authors were to have been given in their own words, though in the briefest terms, and had prepared a specimen of our intended work in an abstract of Bacon's" Novum Organum,"'—we had no thought of being called upon to note his death. He was an energetic enthusiast, and had a nimble elasticity of spirit and intellect which won the admiration most of those who knew him best. He was a clever compiler, a versatile and ready writer, whose pen was swift and whose brain was full. He was an art-critic and an artist, and though engaged in supplying the insatiable press from day to day, he found time to read and think, "to understand the words of the wise and their dark sayings ;" and he had ambitions beyond that: but there is an end to all things, even to earthly ambitions; and that came to him on 21st September.

In October another great foreign philologist finished his course; one whose very name marks an epoch, and whose linguistic researches have been acknowledged as successful and valuable by the highest authorities. The most important addition made to the science of comparative philology in our times was assuredly made by Franz Bopp, the Orientalist, whose early work on "The Foundations of Philosophy in the East" awoke an interest in that topic which is yet unexhausted, and whose labours upon comparative grammar have gained for him glory, not only for the completeness with which grammatical forms have been analyzed in it, but for the clear summary he offers of their principles, and his lucid statement of their laws. He too has gone from among living men, and his works, and his memory, and his dust, and his example alone remain of the eager searcher into the mysteries of speech, and of that philosophy which speech involves.

William Martin, the "Peter Parley " of England, and one of the compilers of books for the young, whose efforts found much favour with the public, died 23rd of October; and two days thereafter a well-informed and capable contributor to literature, F. Lawrence, whose place is marked alone by a Life of Fielding, and who, as he says of his hero, "calmly beheld the approach of death, marked his upraised dart, and yielded without a shudder," and passed into "the lit darkness" of the grave.

The cosmogony of Laplace and the theory of nebular condensation advocated by the famous Sir William Herschel held a high place in the scientific world at one time, and were in fact regarded as hypotheses capable of explaining much of the system of the architecture of the heavens; but the telescope has been brought to dissipate these nebulous errors, and the far-distant curiosities of space which led to these explanations were resolved into clusters of binary and trinary stars, while the nature of the surface of the moon was made the subject of careful observation. To William Parsons, third Earl of Rosse, we owe the rectification of these plausible expositions of the set taken by night's sublime "jewelry of stars; ", and we owe to him besides that the distances of space have been shown to stand off from the human dwelling in which we

are at expanses of length which exceed all the conceivable computations of mankind, and made the palpable infinity of the universe more wonderful than ever, and a vaster testimony to the glory of Him who "counteth the number of the stars, and nameth them every one;" whose "kingdom ruleth over all." On the 31st October, Earl Rosse closed his eyes upon the light of sun, moon, and stars, and found an ampler ether for his spirit in the Presence whose law is in heaven.

Philoxene Boyer was one of the eccentrics of Paris, and was even among French wits a notable modern literary man. He gave himself to the translation of Greek poems, the composition of satires, and the production of dramas. With a wild sort of irregular philanthropy he combined a considerable acerbity of temper. On him, on 10th November, the curtain of death fell. On what has it risen ? When the lights are extinguished is the play ended? and is there no life but that which is enacted before the scenes in this theatre, wherein "all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"?

At Aberdeen a man of indefatigable industry, unweariable studiousness, whose life was spent in the dullest of labours-the compilation of dictionaries, but who lightened the gloom of his fate by flirtations with the Muses, Dr. John Ogilvie died 21st November. He was a man of much geniality of mind, of most persistent laboriousness, and undaunted by difficulties. His life is one to which the writer on "Toiling Upward" might turn, for he never slackened an aim while a higher possibility rose before him.

But "life in earnest," a life "not slothful in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord," was brought to a close after long endurance had given place to Christian activity and ardour in the demise of James Hamilton, D.D. Born in murky Paisley,brought up in the brilliant valley which is surrounded by the pleasant-ah, how pleasant!" braes of Strathblane," educated in Glasgow, ministering in Edinburgh, and dying in London, how much of the primest of life had he gathered in at them all! and how much was he able to give out! He was an embodied Christian "Excelsiorist." He "pressed towards the mark and prize of his high calling in Jesus Christ." He was a great soul set on flame with the very love of God. He had little passion but much enthusiasm, little fear and much love, little hesitancy and much boldness in Christ. How wide and varied were his loves among books and men! and how sterlingly honest were his words of criticism, warning, encouragement, and consecrated imagery! How living he made the whole gospel seem, and how he poured into the soul thought, insight, conduct, faith, hope, and humility, yet withal gave energy to every fibre of his being! Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them." On 24th November he fell asleep in Jesus, and the sickle of the great Reaper cut him down for the garner of the Most High.

Fitzgreene_Halleck began his poetical life by endeavouring to become the Byron of America. He got through a good deal of merry malevolence, introduced a little light scepticism, and made a good many uncouth rhymes and far-fetched jests, but he soon found out that the glitter of such poetry is cold and tinselly, not rich with the living light of stars, and graced with the ripe pleasantness of flowers, and learned to see a solemnity

"In sorrow's pomp and pageantry,"

which gave higher virtue to his after efforts. His is not"One of the few the immortal names

That were not born to die,"

but it is one which America may well seek to keep green till some higher voice arise and bid the lyre of Columbia awake to a nobler strain and a holier "soul to dare" the upward paths of poesy.

Professor Daubeny made the flowers of earth speak not only the results of science, but the truths of heaven-languages these which flowers are capable of speaking "full well." He has also made chemistry unfold new truths regarding the laws which regulate the lives of plants. He was Oxford's great scientific thinker, and his vocation was to interpret the phenomena of nature by the aid of the facts and principles of chemical science. He was an early disciple and an able expounder of the atomic theory, and he wrought it out to good uses. He was an erudite man of science, an earnest navigator, and an original thinker. His papers are very numerous, and are full of excellent matter gracefully expressed. The admiration and gratitude of men of science for his long services have been freely rendered by those who are capable of appreciating the full result of his efforts, and they seem to bear testimony to the thoroughness and vigour of his thinking.

Such are the names of those who have entered into the haven of rest during the course of 1867, so far as our memory serves us, and the space allotted to us permits commemoration. Amid the annals of death we can only name those whom memory and interest cull out from the "lost" of the earth. We have not probably mentioned all who are noteworthy, but we have endeavoured with honest impartiality, in the shadow of the grave, to speak the truth in love of those whom the world has lost, and for whom it rightfully mourns.

As we sum up, in some measure, the losses of the year, we can scarcely avoid reflecting how sad a thing it seems that it should so frequently happen that just at the moment when, as it appears to onlookers, a thinker has ripened and matured his mind, and is, as it were, ready to bestow on the world some of the results of his lifelabours, the functions of being should cease, and he should become like a casket wherein rare jewels are enclosed, but which are locked for ever from the touch of others-only a husk and a shell, out of whom all virtue is gone. Nature's prime work cannot be perfected thus for nought! Such fruits of the tree of life cannot surely drop from the branches of being for useless decay! Does not rather the

ripened seed of the spirit flash forth from the environments of earthliness, and leave the bodily form to seek the skies in radiant immortality, because its time has come to pass into "that world where the things of our present faith are the visible sources of joy, and where praise and adoration, and the other outpourings of ecstatic hearts, are the exercises most congenial" to the ripened soul? Is there not a peculiar deliciousness in the thought which gratifies the soul and makes it strong for action and suffering, far more than in the dismal spirit-groan which wails,—

"Take me, mother earth, to thy cold breast,

And fold me there in everlasting rest.
The long day is o'er-

I'm weary, I would sleep;
But sleep, sleep

Never to waken more"?

Even upon earth and among us how mighty are the dead! They give us our laws, letters, customs, education, faith, and hope; they excite our gratitude, admiration, memory, reverence, emulation, and love; they are the pioneers of our career and the heroes of our aspirations; they have given us being, and they are gone before us to the haven of spirits. Verily the dead are powers and principalities and potentates, who rule our spirits from their urns! They have fashioned the Past, and the Present is the long result of their living forces, and into the little interspace between the two eternities of Past and Future we have been introduced to take up the web of time, and to weave out our shuttleful of days, like them to be received thereafter into the Future and to become as they. Our fathers worked hitherto, and we work now. Let us so work that our lives may be influential on the future, and may be successful in securing a divine "welcome" into the mansions of Immanuel.

N. L.

SLEEP.-There is no fact more clearly established in the physiology of man than this, that the brain expends its energies and itself during the hours of wakefulness, and that these are recuperated during sleep. If the recuperation does not equal the expenditure, the brain withers-this is insanity. Thus it is that, in early English history, persons condemned to death by being prevented from sleeping always died raving maniacs; thus it is also that those who are starved to death become insane-the brain is not nourished, and they cannot sleep. The practical inferences are three :1st. Those who think most, who do most brain work, require most sleep. 2nd. That time "saved" from necessary sleep is infallibly destructive to mind, body, and estate. Give yourself, your children, your servants-give all that are under you the fullest amount of sleep they will take, by compelling them to go to bed at some regular, early hour, and to rise in the morning the moment they awake; and within a fortnight, nature, with almost the regularity of the rising sun, will unloose the bonds of sleep the moment enough repose has been secured for the wants of the system. This is the only safe and sufficient rule; and as to the question how much sleep any one requires, each must be a rule for himself.-Dr. Forbes Winslow.

Toiling Upward.

THORVALDSEN.

"From the crowd of young artists, a poor lad of lowly birth stepped forth;-half a century passed away, and he was found on the pinnacle of fame." J. M. THIELE.

SCULPTURE is the realization of ideal form. It is the ennoblement of stone by mind, the enrichment of matter by thought, the outcome and result of the shaping spirit of Imagination. It is the enshrinement of beauty, and the immortalization of the fleeting fancies of the spirit. It is conception, not life; but it is conception arrested and fixed to a life beyond life. Sculpture is frozen thought; by it, as Michael Angelo said, " marble is made flexible ;" and we may add, the ideal is by it incarnated in marble. It is a mighty achievement thus to seize and fix into corporeal statuesqueness, the beams of beauty which flash across man's vision in the universe. Sculpture unites in one discipline the material which is made plastic to beauty's slightest grace or sublimity's most awe-inspiring excellence, and the soul which subdues that material to unresisting submission; and it glorifies labour, self-denial, patience, and thought, by the evidence it yields of their transforming might-their subjugating

power.

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As pure form sculpture arises in the artist's mind; as material form it issues from his hands; in it as a completed whole-a trinity of thought, labour, and marble, standing forth in a unity of senseimpressing shapeliness-"airy thought" concentres and solidifies into actual form; soul and sense coalesce in wedded grace and divine unity. This singleness of sculpture is one of its most striking characteristics. Nothing letters, painting, or scienceso concentres and concentrates all thoughts, all feelings, all delights" into a special impression, possessed of universal power to stir and move, affect and influence. Sculpture is form at once inspirited and spiritualized; an equipoise of mind and matter, unified in form at a moment of perfected ideality. In it the very essence of outwardness is given, with the utmost simplicity and with the least adventitiousness. From it the complications of colour, time, progress, development, perspective, and associativeness fall away; it registers a constant present, an ever-during now. Sculpture is thought, passion, incident, soul, eternized in a specific moment-a dead yet deathless embodiment of a state of soul. The artist-the statuary of God-drops from his nerveless grasp the fashioning chisel, and chills into a monument of death; then corrupts into clay, and crumbles into dust; and can we believe, that while • Memorandum furnished by the Rev. J. G. MacVicar, M.A., D.D., author of "An Inquiry into Human Nature," &c.