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found John Campbell at peace, ready to meet the messenger as one who came to “ lead the blood-washed sinner home," and to pay the only unsettled or unforgiven debt he owed-Nature's.
From the Isle of Wight a more distinguished spirit passed when March had only a three days' tenantcy to run. Then the mind which brightened Blackwood with the “Life and Adventures of Sir Frizzle Pumpkin " and the "Nights at Mess," which supplied the stage with “ The Gowrie Conspiracy,” and several other dramas written in a clear, flexible, and plotful manner, which gave to the lucky children of the present generation “Landmarks” of the Hisitories of Greece, England, and France, and the gifted general reader with an excellent, an almost unsurpassable summary, of the events of “ The Eighteen Christian Centuries,” and which, while its possessor was Vicar of Loxley (near Stratford-on-Avon) and Bray, gave Warwickshire weekly supplies of serious, thoughtful, Christian instruction, passed away from an earthly to a celestial Bonchurch.
The obituary records of March contain, besides, the name of Emile Vanderburch, an officer of La Vendée, and one of the Napoleon's campaigners. He forsook the service of “Captain Sword,” to take office under “Captain Pen," and composed upwards of a hundred successful ephemeral dramas for the footlights of Paris,-he himself being meanwhile ephemeral too,-has been likewise successful in the outworking of the great “life drama” wherein each acts upon the world's wide stage.
Was there a grim, covert sarcasm in the fact that Alexander Birnie, on All-fools' day, after a long, foot-sore journey, and a painful persistency of stubborn, suicidal pride, which led him to hide bis soul-weary frame in a Morpeth brickfield, and make his last living bed in a hayriok, was seized by the victor of all that is earthly, and brought to the great audit? A man of singular, though peculiar powers.--a sort of British Poe, but with a stern contempt of himself irking in his haughty spirit, such as Poe was not man enough to feel,-Birnie knew the right, yet chose the wrong. It was a woeful tragedy the opening of April looked upon, a dissipated Stoic casting away a life to which solemnly under taken duties were attached, and noting down the items of death. liness as they crept nearer and nearer in their dread numbness to the seat of organic vigour, until power was strieken from the heart, and from the cheek the blood, and the unvalued life was taken from its owner. Ah! how seldom do we reflect that life has an eternal value too !
“ Oh God! oh God!—that it were possible
To antell these days, and to redeem these hours!" At London, a few days afterwards, the designer of that magnifi. cently-conceived monument of Shakespere, which won the heart of every admirer of England's bard, and imankind's boast, who visited the International Exhibition-John Thomas, the Welsh sculptor-expired. Not to mentien the elaborate carvings of the Houses of Parliament, and the many felicitous groups for commercial and aristocratic palaces, this monument, and the statues of Musidora and Godiva, should earn for the memory of the sculptor a sun-lit nook in the very heart of the lover of the good, the beautiful, and the true. The Unsculpturable has made him dust, who out of dust so often and so cunningly wrought the exquisite semblance of life, and stiffened, as if marble, the thought-hossed brow of the artist.
Sir John Kincaid, an old Peninsular hero, whose pen illustrated the wars in which he bore a share, and whose official life was employed in the improvement of man, died at Hastings, on 20th April. His hero's work was then ended, after a somewhat lengthy illuess; for,
" The mightiest in one moment stoop to death.” A man of singular character, ability, and fortune, Dr. Joseph Wolff, died on May 2nd. Born of Jewish parents, he became a Roman Catholic Christian, and studied in the best schools of Rome. Conscientiously abjuring the Papal creed, and therefore banished from the eternal city, he sought Protestant culture in the chief universities of Germany; studied for a time at Cambridge, under the Rev. C. Simeon ; went to the United States, and was there ordained a preacher of God's word; but shortly afterwards under. took pastoral duty in Ireland. Then he went out to Bokhara as a missionary, and having returned thence, he accepted a commission to endeavour to procure the liberation of Colonel Stoddart and Captain Connolly, who had, however, previously inet the harsh fate of death. Accounts of his travels have been published, as have also his views on rationalism. He was strangely restless in mind and body; but the wild pulses of his heart have been quieted now, and he sleeps the sleep that knows no waking, under the shadow of Isle Brewer's spire.
May, also, saw the last hours of one of Britain's richest-minded men. Freighted with all that intense study could bring to him, stimulated by a desire to emulate the fame of the colossal thinkers of the olden times, excited by the desire to achieve a giant renown, and full of the flush of a gigantic ambition, Henry Thomas Buckle entered upon a long-determined task work, with a devotedness seldom given to the greatest labours in these days. To toilsome preparation he added the stores of a deep-thinking mind, and a spirit undaunted by a world's scorn. He planned a Panathenaea, but he never got beyond the vestibule. Envious death” poured the poison of typhus fever into his vitals; and in the old city of the East, Damascus, the modern thinker laid down his head on the death-pillow. He had wandered by the banks of the grand old Nile, noticed the remnants of the Egyptic civilization, ridden through the desert, stood in the shadow of Sinai, crowned with the terrors of the Judaic law, rested in the birth-city of Christianity, and now he is himself at rest, in a small cemetery in the outskirts of the city of a pre-Abrahamic civilization ; reposing in “the hope which alone makes life supportable,”-such are his own words-of life and immortality beyond the grave. His works have been exposed to much animadversion, and their outspokenness in an age somewhat too tolerant of easy-going make-believe caused many to denounce their tendency. Their multifarious and well-systematized reading, their lucidity of expression, and their vast sociological range, give them a high place in literature. Perhaps they want the poetic insight without which history can never be well written ; but he had recently left the study to look on life with his own eyes ; and there is little doubt that the life of grace was shedding its influences on his heart when, on Ascension day, the death-dart entered his frame, and far Damascus, at the age of thirty-nine, received his body's ashes.
June is marked in British history as the month in which cruel death, with remorseless sharpness, cut the cord of a nobly-ambitioned nature just when his work was done, and before the applause of a grateful nation could reward the untiring assiduity and haltless toil with wbich Lord Canning gave his whole soul's efforts to stablish the empire of Britain truly and firmly in India. Good and bad report weltered round him like a storm-tossed ocean; but animated by an intelligent, benevolent, and just appreciation of the high task committed to him, not only by the government and people of Britain, but by the providence of the Highest, he pursued, with an unfaltering and great-souled courage, the duty before him. At a strange crisis-a'crisis for which he could scarcely by any prevision have been prepared—the Governorship of India was placed in his hands. He went into harness immediately, he braced up his heart to the effort, and he went to his work unflinchingly, selfsacrificingly. He lived through in these short seren years the events of many lives. He went, expecting calm, and he found mutinous rage and fierce rebellion. Unaffrighted, he struck the revolution blow on blow, till the rash spirit was exorcised, and peace was sought. He superintended the annexation of India to the British Empire, as a part and portion, not as a commercial company's dependency, and managed it through a financial crisis almost as difficult as that of the revolt. He underwent labours and endured sorrows such as few men could have sustained; but he was nerved to the task by a sense of duty, and by a thirst for the honest fame wbich survives the body's burial. He touched his native soil only to die on it-only to yield his worn frame to the grave.
Oh, let not virtue seek
“There is a history in all men's lives,” could we but comprehend it. A studious, self-sustained, and unambitious man, who had mastered much of the science of the day, many of the languages of the world, and a great deal of the literature of Europe and India, J. B. Lindsay, died in Dundee, 22nd June. He was a discoverer in many branches, a writer on many topics, and an authority on questions of mathematics and languages. About 150 languages were known to him, and he wrote a dictionary of fifty-three, which cost him thirty-five years' labour. He was a patient, industrious Forker, because he loved work, and saw in knowledge its own great reward. Towards the close of his life, he was pensioned by her Majesty, and the works of the freshest energies of his life have been placed in the British Museum.
On the 27th of the same month, a man of high culture, noble desires, and extensive usefulness, Dr. John Hunter, died in harness tv his professional duties as a teacher. He wrote many educational works, and laboured assiduously to stir up an interest in the working classes in the delights of knowledge. Many of his choicest hours, much of his rarest power, some of his kindliest thoughts, were given to the helping on of the Working Men's College in Ayr. He was an unflagging enthusiast in his own studies, and an earnest promoter of intellectual progress. His name merits mention from us, who knew his worth, and reverenced his character. Long illness had worn him wan when we last saw him, and walked the Scottish hill-sides with him ; but life had poetry for him then, for it had duties, and death had poetry for him too, for it had beyond it hope, love, faith, and worship.
In July one of Edinburgh's most distinguished men-Professor T. S. Trail-died in his 81st year. He was an encyclopædic man, regarding all the phenomena of nature. His mind was a dictionary of facts ; and science, with all its multifariousness, and in all its minuteness, was known and visible to him at one view. He was the editor of the two latest editions of the Encyclopædia Britannica, and was thus brought into contact with a various multitude of minds. He could occupy a wide range of the vast fields of science himself, but he welcomed all stores to this great treasure house. For sixty years he had daily read the words of life in the Greek Testament, and the last words he read on earth were those which offer a welcome to the faithful into a boundless world of endless joys-a Father's home.
Duke Pasquier died in Paris on 4th July, at the age of ninety-five, and has left behind him memorials of the most eventful period of European history subsequent to the era of the Reformation,—the period of the Revolution, the Empire, the Restoration, and triumph of Chicanery in our own day. J. Lewis Ricardo did not sustain the repute of his father's name, but in his own time did useful work, and aided in no small degree the two great freedoms of our eracorn and navigation. A number of less names were blotted from the catalogue of life on earth during August, but we remember no one whose fame has been blazoned in the corridors of time.
A long, serene life, a life of eminent success, was closed at Addington on 81h September. Then the very head of England's Church was called hence. Born in Kenilworth parsonage, of good family, and with fair prospects, his prosperity must have eclipsed the brightest expectations formed of his career. Upon the basis of scholarship, character, and quiet worth he built securely. Honours came to him as naturally as blossoms on an apple-tree; honours, which like them, too, were prophetic of fruit. Eton and Cambridge looked on him with kindly eyes, and his name stood high as a prizeman and medallist. His published works acquired a prompt reputation, and he became Canon of Durham just when Sir Walter Scott made the fame of his birth-place resound through the nation. The ancient city of Chester received him as Bishop in 1828, and twenty years afterwards he was elevated to the chair of Augustine, A-Becket, and Cranmer, whence he bore rule over the Church with zeal, care, moderation and decorum. He was a man of probity, worth, amiability, neither great as a man, a thinker, a scholar, or a theologian, but a man who lived a good Christian life, who did his best in a perilously high position, and who, if he bas not heightened the public respect for the archiepiscopal chair, has not lowered it in the estimation of those who think a high moral character, even though joined to average abilities, is a fitter guide for the Church than a rash and heady, dominant and domineering prelate. Archbishop Sumner lived respected and loved, and died deeply mourned, and the Church will be fortunate if it finds a head as calm in judgment, honestly anxious for usefulness, keenly desirous of aiding in any good work, to manage her menaced future, and happy is he who has passed from the militant to the triumphant Church.
Sir Benjamin C. Brodie had for nearly sixty years “wrestled " with Death, and with an acutely inductive mind had watched the methods of attack he practised on the fortress of health, and set himself professionally to counterwork, so far as human contrivance could avail, the too early oncoming of that hour, so dreadful
"To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel;
Shall pass like an opreal mystery.” The influence of the brain on the action of the heart, of the nervous system on the secretions of the stomach, of vegetable poisons on the tissues of the body, occupied much of his thoughts; while the relations of mind and matter in the human frame attracted his attention, and received some valuable illustration from his inquiries. His was a widely useful life, and he was highly esteemed and greatly honoured during it by his professional compeers ; but the moment of revenge came, and on the 21st October the Insatiable whetted the dart, and drove it home. The busy brain grew still, the keen eye closed, the heart lost its native heat, and the active framework stiffened, and the inquisitive mind was exiled from its eighty-yearsold palace. His “Psychological Inquiries" were then ended, for he knew the rest.