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lebicatfon.

W. and J. DuFFiELD, London, Ontario :

My derr friends — 'I'his unpretending volu le is
mainly dedicated to you.

Still, little as it may be esteemed, it would not be given,
if your only merit consisted in ample coffers, even though to
amass a fortune honorably in opposition to so much
successful chicanery as exists in trade at the present time
appears to require as great an amount of energy and ability
as is necessary in taking a city or to write an epic, and, in
the estimation of some, deserves proportionate appreciation.

More honor, however, seems due where monetary triumph
is not attended by its usual niggardly disregard of the fine
arts or mental excellence. Looking at your dispositions in
this light less hesitation arises in offering the present pro-
duction, whatever its faults, believing it will be kindly
received by you, if only as a remembrancer of other days.

ONE QUIET DAY,

A BOOK OF PROSE AND POETRY,

By
J, R. RAMSAYy

Author of

" THE CANADTAK LYRE,'* •« WI-NON-AH," "CHRON-
ICLES OF A CANADIAN FAMILY"

ete.f etc.

HAMILTON, ONT.
LANCEFIELD BROTHERS,

1873.

\^Af^ ^

Printtd at the

" Canada Christian Advocate " Office,

14 JOHN ST. NORTH, RlXItTOV, ONT.

'OnUnis»

w I

ONE QUIET DAY,

AjV i ■• •• •• •• ,

SOME CANADIAN BOOKS,

TRANSFIGURATION

FRENCH CHAOS,

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY, . .

MY LIBRARY

" MRS. street's place,"

TO EMMA,

THE THOUSAND ISLES,

BRIGHT LEAVES,

MY NATIVE LAND,

la O. G. T., (, ,, ,, ,,

TIME WAS,

TO— — —

A DEW DROP,

CHATTERTON,

TO THE MEMORY OF M. BURKHOLDER,

STANZAS,

EARTH AND DEATH,

ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW,

TO AN UNKNOWN BARD,

VERSES IN ANSWER TO " HONOR THE DEAD,"

A FANCY PICTURE,

DEAD LEAVES, . . , , . . , ,

SYiABOLS {To A, N. Ranuay.},

ICTHYOSAURUS,

13
28

39
41

100

"5
118

119

T22

128

130
132

^33
134
136

137

138
141

143

145
146

148

150

CONTENTS.

;. BASTEDO (Surgeon Dentist),

WHAT FOR ?

EPITHALAMIUM (EUie Van Every.),

A BEAUTIFUL BATHER,

THE SECRET,

THE r.LADE,

THE GRAND RIVER, . .

FAME, . . . . . , ,

FORGIVE,

LINES — ^woman's RIGHTS,

THE HAUNTED HOUSE (To Mrs Zimmerman.
farewell,

A SIGH,

the blue lakes of DUMFRIES,

THOMAS SCOTT,

AWAK.£^ •• •• « ,, ,,

OLD STEPHEN, A DIRGE,

THE WARM HEARTED GRASP,

,'53
154
156

159
161
163
165
167
169
170
172
182

183
184

186

188

190
192

ONE QUIET DAY.

" Beauty is all our wisdom,
We painters demand no more.**

— B. Bdooanait.

" The Germans have a phrase which would enrich any
language that should adopt it. They say ' Orient yourself.*
When a traveller arrives at a strange city, or is overtaken by
a storm, he takes out his compass and learns which way is.
the Orient. Forthwith he is in no danger of seeking for his
home, or the pole star in a wrong quarter of the heavens.
He orients himself."

Suppose we do likewise. Let us who have wandered afar
"arise and go" back to our old homestead once more, if we
have one to return to ; if not, then in remembrance revisit
some homestead of the heart. Let the time be in October
— ^most oriental season of all the western world. Lie down
to rest under one of those ancient hillside pines, and look
from shade to sunshine eastward towards Eden. A goodly
morning. Night has departed, —

" A shadow like an augel with bright hair
Dabbled in blood,"

having sprinkled Autumn's lintels mth the Passover's san-
guine symbols. Some red drops fall on the patriotic maple,
making it a cardinal flower, five cubits high. Lo, he lords
it redundantly, triumphant, but not vain, crowned with a
tiara of opal, flashing in early air. With florid hues the land-
scape is wonderfully glorious, save where purple pools veil
liheir blushing faces in a crimson mist, which arises as from

ONE QUIET DAY.

unseen censers held by cherubim. All the atmosphere is
full of colors that have faded from summer flowers. Huge
oaks generously offer their brown manna to the tax-gathering
winds. } 'rom afar off comes the sound of our village school
bell. It was dreadful to answer that summons when our
tasks had been neglected. As for the teacher, he shall be
dismissed from these vagrant reveries far more summarily
than we thought he discharged us from his august presence.
Aptly the melancholy Byron's description of Satan disput-
ing with Michael at the celestial gate about their respective
claims to a soul, applies to him as he came into the school :

"And where lie gtiEcd, a gloom pervaded spticc."

Ah, well, he is enjoying his vacation now, and we will enjoy
ours. Vale, vale, salve etcrnum.

There is a latent goodness in humanity which is not fos-
tered much by mi:.'gling too freely among our fellows. With
few exceptions, the spirit receives its keenest misery from
its own kin. As for nature, she enhances our value ; con-
sequently one is led to believe, and Jiis scene at once sug-
gests and proves the idea, that more can be done by her in
excellence than is hinted here, glorious as it is.

But nature is reticent of her claims for fear of rendering
us forgetful of purer prospects — a forgetfulness to which we
are prone. Yet one almost wishes that the majority of
months in the green fields of Eden will be October ; a long
Indian summer's Sabbath afternoon in Paradise ; an eternity
of this strangely stained twilight of the year. — Allelu.

It is important that these hazy ponderings may not be
perused by any strenuously pious person ; if so, misunder-
standings would ensue. Such may object that this style of

orientmg

savors of loafing.

There will be readers plenty,

ONE QUIET DAY.

however, if our vagaries are only tolerated by the repro-
bate, or those who believe as I do. When asked for an in-
terpretation of that belief, I cannot give it. The question is
so boundless it startles me. Once, when a small urchin, I
was in a fruit orchard — as it might be, like this one. I
was there by mistake. A man — I have often since thought,
for he spake quite high, that he had a more absorbing interest
in those apples than in my personal comfort — that man re-
quested me to state precisely what my business was there.
I did not presume to waste his valuable time by arguing
with him, though it is diverting sometimes, when safe, to get
up a dispute — an excitement of rage, so to say — in order to
discover by force just what others opine concerning my
shortcomings. Yet such opinions are overdrawn ; they have
too much warmth of color, artistically speaking, to be re-
liable. But when questioned regarding our wayfaring in that
other orchard — the wide vineyard of life — an answer will be
rendered according to the motives which formed our con-
duct therein, and our fealty to conscience, that great ques-
tioner.

Some geniuses answer any interrogation glibly, and give
advice gratuitously at all times and on every subject. They
remind us of an Indian pony that could canter all day on an
acre of ground. To you, however, who must be of a good
turn of mind, or you would not have endured with me thus
far, to you let me state in trust that I believe I am, as it
were, a sort of Berserker. I am not sure just what that is,
and may be that's why I'm it. If it means vagabond, or
bard, these I am — the one by nature, the other by grace,
and both by choice. It is easy to believe in whatever one
knows nothing about. Is not faith founded on linity ? In
fact, humanity requires greater capacity for gullibility to
doubt than is requisite to entertain a spiritual solution.

ONE QUIET DAY.

which we call faith, in all that we fail to understand. We
are compelled so to do anyway, and it looks better to ac-
cept the conditions gracefully. Our minds resemble lan-
terns of various sizes, carried by an unseen hand ; and, not-
withstanding many unfortunate misinterpretatics thereof,
one can easily believe in the Bible, yea, and out of it, too.
And this morning preaches well. Peace is plainly written
by the right hand of angels on everything under this azure
arch.

" Enter, it« grandeur oTcrwhelms thee not.'

Those memorial windows are the flashing dawns, and every
portion of this miraculous structure is suggestive of some-
thing more infinite than itself. Ages were consumed before
it was sufficiently finished for our reception. Here faith and
not fashion prevails. The members are cheerful, but inno-
cently so. The service is exultant, but natural, redund-
ant with the harmony of .beauty, and the ceiling is the em-
pyrean. An orchestra composed of birds, flocks, and

" The wind, that grand old harper, smites
His thunder-harp of pinos."

Also, in order that the quiet of sunshine may be appre-
ciated, at intervals the storm and lightning of thunder.

Let us arise and sing. Be ye lifted up, ye gates of the
morning, that the beautiful may be magnified ; be exalted
also, ye doors of the excellent sun, for a goodly thing hath
come upon the maple trees, and a marvelous upon the
valleys. Likewise respect hath been paid to the husband-
man ; neither hath the wild raven perished for lack of food.
Selah. The cedar tree withholdeth not his fragrance, no^
the vine his luscious clusters. I said, as for a man, what

ONE QUIET DAY.

portion of strength hath he to perform this glory ? The lily,
he destroyeth it ; it retumeth upon his dust : he envieth
also the eagle and horse — ^yea, the young eagle uttereth his
anthem. " Who is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed
garments from Bozrah ? This that is glorious in his apparel,
traveling in the greatness of his strength. Wherefore art
thou red in thine appard, and thy garments like him that
treadeth in the wine-vat ?"

If forced to choose some mode of barbarous oblation, it
should be fire-worship. Who would not accept a " life sitting "
as high priest in the magnificent porphyry temple of Mexico,
dedicated to the sun ? — Not to offer up human sacrifices:
that portion of their ceremonies does not differ greatly from
our social rites, excepting that the heathen are far more ex-
peditious in finishing — not in furnishing — victims : he must
liave a stonier heart than they who could rebuke them for
bowing to the shadow of God on such a day as this — a day
as unassuming as mercy, — a day when every thought is a
flower, and every flower a portion of God's smile. f'

The Celestials have a proverb which says, " If you take an
idle day, take an idle day." The great trouble with our way
Of society is that we do too much unnecessary work. Two-
thirds of time are frittered away pandering to vitiated tastes
and the unnatural requirements of luxurious living ; hence
those whose normal^sympathies are goaded with stimuli can-
not enjoy innocent'rest, nor allow to others that precious priv-
ilege. But to thoroughly"appreciate one quiet day requires
a predisposition for it, as well as freedom from the thrall of
evil. Very few men possess the strength of mind necessaiy
to evolve that nameless condition which the slaves of habit
— " the restless wanderers after rest" — denominate idleness,
all day. Yet as a fine art, very beautiful it is to loaf in the

ONE QUIET DAY.

oriental style once or twice a year. Shame to say, such an
exaltation seldom happens even to the wisest oftener than
once in a lifetime. As it is, because society is miscon-
structed, the pure are overworked to supply the impure with
the means of ruin — or be called names. The nine hours
movement is in the right direction ; but if men eschewed
luxury, six hours would be belter. Every hour over
that time is consumed by the unremunerative tax-
ation of vice, or goes to support the " constitutionally tired."
Lovely, therefore, is the disposition that is qualified to eman-
cipate itself from human want one complete day, to dream
and bathe the spirit in supernal light. Whole troops of ideas
— gorgeous imaginings — hurtle through the universe from
tlie four corners of the heavens, to be initiated into the brain.
Try it : let the mind keep open house for one day. I am
aware of an unostentatious individual who partook of just
such a diurnal orientalization once, and was enabled thereby
to see farther into the " burden and the mystery of all this
unintelligible world" than ever before. Millions of visitors
arrived and, folding their pure white wings, waited to be en-
tertained. Visions hovered in the vivid opaline air. From
the storehouse of the past came hopes, unrealized, but still
how exceedingly lovely even in imaginary fruition. As tliey
should have been they were.

Nature is v/omanly. She reserves her choicest smiles for
the one who appreciates her. Flowers instinctively recog-
nize the presence of a bard, and radiate themselves ac-
cordingly for him. Only a finely organized damsel or poet
can feel the burning glory of a rose and the symbol therein.

If you have a desire to go and be likewise, do not take
any books with you. Ideas and dreams arrive out of space
more speedily than you can r2ad. The purple mists on

ONE QUIET DAY.

your native hills are lovelier than literature. Lean back
against a tree. Let the muse extend wide wings. Predate
the miiknnium. , ,^..<

' ' "Free the chiseled mfirble cf your dream."

Vindicate elysium. Feel safe ; it is all right. No debt for
.one day, — no duns !

Do not take any wine, but be healthy. There is no wine
like health. Honor the cricket in the grass ; behold the
gold-cloud metropolitan. Live while it is yet now, for soon
this nebulous lustre called Autumn, resembling a super-
human Hannibal's beacon fires on Italian hills,

"Will fold its tents liko the Arab,
' ' "'■ And as silently steal away." '

Do not regret that nameless thousands are going down in
ships to death's d?.rk sea ; it is so ordered for the best ; be-
sides ambition, unless for good, is verily only foam on that
same dim sea.

But the proper benefit of a vagrant day- -if you can snatch
one from close-fisted fate v/ilhout a dereliction of duty
— is in its sootliing remembrance. It will remain under the
tongue of your cogitations as a sweet morsel forever. Its
sustaining influence equals that of a gcodly conscience. You
will feel in i)o.'?session of an especial gift, as of prophecy.
Only the unutterable recollection of your first celestial flame,
which '* Prometheus filched for us from heaven," is similar and
superior.

A noble disposition is necessary, as well as a powerful
brain (are they not the same ?) to loaf alone with any de-
gree of spiritual profit. Still, it is not advisable to get
caught at it. The great, cruel, melancholy, wise world,
which exacts so much from others, and so enormously little

ONE QUIET DAY.

from itself, will marvel why you are not at work. Work is
well enough in its place, though as our friend, A. T. Freed,
said, it is not a law of nature, but only a by-law. However
that may be, one oriental rest will enable you to accomplish
more on the three hundred and sixty-four, and please retro-
spectively when they are all forgotten.

Certainly, no mortal deserves to be, or indeed can be, wise,
or rich, or great without work, and plenty of it, too. All that
is said or sung in praise of requisite toil is sensible ; but the
surplus amount of labor with which men tax themselves and
their patient, forgivable wives, in order to enjoy (?) the lux-
ury of tobacco, etc., is what seems objectionable. Yet
the first to cry out against any elevating labor are those
who spend so much of their time and hardly-earned
wages on such foolishness as stultifies and unfits them to
judge of what is necessary for themselves, or the lofty crav-
ings which occupy the souls of others. The quality of
work also depends on the condition of the worker. There-
fore whatever degi'ades a man essentially deteriorates ihat
which he was sent on earth to do.

It is a strange spectacle to witness the inestimable amount
of misdirected human power. If one-half of man's energy
was expended judiciously, well and continuously concen-
trated, the world, which has been so long " suckled in creeds
outworn," would sooner become the receptacle of universal
brotherhood. But such may be the waiting result. The
millennium is not a myth. To survey such scenery as is
here, one is led to believe that earth is Eden-worthy even
now if we are. It does not seem consistent with the sur-
rounding excellence, nor the rest of creation, to suppose that
our aspirations after all that is high, pure and true are only
twits. Still the whole fabric of this material world would re-
quire reconstruction before we could be happy here.

ONF QUIEi DAY.

The world is correct in tlie main, but it is frequently
reprehensibly wrong in its opinions — ^just where one would
naturally expect something wise — about men who dare, as we
do, to differ from its prejudices. If you or I go according to
the light of an educated conscience, we are certain to im-
bibe trouble. Society is a huge tyrant. Few care to face
the great bugbear, and that is why so many follow opinion or
fashion instead of principle. But if nature has not been
lavish with you ; if you are not gifted with beauty and power
sufficient to enable you to shake the hampering, dusty city's
commotion from your mind for one quiet diurnal dream, then
orient yourself with a ramble in the dim bush,

"Or where the brook' runs o'er the stones, and smoothes
' Their green locks with its current's crystal comb."

Go forth at da^vn, if in spring ; at evening, if in autumn, and
croon the following as you go : u

" Rest is not quitting
This busy career;
Best is the fitting
Of self to its sphere.

, . 'Tis the brook's motion

Fleeing from strife,
■* Seeking the ocean

'■ After its life. ,

'Tis loving and serving
The highest and be«t, — '

^♦M Tis onward unswerving,

And that is true rest."

If you deem some book essential, take " The Harvest
of a Quiet Eye," " Reveries of a Bachelor," " Beulah," or
" Dreamthorp," which contains (without being personal) a
genial essay on vagabonds. If you are thoroughly acquainted
with such, take, as did Delilah's lord, " The Gates Ajar." A

ONE QUIET DAY.

Tennyson is choice, but his scenery is not so "native and to the
manner born" with us as " Longfellow's Evangeline." " The
Onyx Ring," of Stirling, will rj^goncile you to your lot ; so
also that ** List of Shipwrec3#," the Rev. Geo. GilfiUan's
" Literary Portrait Gallery." If you have not perused Mrs.
Hoodie's works, there is yet a treat in store, especially her
poem " Fame." It will disenchant you ot that folly, " for
splendid talents often lead astray." Arcadian Hawthorne's
books are exquisitely useful. If they are not congenial,
take " Jephthah's Daughter" — not the beautiful Hebrew maid-
en's self — but the poem, by Heavysege. Do not take a fair
friend v/ith you, or your happiness may be too celestial to
be remembered v/ithout regret ; but go alone if you wish to
loaf thoroughly. Women do not believe in it ; they wish,
and deserve, to monopolize museland and the like. You
cannot see any other wonder if a woman is near. If you
desire to make it a fine art, go free. We all agree with
Leigh Hunt that the happiest human lot is

"A lovely womnn in a rural spot."

But it is so ordained from the first that intense happiness
does not invariably produce the sweetest remembrance. We
should foster that form of serene enjoyment which will not
be liable to curdle into a bitter cud of regret for after years
to ruminate.

Talk is not necessary on such occasions. Images in-
crease as words diminish. The native Indians enjoy fewer
words and an ampler supply of poetical metaphors than any
other nation.

Your circumstances will not allow you to do so ? That
may be ; but adverse conditions, my dear sir, do not ob-
viate the requirements of the spirit, which distinctively are

ONE QUIET DAY.

that you should orient yourself. But there are other ways
by which the soul can vindicate its immortality. Some form
naturally suggests itself to an enfranchised conscience.
Goethe's advice is to repeat f me line thought, see a beauti-
ful picture, or hear a gentle song once a day at least. The
German Shakespeare's doctrine is another proof of his pro
found insight into the requirements of humanity's great
thirsty heart, and in following his fine thesis, we may be ex-
cused for quoting a little lilt. It is unusual to find poetry
about an old woman, however deserving ; but it is still
stranger to obtain such by an aged husband. It was first
seen years ago in a newspaper, the loss of which compells
me to quote from memory.

WESTWARD, HO!

Nay, do not sit thee down and sigh.

My girl, whose forehead pale appears, —

A fane whose eyes look royally.

Backward and forward o'er the years, —

The long, long realms of conquered time —
The possible years unwon — which slope

Before us in the grey sublime

Of lives which have more faith than hope.

We should not sit us down and dream

Fond dreams as idle children do ;
Thy brow is marked with many a seam,

And tears have worn their channels through

These poor thin cheeks, which now I take
'Twixt my two hands caressing, dear, —

A little sunshine for my sake.
Although 'tis far on in the year.

WESTWARD, HO !

Though all onr violets, sweet, are dead ;

The promise gone from fields we knew ;
Who knows what harvests may be spread

For reapers brave, like me and you ?

Who knows what bright October suns
May light up unseen valleys wild,

Where we, such happy children, once
Felt joy come to us like a child ?

A child that at the gateway stands
To kiss the laborers' weary brows,

And lead them through the twilight lands.
Up, softly, to her father's house.

Then sit not do^vn and sigh, my dear,
But keep right on, Ferene and bold^

To where the sun sets calm and clear,
Westward, behind the hills of gold.

lil

"LO!"

One morning not long ago, " alone, withouten any com-
pany," I took a quiet ramble in the old forest, which is al-
ways a land of dreams. One cannot well settle accounts
with conscience in public, nor see visions there, for the in-
habitants of imagination's airy regions are like happiness,
exceedingly seclusive in the choice of associates. Con-
sequently it is good to loiter alone sometimes in those fairy
realms where spirits most do congregate. It was hazy In-
dian summer time. The woods were glowing with autumnal
fire ; but whether I was allured thither, as a child might be,
by those fascinating leagues of crimson foliage, or urged on
by some demon of discontent, I cannot now remember, nor
does it signify.

After wandering for hours by an old Indian trail over a
forest floor carpeted with scarlet leaves, beautifully varie-
gated, and rendered fragrant by tufts of tall grass, spikenard
and fern, over fallen trees, deserted river beds and creeks,
whose waters and banks resembled the burning bush of
Israel's leader, at last my path emerged near the foot of
a long row of hills.* These hills are ranged east and west-
ward. They rise two or three hundred feet above the sur-
rounding wilderness, and are about twenty-five miles from Bur-
lington Bay. Being partly cultivated, every time the plough
turns the brown furrows it discloses another litter of grim,

• By that same stream, but nearer its outlet, in the days of other
years, vrheu a pine canoe was my perfect happiness, it was a subject
of enaless wonder where the water ceme from, and whore it drifted
to. In after life we found its emergence by the Hamilton cemetery,
and its source near those tiunuli.

"LO!"

ilr

:i^

I"',,

,1 i
III

bygone humanity. Bits of decrepit gods, human teeth, here
and yonder a piece of broken skull — probably the only peace
said skull ever enjoyed — as if the owners had been amusing
themselves at a Donnybrook fair ; kettles full of colored
beads, and skeletons doubled up ; wampum belts, toma-
hawks with their edges bent or broken — evidently served so
for a purpose, as guns are spiked to render them worthless
in the hands of a foe ; strangely shaped stones, resembling
ladies' tatting shuttles, supposed formerly to have been used
by Mexican net-weavers ; arrow-heads, wedges, curiously
carved pipes and images are found in and around these an-
cient Indian graves, for to such purposes these hills were
applied in times out of mind. And, was it a guardian spirit ?
from the pale blue ether came a lonesome cry out of a
shape as of a wild hawk.

It was a beautiful day — as lovely as was ever let out of
heaven — and being somewhat weary, I concluded to enjoy
a short rest with those who rested here. . ,

" Stop I for thy tread is on an empire's dust!"

" And Harold stands upon the place of skulls !"

and would be pleased to hold a few words of parley with
those who have trod " the road to dusty death," if only to
ask : Brother, below there, what of the night ? or, is
there any below and above ? or are they like astronomical
names, merely relative ? and how has it fared with you since
you entered those dim doors, which we feel to be secretly
swinging ajar for others, and what have you found therein ?

" Fear not thou to loose thy tongue,
Set thy hoary fancies free."

Still silent all. Is this silence owing to a misunderstanding
of our tongue ? And have you no ghostly interpreter ? We

;,IU^

" LO ! "

were taught to believe the language of that bourn universal ;
if so, we may mercifully translate such reticence as being
the reserve of a sublime pity for the dark doom awaiting us,
or a quiet scorn for our seeming impertinent familiarity.

" 0, that some courteous ghost would blab it out."

But if it is contrary to the regulations of the place, vain
for us to urge an untimely disclosure. Nevertheless, is it
not astonishing that out of the countless hosts of drafted,
volunteers, regular and honorable members, who have gone
to compose your company for such an immeasurable multi-
tude of centuries, none ever turned Morgan ?

.4;

" I'll ask no more :
Sullen, like lamps iu sepnlclires, your sliino
Enlightens but yourselvea. Woll, 'tis no matter ;
A very little time will clear up all,
And make us wise as you are, and as close;"

Silence sits there and holds the portals wide for us to
enter at all hours ; but out of that house — that huge mute
morgue — no spirit ever ventures. Tiiose doors jict as valves,
they open only one way. There are no thoroughfares;
there are no return tickets, nor are they transferable. We
are not in a position to prove the experiment, but take for
granted that not all the flashing diamonds of Golconda could
bribe a Cimmerian to come forth, or to admit an uninvited
mortal before the ebony-winged angel saw fit to unclasp the
everlasting sesame and bow the sedate stranger in. Perhaps
such questions as we importune the dead with will never
be answered; yet it is possible, because we ask, that in
the unfinished future of even this world something may
arise to open our eyes eteme.

»#

LO!"

,1.

Of one thing we can be certain : the mundane destiny of
those who repose here resembled ours. We " eat, drink,
toil, tremble, laugh, weep, sleep and die." Such being the
required conditions of universal humanity, hence the brother-
hood. And on this forsaken stage history could have been
erected centuries before its repetition of min marred the
marble streets of Rome, or the red rain laid the ghostly dust
of war in breezy Troy.

Prof Agassis assserts that this continent is older than the
" Old World," and remnants of nations and cities from Su-
perior to Peru, as well as geological proofs, attest the ac-
curacy of his conclusions ; consequently it may not be wrong
to infer that empires, even memories of them, have gone
by and left no more record than the flight of disturbed
birds leaves on the vague air of night. Certainly these
graves are as enigmatical as any that loom " from out the
drear eclipse of the long Theban years."*

So when Jonah winded his liorn of warning around the
walls of proud Nineveh, possibly the teocallis resounded
through the halls of Montezuma. An empire is menaced ;
the gods must be invoked, for pov/er is in the hands of the

• Note. — The modem Indians, in their legends and chants, often
allude to the expulsion of an earlier and more civilized race of peo-
ple from the north, portions of whom the Aztecs and Mexicans aro
Buppoaed to be. Tlie thrifty manner in which the copper mines of
Lake Superior were worked leads us to infer they were not con-
ducted by the present aborigines. The extent of those mining oper-
ations presupposes considerable skill, and corresponding demand ;
while the condition in which the ore was left — as if " the shadows of
evening told the long forgotten owners that the labors of the day
were at an end, hut to which they never returned" — goes far to proT©
that the miners were surprised at work and fled, leaving copper slabs,
toolH, etc., in the mines. According to Williamson and Macintosh,
the traditions of many Indian tribes affirm they originally came from
Asia by Behring's Strait;?, and drovo the ancient Americans south-
ward. Dr. h. Wilson graphically alludes to this interesting subject.
See also " Ancient Americ.y by Prof. John D, Baldwin, M. A.

"LO!"

priests, who inteq)ret the mystic oracles according to their
own lustful cupidity or fear. An awed nation is hushed,
waiting for some favorable omen. Mutely they look and
listen while human sacrifices smoke and shriek on the great
green stone altars. The magestic porphyry fane of the sua
must receive aromatic gums in golden censers, ard reek with
propitiatory youthful blood. But the gods are stone ; they
refuse to hear or help. The looms are abandoned for the
armorer's hammer, and mill-wheels remain still. Miners
hasten from the mountains to guard their homes in the an-
cient city against a northern foe. The foe — suddenly they
come ! and the canals are filled with a human bridge, over
which barbarous hoards enter to sack and render the city a
shambles, full of unsung Iliads. Thus nations pass away in
gore, like red leaves in an autumnal gale, and lovely vine-
yards of prosperity are changed by the twinkling of war's
red brand into Shanandoahs of desolation. And over all
these Borodinos of woe, this building, replenishing and
decay of empires, over feats of valor, fame, beauty —
whatever constitutes a state — hang the fogs and litchens
of relentless oblivion, whose wrecks have not even the
meagre consolation of a dirge. " I passed by the walls of
Balciutha, and they were desolate." t

Very likely the grandiloquent orators of those days
pointed back to past iniquity, and thanked their gods that
they were not as the hypocrite, while with, the other hand
they fostered similar sins ; weeping pure tears over anti-
quarian suffering, and leaving the innocent orphans without
any present help. If so, if their learned theologists worried
the world with disputations concerning the origin of obsolete
words, and left the widows to wail at their varnished portals,
while they hold farcical contentions about the punctuation of
their prayers, then are they different from the wise of our days?

" LO ! "

■li

Will posterity ever become as superior to the present as
we overpar what we know of the past ? Will some compla-
cent philosopher of futurity — some " truthful James" — ever
take a moral delight in shying stoves at our hydra-headed
delinquinries when we become the past ? charging us with
our gin-palaces, gambling hells, equivocal buildings, etc., or
that we " went for the heathen" ? As we treat the merits of
traditionary ages after the manner in which young mothers
regard unwedded fair friends — with feelings of conde-
scension — so the future may look down upon us.

" Lo God's likeness ; the ground plan,
Neither painted, glazed or framed !
Buss thee, thou rough sketch of man.
Far too naked to be shamed 1"

These skeletons, empty quivers now, that once contained
the sharp arrows of love, fear, rage, ambition, pain and hope,
are all that remain of thee, and these shattered stone gods
are just what exists of thy piety. Thy great dread of omens,
at which we, in our presumptuous scientific lore, dare to
laugh ; thy scorn of those things which we fear. And now,
what lessons are we to learn from these broken cisterns ?
None, We have more warnings already, printed in the
blood of the red man and the pale faced Christian, than we
ever apply to our good. Thy wars are a portion of thy dim
divinity ; ours are diametrically opposed to our mercy-saving
creeds ; consequently, if " revenge, red ruin, and the break-
ing up of laws" are ever right, they are so with thee.

We are educated above all such heathen rites as revenge.
We send missionaries to every available portion of the gieen
earth. We trundle wheel-barrows full of Bibles through the
traditionary streets of Rome. We, the enlightened, have
steam presses, electricity, science, lectures, teachers by the

"LO!"

million. We rejoice in thousands of years of prophecy ful
filled by eighteen hundred years of the words of inefiiable
peace, to draw inspiring examples from. We have four
thousand years of history and, probably, six misty cycles or
aeons of geology, to ponder on. What need have we to abuse
our idea of peace, by contemplating these petrified waves of
time's immeasurable " drift period," peopled by war, while
we have brought to our doors, per Atlantic cable, refreshing
daily accounts of the most enlightened, successful and
honorable sanguinary strife that ever rubricated a European
map of war, got up on the most efficient Prussian plans ?
No. We want no lessons from the cruel, cruel heathen.
They do not cheat fair. This is an age of progress ; and it
is not reasonable for the ghosts who once animated these
bleaching bones, to expect us to exorcise them with reveren-
tial sympathy for their past ruins, since they fail to furnish
proof that they even knew of present improved systems of
government contract with the mitrailleuses, monitors or
Armstrongs.

Governments smilingly place their mailed hands on the
strong shoulders of the red heathen and say, Peace ; while
the agents are safely appropriating spoils. If the fraud is
resented, peace is forced by the bayonet. Peace, says the
missionary, and four years of such human bloodshed as has
made a winepress from centre to sea of the finest portions
of this glowing globe sets the example. Peace 1 and a
thousand breweries opulently exude the very essence of
strife, quietly called by Rev. Robert Hall " liquid hell-fire,
and distilled damnation." Peace, we say, and the mildest
practical application of civilized nations' feelings heretofore
shown towards the Indian is kill, bum, destroy. Peace ! he
may reply,

Iljf

" LO ! "

■l:'i

> "I have sought it where it should be found,

, *. In love, with love, too, which perhaps deserved it,

And in its place a heaviness of heart,
' A weariness of spirit, listless days

And nights inexorable to sweet sleep
Have come upon me I Peace, what j, jace ?
The calm of desolation, and the stillness of
The untrodden forest, only broken by
The sighing tempest in its groaning bougha."

But actions speak more palpably than words. We teach
them the precepts of the Bible and the practice of the rifle.
It is easy to arouse a spirit of retaliation in the minds of
those with whom it is a religion, .vhenever such a spirit is
necessary as an excuse to justify the seizure of more spoils.
When an excuse is required, the waters of the fabled stream
will run in any required direction. Looking over our deal-
ings with the savages in the light of truth, which side exhibits
the greater degree of consistency? Too frequently our
progress in one art is purchased with a corresponding loss
of some excellence on the other hand. It is frequently
lamented that our scientific prosperity generates materialism ;
while others aver that much of conventional spirituality is
little more than superstition in a fashionable form, and many
of the highly approved theories of so-called civilized society
are merely diluted doses of death. The doctrine of predes-
tination and the doctrine of free will — the latter seems like a
life lease to us of a portion of the spirit world — seem both
to be sufuciently established, by nature and by grace ; yet,
year after year, v/hat time-wasting controversies are launched
sheer over the sleepy heads of fashionable congregations.
Whole shiploads of the prodigal's husks are vaguely drifting
across the mental ocean of this creed-weary world. We
despise the stupid stone gods of the heathen, and erect
creed-gods instead. Images will not save us, though they
be carved out of the jaspar of the great white throne ; and

iiiii

4.V..

"LO!"

that we may find to our detriment, when the roll-call of ruin
is read at the final tribunal. There the beamless eyes of
the soul may see that, with all the pride and vanity of
boasted progress, we make many successful pilgrimages back
to barbarity. It may then be obvious, also, that the dis-
tance from the Nineteenth century back to heathendom is
much shorter than forward to civilization, and that sectarian-
ism has no more to do with genuine piety than the color of
the church with prayers.

Let us, however, not be misunderstood in this. Sects,
we believe, do not err simply because they enjoy different
forms of one worship. It is natural that every pilgrim
should prefer that side of the great temple of truth which
first broke upon his longing gaze and made his heart glad.
Even controversies may be well enough (as an attrition
process by which both sides of the diamond are brightened
at once) as long as they are conducted in a spirit of mutual
forbearance. To condemn wholesale because some err is a
modern sample of Herod's legislation — equivalent to bar-
ricading all roads because they are sometimes bad. " Such
a course is like that of a man who destroys the steps of a
ladder by which he proposes to climb." *

We only denounce bigotry, intolerance and whatever
arouses bitter feeling between denominations, for such courses
are not only evil in themselves, but they give room for
skeptics to sneer, who try tn r^-'^p others believe that
because sects differ they are all to be despised.

But our principal reason for despising the heathen is,
because they cannot sin on such a magnificent scale as
becomes our liberal views of social advancement. They
have not the ability, nor the moral education, requisite to fit

• Rev. David Inglis.

"LO!

12 1

them for it. For instance : it entered the silly pate of a
French Empress to fabricate a hairy absurdity on the summit
of her florid cranium, and soon the lovely outlines of female
Christendom were disfigured. Her husband promised to
sustain Garabaldi in the liberation of Italy, but she did not
see fit to disturb the infallibility of his Holiness the Pope,
consequently " the land of lost gods and god-like men " was
abandoned to groan and grovel in bondage. What would
have been the advice of Queen Pocahontas under similar
circumstances ?

He, this French Emperor, persuaded his friend Maximilian
to establish a throne in Mexico, but in time of need, when
the Mexicans arose in rebellion, he abandoned his friend
to be butchered by a foreign foe and turned coldly from the
suppUcations of Princess Carlotta on behalf of her young
lord, because it did not suit his or his consort's " idea " to
keep his word. Would Tecumseh have done so ? Subse-
quently this same despot, who, according to Victor Hugo,
gained his throne by forcing seventy-five millions of votes in his
favor, because he was not allowed to place whom he pleased
on the throne of Spain, seemingly without compunction
deluged his own kingdom with the blood of millions, as a
holocaust to his exorbitant ambition.

" For France got drunk with blood <o vomit crime,
And fatal hath her Satisrnalia been."

It would scarcely be just to infer that the heathen are
better than ourselves, but sometimes we think they are not
quite so bad. Yet this state of self-made sin is likely to
continue with society for centuries. It requires no Hebraist
to translate such a conclusion. Even the pure waters of
truth, when filtered through the seive of public opinion, are
apt to become tinctured by the rust of prejudice. There is
jio improving systems of divine ethics self-emanating, apart

" LO ! "

from the decalogue ; not one in a thousand lives a life so
exalted as to fill the requirements of laws taught even by the
Jews, while degradation increases by compound multiplica-
tion ratio. Hence numberless human hecatombs may yet
be sacrificed before evil is eradicated, unless the Almighty
out of pity sees fit to snatch the reins of government from
the hands of free will altogether. Iniquity and morality go
hand in hand, and the former is frequently the lovelier. " O
Pleasure, you're indeed a pleasant thing ; " and men, yea,
and some women too — with reverence be it spoken — pre-
fer beautiful, gay evil to the unmerciftil visage some moralists
assume. As it is, if advice were of any benefit, we would
recommend worse guilt and better good. The two extremes,
instead of meeting as they frequently do, should be so
different that youth could not be deceived. If the drunkard
will drink, let him go his gait conspicuously and advertise
his folly by his fumes. Thus he may be a warning to all
who are so unfortunate as to come in contact with his
contagion. Imbibe bale. Speed the health-consuming
carouse. Guljj the stifling atmosphere of gin-mills of mid-
night iniquity. Rejoice in riot, be abounding in sin, fire the
brain with alcohol, warn the wicked by wickedness, please
Topliet with profanity and finish such a life's infernal orgie
with the howls of delirium,

" Like a man's laiightir heard in bell,
F.ir down."

And the good could be better. But we will not disparage.
It has been my fortune to find many excellent men and
some angels of women. I believe with Bishop Hall who
said, ** If I ever get to Heaven, I expect to find ten women
to one man there." "As thy faith so be it unto thee."
Surely there are some remaining in this world whose feet are

«L0!"

beautiful upon the hills. Though we are often forced to
sympathize with our mother Eve, when, on looking back
towards Eden, longing, lovingly, tearfully, tenderly, she saw
the creaking gates of paradise close upon her gaze forever ;
yet there can be no harm in believing that some of the
crimson-pinioned seraphim flashed forth through the pearly
portals to follow her and hers. Of a surety no one would
find it easy to disbelieve in sin, both " original and select,"
but those who rejoice in that terrible doctrine, total deprav-
ity, must be totally depraved, and, as they judge by
themselves, they have a very appropriate sample to misjudge
from. But some spirit of evil often hinders us from seeing
goodness until it is too late. Our experience in this is like
that of a river voyage. For instance :

When sailing down the Hudson in hazy October, every
few roods the vessel advances the whole vast panorama of
stream, mountain and heavenly scenery changes. The
magnificent scene varies also as fast as the sun declines.
His western light "gilds the green wave and trembles as it
glows," tinting the far off mountain tops with soft hues as of
velvet roses — as if the celestial scavengers of the pearly city
had lifted up its great gates and with their breezy wings
wafted the superfluous flowers of Eden through. And they
fell — clouds of roses, mountains of them, islands of verbenas,
rivers of violets — and the moon blends her mystery there-
with, and at dawn bands of angels variegate the diurnal
glory. It is the same with the St. Lawrence, *' the great
melancholy river, grand only in its grandeur, solitary, unap-
proachable, cut off from the companionship and the interests
of life by its rocks and rapids ; yet calm and conscious,
working its work in silent state." When we are drifted down
either of these wonders of waters, we are apt to mar our
exquisite enjoyment of their beauties by regretting that it is

LO!

all so soon to pass departed. So, when wafted down the
stream of life, we are too prone to allow some passing spray
of disappointment to dampen our perception of a thousand
acts of goodness in our fellow beings, wnich, if properly
appreciated, would render remembrance as lovely as the
lake of a thousand isles.

It should be appreciated as a great boon, moreover, that
we have no ancient history of this continent, for we are
inclined to the opinion entertained by Lord Byron, that
history is a great liar. Allowing his lordship to be correct
in this, how exceeding thankful we should feel about our
** plentiful lack" of knowledge concerning ancient folly.
Suppose, for instance, we were forced to wade through all
the useless lumber-drift of mouldy antiquity, trying to trace
out the transmitted line and Divine right (?) of illegitimate
kings, from regions and dynasties as remote as may have
been reigned over here, down through a limitless succession
of hereditary bondsmen, the majority of whom seem
gendered solely for the purpose of muddling the memory of
the student of truth ; political intrigue, court scandal, self-
aggrandizement, ambition gratified by national bloodshed,
effeminating satiety, death ; but here we have escaped whole
battalions of bewilderment. Ponder the wisdom of it. Let
us be still and meditate, thanking our stars, or Oblivion's
alluring river for having wafted away all such rif-raf.

" The busy tribns of flesh and blood,
With all their joys and fears,
Are hastening downward with the flood
And lost in following years."

One would naturally think a record of human institutions
more entertaining than any other study, but, of all the
boundless and constantly accumulating sources of research,
history is the most depressing. From India to Iceland,

"LO!"

Ill

from Cain to Booth, there is little secular history calculated
to elevate our failing faith in humanity, or redeem the wan-
tonness of the world's rulers; for men of the most selfish and
degenerating propensities generally flourish at the expense
of the worthy. Geology is profoundly instructive, astronomy
elevates ; how eminently useful is chemistry, and it is des-
tined to emancipate the ignorant yet more ; agriculture
awakens thought, theology arouses the divinity of faith,
commerce binds the nations in universal brotherhood ;
poetry and her *' rainbow sister " refine and strengthen the
student ; but we cannot give history much credit except for
indirectly attesting, that evil, which has flooded the Avorld
for so long, has failed to wholly extinguish the spark of
divine fire called conscience.

If any proof is required to substantiate the belief in prov-
idential interpositions, it is here, in this : If it were not for
such an agency, men would have ruined this world irrevoc-
ably by the broken laws of nature alone, to say nothing of
the neglected laws of grace. Six thousand years — maybe
more ? — of hereditary ruin, besides the addition of individual
vice, were enough to have expunged morality centuries ago,
but for some counteracting cause, just as the disintegrating
principle would have worn away all land to a sea level but
for the upheaving of internal fires.

It is also well that there are no tombstones here, for they
too are unreliable. " At Florence the genius of Michael
Angelo was taxed to manufacture a gorgeous tomb for the
iMedici family. The lords of Verona prepared for them-
selves massive sarcophagi beneath gothic canopies of
elaborate fretwork, and there they lie entombed." The
gate-keeper of Greenwood cemetery told me once, that men
sometimes spend a fortune to decorate a grave, during the
first outburst of grief, when, afterwards, owing to some

"LO!"

reversive wrench of fortune's wheel, their subsequent
offspring suffered for want of bread and education.

It is well to render the last resting place lovely, for it is
the wisest course to make everything connected with parting
or loss as cheerful as is consistent with sorrow. But are
those after-death displays performed to satisfy a craving for
beauty, or to salve remorse for past neglect of tlie dead, or
are they built up by ambition to outshine some other dust ?
If so, far better as it is here ! Here " the lords " are un-
known — are those known at Verona ? Here " the gothic
canopies of elaborate fretwork " are the ever var)dng
heavens, and the " massive sarcophagus " is the venerable
wilderness. Here the lofty pinnacles are the storm-tanned
pines, lightning-blighted, thunder-splintered, piercing the
clear evening air, as remorse may probe a Christian's con-
science, and here the architectural Michael Angelo is the
Almighty.

The world is a vast battlefield, the Waterloo of the
spirit, where thousands are yearly overwhelmed by ignorance
and for want of the bread that perisheth. Better make
haste to help the living than to decorate the dead.

The world is also an extensive graveyard, yet we have no
proof that even Solomon, or any Persian king ** in waste
Persepolis," or any embalmed Cheops rests better than
these chiefs.

" Take them, great eternity 1
Our little life is but a gust
That bends the branches of thy tree.
And trails its blossoms into dust."

i' !'■

1 ,

A]'

1 i

^Mi

' ' SOME CANADIAN BOOKS.

It is pleasing to learn that Canadian literature is assuming
its merited position and coming into demand. A nation's
patriotism is generally in proportion to its literature. With-
out a strong feeling ot loyalty inspires to duty there can be
but little reliance placed on internal defence. The infer-
ence is therefore plain, that the assistance of literature in
building up and sustaining a nation against its adversaries is
greater than some politicians would have us believe. In
this way a short, patriotic war ode has done more than a
fort. When an exquisite song has rendered a locality
notorious, the inhabitants thereof look upon that place in
the light of personal property. The Scotch might possibly
change some way-mark endeared to them by Burns, but no
foreign nation could do so. It would not be healthy to try
it, nor conducive to peace and length of days. All pande-
monium would be aroused at an attempted invasion of that
"Mecca of the mind."

Nor could Feniandoiii — that political door-mat on which
Jonathan wipes his official feet — prevail against Brock's
monument.

Men respect men in proportion to the power which they
wield over the world generally for good, as women appreci-
ate their lords according to their influence over others —
other lords, not ladies. So it frequently happens that
a people venerate their native land in proportion as it is
. appreciated by other empires for valor, industry and intelli-
gence. The Bible, literature, work and wealth are the
four comer-stones of Britain's power.

SOME CANADIAN BOOKS.

The literature of Prussia, which is said to be the best read
country, has elevated the Fatherland to a position unattained
by any other empire unassisted by commerce. The rise
and fall of learning have an equal influence on the prosper-
ity or decline of states with the growth and decline of trade.
The idea that mental excellence is purchased by physical
deterioration is not entertained any more, except by such as
are too feeble to enquire into such subjects. The cultiva-
tion of the mind produces bodily power, because it is the
natural condition. If science is not the back bone of
civilization, it is certainly a rib, or handmaid of religion ;
and, so far from poetry and song being effeminating (that's
an objectionable word, for women are as strong as men in
influence), they have flourished more healthily at the begin-
ning of some great dynasties, when physical endurance was
most in requisition, than when the saine nations were culti-
vated or enervated by luxury. Often in battles poets have
been in the very brunt.

The truth is that truhj enlightened humanity is more
powerful in body and brain than the heathen, simply
because civilized people obey more laws, organic and moral,
than the heathen know how to obey or ever heard tell of,
and also because of the physical sustenance of faith. If it
were not so, Christian communities would not excel. More
than half that we take praise for is only a question of
obedience, whether the obedience is accidental, which we
fear is too frequently the case — humanly speaking — or
intentional. Mental excellence may be a divine gift, but,
for the good of those who, under that impression, would
prefer to wait instead of wnvk for such gifts, we believe it is
as safe, from the standpoint of reason, to call tliem cause
and effect — labor and light.

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It has been remarked, on reading Mrs. Moodie's works,
or those of E. H. Dewart, McLachlan, C. Sangster and Dr.
Clark, that the scenery of Canada, being on such an exten-
sive scale, is apt to elicit a more general description than
the scenes individually interesting, and more prominent
localities of older and less ample realms. Consequently,
Canada is liable to awaken less patriotism through those
writers, though their intrinsic merits are as great as those of
many foreign works which may be more extensively known.
> Other causes why our productions have not heretofore grown
in greater demand were very ably explained by a
gentleman in connection with the publishing firm of Adam,
Stevenson & Co., Toronto. Large publishing houses in
other countries, having had a monopoly of the trade before
Canadian firms began, were in possession of greater facilities
not only for supplying but for causing a demand, which the
Americans succeeded in doing even in this country to its
detriment ; for the great obstacle in this, as in other enter-
prises, is to compete with an established commodity. The
New York Ledger militated as much against the success of
our efforts as its influence could do to elevate us. I was
told by a gentleman* of London, Ont, that for nine years
he was forced to sell at the one-third value the same brand
of Canadian kerosene, in order to introduce it in Canada
where the Pennsylvania petroleum was previously sold.
Such up-hill work being necessary in establishing a staple
necessity, much more is it required when the demand has
to be created, as is too frequently the case with mental
pabulum.

But it is not likely that even Bums could have obtained
a hearing in this country in its earliest days — though there

• W. Duffield.

SOME CANADIAN BOOKS.

is no genius in it or out of it capable of proving the experi- *
ment. Such a condition may partly be accounted for,-
because the first settlers brought no extra luxuries, refine-"^
ments or sentiments with them. Muscle was the standard -
of excellence. It was important to " clear a spot " and *"
" put up " a house. No time to get homesick. They
worked until too weary to think, slept, and then worked ^
again. A school-housewas a tradition. If any remembrance
of fine art remained, it was considered of no use. Except
to hunt stray cattle, or trap musk-wash, or keep the hair on
when the Indians were around, no art was necessary.
Learning then meant the use of herbs. Such a state of
affairs continued for nearly three generations. When
parents do not appreciate any thing, the offspring are not
likely to do so ; for whatever may be said about the Divine
afflatus of genius, probably it is plainly a transmission of
parental characteristics under other very favorable circum^
stances. When we add to this the truth that ignorance is
hereditary, and moreover that whatever the " home-made "
supply may be, there is considerable " imported ignorance "
to be educated in this country — for the samples of immigra-
tion which we gladly receive are not the most polished which
their respective nations can furnish — and the wonder is that
we are so nearly abreast of those who have long had a start.
Then again, there are such high standards of literature in ^
the older lands. England does not consider how long she
had to wait for a Shakespeare, nor does Sandie speer about
the number of centuries that rolled along through space
before that Scotch angel called Bums lit on a misty scraggy
island, on his way to Canada, Goethe doubted if he would
have had the heart to attemjt literature if his country had
such precedent works as Hamlet. How then is it with us ?
On the one hand is the unextinguishable sun, on the other

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i| ;

/ the cloud of comparison which always has a shadow. " I
can't get out, said the starling," and the critics instead of
helping out fasten the cage with wire-drawn definitions of
" high art " — so high that you cannot see (being among the
cloud-mists) a single flower below nor star above.

We sometimes think it would be as well if the critics
would let authors alone for the ensuing three or four hun-
dred years. Then the timid would have a gorgeous timcy
for it often happens that the profoundest thinkers are the
most diffident. For the untimely extinction of how many
such are the critics responsible ? The only definite conclu-
sion that they come to is, to confound each other's pet
theories or schools. '* I sometimes think we have too
much preaching," said H. W. Beecher. Men are apt to
become bewildered by reason of too many guides, as did
Mark Twain in Palestine. But there are some starlings
who can " get out " even here.

I am led to these observations because a reviewer advised
Mr. C. Heavysege to omit the scene from " Saul " where
Malzah, " the evil spirit from the Lord," shirks his work.
His spiritual bowels, as it were, yearned towards the unhap-
py king with compassion. There may have been a fellow-
feeling between them — anyAvay Malzah plays hookie, as
school boys call it, by hiding in Saul's wine cellar, where he
was discovered sitting astride the wine bags, singing earthly
songs and making remarks about humanity ; in a condition
which would not receive the approbation of Mr. J. B.
Gough, who would likely object to the hypercritical expur-
gation of that scene. What more consistent condition could
an evil spirit be in ? Is not inebriety their legitimate busi-
ness ? As far as personal experience and observation ex-
tend, evil spirits have monopolized the liquor traffic for
some time. However, not every one is gifted with a moral

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perception of the universal fitness of even sin. There are
those who strain at a gnat and swallow a camel. That
Oiiission may have been done, however, with the consent of
the author. With him I took a quiet walk one Sabbath
evening up the mountain side from Montreal. We came
upon a road leading southerly by the Jesuits' college — ^an
immense building, facing the east, from the centre projec-
tion of which emanated such music as I never expected to
hear this side of the New Jerusalem.

" Ave Maria! blessed be the hour,

The time, the clime, the spot where I so oft

Have felt that moment in its fullest power
Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft ;

While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,
Or the faint, dying day-hymn stole aloft ;

And not a breath crept through the rosy air,

And yet the forest leaves seemed stirred with prayer."

To the left was the city, beyond it the Victoria Bridge^
and, glinting in the evening sun, the mighty St. Lawrence.

*' Far off his coming shone."

Broad, bright, beautiful ! The great, melancholy river —
unfathomable. A monopoly of majesty, cotinuing forever
to seethe and surge, to boil and foam, to rush and roll.

The conversation, as can be imagined, was chiefly of poetry,
but ranged through an infinity of themes, he having the
power

" To point the inconclusive page '
,,Fiill on the tye,"

As one would readily infer after reading " Saul," a work
which we have no hesitation in placing first among Canadian
productions. Original and alone in style ; untrammeled in
imagination ; and bold as Byron's " Cain," without Cain'»

SOME CANADIAN BOOKS.

blasphemy and deepening gloom of doubt. Its very faults
have the unusual excellency which the critics of" Jane Eyre "
called " the economy of art." A reserve of power ; as if
the winged steed had to be reined in — an easy grace— na-
ture's choicest gift. It imparts the idea tliat the mental
fountain whence it came is exhaustless. Some portions of
Lord Byron's genius, as described by Follok, apply to Saul.
— " As some vast river of unfailing source," etc. Malzah,
the evil spirit, is my favorite character in the book. Some
who have read the work, and some who have not read it,
will not marvel at this. Though a good-hearted sprite, he
is frequently in trouble, not only of his own making, but he
gives his employers no rest.

Demon.

" Look, who therefrom now cometh towards us sad,
Peyona, Malzah's lover. Thou knowest Malzah ?
Him, the facetious spirit, who with mirth
Infectious doth at times provoke half Hell.
I will accost her. Malzah's lately grown —
And here's the fruit of that forbidden tree
Which we first tasted in the carnal world —
Groundlessly jealous of her ; for sure never
More constant creature than herself ever fell
From light, — indeed from thence she did not fall,
But wandered freely to our gloomy pit.
After her lover, whom to seek was ruin.

Lo, where yon demon with increasing speed
Makes his dim way across the night-hung flood,

Due to the Hebrew king, with onward heed,
Like to a hound that sniffs the scent of blood."

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Hear him parting from Peyona, his mistress, who is on a
visit from Tophet to Ramah, seeking Malzah ;

III

SOME CANADIAN BOOKS.

"My Peyona, •-'
The scents of heaven yet hover round thy Hps, j'n.

That are a garden of well watered sweets; , : /

Which I must leave now for the arid desert
Of vexing Saul.

';'-^''"' * And I'll expire
Till quickened i' the resurrection of thy countenance.

Exeunt both.

Messenger Angel,

Whitner art thou descending, sweet Zelehtha ?

Zelehtha.

To earth, whereon to seek a certain spirit,
Who has been trespassing on Heaven's light —
One of the troop of the notorious Zaph.

Messenger Angel.
Hath he a roguish look ?

' Zelehtha.

He hath.
Messenger Angel.

Then I,
Even now, as I was leaving earth, have met him,
Down towards Lebanon flying. Steer thou by
Yon orient cloud. P'arewell. [^Disappears ascending.

Zelehtha.

'TisNardial,

The ever journeying angel of the Lord,
What an auroral hue and morning tinge
The constant-fanning ether gives his form 1

, . : , ,, Exit descending.

Zaph, Chief of Evil Spirits.

The Jewish king now walks at large and sound,
Yet of our emissary Malzah hear we nothing ;
Go now, sweet spirit, and, if need be, seek
The world all over for him ; — find him out,

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Be he within the bounds of earth or Hell.

He is a most erratic spirit, so

May give thee trouble (as I give thee time)

To find him, for he may be now diminished.

And at the bottom of some silken flower.

Wherein, I know he loves, when evening comes.

To creep, aud lie all night, encanopied

Beneath the manifold and scented petals ;

Fancying, he says, he bids the world adieu.

And is again a slumberer in heaven :

Or, in some other vein, perchance thou'lt find him

Within the walls or dens of some famed city.

Give thou a general search, in open day,

I' the town and country's ample field ; and next

Seek him in dusky cave, and in dim grot ;

And in the shadow of the precipice,

Prone or supine extended motionless ;

Or, in the twilight of o'erhanging leaves,

Swung at the nodding arm of some vast beech.

By moonlight seek him on the mount, at noon

In the translucent waters salt or fresh ;

Or near the dank-marged fountain, or clear well.

Watching the tadpole thrive on suck of venom ;

Or where the brook runs o'er the stones and smoothes

Their green locks with its current's crystal comb.

Seek him in rising vapors and in clouds

Crimson or dun ; and often on the edge

Of the gray morning and of tawny eve :

Search in the rocky alcove and woody bower ;

And in the crow's nest look, and into every

Pilgrim-crowd-drawing Idol, wherein he

Is wont to sit in darkness and be worshipped.

If thou should'st find him not in these, search for him

By the lone melancholy tarns of bitterns ;

And in the embosomed dells, whereunto maidens

Resort to bathe into the tepid pool.

Look specially there, and, if thou seest peeping

Satyr or faun, give chase and call out ' Malzah I '

For he shall know thy voice and his own name." » ,

SOME CANADIAN BOOKS.

Mark Malzah's influence on Saul ; —

" Ay, I am filled with evil whilst my fit
Continues, and do scores of murders then,
In fancy, and in my excited hour,
Abominations work for which there is
No name in the vocabulary, whose worst
Expressions seem soft terms of innocence.
Compared with the big syllables required
To express me fully, when, in cruelty
And guile, the very soul of Moloch and
The machinations of the cunningest fiends
That walk the bottomless pit, and therein ply
Their fruitful fancies to deceive the world.
Move me midst black temptation. O, I breathe
Then the live coals of hell, and all my heart
Glows ruddier than Tophet's angry noon,
So bloody is my soul, and wrapped in sable."

Afler having partaken of David's musical medicine Saul

exclaims : —

" O Music, thou art a magician ! strange.

Most strange, we did not sooner think of thee,

And charm us with thy gentle sorcery."

It is not possible to take one or two diamonds from a
complete circlet, and call them a sample of the finished
necklace. Such a proceeding resembles felling an orchard
tree for the fruit.

y The poem, " Jephthah's Daughter," is also a gem, reminding

>one of Sir Walter Scott's beautiful Jewess in Ivanhoe.

Other works by the same author should be better known.

The poem " Saul " has been frequendy and favorably
reviewed on both sides of the Atlantic. It was analyzed
with discrimination by the " North British Review," a por-
tion of which is as follows :

" In this poem, for thejfirst time, spirits have been repre-
sented in a manner which fully justifies the boldness

SOME CANADIAN BOOKS.

involved in representing them at all. Malzah is a living
character, as true to supernatural as Hamlet or Falstaff are
to nature ; and, by this continuation, as it were, of humanity
into new circumstances and another world, we are taught
to look upon humanity itself from a fresh point of view, and
we seem to obtain new and startling impressions of the
awful character of the influences by which we are beset.
Seldom has art so well performed the office of handmaiden
to religion as in this embodiment of the soul of the faithless,
sophistical, brave and generously disposed king of Israel,
and a most impressive, practical exposition of the awful
truth, that he who is not wholly for God is against Him.
For proof of our opinion we can only refer the reader to the
entire work, of which a few separate passages are no test
whatever."

The subject of " Canadirn Poetry "' was ably treated in
.."Pure Gold "for May 17 th, 1872, showing our partiaUty
/ for foreign literature to the neglect of our own " McLachlan,
Heavysege, Sangster and a dozen such." ' . ".

But we must forego the pleasure of a quotation therefrom
because it might be misinterpreted. There is a little dose
of consolation in the axiom that " favorites are ever unfor-
tunate." However, there appears no reason to be
disheartened. Better times for Canadian books arc dawning,
judging from the reception accorded to the truly worthy
'* Canadian Monthly,"* and also as inferred from the exten-
sive catalogue of Hunter, Rose & Co., publishers, Toronto.

* Sec article ia the May number, beaded " lutoroational Cour-
tesies."

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TRANSFIGURATION.

WRITTEN AT NIAGARA FALLS.

A thirsty wanderer o'er an arid desert

When first he looks on water, even so

There comes a change o'er every human spirit

When first it looks on Beauty, and that hour

Is to the soul as rain to thirsty soil,

As flowers to June, or radiance from that star

That moved before the Magi gloriously,

Baptizing with illimitable light.

It gleameth upon all, but to a few •

Imparts a doubly swift significance —

Yea, it awakened superhuman visions

In one when first he stood in that quick presence

Ineffable, immutable, unknown.

O strange beginning of life's endlessness ! —

Not any Arab in realms oriental.

Not those of Mexico who made the morn.

Or the mom's god, a worship marvellous.

When, standing on their native solar fanes,

Dark devotees of dawn, enrapc, regarding

Their god make glad the kindling earth and heavens-

Flaahing his far off flames upon the high

Old crimson-cresttd mountains, making each

An occidental Sinai, — e'er felt

A swifter adoration than his spirit

When first he saw th' unuttered loveliness,

Predestined never more to pass away.

This is the Horeb of the heart, whose dower

Is in the terrible tables, and whose charge

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TRANSFIGURATION.

< \

Is to transcribe them to a scornful world.
And this responsible transfiguration
Is dowered with disenchantment and with pain,
As is the sun with shadows ; therefore, thou,
Bum not thine incense lavishly, O bard !
Behold ! a time may come when thou canst see
Before thee no shekinah in the night.
Then shalt thou use thine innate inspirations.
The soothing sustenance of Song, when friends.
By calumny estranged, cry, " Crucify."
Like Israel's sackclothed monarch may'st thou lie,
Forced to thank foes for thine own offspring's death ;
Or proudly driven to the lone heathen art.
To bind up thine own wounds in thine own blood ;
For few can understand unselfishness.
But, as the oak is by the storm sustained,
-So thou hast learned that a grand soul grows strong
In just proportion as woe's waves roll high.
Inducted thus in mighty scenes like these ;
A glorious hint of that which is to come,
A rapture rendering the full spirit dumb.

'{;.! •

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FRENCH CHAOS.

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO DR. VERNON,

Affable friend, — Once in my hearing you expressed sen-
timents to the effect that you were " fond of this sort of
thing." Permit me, therefore, to present to you the
following. If you read it, be kind enough to draw a pencil
through those ideas which are unseemly. Spare not.
Criticism is beneficial in proportion to its honesty. Delay
your verdict, however, if you are laboring in a fit of indiges-
tion. Your acumen is caustic enough naturally. At best,
you may call it by its title. Chaos — very well, we will sup-
pose you to be a judge of such, tor the same faculties that
appreciate excellence capacitate their possessor to expound
the opposite extreme.

The ensuing lines — I hesitate to call them poetry — ^are,
as it were, a sort of literary lava, ejected during a convulsion
on one of the few green isles in life's unpacific ocean.

Some time previously, having listened to the advice of a

flinty utilitarian, I embarked in money-brewing speculations,
and lost — three several ventures, gold, time, health and a
" bosom friend, dearer than all." To keep the mind from
following its losses, I allowed it to imbibe homoeopathic
doses of imaginary bale. So fancy flitted away with fear
and trembling into a woful hereafter, in order to escape
from a worse here. Yet it is a sleezy respite, striving to
express some consolation from the hard, acidulated rinds of
wretchedness, and may add another to the innumerable
instances, whereby misery wins more to Heaven's antipodes
than it saves. If this Cimmerian monstrosity survives its in-
cubation, I may gratify a taste for evil with some remaining

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FRENCH CHAOS.

acts ; if not, you will spare me the disagreeable task of
copying. To compose is delightful ; it soothes ** the aching
void the world can never fill ; " but to re-write is exquisite
wretchedness.

In these lines — as well as in the lines of life — it has not
seemed important to persist in locating Tophet afar off; for
it is the opinion of some who speak from much personal
experience, and whose lives substantiate their conclusions,
that humanity, by a perversion of free will, or otherwise, Ls
quite capable of creating such a state of circumstances as
they feelingly denominate " a perfect hell ujion earthy

It is not easy to imagine eternity apart fr-^m time, yet
no time has been observed, excepting that, at tl reduction
of events and characters herein interviewed, ..^ic is sup-
posed to be a cessation of hostilities in ** yon lowin' haugh,"
Otherwise, the unities have been strictly adhered to — even
in the instance of Napoleon's acrimonious initiation. If
censured for predating his advent thitherward, our precipi-
tance cannot be said to apply to his intentions. In any
case he has labored assiduously to render his calling and
election sure, and should not be blamed because his carcass,
like Cowper's " tempest, itself lags behind.''

Some objections you may also moot about the apparent
inconsistency of humane sentiments emanating out of the
mouths of Furies and Demons. My experience in this may
bo exceptional, and, for the credit of humanity, I hope it is
not the rule ; but the loftiest ideas of millennial perfectibility
have been uttered in my hearing by such as are not likely
to swell the host of martyrs by dying at the stake for piety.
I have heard soothing words for misfortunes, and sensible
advice for the unsuccessful, proclaimed by some, the
obverse side of whose dispositions was full of an inveterate
propensity to render themselves, and all who might be so

FRENCH CHAOS.

unfortunate as to approach them on that " off side," cause-
lessly unhappy. So truly extremes meet. So truly are we
all symbols of the other world. Moreover, it may be said
there is no description of the world to come, even by the
most creative imagination, but has its counterpart in earthly
possibility.

Nor is it unfair to suppose an " evil spirit from the Lord "
wholly unaware of the justice of her infernal mission. One
more liberty of the muse may be deemed necessary : Milton
and PoUok allude to Chaos and Tophet as being separate
regions. Apart from the presumption of mentioning great
names in this connection, jjeimic the remark ; "the divinity
that doth hedge a king " may have hindered those geniuses
from gaining such an efficient knowledge of low places as
comes natural to bards of lesser note — a knowledge I sin-
cerely hope no genrie reader will, under any stress of
circumstances, be forced to obtain.

It is scarcely fair to burden you with a catalogue of
shortcomings, but such as have a craving " for something
afar from the sphere of their sorrow" will comprehend how
frequently the literary traveller, Imagination, grows dis-
heartened, when, at arriving on the top of some eve-tinted
hill of his longing — his visual nerve being purged by the
" euphrasy and rue " of inspiration — he beholds the immeas-
urable distance yet extending between him and his ideal
glorious Temple of Perfection.

" I Btrctch a hand
To you who know, who understand."

Some eminent writer has said — what is there of any
importance to say that some eminent person has not said ? —
that every author makes an offering to Oblivion. It will
please me if this is my only oblation. Probably the shortest

1 !?

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way by which to despatch the whole conception to that
final depot of all things mundane would be to state that the
writer is a Canadian — by that same token no other confession
could more clearly establish his carelessness regarding suc-
cess or fame. Once it was not so. Power was desired so
as to be worthy of friends and country. I hold to the
obsolete sentiment that patriotism is preferable to riches as
a test of manhood; and my heart makes itself manifest in the
usual way at the mention of our native land, but hope of
doing it good in literature is gone.

So much by way of explanation, not of apology. To ad-
rerse criticism no reply will be made. It will seem more
modest, while acknowledging their profounder insight into
"things evil," to be still and meditate.

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FRENCH CHAOS. H>

BEINGS REPRESENTED.

Celeno, an executrix of wrath, sometimes in shape

of a very comely woman.
Alecto, another beautiful minister of vengeance.
Lucifer, once the morning star — the "star" of a

different company now.
Napoleon Third and Eugenie.
A Bard.

Terminus, a lawyer and civil engineer in hell.
^Acus, judge of Europeans in do.

Familiar Demon of the Bard.
Juno, queen of heaven.
Hebe, Juno's daughter, exceedingly lovely.
Iris, their maid of honor, and others.

TO ONE WHO CAN UNDERSTAND IT. ''

" A green isle in a sea, love,

A fountain and a shrine." — Poe.

" Farewell I a sad word easy said

And easy sung, I think, by some ....
... .1 clutched my hands and turned my head

In my endeavor, and was dumb ;
And when I should have said, Farewell,
I only murmured ' This is hell.'" — Joaquin Milhr,

" A hideous throng rush out forever,
They laugh — but smile no more."

■ ' ' i •'. ■■'
SCENE I. .

A pale green lawn ill a land of shad*.. Celeno and Al>
ECTO, greeting.

Celeno. Heard you that Europe had another war?
'Twas fought in France, the nearest port Hell has.
Alecto. The moons grow gibbous on strange dates in
France,

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Gendering European euroclydons
And most unseemly revolutions there.

Celeno. The Press — our enemy assiduous-
Say swifter butchering hath never been
In any sanguine strife from Cain to Booth,
So fast France fell from proud red Prussian spears.
We thought those Fenians who hither came
Were first-class fools, also the Shenandoans — ,
Their creed is dubious, want of faith in kings
Begets a want of it in loftier things — , ; ,. ■■■

But this Niagara of humanity -

Will shortly burst upon us unredeemed.
What news from Venus ? '

Alecto. Nothing out of tune— ;

Also, by last advice, was Mercury,

Celeno. Alecto, I do think it may be said '

Earth is nigh on the eve of some huge change.
There seems to be a culmination there,
That puts my thought in recollection of
A dropsied cloud, ere by the lightning cupped.
We may get respite then a thousand years,
A thousand years, Alecto, think of it !
'Tis an idea worth^being amplified. ■

After great Armageddon's war with Christ,
Or previously, I have forgotten which,
And there's no Bible here for reference.
I'd question Paine, but he's not accurate.
It may transpire ; the promise is for sure,
Fore-spoken by Jehovah ; Lucifer
Seems lenient even; see him pensive there, ► '
Prone by the hydra-guarded tribute porch, • ' '
*** Lonesome from unrestricted majesty.

A dreadful demon" he, the very shade ' *■ ; ^

FRENCH CHAOS.

That half conceals his presence quakes with dread !

There's not, in all the worlds, one capable

To be his friend, therefore he is alone ; i

For Where's the angel who would dare explore , ., '

The awful secrets of his soul of yore? s; :

But Hell's throned ignorance and cruel pride •;,|

Will crumble in the fullness of those times. . '

This sty will not remain un-Herculesed , : ; >

Forever, nor God's countenance eclipsed.

To be hedged out by Heaven's high unconcern

Is the last lesson Satan has to learn.

Alecto. I fear, Celeno, it is figurative, —
A thousand times too glorious to be true I '

Nay, buoy me not with hope, I supplicate ;
My only hope is, that I'll hope no more I ;

My soul has lost the very shape of it. • '

For disappointment to a fervent spirit * ' '"
Is terrible as fire or love, that first "' ' A -^ • ,^
Just shows us where we are ; the golden smoke
Makes drowsy with a nectarine delight, ■
Which laps us in " elysian reverie, , ,i.

A momentary dream j" — then, suddenly - .• ; >
Awaked, — behold, a city full of flame 1
Whose vast spires thunder down, whose sacred fanes
Spoil with their smoke the splendors of a sky ,, , \\.
Of flame-eclipsing hurricanes and shade, .^' ..

Till dawn but shows the havoc they have made ;
So strong souls feel for hopes that are undone,
As waves are warm long after set of sun.

Exit Alecio singing

1 would buy a recipe,

And millions more than I, *

!!! •

liTT'

lISi ■

li !

! l!

II M

!; I

FRENCH CHAOS.

How to dispose of memory,
As night shuts out day's sky.

Celeno, solus : I've more compunction for humanita^
Than all the Hinnomites that hither come,
Even from more favored worlds ; man's lot is hand;
And woman's harsher, being more sensitive.
That taxed inheritance which they call life
Is doled to them, strained through a seive of pain^, '
And from that moment till they colonize
In death is one fierce struggle and defeat.
Yet some of them endure their agony •-

With a strange grandeur ; even Alecto once
Was human, but long years of torturing
O'erstrained her high strung soul. As honey makes
The purest acid, so fine minds best fiends —
'Tis one of those unfathomable quirks,
Which the Almighty weaves into his works.

Reenter Alecto.
I would net phrase, Alecto, after all.
If earth should be the place of peace foretold —
Of course it costs Jehovah little toil
To will new worlds, or throne immensities.

Alecto. One fiat of His word immaculate,
And lo, illimitable worlds caroom
All scintillant in azurous inane.

Celeno. But, 'tis humanity's dependency
Makes me believe something will come of it ;
With misery, else, man would not be so cursed,
But be left vagrant as the groveling brutes.
And not for nothing be accountable.
Nay, man must have millenniums of life,
If he will walk according to the law ;

FRENCH CHAOS.

Else his cnished being is creation's blot.
'Twill co7ne, the light, in spite of spurious kings,
Priests, and their craft's presumptuous dignity
Of my lords bishops ! — gods, it genders bile
To see mankind so supple in the knee
To error, and rheumatic to the truth ! • ,

What chore, Alecto, have you to perform ?

Alecto. None, but I think I'll to Urania go.
My lungs require some change of spiritual air.

Celeno. Sweet sister, wing thy flight by way of Mars.
(His occultation is in apogee)
Urge the mailed god immediately to me.

Having entered on the opppositc side of the promontoiy,
unohservedby Cchno, Mars sings:

Serene was the weather and azure the sky,
We wandered together, my chosen and I ;
The place was secluded, low in a green dell,
Where eglantines brooded, of exc^uisite smell.

The dreams that we cherished, like roses were they.
Too suddenly perished, too pure to delay ;
Now changed is the weather and gloomy the sky ;
We go not together, my chosen and I.

. Like morn to the water remembrance returns,
The day when I brought her among the green ferns ;
Like night to the ocean and wrecks to the main,
My spirit's devotion was darkened to pain.

The music is ended, the flower is dead,
Its fragrance ascended forever and fled.
Henceforth by the river no roses entwine,
Thy pathway forever is parted from mine.

mil'!

m:%

III! Ill i.

FRENCH CHAOS.

Celeno. I know that song, 'twas chanted first for me
One spring in Greece, before he was a god.
It half inclines me to relax my heart,
For of all gods Mars is most amorous — '

Hence war and woman may be similar — •

His constancy as well as courage wins.
Were I but sure my loss thy peace destroyed^
I could no more renounce thee, nor avoid.

Sings :
. O that those parting times were o'er

And thou at rest with me! ■_ \

The future has no joy in store,
Dear friend, like meeting thee.

Mars listening^ solus :
Music and thou are mine especial joy.
O, if the heavenly seraphim love song
And glorify the beautiful, tlien thou
Couldst charm the very cherubim from heaven.

(observes her.)
Lo, there's the essence of my misery !
I love that supple beauty, O ye gods,
I could reconquer worlds undreamed of by
That druling imbecile of Macedon
More easily than lose my lady love !

(approaches.)
Celeno, had I but known 'twas thou didst send,
With airless friction had I warped my wings
Sooner to lave me in such loveliness ;
But, to shun earth — that tomb of my dead hopes —
I timidly prolonged my spheral way.
Yea, though a god, superior to death,
Still hesitate I to withstand those smiles.

FRENCH CHAOS.

5»

Celeno. You say not so when dure Bellona's by,
Or Ops, gay goddess of the glebe, beneath
The spotted beechen groves Idalian. Exeunt together.

Scene ii. . "

Where the stream of time pays tribute to the Stygian wmt'
ers, in Ceres, which corresponds to our August. Enter
Terminus and ^acus with plans and specifications for the
immediate erection of a new and gigantic Inquisition, rendered
requisite by the late American and Franco- Prussian wars.

Term. How hot this marl ! Only a shower of souls
Can cool these waiting purgatorial coals.

uEacns. Good Terminus, I hope thou'It not defer;
I'm densely wedged for wharfage even now.
So fast the nations rain their niins here.
There's scarcely room for torture adequate
For the requirements of infuriate France,
And there are other empires in arrears.

Scene hi.

Near that portion of Tophet represented in the last scene.
A terrible whirlwind arises, filled loith phantoms bewailing
their doom. When the storm subsides the whole cheerless
icene is changed, A forest of blazing bohon upas, cypress
and yew presents itself. Its charred branches crealc in the
retreating storm. A raven is seen to alight on a burning
palm tree, and presently follows the tempest, " moaning and
calling out of other lands." Lucifer is seen alone, musing
and looking up at the battlements of Henoen, ^^ edged with
intolerable radiancy."

Lucifer. This is the hour when on the hills of Heaven,
Upon the vales and gardens 'round the throne.
On all the leafy blessings of the groves
By angels tenanted, and on the wings
Of gorgeous cherubim, careering home
From sacred errands of the will of God, \

f»

FRENCH CHAOS.

In"

1:1 J-

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1 1: ;> : ■

■'I' ; : ■ I

iHll';!!

liiii

'IP

'IL.

The dewy incense of refreshment falls —
Cooling the drouth which is not, till the draught
Which is presented makes it — while my soul
Creaks like a bark by storms of sand impelled
Through Hell's Sahara, darkly waiting doom,
The dreadful future which will never come.

Be 18 interrupted ly a hand of redeemed soaring from
wrih to Heaven f and singing :

We came from painful journeying
Where our triumphant Saviour trod,

Up to the heavenly realms to sing
O hallelujah, great Lord God !

Behold His mercy -kindled face

For all who passed beneath the rod.

Translated through eternal grace
O holy, holy, great Lord God I

Sin and his Death have passed away,

Obedient to a dark abode ;
But Christ hath rest eternally.

O hallelujah, great Lord God !

We too will irit(.rpose for man.
To save frou Ruin's fiery Hood;

But Christ shall Aanquish Satan's plan,
O holy, holy, p."eai Lord God !

Angels are seen descending to meet the sanctified singers^
" harping on their harps'^

Lucifer. Be hushed, hounds of all happiness. Remorse,
Hell-gendered hydrophobia, be still ! —
Symbol of legions, thou shalt be appeased, ^

FRENCH CHAOS.

n
'f'l

But how can I appease thee ? even now
T.;ou art rebellious ; how then wilt thou be
In the millennium? how shall I bear
This cancer through eternity, and see
Millions who have no majesty like mine
Made sluggish with much joy? O thou, Remorse 1
No Pompeian sanult or scrip cuneform
Are requisite to teach me what thou art.
And I but live to soothe thee, not with love,
As a young bride her lord, but out of fear.
Though foiled, to wear the placid brow of peace
Exacts a tension of the soul more fierce
Than tempests pent in Tophet — lurid storms
Tossed on the fiery lightning's crimson prongs.
This shoreless wind, unchained and chartless, finds
Far less of pauseless change than I of pain,
For I have crushed creation through revenge.
*' I have not borne me wisely in Thy world,
Thou great all-judging God," nor worshipful.
Me no repenting saves —
The anguish of this hour would make eterne
The period called a day in human date, *

Such fearful scope hath pain to lengthen fate !
Enter Familiar Demon.

Fam. 'Tis well I caught thee musing ; I would probe

Thy judgment with a query : Let me know

The fates of twain late seen beyond the Styx.
One — O, she is a nursling of the dawn,

A mortal with a sweetly blushing soul.

Who dwells 'midst her own charms and fairy dreams,

Like Eve in Eden's first luxurious June.

Her arms are full of beauty, and her brow

Appears to bless whatever she beholds.

FRENCH CHAOS.

lil"!

iii: ■■

I5I;.!HI

As shining folds of sacramental fumes,
Her hair seems incense on an ivory shrine
Whereto men bow who never bowed before.
As for those timid eyes, what sliall be said ?
Or motion's music rendered visible
Where peaceful mornings part the shadows for
The white feet of her faultlvss loveliness,
O I would sell my soul to keep hers pure !

Luc Cease thy terrestrial transports ; she may die.
Clang not thy tonjnic like some lost Celeno
Disturbed by Nox out of Hell's moonless lake. >

Fam. Well, he, who bows before her among men.
Hath musings superhuman, thoughts unbound.
His life hath been misjudged, because his soul
Is greater than the circumstance of life,
Even of her glorious presence — though her form,
The very essence of supreme delight.
Shapely as hers who tempted thee, is pure. ' '

Grant me a pious answer — what shall be . ■•<

Their portion, happiness or miseiy ?

Luc. Get back to thine appointments, I may choose
This love-lorn eagle for immediate use.

' •. Exeunt together,

SCENE. ' ■ ? 1 ■

The same. Enter Familiar Demon and two other Dcmonu

Dcm. What structure's yon just reared in Acheron ?

Fam. 'Tis said that Satan hath prepared a plan
To ruin God's whole universe at once,
Therefore that vast St. Peter's of our realm
Is their infernal tribunal to be.

Dem. How were those Alpine pillars reared so high ?

Fam. Nimrod was loosed for that a transient space.
He, with some gods — Cyclops and Hercules, —

FRENCH CHAOS.

Smote up the beams with earthquakes of much force.

And piled the majesty portentous there ;

Big domes like midnights fired with Hghtnings,

A smith from Lemnos forged the bossy doors

But Satan's self's the agony within.

See the red blasts of torment, where the walls

Are thunder-rent with tones of great distress,

Answering the keen demands of austere death.

So Hell hath summoned all her demons home

From every region, Gauls and goddesses, . . ..

To make a different programme presently ;

I'll choose for me a dame whose sire's at Rome, .■ .,

Superbly clothed in optional delight.

Dem. And / may probably inspect the stock
From yonder where divorces do abound ;
Let us haste thither and behold them come.
And, as we go, an incident I'll tell.
Which did transpire on earth — the place you know.
There was an Emperor who desired a throne,
And when 'twas given him to save a realm, . >

He sat him down imperiously happy , .<-<\

Nor saw the coming storm. He mused not on
Man's curious apparition-lifo, man's fall,
What men are most addicted to, and all
We might have been mns sin. His lovely queen —

Fam. Oust the remembrance of th' obdurate sex.
For love for aye eventuates to vex. , \

Pardon my contradictory reply, ■. , , ,i ' .

All men lose faith in women ere they die ; . . , . :
Experience is like science, it lays bare ■

Those moons our early fancy thought so fair.

Dem. Such foul conclusions prove experience foul.
For love itself can bridge eternity.

]

I !

W'.'-

FRENCH CHAOS.

Hence, be thou shamed — I apprehend 'tis gold
That doth excUide salvation from men's minds.

Fam. And so do I, but 'tis the want of it.
Gold is the missionary's staff and scrip ;
There is no eloquence like gold, no power.
Here priesis perceive grim poverty sends ten
To Tophet to one by affliction saved.

Dem. Can gold make purchase of the gates of death
And liberate the lost ?

Fam. Yea, ere they come,

And subsequently — frequently it doth.

Dem. Could you bribe nature to grow golden figs
On tartish crabs, it were a bastard stock.

Fam. Still, if 'twere gold, gold turns all crabs to plums,
And makes all bastards legal.

Dem. But the worm,

The worm that never dies, what of the worm ?

Fam. That, like most such, is nurtured by defect ;
It propagates not in prosperity.

Dem. Just Job was wealthy, was he prosperous ?

Fam. Job did not use his funds judiciously,
Being a bard ; they never bow to gold,
Which is one wherefore they are miserable,
As one we wot of, our familiar friend.
But bards have never yet been understood.
Save by a few pure women, perfectly.

Dem. Gold makes no cause offer earth's final pale !

Fam. Well, Earth's the seed of Time's eternal tree,
And all men's acts are branches.
There is no bliss that gold refrains to buy
Hi, Nor misery but its want can multiply.

Dem. Is not the world's work by its wants performed ?
Focal Necessity's concentrant power

FRENCH CHAOS.

Goads Slavery on to Freedom.

Fam. Freedom ! yea,

Freedom to deluge with profoundest guilt
Themselves, and broadcast ruin's germs for bale.
I've studied all conceptions of despair,
I knew Gehenna's worst conditions well
Ere I came here, being cursed by poverty
In youth's dark days ; from me she held a hand
That might have saved ; imagination then
Some respite gained, by conjuring prosperous worlds
For one who could have formed a Heaven for both
With paradises unconditional,
Whose only clouds were ministering angels' wings.
Where vales of palms produced carbuncles gay
And all their dews dropped diamonds — showering pearls
On grasses alchymized to emeralds
June after June, till even Misfortune laughed
To see lush fruits fiill in Starvation's lap.
By azure rivers rolled o'er golden sands,
And there we trysted, wandering hands in hands.
Through amethystine dawns and purple noons.
And every eve was opal.

Dem. Thou'st forgot

Th' excess of that whose want doth make its worth
Would mar what good was in it ; furthermore —

Fam. Nay, but those gifts did not continue long ;
They scarce sufficed to soothe my misery.

Dcm. ISuch good would spoil Heaven's plan for work-
ing good.

2nd Dem. 'Tis slighting priests when fiends begin to
preach.

Dem. Still, as statistics show, war's ranks are filled
With disappointed love — so, haply, woe's.

^n;

5«

FRENCH CHAOS.

In ''•«'

We'll prove it by recruits from recreant Gaul,
Who must be near her advent hitherward.

Fam. Now thou art short of logic, list to me ;
This Earth, like that bright snake that saddened Eve,
Will cast her leprous scales of mammon in
Bethesda's bath millennial and be free.

Dem, Which is the direst evil men invent ?

Fam. Bad human stock, wrong bearing and worse
rearing.

Dcm. I thought the tears because of drunkenness
In exhalations from the graveyard world,
Would stain the jasper of Heaven's great white throne.
Why not announce it to our bard, to chime
For love of his own kind ?

Fam. He did so oft

'To save us from the toil of torturing souls. _, . ■

Men deem such laws material, unrefined.
Therefore they forge rud hug the chains that bind. ' '

2nd Dem. Lo, yonder's Lucifer, let us disperse,
Lest he compel us to apply (iaul's curse.

Exeunt all.

SCENK IV.

Space cast of thv sun. JuNo, Hebe, and Iris wafting
their airy jonrnei/ towards Flora, ont. of the Asteroids.

Vast worlds on worjdh:, iiilinlited nrid liiuli,
hjongfiil, sunoimdcd ilu'in, f.tst wheeling by.

7m. What globe is yon, just yearning o'er Hell's verge?
It looks as if forsaken of the Lord.

Juno. Lo, 'tis our Earth ; how innocent it seems,
' Seeing 'tis the world to which three bans are tagged^
Like Encke's strange comet with the triune tails.
Lone as a drifting wreck o'er dreadful seas

FRENCH CHAOS.

By pirates boarded, who no knowledge have

Of compass, keel, or sun, or whither bound,

It is infested with a curious crew ! , ,

So beautiful the gods have wept for-it, ,: \.,

Predestined for great things, yet so perverse.

But it is chartered by Omnipotence v >;>

To orb the azure ocean of the air • »

Till he will guide it into port in time.

Ilebc. Urge thou more westward, I would see that world.
Its clouds are glorious as the vivid silk
Of some huge god's abandoned war-torn tent, ^ ' ;
With numerous tints as an October day, ;- i

When to the south's a brilliant noontide sun
And to the north a sable thunder-storm.

Juno. A beaming diamond on Diana's breast.
Behold the Bay of Naples ! yonder's Rome, • • -

In hoary desolation of old days;
Northward observe Jerusalem decayed,
To be rebuilded when th? kingdom comes — •
The mournful city where men crucified
The Son of God, who came to save His foes ! ' . '
It was an impious deed — heart-rending death.

Hebe. What is that superhuman phantom. Death ?

Juno. There all, except the Deity, are dumb,
Being left dim for mercy and for faith. i

But thither, like an occidental dawn, ..., ■'

A new dominion from oblivion comes.
I mention this, remembenng you were born
In that mild star that hath a different map.

Ilehc. Your boundless knowledge burdens words with
thanks.
Those regions I've heard tell of in our orb
Chancewise, but nothing definite till now,

,i!-

FRENCH CHAOS.

CL-'

■I

Saving of Eden and Jerusalem.

Meantime inform me of those clouds of smoke

Rising as from red holocausts — they shriek !

Juno. Such as they seem they are, from vales once
Gaul's.

Hehe, Why are they with infernal fury scourged ?

Juno. I know not why, such lore is limited.
It may be so to cure the culpable
By dread ordeals, this nation thus may warn
Others that Reason is not God, and save
High worlds that have not sinned ; at once make pure
Themselves and teach celestial cause for praise.
We will return to this unhappy world
After a thousand years or so, and see »

How prophecy hath changed geography ;
For truth, like dawn just filtering through yon clouds,
Will burn away abommation's shades.
And, on some future Waterloo, decide
Once and forever human destiny.
But yonder's Tophet's tainted atmosphere,
Lit by volcanoes barking to the moon.

SCENE III. again.
Enter Bard alone.

Bard. This dim immitigable den is full
Of scowling ghosts on errands of despair,
Foul-languaged, but of destiny afraid ;
And this the burden of their baleful songs :
O for some power to kill th' immortal soul.
Some memory-murdering nostrum lethean I

I stood upon the verge of fate,
Where fiends and angels congregate ;
I waited there to hear my doom

FRENCH CHAOS.

Of future happiness or gloom ;

But holy hopes are always crossed

By those whom we esteem the most.

So bring Oblivion's listless wine,

A wrecked eternity is mine. \

Now what shall I do with my soul ? O say

How shall I dispose of eternity ?

2nd Ghost. I wonder why that shudder came
And shook thy bosom ; was it blame,
When last in thy fond presence I
Stood, willing yet for thee to die ?
For thou art loved as poets love,
, Whose full souls Icel the heavens all move *
With sympathizing symbols rare,
To show thy glorious eyes and hair.

Fam. No more, no more each echoing spirit cries,
Can thy lost -soul exalt desiring eyes ;
Reversed Bethesda, here we would away,
There they crept in to cure their leprosy.

2nd Ghost. In every direction

Was excellence there,
But not thy perfection, t

* My beautiful fair.

'Tis vain to endeavor
The sea to pass by
— That severs forever

My chosen and I.

Bard. Strange the supremest peace on earth we knew
Should terminate in torture.

'P:

FRENCH CHAOS.

ii »%.

^^i

l:>>i

I ! •

ii ' ' \

Fam, Even so

My patron, but why murmur ? 'tis in vain.
Come and behold a baptism of strange fire, , ■
The acrimonious initiation
Of hither-hastening Gaul — haply thou mayst
See some similitudes exceeding far 1 . ,

Your soul's regretful loss.

Bardt I cannot go ;

Their wails would make mine own exceed their woe.

Fam. Then I must hasten to those games alone,
Else they'll be damned before I am begone.

Exit, soliloquizing on his way :
His song was good, but I'll not tell him so,
The better to discourage dreariness ;
For nothing — even women, wine or war,
Can sap vitality so fast as care.
A poet's mission is to teach grand hopes,
How to sustain misfortune with due force,
And never groan, though seldom minus cause,
For they're reformers, and all Hell hates such.
This path is rough, being paved with good intentions—
1 hate this life, pity I ever came ;
But thought ere now to be acclimated —
O for one smell of green grass bent with dew !
For there's no company worth having here ;
That Bard was once a better chum : of late •
He's grown immoral, else he is be-mooned
By the bright memory of some earthly dame —
/ know how 'tis — O they are apt in ruin !
It took me years — it costs me more than all.
My heart to disentangle from her thrall.
I'll skip a jig to keep her charms at bay.
Soon as I move those skulls from out my way. ' |

FRENCH CHAOS.

fii

(dances.)

Left and right, limber-light, etc.

Yes, sadness is a symbol of great minds,

With wit narcotic spiced consistently.

I have been told on good authority

Hell has more gayety than even Heaven ; >

Perhaps so, of a superficial sort.

But majesty as well as Beauty's sad ;

The gods lugubrious are, even mighty Mars;

Who though too partial to the goddesses.

Still proves it may be writ a standard rule

That all high minds are predisposed to gloom.

Great gifts enable us to see great faults

Both in ourselves and Heaven's vexed universe —

For wheels slip cogs elsewhere as well as here —

Hence Rousseaux, Lucifer, Lord Byron, Cain.*

The odds 'twixt all their hungry hearts desired,

And grim reality's assiduous wrong

Spread o'er Lnagination a dark glow.

Like a volcano's glare in Paradise ;

So when the blast of desolation comes —

And as our talents will our torment be —

Faint souls, like flexile reeds, bend and are saved ;

But let it smite the oak, and every bough

Resists it fiercely, till o'erwhelmed for aye.

So grand souls tremble when their treasure's gone,

As the bough quivers whence the bird's just flown.

• Note. — Some bards may object to tlie above company, but one
glance into their spu-itnal pedigree will settle the question ; A gcnias
is one possessed of genii, i. c., demons. Lucifer being their prince,
ofdenidus I mean iiot of poets, is consequently of the same guild.
Iforever, "The Oovil waa the first reformer," taid Dr. Johnson.

FRENCH CHAOS.

I sometimes sigh, what shall I do

To keep my heart from breaking,
For every tie that once I knew

Still haunts me with its aching.
I curse the day I was begot,

And bless the hour when buried —
The offspring of a merry sot

And maiden never married. —

(sings.')

-•'<,

Which, like our poet's last, is much too sad.
Imagination marvels why he came
Into this unregenerative cave ?
Haply because of an unhappy home, —
That frequent synonym for shuddering, —
A poet's day with an unhappy morn !
Poor dreary wretch, he'd better ne'ei been bom,
Or Atropos should sheer from memory
Life's crimson threads of sin inlaid by woe.

I had the hugest heart on earth,
' And most sagacious reason,

But Satan manufactures mirth

From every hope I seize on.
A rosebud that I loved to watch,

Because it knew no evil,
Was crushed by an inhuman wretch,

A dreadful sensual devil.

1 I

I'll chant another distich, sweet with change
Of air, but ah 1 no change of sentiment.

When I exclaim, " Away, fond dream ;
Thou shalt not linger longer,

FRENCH CHAOS.

Then, like a dam in some swift stream,
It stops but to grow stronger.'

Time was, my darling, when your face ,. r;^r

Was all worth living for, I deemed ;

Nor beautiful nor time nor place
Where you were not, yea, so it seemed. ^

That suits me better, for the theme's still dear ;

Yea, so it seemed ! — and who presumes to blame ?

Not I, in truth I did renounce the Heavens

For smiles whose memory is Tophet's sun.

To death's pale kingdom for her sake I came,

Because existence blasted Paradise.

There lives no mightier deed a man may do,

Though small it is, than properly to woo ;

Nor can we rest much faith in that frail soul ;

Who did not, during his brief stay on earth, ,

Prefer some dame to his extrinsic worth. —

O, I have wrenched myself immortally ! — •

And must inspect this sprained tendon Achilles,

Wryed on some slaggy Hell-proof miser's heart, —

A fossil I would send to Agassiz,

Were such not commoner up there than here.

How dark ! I scarce can see my wounding way.

Egyptian shadows throng the sighful sky,

Filled with an elfish animalculje.

Or mist of midges on a moonlit stream,

And sounds resembling flocks of storks befogged

Once witnessed, egged by storms through earth's pale air*

More furious these ! how they increase on high,

iS'on« precedent^ except preceding death,

They come ! innumerous as clouds of sand

;

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FRENCH CHAOS.

From some huge hill driven down upon the main,

Howling and trundling through eternity,

Like thunder-tempests seaward hurtled on.

Here's tribute for grim Charon and the dogs

That, sleepless, guard the ghost-worn gates of gloom ! —

I hiear the Marseillaise — lo, 'tis tlie French.

Lord of Gehenna, save some souls,

Ere cruel Hell is crammed ;
Or Lucifer will fail for coals

Or pains to purge the damned !

SCKNE V.

Near the entrance of Tophet and not far from Malebolge.
The hall of Nemesis, a gothic temple in the desert gorge of a
mountain whose yellow armlike promontories dandle moaning
Avernus in their melancholy cinhrace.

Present — the Dii Ma jorum Gentium, inducing Janus,
./Eacus, Lucifer, Demons anr? Furies, etc, at the trial of
Americans and French. Lucifer addressing tEacus,
Rhadamanthus, Minos, Mors, etc.

Luc. We miss an Emperor from Sedan, but he
Is coming by infallibility.

That craft which brings blaspheming legions down
Damnation's most prolific tributary. >

Enter Louis Napoleon in difguise,in charge o/'I^lwo.

Fam. Mention his Majesty and lo, he comes !
A Berlin, vive le roi, comme il faut, hail ! ,
Quote me ambition's stocks in Prussia now,
Thy chances for the throne Iberian.

Luc. Free would have been our ferry for thy works —
Not that we have much present need of aid —
But all thy life proved that thy will was ours ; ,

FRENCH CHAOS.

tS —

Therefore no need to smuggle thyself here,
As once an Emperor did in pious Gaul.

Nap. As once a Fiend seductively in bliss 1

After a trial Napoleon is given in charge of the Furies
<ind Demons, who take him away.

Fam. Haste thither to the region Malebolge.

JVap. What clime is that ?

Fam. A land of festal light,

** The valley of the many-colored grass,"
Sumptuous of flowers, streams and perpetual song,
And fruits abundant of all flavors known.
It hath mild airs hygeian, Mexican,
And has for ages been resort of kings
Who cannot live without such luxury. ,

Among the vast investment in its bliss
Are damsels for thine aid till th' Empress comes —
Bead-counting beauties musical and coy.
And they will bind thy crownless brow with balm,
And bathe the feet of misery in milk,
And to thy pillow let no nightmares come.
Horrent of reptiles boring conscious flesh.
The Phantom with the scythe shall never scare
Nor shriek distressful marring chansoned morn,
Nor Bismarck with thy sceptre interfere.
But thou shalt dwell in tents of tenderness,
With maids excessively acceptable,
Whose white hands, full of charms, thy feast shall spread
With pomegranates, crimson as their lips,
And viands delectable as Israel's kid,
So savory to soothe an Emperor;
Quinces, sweet citrons, pulpy nectarines,
Most recent honey out of hybla-hives.

FRENCH CHAOS.

•!'

'■»''*.,

Translucent sherbets cooled by boreal beams,

Tinctured with spice Ceylonian, and creams,

And saliva-exciting elixirs

To form an appetite for future feasts, ■.

In costly plate and ware of precious stones.

Above thee, waving graceful, eastern palms.

Beneath thy feet the lilies of the vale,

Around thee airs from isles salubrious,

Full of the music of the minstrel spheres.

For dancing damsels on the rosy sward ;

Where thou shalt dream such dreams as poets dream

Whose ladies love inveterately dear.

As did Carlotta, lost by fatal love —

This is the lake — behold, the abyss baptismal !

Whoso betrays a friend is trebly cursed.

Whoso a realm embroils, as thou didst three,

Is lowlier than pence-loving Judas damned.

Enter Shade of Maximilian.

Allow me, gentle ghosts, be introduced :

Prince Maximilian, from Mexico ;

His Highness, Emperor of France, thy friend.

Max. A vaunt ! I scorn to greet thee perjured, I
Could blast thee from this ghost-grooved shore, fast

clinging
As to thy throne rebellious, fill >ely got
From miscreant millions, sycophants and slaves.
For thou didst cumber Italy — the land
Of Angelo — in bondage unto France,
That shambles and monopoly of shame
Whose quit-claim to corruption ne'er was served,
Because she took Jehovah for a jest
And made of sophistry and lust a god.

! ■

FRENCH CHAOS.

Ah ! by crushed hearts (and hers eclipsed whose name

These flues may never echo) which were lost,

Imploring thy sworn aid, repulsed, thou'lt plead

For help now and forevermore in vain.

Thou reticent grasper after stolen thrones !

Ho ! Furies, force Gaul's foe profounder still,

And pile her maledictions on his soul

Ere ours are seared — as thine on earth, beloved —

O heavenliest daughter of undone mankind !

SCENE VI.

Purgatory — Enter a Shaih resembling the Empress EUGE-
NIE awd^^e Familiar. •

Fam. Yea, Madame, yea, we meet in Tartarus, ■ .
But I can make thy peace with Lucifer,
For I would be thy joy, to nurture thee
In this dull realm of dinful solitude, ' '

And crown thee with more gems than thou didst leave
On the gay threshold of thy frittered world,
Before bald-headed Death did interfere
With his grim rending of thy fashion, where
There was a chance to save — here all are nude,
We sport no style in Hades — this is Death, '-; '

There is no future Hell. '

Shade. Hear me, lost Heaven !

Fam. Prayer should be offered from thy prior world ;
Or were thy virgin Aves rendered vain,
Because Italia baffled their success
And hindered Mary's hearing ? If thy vows
Reached not the mercy seat when nearer Heaven,
They hardly will from here — so be thou mine,
To my pure purpose let thyself incline,

ir I

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FRENXH CHAOa.

And thou shalt reign in Ruin with a court
Of which thy previous one shall fall far short.

Exeunt together.

SCENE II. again.
Enter Bard alone.

Bard. I hear the blasphemies of Malebolge,
Which rouse the hydra-howling sentinels
Of Death's eternally impending Night.
Poor limpid fools, by giving way to folly
We make ourselves a Hell to which we hie,
Then upbraid God ; from life to blighted life
Easy we sail with unmolested Sin
To unrestricted Ruin ; but one act,
One innocent, feeble, orphan act of good,
Can raise rebellious Tophet in both worlds.
So generations propagate disease.
Which blooms as wormwood blooms in bitterness,
And, though unfostered, still goes festering on,
Long after its flesh channels are in dust.

that those cries could reach th' incautious ears
Of sin-swerved spirits in that world of snares !
Yet, though one from this ruined realm arose.
They would not hear for planning funerals

And disemboguing mammonites in Bale.

1 do not hate my fellows, but I hate
The actuating selfishness of man.

They bind their beings, — millions of them do-
As publishers produce cheap works for sale.
They prey upon each other ; they despise
The littie good the poor attempt to do,
Their precious days, that never dawn but once,
Are squandered rendering misery ripe for death.

; '•</

FRENCH CHAOS.

Instead of helping Heaven to cure pain's cause —
Pain, which is ill's alarum bell — they look
Upon it as a child on medicine,
A bitterness to be endured — as 'twere
A Providence — therefore mankind prefer
Nerveless delusions to eternal day.
Yea, man — whose reason is a shoreless wreck,
Whose judgment is lewd inclination's bride
Whose piety, the portion that is left,
Is right by chance ; whose love of Truth is lost
In the vile echo of some idiot's laugh,
Whose courts corrupt are curing licensed wrong-
Had man but hearkened to the pleading truth.
Then would the world, long ere this aching hour.
Instead of being o'erwhelmed by wine and war,
Reeling beneath a weight of its own woes,
Misled by error, to false pride bowed down.
Be held in intercourse with heavenly spheres,
Chief depot of vast trains of cherubim,
Whose errands are to purer worlds — yea, be
A session-station for high hierarchs
In consecrated commerce with the skies.
As Venice to the east, as Rome to earth,
So Earth could be the capital of stars,
'Stead of a hindrance to itself and IJell —
Which would be purged but for replenished sin
Conceived there and hurled hither by despair.
But men — my cruel, craving fellow men —
Who might have saved Earth, sold it, and prefer
To be sold slaves themselves unto themselves —
Sky-squandering, Tophet hoarding infidels.
In spite of science, reason and God's will,
They barter birthrights and are Esaus still.

■ • i

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" ' t ;! !

FRENCH CHAOS.

The numerous levers lent to raise the race,
They leave to rust or lend to venomed wrong ;
Religion, lo, men fight for a false faith ;
Beauty, behold, it saved not sunny Greece ;
Love, by Heaven sent to make us more than gods,
Lures to the self-same life that withers it.
Corruption's the wormed core of human creeds,
And goodness is rewarded by a sneer. v

that my birth had been with cherubim !
I'm not at home with Hell's inhabitants,
Being in bondage to humanity,

1 hate this race for gain — O for a force

To break all bonds between us and be free !
For there is in my soul — and 'tis not pride —
A likeness to immortals — yea, to gods !

Enter Juno. '• ''^

Juno. Thy pardon for intruding unannounced.

Bard. Juno, it is my joy that thou art near;
I was just'meditating on the gods.
Hence, let us converse of the Beautiful,
Whose best solution I through thee obtain.
For I am pained because of human pain.

Juno. Thou and thy brethren prove how tru« it is
That the imaginative drink more life.
And deeper draughts of love's delirious lore
Than common mortal^,, therefore bards excel.
I knew thou wert immortal when on Earth ;
Thy faults were only from discouragements
Which men will heap across the rill of good,
A stream that breaks its bondage, well we know,
Destroys alike the good and bad below.
How didst; thou cogitate, give me some cue.

FRENCH CHAOS.

Bard. Thy kindness will excuse my questioning
In this, for no solution comes to me :
Strange that when Moses stood upon the verge,
Jehovah's spirit moving on the flood , ,4; ,

Divulged creation, and unto his gaze
Gave huge leviatlians and diving bulks
Of winged brutes, dragons, sea-Adullamites,
And rock-uprooting, forest-felling herds , .

Of Mesozoic monarchs, Miocene —
A vast synopsis of Oblivion !
And epochs Pleocene, conspicuous,
Yet gave no hint even of the key of Hell ?
Or, if so, Moses must, being merciful,
Have hidden it from us in Time's far fount.
And where the later of these symbols seven
Which the Creator hinted to His seer,
When each starved soul should, like the prodigal.
Come home to his inheritance and rest ?

Juno. Haply thy questions, as most questions do,
Hold indirectly their own answers' clue.
Hence life eterne a greater boon may be
Than all that thou canst ask or dream or see.
But I must hence ; a winged excursion leaves,
Some worlds beyond Orion and the dawn,
For the extreme of boundlessness. Farewell.

Bard. Nay, Juno, with thee let me journey there.
A bard is not a common mortal, Juno.
I'm so devoid of joy — O I could crave
The unused echoes of creation's songs.
Wed thou with me — none other could be given
So worship-worthy as the Queen of Heaven.
O Juno, 'tis presumption to love thee,
But who, with genius gifted to adore

FRENCH CHAOS.

Ir ',!

All that is glorious in the Earth and Heavens,
Could help his adoration though 'twere death,
Nor long for immortality, O Queen?
I charge thy charms with all my misery.
Thou owest me something for my ruined years.
Come then, celestial, make dreams true, be mine
Eternally, unabdicated Queen !

Juno. I feel thy bardic fervor, and the odds
Are in thy favor when compared with gods.
Hence thou mayst have a coronal on high ;
Extend thy pinions, let us to the sky. ■

Exeunt together ascending.

!■> iM

„ >

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

It is my intention some bright day to write a very learned
essay on "The ignorance of knowledge." Probably no
other person is better qualified by nature to illuminate such
I theme.

Not only by natural inclination does the subject suit me;
I \.?.yz r.nother and more powerful advantage, which arises
out of the strange, I may say very strange, manner in which
some of my numerous friends comport themselves, as often
as my circumstances go astray.

The title of that intended essay is conspicuous in their
conversation, when the aforesaid friends, through kindness,
condescend to give advice — but more especially so, when I
find it impossible to avail myself of their superior wisdom.
(It must be a " distressful stroke " to a high-toned, self-
poised man, who has always been above want, to offer his
advice and have it neglected.)

Though the subject, ignorance of knowledge, resembles
the world when it was without form and void, with darkness
upon the face of the deep, still it will differ from other pro-
found themes in keeping close to the text — pardy through
sympathy with it, but mostly by necessity compelled.

Yet th';re is always a drawback or so to every man's
excellenr e — which fact is a source of exquisite satisfaction
to the bad. That disadvantage amounts to a sort of
balance wheel to pride in every being's mental machinery.
It may be so ordained, " Lest he o'er proud and high should
turn, 'cause he's sae gifted." The obstacle to be overcome
by the writer of that article will be the charge of personal

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

If 'i'

allusion, preferred against him not only by his advisers but
by politicians also ; consequently, the most intensely striking
illustrations of my text, furnished gratuitously by men who
stand conspicuous representatives of our public aiTairs, will
thereby be rendered of none effect. Still another stumbling
block will be Prejudice. But, in that essay the author —
thoroughly imbued with the genial spirit of toleration,
liberality and compromise — will not abate one iota of duty
out of consideration for feelings of bigotry, political bias or
party whim. lie is, or will, if need be, be prepared for the
cause of truth to go

" Sounding on his dim and perilous wav,"
alone.

In that essay it shall be seen how easily a '' little child "
can confound the profoundest philosopher ; that those whom
the superficial denominate the strong minded do not always
march in the van of human improvement ; that the rulers of
society are not implicitly to be relied on ; that the genuine
reformers of all ages have been enthusiasts; that "nations
may be wrong in opinions, but never in sentiment ; " that
the majority of misery is the effect of chronic ignorance ;
and that, though sin (so we are told) entered the world first,
yet disease has been abreast of sin ever since — and a long
race they have had of it for the ebony goal of Death.

However, the writer will not attempt, in his modest way,
to dissect human frailty for fun, or thorough wantonness ;
but for a wise and merciful purpose — to hurt in order to
heal ; for the only useful information that

" The burden and the mys^eiy
Of all this unintelligible world "

can teach is, to learn Jiow to learn.

i)>

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

It will also be observed in the order of nature, that good
predominates among men ; but, owing to a want of
knowledge of each other's intentions, or fearing to be
misunderstood or not appreciated, we overlook its good, we
hide the excellence, we quench refinement, we dare not
display our preferences for those persons or high principles,
which we appreciate most, as a Jew does not display his
costliest pearl, flashing rubies or the beamy chrysopras to
a public thoroughfare of Chatham street roughs.

Goodness is a sensitive plant which shuts up when
roughly handled.

Hence much more misery, human and superhuman, than
the world is willing to endure frequently arises from a
misinterpretation of the motives of those unsuccessful
members of society, whose minds are above the common
groove and whose circumstances therefore often compel
them to act diametrically opposed to their own high ideas,
or Divine intentions.

A friend, seeing me at fault, will place his or her — for
kindness is more frequently feminine than masculine — hand
upon my shoulder in warning ; but, how delicately must it
be done, or vanity will "erase the impression divine," and
likely reward the adviser with a " What is that to you ? "
Consequendy, in order to encourage the gentle, even the
sentimental, it will appear that they are considerably more
respected even by iron-clan Utilitarianism, than the stul>-
bornness of Prejudice will allow these samtj metal men to
acknowledge.

The wicked — there is experience in this— are forced to
work pretty diligently in striving to sustain self-respect ; for
the way of the transgressor is hard. The little self-esteem
remaining with him is assumed as a shield to ward off the

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iii

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.'

arrows of remorse from wounding him to death. Moreover
and above all this the absolute necessity of sustaining some
neglected conditions of humanity — neglected because they
are not extraordinary for some virtue of success, such as
wealth or position — shall be maintained; for the highest
style of human reason — though reason is not our highest
talent — when applied to its grandest use, effects its object,
which is enlightenment, by knowing how to invest in the
unappraised stock of sentiments. No reformer, no warrior,
no statesman, no moraUst, no apostle, no orator ever
succeeded in making much of an individual or of a nation,
who did not make a large allowance for the inner life.

Napoleon the First forgot or neglected such provision
during the latter part of his career, and paid for his care-
lessness with the loss of his empiie.

Probably he never knew why his subjects forsook him ;
but his subjects knew. He sacrificed a loving heart on the
altar of Fame — which he called France — but France did not
want any such sacrifice. The frogs did not love to have a
stork for a king. Holding Josephine, the flames of Moscow
and the fierce frosts of Russia in remembrance, they did not
feel safe with a ruler who cared so much for his country,
hence they "yielded him up to the foe." The most
noticeable weakness in his calibre was a want of the poet-
ical faculties. .

Had he been gifted with a proportionate share of these,
they would have saved their possessor by showing him his
faults ; for such is a portion of their business in the brain,
as well as to observe the beauty and fitness of things-—
they would have spared him the folly of the Russian
campaign — and thereby he would have been on the safe
side. So, also, France spued this other incubus ; and for

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY,

the selfsame cause ; additional proof that two-thirds of our
evils can be traced to human error, even by human
intelligence.

There is a profitableness, therefore, as well as usefulness
in beauty, in a worldly as well as a spiritual point of view,
which has been strangely overlooked by those who follow
the profession of utilitarianism ; for fineness is not incom-
patible with power. A small hickory is stronger than a
large basswood. The diamond is far finer than steel, yet
by concussion it has been made to burst asunder the
heaviest cast steel sledge hammers, and still flash on
unharmed. No one would advise less strength of constitu-
tion, however, for there are in every life circumstances, to
overcome which requires a mind and body made, figuratively,
of steel and whalebone ; but as steel is best when tempered
with silver, so a strong man is none the less powerful when
tempered with the silver veins of consideratencss, chivalry
and refinement. Only the strong can be tender. Many
like Mrs. Stowe and Charlotte Bronte, have answered all
the requirements of the most stringent domestic duties and
have enriched the world's literature at the same time.
Sometimes a small shoot of a tree will start to grow through
a little hole in a huge rock. In a few years the hole is full
of tree. But it must grow — and how ? The captive's sap,
by freezing, bursts asunder its strong prison. So words of
kindness in the frosts of adversity, like sunshine ai.d storms,
mutually help to build up a tree of shade and shelter below
and a resting place for the birds of heaven above.

Contrary to the general superficial belief poets, though
they are dreamers, have ever been the most progressive as
well as practical of men. Hugh Miller, though both a poet
and grand theorist, and possessed of a mind as tangible as a
stone pavement, remarked • When it comes to guessing ol

!■■

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

1 I

consequences poets are generally correct. Dante was
before Newton in the discovery of centripetal and centrifugal
forces. Homer taught the immortality of the soul. Dr.
Workman, of Toronto, read a translation from a Norwegian
poet, who described the discovery of electricity hundreds of
years before science. Shakespeare makes Puck girdle the
earth in forty minutes ; and in this connection we may give
a quotation from Alexander Smith in " Dreamthorp : " —
" Look at a certain silent Emperor for instance ; a hundred
years hence Jtis pearl will be handed about ; will be curiously
scrutinized and valued ; will be set in its place in the world's
cabinet. I confess I should like to see the completion of
that filmy orb. Will it be pure in color ? Will its purity
be marred by a^^i ominous bloody streak ? Of this I am
certain, that in the cabinet in whicli the world keeps these
peculiar treasures, no one will be looked at more frequently
or will provoke a greater variety of opinions as to its intrinsic
worth." It did not require one hundred years for the
Prussian *' cabinet " to prove that this was pretty shrewd
guessing, for that " filmy orb " was found to contain a
"bloody streak."

And poets have also been prophets even of scientific
discoveries, from David — who was a warrior, bard, states-
man, king and seer — to Shakespeare ; it may be summed up
thus: those men who make and retain the most powerful
impression on the world are endowed with a variety of
talents, especially three great gifts ;~ strong practical com-
mon sense, which is the rail-track to the car, or ballast to
the ship ; enthusiasm, or sentiment, the fire or motive force ;
and imagination, the light. I'he.sc command profound
respect, when coupled with good health, and seem almost
suqernatural in their intuitiveness, because they so closely
resemble and repeat some portion of every other mind. All

ON THE SOFl" OF SIDE HUMANITY.

useful innovations have been bravely battled for and every
reform been introduced into the world by these. They
awake others to usefulness ; they vivify biography ; they
render science human ; they give life to history ; they con-
tinually tend to elevate ; they have breathed the life of
truth into the dry bones of superstition, and they have placed
the glorious torch of wisdom into the barricarling abomina-
tions of priestcraft. From Luther to Chalmers, in theology ;
from King David to Burns, in literature ; from Tubal-Cain
to Geor' ^3 Stephenson, in mechanism ; from Job to Newtcn,
in astrc lomy, and from Solomon's days to ours the world,
progres ively, has been ruled hy practical enthusiasm and
common sense. And, in proportion as men are not so
constituted, they become mere cogs in Time's Avhcels, urged
round by the motive power of warm-hearted, largc-souled,
humanity-loving thinkers and workers, whom the cogs
referred to, in the blindness of conceit, are unable to
appreciate.

Nor, in that comprehensive essay, wiii the writer forget to
contradict the fallacy that refinement is feebleness. The
coarse are not the strong ; and those who are too vulgar, or
lazy, to cultivate a taste for excellence in themselves shall
no longer be allowed to " lay that flattering unction to their
souls," nor screen their callousness by believing tliat rude-
ness is robustness. Most women rule, or mightily influence,
influential men, and a little child shall lead them.

When that truly great man, George Stephenson, was
asked " which is the strongest motive power," he replied :
a woman's eyes ; they have been known to draw wanderers
back to them from earth's remotest nations.

■•'('^.»

Wlien Christopher Columbus v/as nineteen years of age,
he went from Genoa to visit a lovely cousin in a neighboring

^' I

ON TH« sort SIDE OF HUMANITY.

I Hi

i1*S Mil

city. This damsel chanced — was it chance ? — to be exceed-
ingly fond of geography ; and during his stay at her father's
the lad imbibed such a taste for the science as has enlarged
the map of the world ever since, and made room for
millions of new homes with all their enlarging influences.

But children — of all sizes — are apt to imagine that iron,
stone, earth, wood and such are the Alpha and Omega of
material power, until taught, figuratively, by adversity, that
they all can be shivered or melted by such invisible agencies
as lightning and heat. Much nonsense has been uttered by
the superficial against that strange influence which seems to
be a beautiful species of social electricity or attraction, but
it speaks well for humanity, in this age of rushing, that
there is a reaction going on in its favor ; for all biographical
history avers that " the thunder-shod shakers of the Grecian
stage " — and of every other stage — were enthusiasts. Even
the founders of Christianity and their Leader were full of
sentiment. " His frequent allusions to nature's loveliness
prove how closely He had observed it — and it refers itself
to none but the profound in feeling. He loved everybody,
but He had His particular friends, so they sent to Him this
touching message, ♦ Behold, he whom Thou lovest is sick.*
There was no need to mention the name."

But the importance of this question is proven by its
responsibilities. There is a great tax on tenderness. The
danger of enthusiasm is like that of the steam-engine, in
proportion to its excellence. It requires the true guide.

Knowing how averse some reverend worthies are to
receive advice, none will be hinted here ; but in the essay
'ignorance of knowledge it shall be observed, that a practical
understanding and application of Nature's great, guiding
rules are. nearly, if not quite, as necessary to theological

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

advancement, humanly thinking, as the laws of grace alone.*
Those organic guides are surely hints of higher ones. They
* are the comer stones of every human lot and possibly of the
great farm, Futurity, on, or for, which we must work, and
they may be names of streets in the New Jerusalem.

Therefore, it is safe to say that the largest share of sin has

its origin in physical suffering, and that a like proportion of

*' tribulation " has its fountain in that universal reprobation

of natural conditions, a knowledge of which many, who

» ought to be wiser, call materialism. The press should

i reiterate it, as also that modern Sinai, the pulpit, that as

i much sin, or disease, is caused by disobedience to the

, divine injunctions contained in the organic laws, as in dis-

i obeying the inspired injunctions uttered amid flame and

thunder on Sinai of old ; for the laws of both were framed

. by the same mind, and are frequently alike in result.

^ "To him no high, no low, no great, no small,

He fills, he bounds, connectH and equals ail."

/-'.■.

But this, we fear, is delicate ground for any except a saint
J to tread. The cry of materialism is easily raised by those

who hold only to the spiritual side of God's creation, those
" who show the weakness of their faith, as did the over-zealous
•. Uzzah by rushing to sustain the Ark, when Jehovah was

conducting it aright.

There are some, however, who force themselves to

rigidity so tightly into the collar of what they consider
< creed, that it gives them a sort of moral sweeny. Their
f stiflf necks are galled with their yokes. They use their

*The statement has been made on reliable authority that one half
of the human race die before the age of one year, and one quarter qf
the whole number bom, before seven years. AVe fail to intcrpr«t
•«ch a horrible holocaust ai the Divine intention.

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ON THE SOFT SIDF OF HUMANITY.

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opinion as an iron ramrod is used to drive down the leaden
load of some especial sect. They roll their self-inflicted
** tribulation " under their tongue as a sweet morsel. In-
stead of haggling the body, as the heathen do, they scarify
the starved soul, to get into Heaven. God forbid that we
should say a hurtful word to any "little one;" but, when
we see one who neglects his home ties, a member of some
soulless creed, who passes for a Christian, foam at the
mouth every time a sinner laughs, we suspect him.

Help us. Wisdom, to dissipate those dreary theories
regarding life, with thy divine rays, as the sun of heaven
undermines and lifts the impending glaciers into beautiful
clouds, to shade the thirsty wanderer from noonday heat,
and to drop fatness on the land. Should thy benign
intentions, as is too frequently the case, be frozen by neg-
lect, as the genial moisture of the tropical zones is frozen
by the poles ; still as an iceberg return and grind do^\^l on
thy wide way the hidden rocks which wreck so many moral
navigators. Cool the Saharas of theological dispuLations
with reflections of Divine Truth j for that only is safe.
Some men seem like a haunted house, half ruined by its
late tenants, Dissipation, Fashion and Want; (for want
oftener dwells with Fashion than with Poverty) waiting for
its next occupant, Death. Sometimes, therefore, it is a great
relief to disembogue one's self into an empty tenement ; and
it is often a relaxation to associate with a thoroughly
unconventional man or woman. Ignorance, except of evil,
never was bliss. Far different ; nor is knowledge hapi>iness,
but an ignorant genius is fascinating. He has iill the
freshness of youth, which is the most powerful indication of
genius. Studious men often eradicate, by reading, all
original freshness from their dispositions, as a gardener is

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

forced to destroy the beautiful natural flo vers in his
mistress's garden, to make room for the tr.^: )lantation of
foreign fashionable weeds,

«« Pair, but O how frail ! "

There are a few, however, who do not brush the down
from the peach, and such are generally found at the front of
duty — for, though a very sensitive man may not be under-
stood, and consequently his ^ne considerateness is
overlooked ; though he may not make a first-class business
man, any more than a diamond will do for a mill-stone, yet
he is in possession of more information about other men
and the broad world, than those are who fail to understand
him.

We have elsewhere hinted that ignorance of our material
conditions levies an overwhelming taxation on mankind, in
the forms of disease or sin (for they are the same,) and
inability to meet the causes of calamity. See, for instance,
a whole nation, press and all, standing with a stupid gaze
fixed on the potato bug. For nine years the farmer's cradle
was left to rust in the shed, for the midge performed two-
thirds of the harvesting duiring that time. No one to throw
David's pebble of truth from the sling of science at the head
and front of this offending. The same may be said of
intemperance. Pious men abuse science, in retaliation,
because the French infidels wi«-used it, and consequently
ignorance of nature's laws has been visited by scourg:*?
which we should be ashamed of. Religion itself, apart
from science, is apt to lade like a vine in a cellar. The sun
of truth will shine by necessity, however ; and, but for that
supernal fact humanity would have annihilated itself by
brutal ignorance long ago from the face of the earth.

' ifl

m.i

(I' I

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

Moreover, men who are wholly practical and utilitariaa
~-let the stars be thanked there are no women of this sort,
—who receive the natne of "strong minded," are more
frequently used by theoretical enthusiasts than the reverse.

All this will be written in such "goodly ornature of well
appareled style " that those who rush may read, and some
who are diametrically opposed to the truth, formerly, will
exclaim with considerable enthusiasm : " These are the very
sentiments that I have contended for for years and years."

But that which entirely empties us of knowledge, which
most completely obliterates the last vestige of self-conceit,
is questioning. How uncomfortable a little urchin can
make a learned company. There has been a supposed
answer to most learned queries ; and the professors of phil-
osophy fall into the pit themselves have made by the habit
of thinking that such and such are the true explanations, as
twice two are four ; but let some shrewd, ignorant individual
put the question from his own isolated, semi-heathenish
standpoint, and its oddity startles — the very density of the
darkness surrounding the questioner, like the flint around
its own fire, will utterly preclude the possibility of an explan-
ation from the ablest metaphysician. In fact answers and
questions, if they come at all from the ignorant, come more
readily than from the knowing. Ask a farmer which is his
comer stone and his emphatic foot goes down decidedly on
the spot ; but ask the same question of the surveyor and he
takes two or three days before he gives his learned opinion
about the place where that stone should be. " I took up a
little child one evening," said W. Ormiston, D. D., " and in
my bungling way was trying to explain the distance of the
stars, when the little prattler asked : But what is there beyond
where there's nothing? " We can lumber along pretty well
in our own way with such a guide as the groove of habit

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

afiords ; but few of us like to be questioned hy that ignorant
peraon. Of course I do not wish to be misunderstood.
These conditions do not apply to the reader.

There is another position of annoyance to me, and to any
other equally liberal meditator, and one which oflen serves
as an effectual mental blockade to improvement. It is this :
Some men seem to take pride in having made up their mind$
on every earthly and unearthly subject. If any new phase
of their padlocked and stereotyped opinions is advanced,
they immediately resent it, as the venerable Scottish matron
berated the inventor of the fanning mill for " gettin' up a
gale in the face of the Lord." A great number of decided
opinions end in effect as would a university which concluded
to close up, and stone up, its doors, just as soon as the
small quota of students which it could accommodate
obtained admission within its square drab sides ; or, as an
extinguished lighthouse, which is likely to wreck those whom
it was erected to warn.

Would it not be as well to make up our minds that we
will not make up our minds on some subjects, especially on
the infinite ? Let us leave the gates ajar, that the angels of
truth — for they are numerous, and although their pinions are
not always lovely they are always broad — may enter at
their own sweet ways, and of their own sweet wills.

That the Son of God should say. Lead us not into temp*
tation, reveals a condition which no plummet of human
reason can fathom. Is it not safer, therefore, and more
becoming to !c f^itli tail over such vast seas of speculation ?

Mer all that tliey have done in the way of removing
superstition and establishing civilization, the sciences are
often very tantalizing. They are the knowledge most worth
having, yet

«8

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

Knowledge is not happiness, and sciencs
Is an exchange of ignorance for that
Which is another kind of ignorance.

So said the wayward bard, as A. Somerville called Byron.
The eagle eyes of genius can see a little farther than the
majority, but even they are only lanterns busy in the dark.
Once I had immense faith in the immutability of Nature's
laws, and am still under Mrs. Stowe's impression that they
"are more inexorably exacting than the laws oi grace."
But we find that the organic rules are not forever sure. The
stars do not occupy one exact orbit in the sky. Some
of them have failed to appear. One of the Pleiades has
gone out of heaven. Creation is not finished. The scaf-
folding with which the universe was built, says the Rev.
Geo. Gilfillan, has not yet been removed.

Integration and disintegration are the celestial as well as
terrestrial conditions. Suppose some great, unholy collision
should happen in the sidereal heavens, and worlds on
worlds, inhabited and high, from all the immeasurable
bounds of space, be heaved over the dreadful abyss of
eternity, like bubbles over Niagara ! Fiends, angels, ghosts,
cherubim, universes, all huddled together, and hurtled, a
celestial Armada to ruin ; or as vast herds of wild beasts,
all rushing before a prairie on fire. Who shall say it will
not be ? .

" Not changed is Heaven's purpose,
I will not fear."

In conclusion, I hope that essay which' has never been
written, or this review of it, which may never be read, will
not be received as the little boy was, who found a glittering
crimson pebble in a stream. Running to show it to his big
brother, his heart glad and his face all aglow, he was told,

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

" go away with your noise ; what me is it f " That question
is a finer display of the ignorance of knowledge than any
essays ; yet it is the general reception which iron-mo:; ,.;ring
utilitarianism accords to Art. Far better the reply of a
mother to her little girl's first drawing : " O how beautiful ! is
it a cow or a rose ? "

The cheerful mind of childhood looks forward to its
parents for an explanation of the wonders which arise ; but
parents are just as apt to disappoint the expectations of
children as vice versa. Youth looks to manhood as the
time to be initiated into the mysteries of life's strange re-
quirements, but manhood has to buy and sell, so he looks to
age for more time to investigate the " tenebrific scene," but
soon " Death's dark house bauds a' the three."

An article in an Eclectic magazine, entitled "What
knowledge is of most worth ? " points out our own conclu-
sions on the subject in such a comprehensive manner, that
we cannot resist the desire to enliven our final page with a
quotation from it. *' Observe next that a great superiority
of science over language as a means of discipline is, that it
cultivates the judgment. As, in a lecture on mental educa-
tion, delivered at the Royal Institution, Professor Faraday
well remarks, the most common intellectual fault is deficiency
of judgment.

He contends that * society, speaking generally, is not
only ignorant as respects education of the judgment, but is
also ignorant of its ignorance.' And the cause to which he
ascribes this state is want of scientific culture. The tmth
of his conclusion is obvious. Correct judgment with regard
to all surrounding things, events and consequences becomes
possible only through knowledge of the way in which sur-
rounding phenomena depend on each other, or an exact
acquaintance with the meaning of correct inferences respect-

ON THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMAl^ITV.

ing causes and effects. The constant habit of drawing
conclusions by observation and experiment can alone give
the power of judging correctly. And that it necessitates
this habit is one of the immense advantages of science.

, Thus, to the question with which we set out — ^What
knowledge is of most worth — the uniform reply is — Science.
This is the verdict on all the counts. For direct self-pres-
ervation, or the maintenance of life and health, the all
important knowledge is^-Science.

For that indirect self-preservation, which we call gaining
a livelihood, the knowledge of greatest value is — Science.
For the due discharge of parental functions the proper
guidance is to be found only in — Science. For that inter-
pretation of national life, past and present, without which
the citizen can not rightly regulate his conduct, the indis-
pensable key is — Science. Alike for the most perfect and
highest enjoyment of art in all its forms, the needhil
preparation is still — Science. And for purposes of dis-
cipline — intellectual, moral, religious — the most efficient
study is, once more, Science.

Paraphrasing an Eastern fable we may say that, in the
family of knowledges. Science is the household drudge, who
in obscurity hides unrecognized perfections. To her has
been committed all the work ; by her skill, intelligence and
devotion have all the conveniences and gratifications been
obtained ; and, while ceaselessly occupied in ministering to
the rest, she has been kept in the background, that her
haughty sisters might flaunt their fripperies in the eyes ot
the world. The parallel holds yet further. For we are fast
coming to the denouement, when the positions will be
changed ; and these haughty sisters sink into the merited
neglect. Science, proclaimed as highest alike iu worth and
beauty, will reign supreme.

OK THE SOFT SIDE OF HUMANITY.

The professor might have pointed especially to "clericd
mnd lay " ignorance of the science of ventilation. Pure air
and pure religion are so closely allied, the wonder is why
those which God has seen fit to join man should be allowed
to put asunder. But the majority of every community,
when told of the evils of separation, make haste to seal the
divorce.

■ *1

V I

BORN IN THE PURPLE.

"I ask no more from mortnls

Than your beautiful hce implies."

Fair Friend, — Once I promised to write you a book.
The idea must have emanated from inexperience, and,
therefore, did not thrive. To show that the promise is not
forgotten, however, — though the abiUty to perform it is —
be patient enough to peruse the following collection of prose
dnd verse, or " prose and worse," as Jerrold called some-
thing similar.

You will soon perceive that the enclosed was written for
one who is " delicately pure and marvelously fair."

If a foreigner, learning our language, were to ask me the
meaning of our word " beautiful," I would — if he was fine
enough to appreciate it — allow him to look at her likeness,
or advise him to bow to the original for an interpretation
thereof. She was — the third person and past tense are
preferable for a reason — philosophical as well as fair, which
is unusual, for wisdom does not invariably inhabit a beautiful
tabernacle. Nor was the poetical temperament wanting,
with its accompanying immortal hair, dreamy gaze and quiet,
considerate manner, whose very footsteps seemed a compli-
ment. We met by chance, the usual way, high on the
evening hill ; read the same authors and admired the same
styles of excellence — not excepting each otner — for she had
exquisite taste. However the foolish may gibe, when the
disenchanting rod of disappointment turns hopes to " the
dust we all have trod," though spirits, like fabled birds of

BORN IN THE PURPLE.

flame, soar upward into regions of eventual victory, still such
circumstances are apt to leave an autumnal tone of shade
whose hues are in proportion to the vitality of foliage
arrested by adverse frosts. And even suppose there should
be some crooning of dolorous ditties on such occasions ?
When a merchant loses his argosies at sea, his friends com-
miserate; when death demits a worthy statesman, the papers
moiurn ; and over the inflammation of Chicago the world
condoles to the extent of millions ; bnt when that incompre-
hensible craft called the soul, with all its supeihuman cargo,
is driven "out beyond the harbor bar," its possessor is
expected to go on his indifferent way rejoicing. Among
many strange characters one could be mentioned, whose
circumstances at starting in life were very hopeful. His
health was above par, and his abilities of the enduring kind,
which are more apt to succeed than (iiculties of greater
brilliance. He was among the few who are prudent also j
but, after years of severe, unseen labor, there came an
underdrift of adversity from a source that no huuian reason
could have foreseen, and overwhelmed him. Such scathings
were suffered in silence, however, for the world despises
the unfortunate. Society, like a wolf, devours its own
mutilated ; and an unsuccessful person stands about equal
chances with a rogue or a fool. Even parents are not over
partial to those who fail to represent their strength. So
when a strong man, standing in the shade of some post of
duty, even supposing such duty self-imposed, sees his chosen
sample of mundane excellence led away by an unappreciative
rival, the act is not calculated to render him perfectly happy.
In the words of Mrs. Zervia Myrtle, " it is depressing."

" As a wind that phrills
All night in a waste land, where no r..".i.i comes
Nor hath come since the making of thd world."

BORN IN THE PURPLK.

iii

Did not such baleful experiences embitter and intenafy
the spirited author of Manfred ? It would pose the world
to produce a more passionate devotee before the shrine of
excellence than he was, through his transient, glittering and
gloomy career. His whole large, loving, human heart was
thrillingly alive to every fashion of human and superhuman
Beauty. As such fancy him. Lord Byron, maimed, limping
around the altar of Loveliness — offering his awkward obla-
tions and meeting repulsion. Could any arrow in the vast
quiver of Fate be tipped with a more maddening caustic for
him?

" Through that window look
Into the ruined house."

Surely it is sufficient to account for his abnormal gloom,
and not sin. There are some coarse specimens of humanity
who can make capital out of mutilation ; but, to a proud,
honorable man such an outlook is as abhorrent as the terri-
fied face and twisted hair of a corpse who is found to have
been buried alive.

But in some quiet way Pain rewards the pure. Tht
•torm sustains the summer that it obscures, as he, after a
while, arose victorious. There is another university beside
that which has stone walls, a library and a faculty.

It is out of such that the triumphant come. The gradt>-
ates of griefs huge college, if powerful enough to endure the
ordeal at all — the wear and breaking of the mental
gymnasium— obtain the scholarship of self control, which is
superior to all other lore. It is greater than the eloquence
of Demosthenes and profounder than the learning of
Pythagoras. It is the soul's Australitz, and they who ac-
quire such an education know no earthly superior.
Henceforth they can enjoy without fear. They have

BORN IN THK PURPLR.

received their credentials of ability directly from the mailed
hand of Victory. By abnegation are they in the purpld
The remainder of life resembles sunshine on a prairie, when
* the time of the singing of birds has come." Shiboleth —
they can pronounce the " pass "-word that enables its poss*
essor to essay the stream of Time, cheered by " the light
that never was on sea or land " — Vates forever.

The laudatory acclaim of underlings cannot elate, nor the
inhuman sneer of the mvious depress. It is the Happy
Valley, whither we may return after having seen the world's
folly, " at which we clutch with a vain-grasping hand." It
is the Hall of Eblis, shorn of its horrors. Vathek is there,
purified, and able to repeat the Bissmillah. Soliman ben
Doud has heard the torturing cataract cease to flow, and the
fire has gone out of his heart forever.

/So nations, as well as individuals, arise from barbarity to
influential positions, principally by strength developed
through opposing forces. So Scotland and Switzerland
acquired a right to receive recognition from, and in turn
have left their mental mark upon, the world's hist«ry.

Has not Hugh Miller transformed geology into an angel
of light, who has rolled the stone of ignorance away from
the narrow door of Truth ? Has not Newton, " From voy-
aging on strange seas of thought alone," returned victorious?
And Dante, also ? Galileo is no longer overborne by the
millstones of priestcraft, and who dares imprison a Tasso
now ? Yet those men were as powerful in sentiment as in
sense or Science. When Columbus stood, or knelt, on the
deck of his little craft, in sight of a new world, was he not
triumphant? Were Micah's gods, Rachel's children, or
Esau's birthright dearer to them than that intense hour to
him, or to the world ? Looking at the quality of victory in
its right light, the purple of Martin Luther's robe is superior

I: 11

BORN IN THE PURPLE.

I ill

to Napoleon's. Sir Philip Sydney, Wilberforce- Florence
Nightingale, John Brown and a host who are nameless, are
more truly deserving of a crown than many who are more
extensively eulo'^ized by history's partial pen.

From all this we may safely assert that there in no costless
victory. Circumstances frequently occur to prove that
these only were born to the purple, who obtained it through
such triumph as duty well done. Without some incentive
of patriotism or benevolence, all work will flag, for a mere
desire for fame is the puniest of broken reeds on which to
lean. It is to be lamented that there is so muc:h misunder-
standing regarding success — in a good cause — is there any
success in a bad one? Superficial perrons, seeing the
winnings of others, without the striving by which the race
was won, foolishly conclude that there was no .striving; when
truly the whole flinty pathway of the past C' ;uld be retraced
by soul-scarring struggles in comparison to which death is a
plaything. The self-distrustings — when the siren voice of
temptation is most alluringly seductive — the irpression that
will come to a high mind, capable of seeing ' .■ insurmount-
able contrast between its exalted aims and .liiiceptions of
the glory to be, and the

Hill!!

ill

" Little all wo here cun find
With Death's dark, mystic sphere hi'iiinil ; "

tfi he done —
;i disijosition

Between the little we can do, and the amou:

the scoffing endured for a poverty produced !

to assist in ameliorating the degrading cor.. :! .ion of those

ten thousand
t.*n: lured.

who scoff; the blame which follows failure, n:
wordless difficulties to be overcome or silea;

Such are soine of the conditions of victor) , yet those who
yield to the enervating beguilements by the way blame fate
for partiality, or their own ill luck. Had \\\ k u generally

hi^

90KMiN19I£YUlt»U(«

manufactured by its owner — ^it is " home made/' and is
often produced by imprudence and mismanagement
Genuine undeserved ruin seldom knocks at any human
door. Weaklings, with a self-complacency very consoling
to its possessor, often quiet their wounding consciences by
attributing their deficiencies of judgment to destiny.
Hence you frequently observe that those, who have risen to
rewards by years of mental work and stoical abnegation,
receive no credit for their toil except to be called lucky or
geniuses. Genius has greater working obligations than
ordinary ability. The finest diamond requires most polish-
ing. So it is that eminent writers have been abused as
idlers until success crowned them with the imperial purple.

It would be unfair, though, to deny that there is an under*
current of adversity in the unf.verse. For some inscrutable
purpose a portion are allowed Job's experience.

It is another specimen of spurious philosophy to suppose the
performance of duty will invariably render one happy here.
Frequently the reverse. A person who dares to oppose
cant, hypocrisy, superstition, or any shape of evil — ^which is
always in the majority — will meet with a like majority of
foes. Teachers sometimes mislead mouldable minds by
picturing the flowery paths of virtue. They, or the paths
that ultimately lead to peace, are oftener flinty. The disap-
pointment arising from the discovery of their true condition
— seeing the hills of Difficulty directly in Wisdom's narrow
way — often causes the faint-hearted to falter. However,
happiness is not " our being's end and aim,"

" Bnt to live that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-daj."

It follows that the only true wealth of a nation is mental
wealth ; and its chief triumphs in the number of voters wlio
have instructed consciences for guides.

'!l

sfi

.^ORN. IN THE PURPLE.

Had I but known that this essay was to be a sermon, I
would have provided a text. If it it not too near the weary
termination, here are some for you to select from :

" We alwajB may be what we might have bceu."

M iV:

" For care and trouble set your thought . "

" Men sometimes have been masters of their fato.
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in onrselves, that we are underlings."

- " Our wishes are i>remoi)itions of our capabilities.''

" l%at,'* says Carlyle, " is a noble saying of deep import ;
applicable to our wishes and eflforts in regard to reading as
well as other things.

"Among the objects that look wonderful or beautiful to
you, follow with fresh hope that which looks wonderfulest,
beautifulest."

However, the writer is not laboring under the supposition
that his opinions will please you. Every human being looks
at the universe in a variety of lights — so much so, that
thereby we might figuratively add some new worlds to our
present system. Suspend this planet as seen by a Goethe
beside the same orb as beheld by a soggy Terra del Fuegan.
To the imaginative there wheels onward an interminable
panorama of the heavens, illuminated with ever-varying
scenery of the seasons, cheerful at dawn, active by day,
pensive in the night.

Beyond, an extensive storehouse of infinite worlds, some
of whose lights and glories have not yet found us out, though
they flash (*n through the immeasurable boundlessness of
space with a velocity of a million miles per minute across the
lonely highways of astronomy. Perhaps when those lights

BOIIK IM TBB VUKKJL

all reach us, there will be no more night. But who can
cast the plummet line of conjecture far enough to sound the
ocean of Truth?

Knowing your distaste for such subjects, however,
I will conclude by mentioning the near completion of a
novel which possibly may please you. One chapter contains
a description of your old homestead and the surrounding
scenery. Vines upon the house-side fir-trees, full of grapes,
as they first took my youthful imagination — ^and one who
was sometimes under their fragrant festoons. The winter
parties, music, mirth and dancing ; and, more than that, the
friends of whom we hear so little now, and see less.

Let them go— regret is not triumph ; the royal toga is not
hereditary. Those only are bom in the purple who toin it
worthily — those who can utilize the quiet enjoyments of life
judiciously, who can read fiction and still retain a taste for
science, history and their daily duties ; who can be pleased
with a social dance without being led to late hours, a sacri-
fice of time and health ; who can endure disappointments
and not become reckless ; who can enjoy society, grave or
gay, or to be alone j who believe in the sacred admonitions
of the Bible and also in the sacred ordinances of Nature ;
whose tempers are unruffled, excepting when subjected to
the aggressiveness of immorality on holy ground; whose
lives and precepts are one : and whose minds resemble the
white Temple of Beauty, lit from within by remembrances
of duty well done — all the walls being adorned with choice
subjects of memory and imagmation.

«<? '

..«f ilii

MY LIBRARY.

As evening closes with a north-eastern snow-storm too
severe for our usual twilight stroll in the fields, we may as
well return to my library, let down the blinds and read, for
the next best thing to nature is a book.

Wheel around that sofa, which has " velvet, violet lining,"
opposite ; and, as light from an ancient fireplace alternately
chances to illummate photographs and volumes of our gifted
favorites, we will follow the inviting hint and, with their
permission, renew acquaintance with a few *' fair women and
brave men."

But first, those who believe in democracy can have this
fact in favor of their faith, that the world's greatest geniuses
cannot choose their readers. Persons whom a Chesterfield,
Walpole or Byron would have scorned to associate with —
" hating to be such " — now make free with the proudest,
most exclusive and most cherished sentiments of the disem-
bodied dead, and also in turn sneer at each silent sufferer's
choicest predilections. And hosts, who would not recognize
genius, while in the flesh it was toiling by their side for the
bread that perisheth, are indebted to those same neglected
ones for the only plank that saves their memory from utter
oblivion. So it seems that the Manitou, or great spirit of
compromise, as well as many other spirits, chiefly lives be-
yond the grave.

The revived light shows a picture of the Hon. Mrs. Nor-
ton, in the language of John Ross Dix " still gloriously
beautiful" — one of the many talented forbears of our
Governor, Earl Dufferin. On a par with hers is a portrait

MY UBRARV.

lOI

of the poet Cowpers mother, deserving his feeling tribute to
it, serenely reflecting a pensive refinement of countenance
" which of itself shows immortality," and which others might
do well to imitate by cultivating a like disposition to hers.
Nearer still — but beyond my reach — is one of nameless
loveliness, dearer than all

» i^'

That ever held a heart in thrall-
Surely the jearg those chains have tried,
Yet did not any link divide.

A considerable portion of light has also fallen on the
photograph of H. W. Beecher, and a still larger share of
fire on the original, singular propounder of Divinity and
domesticity. " Methodists are good," said he, " but all
Metho lists would not be good. \Vhen you mix your bread,
you pitch in some salt to make it good, but bread all salt

would not be good."

The light fails to reach the upper shelf of my library, and
it may be as well, for the subjects treated of in those dim
volumes .are not superlatively interesting to " the general
reader," being mostly works about piety — " Robert's dozen .
Lectures," for instance. Probably there is but one man in
this ambitious city whose mental light is of sufficiently alti-
tudinous comprehensibility to expound their spiritual
somnambulism, whose ideas of eternal rest are eternal rust.
Ah, well-*-the keen edge of reproaching ignorance is some-
what blunted by the fact that piety is not popular.

Yonder reposes an efligy of " the deepest thinker on the
continent of America, " — so it is written — to wit : R. W.
Emerson. But, as sensible people are not always acceptable
company, we will soon dispose of him! In his tirade on
" Works and Days" complaint is laid before us, that "men
do not live enough in the present." The statement proves

lot

liy tlBSAtY.

iv-

that at least the author is happy ; if he were not in compare
atively easy circumstances, he would pretty soon find out
for himself why so many try by every means to get out of
the present. A sentence in " Friends in Council " hints at
\mhappiness as the cause,< — " while smoking you cease to
live wholly in the future, which miserable men for the most
part do." Even so. A meditative sinner's self— and who
at times is not meditative ? — is scarcely the most satisfactory
subject of contemplation that our catalogue of superhuman
themes can furnish. Depend upon it, Ralph, some sly
little domestic foxes among the vines are the most numerous
causes of this system of morally " dining out"

An Indian hunter laughs to see a pale-face follow a deer
all day, knowing that by crossing the deer's invariable circle
of flight he can be easily reached at once. So Emerson
sometimes wanders after a thought which follows him closely
in his reader's mind.

" He can talk sense," said a critic once. Very true, but
who is willing to listen ? Sense, strictly interpreted, means
something beneficial for humanity to act upon. But just
think around you and strive to recall fifty really sensible
persons or books that you have read with interest Verily,
the demand forms the quality of supply in literature as well
as in physical commerce, and vice versa ; and that quality
nameless authors must furnish or starve in their profession.
For instance again, a small ray reveals the title of a neg-
lected book on health by Catherine Beecher. This
valuable book has recently been re-issued in a work entitled
" The American Woman's Home, or Domestic Sciences,"
by C. E. Beechei and H. B. Stowe, with additional moral
and scientific information strikingly interesting as well as
usefiil. But talk in the most refined style to any number of
inteU^ent yiawn^ mother^ ctmcemiog the reispMiiiibiltties of

MY LIBRARY..

lO^

but

health devolving upon and clothing them with a mantle of
immortal influences, as is represented in this book, and,
with a sigh of relief at your departure, they will likely ex-
claim, while drawing some stay-lace one quarter of an inch
tighter, " Did you ever? I wonder at his presumption ! '

There occurs to every generous individual at one or
another time of his life a desire to try to educate those who
suffer through ignorance up to something truly noble and
worthy of manhood and womanhood. At the very first
turn of the flinty way, behold it is barricaded by hordes, as
sea sands for multitudes, around one or another of mam-
mon's before-mentioned shrines. Sense 1 Who does not
acknowledge that health is better than fashion? yet the
former is left to shirk for itself. Who believes that sickness
should be punished and held in contempt like drunkenness,
as a warning against weaknesses that eventuate in criminal-
ity, in all instances where it does not arise from accident or
circumstances beyond its present proprietor's control?
Who denies that nations cannot be considered safe, until
they have instituted systems of jurisprudence whereby to
punish sins of omission as definitely as of more palpable
derelictions. Seriously speaking, nature never condescends
to sue or call a Geneva Tribunal, when she squares accounts
with a nation for " consequential or unconsequential dam-
ages," caused by plagues arising from culpable neglect of
immutable laws ; but individuals so sinning should be inter-
fered with for the sake of their personal comfort ; and in the
name of mercy and political economy on the part of the
State ; and Legislature ought to pardon many acts caUed
crimes, and prosecute a new set which pass for " Provid-
ences." Yet the oversight is strange on the part of
humanity — strange because it involves irreparable losses—
tbftt w« are so neglectful of causes. We have heard enou|(h

!l^

anruBRASY*

!•

about the "web of fate/' but, in reality it more nearly
resembles a rag carpet over which we go tripping along, gen-
eration after generation, mending effect*, regardless of the phi-
losophy that " one ounce of prevention is worth a pound
of cure," or that " if parents eat sour grapes the children's
teeth will be on edge," and of all there comes a conclusion
which no amount of reason can fathom, viz : something that
wou.d strengthen our faith in providential interpositions, if
we could comprehend our numberless narrow escapes from
accidents that never happened.

For some time, if not longer, the present writer hag
entertained an impression that Government should empower
a competent physician to visit every domicile where a wed-
ding is liable to happen, and question " the parties," under
penalty, concerning their ability, not only to maintain, but
to raise and educate a family properly and prosperously.
This useful and highly important agent could easily be paid
— ^all wages should be in the hands of Government — from
the extra revenue accruing out of this excellent mode of
moral, physical and monetary success ; for, as we have else-
where intimated, sickness — or its synonym, sin — is the
heaviest taxation an empire is called upon, by itself, to en-
dure. If Government rewarded every subject according to
his or her usefulness to the state, there would not only be
fewer lawsuits for the recovery of wages, but the nine hours
strikes would be settled at once, especially if Sir John were
to the fore. Yet who would have heart to say to the sick
" arise, and go ye to our national asylum ; abide there till
cured and, thereafter, remunerate state costs for recovery
and lost time, by a thorough course of such hygienic train-
ing as will at once teach thee how to avoid all disobedience
of self-evident laws and, at the same time, re-imburse the

HYJtUNMRy..

\9Si

The moon peers over a dark cloud's purple curtain and,
falling on, lights up the bust of majestic old Mozart —
prototype of many fair followers, ot the least among whom
is our talented citizen Miss Wolliung, inimitable in music.
Can there be a refinement more celestial on eardi than
song? One almost hopes not, for excessive happiness
arising from " 'rjusic yearning like a god in pain," is closely
allied to a feeling of suffering, consequently greater joy than
music can give would awaken sentiments resembling an-
guish. Painting and sculpture awaken similar wordless
devotion ; and every poet's memory or imagination . is
lighted from on high by at least one faith-sustaining face,
revealing possible heights to which happiness may ultimate-
ly attain. Pity the aesthetic realms of silence are so often
desecrated and marred by discords called music.

Here is Dante's " Inferno," and a work closely allied
thereto, Ovid's "Art of Love," anent which the query
arises: Will this material, cast-iron, nineteenth-century
world ever be able to take the census of affections ? The
true conditions are, the affections often take the senses of
the world.

The world sometimes conceits itself wise by laughing at
love at first sight ; but laughter cannot alter a law. People
— and sometimes women — are prone to consider the fiats
of "society" final. Nature, however, takes another way,
consequently there is a continual strife bet^veen them, as
evinced by general adversity. But the immortality of poets'
loves proves that the right chord was touched once and for-
ever by

An act of free will on the part of fate.

Hence Ruth is still gleaning, not only from tlie patriarchal
valoi of th« long past, but from the ** very present" fields of

■!i;

»>6^^

inr iiBKAkv,

our affections. Raphael's Fomarina, Highland Mary,
Hawthorne's Hilda and a host of others are embalmed by a
sentiment of deathless light whose spiritual purity is not
likely to vanish from literature or from life.

No doubt these pictures are crowned in their several con*
jurers' paradises as a sort of beautiful compromise in order
to cheer their otherwise incomprehensibly dreary journeys.
Another accidental moonbeam — how like to fame ! — falls
on an obscure photograph in one comer of my mental
work-3hop. Raine is the name, one who figures gracefully
and musically in the " Canadian Monthly."

Near him, but of another colored temperament, quintes-
sence of mischief, lies the jocose Wray, author of "My
Niagara Campaign" — verily a Canadian Twain. On the
same shelf is a framed similitude of a solitary wilderness.
A Canadian forest is a whole literature in itself, but, by its
very majesty and boundlessness, depressing, because it
continually hints of human ignorance ; surely, above all
things except astronomy, a forest is gifted to teach us how
little we know.

Every tree is a registry and some ancient boles contain
weather symbols of a thousand years. To the initiated in
bush-craft every thin section ring testifies of a summer's
drouth or winter's severity ; and every thick ring means a
genial year. The wig of moss on this stone cannot conceal
its age, for it was venerable centuries prior to creation's
earlier deluges. Now every Indian uses it as a guide, for
the moss grows thickest on the north side of tree s and of
those boulders — those universal, undeciphered tablets and
tombstones of dead centuries. Marvel of Hugh Miller —
full of unrevealed ages of lore : " I sat on a boulder stone
on the brow of southern pastures, looking down on sugar
grovetk Pocfts and hisboriaait of the fhtore miy snt npsn

i^UlUxv*

107

these boulders, as I did, loitering on the brow of the dediv«
ity, studious or rapturous on the progressive industries and
vicissitudes of humanity, or on the flocks and herds, and
rural beauty of wide rolling hills, luxuriant in summer, their
greenness fading into grey with distance and merging into
blue of the mountains.

" River of youth, vivacity, beauty, exquisite in dalliance at
the foot of the hills — ^the cultured or forest clothed, whose
foliage of richest greenness is in this ripe October a garment
of gorgeous colors, charming all day and, in glowing after-
noons, enchanting."*

What a terrific abrasive process they must have gone
through in order to reach their present smoothness and
positions — ^long after earth's face was " pitted " by volcanic
eruptions — strewn by slowly drifting or swiftly driven fields
of ice to and fro on their lonely world of waters, and now
lodged here in this mossy solitude hoary with snow.

I do remember one dark mom when I had lost mj way,
80 deep the midnight snow-storm lodged on every branch and spray ;
All things were bowed in worship of a white, ethereal shade ;
Cedar and pine and hemlock, each a mute obeisance made.

Long time I wandered up and down, nor could distinctly find
The spot whereon was pitched the tent ; nor could I bring to mimd
The oak beneath whose shelt'ring arms we slept through many a gde i
All was obscure as that wild sea where Pharaoh came to fail.

At length it seemed like some church aisle of devotees at piaytr,
Till from the east transfiguring li' .t in answer entered there,
Then slow the burdens dropped k waj as mercy melteth sin,
And up they rose as spring birds sang a jubilee of din.

The chickadee plained tenderly the many-tinted jay ;
There's not much sentiment in him, but he sang well that day,
Chasing the melancholy owl back to his thicket dim—
Because there is no mirth in owls the jays make mirth of him .

* JdihaaAtlt K&m«rviII«, ** the Whifticir at (k* Ple'Dgh."

10$

MY U^RARY.

Bat are they birds ? and those pale forms that are around us rolled,
Were they not rather symbols which the future will unfold,
When their interpreter sees fit to trust us with the key
Which will make all things manifest and set each meaning free 7

'Twins thus the path appeared again, less beauteous but secure,
And soon the spring itself came forth the scars of frost to core ;
And summer was in all that land, a type of many more
Such as the meritorious gain on some celestial shore.

I wish Shakespeare and Bums had seen Niagara and a
Canadian forest in storms. When in the midst of such
awful scenes one instinctively longs for some spirit capable
of appreciating them. Yet the probability is, those bards
who could make a daisy or mouse immortal would be awed
into silence when in presence of subjects comparatively
high. Bums was wordless before historical scenery in
Scotland's grandest glens. Such souls become, as it were,
tangled with infinitudes. They differ from theologists by
climbing to some height of faith to look over, when they fail
to see through each peak

" That lifts its storm-scarred brow to God
And worships in the sky alone."

Next, " with dirges due in sad array," half in shade, ap-
pears Lord Byron, with Lucifer "dim pinnacled in the
intense inane."

"Ah I distinctly I remember, it was in tlio bleak December,
And each separate, dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor,"

when the writer first " glowered " through those weird halls of
Manfred — the myriad-minded " gentle William's " unhappy
brother. Near at hand, and nearer at heart, sits Bums,
Scotland's best assurance of "a new heaven and a new
earth." But this intellectual triune must be dismissed

" Away I ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses,"

"MY MBRARY.

or thy fascinating and eerie spells will rob other bards of
their just merits, one of whom is brought to mind by the
title of a very fine unpublished poem, " The Dark Hunts-
man."

. In the opinion of a utilitarian the writing of poetry in this
country appears a most insane proceeding. In any country
when a man, urged by suaie doubly impelling power from
within and without, produces poetry, by that act he is im-
mediately placed apart from his fellows — sometimes above
them, oftener beneath. This is done, not " with their mutual
consent," for bards are proverbially brotherly, but by the
" gentle public."

^ Henceforth he is not recognized as a business man. He,
in turn, feels their low estimate of his power in commercial
transactions, and there are always numerous confirmation!)
of adverse opinions, for doubt justifies itself as frequently
as faith. He is therefore driven to occupy the disadvan-
tageous position wherein prejudicial opinions place him.
Such are the conditions of poetical reception in countries
where it is most appreciated, but his hardship's mischances
are doubled in a new country. Such adverse circumstances,
however, are just so many proofs of genuineness of the
faculty divine in those gifted ones, who have not only sung
patriotic and imaginative strains sweetly and vigorously, but
who have eventually triumphed over numberless disadvan-
tages.

Probably the same " Divinity within" warned them that
to shirk their duty would surely entail a still harder lot, for,
above all men, a true bard or artist has least to do with the
choice of their pursuits. Others may change their occupa-
tion — can sell their birthright for a mess of pottage — but the
baid, be he in Canada or in Canaan, in the fi-ozen halls of

!''|il

UY UBRABY.

?i»

Odin, or among the dreamy and dreary majesty Cf the
Sierras; the burning sands of Hafiz, or in the muse's more
frequent poetical homestead — "the deep, heaving sea "--each
bard is forced to wind a horn of warning on the walls of his
native Nineveh, or be cast into still profounder deeps. The
sound of the hammer is not heard in the temple of song,
nor is his patriotism, like a politician's, measured by office ;
but his country must be reflected from the deep, calm moun-
tain lake of his muse ; from the smallest flower on shore to
the farthest star in the heavens, or otherwise whole conflg-
ui'ations of existence would be abnormal. Courage, brothers.
Lock not for rewards, except from within. Other lofty call>
ings are as frequently unrecompensed as yours. Gird up
your loins, sisters and sons of arts and letters, whom I look
up to, let us not wait long.

Here is. one thnt has answered our exorcism, and from
his mental ocean Cornelius Donovan has produced a com*
plete rosary of " Irish Pearls," a book of which not only all
Irishmen of Canada, to whom it is dedicated, should be
proud, but men of many lands. It is hard to imagine what
Professor Froude would say about it ; yet he could not but
own that the writer has sufficient proofs of Erin's eloquence
and poetry from the days of the marauding Dane, Sitrick,
to Thomas Moore, whose song of O'Ruark we are glad to
find in this neat volume.

That other is " The Sciences," a much worn school book
of dear old Chambers, which caused some heavy flagella-
tions, and "The Miscellany" series, by the same firm, and
contains an article read with avidity long ago by a firelight
of pine knots, when the old folks were off to the sugar bush,
an article called " The Story of Peter Williamson." He was
kidnapped at Aberdeen when twelve years old, brought to
America^ sold to a colonist; married the colonist's daughter,

JIY LIBRARY.

Iff

was stolen by the Indians, lived with them twenty years,
made his escape in a wonderful manner, found his beautiful
wife had died of grief, returned to Aberdeen, found all his
relatives and friends had dispersed or died, published his
story, was scouted at as an imposter, returned to America,
and finished his broken-hearted days afler having 'vritten
the best book on the North American Indians ever pub-
lished. A spicy fiction, full of fashionable lies, might have
made his fortune. The value of his book is that it is by it
and such influem es we are enjoying peaceful intercourse
with the red men.*

The last book on the shelf is " Selections from Canadian
Poets, by the Rev. E. H. Dewart." The industrious com-

* This question has been broached lately by the able pen of Mr. D.
If cCulIoch, in the Hamilton Spectator, as follows, " The Manitoban calls
attention to a subject that appeais to be more interesting than at-
tractive to the people of this country, namely, the possibility of In-
dian disturbances in our North-west territory. The time has ar-
rived when that splendid country must be opened up for settlement.
In n« other way can we continue in possession of it, and without it
the future of Canada is not a pleasant thing to contemplate. The wave
of immigration, which is sweeping over the prairies of the Western
States, will not be kept back by the imaginary line which separates
our territory from that of our neighbors. There is something in
western life which devolopcs a roving and adventurous spirit; in-
deed, the very fact of an immigrant breaking up his old home, separ-
ating all ti^'is of kindred, and seeking his fortunes there, is a proof of
such a spirit. To a large class of Westerners the discovery of a gold ■
or silver mine makes the spota point of irresistible attraction. Now,
it is beyond doubt that our North-western territory is rich in me-
tallic wealth, and the discovery of " diggings " of exceptional excel-
lence might at any time cause an imiption of bold and lawless spirits
accustomed to rely upon the bowie knife and the revolver for pro-
tection. To these men the Indian is but a cumberer of the earth,
and an enemy to be shot down without pity. Hitherto our success
in dealing with the Indian has been conspicuous, and is the envy of
the United States." The eloquent writer concludes by observing
that though there exists no immediate cause for alarm, still, on tha
principle that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,
tha Legislature should prepare for an amicable adjustment of poa-
siblt e«ntingenci«i. ,: , . *^ . a

piler deserves praise, inasmuch as he has saved from oblivion
some rare gems. Here is one by W. Wye Smith, banning

" I looked upon Lake Erie

Before I looked on thee,
And I'll not leave it for thy gold

That lies beyind the sea ;—
Its waves came leaping to my hand

As if they feared I'd go—
I look upon Lake Erie

And my heart gives answer no."

And while in the patriotic mood we trust our modest friend
will excuse us for quoting the following :

DREAMS.

Dreams of the past stand silently before me,

And old days come again,
And night with all her stars is bending o'er me,

As glorious now as when,
With pallid lips and heart all wild and stormy,

I knelt in Norwood Glen. "^

I see it ail ; even the withered flowers

That lay upon her grave.
I see the stai-s, as then, through weaiy hours,

And the lake's slumbering wave,
And the unruffled night, with tyrant powers,

And silence for its slave.

I see a cot beside Ontario's tide,

Beneath the summer sky ;
Beyond the meadows, stretching far and wide,

I see the waters lie ;
And through the tall trees on the mountain side

I hear the soft wind sigh.

The swallows, slumbering underneath the eaves,

Are murmuring in their dreams.
The moonlight, falling on the trembling leaves,

And on tne silver streams,
And on the uncut grain, and on the sheaves,

▲ living glory seanui .

MY LIBRARY.

»*J

The rammer time is fair, and bright, and golden.

And many glories rest
Upon it, like the marrelous leautics olden,

That once made Eden blest,
'^ut in its wide and warm embrace is holden

For me no more of rest .

So night comes from her silent habitation

At the bright day's retreating ;
So, too, the elder night makes visitatioui
^ Stilling the pulse's beating j

And, through her sorrow and her desolation,

Night unto night gives greeting.*

And also our Canadian proclivities must be responsible fo»

"A SONG, A SONG FOR CANADA.
SUiptctfully dedicated to the Loyal Canadian Society ^ QrmtVy^ If

A. H. WiNOriKLD, iSTamt/^oti.

A song, a song for Canada,
■j The brightest and the best

Of all the lands that lie within

The borders of the West.
There Nature spreads her choicest gifts

Throughout her wide domain-
Then sing the praise of Canada,

Again and yet again.

A song, a song for C'>nada— ?

The star of empire gleams
On that proud land of forests grand,

Of valleys, lakes and streams.

Her boundless realms stretch far and wide,

And reach from sea to sea ;
Her fields are filled with waving grain,
- Her woods with melody

Her sons are brave, her daughteri pur»

Her honor bears no stain-
Then sing the praise of Canada,

Again and yet again.

If.,

• A. T. FuuiD, in " Lakeside Magasine."

%•:■ .ih^.*:-'<

MY LIBRARY.

Though Britain's bards with one accord

Old England's praises swell,
Give me the land where gallant Brock

And brave Tecumseh fell ;
For freedom dwells .rithin its dells,

And there it will remain-
Then sing the praise of Canada,

Again and yet again."

*-«;>j»'/»'2

51 ' 'i

III I

: *>< • -■

"MRS. STREET'S PLACE."

Some apology is due for the seemingly over-familiar use
of the name in a portion of the above title.

If the verses are considered blame-worthy, however, the
country custom of selecting conspicuous residences for
waymarks— descriptive of distances to strangers and such-
must endure it, and not the writer, who challenges competi-
tion in respect for the estimable family referred to in these
lines.

Once more the muse delights to trace
♦ The vanished mornings of this place ;

Like dawns returned those scenes revive,
And one by one, behold, arrive
^ Young dancers with sweet music there

And all who joined the festive fare.

I see the antlers in the hall,

I see the old clock on the wall,

The books, the pictures and the air •

Of nameless fineness everywhere

In all that courteous household, and i

The welcome of each vanished hand. !

There were two maidens in this home,
Gracing its bygone lustrous bloom.
One's hair was shadowy and one
A shadow brightened by the sun.
Some did that one prefer, some this f.
Averred was yet a lovelier Miss ; '

And so hose maidens did remain

fi6

9»fv

♦*MRS. street's, place.

The wonder of each wounded swain.
I knew, as by the sympathy
Of genius natural to me
To settle all such doubts as rose
About the excellence of those,
But never told — I never told
The perfect fact to young or old,
E'en at the time when golden shade .
June's flowery twilight long delayed,
Or when a blushing dark-haired dame
To pay reluctant forfeits came.
When winter's shadows denser grew
I knew it — ah ! too well I knew ;
Therefore remembrance, constant still
Through all life's intervening ill,
When musing on lost pleasure, longs
For the strong grace of Homer's songs,
So to perpetuate for aye
The glory that will pass away.
Here Ned and Joseph often came,
Obedient to a friendly flame —
Appreciative of the view
From this old porch — and often, too.
Their wandering feet were prone to trace
The rural road to " Ramsay's Place."
That road was rendered classic ground
When thither lovely feet were found
, To cross the portals, welcome wide,
Of one who beauty deified,
Who frequent thought — such thoughts arise I
That fewer storms had filled his skies
If-— but 'tis out of order now
dream of happiness, or vow.

"MRS. street's place."

»»7

This garden in its vernal time

Was gay — here fragrant vines did climb

Transversely in the piney boughs,

Forming an airy summer-house.

Each branch bent low with luscious fruit,

Making our admiration mute.

This lovely place is in decay

And those who graced it gone away.

This evening's blush is not bestowed

On one whose beauty brighter glowed,

Beneath the half averted gaze

Of silent worship in those days.

Eut since the constant heart will cast

A glamour o'er the golden past,

When sunset retrospection sighs,

As one by one lost hopes arise,

Still will you wear a lovelier hue

Than aught remembrance can rcncir.

1 1. .

1 J.

TO EMMA.

O that thy nose had crooked been,
Or eyes were squint as some I've seen,

I would not feel so bad !
Unsociable perfection, say,
Has Beauty any kindness ? nay,

I often wish you had.

In mercy cultivate a squint.
Or some defection, for a splint

To bind my broken heart.
Try cruel measures for my sake,
And, like the death of hope, such make

Of me, or of this smart. :

If you were fashioned any way .' _.
Without so much perfection — say,

A limp, or voice to bawl —
Twould help to let me down, beloved ;
But from hope's pinnacle I'm shoved

And nothing breaks my fall.

Yet others have been shaped as well,
Surely to them the wild'ring spell

Was wanting or withstood,
Which from the day I saw you first
Has been the brightest, and the worst,

Of all misfortune's brood.

Say something bitter; O be mean ;
Put on repulsive styles, and wean

Or warn me from the wave !
Nay — 'tis too late ; there is a light
That, though withdrawn, can baffle night

And gleam beyond the grave.

«{•!

THE THOUSAND ISI.ES.

'Tis evening tide, the mottled sky

Is glorious in the sinking sun ;
Now Heaven's serene immensity

Seems flashing forth the words, well done !
And sacred, superhuman hues

Adorn the dim declivity.
And shape the intermingling views

As fair as Eden's landscapes be.
Our bark, like fate's strange shuttle through

The azure web, threads onward where
Green islands fleck the liquid blue,

As low clouds fleck the living air.

Which is an isle, and which can be f
A cloud is half a mystery ;
Both are of a supernal growth
And Sol's last radiance sets on both
In one fond blush of pensive hues
(They softly flash and interfuse)
As if to beckon us away
■ Beyond the precincts of decay.
And. we would follow him in high
Immeasurable majesty,
By one oblivious plunge to be
From human solitude set free,
But fear the night, so soon to cast
This glory by, may ever last.

Some isles are rocky bastions old,
Shaped when the ancient ages rolled
Around their thunder-rended forms
Earthquakes and unremembered storms.
Skit nomb ^ catiEiuitiitcIfy pyatoJsd

1*9

THE THOUSAND ISLES.

III

By Beauty's spiritual hand
For purposes of peace, and still
They have no part in human ill.

Each hour a deeper ray emits,
That o'er the wand'ring water flits,
Iwike sanguine leaves when they forsake
The lofty branches for the lake ;
Such colors tinge the beams that pass
Yon cloud's ensanguined chrysopras.
Lo, every bird for joy is still
In river, vale, or island hill ;
And, past the purple mounts of pine,
Lulling the winds with wands divine,
Th' injpcrial monarch of the day
Wheels his irrevocable way
Far off, through clouds whose living flames
Would woo the world to wiser aims ;
Sweet seraphs, blushing for the sin
Of some originally kin — '

Alas, how beautiful ! they seem
Through countless centuries to dream,
Calui as the peace that comes from care,
Pure as a child's face flushed with prayer,
Soft as a transient velvet rose.
Still as the waves when winds repose.
Lone as this solitude of green,
Dim as those purple depths unseen,
Vast as the visions angels spread
Around a bard's or prophet's bed,
As round the seer of Patmos shone
The sea of glass and crystal throne,
The city's glorious sheets, and all
That heJ4 his poet soul in thrall.

tHE THOUSAND ISLES.

las

O gorgeous dream, to view the bloom
Blending its ever-varying grace !

How shall I leave it? and for whom,
Save for a yet more favored face ?

Alas ! but we are severed far

As this lone stream from eve's one star.

O star, forever fondly mourned,

The soul's lost Pleiad unreturned !

Whose solitary radiance lives

And glows through all the gloom it gives,

And casts around the gay or proud

The shadow of a gilded cloud

Whose memory, beaming in the wave,

Would woo us to the waiting grave ;

But, looking on the living glow

Of light above and lake below,

Such parting pathos fills the air.

The full soul feels it should not dare,

Till freed, to break the unseen chain

That binds with beauty and with pain.

So fades the day star far from sight

In one vast, lonely vale of light r

Celestial, delicately fair.

Believe me, it is vision there,

By angels thronged, for every ray

Quivers with immortality,

The flash of their cherubic wings,

Who dream unutterable things,

And so illuminate the high,

Serene, illimitable sky —

With hints emitted from that clime

Of something unfiilfiUed by lame.

..11

(
I
1

Ill

BRIGHT LEAVES.

TO THE SAME.

These grand old forest aisles of pine,
Filled full of morn, effulgent shine,

Like light from painted panes
Of old cathedrals' sainted glass ;
But here ten thousand Sabbaths pass,

Uncheered by sacred strains.

Those strains so few can understand,
That happiness is near at hand

And to the humble clings ;
The ways of wisdom are not war,
And peace is preferable far

To all Ambition brings.

From boughs like flaming clouds, the leaves,
With their own lustre tinged, and eve's,

Low to the valleys come.
Some eddy, slanting slow in air, *

As loth to leave a realm so fair— -^

Resembling hope — and some

Have formed a crimson carpet o'er
The fragrant forest's vernal floor,

Round herbs and tufts of grass.
In paths 'tis worn completely through,
Where cattle to the liquid blue

To quench their thirstings pass. '

This blushing month, as beautiful
As a disrobing bride, lets fall

Her exquisite array ;
Whilte Sol, h^ bridegrotiwi fix>ra the sky,

BRIGHT LEAVES.

i»3

Kindles the blushing charms, we sigh,
O stay, sweet vision, stay.

Some dew iipon the feathery ferns
Remains till eventide returns,

Enflamed like diamond stone.
The songs of all the birds, that sing
The thoughtless gladness of the Spring,

Now take a farewell tone.

It all resembles the regret

Of one whose duty would not let

His heart its hopes obtain;
To whom the gods have been unkind,
But who by innate power of mind

Hath baffled them, and pain.

For, though each beauteous thing seems blest
And every bud hath done its best

To cheer from hill to shore,
Why is there, in the midst of this,
A something which we seem to miss,

A song we hear no more ?

Is it that thou art far away

Who art, as to this scene, the day,

A light whereby we see
A life above the life we live,
A life which peace alone can give,

A life with such as thee ?

It would be wrong to let the muse
Be mute o'er these celestial views.

If it had power to praise ;
But those who are inspired must tell
The excellence ineffable

Of thee and of thfe5€ doyfv

1' h

kind

111

MY NATIVE LAND.

for a harp like his whose song
Is Troy—heroic still, and strong,

Though modem millions die —
Then thou, and other lovely themes,
The shadows of oblivion's streams

Forever should'st defy.

1 owe thee much, for many a time

I know whose spirit soared sublime.

Just musing on such blooms ;
No forced affection lives for thee,
It comes, as to the shore the sea
In wordless wonder comes.

I'.'l

? :

I. O. G. T.

THE TEMPLE.

At Greensville I remember an old building,
Just where the Brock Road joins an eastward street ;

Of paint 'tis innocent, and eke of gilding,
Excepting by Canadian sun and sleet

It stands upon the margin 01* a river
Which no one venerates except myself, —

At Mr. Webster's Falls it rolls forever
Sheer over ninety feet of rocky shelf.* — >

That is, the stream leaps over, not the dwelling,
Which was a temple in the days of yore —

O days, like fountains through Time's sands upswelling,
The fading stream of time that is no more !

Therein we met to do despite to Bacchus —
There was my bashful aid — I see her now,

And McElroy, a curious genius Mc. is.
Broad in the smiling face and friendly brow.

There Chief McArtney, aiding moral measures.

Encouraging the beardless Ciceros;
But the majority convened for pleasures

On benches full of damsels waiting beaux.

• Th« romantic grandeur of thii Fall, and the naaller bnt leflle*
Ijnn near it, deservei a more extended description. It ii to b« de>
aired that «The Whiatler at the Plough" may takt a itroU tn tha
vi«init]r of If r. Webater'i Falla.

i i

I I:

1. O. G. T.

,i|

|i, r-

And there was one — none are so clearly present,
Long lashes o'er blue eyes — a stately belle !

Antony bartered Rome for smiles less pleasant —
A spirit capable of loving well.

She stood upon the dais of the temple,

Reading an essay against alcohol,
Her .white arms wafting eloquence, a sample '' ■

Outdazzling airy Juno, wings and all. , ' '

Thereat I said — I still think that opinion —

"Though some winged Greeks had talents m their time,

This beauty who disputed wine's dominion, :i ■' . ff
This maid is worthier of Homer's rhyme, ' ' • /,

Than any Hebe past that ever handled

Th' invidious cup of Bacchus to her shame,
'1 "hough they on Fame's triumphant wings are dandled,
,?iiT, And this Canadian Juno hath no name. .. V

My native friend, I look on thee and wonder.
Wishing there was some Burns to sing of thee ; ;

hut such may be in future ; long the grandeur
Of Scotia waited for the plow-boy's glee.

My native land I my spirit sees thee muster
Millions for freedom ; in thy strong right hand

Banners of light ; about thy crown a lustre
Alluring hosts from each less favored land. ■(

May no midge trouble thee, nor greed}- weevil

Girdle thy harvests ; may no Fenian fry
Force us upon fierce plans to stop the evil,
• • With butchery and blood to make them die.

1. O. G. T.

ia.7

rUme,

lied,

'- "f

I saw a gem in Mr. Eastwood's lately,
(Or, if I'm wrong, it was with Joseph Lyght)

Pointed by Pauling, perfect — how sedately
it brought to mind my worship at first sight.

There is another Fane where Recollection
Her pinions folds like Noah's dove, sometimes

When Ruin's floods recede, a\v\ an affection
For shoreless wrecks of spirit turns to rhymes.

That Fane o'erlooks Ontario's peaceful waters,

Ontario the beautiful, whose streams
Are fitting mirrors for Canadian daughters

To dwell beside and bathe within their beams.
And there came Louie K., the beatific,

Her laugh recalled the music of lost Springs,
Her sister sleeps in Death's embrace pacific,

That silent rival of successful kings.
But where is she, the delicate McDougal ?

Too late we found our preference was true ;
And Retrospection's, like herself, too frugal

To lose such happy thoughts, for they are few.
Taylor was there — he who did overcome us

With laughter frequently, often with tears.
Immutable in music ! Mr. Thomas

Taylor, of Guelph — long may he pose his peers.
Ah Tom, although our days are somewhat shorter,

I know whose heart will ever be the same,
'• And so does Mrs. Johnson " — may each quarter

Of all thy moons fill hemispheres of fame.
Friend Matheson is a successful mortal,

And beauty-loving Cathcart spends his daya
In some far region of the sunset portal ;

Long shall he cultivate the diamond's blaze.

i?i\

,:;,!! ,

I9»

I. 0. O. T.

The ingenuity of precious metal —

He did outdo all others in such works;
I'm sorry that he went so far to settle,

But geniuses are full of curious quirks.
A necklace and a ring of pearl and sardon

He made his bride, a brooch of beryl and gold,
Such as was brought by Sheba over Jordan

When interviewing Solomon of old.
Those days were gay with happiness and ditties,

Seductive smiles and eyes alluring shone.
Why are they winged ? It is ten thousand pities

We know not they are good till th<^y are gone^

'iih ' '. »■„

Hi
III

TIME WAS.

Time was, my Annie, years agone,
( Ah me, what weariness since then ! )

When shone with fairer light the sun.
And my first love for thee was green ;

Not that e'en now I love thee less,

No time can dim thy loveliness;

But oh, the world and years have made

A change that makes the heart afraid 1

Time was, my Annie, when your face
Was all worth living for, I deemed.

Nor beautiful nor time nor place
Where you were not, — yea , so it seemed.

Time was, my Annie, when your voice
Was my sole music of the spheres,

It left my memory no choice
But just to follow all these years.'

Time was, my Annie, — Ah ! I ween
That time thou, too, rememberest well—

And though an ocean rolls between.
Yet do I feel thy beauty's spell.

Time was, my Annie, when I thought
My poor heart ne'er could part from thee,

But time has passed and it has taught
Me e'en to bear that misery.

Time was, my Annie, — but no more t —
Why to mine eye upstarts the tear ?

Has time forgot that it before
Taught me my solitude to bear?

ili

MB ;1lllf "

1 H<

HML
■mv

villi!

t( . ■

to-

The amethystine morning

That brightens all the air
Hath not a charmed adorning

Like her immortal hair.

Go, search the summer meadows
From dawn till purple night,

The violets are but shadows
Beneath her eyes of light.

As for the " spicy breezes,"'

Or gifts the isles confer,
Or aught that fancy pleases,

They fail compared to her.

Imagination never

Beheld a form so fair ;
No ivory from Nile river,

Nor marble can compare.

He is to blame for gazing

On such intrinsic worth,
Who thanks not Heaven with praising

For lending her to earth.

His feet should not encumber
This mundane sphere at all

Who would not choose death's slumber
To save her heart from gall.

TO-

I3«

I hear her white feet tinkle
Before they do appear,

As Israel heard the sprinkle
Of manna, glad to hear.

Not vainly is the essence
. Unto the red rose given,
My spirit for her presence
Hath better hopes of heaven.

It were a sweeter story
Than any famous song's,

Just to translate the glory
That to her eyes belongs.

But cold must be the spirit,
And full of evil ways,

Not to perceive such merit
Must supersede all praise.

'ffl

ifj 1

II'

i'l

..I

■I

A DROP OF DEW.

One morning in the season nearly over
All through a lonely valley forest rolled

Strange shapes of mist above the fading clover,
And all the air held voices unconsoled.

The farewell anthem of the cricket sounded
Regretfully from out the fragrant grass,

In hazy azure dreamy hues abounded,
But through it all the dawning came to pass.

Thereby I saw a little dew-drop glimmer,

More scintillant than any ever seen ;
'Twas but one flash in millions, yet its shimmer

Contained the light of every June that's been.

To find the focus of its living splendor
I turned back frequently ; alas, in vain,

The gjm was gone ! — no earthly monarch's grandeur
Could give its glory to that drop again.

' Tis ever so,'_I said, the light excessive
Flashes a transient gleam and, lo, 'tis gone ;

And year by year this lesson so impressive

In some shape leaves each loving heart more lone.

And yet our irksome, solitary duty

Is strengthened by discouragements unseen ;

And we may find, while looking for lost beauty,
A faith in what will be from what has been.

iij:

rur

ne.

CHATTERTON.

" I AM DYIXG, EiJYPT."

Beyond the green fields, on the bank of a river,
The home of my childhood in beauty is there ;

Remembrance returns, but, alas, I can never
Revisit that scene or its happiness share.

Alone I must enter the land of the stranger.

Alone I am passing the portals of pain ;
Yon sun that awoke me to hunger and danger

Shall never arouse me to suffer again.

My mother, the tears of thy kindness no longer
Shall trouble the clay that can make no return ;

I yield to oblivious Death, who is stronger
Than any fond tie that the living may learn.

Farewell to thee, Fame, and thy visions supernal,
Lone realm which the demors of Hope and Despair

In turn ruled triumphant ! — O has the Eternal
For ruin no recompense hither or there ?

For this I have drudged through adversity vainly,
Abandoned by truth, which a poet's soul craves,

Forced back my fierce heart from its worship insanely,
And wakened to find all forever the grave's !

Unroll your grand anthems, ye angels of heaven,
O starve not my soul in this struggle with Death 1

Be parted, ye shadows that veil the forgiven.
And brighten this terrible blackness beneath !

Life fades ! O life fades like a blast wafted thither —
A blast o'er the bloom of a desolate lake —

Farewell, fond delusions of hope that would wither.
And the fame I am forced by dumb death to forsake.

■-if.

\<f

:j:Jlli

, jj'

TO THE MEMORY OF M. BURKHOLDER.

" MY FRIEND IS DEAD." — KEATS.

One more into the v/ave,

One more departed to the dreary deep,
O Death ! thou dost consult us not, nor save

The loved for whom we weep.

Thou art so cold, O Death I

How shall we look upon the cherished dead ?
The hand is cold, the lips devoid of breath,

The soul forever fled.

Out from the eastern skies

The bright moon came, and the regardless stars,
Careless that Death had cut such sacred ties

With his eternal bars.

The crimson morn returns,

The birds rejoice, the buds in beauty bloom,
Yet thou, for whom our anguished spirit )eams,

Canst never (juit the tomb.

So the cold world moves round,

And all, excepting this, appears the Ea/ne ;

Yet pity o'er the immedicable wound
Is torture worse than blame.

The hand we lately held, —

Alas, that we must feel its clasp no more '.
Why are the happy to the grave impelled,

fhe wretched left on shore ?

TO THE MEMORY OF M. BURKHOLDER.

«3S

Yet death is not the worst

Of ills that come to those whom we hold dear ;
'Tis oft the refuge from some pain accursed,

Which haunts so many here.

Far better such release,

Tho' the hurt heart seems in the graveyard too,
Than that our hopes eternally should cease

By evils which undo.

O loss which makes us cling

To the fond faith that Ave shall meet again,
Beyond the parting and the torturing

Of this tumultuous pain !

' i i

' -f

I'Hi

,)4

STANZA.

Ill

|Ih:

!:■

The stars of night which set at dawn
Will rise on night's dark river,

But some fine light from earth hath gone,
Hath gone from earth forever.

The very rose seems incomplete.
Such pensive thoughts enfold it,

When memory shows the vision swe
That can no more behold it.

In forests lone some little well
Through every winter gushes,

So one fond tone from memory's shell
Through all the future rushes.

The tender word in kindness said
By lips of living splendor, —

O scenes preferred, too long delayed 1
Ye wake remembrance tender.

When I exclaim. Away, thou dream,
Thou shalt not linger longer I

Then, like a dam o'er some swift stream.
It stops, — but to grow stronger.

'Tis vain to strive our hopes to save,
For this supernal yearning, *

When we arrive beyond the grave.
May find some peace returning.

EARTH AND DEATH.

O Earth, with thine unearthly bloom,
Why dost thou to our presence come

To taunt us with thy mirth ?
To mock us with the mystery
Of all that was or is to be ;

Why dost thou do it, Earth ?

Long menaced by his lifted lance,
Like culprits bound, who must advance

Through disadvantage dire,
We go to Death.— O who can cope
With Death? His dusky portals ope

And thither we retire.

. A:

i J I

Nil,!:

ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW.

WRITTEN AT THE ** MOUNTAIN VIEW HOUSE," HAMILTON.

I Siood upon the mountain edge that overlooks the bay,
Ontario gUttering in the east, empurpled far away ;
And out of all the glorious scene arose the question, how
Will this vast panorama be one hundred years from now ?

O change ! but let us meditate before we thus exclaim.
That not one bird, or tree, or hope, or soul will be the same ;
That not one living heart will throb, or one aspiring brow,
Of all the thither-hastening host one hundred years from now.

Behold yon home ! 'Tis possible, when those strange years

have flown,
That mansion may appear the same in architectural stone,
Yet not one living occupant will that elapse allow
To thrill returning tenderness one hundred years from now.

Then the caged culprit shall be free, by nature's legal course,
Then the unhappy pair obtain their long delayed divorce—
O bliss ! without remark, or blame, or any broken vow,
Yea, such as long for any change one hundred years frqni
now.

The few who may have hated, and the chosen who are dear,
Charms which might make Death hesitate and break his

hideous spear,
Gifts that may bless or bring a blush upon a nation's brow,
iVH will alike be wafted hence one hundred years from now.

ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW.

139

The envy and the bickering, which fuel Resentment burns,
Delay embittering joy's sparse space, and life that ne'er re-
turns;
The statesman's curse, to be belied when at an empire's prowi
He will not hear the rabble hiss one hundred years from now*

The evil — those who never heed for any human woes —
Will be placed side by side beneath Death's little hilly rows
With politicians vile, to whom vast hosts in bondage bow,
And all oblivionated be one hundred years from now.

This sun — these broad, free beams from heaven, will look

around and see
No record to remain that day, dear friend, of you and me ;
Yet one great consolation comes, that desolation's plough
Will terminate life's transient lease one hundred years from

now. ,

Millions go down to dust by means of too much woe to

care —
Swept off to dumb oblivion by desolate despair.
Such as the world knows little of, whom genius did endow,
Blest with one hope at least — to sleep one hundred years

from now. ,

One half the world live by the grief the other half endure.
And fine professions fatten on the crimes they cannot cure,
Such harvests of unhappiness Death's sickle comes to mow,
And all who in such vineyards work one hundred years from
now.

But here's a thought we sinners feel, yet seldom on it dwell ;
If our few bitter daj's will end in happiness or hcll-rr

140

ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW.

With friends, or pitted with rude fiends in one eternal row ?
Yet every creed will be explained one hundred years from
now.

This and much more will be revealed — yea, dreams we
dream not of I

And those may meet most recompense who met misfor-
tune's scoff;

So duty be well done ere we to ebon Azrael bow.

We may at least obtain repose one hundred years from now.

' !i

AN UNKNOWN BARD.

I once knew a bard, a most intimate stranger,
Familiar yet distant ; he frequently seemed

Acquainted with all things ; the old Jewish ranger
Beheld not such wonderful sights as he dreamed.

His love was not love, but a glance into glory
Which lifted him up, as the prophet of old

Was lured out of Patmos to Heaven — a story
Of holiness, never on earth to be told.

I would not a friend whom I loved should inherit
His dower of demons, which often would be

Caught up, as if whirlwinds infested his spirit,
Or cast to the deepest Cimmerian sea.

I thought of that monarch appointed by Heaven
To warn other kings from the cause of despair,

Himself the example to all, being driven
By ruin through many a pitfall and snare.

His nerves were so keen, a diminutive briar
Could pain ere it pierced his quick spirit at all ;

But the contrast between those grand themes that inspire
And dull daily life were as honey to gall.

Yet strength filled his soul with immortal endurance
And faith that men's feet would from evil depart.

And all the inspiring, supernal assurance
That beauty or music bequeaths to the heart.

His idol was beauty — no flower or vision
Of dawning on river, or exquisite sky,

I i

14«

AN UNKNOWN BARD.

i'f?

But suddenly lifted him into elysian,
And what he saw swiftly was never to die.

Through lone fields of science, with keen intuition,
He. wandered enchanted, devoted to truth.

And saw, when in Pain's dreadful valley of vision,
That Life, even here, is eternal in youth.

His love for his fellows resembled <i beacon.

By which he was known — if he ever was known —
But envy loves martyrs its venom to wreak on,

And so wracks each bard for his musical groan.

Yet little he cared for the world's admiration ;

The lily in winter is sure of its fate ;
The rose, when in bloom, receives much adulation.

Yet that bloom is the cause of its death, and the date.

ion,

wn —

an.

;ion,
he date.

VERSES

IN ANSWER TO A FINE POEM CALLED " HONOR THE DEAD,"
BY A. WINGFIELD, IN TIIF- " EVENING TIMES," HAMILTON.

" There is no word of comfort with men dead."— .Swirbcrnk.

Your song, dear sir, is excellent, but surely
Those who have gone out to the other side

May find sucli hmwr rerompense them poorly
For all the slights cadured before they (Ked.

Better bequeath respect unto the living,
(Some word of comfort even sinners era' e ;

We know it by experience) than giving
Alms to the greedy, solitary grave.

Earth's troubles will be over when we leave it ;
There is no proof that spirits weep or sigh ;
" Honor the dead," but how can they receive it,
Unless we honor them before they die ?

At times all feel some silent desolation,
The craving for one sympathetic word

Which, though we own it not, may be salvation,
If fitly uttered by a friend preferred ;

But if it comes not, then, when o'er death's ocean

The spirit wings its solitary way,
Give not to dust thy long delayed devotion ;

Dust cannot feel, nor any dear loved clay.

There may be some neglected, patient spouses
By no respect rewarded year by year,

I I

»44

VERSES.

Hill

Some in whose hearts their daily duty rouses
No hope, no peace, except beyond the bier.

Go to them, or their orphans, ere they vanish
Out in the dark, and honor them and bless — -

Grand monuments o'er empires dead astonish
The angels less than human tenderness.

There is a secret which defies revealing —
Worse than death's desecration are the arts

Of those false friends who make a sport of stealing
The flowers of hope from loving human hearts.

Steal blossoms from my grave, for they will wither,

Steal marble — if there should be any there-
Twill be the same soon as the soul flits thither ;
But, faith in every goodness, that, O spare 1

4i'

TO A FANCY PICTURE.

When the glowing west awakens
Thought congenial to that hour;

When the trembling spirit quickens
With its aesthetic power;

When the bosom is elated

With strange phantoms floating by,
Then it was thou wert created

With too little earth to die*

He who painted thee pefchancd hai
Passed along life's Waves away;

Still thou art, though time advanccj,
Still thou art the same t«Hiay.

I 'r

^<mii

DEAD LEAVES.

(the gift of a dear friend.)

These withered leaves are lovelier
Than June's most vernal glories are.
Not so because they, aping hope,
Can never more their blossoms ope ;
Nor are they prized in that they grew
From Grecian vales, or Hermon's dew ;
But there is round these leaves a gleam,
The fulgence of an angel's dream
Wlien heavens yet higher rejoice his sight
With most insufferable light.
Because they are the gift of one,
Purest of souls beneath the sun.
Therefore these leaves are lovelier far
Than aught save nature's lilies are.
The rose rejoices human sight
Halt hid in dewy, dawning light ;
Fragrant the vioht tints ingrain,
'J'he lily, also, ha:h no stain,
But there u in h<^r eyes a glovi
Of kindness they Ciin never know.
It is not that these 'eaves can bring
Sweet songs from a remembered Spring,
For there is in her voice a power
Unknown to Spring's most tuneful hour.
These buds, like all beneath the sky,
Can fade, but kindness cannot die.
The mystic magic which they yield [

DEAD LEAVES.

Is not from fragrant sky or field,

But from the giver— fairer far

Than famed Engedi's clusters are.

The light of laurels fills her brow,

Her lips are- living roses now,

And such a form to her is given

"As haunts our holiest hopes of heaven.

When purple-handed sickness came

To fill my plunging pulse with flame,

As to eternity days flew

Like frightened birds the long night through,

And Fever's phantom- shapes and Pain

Walked the weird chambers of my brain,

While Hope stood at the gate of Death

And all, save care, was placed beneath,

She, who these leaves so kindly gave,

Brought back my blossoms from the grave,

Placed her white hand on Sorrow's brow,

And Peace is not a stranger now,

So were the Furies sent away.

And day seemed something more than day.

Hence these dim buds, ((hi/ choice) O June,

jf f^ail as an especial boon.

So the sweet gladness they instil

Is not from Hermon's dewy hill,

But from the giver; and the gift
Is welcome as a dawn at sea

When from the midnight wreck adrift
The sinking sailor is set free.

ill

SYMBOLS.

TO A. N. RAMSAY.

Rapt in reflections which from symbols shone,

The Bard began — soliloquizing lone : —

A leaning tree, an ancient pair of shoes —

The wearer still — ^a house which none can use ;

A sachem slaughtered in a far of! camp,

A howhng wolf, an owl in some dense sv/amp,

A silent crane in eve's cerulean blue.

Remembered joys, a note unpaid though due,

An empty balNroom, vacant of its light

And music, moonshine on a mountain height,.

The keenah of an Irishman in grief,

A poet's life, a lawyer minu& brief^

A mighty lion dying in his lair,

A star alone in all the autumn air.

An empty purse, a lover minus hope.

An avalanche shot from a lofly slope,

A skeleton dug from an Indian mound,

A shattered harp from which the patriot sqoa^

Has passed forever, uncongenial minds

In one small cot, whom matrimony binds,

A sinking boat at sea, a corpse on shore,

A fair young form we may behold no more^.

A cripple, or mute listeners to a tale

By Superstition told to childhood pale.

The Chinese wall, an ancient Roman road,

A moonstone, an old dumb Egyptian god —

A stupid, staring stone, not reverenced much,

■VMBOLS.

»4»

Save that vast worlds ago they worshiped such-
(And many a modem sectary contains
As mudi as that old granite god of brains,)
A pyramid of Thebes, or the Nile,
Or Ganges life-receiving, or a phial
Such as did empty Chatterton of breath,
Whose pensive spirit fell in love with death ;
A dry canal, or whatsoe'er you please—
This life is filled with lonesome simile*.

ill

ON SEEING THE TEETH OF AN ICTHYOSAURUS,
IN BARNUM'S, BROADWAY, NEW YORK.

Perhaps thou hast strayed where the Mastodon neighed,

With lordly Leviathans lone ;
Or gave war to4he snake in the slime-oozing brake,

By heat-heaving mountains of stone.

When the morning scarce broke through Cimmerian smoke,
And Chaos unclaimed saw no sun,

That vast epoch of old, ere the star-choir extolled
The uncursed creation " well done."

Alas, that thy fate from oblivion's swift strait

Has been washed by the torrent of time,

For by that we- might know why earth welters in woe,
With its hells of unharvested crime.

O could the dark cloud of mortality's shroud

Be wafted forever away,
Then our vision might count all that was since the fount

Of the light we denominate day.

When the moon had no power, nor the sun, for one hour,
The dense gloom of the gl» -be to relieve,

(From the ages of night) with her mantle of light,
Or his beautiful glory of eve.

No green forests waved there, not a bird in the air

Hailed red dawn, or bade evening adieu ;

Not one beautiful star in the firmament far
Transpierced the cerulean blue.

ICTHYOSAURUS.

tSi

JRUS,

led,

smoke,

Before Time did upraise out of Chaos the days,

Before man was created in care,
When all nature was bound in a shadow profound,

And the world's seething surface was bare.

But it came— that great year, when each cherub and sphere

. Were rejoiced with the delicate light ;
The grim shadows made room for a world full of bloom,

As a Samson receiving his sight.
How supemally grand with an angel to stand

And behold earth upheaved from its lair !
Like a swan on its nest with the dawn on its breast,

Or an eagle careering in air.

3unt

hour,

:J '/

THE MASTER.

He came from the land of the thistle,
I think 'twas 'twixt Maid kirk and Groatd,

Where they live upon garlics and gristle
And a meal that is made out of oats.

He taught two high schools— one a garret,
And, subsequent, one on a hill ;

Some strangers believed he had merit—
Hf's Christian cognomen was Bill.

His temper was high, and yet many
Fell low 'neath its furious demands ;

For his fai ;h, if he ever had any.
Consisted in laying on hands.

For twenty odd years he succeeded
In thrashing the wits from the weans ;

Ah, no one could do it as he did.
With a taste Uke for beef-steak and greens.

This anthem may prov? the assertion.
And therefore I give you the song

And hope that your sririt's perversion
Was tomewhat neglected when young.

'il,l I .

I r:

TOOTHACHE.

WNES WRITTEN IN SHEER GRATITUDE TO MR. JAMES BASTEDO,
SURGEON PENTIST, HAMILTON.

^«>,— "My auW auntie Katie."

I had fixed on the notion to jump in the ocean,
Because my emotion of anguish was such ;

But my brother said "sure it is wrong to endure it,
For Bastedo can cure it ; his charge is not much."

I replied to roy brother " 1 will have no more bother,"—
Then I passed every other and rushed for his stair.

Said he, "Sir, take a seat—here's a rest for your feet—
We will do it up neat." So I sat in his chair.

And he did it so neatly, the pain quit completely
In no time — so fleetly, no time to get scared.—

So, if pained, friend, or widow, do thou just as I did do,
And rush off to Bastedo and get them repaired.

'li£

irni

WHAT FOR?

The question often comes too late,

If all that we are doing
For thirst of things that satiate

Is really worth the wooing ?
We know most wants unblest have been

Since earth was sin-disordered,
And Pleasure is by Pain hemmed in,

Like gardens thorny bordered.

But we rush on through pathways worn,

Where every turn discloses
How many hearts and bands are 'torn

While searching for the roses , , ., .
That grow so gay at early morn,

When dewy daylight glitters ;
But many a bosom-piercing thorn

The hopeless search embitters.

The politician must invent

iSonie office to get fat in ;
The merchant grasps his cent, per cent.,

His wife exhibits satin ;
And, good or guilty, all must have

From Mammon gold or paper ;
The farce is finished when the grave

Snuffs out the transient taper.

But work for wisdom — it may be

At any honest labor —
To keep the restless spirit free

From sin's self-gashing sabre ;

WHAT FOR ?

*ss

For nothing good beneath the sun,

In frigid zone or broiling,
Was ever e'en by genius done

Without continual toiling.

And never, never cramp the range

Of honor's boundless nature
For all wealth offers in exchange

To tempt a needy creature ; - ■

For, though the great, by means of gold,

J^"y purchase earthly quiet,
Ihey're oft but fools in Satan's fold,

For poorer fools to sigh at.

Tis best to bear, through every shade

And shape of desolation,
The tasks for some strange reason laid

Upon us at creation ;
So that for duty rightly done —

Though famed for nothing clever —
We may feel safer when the sun

Of sorrow sets forever.

EPITHALAMIUM.

ADDRESSED TO ELLIE VANEVERV.

One day when some demons were makitig

A home in my spirit for pain,
And hope appeared bent upon taking

His flight to return not again,
There came to my presence a vision

Who spake such kind words of concerto,
Those demons withdi«w their derision,

And hope had & mind to return.

As one, who goes down to the ocean
' To view a gay vessel retreat,
With a heart full of tender devotion

For one he may never more meet,
Returns on his journey dejected,

Till waked from his desolate dream
By seeing her come unexpected,

So came she, my exquisite theme,

As splendors of evening adorning

A cloud when the daylight is done,
As night is enlivened by morning.

Such is she, this beautiful one.
Her lips, like cleft pomegranates, sweetly,

Her tresses the mist of night skies ;
But that which amazed me completely

Was the wonderful light of her eyes.

MfvruMjmviu.

Review every verdurous valley

By rivulets golden and blue,
Where star-beams with daisy buds daily,

Or dawning makes diamonds of dew.
There's not one fine tint of their beauty

That is not surpassed by her share
Who deemed it her delicate duty

1 would not depress a fair spirit

By hinting of hoping in vain—
But troubles do come, even merit

Oft gfjans on a pillow of pain —
Then may you rely on there being

Another on whom to depend,
No butterfly flatterer fleeing

From storms, but foriever a friend.

Rare wines of sweet fragrance and flavor,

Rich gems of a delicate tint,
Tinct syrups of orient savor,

Sweet spikenard and spices of mint,
With honey on purpose delected

From rainbows of roseate June,
And music by angels deflected

For dancing to, under the moon.

Her dancing resembles devotion,
A sermon to such as condemn,

Like white clouds in zephyry motion,
Or lilies to lovers of them.

Of mignonette and of roses
1 think when I'm thinking of her,

*5t

liPITHALAMIUas:

And straightway her presence discloses
Such feelings as anthems confer.

From looms of the east should her dresses

Be woven, of Tyrian stain,
Or shell-tinted satin ; her tresses

Looped up with a diamonded chain.
A zone for her waist, which is fairer

Than Parian statues of Greece ;
And these may the gods to the wearer

Be frequently pleased to increase.

C$:

THE BEAUTIFUL BATHER.

Twas June ; and I, as usual, at even

Was loitering round on nnture's loveliness,

About the hour when stdis jlilate in heaven,
And birds are still, pained with a sweet excess.

Dreamfal, reposing on a bank obscurely,
I did not notice til! too hte to leave;

To say that she was beautifiu would poorly
Explain the vision whic i I did perceive.

Slowly to her white kness her robes fell round her,
Radiant from crown to sole with tints divine ;

The very tendrils of the herbs enwound her,
Whereat I also longed to be a vine.

Demurely in the willing waves she waded,
Whereat I also wished to be a wave.

For similar my spirit was invaded—
The luxury such loveliness to lave !

The sandals from my feet I loosed, believing
The vale was sacred as the burning bush

Of Ethiop's exile — silently recaiving

Her, breathlessly, the river seemed to blush.

Lowly she knelt among the lilies pearly.
Whose sentient waters to her fashion yield,

So that each modest curve by ringlets curly
Was hidden — also by dim waves concealed.

l'!i

i:l.(

z(o

THE BEAUTIFUL BATHER.

Pure innocence involved her in a vesture
Of glory — the sole robe angels have worn, —

A heavenly halo hung around each gesture
And crowned her as no diamonds could adorn.

A faith in angels' visits some may censure,
But underneath those purple clouds of hair,

I said, while pondering homeward, peradventure
Wings may have been — I have no doubt they were.

THE SECRET.

We all have thoughts which we have never spokeA^
A burden on the heart no song can ease,

A feeling which no language can foretoken,
Our friends know not this secret, nor its keys.

W6 sometimes hint in symbols of its presence,

Or say what it is like, not what it was;
But who from an apothecary's essence / "

Can form a rose, or tell its tender cause?

So live we, like the Arab mad for water ;

He saw the gleaming mirage spread abroad,
Only to find it sand grown fiercely hotter,

And die exclaiming, Alia, God, O God I

Strange phantoms flit among life's shimmering vapoM-
Long lines of speechless people speed away

To lands of quiet graves — hope's little tapers
Grow dim at the beginning of the day. .

Some sit among vast ruins, singing sweetly
Glib songs of other days, each mournful jest

Being echoed by a tomb, while others fleetly
Pursue those pleasures which produce no rest.

Some, gay with flow'ry wreaths of Bacchus reelirg,
Go nimbly down to ruin ; still this ghost

Not so is exorcised, but, hither steahng.
Resumes within the aching heart his post.

MMl

lOft

tRS SICRXt.

So evil comes, not to the evil only ;

The innocent have many a weary hour;
The beautiful are also often lonely,

And purity is in temptation's power.

Yet who shall say but this uncoffinod spectre,

Whose only language is a lonely sigh,
Is to our spirits sent as a protector.

As clouds are sent to bless and beautify ?

When earth's vast armies shall be done with moving

Back to th' illimitable God who gave,
Our disappointments may be found more loving

Than such enjoyments as we fiercely crave.

Is it not nobler, then, to bear depression.
Nor murmur tho' our duty be our doom ?

The contrast when we quit time's swift procession
'Twixt it and rest may add to heaven's own bloom.

THE GLADE.

For some sweet reason a choice verdure grows

In this green glade,
Beside the brook whose azure water flows

Where we delayed
Our stolen interview among the boughs

In twilight shade.

Where yonder willow branches slowly trail

The ground's dark green,
Behind the bending alders of the swal«,

Which formed a screen,
All accidentally, and without fail

She came— the queen.

It was a lovely and a peaceful place,

Secure from sight ;
The sun was finishing his royal race,

Far off in light ;
And every elm bowed its poetic grace

To one so bright.

A grove of pine waved in the crimson air

Close to our left,
Like angels guarding with a kindred care

Our holy theft,
As once they did ere men of Eden were

By sin bereft.

That June hath gone; a moonlight, strangely still,
Ilangso'MTthisdeU;

i ;

i64

THE CLADl.

Fall's swifl magnificence the air doth fill,

Too fair to tell ;
But where is she whose presence did instil

A mightier spell ?

Where now, O where are fancy's prophecies

And promised fame.
Which young ambition built among the skies

For thy fond name ?
Alas ! how soon each dear delusion dies,

Like unfanned flame.

Empires have changed since then, and we have seen

Places and days ;
But all the vanished yeais t lat intervene,

Of fame or praiie,
Gladly would give to be as we have been

In this same placs.

LINES TO THE GRAND RIVER.

AS SEEN AT EVENING FROM THE IRON BRIDGE AT BBAMTTORO
(deferentially DEDICATED TO DR. DIGBY.) •

Once more the white sun out of heaven descending
From valley and summit has gathere J his beams

Of crimson and silver and cinnabar blending,
Vet leaves them to lave in this wonder of streams.

As bright as the Hudson at evening and morning,

And when the pile moonlight o'ersilvers the sceiie
With something rese nbling supernal adorning,
A river of azure round islands of green.

Wind soft by thy homesteads in summers of splendor,
To symbol our country's prosperity, speed ;

Sing low, as thy maidens with sentiments tender
Sing low to their thoughts as their labors proceed.

To such every favor of nature is granted;

What exquisite charm could be added to thine?
Then why art thou left with thy glory unchanted,

While thousands remember the praise of the Rhine ?

How long must we wait some famed minstrel to mention
The wonderful beauty appointed to thee ?

While others less worthy enchain the attention
Of bards wbo sx^ fmoMS o'^r mountain and sea, '

i6^

LINES TO THE GRAND RIVEX.

il'^jp'

Uvti

\w.

Yet, though no great bard by thy waters has wandered,
With anthems rehearsing thy glory of old,

No Bums by thy braes on his misery pondered.
Thy shores will be sought and thy story be told.

A poet will come from the swift-coming ages,
' His advent resembling a dar/ning of flame, . '^ *^^

With thee this sweet singer will brighten his pages.
And set thy fair waves tc the music of fame.

( .,,i'ji

j:.2^buri

lered,

«>!

-■>*«*■* :ffli.\A*t!,tY

TAME.

eA'

TO MY MOTHER.

« I turn to thee as some lone afternoon
Turoi toward* Bunset, and is lothe to go."

I, Fame, was once a god in Athens great ; T

I also was a god in many worlds. '

Save some few followers of Jehovah I

Was universally acknowledged god.

Yea, strong men came from far to worship me.

But there was one whom men name Nazareoei

Who did indifferently pass me by

And others taught to shun me utterly. ;

And many famed who bowed to me before,

Whom, envy-stung, I sent upbraiding Him,

Were with His superhuman majesty

Melted and willing to bow low to Him.

Therefore I cried, all sceptreless and pale,

" Who is this Christ ? Who is this mighty Christ

Who melteth souls by millions by his love,

Casting out devils, making blindness see.

The sick whole, dead to live, and lameness dan<;e ?

He keepeth this high way, heeding me not,

And all his followers revere me not."

Thus envy grew within me and despair.

Thereat the cause of my calamity

I meditated deep and constantly

To fathom this disparager of ame,

Who used me as a stepping stone to grace,

Aw^rq if sudi hosts followed Him that |

^m^^^S^^m

mmmmmmmi'

S(8

fAMt.

Would soon be trodden under foot and die.

Twas then I diligently set myself

To force a path athwart this difficulty,

Searching among the conquerors of old,

Among the crowned, my devotees, in vain.

Then in the humbleness of unsuccess

I bowed my head low, kneeling in a cave,

Tired of myself, all sceptreless and pale.

Then from the shadow of a rock arose ;

A man of speechless meekness — lo ! his eyes,

His still, all-seeing eyes upon me looked,

Soon as he came out from the shadow cool.

Where he had waited by a water-course

Which went through moss-green pastures by green trees

Low-shining in the sunset of that land,

Like his all-pondering eyes, which looked at mc,

Which seemed to say, as slow his accents said :

"Believe on me and have eternal peact,"

Thereai my soul yearned strange, bclievingly ;

But not until I saw him on the cross

Did I bow down and say " Beliold the Lamb I "

r, , !!

"; f-%..;: /r

I .

FORGIVE.

He vould not have thee blame him now,

Since he so soon must go.
Cain's brand seems burning on his brow

And in his heart of woe.

If Cain, who killed but fiesh, such doom
Received, what door can ope

To mitigate his dreadful gloom
Who kills eternal hope ?

His plea is sorrow borne so long,

Despair has made him weak ;
Not his the faith which makes thee strong,

The glory of the meek.

Therefore forgive, nor blame him now

For crimes produced by woe ;
Twill cool the brand upon his brow
, And give him strength to go.

LINES,

ON READING " WOMEN'S RIGHTS," A POEM WRITTEN AGAINST

WOMEN VOTING.

,/ind why not let them vote ? Have they not won

A right to do so from a world undone

By man's mismanagement ? Should they not have

A vote their drunken reprobates to save,

Their offspring and their brethren, who have tried

For centuries to cast " the cup " aside ?

But having tried alone still weakly dote

On that same cup 'gainst which they vainly vote.

As for " the fashions," well may women sav
That men have formed the fashions " all for pay '/'
And men praise styles of folly for mere gain,
Regardless of all consequence of pain.
And that man's whims descend to greater length,
Proportioned to his lordship's ampler strength.

Who made the vice of smoking, nauseous, vile,
Disgusting, poison ? Who defends that style ?
Who sells his manhood for a ten-cent weed.
And snubs the orphan starved in very deed ?
The street's poor, blue, thin outcast of that coarse,
Weak habit from which few obtain divorce.
Who pays the rent of every " whiskey mill,"
Licensed to sell damnation by the gill ?
In mercy, women, do not answer who,
But si.gh because of sins thy rulers do.

UNIS.

171

If we are "pushed from power," 'tis that the hand,
Gifted with love to help us (not command,)
Has bartered been, as Esau's birthright was—
Yea, half our ills come from that self-same cause.
My friend, since man has toiled so long in vain.
Since strength so ofteh rivets i-uin's chain.
Since we all ask some maiden's yea or nay
In more important things, why not, we say,
Try women's votes a century or so,
Seeing they have an equal share in woe ?

i\ I

lotms from former Snbllations.

Mrs. Zimmerman,

of Kalamazoo :
FaIr Fpiend, —

Without having first obtained your permis-
sion, the following poem was originally dedicated to you,
but, because of an impression of its unworthiness, not so
addressed wlien previously publis'.ied. Since then it has
been so kindly received by those who are not only excellent
judges of such, but who are too noble to flatter— though
still aware how far short of its beautiful patron's merits ihe
poem is, and must necessarily be, by whomsoever sung—
it is herewith hesitatingly presented, my dear cousin, to you.

" Anil pnrllj' that jjroat tiiiiii'-s will honor son<»."

Tnisting to your forgi\-ablenei;s — and therefore not in vain
— to overlook defects, I desire to remain your friend.

P. S, Fearing you may object to the title, and in order
to avert the charge of superstition, allow me to add, that
only the muses believe it to be

THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

" A jolly place in times of old,
But Bomethiug nils it now."

The neighbors say, when first these fields were setded,

A man came from a land beyond the sea
To this blue stream. Proud was this man, and titled,

With riches, leanung, and a pedigree

Tfifi HAUNTED HOUSK.

>7J

order
id, that

He had an only daughter, says tradition,

All beautiful, as only daughters are,
(In fiction) with the sweetest disposition

That ever mused beneath an evening star.

O she was fair and full of fond affection ;

The skies have scarce produced a purer love
Than heaved her snowy losom's warm perfection.

Filled her large eyes, or urged her feet to rove.

Her cheeks were like the light through rose leaves sifted,

Expression pure, with hyacinthine hair;
But O, her eyes I c en Rapl a :1, the gifted.

Would fail to fix the feeling living there.

Fend was she of a walk, and those reflections
Wnich came to lonely hearts by bush or shore ;

The.e conscience seizes life's minute transactions,
And daily promises to sin no more.

Not that she sinned, but it is b2neficial

To meditate betimes, a:id muse alone.
Church-prayers are pious, if not prejudicial.

But thoughts are pure when near great nature's thronc-

Which teaches that the atheist, contending

With Christian faith, has strewn vain whims abroad,

Forgetful that we're all forever blending
T.i' unfathomed facts of nature and of God.

t;;i;

Though reason, with the amplest information
Earth gives, can scarcely prove what u to be

Beyond t.ie awful verge of revelaiion.
Which faith or death may shortly let us see.

«74

tHS HAUNTED HOVSt.

So she turned rover by this moving river,
Having few friends, and those illiterate ;

But here's a proof of fate, her guardian never
Opposed her wand'ring from his garden gate.

Now, who is this upon the moonlit water.
Whose supple strength impels the swift canoe ?

'Tis he from whom her father vainly brought her—
Th' accepted one — O early love and true I

'Twas in that season when the vales are vernal ;

A rainbow shower had left the crimson skies
As glorious as the gates of the eternal.

The pearly entrance into Paradise.^ . ^ ' -

When there — O scene of bliss !— she ventured sweetly

To view the majesty by nature made ;
And from such instants, though they pass so fleetly,

We can see sunshine in the midst of shade.

Full was her beauty of that mystic power
Which makes two hearts together beat, or break ;

Finding they could not live apart one hour,
They formed a faction for each other's sake.

So she went far with one who was her chosen,
Her heart was breaking both to stay and leave ;

It is so hard to have 'the feelings frozen
Betwetn two foes, to both of whom we cleave.

She left a note upon a rural table ;

Over her father dark misjivings came
Soon as he saw it. First he was not jble

To break the seal — who has not been the same ?

THB KAUNTED HOUSI^

*7S

Who has not stood deprived of strength to rally
To read " her answer "upon whom we dote ?

'Tis not unusual thus for me to dally
With destiny enveloped in a note.

This her sire read till reason almost left his
Mind, too long torn by trouble heretofore ;

As an aged tree, by lightning 'ately cleft, is i,

Found to have been long aiighted at the core.

After some trying days of forest travel,
Those lovers reached th^ir lowly island home —

Time rolling on as usa::! to unravel
Joy's few frail threads from griefs eternal loom.

And musing on the melancholy kindness
Of those young hearts wliich were so glad to meet,

Suffuses vision with a'liquid kindness.
Because their happinesss was incomplete.

Poor lived they, and unpardoned, for position
Makes parents often mar their offspring's fate ;

Years after this the bride obtained p2rmi3sion
To find her father ; bat, alas, too late I

Gone was he, gone the father ; and her lo/er

When she returned — all, save her ghost, are gone :

It sometimes comes the graves to murmur overj
Of tlie unfriendly father and the son.

By vague tradition, vagrant ghosts h\v2 haanted
This house for years — its only owners now ;

And many men have heard at midnight chanted
Most plaintive songs, and mournful, uttered low. j

I ?

tj^

THE HAUNTED HOUSt.

€

ti.\,U.!T

ill
111 {■■

'Tis said, by sceptics, that the sound increases
When rude winds rub the branches of a tree

Against the shingles — such a foolish thesis
Has no foundation — ^ghosts the neighbors see.

I put much stress on many eerie story, -

And relish every superstitious tale ;
'Tis awful to receive a ghost from glory.

Or friend beloved, it may be, out of bale ! '

Once too I had great faith in human natJre —
Dreams — which th' unfinished future did dispel ;

But, though we shun an i;nco.iiiding creature,
A creed mill change —for why ? 'lis wrong to tell !

Because such themes involve a long digression,
And leave the mind d( pressed with boding dread ;

'Tis best to shun the mo.trenote expression
Of aught would make a genial spirit sad.

It is not wise to be too sentimental,
Though 'tis a fault that time will file away ;

Our feelings are a sort of spiritual re.ital—
A tax on talent which we all must play.

But viewing man's estranged and false relation,'
The mental wealth we daily worse than waste.

Pains a full spirit for our crushed creation.
Good yet, though by us all so oft defaced.

O, fiends might weep whene'er they fall to thinking
Ot all we could be, and of what we are 1

Instead of soaring, we are suffering, sinkinj,
Caujht up in passion's whirlwinds, — drifted far.

.r.f

•J.

THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

J77

Ah well, lest you perceive this theme's becoming

Discursive, let us back into the trail —
My vagrant fancy is forever humming

From theme to whim, as bees on flowers regale.

I often wander at the twilight hour .

Near this dim nook, but never stay at night —
They may not care to meet me in their bower,

And hence I leave, through reverence, not through fright.

'Tis gloaming now — great Sol quits heaven's expansion,
Uncertain shades move eerie o'er the dell; ^ . -.

A pre-engagement urges my attention, . i i^l ; : / /•
So, for a little season, fare thee well. ' f ■

TO THE SAME.

My pathway led me to an ancient mansion,
Deserted, wherefore few remain to tell.

A river bounds this valley's green expansion
Of loveliness, and sorrow here did dwell.

A massive pile by all, save years forsaken ; ■

Like living eyes, lit by departing day, ■>.'■'

The panes look when by winds the blinds are shaken.
With sounds that warn the wanderer away; >

'Twas built with tiers of stone in upward ranges.
Embrowned and battered by. the blasts of old —

Seeming to muse upon the many changes

Within itself, where owls their pinions fold. „

The cricket sings his ditty unmolested

Where lusty dancers held loud revelry ; .

The oxen of their yokes have been divested,

And all the harvesters have gone away.

12 9

III

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WnSTIR.N.Y. MSSO

(716)S72-4S03

'f"^

178

TfiE HAUNTED HOUSE.

But they have Ieft_ their long unused utensils
Beside a gate, just where the work was done.

'Tis thus a peasant's plough, a painter's pencils,
An actor's robes survive the fame they won.

I'he mullein and wild burdock fill the garden.
Their growth the gard'ner comes no more to mar ;

They look like orphans who have lest their warden,
Blooming unblamed, for their sole neighbors are :

A pair of antlers in an archway standing,

A seat for rest at twilight on the lea,
A broken boat below a reedy landing,

A rusty scythe upon an apple tree.

With this worn scythe some vanished hand did sever
The purple clover from these fields of green ;

Another reaper gave him rest forever, .
And many summers o'er his bed have been.

Perchance he held his curious speculation

Political, how empires rise and fall ;
Perhaps ambition filled his admiration,

Or learning lured him to her heavenly hall.

Or having — ^who has not ? — dismissed for duty

Some chosen inclination, with a sigh
Oft mused upon the evanescent beauty —

Hope's symbol — fading in the evening sky.

Here whirled the spinning wheel, that pleasant hummer,
And graceful girls, in youthful beauty fair,

Came down yon pathway to the stream in summer
To e pick berries, or meet sonje one there.

THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

»79

On this old beech, half wasted by the weather,
Two names are carved by some enamored youth,

Sighing the while he fashioned them together
And dreamed of endless tenderness and truth.

(What happened them ? — ^what comes of all the living
In whose fond hearts Joy strives with Pain ? — two foes

Like two fierce angels, one of whom is giving
Sweet solace ; one a demon dealing woes,

Who, being stern and sturdy in his essence,
Soon baffles all the blessings of the best ;

And, though young love stands longest in his presence,
Love, too, will vanish — vanquished like the rest.)

With " harvest home " this hall was often lighted,
Dancing and music, and the ample board

Made Autumn cheerful ; travelers benighted
Found welcome here and went away restored.

Now mournful winds among abandoned chambers

Resound the anthem of departed days
Whose nights have come, like soot upon the embers

By the old hearth that never more will blaze.

The dancers are dispersed, the music ended,

The laughter silent and the lovers gone.
With their sweet schemes on which so much depended,

And we are following after, one by one.

Yea, we are following, smiling as we sufier.

Taking an active part in our own pain ;
While far around us all the waves grow rougher,

We fondly hope next mom will lull the main.

['■

I I

i6o

THE UAUNTED HOUSE.

We crush the craving cry of the heart's famine,
We hush the hurricane whose wreck is years,

We hide the corpse which pains us to examine,
We close the tomb on hope whose empty biers

Move on like phantom clouds among the azure,
Darkening life's pleasant morning in its glade ;

They baffle all our arts to seize or measure
Their mournful depths of loveliness in shade.

First they are tinted with the hues of heaven,
But, like our hopes, their transient tints decay;

As we o'er life, they o'er the earth are driven ;
Our prospects die, their lustres pass away,

Leaving Remembrance like a raven sitting
High on a dying yew-tree's loftiest limb.

Whose withered leaves upon the tempest flitting
Bestrew those graves whereon our eyes grow dim.

For who, of all predestined to inherit

Life's dreary dower, ever did obtain
The peace, the holy longing of the spirit,

Or even partly conquer human pain ?

For, though untold, that which the spirit pities,
Because it went too swiftly to its tomb,

Is no less mournful than the mighty cities,
Pompeii, Herculaneum, or Rome.

Ah well, in every life a shadow lingers.
And long ere Death can raise his hand to count

Our.blasted years upon his bony fingers,
Hope's golden 'bowl lies broken at the fount. '

THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

181

Though swift and sure our early aims expire,
As if 'twere fate's first purpose to destroy,

It may be by such crushings we acquire
The wine of wisdom which comes not through joy.

So Time to all repeats the painful story ;, • -
The farewell sun reflects the heavenliest hues ;

From nights of frost the forests gather glory,
A glory that the suns to Mayr^ise, y i

E'en to this mild Canadian scene and s«faSon,
Whose vales voluptuous dreamily repose '

In ever-varying robes; for which sweet reason
We love this land, when Autumn beauty glows

Through all the forest avenues to saunter,
Dream on the hills, and trace each winding shore

Familiar to the foorsteps of the hunter.
The silent tribes who visit them no more.

And, when the gorgeous verdure is decaying,
Serene September, by the hills and swamps,

Reminds me of an Indian maid delaying,
JjOSt of her race, among deserted camps.

Beyond the distance of a westward river
Her friends have gone forever past recall.

Death put their days like arrows in his quiver,
As fast as showers of sanguine foliage fall

From blushing boughs that smile in silent slumber,
Tinged like a cloud at rest on twilight air,

Or a great golden harp whose heavenliest number
Is hushed, because the harper is at praytr.

FAREWELL.

Faiewell, a word that late or soon
Will come, as comes a frost in June,
Or discord in a sacred tune.

Ill muse on thee, as on some word
In kindness said by lips preferred,
Which ever after can be heard.

The sweetest song in memory
As listened to at dawning day
By a wrecked sailor near a bay.

And if we never meet again,
Remembrance shall the past retain
Like music on a moonlit main.

A SIGH.

* Tis strange whatever makes us blest
Can mar the bliss it gives,

By planting in the tender breast
The thorn that never leaves; ...

'Tis strange what gives us most delight

Can its own hope destroy,
And hurl the spirit from the height

Of its unfinished joy.

Why has the bosom so much room
For bliss and grief? Ah ! why

Do joys, like fragile flowers, bloom
To dazzle and to die ?

■E"

THE BLUE LAKES OF DUMFRIES.

How often when weary with labor,

The duty of man unto man,
We open the gates of remembrance.

Where infancy's rivulets ran.
Even now, while the sun over Huron

Gives evening a lovelier hue.
The spiiit of nature reminds me

Of the glade where the dandelions grew.

One beautiful morning in May-time,

When birds were preparing for June,
Some red willows waved in the breezes,

That rippled a little lagoon.
The sky was embellished with azure,

With flowers the landscape, and dew ;
We chose our companions and wandered

To the glade where the dandelions grew.

The scene was celestially favored,

It baffled art's exquisite touch —
Ye scarcely could fancy how Eden

Surpassed it in loveliness much ;
The ferns and the pearl-tinted lilies

Bowed low bv the waters of blue,
When she gave mg her beauty forever

In the glade where the dandelions grew.

Though pain after pain has distorted
The heart that was happiest then,

I remember our mirth when we spoited
At hide and go peek in tht glen ;

THK BLUE LAKES OF DUMFRIES.

rSs

The beautiful twilight of heaven

Bade nature a blushing adieu,
Ere we came from the lake in the valley,

The glade where the dandelions grew.

The cloud which arose on that eve

Was the spray from adversity's wave,
But her tenderness made me believe

In a heaven this side of the grave ;
And so few are life's scenes of rejoicing,

That fancy delights to review
The first of the fields that were fragrant—

The glade where the dandelions grew.

I never returned to that valley ;

I never can go there again ;
The change that came over the real

Would make the remembrance a pain ;
But often look back to its beauty.

And sigh o'er the sweetness we knew
As we sat by the blackberry bushes.

In the glade where the dandelions grew.

And you who have much speculation,

Who struggle for bread or for gain,
Till the beautiful love of your boyhood

Has almost forsaken your brain —
liven you have your moments romantic

In the crowd and the counting-house too,
Some scene that is lovelier than lucre,

§9me glade where the dandelions |rew,
.'if '^^M.j tm'i'

: !

r I

THOMAS SCOTT.

^Vhat evil did he do, ' /„

He who, though bound, was brave ?

So coldly shot by that foul crew,
And taunted to* his grave I • ~ ^-

rol C": .';

Did he some vow belie ?

Did he oppose the right ?
Did he turn traitor, and defy

The throne, or J ustice smite ?

Nay ! but the brutes who dashed
The snow with his heart's red,

Because he did not, him they lashed,
And forth to slaughter led.

Who calls for peace to spare
Those ruthless rebels now .-*

Our brother's blood is oo^sing there
From mangled breast and brow.

If no man dared to say

Those words for which he died,
Where were our liberties to-day ?

The good in which we pride ?

Canadians, is it best

That mercy should be shown,
When fiends bf Justice make 4 jtiKt',

Ot tirbasion safJs a thrbnis?

inoMAS SCOTT.

IS7

Mercy is never vain

And much should bo forgiven,
Hut to excuse such crimes would stain

The great white throne of Heaven.

Such cannot be ; the hour

Of recompense is nighj
The triumph of rebellious power

Must, like its victim, die ;
If not, then will our recreant graves
Be jeered — ^the resting place of slaves.

My native soil shall quaff

These veins, to nature dear,
Before that outlawed despot's laugh

Shall grate the patriot's ear
Who fought and smote the invading train
Upon the field of Lundy's Lane.

Yea, better die afar

A murdered martyr lone,
Than reign, where reckless rebels arc,

Upon a sanguine throne.
Not on revenge, but Right we lean,
Our anthem still, God save the' Queen.

1! f
i!

AWAKE.

Awake to work, and do Dot shirk

What duty bids to do ;
The strength of life is in the strife,

The' dreadful storms ensue. _

Improve the mind, and be resigned

To what you cannot mend,
For time misspent brings discontent

And shapes a dreadful end.

The insectis sing upon the witig

An hour, then disappear;
They do their share ; not any are

In vain by God sent here.

The little flower, the sunny hour,
The storms that blacken heaven,

The hopes that bless, or bring distress^
Arc all in kindness given.

How many a year this mundane sphere

Has waited for your lot ;
One life on ejrth will stamp your worth.

So disappoint it not.

Then guide, although fate's sullen floif
Drives fierce against hope's prow,

A time of bloom will surely oomjp
Jfv-e biit labor ndw.

AWAKE.

189

There is no state, nor low nor great,

From which we cannot rise,
If we but feel that human weal

Is sacred to our eyes.

The strongest mind that moves mankind

Might some weak idiot be,
But for the i)o\vcr the i>resent hour

Confers on vou and me.

Be great, if thou wouldst preach or plough ;

A day's work is a prayer ;
Receive to give, and thou'lt receive

A more abUi.Jant share.

Paul says there's more, when life is o'er,

Of wages coming due.
If we will brave temptation's wave

To win the good and true.

OLD STEPHEN, A DIRGE.

TO H. BURKHOLDKR, B. A.

Let labor lay by till we sing of old Stephen,
A song he deserves and a spell at the muse,

The faults of his life may you never believe in,

Nor his who recounts them— but do as you choose.

Old Stephen believed it was wrong to be sober —
Alas ! 'tis the creed oi too many we know —

His heart was not hard like the clod in October,
He often got high to keep memory low.

I knew of his orchard, wherein, a mere urchin,

I often delayed with my satchel, until
The school-ma.Hter taught me the weight of his birch, in

The school-house that stood by the tree on the hill.

That school, where I dreaded to go as to prison,
With tasks still unlearned when the bell did recall

Our steps to the class and the taws and the lesson,
Some picture maps hung on the pencil-marked wall.

Though fame, like an eagle o'er lofty Ben Lomond,
(A thing quite unlikely) in future should rise,

I'll mind where I carved his young daughter's cognomen,
Beneath the blue light of her beautiful eyes.

His portrait resembled th^ picture of Pluto,
Which hung by the door of my grandfather's hall ;

His head was an orange tinge, countenance ditto,
But good was the heart that beat under it all^

OLD SlTiPHEN, A DIRG^.

191

So peaceful was he that you could not excite him,
So learned that starvation oft stood at his door,

So honest that all men delighted to cheat him ;
The consequence was, he died perfectly poor.

In the desolate bone-yr.rd they buried his body —
The spirit had left it some evenings before.

He died in his roJcin^'hTir, hipping hot toddy j
The toddy got spilled jn the dining-room floor.

No more will the dinner-horn call him to supper,
No more will the barn floor resound to his flail,

No more ride hi» liorse w i'.h a grist to the hopper,
Nor tend to the sugar-bush over the swale.

Regret is not great fot the loss of the lowly ;

The poor are expected to give up their bre^h ;
He paid unto nature the debt of his folly,

And took a receipt from the angel of death.

Yet fate makes us ponder, for once he was pure ;

His childhood, dear reader, was cherished like thine.
We all can sail down immortality's sewer.

Or sing with the seraphs forever divine.

1: ;

■1

THE WARM HEARTED GRASP.

'Mid changes and partings 'tis pleasant to find
The friends we most value still constant and kind ; '
Oh ! sweet the reception that beauty can give
With the soul-thrilling pressure that bids hope to live,
But the noblest reception that nature has planned
Is the w?rm hearted grasp of a workingman's hand.

There is beauty in light, as the rainbow can prove ;
There is glory in labor and rapture in love ;
There is valor in peace and experience in years ;
There is power in joy and a magic in tears ;
There is greatness in toil that too few understand,
And the warm hearted grasp of a workingman's hand.

Oh 1 how piteous that those who do labor's least share -

Are caressed by earth's fools and preferred by the fair ;

And life after life is to vanity wrecked,

That reason would save if allowed to reflect ;

But the holiest alliance by love ever planned

Is the warm hearted grasp of a workingman's hand.

APPENDIX AND ERRATA.

In the poem honored with Mrs. Zimmerman's address,
on page 170, the last lines of verse fifth should be read :
Our feelings are a sort of spititual rental,
A tax on talent which we all must pay.

It will be seen by the note addressed to Dr. Vernon, on
page 41, prefacing "French Ciiaos,'' tliat it was written
before the death of Napoleon III.

The lines to Thomas Scott ought to liave been inscribed
to my genial father, one of the few remaining veterans of
1812. To a true patriot, however, no filial esteem, sincere
though it be, can add any honor.

A PURELY CANADIAN BOOK.

ONE QUIET DAY,

A BOpK OF PROSE AND POETRY,

J. R. RAMSAY,

Author of " Canadian Lyre," " Chronicles of a Canadian
Family," " Wi-non-ah," etc., etc.

This book treats of a great variety of subjects, personal
allusions, etc., and will be a welcome visitor to every Can-
adian home, both from its thoroughly Christian tone and
moral teachings, as well as the fact of its author being a
Canadian Poet of established reputation, whose former pro-
ductions have been issued with the most gratifying results.

It contains 208 pages crown 8vo. ; is printed on fine
tinted paper, from new and beautiful type, and is bound in
two styles at the following prices :

In fine English cloth, with gilt back and sides, $1.00
" " full " " and

full gilt edges 1.50

Agents wanted to take an Agency where not already es-
tablished.

Addrcs3

1-AKCiCFiKi.P Brothers, Publishers,

Hamilton, Oirtk

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS

ON THE

AUTHOR'S FORMER PUBLICATIONS.

" I have been for some time acquainted with Mr. Kamsay's poems,
and I have recently read a number of his prose MSS., which I under-
stand are to bo sliortly published . . . .Mr. Ramsay wields the pen of
a ready writer, he observes nature with a poet's eye, and throws
around his descriptions of natural scenery a romantic interest which
I have uo doubt will render them highly popular."— Rev. David
Imglis.

"I desire to be a subscriber to Mr. Ramsay's volume. .1 have none
of his poems at hand to be read or referred to ; nor does memory re-
produce them in formal shape. But pleasing impressions are retained
which, dormant a minute ago, take vitality and become stanzas in
the poets' corner of the journals, printed with the name J. R. Ramsay.
.... Memory is true I I catch the music of the Ramsay stanza, I am
wandering in woodland dells among flowers and sunlight; shadows
of tlie deeper solitudes ; thoughts by turns lighten and darken ; beauty
and fragrance, making a mistake, come sweetening me, inducing
delusions that I am the poet J. R. Ramsay I feel that I am roam-
ing on the banks of a little river, the waters in their music inviting
me to be companion ; to glide along, run along, leap along, at foot of
the ravine, over the lynn, and meet the poet thoughtful and sulitary ;
the tender in sentiment, fervent worshiper of nature's truth and
beauty — the Canadian poet Ramsay,.., From which recollections
now revived, I desire the inference to bo accepted, if you choose,
that this aspiring son of thought, whom I first saw at case
setting types a few years back, is still unsatisfied with what he has
attained to— as the self-impelled must ever be. And that his flight
will yet be higher, on wider fields. In token of esteem, please add,
as a purchasing subscriber, the name of Alexanobs Soubrvillb."—
TnB WniSTLiiR at the Plocgu, Montreal.

" There's many a line of thine that seems

Like smiling after troubled dreams.

Before the dreamer can forget

Visions that made his pillow wet."

"The unfolding future of our beloved country is very much like
one of her own maples, with leaves half opened in the greening
Spring— not yet fully aware of the glories of sunshine with which it

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

will be 80 exquisitely braided. And if, as is said, eyes are 'being
turned towards the literature of Canada, there is, I am confident, a
leaf on the topmost luanoli of that self-same maple which will have
inscribed upon it the name of J. If. Karasay. There is a depth of
spirit, vividiK'SKof imagination, warmth of coloring, purity and pathoi
in thos« writintrs, IJiat are liiie an electric chain, L>indin;; the author
to the reader. No one who reads but mtist feel the writer has a warm
sympathy for limnnnity, and from jjrey-bearded grandsire, dreaming
of his youth, to the curly-hea<le<l clierno taking his tirst steps in the
path of life, all feel as for a friend they can safely trust."

" This volume ( < W'i-non-ah ' ) possesses r"re poetic merit and
constitutes a valuable addition to thu highest oider of Canadian
Literature." — HamiijTon "Evkmxo Times."

"In perusing the volume I have found much tine thought and
feeling. The * Haunted House ' contains some charming bits of de-
scription, so full of trcth, and abounding in i)owerful yet delicate
touches that it is hard to believe they have not been drawn from the
life. . . .The poem breathes forth md reminisctnces of the past, and
in it the gaunt figure of decay is draped eo gracefully in the robes of
poetic fancy thu,t ' the Housi^ ' becomes more interesting in its path-
etic desertion, when

'The dancers are dispersed, the music ended,'

Than ever it was in the days of its gny hospitalities. .' Forcwamings'
has something solemn and spectral about it, and the reader seems to
catch a glimpse (f coming evils behind the half-undrawn veil that
covers human destiny . They ' cast their shadows before ' them, and
therein ' pall ' the soul as well as <7*pall it. The greater part of the
poem 'October' is correctly picturesque. The scene reflects itself
in the soul of the reader, as the shores of a lake are reflected in its
own waters. 'The Old Pine Canoe' is one of the most beautiful
and finished poems in the volume. It is almost as sad as Camp-
bell's ' Exile of Erin,' and, in some parts as musical . The execution
of the ' Haunted House ' is so good in portions, and the general con-
ception so truthful and complete, that 1 regret to see it so slovenly
in maay places, and encumbered with redundant verses. It is as a
diamond that has been cast uji carelessly by the spade of the miner
and awaits to be carefully and skilfuily'cut into due facets and pol-
ished by the lapidary."— Chabi-es HEAvysEGK.

The above advice has since been followed as closely as h possi-
b lo to approach the high conceptions of the author of " Saul ."

« Full of patlios, humor or sentiment as the subject demands."
"Your book may take its stand upon the same phelf with
McQueen, McLaughlin and Sangster (men of undoubted genius, who
have done much to enrich the literature of this country) and !•■«
nothing by the comparison . " — Mits. Susan Moodik .

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

« • The Canadian Lyre,' a small volume of poems, by J. B. Ramssjr,
a young Provincial Biird of great powers and promise. This neat
volume contains many pieces of great merit and beauty, and fur-
nishes ample evidence tiiat the young author possesses powers of
song which, under proper culture, will procure for him a high place
among the early poets <it' our riKi'nt? country, and earn for him a unmo
not soon to die. In st\ !,•, !.!i!iii!i' und chaste ; in versilication, smooth
and musical ; in imag<.i> , ;i i i u aitd national : in sentiment, pure
and elevating— these poenio Liiunot fail at once to please and profit.

We gratefully accept them as an earnest of something still

nobler, to follow, and cordially commend them to all true lovers of
poetry and patriotic patrons of C'ana<lian literature." — Kbv. W.
OUMISTON, D. D.

"His contributiwi.o I.in ■ i v.riably l)Opn rythmical and Muinoth
in composition — pure and pu<.iiu in sentiment. For instance, Lore
is a beautiful little lilt:

I SHALL NOT TELL

' r Nliall not tell thee why the land

With so much glory glows ;
There is but one in all the world

My sacred secret knows . ' ,

'0, she is fairer than the flower*

Of rosy June or May — ,. '.','

When every bird is singing near ..

And every blossom gji)'.'

' 1 asked her eyes t« let their be.am8 •

Make life supremely grand ;
Tlieir answer, like a flood of light, t ,;

Flushed all the floweryjland.'

The i^unbcams glanced among'the grass,
Warm-waving in the breeze ; *
A new life gladdened every bloom-^
More vivid grew the trees.*

' I shall not tell thee why the land

With so much glory glows ;
There is but one in all the world

My sacred secret knows . ' "—

Hamilton "Spectator."

"I think it is a happy thing for Canada that we have young men
among us who devote this highest of mental gifts — poetry — to th«
service of their country ; for it w serving our country, by teaching u«

OttNtONS OT THE PRESS.

to love her, her people and her scencty, as much as though in arms

in her behalf Had I the public ear at command, I should cer*

tainly have a ' proclamution poetic ' made in his favor His

muso sometimes rises to a height in eloquence which ihe novice
cannot hope to attain, as witnuiis tlic following where he speaks of
Hope as a beraph :

* To his own happy occupation singing

A song begun in Heaven before he left
The host of holy worshipers.'" — \

Willi AU Wye Suitv.

" His language is generally bold; eloquent and musical ; he is im*
aginative and sentimental, and gives evidence of genuine genius. <—
We are glad this volume has been published, as it is certainly a
great addition th the meagre literutiire of this Province. — Hamilton
"Bamnku."

'• The young bard is not afiviid to sec poetr}' in the Canadian
landscape around him, and we honor him for it." — Owen Sound
"Times."

" These poems furnish evidence of powers which, under due cul-
ture, would not fail of achieving a high place in our country's early
literature." — "Canada Evangelist. "

"There is a breathing of the fragrant meadows in his vr.dCiS which
is quite refreshing to the literary palates of sun- bulged city readers."
— N«w Orleans " True Delta . "

" ▲ host of similar attempts could bo quoted to which it is vastly
superior,"'— Cbaulks Sangstek.

" I have much pleasure in adding my testimony to that which is
here piesented with so much clcarnt'ssj and force." — Hbv. Lachlan
Taylor.

TO BOOK AGENTS

AND THOSE DESIRING EMPLOYMENT.

In entering on a business undertakinpr, especially where two or
more parties are mutually interested, it is befitting tliat they should
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C» OCR PAW

wo shall make it our steady aim to publish, and act as General
Agents for, books of a higher order of merit than those usually issuetl
heretofore by subscription — at the same time the mechanical ezccu>
tion will, in all respects, be equal to the best.

We shall deal with our agents in an honorable and straightforward
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just here, that no iirst-class book, sold at a fair price, can afford an
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Wo shall secure to our agents the exclusive control of their respec-
tive fields and seek to identify them with us on the ground of com>
mon interest and a common cause.

Oy TBS PART OF OVR AQEyiS

wo shall expect each to bo a gentleman (or lady).

A canvasser worthy of the name is always courteous. If ho is
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be will find no trouble to convince others. His sincerity will be
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hAimmTULD BBOTHEBS, PuBLiBmcits,
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tHE

SABBATHS OF OUR LORD,

R r. REV. WM. BACON STEVENS, D. I)., LL. D..

Biaiiof OK TUB diocess of ri:s'NsyLVAxiA,

Anthor of " The raral>l«'« of the New TestamcnfPracticallr
Unfolded," etc., etc.

Tn the preparation of this volume, wholly don-) in * scraps of timq,
amidst the onerous duties incumbent upon his exalted position,
Bishop Stevens has bronj^ht into requisition all those qualities for
which he is so justly cclcbniti'd asn writer and a divine. Prominent
among these are liis stores of learning and wealth of Biblical lore, a
1on;r cxiierieuce, and the f;ieat adviint'tftus dorivjd from extensive
travel and personal observatiuns in the Holy LanJ.

No one seems better fitted for the work in hajul. His superior
qualities as u pure and at, tl.o sama time a plain writer render his
productions peculiarly valiia')le to readers of all conditions and ages,
whilst the thoroughly unseetariun manner in which ho treats the
subject makes his expositions equally acjeptablc to all douoiniUit-
tioQs and creeds.

Feeling assured of a largo demand for the work, wc have placed
it at a price which will bo within the reach of all conditions, and
have spared no expense to mako it as attractive and presentable
as its nature will admit. We are convinced that no book recently
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The work is print(;don tiiio tinted paper, from clear new iypc,
containing sixteen full-pa^'e engravings by tlie best artists, illustra-
ting both scenery and incident ; contiiins an accurate and beautifully
engraved steel portrait of the author, made expressly for this work ;
is comprised in nearly foiir hundreil crown octavo pages, and is
bound in an attractive and artistic manner in the following styles :

English morocco cloth, black and gold, side stamps, etc. .$2.50

" " « « g't edges... 3.00

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