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space of ground which is styled St. Peter's Hill, though it seems to be little, if at all, above the dead level of the Lincolnshire fens. It was suggestedand the suggestion was favourably received—that the most appropriate ornament would be a monument to the memory of a man whose early career was so closely identified with the town and neighbourhood, and wbose researches had conterred an eternal benefit upon mankind. A committee was formed to

carry out this object, and Mr. Thomas Winter, a member of the town council—to whose untiring zeal and energy its successful accomplishment is, we believe, mainly attributable-undertook to act as the honorary secretary. Mr. Winter at once placed himself in communication with Lord Rosse, Lord Brougham, and other gentlemen of distinction in the literary and scientific world, who evinced a warm interest in the success of the scheme. Under these auspices the project received the sanction of the Royal Society, and the patronage of Her Majesty and the Prince Consort, who aided the fund by a subscription of £100. A general meeting of the subscribers was held in 1854, at St. George's Hall, Liverpool, during the séance in that town of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, when it was resolved that the memorial should be a bronze statue, and its execution was entrusted by the Committee of Selection to Mr. Theed, the resalt of whose labours is not only creditable to himself, but not unworthy of the great philosopher whose memory it perpetuates.

The likeness of Sir Isaac is copied from a mask of his face taken after death, and from the portrait bust by Roubilliac. It represents him in the costume of the period, and in the gown of a Master of Arts, in the act of lecturing. The figure is nearly thirteen feet high, weighing upwards of two tons, and about half the quantity of the material of which it is composed was presented, in the shape of old gun metal, by Her Majesty's Government. The statue was cast

at the foundry of Messrs. Robinson and Cottam, of Pimlico, and as a specimen of clean casting, with sharp outline, does them high credit. The figure stands upon a pedestal of Anglesea marble, designed by Mr. Theed, and cut by Mr. Rogers, of Park Hill. The total height of the pedestal and figure is twentyseven feet, and its cost is £1,630, of which £600 was contributed by the inhabitants of Grantham and the neighbourhood.

From an early hour in the morning visitors poured into the town to witness the inauguration of the statue. The interest which such a ceremony would have excited under ordinary circumstances, was in creased by the announcement that the inaugural address would be delivered by Lord Brougham, whose devotion to philosophical investigations especially qualified him for such an important duty. The noble and learned lord, who has just completed his eightieth. year, and upon whose physical vigour time has made comparatively slight inroa ls, while his mental energy, as will be evident to those who peruse his address, remains unimpaired, arrived at Grantham early in the morning, and was received at the Grammar School by the Mayor. A procession was then formed, headed by the band of the South Lincolnshire Militia, which proceeded through Church Terrace, Vine Street, and High Street, to St. Peter's Hill, where i crowd of spectators was assembled--the privileged visitors occupying seats upon platforms erected on the open space surrounding the statue. Lord Brougham-for whom a chair, formerly belonging to Sir I. Newton, was placed upon a däis in front of the statue-was greeted with loud and reiterated applause. At a signal from Mr. Winter the veil which concealed the statue from public view was withdrawn, amid general cheering, and the band played the National Anthem, all the company standing.

At the conclusion of the noble and learned Lord's address, he was presented by the Mayor with a copy

of Newton's Principia, and the invited visitors then proceeded to the Exchange Rooms, where a substantial déjeûner had been provided. The Mayor presided, and was supported by Lord Brougham, and the Bishop of Lincoln.

Foreigners will feel some surprise, and perhaps indulge in some sneers, on learning that we English are in the year 1858 inaugurating a statue to Sir Isaac Newton. Certainly an interval of 131 years is a long space to intervene between the death and the statue of one of the two great men whom England defies the modern world to match. But we have not in former generations been a statue-loving people. Statues with us have not in past days been happy in their associations. We have our tombs of honour in Westminster Abbey, but it has not been our custom to erect the effigies of our great men in our thoroughfares. A stranger who walked the streets of London some fifteen years since, might have been tempted to believe that in England a public statue was a punishment decreed against great criminals. Unless he wandered away into some remote squares where family pride had placed an image of some egregious kinsman, he would have seen nothing illustrated in stone and bronze but the blots and cankers of our history. No Alfred, or Edward, or Elizabeth, no Shakspeare or Milton, no Bacon or Locke, no Newton; no Drake or Nelson, stood colossal in material greatness, suggesting now and then a quickening thought to some unit among the thousands that swarmed by; but the abounding equestrian statues perpetuated the features of the scarecrows of our annals—tyrants, whom our forefathers slew or expelled, or some unwise sovereign whose name is suggestive only of a suffering people, unjust wars, and disruption of empire; or some Sardanapalus, whose life was a national disease. Our statues were in those days set up by servile

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courtiers or by factious fanatics. They were memorials not of a great fame, but of an evil notoriety: the venerators of our English worthies could wish no better for them than that they should be kept out of such companionship. We gave our Newton no open-air statue; but he was not unappreciated by us. Apart from the intellectual homage which we, in common with the rest of the world, paid to his mighty genius, he had his material advantages; he sat in our Parliament, he enjoyed a most lucrative and honourable post in the public service, he was the friend and companion of two English Queens, he died very rich, he was honoured with a public funeral and buried in Westminster Abbey. We wish we had as little to reproach ourselves with in the case of all our great men, as we have with regard to Newton. A little town in Lincolnshire, which has hitherto been content to pride itself upon a tall church spire and a quaint inn sign, has, however, just remembered that it gave birth to the greatest of natural philosophers. We are beginning to reform the practice of ancient times; and it is quite in the spirit of our present feeling, that Grantham should claim the distinction of having produced this great mind, and should mark the fact by a statue of the man. The spell of Newton's name is still so potent, that the news that this statue was completed, drew all the notabilities of science together in this unpicturesque, brick-built, Lincolnshire town.

It is, we think, a legitimate subject of national pride that we have not only, in another generation, produced the greatest natural philosopher the world ever saw, but that we can find among us a living man, who is of all living men the most worthy to pronounce his panegyric. This was not an easy matter; great contrasts import ridicule into grave ceremonies; a giant should have a tall man as his shieldbearer. But that the fame of Newton stands too high and rests too broad to be affected by aught that

mortal man can do or say in panegyric or in depreciation, we should be tempted to think that Newton was happier in his panegyrist than in his statue. In distance of time, when all the common ephemeral vegetation around him has rotted down, when even the memory of his political eccentricities, and party prejudices, and professional peculiarities have faded away -being mere parasites of the strong timber tree--that stem will grow and live, putting forth fruit to future generations, and marking the age in which it was a sapling. There are great ideas that now walk the world and own Brougham for their parent, and these are not likely to grow less powerful as time advances. If this oration was prepared, how wonderful must be the memory which at Lord Brougham's advanced age could acquire and retain it for delivery: if, as is more probable, it was the production of only a little previous thought, how affluent must be the mind which responds so promptly to such prodigaldraughts! Of course, this was eminently a demonstrative speech, and we do not expect to find in it that fire of conflict for which Henry Brongham has been chiefly famed; but it is impossible to read it without adıniring the extent of region which he travels, and the almost limitless expanse whence he culls his illustrations.

There is no analogy between the genius of Newton and that of Brougham. The patient and unswerving searcher after physical truth was a mystic in immaterial speculations; the impetuous and impulsive moral reformer is never mystical, and is not too often patient. The great discoverer of gravitation was so entirely the bond-servant of truth, that he laid aside his theory when his first calculations came out against him. We doubt whether Henry Brougham in his strong days would have given up a cause to which he had thoroughly committed himself, even if the laws of nature had stood erect against him. They are minds of a different character, but Brougham can thoroughly understand Newton, and perhaps

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