Part 33 (1/2)

[Ill.u.s.tration: GOLDEN SALT-CELLAR OF STATE.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: STATE SALT-CELLARS.]

The SALT-CELLARS are of singular form and rich workmans.h.i.+p. The most noticeable is--the _Golden Salt-cellar of State,_ which is of pure gold, richly adorned with jewels, and grotesque figures in chased work. Its form is castellated: and the receptacles for the salt are formed by the removal of the tops of the turrets.

In the same chamber with the Crowns, Sceptres, and other Regalia used in the ceremonial of the Coronation, is a very interesting collection of plate, formerly used at Coronation festivals; together with fonts, &c.

Amongst these are

The QUEEN'S BAPTISMAL FONT, which is of silver, gilt, tastefully chased, and surmounted by two figures emblematical of the baptismal rite: this font was formerly used at the christening of the Royal family; but a new font of more picturesque design, has lately be n manufactured for her Majesty.

[Ill.u.s.tration: QUEEN'S BAPTISMAL FONT.]

There are, besides, in the collection, a large Silver Wine Fountain, presented by the corporation of Plymouth to Charles II.; two ma.s.sive Coronation Tankards, of gold; a Banqueting Dish, and other dishes and spoons of gold, used at Coronation festivals; besides a beautifully-wrought service of Sacramental Plate, employed at the Coronation, and used also in the Chapel of St. Peter in the Tower.

WHAT IS TIME?

[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter I.]

I ask'd an aged man, a man of cares, Wrinkled and curved, and white with h.o.a.ry hairs: ”Time is the warp of life,” he said; ”Oh tell The young, the fair, the gay, to weave 't well!”

I ask'd the ancient, venerable dead-- Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled: From the cold grave a hollow murmur flow'd-- ”Time sow'd the seed we reap in this abode!”

I ask'd a dying sinner, ere the tide Of life had left his veins: ”Time?” he replied, ”I've lost it! Ah, the treasure!” and he died.

I ask'd the golden sun and silver spheres, Those bright chronometers of days and years: They answer'd: ”Time is but a meteor's glare,”

And bade me for Eternity prepare.

I ask'd the Seasons, in their annual round, Which beautify or desolate the ground; And they replied (no oracle more wise): ”'Tis Folly's blank, and Wisdom's highest prize!”

I ask'd a spirit lost, but oh! the shriek That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak.

It cried, ”A particle! a speck! a mite Of endless years--duration infinite!”

Of things inanimate, my dial I Consulted, and it made me this reply: ”Time is the season fair of living well-- The path of glory, or the path of h.e.l.l.”

I ask'd my Bible, and methinks it said: ”Time is the present hour--the past is fled: Live! live to-day; to-morrow never yet On any human being rose or set.”

I ask'd old Father Time himself at last, But in a moment he flew swiftly past-- His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.

I ask'd the mighty Angel who shall stand One foot on sea, and one on solid land; ”By Heaven!” he cried, ”I swear the mystery's o'er; Time was,” he cried, ”but time shall be no more!”

REV. J. MARSDEN.

SIMPLICITY IN WRITING.