Bishop Compton was a great botanist, and enriched the grounds with many plants and shrubs from North America, which attracted the attention of the eminent naturalist John Ray, who, in the second volume of his history of plants, gives a catalogue of them, and greatly praises the garden, as a whole, for the taste of its cultivation, and its rare and curious specimens. Other botanists from time to time record the condition of the palace garden, giving at different periods catalogues of the famous trees. It has, like the building, seen some changes; many of its ancient curiosities have disappeared, but a few very old trees remain amidst the modern improvements of the present tasteful and scientific gardener. Lysson and Faulkner give lists of the valuable relics of Compton's botanical additions, and subjoin the admeasurement of their girths. The history of the growth of trees is no mean study, but it would rise far higher still, "could they but speak as in Dodona once;" then might they -"correct, erronous oft, The clock of history, facts and events In the meantime they tell their own history, and of slowest progress. A remnant of Fitzjames' time appears in an old gateway, surmounted by his arms, leading into the kitchen garden. Large white lilies unfold themselves in the moat near the Thames, and have long borne the playful appellation of the Bishop's Wigs. They are in this respect now mementoes of the past. Fulham church is hard by the palace. We go round by the Bishop's Walk again, and come into the churchyard opposite the west tower. It is of the fourteenth century, according to Lyon, and has been recently restored in good taste. In other respects the architecture is by no means remarkable, and exhibits some unskilful alterations of about the last century, but its position in the midst of a retired churchyard, girdled with trees and a few old-fashioned houses, strikes one as very pleasant and interesting; and the whole place is a specimen of quiet rural simplicity, such as the growth of London and its suburbs has left few indeed for us to visit and admire. The church has several monuments. There sits the virtuous Lady Legh in marble, in the costume of James the First's reign, with a baby in her arms, just like a little mummy, and another, the fellow to it, perched by her side, as though it were a ninepin; and there is Mrs. Catherine Hart, of about the same date, kneeling on a cushion with her two daughters behind, and her two sons before, the second holding a skull in his hand. And there, very Roman-like, in toga and sandals, stands my Lord Mordaunt upon a slab which rests on supporters of no ordinary ugliness. We must pass by numerous other monuments and tablets in the interior to notice the tombs outside. We pause, with much interest, at the east end to decipher the inscriptions over the graves of Louth, and Sherlock, and Gibson, and Compton, and Robinson, all bishops of London and men of celebrity; and had we time, perhaps we might select some other names of interest, and certainly we might supply abundant specimens of epitaphs and inscriptions-a species of lore which the rambler is sure to study, and by means of which the stranger in a village, ignorant of the living, speedily becomes acquainted with the dead: not always, we fear, a just acquaintance, for in our English graveyards the observation of the poet is decidedly contradicted: "The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones." A narrow little street, lined with houses which take you back a hundred years, conducts into the town of Fulham, where now we look in vain for the old Golden Lion, which forty years ago Faulkner described as an ancient house of the time of Henry VII, with the original wainscotting and chimneypiece; and the old King's Arms, where the Londoners used to come and rest after nutting in the neighbouring woods, on the first of September, in commemoration of their fathers coming there, during the fire of London, after gathering nuts in Fulham fields for their repast, at that time of miserable loss and privation. The old houses are gone, and modern structures occupy their place. We have not space to tell of the celebrated inhabitants of Fulham parish, including the great Sir Thomas Bodley, the founder of the Oxford Library; and the greater Lord Bacon, who had his abode here just after his disgrace; and the Earl of Peterborough, who used here to entertain John Locke and Dean Swift; and Samuel Richardson, who gathered within his house on Parson's Green the blue-stockings of his time; and poor Theodore Hook, who somewhere here laughed and sung and squandered away his brilliant talents. Nor can we wander back into the distant olden time, when the Danes came and encamped in this neighbourhood, as so many of the old chroniclers unite to relate. Even the celebrity of Fulham during the civil wars can receive from us but a passing notice. What a bustle there was here when the lord-general caused a bridge to be built, upon barges and lighters, over the river Thames, between Fulham and Putney, to convey his army and artillery into Surrey to follow the king's forces; and when colonels, and captains, and adjutants were quartered in the principal houses of the village, according to a list now before us. But all that bustle has been changed for centuries into quietude and silence, broken only by peaceful occupations, and the pleasures of citizens and suburban residents, and the ancient stately revolutions of coach and wagon wheel, and the modern brisker rotation of the wheels of carriages, cabs, and omnibuses. It is now time to get back to the river, and as the evening is pleasant, and the shadows of houses and trees fall on the smooth surface of the water like images of the past, we shall muse upon both as we go gently up the stream, and think with thankful joy upon the blessed change since Bonner's days. So, good night, gentle reader: we hope to meet you again higher up the river. THE CANVASS CITY. Two years ago the great point of attraction was the Glass Palace. Thousands flocked to Hyde Park, to see the hive of industry, with all its curious wonders. Rich and poor met together on a level, and stood side by side, contemplating the beautiful works of art which were piled up before them in such rich profusion. Now the great point of attraction is the Canvass City; and people, in smaller but yet growing numbers, are assembling on Chobham Heath to see the portion of the British army encamped there, presenting a specimen of the curiosities of military life. The noble and the lowly are again close together, eying carefully groups of tents, with all their strange accompaniments; or watching the progress of a sham fight, full of mysterious evolutions. We spent many leisure hours in visiting the peaceful Exhibition of 1851, and were well repaid, not only by rational recreation, but, we hope, by an improvement of taste and an increase of knowledge. We do not intend to devote much time to the warlike Exhibition of 1853, for it can never either gratify or repay us like its predecessor; but it was to be expected that we should go and see what is now occupying the attention of everybody, and our readers will not, we hope, be displeased at our devoting some small space in these pages to a record of our impressions. War always inspires us with horror; and the associations in our mind between military spectacles and their relation to purposes of real war is so indissoluble, that the pleasure of a visit to Chobham is greatly marred. We are relieved by the thought, however, that what we witness there is only a show. While we abhor shams in general, we make an exception in reference to fighting, and beg to avow a decided preference for a pretended over a real battle. Nor, when disturbed by the unpleasant associations referred to, do we fail to seek some indemnification for the loss of our equanimity, by reflections on the phases of human life before us, and by historical recollections connected with the neighbourhood; though here, alas! in trying to escape from thoughts of war in one shape we get amongst them in another -so full of strife is the story of the past, even in our own land. Beautiful contrasts to all that is warlike surround us as we approach the camp in the outspread country, chequered with fields and striped with woods. Right pleasant is it to pass the Surrey farms, homesteads, and plantations on the road from Staines or Chertsey, gazing on hedges, trees, and wild flowers that picture peace, and listening to birds and insects which in merry songs and soothing murmurs tell of peace. And more than right pleasant, everywhere perfectly beautiful, in some parts even enchanting, is the ride or walk from Windsor up the stately avenue, and over the crown of the forest on Snow Hill. What a view you have there!--the boast of Englishmen and the wonder of foreigners. Turn round and look at Windsor Castle in the blue distance, rising above the great ocean of verdure which forms the green foreground to the picture! One may long look and linger, and then linger and look again. Those majestic oaks, elms, and beeches, and the dells yonder shaded by trees of lesser growth, how temptingly they detain our steps, and almost persuade us to give up a sight of the Canvass City, for the sake of enjoying a few hours in this woodland region, with its tuneful and winged population. But the reader, perhaps, is more curious about the camp than we. Well then, passing by Virginia Water, and threading a lane or two, we come upon a few white tents of conical shape, tipped with red, forming a sort of outpost to the encampment, and indicating that we are now not far from the object of our search. Some little way further on, and the white specks are seen peering above the hedges pretty plentifully, and then, at last, in goodly numbers, tents appear dotting the heath for a considerable distance all over; though perhaps, after all, judging from our own impressions, not seeming so numerous as imagination had led one to expect. Arrived in front of the camp, which lies at our right hand, we have a pretty large assemblage of booths and marquees, exhibiting, in letters of gigantic proportions, signs and names indicative of the "good accommodation for man and horse" therein provided. All this wears very much the appearance of a fair, especially in parts where it may be observed provision is made for amusements by no means of a first-rate order. Turning round and looking at this strange town we have come to visit, built chiefly of woven hemp, our curiosity is attracted by divers little round huts of straw, very like rude coarse beehives. They do not look large enough for human beings either to stand or sit in; but the women, busying about them, spreading out clothes to dry, whom at once we recognise as soldiers' wives, inform us that these miserable holes are their habitations, inasmuch as they are excluded from dwelling in the Canvass City, though their presence and toils are indispensable to the personal cleanliness of its inhabitants-personal cleanliness being indeed, as we should suppose, the chief comfort which the poor fellows can enjoy in their present circumstances. Passing the sentinels and entering the lines, we cannot but notice the sentry-boxes built of branches of fir interwoven with fern, affording a welcome shelter from the rain, which has hitherto been too plentiful for a camp life, and having too a touch of picturesque taste about them. These simple and serviceable structures, which give a rural element to the scene, were, as we are informed, "improvised in an incredibly short space of time under the direction of the sappers and miners." This portion of the camp we are now visiting is formed of two grand divisions, the one composed of cavalry, and the other of infantry. Here, having a large plant ation behind them, are the dragoon guards, the lancers, the light dragoons, and the life guards, ranged beside each other, with long booths built partly of wood and fern for the horses, and with small round tents for the men. Stalls of rough wood are provided for the noble animals, the sight of whose remarkable beauty, in many instances, would almost repay a visit to the spot; but we are sorry to learn that accidents have occurred to some of them, owing to the confined space within which they are crowded. We wonder what they think of the contrast between this imperfect, frail, and pentup accommodation, and the strong, lofty, comfortable stables in which they commonly find themselves. Most likely, if they had tongues like their masters, they would tell us how heartily glad they shall be when the city of canvass is folded up and stowed away, and they can get back to cities of brick and stone. The supply of hay and straw for the camp must be very great. Around the stables are the tents for the men, and they are not a little curious. Everybody has heard of the great bed at Ware, sufficient to contain six couples. These tents are, in fact, Ware beds with rough straw to lie on; canvass, suspended from a pole in the middle, forming the curtains, and blankets and coats being the only coverlets. Fourteen men, placed foot to foot, lying all round, find here their only resting-place during some weeks; and considering that the only alternative is either an oppressive closeness or gusts of cold night air, we must say we heartily pity them. But they seem to bear it with brave contentment, as soldiers ought to do. Deserted in the daytime, these round places, at once bed and chamber, with signs of a very rude toilette scattered about, look oddly enough. The officers have tents to them selves, furnished with camp-beds, and various convenient etceteras. first place, you walk down what may be called a broad street, with lanes or alleys branching out on both sides, all lined with white tents. The large main thoroughfare has a deep trench cut on either side, into which other trenches run for the draining of the camp-a most important arrangement, of course, for cleanliness, health, and comfort. The trenches which border this highway are crossed by paths made of small timber and earth. The tents are ranged in lines with alleys between, small flags being placed here and there. The infantry are accommodated-if accommodation it may be called-in the same manner as their brethren of the horse; but we noticed in some cases a touch of taste, which pleased us not a little. By the door of an officer's tent might be seen a tiny garden of firs and flowers, affording some relief to the baldness and withered aspect of the heath, and indicating too a trait of character far more gratifying; for we generally find that when people love flowers, it is a sign of something humane and kind-hearted about them. It is good to see flowers growing in a camp, for we take it as an emblem of the gentler virtues among the sterner ones of military life. The avenues between the tents are quiet enough, when the men are out on parade, or at a review. The sentinel on duty is the chief object to break the stillness and silence, except it be a little while before meal-time, when the cooks are busy at their simple culinary preparation, over fireplaces rudely constructed of earth, in the open air. When parade is over, or a review ended, and the soldiers have come home to the canvass city, the scene is far otherwise; and there is as much of lively bustle as can well be imagined. Against rails of wood, which the men have erected to hang their things upon, and to aid them in the operation of cleaning their accoutrements, the soldiers stand peacefully, but busily employed in In front of the cavalry brigade is the royal brushing their clothes and caps, whitening their pavilion, which, however, does not pretend to much belts, scouring their arms, and polishing their magnificence. There is a cluster of different sized shoes. All manner of articles are strewed about tents round one of larger size, the whole forming a in this open-air barrack-room, and, amongst other square fenced in by a canvass wall, with sentry things, one wonders at certain little shallow tubs boxes inserted of the same material. The entrance suspended on the rails by leathern belts. These is behind; and here it was that Prince Albert slept are for the purpose of supplying the men with the other night. Some sight-lovers, eager to wit-water, and, when slung over their shoulders for ness a military surprise in the dark, which it had been predicted would take place on that occasion, watched for hours in hopes of such a spectacle, but they were doomed to watch in vain, the canvass city remaining in perfect quietude till it was time to get up, much to the trouble of the civic and rural watchers outside. The tents around Prince Albert's are occupied by the leading officers, and indeed the whole of the staff. They form headquarters, and the spot is called the magnet. At the eastern end is a tent which serves as a post office. The grenadiers, the Scotch fusileers, the Coldstream guards, and the sappers and miners, are spread out in four large groups, connected together, to the west of the royal pavilion; and these, with the 42nd, 95th, 50th, 38th, and 93rd regiments of infantry, which, in like manner, form five large groups, constitute the heart of the encampment, and furnish the most striking specimen of those arrangements, contrivances, and habits which pertain to an army engaged in active service. In the a long march, must add, we should think, not a little to their weariness. In the evening, too, when the business of the day is over, and the men are amusing themselves with various exercises, the camp is full of life and gaiety. 66 When the troops first took possession of the spot marked out for their encampment, it must have been an interesting sight to see them begin their operations, and to watch the canvass city spreading out its wings over the inhospitable heath. Within at most three-quarters of an hour," says an eyewitness, seven regiments, three of cavalry, met upon the same spot, crossed each others' lines of march without the slightest confusion, and filed to their respective tent-quarters without the occurrence of a shadow of disorder. Each infantry regiment first mustered in companies, and was inspected by the group of general officers on duty; they were then dismissed, and speedily the tents, so solitary-like in the morning, were one blaze of military life. The new-comers set themselves actively to assist their predecessors, and additional white canvasses rose like puffs of white smoke from | the grimy moor. The spectators on the road-ridge -who had at first lingered, probably in the hope of a mock battle, or a review at the very leastgradually dispersed, and the troops were left to make the best of their novel situation." The rifle brigade and the royal artillery are stationed apart from and beyond the large central encampment. The former are on the high ground near the cross-roads leading from Windsor to Chobham. The latter are on the extreme left. We were told that altogether in the camp there may be about a thousand tents; and we may add that the indispensable requisite of water is obtained from several springs (the map before us numbers six) in the immediate neighbourhood. The boring was attended with some difficulty, and the wooden pipes first used made the water taste. We observed iron pipes lying about, and noticed also some filtering tubs. Everything, of course, is done to make the water for drinking as pure as possible. Next to the camp in estimation, indeed far before it as respects most of the visitors, we apprehend, are the reviews and the various evolutions and sham-fights connected with them. We were fortunate enough to witness one of these displays, which was considered by competent judges to be very masterly. To the eye accustomed to military tactics, there is no doubt a vast deal of skilful art and practical science in the disposition of so many troops in their orderly marches and countermarches, in their firing and various manœuvres. Upon ourselves, however, who are profoundly ignorant of such matters, much of this was lost; though we could not be blind to the beauty of some of the positions, the magnificence of the tout ensemble of so many men in military array, and the evidence of consummate discipline given by such perfect and simultaneous obedience, on the part of thousands, to the word of command. The bright scarlet uniforms on the green hills looked very picturesque, and the glittering of sword, spear, and cuirass very brilliant. Nodding plumes and gay colours, moving about in rank and file, reminded us of swarms of beautiful insects such as we might fancy in tropical climes; while, we must confess, the rifle brigade, with their dark uniforms, when kneeling down in a compact square, on the side of a hill, did look very much like an immense army of black beetles. A camp was established in this neighbourhood upwards of fifty years ago, as a venerable and vigor. ous octogenarian who accompanied us to Chobham testified that he could well remember. Not so different in appearance was that canvass city from this, nor so different the uniform of the troops, nor so different the arrangements and exercises, though these differences were not inconsiderable, as is the state of society now from what it was then, and the circumstances under which the camp was formed at that time and those under which it is formed at present. Cocked hats and pigtails and nankeen pantaloons have passed away, and so too, happily, has the insecure state of travelling which happened to prevail at the time we have referred to, when also they were in vogue; for our companion, as we were riding over to the scene of action, entertained us with divers stories of highwaymen, who half a century ago had their haunts about Chobham Heath, and used to come pouncing down from their coverts upon the solitary wayfarer along the road. Those days, so troublous, politically as well as socially regarded, have also given place to an age which, though it sees enough of excitement, knows nothing of disturbance and terror; and whereas war was then actually threatening us, now we trust that awful calamity may long be distant from our shores-gloomy as affairs look in the East. We have before us, on our table, the copy of a very curious poster printed in 1803, by order of the lieutenant of the county of Berks, headed, "Proposals for rendering the body of the people instrumental to the general defence in case of invasion," and containing numerous items of arrangement very indicative of the prevailing fear that the French were about to land on our coast. Thanks to the gracions providence of God, our neighbours and we are now at peace, and long may we continue so; and if we must have camps and reviews, may they ever be witnessed, as those at Chobham are during these summer weeks, by foreigners of dif ferent lands on terms of cordial friendship with the Englishmen among whom they mingle. Other reminiscences, in reference to travelling fifty or sixty years since, occur to us in connexion with what we have stated. It was a serious affair to get from London to the camp, when it took five or six hours to travel to Windsor or Staines. A hundred years earlier, the difficulties of travelling were greater still, and its adventures were sometimes very amusing, at least to us who only read of them. For example, here is an extract from the account of a journey of queen Anne's husband from Petworth to Windsor, when he must have passed somewhere through the neighbourhood of Chobham Camp. After noticing, that the first day the prince sat fourteen hours in his coach without eating anything, and passed through the very worst of roads, the writer goes on to say that the next day the prince and the king of Spain, who was his fellow-traveller, "set out early for Guildford, and were waited on in the same coach by the Prince of Litchtestein and the Earl of Sandwich, and were followed by a numerous cortège of eighteen or twenty sets of six horses, and a large party of guards, where they found a neat dinner prepared for them by the green cloth, in the best inn of the town, and a handsome appearance of the gentry round about, of both sexes, who waited on them all dinner-time, after which I saw no more of him till I found him at supper at Windsor, for there we were overturned (as we had been once before the same morning) and broke our coach. My Lord Delaware had the same fate, and so had several others." 'Tis rather different now, when our prince consort and the royal guest from Hanover go down to Windsor, or visit the Chobham Camp. Rambling about the hills in the neighbourhood, and looking at the tented field from different points of view, it is natural to think of times long gone by, when camps for the purpose of real war were not uncommon; when king and parliament had their armies in dire conflict; or when the houses of York and Lancaster were pitted against each other in mere party strife; or when the Norman con queror landed on our shores; or when Danes and Saxons ravaged British homes; or when the Romans raised their immense encampments, and came into this very part of England, and made roads hereabouts from Staines to Silchester. It was a serious matter in those days when an army halted. Desolation and misery were borne by it to the hapless inhabitants of the vicinity. Extortion, cruelty, and other evils were too often inflicted. The land mourned, and men cursed the consequences without being cured of the love of war. We rejoice in better times, and hope and pray for times yet better still. The true age of canvass cities in England has passed away. May they never again be here anything more than memorials of the past, and may the same peaceful destiny soon bless the entire world! A NUT FOR INFIDELITY TO CRACK. THE jubilee year of the British and Foreign Bible Society has, probably, prompted many thoughtful minds to take a review of what has been accomplished for and by the holy scriptures during the existence and operations of that important institution. Among those who have given the public the benefit of their reflections on this subject is the Rev. J. Hamilton, D.D., who, in a published lecture, under the expressive title of, "What Fifty Years have done for the Bible; and, what the Bible can do for ourselves," has presented to us an historical epitome at once forcible and beautiful. From this work, whose value is not to be estimated by the slightness of its bulk, we have great pleasure in making an extract or two, hoping that the samples which we offer may lead to a perusal of the entire production. It is the opinion of Dr. Hamilton that not fewer than 40,000,000 of Bibles are at this moment in existence, being an average of one copy for every six families of the human race. This, although by no means satisfactory to the Christian mind, nevertheless contrasts favourably with the 4,000,000 which it is supposed might have been found in the world at the beginning of the present century. After noticing the security afforded against the extinction of the Bible, the accomplished lecturer proceeds to collect, in one irresistible focus of evidence, the collateral and ever-accumulating proofs of its truth and divinity. tions are timely, God gives the word, and there is a ... The all-pervading influence of the sacred writings is thus eloquently referred to:-"Our legislation waxes more and more scriptural, less sanguinary, less selfish, less profane, since the date of the Bible Society, and, in some degree, its doing. It has done away with a multitude of unnecessary oaths; it has repealed a hundred capital punishments; it has abolished the slave-trade and slavery; and it has done a great deal for the education of the people. That Bible has made us philanthropic. Multiplying institutions for every form of misery-for the blind, the deaf, the orphan, the discased, the insane, the idiot-it has cleared up a wide and open channel where other ages only saw a misty and land-locked inlet, and in its cruise of kindness, and at a cost of many hundreds of thousands yearly, it leaves its Gospel on the shores of either hemisphere. The builder of our churches and chapels, the originator of our Ragged Schools, it is the father and the fosterer of all our evangelistic societies, for few except Scripture readers are supporters of missions. All this it has chiefly accomplished through the minds who have come under its saving and transforming power." But the Bible does more than this. It brings home its blessed messages of peace and gladness and purity to individual souls. It would be good for us all if we allowed God himself to speak to us more. There is no voice so soft, yet so solemn; so authoritative, yet so considerate and kind. . . . We have had friends who did a great deal for us, but we have never had one who gave his life for us. Nay, were redemption a thing which had still to take place, and were the Friend of sinners coming to you and saying, 'I am willing to die for you; I am prepared to shed my blood as a ransom for your soul; but the prospect is very terrible: even now its awful accompaniments make me sorrowful even unto death :' fearful as would be the alternative, I think you would refuse. But the Saviour was too generous to consult you. It was a matter betwixt the Father and himself-the loving Father and the loving Son. And now that it is all over, he comes to you in the Gospel asking two things. He comes asking, as if a favour for himself, that you would take the benefit of his finished work, that you would trust your soul's salvation to his Godpropitiating and God-glorifying atonement. And then he asks that you would do this other favour for the friend who died for you. He is visibly here no longer. He no longer goes about dispensing benefits, cures, temporal comforts, salvations, through the abodes of men. But he wishes the work to go on, and he wants it to be carried on by you. Do you love me? then love my brothers, and make them happy. Do you love me? then love all other Christians, and try not to find out their failings, but to foster and help forward their graces. Do you love me? then clothe the naked, tend the sick, visit the prisoner, reclaim the outcast. you love me? Minister, teacher, neighbour, lovest thou me? then feed my sheep-feed my lambs." "Never-if we except the great Reformation upheaval-never was there a time when so many shams have exploded, and so many phantoms been torn to tatters never have so many hoary prejudices been marched off the stage, and so many time-honoured errors been consigned to oblivion, as within our living day..... It has been a nervous time for imposture; it has been a noble time for the Bible. Each fresh discovery has been a new leaf to its laurel, a new gem in its coronet. Lieutenant Lynch has floated down the Jordan, and explored the Dead Sea; and his sounding line has fetched up from the deep, physical confirmation of the catastrophe which destroyed the cities of the plain. Robinson, and Wilson, and Bartlett, and Bonar, have taken pleasure in the very dust and rubbish of Zion; and they come back, declaring that the Bible is written on the very face of the Holy Land. Since Laborde opened up the lost wonders of Petra, its stones have cried aloud, and many a verse of Jehovah's word stands graven there with a pen of iron in the rock for ever. Scepticism was wont to sneer and ask, Where is Nineveh, that great city of three days journey? But since Botta and Layard have shown its sixty miles of enclosing wall, Scepticism sneers no longer. Hidden in the sands of Egypt, many of God's witnesses eluded human search till within the last few when Bibles increase, and are running to and fro through the earth and when fresh confirma years; but now, Do |