given existence. If the earliest impressions are of the greatest importance, because the most effective and the most enduring, how essential is it that the bias of the young mind should be towards virtue, honesty, industry, humanity, and moral courage? There is no lesson in either which Dr. Watts has left untaught. Children lisp his verses long before they can read them—the moral fixes upon the mind through the active medium of the imagination, and is retained for life. The Divine Songs' are neither too high nor-what is less easy of attainment-too low for the comprehension of a child; and they tempt perusal and thought by the graces of easy rhyme. They are simple without being weak, and they reason without being argumentative; they are just of sufficient length to be committed to memory, without being long enough to become wearisome as tasks. We do indeed regard their author as one of the great benefactors of the human kind, and have searched in vain amongst the tomes of poets of far loftier pretensions for so many golden verses as are to be found in the Divine Songs for Children.'

Eight years have passed since this visit was paid to the dwelling-place of Dr. Isaac Watts. Eight years! which, as they rolled on, have left us much, and taken much from us! And it is good and right to be able to bless God both for what he took and what he left, knowing that the bitter has become sweet, and our foolish repinings have been silenced into wisdom. One, tried and trusted, who was with us then-the heart-friend of our youth, the dear companion of our thoughts and hopes-has been perfected in heaven; and we never missed her ever cheerful voice, or sunny smile more, than when we revisited Abney Park but a short time ago. Our very affections become selfish when not tempered by the spirit of charity and love; the most acceptable homage we can render to the righteous dead, either in the sight of God or man, is by walking to our own graves in their footsteps!

Abney Park is now part of a large Cemetery. The iron gates by which we entered the drive leading to the house in 1842, are still there; and the trees, the avenues, preserved with a most delicate respect to the memory of the poet are so well kept-there is such an air of solemnity, and peace, and positive 'beauty' in the arrangement of the whole-that if spirits were permitted to visit the earth, we might hope to meet his shade amid his

once favourite haunts.

There is nothing to offend us in such receptacles

for the perishing away of humanity, but everything to soothe and har

homage.

monise the feelings of the past

and present.
and simple character of this
high-priest of Charity, stands,
(we were told) upon the 'exact
spot' where the house stood; but
we think it has been placed
rather farther back than was
the dwelling. Perhaps the

A statue in pure

site is more ostentatious of display than would have met the Doctor's taste had he been consulted; and had it been hid away in a wilderness, where the nightingale sung to the rose, and the cushat converted melancholy into music, he might have liked it better. But all honour to those who honoured the

teacher of their childhood: he

would pardon them this genuine

The mound,' too, from whence he loved to overlook the green

*The inscription on the pedestal of the statue to Watts, which was executed by E. H. Bailey, R.A., and erected by public subscription, September 1845,' is as follows:-' In memory of Dr. Isaac Watts, D.D., and in testimony of the high and lasting esteem in which his character and writings are held in the great Christian community, by whom the English language is spoken. Of his Psalms and Hymns it may be predicted in his own words :

Ages unborn will make his songs

The joy and labour of their tongues,'

'He was born at Southampton, July 17th, 1674, and died November 25th, 1748, after a residence of thirty-six years in the Mansion of Sir Thomas Abney, Bart., then standing in these grounds.

'Few men have left behind such purity of character, or such monuments of laborious piety; he has provided instruction for all ages, from those who are lisping their first lessons, to the

and fertile country (for London at that period had not escaped from Shoreditch) is walled in, fenced round, and guarded as a sanctuary. We have said that one dreamy tradition affirms that the bones of CROMWELL sleep beneath the tablet which records the love of Isaac Watts for that which was in his time lovely and solitary-looking over a large pond, where the heron sat musing by

'the sedgy shallow; '

and commanding, beyond, extensive views of the surrounding country. The cemetery is also ornamented by a picturesque little church, from which 'a funeral procession was passing as we entered.

Many of the monuments are remarkable for truth and simplicity, and numbers of the graves were enriched by early flowers in full bloom. The old trees are invaluable to the Abney Park Cemetery, and so suggestive of memories of Dr. Watts, that his home seems still there; though in reality, his remains-now a mere handful of ashes- -are interred in the burying ground of Bunhill Fields, opposite the chapel where John Wesley preached, when past the age of eighty, to the many missionaries who have since carried his name over the universe.

We visited this crowded place of interment for Dissenters: the walk through its thickened tombs is literally paved-like the chancels of our old cathedrals—with tombstones; and our feet frequently recoiled as our eyes caught the name of some time-honoured gospel minister.*

enlightened readers of Malbranche and Locke. He has left neither corporeal nor spiritual nature unexamined: he has taught the Art of Reasoning and the Science of the Stars; such he was, as every Christian Church would rejoice to have adopted.'-DR. JOHNSON.

* Bunhill Fields was known as the city burial-ground in the reign of Charles I., and here was buried the Son of his successful opponent-the mild Richard Cromwell. General Fleetwood, Cromwell's Lord-Deputy of Ireland from 1651 to 1654, was also buried here. The ground was walled in at the expense of the City during the Great Plague of 1665, and was some time afterwards purchased by Mr. Tindal, who appropriated it as a burial-ground for persons of any religious persuasions who choose to avail themselves of it. It has hence become the favourite 'resting-place' of eminent Protestant Dissenters; and here rest John Bunyan, Dr. Watts, Dr. Price, Dr. Lardner, Dr. A. Rees, author of the 'Cyclopædia,' and a host of others celebrated for their learning and piety. An avenue of trees adds to the appearance of this Cemetery, which has been recently enlarged by the removal of some houses at the farther extremity. An idea of the immense number of dead here deposited may be formed from the fact, that in the twenty-four years previous to 1821, no fewer than 35,000 bodies had been interred in it.

6

Such a brotherhood of graves is full of profit! The city din sounded like distant thunder; but yet, though the rain splashed on the tombs and sunk into the thickly-matted grass, all seemed silent. We thought upon the memorable words of the old man, waiting God's leave to die!'-how he had said that the most learned and knowing Christians, when they come to die, have only the same plain promises of the Gospel for their support as the common and unlearned; and so,' he added, 'I find it.'

The tomb is square. Southey calls it 'handsome.' He could hardly have seen it; for it is humble, unpretending, even Quaker-like in its plainness. The epitaph, written by himself, is an index to his humility. He does not tell his age, but counts his years by the length, as it were, of his Gospel Ministry

'Fifty years of feeble labours in the Gospel.'

It records his death, on the 25th November, 1748, and adds, that the monument was erected to his memory by Sir John Hartopp, Bart., and Dame Mary Abney: having been replaced in 1808 by a few of the persons who met for worship where he so long laboured.'

The tomb is on the right-hand side of this great burying-ground, which doubtless, when first enclosed, was in the country, but now is surrounded by houses. It is well and carefully kept, but lonely and uncheerful, though the sun came out and turned into crystal the rain-drops which hung from the leaves of the young trees. One man was giving a date and a name to a fresh tombstone; and another told us, when we said how full of death was the enclosure that there was room enough for many more. We could not avoid wishing that Dr. Isaac Watts had been buried amid the stillness of the groves he loved so well.

THE PRISON OF LADY MARY GREY.

E have made frequent Pilgrimages to Shrines that enrich Buckinghamshire. It is one of the most interesting-if not the most interesting-of our English counties; and once, thanks to the kindness of the late Sir Robert, and Lady Frankland, Russell, we spent a morning at Chequers Court,* interested not only by the tell-tale dwelling-its long galleries, its Cromwellian portraits,† its stores of gems, its varied trophies of the past and beauties of the present time-but by the memory of those sorrows which enshrine the name of Lady Mary Grey, whose sufferings excite sympathy, and who would have slept for ever in a forgotten grave, but for the cruelty practised towards her by Elizabeth. Her room, at Chequers Court, is a small dark

* Chequers takes its name from the King's Exchequer, he having palaces here and at Hawtree.

On the death of Sir F. Russell, in 1664, who had been governor of Ely and Lichfield, and one of the Parliamentary Assessors in the time of the Civil Wars, as also one of Oliver Cromwell's lords, Sir John Russell, of Chippenham, having succeeded to the title, married Frances, youngest daughter of the Lord Protector Cromwell, relict of Robert Rich, son of Lord Rich, and grandson of Robert, Earl of Warwick, by which means so many relics of the Cromwells came into the possession of the family. Among the portraits are those of Cromwell when a child, and at mature age; his mother; his wife; his son Richard, afterwards Protector; and Henry, Lord Deputy of Ireland; his eldest daughter, Bridget; Elizabeth, wife of Mr. Claypole; his third daughter, Mary, wife of Thomas Falconberg; his youngest daughter, Frances, above named, who became possessed of Chequers. There are other mementoes of the period, preserved within these walls, in portraits of Thurloe, Lambert, Cornet Joyce, &c., as well as Cromwell's swords and slippers.