Saturday

6 Well, Ashford,” said he, as the young man came them for bare existence now that everything salable in and made his “ obedience,” ? how did you get had been sold, Lydia observed, over the Lone Moor yesterday with the funeral? “Dostna think, German, that 't were best done at It must have been a sore pull for you all."

once an we are to go? Thee'st better leave the “They thought they should n't hardly ha' got squire all and everythink, and get thee a quittance. through at the Old Mare's Bottom," said the lad. He canna say aught an he have it a'.”

“And now, what's to be done about you, my man ? “ He'd a squoze blood out o'a flint, I raly do beIt's a great misfortune, a very great misfortune in- | lieve, if it could ha been done anyhow," said Ġerman, deed. I'm sure I feel it, - the rent and the arrears angrily. “I canna bear a leavin' the old walls, as all gone. They say that your father got the back- we've a held such a many year i' th' family; but an rent in his pocket too ?”

we mun we mun," he ended, with a touch of the re“It were my sister's money," said German in a signed fatalism which forms so large a part of the low voice; "she'd gived him every penny she wonderful “ patience of the poor.” had.”

“And ye mun hearken for a cottage, German, up “ And quite right of her too, but most unfortu- and down i'th' town” * (it was the smallest possible nate ; why did n't he take it to the banker's ? Then, hamlet). “ Thou canst axe the squire for so mich. you know, if anything had happened to your father, Surely he'll make a bit o' a push to gi'e us one, so that would have been safe. And I can't afford to be he has one empty, an he turns us out here just to lose back-rent and present rent, and arrears for fight along for oursen. I heerd 'um say yesterday as soughing* and all, I can tell you.” And the old man old Sammy were dead; mebbe his widder 'll be wishbegan to walk irritably about the room. “ What do ful to get shut o' that place up the steps.” you and your mother intend to do ?” he asked at “I canna think what for we havena heerd owt o' last, as German remained silent.

yer uncle,” said Lydia; “ and he as allus thowt so “ We should like to keep on the farm, sir: we've much o' ye both." had it now, father and son, this two hundred year, “ They say Martha's gone for to be with him ; and they say. I think we mid mak'a shift to get on, if she's one as would be sure set upo' kippin' him to so be ye'd be patient with the rent.”

hersen and lettin' nobody else hae speech nor busi“But I can't afford to be patient," said the old ness of him. I saw that when I were there,” reman, fretfully. “You've no capital and no stock, I turned German. hear. You'll just ruin me and the farm and your- The next morning the old squire was a little surselves all together. It's out of the case, I tell you. prised when German called to say they should be You won't do yourselves a morsel of good ; the ready to go whenever convenient. He had not sooner you go out of the farm the better for every- expected so ready an acquiescence. « On ne peut body."

pas tondre un pelé qui n'a pas de cheveux," howGerman's color rose; he went out of the room, ever, and his best chance was for a share of the stock his blood boiling. “'T other squire would n't ha' before the inevitable smash, --so he took heart and done it,” he said to himself; but there was truth, he began to make the arrangements necessary. knew, in the old man's unpalatable words : he could German suffered a good deal : he had a sort of not farm properly, and it would be starvation to at- feeling for the old place which made it as distressing tempt to pay the future rent, let alone the past. for him to leave it as if the land had been his own

The two women sat waiting to learn their fate in patrimony. The day of their moving came; the the stillness of a house where a death has lately been. little cart stood before the door which was to do its He flung his hat angrily down on the ground as he last office for its masters that day in removing their entered.

bits o' things. Lydia was sitting on a bundle of bed* He wunna let us hae the farm, a' talked o his ding, - everything was packed in the dismantled back-rent. A black curse be wi' him ;- he's a very kitchen, — wbile Cassie wandered round the place having man," said he.

taking a last look at all. The last time!- it has a Neither Lydia nor Cassie uttered a word ; they dreary sound, even when it is a little-loved place. took their doom in perfect silence. There was a They were waiting for German, who was going pathetic sort of leave-taking in the way they looked once more round the farm-buildings, delivering up round on the old walls, and then they turned to their the place to the man put in charge by the squire, work again.

when old Nathan appeared at the door. Towards evening Cassie, having thought it over “I've been so bad as I could n't get up this long and over in her mind, felt indeed that on the whole way afore now, and I never thought as you'd be off it was a relief to go. The intense isolation was al- so soon. I'm aʼmost glad yer aunt Bessie ain't here most more than she could now bear; she felt as if for to see the like o' this," said he, looking grimly she might “ hear something” if she were more within round. “She never could ha' beared to think ye reach of the outer world.

was turned adrift ; it's a dolesome thing to see ye “ Shall thee mind very much Aitting, Lydia ?” going out o' this fashion. Ye'd as pritty a lookout said she at last, suddenly.

as any lad or lass i'th' county, one mid say, half a “I mind thee and German being turned out i'thyear agone,” added the old man with a groan. cold world as it were."

* Misfortines is very hasty o' foot, and comes most " Then dunna heed it, dearie, for me; I think I'd times in swarms like bees." be best down where there's a bit more moving." "I'm hoping as you 're better, Master Nathan,"

And Lydia's view of the matter altered entirely observed Lydia, rising from her bundles with her from that moment. German indeed felt the change usual quiet courteous greeting, while Cassie set the much the most of the three.

only stool that was left to sit on. As they sat at the bare board that evening eating "Matters is mostly packed by now, but Cassie 'll the remains of the funeral feast, and calculating in be fine and pleased for to get ye a sup o' summat an a sort of family council how little there was left to ye 'll think well to tak' anything arter your long toil.” And she did the honors of her empty kitchen shaltna get shut on me so," she added, with a like a true lady. Some of the best manners in kisg. England are to be found among those we call “ the Lydia shook her head lovingly at her, and said poor.” After all, manners are the expression of the no more. nature of the man; and consideration for others, The little cart was soon laden; the old squire had quiet self-possession, tact and courtesy, the essentials been substantially kind to them, had found a small of a gentleman (which is indeed our shorthand ex- cottage in the valley below and given them any furpression for these qualities combined), are to be found niture they chose to take away, the old cow and a among them often to perfection, particularly in the pig. The melancholy little party set off, German country.

in front leading the horse, the cart built up with “We heerd as yer had Martha now to live with the “bits o' things” — which looks so pathetic of yer, uncle,” said Cassie.

an uprooted household. Then came Cassie driving "Well," said the old man, “I thowt on it; she's the cow and carrying a basket with her own parcoming next week for to stop. She's a bit over ticular laying hen; and lastly, Lydia, with certain petticklar, but she's wonderful industrious; and 't is brittle articles which the ruts made it impossible to so dull wi'out a woman for to bang about and to convey otherwise in safety. It was a dull, gloomy fend for me. I want to speak to thee, Cassie,” | day: a thick mist almost blotted out the landscape, added he, drawing ber into the empty cheese-room, and was nearly as wet as rain. Silently they turned which looked drearier than ever, with its riches away from the old pillared gateway and the old swept away.

gray house, which looked as mournful as if it felt "I were hard on thee, child, t'other time. I dun- the desertion, and the only sound heard was the na know as thou couldst ha' done less for thy fey- squeaking of the little pig in a hamper at the top of ther but lend him the money when he'd all that the cart, which lamented its departure with loud coil. Arter all he were thy feyther; and so now squeals, answered from the farmyard by the cries wilt thou come and live wi' me, and be a child to of the bereaved mother growing fainter and more me in my old age, and I will leave thee a' I have faint in the distance. Not a word was spoken by when I go?"

any of them till they reached their future home in “I wunna leave Lyddy,” said Cassie, stoutly. the small scattered hamlet below. It stood apart “ Thank ye kindly a' the same, uncle. She and I on the side of the hill, in the space formed by a little is one. I'll not return from following arter her; quarry, out of which the house had been built. On where she goes I will go, and where she dies I will the other side was a steep terraced garden supdie," said the girl with a passion of affection that ported by a high wall looking down to the green made her voice tremble, and her rich brown cheek croft in which it was set. Before the door grep warm with color and her eyes bright with tears. It two or three sycamores, — the tree which flourishes was beautiful to see her, and even the philosophy best in these hills, — the tops of which are mostly of Nathan the wise was not proof against it. bare and ugly, while vegetation creeps down the

“You'd make a rare loving wife, my wench, you valleys following the course of the streams. would," he said, admiringly.

"And thou ’lt set slips o' things and have a gar The poor girl's eyes filled with tears as she mur- den, dearie?” said Lydia, looking round. "Sure mured something about not being any man's wife, 't is a nice quiet pleasant place.” and then asked some unintelligible question about The two women got work to do at home from one Roland.

of the small mills which were beginning to take the “No; I hanna heerd nowt about him sin' I gin place of the home-spinning, and to rise on even om un a recommend for Liverpool. He went off wi' scure - water privileges"; and German easily found that old raskil Joshuay; but thee's better forget a' a place as cowkeeper to a farmer near. It was a about his father's son," said the old man. “Well, peaceful life. The descent in dignity fell heaviest good by, my lass, and ye'll come to me an ye be in on poor German, the women scarcely felt it at all; trouble. I'd ha' liked sorely for to ha'e had thee they hardly dared to acknowledge, even to them for my own," he added, clearing his throat. “Good selves, the relief it was to live under their own roofby, Lyddy. I shall come and see yer again once tree, with none to make them afraid. Still, as time ye 're settled," he called out as he passed through went on, with no tidings of Roland, Cassie's heart the kitchen once more. “Eh, dearie me, to be sure, grew sick with a longing desire for a word or a 80 who'd ba'thought it? It's a sorry sight!” repeated and her cheeks grew pale with watching and Wall Nathan, shaking his head dolefully as he went out ing in vain. at the door again.

[To be continued.] “What did he come for, Cassie, all in such a hurry?” said Lydia, anxiously, as the girl came slowly back.

SHOOTING NIAGARA. " Axe me no questions and I'll tell thee no lies," There are few men who have reached thirty answered she, with a laughing caress.

years of life, who cannot look back with pleasing " He came to axe thee go wi' him," Lydia went upon the time when they first read the writing on. “I know he did, and thou hast given it up be- Mr. Carlyle. To the young, - to those just ent cause o' me, my darlin'. Think on it agin. I can ing upon life, wbich stretched before them w fend for German, and belike too he may marry. vast expanse, a peculiar charm was felt in di Why shouldst thou fling away what 's for thy good lyle's writings. The gleams of humor, the sna wi' thinkin' o' me?”

of eloquence, the passionate earnestness of "I was na' thinking o' thee one bit,” said Cas- preacher, stirred vague feelings. But Mr. Ca sie, gayly (it was the first time Lydia had seen the writings have done even more than this. Il poor girl smile for months), "I were just a thinkin' raised up a transcendental school. Its most power o mysen. Martha Savage 'ud be a sore un to nent disciples are Mr. Froude, Mr. Ruskin live with. Sure life's better nor house or land, Kingsley, and the author of " Guy Livingstone. and 't is life to live wi' thee and German. Thou Froude's Henry VIII. would probably nefer

existed had not Mr. Carlyle's Cromwell been already probably never was since the Heptarchy ended, or painted. Mr. Ruskin's views on political econ- almost since it began, so hugely critical an epoch in omy are taken straight from the pages of the de- the history of England as this, ..., in which, nouncer of Bentham. Mr. Kingsley's Hereward is with no Norman invasion now ahead, to lay hold of a Carlyleian ideal, whilst Mr. Lawrence marks the it, to bridle and regulate it for us, and guide it into decadence of Carlyleism in its worst and most ma- higher and wider regions, the question of utter death terial form. Mr. Carlyle has certainly made his or of nobler life for the poor country was so uncermark upon the literature of the day. It is quite tain." Here is a chance for the Froudes and the true that his worshippers are men of a weak poeti- Kingsleys. William the Bastard, as he called himcal kind of mind. In spite of all Mr. Froude's self, is now to be whitewashed. The man who vague declamations about his hero, in spite of Mr. plundered our fathers, who strove to his utmost to Ruskin's political economy, in spite of Mr. Kings- extirpate our language, because he could not unley's giant muscles, the laws of evidence are not derstand it, — the man who made killing a red deer altered, — Adam Smith is not displaced, and the of greater importance than killing a fellow creature, biceps muscle is not considered as a proof of honor is to be the new saint in the English bagiology. and integrity. On the other hand, however, Mr. This, however, by the way. It is with the main Carlyle has found himself more and more in direct question that we are most interested. And here antagonism with the practice of the day. Whilst we are not quite without some guidance, — whether he and his followers have been preaching transcen- utter death or a nobler new life is reserved for dentalism, the world has been acting more and more England. The trade of prophecy is rather dangerupon utilitarian principles. Whilst he has been ous. Mr. Carlyle, however, cannot object if we advocating Toryism, the world has been accepting judge his present prophecy by his previous performLiberalism. The more he and his followers have ances in the same line. We have some recollecpreached idealism, the faster has an exactly opposite tion of the dismal vaticinations which he uttered school risen.

seventeen years ago in his Latter-Day Pamphlets. And proportionately as these changes of opinion Not one of them, however, has come true. Anarchy have taken place, so bave Mr. Carlyle's utterances has not yet overtaken us, and England still pays her become wilder and more spasmodic. Each new dividends. The nation has gone on its own way. book that he has published bas still more and more The remedies of the Latter-Day Pamphlets were shown a mind undisciplined, — has revealed more unregarded, and its prophecies are still unfulfilled. and more in growing ugliness the results of unbridled We must therefore be pardoned if we refuse to be license. Of late years he has taken no pains to con- credulous both as to Mr. Carlyle's prophecies and ceal his contempt for the great body of his fellow- remedies, especially when we discover that they are creatures. He has couched his thoughts, too, in a of exactly the same kind which he offered us nearly jargon which reminds us more of the language of twenty years ago. We becoine weary, too, with Browning's Spanish monk than of anybody else :- having the same tale told us, especially when all “Blasted lay that rose-acacia

practice negatives its truth. Bitter" invectives We're so proud of. Hy, Zy, Hine !

against “self-government,” caustic homilies upon 'St ! there's vespers. Plena gratia.

liberty of conscience, loud tirades against Free-trade Ave Virgo ! Gr-r-r you swine!”

and Bentham, can now only be looked upon as literAnd “ Gr-r-r you swine!” has for the last twenty ary curiosities. The words fall upon us meaningyears been Mr. Carlyle's burden. He has not hesi- less. They are full of sound and fury, but signity tated in his Frederick the Great to denounce this nothing. To read such sentences in “ Shooting fair earth as "a rotten dungheap of a world.” He Niagara” as “the fool of a world,” “the Almighty proclaims in his discourses on the negro question, Maker has appointed the nigger to be a servant," that there is only one remedy for man, — "a collar “servantship must become a contract of permaround his neck, and a cartwhip over his back.” nency,” simply creates a smile. Our answer is not

Knowing all this, we are not at all surprised at given by words, but by an appeal to facts. The Mr. Carlyle's last utterance in Macmillan's Magazine, world is certainly not so foolish as it was. Even in “ Shooting Niagara : and After ?” We should have the short lifetime of a single man much improvebeen much surprised had it been anything different ment is visible. Much to soothe man's sorrow, much to what it is. The man who has consistently all his to increase his joys, has been wrought even within life admired the doctrine of Force, is not so much Mr. Carlyle's own memory. likely to be convinced of his error, as to raise a fresh Since the first Reform Bill passed, England may scream at the spectacle of a great nation fast pro- be almost said to be another and a better land. We gressing to self-government. The man who latterly are no optimists. We know too well by the very seems only to have felt any remorse when he re- condition of things that life must have its shadows membered that white men cannot be sold and treat- as well as its sunshine. Speaking broadly, however, ed like slaves, is not likely to be touched by the we affirm that the condition of all men has improved thought of enfranchisement. The moral decrepitude during the present half-century. Justice, however of Mr. Carlyle's later writings has prevented us from much it may miscarry, is administered more fairly even hoping that any such change could take place. than ever it has been. The hand of charity — not Mr. Carlyle's latest utterance is nothing more than indiscriminate, but thoughtful — has never been so an echo of what he has said twenty times before. | open. Museums, reading-rooms, mechanics' instiThere are thoughts in his “Shooting Niagara” tutes, and hospitals have been built for the poor. which correspond nearly word for word with others Gardens are thrown open to the public. New in his “ Discourse on the Nigger Question." And schools are daily being opened, and lectures given. yet it would be unjust to say there is nothing new. The material requirements and pleasures of life are The very first sentence shows us that there is a new cheaper and better than they ever have been. The hero yet to take his place in the Carlyleian Wal- poor are better clothed and better fed than at any halla.

other period of our English history. Science, too, Mr. Carlyle begins his paper with, — "There has wrought no less benefits than trade. The middle classes can now take their holiday, and visit the he treats them, are such as will appeal to the tastes Continent, and the artisan by excursion trains can of educated men, and to few besides. His poetry is leave the workshop, and see something of his own not swept by any gusts of passionate fervor, such as land. There is, of course, a dark side to all this. thrill the popular imagination ; it is calm and equaMaterial wealth brings with it new dangers. The ble, and accords to a chaste and somewhat stern workman may spend his wages in drink and vice, ideal of beauty in its tone and style. All can symand the servant-girl deck herself out in sham jew pathize with the tenderness and delicate feeling that elry. But the darker side is daily becoming less are breathed in some of his shorter pieces ; but it is dark, whilst the brighter side grows more bright. If doubtful whether the merits of his more ambitious powMr. Carlyle will see only the shadow, we cannot ers are of a kind that will be generally appreciated. help it. We ourselves prefer to look at the sub- The chief poem in the present volume is entitled stance. As for Mr. Carlyle's remedies, they have “Empedocles on Etna.” It was first published some already been tried. There was a day when both years since, but, to the regret of Mr. Arnold's adblack and white men were slaves. The experiment, mirers, almost immediately withdrawn from circuhowever, of feudalism is over. No return to it is lation. Mr. Arnold tells us that he now reprints it now possible. In vain Mr. Carlyle may preach his “at the request of a man of genius, whom it had the homilies. It is neither in his nor in any man's power honor and the good fortune to interest, – Mr. Robto reverse the present order of things. He might ert Browning." The poem, however, needs no rèthave done much good, but instead, he has preferred ommendation from others to attract notice to it to do what little harm was possible. He has made, Its vigor and beauty are sufficiently striking to aras we have said, some mark on the literature of the rest the attention of all who seek in poetry some day, but none on the real work of the age. He has thing more than the sensuous beauty of sweet sat still in his study and cursed progress, whilst others sounds, or shallowness and obviousness of thought have borne the heat and burden of the day. But and fancy. It is dramatic in its form. Empedocles the fault, perhaps, after all, lies in Mr. Carlyle's pe- himself is the central figure. And the vague specuculiar temperament. He is in too much of a hurry lations of the poet-philosopher on the great problems to reach the Golden Age. Because he cannot find of existence, and his dreamy reveries and musings it ready made, he will manufacture Utopia.

in the endeavor to pierce the fathomless mysteries We, on the other hand, believe that all good of life, constitute the main theme of the poem. In comes slowly. Nothing which is done quickly is contrast with Empedocles is placed the harp-player worth much. It is a long cry to Loch Awe. Be-Callicles, who represents the light, joyous nature cause man is not suddenly transformed into an that finds pleasure in the mere act of living, and angel, we do not despair. There is a reverse to the does not seek to penetrate what is dark and hidden; “Nemo repentè fuit turpissimus.” A man's lifetime full of the old heathen love of beauty, and imbued is but a short period in the history of the world. with the sensuous delight in what is fresh and fair Stand on the shore for a moment, and you cannot for its own sake. The snatches of song that he tell whether the waters gain or lose. We commit sings are full of a strange sweetness that it would be the task of improvement to time, which is more difficult to analyze. The bright glimpses of scenery powerful than the brief threescore and ten years of Callicles gives are very soft and exquisite :man. And so to the moral of Mr. Carlyle's paper,

« The track winds down to the clear stream we say emphatically this, - it is better that Niagara

To cross the sparkling shallows ; there should plunge over the falls headlong, than that it

The cattle love to gather, on their way

To the high mountain pastures, and to stay should be dammed up with artificial barriers; for in

Till the rough cow-herds drive them past, the one case it reaches its natural channel, but in

Knee-deep in the cool ford ; for 't is the last

Of all the woody, high, well-watered dells the other it would only burst its bounds and destroy

On Etna; and the beam all within its reach.

Of noon is broken there by chestnut boughs
Dowo its steep verdant sides ; the air
Is freshened by the leaping stream, which throws

Eternal showers of spray on the mossed roots
MATTHEW ARNOLD'S NEW POEMS. *

Of trees, and veins of turf, and long dark shoots

or ivy plants, and fragrant hanging bells It is only at rare intervals that Mr. Matthew

Of hyacinthy, and on late anemones, Arnold reminds us with what skill and grace he can

That muffle its wet banks; but glade,

And stream, and sward, and chestnut-trees, give expression to subtle thought and feeling in

End here ; Etna beyond, in the broad glare verse. As a poet, he has never attained to a wide

or the hot noon, without a shade,

Slope hehind slope, up to the peak, lies bare ; popularity, and probably never will. And to this

The peak, round which the white clouds play." it is to be presumed that he is serenely indifferent. We do not imagine that he would be inclined to

Od M . Arnold's conception of Empedocles is full of estimate very highly the value of the popular favor

dramatic insight, both into the spirit of the time that is extended, with perfect impartiality, both to

and the working of the human mind. It would be Tupper and to Tennyson. He does not attempt to

difficult to convey an idea of the subtlety and conciliate popular tastes, and bas never deferred to

excellence of the conception by isolated extracts popular prejudices and prepossessions. He has not

It requires to be regarded as a whole to be appreyielded to the impulse of literary fashion in poetry,

ciated. The following stanzas give the key-notes and has been almost insensible to the influence that

to the doubts and dreams that trouble the mind one or two of his contemporaries have exercised on

of Empedocles :the poetry of the present day. His writings possess " The outspread world to span a strong individuality of their own; they accurately A cord the gods first slung, reflect the sympathies of one who, above all, rever

And then the soul of man

There, like a mirror, hang, ences intellectual beauty and greatness. Mr. Arnold And bade the winds through space impel the gusty toy aims at being the poet of thought and culture. “Hither and thither spins Both the subjects he treats, and the way in which

The wind-borne mirroring soul,
A thousand glimpses wins,

And never sees a whole ;
* New PoExs. By Matthew Arnold. 1867.

Looks once, and drives elsewhere, and leaves its last emplos

Saturday

7, 1867.

“The Gods laugh in their sleeve

Out of the light and mutely; which avoids To watch man doubt and fear,

Fame, and her less fair followers, envy, strife, Who knows not what to believe

Stupid detraction, jealousy, cabal, Since he sees nothing clear,

Insincere praises ; which descends And dares stamp nothing false where he finds nothing sure.

The quiet mossy track to age. “Is this, Pausanias, so?

“But, when immature death And can our souls not strive,

Beckons too early the guest But with the winds must go,

From the balf-tried banquet of life, And hurry where they drive?

Young, in the bloom of his days; Is fate indeed so strong, man's strength indeed so poor?

Leaves no leisure to press,

Slow and surely, the sweets "I will not judge that man,

Of a tranquil life in the shade, How beit, I judged as lost,

Fuller for him be the hours Whose mind allows a plan

Give him emotion, though pain ! Which would degrade it most;

Let him live, let bim feel : I have lived ! And he treats doubt the best who tries to see least ill."

Heap up his moments with life,

Triple his pulses with fame!” The minor poems contained in the present vol

There is one characteristic of Mr Arnold's poetry ume all display Mr. Arnold's characteristic excel

that is a mark of all poetry of the highest order. lences. Many are full of exquisite grace and tenderness. Those that speak of his brother's death

It is not only imaginative in itself, but it tends to are full of a delicate pathos that is only the more

stimulate the imagination in others. It is full of impressive from its unobtrusiveness. Few poems

suggestiveness. To thoroughly enjoy his poetry it of the kind in the English language can equal the

is necessary that the mind of the reader should co

operate and work in unison with that of the writer. quiet beauty of the following stanzas :

His words have the magic of opening up a vista of “ Far on its rocky knoll descried

thought. The poem proves the first link in a chain Saint Michael's chapel cuts the sky.

of associations. In poetry of this kind much of the I climbed ; beneath me, bright and wide, Lay the lone coast of Brittany.

effect depends on the existence of a certain intel

lectual sympathy between writer and reader. * * Bright in the sunset, weird and still,

If It lay beside the Atlantic wave,

this is absent the language remains nearly barren As if the wizard Merlin's will

of significance. And it is owing to the action of Yet charmed it from his forest grave.

this intellectual law that Mr. Arnold's poems re"Behind me on their grassy sweep,

main uninteresting to many. Only those who bave Bearded with lichen, scrawled and gray, The giant stones of Carnac sleep,

something in common can properly appreciate one In the mild evening of the May.

another. Mr. Arnold has lately assumed, in some "No priestly, stern procession now

degree, the position of a prophet vigorously deStreams through their rows of pillars old ;

nouncing all that he holds evil, and as enthusiastiNo victims bleed, no Druids bow; Sheep make the furze-grown aisles their fold.

cally clamoring for what he holds to be necessary

for the welfare of the country. And wicked scof" From bush to bush the cuckoo flies, The orchis red gleams everywhere ;

fers have ventured to sneer at the “ elegant JereGold broom with furze in blossom vies,

miah" in response to his exertions. Does be, in The bluebells perfume all the air.

the following pithy and spirited verses, give his " And o'er the glistening, lonely land,

own estimate of his position, and his resolution as Rise up, all round, the Christian spires. The church of Carnac, by the strand,

to his future course of action? — Catches the westering sun's last fires

“ Creep into thy Darrow bed,
“And there across the watery way,

Creep, and let no more be said'
See, low above the tide at flood,

Vain the onset ! all stands fast;
The sickle-sweep of Quiberon bay

Thou thyself must break at last.
Whose beach once ran with loyal blood !

" Let the long contention cease !
" And beyond that, the Atlantio wide ! -

Geese are swans, and swans are geese
All round, no soul, no boat, no hail !

Let them have it how they will
But, on the horizon's verge descried,

Thou art tired; best be still!
Hangs, touched with light, one snowy sail !

" They out-talked thee, hissed thee, tore thee
"Ah, where is he, who should have come

Better men fared thus before thee;
Where that far sail is passing now,

Fired their ringing shot and passed,
Past the Loire's mouth, and by the foam

Hotly charged, - and broke at last.
Of Finistere's unquiet brow,

“ Charge once more, then, and be dumb
“ Home, round into the English wave! -

Let the victors, when they come,
He tarries where the Rock of Spain

When the forts of folly fall,
Mediterranean waters lave ;

Find thy body by the wall."
He enters not the Atlantic main.

, could he once have reached this air
Freshened by plunging tides, by showers!

FOREIGN NOTES.
Ilave felt this breath he loved, of fair
Cool northern fields, and grass, and flowers

A CURIOus discovery has just been made in the “He longed for it, - pressed on! In vain.

library of the House of Lords, – viz. the original At the Straits failed that spirit brave.

copy of the “ Sealed Book of Common Prayer," The South was parent of his pain, The South is mistress of his grave."

which has long been missing. One of Mr. Arnold's chief merits as a poet con

The Court Journal says: “It is presumed the sists in the perfect command of language that he

great favor the recently published . Life of the Prince possesses. His style is very bright and chaste, and

Consort'has met with will be the cause of the pub

lication of the History of Balmoral' by the Prince. always keen and incisive. Each of the detached

It is full of interesting matter, and sufficiently poems conveys some well-defined thought in eloquent and inelodious words. The ideas are generally fresh

learned to cause a regret that it should be lost to and original, and are always aptly expressed. It is

the world in general.” thus that he muses on early death and fame:

A COMMITTEE of fifty-six persons, including such " For him who must see many years,

distinguished names as Guizot, Chasseloup-Laubat, I praise the life which slips away

| Drouyn de Lhuys, Henri Martin, and Michel Che