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340

197

86
81

Winchester ................. 200 141 341

Bristol Naturalists' Society for a confederation of all Rossall 198 142

similar societies in the west of England, with the Cheltenham ............

204 136

340

object of combining Whitgift .................. 137

the results of independent 200

337 Charterhouse ............. 215 118

333

investigation. He also exhibited an oil painting of Wellington College...... 194 134 328

the old House as it appeared whilst still the Castle Rugby ..................... 194

126
320

Ion, the work of a well-known Marlborough man, Harrow ................... 199 121 320

Mr. Geo. Maton, which will probably be purchased Eton .....................

119
316

for the Museum.
Glenalmond ............ 198 109 307
Derby .....................

163
100
262

Mr. Preston exhibited a valuable coin, a silver Dulwich College........... 168

254

crown of the Protectorate, presented by F. Thursby Bradfield College ...... 171

252

Pelham, Esq., O.M., and a large number After the close finish of the Ashburton Shield the of skins of rare birds and animals, sent on minor contest for the Spencer Cup excited less

approval by Mr. H. G. Frank, wbich would have filled interest. During its progress competitors and some important gaps in our collection if there had spectators were once more drenched by a third

been funds to purchase them. Amongst them there thunderstorm, which seemed particularly disad were a Tasmanian devil, an Apteryx Owenii, a bird of vantageous to our representative, who made only 15 paradise, a most beautiful specimen of Ptiloris points in his seven shots. The interest of the contest paradisicus and a lemur. lay between the champions of Clifton, Charterhouse, Holiday observations on the disappearance of deers' and Whitgift. Sands, for Charterhouse, made 27 horns, animal sagacity, the effect of lightning, the and then missed his last shot; Chillingworth, of appearance of rare birds and animals, sounds produced Whitgift, made the same number, but without a by insects, moths in coal mines, &c., produced con. miss, and Luce, of Clifton, with 23 had a shot to fire

siderable discussion, in which Robertson, Chambers, -equal to the occasion he made the necessary bull's G. T. K. Maurice, Mr. Hart-Smith, Ainslie, eye, and thus scored the double event for Clifton

Wainwright, Mr. Preston, and Mr. Durrant took amid general and hearty applause.

part. Mr. Hart-Smith also exhibited a portion of a Meanwhile, in the Cadets Match Marlborough very large collection of British and foreign beetles, had gained fourth place with 78, the winners being kindly offered to the Society by F. C. Pawle, Esq., but Cheltenham with 85, and bad Private Hussey-who it is a question whether our funds are sufficient to house made only 33—been able to second the efforts of the collection as well as it deserves: and it is too Corp. James (45) we should have carried off the prize. valuable as a whole to be broken up by selection.

In conclusion let us congratulate the Eight on a It will be gratifying to everyone to know that the most gallant bid for victory; let us express our answer to our appeal for means to meet the loss hearty appreciation of Manton's untiring efforts

occasioned by the destruction by fire of 200 copies of during two seasons to bring out a good team; let us the great work of Avebury has been so handsomely thank the O.M.'s at Wimbledon for their advice and responded to, that the deficit has been covered. assistance; and let us once more appeal to the School to support an institution which for unobtrusive

ERRATA. merit has no equal at Marlborough, so that the P. 120, lines land 2-For Sale read Cheales, and proxime accessit of 1884 may become the absolute vice versa. win of 1885.

P. 127—In the bowlng analysis for Maidens, read

Runs, and vice versa.
Natural History Society.
President-H. RICHARDSON, Esq.

NOTICE TO CONTRIBUTORS.
Committee-

All contributions to the Marlburian must be Rev. T. N. Hart-Smith. E. F. Benson.

written on one side of the paper only. All literary R. G. Durrant, Esq. E. Robertson.

effusions mast be accompanied by the writer's name, Treasurer-Rev. J. P. Way. Sec.-E. K. Chambers. not for publication, but as a guarantee of good faith; Meetings

the name can, however, be enclosed in an envelope, Thursday, Sep. 25th, Private.

not to be opened unless the composition is accepted. Thursday, Oct. 16th, “ America" (with magic lantern) Rev. E. S. Marshall.

NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS. Saturday, Oct. 25th,

Rev. J. G. Wood. The subscription to the Marlburian is 6s. per year, Thursday, Nov. 6th, “The Tongue." Dr. Fergus. or 2s. 2d. per term. P.0.0.'s must be made payable Thursday, Nov. 20th, Private.

to A B. Poynton, the College, Marlborough. At the private meeting of Sept. 25th, at which 31 members were present, the President called attention

SCHOOL HONOURS. to an important paper by E. Meyrick, O.M., on Oliver Elton, Scholar of C.C.C., Oxford, Ist Micro-lepidoptera, in the - Proceedings of the New Class in Litteris Humanioribus. Zealand Institute," and to an article in the “ Bristol John Cornwallis Godley, Scholar of C.C.C., Naturalists' Report” on some experiments with the Oxford, 1st Class in Litteris Humanioribus. divining rod, similar to those recently made in Mr. Beesly's field. He also stated that the Society had | Printed by Chas. PERKINS, at his General Printing Office, expressed willingness to support a proposal of the

Waterloo House, Marlborough.

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ROBERT BROWNING.

We are not professed worshippers of Mr. Browning. We do not belong to any one of those societies which periodically meet to discuss various renderings of the more intricate passages in their favourite anthor, and to demonstrate entirely to their own satisfaction that Mr. Browning is incomparably the greatest poet that ever existed or ever will exist. On the other hand we are not of those who after çlancing cursorily through a few pages throw down the volume with the hasty criticism totally incomprehensible,' and decline ever after to open it again. No sensible critic can doubt that Mr. Browning is a very great poet, and we venture to prophesy that his fame will be much greater in the inture than it is now. He will probably never be a popular poet; it requires a refined and cultivated mind to appreciate his poetry ; but this disadvantage, if it is a disadvantage, he shares with Wordsworth; ind like Wordsworth, he will live, because his poetry rests not on things transient and fleeting, but on the things which are true for all time, the life and emotions and character of mankind. There are two characteristics which Browning bhares with several other poets of this century, with Tennyson, with Arnold, and with Clough. These

are, first, the large amount of general learning and culture which he displays, and secondly, the interest which he takes in questions of religion and philosophy. These tendencies are most noticeable in his longer poems, such as Paracelsus, and Christmas Eve and Easter Day.

It is, however, his shorter pieces, his Dramatic Lyrics, and similar poems that more especially strike the average reader. Browning's genius is essentially dramatic. It is this that separates him from the other poets of his day, who see everything through a halo of self.' Browning's poetry is not of a subjective order. He goes straight to the heart of his characters and sketches them or rather lets them sketch themselves with a loving fidelity and minuteness of detail. Among the most powerful of these representations are Fra Lippo Lippi, the Last Duchess, Bishop Blougram's Apology, The Glove, but they are all too long for quotation. Mr. Arnold describes the two elements of true poetry as being moral profundity' and 'natural magic.' In Browning's poetry theʼmoral profundity' predominates, but there is much of the natural magic' also. He has not Tennyson's delicate harmony and accurate versification, or Mr. Arnold's own power of melodious rhythm, but he has much of the sensuous delight in the beauty of outward

thought to another, and expects the reader to follow him without knowing the connecting links. But once the keynote of the compositon is discovered, everthing gradually falls into one grand harmonious whole; and it must be remembered that Browning's poems must emphatically be studied rather than read.

Mr. Browning seldom allows himself to be grotesque when it would manifestly be unsuitable to his subject. The following lines are from a poem called Holy Cross Day, describing the annual service at which all Jews at Rome were at one time obliged to attend. This service naturally was ridiculous.

Fee, faw, fum! bubble and squeak!
Blessedest Thursday's the fat of the week.
Rumble and tumble, sleek and rough,
Stinking and savoury, smug and gruff;
Take the church-road for the bells due chime

Gives us the summons-it's sermon time. We have heard it suggested that the curious rhymes in which Mr. Browning often indulges had their origin in his admiration for his wife's poetry. In Mrs. Browning's poetry they arose from careless writing, but her husband, who valued her poetry very highly, may have imitated them intentionally.

nature which is a conspicuous feature in their writings. Here again his power of minute observation helps him. The following poem is called “Home Thoughts from Abroad.”

Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England-now, And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds and all the swallows ; Hark! Where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover, Blossoms and dewdrops,-at the bent spray's edgeThat's the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with heavy dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower, Far brighter than this gaudy melon flower! We have said that Browning is wanting in melody. It is difficult to reconcile this with his passionate love for and deep sense of music. His own writings show this in a remarkable degree. One of his most striking passages describes the effect produced upon Saul in his madness by the music of David's harp. This sense of music imparts to his poetry, not exactly melody, but a peculiar harmony of rhythm, which often takes the form of an additional emphasis laid on the important syllables. This is well illustrated by the following lines from the Lost Leader, in which two or three words in each line have a strong accent on them :

Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat-
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
Lost all the others she lets us devote;

They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
* So much was theirs, who so little allowed :
How all our copper had gone for his service!
Rags—were they purple his heart had been proud!

The two charges most frequently brought against Browning, besides that of a want of melody are, firstly, obscurity of meaning, and secondly a fondness for the grotesque, especially in his rhymes. These in our humble opinion are both real defects, but in both cases it is possible to plead extenuating circumstances. The obscurity is greatly due to Mr. Browning's shorthand style of writing. He hurries from one

[The following poem, suggested by a visit to Corfo Castle, was originally published in the Isle of Purbeck Gazette, and is reprinted by permission of the Author.- En. M.]

“I love a ballad but even too well, if it be
doleful matter, merrily set cown.”

-WINTER'S TALE.
Herewith I send a tiny poem,
And this besides, by way of proem.
Stern critics, one is grieved to see,
Doubt the veracious history
Our childhood read in “Little Arthur"
(How Edward rode on Purbeck heath,
And how Elfrida wrought his death).
'Tis true, if one examines farther,
One finds the nucleus of a ballad,
Chopped up and garnished, like a salad-
The native purity of diction
Lost in the mix of fact and fiction.
Our ballad-monger loved to cull
Such matter, strange and pitiful,
To move the tragic sense withal,
And cause the ready tear to fall :
A source of unalloyed delight
To such as could not reach the flight
Of those world-ranging meteor spirits
Who compass all this globe inherits,
And lift us far beyond the sense
Of homelier-bred experience.
And as upon the tale I mused,

Methought how, in the soul transfused
Of some artificer of song,
Of music passionate and strong,
The thing would take new shape, and be
Once more a truthful history,
True in its natural sympathy,
True in its power to sway the soul
With incontestable control-
How he would mould, like plastic clay,
These broken fragments of a lay
Into some new and perfect whole.
But since I am no poet born,
I trust it may not move your scorn
To read this lame and limping measure,
Writ to beguile a moment's leisure-
Something that's neither here nor there-
A bastard-thing, that claims no share
In the flush of high imagination
That colours true art's least creation,
Nor wears the muse's daintiest dimple
Pressed on the ballad pure and simple.
Then if you seek yet more excuse
For this my worse than wayward muse,
Accept this, in default of better,
And figure me the railroad's debtor;
The rythmic motion of the train,
A-lilting in the weary brain,
Set all my thoughts to jigging rhyme,
Only to pass away the time-
A trivial trick of versification,

Idlest of all self-delectation.
THE CONFESSION OF THE QUEEN ELFRIDA.

Father, I know thy skill is vain

To shrive me of my sin :
My ears drink in the words of peace-

My heart no peace shall win.
Long while they wrestled for my soul,

The blessing and the ban-
The blessing that thy lips pronounce,

The blood of a murdered man.
But now I know that in the strife

The deadly curse has won,
There is no power of recompense,

No penance to be done.
The holy works thou bad'st me do,

I know that they were lies.
There is no pity in the dead,

No pardon in his eyes.
His eyes are on me night and day,-

The eyes of a slaughtered king,-
And in the horror of their gaze

I read the doom they bring.
I see them in the hateful sun,

And through the cruel night,

No depths of blackness may prevail

To screen them from my sight. Long time I conned my deadly spells,

And wrought against his life;
I knew that he must come at last,

To taste my whetted knife.
I heard his bugle-horn without,

And felt no touch of fear-
'Twas music in my ears, that told

My hour of triumph near.
Faintly he rode, and rode alone,

And begged a boon of wine,
And saw not how the hand of Death

Had clutched the cup with mine. Once, twice I stabbed him as he drank ;

I heard nor groan nor cry,
But I saw his eyes that flashed in mine-

I shall see them till I die.
Red ran the wine upon the floor,

As he threw down the cup;
But redder were these hands of mine

That took the goblet vp.
Away! my soul is sick with prayer,

And I will pray no more :
The curse I cursed him with remains

Deep graved at my heart's core.
I cursed him, for he stood between

My son and my son's right;
I curse him for he haunts me now

I curse him in hell's despite.
Away! Will words undo that stroke,

And bring the dead again ?
Will praying make the boy a man,

For whom I struck in vain ?
Lost, lost the cause for which I toiled,

The pains and bitter cost ;
Lost is the king and Wessex might,

And my soul, too, is lost!

L.E.U.

WORDSWORTH. Turn we our steps aside a while, And rest by Wordsworth's grave; Where his loved Rotha ceaselessly Rolls on her living wave. Still stands the gray old village church With portals open wide; And still the streams are heard afar Down the steep mountain side. In calm anruffled, as of old, The silent lake still lies, And mirrors in its surface calm The gleam of azure skies.

Gone is the mighty poet-soul,
That lived beside these rills,
Whose music brought to distant homes
The echo of the hills.
Yet still, to those who love his song,
The poet's spirit dwells
Beside the brawling becks that pour

Adown the rugged fells.
Grasmere, August, 1884.

C.

Although I have made a bad start, I hope to do well. The manager does everything to help me, but he has no work to be done except labourer's work, such as hewing and carting. It seems as if a lot of money might be made here. Orange groves pay well, but they take a good deal of capital, and are some six years before they bear. I am starting a vegetable garden; for stich produce there is always a good market in New York. Meanwhile I hope to start some orange trees. Pigs run wild in the woods, and want no food; the only trouble is to keep the young ones marked and to keep them round the house, to prevent their going wild. The cattle, too, are never fed. There are several Englishmen about here. This part of Florida is very low land, and after heavy rain this is an island. There is a small lake here, with a few alligators in it, but they have never been known to attack any. one. Man's worst enemy here is the rattlesnake. There are a few deer, bears, and tigers to be got."

These extracts from a letter from a Marlburian, who left only a short time ago, may be of interest to

some whose eyes are turned towards emigration :“FLORIDA has turned out very different from what I expected. A director of a Land Company told me in England that I should have work here, so I bailed at short notice. We changed ships at New York, and I travelled South with the manager of the Company, who was not encouraging in his estimate of my capabilities. After landing in Florida I went up country, and stayed a month at the Company's camp. We had home-made bread, which was just eatable, salt beef and bacon, coffee and sugar. I slept in a hammock, on a chair, or on the floor. The roof was far from rain-proof. I then shifted my quarters to a farmer's house hard by, where I paid $10 a month for board. The Company intend starting a town here, and I have bought the first plot. Two weeks ago my house was finished, and I am beginning to get a little more settled. My house is built of cypress wood, all got out of the woods close by; some of the boards split out are six feet long. I went one day, while in camp, to see the boards being split, three miles away. I was guided by the sound through some thick tropical growth, and found myself on the edge of a dry water-course, 10 feet deep and 15 feet broad. On the other side of it I came to a place where there was no undergrowth, the trees were too thick for the sun to pierce. I found the men at work, and after staying some time they told me the best way out. I went straight at first, but took a wrong turn, which ended in some cow tracks, and I followed one till it faded away. Then I tried to retrace my steps, but it was no easy matter, and finally I gave it up. I was in a sort of plain, about half-a-mile across, surrounded by cabbage, palmetto, and other thick growth. I saw that I was lost, so set to work to find the path again, and after two hours search succeeded, and followed it successfully out.

Obituary. DAVID ORMEROD ARCHER. Archer was drowned at Freshwater, on Sept. 27th, while trying to swim through the brea kers, with a heavy sea running in the bay. It will be remembered that at the end of last year he was prostrated by a terrible attack of peritonitis, from which it seemed that he could hardly recover, but which his own vigorous constitution, and the devotion of the doctor pulled him through.

Archer came here Sept., 1879, and left Christmas 1883. He was a simple, cheery, honourable fellow, with plenty of pluck and will, with pluck indeed, as it has turned out, beyond his strength. He was here only two days before the beginning of term, full of life and hope. He was an only child with great expectations, and his sad and premature death has caused great regret among his friends, and deep sympathy for his relations.

O. MI.'s.

MARRIAGES. Sept. 26th, at Christ Church, Albany Street, the Rer. Walter Edmund Spencer, M.A., Senior Curate of Christ Church, to Sarah Susan, elder daughter of E. J. Bevir, Q.C., Bencher of Lincoln's Inn.

Sept. 30th, at the Church of the Holy Trinity, Wonston, the Rev. Edward Ballachy Hill, to Maude, eldest daughter of the Rev. Newton Spicer, Rector of Wonston.

Sept. 30th, at Tackley, Oxon, Captain W. H. Wyld, 16th Lancers, son of the late Rev. W. Wyld, of Woodborough,

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