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"The flocks and the herds pay their homage to me
And the wild beasts that perish own fealty;
The eagle disporting aloft round my plume
The bee on his labour, bound far for new bloom.
"The lizard that lurks in the long grass at noon

The glow-worm that gleameth beneath the pale moon
Own me as their Lord-while each bird in the brake,
The fish in the stream and the swan on the lake,

"The flow'r of the shrub, and the nut of the tree,
And the dew of the grass, at inorn on the lea,
The hush of the mountain in slumber alar,
And the gush of the fountain-trumpet of war.
“The reed and the pipe, and the dash of the sea
And all Nature and Art, in the'r harmony
Respond to my call, join in chorus to me,
With the cataracts foaming tumultuously.
"To lull the vex'd waters my breath is the balm;
The thunder hath ceased-as I spake it was calm,
The lightning flies from me in watery cloud,
Nor whistles the wind in the desolate shroud.

"I smile o'er the deep, all its mists pass away-
I gleam on the night, and behold it is day;
My name," Angel of Peace:" from first to me giv'n;
It is envied on earth-'tis honour'd in heav'n.

But brighter than all is the sway now I seek;
To baffle the proud, and to succour the weak;
To cherish the wise, turn the heart of the fool;
Oh, this is my mission-the aim of my rule.
"Then crowd to my standard; ye brave ones, advance!
The ranks of the faithful I sum at a glance;
Be soldiers of God; to his cause be sincere;
And trample on Sin,' quoth the bright cavalier.
"The sound of the footfall as loved one draws near,
The echo of whisper to Memory dear,
The tone of blest Charity show'ring relief,
Or gratitude breathed from the bosom of Grief.
"Soft murmur of mother in chaunt to first-born,
The glad message peace, vouchsafed to forlorn,
The shout, 'It is water!' midst wilderness sand,
The cry from the topmast, Blessed God!—it is land.
"Award to the guiltless of judgment unblamed,
To the hopelessly doom'd a pardon proclaimed-
A kind benediction; now wrath is no more;
A full absolution, the penance all o'er.
"To instructor beloved apt answer of youth,
The voice of the gifted proclaiming the truth,
Soft prayer of the innocent wafted on high,
Deepest sounds of the choir in their symphony.
"Rude music, I ween, to the lull of that breath,
Which calleth to life, and destroyeth death,
Which, hushing for ever the wail of the tomb,
In the blessing of heaven, resoundeth our doom."
There are many serious, solemn, weighty thoughts in
this volume, which is more or less markedly of a devo-
tional character; but they do not gleam-they are not
gleams. The name is misapplied to a respectable and
good book.

ISIDORE AND OTHER POEMS.

BY CATHERINE PRINGLE CRAIG.

Glasgow: David Robertson.

The authoress of this volume is very young; but the volume itself does not disclose that circumstance, which we mention, not to apologise for defects, but to show that much may be expected when so much has been so well and so soon done. The leading story is in the ballad form-and whether it be traditionary or purely imaginative, it is prettily told. Two or three similar traditions, wrought into verse, follow; and are entitled well to the same commendation. The first is tragical. There is a sadness in the minds of all young poetesses. The gloom, at least, appears first. wears off as they learn to know the world better, and the

That

multiplicity of its real sorrows. We quote the close of the first poem :—

"Himself upon the grave he cast,

His fingers o'er the chords he pass'd-
They all, save one, were mute;
And from his eye the bright tears sprung,
As thus his mournful lay he sung,
And wild and sweet the echoes rung
From that neglected lute :-

"Never more, never more, when the sun shines bright,
Shall I gather sweet flowers with thee!
Never more, never more, in the soft moonlight,
Shalt thou wander, love, with me!

"Oh, never again, at the twilight hour,
Shall thy silvery voice be heard!
Floating far away, o'er our summer bower,
Like the song of some heavenly bird!
"The earth lies cold on thy snowy brow,
Thy spirit away has gone;

I have none to bid me be happy now,
And I sadly mourn alone.

"As fair my native sky may shine,

Its stars may sparkle as clear;

But they look not so bright to this heart of mine
As they did when thou wert near.

"Yet I would not wish thee back, loved one,

To weep sad tears with me;

But I would that my time on earth were done,
That I might rest with thee.

"The winter comes, and before his track
The roses pass away;

But the voice of spring will call them back,
To gladden the summer day.

"And though with tears my cheek be wet,
As I sit on thy lonely tomb,

I know a spring-time is coming yet,
That shall bid my flow'ret bloom.

"I know we shall meet where the sky is bright,
And the dark cloud cannot come ;
And never shall wintry tempests blight
Our flowers in that heavenly home!"

There is nothing said here that has not been often said
before; but the verses are prettily moulded. But in
another poem, the "Paradise of Solitude" there is not
merely more thought, but more original and searching
thoughtfulness. The young lady argues-in a way quite
pleasing, we suspect, to all young ladies who have no
natural vocation to be hermitesses-against solitude,
and calls it anything but a paradise.

"Then I sat me down 'midst the glorious bowers,
To weave me a crown of the beauteous flowers-
I gather'd the blossoms all gay and bright;
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;
And a feeling of loneliness, deep and intense,
Press'd heavily down upon every sense;
Aud tired of a world so bright, but vain,
I sigh'd for the darkness of earth again!
"I turn'd to search for some sunless shade,
But the glory around me began to fade;
And fainter and fainter the vision grew,
Till it sunk at last from my listless view;
And a flood of delight through my soul was borne,
As I woke to the mists of a wintry morn!

Now the bright romance of my youth is gone,
And my lyre has a deeper and sadder tone;
O'er many a flower have my tears been pour'd,
Which faded, and spring-time has not restored;
But I've learn'd to look with a kinder eye
On the stars which brighten the wintry sky.

"When thy soul is weary and grief-subdued,
Oh seek not thy solace in solitude;
Though bright in the distance its smile may seem,
Its joy is a phantom, its beauty a dream;
For there's nought to the spirit a calm can lend
Like the gentle words of a loving friend.

"And what though some grow cold and strange,
We know that time is a scene of change;
And no power have its children, however fair,
The garb of eternity to wear;

But choose thy friends from the happy band
Whose hopes are fixed on the better land.

"And press thou on to the heavenly shore,

That when time with its trouble and toil is o'er,
You may meet with those you have lost below,
Where songs of gladness for ever flow-
And mingle your spirits in love again,

In the land whose flowers never bloom in vain."

We have little space to spare but we are tempted to borrow a few verses from what may be properly called a sermon, on the text, "If God so clothe the lilies of the field."

"And the purple heather climbing round
Our bonnie Scottish hills;
And the little primrose springing up
Beside the mountain rilis;

"And the holly-hock, that turns about
Its head to seek the sun;-
Oh, dearly do we love the flowers!
And we love them every one!

"Far better than our painted toys,
Though gilded bright and gay;
We love the gentle flowers that bloom
In the sunny summer day!

"For it was God who made the flowers,
And careth for them all;
And for our heavenly Father's love
There is not one too small.

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ONE of the pleasing and hopeful features of the times is the deep and growing interest manifested in the intellectual and religious culture of the young. Not only is this interest evinced by the exertions made to increase both the quantity and quality of education, but by the many admirable publications issuing from the press, specially intended for their mental and moral improvement. The time was when it was almost out of a parent's power to secure suitable reading on general subjects for his children. But that time is gone; and now the guardians of youth may, without much difficulty, and by means of a judicious selection, obtain books relating to almost every department of knowledge, and written in a simple and most captivating style for the use of this interesting class of the community.

To this description of publications belongs the "Token of Remembrance." Its author informs us that the addresses or short discourses of which it is composed were

originally delivered to the children of his own congregation and Sabbath school. In this small volume we have, first, an introductory address; then follow eight sermons, thus entitled:-The Youth's remembrance of his Creator; the Holy Scriptures; the Winged Instructors; the Child Jesus; the Fading Leaf; the Deceitfulness of Sin; the Blessed Peace-makers; and the Heavenly Missionary; finishing with a suitable concluding address.

The topics are treated in a way calculated to interest the youthful reader; the sentiments expressed are sound and scriptural; the style is correct and simple; and the manner in which the author has laid out, or, in other words, divided these short sermons, is truly excellent, and cannot fail to help the youthful reader easily to understand and retain them in his memory.

We can safely recommend this little book to the young; and parents and guardians of youth, as well as Sabbath school teachers, should make it one of their standard works. We subjoin an extract from the sermon on the "Deceitfulness of Sin:"

vain.

"Lastly, The deceitfulness of sin appears in its making deceitful promises. This is the means by which most commonly seducers deceive their victims. They make to them large and alluring promises, which they never perform, and never intended to perform. And such promises the great seducer Sin makes to men. It promises safety-it says, like the serpent, ye shall not surely die.' But its promises, like the serpent's, is false and Its victims do not die. It promises happiness, it holds forth its fruit fair and beautiful to the eye, and it promises that it shall be still more sweet to the taste. But is the promise fulfilled? No, the fair fruit, like the apples of Sodom, turn to dust and ashes in the hand, become gall and wormwood in the mouth. It promises liberty-says, that those who indulge in it shall be freefree thinkers, free livers. But in promising liberty, it makes them the veriest slaves. It promises profit—but most deceitfully. That fruit,' says the apostle Paul, 'had ye in those things of which ye are now ashamed."

THEORIA,

BY DIGBY P. STARKEY.

Dublin: J. M'Glashan.

This small volume of poems is of higher origin than any of those which precede it. Their author has been a contributor to the Dublin University Magazine of occasional and remarkable verses for some time. They are collected together in this volume, along with others that hitherto have been unpublished. The poet's stamp is branded on them thickly, and its indentations are often clear and deep. None of the poems are long, but some of them contain, in a limited space, more hard thinking than goes often to the upmaking of "three volumes post octavo." One poem, extending only to sixteen pages, contains a dreamy history of the world's construction on the geological theory. The dreamer goes back-very far back-to that period in the world's history when it was scarcely yet to be properly termed a world, and when these islands of ours were within the tropics ! It is as well to remark, that our visionary is a person of great practical wisdom, who never permits himself to be carried geographically out of his own sphere, though he goes into antiquity with sufficient daring. He begins"Me dreamed I travelled; and in travelling on, I came upon a land of tropic bloom, Melting with luscious and exotic balm, Which seemed to make the very atmosphere To gasp for breath."

POLITICAL REGISTER.

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

"Me dreamed, in travelling farther, that I came,

To an abyss of stone.

A monstrous weight

Of mountain seemed to press the solid rock
Out into layers."

This is the second stage. The third becomes more intelligent.

"Me dreamed that in my travel I arrived

At a sequestered spot-what need to map
Its landmarks and localities, that men

Might say 'tis here!'-Enough, that it was in
Broad and magnificent England. A descent
Swept from the verge of a half-thinned-out wood
Into a fertile plain. A river went

Its way of peace along the humblest path
That it could find. And, down the near descent,
A bright brook brawled like infancy to find
Its river, and be silent in its arms.
Untended plants clung confidently round
Ancient oak-stumps, or peeping bits of rock,-
Where'er the charitable ivy failed

To keep its garment round the bones of earth.
-The sun had set. Keen was the frosty air;
Goats bleated on the edges of the moor;

And from the scanty copse there came a bark,-
A whining yelp, as of a houseless hound-
Or it might be a wolf. A hut there stood
Upon the nether border of that slope,

Between the hill and stream; and it was rude,-
Logs roughly squared, wattled all through with twigs,
And daubed with clay; the roof with shingles spread,
Above the hut
And these kept down with stones.

Curled a blue fragrant vapour. Near the door
Lay a half-butchered stag upon his back,
Deep in the brisket, with his antlered head

Bent underneath him. I could now divine

What meant the yelping from the neighbouring copse,
And understood the culprit eagle's stare
Out of his eyrie towards the recking flesh,
As if he weighed the danger of the theft
Against the gain of thieving. I beheld
One tract was clear, upon the topmost ridge,

A broad back-bone of rocks, and on that spot
Huge stones stood in a ring against the sky,
Like ghosts consulting, and within the ring
Was a flat stone; and the flat stone was stained
Red."

sacrifices. But a discovery was made :—
"I beheld a man on the descent-

A noble savage-lusty, though uncouth,
A beachen spear grasped staff-wise in his hand.
He had been hunting; and he bore some flesh
And skins upon his shoulder; and his breath
Stood on his bristly beard, as he approached
The hut of logs. He stooped and lifted up
A stone. 'Twas black, and smooth, and chipped away
Beneath his finger. And he looked awhile
And turned it round, and laughed, for he did see
A little leaf of stone in the black stone,
Drawn to perfection.

But he bore it home.

And as I watched and wondered there, I saw
A dark, fuliginous mass of dingy smoke
Rise from the cottage roof.

But I passed on."

Pass on, through many ages, to the present day, and see what the black stone has helped to do :

"A traveller I entered a great town.

The crush of human life swayed to and fro
Within the streets, which groaned with waggons driven
Over the roaring causeways evermore.

I heard the plashing clank of many wheels
Rolled round in water; and the measured stroke
Of heavy hammers struck on bars of iron.
There was the mumbling ravenousness of fire
Over its prey as if it feared some foe
Would snatch the fuel from its jaws, before
And the smoke
The crackling bones were ashes.

Of furnaces was vomited from the throats
Of towering chimneys, high above the town,
Each like an ebon column bearing up
The overarching cloud which vaulted in
This forge of earth from heaven.

"Hard by there was

A river swol'n, 'twould seem, with everything
But water; and adown some sloping streets
Straggled a stream of fouler inkiness,

So foul, that it crept on for very shame.

Through arches, sewers, and drains; though all its

shame

Could not prevent its junction with the flood

From publishing itself in deeper black

Upon its dingy page.'

There is much more of this description of writing for others to quote, from a volume that adds another name

There is poetry of the first class in this nervous de- to the small roll of our true and good poets.

POLITICAL REGISTER.

CLOSE OF THE SESSION.

of

largest body of their opponents kept the existing Cabinet in power, because their own day was not come; and they It is not, THE last session of the past Parliament has been in- could not abide the rule of their old friends. 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. We 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 80 many good measures; yet the Ministry the rejection of their measures in a Parliament where 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 He persisted, however, in carrying sures which the same parliament ultimately adopted. common sewers. This remarkable change in conduct did not, however, reconcile a majority of the Commons to the leadership of Lord John Russell. They have borne with him only as an inevitable and necessary evil. Peel was done at east for a time. Bentinck could not command a majority. Russell was in a minority. There were three horns to this dilemma; and the Commons were pitched on to the third because they could not help themselves. The

We blame through the one Bishop additional, and left the Health of Towns bill without any sufficient struggle. the Government because they have not wrought out their good measures to the last, and cast on their opponents the odium of rejecting them; but have tormented the Commons and the country with a dogged perseverance, worthy of a bill to make or unmake, secularly, a hundred Bishops, for only one Bishop additional.

The Ministry could have come to the country with better prospects-defeated on the Health of Towns' bill, on the Irish Land Improvement bill, and on the Irish Encumbered Land bill-than now, when they come with all these measures postponed, by their own consent, to make room for one bishop. Manchester knew not its own want. It had grown to greatness without a bishop, and it might have survived for a single year longer without this addition to its local government. There is a wide difference between a bishop and a preacher. The church may be practically very weak in a very small diocese. We do not, therefore, express an opinion derogatory of the active portion of the Church, when we say, that Manchester could have done better without the mitre, than it can do without its promised drains. The latter were matters of life and death: the mitre, it will be allowed, affects only church order, and is one of those things non-essen. tial to christianity.

new men with unknown opinions-independent men who will give a fair vote to the ministry when they deserve it, and against them as that seems necessary. This is a new order of things, and the Downing Street people are said to be petrified at the idea of the electors being forgetful of great party interests.

EDUCATION.

On the eve of dissolving Parliament and appealing to the electors, the Government instructed the Committee of Council on Education to have a new minute drawn out for them, which Lord John Russell says, carries them back again to the minute of 1839. It was convenient to The last Educational minute was pursue this course.

would have been sadly torn on the hustings. The new not easily defended in the House of Commons, and it minute suspends the exercise of those spiritual functions assumed by the State; although it is not so clear that this resignation of its new duties applies to the church schools. We have no desire to see the State interfering in matters beyond its capacity, whether in Church or Dissenting schools. The truth of the matter is, that through their

cated at all in certain qualities of religious teaching.

The new minute does not rescind the extravagant nonsense regarding apprentices, monitors, and all the costly mechanism, and fruitful patronage therewith connected.

The alteration gives us one case more against the system. If educational legislation can be thoroughly changed per order on Dr. Key Shuttleworth at five minutes' notice, to pacify the electors; may it not be changed back again by a similar order in five minutes more to mollify the Bishop of Exeter, when the Elections are past, and the septennial lease has commenced its currency. Nothing less than the dismemberment and dispersion of this unconstitutional committee should satisfy the people.

We take our estimate from high authority. We proceed representatives, Dissenters are desirous not to be impliupon the testimony of Sir James Graham. He asserts that the business of a bishop is light and easy. He insists that the superintendance of a diocese does not involve long hours of labour. He even hinted that some districts were in such exemplary order that they could go on for a long time without any superintendance whatever. There are many little things that can be done by deans and other subordinate dignitaries, and a neighbouring diocesan may lend his hand—the very thing literally required-upon an emergency. We take, for example, the diocese of Chester, which is now to be subdivided; and assuming it to be one of the largest in England, we find it also one of the most distinguished for efficient superintendence. We do not, indeed, often read speeches made by the Bishop of Chester in the House of Peers. That prelate is seldom found intermingling in those public discussions, and getting in and out of the awkward scrapes in which his brethren for Exeter and London are perpetually involved; but we often see his name announced as a preacher on some particular occasion; and he seems to engage very much in those duties which were once understood to be characteristic of a Christian Bishop.

Our estimate of the ease with which Manchester could have lived on un-Bishoped for another year, is taken from Sir James Graham's Speech. The subject is not one with which we are personally cognoscent; because we have never known the benefits, and do not feel, of course, the deprivation of a Bishop famine.

THE ELECTIONS.

bill than the production of one bishop.
Surely the education of millions is not less worthy of a

THE SCOTTISH WHIGS.

Ir may be doubted whether the empire furnishes worse tacticians or busier jobbers than the old rump everywhere of the Scottish Whigs.

lock the wheel.
They are the patent drags of politics, ever at hand to

They have so mismanaged the metropolis that, we su-s pect, an intelligent Conservative might beat them; merely because there is a general discontent with their high and close-handed mode of management.

In Haddingtonshire they oppose the most intelligent county candidate in Scotland, Sir David Baird, and after the fashion of moles-they are blind like the moles—have been silently burrowing in the earth to throw up heaps in his progress,

On inquiring the reason, we find that the agitation which he is leading against the law of entail is considered so ungenteel, that he must be proscribed.

Before the next election, that movement will be fashionable. The same tacticians have split the Glasgow con

and Mr. M'Gregor be returned, they have ruined their dictatorship for ever.

In the smaller boroughs, the corresponding limbs of the party pursue the same course. In Greenock, in Aberdeen, and such constituencies as the Stirling boroughs, they have set up Apologies for Candidates" against some of the most intelligent men of the day, rather than their power to sell the boroughs to the paryt who would best hunt for patronage should be questioned.

We publish, in the heat of the general election-some-stituency, and whether their candidates, or Mr. Hastie where near its centre-too late to give advice-and too early to know what has been done. We are only able, therefore, to say what has been anticipated. The calculations, recently formed, gave to the Whigs a majority of eighty in the new Parliament. Less sanguine reckoners make out that the Whigs will have to go without a majority. They will be the strongest of three, but they will not have an absolute majority. By the aid of Sir Robert Peel's contingent, they will be able to beat the Bentinck, or country party; but that is only uncomfortable. The Ministry wanted to be independent of Peel.. Rumour has it now that they must coalesce with him; and coalitions aro always dangerous. They detach loose boulders from the mass, who necessarily gravitate into opposition. We believe that the elections will bring into the House many

The leprosy of old times cleaves, we fear, like that of Naaman the Syrian to the prophet's servant, for ever to these "old coteries, clubs, or cliques," who snugly manage matters in back parlours.

The doom and the spots of Gehazi is on them and their incurable system.

PRINTED BY GEORGE TROUP, 29, DUNLOP STREET, GLASGOW.

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In the person of this Mr. Schlosser is exemplified a common abuse, not confined to literature. An artist from the Italian opera of London and Paris, making a professional excursion to our provinces, is received according to the tariff of the metropolis; no one being bold enough to dispute decisions coming down from the courts above. In that particular case there is seldom any reason to complain-since really out of Germany and Italy there is no city, if you except Paris and London, possessing materials, in that field of art, for the composition of an audience large enough to act as a court of revision. It would be presumption in the provincial audience, so slightly trained to good music and dancing, if it should affect to reverse a judgment ratified in the supreme capital. The result, therefore, is practically just, if the original verdict was just; what was right from the first cannot be made wrong by iteration. Yet, even in such a case, there is something not satisfactory to a delicate sense of equity; for the artist returns from the tour as if from some new and independent triumph, whereas, all is but the reverberation of an old one; it seems a new access of sunlight, whereas it is but a reflex illumination from satellites.

In literature the corresponding case is worse. An author, passing by means of translation before a foreign people, ought de jure to find himself before a new tribunal; but de facto, he does not. Like the opera artist, but not with the same propriety, he comes before a court that never interfores to disturb a judgment, but only to re-affirm it. And he returns to his native country, quartering in his armorial bearings these new trophies, as though won by new trials, when, in fact, they | are due to servile ratifications of old ones. When Sue, or Balzac, Hugo, or George Sand, comes before an English audience-the opportunity is invariably lost for estimating them at a new angle of sight.

All who dislike them lay them asidewhilst those only apply themselves seriously to their study, who are predisposed to the particular key of feeling, through which originally these authors had prospered. And thus a new set of judges, that might usefully have modified the narrow views of the old ones, fall by mere inertia into

VOL. XIV,-NO. CLXV.

the humble character of echoes and sounding. boards to swell the uproar of the original mob.

In this way is thrown away the opportunity, not only of applying corrections to false national tastes, but oftentimes even to the unfair accidents of luck that befal books. For it is well known to all who watch literature with vigilance, that books and authors have their fortunes, which travel upon a far different scale of proportions from those that measure their merits. Not even the caprice

or the folly of the reading public is required to account for this. Very often, indeed, the whole difference between an extensive circulation for one book, and none at all for another of about equal merit, belongs to no particular blindness in men, but to the simple fact, that the one has, whilst the other has not, been brought effectually under the eyes of the public. By far the greater part of books are lost, not because they are rejected, but because they are never introduced. In any proper sense of the word, very few books are published. Technically they are published; which means, that for six or ten times they are advertised, but they are not made known to attentive ears, or to ears prepared for attention. And amongst the causes which account for this difference in the fortune of books, although there are many, we may reckon, as foremost, personal accidents of position in the authors. For instance, with us in England it will do a bad book no ultimate service, that it is written by a lord, or a bishop, or a privy counsellor, or a member of Parliamentthough, undoubtedly, it will do an instant service-it will sell an edition or so. This being the case, it being certain that no rank will reprieve a bad writer from final condemnation, the sycophantic glorifier of the public fancies his idol justified; but not so. A bad book, it is true, will not be saved by advantages of position in the author; but a book moderately good will be extravagantly aided by such advantages. Lectures on Christianity, that happened to be respectably written and delivered, had prodigious success in my young days, because, also, they happened to be lectures of a prelate; three times the ability would not have procured them any attention had they been the lectures of an obscure curate. Yet,

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