in the entertainment of his guests and companion of his studies.  The figure leans a little forward, resting the hands on a, stout stick which Bentham always carried, and had named “Dapple”; the attitude is quite easy, the expression of the whole quite mild, winning, yet highly individual.  It is a pleasing mark of that unity of aim and tendency to be expected throughout the life of such a mind, that Bentham, while quite a young man, had made a will, in which, to oppose in the most convincing manner the prejudice against dissection of the human subject, he had given his body after death to be used in service of the cause of science.  “I have not yet been able,” said the will, “to do much service to my fellow-men by my life, but perhaps I may in this manner by my death.”  Many years after, reading a pamphlet by Dr. Smith on the same subject, he was much pleased with it, became his friend, and bequeathed his body to his care and use, with directions that the skeleton should finally be disposed of in the way I have described.

The countenance of Dr. Smith has an expression of expansive, sweet, almost childlike goodness.  Miss Gillies has made a charming picture of him, with a favorite little granddaughter nestling in his arms.

Another marked figure that I encountered on this great showboard was Cooper, the author of “The Purgatory of Luicides,” a very remarkable poem, of which, had there been leisure before my departure, I should have made a review, and given copious extracts in the Tribune.  Cooper is as strong a man, and probably a milder one, than when in the prison where that poem was written.  The earnestness in seeking freedom and happiness for all men, which drew upon him that penalty, seems unabated; he is a very significant type of the new era, and also an agent in bringing it near.  One of the poets of the people, also, I saw,—­the sweetest singer of them all,—­Thom.  “A Chieftain unknown to the Queen” is again exacting a cruel tribute from him.  I wish much that some of those of New York who have taken an interest in him would provide there a nook in which he might find refuge and solace for the evening of his days, to sing or to work as likes him best, and where he could bring up two fine boys to happier prospects than the parent land will afford them.  Could and would America but take from other lands more of the talent, as well as the bone and sinew, she would be rich.

But the stroke of the clock warns me to stop now, and begin to-morrow with fresher eye and hand on some interesting topics.  My sketches are slight; still they cannot be made without time, and I find none to be had in this Europe except late at night.  I believe it is what all the inhabitants use, but I am too sleepy a genius to carry the practice far.

LETTER IX.