Extracts from the Journals.

There are many fugitive pieces of poetry, which are exquisite in their way, but we shall only take the verses addressed to his sister.

TO AUGUSTA.

My sister! my sweet sister! if a name
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine.
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine:
Go where I will, to me thou art the same-
A loved regret which I would not resign.
There yet are two things in my destiny-
A world to roam through, and a home with thee.

The first were nothing-had I still the last,
It were the haven of my happiness;

But other claims and other ties thou hast,
And mine is not the wish to make them less.
A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past
Recalling, as it lies beyond redress;
Reversed for him our grandsire's

He had no rest at sea nor I on shore.

If my inheritance of storms hath been
In other elements, and on the rocks
Of perils, overlook'd or unforseen,

fate of yore

I have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks,
The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen
My errors with defensive paradox;

I have been cunning in mine overthrow,
The careful pilot of my proper woe.

Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward.
My whole life was a contest, since the day
That gave me being, gave me that which marr'd
The gift-a fate, or will, that walk'd astray;
And I at times have found the struggle hard,
And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay:
But now I fain would for a time survive,
If but to see what next can well arrive.

Kingdoms and empires in my little day
I have outlived, and yet I am not old;
And when I look on this, the petty spray
Of my own years of trouble, which have roll'd
Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away;
Something-I know not what-does still uphold
A spirit of slight patience;-not in vain,
Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain.

Perhaps the workings of defiance stir
Within me or perhaps a cold despair,
Brought on when ills habitually recur-
Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air,

(For even to this may change of soul refer,
And with light armour we may learn to bear,)
Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not

The chief companion of a calmer lot.

I feel almost at times as I have felt

In happy childhood-trees, and flowers, and brooks,
Which do remember me of where I dwelt

Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books,
Come as of yore upon me, and can melt
My heart with recognition of their looks;
And even at moments I could think I see
Some living thing to love-but none like thee.

Here are the Alpine landscapes which create

A fund for contemplation;-to admire

Is a brief feeling of a trivial date;

But something worthier do such scenes inspire:

* Admiral Byron was remarkable for never making a voyage without a tempest. He was well known to the sailors by the facetious name of " Foul weather Jack."

But though it were tempest tost,

Still his bark could not be lost.

He returned safely from the wreck of the Wager (in Anson's voyage), and subsequently circumnavigated the world, many years after, as commander of a similar expedition.

Here to be lonely is not desolate,

For much I view which I could most desire,
And, above all, a lake I can behold

Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old.

Oh that thou wert but with me ;-but I grow
The fool of my own wishes, and forget
The solitude which I have vaunted so
Has lost its praise in this but one regret;
There may be others which I less may show;
I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet
I feel an ebb in my philosophy,

And the tide rising in my alter'd eye.

I did remind thee of our own dear lake,
By the old hall which may be mine no more.
Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake
The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore:
Sad havoc Time must with my memory make
Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before;

Though, like all things which I have loved, they are Resign'd for ever, or divided far.

The world is all before me; I but ask

Of nature that with which she will comply

It is but in her summer's sun to bask,
To mingle with the quiet of her sky,
To see her gentle face without a mask,
And never gaze on it with apathy.
She was my early friend and now shall be
My sister-till I look again on thee.

I can reduce all feelings but this one;
And that I would not; for at length I see
Such scenes as those wherein my life begun.
The earliest-even the only paths for me-
Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun
I had been better than I now can be;
The passions which have torn me would have slept;
I had not suffer'd, and thou hadst not wept.

With false ambition what had I to do?

Little with love, and least of all with fame;

And yet they came unsought, and with me grew,
And made me all which they can make-a name.
Yet this was not the end I did pursue;

Surely I once beheld a nobler aim.
But all is over-I am one the more

To baffled millions which have gone before.

And for the future, this world's future may
From me demand but little of my care;
I have outlived myself by many a day;
Having survived so many things that were;
My years have been no slumber, but the prey
Of ceaseless vigils; for I had the share
Of life which might have fill'd a century,
Before its fourth in time had pass'd me by.

And for the remnant which may be to come
I am content; and for the past I feel
Not thankless-for within the crowded sum
Of struggles, happiness at times would steal,

And for the present, I would not benumb
My feelings farther.-Nor shall I conceal
That with all this I still can look around
And worship nature with a thought profound.

For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart
I knew myself secure, as thou in mine;
We were and are-I am, even as thou art-
Beings who ne'er each other can resign;
It is the same, together or apart,

From life's commencement, to its slow decline
We are entwined-let death come slow or fast,
The tie which bound the first endures the last!

The only scrap we shall take from the notices of his life, is the following, which is interesting, because it relates to "the life," which, it has been said, was destroyed, instead of published:

A short time before dinner he left the room, and in a minute or two returned, carrying in his hand a white leather bag. "Look here," he said, holding it up, "this would be worth something to Murray, though you, I dare say, would not give sixpence for it." "What is it?" I asked. My Life and Adventures," he answered. On hearing this, I raised my hand in a gesture of wonder. "It is not a thing," he continued, "that can be published during

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my lifetime, but you may have it if you like-there, do whatever you please with it." In taking the bag, and thanking him most warmly, I added, "This will make a nice legacy for my little Tom, who shall astonish the latter days of the nineteenth century with it." He then added, "You may show it to any of our friends you think worthy of it"-and this is, nearly word for word, the whole of what passed between us on the subject.

We shall take no more; it would be as unfair towards the author, as unacceptable to our readers.

THE LIFE OF SIR HUMPHRY DAVY.*

WE quarrel with nothing but the price of this valuable acquisition to the biographic library; we are perfectly willing to adopt the book with all its other faults. It has authenticity for its recommendation; and its subject is the memoir of a man whose extraordinary life, as connected with science, must be universally interesting. We have only room for a few extracts, which we select almost indiscriminately; for the work is full of such and more important matter.

His eccentric Habits.

Such was his great celebrity at this period of his career, that persons of the highest rank contended for the honour of his company at dinner; and he did not possess sufficient resolution to resist the gratification thus afforded, although it generally happened that his pursuits in the laboratory were not suspended until the appointed dinner hour had passed. On his return in the evening, he resumed his chemical labours, and commonly continued them till three or four o'clock in the morning; and yet the servants of the establishment not unfrequently found that he had risen before them. The greatest of all his wants was time, and the expedients by which he economized it often placed him in very ridiculous positions, and gave rise to habits of the most eccentric description; driven to an extremity, he would in his haste put on fresh linen, without removing that which was underneath; and, singular as the fact may appear, he has been known, after the fashion of the grave-digger in Hamlet, to wear no less than five shirts, and as many pairs of stockings, at the same time. Exclamations of surprise very frequently escaped from his friends at the rapid manner in which he increased and declined in corpulence.

His Interviews with Buonaparte and with Josephine.

During his visit to Paris, Davy was not introduced to the emperor. Lady Davy observed to me, that although Sir Humphry felt justly grateful for the indulgence granted

* By Dr. Paris. Murray: London.