the flats and sharps by means of pedals. The instrument, in fact, may be correctly called an organ, as it is mainly moved by bellows; to bring which into proper action is the one important object of the machinery. The whole is impelled by six strong springs, acting on twenty-five communicating levers, and regulated and equalized by a brass fly. The interior of the instrument is, of course, very complicated and minute in its mechanism, which requires to be wound up once an hour. Before commencing a tune, the lady bows her head to the auditors; she is apparently agitated with an anxiety and diffidence, not always felt in real life; her eyes then seem intent on the notes, her bosom heaves, and at a distance it is impossible to discover any semblance of a work of art.

A Magician, that has sometimes accompanied this musical lady, is also a considerable triumph of mechanical skill. He sits at the bottom of a wall, with a long wand in his right hand, and a book in his left. Questions inscribed on thin oval counters, twenty in number, are put into the spectator's hand, who is desired to inclose one or more of them in a drawer, which shuts with a spring. A medallion, for instance, has the question, What is the most universal passion? which being put into the drawer, the figure rises with a solemn gait, bows his head, draws a circle or two with his wand, consults his book, and lifts it toward his face, as if in meditation. He then strikes with his wand on the wall above his hand, when two folding-doors open, and discover the inscription Love, as the reply. The counters are remarkably thin, and similar in all other respects but their inscriptions, which some of them bear on both sides certainly the mechanism that can discriminate the one from the other, must be exquisite; and mechanism alone, we have the highest authority for believing, it is.*

M. Maillardet's Writing-boy is hardly less meritorious. He is exhibited kneeling on one knee, and an attendant having dipped his pencil and laid the paper before him, he executes drawings, and French and English sentences, in writing, of a very superior description. Every natural motion of the fingers, elbow, eyes, &c. is correctly imitated.

The first of these figures the artist stated to have cost him the sum of 1500l. in its construction.

We have now placed before the reader as complete an account of the most celebrated automata, as the limits of our publication will admit. We believe no remarkable contrivance of this kind has escaped our notice; and as we reminded him of some visionary speculations on the powers of man in the commencement of our sketch, is it too much to ask him for one serious reflection, at the close, upon the wisdom of that Almighty Architect, by

See the article "ANDROIDES," in Brewster's Encyclopedia, before alluded to.

whom we are so fearfully, so wonderfully, so inimitably made? Without any speculation on the possible powers of man, or the tendency of his habits and impulses on a large and hypothetical scale, let the entire muscular action of a single youthful arm, in striking a shuttlecock, be perfectly imitated by him, and we could consent to resign to the artist the government of our share of the world!

SONNET ON VISITING DONNINGTON CASTLE,

Said to have been the latest residence of Chaucer, and celebrated for its resistance to the Army of the Parliament during the Civil Wars.

OH for some gentle spirit to surround,
With clinging ivy, thy high-seated towers,

Fair Donnington, and wipe from Chaucer's bowers
The last rude touch of woe! All sight, all sound
Of the old strife, boon Nature from the ground

Hath banish'd. Here the trench no longer lours,
But, like a bosky dell, bedeck'd with flowers,
And garlanded with May, sinks dimpling round,
A very spot for youthful poet's dreams

In the prime hour: Grisildis' mournful lay,
The "half-told" tale, would sound still sweeter here.
Oh for some hand to hide with ivy spray
War's ravages, and chase the jarring themes
Of King and State, Roundhead and Cavalier!

SONNET WRITTEN IN SICKNESS.

FAREWELL, dear haunts of childhood's happy hours,
The hallow'd RUIN†, and the moss-clad TREE,
Whose boughs of yore form'd Wolsey's canopy
When fortune frown'd. Adieu, ye greenwood bowers-
Ye pleasant meads, adorn'd with innocent flowers,
Scenes of my youth-ye bloom not now for me;
No more may I your smiling verdure see,
For fell disease my spirit overpowers.
Like a faint pilgrim at some distant shrine,
Foreworn by travel in the tedious way,
At that dread hour his soul for home doth pine,
When feeble nature sinks in deep decay-
Oh! might he there his parting breath resign,
Where life began-but Death brooks no delay.

"Or call up him, who left half told

The story of Cambuscan bold," &c.-MILTON, Il Penseroso.

M.

J. P.

+ The Ruins of Cawood Castle, Yorkshire, formerly the Archiepiscopal seat of the See of York.

A large chesnut-tree of great antiquity, which is still standing in Cawood Castle garth. The writer of this heard the late Archbishop Markham observe, that Wolsey used frequently to sit beneath its shade, to ruminate on and lament his disgraceful fall. Wolsey retired to Cawood after his fall, and was there arrested for high treason by the Earl of Northumberland.

A CALL TO THE BAR.

MR. EDITOR,Your correspondent E. R. in his pleasant paper on the antiquities of the Temple, appears to me scarcely to have done justice to its later dwellers. He has touched but lightly on the grandeur of the Middle Temple Hall, and on the high festivities which are holden within its walls on the call of any of its students to the bar. These things I esteem worthy of more honourable mention; and shall, therefore, with your permission, state my own recollections of them, now softened and deepened by years.

I can never, indeed, forget the feelings with which I was filled on my first entrance into that princely room to which I have alluded. The vastness of its area, the majesty of its proportions, its noble rough-hewn roof, the collected emblems of all those who have there first glowed with generous ambition, and who have added to the most select associations connected with its walls, at once expanded and awed my heart. I felt on the instant an embryo chancellor, and yet the spirit of worldly ambition was strangely softened by the sense of dim antiquity, of the transitoriness of wealth and honours, of the gentle fading away of the "roses of flowers" of those who, by long toils and anxious struggles, carved out for themselves armorial bearings and a pompous sepulchre. So deep was the first impression, that it was some time before I felt any disposition more minutely to examine the decorations of the hall. But when I did so, I found nothing which tended to dissipate or weaken the first great crowd of emotions which were awakened within me. Across the eastern side I found a noble skreen, carved with curious images of antique delicacy and grace. At the upper end a raised platform of oak formed a noble terrace, which terminated at both extremities in recesses. In the southern of these was a painted window overlooking the river, and almost embowered by the venerable trees of the small garden of the Middle Temple, where I almost imagined myself transported to the lone tower of some castellated pile in the inmost regions of romance, and expected to hear the distant roar of artillery, or the lover's lute trembling mournfully on the waters. Over the raised platform was a series of pictures, of which the fine portrait of Charles the First, by Vandyck, was the principal; and far above these, a small pictured window half covered with a curtain of crimson, through which the sun shed the loveliest of roseate hues. At that moment I confess that I missed not the "armed footstep," or the clashing of swords; but, anticipating a series of holier battles for freedom and for justice, exclaimed triumphantly to myself" I too am a Templar."

whom we are so fearfully, so wonderfully, so ini Without any speculation on the possible powers tendency of his habits and impulses on a large a scale, let the entire muscular action of a single striking a shuttlecock, be perfectly imitated i could consent to resign to the artist the governi of the world!

SONNET ON VISITING DONNINGTO
Said to have been the latest residence of Chaucer, and celeb
the Army of the Parliament during the Civ
OH for some gentle spirit to surround,
With clinging ivy, thy high-seated to
Fair Donnington, and wipe from Cl
The last rude touch of woe! All sig
Of the old strife, boon Nature from t
Hath banish'd. Here the trench
But, like a bosky dell, bedeck'd w
And garlanded with May, sinks dim
A very spot for youthful poet's dre

In the prime hour: Grisildis' m
The "half-told " tale, would sou
Oh for some hand to hide with
War's ravages, and chase the jarr
Of King and State, Roundhead.

ittitheir course

unhappy ed hopes

was accus

casion on which the ly revived within the of the other inns of these in cordiality and solutely dreary, and in boisterous. But where dle Temple of hearty and which their associate is nd hope, the general feeling

may be chequered ted puns, than by here is a certain re,, when conscious of it for a while, and to on to open the depths of often precise and technical air about them, which the time soon comes for not be remembered." The rcoal fire, which casts its the vast obscurity of the hall, e scene strangely heightening ne seems to have a patriarchal est time. The quickened fancy nich quivers over the grand irhalf embodies images of fear in smiles at its own inventions.

The

gentle pity as he turns to the counyr, now lighted up with a melancholy nces over the long lines of escutcheons, the old hopes and fluttering anxieties of ey designate, because the living are not led sympathy. And perhaps, to give a yment, far above through the painted winof the moon appears with a soft green hue, with a snatch of calm delight, like a tongue ater amidst a rushing stream, which reflects f foliage, or some glory-tinted cloud of the

ether they are well or ill sung, are among the res of the evening. They bring the mirth to one to the pervading sentiment one expression. But hes made on these occasions, though not the wisest ntertainment, nor the most welcome, are entitled to and esteem. They are of the heart hearty. I would y time be the speaker at his worst, than the sneerer at t. Towards the end of the evening you may see, perSome excellent spirit addressing a small and scattered caring nothing for the thinness of his audience---yet to wave the hand and raise the voice, which hardly obey aster. Such a one (and such I have known!) seems to me vorthy successor of "the invincible knights of old ;" nor, ill my respect for them, do I desire better company. nave myself long left the profession, but I delight to recur to e its early scenes. I will not repine while these recolleclast. When I revisit the old hall, I am as young as the