youth born in a humble station, entering the lists with the first British artists, and rising, by the combined force of genius and excellence of character, to the head of their Academy and to the highest place in art. But, though his greatest distinctions were obtained in Britain, America does not forget that he is her own offspring: not only was his genius first developed in his native country, but his reputation was established both there and in Italy, before ever he landed on the English shores.

To return once more to Lindley Murray. While a boy at school, I had often remarked, at the close of the Preface to the Grammar, the place from which the author dated his work-" Holdgate, near York;" and feeling, even then, an interest in my countryman's history, I resolved, should I ever visit England, to go to Holdgate, and search out his former place of residence. Accordingly, soon after reaching the English shores, I crossed the country to York, and after visiting the far-famed Minster of that city, I inquired my way to Holdgate. It is a pleasant village about a mile from York. I soon found the house which the grammarian formerly occupied. It is a good-sized mansion, with wings, and pleasantly situated, having a grass-plat before the door, and a garden behind. A murmuring brook runs near the house. In front, there lay a soft meadow, on which cattle were quietly feeding; and beyond, there arose a pretty green hill-side crowned with a clump of trees, over which, in the distance, peeped the towers of York Minster. In the garden, is a summerhouse of an octagonal form, with a "fiery flying

serpent" for a vane. On the left of the summerhouse was a cherry-tree, and on the right a holly, said to have been planted by Lindley Murray himself, a sprig of which I brought away, as a memento of my visit. Here, no doubt, the venerable grammarian often sat, in pleasant weather, and here, perhaps, composed some of those grave pages, which, useful as they are, have frightened many little boys both English and American, and will probably continue to be a source of similar awe to many more yet unborn. Having lost the use of his limbs, he used to be wheeled about this garden for exercise; and in the same manner had to be conveyed to and from his carriage, in which he was accustomed to ride out almost every day. My informant, a servant in the family at present occupying the house, had often seen him, when a boy: "Mr. Murray," he said, "had paid, in part, for his schooling." He lived a very retired life. His sleeping apartment was in the right wing of the mansion. The place has undergone some alterations since his death but the features already described remain just as they were in his time,

;

I walked about the place, contemplating it with much interest, and connecting with it, involuntarily, many associations of by-gone and school-boy days, called up by the name of Lindley Murray. It was now near evening; and with my mind full of pleasant meditations, I walked leisurely back to York, enjoying much the pleasing features of the landscape, gilded as it was by the rays of the setting sun, and brightened still more, perhaps, by

that "light of other days," which memory just then threw over the scene. After a moonlight walk on the walls of the city, I retired to rest, pleased with having accomplished one of the cherished projects of my boyhood.

Note.-It appears that Lindley Murray was something of a poet, as well as a grammarian. Griswold, in his "Poets and Poetry of America," gives the following specimen, which at least evinces the writer's tenderness and purity of character:

TO MY WIFE.

When on thy bosom I recline,
Enraptured still to call thee mine,
To call thee mine for life,

I glory in the sacred ties,

Which modern wits and fools despise,
Of husband and of wife.

Our mutual flame inspires our bliss;
The tender look, the melting kiss
E'en years have not destroyed;
Some sweet sensation, ever new,
Springs up, and proves the maxim true,
That love can ne'er be cloyed.

Have I a wish ?-'tis all for thee:
Hast thou a wish ?-'tis all for me;

So soft our moments move,
That angels look with ardent gaze,
Well pleased to see our happy days,

And bid us live and love.

If cares arise and cares will comeThy bosom is my softest home,

I'll lull me there to rest:

And is there aught disturbs my fair?
I'll bid her sigh out every care,
And lose it on my breast.

Have I a wish?-'tis all her own;
All hers and mine are rolled in one;
Our hearts are so entwined,
That, like the ivy round the tree,
Bound up in closest amity,

'Tis death to be disjoined.

THE TOMB OF SWEDENBORG.

Hail, Swedish sage! the loftiest of the great!
Obedient servant of our blessed Lord!
Unfolder of the depths of God's pure Word!
Revealer of the hidden spirit-state!

IN a secluded quarter of the old City of London, quite out of the range of ordinary sight-seeing, and seldom or never visited by strangers, lie the mortal remains of one, who will probably be accounted by future generations the most remarkable person of his own, or perhaps of any, age. During his life, his lot, like that of most great men who have lived far in advance of their time, was to be treated with neglect and obloquy; and his name is now only beginning to emerge from the mists, with which ignorance and prejudice have long enveloped it. But the light having once broken through, the clouds of error which have obscured his character and writings, will be dispersed more and more, till, at length, this great mind will shine forth, not merely as a star of the first magnitude, but as a kind of sun in the future intellectual firmament.

Swedenborg, though a native of Stockholm, and a resident there during the first half of his life, yet spent many years of its latter part in the city of London, and there published some of his most

D