Mr. Hawkshaw read a communication on the footsteps of the great animals of the toad species which trod the earth in the time of red sandstones. These animals were once as large as camels, but they gradually dwindled in size, even at that early epoch, as was ably shewn by the author, till the circumstances became so unfit for the propagation of an animal abhorrent to man, as to appear in the present day to have attained a point proximate to total annihilation.

ZOOLOGY.

There was not much done in this section. We shall briefly recapitulate the chief results under their proper heads of Mammalogy, in which class, we can merely notice a memoir by Dr. Hodgkin, on the "Races of Men;" and the exhibition of a gigantic pair of the horns of the Wapeti deer. Ornithology- Mr. Couch read a memoir on the migration of birds in Cornwall; and Mr. Blackwall, a list of summer birds observed in Denbighshire. Icthyology-Dr. Richardson read a description of a new genus of fishes, called Machærium Subducens, from Port Essington, in New Holland. The same naturalist read a report on the icthyology of New Zealand, which contained descriptions of seventy-seven species. Invertebrata-Mr. Blackwall communicated a curious notice on the palpi of spiders, in which he stated that the full development of these organs indicates a maturity in male spiders. Mr. Moore exhibited specimens of the parasites of salmon and carp, which led to an interesting discussion. Mr. Peach announced, that the so-called "sea cup," was not the product of the turbo littoreus, but of the purpureus capillus, and that the patella lævis is the young of the patella pellucida. Among the miscellaneous papers belonging to the same class, was the report of the committee on zoological nomenclature. A report also of the committee for the preservation of animal and vegetable substances, which reported most favourably on the solution of the subcarbonate of potash for such purposes.

BOTANY.

In this branch of knowledge, interesting papers were read by Professor Royle, on the growth of cotton in India; on the means of promoting the growth of plants, by Mr. Webb Hall; a paper by Mr. Reade, opposed to Liebig's theory of fallows; a notice of an irregular production of flowers in an aloe, at Ham Court, near Bristol, by Professor Daubeny; and the first report from the committee on the growth and vitality of seeds.

STATISTICS.

Many of the statistical papers led to results of considerable interest and importance. There were among these, five papers on vital statistics, in which Manchester and its cotton-spinners were included; two papers on criminal statistics; three on the statistics of colleges, academies, and schools; two on the loan funds and monts de piété in Ireland; the registers of the collegiate church, Manchester; the statistics of Plymouth, &c.

MECHANICAL SCIENCE.

There were no less than twenty-nine communications read at this section, all of which contained some practical fact of greater or less importance. Besides the report on railway sections, there were also connected with the same subject, a memoir by Mr. Vignolles, on the axles of locomotive engines; and a paper by the same author, on the best form of railway bars, and on the upper works of railways generally; a memoir by Mr. Nasmyth, on the strength of hammered and annealed bars of iron and railway axles; Mr. Smith, on an improved steam boiler; and Mr. Russell, on an index of speed for steam vessels; a memoir on floating breakwaters, a subject which has assumed a national importance; and one on the application of beton and concrete to the construction of breakwaters; three papers on the strength of materials; another on the ventilation of houses; on a self-acting wear; on the pressure of earth against walls; a memoir by Sir J. Robison, on making street-paving blocks from round timber, now proposed in Paris; a report on the form of ships; and another on iron, as a material for ship building; on a new mode of raising water; on producing artificial threads or filaments for weaving; Mr. Brockedon, on new patent stoppers; Mr. Vignolles, on Clegg's dry gas meter; and lastly, two papers, besides one read at the chemical section, on the interesting subject of the efficacy of plans for abating the smoke nuisance, and the consumption of smoke. There is now in Manchester an especial association for determining the merits of the various plans, which are now forty-two in number, submitted as effectual for this purpose, and its operation has been further assisted by a grant from the British Asso

ciation.

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HANGE so busy in this eventful century with Life -is busier yet with Death. There is no late step in the progress of opinion or the habits of society so broad as the distinction between the city Churchyard and the suburban Cemetery. Nor is it possible for change to take a healthier or wiser direction. In those dark, pentup, narrow nooks of the busy town to which past generations have been consigned, in those forlorn, railed-in, grassless recesses, which hold, in mingled heaps, the bones of the city's fore

fathers, the pure and exquisite sentiment that should embalm the memory of the dead is stifled. The stir of the populous street-the rattling wheels-the hoarse cries-the ring of laughter and the yelling of oaths-the grey smoke that canopies the scene, or the yellow fog that envelops all,-combine to banish from the home of the departed every idea of the repose and quiet which had else sanctified it, and weigh us down with a sense of things the most sickening and repulsive. The hallowed associations which drew us gently to the spot are scared and driven back by a quick succession of ghastly images. What should be awe is terror-what should be pity is disgust. When we think of the dead afterwards, it is a thought that has no sweetness in it-like a flower without perfume. Our sympathies turn from the beloved object that lies below-we forget even the one most precious to us-to commiserate the strangers who dwell around, on the brink of the churchyard, inhaling its unwholesome vapours, familiarized with its loathsome secrets, and witnessing its profanation.

The desecration with which continued interments in most of these churchyards is inevitably attended has of late years greatly diminished, and there is a hope that it will soon wholly cease. What an escape from the atmosphere of London burialplaces to the air of Kensal Green,-from the choked charnel-house to that verdant wide expanse, studded with white tombs of infinite shapes, and stone-marked graves covered with flowers of every brilliant dye!

With what a different impulse does memory revisit this Asylum of the Dead! The weight with which we had contemplated the mortal relics of the Immortal lost to us, flies off as we approach. We meditate with serenity; we retire, with cheerfulness mingling in the calm that has stolen over us. Here there has been nothing to repel, nothing to shock, nothing to wound the profound and sensitive feeling. The mourner here has held uninterrupted intercourse with the mourned. Kneeling beside the bed of the Sleeper, the watcher Love has felt for a time that Death was but a dream, and Life little more. Affection has said, in the language of the Hebrew in his vision, "Let these dry bones live!" and, as Light followed the creative Word, the lost has been restored, and the separated have been joined.

While sorrow may be thus soothed, while anguish and terror may be thus softened into a tender regret, it must be a cold and hard philosophy that would deem us victims to a morbid delusion, and endeavour to limit the imagination to the field of the senses. "Nature is above art in that respect." Not only do the remarkable beauty of the scene, and the touching evidences of human affection which everywhere present themselves to the wanderer through its labyrinths, pour balm upon the troubled heart that heaves for the Dead; but are not the Dying also cheered by thoughts derived from the loveliness and the serenity of the place! A friend, who has since become an inhabitant of another cemetery, has recorded a touching incident connected with the cemetery at Kensal Green. It is related of Mr. Broughton, the surgeon. Previous to the operation, the effect of which was so fatal, he was driven in his carriage to the gate, and "sat there for some minutes looking in." Within a few days, amongst the stones, and shrubs, and flowers on which he thus gazed curiously, was his body deposited, according to the instructions in his will. This story," it is truly remarked, "is beautifully expressive of a state of mind calmly * Edward Chatfield, the artist; esteemed in that character, beloved in every other. He is buried in the cemetery at Norwood.

making itself up to a contingent, not remotely calculated, but felt to be hovering awfully near." We agree that the looking in is better than would have been the going in; but imagine the calm patient, conscious of his doom, glancing round the desolate precincts of a city churchyard, or prying into a horrid vault through the iron grating!

Let us pass the Lodge, and enter at the gates of the Cemetery. We are struckfirst, doubtless, with the surrounding landscape, so rich in cultivation, in character so diversified, in extent so sweeping; next, with the beauty of that Garden of Death which is spread on either side of us, adorned with evergreens and flowers, broken with small clumps of trees, and covered with buildings tastefully designed. It is on these that our feelings pause, and surprise makes itself felt amidst the solemnity that fills the mind. Standing on that slight eminence, we are startled by the number of the monuments. It is scarcely ten years since the sheep were driven from their pasture, and already has there been about six thousand interments within that noble and spacious enclosure. The Cemetery comprises upwards of 40 acres of ground. Looking to the right from the entrance, a central walk leads to the church at some distance, in front of which is a large circle appropriated to many of the more splendid and spacious tombs and mausoleums. The north walk, skirting the wall along the public road, conducts us to the Catacombs and the Colonnade, whence there is a branch-walk across the Cemetery; passing which we reach the west walk, and arrive at the south path running on the canal side, which conducts us again to the entrance. Here, in the space beyond, we traverse the ground set apart for the burial of dissenters of every denomination, having a chapel for the performance of service according to their several forms of worship.

Before we enter either of the walks, we are attracted by a cluster of white marble monuments, prefiguring by their beauty the sacred tributes beyond. Amongst them is an elegant column, on which is chiselled a withered lily; and on the top, white as snow, is a young lamb, bound and dying. "Julia Lamb" is the inscription below. Pitying and sad is the sentiment with which the beholder turns aside; and close by, he sees, surmounting a granite tomb, a marble pillar, with the inscription"Grateful children in sacred remembrance of beloved parents.'

At a little distance is another filial tribute, a plain stone rising amidst flowers"To the memory of Sir Anthony Carlisle, his affectionate daughters inscribe this stone." And between the two, stands a handsome monument to Wyndham Lewis, M.P."Erected by his widow, Mary Anne Lewis, who was united to him for seventeen years

of unbroken happiness."

Rejoice, then! is the silent reflection with which we turn away; rejoice, then, ye who despond over the world's woes, and rush to meet the shadow of death as he advances! Life is something more than a walk by the grave's side, a looking down, and a sudden fall! Though budding infancy and blooming youth mingle their dust at our feet, to others may fall the fairer lot, the poet's dream," years of unbroken happiness!" Turning to the north walk, we pause before a broken pillar of white marble to "James Lansdown, architect, erected as a testimony of their esteem by a few friends." And at the family grave of "John Gosling" we stop to transcribe one of those frequent tributes, in which the mere overflow of sorrow, without the slightest inspiration of the fancy, seeks in the form of poetry an expression to which ordinary forms of language seem hopelessly inadequate :

No peace, nor comfort, shall I ever have,
Till I lie by her in the silent grave."

"Here lies the only comfort of my life, A tender mother, and a faithful wife; But there are inscriptions which touch at once the imagination and the affections. "Who can help being moved," says the friend already adverted to, "by the glowing fire and radiance of an agonized love, which thus disperses the clouds hanging on the skirts of the world?

"Young, beautiful, and good, God in his mercy numbered her with his angels
at the early age of seventeen.'

"It seems as impious to doubt the faith as the love which dictated this inscription. A fact is assumed with all the confidence of an eye-witness. The letters with which the stone is firmly indented are but faint types of the vivid image stamped on the mind of the bereaved parent that his young, his beautiful, his virtuous child, is now and for ever an angel of light, admitted as one of that burning row of bright seraphim ministering before the throne of the Most High." The tears called forth by the inscription thus recorded fall upon the grave of Mary Scott Hogarth, sister of Mrs. Charles Dickens. Beside her lies her brother,

"George Hogarth, aged twenty. Like her, he was taken ill and died in one night."

Called hence at the same age, and ministering haply in the same angelic service, may Rosina Johnson be, whose ashes lie at a short distance, beneath heartsease and forget-me-not, honeysuckle and yew—

"As a flower, beautiful in form, she came forth, and was cut down; and like fragrance rich and grateful was the amiability of her disposition to all who knew her."

Passing a striking tomb, with rich corner ornaments, in honour of "John Campbell," the arms sculptured, with the impressive motto, "Follow me!" we stop to notice one of those inscriptions, of which the Cemetery contains several-records of grateful respect for the services of faithful dependents:

"To the memory of Eleanor Anderson this stone is raised, as a tribute to long and faithful services, and as a testimony of attachment and regard, by the Duchess of Sutherland and her children." If, for a contrast to such honourable tributes, for a touching evidence of the grateful remembrance in which the employer may hold the employed, we turn to a distant walk, we find one upon a simple stone, at whose foot spring a few evergreens— "To Richard Stanton, M.D., erected by Sarah Towers, for many years his confidential housekeeper."

Returning, we find over the dust of William Henry Doggett, a verse which none but a doting mother could have ever dreamed of writing

"Dear prattling child, to both our hearts still dear,

Long shall we bathe thy memory with a tear;
Farewell, too promising on earth to dwell!
Sweetest of fondlings-best of babes, farewell!"

And if rapturous affection sometimes run into eccentricity, who can help pitying while they smile! Little William Brown is made to say of himself—

"Affectionate baby once was I,
Pride of my parent's hearts,

Who soothed my sorrow when I cried,
And press'd me to their breast."

From the graves of the early-nipp'd, reminding us that no medicine can avail, we passed to an imposing mausoleum, inscribed "James Morison, the Hygeist;" and were immediately afterwards stopped, as by the touch of an angel, where the remains of the youthful Elizabeth Hermitage are covered with a plain stone, on which a handful of flowers had been newly scattered. A sister had been there!

Around us are testimonies of affection hallowing every degree of relationship. Mark a niece's intensity of love struggling to express itself in a tribute to Mrs. Ball

"The loss of an aunt I deplore,

A dear and affectionate friend;
To me she will never return,

To her I hope to ascend.

Her love that of aunts surpass'd

Can nature do less than weep?
Oh no, for my tears flow so fast,
No bounds my poor nature can keep."

Pause, reader! and contemplate this square tomb of fine white veined marble. What elegant scholarship, what intellectual energy, what various knowledge of books and men, what practical skill-above all, perhaps, what kindliness of heart and steadiness of friendship, have gone down to it! It is erected

"In memory of Thomas Barnes, M.A., of Pembroke College, Cambridge, and editor of the Times journal, died 7th of May, 1841, aged 55 years.

"He was a man of eminent service to his country, and his death, to a numerous circle of friends, was a personal misfortune. As a politician, he conducted public opinion with great moral courage, inflexible integrity, and genuine patriotism; while he was distinguished by fine talents and a graceful elocution. Learning in him was united with facility, criticism with taste, and elegance with ease. The nation found in him a mind familiar with our native manners and institutions, and acquainted, through every grade, with the vast fabric of our social system. He was noble by being beneficial to others and disinterested in himself. In magnanimity above the vicissitudes of the world, he was a generous spirit-amiable in his domestic relations, and in his social qualities without an equal."

We must not pass the quaint lines inscribed on the tomb of Edward Hewson

"Thy life is but a winter's day

Some only breakfast and away;
Others to dine, and are well fed ;-

The oldest man but sups and goes to bed.
Larger his debts who lingers out the day-
Who goes the soonest has the least to pay !"

Before we enter the Colonnade adorned with beautiful tablets, or inspect the Catacombs over which we now walk, shall we turn off towards the Circle, whither so many splendid and interesting objects attract us? And here as we wander,

the eye glancing from the flower-circled tomb to the lofty column, from the delicate marble to the massive granite, by what a name is it suddenly arrested! "CHARLOTTE SOPHIA LOCKHART, daughter of Sir Walter Scott, of Abbotsford, Bart.;" while an inscription on the other side records that her sister, Anne Scott, reposes there also, having perished in her thirtieth year. What mourners