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POEMS.
THE SHIPWRECK

And other JPoems.

BY

G. WASHINGTON MOON, F.RS.L.

AUTHOR OF

“THE DEAN'S ENGLISH,” &c.

LONDON:
HATCHARD & CO. 187 PICCADILLY,
Booksellers to H.Y.H. the Princess of Wales.
1867.
\.205554
Dedicated

to

my oton friend, and mp father's friend,

Alerander Russell, Esq.
in grateful remembrance of
big many kindnesges to me and mine,

in Bays gone by.
INDEX.

THE SHIPWRECK
DEEDS, NOT WORDS

LOVE VERSUS LAW .

THE POWER OF KINDNESS
THE MEMORY OF THE JUST
“DUM VIVIMUS, VIVAMUS”
THE PATIENCE OF HOPE .
LOT IN SODOM

THE HEART’S TRUST

A HYMN

THE SOUL’S REFUGE AND JOY
WHO SHALL ROLL AWAY THE STONE ?
LOVE

A HIGHER LIFE

PAGE

10

12

14

19

22

24

27

30

31
vill. Index.

RICH AND POOR. :

BOAZ AND THE REAPERS

‘THE MYSTERY OF POWER

FLOWERS ; :

LOVELY FLOWERS, LOVELY FLOWERS
HUMAN LIFE

THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS

WHY WEEPEST THOU ¢

SPRING

A SONG TO MY BELOVED .

LOVE IS NOT A TRANSITORY PASSION
FORGET THEE ?

THE BETROTHAL

COMPANIONSHIP. : , :
TO MY DEAR WIFE . : : :
THE LESSON OF THE BEAUTIFUL
AFFLICTION . ‘ : s 5 ;
OUR CHILD . : ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘
FATHER’S SHIP ; : ; ‘ ‘
BURNS’ CENTENARY

GOOD NIGHT .

PAGE

35
39
41

43

46
48
50
53
55
57
58
59
61
62
67
68
71
73
75

82
POEMS.

Che Shipwreck.

I paced the vessel’s deck at night,

the land-breeze sighed Adieu!
The gentle stars, like angels bright,
looked down to watch our joyous flight,
as, bathed in heaven’s lovely light,

we o’er the billows flew.

With bounding hearts we left the bay ;
and if life’s cares arose

to check our buoyant spirits’ play,

we gaily dashed life’s cares away,

just as our vessel dashed the spray
in wild mirth from her bows.
The Shipwreck.

Thus merrily away we went,
full many a knot an hour ;
the tall masts, with the white sails, bent,
and forward strained as if intent
on aiding wind and waves, which lent

their swift propelling power.

Ere long, thought we, old England’s shore
will rise from out the main ;

and we shall roam her fields once more,

and meet the friends we loved of yore,

and kiss the dear ones o’er and o’er,

and never part again.

But oft the hopes we cherish here,
like sails at sea are riven ;
we boldly by our compass steer,
and fling our canvas out, nor fear ;—
a squall comes which we dreamt not near,

and on the rocks we’re driven.
The Shipwreck.

"T'was so with us that starry night;

black clouds sprang up, and we
quick rushed to trim our sails all tight ; —
too late! a squall with furious might
struck us, and ere our barque could right,

she shipped a fearful sea.

The billows rose; the tempest roared ;
and dark the heavens became;
dark as if thunder there were stored ;
while from the skies a deluge poured ;
and every spar and mast on board

seemed tipped with lurid flame.

Still on we flew! The thunder pealed ;
the lightning raved around,
and breakers close ahead revealed.
The captain cried, ‘‘ Our doom is sealed !
Down with the helm!’ The vessel heeled,

struck, and we were aground.
The Shipwreck.

Aground on rocks; and mountains high
the waves came dashing o’er ;

when from below there rose a cry,—

“She’s sprung a leak! All hands must piy

the pumps; the water now is nigh

six feet and rising more.”

We worked the pumps with hearty will ;
but yet the water rose

within the hold; high, higher still

it rose, despite our efforts, till

our fated barque it seemed must fill,

and ocean o’er us close.

We fired our signal gun; it boomed

above the tempest’s roar ;
the flash which midnight’s shroud illumed,
confirmed our fears, —our barque was doomed
in ocean soon to be entombed ;—

and all was dark once more.
The Shipwreck.

The gun we to the mainmast lashed,
and oft again we fired ;
the storm increased, the mainmast crashed,
the waves in fury o’er us dashed,
and round our heads the lightnings flashed,
and hope well nigh expired.

For when the mainmast crashing fell
it stove our only boat!
Loud laughed the winds like fiends of hell,
the ocean roared, and thunder’s knell
told us the angry clouds as well

did o’er our misery gloat.

No time had we for grief; in haste

we cut the masts away ;
and masts and spars together braced ;
our compass, chart, and flag then placed
upon the raft, just as we traced

the first faint streak of day.
The Shipwreck.

A few brief, hurried words are spoken,
the tacklings then we sever

and are adrift; for signs betoken

our once proud ship, whose timbers oaken

have many a strong wave’s fury broken,

will soon be wrecked for ever.

Alas! ’twas even so; for ere

we yet were well away,
a sea broke o’er her hull; and where,
in all the strength of her despair,
she’d battled with the tempest, there

was naught but foam and spray.

A shattered mast, some sail, an oar,
were tossing on the deep ;

but she, who oft in triumph bore

her streaming pennant proudly o’er

the world of waters, never more

o’er ocean’s waves would sweep.
The Shipwreck.

I thought of home; and memory drew
bright pictures of the past ;
and into one brief moment threw
long years of love ;—the dear and true
kissed from my lips the fond Adieu
I breathed when parting last ;

And clung around my neck again
in passionate embrace,
as if each throbbing heart and brain
would burst with love. ‘Dearest, remain,”
they cried; and O the grief, the pain

stamped on each loving face!

I kissed them once again, and tore
my yielding heart away ;
then, in that dream of days of yore,
a mother’s prayers came flooding o’er
my soul, and made me calm once more,—

she could not vainly pray.
The Shipwreck.

I dashed a starting tear aside

What, though the ship was gone!
Young Hope will many a storm outride ;
while Fear will sink beneath the tide ;
and we on God for help relied,

and worked and struggled on.

We worked and prayed, for God will aid
right effort joined with prayer ;

but ofttimes answers are delayed,

and He, who in His wisdom made

the stormy wind and waters, bade

them nigh o’erwhelm us there.

The boldest lips were ashy pale,
but firmly were compressed ;

and manly hearts began to quail

before the fury of the gale,

when lo! a cry, “A sail! A sail!”

and hope thrilled every breast.
The Shipwreck. 9

We looked, and knew the words were true,
and shouted them again ;—
“A sail! A sail! Now full in view!”
aloft our beckoning colours flew ;—
we watched,—“‘ Hurrah! they’re answered, too!’ —

our tears fell down like rain.

I swooned for joy ;—the hours flew on,
but naught I knew the while ;
and when I ’woke again,—anon
the storm, the wreck, the raft, were gone;
and upon all the sunlight shone,
like God’s own blessed smile.
10

Deeds, not MHords.

“* Wibp call pe me, Lord, Lord, and vo not the things which
3) sap?’ —Luxzu, vi. 46.

Nor for ever on thy knees, man,

would Jehovah have thee found ;
there are griefs Jehovah sees, man,
there are burdens thou canst ease, man ;

look around.

Work is prayer, if done for God, man,
prayer which God delighted hears.

See beside yon upturned sod, man,

one bowed ‘neath afiliction’s rod, man,

dry her tears.

Not long prayers, but earnest zeal, man ;
this is what is wanted more :—

put thy shoulder to the wheel, man ;

bread unto the famished deal, man,

from thy store.
Deeds, not Words. il

Not high-sounding words of praise, man,
does God want, ’neath some grand dome;

but that thou the fallen raise, man ;

bring the poor from life’s highways, man,
to thy home.

Worship God by doing good, man ;—

works, not words; kind acts, not creeds ; —
he who loves God as he should, man,
makes his heart’s love understood, man,

by kind deeds.

Deeds are powerful, mere words weak, man,
batt’ring at high heaven’s door.

Let thy love by actions speak, man ;

wipe the tear from sorrow’s cheek, man ;

clothe the poor.

Be it thine life’s cares to smother,
and to brighten eyes now dim ;

kind deeds done to one another,

God accepts as done, my brother,

unto Him.
12

Love versus Law.

“Hobe ag brethren, be pitiful, be courteous..—1 Pxrer, iii. 8.

I’Lu speak no more harsh, bitter words ;
this life is far too brief

for aught but love. What if I see

faults in a brother; shall they be

voices which sternly summon me

to cause him grief ?

No; rather let me hide his faults
and seek to win his heart.
Better is love than all beside ;
but bitter words too oft divide
the truest hearts by love allied,

and friends thus part.
Love versus Law. 13

While gentle words revive the soul

and mend love’s broken chain.
Yes, those who sighed for friendship flown,
though still too proud their faults to own,
become through love’s sweet gentle tone,

true friends again.

Then let me live in love, and do
to all what good I can;

and if a brother’s hearts sincere,

give him my hand, nor be severe

on petty faults and trifles here ;—

the heart’s the man.
14

Che JPower of Kindness.

How calm the close of day ;
how fresh the morning hours ;

how glad each bird’s sweet lay ;
how beautiful the flowers.

But when the spirit ’s broken,
O tell me, what can bless
like gentle, kind words spoken

in simple lovingness ?

The heart forgets its sorrows
when Friendship’s voice it hears ;
and hopes for brighter morrows,

and wipes away its tears.

Then nurse each tender feeling ;
do good while yet you may ;
kind words have power of healing ;

and life hastes fast away.
15

Che MBemorp of the Just.

*<Ghe righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance.”—
Ps. exii. 6.

““Qhe memorp of the just is blessen.”—Prov. x. 7.

O Gop, in whom our spirits trust,
earth’s lovely flowers Thou turn’st to dust ;
but their sweet, odorous breath
survives the day
of their decay,

and triumphs over death.

And man, too, like the flowers which bloom
and die, may triumph o’er the tomb
by kind words sweetly spoken ;
for these will live
and perfume give
when life’s frail flower lies broken.
16

“ Dum vivimus, vivamus.”

So let us live that when we have departed
our names may still on earth with joy be heard;
and in the memory of the loving-hearted,

be ever cherished as a household word ;—

And yet so live that not for earthly fame
alone, shall we life’s fevered race have run;
but to hear God Himself in heaven exclaim

of us, when life’s brief day is past, ‘‘ Well done!”
17

Che Patience of hope.

“Until the vap break anv the shadows flee atvay.”—
Sone oF Sot. ii. 17.
Have patience, my brother; O be not despairing ;
nor fret thou, nor murmur at seeming delays ;
for oft in God’s providence dark clouds are bearing

rich showers of blessings for happier days.

“T sleep,” dost thou say, “but my lonely heart waketh,
and sighs in its dreams for the first streak of dawn?” —
"Tis darkest at night just before the day breaketh ;
O wait, and thy midnight shall change into morn.

Or is it day with thee, yet no sun is shining
to cheer thy cold spirit and brighten thy lot ?
And is that the reason why thou art repining ?
Ah! think why it is that thy sun shineth not.

¢
18 The Patience of Hope.

The vapours and mists which the sun’s light are shrouding,
descend not from heaven, but rise from the earth ;

and the dark gloomy fears which thy life’s sky are clouding
have all in thine own want of faith had their birth.

O why art thou so slowly comfort receiving ?
Thou art so unworthy ?—That is not denied ;
but is that cause for doubting? No!—cause for believing

since ’tis for the unworthy the Saviour has died.
19

Lot in Sodom.

“And while he lingered, the men lain Hold upon his hand,
and upon the bana of Fis wife, ann upon the hand of his
two Daughters 5 the Lord being merciful unte him: and thep
broughe him forth, and set Him without the citp.”\—Gen. xix. 16.

Lorp, if, ensnared by love of gain,
my eager steps I’ve bent
towards the cities of the plain,
and, like Lot, pitched my tent
in Sodom, where the body ’s fed,
but where the soul is famishéd,

O help me to repent.
20

Lot in Sodom.

And in Thy mercy come to me,
and, by Thy spirit, say ;—
“Haste! fly thou hence, or sin will be
thy ruin if thou stay.”
And if, with lingering look, I stand,
in love with evil, take my hand

and lead Thou me away.

Thou bidd’st me seek for joys divine ;
and oft, to turn I vow;

yet still entranced, before the shrine
of earthly good I bow.

Against myself, Lord, I complain ;

Thou bidd’st me fly,—I still remain !

O help ;—and help me now.
Lot in Sodom. 21

I need not only Thy command
to shun the path of ill;
I need Thy kind and loving hand
to aid my faltering will,
and snatch me, in temptation’s hour,
from evil’s dread ensnaring power,

to love and serve Thee still.

O for Thy love my soul to fill!
O for that time when never
again shall waywardness of will
my soul from Thee, Lord, sever!
but Thy will shall be wholly mine ;
and mine be sweetly lost in Thine ;

or rather, found for ever.
22

Che Heart's Crust.

“< Trust in Mim at all times; pe people, pour out pour heart
before Dim: Gov is a refuge for ug.”—Ps. lxii. 8.

I’m but a little child, and Thou,
O God, art teaching me

to Thy authority to bow,
and walk by faith with Thee.

My soul to cleave unto the dust,—
to seek man’s help, is prone ;
and Thou art teaching me to trust

in Thee, my God, alone.

Life’s path is rough, and oft the clouds
seem dark, and dense, and near;

but when earth’s gloom Thy brightness shrouds
I still Thy voice can hear.
The Heart's Trust. 23

“Come, trust in Me, the Mighty God,
and cast on Me thy load;
and take My promise as thy rod
and staff for life’s rough road.

“T never failed a trusting one
that placed his hand in Mine,
and sought My guidance when hope’s sun
on earth had ceased to shine.

“Then doubt Me not; I will not now,
My trembling one, fail thee,
in this thine hour of need, if thou
wilt only trust in Me.”

O gracious Lord, Thy words have made
my cup of joy run o’er;
I bless Thy love, accept Thine aid,

and pray to love Thee more.
Q Dpmn.

“All Thp works shall praise Thee, O Lorn; and Thp
saints shall bless Thee.”—Ps. cxlv. 10.

ErernaL God! my voice I raise
all trembling with Thy name ;

and while I strive to sing Thy praise,
Thy Spirit’s help I claim.

The life of all things comes from Thee ;
and Thee all things adore ;
Thou wast, ere time began to be;

and wilt be evermore.

Thou fillest space; nay, Thou dost hold
all space within Thy hand ;

infinity is but a fold
within Thy vesture grand !
A Hymn. 25.

Thou madest all,—each leat, each flower,
the stars, the earth’s bright sun ;
nor need’st Thou to express Thy power ;

Thou willest,—it is done!

Thou knowest all, from first to last ;
omniscient art Thou:
to Thee, time present, future, past,

is one eternal Now.

Thou changest not, for Thou art all
that’s wise and just; and hence
we judge, to change would be to fall

from Thine own excellence.

Thy word is truth; Thy truth shall stand,
though heaven should pass away.
Thy will is law; Thy law’s command

all creatures must obey.
26

A Hymn.

Were this the sum of what we knew,
Eternal God, of Thee ;

O how could any bear the view
of Thy dread majesty !

The sight, like ightning from above,
the soul’s fine cords would sever ;
but O, we know that Thou art love,—

love gushing forth for ever.
27

Che Soul’s Refuge and Fop.

“Thom have J in heaven but Thee? and there is none upon

earth that J uegire besive Ahee.”"—Ps, lxxiii. 25.

WHEN the storms of life arise, Lord,
and the thunders round me ring,
unto Thee my spirit flies, Lord,
like a bird upon the wing
to its home in some green bower,
where it finds a sheltering nest,
and thence watching safe the shower,

sweetly sings itself to rest.

But not only, Lord, in sadness
does my spirit fly to Thee ;
in life’s many hours of gladness
Thou art present still with me.
But for Thy love as the one light
shining down from heaven afar,
joy were morn without the sunlight ;

grief were night without a star.
28

TUbo shall roll away the stone?

“nn thep sain among themselves, ‘Cho shall roll ug
aap the stone from the door of the gepuichre?’? Ann when
thep looken, thep gato that the stone wag roller aap.”—
Manx xvi. 3, 4.

‘Wuar poor weeping ones were saying
eighteen hundred years ago,

we, the same weak faith betraying,
say in our sad hours of woe.

Looking at some trouble lying
in the dark and dread unknown,

we too, often ask with sighing,
“Who shall roll away the stone ?”’

Thus with care our spirits crushing,
when they might from care be free,
and, in joyous song out-gushing,
rise in rapture, Lord, to Thee.
For, before the way was ended,
oft we’ve had with joy to own,
angels have from heaven descended,

and have rolled away the stone.
Who shall roll away the stone ? 29

Many a storm-cloud sweeping o’er us
never pours on us its rain ;
many a grief we see before us
never comes to cause us pain.
Ofttimes in the feared “ to-morrow ”’
sunshine comes,—the cloud has flown.
Ask not then in foolish sorrow,
“Who shall roll away the stone?”

Burden not thy soul with sadness ;
make a wiser, better choice;

drink the wine of life with gladness ;
God doth bid thee, man, “ Rejoice.”

In to-day’s bright sunlight basking,
leave to-morrow’s cares alone;

spoil not present joys by asking,
“Who shall roll away the stone?”
30

Love.

“<< he earth is full of the goonness of the Lord.”—Ps. xxx. 5.

From the flowers which strew the ground, dear,
to the stars which shine above :
all that’s beautiful around, dear,

had its origin in love.

And the good God that could make us
take delight in all we see;
in our griefs will ne’er forsake us,

but take care of thee and me.

Love is watching o’er the world, dear,
in the day-dawn’s beauteous light ;
and Love’s starry flag ’s unfurled, dear,

when we sink to rest at night.

In Love’s smile earth’s ever basking,
for God’s heart doth o’er us yearn ;
and His Spirit’s gently asking

that we love Him in return.
bl

Q bigher Life.

<¢ J am come that thep might babe life, and that thep
might Habe it more abundantlp.”—Joun, x. 10.

TueEnre is a higher life,—
a richer, deeper glow
of consciousness and. joyousness,
a more abundant flow
of feeling through each sluggish sense,
a rapture purer, more intense,—

awaits us here below.

We live as in a dream:

sloth’s fetters have so bound us,
we listlessly doze life away ;

and days and years have found us
recipients from heaven above,
yet seldom giving God our love

for blessings that surround us.
32

A Higher Life.

We think we love in truth;
we trust we love the good ;
but love, in all its joyous strength,
is little understood.
And yet, from love alone must spring
that higher life Christ came to bring
by pouring out His blood.

Ah! yes; ’tis only when,
Through grace, we wake to know
the wondrous love of God to us,
that our hearts’ love will flow.
When snatched from ruin’s fearful brink,
then weep we tears of joy to think
that God should love us so.
A Higher Life. 33

And love begets new life,
a heaven begun on earth,
a waking of the soul to know
the dear Redeemer’s worth ;
and feelings come so new, so strange,—
what wonder that the mighty change

is called a second birth !

The God we dreaded once,
we worship and adore ;
and those whom once in pride we scorned,
now find our love run o’er.
Self-righteous thoughts! Where now are they ?
The night has past,—behold ’tis day !

and they are seen no more.
3B4

A Higher Life.

Like shrouding mists they slept
upon the wintry soul ;
and froze it till the ice of death
o’er all its feelings stole.
But morn arose !—they fled ;—as now,
from off yon snowy mountain’s brow

the curling vapours roll.

Yes! sunlight burst from heaven,
and chased those mists away,
and filled the soul with life and love,
and turned its night to day.
O Thou whose smile makes earth so blest,
teach Thou Thy servant how he best
can all Thy love repay.
Rich and Poor.

S*Ohou shalt not harden thine heart, nor shut thine hand
from thp poor brother. Thou shalt surely give Him, and thine
Heart shall nor he grieved when thou givest unto him: because
that for this thing the Lorn thp Gov shall bless thee in afl
thy works, anv in all that thou puttest thine band unto.”—
Devt. xv. 7, 10.

He was seated at his breakfast ;
the morning paper came ;
he rose from table, stirred the fire,
and made a cheerful flame ;
then in his easy chair reclined,
and smiling seemed to say,
while spreading out that morning’s ‘‘ Times,”

“Well, what’s the news to-day ?”’
36

Rich and Poor.

Births, marriages, and deaths, he scanned
with careless eye, then said,

“Tm sorry, dear, to notice here
poor So-and-so is dead.”

But as he spoke he turned the page
some other news to find ;

nor cast a single thought on those

the dead had left behind.

The widow and the orphaned ones,
whose eyes with tears are dim,
doubtless they are provided for ;
if not, what ’s that to him ?
His slippered feet he stretches out
before the blazing fire,
then reads, with total unconcern,

that corn and coals are higher ;
Rich and Poor. 37

That some poor woman, out of health,
has need of kindly aid ;

and prompt aid, too; and yet his gift
is strangely long delayed.

Ah! would it were strange. But, alas!
tis common; and we find

that they who give not alms at once,

too often change their mind.

They say the cause is good,—has claims
which, clearly, should be met ;

then idly talk, and go their way,
and soon the whole forget :

or mean to give, but not to-day ;—
“There ’s time enough,” is said ;

“Too busy,” next day; and the next—

the sufferer is dead !
38

Rich and Poor.

The rich man read of more distress,—
of thousands unemployed ;

then strong appeals on their behalf
to those who wealth enjoyed.

But from those words he quickly turned,
and thought ’twas getting late ;

yet sat and waded through the whole
of last night’s long debate.

The poor man and his starving wife
have long since pawned their bed,
and piteously their little ones
are asking them for bread.
They turn aside, their tears to hide ;—
those cries pierce like a sword.
O, help! and God will all restore ;
for he who giveth to the poor,
but. “lendeth to the Lord.”
39

Boaz and the Reapers.

“dnp, hebols, Boas came from Bethlehem, and gato unto
the reapers, Uhe Lord be with pou. And they answered him,
The Lord bless thee.”— Ruta, ii. 4,

*Twas harvest time at Bethlehem,
and reapers laboured there ;

and Boaz came and greeted them
with this kind prayer ;—

“The Lord be with you, ye who reap
these smiling fields for me!”

The men replied with joy sincere,
“The Lord bless thee!”
40

Boaz and the Reapers.

QO happy times, when “mid our tasks
we all each other love ;

and each on each a blessing asks
from God above.

No servants then their labour shun ;
nor master’s unkind word ;

but all in love is said and done,

as to the Lord.

Dear friends who reap my fields, and bear
for me the toil and heat,

“The Lord be with you!” be my prayer
whene’er we meet.

O let us for each other pray ;
lift up your hearts for me.

I know you will, and ever say,

““The Lord bless thee!”
41

Che AMysterp of JPower.

Hz who commands, and by commanding seeks
to gain dominion o’er another’s will,

knows not man’s spirit, and has yet to learn
thy mystery of power. Minds live alone ;
each in its sphere moves, star-like, o’er the world,
and sheds its light upon the things of time ;
then passes onward to eternity :

and being independent in itself,

it scorneth to be servile in its actions,

and owneth no one for its Lord save Him

who willed it into life. Think thou not, then,
coercively to gain ascendancy

o’er minds; or that the mystery of power

lies in assumption of prerogative.
42 The Mystery of Power.

With such a front let one come unto thee,
and, with a haughty and imperious air,
demand thy service and obedience ;

and instantly thy soul is up in arms,

and weaponed to the teeth to brunt the foe!
Only by kindness may the soul be won.

Let Kindness woo thee, and her gentle face
look into thine and ask of thee a boon,

then, as the sunlight of her beauteous smile
falls on thy heart, a loving glow comes o’er it
which hides from thyself the pallid features
of thine own cares; and, these forgetting, thou
dost merge thy being in thy suppliant’s,

and with all joy dost make her cause thine own.
43

Flowers.

* Consiver the lilies of the fiely."— Marrnew, vi. 28.

I beheld a green field
where the wild flowers grew ;
and sweet thoughts were concealed

in the flowers with the dew.

And as each dewy gem
shone in light from above ;
so the thoughts had in them

much that asked for my love.

For the Loving and Best
His own heart hath revealed,
and His kind care expressed
through the flowers of the field.

He smiled on them,—they blushed ;
hence their delicate hues ;

but from what fountain gushed
the rich scents they diffuse ?
44

Flowers.

Did an ange! of bliss

once in Eden’s fair bowers,
in fond lovingness kiss

the young beautiful flowers ?

And did they, from his lips,
those rich sweets steal away
which the honey-bee sips
on each bright sunny day?

No; nor is the flowers’ scent
the rich breath of that kiss
of the angel who bent
in the bowers of bliss

With such lovingness o’er them,
and gave it to seal

the love which he bore them,
yet blushed to reveal. —

The flowers’ fragrance, O ’tis love,
but ’twas God’s design,
it should tell me of His love

and ask me for mine.
45

Lovely flowers.

S“Tihen J was a chilu J thought ag a chily.”—
1 Con, xiii, 11.
Love y flowers, lovely flowers,
ye to me were ever dear ;
oft I’ve thought, from heaven’s bowers

ye had come to blossom here.

And your bright and glorious hues were
pure reflections from God’s throne ;
and your odorous breath and dews were,

sighs and tears for pleasures flown.

But the dreams of childhood’s hours
have with childhood passed from me;
and I people heaven’s bowers

now with fairer forms than ye.

That dear mother whose words moved me
first to seck my God in prayer ;
and the kind and good who loved me

are the flowers I picture there,
46

Human Life.

°° Gg for man, hid Daps are ag grass: as a flower of the
fielu, go he flourisheth; for the win passeth ober it, and it
ig gone; and the place thereof shall know it mo more."—Ps.
ciii. 15, 16.
To the grass of the field,
God has likened our race ;

and the truth thus revealed
I would thoughtfully trace.

Human life is a day
of both sunshine and shower ;
and the passing winds play

with us every hour.

Now we’re bowed to the earth
by the tempest and rain ;
now we’re smiling with mirth,

and all’s sunshine again.
Human Life. 47

Care life’s green fields oft shrouds ;
but our troubles soon pass,
like the shadows of clouds

which sweep over the grass.

Yes, if sometimes in rain
fall the dark clouds which lour,
soon the sun shines again

on the lowliest flower.

But our life is soon past,
and the young and the blithe,
like the old, fall at last

‘neath the mower’s sharp scythe.

As the flowers their life yield,
so man yields up his breath ;
for the world is a field,

and the mower is Death.
48

Che Death of the Righteous.

“Ano all tuept, and hewailen her: but He sain, Weep not 5
she ig not pean, but sleepeth.”—Luxe, viii. 52.

We prayed that she might live, but she
ever would say submissively,
“Whate’er God wills is best.”
Knowing no will but His, she won
from Him the welcome words, ‘‘ Well done!

Enter into thy rest.”

She struggled hard and long with death ;
but to us, with her fleeting breath,
said, “‘ Do not weep for me;
Christ conquers in the mortal strife,
and death is swallowed up of life

and immortality.”
The Death of the Righteous. 49

“ Heaven spreads before me all its charms ;
O Saviour, let Thy loving arms
around my soul be twined ;
and bear me to the realms of day ;
but ere I go, for these I pray

whom I must leave behind.”

And, through the rainbow of our tears,
a vision bright of future years
seemed unto her then given ;
for, with a smile of rapturous love,
she pointed to her Home above,

and said, ‘‘ We meet in Heaven.”
TUbp weepest thou?

“FY would not habe pou to be ignorant, brethren, con-
cerning them which are agleep, that pe sorrom mot, eben ag
others which habe no Hope.”—1 Tuess. iv. 13.

Wuy weepest thou ?
Thy beauteous one is resting:
trouble no more assails her fond heart now ;
no more that frail barque life’s rude waves is breasting.

Why weepest thou ?

Would’st thou recall her
from her calm, deep joy,
to what might here in future years befall her ?
Sweet songs of rapturous praise her powers employ.

Would’st thou recall her ?
Why weepest thou ? 51

Grief’s bitter tears

have all been kissed away
from her dear face whom memory reveres ;

why down thine own pale cheeks then should there stray
grief’s bitter tears ?

Are ye not one
though severed for awhile ?
Hast thou no joy that she her race has run,
and has received her Master’s gracious smile ?

Are ye not one?

To meet again
with rapturous emotion,

twin severed streams flow towards the distant main ;
and ’tis the one prayer of your souls’ devotion

to meet again.
52 Why weepest thou ?

And ye shall meet,
ye faithful loving-hearted,
who bowed together at the Saviour’s feet ;

one faith, one hope, ye had who now are parted ;

and ye shall mect

To part no more.
O glorious reality

of faith and hope when life’s few years are o’er !—
Your spirits clothed with immortality,

to part no more!
53

Spring.

“Jo, the winter ig past, the rain is ober and gone; the
flowers appear on the earth, anv the time of the ginging of
birds is come.’—Sone or Sot. ii. 11, 12.

Acain the woods with songs are ringing ;
again from earth the flowers are springing ;
and insects bright their flight are winging

im every sunny ray.
Our lips, too, should sweet strains be singing ;
and oft kind words of love out-flinging ;
till cares, round saddened hearts now clinging,

to heaven shall fly away.
54 Spring.

Life’s path by clouds is oft benighted ;

life’s hopes by death are ofttimes blighted ;

and oft warm, loving, hearts are slighted,
and die misunderstood.

But here, if wrongs are not all righted ;

and some kind deeds go unrequited ;

we still must say, with hearts delighted,
“How much there is of good!”

Then smile again, the spring is here, love;

the winter ’s past, the sky is clear, love;

and on the earth, the flowers appear, love,
and birds their songs renew.

And from thy face, to me so dear, love,

bright smiles should kiss away each tear, love ;

as from the roses blushing near, love,

the sunbeams kiss the dew.*

* The above song, set to music by Horton Allison, under the
title of ‘Again the woods with songs are ringing,” may be obtained
of Messrs. Ransford & Son, 2 Princes Street, Oxford Street.
A Song to mp Beloved,

‘“Qrige, mp Tobe, mp fair one, and come aap.”
Sone or Sotomon, ii. 13.

On the hills there still are traces
of the winter’s snow and sleet ;
but around in sheltered places
flowers are springing at my feet.
In the clear blue sky above, dear,
and on earth, sweet smiles I see ;
but without thy smiles of love, dear,

spring is winter still to me.
56

A Song to my Beloved.

In the east the morn is breaking,
and the shadows flee away ;
and the closéd flowers are waking
neath the gentle beams of day ;
and their blushing leaves unfold, love,
and their bosoms they lay bare,
that our fond eyes may behold, love,
honied thoughts that nestle there.

O arise then, sweetest, dearest,
and thy smiles of beauty bring ;
and we’ll wander where thou hearest
in the woods the love-notes ring
from the birds in spring’s green bowers ;

and, in worship at thy feet,

 

I will lay the choicest flowers ;

sweets, belovéd, to the sweet.*

* The above song (under the title of ‘* On the Hills”) as sung
by Mdlle. Parepa, may be obtained of Messrs. Van Noorden & Co.
115 Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury.
Ou
sl

Love.

Love is not a transitory passion; one that owcs
its existence to excited feelings or has its foun-
dation in caprice, and passes away with the cir-
cumstances which called it forth. No; it is a
part of our very being; a living presence, a
motive power, making life more intense. It
gives depth to our joys, elevation to our
hopes, and fervour to our whole existence. It
has its origin in the heart, its seat in the heart,
and is, like the heart, glowing and enthusiastic ;
but it differs in individuals, since it is moulded
by character.

In one it is the dancing spray, on the
ocean’s breast; it sparkles in the sunshine, and
bounds from wave to wave till it leaps upon the
shore and runs with joyous ardour up the sands,
to kiss the feet of the object of its adoration. In
another it is the silent breathings of a flower; so
silent that the next rose-bud only guesses its
existence by the gentle tremour of its leaves, or
by the fragrance which surrounds it.
Forget thee?

Forcerr thee? Ask the moon if she wishes to
forget the bright orb whose light robes her in
splendour ; ask the stars if they wish to forget
the blue heavens where they dwell, and the fair
scenes they look down upon; ask the streams if
they wish to forget the graceful trees upon their
banks, or the sweet flowers that smiled upon and
kissed their dimpled waters as they passed; and
if thine imagination can lure thee into the belief
that they reply, “We do wish it;” then, but
not until then, believe that I too, your friend,
wish to gather from the garden of our love, the
roses of remembrance; and strew their sweet
leaves on the sullen waters of oblivion, that its

darksome current may bear them away for ever.
oY

Che Betrothal.

Farr nature sleeps beneath the spell
which moonlight weaves around her breast ;
and lovers fondly sigh “ Farewell!”

then homeward wend their way to rest.

Yet often turn with soul-lit eyes
to gaze once more, and waft anew
their oft-repeated last. Good-byes,

for O how sweet is love’s Adieu.

And was it not a night like this,
all beauty and repose, as now ;
when, wrapt in fondest dreams of bliss,

I breathed to thee my first young vow ?
60

The Betrothal.

The bloom was on the hawthorn near;
a silvery streamlet rippled by ;
and, in its waters bright and clear,

the stars were mirrored from on high.

When these their light returned could trace,
they sweetly smiled in heaven above ;—
I, gazing on thy beauteous face,

besought thee to return my love.

Nor didst thou turn away thine ear ;
but casting down thine eyes from mine,
didst rest upon my bosom, dear,

and softly whisper, “I am thine.”
61

Companionship.

How delightful to find a companion whom we
can love; one whose heart, we believe, beats
in sympathy with our own, and who is ever as
willing to be a sharer in the sorrows and cares
that depress us, as to rejoice with us in the sun-
shine of happier days. The consciousness that
we love, united to the certainty that we are be-
loved in return, awakens in us emotions so peace-
ful and happy, and is blended with such a
deep sense of gratitude to the Giver of all good,
that the heart involuntarily sighs when the
stern realities of life call us away to other con-
siderations. But the sweetness of such com-
panionship can be known only to those who
have had the happiness to experience it; since
no mere combination of words could convey

to another an adequate idea of its blessedness,
62

Co mp Dear Cite.

Tur stars above
may thrill with love
the throbbing heart of spacc ;
but there’s a light
more sweetly bright

to me, in thy dear face.

I love each.star
that shines, but Ah!
my love they ne’er discerned ;
but in thy face,
with joy I trace

my own fond love returned.
To my dear Wife. 63

The sunset’s glow
makes mountain snow
like Beauty’s radiant thronc ;
but all is cold
we there behold,

and hides a heart of stone.

Come weal or woe,
*t will ne’er be so
with thy breast, gentle dove ;
there beats, I know,
beneath its snow,

a woman’s heart of love.

"Tis six years now
since love’s dear vow
at church we fondly plighted ;
the solemn rite,
’mid hushed delight,
our faithful hearts united.
OL

To my dear Wife.

The bells’ sweet chime,
of that glad time
of happiness reminds us ;
and life’s swift flight
but makes more bright

love’s welcome chain that binds us.

Dear children three,—
love’s jewelry,—
have graciously, been given ;
but one of them,—
a priceless gem,—

now shines, a star, in heaven.

A little while
his beauteous smile
made sunshine in our hearts ; —
but down thy cheek,
when thus I speak,

the tear of sorrow starts.
To my dear Wife. 65

O do not weep ;
let sorrow sleep,
thou faithful loving mother ;
two lambs we hold
within our fold ;

our Saviour has the other.

We’ve had our cares;
but fortune wears

a smile upon her brow;
then grieve no more
for what is o’er,

but thank God all’s well now.

For, better far
be as we are,
and life’s past ills forget ;
than with our joy
mix grief’s alloy,
by cherishing regret.
66

To ny dear Wife.

No wealth is ours,
but we have powers
of mind, and strength of will;
and if not wealth,
thank God we’ve health,
and His love, better still.

Ah! if the gold
of earth, twice told,
were added to our store;
without the love
of God above,
we should indeed be poor.

A thankful heart
’s the sweetest part
of God’s rich blessing, life ;
and next most dear
of blessings here,

a faithful, loving wife.
67

he Lesson of the Beautiful.

“Qi Obhp works shall praise Thee, D Worn; anv Thp
saints shall bless Ufee.”—Ps. exlv. 10.

Wuat a palace of beauty, my God, is this earth ;

from the star-spangled roof, all around
to the green velvet sward, where of lowliest birth

countless lovely wild flowers are found.

Beauty dwells in each leaf lying low on the ground ;
beauty smiles in each star shining o’er ;

beauty speaks to the heart in each sight and each sound ;
and it bids us its Maker adore.

For it tells us that Maker a Being must be
full of goodness as well as of power ;
or He ne’er would have made bright the stars which we see,
or have tinted with beauty each flower.
And though oft we must own that our life’s little hour
is not all joy like Heaven above;
yet God smiles on our tears, like the sun on the shower,

and. we see the bright rainbow of Love.
68

Affliction.

“Ge manp as J tobe, J rebuke and chastet.”—Rev. m. 19.
Chagtenen “for our profit, that we might be partakers of

Dis holiness.’—Hes. xu. 10.
Dearest Annie, much it grieves me
that thou art, alas! so ill;
but if God, of health bereaves thee,
many blessings still He leaves thee ;

bow submissive to His will.

Well I know He loves thee dearly ;
and I trust thou lovest Him,

even when thou canst not clearly

see the way He leads, and merely

followest with vision dim.

Dark are oft the dispensations
of the providence of God ;

but the next world’s revelations

will be that to men and nations,

twas in love He used the rod.
Affliction. 69

Whom He loveth He correcteth ;
dry thy tears then, suffering one ;
wisdom sees that God connecteth

joy and sorrow, and expecteth
thou. wilt say, ‘“‘ His will be done.”

Dark clouds have a silver lining,
showers pass,— heaven smiles again !

Dearest, in thy heart enshrining

these bright types, expect the shining
of the sunlight after rain.

Faint not when the dark sky lowers,
and all seemeth gloom above ;

for, ’tis thence refreshing showers

come to cheer the drooping flowers,

and these teach us “ God is love.”
70 Affliction.

Thou art my flower, sweetest, dearest ;
raise thy drooping head awhile.

O, Thou God of heaven, who hearest

prayer, and earth’s sweet flowers cheerest,

cheer this faint one with Thy smile.
Mur Child.

Wuo was it added to the store
of happiness replete before,

that we might love God more and more ?

Our child.

When wisdom’s lovely face was masked,
who was it such hard questions asked,
as all our fund of knowledge tasked ?

Our child.

Who was it made us strive to teach
the greatest truths in simplest speech,

that they the infant mind might reach ?
: Our child.

Who is it whose sweet smiles oft cheer

our troubled hearts when doubt and fear

make life’s bright path look dark and drear ?
Our child.
72

Our Child.

When health shall fail, and strength decay,
who then our sinking frames shall stay ;
and. wipe the dews of death away ?

Our child.

O God, our Father, hear our prayer ;—
all need Thy love and watchful care ;
O safely through life’s trials bear

Our child.

Thou gavest her in love; may she
give her young heart, in love, to Thee;
and find how sweet it is to be

Thy child.
73

father’s Ship.

“ FaTHER, when will your.ship come home?”
said my little child to me;
“you often say youll buy me things

when your ship comes home from sea.”’

“Tt must have gone a long long way,
for you:told me, Father, dear,
in spring your ship was coming home,

and the winter now is here.”

“‘ Have the waves been very rough, Father ?
have the winds been very strong ?

and have storms beat back the ship, Father,
that it could not get along ?
74

Father's Ship.

“T have heard the howling wind, Father,
oft at night when in my bed;
and I’ve thought of ships at sea, Father,

and again my prayers I’ve said.

“ And I’ve added at the end, Father,
of the words you taught to me,

this little prayer,—‘ Pray, God, take care
of dear Father’s ship at sea.’ ”

My darling child, if thus through life
you but cast on God your cares ;
no harm shall come to “ Father’s ship,”’—

for God heareth children’s prayers.
=]

Gr

Burns’ Centenarp.

O glorious stars! The dense clouds float before us,
and veil your beauties from our mortal eyes

but lovingly in heaven you still watch o’er us ;
and in our hearts your images arise :
and what is most like you, we idolise ;

and call that “star-like,” which we most admire.
Was he not star-like, whom all eulogise ;—

the poet Burns! who ewept his country’s lyre

with such impassioned hand, and such a soul of fire ?
76 Burns’ Centenary.

‘Star-like? O, yes! and long as stars shall shine,
and human hearts in loving bosoms beat ;
the wide wide world, his memory will enshrine ;
and genius lay her trophies at his feet.
To honour him, this day what thousands meet !
and Burns’s praise is heard on every tongue.
Oh! why, when life was his, and praise was sweet,
were not these honours given him who strung

that powerful lyre, and from its chords such rich notes wrung ?

’T is past! And now, the merry bells are ringing ;
and flags are flying, gay with colours fine ;
and old and young his matchless songs are singing ;
and nobles pledge him in the choicest wine.
But who was he, whose memory we enshrine P—
The brightest jewel on our Monarch’s brow
was once a pebble in the darksome mine ;—
and Scotland’s poct, whom we honour now,

was once a country lad who whistled at the plough.
Burns’ Centenary. 77

But those wild melodies he whistled there
were borne, by every wind, to every clime,
and thrilled the world; and distant lands declare
that Burns will live, a poet of all time.
His songs came from his heart; and hearts zi// chime
in song with hearts, when they with fervour sing ;
and so he sang. How stirring, how sublime,
his “Scots wha hae!” The very war-notes ring ;

and,.to each clansman’s cheeks, the blood of battle bring.

What nerves our soldiers for the field of war ?
What makes them fight till foemen fall or fly ?
Why, when we once the sword of battle draw,
and. proudly wave that flashing sword on high,
are these our words ;—“ We conquer, or we die” ?
The poet’s songs the patriot’s heart have fired !—
The dying soldier, in death’s agony,
his weapon grasped, when by those songs inspired ;

rushed forward,—fell,—and shouting “ Victory !’’—expired.
78 Burns’ Centenary.

Yes! Burns could raise the battle ery ;—-“‘ To arms!”’
and make the soul impatient for the fight ;
or fill that soul with terror’s wild alarms,
by horrid tale of ghost, or phantom sprite,
near “ Alloway’s auld haunted kirk” at night.
And he could paint sweet scenes of home and rest,
where life was love; and love, supreme delight.—
His mind conceived, and pow’rfully expressed,

both stern and gentle passions of the human breast.

“ He had his failings.” —Hast not thou? Stern man!
He mourned those failings.—Go, do thou the same ;
nor dare too closely that bright soul to scan,
lest thy weak sight be blasted by the flame.
Shame! on thy coward heart that dares to name
the failings or the follies of the dead.
Keep for thysedf thy sneering words of blame,
and tears of sorrow for thine own sins shed ;

but his faults leave with Him who for us all has bled.
Burns’ Centenary. 79

The mountain lake, that seems asleep in love ;
and, dreaming, murmurs to the pebbly shore
its tender ‘passion for the clouds above
which stoop to kiss it, and at sunrise soar
away to heaven, hears oft the tempest roar,
and rouses till its bound’ries are o’erleapt ;
but soon is calm, and loving as before.
So, too, the poet’s soul, by passion’s breath was swept ;

but calmed itself again, as if in love it slept.

He breathed out war ;—and whispered love’s soft vows :
he poured forth satires ;—and wrote hymns of praise :
he wailed the dirge ;—and sang the mad carouse ;
and told of ‘palaces ;’—and “banks and braes.”
But “ Auld lang syne,” and such-like touching lays,
reveal the nature whence they all did flow.
Who has not heard his song of other days,
so quaintly sweet ;—‘ John Anderson, my jo ” ?

nor felt ;—‘‘ How true the heart that could have written so!”
80 Burns’ Centenary.

Ay! true indeed: and loving as ’t was true.
How bright a picture of his heart we see,
in that brief hour wherein he bids Adieu,
to her, whose lover he was proud to be ;—
dear “ Highland Mary ” of fond memory !
Ere many months they hoped to be united,
and dwell together ‘neath their own roof-tree.
They met, to part awhile; and vows were plighted.—
They never met again!—Chill death that sweet flower
blighted.

The twining branches o’er their heads were waving’;
they stood beside a purling silv’ry brook ;
and, in its waters clear, their clasped hands laving,
they held between them God’s all sacred book ;
and, vowing to be faithful, fondly took
a last embrace !— Ever as she did gain
each distant height, she turned with ling’ring look ;—
he, after her, his tearful eyes did strain : --

and so the lovers parted,—ne’er to meet again !
Burns’ Centenary. 81

The memory of this scene would ever fill
his heart with all the agony of woe.
Honour to Burns! his name is cherished still.
What though he lived a century ago ;
time, in its onward and resistless flow,
only the more the poet’s name endears !
Honour to Burns ;—’tis all we can bestow.—-
Sighs, for his sorrows ;—for his loss, our tears ;—
praise, for his deathless songs ;—and, for his memory,

cheers.

G
Good Might.

Goop night, good night, for high in heaven o’er me
the stars are pouring down their silvery light.
Good night, good night, ye starry eyes before me,—
but how can I to you exclaim, Good night!
for when those lovely orbs are lost to sight
beneath their long, dark, silken lashes sleeping,
the spirit of their beams, like angels bright
whose love is ever through their glad eyes leaping,

will ’round me in my dreams their gentle watch be keeping.
Good Night. 83

A stream o’erhung by flowers will joy to dwell
on many a charm which: those sweet flowers possess ;
and I, did time permit, would joy to tell
the many lovely things your eyes express.
Good night, good night. May He whose smile can bless
your peaceful sleep, and make the darkness bright
with starry thoughts, give you in happiness
to dream of that resplendent world of light

where partings are unknown, and where there is no night,

But one long, joyous, summer’s day of love,
unclouded by a sorrow or a care.
Nor let us only dream of Heaven above,
but work, and trust, and pray, its joys to share.
Heaven is no place for idlers! O, beware
of making so disastrous a mistake.
Would’st thou the conqueror’s palm of victory bear ?
Then battle for the truth, for truth’s dear sake,

and after death’s calm sleep thou shalt in heaven awake.
LONDON:
STRANGEWAYS AND WALDEN, Printers,
2§ Castle St. Leicester §q.
The Controversy on the Queen’s English.

A DEFENCE

THE QUEEN’S ENGLISH.
A Ketter.

FROM

G. WASHINGTON MOON, F.R.S.L.

TO

THE DEAN OF CANTERBURY.

®pinions of the Press.

“The Dean of Canterbury, apparently desirous of emulating
a fellow-dignitary, whose hearty and learned labours in the mine
of our language have opened up veins of richness few ever
dreamed of, has published an article entitled A Plea for the
Queen’s English. The pamphlet we review is a reply to the
Dean’s production. We are greatly obliged to Mr. Moon for
taking up the matter. It would have been a pity to have
allowed the Dean to escape a castigation he deserved. We do
not expect the physician who attends us to be exempt from all
complaints at all times. He is mortal, and subject to mortal
ills. But if we find him giving us advice as to a course of
physic or diet, which course he himself does not follow when he
is similarly afflicted, we give him credit for either insincerity or
ignorance. The Dean set himself up as a healer of the sick-
nesses brought by careless habit on the ‘ Queen’s English ;’ but,
while pointing out those complaints and prescribing their reme-
dies, he was labouring under similar maladies, whose existence
in himself he utterly ignored, or represented as virtues rather
than otherwise, when Mr. Moon privately pointed them out to
him. Such a doctor merits no confidence, and the exposure of
his incapacity is a public good. In light, lively writing, strict
correctness of diction and arrangement is not requisite. For
our recreation reading, the stately periods of Robertson would be
intolerable; but Dickens’ brilliant page, utterly ignoring stops
and violating all rules of composition, is delightfully fresh and

 
grateful. Dashing leaders in the papers we do not expect to
find reducible to strict principles like those laid down by Kames
or Campbell. But when a man seriously pretends to be writing
to amend faults, h’s own style should be faultless, especially
when he speaks in the tone of calm, self-assured superiority to
vulgar error which the Dean of Canterbury assumes. It would
occupy too much space were we to give a resumé of the contents
of Mr. Moon's clever pamphlet. We coincide with all his
strictures on the Dean’s article, and do not doubt that, with
ourselves, he could have pointed to many more egregious
blunders on the part of this new would-be critic. We advise all
our readers to see Mr. Moon's reply. Written in pure, forcible,
elegant, and classic English—perfect in composition and punc-
tuation, and in its gentlemanly dignity so opposed to the slip-
shod, half-vulgar easiness of the Dean’s ‘ Plea’—it merits the
attention of all students of our tongue, and shows that though
in familiar talk and writing we may be as men at home—free
and at our ease—there is not wanting amongst us that covert
stateliness and rigid propriety which a weighty subject demands.”
—English Journal af Education.

“¢ When I hear a man get to his its,’ said Cobbett, ‘I
tremble for him :’ Dean Alford does not get nearly so far before
he is overtaken by such a storm of rattling words as might
make any lesser personage tremble. Mr. Moon says, ‘ Just as
we may know by the way in which a man deals with the small
trials of life how far he has attained a mastery over himself, so
may we know by the way in which a writer deals with the small
parts of speech how far he has attained a mastery over the
language. Let us see how you manage the pronouns.’ For
Mr. Moon’s opinion upon the Dean’s management in this respect
we must refer to the pages of this highly entertaining pam-
phlet."— The Westminster Review.

*To those whose tastes incline them to luxuriate in sharp
criticism and terrible reproof, we commend the pamphlet before
us. It is written with a power of sarcasm and criticism rarely
excelled. Our critic, very justly and very properly, takes passage
by passage, and sentence by sentence, of the Dean’s Essay, and
shows himself a master critic, so far as the Qucen'’s English
is eoncerned.”— Cambridge Independent Press.

London: Harcuarp & Co., 187 Piccadilly.
Price One Shilling.
Also, by the same Author,

A SECOND DEFENCE

oF

THE QUEEN’S ENGLISH,

IN ANSWER TO
THE DEAN OF CANTERBURY’S REJOINDER.

stein rere

“ The second part of the Dean’s ‘ Plea’ appeared in the June
number of Good Words, and is chiefly devoted to answering the
strictures of Mr. Moon on the first part, though, as it appears
to us, with very indifferent success. Dean Alford has laid him-
self open to criticism as much for bad taste as for questionable
syntax. His style of writing is awkward and slovenly, that of
his antagonist remarkably terse and clear, and bearing witness
to a sensitiveness of ear and taste which are glaringly deficient
in his opponent.” The Westminster Review.

“ We have no hesitation in saying that Mr. Moon has come
out of the conflict with flying colours, and that he not only
writes better English than his opponent, but convicts him of
slovenliness and inaccuracy, which materially damage his repu-
tation as an English scholar. It is impossible to mention the
numerous cases which Mr. Moon adduces from the Dean’s essays
as instances of vicious English. There are more of them than
probably the Dean could have imagined possible. Some of
them are very amusing, and the fencing on both sides is most
interesting to witness. In many of the criticisms the acumen
displayed by Mr. Moon is of no common kind. His pamphlets
are models of English composition, and are so full of animation,
so sharp, lively, and trenchant, that it is quite a treat to read
them. The second pamphlet is longer and abler than the first,
and contains some of the finest sparring we have ever seen.”—
Glasgow Christian News.

“© We had not intended taking any notice of this pretty little
controversy, but Mr. Moon speaks like a man who wil be heard.
He has evidently a good knowledge of his subject, and writes
with considerable vigour. We were somewhat curious when we
witnessed Mr. Moon’s appearance in the lists as a combatant of
the Dean ; and, without presuming here to pronounce upon the
merits of Mr. Moon’s pamphlets, we can at least vouch for this,
that he wields his stylus ‘ with a will.’ We do not remember to
have seen such a furious onslaught in any recent literary pro-
duction. If every stroke of the pen were a mortal gash, Mr.
Moon could not with more desperate energy return and still
return to the combat. To quit figures,—and we should be sorry
to provoke a dissection of our figures from the same unsparing
hand,— Mr. Moon is particularly great at showing what and
how many different meanings a sentence constructed in his
judgment faultily is capable of expressing. No less than
10,240 is the number which he adduces from a short paragraph
in one of the Dean’s essays.” Nonconformist.

. “One would have thought that the Dean, in replying to
animadversions upon his style, would have written with especial
care; instead of this, his second article contains more and
grosser faults than his first. The Dean boldly avows his dis-
respect for Lindley Murray, treats him with as little reverence
as Colenso treats Moses, and forthwith proceeds, somewhat
flagrantly, to exemplify his boasted ignorance of the wholesome
rules according to which all of good English that we knew
at school was flogged into us. Had this been the Dean’s
schoolboy experience too, we cannot help thinking that it would
have been better for him now. Mr, Moon gives the Dean a
severe castigation for more than offences against the Queen's
English ; and we are bound, in justice, to say that the Dean has
fairly provoked it. Had he been a little less self-opiniated, and
a little more respectful towards one who appears to have
addressed him, in the first instance, with all gentlemanly cour-
tesy, Mr. Moon would not probably have appeared in print.
Dean Alford’s paper singularly lacks both the simplicity of a
great mind and the deference of a great scholar. Mr. Moon is
no meddling ignoramus. He is by no means impeccable himself ;
but, as a master of the English language, he is far superior to
the Dean.”— Patriot.

London: Harcuarp & Co., 187 Piccadilly.
Price One Shilling.

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