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compelled either to imitate Prussia or to see weening confidence, has assumed in reality her rival outstrip her in the race for German the leadership in Germany which his predefavor. The Prussians fired up as all nations cessors have so long claimed. He may also fire up at the prospect of aggrandizement; the

have prepared great misfortunes for his counwrongs of the Parliament were condoned; seizure of Silesia remains unpunished, and

try ; but the justice of Heaven is slow; the the press was placed in irons without opposi- meanwhile no kaiser will venture again to tion, and it is doubtful still whether the loans summon the German princes to his stirrup which the government must have raised dur- without, at least, a cordial previous agreeing the war will not be sanctioned perforce ment with Berlin. These are great results almost without discussion. Finally, Herr for Prussia, enough, at least, to convince her von Bismark gratified to the quick the na- derrated the squire so suddenly raised to the

that if she did not misjudge, she at least untional pride of Germany by meeting threats belm. The truth would seem to be that of foreign interference by an attitude of cool Herr von Bismark belongs to that order of defiance. France appeared, to the public eye which the Napier family are the best English at least, uncertain, and England was avow- examples, men of the true Gascon stamp, edly hostile to the invasion of Denmark, but whose boasting covers courage and not the Herr von Bismark moved his troops on with absence of it, who talk loudly, but whose perout attending to either. It is probable that he formance falls only short of their talk, who knew privately how little he had to fear, how solence is based, not upon pride, but on a con

can be insolent when excited, but whose indifficult it was for Napoleon to break at once scious sense of power. with the little powers of Germany and the cry People tell us very gravely and solemnly of the nationalities, how strong allies Germa- that the influence of persons is dying, and ny had in England in Mr. Gladstone and the Tennyson, with Louis Napoleon on the throne, court. But externally his attitude was one

sings how - the individual withers, and the

world of resistance to external influence in a domes- this single man has done. He has visibly

more and more ; grows

yet look what tic question, an appeal to that imperial feel- retarded the revolution, has driven back the ing which lies so close to the heart of every current which was setting in all over Europe great nationality. Since Rosbach, the Ger- towards freedom. It is not yet two years mans had never felt so keenly how great they since every country in Europe except Russia really were. Austria and Prussia united, became nominally constitutional, since the Denmark invaded, Napoleon silenced, Pal resuscitation of Poland was a visible possi

bility, since the pope was asking an asylum merston defied, Sweden bidden to retreat,

in Malta, and Greece was about to strike the Germans felt proud of themselves and of note of general Turkish revolt. Setting aside each other; and nations pardon all to those phrases, how stands it now? Poland is who make them great abroad. Had James II. crushed to the ground, the pope is as strong but maintained the foreign policy of Crom- as ever ; the only free State of the North has well, the mob, at least, would never have disappeared ; the Greek revolution has ended shouted about the dispensing power.


in a fiasco; the constitution has ceased in

Prussia and become powerless in Austria, can we deem the Germans altogether in the and three men, heads of three of those ancient wrong. Success is not the test of statesman- royal houses which for generations have so ship, for government requires moral quali- burdened Europe, are independent masters of ties,—but it is of ability ; and Prussians who a million and a half of trained soldiers, of a see such results attained are right in believ- conscription which can replace them, of the ing that he who attains them is at least an public wealth, taxes, duties, and monopolies able man. Nor, judging from their point through two-thirds of territorial Europe, and

more than one-half its population. And all of view, can we pronounce the premier this has occurred simply because the Prussian wholly without a claim to the gratitude of Court has called to its aid a man who, devoted those who can bear to postpone the national to reactionary ideas, has the brains to discover freedom to the national status. Prussia had means which may be effectively used on their lallen very low; the belief in the artificial behalf, and the evil audacity to use them character of its strength was very general, without dread of results. All this success and the doubts as to its army infected the is temporary, for principles never die, and people themselves. In twelve months Herr nations survive statesmen ; but " a time” in von Bismark has vindicated her claim to be history involves sometimes a generation, and one of the first powers of Europe, has chang- for “ă time ” Europe has no more formided the depression of the army into an over-able enemy than Herr von Bismark.

From The N. Y. Evening Post. Alas! no resurrection day shall ope

The earthly gates of light and life to them.

Are those grim ghosts, in winding-sheet and A VOLUME of poetry published by Willis

shroud, P. Hazard, of Philadelphia, under the title, Which haunt at midnight hour those silent • The Wind Harp and other Poems," by aisles, Ellen Clemantine Howarth, comes to us in- That like a spectre passes through the crowd,

One-half so lonely as the spirit proud vested with a peculiar interest. The author,

And while its pale, sad fuce is wreathed with whose maiden name was Doran, and who

smiles, now lives in Trenton, New Jersey, was born Is thinking of the graves ? in Cooperstown, N. Y., thirty-seven years

There is no weary heart, ago. Her parents were Irish, and at the age

It matters not how reckless it hath been, of seven years she was placed in a factory, But 'mid its desert life hath left apart working in such establishments in different

Some little spot which tears keep fresh and cities till about eighteen years of age. Mar- green,rying a laboring man, she has since then the memory of some little golden head

Laid on that heart to still its passions strong, been obliged to work at chair-bottoming to Some early love, whose tender sweetness shed aid in providing for the scanty expenses of A charm that lives through sorrow, sin, and her humble household.

wrong, When a factory girl, she studied at night

And ’mid the loudest laugh, the wildest song,

Reminds us of the dead. schools and devoted all the intervals of her daily labor to reading ; and this has been her In the poem below My Kingdom"only education. In writing her poetry she we see how a lively imagination forgets, in seems to evince what, we suppose, is often dreams at least, the trammels of homely life, commonly called the “ poetic afflatus.” The the unpoetic duties of which fall to the share theme will be suggested suddenly, and she of a laboring man's wife; the idea is the must needs sit down at once and fix the pass- same as that expressed in Whittier's “ Maud ing idea in rapid rhyme, or it is gone. Af- Müller : ". ter it is once down, there is no revision

“ Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls attempted; and the printer has the first

Stretched away into stately halls." unaltered manuscript.

MY KINGDOM. In the present volume, amid some inferior

I sit alone in the gathering gloom, strains and some pardonable repetitions of

And wave my sceptre, a fairy wand, thought or expression, which might have And lo ! in an instant my little room been avoided by a competent revision, we Is changed to a kingdom grand. find many verses of remarkable beauty. The

There are palace walls, poems are all short, ,-mere strains of delicate And a crowd of kneeling subjects near :

And stately halls, sentiment from a woman's heart. Many of And a royal crown on my brown hair falls; them are tinted with the quiet--almost mor- For I am a monarch here. bid-melancholy which so often marks the

I wave my wand, and the ages rise, writings of those who feel their position in life is not such as to afford them scope for And all that is beautiful, great, or wise,

Like the dreams of youth, on the morning air, their finer ambitions. Of such is

Is borne to my kingdom fair ;

And the wisdom page

Of the pagan sage,
Among forgotten graves

And the Druid priest with his mystic lore,
I, too, have wandered oft at midnight hour, And the relics of former age,
But not where o’er white stones the willow waves, Are found on the earth once more.

Or incense floats from nightly breathing flower;
But o’er the lonely graves in mine own heart, I wave my wand, and the Indian isles
Where love and friendship hath been buried Have brought their treasures to deck my

throne ; Where names are traced by sorrow's sculpture art For I rule where eternal summer smiles,

That never yet were breathed in jest or song ; And where winter was never known. 'Tis here, forgotten by the careless throng,

And the sanguine sports I muse among the graves.

Of the savage courts,

Like a panorama's page I see ; Here lies my buried hope,

Kings, castles, and kingdoms, fields and forts, With girlhood faith torn from its fragile stem, Are called and they come to me.


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5. Death,'



I wave my wand, and a glorious band

Where the air thrills with angel hosannas, and Of warrior youths to my presence spring ;

where And rich are the gifts from the Holy Land

Thou wilt never grow old, sweet,
Those mailed crusaders bring.

Never grow old !
They are jewels rare,

Among other selections in this volume de-
That a queen might wear,
And regal robes of texture fine ;

cidedly worthy of notice are “ The Aged," But one gift most dear those warriors bear Kyrie Eleison," 6. The Followers of the From the plains of Palestine.

Cross,” « The Poets,'' 66 And Then ?".. New

Year's Valentine,' 6. The Dying Wife,'' I wave my wand, and a thousand lyres

"' - The Serenade," and " Prayers Wake in my halls, and the dead bards sing ; for the Dead." But where is the voice that my soul inspires, We can readily imagine that these poems Like the voice of the poet king ? Solemn and grand

of Mrs. Howarth, offered to the public in Doth the monarch stand,

dainty style,-in delicate binding of blue and And his mournful miserere pour :

gold,-would find a welcome in many a hoine. My tears flow fast, I have dropped my wand, In some instances we would do away with comI awake, and my reign is o’er.

monplace similes—with “lutes"and“ lyres” The very next poen

in the volume is as and similar worn machinery; but we would tender a thought for a mourning mother as not do away with the majority of these tenany of our poets has yet arrayed in verse :

der strains,--strains which often remind one of Adelaide Proctor or Jean Ingelow,--strains

as sadly beautiful as this :Thou wilt never grow old, Nor weary nor sad, in the home of thy birth ;

The autumn days are here, My beautiful lily, thy leaves will unfold

And the trees are brown and sere, In a clime that is purer and brighter than And I hear the sighs of sadness that a girlish earth.

bosom heaves ; Oh, holy and fair, I rejoice thou art there,

And I mark the hectic bloom, In that kingdom of light, with its cities of gold ;

That is brightening for the tomb, Where the air thrills with angel hosannas, and And I know her strength is waning with the fallwhere

ing of the leaves.
Thou wilt never grow old, sweet, -

It is hard for one so fair,
Never grow old !

Who hath never known a care,

Nor love that hath departed, nor friendship that I am a pilgrim, with sorrow and sin

deceives, Haunting my footsteps wherever I go ;

To leave this world so bright, Life is a warfare my title to win

For the gloomy shades of night, Well will it be if it end not in woe.

And to tread the shadowy valley 'mid the falling Pray for me, sweet ; I am laden with care ;

of the leaves. Dark are my garments with mildew and

Hushed is the sound of mirth,
mould ;

As she shivers by the hearth,
Thou, my bright angel, art sinless and fair,
And wilt never grow old, sweet,-

In the cool and frosty morning and the damp

and chilly eves ; Never grow old!

As she shudders at the knell

Of the schoolmate loved so well ; Now, canst thou hear from thy home in the skies, For the young are falling round us like the fallAll the fond words I am whispering to thee?

ing of the leaves. Dost thou look down on me with the soft eyes Greeting me oft ere thy spirit was free?

With the gentle art of love, So I believe, though the shadows of time

I would lead her thoughts above

And bid her trust the Saviour when her tender Hide the bright spirit I yet shall behold ; Thou wilt still love me, and, pleasure sublime,

bosom grieves ;
Thou wilt never grow old, sweet,

But still with gasping breath,
Never grow old !

She shrinks from gloomy Death,

While fast her tears are falling as the falling of Thus wilt thou be when the pilgrim, grown gray,

the leaves. Weeps when the vines from the hearthstone Oh, pray for her, kind hearts, are riven ;

That peace, ere she departs, Faith shalt behold thee, as pure as the day May gently fall upon her : not Death alone beThou wert torn from the earth and transplanted to heaven.

Oh, well may we despair, Oh, holy and fair, I rejoice thou art there,

If the innocent and fair In that kingdom of light, with its cities of Fall with a troubled spirit, with the falling of gold,

the leaves.




Where the fir, so balmy and evergreen,

Raises its dripping cones, O PLEASANT waters, rippling on the sand,

And the squirrel, sailor-like, climbs the tree,

And the wind is breathing its lullaby, Green and pellucid as the beryl-stone,

Fond and soft and ceaselessly, With crested breakers heaving toward the land,

The songs of distant zones,Chanting their ceaseless breezy monotone,

Alone I would be, What snowy little feet at girlish play

Without company, Have ye not kissed on Newport's beach to-day?

And dream my old dreams o'er again.


O waves, that foam around yon lonely rock,

Where the sunshine comes in level lines
Boding the distant storm with hoarser roar,

Across the velvet mosses,
Has not some ship, beneath the tempest's shock, And stealing in and out in patches,

Gone down, a piteous wreck, to rise no more ? In sunny fits and playful catches,
Lost in the mighty billows' wash and sway,

As a bough or trunk it snatches, What gallant hearts have ye not stilled to-day?

With varying gains and losses

Alone I would be,

Without company, () dancing breakers, fresh from other seas,

And dream my old dreams o'er again. Whereon the lingering, loving sunshine smiles,

-Chambers's Journal. Your spray is fragrance on the fragrant breeze Borne from the spice-groves of those palmy

isles Where dusky maids make merriment alwayHave ye not laved their perfect forms to-day?





BEYOND these chilly winds and gloomy skies, () tossing billows, come ye from afar

Beyond death's cloudy portal,
Where over ice-fields the Aurora beams, There is a land where beauty never dies
Dimming the radiance of the Northern Star And love becomes immortal,
That through the lengthened night of winter

Upon the toppling icebergs, grim and gray ?

A land whose light is never dimmed by shade, Have ye not lashed their frozen sides to-day ?

Whose fields are ever vernal ;
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade,

But blooms for aye, eternal.
O sea of life, whose waters heave and roll,

Ye lave sad wrecks and joyous youthful forms, We may not know how sweet its balmy air,
Ye bring sweet fragrance to the weary soul,

How bright and fair its flowers ;
And chill it with the breath of icy storms ;
Here on the shore we smile and weep and pray-

We may not hear the songs that echo there

Through those enchanted bowers.. O waves, cleanse all our sins from us to-day !

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The city's shining towers we may not see

With our dim, earthly vision ;

For death, the silent warder, keeps the key

That opes the gates elysian.
WHERE the orange bee on the purple flower

Of the roadside thistle dozes ;
Where the flying down blows, filmy white,

But sometimes, when adown the western sky And the azure air-bell poises light,

The fiery sunset lingers, And where the mole, deep out of sight,

Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly,
After his work reposes, –

Unlocked by silent fingers ;
Alone I would be,
Without company,

And while they stand a moment half ajar,
And dream my old dreams o'er again.

Gleams from the inner glory

Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, Where the plovers whirl and circle and scream, And half reveal the story.

Over the loneliest places ;
Where the eastern clouds roll heavy and slow,
And the glad winds race and flutter and blow,- O land unknown ! O land of love divine !
Where the golden corn is all of a glow,

Father, all-wise, eternal,
And so are the reapers' faces,-

Guide, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of Alone I would be,

mine Without company,

Into those pastures vernal. And dream my old dreams o'er again.

--Springfield Republican.

No. 1056.—27 August, 1864.


PAGE 1. Freethinking-its History and Tendencies, Quarterly Review,

387 2. Lindisfarn Chase. Part 16, and last,

Victoria Magazine,

410 3. Allusions,

Sahurday Review,

428 4. The Scot Abroad,


430 POETRY.—Satisfaction, 386. The Brave at Home, 386. The Angels in the House, 386. SHORT ARTICLES.—Dr. Cureton, the Syriac Scholar, 409. Effects of Tobacco on the Heart, 409. Cotton in Italy, 409. M. Jules Janin, 427. The three hundredth Anniversary of the Printing of the first Book in Moscow, 427. Paper manufactured from Maize-leaves, 427. St. Paul's Cathedral, in London, and English Artists, 427.

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