« PreviousContinue »
Relaxing, let liis spirit rove
At length a dreamless stupor deep
And silently they came,
One by one, the same Who had joyous met by the hearth below, Only three short weeks ago. They looked, " Is it life, or death?" She beckoned them in, and, with hushed breath Standing around, they saw dismayed That living soul already laid The shadow of the grave beneath.
Kneeling beside his hope, his pride,
Felled in youth's prime, his sea-worn son,
Aloud the reverend father cried:
"Submissive Lord, we bow; Thy will bo done;
Yet grant some token ere my child depart,
Thy love hath ever dwelt within his heart,
And through the vale of darkness safe will guide."
"Amen, amen," in faltering response sighed
Mother and children, watchers woe-begono.
Oh, mournful vigils, lingering long!
Oh, agonies of hope, that wrong
Solemn prayer for swift release,
And the soul's eternal peace!
Now holy calm, now wild desire
With sick suspense alternate tire,
Till very consciousness must cease.
Faint the reluctant hours expire;
The mind flows back; as in a dream
Trivial imaginations stream
Over the blank of grief,
Bringing no relief.
Haply some sudden sound without—
)r careless whistler passing near—
rtay, unaware, pierce the dull ear,
And feeble, mystic wonder wnke,
And straight the web of fancy break;
The awful presence over all
Covering unseen a brooding pall.
'Oh, look! what change is there? can hope revive?
aft his head gently, give him air"
strong winds through a thunder-cloud, and shear
Athwart, on either side, its blackness,
sweeping the empyrean clear;
So, from the stony visnge rent,
The heaviness, the livid hue;
And the inward spirit shining through,
Serene, ethereal brightness lent.
His eyes unclosed; their gage intent
No narrow, stifling limits saw,
No aspects blanched by love and awe—
Far, far on the eternal bent.
Hark! from his lips the seamen's cheer,
Sudden, deep-thrilling, did they hear,
"Landahead!" The words of welcome rose;
Then ho sank back in isolate repose.
What land 1 Oh, say, thou tempest-tost!
Whither hath thy worn bark drifted,
Secst thou thine own rlear native coast—
Vision by strong desire uplifted—
Britain's white cliffd afar appearing;
Or art thou not, full surely, nenring
That unknown strand, th<it furthest shore,
Whence wanderer never saileth more?
But hush 1 again he speaks with steadfast tone,
"Let go the anchor." Now, the port is won.
O happy mariner! at last,
Ocean storms and perils past.
Past treacherous rock and shelving shoal,
And the ravening breakers' roll,
Securely moored in haven blest,
Thy weary soul hath found its rest,
Touching now the golden strand I
Before thce lies the promised land,
To thy raptured eyes revealed
(Eyes on earth forever sealed).
Eternity's reflected splendor
Transfigurcth the hollow brow
And the shattered hull must 'render,
Landed, the free spirit now.
Wayfarers we, on a homeless sea,
Bid thee not return, delay;
But oh! one word of parting say!
Sweet, solemn, full, those final accents fell, Pledge of undying peace: he spake, "All's
Yea, all is well; that last adieu
Heard nngelic horpings sweet,
Of far homes immortal tell,
Still whispering: "All is well, is well.
THE CITY OF EXTREMITY.
There is a place, a dreadful place,
Two millions swelter darkly there,
Each man his neighbor screws and racka,
Horse nature, too, as sorely worn,
Miles off, you see the smoke arise
God kindly gave the fruitful earth
There labor is a deadly fight,
Men hate the unchristian work they do.
They loathe the place they do it in.
They fly from both when fly they can,
dear-loved friends, do not forget,
In the City of Extremity!
Still, still the larks at heaven's gate sing,
There healthful work and honest gain
Come forth, then from this frightful town,
THE TWO LAMENTS.
FBOX THE GERMAN.
Over a new-filled grave a maiden tender,
"Let every branch aspire,
As do my arms, mine eyes,
Be hidden in the skies.
Over a new-made grave a lover bending,
"Droop till thy verdant tresses
Tho hallowed cold turf sweep.
Where my beloved doth sleep.
H.L. —Englishwoman's Journal.
No. 845.—11 August, 1860.
1. The Four Georges: George the First, . . Mr. Thackeray, 323
2. Concerning the Dignity of Dulness, . . Eraser's Magazine, 335
3. The Fair at Ready, Macmittan's Magazine, 345
4. Ho! For the North Pole, .... N. Y. Evening Post, 351
5. Edmond About, National Review, 357
6. Claremont, and the Princess Charlotte. Part 2, Eclectic, 309
7. Lady Morgan, . New Monthly Magazine, 374
8. Found at Sea Dublin University Magazine, 377
9. Memorials of Thomas Hood, .... Spectator, " 380 10. Angling at Home and Abroad, . . ." 383
Poetry.—The Happy Valley, 322.
Short Articles.—Mammoth Cave in Missouri, 334. The Farallones, 344. .Return of the Jews to Palestine, 350. Generosity of G. P. R. James, 356. Matrimonial Union of Prince Peter of Arenberg, 376. Mahomedan Funerals, 376. Dumas Robbing Garibaldi, 379. A Celtic Dictionary, 384.
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY
LITTELL, SON, & CO., B O S T ON.
For Six Dollars a year, la advance, remitted directly to the Publishers^ the LiTOfl A<3E will bo punctually fbrwarded free of postage.
Complete sets of the First Series, In thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, In twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered In all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume.
Ast Volume may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half fn numbers.
Ant Number may be had for 13 cents; and It Is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value.
THE HAPPY VALLEY.
A Sloping path between th' autumnal woods, Where the pines breath'cl an echo of far floods, Led to a bank from which the ripe fern shook Its speckled plumage o'er the winding brook. I sat and list ned in a sunny nook, While at my feet the dead-ripe apple fell. Lifting mine eyes from off an olden book To wait each cadence of the clear sheep-bell, That dropp'd in rills of music down the sombre dell.
Amiincl me fell th' unutterable rest
While peep'd above the trees the young moon's iv'ry horn.
I sat and list'ncd; for such mvstic scene Of earthly rest I ne'er had dreamt before, And much I mnrrell'd if what here had been, Should lure us back, when on the far-off shore. If led by anpels from the nearly door, , We should alight upon this earth made new, The same, and not the same we lov'd of yore, Stamp'd with the signet of its God anew, When mortal sin and grief had past for aye from
In some such nook I pray'd my home might
With all I ever lov'd in olden time;
Pealing ncross each vale and (jleamy height, Proclaims th' eternal sabbath of the realms of
There, then, perchance, some face I once did
And lose amid the restlessness of earth,
Its wayward longings, passionate regrets, Impatient snatchings at imagin'd worth— And the vast heap of Heaven's forgotten
debts— God! may we meet where no tear falls, joy
It will not matter then who lov'd in vain, Who for the wrong love cast away tho true; How each man wrought his robe of scorching
Seeking the phantom bliss lie never knew— It will not matter—if among the few We and our own sit by the crystal stream. And watch our fitful life rise to our view, Peopled with idol-shapes, a ghastly dream, When Truth's eternal mountains grandly round us gleam.
Who has oot iiuirkM upon some careworn
Tho roem'ry of a better earlier day, Something divine which sin might not efface, A shred of beauty which would not decay 1 Who has not long'd to win such soul to pray, To charm across-those features stern and wild (Where, like the lightning, stormy passion*
The touching love-look of the little child, Ere homo had lost its light, or guilt the soul
Or hast thou pac'd within some ruin'd fane,
Taught Art the smile of Truth, and breath'd Life into stone.
I( too, feel some such yearning wish to cry
He will not ihrink from thy ppHuted tonch—
each tress; Soon o'er thy brow a glorious Hope shall
flush, "Forgiven many sins, because she loved much."
Alan Brodbick. —Dublin University Magazine.
From The Cornbill Magazine. THE FOUR GEOEGES.
bKtTi !! LS OF MANNERS, MORALS, COUBT ASD TOWS I.IIT:.
I.—Geokge The First.
A Vkhy few years since, I knew familiarly a lady who had been asked in marriage by Horace Walpole; who had been patted on the head by George L This lady had knocked at Johnson's door; had been intimate with Fox, the beautiful Georgina of Devonshire, and that brilliant Whig society of the reign of George HI.; had known the Duchess of Queensberry, the patroness of Gay and Prior, the admired young beauty of the court of Queen Anne. I often thought, as I took my kind old friend's hand, how with it I held on to the old society of wits and men of the world. I could travel back for seven score years of time—have glimpses of Brummcll, Selwyn, Chesterfield and the men of pleasure; of Walpole and Convray; of Johnson, Reynolds, Goldsmith; of North, Chatham, Newcastle; of the fair maids of honor of George II.'s court; of the German retainers of George L's; where Addison was secretary of state; where Dick Steele held a place; whither the great Marlborough came with his fiery spouse; when Pope and Swift and Bolingbroke yet lived and wrote. Of a society so vast, busy, brilliant, it is impossible in four brief chapters to give a complete notion; but we may peep here and there into that bygone world of the Georges, see what they and their courts were like; glance at the people round about them; look at past manners, fashions, pleasures, and contrast them with our own. I have to say thus much by way of preface, because the subject of these lectures have been misunderstood, and I have been taken to task for not having given grave historical treatises, which it never was my intention to attempt. Not about battles, about politics, about statesmen and measures of state, did I ever think to lecture you: but to sketch the manners and life of the old world; to amuse for a few hours with talk about the old society; and, with the result of many a day's and night's pleasant reading, to try and wile away a few winter evenings for my hearers. Among the German princes who sat under Luther at Wittenberg, was Duke'Ernest of Cclle, whose younger son, William of Liineburg, was the progenitor of the illustrious Hanoverian house atpresent reigning in Great Britain. Duke William held his court at Cello, a little town of ten thousand people that lies on the railway line between Hamburg and Hanover, in the midst of great plains of sand, upon the river Aller. When Duke William had it, it was a very
humble wood-built place, with a great brick church, which he sedulously frequented, and in which he and others of his house lie buried. He was a very religious lord, and called William the Pious by his small circle of subjects, over v, hum he ruled till fate deprived him both of sight and reason. Sometimes, in his latter days, the good duke had glimpses of mental light, when he would bid his musicians play the psalm-tunes which he loved. One thinks of a descendant of his, two hundred years afterwards, blind, old, and lost of wits, singing Handel in Windsor Tower.
William the Pious had fifteen children, eight daughters and seven sons, who, as the property left among them was small, drew lots to determine which one of them should marry, and continue the stout race of the Guclphs. The lot fell on Duke George, the sixth brother. The others remained single, or contracted left-handed marriages after the princely fashion of those days. It is a queer picture—that of the old prince dying in his little wood-built capital, and his seven sons tossing up which should inherit and transmit the crown of Brentford. Duke George, the lucky prize-man, made the tour of Europe, during which he visited the court of Queen Elizabeth; and in the year 1617, came back and settled at Zell, with a wife out of Darmstadt. His remaining brothers all kept their house at Zell, for economy's sake. And presently, in due course, they all died—all the honest dukes; Ernest, and Christian, and Augustus, and Magnus, and George, and John—and they are buried in the brick church of Brentford yonder, by the sandy banks of the Aller.
Dr. Vchse gives a pleasant glimpse of the way of life of our dukes in Zell. "When the trumpeter on the tower has blown," Duke Christian orders—viz., at nine o'clock in the morning, and four in the evening, every one must be present at meals, and those who are not must go without. None of the servants, unless it be a knave who has been ordered to ride out, shall eat or drink in the kitchen or cellar; or, without special leave, fodder his horses at the prince's cost. When the meal is served in the court-room, a page shall go round and bid every one be quiet and orderly, forbidding all cursing, swearing, and rudeness; all throwing about of bread, bones, or roast, or pocketing of the same. Every morning, at seven, the squires shall have their morning soup, along with which, and dinner, they shall be served with their underdrink—every morning except Friday morning, when there was sermon, and no drink. Every evening they shall have their beer, and at night their sleep-drink. The butler is especially warned not to allow noble or