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Leadenhall Street, in England. His appeal to them was dated the 29th of December 1852. In the eyes of the East India Company the appeals of native princes of India do not seem to have been matters of much consequence. The Company appear to have considered that it added to their dignity to have the advocates of such princes waiting in their anterooms. Somewhere about December 1853, the Company sent back Nana Sahib's memorial to the government in India, and the result was, that nothing was done.

It would appear that Nana Sahib, with smooth and gentlemanly manners, unites superior abilities; and that to these abilities he adds passions of the strongest and most vin

dictive nature. His spirit is high, and his vehemence of the most determined character. At the period of the breaking out of the mutiny which has rendered his name infamous, he seems to have become a monomaniac on the subject of what he believed to be his wrongs.

In the preceding sketch, subject, of course, to correction, we have endeavored to state facts, not with a view to advocating any cause, but simply for the purpose of communicating to our readers information as to some of the numerous causes which have led to the dreadful events which have recently occurred in the East.

LABOR AND TRIUMPH: THE LIFE AND TIMES
OF HUGH MILLER. By Thomas N. Brown.
R. Griffin & Co.

| newspapers and periodicals. Meanwhile the question of the right of parishes to elect their own preachers was agitating the Scottish public, The Life and Times of Hugh Miller is only a and on the decision in the House of Lords peg on which to hang the history of the "Free which decided the legal question in favor of the Church" movement in Scotland. It is chiefly lay-patrons, Hugh Miller wrote a pamphlet, in as a geologist, and author of "The Testimony the form of a leter to Lord Brougham, which of the Rocks," that Hugh Miller is known excited much attention, and obtained for him south of the Tweed. But in his native country the editorship of "The Witness," which the his scientific reputation is eclipsed by his fame Free Church was then about to establish. From as the editor of a paper called "The Witness,' this time Mr. Brown is so much occupied with which was, and is for all we know, the organ of the history of the Free Church agitation that he the large section of Scottish Presbyterians who has little to tell about Hugh Miller. We canseceded from the established church on the ques- not say much in favor of this biography. It is tion of the right of congregations to elect their written in the fiercest spirit of Calvinism, and preacher. The grandson of a buccaneer, and in that intolerably inflated style which, we obson of a sailor of Cromarty, Hugh Miller, after serve, finds favor north of the Tweed. Mr. receiving the somewhat superior education which Brown does not "homologate" certain stateis generally within the reach of the Scottish ments; and Scott and his school of writers are peasantry, became a quarryman, in which ca- said to have "looked at their (the Puritans'] pacity he acquired the taste for geological stu- characters through the tears of Mary Stuart." dies and the knowledge of the structure of the The discipline of Calvin-who condemned a rocks which ultimately made him so eminent as woman to be burned alive "for having sung a geologist. His father was lost at sea whilst immodest songs"-is commended, as "bearing he was yet a boy; and at the moment the ship- the fairest fruits by the banks of the Leman wreck occurred, he saw, or thought he saw, a Lake." Burns is degraded from the rank of ghastly vision of a dissevered hand and arm one of the "representative men of Scotland, coming towards him. The believers in super- for having written "The Holy Fair," and Walnatural apparition may therefore count him as ter Scott, because he was only a "relic of feuan additional witness to the truth of their belief. dalism,"-while Hugh Miller, as a hero, is But it must be remembered that he destroyed classed in a triad with Wallace and Knox; and himself while laboring under a fit of insanity as a writer, above Addison, Goldsmith, Swift, which took this very form. Lord Castlereagh Steele, Richardsan, and Fielding. A whole related to Sir Walter Scott that a ghastly figure chapter is devoted to a lecture addressed to Mr. once appeared to him while lying in his bed. Dickens, on the wickedness of his anti-SabbataThese visions may therefore be taken as not un-rian principles; and, indeed, throughout the usual symptrms of suicidal mania. Miller's book the incidents of Hugh Miller's life bear a abilities were evidently thrown away in the secondary place. humble labors of a quarryman, and he was soon selected to manage a country bank which had just been established. Here he labored at the desk for many years, occasionally writing in

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A REAL MAN.-A hospitable man is never ashamed of his dinner when you come to dine with him.

HOME AND REST.

CHILD do not fear;

We shall reach our home to-night,
For the sky is clear,

And the waters bright;

And the breezes have scarcely strength
To unfold that little cloud,
That like a shroud

Spreads out its fleecy length.
Then have no fear,

As we cleave our silver way
Through the waters clear.

Fear not, my child!

Though the waves are white and high,
And the storm blows wild
Through the gloomy sky;

On the edge of the western sea
See that line of golden light
Is the haven bright

Where Home is awaiting thee.
Where, this peril past,

We shall rest from our stormy voyage
In peace at last.

Be not afraid;

But give me thy hand, and see

How the waves have made

A cradle for thee.

Night is come, dear, and we shall rest;

So turn from the angry skies,
And close thine eyes,

Lay thy head upon my breast:

Child, do not weep,

In the calm, cold, purple depths
There we shall sleep.

-Household Words.

THE HOUR OF PRAYER.

My God! is any hour so sweet,
From blush of morn to evening star,
As that which calls me to thy feet,

The hour of prayer.

Blest is that tranquil hour of morn,
And blest that hour of solemn eve,
When on the wings of prayer upborne,
The world I leave.

For then a day-spring shines on me,
Brighter than morn's etherial glow;
And richer dews descend from thee
Than earth can know.

Then is strength by thee renewed;
Then are my sins by thee forgiven;
Then doth thou cheer my solitude
With hope of heaven.

No words can tell what sweet relief
There for my every want I find,
What strength for warfare, balm for grief,
What peace of mind.

Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear;

My spirit seems in heaven to stay; And e'en the penitential tear

Is wiped away.

Lord! till I reach yon blissful shore
No privilege so dear shall be
And thus my inmost soul to pour
In prayer to thee

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"An account of the ship's course and distance, calculated without the aid of celestial observation."-Webster's Dictionary.

LAST night my Soul drove out to sea-
Down through the Pagan gloom,
As chartless as Eternity,

And dangerous as Doom.

By blinding gusts of no-God chased,
My crazy craft plunged on;

I crept aloft, in prayers, to find
The light-house of the Dawn.
No shore, no star, no sail ahead,
No look-out's saving song-
Death, and the rest, athwart my bows,
And all my reckoning wrong!.
-National Era.

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No. 732.-5 June 1858.-Enlarged Series, No. 10.

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SHORT ARTICLES.-A Man Born too Late, 750. Squinting Lover, 750. To Rise Early, 750. Excavation of an Ancient Christian Church, 777. 795. Mr. Allsop's Coleridge, 795. Manchester Men and Artists, 795. Cost of a Modern Belle, 798. King of Sardinia, 800.

Thackeray, 750.

New Photograph, Royal Relic, 795.

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY

LITTELL, SON & Co., Bofton; and STANFORD & DELISSER, 508 Broadway, New-York.

For Six Dollars a year, remitted directly to either of the Publishers, the Living Age will be punctually forwarded, free of postage.

Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume.

ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers.

ANY NUMBER may be had for 12 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value.

GRIEF FOR THE DEAD.

O HEARTS that never cease to yearn!
O brimming tears that ne'er are dried!
The dead, though they depart, return
As if they had not died!

The living are the only dead;

The dead live-nevermore to die; And often when we mourn them fled They never were so nigh!

And though they lie beneath the waves,

Or sleep within the churchyard dim(Ah! through how many different graves God's children go to him!)

Yet every grave gives up its dead

Ere it is overgrown with grass!
Then why should hopeless tears be shed,
Or need we cry Alas!

Or why should memory veil'd with gloom,
And like a sorrowing mourner craped,
Sit weeping o'er an empty tomb

Whose captives have escaped!

'Tis but a mound-and will be mossed

When'er the summer grass appears ;-
The loved, though wept, are never lost;
We only lose our tears.

Nay, Hope may whisper with the dead,
By bending forward where they are;
But Memory, with a backward tread,
Communes with them afar!

The joys we lose are but forecast,

And we shall find them all once more ;We look behind us for the Past, But lo! 'tis all before!

SWALLOWS.

Now, o'er the harvest meadows green
Their arrow-headed forms are seen;
Now, o'er the pool they skim,
As if they wish'd to dive below,
To those far-sinking skies which glow

Down through the waters dim.

With skilful wings their white breasts lave,
And oft the smooth translucent wave,

Records the daring feat;
Until they shyly dart away
To where the swarming insects play,

In some calm cool retreat.
Within the beech's gloaming shade,
They flit through every sombre glade
Like bats upon the wing;
So swift and silently they go,
Amid the foliage to and fro,

As 'twere some secret thing.

Thence home to shelt'ring eaves they hie, And barns and lofts with twitt'ring cry, Melodiously resound;

And then each dark warm nest they seek, To feed, from fond exhaustless beak

The mouths that open round.

Once more! once more! away they dart,
To ransack with a curious art,

The water, earth, and air;
The shade, the meadow, pool and sky,

As if they knew most happily,
Each joy secreted there.
With tantalized and laggard sight,
We try to trace their thought-swift flight,
Which thing may never be;

We can but wish, from this fair earth,
Our labor'd pleasures and feign'd mirth
As innocent and free.

Yet it may hap, perchance, they prize
Far better than their own clear skies,
The heavens beneath the pool;
And Earth's reflections calm and green
May lovelier be to them, I ween,

Than meadows fresh and cool.
But if this striving world of men
Should seem to their untutored ken
A happier than their own;
Their blissful pinions let them stay,
And they shall wish, ere one short day,
Such knowledge all unknown.
-Household Words.

HOOD ON Duelling.

TOM HOOD describes an intended duel which was prevented by an amicable arrangement made upon the ground. The parties-Mr. Brady and Mr. Clay-rivals for the affections of Miss Lucy Bell, find it necessary te appeal to arms :

But first they found a friend apiece,
This pleasant thought to give-

That when they both were dead, they'd have
Two seconds yet to live.

To measure out the ground, not long
The seconds next forebore;
And having taken one rash step,
They took a dozen more.

They next prepared each pistol pan,
Against the deadly strife;
But putting in the prime of death,
Against the prime of life.

Now all was ready for the foes;

But when they took their stands,
Fear made them tremble so, they found
They both were shaking hands.

Said Mr. C. to Mr. B.,
"Here one of us must fall,
And, like St. Paul's Cathedral now,
Be doomed to have a ball.

"I do confess I did attach

Misconduct to your name;

If I withdraw the charge, will then
Your ramrod do the same?"
Said Mr. B., "I do agree ;-
But think of Honor's courts,-
If we be off without a shot,

There will be strange reports.
"But look; the morning now is bright,
Though cloudy it begun ;
Why can't we aim above, as if
We had called out the sun?
So up into the harmless air

Their bullets they did send;
And may all other duels have
That upshot in the end.

"

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most appertains to connoisseurship. We approach the great Florentine by little help of criticism, and by few standards of comparison, either with himself or others, but rather through the literature, philosophy, and salient forms of thought of his day; the author touches on none of the disputed points in his history; he gives us no list of the works of this unprecedented pluralist in art; but, on the principle that a man is best known by his associates, he introduces him surrounded by those living characters whom he believes to have influenced his mind as well as his destiny. Thus the chief personages of that mysterious Florence of the 15th century are successively evoked before us-Lorenzo de' Medici, the magnificent Egotist, the devotee

only in art and learning-Politian, the Medicean laureate, and tutor to the future Leo X.-Ficinio, the high-priest of the philosophic Academy-Pico de Mirandola, the lasser

meo Scala-Luigi Pulci-with minor literati, sparkling, profligate, and classic—and, finally, the melancholy figure of the puritanic martyr Savonarola, whose stern trumpet-call of Christian protest is heard in harsh opposition to the lulling Pagan tones, which, floating on the surface of Italian society show the deep moral corruption beneath.

Nor are the results of Mr. Harford's labors

THE two volumes upon Michael Angelo, by a gentleman of Mr. Harford's station, are no slight testimony to the enlightened attention now devoted to the subject of art by the class most at liberty to choose their own studies and recreations. Such free-will offerings are the more valuable from the circum-chiefly of a spurious Platonism, the patriot stance that they are usually presented with a liberality as regards time, trouble, and money which the more professional contributor can seldom afford, and which this work offers to us in more than common abundance. Mr. | Italian Crichton-Matteo Franco-BartolomHarford's name was previously known to the public in honorable connexion with that of the illustrious object of his labors for services rendered in the same liberal spirit to artists as well as to art. In 1854, he published, at considerable expense, a plate of the Sistine ceiling, no less remarkable for its large size than for the effect of color produced by an elaborate application of the chromolithographic process. Considering the double difficulty of giving any adequate idea of a work, itself seen under so many disadvantages, Mr. Harford's plate may be pronounced the most successful, as a general representation of the ceiling yet produced. The profits of the sale are devoted to the benefit of the Astists' General Benevolent Institution. This fine lithograph is now incorporated with a folio of engravings accompanying the Life, in which no pains have been spared to assist the public to comprehend Michael Angelo as architect as well as painter, and which, having the advantage of a careful and enthusiastic essay from the pen of Mr. Cockerell, is valuable with or without the work it illustrates. But it is not in generosity of labor or lib-dent with it, Mr. Harford expresses not only arality of illustration alone that Mr. Harford shows the independent amateur; the mode in which he has conceived his subject is strictly true to that character also. He may be said to lead the reader up to Michael Angelo by every avenue, except that which

dependent for interest on the nature of his subjects only. No matter what the themeand our short summary comprehends the very antipodes of the dull and interesting in systems and men-from the dreariest dreams of modern Platonism equally as from the stirring echoes of the Reformation yon side the Alps (his favorite and leading topic), this hard-working volunteer extracts a narrative so lucid and elegant as to afford little conception of the obscurity, worldliness, and pedantry through which he himself has forced his way.

In this desire to reflect light on the life he has undertaken, from every form of intellectual depth or sophistical surface at all coinci

his own feelings, but that of an important and highly-cultivated class. To such thinkers great part of the interest inspired by art consists in its supposed connexion with the mind of its period; and though not prepared to agree unreservedly with this belief, it may be

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