the war of independence in America. In 1808, his son Edward came to the title.

In the parish church are several monuments of the Boscawen family; the earliest is of Hugh Boscawen, who married one of the coheiresses of Carminow, and died in 1559. The monument of Admiral Boscawen, which is ornamented with his bust, surrounded with naval trophies, was executed by Rysbrack, from a design by Adams. It bears the following inscription :

"Here lies the Right Honourable Edward Boscawen, Admiral of the Blue, General of Marines, Lord of the Admiralty, and one of his Majesty's most honourable Privy Council: his birth, though noble, his titles, though illustrious, were but incidental additions to his greatness. History, in more expressible and indelible characters, will inform latest posterity with what ardent zeal, with what successful valour, he served his country, and taught her enemies to dread her naval power. In command he was equal to every emergency, superior to every difficulty; in his high departments masterly and upright, his example formed, while his patronage rewarded merit. With the highest exertions of military greatness, he united the gentlest offices of humanity; his concern for the interest, and unwearied attention to the health of all under his command, softened the necessary exactions of duty, and the rigours of discipline, by the care of a guardian, and the tenderness of a father. Thus beloved and revered, amiable in private life as illustrious in public, this gallant and profitable servant of his country, when he was beginning to reap the harvest of his toils and dangers, in the full meridian of years and glory, after having been providentially preserved through every peril incident to his profession, died of a fever on

the tenth of January, in the year 1761, at Hatchland's Park, in Surrey, a seat he had just finished (at the expense of the enemies of his country), and amidst the groans and tears of his beloved Cornish-men, was here deposited."

Admiral Boscawen was a very distinguished officer. He signalised himself in the year 1747, as Captain of the Namur, and the same year had the command of the naval and land forces in an expedition to the East Indies, being the only commission of that kind which had then been given to any officer since the reign of Charles II. His most prominent services were the capture of Louisburgh and its dependencies in 1758, which led to the conquest of Canada, and the defeat of a detachment of the French fleet in 1759, off Cape Lagos. He was one of the Lords of the Admiralty from 1751 till his death.

LONELINESS.

BY DR. BOWRING.

Now do men leave the green and flow'ry woods
And their sweet solitudes,

Where hatred entereth not, and love abideth
And peace presideth,

For those tumultuous places, where the bird
Is never heard:

But for his summer music, scoffing words,
Or clash of swords;

Or the unchecked, intolerable din

Of selfish sin;

Where of all sights the omnipresent is
Woe, but not bliss.

And men are struggling in a ceaseless way

Like beasts of prey,―

O, happy, happy he-who turns away!

WALSTEIN; OR, A CURE FOR
MELANCHOLY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "VIVIAN GREY," "6 CONTARINI FLEMING," &c.

CHAPTER I.

CONTAINING A PHILOSOPHICAL CONVERSATION BETWEEN A PHYSICIAN AND HIS

PATIENT.

DR. DE SCHULEMBOURG was the most eminent physician in Dresden. He was not only a physician; he was a philosopher. He studied the idiosyncrasy of his patients, and was aware of the fine and secret connection between medicine and morals. One morning, Dr. de Schulembourg was summoned to Walstein. The physician looked forward to the interview with his patient with some degree of interest. He had often heard of Walstein, but had never yet met that gentleman, who had only recently returned from his travels, and who had been absent from his country for several years.

When Dr. de Schulembourg arrived at the house of Walstein, he was admitted into a circular hall, containing the busts of the Cæsars, and ascending a double staircase of noble proportion, was ushered into a magnificent gallery. Copies in marble of the most celebrated ancient statues were ranged on each side of this gallery. Above

them, were suspended many beautiful Italian and Spanish pictures, and between them, were dwarf bookcases, full of tall volumes in sumptuous bindings, and crowned with Etruscan vases and rare bronzes. Schulembourg, who was a man of taste, looked around him with great satisfaction. And while he was gazing on a group of diaphanous cherubim, by Murillo, an artist of whom he had heard much and knew little, his arm was gently touched, and turning round, Schulembourg beheld his patient, a man past the prime of youth, but of very distinguished appearance, and with a very frank and graceful manner. "I hope you will pardon me, my dear sir, for permitting you to be a moment alone," said Walstein, with an ingratiating smile.

"Solitude, in such a scene, is not very wearisome," replied the physician. "There are great changes in this mansion since the time of your father, Mr. Walstein.”

"'Tis an attempt to achieve that which we are all sighing for," replied Walstein-" the Ideal. But for myself, although I assure you not a pococurante, I cannot help thinking there is no slight dash of the common place."

"Which is a necessary ingredient of all that is excellent," replied Schulembourg.

Walstein shrugged his shoulders, and then invited the physician to be seated. "I wish to consult you, Dr. Schulembourg," he observed, somewhat abruptly. "My metaphysical opinions induce me to believe that a physician is the only philosopher. I am perplexed by my own case. I am in excellent health, my appetite is good, my digestion perfect. My temperament I have ever considered to be of a very sanguine character. I have nothing upon my mind. I am in very easy circum

stances. Hitherto, I have only committed blunders in life, and never crimes. Nevertheless, I have, of late, become the victim of a deep and inscrutable melancholy, which I can ascribe to no cause, and can divert by no resource. Can you throw any light upon my dark feelings? Can you remove them?"

"How long have you experienced them?" inquired the physician.

"More or less ever since my return," replied Walstein; "but most grievously during the last three months." "Are you in love?" inquired Schulembourg.

"Certainly not," replied Walstein, "and I fear I never shall be."

"You have been?" inquired the physician.

"I have had some fancies, perhaps too many," answered the patient; "but youth deludes itself. My idea of a heroine has never been realised, and, in all probability, never will be."

"Besides an idea of a heroine," said Schulembourg, "you have also, if I mistake not, an idea of a hero?"

"Without doubt," replied Walstein. "I have preconceived for myself a character which I have never achieved."

you

"Yet, if have never met a heroine nearer your ideal than your hero, why should you complain?" rejoined Schulembourg.

"There are moments when my vanity completes my own portrait," said Walstein.

"And there are moments when our imagination completes the portrait of our mistress," rejoined Schulembourg.

"You reason," said Walstein. "I was myself once fond of reasoning, but the greater my experience, the