were once the presiding geniuses of Greece, and feel that they had sublimity of thought, and beauty of conception, yet we are hardly willing to admit that their capacities were broader and deeper than we may witness in this nineteenth century; hence, we find not the reason of their superiority here. Nor did the balmy and elastic breezes that pic games arrayed in his purple robes, and decked with a garland of gold; he sees a king of Bithynia offering to discharge an immense public debt, for the Venus of Praxiteles; and such vision, though it be imaginary, elevates his conceptions, and makes him earnest in his efforts to secure for himself an equal renown. The painting may have lost its colour, the well-floated along the shores of Greece, bear richer pabwrought marble may have crumbled into dust; yet we know that they once drew forth the astonishment and admiration of tasteful and critical minds, and hence they still speak out "In characters that never die, 1. What were the causes of the wonderful development of art among the Grecian people? 2. Should Americans emulate their bright achievements? In giving an answer to the first of these questions, it may be remarked that they did not, as some have supposed, derive their extraordinary skill from the Egyptians. Their first rough-hewn ideas of image-work may have been transported across the sea from the land of colossal beetles and flat-nosed sphinxes; or they may have been acquired from Phoenician artists. To the latter source, we can attribute but very little of their knowledge; but Egypt poured forth her treasures like her own mighty Nile, to beautify and enrich all Europe. Greece partook of her munificence, and the more ancient performances of her own artists agree well, in their style and character, with the work of those "magicians" who once trod the soil of that comparatively enlightened land. Yet, mere imitation could not satisfy Grecian enterprise; and in this single fact we behold the secret of their unsurpassed success. We may not give them such transcendent credit for their excellence as if they had been the inventors of the arts of design, which they ultimately brought to such high grades of perfection; for it cannot be disputed that there is much of the grand and lofty in the Egyptian style, though it may have none of that real grandeur and sublimity that grace and beauty-which are demanded by a lofty and finely cultivated taste. The pyramids and obelisks may outlive the existing races of mankind, but they will bear stronger evidence of the degrading state of servitude under which the Egyptians groaned, than of the will of an enterprising people-the cultivators of Art. These works were set out there on the plain to astonish the human mind for ever, but though they do this, they will never convince men that their builders were skilled in the noblest and sublimest forms of architecture. If it be true that Athens and Sparta obtained their knowledge of these arts from their neighbours across the darkcoloured sea, men's admiration will be not the less lasting, as they witness the vast superiority of the copy, perfected from the disfigured and ill-proportioned original. But, let us renew the question; by what means were the Greeks enabled to arrive at so great a degree of perfection in the arts of design? Is it true that the human mind is now less expanded,-less given to look at what is excellent and beautiful, than it was two thousand years ago? We do indeed read over the poetry and the philosophy of some of the mighty intellects which ulun for her sons to feed on,-nor did the bright sunshine of her heaven, her beautiful scenery, her delightful climate, furnish a deeper source of inspiration, than existed along the banks of the majestic Nile, on the plains and hills of Palestine, or beneath the shadow of the gigantic Apennines. While her cloud-capped mountains and her smiling vales were not surpassed in sublimity and beauty by those of any other land, it was not these which so developed the plastic powers of the mind, and gave the Greek that full play which brought out from the cold, dull rock the external anatomy of man, seeming to need nothing but a soul infused, to wake it up to life-it was not simply causes like these which effected such miracles of art. The scenery of Greece, alone, though it operated upon the artist as a stimulant, to a certain extent, did not give the artist his success; for, we are aware that even now the same sun that lighted up the groves of Attica, still shines with undiminished splendour on the land, -the same pure and balmy air breathes along the whole Grecian shore; yet no bards now rise up and chant immortal song, no sculptor's hand works out great wonders of art, as if guided by supernatural agency. The wild workings of democracy,—was it these which drew forth such unsurpassed excellence? Was it the stirring spirit of liberty-that liberty which is worth "a whole eternity of bondage," which gave the Grecian mind such a mighty impulse, and made it overleap all that had gone before it with its splendid exhibitions of art? Reasonably, we may attribute much that was accomplished, to the noble spirit of generous emulation which ever characterizes an enlightened, free-acting democracy. The various states of Hellas were rivals for honour, and they laboured hard for superiority. Hence not only the Fine Arts flourished, but every branch of human knowledge was watched and cherished with diligence. Before this day, poets and philosophers, orators and heroes had come forth and battled manfully with the foes of right and freedom. Then followed the tide of Grecian glory. But when the republican governments fell beneath the sway of tyrants, genius felt his hand grow palsied, and his heart grow faint. True; princes with their gold gave some impulse to the artist's faltering will, yet gold could not lead on to effort like the inspiring power of a generous rivalry, called into exercise by the increasing pride of independent sister states. Freedom yielded to oppression, and art sunk down into neglect, along with philosophy and literature, while heroism and eloquence fled for ever from the land of Homer and Aristotle, and Demosthenes and Plato. Thus it becomes certain, that liberty and a spirit of emulation were two exciting and developing causes of the Grecian mind; and to this accident in the condition of the Greeks, we must impute somewhat of their pre-eminence in art. But the games of Greece, where the human form was seen in its natural and perfect beauty; where was gathered all that was calculated to arouse and dazzle, where the victors were honoured as a species of demi-gods; these public games were one great means of developing that extraordinary manifestation of artistic skill, which her painters, her architects, and her sculptors displayed. But the causes we have mentioned are not sufficient in themselves to explain the secret of their success. Powerful these were; but the chief source of inspiration was this,-the Grecian mythology. The Greeks believed not so much in the existence and eternity of one great presiding God, as in the agency of beings who were under the control of an inexorable fate. Every city and hill-top, every stream and meadow, had its guardian deity, and him men would represent on canvass, or in the more enduring, lifelike marble. Had these gods been thought more exalted— pure, mystic spirits, guided by justice and reason rather than destiny-beings like Israel's Omnipotent-Phidias would have moulded some other features than those of the divinity; and had he not worshipped a god of higher character than did the Egyptians, he would never have embodied in his work that most sublime of all Homer's conceptions, of Jupiter rocking high Olympus with his nod, while "All around The sovereign's everlasting head, his curls Here, no doubt, was the source of that superior excellence in art, at which the world has wondered. This is the true secret of the Grecian glory in the arts. Immortal beings and mengods, transferred from their clay to heaven-were to be exhibited in all their divine and exalted attributes. This, then, was the mysterious power which gave the sculptor his success. This unfolded before his mind perfection, displayed only in the wondrous universe, of which he formed a part. He saw no Deity, but nature spoke out loudly of an Omnipotent, and the artist would draw on his canvass, or cut with his chisel from the mountain quarry, his ideal of a god. He would bring forth a work for an immortal life, while he moulded the form and lineaments of "incarnate immortality itself. His object was to present to human sight the imagined glory of Deity, and he was stimulated to his efforts by all the motives we have noticed to accomplish his design. Such were the causes of Grecian superiority and renown in the Fine Arts. And if Praxiteles has left behind him a statue not surpassed in beauty of execution by anything which Pisano or Michael Angelo produced-unexcelled by any work of the kind ever executed by man-well may we say in sorrow to Greece, "Thou once lovely and honoured land, how art thou fallen! How art thou dishonoured by the descendants of thy glorious sons! Wake thee to thy duty, and again thou shalt astonish the world." But while none have excelled, there are many works of modern times which show us what can be done by the genius of the artist. Though he may not try to fashion out the Eternal, they look like the very handiwork of God. Wherever we behold "The princely dome, the column and the arch, The sculptured marble, and the breathing gold," we pause in admiration. Italy is not more celebrated for her poets than for her sculptors and painters. Virgil could once speak, almost sneeringly, of the superiority of Greece in the arts of design: "Excudent alii spirantia mollius æra, Credo equidem: vivos ducent de marmore vultus: Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento: Hæc tibi erunt artes." He little thought that a man should ever arise to rival his own glory, by his skill in art, on the very soil he trod. The cultivation of the Fine Arts, then, is seen to distinguish a nation; hence we would briefly consider the second question proposed: 2. Should the Fine Arts be earnestly cultivated by Americans? If Schlegel's definition of science is correct. viz.: that it is the perfection of all thinking, and in its actual operations as applied to life, and in itself carried to a conclusion, is one with it; then, surely, Americans should encourage the improvement of its every branch. The fancied objection that these arts are of no utility, still clings to our hearts; but what is utility if it be not that principle which renders us happy! Do we not libel nature-do we not accuse God of deepest folly-when we cry out against the ornaments of art? Let us cease thus to cry, or first tear away the bright colours of the garden, and the gold which fringes the summer cloud. Let us pull down the awe-inspiring mountain cliffs and fill up the valleys, before we plead so loudly and earnestly for the destruction of what man has wrought that is beautiful and charming, or deter him from loving poetry, painting, and sculpture. The roof of heaven is "fretted with golden fire," and hence, let us fit up our own creations in beauty and loveliness. The influence of the arts is elevating and refining, and we should cultivate them for this tendency to exalt individual and national character. The objections that there is not wealth enough in the land-that we have no taste for the Artsand that they are of no real utility, are fast disappearing before the convincing and melting sight of the developments our painters and sculptors have already made. No one will deny that there is a beneficial tendency in good poetry, rhetoric, and music, and yet these are to be classed under the Fine Arts. Let us have more Miltons, Whitefields, Mozarts, and let us be equally anxious for other Raphaels, and Angelos, and Canovas, to arise and shine! A nation's heroes are her great men, and he who makes the marble soften into life under his hand, or dips his pencil in colours as beautiful as if they had been drawn from heaven, adds lustre to the name of his country. We have now artists of the first order; let their efforts be encouraged, and they shall add to the ornament, the refinement, and the dignity have a work performed, at which men should of society. Would that in this land we might than ever the power of beauty, and exclaiming gaze and wonder, while feeling more strongly aloud "So stands the statue which enchants the world !' If the Fine Arts flourish no more on the bright | classes. And as these classes constitute, in every soil of Greece, at least let them not be neglected community, the great bulk of the people, the in this land of improvement, which has already evil is the more widely extended, and the more produced a West, an Allston, and a Powers. generally felt. This tendency may justly be asThough there be no gods to paint, or cut out of the cribed to the assumption of power, upon which living rock, we may well hope, when we see the they are based, to interfere with personal liberty "Slave" of one of our countrymen everywhere at- and private property, no matter to how insignifitracting such attention, that the day is fast coming cant a point such power, in this age of the "march on, when our country shall cultivate with the of intellect," may have been reduced; if even same earnestness that she does the arts strictly confined to the exaction of homage, or in Deouseful, those which are imitative and ornamental. | dand,* the principle is the same. The power Never before has our nation exhibited so much devotion to Science, Literature, and Art, as during the present century. With all our fame for money-getting, we are getting glory for our discoveries in science and the arts of life. Palsied be the hand that would deface a painting or strike down a statue! THE DEPARTED CHILD. BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY. BRING jasmine flowers, and rose-buds pale, To strew upon her breast; For in life's opening bud she lies- In hues immortal drest. Tread gently on the hallowed ground And tears are nature's blest relief- That burst from life's young glee. The eyelids of fair childhood close The Old Oml of the Abbey. BY THE REV. JAMES ABBOT, M'GILL COLLEGE, MONTREAL, CANADA. exists, and the degrading effects of its baneful influence, even under the mildest mode of its exercise, is felt, and may be distinctly traced, in every town and hamlet throughout the whole length and breadth of the land. If such remarks can justly be made upon the general bearing and tendency of the Feudal Tenure, when thus considered, only in its minor details, the following tale, alas! too true, will go far to show, how much more pertinently they will apply to its demoralizing and iniquitous offspring, the Game-laws. CHAPTER I. THE "FORCE." In a beautiful and sequestered valley, surrounded by barren and precipitous crags, or heath-covered hills, with here and there a tuft of copsewood fringing the dark and rugged bed of a nameless mountain stream, the crumbling ruins of one of the most magnificent establishments of monkish power and pride in the north of England, may be seen even to this very day. The great western tower of the old church of Shap Abbey, which is still nearly entire, is all that has survived the ravages of time, and the fierce and more destructive rage of blind and indiscriminating fanaticism. In its present ruinous condition, there it stands, as if in proud defiance of the fell destroyer's further efforts, a monument of picturesque grandeur seldom equalled, especially when contrasted with the ruin and desolation at its base, marring the fair face of that green valley, or with the wild and romantic scenery around. Neither Kirkstall nor Bowness Abbey, although much more extensive ruins, because in each of them a considerable portion of the body of the church still remains, can well be said to be superior to this, either in point of architectural design, or in beauty of finish, or even in magnitude, if we may judge from the traces of corresponding portions of it which are still to be seen. My tale, however, has little or no connexion with this ancient Abbey, further than that the scene of it lies within the manor that belonged to it in the palmy days of its original power and splendour. The boundary of this manor is somewhat vaguely and curiously defined in the royal charter under which it was held, a copy of which has been preserved and handed down to us. Of all the sad relics of the dark ages still to be found in England, the Game-laws are the worst; because, of all the sources of crime, they are the most prolific. Other remnants of the Feudal Tenure are frequently to be met with in the laws and institutions of that highly civilized and Christian country. And although many of these are of a nature and character so ridiculous as to lead one to wonder at their absurdity, and to laugh at their folly; yet they all alike have a natural tendency to crush and degrade the middle and lowering a child to death! * "Deodand," from "Deus, God; and dare," to give-to God, or to the lord of the manor, his representative(!), whatever has caused the death of a human being. I remember my father being mulcted in a colt, and a cart-wheel,-the former, for kicking the brains out of a boy who was pulling hairs out of his tail, and the latter for crush According to this singular document, its limits extended as far as the great bell of this very tower, that yet remains, would be heard. And though the bell has long since ceased to toll, other landmarks, of a less dubious and indefinite character, have been established, and manorial rights over this immense tract of land have fallen into the profane hands of the heretic, who treats with utter neglect the precincts of this once holy sanctuary. as his wife handed him his light fowling-piece, which he slung across his broad shoulders; "they will have to beware of me; for, if the rascals are unearthed-and the bait I've laid I think will have brought them out-it will be strange if the old fox and all his cubs should regain their cover. my name be Tom Smith, but some on 'em shall have a hard scratch for it!" An' His head was turned a little to one side as he said this, and a slight nod betokened not only the confidence he felt in his own prowess, but the pleasure he anticipated in that night's adventure; it was indeed esteemed by him like life from the dead. The little brook, already mentioned, which generally, in soothing murmurs, like soft music, winds its devious way through the intricate mazes of the fantastically shaped rocks, now hiding and anon obstructing its sparkling current, on the melting of the snows upon the mountain sides, or after heavy rains, changes its charac-gay withal, as far, at least, as met the eye and ter into a boisterous and uncontrollable torrent that "Boils, and wheels, and foams, and thunders through." On such occasions, the ford across this brook, a few miles lower down, at a place called Rosegill, becomes not only difficult, but dangerous, unless particular attention be paid to the exact path along a smooth ledge of limestone rocks, as even as a cut stone pavement; such caution is the more necessary, as this stratum dips up the stream at a considerable angle with the horizon, so that when the water is in the turbulent state I have mentioned, the slightest deviation in that direction would carry a horse beyond its depth; while on the other hand, this ledge is abruptly broken off, forming the verge of a fearful cataract, down which any benighted traveller, unfortunate enough to pass so near the "force," as it is emphatically termed in that locality, as to be caught within its sweeping influence, is hurled down to immediate and remediless destruction. The ford was in this dangerous state one dark and rather tempestuous night in the month of October, 18—, when Tom Smith, one of the boldest and most resolute of Lord L's game-keeper's, who had been more than ordinarily active in apprehending poachers, left his house to go over on horseback to an appointed place of rendezvous, where a few friends of his, as determined and resolute as himself, had agreed to meet him on the first suspicious-looking night. This arrangement had been made for the purpose of apprehending, on the Abbey manor, one of the most desperate gangs of poachers that had ever been known in all that part of the country. "Beware of Rosegill Ford, Thomas," said his wife, as he vaulted into his saddle at the door; "but you will see from Dobson's shop windows to get safely through." Yes, if they are lighted," said the 'keeper, carelessly, and to soothe her fears, which he saw were much excited, he then added, "I would play at blind-man's-buff in the middle of it, if the 'force, raged with ten times the fury it does tonight: this biting frost has hushed its roaring a little, or we should hear it more distinctly." But he was addressing himself to a heedless listener, for he had touched a chord that thrilled with more fearful forebodings through her trembling frame. "The flood is furious," she said to him, and her voice faltered as she spoke; " but oh! beware of those terrible Dobsons." "Good-night, sweetheart!" he added, in a more affectionate manner and kindlier tone, but not less the ear;-"good-night! thy brother and his wife will help thee to beguile the lonely hours till midnight, and if I come not then, wait no longer for me, as it is quite uncertain when I shall return." And he galloped off towards Rosegill Ford. CHAPTER II. THE DOBSONS. It will be necessary for the full development of my tale, that the reader should be made acquainted with the Dobsons already alluded to. These Dobsons, then, consisted of the old man and his wife, three sons, and a son-in-law, as one of the gang was called in virtue of his marriage with a base-born daughter of the old woman. What this last one's real name might be, I cannot tell. I never knew. It hardly, however, could be Dobson; but at any rate, he was always counted and considered as one of them. Their ostensible mode of obtaining a livelihood was by weaving the homespun of the neighbourhood, both into woollen and linen cloths;-the former of the very coarsest description, in consequence of its being taken from wiry fleece of the fell-sheep, while the latter was much finer, sometimes the very finest, and fit for the lawn sleeves of a bishop.* Their shop, containing four or five looms, stood upon the very verge of the rivulet already adverted to more than once, a little above Rosegill Ford. From this shop, a door opened upon a rude foot-bridge, thrown across from the threshold to a rock jutting out into the bed of the river, nearly half-way from the opposite side; it was nothing more than the small trunk of a tree, flattened a little upon the upper side. "Why, Peggy! what can ye be spinning that sae fine for?" was the wondering interrogatory made to Mrs. Margaret Law by a neighbour's wife, as she dropped in with her knitting to spend an afternoon with her. "I don't know," she said; "but it will do for my son's lawn sleeves when he gets to be a bishop, if for nothing else." This Mrs. Law was the thrifty wife of a hardworking farmer in this very neighbourhood, the mother of the Bishop of Carlisle of that name, and the grandmother of Lord Ellenborough, Lord High Chancellor of England, as well as of the Bishops of Chester and Clonmel. One of the most romantic instances on record of the elevation, all at once, of so lowly a family to the highest honours "They will have to beware of me," he replied, of the State. This bridge, although the only approach to it, | in one direction at least, was through Dobson's shop, and although constructed ostensibly for the benefit of his business, and the convenience of his employers, was freely open to all who did not send their woof to his rivals. If, however, they were weavers by trade, they were also molecatchers by profession, and the reader may easily guess what else they were by practice. When, as always happened at a particular season of the year, the weaving business was slack, or failed them altogether, they had recourse to their other calling, and made frequent and distant excursions into the manors and parishes which they had engaged to rid of these obnoxious vermin. It was always in the night that they returned from these excursions, laden with the downy spoils of their underground enemy, et cætera. Such, at least, was the account spontaneously given sometimes by the old man himself, of the contents of their well-stuffed wallets. He seemed anxious to impress upon the minds of his auditors on such occasions, the idea that, with the exception of a few necessaries, under the comprehensive and undefined et cætera, these said wallets were filled with mole-skins. Yet some of Dobson's neighbours,-ill-natured ones, no doubt,would still persist in the belief that these et cæteras comprised other things besides these necessaries, and of much more value than the mole-skins. This rude and simple bridge was particularly convenient on such occasions, the more especially as the manors and parishes they were concerned with, were all situate on the other side of the brook. And it was even hinted by some that it had been originally constructed more for secresy than convenience. On the evening already mentioned, when their daylight task was done, Dobson's shop was lighted up as usual; but the busy shuttle was neglected, and at rest. And in its stead, the scraping and scouring of screw guns, of such cunning and curious construction as to be capable of being converted, in a moment, on an emergency, into a harmless walking-cane, the mending of nets and gins, the filling of shot-bags and powderhorns, &c., busily and cheerily occupied all hands. The old man, I call him so, more to distinguish him from the rest, than from his age, for at the ume I am now alluding to, he was not old-at least, he would not have been so esteemed by any one whose locks had been thinned and blanched by the snows of sixty winters;-the old man, then, to give an outline portrait of him, was rather if anything below the middle size, with arms and legs so disproportionately long as to give him an air of deformity; his face was deeply pitted with the small-pox, his forehead prominent and lowering; his small, blue eyes, deeply sunk, with a slight sinister squint in one of them; his eyebrows long and shaggy, and of a sun-browned white, and nearly meeting over his sharp and pointed nose; the colour of his hair, and shapeless, bushy whiskers, was a fiery red, slightly sprinkled with gray, and altogether he was about as perfect a personification of inordinate conceit,—-deep, burning, depraved and remorseless villany, as could well be imagined. Felon was stamped upon his forehead: and his sons were so like him, that, with the exception of a few wrinkles and the | slight mixture of gray with their carroty locks, the portrait might well pass for theirs too. The old man was still the mainspring of the set. And it was his cunning, which in his own vain conceit he miscalled wisdom, that directed and managed the complicated affairs of the establishment. He was seen, on this occasion, walking to and fro with arms akimbo, questioning one, commanding another, while laying down the plan of that night's operations to all: not, however, in the order I have mentioned, nor in any other, but in a desultory and disjointed manner. But I must give a specimen, partially divested of the broad patois, unintelligible except in the locality which we have been describing. "Ned, did thou hear aught about the blacksmith when thou took Hogshead's web home this morning, eh?" and he winked knowingly with one eye as he saw that this allusion to the keeper's name, ingenious as he thought it,—was understood. "Ay, ay! I see! just overheard a whisper meant for thy own ear: a trap!-a trap!" "No? thou thinks they'll go, eh?" "Does that new scraper work well?" He'll hardly risk the ford to-night anyhow. Auld deaf-lugs mind the lights when we're away." This was the endearing soubriquet by which his poor wife was usually designated in consequence of labouring under the infirmity implied. "See that Muzzy's well flinted and bright inside o' her!" This was his own favourite fowling-piece. You're sure they both go to spend the night with the blacksmith?-well!-Yes, I's determined! Never mind! he shall have a lead supper if he does come!-Yes, I will!" These were sotto voce ejaculations, addressed more to his own musings than to those around him. "You, Dick, take care of the old Abbey, and never mind about the bogles.-Them meshes is too big, man!-If thou hears a flickering among the daws, thou may be sure somebody else is there, and sound the hulet' (owl): be sure, lads, not to forget that, none o' ye, nor the auld slate quarry." And again he manifested symptoms of satisfaction with his own ingenuity in contriving a signal the least likely to be noticed by their watchful enemy in the vicinity of the old ruin. This signal consisted only of a strikingly natural imitation of the hooting of the owl, a bird which generally resorts to such places. It was for flight while that was practicable, and for defence when it was not. "And see," the old man continued, "that Brutus doesn't get his supper till his night's work is over. Oh, ay, poor dog! I had forgotten he was killed.-Where was my auld eyes that shouldn't have hit the dog I aimed at! but I'll nail him yet; maybe to-night!" And a dark and fearful expression of savage ferocity overshadowed his thin and wiry visage, which seemed to cast a damp upon the spirit of the party, and for a moment all were silent; when he resumed in a more serious tone and manner, but evidently pursuing the train of thought he had thus been accidentally led into. "Mind, lads, ye're none o' ye taken; fire first, and aim at the head or breast;-never mind that; ye may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb |