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the two Academies of Science and of Arts in Berlin, he was also a member of the Academies of Paris, London, Petersburg, Stockholm, Copenhagen, and Munich, and of many associations of learned men at Edinburgh, Berlin, Paris, Moscow, Brussels, Erfurt, Halle, Erlangen, Jena, Potsdam, Leipsic, Hamm, Rostock, and other places. Among his papers there was found, after his death, not less than thirty diplomas from learned societies; and the king (of Prussia) added to these honours, in the year 1811, the order of the Red Eagle of the Third Class.

The State, too, in acknowledgment of Klaproth's merits, rewarded his industry in a variety of ways. So far back as the year 1782, he had been assessor in the Supreme College of Medicine and of Health, which then existed; at a more recent period, he enjoyed the same rank in the Supreme Council of Medicine and of Health; and when this college was subverted in 1810, he became a member of the medical deputation attached to the ministry of the Interior. He was also a member of the perpetual court commission for medicines. His lectures, too, procured for him several municipal situations. For as soon as the

public became acquainted with bis great chemical acquirements, he was permitted to give, yearly, two private courses of lectures on chemistry, one for the officers of the royal artillery corps, the other for persons not connected with the army, who wished to accomplish themselves for some prac tical employment. Both of these lectures assumed afterwards a municipal character. The former led to his appointment as professor of the Artillery Academy, instituted at Tempelhoff, and after its dissolution to his situation as professor in the Royal War School. The other lecture procured for him the professorship of chemistry in the Royal Mining Institute. On the establish. ment of the present university, Klaproth's lectures became those of the university, and he himself was appointed ordinary professor of chemistry, and member of the Academical Senate. Besides these public lectures, our departed friend was an active member from 1797 to 1810, of a small scientific society, which met yearly, during a few weeks, for the purpose of discussing the more recondite mysteries of the science, and of which all the members retain lively recollections.

STEPHENSIANA.
No. XII.

The late ALEXANDER STEPHENS, Esq. of Park House, Chelsea, devoted an active and well-spent life in the collection of Anecdotes of his contemporaries, and generally entered in a book the collections of the passing day ;—these collections we have purchased, and propose to present a selection from them to our readers. As Editor of the Annual Obituary, and many other biographical works, the Author may probably have incorporated many of these scraps; but the greater part are unpublished, and all stand alone as cabinet pictures of men and manners, worthy of a place in a literary miscellany.

A

DAPHNE AND BRIGHTON.

NTIOCH, the once flourishing and populous metropolis of AsiaMinor, and of the extensive kingdom of Antiochia, had a seat of luxury and pleasure for its inhabitants, in a small town on the sea-coast, called Daphne. The warm constitutions of Asiatics rendered Daphne, however, a scat of vice and criminal indulgence, and the place is never mentioned by writers of antiquity except with reprobation, Perhaps its original uses were abused; for nothing can be more reasonable than that the inhabitants of a great city should seek change of scene and occasional relaxations from the pursuits of ambition, wealth, and commerce. The changes in the fortunes

of nations has now, however, reduced Antioch to an inconsiderable town, and has extinguished Daphne. Both have fallen victims to the barbarous policy of the Turkish government, under which millions languish, that few may enjoy overgrown wealth,-the short-sighted egotism of whom separates their supposed interests from those of the community. Brighton is the Daphne of London, without its vices.

FISHERY AT GRAVESEND.

In 1714, only three British fishingsmacks, of about forty tons each, were employed in the cod-fishery, and about twenty-one hands. The Dutch not being permitted to bring cod to Billingsgate market, they increased to

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twenty sail in 1735; and, in the course of a few years more, they amounted to 1 120 sail, of from fifty to sixty and seventy tons, valued at 100,000l. employing 1200 men, with 500 apprentices, for the supply of the London market alone. In 1789, the smacks increased to 150,-eighteen of which belonged exclusively to Gravesend; and indeed, as the fresh water would kill their fish, none proceeded higher up than Gravesend. In 1809 the number exceeded 200 sail, with a proportionate increase of tonnage. Of these about thirty appertain to Gravesend owners, and fifty to the people of Barking. Cod and ling are found in the deep water of Doggerbank, while a smaller cod and haddocks are caught on the well-bank, where the water is shallower. The vessels are provided with wells; and, on taking the fish from them, they are knocked on the head, and killed by truncheons.

In 1796, the smacks formerly employed in the German Ocean found a fishery to the northward of Scotland; but in 1808 and 1809, on account of the war with Denmark, they frequented every bay in North Britain.

THE ANCIENT ENGLISH CHURCH.

Before the Reformation, one-third of the best benefices were appropriated to abbeys; 190 were dissolved by Henry the Eighth, the rental of which was 2,653,000l. part of which went to Rome. There were 3845 impropriations in England; and there are 8803 towns in England and Wales.

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walk in the Park, kiss the nursery, maids, and drink the children's milk.' FANATICS.

Richard Brothers, the prophet; and Wright and Bryan, two fanatics; the former a carpenter at Leeds, the latter a journeyman copper-plate printer, in 1789 repaired to Avignon, in order to form a society of prophets; these. men became the friends and coadjutors of Richard Brothers. One of them, however, had doubts, and he went to see Brothers, prepared with a knife; so that, if any doubts of his apostolic mission should arise, he might deliver such a message from the Lord as Eliud carried to King Eglon. The new King of the Hebrews, had not so much as a single Jewish, historian. Mr. Sharpe became one of his disciples, and beneath a well-engraved portrait placed the following words:" Fully believing this to be the man whom God hath appointed, I engrave his likeness. W. S."-Brothers wrote letters to the King, and to all the members of both Houses of Parlia ment, announcing his intention of speedily setting out for Jerusalem. Some of his disciples actually shut up their shops, and many repaired to London to join him. Before his departure, he was to prove the truth of his mission by a public miracle, and said he would throw down his stick in the Strand at noon-day, which, like the wand of Moses, would be converted into a serpent. In a like strain he threatened London with an earthquake.

NAUTICAL BREEDING.

When the late Duke of York (brother to George III.) went on board Lord Howe's ship, as a midshipman, the different captains in the fleet at tended, to pay him their respects, on the quarter-deck. He seemed not to know what it was to be subordinate, or to feel the necessity of moderation in the display of that superiority which would naturally result from his high rank. He received them with some hauteur, which a sailor on the forecastle observing, after expressing his astonishment at the Duke's keeping his hat on, he told one of his messmates, that "the thing was not in its sphere," adding, "It is no wonder he does not know manners, as he was never at sea before.”

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into physiological learning. He had a reflecting mind, and, well weighing the analogy that prevails throughout nature, was led to remark, that as we are acquainted with phosphoric and electric animals, it is not improbable that future times may discover plants which, like the torpedo and gymnotus, shall electrify the intruder who dares to approach them. The Abbé Bertholon and Dr. Ingenhouz were of the same opinion. As a portion of labour and attention appears now to be directed to investigating the interior of unexplored regions, this speculation, though a most singular one, may eventually be found to be no misconception.

ORIGINAL LETTER OF S. DUCK THE POET

TO MR. BENJAMIN KENNICOTT.

SIR,-I return you many thanks for the valuable present of your book, which I received by the hands of Mr. Lillington. I have read it once over with pleasure, and have begun it a second time; and a second time I am edified, hac decies repetita placebit. Your account of the tree of life, the Sabbath, and sacrifices, are very ingenious; and, if you have not demonstration, you have at least great probability on your side. But I ought to be very careful how I give my opinion on matters so abstruse, and so much

above the reach of my capacity. For though (as you observe in your obliging letter,) there is some similitude in our lives, yet the parallel will not hold in the point of learning; for you have been, in that respect, much happier than I have been, who have never had the advantage of such a liberal education as you are blest with; it being my misfortune to be a stranger to the universities, of which you are an ornament. However, I shall not be wanting in diligence yet to improve myself; and, as the chief duties of Christianity (I mean those which are absolutely necessary to salvation,) lie in a narrow compass, and are pretty obvious and plain, I will do my best endeavour to recommend them in such a manner as may excite mankind to practise them; which if I can do, I shall think myself not entirely useless to society. And now, dear sir, J heartily congratulate you on your success, and the amazing progress you have made in the learned world; I sincerely wish that it may turn out to the advantage of yourself in particular, as it must be to the benefit of mankind in general. When you come towards London, the honour of seeing you here would be extremely grateful to, sir, Your most obliged,

humble servant,

S: Duck.

Kew Green, in Surrey; June 14, 1747. P.S.-I do not wonder to see Dr. Oliver among the number of your friends; he is one to all mankind. I have obligations to him myself, which I shall always acknowledge. If you see him in your way to Devonshire, be so kind as to tell him that I frequently think of him with pleasure.

LORD ROSSLYN.

The difficulties of getting rid of a Scotch or Irish pronunciation are considerable; but examples are not wanting to stimulate those who are in pursuit of this object. There is now in London a gentleman, in a high office of the law, who did not leave Scotland till after he had been some years advanced in manhood; and yet, by receiving instruction for a few months only, according to the plan laid down by Sheridan, sen. he has conquered all the difficulties attached to inveterate habits. I allude to Lord Rosslyn, or

Mr. Wedderburne, who was first solicitor and then attorney general, and afterwards lord high chancellor. His speech, at present, is not to be distinguished from that of the most polished natives of England, in point of pronunciation and of intonation. The instance of Lord Aylmoor, a lord of session at Edinburgh, was yet more extraordinary, for only by conversing and reading with actors, and other Englishmen, without leaving Scotland, he arrived at a perfect accuracy of pronunciation.

LORD CHANCELLOR ELDON,

Is a wonderful instance of good fortune, and is justly praised for his bonhommie. He was the pupil of Mr. Bray, the great conveyancer, who was the nephew of Matt. Duane, the great Roman Catholic conveyancer. Such was his assiduity and attention, that

Mr.

Mr. B. observed, "there are several of the young men in my office who possess equal and even greater talents than Scott, but none who have equal patience, or plod so much,-I therefore have great hopes of him."

Mr. Scott, however, had no great hopes of himself; for he despaired of rising in Westminster Hall, and actually conceived the idea of retiring into the country, and practising as a provincial lawyer. Accordingly, when the Recordership of Newcastle became vacant, he applied to Mr. Bray for his interest on this occasion. The latter assured him of his utmost efforts on his behalf, but recommended a longer trial. On a longer trial he succeeded. At that period he resided in Powisplace, near Great Ormond-street, in the immediate vicinity of his old master; dined every day at half past three, and at five regularly trudged down to chambers. As he constantly passed the door of Mr. Bray, the latter was accustomed to say to his wife (now Mrs. M'Evoy), "Remark what I say, my dear; you will live to see this young man Lord Chancellor of Great Britain!" a prophecy that was actually fulfilled in the course of a very few years.

The pride of wealth of the Surtees was wounded at the alliance; the country banker and his family disdained connexion with the son of a coal-fitter, and the grandson of a coalskipper; but the young lawyer replied officially, by affixing his seal as Lord Chancellor to the docket that sanctioned the bankruptcy of the family.

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Horrors tend his wakeful lamp;

All his splendor horrors damp; Misdeeds, like ghosts, before him threat'ning rise.

Livingly upstarts his hair,

Ha! his dagger clench'd and bare! Mercy! that reeking plunge: his soul off screaming flies.

"India, triumph! and behold

The wolves their prey to Europe bear; Their doom lurks brooding in thy gold, Which here inert, sublimes to poison there.

And mangles states by luxury and strife. It there dissolves the charities of life,

To thy tyrants 'tis decreed, Gold and ruin be their meed! This truth the fool of glory felt of yore, Britain's freedom-(Britain's all!) By the spoils of thine shall fall! Her iron-gripe shall cease, and thou shalt

groan no more.

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ORIGINAL POETRY.

DARTMOOR;

From the Prize Poem of the "Royal Society of Literature."

Sepulchral Cairns and Druidical Remains on the Moor.

YET what avails it, tho' each moss-grown heap
Still on the waste its lonely vigils keep,
Guarding the dust which slumbers well beneath,
(Nor need such care) from each cold season's
breath?

Where is the voice to tell their tale who rest,
Thus rudely pillow'd, on the desert's breast?
Doth the sword sleep beside them?-Hath there
been

A sound of battle midst the silent scene
Where now the flocks repose?-Did the scyth'd car
Here reap its harvest in the rank of war?
And rise these piles in memory of the slain,
And the red combat of the mountain-plain?
It may be thus:-the vestiges of strife,
Around yet lingering, mark the steps of life,
And the rude arrow's barb remains to tell
How by its stroke perchance the mighty fell,
To be forgotten. Vain the warrior's pride,
The chieftain's power-they had no bard, and died.
But other scenes, from their untroubled sphere,
Th' eternal stars of night have witness'd here.
There stands an altar of unsculptur'd stone,
Far on the Moor, a thing of ages gone,
Propp'd on its granite pillars, whence the rains,
And pure bright dews, have lav'd the crimson stains,
Left by dark rites of blood; for here of yore,
When the bleak waste a robe of forests wore,
And many a crested oak, which now lies low,
Wav'd its wild wreath of sacred misletoe;

Here, at dead midnight, through the haunted shade,
On Druid harps the quivering inoonbeam play'd,
And spells were breath'd, that fill'd the deepening
gloom

With the pale shadowy people of the tomb.

Or, haply, torches waving through the night, Bade the red cairn-fires blaze from every height. Like battle-signals, whose unearthly gleams Threw o'er the desert's hundred hills and streams A savage grandeur; while the starry skies Rung with the peal of mystic harmonies, As the loud harp its deep-ton'd hymns sent forth To the storm-ruling powers,-the War-gods of the

North.

Prisoners of War confined on Dartmoor.
But ages roll'd away; and England stood
With her proud banner streaming o'er the flood,
And with a lofty calmness in her eye,
And regal in collected majesty,

To breast the storm of battle. Every breeze
Bore sounds of triumph o'er her own blue seas;
And other lands, redeem'd and joyous, drank
The life-blood of her heroes, as they sank

On the red fields they won; whose wild flowers wave
Now in luxuriant beauty o'er their grave.

Twas then the captives of Britannia's war,
Here, for their lovely southern climes afar,
In bondage pin'd; the spel-deluded throng,
Dragg'd at Ambition's chariot-wheels so loug,
To die,-because a de-pot could not clasp
A sceptre, fitted to bis boundless grasp.
Yes! they whose march had rock'd the ancient
thrones

And temples of the world; the deepening tones
Of whose advancing trumpet, from repose
Had startled nations, wakening to their woes,
Were prisoners here. And there were some whose
dreams

Were of sweet homes, by chainless mountainstreams,

And of the vine-clad hills, and many a strain
And festal melody of Loire or Seine;

And of those mothers who had watch'd and wept,
When on the field th' anshelter'd conscript slept,
Bath'd with the midnight dews. And some were

there,

Of sterner spirits, harden'd by despair, Who, in their dark imaginings, again Fir'd the rich palace and the stately fane,

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Drank in the victim's shriek as music's breath,
And liv'd o'er scenes, the festivals of Death!
And there was mirth, too!-strange and savage
mirth,

More fearful far than all the woes of earth!
The laughter of cold hearts, and scoffs that spring
From minds to which there is no sacred thing,
And transient bursts of fierce exulting glee,—
The lightning's flash upon its blasted tree.

But still, howe'er the soul's disguise were worn,
If from wild revelry, or haughty scorn,

Or buoyant hope, it won an outward show,
Slight was the mask, and all beneath it-woe.

Yet was this all?-amidst the dungeon-gloom,
The void, the stillness, of the captive's doom,
Were there no deeper thoughts?-and that dark
Power,

To whom Guilt owes one late, but dreadful hour,
The mighty debt through years of crime delay'd,
But, as the grave's, inevitably paid;

Came he not thither, in his burning force,
The lord, the tamer of dark souls,-Remorse?

Yes! as the night calls forth from sea and sky,
From breeze and wood, a solemn harmony;
Lost, when the swift, triumphant wheels of day,
In light and sound are hurrying on their way;
Thus, from the deep recesses of the heart,
The voice that sleeps, but never dies, night start,
Call'd up by solitude, each nerve to thrill,
With accents heard not, save when all is still!
The voice inaudible, when Havoc's train
Crush'd the red vintage of devoted Spain;
Mute when Sierras to the war-whoop rung,
And the broad light of conflagration sprung,
From the South's marble cities;-hush'd, midst
cries

That told the Heavens of mortal agonies;
In the concentred thunders of the past.
But gathering silent strength, to wake at last,

And there, perchance, some long-bewilder'd mind,
Torn from its lowly sphere, its path confin'd,
Of village duties, in the Alpine glen,
Where Nature cast its lot 'inidst peasant men;
Drawn to that vortex, whose fierce Ruler blent
The earthquake power of each wild element,
To lend the tide which bore his throne on high
One impulse more of desp'rate energy;

Might, when the billow's awful rush was o'er,
Which toss'd its wreck upon the storm-beat shore,
Won from its wand'rings past, by suffering tried,
Search'd by remorse, by anguish purified;"
Have fix'd at length its troubled hopes and fears
On the far world, seen brightest through our tears!
And in that hour of triumph or despair,
Whose secrets all must learn, but none declare,
When of the things to come a deeper sense
Fills the rais'd eye of trembling Penitence,
Have turn'd to Him, whose bow is in the cloud,
Around life's limits gathering as a shroud;
The fearful mysteries of the heart who knows,
And by the tempest calls it to repose.

Who visited that death-bed?-who can tell
Its brief sad tale, on which the soul might dwell,
And learn immortal lessons?-who beheld
The struggling hope, by shame, by doubt repell'd-
The agony of prayer,-the bursting tears,-
The dark remembrances of guilty years,
Crowding upon the spirit in their might,-
He, through the storm who look'd, and there was
light?

Prospects of Cultivation and Improvement. Yes! let the Waste lift up the exulting voice! Let the far-echoing solitudes rejoice! And thou, lone Moor! where no blithe reaper's song E'er lightly sped the summer hours along, Bid the wild rivers, from each mountain source, Rushing in joy, make music on their course! Thou, whose sole records of existence mark The scene of barb'rous rites in ages dark, And of some nameless combat; Hope's bright eye Beams o'er thee in the light of Prophecy! Yet shalt thou smile, by busy culture drest, And the rich harvest wave upon thy breast; Yet shall thy cottage smoke at dewy morn, Rise in blue wreaths above the flowering thorn,

And,

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