of the erection of the monument. The other two sides are to have each a shield of arms in relief, encircled by a wreath. The cap or cornice of the lower pedestal is decorated by antique prows of vessels, to give the rostrated character, enriched with festoons of oak and marine ornaments.

The middle compartment of the structure contains on the four faces of the dado simply the names of the four principal actions in which 'Nelson was engaged; and in the panel over each is a representation, in Basso relievo, of some striking incident in each battle--the front being distinguished by the grand catastrophe, which formed at once the climax of his achievements, and the termi

nation of his brilliant career.

In order to give character, as well as to provide for an unusually bold projecture, the Gallery above is supported on Cannons, in lieu of the usual architectural consoles: and

the intervals in the soffite are enriched with bombs and grenades. The railing of the gallery is composed of decorations and emblems, having reference to the occasion, so as to combine ornament with characteristic expression.

The upper compartment of the monument is distinguished by its circular form, and is more completely charged with decoration,

illustrative of the honours which Nelson had achieved. The four large wreaths, embracing the entire circuit of the pedestal, contain respectively the Naval Crown, the Viscount's Coronet, the Mural Crown, and the Ducal Coronet. From these wreaths are suspended the decorations of the four "Orders" to which he belonged.

The frieze of this pedestal is entirely occupied by the heraldic motto, which happens to be peculiarly appropriate to the occasion. The ornaments surmounting the cornice, which are analogous in form and application to the Grecian antefixæ, are composed of escallop shells, and the cupola is to be of copper gilt.

The statue of Nelson crowns the whole, and is to be executed in bronze, about sixteen feet in height, and the entire height of the structure and statue will be 120 feet from the area of the square-viz :-eleven feet more that the Column of the Duke of York.

The monument, with all its decorations and accessories, to be completed in the most per

fect style for the sum of twenty five thousand pounds.

Let whoever may be the fortunate artist, we ardently hope such a design will be chosen that will be worthy of the subject; for, as the Times justly remarks: "It is a 'national' monument that is wanted -a monument to the memory of the greatest naval commander that the history of the world can record."

The Public Journals.

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG, THE FACTORY BOY. (By Mrs. Trollope-Part 1.-Colburn.) [We think it impossible Mrs. Trollope could have chosen a theme better adapted for a display of her peculiar talent, than the one she has here selected; and we feel assured, this lady will portray scenes of the greatest interest, for it is a field abounding in heartstirring materials, which only want gathering to produce a picture of such sordid avarice and appalling misery that will astonish her readers; and, if the author should from such prolific sources draw an instructtive and moral essay, rich indeed will be her harvest.

The work opens favourably, giving a lively Matthew Dowling, a wealthy cotton-spinner, and graphic description of the family of Sir and of his company invited to a grand dinner given by him at Dowling-lodge. Among the party assembled on that occasion, Lady Clarissa Skrimpton forms a prominent character; who, to avoid the heat of the drawing-room when they are met by a cow, to the great after dinner; walks out with Sir Matthew, horror of Lady Clarissa; at this critical juncis the means of driving the animal away from ture our little hero makes his appearance, and for his services, induces Sir Matthew to take the affrighted lady, who, to show her gratitude him under his care, which he benevolently agrees to do; and accordingly orders his gardener, a Mr. Macnab, to show him into the

servants' hall; and thus is the

Introduction of Michael Armstrong to the Servants at Dowling-lodge.

"When Mr. Macnab and his little companion entered the kitchen, in their way to the servants' hall, to which place of honour the wondering Scotchman remembered he had been commanded to conduct his charge, the first person they encountered was Mr. Simkins, the butler, whom some accidental wish or want had led to enter a region but rarely honoured by the sunshine of his presence.

"Good morning, Macnab. What! emptyhanded? I am afraid you have forgotten the little basket of peaches I desired to have; and upon my word, sir, if you leave it much longer, I shall not consider them worth presenting to the lady for whom I desired to have them. Be pleased to recollect, good Mr. Sawney, that when every garden-wall is hung with ripe fruit, a bottle of comfort will be rather too high a price for a dozen."

"A factory-boy, certainly," Mrs. Thompson replied, with the dignity that was peculiar to her, "nobody is likely to doubt that, Mr. Macnab; one might know his calling at half a mile's distance. The vulgar factory itself,

with its millions of windows, is not more easily known than the things that crawl out of it, with their millions of cotton specksthat is not the main point of the question, Mr. Macnab: it is not what the boy is, but who he is, and for what reason any one has dared to say that he was to sup in the servants' hall."

"Oh! dear me, ma'am," replied the gardener, endeavouring to look very grave, "that wasn't one half of it. To you, ma'am, it's my duty to repeat Sir Mathew's words exact, and this is what he said. 'Macnab,' or 'Mr. Macnab,' for he calls me both at times,' take this little boy,' says he, "into the servants' hall, and tell every body there to take care of him-every body to take care of him'-that was it, Mrs. Thompson, word for word. And then he went on: He is to have a bed,' says he, 'made up on purpose for him, and he is to be waited upon with supper and breakfast,' and a great deal more, that Mr. Parsons is to make known to-morrow. But you have not heard all yet, ma'am," continued Macnab, raising his voice, on perceiving that the stately housekeeper was putting herself in act to speak." Sir Matthew went on, raising his arm like one of his own steam-engines, 'Observe, Mr. Macnab,' says he, and take care that all the servants, little and great, know it, that this boy is to be the object of the greatest benevolence.' That's something new for you, Mrs. Thompson, isn't it ?"

"Sir Matthew may settle about his benevolence with himself when he is in his own pew at church," replied Mrs. Thompson, with a very satirical sort of smile; "but most certainly it shall not be brought to dirty my premises; so let me hear no more about it, gardener, if you please." And with these words, she turned haughtily away.

"I have done my share of the benevolent job, so I will wish you good night, Mrs. Thompson; and whether this little fellow eats his supper and breakfast in the kitchen or the hall, it will be much the same to him, I fancy." So saying, the gardener rose, and giving a sort of general nod to the company, left the kitchen.

"Look up in my face, little boy," said the housekeeper, as soon as she had seated herself, and saw that those around her stood still, as if they had taken their places, and were prepared to listen.

Michael did not move; he was probably ashamed to show that he was weeping, before the face of a lady who spoke so very grandly. The kitchen-maid gave him a nudge, but a gentle one, whispering at the same time"Look up, my boy. What be you 'feard of? There's nobody as wants to hurt you here."

Thus encouraged, Michael let his arm drop by his side, and discovered a face that was indeed sallow, and by no means very plump, but with features and expression which,

whatever Sir Matthew Dowling's men and maids might think of it, might have sufficed to make the fortune of an able painter.

"Whose child are you?" demanded the housekeeper. "Mothers," replied the boy. "I suspected as much," rejoined the inquisitor, half aside to Mr. Jennings. "And I beant no ways surprised to hear it, I promise you," he replied. "It is

Mrs. Thompson sighed deeply. dreadful!" said she. Then, after taking a moment to recover herself, she resumed, "And where does the unhappy person live ?" "Please, ma'am, who?" said the puzzled

boy.

The-your mother, child.-Shame upon you for forcing me to name her!"

Michael gave a little shake of the head, which seemed to the merciful kitchen-maid to say, that he did not know what the great lady meant; but he presently replied, as if discreetly determined to mind only what he did understand, "Mother lives in Hoxley Lane, ma'am."

"The most deplorable situation in the whole parish! inhabited only by the very lowest!" observed the housekeeper, with another indignant sigh.

"So much the worse for she," muttered the kitchen-maid; but not loud enough to be heard by her in whose hands rested the appointment of kitchen-maids as well as cooks.

"And why does such as you come here ?” resumed the housekeeper.

"Because the squire ordered t'other man to bring me," answered Michael.

"I suspect that the boy is a natural fool," observed Mrs. Thompson, addressing the butler. "It is a sure fact, and a great dispensation--bad parents have almost always children out of shape, both mind and body. You may take my word for that, all of you," she added, looking round her; " and you will do well to teach it to your children after you."

"I'll be burnt if I don't think it very likely that it was his own father sent him here, and no one else," said Mr. Jennings, chuckling.

"Fie! Jennings, fie l" returned Mrs. Thompson, with a frown. "God in heaven only knows what may have been the cause of it!-Not but what it does look strange, there's no denying that.”

"Do you know any thing about your father, child ?" said Mr. Simkins in a magis terial tone.

"Father's in heaven," replied the child. Mercy on me! do you hear him? not that like mucking the Lord's prayer ?" exclaimed the lady's maid.

"No, it is not!" said Michael, while a flash of youthful indignation rushed into his face. "My father is in heaven along with God."

"I dare say he means that his father is dead," observed the butler, with an air of great sagacity; "and if what has been jealoused at is correct," he added, winking his eye at Mr. Jennings, "it is very natural that he should have been told to say so." "That's very true," said the housekeeper, "and it may be, certainly, that the child knows nothing about it whatever, either one way or t'other indeed I think it's a good deal the most likely that he does not ;-but, any how, it's a very shocking business, and, as far as I am concerned, I'll neither make nor meddle in the matter.-Of course, the men-servants may do just as they like about taking notice of him-for here he is, and here he will abide, I dare say; but I recommend the maids to follow my example, and not to injure their characters, nor to corrupt their morals, by having any thing to do with the offspring of It is more decent not to finish what I was going to say for your goods, young women, and lucky it is that there is no need. You must all understand me with

out it."

Mrs. Thompson then rose from her chair, and turning her eyes, and indeed her head, aside, to prevent herself from again seeing Michael, she walked with a degree of state liness and majesty that few housekeepers ever attained, through the kitchen, along the passage, across the servants' hall, into the sacred shelter of her own parlour, where she gave way to emotions which rendered a glass of prine London Madeira absolutely necessary.

[The author thus depictures the benevolence of the factory lord, in the following conversation between Sir Matthew and his head over-looker.]

"Have you heard any thing of this meeting at the Weavers' Arms, Parsons ?" inquired Sir Matthew.

"As much as a man was likely to hear, Sir Matthew, who, as you will easily believe, was not intended to hear any thing," replied the confidential servant.

"And how much was that, Parsons? Sit down, Parsons-sit down, and let us hear all about it."

"And how is one to know, sir? I'll defy any man to find out, what with their tricks, and what with their real faintings."

"You won't tell me, Parsons, that if you set your wits to work, you can't tell whether they are shamming or not?”.

"That's not the question, Sir Matthew, asking your pardon. There's no great difficulty in finding out whether they are in as real faint, or only making the most of being a little sickish from standing, and want of air. That's not the difficulty. The thing is to know, when they really take to the downright faintings, whether they are likely to live through it or not.??

"And where is the great difficulty of that?! You know Dr. Crockley would come at a moment's warning at any time, and feel their pulses." edfear of in "And he does do it, sir. But, in the first place, I doubt if any man can justly tell whe ther girls are likely to go on fainting, and up again, as lots and lots of 'em do for years, or drop down and die, as Nancy Stephens did. That's one thing; and another is, that Dr. Crockley is so fond of a joke, that 'tis rarely one knows when he speaks earnest, and wheu he does not. He did see Nancy Stephens, about a month ago, and all he said was, she do look a little pale in the gills, to be sure, but a dance would cure her, I have no doubt.” A dance! says 1, doctor. And please to tell me, says I, how the work is to get on, if the factory boys and girls sets off dancing ?" neb "Maybe you haven't got a fiddle?'" said he.

66

Maybe I haven't," said I.

"Well, then,' says he, if it don't suit you to let them dance to the fiddle, I'll bet ten to one you'll be after making them dance to the strap And with that, if you'll be lieve me, sir, he set off capering, and making antics, just as if there had been somebody behind a-strapping him. To be sure, it was fit to make one die of laughing to see him; but that's not the way you know, sir, to do one any good as to finding out the real con dition of the people."

[There is no doubt that these Adven tures', so pregnant with subjects for delineating the workings of the human mind, if told in such graphic and vigorous lan guage as the above extracts are, will become one of the most favourite publications of the present day; at the same time, it grieves us to see it accompanied by two engravings, representing neither Eng. lish persons nor English manners; they are indeed purely French; and, we think, the spits and lances, with the carrot, celery, pine

apple, and strawberry pottles, or Cupid's torches, whichever they are meant to represent, with an infant Satyr balancing on a rope of flowers, catching butterflies with a hand fishnet, form curious, and not very appropriate borders: we would advise the spirited publisher to reform them, altogether.']

ENGLISH NAMES.

NAMES were first used amongst men for distinction. The Jews gave names at their circumcision, the Romans on the ninth day after their children's birth, and the Christians at their baptism; which names were gene. rally intended to denote the future good wishes or hope of parents towards their chil

dreng

English names of baptism are generally either Saxon, as Edmund, Edward, Edwin, Gilbert, Henry, Leonard, Robert, Richard, Walter, William, &c. ; or from the Bible and Testament, as Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, John, Thomas, James, &c.; or it sometimes consists of the mother's surname, or occasionally of two Christian names, which is still customary in other countries, especially in Germany.

The French called names superadded to the Christian names, surnames, i. e. super

nomina.

The Hebrews, Greeks, and other nations of antiquity, did not affix surnames to their families, but counted thus; for example, the Hebrews, Melchi Ben Addi~Addi Ben Casam, &c.; the Welsh, Hugh ap Owen, Owen ap Rhese; the Irish, Neul mac Con-Con mac Dermoti, &c.

As Christian names were given to distinguish persons, so surnames were used for the

distinction of families.

About A.D. 1000, the French began to take surnames, with de prefixed for a place, aud le prefixed for some other qualifications. The English also adopted the use of surnames, but it was not until the reign of Edward the First that they became general.

Offices of honour have given rise to many surnames; for example, the Duke of Ormond and his descendant took the surname of Butler, their ancestor, Edward Fitz Theobald, having been made Butler of Ireland; and again, John, Count Tanquerville, of Normandy, being made chamberlain to the king of England about 600 years since, his descendants still bear the same coat of arms, by the name of Chamberlain.

At first the English gentry took the names of their birthplaces, or habitations, for surnames, as Thomas of Aston, or East-town. John of Sutton, or South-town; and, as they altered their habitation, so they changed their surname. When they afterwards became the lords of manors, they styled themselves Thomas Aston of Aston, John Sutton of Sutton.

added for surname their fathers' names, with son at the end thereof, as Thomas Johnson, Robert Richardson. They often took their fathers' nick-name, or abbreviated, name, with the addition of an s, as Gibs, the nick name of Gilbert, Hobs, of Robert, Nick, of Nicholas, Bates, of Bartholomew, Sams, of Samuel, Hodges, of Roger; whence Gibson, Hobson, Nickson, Batson, Sampson. Hodson, &c. Many were surnamed from their trades, as Smith, Joyner, Weaver, Walker,* Goff. &c.; or from their employments, as Porter, Steward, Shepherd, Carter, Spencer, Cook, Butler, Kemp:§ or from their places of abode, as Underwood, Underhill, also Atwood, Atwell, Athill; or from their colours or complexions, as Fairfax, Pigot ¶ Blunt,** or Bland; and from Birds and Beasts, as Arundel,†† Corbet,it Wren, Finch, Woodcock, Lamb, Fox, Moyle,§§ &c.

The Norman descendants in this country,

about 200 years after the Conquest, also took their fathers' Christian names for surnames, with Fitz or Fils prefixed, as Robert FitzWilliam, Henry Fitz-Gerard, afterwards Williamson, Gerardson, &c.

The Welsh were the last to adopt surnames, which they did chiefly by dropping the a in ap, and annexing the consonant to their fathers' Christian names; as, instead of Evan

ap Rice, Evan Price; and for ap Howel, Powel; ap Hughe, Pughe; ap Rogers, Progers, &c.

The most ancient families in this country are such as have taken their surnames from places in Normandy, or England, and Scotland, as Evreng, Chaworth, Seymour, Nevil, Montague, Mohun, Biroa, Bruges, Clifford, Berkley, Arcy, Stourton, Morley, Courtney, Grandison, Hastings, &c., which formerly had de prefixed, but now made one word, as J. L. S. Devereux, Darcy, &c.

+Smith in Welsh.

§ Soldier in old English. Speckled, * Flaxen hair. ‡‡ Raven. §§ Mule.

mean?

horrible in the extreme! and I am totally ignorant of what crime you can have been guilty, to have incurred the mighty displeasure of her most gracious majesty." "I! what have I done?" replied the treasurer, in amazement, "What in the world do you I know no more than you do, what I can have done. And what is that dreadful execution you speak of ?" "Sir," answered the officer, fetching his breath," I really have not courage to mention it-it is fearful." "Have I then lost the confidence her majesty trusted in me?"

"Oh, if that were all, you would not see me so afflicted. Confidence may be regained: an office may be restored."

"Well," asked Sutherland, "um I to be banished-banished to Siberia; oh, tell me, is that my dreadful fate?"

"It might be possible for you to return from there. That is not it."

"Am I then to be cast in a dungeon ?"
"That were preferable."

"Gracious Heavens! am I then to suffer the knout ?"

"It is a dreadful torture; but you might recover-it is not that."

"Oh! for the mercy of heaven, no longer keep me in doubt am I then to die ?"

"My gracious sovereign," replied the officer, trembling with emotion," ordered me to have you-good heavens! how dreadful to have you-stuffed !"*

"To be stuffed !" exclaimed the astonished treasurer, "to be stuffed! Either you must have lost your senses, or her majesty must be in a dream. Surely, you never received this order without remonstrating on its barbarity ?"

"Alas! my poor friend, it was all to no purpose, Go,' said her majesty, and recollect that it is your duty to execute what orders I deign to give you !'"

It would be impossible to depict the amazement, the anger, the fear, the despair of the poor treasurer, that one short quarter of an hour was granted him to put his affairs in order; and it was with extreme

difficulty that permission was given him to

fortunately, in time to save him; and on his return, found the empress laughing to her heart's content; her majesty had discovered the cause of this estrangement," I see now," said she," how it is; my poor little favourite dog, that I had christened Suder. land, after my treasurer, who had made me a present of it, lately died, and I gave orders to have it stuffed this morning."

Rembrandt.—His strength began to fail him, and he was now unable to leave his bed. One evening, he awoke his sister, who had fallen asleep in an arm-chair by his side. She was weary, poor Louise; many had been the nights she had watched by his couch.

"Sister," said he," I am now at length dying. I am going to ask you a favour, don't refuse it me.

"What is it, my brother, speak?”

"Do not refuse it me, or you will make me die miserable- lift that little trapdoor up, that I may once more behold my gold-my gold-my treasures."

Louise did her brother's biddance; and when the hoarded treasures met the eyes of the dying painter, they glistened, and tears started from their sockets. A mother, taking leave of her cherished offspring, would not have testified greater sorrow.

"Farewell! farewell! he murmured in a faltering tone; "farewell, my life, my soul! farewell, for ever, farewell! And I must leave you! No longer possess you! Louise, I must be buried in the midst of

these treasures. Tell no one that I am dead. Tell no one that there lies my goldnot even my son. He is an ingrate, he neglects me! Do what your brother asks you on his death-bed, and I will for ever bless you. I will pray God, Louise, that you may join me in heaven."

He wept, he sobbed, and he made an effort, a useless one, to go to his treasures— never was grief more expressive, never was despair more frightful.

A long period of insensibility followed this burst of emotion; and when he recovered, a strange alteration had taken place; his countenance now shone with a majestic soDeath, at this awful moment, had divested the spirit of its terrestrial dross, and it now appeared in all its grand sublimity.

66

The earl hastened to Suderland's house,

To impale and to stuff are expressed by the same word in the Russian.

"Louise," said he, "my eyes behold a new and celestial light, that I sometimes have dreamt of. It makes me happy, it fills my soul with gladness. Angels are calling me, Brother, come!' they cry. Oh, Louise, let me go and join them, I will pray to God, that you may soon follow me; angels, my brothers, I come, I come; oh! I go to

6.

heaven!"

His body fell back-Louise now held but the hand of a corpse.