her mother Elizabeth, the Electress Palatine of Rhine, and in Elizabeth's father, King James, we do not find any such peculiarity prominently brought out.

There is, nevertheless, reason to believe that common points of physiognomy in the Stuart and Hanover families can be traced to a generation prior to the sovereign last-mentioned, who is the common ancestor. The writer, at least, must own that he has been very much struck by the resemblance borne by the recent portraits of our present amiable sovereign to one representing Prince Charles Edward in his later years. Our means of representing the two countenances are limited; yet even in the above wood engraving the parity is too clear not to be generally acknowledged. The fulness of cheek is palpable in both portraits; the form of the mouth is the same in both; and the general aspect, when some allowances are made for difference of age and sex, is identical. It is four generations back from the Prince, and eight from the Queen, to King James-two centuries and a half have elapsed since the births of the two children from whom the subjects of the two portraits are respectively descended: yet there is a likeness exceeding what is found in half the cases of brother and sister. The peculiarity, however, is apparent also in a portrait of Mary of Scotland, taken in her latter years; and it may further be remarked that between the youthful portraits of Prince Charles Edward and those of the Prince of Wales now coming into circulation, a very striking resemblance exists. Thus the perseverance of physiognomy may be said to extend over three centuries and eleven generations. Most of her Majesty's loyal and affectionate subjects will probably feel that the matter is not without some interest, as reminding them of the connection between the present royal family and that ancient one which it superseded, and as telling us emphatically that Possessor and Pretender are now happily ONE.

THE LIGHTING OF THE BEACONS. During the threats of invasion from France in 1803-4, the spirit of the people for national defence was wound up to a high pitch of enthusiasm. On the evening of the 31st of January 1804, a beacon at Hume Castle in Berwickshire was lighted in consequence of a mistake, and, other beacons following the example, the volunteers throughout nearly all the southern counties of Scotland were in arms before next morning, and pouring fast to their respective places of rendezvous. It was held to be a most creditable example of earnest and devoted patriotism, and undoubtedly served to create a general feeling of confidence in the self-defensive powers of the island.

Some particulars of this affair have been set down by Sir Walter Scott, who had opportunities of observing what happened on the occasion. "The men of Liddesdale,' says he, 'the most remote point to the westward which the alarm reached, were so much afraid of being late in the field, that they put in requisition all the horses they could find; and when they had thus made a forced march out of their own county, they turned their borrowed steeds loose to find their

THE LIGHTING OF THE BEACONS,

way back through the hills, and they all got back safe to their own stables. Another remarkable circumstance was, the general cry of the inhabitants of the smaller towns for arms, that they might go along with their companions. The Selkirkshire yeomanry made a remarkable march; for although some of the individuals lived at twenty and thirty miles' distance from the place where they mustered, they were nevertheless embodied and in order in so short a period, that they were at Dalkeith, which was their alarmpost, about one o'clock on the day succeeding the first signal, with men and horses in good order, though the roads were in a bad state, and many of the troopers must have ridden forty or fifty miles without drawing bridle.

The account of the ready patriotism displayed by the country on this occasion, warmed the hearts of Scottishmen in every corner of the world. It reached [in India] the ears of the well-known Dr Leyden, whose enthusiastic love of Scotland, and of his own district of Teviotdale, formed a distinguished part of his character. The account, which was read to him when on a sick-bed, stated (very truly) that the different corps, on arriving at their alarm-posts, announced themselves by their music playing the tunes peculiar to their own districts, many of which have been gathering-signals for centuries. was particularly remembered, that the Liddesdale men, before mentioned, entered Kelso playing the lively tune

O wha dare meddle wi' me!

And wha dare meddle wi' me!
My name it is little Jock Elliot,

It

And wha dare meddle wi' me! The patient was so delighted with this display of ancient Border spirit, that he sprung up in his bed, and began to sing the old song with such vehemence of action and voice, that his attendants, ignorant of the cause of excitation, concluded that the fever had taken possession of his brain; and it was only the entry of another Borderer, Sir John Malcolm, and the explanation which he was well qualified to give, that prevented them from resorting to means of medical coercion.'

A local newspaper of February 3, 1860, chronicled a festive meeting which had taken place four days before at the village of St Boswells in Roxburghshire, and gave the following curious details à-propos: On the memorable night in 1804, when the blazing beacons on the Scottish hills told the false tale of a French invasion, a party of volunteers were enjoying themselves in a licensed toll-house at Ancrum Bridge, Roxburghshire. They rushed out on hearing that the beacon was lit on the Eildons, and, in their hurry to march to the appointed rendezvous, forgot to settle the reckoning with their host of the toll-house. When the alarm had subsided, and the volunteers had returned to their homes, they remembered the bill was still to pay, but the difficulty of assembling the whole party retarded the settlement till the anniversary of the day of the false alarm, the 31st January, drew near. They considered this a proper occasion to meet and clear off the old score, and it was then determined to hold an annual meeting

by way of commemorating the lighting of the beacons. The toll-keeper removed first to Newtown, and then to St Boswells, but the party followed him, and the festival is still held in the Buccleuch Arms' Inn, St Boswells, though none of the members of the original party of 1804 remain to take part in it.'

PERSEVERING PHYSIOGNOMIES. The remarkable case of resemblance of distant relatives given under the title Charles Edward Stuart' could be supported by many others.

Dr Fosbroke, in his valuable historical work entitled The Berkeley Manuscripts, gives some interesting anecdotes of Dr Jenner, and, amongst others, makes the following statement: A lady whom Dr Jenner met at John Julius Angerstein's, remarked how strongly Dr Jenner's physiognomy resembled that of her own ancestor, Judge Jenner, of a family of the name seated in Essex. It is presumed that a branch of this line migrated from Essex into Gloucestershire, where, in the parish of Standish, they have been found for two centuries.'*

The thick under-lip of the imperial family of Austria is often alluded to. It is alleged to have been derived through a female from the princely Polish family of Jagellon. However this may be, we have at least good evidence that the remark is of old date; for Burton, in his Anatomy of Melancholy, says, The Austrian lip, and those Indians' flat noses, are propagated.'

In the Notes and Queries of March 13, 1852, a writer signing VOKAROS presented the following statement: To trace a family likeness for a century is not at all uncommon. Any one who knows the face of the present Duke of Manchester, will see a strong family likeness to his great ancestor through six generations, the Earl of Manchester of the Commonwealth, as engraved in Lodge's Portraits. The following instance is more remarkable. Elizabeth Harvey was Abbess of Elstow in 1501. From her brother Thomas is descended, in a direct line, the present Marquis of Bristol. If any one will lay the portrait of Lord Bristol, in Mr Gage Rokewode's Thingoe Hundred, by the side of the sepulchral brass of the Abbess of Elstow, figured in Fisher's Bedfordshire Antiquities, he cannot but be struck by the strong likeness between the two faces. This is valuable evidence on the disputed point whether portraits were attempted in sepulchral brasses. A writer in a subsequent number, signing 'H. H.,' considered this a strong demand on credulity,' and alleged that the Abbess's brass gives the same features as are generally found on brasses of the period, implying that likeness was not then attempted on sepulchral monuments. Yet, on the specific alleged fact of the resemblance between the abbess and the marquis, H. H.' gave no contradiction; and the fact, if truly stated by Vokaros, is certainly not unworthy of attention.

The writer is tempted to add an anecdote which he has related elsewhere. In the summer of 1826, as he was walking with a friend in the neighbourhood of the town of Kirkcudbright, a carriage passed, containing a middle-aged gentleman, in whose burly figure and vigorous physiognomy he thought he observed a resemblance to the ordinary portraits of Sir William Wallace. The friend to whom he instantly remarked the circumstance, said, 'It is curious that you should have thought so, for that gentleman is General Dunlop, whose mother [Burns's correspondent] was a Wallace of Craigie, a family claiming to be descended from a brother of the Scottish As the circumstance makes a rather strong demand upon credulity,' the writer, besides averring * Berkeley Manuscripts, &c., 4to. 1821. P. 220.

hero!'

PERSEVERING PHYSIOGNOMIES.

that he states no more than truth, may remark that possibly the ordinary portrait of Wallace has been derived from some intermediate member of the Craigie-Wallace family, though probably one not later than the beginning of the seventeenth century. Of the improbability of any portrait of Wallace having ever been painted, and of the anachronisms of the dress and armour, he is, of course, well aware.

In regard to the question of hereditary physiognomy, it might be supposed that, unless where a family keeps within its own bounds, as that of Jacob has done, we are not to expect a perseverance of features through more than a very few generations, seeing that the ancestry of every human being increases enormously in number at each step in the retrogression, so as to leave a man but little chance of deriving any feature from (say) any particular great-great-great-greatgrandfather. On the other hand, it is to be considered that there is a chance, however small, and it may be only in those few instances that the transmission of likeness is remarked. It is in favour of this view that we so often find a family feature or trait of countenance re-emerging after one or two generations, or coming out unexpectedly in some lateral offshoot. The writer could point to an instance where the beauty of a married woman has passed over her own children to reappear with characteristic form and complexion in her grandchildren. He knows very intimately a young lady who, in countenance, in port, and in a peculiar form of the feet, is precisely a revival of a great grandmother, whom he also knew intimately. He could also point to an instance where a woman of deep olive complexion and elegant oriental figure, the inheritress, perhaps, of the style of some remote ancestress, has given birth to children of the same brown, sanguineous type as her own brothers and sisters; the whole constitutional system being thus shewn as liable to sinkings and re-emergences. In the case of Queen Victoria and Prince Charles, it is probably reemergence of type that is chiefly concerned; and the parity may accordingly be considered as in a great degree accidental.

There are some curious circumstances regarding family likenesses, not much, if at all, hitherto noticed, but which have a value in connection with this question. One is, that a family characteristic, or a resemblance to a brother, uncle, grandfather, or other relative, may not have appeared throughout life, but will The same result is emerge into view after death. occasionally observed when a person is labouring

under the effects of a severe illness. We may presume that the mask which has hitherto concealed or smothered up the resemblance, is removed either by emaciation or by the subsidence of some hitherto predominant expression. Another fact equally or even more remarkable, is, that an artist painting A.'s portrait will fail to give a true likeness, but produce a face strikingly like B.'s,- -a brother or cousin,-a person whom he never saw. The writer was once shewn a small half-length portrait, and asked if he could say who was the person represented. He instantly mentioned Mr Gilbert Burns, the poet's brother, whom he had slightly known a few years before.' He was then told that the picture had been painted from the poet's own countenance by an artist named Taylor, who never obtained any reputation. This artist had certainly never seen Gilbert Burns. Gilbert and Robert were, moreover, well known to have been of different types, the one taking from the mother, the other from the father. The curious consideration arising from this class of facts is, that the same variation or transition, which nature makes in producing a second child of one set of parents, appears to be made in the mysterious recesses of the plastic mind of the artist.

SPENSER.

still continues her course courageously. Sometimes she seems to shrink, and while we watch her progress, half afraid that she will be blown back again into the dreary waste of Winter, we see that her course is still forward, that she never takes a backward step, but keeps journeying along slowly, and drawing nearer, at every stride, to the Land of Flowers. Between the uplifted curtaining of clouds, that lets in a broad burst of golden sunlight, the skylark hovers like a dark speck, and cheers her with his brief sweet song, while the mellow-voiced blackbird and the speckle-breasted thrush make music

among the opening blossoms of the blackthorn, to gladden her way; and she sees faint flushings of early buds here and there, which tell her the long miles of hedgerows will soon be green. Now there is a stir of life in the long silent fields, a jingling of horse-gear, and the low wavelike murmur of the plough-share, as it cuts through the yielding earth, from the furrows of which there comes a refreshing smell, while those dusky foragers, the rooks, follow close upon the ploughman's heels. Towards the end of the month the tall elm-trees resound with their loud 'cawing' in the early morning, and the nests they are busy building shew darker every day through the leafless branches, until Spring comes and hides them beneath a covering of foliage. Even in smoky cities, in the dawn of the length ening days, the noisy sparrows come out from under the blackened eaves, and, as they shake the soot from off their wings, give utterance to the delight they feel in notes that sound like the grating jar of a knife-grinder's dry wheel. Now and then the pretty goldfinch breaks out with its short song, then goes peeping about as if wondering why the young green groundsel is so long before putting forth its dull golden flowers. The early warbling of the yellow-hammer is half drowned by the clamorous jackdaws that now congregate about the grey church steeples. Then Winter, who seems to have been asleep, shews his cloudy form once more above the bare hill-tops, from whence he scatters his snow-flakes; while the timid birds cease their song, and again shelter in the still naked hedgerows, seeming to marvel to themselves why he has returned again, after the little daisy buds had begun to thrust their round green heads above the earth, announcing his departure. But his long delay prevents not the willow from shooting out its silvery catkins, nor the graceful hazel from unfurling its pendulous tassels; while the elder, as if bidding defiance to Winter, covers its stems with broad buds of green.

The long-tailed field-mouse begins to blink at intervals, and nibble at the stores he hoarded up in autumn; then peeping out and seeing the snow lie among the young violet leaves, at the foot of the oak amid whose roots he has made his nest, he coils himself up again after his repast, and enjoys a little more sleep. Amid the wide-spreading branches over his head, the raven has begun to build; and as he returns with the lock of wool he has rent from the back of some sickly sheep to line his nest, he disturbs the little slumberer below by his harsh, loud croaking. That ominous sound sends the affrighted lambs off with a scamper to their fulluddered dams, while the raven looks down upon them with hungry eye, as if hoping that some one will soon cease its pitiful bleating, and fall a sacrifice to his horny beak. But the silverfrilled daisies will soon star the ground where the lambs now race against each other, and the great band of summer-birds will come from over the sunny sea, and their sweet piping be heard in place of the ominous croaking of the raven.

The mild days of February cause the beautifully-formed squirrel to wake out of his short winter sleep, and feed on his hoarded nuts; and

he may now be seen balanced by his hind legs and bushy tail, washing his face, on some bare bough near his dray or nest, though at the first sound of the voices of the boys who come to hunt him, he is off, and springs from tree to tree with the agility of a bird. It is only when the trees are naked that the squirrel can be hunted, for it is difficult to catch a glimpse of him when the leaves are green and long; and it is an old country saying, when anything unlikely to be found is lost, that you might as well hunt a squirrel when the leaves are out.' Country boys may still be seen hiding at the corner of some out-building, or behind some low wall or fence, with a string in their hands attached to the stick that supports the sieve, under which they have scattered a few crumbs, or a little corn, to tempt the birds, which become more shy every day, as insect-food is now more plentiful. With what eager eyes the boys watch, and what a joyous shout they raise, as the sieve falls over some feathered prisoner! But there is still ten chances to one in favour of the bird escaping when they place their hands under the half-lifted sieve in the hope of laying hold of it. The long dark nights are still cold to the poor shepherds, who are compelled to be out on the windy hills and downs, attending to the ewes and lambs, for thousands would be lost at this season were it not for their watchful care. In some of the large farmhouses, the lambs that are ailing, or have lost their dams, may be seen lying before the fire in severe weather; and a strange expression-as it seemed to us-beamed from their gentle eyes, as they looked around, bleating for something they had lost; and as they licked our hands, we felt that we should make but poor butchers. And there they lie sheltered, while out-of-doors the wind still roars, and the bare trees toss about their naked arms like maniacs, shaking down the last few withered leaves in which some of the insects have folded up their eggs. Strange power! which we feel, but see not; which drives the fallen leaves before it, like routed armies; and ships, whose thunder shakes cities, it tosses about the deep like floating sea-weeds, and is guided by Him who gathereth the winds in His fists.'

'February fill-dyke' was the name given to this wet slushy month by our forefathers, for when the snow melted, the rivers overflowed, the dykes brimmed over, and long leagues of land were under water, which have been drained within the last century; though miles of marshes are still flooded almost every winter, the deep silt left, enriching future harvests. It has a strange appearance to look over a wide stretch of country, where only the tops of the hedgerows or a tree or two are here and there visible. All the old familiar roads that led along pleasant streams to far-away thorpe or grange in summer, are buried beneath the far-spreading waters. And in those hedges water-rats, weasels, field-mice, and many another seldom-seen animal, find harbourage until the waters subside: we have there found the little harvest-mouse, that when full grown is no bigger than a large bee, shivering in the bleak hedgerow.

And in those reedy fens and lonesome marshes