Puslapio vaizdai

D'er the deep bowl, where foul intemperance lurks,
Sit, a fair mark to the attacks of all
The varied passions which destroy the peace
And happiness of man. The tongue, when loos'd,
Pours forth a stream of genuine nonsense; and
The imagination, heated by excess,
Breaks down the barrier which uprears itself
'Twixt sober language and the wild profane,
And reckless jest, haild with loud laughter by
The idiot band. The light and frothy song-
Obscene, and fitted only for the ears
Of such as have discarded hope, and look
Forward with careless eye, and, with the view
Of quieting the voice within, have fled
For shelter to the dark and dreary den
Of infidelity--is madly cheer'd
With long applause, and loud the board resounds
Beneath a peal of mimic thunder, till
The round is run of what is foolishly
Termed pleasure, ending, much 'tis to be fear'd,
In everlasting sorrow and remorse.

has not been much wrought, though by the following lines,
the last we are to quote from his volume, it appears to be
deep and rich :-
“Go fetch my staff, for I, per force, must take
My journey. Though the roads are deep, and keen
The north wind blows, I'd rather face the blast,
And push my way for many a wcary mile,
Than within doors remain when I observe
The steaming pot, swinging above the fire,
And tubs and buckets huddled on the floor
Confusedly, plainly indicating that
The hated washing-day has come again.
Oh, 'tis a day of sorrow! Vain the lope
On such a day to taste the sweets of life!
Comfort, affrighted from her home, retires
Disgusted; and domestic pleasure yields
Her place to disappointment; joy flies far;
And brooding care, on this important day,
Assumes supremacy. The red-arm'd maid
Sweats o'er her task, and 'mid the wreathing steam
Toils eagerly; the busy housewife, fumed,
Maybap, for amiability, is now
Changed to a very shrew. Oh, the sad stir
Which now takes place of quiet! e'en the calm
Pure stream of life is suddenly transform'd
Into a raging torrent.”

“ The road that leads to misery is smooth

And sloping; and the hapless wretch, when first
He leaves the track that upward winds, surveys,
Well-pleas'd, the slippery and forbidden path,
And ventures cautiously; but soon he finds
Retreat impossible, and rushes on,
Heedless and unrepentant, till he lands
In utter misery, beyond the reach
Of human aid; and, from the hopes that cheer
The weary wanderer going home to Heaven,
Cut off for ever, till his day of grace

Sets in the darkness of unending night."
The third is moral :-

Why cannot washing and dressing, like shoemaking and tailoring, succeed as a distinct branch of business, to the relief of all quiet home-loving domesticated men. It is, we believe, a fact that it never succeeds, and makes no way in the world.

“ Upon thy sloping banks, and lonely glens,
Thy wide extended moors, and mountains hoar,

My country, many a beauteous flower beneath
The eye of morning smiles in gracefulness

By LORD Robertsox,
And beauty; but, the chief o'er all the rest,
Old Scotland's " symbol dear,” which he, the Bard

1 vol. Edinburgh : Fraser & Co.
Of Coila, hath immortalised, and spared
The inspiring emblem waving in the breeze,

Lord ROBERTSON's “Gleams of Thought” are wonI love to mark ; nor less the heather flower,

derfully unlike his gleams of eloquence. The last Of scent delicious, and inviting still

were full of flash and brightness. They were dazzling. The eye to rest upon its beauty, spread For miles athwart the moor, where wild fowl haunt,

The wit of his Lordship ere ever he was a lord, was proAnd where the industrious heo collects her sweets verbial. Occasionally it was coarse, but it had reality, Medicinal, and ministers alike To luxury's claims, and to the comforts which

and was good sterling wit. We venture to think that Sometimes descend to cheer the poor man's heart." the ermine and the wig have driven it all away. The The fourth is of the faith that sweet flowers, and all “Gleams of Thought” are done in stiff, and stately,

and solemn verses. The subjects are generally of a fading lovely things help to teach :

serious character, and for that reason they take his “ But gentle flowers ! ye soon must pass away

Lordship considerably out of his old element ; and And die, like all carth's blessings ; soon again The storms of Autumn's boisterous day shall strew

we scarcely think that he has yet found firm footThe wither'd leaves around, and leave the gay

ing as a worthy follower of Pollock, Cowper, Crabbe, Parterre without a single ornament

and Henry Kirk White--but he is a dangerous rival of On which the eye might dwell with pleasure, and Divest the hill, and dale, the meadows, moors,

Montgomery-the reader will please to remember of Of their most beauteous gems, whose hues laid on Robert, not of James—of the pulpit, not of the press. By leaven's own pencil, met the admiring eye of Nature's student, when at morning's sweet

There is no fear, in this case, of the bench treading on the And balmy hour he wander'd forth; and sure

skirts of the press. The heart alive to beauty's claims must love,

Lord Robertson has assumed a great veneration for Fleeting and evanescent though they be, And emblematical of early death,

Milton, and these “Gleams of Thought” are illustrative of The wild flowers waving in the breeze of morn; Milton's writings. There is no reason for that wild look For man comes forth as towerets on the heath, And blooms awhile like them, then fades and dies,

of surprise at this statement. It is not the “ Paradise And passes from the land of living men,

Lost,” or even the “ Paradise Regained," but the prose Forgotten like the withered leaves which on

writings of John Milton that Lord Robertson illustrates. The breeze are borne throughout the troubled air When all the winds are out, and winter looks

Anybody, even our friend Mr. De Quincey, will admit With threatening aspect from the stormy north." that it may be tolerated in Lord Robertson to approach

the prose writings of John Milton for the purpose of The extracts we have given convince us that Mr. Crease

illustration. has powers of composition, that, under such influences as

In loving Milton, however, Lord Robertson compensates helped our greater poets, might have place him high upon fully to the Church—we mean the Church of Charles I.their roll, and which will never allow him to sink to

by biting Cromwell, whose memory good and great men mediocrity, or any point approaching that tepid state.

are ei deavouring to extricate and cleanse from the mire of There is a vein of dry sarcastic wit in his mind, that bad historians.

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The sonnets are the best writing in the volume ; and A second nature science conjures forth, thus the learned Lord meditates on the Protector who,

As if the elements she held in thrall.

Nor from such measured motion grace apart, we believe, was a great law reformer:

Or form of beauty in each varying stage, “Light of the past, oft o'er thv fleeting course

Thro' which the stern creative journey leads,
With rainbow's changeful hne, vet more intense,

'Mid earnest industry, whose changeless hum
Beameth a ray 'mid sad coincidence;

Sounds day and night within the cheerless hive.
Time not vet come, the stern Protector's force

“ Nor do its toil worn tenants dread the chill,
Of armed legions gather'd foot and horse

Or ceaseless rains, or bowling winds, or liail,
Fair England to enthrall; but proff'ring free,

Yon rustic labourer's lot, or stern bivouac,
His earnest suit in mild academy,

The soldier's slumber ere the battle morn;
Learning he courtesh at her honour'd source.

Or, as the sailor, " fight with roaring seas,"
Lo! at such hour, Poet of bear'n-born fire

Tended their wants with kind appliance sure;
His country saw too soon, alas ! expire-

And yet, methinks, from dull mechanic cbain,
Nailire seems darken'il as bis wondrous torch
Flicker'd in drivg ray at lowly porch;

Yon pensive stripling--in the mountain breeze,

Beside some wand'rin: flock-sigheib to roanı.
Fame-hov'ring nigh-ber trump doth londly sonnd,

Ah! might he thus his listless labour change,
Her Shakspeare lost, her daring Cromwell found.”

Or hear the music of the ancient trees, “ Portentous clouds o'er breathing England lour,

Amid yon forest hoar, or in some bark
A moral darkness gath'reth o'er her skies,

Catch 'wilder echo's 'mong the whisp'ring shrouds;
The fated hour her matchless Poet dies;

Or wand'ring lonely on far eastern shore,
All nature moureth on that joyless day,

List, amid spicy bow'rs of fancied bliss,
Genins doth droop-Love hieth far away-

To softest cadence of returning wave.
As gentle Aron spilly murmuring hy

And that calm sire whose furrow'd brow betrays For her lost son makes softest Inllaby

Rude channels traced by time, 'mid changeless round Amid such whelmivg storm the bravest cow's

From year to year, bow patiently endured ! And see! a lurid rav o'er Cam doth rise,

Still of the meadow dream wliere first he breathed Prophetic gleam of darksome enterprise ;

Among the blossom'll broom-his failed form
Through the wild mist a mailed form appears

Beneath some village yew still longs to lay.
Trampling yon Crown to dust, 'mid blood and tears;
With sword uplifted, Oliver would seem

“ Tho' born to toil, man loveth libertyO'er freedom swaying in a feverish dream."

Loveth the changeful sky, the buxom air,

The mountain-tup, the sea, the lake, the grove, “ And yet the world moves on, as if no tide

The winding river, and the jocund lea; Fierce billows ro'ld, amid perturbed flow,

No:from such yearning e'er may be estranged. In mystic terror heaving to and fro,

Children of simpler days found happier lot. Dark in the deep abyss the doom'd to hide:

Tho' kindly master error may forgive, While new-sprung bonours o'er her bosom glide,

Tho' no relief their labour to assuage Till all are lost within the whelming wave

Be here denied, tho' owned their moral claims, And Fame herself vearneth for peaceful grave;

Far as beseeins with education blest, Alas! no earthly grandeur may abide.

And fair religion tending carefullyProud story dwelleth on these vannted years,

What tho' by healing skill in sickness, nursed, When meteor spirit cometh--disappears;

Or in exhausted age by charity-And if in contrast might'st Genius rise,

Still the fond heart doth unto nature cling, How fond she chronicles the good and wise

Still sighs to wanıler 'mid the gladsome fields,
The bold, the learned, sons of peace or war,

Or o'er the mighty waters wend its way."
On deathless pages of her calendar."
It is useless to quarrel with men's tastes, and worse to

We quote another poem, the “ Bright Cavalier," which quarrel with their poetrr; but our creed on this subject of has not the quality of stylo—as we think a bad quality, Cromwell is, that the man who has read his history and that characterises the factory workers. esteems not his memory very highly has no love for liber- " Who cometh on steed of Empyrean birth ty dwelling in his mind.

Yet pawing the ground as a creature of earth ? The following is a favourable specimen of the book :

All gorgeous his gear, like proud bark o'er the sea

Yon bold warrior rideth triumphantly! " " A famous man,' 'tis sung, ‘was Robin Hood,'

“Ms helmet emboss'd in rich pearls of the morn As through the Forest rang lis echoing horn

My plumes from the rainbow of evining are shorn; The deer to wake as ere the peep of morn;

My cuirass of gold, a bright sunbeam of noon
And Scotland chronicles " a thief as good"

With tissue of silver inwrought from the moon.
As ever shriv'd upon the Iloly Roorl;
Intent his "rosy shoon," with boastful glee,

Attemper'd the sword I sustain for the fight
In scorn to fling athwart the gallows-tree,

Forged three-fold in steel 'midst the regions of light. Meeting his doom with song, in daring mood :

My buckler all dazzling with planet and star Is this a truthful picture of the race,

In bright corruscation aye sheddeth afar. Or idle ballad of the greenwood chase,

“How calm doth my courser tho' prancing in pride Or warward tale of nortiern minstrelsy,

On the foeman allvance, how calm do I ride Scatt'ring a ray of fancied chivalry

Whose breath is dominion whose falcbion is por's O'er reckless rorer of the food and wild

Whose trumpet alone soundeth victory's hour. Outlaw! in semblance of fond Nature's child."

“Write high on my stanlard these words of coinmand The musings that follow on a more artificial state of * Truth, hononr, integrity, conquer the land:' society than aught that Robin Hood or Rob Roy ever

Rich, wreath the reverse-scroll emblazon'd of gold,

* Prosperity sure' doth the banner unfold. dreamed of are pleasing and true; but they would be

“I come in my glory, the Winter is gone more poetical if his Lordship's style were a little more Uplift my right arm, lo! the Summer hath sbone! rounded, and not so sharp cornered. The words sound Awaiteth mine advent the blossoming Spring as if the ends were bitten off. The learned judge commits

At my feet, all her stores rich Autumn doth fling. petty larceny on her Majesty's English.

"Soft lutes and recorders, that pipe 'mong the trees

Wild note of the mouody sung by the breeze, “ From western svamp, or from the torrid east,

Loved chaunt of the songsters—sweet breath of the free The tufted treasnre sednlously sped,

Oh! this is the music that marcheth with me.
Owns in this stiffling clime another birth,
In fibre fine as lightsome gossamer.

“I bow to the brave as I bonnd on my way, Around the rapiil spindle deft'y wbirls

Joy unto the Just, is the blessing I pray; Amid that wilderness of wheels evolved,

Then list to my word, and away with ihy fear Thro' all their restless mysteries impell'd,

Advance! the war-cry is ‘The Bright Cavalier.' Moved by yon massive pow'r, whose ceaseless rule, “See what troops in my train ride gallant and gay Through't the tangled grove of beam and spar,

The laurel unfailing-flowers fresher than May; In order due the fixed array commands:

Amid the ripe vintage leaves thicker than June To perfect structure speeds the growing web.

Autumn, Summer and seed-time, hymning one tune.

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“ The flocks and the herds pay their homage to me

multiplicity of its real sorrows. We quote the close of And the wild beasts that perish own fealty ;

the first poem : Tbe eagle disporting aloft round my plume

“ Himself upon the grave he cast, The bee on his labour, bound far for new bloom.

His fingers o'er the chords he passid “ The lizard that lurks in the long grass at noon

They all, save one, were mute; The glow-worm that gleameth beneath the pale moon

And from his eye the bright tears sprung, Own me as their Lord--while each bird in the brake,

As thus his inournful lay he sung, Tbe fish in the stream and the swan on the lake,

And wild and sweet the echoes rung

From that neglected lute :"The flow'r of the shrub, and the nut of the tree, And the dew of the grass, at inorn on the lea,

Never more, never more, when the sun shines bright, The lush of the mountain in slumber alar,

Shall I gather sweet flowers with thee! And the gush of the fouutain-trumpet of war.

Never more, never more, in the soft moonlight, The reed and the pipe, and the dash of the sea

Shalt thou wander, love, with me!
And all Nature and Art, in the r harmony
Respond to my call, joiu in chorus to me,

Oh, never again, at the twilight hour, With the cataracts foaming tumultuously.

Shall thy silvery voice be heard !

Floating far away, o'er our summer bower, “« To lull the vex'd waters my breath is the balm;

Like the song of some heavenly bird !
The thunder hath ceased-as I spake it was calm,
The lightning flies from me in watery cloud,

" " The earth lies cold on thy snowy brow, Nor whistles the wind in the desolate shroud.

Thy spirit away has gone;

I have none to bid me be happy now, " " I smile o'er the deep, all its mists pass away

And I sadly mourn alone.
I gleam on the nighi, and belold it is day;
My name, “ Angel of Peace:" froin first to me giv'n; “ " As fair my native sky may shine,
It is envied on earth—'tis honourd in heav'n.

Its stars may sparkle as clear; *** But brighter than all is the sway now I seek;

But they look not so bright to this heart of mine To baffle the proud, and to succour the weak ;

As they did when thou wert near. To cherish the wise, turn the heart of tbe fool;

" " Yet I would not wish thee back, loved one, Oh, this is my mission-the aim of my rule.

To weep sad tears with me;
4. Then crowd to my standard; ye brave ones, advance ! But I would that my time on earth were done,
The ranks of the faithful I sum at a glance;

That I might rest with thee.
Be soldiers of God; to bis cause be sincere;
And trample on Sin,' quoth the bright cavalier.

" . The winter comes, and before his track

The roses pass away; " The sound of the footfall as loved one draws near,

But the voice of spring will call them back,
The echo of whisper to Memory dear,

To gladden the summer day.
Tbe tone of blest Charity show'ring relief,
Or gratitude breathed from the bosom of Grief,

' And though with tears my cheek be wet, “ Soft murmur of mother in cbaunt to first-born,

As I sit on thy lonely tomb, The glad message peace, vouchsafed to forlorn,

I know a spring-time is coming yet, The shout, 'It is water!' midst wilderness sand,

That shall bid my flow'ret bloom. The cry from the topmast, · Blessed God!—it is land.

“I know we shall meet where the sky is bright, " Award to the guiltless of judgment unblamed,

And the dark cloud cannot come; To the hopelessly doom'd a pardon proclaimed

And never shall wintry tempests blight A kind benediction; now wruth is no more;

Our flowers in that heavenly home !" A full absolution, the penance all o'er.

There is nothing said here that has not been often said “ To instructor beloved apt answer of youth, The voice of the gifted proclaiming the truth,

before ; but the verses are prettily moulded. But in Soft prayer of the innocent wafted on high,

another poem, the “ Paradise of Solitude" there is not Deepest sounds of the choir in their symphony.

merely more thought, but more original and searching “ Rude music, I ween, to the lull of that breath,

thoughtfulness. The young lady argues—in a way quite Which calleth to life, and destroyeth death, Which, hushing for ever the wail of the tomb,

pleasing, we suspect, to all young ladies who have no In the blessing of beaven, resoundeth our doom." natural vocation to be hermitesses-against solitude,

There are many serious, solemn, weighty thoughts in and calls it anything but a paradise. this volume, which is more or less markedly of a devotional character; but they do not gleam-they are not

“ Then I sat me down 'midst the glorious bowers,

To weave me a crown of the beauteous flowers-
gleams. The name is misapplied to a respectable and I gather'd the blos_oms all gay and bright;
good book.

But they faded like snow from the mountains' height,
When summer winds o'er the warm earth breathe,

Dissolving the winter's frozen wreath.

"I pluck'd the fruit, and a soft white sand

Was all I held in my clasped hand;
Glasgow : David Robertson.

And a feeling of loneliness, deep and intense,
The authoress of this volume is very young ; but the

Press'd heavily down upon every sense ;

Aud tired of a world so bright, but vain, volume itself does not disclose that circumstance, which I sigh'd for the darkness of earth again! we mention, not to apologise for defects, but to show

“ I turn'd to search for some sunless shade, that much may be expected when so much has been so

But the glory around me began to fado ; well and so soon done. The leading story is in the bal- And fainter and fainter the vision grew, lad form-and whether it be traditionary or purely

Till it sunk at last from my listless view;

And a flood of delight through my soul was borne, imaginative, it is prettily told. Two or three similar As I woke to the mists of a wintry morn! traditions, wrought into verse, follow; and are en

Now the bright romance of my youth is gone, titled well to the same cornmendation. The first is

And my lyre has a deeper and sadder tone; tragical. There is a sadness in the minds of all young O'er many a flower have my tears been pour'd,

Which faded, and spring-time has not restored ; poetesses. The gloom, at least, appears first. That

But I've learn'd to look with a kinder eye wears off as they learn to know the world better, and the On the stars which brighten the wintry sky.


" When thy soul is weary and grief-subdued,

originally delivered to the children of his own congregaOh seek not thy solace in solitude ;

tion and Sabbath school. In this small volume we have, Though bright in the distance its smile may seem, Its joy is a phantom, its beauty a dream;

first, an introductory address ;. then follow eight sermons, For there's nought to the spirit a calm can lend thus entitled :—The Youth's remembrance of his Creator; Like the gentle words of a loring friend.

the Holy Scriptures; the Winged Instructors; the Child “ And what though some grow cold and strange,

Jesus; the Fading Leaf; the Deceitfulness of Sin; the We know that time is a scene of change;

Blessed Peace-makers; and the Heavenly Missionary ; And no power have its children, however fair, The garb of eternity to wear ;

finishing with a suitable concluding address. But choose thy friends from the happy band

The topics are treated in a way calculated to interest Whose hopes are tixed on the better land.

the youthful reader; the sentiments expressed are sound " And press thou on to the heavenly shore,

and scriptural; the style is correct and simple ; and the That when time with its trouble and toil is o'er,

manner in which the author has laid out, or, in other You may meet with those you have lost below, Where songs of gladness for ever flow

words, divided these short sermons, is truly excellent, And mingle your spirits in love again,

and cannot fail to help the youthful reader easily to unIn the land whose flowers never bloom in vain.”

derstand and retain them in his memory. We have little space to spare but we are tempted to bor

We can safely recommend this little book to the young; row a few verses from what may be properly called a ser

and parents and guardians of youth, as well as Sabbath mon, on the text, “If God so clothe the lilies of the field.”

school teachers, should make it one of their standard “And the purple heather climbing round

works. We subjoin an extract from the sermon on the Our bonnie Scottish hills ;

* Deceitfulness of Sin :'-
And the little primrose springing up
Beside the mountain rilis;

* Lastly, The deceitfulness of sin appears in its making

deceitful promises. This is the means by which most And the holly-hock, that turns about

commonly seducers deceive their victims. They make to Its head to seek the sun;

them large and alluring promises, which they never perOh, dearly do we love the flowers ! And we love them every one!

form, and never intended to perform. And such pro

mises the great seducer Sin makes to men. It promises “Far better than our painted toys,

safety—it says, like the serpent, 'ye shall not surely Though gilded bright and gay;.

die.' But its promises, like the serpent's, is false and We love the gentle flowers that bloom

Its victims do not die. It promises happiness, it In the sunny summer day!

holds forth its fruit fair and beautiful to the eye, and it

promises that it shall be still more sweet to the taste. For it was God who made the flowers, And careth for them all;

But is the promise fulfilled ? No, the fair fruit, like the And for our heavenly Father's love

apples of Sodom, turn to dust and ashes in the hand, beThere is not one too small.

come gall and wormwood in the mouth. It promises

liberty-says, that those who indulge in it shall be free“He fans them with the gentle wind;

free thinkers, free livers. But in promising liberty, it He feeds them with the dew;

makes them the veriest slaves. It promises projit—but And the God who loves the little flowers,

most deceitfully. “That fruit,' says the apostle Paul, Loves little children too."

had ye in those things of which ye are now ashamed.'” Many little children would gladly learn this "song" is they only had it complete, and they would be better for its

THEORIA. thoughts. It is, perhaps, not very wise to advise young ladies to

BY DIGBY P. STARKEY. persevere in writing poetry, but we are almost induced to

Dublin : J. M'Glashan. take the risk in this case.

This small volume of poems is of higher origin than any

of those which precede it. Their author has been a contriA TOKEN OF REMEMBRANCE,

butor to the Dublin University Magazine of occasional and BY THE REV. DAVID SMITH, BIGGAR.

remarkable verses for some time. They are collected togeEdinburgh : Grant & Taylor.

therin this volume, along with othersthat hitherto have been One of the pleasing and hopeful features of the times unpublished. The poet's stamp is branded on them thickly, is the deep and growing interest manifested in the intel- and its indentations are often clear and deep. None of the lectual and religious culture of the young. Not only is poems are long, but some of them contain, in a limited space, this interest erinced by the exertions made to increase more hard thinking than goes often to the upmaking of both the quantity and quality of education, but by the “three volumes post octavo.” One poem, extending only many admirable publications issuing from the press,

to sixteen pages, contains a dreamy history of the world's specially intended for their mental and moral improve construction on the geological theory. The dreamer goes ment. The time was when it was almost out of a parent's back-very far back-to that period in the world's history power to secure suitable reading on general subjects for when it was scarcely yet to be properly termed a world, his children. But that time is gone ; and now the guar- and when these islands of ours were within the tropics ! dians of youth may, without much difficulty, and by It is as well to remark, that our visionary is a person of means of a judicious selection, obtain books relating to great practical wisdom, who never permits himself to be almost every department of knowledge, and written in a carried geographically out of his own sphere, though he simple and most captivating style for the use of this in- goes into antiquity with sufficient daring. He beginsteresting class of the community.

“Me dreamed I travelled; and in travelling on, To this description of publications belongs the “ Token I came upon a land of tropic bloom, of Remembrance." Its author informs us that the ad

Melting with luscious and exotic balm,

Which seemed to make the very atmosphere dresses or short discourses of which it is composed were To gasp for breath."

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The atmosphere gasping for breath is not a good figure. scription of savage times—the Druid's days, his faith and He went on, or time slid on, until

sacrifices. But a discovery was made : –

I beheld a man on the descent“Me dreamed, in travelling farther, that I came, To an abyss of stone. A monstrous weight

A noble savage-lusty, though uncouth, Of mountain seemed to press the solid rock

A beachen spear grasped staff-wise in his hand. Out into layers.”

He had been hunting, and he bore some flesh

And skins upon his shoulder ; and his breath This is the second stage. The third becomes more

Stood on his bristly beard, as he approached intelligent.

The hut of logs. He stooped and lifted up

A stone. 'Twas black, and smooth, and chipped away “Me dreamed that in my travel I arrived

Beneath his finger. And he looked awhile At a sequestered spot-what need to map

And turned it round, and laughed, for he did see Its landmarks and localities, that men

A little leaf of stone in the black stone, Might say—'tis here!'-.Enough, that it was in

Drawn to perfection. But ho bore it home. Broad and magnificent England. A descent

And as I watched and wondered there, I saw Swept from the verge of a half-thinncd-out wood

A dark, fuliginous mass of dingy smoke
Into a fertile plain. A river went

Rise from the cottage roof.
Its way of peace along the humblest path
That it could find. And, down the near descent,

But I passed on.”
A bright brook brawled like infancy to find

Pass on, through many ages, to the present day, and Its river, and be silent in its arms.

see what the black stone has helped to do :Untended plants clung confidently round

“A traveller I entered a great town. Ancient oak-stumps, or peeping bits of rock,Where'er the charitable ivy failed

The crush of human life swayed to and fro To keep its garment round the bones of earth.

Within the streets, which groaned with waggons drive The sun had set. Keen was the frosty air ;

Over the roaring caus:ways evermore, Goats bleated on the edges of the moor;

I heard the plashing clank of

many wheels And from the scanty copse there came a bark,

Rolled round in water; and the measured stroke A whining yelp, as of a houseless hound

Of heavy hammers struck on bars of iron. Or it might be a wolf. A hut there stood

There was the mumbling ravenousness of fire Upon the nether border of that slope,

Over its prey as if it feared some foe Between the hill and stream ; and it was rude,

Would snatch the fuel from its jaws, before

The crackling bones were ashes. And the smoke
Logs roughly squared, wattled all through with twigs,
And daubed with clay; the roof with shingles spread,

Of furnaces was vomited from the throats
And these kept down with stones. Above the hut

Of towering chimneys, high above the town,

Each like an ebon column bearing up
Curled a blue fragrant vapour. Near the door
Lay a half-butchered stag upon his back,

The overarching cloud which vaulted in
Deep in the brisket, with his antlered head

This forge of earth from heaven. Bent underneath him. I could now divine

“ Hard by there was What meant the yelping from the neighbouring copse,

A river swol'n, 'twould seem, with everything And understood the culprit eagle's stare

But water; and adown some sloping streets Out of his eyrie towards the reeking flesh,

Struggled a stream of fouler inkiness, As if he weighed the danger of the theft

So foul, that it crept on for very shame. Against the gain of thieving. I beheld

Through arches, sewers, and drains; though all its One tract was clear, upon the topmost ridge,

shame A broad back-bone of rocks, and on that spot

Could not prevent its junction with the flood Huge stones stood in a ring against the sky,

From publishing itself in deeper black Like ghosts consulting, and within the ring

Upon its dingy page.' Was a flat stone; and the flat stone was stained

There is much more of this description of writing for Red.

others to quote, from a volume that adds another name There poetry of the first class in this nervous de- to the small roll of our true and good poets.



largest body of their opponents kept the existing Cabinet

in power, because their own day was not come ; and they The last session of the past Parliament has been in- could not abide the rule of their old friends.

It is not, geniously distinguished by postponements. It began with however, to be supposed that their support of the Cabigood intentions, of which but few have been realised. Wo net was of a warm character ; and we are not surprised should not, perhaps, impute to Lord John Russell and his that a Ministry, who were only tolerated, were also government this misfortune. We do not blame them for weak. While we, therefore, regret the postponement the rejection of their measures in a Parliament where of so many good measures ; yet the Ministry they were supported only by a minority in whom they might have escaped generally without animadversion on could place the slightest reliance. This Parliament, this subject, if they had not exhibited so much earnestnow dissolved, began its career by displacing a Min- ness in carrying bills of a worse character than those istry formed from the party, who are now in power. which they deserted. Lord John Russell should rather The cabinet of 1841 was overthrown for pursuing mea- have abandoned one Bishop than a hundred thousand sures which the same parliament ultimately adopted. common sewers. He persisted, however, in carrying This remarkable change in conduct did not, however, through the one Bishop additional, and left the Health of reconcile a majority of the Commons to the leadership Towns bill without any sufficient struggle. We blame of Lord John Russell. They have borne with him only the Government because they have not wrought out their as an inevitable and necessary evil. Peel was done at good measures to the last, and cast on their opponents the east for a time. Bentinck could not command a majority. odium of rejecting them ; but have tormented the ComRussell was in a minority. There were three horns to mons and the country with a dogged perseverance, worthy this dilemma; and the Commons were pitched on to of a bill to make or unmake, secularly, a hundred Bishops, the third because they could not help themselves. The for only one Bishop additional.

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