me, and I felt dull, and indeed in the dark. As | State Trials, which I have read, and formed a I walked home, I thought myself a poor pigmy high opinion of them. Some parts are beautiful that had just been entertained by a good-humor--he's a man of genius. I shall review his book ed giant! in the Magazine; and his opinion of the performance may be seen in No. 288.

I never saw any man who looked the man of Professor Wilson read with prodigious rapidigenius he was, but Professor Wilson. Next to ty, and it was an exhaustive reading; he gathered him was Sir Walter Scott. Him I first saw in the purpose, scope, and character of a work, on his fifty-seventh year, when I was at college, in even a difficult subject, at almost a glance. InEdinburgh, and had wandered one day, in, I stances of this have come under my personal think, the month of June, into one of the law knowledge; and I know the pages in Blackwood's courts to hear Mr. Jeffrey plead. The latter's Magazine which attest Christopher North's marface, let me say, in passing, appeared to me that vellous rapidity and accuracy of critical judg of an acute, refined, sensitive, and somewhat ir-ment. As a critic, his perceptions were exqui ritable man, but not indicative of power. I had site, and his resources boundless. He could put been standing for some time in the Court of Ses- a new or an old idea into a sort of kaleidoscopic sion, in which Sir Walter Scott was one of the variety of striking and novel aspects, and with a principal clerks, who sat at a table below the charming facility. He could bring out a meanjudges, when my eye fell upon an elderly man, ing often more distinctly and happily than his one of those sitting at the table, wearing a rusty [author himself. His rich, comprehensive, and looking old stuff gown. His chin rested on his penetrating criticism shed new splendor over left hand, and his right hung by his side with a Homer, Shakspeare, Spenser, Milton, Dryden, pen in it. Without having an idea who he was, and whomsoever else he willed to set before his my attention was soon arrested by his lofty fore-own and his reader's eye. head, and a pair of eyes that seemed gazing| One of his most distinguished contemporaries, dreamily into a distant world unseen by any but not apt to bestow eulogy lavishly or unworthily, himself. The more I looked at those eyes, the-I mean Mr. Hallam,-in his introduction to the more remarkable appeared their character and Literature of Europe, while sketching the characexpression; not bright, or penetrating, but in-ter of Spenser, thus alludes to a fine series of vested with a grand, rapt, profound air. He sat motionless as a statue, apparently lost to all that was passing around him. A sudden suspicion arose within me that I was looking on the mighty Northern novelist, who had publicly avowed himself the author of Waverley in the preceding February. To make assurance doubly sure, I asked a person standing beside me, who that was, indicating him. "Whaur d'ye come frae ?" said he, looking at me rather contemptuously; "d'ye no ken that's Sir Walter!" Almost while this was being said, Sir Walter Scott seemed to rouse himself from a reverie, and soon afterwards wrote rapidly on several sheets of paper, and then quitted the Court, leaning on his stick, and walking very lame.

papers by Professor Wilson on the Fairy Queen : "It has been justly observed by a living writer, of the most ardent and enthusiastic genius, whose eloquence is as the rush of mighty waters, and has left it for others, almost as invidious, to praise in terms of less rapture, as to censure what he has borne along in the stream of unhesitating eulogy, that no poet has ever had a more exquisite sense of the beautiful than Spenser:' adding, in a note, "I allude here to a very brilliant series of papers on the Fairy Queen, published in Blackwood's Magazine, during the years 1834 and 1835." I think the observation which the Professor makes concerning Spenser, may be well applied to the gifted critic himself. I fear, however, that I am wandering too far from the object of this humble tribute to the memory of Professor Wilson.

Professor Wilson's noble countenance indicated, to even an ordinary observer, the impulsive energy of his character-daring and generous- I never heard him speak in disparaging terms also acuteness, refinement and power;-one, of any of his contemporaries; but how tremenin short, to fear, to admire, and to love.-dous, in his earlier years, were his flagellations Everything petty and mean, he spurned with a of those whom he considered deserving of them scorn that was magnificent; to obscure and timid as literary offenders, is known to all well-informed genius, he extended, with tender kindliness, the literary readers. I have conversed with him hand of, as it were, the King of Letters. To much about literary men, and often admired his pretenders, however, of all sorts, he was utterly forbearing and generous spirit. merciless; to them the crutch of Christopher was annihilation. It was fine to hear him talk on such a subject; his eye, his lip, his voice, his gesture, all in fierce and vivid accord.

Shortly after Mr Dickens had so suddenly eclipsed in popularity all his contemporaries, Professor Wilson spoke to me of him in terms of high admiration, as a man of undoubted and great genius; and he spoke of "Nelly as a beautiful creation.

As an instance of his watchfulness of literary merit, when newly manifested, I recollect his once saying to me, "By the way, do you know Professor Wilson told me that there were two any one in the Temple-a special pleader, or things he specially hated-letter-writing, and besomething of that kind-called Moile-Nicholas ing made a lion of," or, as I recollect him saying Thirning Moile?" I told him that I had never contemptuously, “a lionet." As for letter-writing heard of the name; on which he pressed me I never received from him but one in my life; and much, and said. "Try to find out, then, for he is a very clever fellow. He has just published a sort of poetical version of two or three of the

that was written on half a sheet of paper, evidently the blank sheet of some old letter. Mentioning a late accomplished dignitary of the

church, he said, laughingly,
will con-
tinue writing to me, though I never answer his
letters, nor will!" One of those letters happened
to contain a friendly allusion to myself, and he
sent it to me through a common friend, thinking
it would please me.

He never called on me in the Temple but once; and then sat a long time, asking a multitude of questions about the Temple, its history, the nature of chamber life, etc., etc., with lively interest; almost suggesting that he might be thinking of writing something on the subject.

title, and promises well. You have set us all gaping to know what we're to have! Tell me what it's about -I'm anxious to hear. What's your idea?" I told him, as briefly as I could. "Let me hear some of it," said he, after I had given him my notions of the scope of the work; and I read him, at his desire, a considerable portion. How I recollect his full, keen eyes, watchfully fixed upon me as I read!

The next, and last time I saw him, was also the last time that he left his own house. During the intervening years, he had had a paralytic He used to be a daily visitor at Messrs. Black-seizure, which affected his powers of motion and wood's saloon,* in George Street, to chat with them and one or two other friends, read the newspapers, and skim over the magazines, reviews and new publications. He was much attached to all the Blackwoods, giving them many proofs of his zealous and affectionate good will. How pleasantly have I chatted with him in that saloon! How fresh and genial he always was! How sly his humor! How playfully his eye glittered while he was good-humoredly making fun of you! How racy his comments on literary and political topics! How ready and correct his knowledge in all kinds of subjects, even while he professed "to know very little about them!"

I saw him last in that saloon, towards the close of September, 1851. I had been for ten days in Edinburgh, superintending as that was the long vacation -a work which was on the eve of publication, and had lived quite secluded all the time. In passing hastily through the saloon with some proofs in my hand, I came upon Professor Wilson, sitting there as usual; but I had not seen him for several years. He had become a great deal stouter than I had ever seen him before; he was also aged much; but his face was as fine, his eye as bright, and his manner as delightful as ever. He did not, however, speak with his for mer energy. "They tell me," said he, laughing good-humoredly, "that you've quite buried your self since you have been here! What have you been about?" I told him. "Aye, it's a capital

*This is a spacious room dedicated by Messrs. Blackwood to the use of their friends, where are lying numerous newspapers and magazines; and ornamented with busts and pictures of their distinguished literary men.

speech, and to some extent his mental faculties.
He had driven up to Mr. Blackwood's door, ac-
companied by a fond daughter, for the purpose
of congratulating one in whom he had always
felt deep interest, on his approaching marriage.
I was in the saloon at the time; but on being told
that he would be pleased to see me, though he
was feeble and could not converse, I went to the
carriage door. Shall I ever forget father and
daughter, as they sat opposite to each other,
she eyeing her gifted but afflicted father with
such tender anxiety! Never! His hat was off,
and his countenance, on which fell the rays of set-
ting sunlight, was fine as ever; his eye was not
dim, nor did his natural force seem abated, as he
sat, and looked at me, and stretched forth his
hand; but when he attempted to speak, alas! it
was in words few, indistinct, and unintelligible.
To me it was an affecting moment-
- but a mo-
ment; for he was not allowed to become excited.
Again he shook my hand; and I had looked my
last on Professor Wilson. The next I heard of
him was his peaceful death; and then a burial
befitting one of the great men of Scotland.

I am almost ashamed to commit to the press this sudden and spontaneous, but poor tribute to the memory of such a man of genius and goodness. I am altogether unequal to the task of his intellectual portraiture; but what I have written is true, and comes from my heart; wherefore I hope it will be accepted in the spirit in which it

is offered.

Adieu, Christopher North! Adieu, John Wilson! SAMUEL WARREN.

* Mrs. Gordon.

THE TURKISH COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. As treatment of the harem, which are truly admirathere are no liberal professions in Turkey, ex-ble. He is proud, though without the slightest cept the public functions, the class of proprietors admixture of vanity, more especially of his reis the only one which represents our middle ligion. He believes that the empire is hurriedly classes, and this is gradually dying away. The approaching to its end; and if he be rich, he deTurkish gentleman, who lives on his property, sires that he may be buried in Asia, in the great either resides on his farm in the country or in a cemetery of Scutari, in order that the presence town-house. In the first, he manages his estate, of the infidels may not sully the asylum where attends to his house, and exercises hospitality; his bones rest, whenever the Turks have lost in the other, the education of his children, Stamboul. He believes in the impossibility of prayers, alms, and the enjoyment of the kef em- any regeneration of Turkey, and is consequently, ploys all his time. But he unites with this na- as far as his apathy will permit him, a bigoted tive indolence and reserve, a dignity, a nobility opponent of reform.- Sir George Larpent's Turof feeling, an affection for his children, kindness key.

to his servants and slaves, and a delicacy in his

.

It is oddly garnished with a queer old clock that projects over the pavement out of a grave red brick building, as if Time carried on busi

Being the extra Christmas No. of Household Words, ness there, and hung out his sign. Sooth to

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

THE FIRST.

say, he did an active stroke of work in Rochester, in the old days of the Romans, and the Saxons, and the Normans, and down to the times of King John, when the rugged castle STRICTLY speaking, there were only six-I will not undertake to say how many hundPoor Travellers; but, being a Traveller my-reds of years old then-was abandoned to the self, though an idle one, and being withal as centuries of weather which have so defaced poor as I hope to be, I brought the number up the dark apertures in its walls, that the ruin to seven. This word of explanation is due at looks as if the rooks and daws had picked its once, for what says the inscription over the eyes out. quaint old door?

RICHARD WATTS, ESQ., by his Will, dated 22 Aug. 1579, founded this Charity for Six poor Travellers,

I was very well pleased, both with my property and its situation. While I was yet surveying it with growing content, I espied at one of the upper lattices which stood open, a decent body, of a wholesome matronly appearance, whose eyes I caught inquiringly addressed to mine. They said so plainly,

who not being ROGUES or PROCTORS," Do you wish to see the house?" that I anMay receive gratis for one Night, Lodging, Entertainment, and Four-pence each.

It was in the ancient little city of Rochester in Kent, of all the good days in the year upon a Christmas Eve, that I stood reading this inscription over the quaint old door in question. I had been wandering about the neighboring Cathedral, and had seen the tomb of Richard Watts, with the effigy of worthy Master Richard starting out of it like a ship's figure-head; and I had felt that I could do no less, as I gave the Verger his fee, than inquire the way to Watts's Charity. The way being very short and very plain, I had come prosperously to the inscription and the quaint old door.

66

"Now," said I to myself, as I looked at the knocker, "I know I am not a Proctor; I wonder whether I am a Rogue!"

Upon the whole, though Conscience reproduced two or three pretty faces which might have had smaller attraction for a moral Goliath than they had had for me, who am but a Tom Thumb in that way, I came to the conclusion that I was not a Rogue. So, beginning to regard the establishment as in some sort my property, bequeathed to me and divers co-legatees, share and share alike, by the Worshipful Master Richard Watts, I stepped backward into the road to survey my inheri

tance.

swered aloud, "Yes, if you please." And within a minute the old door opened, and I bent my head, and went down two steps into the entry.

"This," said the matronly presence, ushering me into a low room on the right, "is where the travellers sit by the fire, and cook what bits of suppers they buy with their fourpences."

"Oh! Then they have no entertainment ?” said I. For, the inscription over the outer door was still running in my head, and I was mentally repeating in a kind of tune, "Lodging, entertainment, and fourpence each."

66

They have a fire provided for 'em," returned the matron: a mighty civil person, not, as I could make out, overpaid: "and these cooking utensils. And this what's painted on a board, is the rules for their behavior. They have their fourpences when they get their tickets from the steward over the way -for I don't admit 'em myself, they must get their tickets first-and sometimes one buys a rasher of bacon, and another a herring, and another a pound of potatoes, or what not. Sometimes two or three of 'em will club their fourpences together, and make a supper that way. But, not much of anything is to be got for fourpence, at present, when provisions is so dear."

"True indeed," I remarked. I had been looking about the room, admiring its snug fireside at the upper end, its glimpse of the street through the low mullioned window, and its beams overhead. "It is very comfortable," said I.

66

Ill-conwenient," observed the matronly

I found it to be a clean white house, of a staid and venerable air, with the quaint old door already three times mentioned, (an arch- | ed door, choice little long low lattice-windows, presence. and a roof of three gables. The silent High I liked to hear her say so; for, it showed Street of Rochester is full of gables, with old a commendable anxiety to execute in no nigbeams and timbers carved into strange faces.gardly spirit the intentions of Master Richard

Watts. But, the room was really so well tlemen," where she showed me the printed adapted to its purpose that I protested. quite enthusiastically, against her disparagement.

66

accounts of the Charity hanging up by the window. From them, I gathered that the Nay, ma'am," said I, "I am sure it is warm greater part of the property bequeathed by in winter and cool in summer. It has a look the Worshipful Master Richard Watts for the of homely welcome and soothing rest. It has maintenance of this foundation, was, at the a remarkably cosey fireside, the very blink of which, gleaming out into the street upon a winter night, is enough to warm all Rochester's heart. And as to the convenience of the six Poor Travellers"

"I don't mean them," returned the presence. "I speak of its being an ill-conwenience to myself and my daughter having no other room to sit in of a night."

This was true enough, but there was another quaint room of corresponding dimensions on the opposite side of the entry: so, I stepped across to it, through the open doors of both rooms, and asked what this chamber was for?

period of his death, mere marsh-land; but that, in course of time, it had been reclaimed and built upon, and was very considerably increased in value. I found, too, that about a thirtieth part of the annual revenue was now expended on the purposes commemorated in the inscription over the door: the rest being handsomely laid out in Chancery, law expenses, collectorship, receivership, poundage, and other appendages of management, highly complimentary to the importance of the six Poor Travellers. In short, I made the not entirely new discovery that it may be said of an estab lishment like this, in dear Old England, as of the fat oyster in the American story, that it takes a good many men to swallow it whole.

"And pray, ma'am," said I, sensible that the blankness of my face began to brighten as a thought occurred to me, "could one see these Travellers?" "Not

"This," returned the presence, "is the Board Room. Where the gentlemen meet when they come here." Let me see. I had counted from the street six upper windows besides these on the ground story. Making a perplexed calculation in my mind, I rejoined, "Then the six Poor Travel-to-night, for instance?" said I. Well! she lers sleep upstairs?" returned more positively; no. Nobody ever asked to see them, and nobody ever did see them.

My new friend shook her head. "Threy sleep," she answered, "in two little outer gal leries at the back, where their beds has always been, ever since the Charity was founded. It being so very ill-conwenient to me as things is at present, the gentlemen are going to take off a bit of the back yard and make a slip of a room for 'em there, to sit in before they go to bed."

"And then the six Poor Travellers," said I, "will be entirely out of the house?"

46

Entirely out of the house," assented the presence, comfortably smoothing her hands. "Which is considered much better for all parties, and much more conwenient."

Well! she returned dubiously; no!

As I am not easily baulked in a design when I am set upon it, I urged to the good lady that this was Christmas Eve; that Christmas comes but once a year-which is unhappily too true, for when it begins to stay with us the whole year round, we shall make this earth a very different place; that I was possessed by the desire to treat the Travellers to a supper and a temperate glass of hot Wassail; that the voice of Fame had been heard in the land, declaring my ability to make Wassail; that if I were permitted to hold the feast, I should be found conformable to reason, sobriety, and good hours; in a word, that I could be merry and wise myself, and had been even known at a pinch to keep others so, although I was decorated with no badge or medal, and was not a Brother, Orator, Apostle, Saint, or Prophet of any denomination whatever. In the end, I prevailed, to my Howbeit. I kept my thoughts to myself, and great joy. It was settled that at nine o'clock accompanied the presence to the little galle- that night, a Turkey and a piece of Roast ries at the back. I found them, on a tiny Beef should smoke upon the board; and that scale, like the galleries in old inn yards; and I, faint and unworthy minister for once of they were very clean. While I was looking Master Richard Watts, should preside as the at them, the matron gave me to understand Christmas-supper host of the six Poor Travelthat the prescribed number of Poor Travellers. lers were forthcoming every night from year's end to year's end; and that the beds were always occupied. My questions upon this, and her replies, brought us back to the Board Room so essential to the dignity of "the gen

I had been a little startled, in the cathedral, by the emphasis with which the effigy of Master Richard Watts was bursting out of his tomb; but, I began to think, now, that it might be expected to come across the High Street some stormy night, and make a disturbance here.

I went back to my inn, to give the neces sary directions for the Turkey and Roast Beef, and, during the remainder of the day, could settle to nothing for thinking of the Poor Travellers. When the wind blew hard against

the windows-it was a cold day, with dark where she soon began to sing like an ethereal gusts of sleet alternating with periods of wild cricket, diffusing at the same time, odors as brightness, as if the year were dying fitfully of ripe vineyards, spice forests, and orange I pictured them advancing towards their groves-I say, having stationed my beauty resting-place, along various cold roads, and in a place of security and improvement, I felt delighted to think how little they foresaw introduced myself to my guests by shaking the supper that awaited them. I painted hands all round, and giving them a hearty their portraits in my mind, and indulged in welcome. little heightening touches. I made them foot- I found the party to be thus composed.sore; I made them weary; I made them carry Firstly, myself. Secondly, a very decent man packs and bundles; I made them stop by fin- indeed, with his right arm in a sling; who had ger-posts and mile-stones, leaning on their a certain clean, agreeable smell of wood about bent sticks, and looking wistfully at what was him, from which I judged him to have somewritten there; I made them lose their way, thing to do with shipbuilding. Thirdly, a and filled their five wits with apprehensions little sailor-boy, a mere child, with a profuof lying out all night, and being frozen to sion of rich dark drown hair, and deep death. I took up my hat and went out, climb- womanly-looking eyes. Fourthly, a shabbyed to the top of the Old Castle, and looked genteel personage in a threadbare black suit, over the windy hills that slope down to the Med-and apparently in very bad circumstances, way: almost believing that I could descry with a dry, suspicious look; the absent but some of my Travellers in the distance. After tons on his waistcoat eked out with red it fell dark, and the Cathedral bell was heard tape; and a bundle of extraordinarily tattered in the invisible steeple quite a bower of papers sticking out of an inner breast-pocket. frosty rime when I had last seen it-striking Fifthly, a foreigner by birth, but an Englishfive, six, seven; I became so full of my Trav-man in speech, who carried his pipe in the ellers that I could eat no dinner, and felt con- band of his hat, and lost no time in telling me, strained to watch them still, in the red coals in an easy, simple, engaging way, that he was of my fire. They were all arrived by this a watchmaker from Geneva, and travelled time, I thought, had got their tickets, and all about the Continent, mostly on foot, workwere gone in. There, my pleasure was dash-ing as a journeyman, and seeing new couned by the reflection that probably some tries-possibly, (I thought) also, smuggling a Travellers had come too late, and were shut watch or so, now and then. Sixthly, a little out. widow, who had been very pretty, and was After the Cathedral bell had struck eight, still very young, but whose beauty had been I could smell a delicious savor of Turkey and wrecked in some great misfortune, and whose Roast Beef, rising to the window of my ad- manner was remarkably timid, scared, and joining bed-room, which looked down into the solitary. Seventhly, and lastly, a Traveller inn yard, just where the lights of the kitchen of a kind familiar to my boyhood, but now reddened a massive fragment of the Castle almost obsolete: a Book-Peddler-who had a Wall. It was high time to make the Wassail quantity of pamphlets and numbers with him, now; therefore, I had up the materials (which, and who presently boasted that he could retogether with their proportions and combina- peat more verses in an evening, than he could tions, I must decline to impart, as the only sell in a twelvemonth. secret of my own I was ever known to keep), All these I have mentioned, in the order in and made a glorious jorum. Not in a bowl; which they sat at table. I presided, and the for, a bowl anywhere but on a shelf, is a low matronly presence faced me. We were not superstition fraught with a cooling and slop- long in taking our places, for the supper had ping; but in a brown earthenware pitcher, arrived with me, in the following proces tenderly suffocated when full, with a coarse sion:cloth. It being now upon the stroke of nine, I set out for Watts's Charity, carrying my brown beauty in my arms. I would trust Ben the waiter with untold gold; but there are strings in the human heart which must never be sounded by another, and drinks that I make myself are those strings in mine. The Travellers were all assembled, the cloth Female carrying sauces to be heated on the spot. was laid, and Ben had brought a great billet of wood, and had laid it artfully on the top of the fire, so that a touch or two of the poker after supper should make a roaring blaze. Having deposited my brown beauty in a red nook of the hearth inside the fender,

Myself with the pitcher.
Ben with Beer.

Inattentive Boy with | Inattentive Boy with
hot plates.
hot plates.

|

THE TURKEY.

THE BEEF.

Man with Tray on his head, containing Vege-
tables and Sundries.
Volunteer Hostler from Hotel, grinning, and
rendering no assistance.