have been thrown out of reducing it to fivo hundred: but the popular will should suffer no abatement. It is not the American temper to retreat! The full altitude will be a hundred and fifty feet higher than the cross of St. Peter's, and a hundred and twenty higher than the largest pyramid. The plain shaft on such a scule, will be the noblest of monuments. Its beautiful proportions are not given in any engraving that I have seen. From a thickness of fifteen feet, the walls diminish at that height to thirty iuches, leaving an open space, or well-room, of twenty-five feet square. I asked the architect one day where he could find a capstone large enough to cover it. His answer was, it should be roofed with an enormous flat pyramid of glass! The ascent is to be by flights of iron steps at the four sides, far easier than the dizzy whirl by which one rotates to the top of the monuments at Bunker Hill and Baltimore. The hand-rail, being hollow, will serve as a conductor for gas; and the whole of this prodigious vertical cavern shall be as light as day!

What will make it particularly interesting as a national structure, is the emulous sending in of the blocks of stone, before spoken of, from states and associations. Michigan, we hear, will send a block of pure native copper. Minesota Rfcs transmitted a slab of the red pipestone whereof calumets are made—a stone held sacred among the Indians, both curious and valuable. California has only to follow it up by a block of gold quartz, of which a whole ridge of mountains there is said to be composed. Two noble specimens of gray marble are already on the ground from Tennessee. Arkansas and Maine, have each a block there with the unadorned name of the state. One of the purest white, bears the inscription, "The City of Washington to its Founder." The Delaware stone has a medallion head of Washington, three inches in relief, with an inscription of workmanship to correspond. The state contributions are to be built into conspicuous positions at the landings of the stairs; and, with the others, will make a decoration as unique as beautiful. It will be a running inscription of five hundred feet: This is the Contribution of a Continent. And withal there is a pleasant contrast between this and the old monuments of Egypt (which it rivals) in the republican spirit which is building and adorning it, for not only is it a free gift, and not the task-work of a despot, but the men who labour on it have given out of their wages, some five, and some ten dollars each as their contribution; and several of them something besides in labour.

As to the circular structure—which, to say nothing of its incongruous architecture, gives

such a muffled and uncomfortable look to the engraving—I have the best reason to think that the architect himself is not over-partial to it. It was thrown off hastily, simply to hint at his intention; and has been, unfortunately, reduplicated and perpetuated in ten thousand indifferent lithographs, to the prejudice of the total design, and the obscuring of his idea. An Egyptian structure, with American details, (representing the characteristic productions of our continent in place of the symbolic scrawls that cover the vast fabrics of Thebes) seems to be his own preference, and is certainly capable of very great richness and beauty; but for purposes of mere explanation, the drawing given is as good as any other.

The intention of the lower portion, then, is to symbolize the entire nation, as the shaft above commemorates its model man. For it is a "National" as well as a "Washington" monument. The plinth on which it rests is a vast crypt, or arched structure, forming a platform or terrace three hundred feet square, and twenty-five feet high. Besides the needful offices, &c., for the persons in charge, it might serve as a national mausoleum of the illustrious dead of our country, and something of the associations might in time be gathered about the spot, which make Westminster Abbey and Santa Croce holy ground. The circular temple standing upon this elevated terrace, is two hundred and fifty feet across, and seventy-five feet high. Spreading either way from the porch or vestibule (surmounted by a colossal sculptured group) is a circular row of Doric columns forty-five feet high and seven or eight in diameter; the scrolls in the entablature being the escutcheons of the several States. This colonnade forms a covered gallery of magnificent dimensions, adorned with colossal statues of eminent men, say the signers of the Declaration. Entering by a lofty portal (here represented as something like forty feet in height), you come to an interior gallery, lighted from above, and adapted for the display of banners, pictures, and statuary on the largest scale. The entire circuit of this gallery would be about five hundred feet. Here, again, in the course of time, would be gathered a majestic assembly of our statesmen, Greenough's Jove-like Washington, perhr.ps, presiding in the solemn council. The elevated terrace above, and the apartments for various purposes that might be formed in the waste room behind the Doric entablature—itself twenty-five feet high—need no detailed description. Above them all, towers the great Obelisk to the additional height of five hundred feet.

How far the complex idea of such a structure as a monumental work justifies so diversified a blending of styles and shapes, different persons will judge differently. By one plan the Egyptian style is substituted throughout; and by another, the lower portion is left off entirely, leaving the obelisk to tower in its naked height, and providing only for the needful offices in a simpler plinth or base. Before the majestic shaft is finished, there will be time to decide.

One consideration has been stated by the committee of the Massachusetts Legislature, quite fatal one should think, to any plan that so hugs and obscures the lower portion of the obelisk. It is, that no adequate conception can be given of the magnitude of the monument as a whole. To one standing near, the lofty colonnade will almost hide the shaft; and the only close view of it will be one which cuts off a hundred feet. These hundred feet, of the moat elaborate workmanship of all, will be worse than wasted—only in the way. It is only by standing at the base and following up the line that almost loses itself in the clouds, that one oan get the full feeling which it is meant to impress. To do it in imagination even now, standing at the bottom of what is only begun, is more impressive, perhaps, than the effect of the whole will be, if thus carried out. Still, one feels a sympathy with that splendid idea of the grand gallery, where sculpture, and banners, and historical paintings might have a fitting exhibition. Why could there not be a terrace or platform, say two hundred feet square and the height of the present beautiful entrance, flanked at each

corner by a temple of true Egyptian, or if desirable embraced by it on three sides, as a hollow court?

This is one of the points that invite the critical judgment of the whole nation. We all have an interest in saying that the magnificent and unmatched shaft shall stand "in naked majesty" against the open sky. And we all have an interest in carrying out at least this grand and unexceptionable feature to completion. It is already one of the rallying points of our patriotic sentiment. Already state after state has expressed its loyalty by inscriptions on the blocks of marble and granite to be built into its walls. "Indiana knows no North, no South, nothing but the Union." Delaware, "The first to accept will be the last to desert the Constitution." Massachusetts declares that " The Country is safe, while the Memory of Washington is Revered." Louisiana, Kentucky, and Maryland, and I know not how many more, have caused similar sentiments to be recorded on their enduring gifts. It is an interesting thing to us that it was commenced and is growing up side by side and step by step with the Smithsonian Institution. Both are the property of the Nation, and should be watched with a national and jealous regard. And while one is labouring to supply two of our great wants, a generous scheme of scientific operations, and a library commensurate with the expanding culture of our people, the other will form a triumphal crown to the splendid array of public institutions, that are slowly growing up in the capital of the Republic.


(See Engraving.)

Wne» leaves are adance Id the aspen high,
Mother dear, mother dear, then dance I;
Light as a fairy's, my feet keep tune,
With blossom and vine, to the airs of June:
I bend to the boughs, tho boughs bend to me,
And mate in the dance is the white birch-tree.

Mother dear, mother dear, far o'er the sea,

Watch how the waves come dancing to me;

The small boat hops to the top of each crest,

Too happy for languor, too happy for rest;

Ah what do you think, mother dear, they would say,

Should I join awhile in their frolic to-day?

A nod and a smile, and away she flew

To the woods she loved and the waters blue;

But the mother sighed, with a thought between

A hope and a fear, for that cheek's soft sheen

Told her heart that too soon the^rorld would claim

The joy, now her sweetest of joys to name.

And a vision rose of those happy feet
Dancing now o'er the moss-turf fleet,
Stepping to measure, and taught the rule
Of studied grace in a human school—
Till she wept for the change which even youth
Might bring o'er that spirit of stainless truth.

But Heaven will guard what our love now rears
With such troubled rapture, such hopeful tears;
The honey lies deep in its fragrant cells,
And the dew lies fresh in the lily's bells,
When the sun from a thousand hills has dried
The radiant drops by his glance of pride.



The word of the Lord came unto me, saying; Son of man. behold, I take away from thee the desire of thine ej« with a stroke: yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep, neither shall thy tears run down. Forbear to cry, make no mourning for the dead, bind the tire of thine head upon thee, and put on thy shoes upon thy feet, and cover not thy lips, and eat not the bread of men.

So I spake unto the people in the morning: and at eveu my wife died; and I did in the morning as I was commanded.—Ezekiel xxiv. 15-18.

Thk loneliest river of Chaldca lay
Beneath the hushing twilight. Its low tone
Of rippling waters by the sedgy shore
Reached not the arches of its clustering palms,
Nor stirred the voiceless, brooding mystery where
Knelt captive Judah's prophet. Since high noon
Ho had bowed lowly thus, but the damp brow,
Half hid in the dark mantle's fold, bore not
On its pale loftiness the radiant calm
That told of high communings—and yet God
Had met and spoken with him.

Grief and caro
Had been the stern companions of each iftep
Through all the prophet's life-path. He had turned,
With the sick weariness of a pure heart,
From haunts of foul idolatry, and when,
Soul-thrilled with trembling earnestness and awe,
He told the fearfulness of coming wrath,
Had seen it disregarded. Through long days
And nights, with the bare earth and silent heaven,
He had kept painful vigil, his deep heart
Mysteriously wrung with guilt not his;
And yet those lips which lie not had decreed
A new, deep suffering to him. The sole chord
Una wept of pain's harsh fingers, must awake—
That chord which in the depth of human breasts,
Though hung in loneliness on mourning willow,
Or with relentless hand strained to a task
Of other themes, still in rich undertone
Will breathe its burden out of human love.

There was a creaturo with an angel brow And soft, dark, floating tresses, who bad dwelt Within the prophet's home. There was a hand, Fair as the gleaming ivory of Tyre, Whose light, caressing touch failed not to smooth The deep lines from his forehead, and could woo His spirit oft from its dread tension back To gentlest joy.—Oh! beautiful she was, And bright, and young, and her rich maiden heart And peerless beauty, all, were freely given To the stern prophet. Nought to her were locks Of shining darkness, and the pomegranate bloom On youthful cheeks, when he stood calmly up, And to the high commission sealed in light— In Heaven's own kindling glory on his front— Strong rebel hearts that yielded not would stoop; And if at times an awe almost too deep Came o'er her love, she thought of other hours When he, so raised above humanity, So clothed in majesty by God's own hand, In very human weariness would seek An humbler ministry. She was the link, The one pure, priceless link, through which he felt Sweet drawings of a human brotherhood; Yet she, for Israel's sake, must die.

No rest

Came to the prophet's pillow, and the hum
Of busy crowds brought no forgetfulness,
For the mysterious power that dwelt within
Ceased not its boding whispers to his heart
He sought the place of prayer, but as he knelt,
Sudden and swift as comes the lightning's flash,
Over his spirit came a consciousness
That the rich joy which bound him at her side—
His bosom's dove—bore in Heaven's sovereign eye
The dark seal of idolatry.
To earth in dread humiliation bent
Was that majestic brow, from which had shone
So oft inspiring Godhead; but no words
Of lowly, sad confession had found way,
Ere the still voice of all unearthly peace
Told o'er the troubled waters of his grief
That the one error of a chastened heart
Had found forgiveness. Once again he raised
Beseeching hands to Heaven, and would have asked
That He who had forgiven, yet would spare;
But then no utterance came. He knew the cup
Might not pass from his lips; and still he knelt,
Hour after hour, with his full aching heart
Of sorrow bared before the Merciful.
The glassy stream rolled on. Soft, -tarry light
Stole through the breathless palm-boughs, and white

Looked up with dewy eyes. With one brief prayer
For strength that might not fail, the prophet rose
And sought bis home.

The iron lamp hung low,
And wrought on the stone floor in ebon shade
Its semblance; but a clear, calm radiance fell
Where, on a low, white couch, lay droopingly
A fair and silent form. Beside that couch
Stood one with dark robes, and tight-folded arms,
And stern, still breast—Jehovah's prophet looked
Upon his dead. Her cold, transparent cheek
Had scarce a fainter tint of the pale rose
Than it had worn before, and the hushed lips
Had their own serious sweetness in each curve:
Yet hovering where the fringed, pure eyelids lay
Too strangely still, was a soft mournfulness
Which seemed to plead for but one tear. And he
Who was so desolate must look on her,
Remembering all her sworveless truth, her calm,
Deep, holy love, and then turn back the tide
Of swelling tenderness on his own heart;
And that heart might not break, but bear its burden.
With a firm footstep and uplifted brow
He must go forth, and, binding on white robe
And priestly mitre, moet the gaze of men
As ho was wont. 'Twas done: and as the throng
Gathered around, with eloquence well taught
By the deep spell of inward agony,
He spake what God commanded.



(Concluded from page 164.)


Youno and vigorous shoots are richly germinating at the present moment in the literature of Denmark, in its poetry, as well as in its prose. Love to the fatherland, and to that which is peculiar in its scenery and in the life of its people, is the chief character of these. This love is felt in Stein Steinsen Blicher's vivid description of the grand scenery of Jutland, and the present life there. And the Every-day Stories published by J. L. Heiberg, in which the hand of a woman is universally recognised, and which delineate the life of the middle classes in Denmark with equal cordiality and humour, have been favourites through the whole of Scandinavia. Fresh and vigorous, it is a plant which springs up from the life of the people in the North.

In other branches of art this new life has also revealed itself. Contemporaneously with Oehlenschlager appeared Thorwaldsen, a poet in sculpture, and through him a vast wealth of works of plastic art, the admiration of our time. Thorwaldsen in form adhered to the antique, but in vividness of expression, in freshness, in youthful naivetf, he is the child of the "green islands," he is the son of Dana. This great artist was one of the fortunate of earth. His life was a continued glad creation; he lived acknowledged and honoured in his own time and by his own country, and died, shortly after the day of his public triumph, without sickness or the pains of death—died, or rather fell asleep, whilst listening to beautiful music in the temple of Thalia, surrounded by his friends and admirers.

The Danish people, in Thorwaldsen's Museum, have raised to him a monument as honourable to the artist as to the people, who thus know how to value their own great men, and who now, in the monument which is placed above his grave, possess a living fountain for the perpetual enjoyment of art, and for new inspiration. We are amazed when we behold the riches of the works produced by the hand of this master; the wealth of conception, of expression, of his many-sided comprehension

Vol. Vt. 24

of the ideals of life. Thorwaldsen was a giant in plastic art; an intellectual Titan, who merely wanted one thing to conquer heaven— the knowledge of the highest ideal, of the tublimat beauty—the strength, the love, the sorrow and the joy of Christendom. In the centre of Thorwaldsen's Museum is Thorwaldsen's grave, covered with fresh, blooming roses—here emblems without flattery.

Jericho and Bissen are the greatest of Denmark's living sculptors, both of them men of strong and original powers. The former of these has shown by his " Christ," his " Angel of the Resurrection," and his groups of " Adam and Eve," his deep feeling for the deepost sentiment of life. The latter has begun to represent in marble the gods and the heroes of the northern mythology, and in so doing has opened to plastic art a new career.

Denmark has in painting a young and promising school of artists, who, whilst they confine themselves faithfully to nature, and seek for truth in its beauty, still more seek for these in their native land, and represent it in their pictures. Thus, of historical painters, MarStrand, Simonsen, and Sonnr; of painters of genre pictures, Schlbisner and Monnier; of sea-painters, Melby and Lobensen; of landscape, Skoooaard, Keirskow, and Rump; of flower painters, Jensen and Ottensen, and of portrait painters, Gartner, Schctz, and others. Amidst this group of Danish artists there has lately appeared one—neither Danish nor northern, but whom Denmark ought henceforth to reckon among her own—with all the glowing energy of colouring, of expression and eye peculiar to the South, and with faults and merits which belong to genius. It is a woman rich in genius, a daughter of Poland, and now the wife of a Danish artist. It is Elizabeth Bauman, now Mrs. Jericho, who has recalled in Denmark the memory of the pencil of Rubens, of his fire, and his creative life.

In music Hartman, Rong, and Gadr, have caused tones to sound which never before were heard in scientific musie, tones and melodies formerly heard only in the northern war-ballads and the songs of the people, but in which the northern genius reveals that deep feeling, that earnestness, and that fervency, that peculiar tone of gladness or of sorrow which belongs to its peculiar life, and which every heart in the North recognises as the innermost tone and voice of its own being. The most tender melancholy and the boldest strength here meet in harmonious conjunction. There is "a voice that calls aloud" in this voice,—a voice of sublime longing, and of prophetic consolation.

Whilst the genius of art has thus spread forth its wings, that of science is not behindhand. The mother tongue, the first common mark of a people, through the labours of the great philologist, Rask, and of Malbeck, the author of the Danish Dictionary, and an indefatigable collector of Danish historic literature, has freed itself from the fetters of foreign language, and the tongue of Norrana, in its primitive beauty, has drawn nearer to each other the hitherto separated classes of the people by means of that mother tongue which has become universally popular through the poets.*

Like twin stars in the heaven of science appeared, as thinkers and writers, the two brothers Oersted;—A. S. Oersted, the lawyer, penetrating with all the power of a methodical mind into the legislation of Denmark, recasting it, and establishing the state on a religious basis; the natural philsopher, H. C. Oersted, discovering hitherto unknown powers of nature, and erecting the physical world on the foundation of the spiritual — "the movable upon the immovable." His great discovery in the year 1820, of electro-magnetism, or of the law of sympathetic power between electrified bodies and the magnet, which caused his name and that of his native land to resound through the whole learned world, has, of late years, given birth to the electric telegraph, by whose wires the thoughts of the world, and the affairs of commerce fly from country to country, from city to city, from mind to mind. His small, but from its contents great, work on "Kundshabs-tvntm vateru-enhet i det hele verlderu-allt,"^ which may, perhaps, be translated in " The Identity of the Perceptive Faculty in the whole universe," is one of the seeds of thought which genius sows for the nourishment of centuries. This work, with its severe logie, its bold

* About the same time attention has again turned to the treasures of Icelandic literature. Former investigations acquired a higher national importance through the labours of Finn, Magnusen, and Rafn, and those of later times, by means of those zealous collectors, Thomson and N. M. Peterson, the translator and commentator of the Ieelandic Sagas.

t Which was delivered by him at Keil, at the scientiSc meeting there in 1844, and published in Germany from this oral delivery under the title, "Ueber die Wamteinhat da ErhelUnutvermogens tm ganten Writ-all.''

; trains of thought, and its grand views of the i universe—this work, which casts new light on the light of the stars, which draws the whole starry firmament nearer to the human heart, which clearly demonstrates that there is nothing discoverable in the whole visible creation which is entirely foreign to human reason, and to the laws which are required and ordained for this earth, and which clearly makes out that the human being is a central thought in the universe—this work ought to be unknown neither to the true thinker nor to any trne poetic mind.

Oersted, the lawyer and late minister, has, during the political disturbances of the last years in Denmark, become somewhat in opposition to the people, whose universally beloved leader he had so long been. He has experienced contradiction and hostility; he has been misunderstood; he has suffered injustice. Well to him! He has thus fully consummated a great life; for no great life is consummated without the fiery ordeal of misconception, without some portion of the martyr's lot. The great thing is to pass through all this and still to preserve love, and still to preserve hope. To do this is the glory of a human life. Nobility and steadfastness of character are, however opinions moy differ, the rock against which the stormy billows break, which stands firm in silent grandeur, only becoming the more brilliant when the waters have withdrawn, when the billows are lulled, when the strife of the day is over. And the day of acknowledgment already dawns over the noble statesman, in the words which were addressed to him in the name of the states by one of his noble opponents, at the closing session at Roeskilde,—" As we thanked him when he stood forward to oppose our views, and led us either to abandon them or to support them more steadfastly, so will he live continually in our remembrance as one of life's most beautiful minds, whose gigantic intellectual powers are still exceeded by his amiable character."

The life of Oersted the naturalist, appears to pass on in a joyous light. Rich in his "lightjoy," in science, in the comprehension of the laws of nature, of its harmonies and its responses, he still, youthful and fervent in his old age, endeavours daily to extend this joy over larger circles—to the young, to the unlearned, to women, to the people who labour in the sweat of their brow, and is aided to do so by his extraordinary skill in expressing himself clearly and intelligibly—in the best sense of the word popularly.

And if many did as he, if all the wealthy in light and in joy wished and worked in his spirit, how much of that which is dark and threatening in the physiognomy of the present

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