his professor Reaumur's "History of Insects," of which he read more than he attended to the lecture, and having been refused the loan, gave such an instant turn to the mind of Bonnet that he hastened to obtain a copy, but found many difficulties in procuring this costly work. Its possession gave an unalterable direction to his future life: this naturalist indeed lost the use of his sight by his devotion to the microscope. Dr. Franklin attributes the cast of his genius to a similar accident. "I found a work of Defoe's, entitled an 'Essay on Projects,' from which perhaps I derived impressions that have since influenced some of the principal events of my life." I shall add the incident which occasioned Roger Ascham to write his "Schoolmaster," one of the most curious and useful treatises among our elder writers. At a dinner given by Sir William Cecil during the plague in 1563, at his apartments at Windsor, where the Queen had taken refuge, a number of ingenious men were invited. Secretary Cecil communicated the news of the morning, that several scholars at Eton had run away on account of their master's severity, which he condemned as a great error in the education of youth. Sir William Petre maintained the contrary; severe in his own temper, he pleaded warmly in defence of hard flogging. Dr. Wootton, in softer tones, sided with the Secretary. Sir John Mason, adopting no side, bantered both. Mr. Haddon seconded the hard-hearted Sir William Petre, and adduced as an evidence that the best schoolmaster then in England was the hardest flogger. Then was it that Roger Ascham indignantly exclaimed that if such a master had an able scholar it was owing to the boy's genius and not the preceptor's rod. Secretary Cecil and others were pleased with Ascham's notions. Sir Richard Sackville was silent; but when Ascham after dinner went to the Queen to read one of the orations of Demosthenes, he took him aside, and frankly told him that though he had taken no part in the debate he would not have been absent from that conversation for a great deal; that he knew to his cost the truth Ascham had supported, for it was the perpetual flogging of such a schoolmaster that had given him an unconquerable aversion to study. And as he wished to remedy this defect in his own children, he earnestly exhorted Ascham to write his observations on so interesting a topic. Such was the circumstance which produced the admirable treatise of Roger Ascham. SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL. DOBELL, SYDNEY THOMPSON, an English poet, born at Cranbrook, Kent, April 5, 1824; died at Nailsworth, Gloucester, August 22, 1874. In 1850 he published his first poem, "The Roman," under the nom de plume of "Sydney Yendys." This was followed in 1854 by "Balder." These poems found numerous admirers, and the author was looked upon for a while by many as the coming poet of his day. Mr. Dobell's subsequent productions were: "Sonnets on the War," in conjunction with Alexander Smith (1855); “England in Time of War," (1856); and "England's Day" (1871). Dobell occupied a foremost place among the modern minor poets of England. His writings are marked by passionate love of nature and political liberty, originality, and an absence of humor. "You come back from the sea, And not know my John? I might as well have asked some landsman, "How's my boy - my boy? And unless you let me know, Blue jacket or no Anchor and crown or no "Sure, his ship was the 'Jolly Briton'-" "Speak low, woman, speak low!" "And why should I speak low, sailor, I'd sing him over the town! "How's my boy - my boy? I say, how's my John?"— THIS morn I lay a-dreaming, This morn, this merry morn; When the cock crew shrill from over the hill, I heard a bugle horn. And through the dream I was dreaming, "High over the breakers, Low under the lee, Sing ho! The billow, And the lash of the rolling sea! "Boat, boat, to the billow, Boat, boat, to the lee! Love, on thy pillow, Art thou dreaming of me? "Billow, billow, breaking, Land us low on the lee! "High, high, o'er the breakers, The billow That brings me back to thee!" AFLOAT AND ASHORE. "TUMBLE and rumble, and grumble and snort, "Guns are thundering, seas are sundering, crowds are wondering, Low on our lee, love. Over and over the cannon-clouds cover brother and lover, but over and over The whirl-wheels trundle the sea, love; And on through the loud pealing pomp of her cloud The great ship is going to thee, love, Blind to her mark, like a world through the dark, Thundering, sundering, to the crowds wondering, Thundering over to thee, love." "I have come down to thee coming to me, love; I stand, I stand On the solid sand; I see thee coming to me, love; The sea runs up to me on the sand: I start 't is as if thou hadst stretched thine hand And touched me through the sea, love. I feel as if I must die, For there's something longs to fly, Fly and fly, to thee, love. As the blood of the flower ere she blows And her roots do hold her down, In a rose, So my blood is beating in me, love! To meet thee there, To meet thee coming to me, love! Coming, and coming to me, love!" "The boats are lowered: I leap in first, I'm thro' the breakers! I'm on the shore! "A sudden storm Of sighs and tears, A clenching arm, A look of years. In my bosom a thousand cries, |