A VISIT TO THE OBSERVATORY OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

The memory of a great and good man is imperishable. A thousand years may pass away, but the fame that has survived the wreck of time remains unsullied, and is even brighter with age.

"The actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust."

In an age of progress like our own we have frequently to regret the destruction (sometimes necessary) of places associated with the genius of the past; but in the case of Sir Isaac Newton we have several relics

INTERIOR OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON'S OBSERVATORY.

existing, none of which, perhaps, are more interesting than the house in 'which he resided, still standing in St. Martin's Street, on the south side of Leicester Square. The engravings of the interior and exterior of this building have been made from drawings made on the spot. The house was long occupied as an hotel for foreigners, and was kept by a M. Pagliano. In 1814 it was devoted to the purposes of education. The Observatory, which is at the top, and where Sir Isaac Newton made his astronomical researches, was left in a dilapidated condition until 1824, when two gentlemen, belonging to a committee of the school, had it repaired at their own expense, and wrote a brief memoir of the philosopher, which was placed in the Observatory, with a portrait of him.

In this house Sir Isaac Newton resided for many years; and it was here, according to his biographer, that he dispensed, under the superintendence of his beautiful niece, an elegant hospitality. Our sketch gives a good idea of the appearance of the exterior of the house at the present

day; the front, it will be seen, has been well plastered, which, although clean and pleasant-looking to some eyes, seems to us to destroy the cha racter of the building. The old doorway, with a projecting top, has also been removed. The interior of the house is in excellent repair, and has undergone very little change. The cornices, panelling, and the spacious staircase, are not altered since the days of Newton. The rooms

HOUSE OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON, ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LEICESTER SQUARR.

are very large. Tradition states it was in the back drawing-room that the manuscript of his work, the "New Theory of Light and Colours," was destroyed by fire, caused by a favourite little dog in Sir Isaac's absence. The name of this canine incendiary was Diamond. The manner in which the accident occurred is thus related :-The animal was wantoning about the philosopher's study, when it knocked down a candle, and set fire to heap of manuscript calculations upon which he had been employed for years. The loss was irretrievable; but Sir Isaac only ex

claimed with simplicity, "Ah, Diamond, Diamond, you little know what mischief you have been doing!"

Passing upstairs, and looking slightly at the various rooms, which are all well panelled, but which do not require particular notice, we reached the little observatory shown in the engraving. There, in the room in which Sir Isaac has quietly studied, and in which he may have held conferences with the most distinguished of his contemporaries, we found two shoemakers busily at work, with whom we had some pleasant conversation. Our artist has represented the interior of the observatory, with its laborious occupants, worthy sons of St. Crispin. Shoemakers are well known to be a thoughtful class of men, although sometimes they unfortunately do not make the best use of their knowledge. Brand, the historian and author of the excellent book on "Popular Antiquities," was at one time a shoemaker; so was Bloomfield, the poet, who, when working at the "last" in Bell Alley, near the Bank, strung together the charming recollection of his plough-boy life. We could give a long list of shoemakers who have been eminent for talents.

We have not the exact date at which Newton came to reside here, but certainly he was living in this house, at intervals, after 1695, when he was appointed Warder of the Mint, of which establishment he rose to be Master in the course of three years. The emoluments of this office amounted to £1200 a-year, which enabled him to live in ease and dignity.

In 1703 he was chosen President of the Royal Society-an honourable post, to which he was annually elected until the time of his death.

POISONING THE MONARCH.

An idea of the popular notions about poisoning in the middle of the seventeenth century, may be formed from the following extract from an old tract, published in 1652, with the title of "Papa Patris, or the Pope in his Colours":-" Anno Dom: 1596; one Edward Squire, sometimes a scrivener at Grenewich, afterwards a deputy purveyor for the Queene's stable, in Sir Francis Drake's last voyage was taken prisoner and carried into Spaine, and being set at liberty, one Walpole, a Jesuite, grew acquainted with him, and got him into the Inquisition, whence he re turned a resolved Papist, he persuaded Squire to undertake to poyson the pummell of the Queene (Elizabeth's) saddle, and, to make him constant, made Squire receive the Sacrament upon it; he then gave him the poyson, showing that he should take it in a double bladder, and should prick the bladder full of hoales in the upper part, when he should use it (carrying it within a thick glove for the safety of his hand) should after turne it downward, pressing the bladder upon the pummell of the Queene's saddle. This Squire confest. Squire is now in Spaine, and for nis safer dispatch into England it was devised that two Spanish prisoners taken at Cales should be exchanged for Squire and one Rawles, that it might not be thought that Squire came over but as a redeemed captive. The Munday sennight after Squire returned into England, he, understanding the horses were preparing for the Queene's riding abroad, laid his hand, and crushed the poyson upon the pummell of the Queene's saddle, saying, 'God save the Queene,' the Queene rode abroad, and as it should seem

laid not her hand upon the place, or els received no hurt (through God's goodnesse) by touching it. Walpole, counting the thing as done, im. parted it to some principall fugitives there, but being disappointed of his hope, supposing Squire to have been false, to be revenged on him sent one hither (who should pretend to have stolne from thence) with letters, wherein the plot of Squires was contained; this letter was pretended to be stolne out of one of their studies. Squire, being apprehended, confessed all without any rigor, but after denied that he put it in execution, although he acknowledged he consented to it in the plot, at length he confessed the putting it in execution also."

GRINNING FOR A WAGER.

June 9, 1786.-On Whit-Tuesday was celebrated at Hendon, in Middlesex, a burlesque imitation of the Olympic Games. One prize was a gold-laced hat, to be grinned for by six candidates, who were placed on a platform, with horses' collars to exhibit through. Over their heads was printed in capitals,

Detur Tetriori; or
The ugliest grinner

Shall be the winner.

Each party grinned five minutes solus, and then all united in a grand chorus of distortion. This prize was carried by a porter to a vineyar merchant, though he was accused by his competitors of foul play, for rinsing his mouth with verjuice. The whole was concluded by a hog, with his tail shaved and soaped, being let loose among nine peasants; any one of which that could seize him by the queue, and throw him across his shoulders, was to have him for a reward. This occasioned much sport: the animal, after running some miles, so tired his hunters that they gave up the chase in despair. A prodigious concourse of people attended, among whom were the Tripoline Ambassador, and several other persons of distinction.

BITE OF THE TARANTULA SPIDER.

A Neapolitan soldier who had been bitten by a tarantula, though apparently cured, suffered from an annual attack of delirium, after which he used to sink into a state of profound melancholy; his face becoming livid, his sight obscure, his power of breathing checked, accompanied by sighs and heavings. Sometimes he fell senseless, and devoid of pulsation; ejecting blood from his nose and mouth, and apparently dying. Recourse was had to the influence of music; and the patient began to revive at the sound, his hands marking the measure, and the feet being similarly affected. Suddenly rising and laying hold of a bystander, he began to dance with the greatest agility during an uninterrupted course of four-and-twenty hours. His strength was supported by administering to him wine, milk, and fresh eggs. If he appeared to relapse, the music was repeated, on which he resumed his dancing. This unfortunate being used to fall prostrate if the music accidentally stopped, and imagine that the tarantula had again stung him. After a few years he died, in one of these annual attacks of delirium.

The manner in which this period of the year has been observed has often varied. The observances of the day first became to be pretty

general in the Catholic church about the year 300. By some of our ancestors it was viewed in the double light of a religious and joyful season of festivities. The midnight preceding Christmas-day every person went to mass, and on Christmas-day three different masses were sung with much solemnity. Others celebrated it with great parade, splendour, and conviviality. Business was superseded by merriment and hospitality; the most careworn countenance brightened on the occasion. The nobles and the barons encouraged and participated in the various sports: the industrious labourer's cot, and the residence of proud royalty, equally resounded with tumultuous joy. From Christmas-day to Twelfth-day there was a continued run of entertainments. Not only