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Respecting the proposed monument to Elliott, I may be allowed to say that I took upon me to write to Richard Cobden asking him to lead a subscription for the purpose---feeling that Elliott ought to have a monument, and that Mr. Cobden's successful struggle would cause his name to be mentioned with that of the Corn-Law Rhymer, in the future. Mr. Cobden signified his hearty willingness to do his part. I mentioned this publicly at Sheffield, while talking in the Town Hall, a short time ago. The subscription has since been started in Sheffield ; and Mr. Burnard, a rising genius as a sculptor, self-taught and sprung from the working-class---who is an ardent admirer of Elliott's genius, has gone down and modelled a bust. Thus, I hope, a sure commencement has been made for securing a monument for the Poet.





RICHARD OT LEY. PRESENT in all the past and everywhere, in every moment of time, my footsteps, though invisible, have dyed the earth with blood, and forced sigh's and tears from the human race; whilst over the future I have spread a wizard power, that threatens with wrathful vengeance the beaming hopes of the spirit of insurrection in behalf of justice and truth. Like Satan, brooding over the regions of darkness and of the tortures of his own creating, I cast a dark shadow of gloom and despair over the coming destinies of man. Where and whenever I speak the genius of Peace stands aghast, or flies from the earth to her celestial regions; for dissensions and war are the only elements in which my soul revels. The lion, the tiger, the eagle, and the bear, are consecrated to my worship. In the night I am present with the assassin, to nerve his arm,—to animate his soul to the daring deed of death. In the day I am with the conqueror, to inspire him with the lust of an alluring but false glory, that he may strew the earth with the carcases of my victims. Wherever I wander, I leave behind me ruin and desolation. My only rivals are the earthquake, famine, and pestilence, and the two latter are my subordinates and attendants. I was generated by Chaos and born of Darkness before the first beam of light cheered the first morning of the universe. My nature and substance are of a darkness so intensę, that it is invisible. Every sentiment that is good or virtuous is held by me in abhorrence; benevolence, intelligence, and love are my deadly enemies; between them and


no cessation of strife. When war is proclaimed, the sound of my voice,-the echo of my laughter, resounds through space. My power is resistless, and my triumph unrestrained mis-rule and confusion.

When the universe, in the infinity of space, was one chaotic-mass, --when all principles and essences where struggling in the vast conflict and with boundless energies for the mastery, I presided in triumph over the shapeless abyss. My spirit would have encircled all, and would have

perpetuated this confusion of elements, for ever. Mass upon mass flew through space with an inconceivable fleetness, essence contending with essence, attraction with repulsion, water with fire; the crash of matter'

me there



was an uproar of sounds to mortals inconceivable. In the midst of this boundless war of elements, mass flew to mass until suns were formed and fixed in centres, and globe after globe rolled in endless circles; and silence ushered the universe into peace.

The smaller portions of matter followed into order,—atmospheres formed, --- a new spirit of beauty and glory sprung into existence; and harmony reigned. For a brief duration, I lay prostrate and abashed; in grief I hid myself, absorbed in my own lonely thoughts ; despair covered me as a mantle, nor was there one beam of hope to cheer my solitary grief. The spirit of intellectual goodness, like an infinite flame of refulgent glory, filled the boundlessness of space, whilst I lay in a gloomy concealment which threatened to be eternal.

How long a duration in eternity,--how many revolutions of celestial systems, I thus lay inert, in a spiritual trance, is, and will for ever remain unknown. When I awoke, it was to behold a new creation of order, loveliness and harmony. The process had been long and slow, element had united with element, essence with essence ; new beings had sprung into existence; my soul grasped the whole at once; new sympathies, new hatreds, gave to me an unbounded animating impulse to evil; I must work, I must deform, I must sully the glory which I now beheld ! I was startled at the complexion of my own thoughts; the personification of evil, as I knew myself to be, I was troubled in my soul when I beheld goodness flowing as from an infinite fountain of pure light. How to contaminate,—how to mingle light with darkness, good with evil, so that neither could be distinguished from the other, were my first thoughts. “It must, it shall be done!". I exclaimed. Meanwhile, I had approached the earth ; myriads of beings presented themselves to view, such as I had never known or conceived of before. Here, then, I felt that I must commence the work of ruin and spoliation, for whilst I gazed upon them, all appeared to be goodness and perfection.

As I approached nearer and nearer towards the earth, the shades of darkness were falling over her, like a curtain : this I regarded as prophetic of future power—of future evil. Darkness thus gradually gathered and thickened around me; clouds over clouds rolled in masses over the face of heaven. I had never known fear, yet I felt an indefinable something within ; it was a strange emotion, a spiritual coldness, almost approaching to trembling. The feeble sons of earth hid themselves; they fell to the ground some on their faces, some on their knees, and lifted their arms or eyes towards heaven ; they muttered sounds which reached me : they were the words of terror. As the darkness thickened around, a light suddenly illuminated the horizon, but it passed away as quick as thought, followed by terrific sounds that vibrated through my very being. What how-could this be? Whence could this come?

as if the arched vaults of heaven were tumbling to the earth in the midst of a tremendous hurricane! “Chaos,” I shouted in extasies, “has returned again ; the spirit of darkness shall again reign in triumph !" I laughed as I listened to peal after peal ; and my laughter was as the echoes from the mountains, and my soul was filled with an infernal delight. But the sounds died away, the dark clouds dispersed, the moon arose and sailed silently and peacefully in the heavens, and the fair face of the blue, wetherial sky reflected once more the peaceful regions of the earth.

(70 be continued in next number.)

It was

Sweet smile, on the cheek of thy home, where

Joy burst on thy young spirit’s waking-
Canst give its endearments, to come where

Life hath many a hot heart-aching?
Hast thou counted the cost to stand by me

In the battle I fight for man?
And shall thy angel-love deify me

Who stand in the world's dark ban !
Oh, a daring high soul thou wilt need, Love,

To brave the life-battle with me
For thy dear heart may oftentimes bleed, Love,

And thy sweet eyes dim tearfully !
Dost thou know of the fine hearts perishing-

Gallant spirits that dumbly bow
For a little of fortune's cherishing

They are breaking in agony now!
And without the sunshine that life needeth

Alas, sweet, for me and for you,
How little the callous world heedeth-

For love like ours tender and true !
Oh, a daring high soul thou wilt need, Love,

To brave the life-battle with me
For thy dear heart may oftentimes bleed, Love,

And thy sweet eyes dim tearfully!
Well, you've sworn-I have sworn-God hath bound us !

And that covenant the world shall not part :
I have flung my love's mantle around us,

And you live in each beat of my heart.
It may be that our names in earth's story

Shall endure when we are no more,
For truth lives like the stars in their glory,

And the flowers on the earth's verdant floor!
But a daring high soul thou wilt need, Love,

To brave the life-battle with me,
For thy dear heart may oftentimes bleed, Love,
And thy sweet eyes dim tearfully !


to Correspondents. Correspondents will please address “ Thomas Cooper, Mr. Barlow's, bookseller, 2, Nel. son-street, Newcastle-on-Tyne”-in order that they may reach me direct. But all letters sent to my own home, it is as well to repeat, will be forwarded to me. Many correspondents must be kind enough to excuse my not answering their communications this week. I have been very busy journeying and talking; and write this, at Hull, just before starting by the train for Newcastle. When I arrive there, I hope to have time to attend to correspondents,

as usual,

Lectures, in London, for the ensuing Udeek. SUNDAY, June 9, at half-past 7, Hall of Science, (near Finsbury Square) City-Road. “Re

form of Freethinking”—Geo. J. Holyoake. At half-past 7, Literary Institution, John Street, Fitzroy Square. “ The World of the Future, or the Destiny of the

Millions"—Robert Cooper. MONDAY, June 10, at half-past 8, Mechanics' Institute, Gould Square, Crutched Friars.

“ Music : with illustrations”—J. Dobson Collet. At half-past 8, Finsbury Hall, 66, Bunhill Row. Life and Times of the late John Savage, of Marylebone"John Savage. At half-past 8. Pentonville Athenæum, 23, Henry Street. Anniversary and Elocutionary Entertainment. At half-past 8, Soho Mutual Instruction Society, 2, Little Dean Street. “ Competition and Co-operation"

J. Milne. TUESDAY, June 11, at 8, British Coffee Rooms, Edgeware Road. - Weekly Meeting of the

Free Enquirers' Society.

THINKINGS FROM EDMUND BURKE. LAWS.-Ask of politicians the end for which laws were originally designed, and they will answer, that the laws were designed as a protection for the poor and weak, against the oppression of the rich and powerful. But surely no pretence can be so ridiculous ; a man might as well tell me he has taken off my load, because he has changed the burthen. If the poor man is not able to support his suit according to the vexatious and expensive manner established in civilized countries, has not the rich as great an advantage over him as the strong has over the weak in a state of nature ?

RICH AND POOR.— The most obvious division of society is into rich and poor ; and it is no lesss obvious that the numbers of the former bear a great disproportion to those of the latter. The whole business of the poor is to administer to the idleness, folly, and luxury of the rich ; and that of the rich, in return, is to find the best methods of confirming the slavery and increasing the burthens of the poor. In a state of nature it is an invariable law, that a man's acquisitions are in proportion to his labours. In a state of artificial society, it is a law as constant and as invariable, that those who labour most, enjoy the fewest things; and that those who labour not at all, have the greatest number of enjoyments. A constitution of things this, strange beyond expression. We scarce believe a thing when we are told it, which we actually see before our eyes every day without being the least surprised. I suppose that there are in Great Britain upwards of a hundred thousand people employed in lead, tip, iron, copper, and coal mines ; these unhappy wretches scarce ever see the light of the sun ; they are buried in the bowels of the earth ; there they work at a severe and dismal task, without the least prospect of being delivered from it; they subsist upon the coarsest and worst sort of fare; they have their health miserably impaired, and their lives cut short, by being perpetually confined in the close vapour of these malignant minerals. A hundred thousand more at least are tortured without remission by the suffocating smoke, intense fires, and constant drudgery necessary in refining and managing the products of these mines. If any man informed us that two hundred thousand innocent persons were condemned to so intolerable a slavery, how should we pity the unhappy sufferers, and how great would be our just indignation against those who inflicted so cruel and ignominious a punishment? This is an instance, I could not wish a stronger, of the numberless things which we pass by in their common dress, yet which shock us when they are nakedly represented. But this number, considerable as it is, and the slavery, with all its baseness, and horror, which we have at home, is nothing to what the rest of the world affords of the game nature. Millions daily bathed in the poisonous damps and destructive effluvia of lead, silver, copper, and arsenic; to say nothing of those other employments, those stations of wretchedness and contempt in which civil society has placed the numerous enfans perdu of her army. Would any rational man submit to one of the most tolerable of these drudgeries, for all the artificial enjoyments which policy has made to result from them? By no means. And yet I need suggest, that those who find the means, and those who arrive at the end, are not at all the same persons. On considering the strange and unaccountable fancies and contrivances of artificial reason, I have somewhere called this earth the Bedlam of our system. Looking now upon the effects of some of those fancies, may we not with equal reason call it likewise the Newgate and the Bridewell of the universe! Indeed the blindness of one part of mankind co-operating with the frenzy and villainy of the other, has been the real builder of this respectable fabric of political society. And as the blindness of mankind has caused their slavery, in return, their state of slavery is made a pretence for continuing them in a state of blindness ; for the politician will tell you gravely, that their life of servitude disqualifies the greater part of the race of man for the search of truth, and supplies them with no other than mean and insufficient ideas. This is but too true; and this is one of the reasons for which I blame such institutions. In a misery of this sort, admitting some few lenities, and those too but a few, nine parts in ten of the whole race of mankind drudge through life.

“How rich the hawthorn blossom !"

Away to the woodlands, enriched with perfumes;
Away to the groves where the Hawthorn-bush blooms;
Away to the hills—it is bliss to behold
The landscape all smiling, o'er-sheeted with gold !
In greenwood and brake, o'er lowland and lako,
The cuckoo keeps echo, incessant, awake;
And the quiver of leaves and the buzz of bright plumes
Fill the air everywhere when the Hawthorn-bush blooms.
The bird to the breeze-harp of tenderest sound
Respondeth—the glades and green vistas resound;
Anon, one by one, the whole emulous choir
A full-throated anthem to heaven respire,
From the depth of the wood, where they nestle their brood,
And the step of the ranger doth seldom intrude;
Where none but rash truant to rob them presumes,
Of their young reared among the sweet Hawthorn-bush blooms.
The whispering zephyrs unfold their fans wide,
Attending on Nature at sultry noontide,-
On the glimmering heath where she languishing lies,
O'ercome by the glances of fond-gazing skies !
When the sun sinks to rest, and the beautified West
Resembles some blissful abode of the blest,
Winged myriads awake, as it were from their tombs,
To play with sweet May, 'mong the Hawthorn-bush blooms.
The owlet abroad is at eve early seen;
The bat flitteth round the oak gloomy and green;
The tiny silk moth is as full of delight
As an angel of love 'neath a sky ever bright !
The dew on the blade, by fairy-hands laid,
Into millions of millions of globules is made;
Which the lingering twilight all night long illumes,
At that hour in each bower when the Hawthorn-bush blooms,
The minnows, up-leaping, disturb the starred rill;
The nightingale's ditty rings sweet round the hill;
Dim shapes, such as none but the gifted can ken,
Converse, indistinct, down the elm-shaded glen!
That part of the skies 'neath the pole-star which lies
Is sparred with light's purest ethereal dyes-
"Tis the fan-light of day o'er night's portal of glooms !
Light and mirth bless the earth when the Hawthorn-bush blooms.
And the coy village maiden, in silence and fear,
To get "holy hawthorn” now hies to the mere;
That, laid on her pillow, in dreams she may see
The lad that ere long is her bridegroom to be.
Lo ! she starts with affright, as some spectre of night
Had howled in her ear-drops the blossoms so white,
Unnerved by the chaffer, whose grave-buzzing plumes
Outstretched when she reached the sweet Hawthorn-bush blooms !
Thou childhood-loved insect, what thoughts come with thee!
And what tales, long since told, 'neath yon old village tree !
Then, life seemed a vista of endless sweet Mays-
Ah! those were our innocent cockchaffer days!
Pure hope-illumed years, like the clime of the spheres,
Your sounds and your songs burst afresh on my ears !
And what feelings are stirred by those deep Whitsun-drums,
That resound from towns round when the Hawthorn-bush blooms !
'Tis charming to listen morn's earliest bird;
Or to linger alone where the ring-dove is heard;
Or at noon to recline on the brink of clear wave,
Where the lily-decked Naiads their naked charms lave;
'Tis sweet aye to meet old friends and them greet-
Yet nothing to me is so charming, so sweet,
As to walk at cool eve amidst wafted perfumes,

Through the grove with my love, when the Hawthorn bush blooms !


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