living temples to God, and by their
do the same; but we, on the contrary, neg-
example incited those under their care to
lecting the care of souls, labour to heap up


There is an artistic view to be taken of

the Middle-age architecture, and there is a religious view. I hope in the artistic point of view you will learn ennobling lessons from it; but ever keep the worship of God pure of material mediums. Wordsworth


"They dreamt not of a perishable home Who thus would build."

But we know that great perfection in art may co-exist with a very irrational religion.

"A glorious work of fine intelligence," were now completed. They are still unequalled for all the higher qualities of art. We gaze on them, we study them, with profound wonder, reverence, and admiration; and the more so, because we know they were produced by successive generations of builders, in different styles, but, it is evident, all working by high and sound principles, and no mere mechanical imitators. Hence we have admirable adap-tain that our proudest works can only tations of every part to the whole. My please Him as they serve to develop the dear children, in all great arts, recollect powers which He has given us; and we that one grand secret of success lies in shall serve Him better by loving Him, and working by the best principles. Those obeying Him in our daily life and common only are the great artists who profoundly actions, than by labour to heap up stones. understand—and by the gift of talents from

A mind in a right state can commune with the Father of all in a cathedral, or "under any roof," like the old Saxons of England; but knows full well that He who made the heavens dwelleth not in temples made with hands, delighteth not in offerings of material things, but in the broken and contrite spirit; and we are cer

English architectural art declined with

the Florid style. This style was gorgeous graceful, and completely naked, with the excepand rich; but the chasteness, the delicacy,tion of a slight girdle of bark, from which depended the airiness, the inimitable grace of the at opposite points two of the russet leaves of the bread-fruit tree. An arm of the boy, half screened previous style, gradually disappeared. from sight by her wild tresses, was thrown about Excess of ornament is never a healthy the neck of the girl, while with the other he held 'symptom of art; and in this case it proved one of her hands in his; and thus they stood together, their heads inclined forward, catching the the commencement of a long period of refaint noise we made in our progress, and with one trograde progress, until the principle, and foot in advance, as if half inclined to fly from our the spirit of the power of producing and presence." of understanding the great works of their forefathers, faded away from among Englishmen.

A better time seems now to have begun; the new Houses of Parliament promise to become a superb national monument, executed in the best style of our native archi



THE subject of the exquisite song published under this title in The Family Friend is derived from the narrative entitled "Typee," by Herman Melville, an American writer. The author and a companion went out in a whaling vessel to the South Pacific Ocean. After having been for six months out of sight of land, and their provisions running short, they determined to escape from the vessel, which they accomplished with great difficulty on touching at one of the group of islands named the Marquesas-the

"lovely ocean isles,

Where Nature in her beauty smiles."

After getting clear of the ship, the two adventurers underwent great privations among the mountains, and finally descended into the valleys where cannibal tribes of most barbarous habits were supposed to dwell. Of these the Happars were represented to be the more friendly; while, on the other hand, the Typees had the reputation of being bloodthirsty, cruel, and filled with animosity towards white men. Coming suddenly upon a path amidst the groves of bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees, they catch a glimpse of two of the natives, partly hidden by the dense foliage. "They were standing together perfectly motionless," and are thus described by the author:

They were a boy and a girl, slender and * See p. 18, vol. iii.


By these children of nature the writer and his friend were conducted to a handsome building of bamboos, where an immense number of the natives crowded to see the white men. The chiefs of the tribe examined them and inquired, Typee?Happar?" The travellers, by unknown impulse, said " Typee," and added “Mortarkee" (good), and thus put themselves upon good terms with the savages, who turned out to be Typees! The white men were treated with great hospitality, but Melville was detained for four months, during which period he had opportunities of observing the curious habits of the singular people among whom his lot had been cast. Among the inmates of the hut in which he was a forced visitor, was "the beautiful nymph Fayaway," who was his peculiar favourite. He thus describes her:

"Her free pliant figure was the very perfection of female grace and beauty. Her complexion was a rich and mantling olive, and when watching the glow upon her cheeks I could almost swear that beneath the transparent medium there lurked the blushes of a faint vermilion. The face of this girl was a rounded oval, and each feature as perfectly formed as the heart or imagination of man could desire. Her full lips, when parted with a smile, disclosed teeth of a dazzling whiteness; and when her rosy mouth opened with a burst of merriment, they looked like the milk-white seeds of the "arta," a fruit of the valley, which, when cleft in twain, shows them reposing in rows on either side, embedded in the red and juicy pulp. Her hair of the deepest brown, parted irregularly in the middle, flowed in natural ringlets over her shoulders, and whenever she chanced to stoop, fell over and hid from view her lovely bosom. Gazing into the depths of her strange blue eyes, when she was in a contemplative mood, they seemed most placid yet unfathomable; but when illuminated by some lively emotion, they beamed upon the beholder like stars. The hands of Fayaway were as soft and delicate as those of any countess; for an entire exemption from rude labour marks the girlhood and even prime of a Typee woman's life. feet, though wholly exposed, were as diminutive and fairly shaped as those which peep from beneath the skirts of a Lima lady's dress. The skin of this young creature, from continual ablutions and the use of mollifying ointments, was inconceivably smooth and soft.


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