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stand, you cover the whole space they would partly | pathies are moderate, antipathies are extinct. Not occupy. a minister of the crown would disembowel an opKossuth, it is reported, is expected soon in positionist, or scourge his wife; scarcely three in

England. God grant it! It may revive a sense of glory, long vitiated, and almost dead. Public men, indeed, will exclude him from their houses; their praises are reserved for Haynau, their tables are decorated for O'Ferral. But let us contend with America for the possession of the purest patriot on earth. Let us, who heretofore have taught her many things, teach her now in what manner she may gladden the heart of millions, and raise to herself on an imperishable basis a monument the most worthy of her wealth and virtue. Proposals have been offered to commemorate in bronze and marble the achievements of the Hungarians. So be it. But in what better or more befitting manner can it be done, than in the structure of a plain and simple mansion for the family of their president? No Blenheim is demanded, no column, no prancing horse, but simply a retired and quiet mansion, such as twelve or fifteen thousand pounds could erect and furnish. It would be more honorable for the Americans to contribute toward it in England than in their country; and if their contribution were the larger, as it probably will be, the prouder would be their superiority, over a nation with which they were never to be engaged in any other kind of contest.

I have little money; but I have several pictures; and, as my pride does not often step out of doors, I shall be delighted to indulge it in giving twenty of the best toward the adornment of the house which the only two free nations will erect for the greatest of all free men.

Testimonials to patriotism, true or false, and oftener false than true, have been prodigally exhibited in England recently. The spirit of party has breathed hotly over the land, and has blown foul bubbles into the air. Among the statues in our metropolis, how extremely few are erected to beneficent, to prudent, to temperate, or even commonly honest men! Subverters of law in their own country, disturbers of the public peace in its dependencies, adventurers, gamblers, debtors, defaulters, profligates, constitute the greater part, and almost the whole. Where are our philosophers, our poets, our patriots? In the centre of what square, at the termination of what avenue, stands Shakspeare? What temple is sanctified by Milton's purity? Nature and nature's laws" announce their Newton; we look for him also in

vain.

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If jealousy and hatred of the truly great among ourselves have instigated us to substitute the false, let us avoid the sight of such as, coming too near, may inflict on us any uneasiness. Let us prove before the world at large that its virtuous men are dear to us at a distance, and that to them at least we will not be unjust. Parties, our worst seducers from the path of rectitude, are fused, flattened, hardened, and inert. Public virtue no longer is laughed at, as it was in the last century from the beginning to the end, but merely smiled at; sym

five would commend, or countenance, the miscreant who should have driven from the seat of his government men festering under wounds received in defence of their families. But it is not to such people we lift our eyes and voices; it is neither to finality, nor to agitation. We plead before no intriguers, no coiners of counterfeit, no scramblers for tags and trumpery, no brawlers in streets, no whisperers in palace; we plead for the Hungarian defender of venerable institutions, cognate with our own, and bearing a strong family resemblance. It would be criminal to doubt either the ability or the resolution of the two wealthiest nations in the world to raise a few thousand pounds annually, in order to compensate the losses, and to support the dignity, of as pure and energetic a patriot as ever guided the councils of either. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

Bath, October 18.

From the Evening Bulletin.

SHAKSPEARE READINGS.

WRITTEN AFTER MRS. KEMBLE'S LAST READING IN PHILADELPHIA, NOV. 5, 1849.

THANKS to the lady of the witching word, For the new soul her wondrous voice has stirredFor the awakened sense which lay asleep In myriad breasts, till she disturbed the deep. The feast is done-in awe and wonder, all The guests go lingering from the banquet hall, With thirst unslaked, and craving still to drink New nectar from this fount's o'errunning brink.

A motley company these feasts createMotley in mind and mien, in garb and gait, All grouped as guests before the crowned lord Of England's letters, at his royal board. See the sweet Quakeress, demure and prim, Beside the belle in dazzling Paris trim; The grave divine, in contrast dark, beside The dandy gay-his tailor's boast and pride; The massive matron, swelling near a place Where beams a merry school girl's laughing face; The gray old-fashioned veteran, hip to hip, Beside an unfledged fop with sprouting lip.

These are thy guests, O Shakspeare! these the souls,

Thy priestess with her godlike art controls,
Some come to pass an evening, or to meet
Again the friend they passed upon the street.
Some from pure love of Shakspeare, other some
To see his famed interpreter-they come
From divers motives, but I fear the mass
Come without any motive-some, alas!
Willing to change their gold, at Fashion's hint,
For the coined wonders of the Shakspeare mint.

Well, whatsoe'er the motive, there's a soul
Hidden behind it, subject to control.
Watch the effect, as the great reader's art
Ope's Shakspeare's mysteries to each waking heart.
The first low music of the matchless voice
To silence lulls, from force as well as choice.

Then comes a burst of passion, and the hall
Rings with applause from young and old-from all ;
Mustachioed lips a cry of Brava" raise,
And white kids patter a most dainty praise.

Well might he fight against
Further maturity;
Yet it does seem to me

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Dandy and dame, to sympathy so soon;
Made every selfish soul forget itself,

And lay its world a moment on the shelf.

The royal banquet's done; the queen departs, To show elsewhere her own and Shakspeare's arts. A noble mission! to revive a taste, Through modern clap-trap sadly run to waste. Blest be the fortune that has led her here, To fill the soul with a new atmosphereTo show us gems from England's golden age, Freed from the tarnish of the tainted stage. She's gone, but left no transient stamp impressed On the roused bosom of each various guest; Critics in drab or black, young, aged, all Go re-refined from the great festival ; And wheresoe'er their paths through life may go, In wealth or poverty, in joy or woe, Shakspeare and Kemble, twin in soul, shall be Shrined as one genius in each memory.

From the Knickerbocker.

MY BOY.

There is even a happiness Which makes the heart afraid.

HOOD.

ONE more new claimant for
Human fraternity,
Swelling the flood that sweeps
On to eternity.
I who have filled the cup,
Tremble to think of it;
For be it what it may,
I must yet drink of it.

Room for him into the
Ranks of humanity;
Give him a place in your
Kingdom of vanity;
Welcome the stranger with

Kindly affection,
Hopefully, trustfully,
Not with dejection.

See, in his waywardness,
How his fist doubles;
Thus pugilistical
During life's troubles.
Strange that the Neophyte
Enters existence
In such an attitude,

Feigning resistance.

Could he but have a glimpse
Into futurity,

FA

As if his purity
Were against sinfulness
Ample security.
Incomprehensible,
Budding immortal,
Thrust all amazedly
Under life's portal;
Born to a destiny
Clouded in mystery,
Wisdom itself cannot
Guess at its history.
Something too much of this
Timon-like croaking;
See his face wrinkle now,
Laughter-provoking;
Now he cries lustily-
Bravo, my hearty one!
Lungs like an orator
Cheering his party on.

Look how his merry eyes
Turn to me pleadingly!
Can we help loving him-
Loving exceedingly?
Partly with hopefulness,
Partly with fears-
Mine, as I look at him,
Moisten with tears.

Now then to find a name;
Where shall we search for it?
Turn to his ancestry,

Or to the church for it? Shall we endow him with

Title heroic,
After some warrior,
Poet, or stoic?

One aunty says he will
Soon "lisp in numbers,"
Turning his thoughts to rhyme,
E'en in his slumbers;
Watts rhymed in babyhood-
No blemish spots his fame-
Christen him even so;

Young Mr. Watts, his name'

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Dr. Darlington's new work forms a volume of nearly six hundred pages, which the publishers have issued in a very handsome manner. It consists principally of an immense number of letters, the corres correspondence of Bartram with Collinson, Sir Hans Sloan, Kalm, Solander, Michaux, and other celebrated botanists, as well as those which passed between Marshall and Franklin, Sir Joseph Banks, Dr. Muhlenberg, and other equally well-known savans. It would be superfluous to praise a work like this. Its subjects and the name of the esteemed and accomplished author will commend it to the favor of a very wide circle of readers of botanical and antiquarian tastes, who will be glad to possess such memorials of such men.---Nat. Intelligencer.

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8. Dismissal of the French Ministry,

9. The Reception due to Kossuth,

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Walter Savage Landor,

525

SHORT ARTICLES. - The Chinese in California, 518-Lola Montes, 525.
POETRY. To Frederika Bremer, 418-Shakspeare Readings, 526-My Boy, 527.
NEW BOOKS, 505 and 527.

ILLUSTRATION. -" May the evening's diversion bear the morning's reflection."

PROSPECTUS. This work is conducted in the spirit of Littell's Museum of Foreign Literature, (which was favor ably received by the public for twenty years,) but as it is twice as large, and appears so often, we not only give spirit and freshness to it by many things which were excluded by a month's delay, but while thus extending our scope and gathering a greater and more attractive variety, are able so to increase the solid and substantial part of our literary, historical, and political harvest, as fully to satisfy the wants of the American reader.

The elaborate and stately Essays of the Edinburgh, Quarterly, and other Reviews; and Blackwood's noble criticisms on Poetry, his keen political Commentaries, highly wrought Tales, and vivid descriptions of rural and mountain Scenery; and the contributions to Literature, History, and Common Life, by the sagacious Spectator, the sparkling Examiner, the judicious Athenæum, the busy and industrious Literary Gazette, the sensible and comprehensive Britannia, the sober and respectable Christian Observer; these are intermixed with the Military and Naval reminiscences of the United Service, and with the best articles of the Dublin University, New Monthly, Fraser's, Tait's, Ainsworth's, Hood's, and Sporting Magazines, and of Chambers' admirable Journal. We do not consider it beneath our dignity to borrow wit and wisdom from Punch; and, when we think it good enough, make ase of the thunder of The Times. We shall increase our variety by importations from the continent of Europe, and from the new growth of the British colonies.

The steamship has brought Europe, Asia and Africa, into our neighborhood; and will greatly multiply our connections, as Merchants, Travellers, and Politicians, with all parts of the world; so that much more than ever it

TERMS.-The LIVING AGE IS published every Saturday, by E. LITTELL & Co., corner of Tremont and Bromfield sts., Boston; Price 121 cents a number, or six dollars a year in advance. Remittances for any period will be thankfully received and promptly attended to. To insure regularity in mailing the work, orders should be addressed to the office of publication, as above.

Clubs, paying a year in advance, will be supplied as follows:

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now becomes every intelligent American to be informed of the condition and changes of foreign countries. And this not only because of their nearer connection with ourselves, but because the nations seem to be hastening, through a rapid process of change, to some new state of things, which the merely political prophet cannot compute or foresee.

Geographical Discoveries, the progress of Colonization, (which is extending over the whole world,) and Voyages and Travels, will be favorite matter for our selections; and, in general, we shall systematically and very fully acquaint our readers with the great department of Foreign affairs, without entirely neglecting our own.

While we aspire to make the Living Age desirable to all who wish to keep themselves informed of the rapid progress of the movement-to Statesmen, Divines, Lawyers, and Physicians-to men of business and men of leisure-it is still a stronger object to make it attractive and useful to their Wives and Children. We believe that we can thus do some good in our day and generation; and hope to make the work indispensable in every well-informed family. We say indispensable, because in this day of cheap literature it is not possible to guard against the influx of what is bad in taste and vicious in morals, in any other way than by furnishing a sufficient supply of a healthy character. The mental and moral appetite must be gratified.

We hope that, by "winnowing the wheat from the chaff," by providing abundantly for the imagination, and by a large collection of Biography, Voyages and Travels, History, and more solid matter, we may produce a work which shall be popular, while at the same time it will aspire to raise the standard of public taste.

Agencies. We are desirous of making arrangements in all parts of North America, for increasing the circulation of this work--and for doing this a liberal commission will be allowed to gentlemen who will interest themselves in the business. And we will gladly correspond on this subject with any agent who will send us undoubted refer

ences.

Postage. When sent with the cover on, the Living Age consists of three sheets, and is rated as a pamphlet, at 4 cents. But when sent without the cover, it comes within the definition of a newspaper given in the law, and cannot legally be charged with more than newspaper postage, (1) cts.) We add the definition alluded to :

A newspaper is "any printed publication, issued in numbers, consisting of not more than two sheets, and published at short, stated intervals of not more than one month, conveying intelligence of passing events."

Monthly parts. For such as prefer it in that form, the Living Age is put up in monthly parts, containing four or five weekly numbers. In this shape it shows to great advantage in comparison with other works, containing in each part double the matter of any of the quarterlies. But we recommend the weekly numbers, as fresher and fuller of life. Postage on the monthly parts is about 14 cents. The volumes are published quarterly, each volume containing as much matter as a quarterly review gives in

Binding. We bind the work in a uniform, strong, and good style; and where customers bring their numbers in good order, can generally give them bound volumes in exchange without any delay. The price of the binding is 50 cents a volume. As they are always bound to one pattern, there will be no difficulty in matching the future | eighteen months. volumes.

WASHINGTON, 27 DEC., 1845. Or all the Periodical Journals devoted to literature and science which abound in Europe and in this country, this has appeared to me to be the most useful. It contains indeed the exposition only of the current literature of the English language, but this by its immense extent and comprehension includes a portraiture of the human mind in the utmost expansion of the present age. J. Q. ADAMS.

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE. -No. 292.-22 DECEMBER, 1849.

From the Spectator.

BERNARD BARTON'S LIFE AND LETTERS.*

THERE is more of melancholy about the disappearance of the lesser than the greater stars of literature. The author whose works are for "all time" is as much alive to posterity as he was to his contemporaries; the writer whose name is to dwindle away through a slow tradition, and only be preserved for the literary student in literary history, comes more home to the feelings of our common nature-" mentem mortalia tangunt." When accident or satire turns up a name once frequent in the world's mouth, but now forgotten save by those whose trade it is to remember such, a feeling arises akin to that which touches the mind of the wayfarer who lingers over the mementos of mortality in a country churchyard.

The feeling is deeper, or at least fuller, in the case of a contemporary who continually appeared before the public, whose subjects were generally associated with the common sentiments and common feelings of mankind, and whose treatment if deficient in art and study was always pleasingnot too homely for the refined, not too deep or lofty for the humble. Such was Bernard Barton; some of whose strains yet linger in the memory, and who was almost tenderly associated in many minds from his long connection with the Annuals. Indeed, to their better spirit his own was appropriate, and they seem to have perished with if not before him.

The genius of Bernard Barton was probably capable of achieving greater excellence than his poems exhibit. Although he cannot exactly be called the founder of a school, we think he was the first in point of time who practised the domestic or household style of poetry, where the common incidents of daily life, the things or circumstances that are familiar to all of us, and the sentiments which are colored by a high state of civilization, if they are not owing to it, are embodied in

which arise spontaneously in many minds under certain conditions of society, and is therefore rather to be considered as common to many a moderate than peculiar to one original mind. It is natural but obvious.

The biographical information in the present volume lets us into part of the secret of Bernard Barton's acquiescence in a pleasing mediocrity, instead of struggling for excellence. He had little literature and little leisure; his genius was dis cursive rather than concentrated; and he had the fatal gift of easy fluency. "He wrote in numbers for the numbers came;" or if they did not, he poured out his thoughts in prose-always agreeable, it would seem, and with a substratum of reality, but of necessity superficial, and dependent for attraction on the subject, or the felicity of the hour. His rapidity of composition, its injurious effects upon his poetical character, with the outline of his literary career, are well and succinctly told by the friend who arranged and added to the autobiographical papers which Bernard Barton left behind him.

In 1812, he published his first volume of poems, called "Metrical Effusions," and began a correspondence with Southey, who continued to give him most kind and wise advice for many years.

In 1818 Bernard Barton published by subscription a thin quarto volume-" Poems by an Amateur;" and shortly afterwards appeared under the auspices of a London publisher in a volume of "Poems," which, being favorably reviewed in the

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Edinburgh," reached a fourth edition by 1825. In 1822 came out his "Napoleon," which he managed to get dedicated and presented to George the Fourth. And now being launched upon the public with a favoring gale, he pushed forward with an eagerness that was little to his ultimate advantage. Between 1822 and 1828 he published five volumes of verse. Each of these contained many pretty poems; but many that were very hasty, and written more as task-work, when the mind was already wearied with the desk-labors of the day; not wait

smooth and pleasing rather than strong and striking for the occasion to suggest, nor the impulse to was the sole event which varied the monotony of celebrity tickles me somewhat. Talk of fame! 18 Bernard Barton's life. His career, indeed, was uneventful enough. He was born in 1784; lost both his parents in early life; was sent to a Quaker school at Ipswich, and on leaving it was apprenticed to a shopkeeper at Halsted in Essex, where " he stood behind the counter for eight years."

ing verse. If this style were carried to the pitch which the style is capable of, the founder might be entitled to the praise of an original poet. As he did not reach, and apparently did not aim at the highest excellence, his merit of priority was lost in a crowd of imitators; while Mrs. Hemans and (perhaps) Miss Landon, by adding the historical and romantic to their humbler themes, have attracted to themselves some of that reputation which rightfully belonged to Bernard Barton. But it must be owned, that if we judge from actual specimens, not from possible excellence, the style was not striking in itself. It was one of those ideas * Selections from the Poems and Letters of Bernard Barton. Edited by his daughter. Published by Hall and Virtue. VOL. XXIII. 34

CCXCII.

LIVING AGE.

improve. Of this he was warned by his friends, and of the danger of making himself too cheap with publishers and the public. But the advice of others had little weight in the hour of success with one so

inexperienced and so hopeful as himself. And there was in Bernard Barton a certain boyish impetuosity in pursuit of anything he had at heart, that age itself scarcely could subdue. Thus it was with his correspondence; and thus it was with his poetry. He wrote always with great facility, almost unretarded by that worst labor of correction; for he was not fastidious himself about exactness of thought or harmony of numbers, and he could scarce comprehend why the public should be less easily satisfied.

One reason assigned by his biographer for the poet's "mistaken activity" was, that publishing

In 1806 he went to Woodbridge; and a year after married Lucy Jesup, the niece of his former master, and entered into partnership with her brother as coal and corn merchant. But she died a year after marriage, in giving birth to the only child, who now survives them both; and he, perhaps sickened with the scene of his blighted love, and finding, like his father, that he had less taste for the ledger than for literature, almost directly quitted Woodbridge, and engaged himself as private tutor in the family of Mr. Waterhouse, a merchant in Liverpool. There Bernard Barton had some family connections; and there also he was kindly received and entertained by the Roscoe family, who were old acquaintances of his father and mother.

not this a fame which comes home, not only to "men's business and bosoms," but to children's noses into the bargain! Tom Churchyard (an artit, and says he would cuff any urchin whom he ist) calls it an indignity, an insult, looks scorny at caught blowing his nose on one of his sketches. All this arises from his not knowing the complicated nature and texture of all worldly fame. 'T is like the image the Babylonish king dreamt of, with its golden head, baser metal lower down, and miry clay for the feet. It will not do to be fastidious: you must take the idol as it is its gold sconce if you can get it if not, take the clay feet, or one toe of another foot, and be thankful, and make what you can of it. I write verse to be read; it is a matter of comparative indifference to me whether I am read from a fine bound book on a drawing-room table, child of a peasant or a weaver. So, honor to the or spelt over from a penny rag of a kerchief by the cotton-printer, say I, whoever he be; that bit of rag is my patent as a household poet.

Bernard Barton was a Quaker and a stanch one,

After a year's residence in Liverpool he returned but he was of far too genial a nature to care for to Woodbridge, and there became clerk in Messrs. the fopperies of the Friends, or to circumscribe Alexander's bank a kind of office which secures salvation to a sect. His elder sister, his daughter,

certain if small remuneration, without any of the anxiety of business; and there he continued for forty years, working till within two days of his

death.

This took place suddenly, on the 19th February in the present year, from disease of the heart. The volume before us contains the memoir from

and other near connections, formally left "the meeting," and were baptized in the "steeplehouse," with his regrets, but no other feeling. He himself did not scruple to attend the church service; and he graciously bore with the surveil

lance and remonstrances of the straitest of his sect. Besides its other features, his correspondence is

which we have already quoted, a selection from curious for occasional glimpses of the arbitrary inthe correspondence of Bernard Barton, and a selec- terference of Quakers with the personal conduct tion from his poems; forming altogether a volume of one another. Here are his pleadings on the of much interest. The memoir is one of the best waistcoat and the bell.

9 mo. 12, 1846.

things of the kind we have seen, both as regards judgment and execution. The poet and the man are thoroughly appreciated, and, what is rare when the biographer is a friend, are rated at their true try to right myself in thy good opinion-the swans

and

And now, my dear old friend of above twenty years' standing, I have two points on which I must

down waistcoat, and the bell with the somewhat un-
quakerly inscription of "Mr. Barton's bell" graven
above the handle thereof. I could not well sup-
press a smile at both counts of the indictment, for
both are true to a certain extent, though I do not
to either in a criminal one.
know that I should feel at all bound to plead guilty
my birthday, now nearly two years ago, my daugh-
It is true that prior to
ter, without consulting me, did work for me in

value the good qualities of each perceived, the failings not overlooked but touched gently. The facts of the life are narrated rapidly; the habits and peculiarities of the subject are presented as only personal knowledge can present them; Bernard Barton is allowed to tell his own story when his letters are biographical. The selection from the poet's correspondence is perhaps a little overdone, some of the letters being on personal worsted work, as they do now-a-days for slippers, topics or matters of mere opinion: in general, a piece of sempstress-ship or needle-craft, forming however, they are full of character; especially being rather larger than I should have chosen had waistcoat; the pattern of which those from Charles Lamb, who comes out genially choice been allowed me, gave it some semblance of rich, and from Bernard himself, who in his way is almost as rich as Lamb, and not unlike him-such as Charles might have been had fate made him a Quaker. This letter on fame, which explains itself, is a sober "Elia."

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the striped or flowered waistcoats, which, for aught I know, may be designated at swansdown; but the colors, drab and chocolate, were so very sober, that I put it on as I found it, thinking no evil, and wore it first and week days all last winter, and may probably through the coming one, at least on week days. It is cut in my wonted single-breasted fashion; and as my collarless coat, coming pretty forward, allows no great display of it, I had not heard before a word of scandal, or even censure, on its unfriendliness. Considering who worked it for me, I am not sure had the royal arms been worked thereon, if in such sober colors, but I might have worn it, and thought it less fine and less fashionable than the velvet and silk ones which I have seen, ere now, in our gal

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