Guthlac, the saint of the Fens, as an emblem of the Trinity. The bridge stands on three piers from each of which springs the segment of a circular arch, all the segments meeting at a point in the centre. It is situated at the junction of the three principal streets of the town, which was originally built on piles; and along those streets the waters of the Nene, the Welland, and the Catwater respectively, used to flow and meet under the bridge. Carrying out the Trinitarian illustration, each pier of the bridge was said to stand in a different county; one in Lincoln, the second in Cambridge, and the third in Northampton. This curious structure is referred to in an ancient charter of the year 943, although the precise date of its erection is unknown. On the south-west wing, facing the London road, is a sitting figure, carved in stone, very much battered about the face by the mischievous boys of the neighbourhood. The figure has a globe or orb in its hand, and is generally believed to be a statue of King Ethelbald. LEO MYRON. PART THE FIRST. Chapter I. Our hero is born and arrives at an age to feel tender sentiments. READER! we would not have thee to commence this tale with the expectation that thou wilt find it highly seasoned; savoury it may prove, but that will materially depend on thine own palate. Thou wilt not find that we have studied to entertain thee by placing our characters in romantic situations, or have strained after effect, both of which objects the sensation novelists of the day have so successfully attained. If thou feelest inclined to partake of plain fare, cooked in a plain manner, sit thyself down cosily in thine easy-chair and read on. A pretty cottage stood in the vicinity of Huntingdon. A small orchard was attached to it, together with two paddocks. It was the residence of Mr. Myron and his family. When very young, Mr. Myron had commenced trade, in which he prospered, being industrious, and economical. His loving wife had struggled with him from his twenty-first year and was ever by his side to soothe him in misfortune and to rejoice with him in success. three years his junior, and although so young when first married, and from her age we should consider inexperienced, she proved a good and careful housewife Eighteen months after their marriage she presented her husband with a son, which was a yet stronger bond, cemented as it was by love, to bind them to each other. She was The child thrived under the attentive care of its mother, and was pronounced by their friends to be a perfect prodigy in polite behaviour, which opinion was particularly gratifying to the happy parents. It was sometime before they could decide what name their child should bear. Mrs. Myron being rather of a romantic disposition wished it to be Augustus, or Herbert, or Julius, but laid the more stress on Roland. Now her husband was strongly inclined to a Scriptural name, and being likewise an admirer of strength in his own sex, he proposed the name of Sampson. His wife had an utter distaste for Scriptural names, and the moment she heard the name of Sampson proposed, she hastily exclaimed, "Oh no, oh no, I could not allow that; Hercules would be far more preferable, and he was a much stronger man than Sampson, for he strangled a great lion which armies had in vain attempted to destroy. Besides, he put to flight a great flock of birds which had carried away nearly all the mightiest men in the country, and devoured them; and what did Sampson ever do that will bear comparison with these wonderful things ?" "He slew a thousand men with the jawbone of an ass you must recollect my dear." And on Mr. Myron's countenance, there faintly beamed a triumphant smile. "My dear husband, do not think any more of such a name as Sampson for our child; whenever I see him I shall be sure to think of an ass, and believe me, other people will think just the same, and when he is grown up he will be quite ashamed of his own name, and whom will he have to thank for it? no one but his father." แ Well, well, he shall not be called Sampson," said Mr. Myron, quite overcome by the convincing arguments of his wife; "that shall not be his name." "How would you like Lionel my dear ?" enquired the lady, "the lion you will allow is a strong and noble animal." "Yes, my love, you are quite right; but--but-there is a serious objection in my mind to that name ; should the e-l be aspirated rather hard, there is a tendency to its leading one's thoughts in a gloomy direction, and that should ever be carefully avoided." Here Mr. Myron became silent, and absorbed in manner. "That is easily obviated my love," said his wife readily, "he could be called Leo." The husband paid no attention to the words of his wife, until she had roused him by pinching his arm and again repeating them. "It shall be so even as you wish my dear; the boy's name shall be 'Leo,' it is easy to pronounce. I was thinking of 'John,' but never mind, 'Leo' will do!" Nothing more was said afterwards respecting the choice of a name; and when about six weeks old, the child was christened "Leo," in the parish church, by the Rev. William Dawe. Leo Myron became a very pretty, interesting child; he had fine grey eyes, glossy curls of auburn hair, which fell on his shoulders, well-formed features, and an intelligent cast of countenance-such was he at two years old. At that time a little sister was born to him, which event was equally a source of happiness to the mother and father, but more especially so to the former. There was not so long a discussion on the choice of a name for the daughter as there had been on that of the son; the first which was proposed by the the mother was instantly acceded to by the father, and the child. was christened Mary. Mr. Myron retired from his business, which was that of a merchant, when only thirty-six years of age, on account of ill health, and purchased the pretty cottage of which we have already spoken. In about twelve months he recovered in a great measure his original strength of constitution, which made him desirous of again returning to his former active way of life; but his wife advised otherwise, and she having great influence over him, he yielded to her persuasion. Three years quickly glided away in uninterrupted happiness, and their children (they had only two) were as buoyant in spirits and blooming in health as the most attached parents could desire. Leo Myron was approaching his seventeenth year, and was in appearance all that he promised to be when a child. His sister Mary was a little angel, with her melting blue eyes and flaxen curls, and she loved her only brother with a true devotedness of heart. It is seldom that children such as Mary Myron live to become women, they are too angelic, too lovely, too good to remain long with us; they seem to be angels sent from above to give man some faint conception of the purity and loveliness of the inhabitants he will hereafter meet in heaven. Leo had said farewell to his schoolmaster, and he now spent his time in wandering in the fields with a book in his hand, or reading to his mother and sister while they were engaged in needlework. He had a great dislike to shooting, hunting, and fishing, those amusements in which he thus deprived animals wantonly of life, clashing with his principles, which had ripened from an idea conveyed in those words of Shakspeare:"The poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great Mary ever felt perfect rapture to hear her brother read the "Epistle of Eloisa to Abelard," in the eloquent poetry of Pope; for his whole soul partook of the spirit of the verses, and he breathed them forth in all the ecstacy of passion. She would sit entranced, and to her mind would be presented images of perfect and rare beauty. The voice of her mother would frequently arouse her from those dreams of abstraction, and starting up the reality of her situation would become apparent. When the chapters of Don Quixote, however, or of any other satirical and witty novel were being read, she would laugh and enjoy it equally with her brother and mother, but she was not, if we may be allowed the expression, in her proper element. Mr. Myron considered Leo was now of an age (seventeen) to apply himself to some business or profession, and gave him his free choice of whichever he should prefer. Many were the consultations Leo held with his mother and sister, respecting what business he should follow: the former spoke highly of bookselling as being to a lover of books, which Leo was, an engaging and interesting pursuit. Mary had a great desire for her brother to enter the church, being an admirer of eloquence in the pulpit. But Leo himself had an inclination for physic, and a powerful reason weighed in his mind in favour of adopting it, he considered no human being could shew his love for his fellowmen more than in following a pursuit, the object of which was to alleviate the sufferings inherent to mortality. Not all that his sister Mary could say in favour of his being a Reverend Pastor, and tending to the flock of his great Master; nor all that his mother could urge in behalf of a bookshop, the instruction and amusement he would derive therefrom, could alter or even shake his first resolution. He consulted his father who approved his choice, but at the same time advised him to re-consider the subject before he finally decided. He did think it over again, alone beneath a favourite oak tree, where he was accustomed to sit reading his book; but his resolution remained unaltered. Expecting now that matters were gone so far that a situation would soon be procured for him, he desired to visit an old friend who resided at Peterborough, before he became actually tied to business, and a fortnight was granted him by his father for that purpose. He immediately wrote to his friend, whose name was Arthur Bladen, informing him of his intention, and begging at the same time that he would endeavour to meet him at the Talbot Inn, where the coach he purposed travelling by would stop. Leo on a fine morning wished his father and mother good-bye, while Mary accompanied him a short distance beyond the wicket gate, and after desiring him to give her kindest love to Arthur's two sisters, and wishing him good bye a dozen times, and kissing him double that number, she finally bade him adieu, and slowly retraced her way to the wicket, where she lingered watching him and waving her handkerchief until he was out of sight. Leo soon reached the coach-office at Huntingdon, where he found the coach ready to start; and when he had seen his luggage safely stowed away in the hinder boot, he mounted to his seat on the roof. After an agreeable ride of rather more than two hours duration, he arrived on some high ground whence he obtained a view of the sluggish Nene. The coach had entered the suburbs and was now crossing the river on an old wooden bridge, and then passed up a broad, and then a narrow street full of bustle and noise. In three minutes more it stopped at the Talbot Inn. Leo heard some one calling him by name, and he looked around but for a moment he could not recognise any person, until the voice which was familiar to his ears, said, "Here, here, this way!" and following its direction with his eyes he beheld his friend Arthur. He was not long in descending to the ground, and stepping towards his friend, who welcomed him in the warmest and most affectionate manner. They immediately proceeded towards Mrs. Bladen's house, which was situated near St. John's Church. Leo was most kindly welcomed by Arthur's mother, who was a widow, and his sisters Sarah and Frances. The latter, who was the youngest, Leo had seen some years before, when on a visit to his sister Mary; but Sarah had been for two years at a school in the north of France, and by some deep laid intrigue of Fate he had never seen her before. Often had he heard her mentioned by Mary and his mother, and from what they had said his curiosity became excited respecting her; he had often seen her in his dreams, and the imaginary picture he had conceived was ever present to his mind. The reality however fell short of the ideal beauty he had worshipped; flowing ringlets of deep auburn, melting eyes overflowing with affection and love, a delicious mouth around which there ever seemed to play a tender smile, were not the characteristics of the real Sarah Bladen. But Leo, although she did not equal his ideal beauty, could not after he had been in her company a few hours, but regard her with an interest which bid fair to ripen into a warmer feeling. She had a brilliant touch on the pianoforte, and sung with a full and melodious voice, and was otherwise accomplished. Her person was prepossessing; dark brown hair, open, pleasing countenance, finely pencilled eyebrows and large deep blue eyes, which were her greatest ornament, a naiveté of manner, which with her style were so decidedly French, that Leo when on more familiar terms would frequently in jest call her a little French girl, and make satirical remarks on that people which would so displease her, that we doubt whether their defence could have been entrusted to more patriotic hands, so determinedly would she resent his remarks. She was accustomed to practise on her pianoforte every morning before breakfast, and Leo would invariably accompany her to the instrument, and sitting by her side, listen with rapture to her songs. Those in Italian he particularly admired for their sweetness, but an English song was his delight, and the "Banks of Allan Water," was his favourite. The young lady herself, however, preferred those in French, and was so constantly singing them, that Leo at last abominated their very name, and escaped from hearing them as he would the monotonous and shrill tones of a Highland bagpipe. Only by entreaty would she gratify him by singing his favourite song, and you may be assured he did entreat her every morning. To be continued. LANGUAGE. Language, as its name implies, is the utterance of the tongue, that mighty instrument for good or evil. How many a burning word shot from the random tongue of Envy has kindled a flame of hatred, which, rankling in the hearts of successive generations, has never been eradicated except by the extinction of one or both parties. Surely some of our readers can remember some unlucky "lapsus linguæ" the consequences of which he afterwards bitterly repented. "Alas how slight a cause may move, That stood the shock, when waves were rough, Like ships that have gone down at sea, When heaven was all tranquility: A something light as air; a look; A word unkind or wrongly taken; A breath, a word like this hath shaken." Language at first probably embraced monosyllables only, or at most the nudest forms of a sentence. Its vocabulary was confined to most of the visible objects found immediately around, such as the productions of the earth, the various animals roaming over its surface, together with their peculiar qualities and functions in nature. None of the objects of another clime, or the luxuries of an after generation could have found any place in the imaginative mind of an aboriginal people. What would it avail a people traversing vast pastures and feeding their flocks upon the luxuriant herbage, to have a vocabulary abounding with words and phrases known only to those who "go down to the sea in great ships and see the works of the Lord and his wonders in the deep :" and to what end would a knowledge of the necessaries of a mighty city's wants, or the military terms of a camp, be to one whose life was spent in Nature's solitary wilds, the home of the jackal and eyry of the eagle. It has long been a subject of speculation as to what language was employed by our "first parents in their daily intercourse in Paradise, and after their expulsion therefrom. Many have naturally entertained the opinion that Hebrew was that language. Certainly it is one of the oldest if not the oldest in existence now. But putting aside the "confusion of tongues" we know from the experience of after times that many languages cease to exist, or merge into others, intermarry, and lose, where there is no written character, all traces of their former origin. Even when a language has been committed to writing, as a spoken language it ceases to be a medium of communication between man and his fellowman. It is thus with the Latin. As a living language, except at the occasional recitations of the Universities, &c., it has no existence. It is true we have its offshoots or rather scions, the French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, &c., holding sway over the western portions of the ancient Roman Empire, but had not the works of Horace, Virgil and others been transmitted to us through the medium of writing, though the acute mind of a Max Muller might have traced each tributary to a parent stream, yet that parent stream would have been hidden in the gloomy shades of an unknown, impenetrable past; and this may have been the fate of the language spoken by the antediluvian world. It is certainly very pleasing to the Hebrew student, to indulge the idea that in reading the "Old Testament," he is not only perusing the language of the patriarchs and prophets of old, but also of the antediluvian world, yet this is pure speculation. In order to throw out a few general hints, I shall, for the sake of explanation, divide my subject into three parts, verbal, symbolic, and written. Verbal language was undoubtedly the first employed. The very fact that the progenitors of the human race, formed themselves into various clans, as may be reasonably supposed, would dispense with the necessity of an immediate written language. And, judging from our knowledge of the gradual growth of language, we may allow a long time to elapse ere a nation's civilization shall have so far progressed as to stand in need of a written communication. Now, granted that verbal language was first employed, I think it will readily be conceded that nouns and their qualifying words would be the first articulations of the tongue. Thus of Adam it is said, when God brought the animals to him to name, "whatsoever Adam called every living creature that was the name thereof;" and again, "Adam gave names to all cattle," &c. I will grant that grave objections may be raised on this point with regard to Adam and Eve. because language sufficient to express all their ordinary wants may have been implanted in them at their creation, that is no obstacle to its gradual growth in their posterity, that in the words of St. Paul they might say, "When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things." Yet As has before been said, man's vocabulary was at first confined within very limited bounds, but as the world's population and migration increased, and man's wants and desires magnified, so in proportion his |