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On that pleasant morn of the early fall,
When Lee marched over the mountain
wall,

Over the mountains winding down.
Horse and foot, into Frederick town,

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their silver bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Fritchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten,
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic window the staff she set,
To shew that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead;

Under his slouched hat left and right,
He glanced; the old flag met his sight.
Halt!'-the dust-brown ranks stood fast;
• Fire!'-out blazed the rifle blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick, as it fell from the broken staff,
Dame Barbara suatched the silken scarf;
She leaned far out on the window sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.

'Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country's flag,' she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;
The noble nature within him stirred
To life, at that woman's deed and word.

Who touches a hair of yon gray head,
Dies like a dog. March on he said.
All day 1 ng through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet;

All day long the free flag tossed
Over the heads of the rebel host;
Ever its torn folds :ose and fell
On the loyal winds, that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Fritchie's work is o'er,

And the rebel rides on his raid no more.

Honour to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier!
Over Barbara Fritchie's grave,
Flag of Freedom, and Union, wave!
Peace, and order, and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below, in Frederick town!

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH (1819-1861) was the son of a merchant in Liverpool. He was one of the pupils of Dr. Arnold of Rugby, to whom he was strongly attached; and having won the Balliol scholarship in 1836, he went to Oxford. The Tractarian movement was then agitating the university, and Clough was for a time under its influence. He ultimately abandoned the Romanising party; but his opinions were unsettled, and he never regained the full assurance of his early faith. In 1843 he was appointed tutor as well as Fellow of Oriel College, and laboured successfully for about five years, usually spending the long vacation among the Welsh mountains, the Cumberland lakes, or the Scotch Highlands His most important poem, 'The Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich' (1848), which he terms a long-vacation pastoral,' commemorates one of these holiday tours in the Highlands by the Oxford tutor and his pupils. It was written in hexameter verse, of which Southey had given a specimen in his 'Vision of Judgment,' and contains a faithful picture of Highland scenes and character. Clough grafts a love-story on his descriptive sketch, and makes one of the reading-party marry a Highland maiden and migrate to New Zealand. In 1848, from conscientious motives, the poet resigned his tutorship, and also gave up his fellow.

CLOUGH.

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ENGLISH LITERATURE.

ship. Next year he accepted the appointment of Principal of University Hall, London, but held it only for two years, at the end of which he went to America, and settled (October 1852) at Cambridge, Massachusetts. He was drawn thence in less than a twelvemonth by the offer of an examinership in the Education Office, which he accepted; and to this was added, in 1856, the post of Secretary to a Commission for examining the scientific military schools on the continent. He took a warm interest in the philanthropic labours of Miss Nightingale; and thus his life, though uneventful, was, as his biographer remarks, full of work.' Ill health, however, compelled him to go abroad, and he died at Florence, November 13, 1861. Besides the Highland pastoral of The Bothie,' Clough produced a second long poem, 'Amours de Voyage,' the result of a holiday of travel in Italy, and of the impressions made upon him in Rome. His third long poem of 'Dipsychus' was written in Venice in 1850, and is much superior to the Amours.' Another work, Mari Magno,' consists of a series of tales on love and marriage, supposed to be related to each The tales are as other by a party of companions on a sea-voyage. 6 poems homely in style and incident as those of Crabbe, but are less interesting and less poetical. A number of small occasional pieces, of the inner life,' were thrown off from time to time by the poet; and a selection from his papers, with letters and a memoir, edited by his widow, was published in two volumes in 1869.

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Autumn in the Highlands.

It was on Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October,
Then when brackens are changed and heather-blooms are faded,
And amid russet of heather and fern, green trees are bonnie;
Alders are green, and oaks; the rowan scarlet and yellow;

One great glory of broad gold pieces appears the aspen,

And the jewels of gold that were hung in the hair of the birch-tree,
Pendulous, here and there, her coron t. necklace. and ear-rings,

Cover her now o'er and o'er; she is weary, and scatters them from her.
There upon Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October,

Under the alders knitting, gave Elspie her troth to Philip,

For as they talked anon she said: "It is well Mr. Philip;

Yes, it is well: I have spoken and learned a deal with the teacher.

At the last I told him all; I could not help it;

And it came easier with him than could have been with my father;
And he calmly approved as one that had fully considered.

Yes, it is well: I have hoped, though quite too great and sudden;

I am so fearful, I think it ought not to be for years yet;

I am afraid, but believe in you; and I trust to the teacher;

You have done all things gravely and temperste, not as in passion;
And the teacher is prudent and surely can tell what is likely.
What my father will say. I know not; we will obey him:
But for myself, I could dare to believe all well, and venture.
O Mr. Philip, may it never hereafter seem to be different!'
And she hid her face-oh, where, but in Philip's bosom.

Morning in the City.

As the light of day enters some populous city.

Shaming away, ere it come. by the chilly day-streak signal,

High and low, the misusers of night, shaming out the gas-lamps-
All the great empty streets are flooded with broadening clearness,

Which, withal, by inscrutable simultaneous access
Permeates far and pierces to the very cellars lying in
Narrow high back-lane, and court, and alley of alleys.

He that goes forth to his walks, while speeding to the suburb,
Sees sights only peaceful and pure as labourers settling

Slowly to work, in their limbs the lingering sweetness of slumber;
Humble market-carts, coming in, bringing in, not only

Flower, fruit. farm-store, but sounds and sights of the country
Dwelling yet on the sense of the dreamy drivers; soon after,
Half-awake servant-maids unfastening drowsy shutters

Up at the windows, or down, letting in the air by the doorway;
School-boys, school-girls soon, with slate, portfolio, satchel,

Hampered as they haste, those running, these others maidenly tripping;
Early clerk anon turning out to stroll, or it may be

Meet his sweetheart-waiting behind the garden gate there;

Merchant on his grass-plat haply bare-headed; and now by this time
Little child bringing breakfast to father,' that sits on the timber
There by the scaffolding; see, she waits for the can beside him;
Meantime above purer air untarnished of new-lit fires;
So that the whole great wicked artificial civilised fabric-
All its unfinished houses, lots for sale, and railway outworks-
Seems reaccepted, resumed to primal nature and beauty-
Such-in me, and to me, aud où me-the love of Elspie!

In a Gondola on the Grand Canal, Venice.

Afloat; we move delicious! Ah,
What else is like the gondola ?
This level floor of liquid glass
Begins beneath us swift to pass.
It goes as though it went alone
By some impulsion of its own.
(How light it moves, how softly! Ah,
Were all things like the gondola !)

How light it moves, how softly! Ah,
Could life as does our gondola,
Unvexed with quarrels, aims, and cares,
And moral duties and affairs,
Unswaying, noiseless, swift, and strong,
For ever thus-thus glide along!
(How light we move, how softly! Ah,
Were life but as the gondola !)

With no more motion than should bear
A freshness to the languid air;
With no more effort than expressed
The need and naturalness of rest,
Which we beneath a grateful shade
Should take on peaceful pillows laid!
(How light we move, how softly! Ah,
Were life but as the gondola !)

In one unbroken passage borne
To closing night from opening morn,
Uplift at whiles slow eyes to mark
Some palace frout, some passing bark;
Through windows catch the varying shore,

And hear the soft turns of the oar!
(How light we move, how softly! Ah,
Were life but as the gondola !)

WILLIAM WETMORE STORY.

The distinguished American sculptor, MR. W. STORY, whose 'Cleopatra' was the object of much interest and admiration in the Exhibition of 1862, has been a considerable contributor to our imaginative literature. His Ginevra da Siena,' a long poem published in Blackwood's Magazine' for June 1866; his 'Primitive Christian in Rome,' published in the Fortnightly Review' for December 1866; and his Graffiti d'Italia,' 1868, are productions of genuine worth and interest. In 1870 Mr. Story published a singular narrative poem in blank verse on Judas's betrayal of Christ. poet assumes that Judas was really devoted to his Master, was of an enthusiastic temperament, and believed that, if he delivered up Jesus, a glorious manifestation of the Godhead would take place, confounding the Saviour's enemies, and prostrating them in adora

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tion; but when he saw Christ bound with cords and taken prisoner, he was overwhelmed with grief and horror, and flinging down the money he had received, went and hanged himself! The following is Mr. Story's conception of the appearance of the Saviour on earth :

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Tall, slender, not erect. a little bent;

Brows arched and dark; a high-ridged lofty head;
Thin temples, veined and delicate; large eyes,
Sad, very serious, seeming as it were

To look beyond you, and whene'er he spoke
Illumined by an inner lamping light-

At times, too, gleaming with a strange wild fire
When taunted by the rabble in the streets;
A Jewish face, complexion pale but dark;
Thin, high-art nostrils, quivering constantly;
Long nose, full lips, hands tapering, full of veins;
His movements nervous: as he walked he seemed
Scarcely to heed the persons whom he passed,
And for the most part gazed upon the ground.

Besides the above poems and others scattered through periodical works, Mr. Story is author of two interesting volumes in prose. Roba di Roma, or Walks about Rome,' 1862. He has also published several legal works, and The Life and Letters of Justice Story,' his father (1779-1845), a great legal authority in America. The artist himself is a native of Salem, Massachusetts, and was born in 1819.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

The successor of Mr. Longfellow in Harvard College has well sustained the honours of the professorial chair. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1819, appeared as an author in 1841, when he published a volume of poems entitled A Year's Life.' In 1844 he produced a second series of Poems;' in 1845, 'Conversations on some of the Old Poets;' in 1848 a third series of 'Poems,' and 'The Biglow Papers,' a poetical satire on the invasion of Mexico by the United States, the slavery question, &c. In this last work Mr. Lowell seems to have struck into the true vein of his genius. His humour is rich and original, and his use of the Yankee dialect was a novelty in literature. In his serious and sentimental verse the poet has several equals and some superiors in his own country; but as a humourist he is unrivalled. In January 1855 Mr. Lowell succeeded Longfellow as Professor of Modern Languages and Belles-lettres in Harvard College. In 1864 appeared a second series of The Biglow Papers;' in 1869, Under the Willows, and other Poems,' and 'The Cathedral,' an epic poem; in 1870, a volume of prose essays entitled 'Among my Books;' and in 1871, My Study Windows,' a second collection of essays, most of which had previously appeared in periodicals, and all of which are remarkable for critical taste and acumen. Mr. Lowell has been connected editorially and as a contributor with many American reviews and magazines; he has edited the poems of Marvell, Donne, Keats, Wordsworth and

Shelley, and also delivered lectures on the British Poets. This popular author belongs to a family distinguished for literary attainments. His grandfather, Judge Lowell, and his father, Dr. Charles Lowell, pastor of the West Church, Boston, were both highly accomplished men, and several other relations were men of culture and eminence in society. His wife, nee Maria White (1821-1823), was a poetess of more than ordinary merit, and the subject of Longfellow's fine poem, The two Angels.'

On Popular Applause.

I thank ye, my friens, for the warmth o' your greetin';
Ther' 's few airthly blessins but wut 's vain an' fleetin';
But ef ther' is one thet hain't no cracks an' flaws,

An' is wuth goin' in for, it 's pop'lar applause;
It sends up the sperits ez lively ez rockets,

An' I feel it-wal, down to the eend o' my pockets.
Jes' lovin' the people is Canaan in view,

But it's Canaan paid quarterly t' hev 'em love you;
It's a blessin' thet 's breakin' out ollus in fresh spots:
It's a-follerin' Moses 'thout losin' the flesh-pots.
An' folks like you 'n me, thet ain't ept to be sold,
Git somehow or 'nother left out in the cold.

I expected 'fore this, 'thout no gret of a row.
Jeff D. world ha' ben where A. Lincoln is now,
With Taney to say 't wuz all legle an' fair,
An' a jury o' Deemocrats ready to swear

Thet the ingin o' State gut throwed into the ditch

By the fault o' the North in misplacin' the switch

Things wuz ripenin' fust-rate with Buchanan to nuss 'em ;

But the people they wouldn't be Mexicans, cuss 'em!

Ain't the safeguards o' freedom upsot, 'z you may say,

Ef the right o' rev'lution is took clean away?

An' doosn't the right primy-fashy include

The bein' entitled to nut be subdued?

The fact is, we'd gone for the union so strong.

When union meant South ollus right an' North wrong,
Thet the people gut fooled into thinkin' it might
Worry on middlin' wal with the North in the right.

Hints to Statesmen.

A ginooine statesman should be on his guard.
Ef he must hev beliefs, nut to b'lieve 'em tu hard;
For. ez sure ez he does. he'll be blartin' 'em out
"Thout regardin' the natur o' man more'n a spout,
Nor it don't ask much gumption to nick out à flaw
In a party whose leaders are loose in the jaw:
An' so in our own case I ventur' to hint
Thet we'd better nut air our perceedins in print,
Nor pass resserlootions ez long ez your arm,
Thet may, ez things heppen to turn, do us harm:

For when you've done all your real meanin' to smother,
The darned things I np and mean sunthin' or 'nother.
No. never say nothin' withont you're compelled tu,
An' then don't say nothin' that von can be held tu,
Nor don't leave no friction-idees lavin' loose
For the ign'ant to put to incend'ary use.

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