ceeded; the old woman recovered her speech and, as so frequently happens inthe hour of death, recovered also the full power of her mind, and told that she wanted to catch the cat, and when this sprang away from her, she fell to the ground. In the evening she died, but before that time Stephan was restored to liberty.

When the grandmother was buried, Stephan stood weeping over her open grave; those were the last tears which he shed on his native soil, for in undisturbed peace he now prepared for his emigration. His character had become strengthened by his battle with himself and the world.

He had been saved out of the deepest temptations; he had become acquainted with himself and those who belonged to him through severe trial, and now he was in unity with himself and them. He could now with renewed courage prepare for a new life.

The schoolmaster and Stephan had also a new bond of union between them; they had become acquainted with the prisons of their native land. Stephan had persevered in his scheme of emigration, but only in the same way that he ate his supper on the first evening when he made his acquaintance, only because he had determined to do so, and without its having a relish; now, however, there was a new excitement; he had endured a public punishment for a combat in his own heart.

Stephan and the schoolmaster with their families were among the very first who were enabled, by aid of the society which was just then established for the protection of emigrants, to remove to North America.

From the time of leaving their native village until they reached the place of their destination were they conveyed from one kind hand to another, and they often silently blessed those who, out of no self-interest, but from pure human-kindness smoothed to them the sorrowful path of emigration.

Stephan's youngest child, which bore the name of the grandmother, learned to run alone on American ground, and he loved to call it "Grandmother," and thus to keep alive the memory of the deceased.



Prithee, said I, heart of mine,
Who shall be my valentine?
And my heart it made reply,
With a start and with a sigh,
For the matter care not I,
Nay in sooth the choice be thine
Who shall be thy valentine.

Nay, thy secret prithee tell,
Trust me, heart, I know it well
By thy current's quick retreat,
Breathless pause and fluttering beat,
By the flushes quick to meet
Her sweet coming, know I well
All, and more than thou can'st tell.

Said I, silly heart reveal
What thou canst no more conceal,
And my heart that found no use
Further 'twas to urge excuse
Gave its curbed passion loose-
Emma, would that thou wert mine,
Mine for aye my valentine.


THE POOR AND THE POOR LAWS. ALTHOUGH there may be unquestionable data for assuming that England is the greatest country in the world, we must by no means take pride to ourselves that we have all the attributes of a great people. There is confessedly much about us that is small, much from which we ought to endeavour to purge ourselves. Care should be taken that we are not excessively humane on the one hand, or extremely cruel on the other-in fact, that we have not in our nature too great a mixture of good and evil. If we look into our Arts and Sciences, we have therein names of which we are justly proud-Reynolds, Wilkie, Watt, Arkwright, Cavendish, Davy, and a thousand others whom we could name, are men whom any country would honour. As a literary nation we occupy no mean position-England has produced men whose writings will live for all time. If we examine our wealth we shall find that we are the richest nation in the world. Our exports, alone exceed in amount the whole revenue of many kingdoms, and our empire extends over one third of the globe. The sun never sets on our dominions-a company of British merchants rule, de facto, a country one of the richest and most extensive on the face of the globe. We are unquestionably masters of the ocean, and it is true what a celebrated foreigner once said to us-"You conquer one half of the world and you bully the other." But with all this brightness in our national picture, a terrible fact stares us in the face. In the back-ground may be seen in unquestionable colours the glaring amount of destitution we possess beyond other nations of the world. How is this? A country so magnanimously great and wealthy as to afford shelter to the exiled foreigner-to give freedom to the slave, and yet to possess the most poor. Impossible! one would say. But, alas! too true. It is a fact, a stubborn, a great fact, and what is more, the tide of national humanity as been rolling against our own poor. A bad law and the apathy of its administrators to the wants and habits of the poor have placed us in this dreadful position.What have they done? Have they suppressed mendicity? Look at the innumerable number of beggars that infest our streets and homes-see them clothed in nature's hideousness, until we are disposed to question whether they were originally intended to walk erect. Is crime dismayed by the harsh treatment of the poor? Alas! see the daily records of our police courts-magistrates assaulted in the open streets-windows belonging to the courts of justice broken! bread stolen! and for what? -that the poor wretches may obtain in gaol that protection which they are illegally denied by the authorities of unions and workhouses. These things are too true. They have all occurred within these few weeks.-Where then our boasted greatness-in arts-in sciences -in literature-our vast empire !-Shame on us!-We should clothe ourselves "in sackcloth and ashes"- -we should expunge from our national flag the lion rampant, and place in its stead the figure of a poor starving wretch dying from want at the door of an union workhouse.

We have said that the tide of our national humanity has long been flowing against the poor. It is true-men in authority act on this principle. The Lord Mayor of London does so, while the City begrudges the sum of £4000, about one half the Lord Mayor's salary, for the support of the casual poor. Of what use are the daily examples of individual sacrifice for the public good? Men like Lord Ashley and Mr. Cabbell may spend their time and patience in mitigating the sufferings of the poor, but of what use are our hospitals and houses of refuge for the destitute while persons in authority act so inhumanly. Let us not be charged with a maudlin sentimentality in favour of the poor. We possess no such feelings. We say that it will be found to be the

WELCOME brave thinker! Comest thou to drop
Into our life the plummet of thy thought,
And by thy soundings give us faith, and hope
In Truth and Liberty? Or hast thou brought
The subtle harmonies of song, by thee
Learned in the antient forests, to unfold
For us the delicate sphere of melody;

To bear our spirits upward, and to mould
Our manhood into strength, and love like thine,
And take us with thee into Nature's shrine?

Welcome thou clear discerner of the light,
Beaming through the world's shadow upon man.
Lead us to follow thee up to the height

soundest principle of social economy to afford food and shelter to the deserving and destitute, but to punish the impostor. Why a worm would turn on us if cruelly treated, and inhuman conduct will rouse the most docile spirit. The same blood courses through the veins of the poor as the rich-their hearts and pulses beat alikenature made the same air for both, nor can the rich man respire oftener than his unfortunate fellow-creature. To look at the picture is most discouraging. To see the laws, and the dispensers of the laws very frequently declare against the interests of the poor is not a very hopeful sight. But things will yet change for the better, for although we find but one or two individuals sacrificing the whole of their time and money for the benefit of their fellow creatures, the seed which they are sowing must eventually bring forth fruits. It is to be hoped for the honour-for the interest of the nation-that we shall see our error in neglecting the interests of the poor. Our statesmen and our authorities should endeavour to find work for those who are able and willing to do it, and food for those who are in distress and unable to labour. Both are to be had-God never designed that men should live in idleness, nor that they should starve. He has given us abundance, and as Heaven has done its part, man should take care to do his also. While we are, as we ought to be, a great people, we should be so in every sense of the word. To be great we must be good to be good we must be humane-and to be humane we must have no more "Deaths from Starvation." They tell against the character of the nation. If the Poor Law is bad, and no one doubts it, let it be Ecclesia Dei: a Vision of the Church. London: Long


"Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis."

Of purer thought and vision, and to scan
The hopeful future and the signs that loom
Over our present, big with peace, and truth:
Quicken our ears to hear the knell of doom

Rung o'er all tyranny; we feel the youth
Of the world's action in our spirits play,
Welcome brave preacher, pointer of our way.

Literary Notices.

man & Co.

HERE we have a little volume, written, as is very eviTo persevere in a headlong course of oppression to-dent, by a clergyman of the Established Church, at wards the poor is inconsistent with the interests of all classes. The nation should be governed as if we were all one family, and though the guilty should be punished, we have no right to condemn the innocent.



once learned, zealous, and possessing great poetical and satirical powers; which deserves, and, we think, will attract very marked attention. When the very servants of the altar begin in strains so energetic, and unsparing as this, to denounce and expose the corrupt condition of that church, it is high time that those who have the power, should look to a resolute reform of the mischief. The author appears to be one of those who would be classed with the Puseyite party, but to our mind he must be classed with the best section of that party. He is evidently a man whose poetical and humane disposi

"WHAT call you that creature, dark couched in its tion leads him to regard everything which is connected


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with the dignity and beauty of his system of devotion, and with the advantage of the people, with peculiar inWhy lurketh she there? terest. The fine old gothic architecture, and the music

I hear a low moaning, the hovel within,

An infant one crying-sure here must be sin!"

A dying voice murmurs-" The worst of all sins,

and chanting of the cathedral service have seized on all the poetic sympathies of his nature. He deplores their neglect, and desecration, but he does not the less deplore the mercenary practice which, by pews, at once

Which, from sisters and brothers, small sympathy wins!" defaces the interior of our churches, and shuts out the

"Thou wretched hut-dweller, now give it a nameThis sin, without solace, must wed thee to shame ?"

To shame and to sorrow I'm wedded-a curse
Lies on the poor baby, as well as its nurse!
"But name me the sin which to sorrow hath wedded
And shame, the pale pair in the straw-heap embedded?"
"The sin and the curse we are bound to endure,
You view it-we feel it-we're poor-we are poor!-
The will of the stronger has fashioned the law,
Which leaves us these rags and this heap of old straw;-
The scowl of the stronger upbraids us, for being
The work of that will-the sad wreck you are seeing!"
They have passed from the hovel-she ceases to moan-
A motherless babe's in the wide world alone.

poor from their proper enjoyment. He has an eye for the picturesque, the venerable, and the English in our old country-houses, parsonages, and deaneries, but he does not fail to lay lustily on the base spirits that have contrived to creep into them.

The poetry has a fine musical rhythm, reminding us of the versification of Moile, and of Rogers, with the satiric vigour, and boldness of Churchill. He treats the bishops as they richly deserve, but he passes tenderly over the cause which makes them what they are, the immense and ill-distributed wealth of the church, and its unnatural alliance with the state. The Kingdom of Christ never was the Kingdom of this world, and never will be, let men do all they can to make it so. themselves. Make statesmen of them and they will beSecularize the church, and its bishops will secularize come sorry shepherds of the flock of Christ. Make them very rich, and put them into nicely lined carriages,

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and set them down to a continual feast, and cocker them up with all sorts of absurd titles, as, My Lord Bishop, and Right Reverend Father in God, and His Grace, and the like; enthrone them and bedizen them with fantastic robes; and set them up in Parliament before the whole body of temporal peers, and give them all sorts of worldly duties to perform, and worldly goods to take care of, and if you can make decent pastors of God's flock out of them, why then you may make an Elihu Burritt out of the Iron Duke, or you may do any other miracle that you have a mind to.

a pastoral charge with a modest income, and a clear understanding that he is to mind his spiritual duties, and nothing else, and you will have a good servant of God and man, call him what you will. Take another, and make him as rich as a Jew; let him be an aspiring adventurer naturally; and set all sorts of worldly grandeur and rivalries, and still loftier heights and prizes before him; dip him deep in the gall-fountain of politics, and you'll get-just such as you do get. Our author sees plainly what they are, and what the consequence is. He says, "Who so blind as not to see the But what says our able and candid author of the estrangement of affection and alienation of heart which Bishops? here is a bit of his prose,-"A man may such palpable discrepancy and chilliness is calculated, question the policy or the taste of thus charging home and, indeed, almost sure to engender? This, indeed, upon the Bishops of the Church the sad estate of the is but a sample, yet it is a frequent sample of the manChurch herself; but can any one deny the fact-the ner in which the bishops forget themselves, their high fact, I mean, of their being notoriously deficient in office, their holy, yet humble brethren. But men do those gifts and graces which should be inseparable from not, therefore, forget them. They see them without a bishop and overseer of Christ's Church? Where is natural affection, or heart, or inclination for either the their gentleness? Where their kindness and other than things or persons of the church, so they cease to love, bare civil courtesy, and cold hospitality to their hum- begin to hate, and end in despising them, and disclaimbler and poorer brethren of the clergy and laity of the ing their jurisdiction and power. Then it is that the church? Where their heartiness and zeal towards the lay-peers vote them nuisances, the crown contemns, church itself? The bishops of old time built, endowed, and the prime minister of the day, who may make layand "visited." The bishops of to-day meet in St. Mar-peers by the score, with seats in Parliament, and no one tin's-place, and vote themselves houses with other people's money, and contract for cheap church fabrics which they never, or scarcely ever see-never, perhaps, but on the day of consecration-and "visit in the sense of a continual personal interest and oversight not at all.

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"If with the clergy, if with the churchwardens, if with the children of the parish, bishops did but know how greatly their kind and parental influence would act in the way of comfort, encouragement, and quickening of the spirit of love and to good works, they would not artificially but naturally, not politically but spiritually, become through God's most present and ready grace, themselves the most popular of men. Whereas, what are they now? Almost unknown in their dioceses, save by some casually occurring confirmation or church meeting; or, at most, by a chance counter-signature of some formal Queen's letter of demand for money, which should, in justice, have been the alms of the church to the poor belonging thereto, and worshipping under the shelter of those walls within which the offertory was gathered. The writer of this has known a quire of boys walk voluntarily a very considerable distance to see a bishop, and make their dutiful obeisance to him, who, when he passed them close by, never deigned to look at them, and took no notice of them at all. How at variance was this with His precept and practice who said"Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of God."

True, but then Christ made bishops in a very different way; and would expect nothing from such bishops as we make but what such bishops do. His bishops walked on foot, ours ride in carriages. His bishops sate on rocks, and fed the poor with loaves and fishes; ours sit on thrones and look after the loaves and fishes for themselves. His bishops were poor and humble, ours are rich and fat, and therefore proud. His bishops did all the good they could and suffered for it; ours do no good at all, and are rewarded for it. It surprises one to see clever men like our author-capital logicians and shrewd fellows altogether, expecting to gather grapes from thorns, and figs from thistles. Expecting that a thing shall be anything but the thing for which its material, construction, and circumstances form it. A steam-engine is not a wet-nurse nor a common milchcow, for reasons that everybody sees. They never were made to be such; they can be only what they are. Take an humble, pious, loving man, then, and put him into

find any fault with him therefor, excludes every new bishop from the house until some elder brother has died off to give him his seat."

Such are bishops in our author's prose, what are they in his poetry?

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'Again I say, what wonder is there, when
Bishops be such, that such are meaner men?
That such be bishops-what? when they who make
Bishops, such notions of a Bishop take

As Graham voided erewhile in the House-
Graham, Rat Robert's most consentient mouse;
Who deems, he says, from living proofs, that all
A Bishop has to do is nought withal,
But once in each three years to come and lay
His hand on little boys, and go his way,
And for another three enjoy his pay;
His Palace, dinners, clubs and rents enjoy,
Sans interruption, hindrance, or annoy.
From parish priest, or little girl or boy!
Save that of each year's ember-days some twain
He needs must choose, whereon church clerks t'ordain,
And this beside no further charge hath he
On time or purse for hospitality;

To him for rede or rule no brother goes;
He sees few Rectors, not a Curate knows.
A Prelate he, to lordly post preferred,
They but th' ignoble "working clergy" herd;
And if they really must communicate
With him, as touching church or parish state,
A penny pays the half-ounce letter's weight!
Men without influence would gain influence so;
'Omnis ignotus pro magnifico!'

Keep Bishops out of sight, and great they seem;
Unveil them; and they vanish like a dream.
Unloved, unloving, how unlike are they
Their sainted brethren of an elder day."

The author gives us a passing sample of the Bishop
crew, and singles out Philpotts for a most vigorous and
deserved onslaught.

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From all such cruel step-fathers, may He
The God of love defend his family:
And grant us overseers of the flock,

Whose chair of state may be the Church's rock;
Where far and wide, o'er meadow and fresh brook,
They may their church's champaign lands o'erlook,
And love each modest spire, that, o'er the green
And shadowy grove that guards it as a screen,
Just peers aloft, and peeps as doubting to be seen:
And love each old grey tower, that, strong or old,
Stands like a fortalice of borderer bold,
Stemming from day to day, from year to year
The tide of war, the foeman's fierce career.

With a like searching and honest quill the poet passes through deanery, college, and cathedral, goading callous indifference, and casting a kindly eye on the poor and neglected. He places with much pathos before you the poor Cathedral-boy Michael, who

"day by day and hour by hour Faded and fell to earth-a gentle flowerWhose sweet breath oft had cheered that fragrant garden-bower.

But jostled by rank plants. pent up, confined,
Thrust in the shade and poisoned, there he pined;
With none to shield him, or his cause maintain :
Bullied and bruised, yet scorning to complain."

But we must not be tempted too far. There are many sweet sketches of gabled deanery, minster library, and the like, as well as lusty flagellation of the clerkly tenants of "Epicurus' sty," but we will close our notice with one which is most English in two senses. English equally in the scenery and the character which it introduces. The volume is one as remarkable for its poetic merit as for its singular honesty and boldness. All those who love their country and wish well to it, both churchmen and others should read it.

"Dear homes of England! dear unto mine heart! How glad we greet you, and how sad we part! When through the flower-crowned lodge we wind and


Along the moss-way, over the soft grass;

Up toward the hall, fast by the green wood-side Skirting the bank with flowerets pinked and pied. Then through the tall-grown grove, where trunks between

The path-way lies, at whose far end is seen

A mulliond window, through whose tracery lines,
Of branches wrought, the glorious sun-light shines
Like the east window of our minster shrines.
Then down the velvet slope, beneath whose breast
Of swelling turf the hall lies manifest,
In all its lordly garb of red and brown-
Time-toned and dim, the Hall of Underdown.
Toward whose high gabled porch that tops the roof,
Whence quaint, fantastic chimneys reek aloof
Our light limbs bear us, while our glad hearts beat
In those calm courts with thoughts of eld to meet-
Manners all holy, as on holy ground-
Looks patriarchal, like the trees around,
And customs ancient as the casks of wine
That deep within those cellared vaults recline.
Hushed mirth, yet hearty-joy sincere, though staid,
Meet for that race that there their home have made
And walked and mused in yon fair colonnade
At day-break, when for chapel-bell too soon,
Or in the silence of the summer noon,

Or at fresh fall of eve, or underneath the moon:
A Christian household!for methinks therein
None but a house of Christ could ere have been:
Their thoughts, their hopes, their being wholly given

To good of men on earth, to God in heaven.
The village poor, the tenants on the estate,
The petty farmers, and the farmers great,
The yeoman freeholder, the country squire,
The acred gentry, up and down the shire-
All love the hall-folk, and their love desire:
True to their church, their country, and their king;
They stand the centre of a charmed ring-
A bower of joyance wherein peace doth dwell
Fresh as the palm-tree grove o'er Elim's silvery well.
Stately, yet sweet as yonder trancing scene,
The hall's fair garden. with its alleys green-
Thorn hedge, like wall of some beleagured hold,
And leafy maze, with windings manifold:
Walks terraced high with marbled steps and urns,
And there a wilderness of flowery turns,
Hither and thither leading to and fro,

To the dark fish-pools-in their beds below.
While all around, her arms form native wreaths,
Aad the sun glistens whilst the west wind breathes;
And ever as the winds those bright leaves shake,
Sparks, as of shot-stars, from the foliage break,
Lightning, as if with tongues of fairy fire,
The hollows of that Pleasaunce of Desire,

A fairy scene, in sooth, and false as fair;
The race of Pursey Poulters dwelleth there.
Poulter the Great! the great Protectionist !
The great Church-patron-at election list!
The great Church-plunderer-at Commission-Board,
The great tithe-hater-tithes by all abhorred,
Save those who steal them from the Church's lord-
Great Agriculturist, with whose great scythe
The landed gentry learn to mow down tithe,
Great justice, ever judging for himself,
Great judge, of horse-flesh, oxen-flesh, and pelf;
Great joker-at the poor in work-house pent;
Great jeerer at the priest on duty bent;
Great jester at all men and things that wear
A look of holiness, and, if less rare
Than once a week, a giber great at prayer!
O Justice Pursey Poulter, coarse and fat,
With liver white as is thy week-day hat,
Though black thy Sunday beaver-yet than that
More black is thy black-heart-go, fare ye well,
Thou and thy kith and kin;-when rang thy bell
For the last time to let me out, I felt

Like qualmy ice just rescued from a smelt.

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Nobody notices my birth-day,

The people are silent on my birth-day, No roaring of cannon, no rocket display, No bon-fires blaze on my birth-day.

No barrels are broached on my birth-day,
No healths go round on my birth-day,
No gentlemen sit in splendid array

Round the smoking sirloin, on my birth-day.

No music is heard on my birth-day, No tales are told on my birth-day,

The world goes on in its jog-trot way, And never attends to my birth-day.

No bard is inspired on my birth-day,
To woo the muse on my birth-day,

To pour forth the bought, or the unbought lay
In praise of me on my birth-day.

But why this neglect on my birth-day?

Of common respect on my birth-day?—

I cannot look back on a fair array
Of Dukes and Earls on my birth-day.

No lineage ennobles my birth-day,

No broad lands smile on my birth-day, My sires no hides of land seized theyToo honest by half-for my birth-day!



"Good night," we say with careless lip and brow,
"Good night," we smile to some beloved embrace,
While gazing on a dear familiar face;

We look not farther than the present now,
Forgetting that a morrow may not dawn
For us on earth; to-morrow we may be
Beyond the stars, and our eternal morn
May open on us; we may ne'er foresee,
If we shall waken to earth's blooms again,
Or view the brilliant flowers of Paradise;

If we again shall greet our fellow men,

Or heaven dawn on our death-strengthened eyes; Good night," perchance the night may soon be o'er, "Good night,”—perhaps good night, for evermore.


BY J. D.

Man, grieve not though thine eye sees not
Beyond the far horizon's bound:
Complain not though thine intellect
So weak and limited is found?

From hill to hill, through vales make way
And form a new horizon's bound:
From truth to truth, in toil ascend,
And day by day take in fresh ground!

The sun, the ruler of the heavens,

Sees not at once the wide earth o'er: Shall man, a tenant of the earth, The heavens with a glance explore?



"O pleasant hour! O moment ever sweet!
When once again we reach the calm retreat,
Where looks of love and tones of joy abide---
That heaven on earth-our dear, our own fireside!"
Heaviside's Pleasures of Home.

When Autumn's fruits are gather'd in, 1

And trees and fields are bare;

When merry birds no more are heard

To warble in the air;

When sweetest flowers have droop'd and died,
And snow is on the ground;

How cheerful is an English hearth,
With friends all seated round!

Then is the time for festive mirth,
Then is the time for glee;

'Tis then the tales of by-gone days

Give pleasure unto me:

And when the wild storm howls without, With deep and hollow sound,

I love the cheerful English hearth,

With friends all seated round.

And when those touching strains are sung, Writ by the bards of old,

How swift the evening seems to fly ;

Unfelt the piercing cold:

What though the snow-flakes thickly fall, And icicles abound!

I have a cheerful English hearth

For friends to sit around.

And when the clouds of worldly care
Are gathering o'er my brow;

When sorrow's frost hath nipt my heart,
And check'd the blood's warm flow;
When grief has in her heavy chain
My buoyant spirits bound;
How cheering is an English hearth,
With friends all seated round.

Though slander's foul, envenomed shafts Should pierce my spirit through, There is one smile, one sunlit eye,

To beam upon me now;

And though my fate should be to roam
Where strangers all are found,
I'll think upon my English hearth,
And friends who sat around.

Then fill each glass with nut-brown ale,
And smoke the fragrant weed;

Our English hearths we will protect
In every hour of need :-

Come, let us drink one parting toast,
Though Europe let it sound;

It is, the cheerful English hearth,
With friends all seated round.


There's a voice on the breeze and its wailings are dread,
For it comes from the land of the starving and dead.
And it startles the wretch with his thousands untold,
And he pities aud prays, but he sticks to his gold;
And it sighs through the aisle in the Temple of God,
But is mock'd with the cry 'tis His chastening rod !—
And it steals on the slumber of Princes and Kings,
And whispers forebodings of terrible things;
Aud it sweeps o'er the hall where the mighty ones tread,
And groans as it passes, "Give, Oh! give us bread!"
There's a curse on the breeze for the man and his store,
Who pilfers his wealth from the woes of the poor.

A canker-worm crawls through the pleasure it buys,
And it gnaws at his heart till, detested, he dies.

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