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Story of Acontius and Cydippe, the Man who never Laughed Again, the Lovers of Gudrun, &c. Part IV., or Winter, December, Janu: ary, and February,' contains the Story of the Golden Apples, the Fostering of Aslang, Bellerophon at Argos, Bellerophon in Lycia, the Hill of Venus, &c. In this mixture of classic and Gothic fable, and in the number of tales in each part, the reader has variety enough in the • Earthly Paradise,' but the poem is too long ever to obtain general popularity.
Song.–From The Love of Alcestis.' o dwellers on the lovely carth,
'ake heed of how the daisies grow, Why will ye break your rest and mirth O fools! and if ye could but know To weary us with fruitless prayer? How fair a world to you is given. Why will ye toil and take such care O brooder on the hills of heaven, For cbildren's children yet unborn, When for my sin thoa drav'st me forth, And garner store of strife and scorn Haust thou forgot what this was worth, To gain a scarce-reinembered name, Thine own baud made? The tears of Cumbered with lies and soiled with shame?
The death of threescore years and ten, And if the gods care not for you,
The trembling of the timorous raceWhat is this foily ye must do
Had thes: things so bedimmed the place To win some mortal's feeble heart ? Thine own hand made, thou couldst not O fools! when cach man plays his part,
know And heeds his fellow little more
To what a heaven the earth might grow, Than these blue waves that kiss the If fear beneath the earth were laid, shore.
If hope failed not, nor love decayed
FRANCIS BRET HARTE.
An American humorist, somewhat in the style of Professor Lowell, has recently appeared in the pages of the Californian and United States journals, and whose fame soon spread to this country. FRANcis BRETE HARTE was born in Albany. New York. in 1831. His
works have been republishel in 1871 and 1872, by two London book. sellers (Hotten, and Rouuedge & Co.), and consist of • East and West,' That Heathen Chinee,' Truthful James,' • The Luck of Roaring Camp,' &c. A prose work, ‘Condensed Novels,' is a tra. vesty of some popular works of fiction. We subjoin one of Bret Harte's graver effusions:
A Sanitary Message.
My reveille awakes a bost
Of grassy buyonets.
I mingle with the low:
My blessings fall in snow ;
Until, in tricklings of the stream, Give thanks, O brothers!' said the voice, And drainings of the lea, • Tbat He who sent the rains,
My unspent bounty comes at last
That drips from patriut veins:
I heard the welcome rain
A tattoo on the pane:
The key-hole piped; the chimney-top I come to wash away no stain
A warlike trumpet blew; Upon your wasted lea;
But, mingling with these sounds of I rai-e no banners save the ones
Bir fe, The forests wave to me:
This hymn of peace stole through. Upon the mountain-side, where Spring ELIZA COOK-MRS. PARKES BELLOE-MISS HUME-MISS PROCTER-ISA
CRAIG-KNOX-JEAN INGELOW-MRS. WEBSTER. In poetry, as in prose fiction, ladies crowd the arena, and contend for the highest prizes. Among other fair competitors are the following: In 1840 Miss ELIZA COOK (born in Southwark, London, about 1818) published a volume of miscellaneous poems, entitled “Melaia, and other Poems. A great number of small pieces have also been contributed by Miss Cook to periodical works; and in 1849 she established a weekly periodical, `Eliza Cook's Journal,' which enjoyed considerable popularity from 1849 until 1854, when ill health compelled Miss Cook to give it up. In 1864 she published a second vo; Jume of poems, ‘New Echoes,' &c.; and the same year a pension of £100 a year was settled on the authoress.
And oh, Will Watch, the smuggler bold,'
Old songs ! old songs !--my bruin has lost
The ballad still is breathing round,
Old songs ! old songs !-I should not sigb;
BEASIE RAYNER PARKES (now Mrs. Belloe), the daughter of the late Joseph Parkes of the Court of Chancery (1796–1865), is author of Poems,' 1855; ‘Gabriel,' 1856; The Cat Aspasia' (a prose story); * Ballads and Songs,' 1863; ‘La Belle France,' 1868; &c.
As a poetess, this lady is of the romantic and imaginative school of Shelley—to whose memory her poem of ‘Gabriel ’ is dedicated. She has been an assiduous labourer in the cause of social amelioration and female improvement. — Miss MARY C. HUME, daughter of the late Joseph Hume, M.P., in 1858 published • Normiton,' a dramatic poem, with other pieces.-ADELAINE ANNE PROCTER (1825–1864) was author of Legends and Lyrics, a Book of Verse,' 1858. This lady was the accomplished daughter of · Barry Cornwall,' and her poetry had much of the paternal grace and manner.-ISA CRAIG (now Mrs. Knox), author of Poems,' 1856, is a native of Edinburgh, born October 17, 1831. While working as a seamstress, this lady contributed poems, reviews, and essays to the Scotsman' newspaper, and was warmly befriended by the late Mr. Ritchie, proprietor of
that journal. She afterwards removed to London, and officiated as assistant-secretary of the Association for the Promotion of Social Science. She was the fortunate poetess who carried off the prize (£50) for the best poem at the Crystal Palace celebration of the Burns Centenary, January 25, 1859.-Miss JEAN INGELOW, a native of Ipswich, Suffolk, born about 1830, has written a volume of Poems, 1863, which ran through fourteen editions in five years. She has also written 'A Story of Doom, and other Poems,’ 1867; •Mopsa the Fairy, 1869; several prose stories, and numerous contributions to periodical works.
Robin Hood.-By Miss PARKES.
A Doubting Heart.—By Miss PROCTER
Frozen and dead,
O doubung heart!
Far over purple seas,
The balmy southern breeze,
Prisoned they lie
O doubting heart!
While winter winds shall blow,
These many days;
O doubting heart!
Is quenched in night.
O doubting heart !
Brighter for darkness past,
Going Out and Coming In. - By Isa CRAIG-KNOX. In that home was joy and sorrow Going out unto the triumph,
Where an infant first drew breath, Coining in unto the fight While an aged sire was drawing
Coming in unto the darkness, Near upto the gate of death.
Going out unto the light; His feeble pulse was failing.
Although the shadow deepened And his eye was growing dim;
In the moment of eclipse, He was standing on the threshold When he passed through the dread portas,
When they brought the babe to him. With the blessing on his lips. While to murmur forth a blessing And to him who bravely conquers On the little one he tried,
As he conquered in the strife, In his trembling arms he raised it, Life is but the way of dyingPressed it to his lips and died.
Death is but the gate of life: An awful darkness resteth
Yet, awful darkness resteth
On the path we all begin,
Going out and coming in.
My old sorrow wakes and cries,
And a scarlet eun doth rise ;
And the icy founts run free,
And plunge, and sail in the sea.