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not a smattering of botany ?-ay, and a comfortable as From the gardener, I turn to his territory. Garden sortment of Latin remnants to deck the fag-ends of his are as various as the characters and eircumstances of their sentences ? Lawyers, it is true, have something of the proprietors ; and although, like them, they have all sets. same, but their Latin wants the natural grace of the thing in common, each has, at the same time, something gardener's ; they speak according to a cold formal system of its own. How different the garden of the cottage, - and a proverbially bad system; but with the gar- with its single bush of southern-wood, its two carnations dener it is as if some handfuls of Latin words had been and solitary rose, from the extensive piece of growi scattered in his mind, and had there struck root, and walled in from the northern and eastern blasts, with its sprung up in a thousand agreeable varieties, and original numerous fruit-trees, (standard or trained upon the wai groups. But it may be said, that these advantages of and espaliers,)-its thousand flowers of the gayest dyes the gardener are common to all agricultural labourers. and richest perfumes,—its hot-houses and green-bouses

, By no means. There is something too wholesale the where the fruits and flowers of other regions flourish in ploughman's or the mower's style of working. They do other climates! And how different from both the royal not care for a single plant, but for a whole harvest ; and garden, where we wander, now through forest glades

, and we never find a mind thus prematurely accustomed to anon among trim parterres, surrounded by artificial ter. the contemplation of vague generalities, susceptible of the races, and gay alcoves, where the very water has yielded charms of knowledge. It is in the minute attention to to the power of the artist, and assumes unwonted fore individuals required at the hand of the gardener, that we and motion at his bidding! All of these have their per te are to look for the cause of that fine discriminating tact liar charms; but, as it would fill half-a-dozen Journal that leads him unavoidably on the way to learning. If at the least, to expatiate on them all, I must confine ssAdam had been any other trade than a gardener, I won- self to the enquiry, what it is that gives the garden its der if the tree of knowledge would have been so irresisti- chief and characteristic delightfulness? bly tempting

An idea has gone abroad in our days, that gardens Then his sentiment ! From the days of Shakspeare, ought to be imitations of nature ;-a most absurd notie, the gardener has been noted for his sentimentality. The and indicative of a want of feeling for the true charm ai only one of Richard the Second's dependants who sym- the garden. Our picturesque gardeners profess to create pathises gracefully with the miseries of the unfortunate beautiful landscapes. The trath is, that they create pare queen, is the gardener. What man, in his rank of life, but and paltry attempts at something very fine. Natural a gardener, could have thought of planting a bank of rue scenery is a creation on too large a scale to be aped by on the spot where the queen dropt a tear, in sad memo- the handiwork of man. But not only has this false dirial of her woes? Then, (not to overwhelm the reader rection of gardening talent spoiled our larger gardens, it with examples,) is there not in later times the inimitable has exercised a detrimental influence on the smallest Andrew Fairservice ? There are, we confess it with the Since it has been laid down as a first principle

, that arti list deepest regret, some parts of Andrew's conduct which do ficial gardening shows a false and a vitiated taste, and since not easily admit of a defence. He showed, in some in the fashion of laying out gardens in what is called the stances, signs of a cold and selfish spirit; even bis honesty natural style can only be practised on a large scale

, sach was of a dubious kind ; and his courage far from un persons as have only a rood or two of land, hare for sale questionable. But the worse we make Andrew's cha- time contented themselves with rearing fruits and herbs, racter to be, the better for our theory. What other habits and an occasional flower, esteeming it in vain to attenp and pursuits could have rendered such a man capable of the any thing ornamental on so small a scale. A square pilet fine burst of feeling with which he describes to Frank Os- of ground is measured off and surrounded with walls baldistone the beauties of a bed of coleworts by moonlight? From the centre four straight gravel walks are drawn

A gardener's sentiment, we confess, is rather peculiar. It perpendicular to each of the walls. At a distance of a is not allied to love-it does not affect the brotherhood of couple of yards from each wall, a walk is laid out paralo kindred creatures whose pulse beats back to ours. It is lel to it, these four walks forming a lesser square eaderarely that you hear of a gardener in love. They inherit sure within the greater one. All the walks are bordered a portion of that mysterious dower which rested upon those on either side with their edgings of box-wood, two inches who in old times studied the habits and properties of in height. Fruit-trees and gooseberry bushes are planted plants. Penetrating into the hidden secrets of nature, at regular intervals, and in formal rows. Flowers are and approaching more nearly to converse with the spirit- also planted at regular distances, so as not to incommode ual world, they feel the mantle of its unimpassioned na each other. This may be a good nursery, but it is net a ture cast around them, and walk among men with less of garden. Its effect is stiff, bare, and unsatisfactory. their frail and feverish passions. It is but seldom that The true garden is a place which a man has set apart for you see a wife and children viewed as welcome inhabit-himself, and filled with all the rarest plants. These caants of a garden.

not be arranged or distributed in a natural war, The amateur differs little from the professional gardener, their very assemblage in such quantities shows that man't except in his being sometimes a man of more education, hand has been busy upon them. But still there is met and, in general, free from the cares and anxieties of mer- for ornamental arrangement, although it must be in concantile speculation. He, too, is, for the most part, a sonance with the artificial character of the whole collecbachelor. Now I know there is a prejudice, in general tion. A little quaintness is rather an advantage than si but too well founded, against this class of society ; but the drawback. The first requisite in a perfect garden is, tha gardener ought to be made an exception. He is not like we should feel, when we are in it, shut in from the exter. other Benedicts, selfish and engrossing; he has an active nal world. This is best effected by cireling its atest and benevolent spirit, and would fain see all people happy. limits with the tallest shrubs, which serve to screati ta It is true that he loves his flowers better than any thing garden from the prying eyes of neighbours, and aferd. else_except, perhaps, his cat and his old housekeeper; in the summer time, a pleasing and umbrageous canap but then he likes people to come and see his garden, and The next requisite is, that there should be plenty he is always ready to impart a share of his rarest trea- plants. They ought to be rather crowded than other sures to those who can appreciate and enjoy them. He wise, so as to convey an impression of a rich and lux is hale and happy, for he is a nursling of the free air as riant vegetation. In the arrangement of the walks, titmuch as any of his flowers and shrubs. He is the friend mality neither can nor ought to be entirely avoided. The and particular acquaintance of every bird that builds its feeling inseparable from a garden, we have said above, ta pest in his leafy corners. He cannot abide any thing that that it is a storehouse of vegetable wealth ; and our wall is harsh or ill-natured. Politics are his aversion : a news ought to be arranged less with an eye to picturesque eget, paper enters not his door.

than to the commodious approach they afford to our det

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ers and shrubs. The exact manner of laying them out | able. Schiller, when a boy, distinguished himself little must depend upon the character of the ground; which is from other boys. One or two silly anecdotes are told, by all the better of having an unequal surface, both as that which his astonishing precocity is attempted to be proved ; affords more variety, and is advantageous to some kinds but our grandmothers can tell more wonderful things of of plants. In placing hothouses, which are a great addi- us all ; and, even although authenticated, they prove notion to every garden, we must choose their locality at first thing. He was originally destined for the church, and with a view solely to utility. They must stand on the had made some progress in his ecclesiastical studies, when spot which affords the best exposure. This first great his father changed his mind, and determined to make him object being attained, we must next consider how we can a lawyer. The dry details of the juridical profession exrender them ornamental. It will generally be found, cited in Schiller nothing but the most unfeigned disgust, that by disregarding show in the first instance, we have and he at last relinquished it altogether for one he imaobtained an opportunity of introducing a wider and more gined more inviting-medicine. The whole of his colvaried beauty into our garden, than we could have plan- lege life, however, seems to have been any thing but happy. ned beforehand. It is the analogy of nature-in sacri- Confined to his chambers at Stuttgard, he was shut out ficing our immediate pleasure to the principles of honour from all the rest of the world ; and for any knowledge and justice, we are invariably preparing for ourselves a he had acquired of men and manners, he was indebted more noble and lasting happiness.

entirely to books. Many of the estimates he had formed There are some ornaments which, although not neces. regarding them were, consequently, erroneous. Apparent sary to a garden, may, in certain situations, be introduced evil, however, frequently produces real good, and seemwith advantage. Where there is a great inequality of ingly inadequate causes have often occasioned the most ground, terraces laid out, and decorated with some archi- important results. Had it not been for the perverted tectural pretensions, are a valuable addition. When the discipline of the Stuttgard school, the “ Robbers” might enduring growth of the plants has subdued them to the never have been given to the world; yet this work forms character of the scene, they much enhance the charms of an era not only in Schiller's history, but in the literature the garden. In more genial climates than ours, an oc- of Europe. There was never an author rose more sudcasional bust or statue, peeping from among the green denly from obscurity to fame. Hitherto Schiller had passleaves, pleases the eye, and affords hints for meditation.ed for an unprofitable, discontented, and disobedient boy; Our variable weather causes them to moulder too quickly but the giant might of his nature now stood forth confessaway; and in winter, they gleam coldly and uncomforta- ed. “ He burst upon the world like a meteor ; and surbly through the leafless trees. In Italy, there is some- prise, for a time, suspended the power of cool and rational thing exquisitely refreshing in the play of fountains, and criticism.” His tragedy, which appeared when he was marble ornaments add both to their apparent coolness and in his twenty-second year, and which he published at his to their beauty. With us they are unnecessary. “ Too own expense, not being able to find any bookseller that much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia.” A small piece would undertake it, was, in a few months, translated into of water is, however, always an improvement to a garden. almost all the modern languages, and became the uniIt is in keeping, for a supply of this element is required versal topic among literary men. It is not our purpose in summer for the drooping flowers; and although it can at present to enter into its peculiar merits or defects; but not be made to rival the beauties of a lake, there is yet this much we will say, that, however great its faults may something exquisitely pleasing in its transparency, and its be, it possesses beauties which no other German author reflections of tree and sky. A summer-house is indis

--not even Schiller himself_has ever surpassed. pensable; but it ought to be of good stone and lime. Soon after this, he became acquainted with Dalberg, Leafy bowers are fine things to read of, but they are the superintendent of the theatre at Manheim ; and in plagued with insects. In general, too, they are stiff, and 1783, two other tragedies the “ Conspiracy of Fiesco," ought to be abrogated, with all the bare and stunted pro- and “ Cabal and Love” ?-were brought upon the stage ductions of what has been called the topiarian art.

there with the greatest success. He now left Stuttgard It is true that our brief and uncertain summer affords finally, and renounced at once divinity, law, and medius but a short space for the enjoyment of the garden; but cine, for the more alluring charms of a literary life. “ All this is the very reason why we ought to make the most my connexions,” he says, in a letter to a friend, " are now of it. In its embowered sbades we can best concentrate dissolved. The public is now all to me, my study, my our affections and thoughts, scattered and dissipated among sovereign, my confident. To the public alone I hencethe multitudinous cares of the world. There we can as- forth belong; before this, and no other tribunal, will I semble our friends around us, or we may bask alone in place myself; this alone do I reverence and fear. Somethe sun, until we seem to ripen with the fruits over-thing majestic hovers before me, as I determine now to head, or sit in the breathless hush of midnight, looking at wear no other fetters but the sentence of the world, to the pale moon, and the few intensely bright stars around appeal to no other throne but the soul of man.” He reher. It is not every one who can reach the solitudes of mained at Manheim for nearly two years, during which nature, there to commune with his own heart; but almost time he became the editor of the “ German Thalia,”-a every one may have a garden, where he can lock out the publication principally devoted to theatrical criticisms, dense crowd that jostles him in the streets. And if at essays on the nature of the stage, its history in various times his thoughts be interrupted by the laugh from some countries, and its moral and intellectual effects. He gave neighbouring garden, or by the small happy voices of chil- a good deal of his time to philosophical pursuits, of which dren, this will but give a heartier and more human turn he had been always fond, and produced the “ Philosophic to his musings, teaching him how many thousands are Letters," in which it appears that scepticism often interunconsciously sympathising with his happiness.

fered with his fairest visions, and threw a shadow across his soul, even in its loftiest moods.

As his genius expanded, and his name became more MEMOIR OF THE POET SCHILLER.

and more known, Schiller began to long for a wider sphere

of action. He accordingly removed first to Leipzig, and SCHILLER was born in the year 1759, at Marbach, a afterwards to Dresden, where he completed his tragedy small town of Wurtemberg. His father had been a sur- of “ Don Carlos,” on which he had been engaged for some geon in the Bavarian army; but at the time of Schiller's time, and gave it to the world in 1786. This is the first birth, was employed by the Duke of Wurtemberg to su- of his plays that bears the stamp of full maturity, and perintend the laying out of various extensive pleasure may safely take its place among the finest compositions of grounds. His mother was a baker's daughter, and nei- a similar nature. It is as much superior to the “ Filippo" ther of his parents seem to have been in any way remark- of Alfieri, as the “ Othello” of Shakspeare is to the “ Cato"!

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of Addison. It was received with immediate and uni- of watching him on such occasions a thing very easy to versal approbation. Yet, notwithstanding its celebrity, be done from the heights lying opposite bis little gardes. 26 he now grew tired of writing for the stage, and for a con- house on the other side of the dell—might see him for siderable number of years turned his thoughts to other speaking aloud, and walking swiftly to and fro in his *** subjects. He published a number of snfaller pieces, which chamber, then suddenly throwing himself dosyn into hi are esteemed by the Germans as forming one of the most chair and writing; and drinking the while, sometimes valuable portions of their miscellaneous poetry. Soon more than once, from the glass standing near him. In afterwards the “ Ghostseer" made its appearance, a novel winter he was to be found at his desk till four, or eren in two volumes, but of unequal merit.

five o'clock in the morning; in summer, till towards three Though his studies were thus multifarious, and his pro- He then went to bed, from which he seldom rose till nite ductions so voluminous, Schiller did not live as a solitary or ten." “ Wallenstein” was at last produced, a drama recluse or morose bookworm. His manners were frank, in eleven acts, divided into three parts, each of which simple, and unembarrassed, and his dispositions social and may be considered a distinct play. It was the most conciliating. He resided in the midst of a numerous splendid production he had yet published, and was received circle of friends in Dresden, and that circle was greatly accordingly. It was given to the world at the close of enlarged by a visit he paid, in 1787, to Weimar, at that the eighteenth century, and may safely be rated as the time the very Athens of Germany, and subsequently to greatest dramatic work of which that century can beast. Rudolstadt. In the former he became acquainted with Beside it the tragedies of France are cold and insipid; Herder and Wieland, and in the latter with Goethe. and at the time of its appearance, England was enjoying His first interview with Goethe was rather unpropitious. the vulgar horrors of the “ Castle Spectre !" "WallenGoethe was always jealous of his own literary renown, stein" has been very well translated into French by Ber. and Schiller was a formidable rival. But by degrees his jamin Constant; and the two last parts still better inte 131 better feelings overcame all others, and a friendship was English by Messrs Coleridge and Moir. formed, which was never interrupted till death put an end Soon after its publication, Schiller removed to Weimar, fic? to it.

where his “ Mary Stuart,” his " Maid of Orlenos," bis Schiller, meanwhile, was busily engaged in historical “Bride of Messina," and his “ Wilhelm Tell," successively 32 researches, and in the following year the first volume of appeared. Of these, the most deservedly popular were his “ History of the Revolt of the United Netherlands" | the second and the last. At the first exhibition of the IDF was produced. It is to be regretted that this work was "Maid of Orleans," in Leipzig, Schiller was in the theatre. never finished, for it would bave ranked as the very best When the curtain dropped, at the end of the first act, of Schiller's prose compositions. Soon after its publica- there arose, on all sides, a shout of Es lebe Friedrich tion he was appointed professor of history in the Univer- Schiller ! accompanied by the sound of trumpets and sity of Jena, whither he immediately went; and, in the other military music. At the conclusion of the piece, the February following, married a lady to whom he had been whole assembly left their places, went out, and crowded for some time attached, and with whom he seems to have round the door through which the poet was expected to lived a happy and virtuous life. Hear how he himself come; and no sooner did he show himself, than his ad- en expresses it : "Life is quite a different thing by the side miring spectators, uncovering their heads, made an avenue of a beloved wife, than when forsaken and alone. Beauti- for him to pass ; and as he walked along, many held up ful Nature! I now, for the first time, fully enjoy it, live their children, and exclaimed, That is he! This most in it. The world again clothes itself around me in poetic have been a moment worth a life of misery. It was forms ; old feelings are again awakening in my breast !" among the latest of his brilliant hours. In the spring of # In his new office he devoted himself with double zeal to 1805, in the forty-fifth year of his age, his old malady rehistory; and in 1791 his chief performance in this de- turned with more than its original virulence. On the wako partment of literature appeared—the “ History of the 9th of May, it reached a crisis. He became, for some Thirty Years' War.” It has its imperfections, but Ger- hours, delirious ; but, towards evening, his senses were many can boast of no other historical work equal to it; restored. Some one enquiring how be felt, he said, and, in saying so, we do not forget Müller. It was in Calmer and calmer ;" he soon afterwards sunk into a this year that the first severe fit of sickness overtook him deep sleep, and awoke no more.

H. G. B. he had ever experienced ; and though he overcame it in the present instance, the blessing of entire health never returned to him. His disorder was in the chest, and was

THE DRAMA. probably induced by his severe habits of study; for though tall, he was not robust, and his frame was too weak for Fanny KEMBLE is a little girl of very considerable gethe sleepless soul that dwelt within it. He was obliged nius. There is nothing awful, or overwhelming, er to give up his professorship, but a pension was settled on mysterious, or prodigious about her,—nothing to make him of a thousand crowns. As his health partially re- grave gentlemen of forty gape in stupid wonder, turned he resumed his activity, and was for a while deeply calm, judicious, and hackneyed critics, like ourselves

, feel 1 involved in all the mysticism of the Kantean system of our faculties benumbed, and our minds confused, by her philosophy. He published several treatises upon the sub- unprecedented powers; but there is something about her ject, but they are now the least remembered of all his which makes it pleasant to see her act, and wbich gives works. Escaping from this vortex, he seems to bave good promise of excellence yet to be. As soon as the exprojected the writing of an epic poem, and Frederick the citement and curiosity which have attended her first seaGreat of Prussia was to have been his hero; but it was a son in town, and her first provincial tour, bave subsided, scheme upon the execution of which he never entered the truth of this sober and rational statement will be His old partiality for the drama returned, and for several come apparent to persons whose inexperience occasioned years he consecrated his brightest hours to the tragedy of their being more easily carried away by the current than “ Wallenstein.” His place of study was in a garden in we were. Miss Kemble has now played four of her pris. the suburbs of Jena, where he commonly retired about cipal partsJuliet, Belvidera, Isabella, and Mrs Beverly sunset; and Doering informs us, that, "on sitting down -and she has acquitted herself in each in a highly creto his desk at nights, he was wont to keep some strong ditable and respectable manner, coffee or chocolate, but more frequently a flask of old any of them, equalled the matured powers of Mis

To say that she had, in Rhenish or Champagne, standing by him, that he might, O'Neill, or made even a far-off approach to the grandeur from time to time, repair the exhaustion of nature. Often and sublimity of Mrs Siddons, would be flattery of the the neighbours used to hear him earnestly declaiming in grossest description. Yet, let it not be supposed that we die silence of the night ; and whoever had an opportunity hare any inclination to damn with faint praise. Mive

Kemble, we are given to understand, is not nineteen; And I should wrong the truth, myself, and you, and to suppose her, at so early an age, capable of achie- To say that I can ever love again. ring the highest conquests of the drama, would be to I owe this declaration to myself; suppose her something more than human. Her person is But as a proof that I owe all to you, not yet nearly filled up, her voice has not acquired half If, after what I have said, you can resolve its strength and volume, and her features are still far too To think me worth your love- Where am I going ? girlish for the display of those mightier passions which you cannot think it ; 'tis impossible !" agitate the breast of man or woman. In many instances, The first part of this speech was delivered in a slow soMiss Kemble shows us more what she wishes to do, than lemn accent, and as she proceeded, Miss Kemble gradually what she does. If this be obvious, even in our small became more and more embarrassed, partially covering her Theatre, we should think it must have been necessarily face with her hands to conceal her agitation, but at length much more obvious at Covent Garden. But let it be ob- when the full force of the promise she was about to served, that Miss Kemble has hitherto played, both there make flashed upon her, she started up at once to her full and here, under very favourable auspices. If an actor or height, and with a generous burst of heroic energy, full actress once contrives to excite public interest, the pro- of the deathless love she bore her unforgotten Biron, she miscuous audiences assembled in consequence are ever

turned away from Villeroy, exclaiming, ready to take up and applaud the slightest points they may happen to make, while efforts of a higher description,

“ Where am I going ? made by others who have ceased to attract by their no.

You cannot think it; 'tis impossible !" velty, are passed over in entire silence. Frequently have Miss Kemble will perhaps be surprised to hear that we we seen pet performers or stars praised to the echo for consider this the finest thing she has yet done in Edintraits of acting which indicated no genius whatever, just burgh. There was no stage trick in it, and it went dias we have seen some pompous triton in a small literary rectly home to the feelings of the audience, the more dicoterie throw all the minnows that surrounded him into rectly that the transition was unexpected, but admirably convulsions of delighted laughter, with one small shake managed. of his tail. Nothing is more disgusting to a man of com In the business of the stage, Miss Kemble has been mon discrimination, than to perceive the idiotical man- excellently schooled, and certainly she could have had few ner in which a mob of boobies award their commenda- instructors superior to her own father, who walks the tion. There is an immense number of fat, officious, boards more completely like a gentleman than almost any Cockney boobies among a London audience; and, when performer we recollect. We have heard this knowledge once Fanny Kemble's wheel was set in motion, these poor of stage business charged to Miss Kemble as a fault, but drivels pushed in their fingers on every spoke, anxious to this is absurd. One might as well accuse a lawyer of enjoy the good-natured and paltry vanity of aiding in ac- being too intimately versed in the technicalities of his celerating its motion. But we men of Edinburgh take profession, which are just as necessary to his success in the credit to ourselves of being a cooler and more saga- | it as the highest abilities. Miss Kemble's attitudes and cious race; and we do not scramble over each other's by-play are, of course, studied to a certain extent, but heads, or break each other's ribs, at the pit door, to see so, we presume, is every thing of much merit in this one whom we are not pretty well assured is worthy the world, at least we scarcely know any thing worth baprice thus paid for her.

ving that is to be had without study. Miss Kemble is Miss Fanny Kemble's face is not beautiful, her voice young, and likely to improve. If she does, in any fair is not musical, her elocution is not perfect, her figure is proportion, she will unquestionably be a great actress; not commanding ;-consequently Miss Kemble is not if she does not, she will at least remain what she is at calculated to burst upon you, and to command your at present—a pleasing and elegant one, with here and there tention, whether you will or not. The next question, flashes of genius breaking through. She will also enjoy therefore, comes to be-Is Miss Fanny Kemble calcula- the advantage in two or three years, of ceasing to be what ted to gain upon you? We think she is Her face, she is now, too young for the great majority of parts she though not beautiful, is expressive; her voice, though not plays. musical, is touching in its lower tones ; her elocution, We have not yet seen Miss Kemble in comedy, but she though not perfect, may be improved ; her figure, though is to appear as Lady Townly this evening, and will next not commanding, is graceful. We have already said, week, we believe, sustain the part of Beatrice, which she that owing to her youth, she wants many physical re has not hitherto performed in London. Her abilities quisites for the delineation of the stormier passions; and we will thus be more completely placed before us, and we may now ald, as explanatory of this, that in every scene shall be able to add, to our present remarks, some others of which requires much energy of action, she is obliged to interest next Saturday. strain her voice and distort her countenance, in order to

Old Cerberus, bring out any thing like her own conceptions of the manner in which it should be performed. Still, her own conceptions are often excellent, and though they are

ORIGINAL POETRY. sometimes more like a sketch than a finished picture, they yet show what could be done had the artist the full command of her own resources.

In the calmer

TO JULIANA. cenes, where good taste and lady-like feeling are the bief requisites, Miss Kemble never disappoints. This

COULost thou stand before me now 3 a very excellent foundation for any actress to rest upon,

With thy fair and sunny brow, or it implies the presence of those finer susceptibilities

And the chestnut curls that made shich are at the root of all genius, and without which Here and there a partial shade, here may be some display of vulgar power, but never

Thou wouldst not be more mine own f high and genuine talent. As an instance of what we

Than thou art, as thus, alone, lean, we would particularly refer to Miss Kemble's no

In the evening's golden hour, on of the manner in which Isabella, overcome by the

I summon thee with spell of power, nremitting, warm, and respectful attentions of Villeroy, And, by the magic of my art, ight at length to yield a half consent to become his Fold thee, dear one, to my heart. ife. The words are these :my pleasures are

Now thy hand is lock'd in mine, uried, and cold, in my dead husband's grave;

Now my arms around thee twine,

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Now the silver light I kiss
From thine eye's soft loveliness,
Now my lips impatient seek
The peachy blossoms of thy cheek,
Now stil bolder, fonder grown,
Rest in rapture on thine own,
And I hear thy voice the while,
And I cateh thy fitting smile,
Voice as soft as wimpling stream
Smile as sweet as fairy's dream.
Little heed we time or tide,
Or what future hours may hide ;
Grief can never come to us
While we love each other thus,
Change can ne'er the bosom sear,
Evil never enter here;
Closer-closer to my heart,
Ha! why wake I with a start?
Vision ! must it still be so ?
Fad'st thou like the airy bow?
Break I from my reverie,
Nought within my grasp to see
But this little jas’mine flower,
Spell of unsubstantial power,
Though its name be link'd with thine,
And that fancy made thee mine.
Now I know that many a mile
Lies between me and thy smile;
Other friends are round thee met,
Other hopes before thee set ;
Other eyes are gazing on thee,
Other words of praise have won thee ;-
Now and then, perchance, there may,
When thy memory goes astray,
Rise one passing thought of me,
But it lingers not with thee;
And on some one at thy side,
Rests the smile that was my pride.
Yet, sweet, if I do thee wrong,
Thus to speak in idle song,
If to doubt that thou canst love,
Where thy judgment doth approve,
If to fear thy passion's blight
Do thy nobler nature slight,-
Do not blame me, but forgive,
Since thou know'st I only live
In the hope that thou to me
More than thou ere hast been, will be.

H. G. B.

Watch the change of the season

From winter to spring;
Not the “ still voice" of reason

More solace can bring.
If the flowers that we cherish

New blossoms will take;
If the moth that may perish

Again will awake;-
If the rainbow's past glory

Revives in the sky
Though it perish before ye,

Oh! why may not I ?
Though the willow-trees round

In loneliness wave,
And the thorn-chain be bound

On my silent grave;-
Though men may assemble

To murmur and weep, Who view, but to tremble,

So awful a sleep ;Yet remember my spirit,

A captive set free,
Will for ever inherit

Its life over thee.
When moonlight is gleaming

O'er turret and tree,
And the night wind is streaming

Away on the sea;
When meteor lights, sweeping,

Illumine the glade,
And the cypress is weeping

Alone in the shade ;
When the voice of the fountain

In melody springs,
And one bird from a mountain

In solitude sings-
Oh, remember that I,

Where man hath not been,
May be hovering nigh,

To bless thee unseen ;--
If the dreams come the lighter

That trouble thy rest,
If the hopes gleam the brighter

That burn in thy breast,
Oh, think by thy pillow

We often may meet,
Though I change like the billow
Which breaks at thy feet.




By Lawrence Macdonald.
Call on the viewless winds for woman's sighs,

Caught up by them into the liquid air,
Proclaiming grief to the unconscious skies;

Call on the earth to make her bosom bare,
To show the ocean in her depth that lies
Of human tears, all shed amid the cries

Of human nature's agonizing pain !
Bare all to view, and, with thy wondering eyes,

Behold the spirit's grief! the heart's big rain! Then say—why o'er the earth this flood of misery came,

When health is declining

Midst sickness and fears, And the heart is repining

In silence and tears; When visions of sorrow

Glide over the brain, And the dawn of the morrow

Is usher'd in pain ;When hope does but linger,

A spectre in gloom, Whose pale chilly finger

Points on to the tomb ;When the past but returns

As dreams that are Hed, And the lonely lamp burns

At the foot of the dead Oh, look out in the midnight

With love-searching eye, Though evading thy sight,

Will my spirit be nigh!

With man's frail bark upon its billows toss'd,

The mast all shivering 'mid life's heavy gale, The rudder gone, life's pointing compass lost,

While mental darkness crowds to fill the sail ! But death, or soon or late, will burst the spell,

And fling the stormy clouds of life away, Revealing to our eyes that heaven or hell

The deeper darkness, or the brighter day, Which Priests proclaim, and Poets twine throug bet

their lay!

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