Society, at the recent anniversary meeting of the Carlisle Auxiliary Institution:

"I lately had the honour," said Mr. Bourne, "of attending the fortyfourth anniversary-meeting at Exeter Hall; a meeting opened by one of the most interesting circumstances which I ever witnessed. The very venerable and excellent LORD BEXLEY, who has been so many years our president, entered the Hall, tottering under the weight of old age, his few white hairs waving upon his noble brow, and was supported to the chair which he was to occupy by THE PRIMATE OF ALL ENGLAND, who, I thank God, occupies the highest station in that Church, of which some of us have the privilege of being members. When I saw that excellent Archbishop thus escorting the aged and venerable president of the Bible Society to the chair, probably for the last time, I could not but be deeply affected. Lord Bexley, who is too infirm to bear the exertion of speaking himself, spoke through the Rev. Andrew Brandram, and said, that though he had not indulged a hope of again presiding over a meeting of the Bible Society, he could not deny himself the privilege of seeing, for once in his life, the ARCHBISHOP Of CANTERBURY pleading the cause of the Great British and Foreign Bible Society. He had therefore ventured to attend this meeting; and having listened to the conclusion of the Lord Primate's address, he begged leave to withdraw. Many a tear dimmed many an eye when the aged and venerable nobleman vacated the chair, too probably for the last time; for it is not likely that we shall see him occupying that position again. God grant that we who love our Bible, may meet him hereafter near the throne of God and of our Saviour in a better and brighter world!"

TO A. M. W.

My Alice shall not plead in vain!
Lo! Friendship wakes her echoing strain;
And if my coy, reluctant Muse,
Ungracious, should her aid refuse,
If all unwarm'd by Delphic fire,
I strike a harsh and tuneless lyre,
Still thou, sweet maiden, wilt receive
Such homely lays as I can give.
* T. Bourne, Esq.

My thought reverts unto that day,
(A bright one in my pilgrim way,)
When thou, a gentle bird, didst come
To cheer and ornament my home;
And though my words are cold to tell
The thoughts which in my bosom swell,
Yet, trust me, thankful praise is given
For thy fond love, to God in heaven.

"It is not good to be alone;"

Full well my heart that truth hath known;
Oft hath it sunk beneath the strife,

The burden and the heat of life:

But now, sweet friend, thy speaking eye,
Thy tender voice and sympathy,

Cheer my sad heart, and lull to rest
The cares that rend my heaving breast.

Time fleets away-a year has sped
In rapid circlet round our head;
And still, as days and years go round,
Alice may you and I be found,

In heart and hopes, in thought and mind,

By sweet affection intertwined,

Until the bud of earthly love

Expands and blooms in heaven above!

And while a pilgrim here below,
In every trial thou may'st know,
May God, our God, one balm impart
Unto thy warm and loving heart!
While leaning on thy heavenly Guide,
Safe, bless'd, and cherish'd by his side,
May He in love bind close to thee
Such friend as thou hast been to me.

M. A. STODArt.

A VISIT TO BUCKLAND ABBEY.

BY CLARA PAYNE.

ITHIN a short walk of the village of Buckland in Devonshire, is situated "Buckland Abbey," which is interesting to the curious stranger as having once been the residence of the renowned Sir Francis Drake,* and, yet more, as abounding with various historic memorials of that great navigator. After perambulating the village, which, we frankly confess, is far from one of the prettiest in Devon, we, (being devoted pilgrims to ancient shrines.) failed not to visit en passant its picturesque and venerable church, and were amply compensated by seeing therein some very fine monuments. We then proceeded to view the beautiful ruin which adjoins the cheerful parsonage of Buckland, and which, though it consists solely of crumbling walls, with here and there a broken archway fast falling to decay, nevertheless, presents in its ivy robe a most interesting appearance. The history of this ruin is unknown, but it is supposed to have been in days of yore a sumptuous abbey. Tradition, however, is silent as to its past importance and magnificence. Its present state of picturesque decay called forth the following lines :—

"Thoughts of the past come o'er me now,"

Old Ruin! as by thee I stand.

Robed in thine " Ivy Mantle," thou
Appearst e'en thus more truly grand.
A mystery seems round thee spread,
Whose secrets rest but with the dead;
Ages have roll'd since here to thee,
For Refuge did the pilgrim flee.

'Tis said an abbey, thou of old,

Where Christian strangers sought to pray;

But nought thy ancient walls unfold

Save Time's, alas! too sure decay.

We next visited the dwelling once occupied by Sir Francis Drake, and gained admittance without difficulty from the housekeeper. We first inspected the noble hall, round whose walls are suspended some interesting pictures; amongst which the portraits of Sir Francis and of

Sir Francis Drake, the eminent navigator, was born at Tavistock, Devonshire, in the year 1545; he died at " Nombre de Dios," in 1596.