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two years ago. And,” continued he, “he is started THE FAMISHED HAND.

to a skeleton, hardly worth taking back.” Many jokes

were passed as to the manner of his being renovated, In the summer of 1834–5 I left Norfolk Va. in a large when he should again fall into the hands of his master. schooner, bound for New York. One of the cabin pas. Some thought the vessel must put immediately back. sengers had a sick child and no attendant. The second Others were of opinion, that as we were within eight or day after we left Norfolk, the child asked for food, and ten hours sail of New York, the trip would be made, and I offered to prepare for it some toast. For this purpose the boy carried back on her return. I went to the cook's room which was below the deck, The unfortunate child had been brought on deck, and and in going to which it was necessary to pass a quantity we all left the cabin to look at him. I followed behind, of freight which had been put on board at Norfolk. The almost unwilling to see him, and stood some time by the steward kindly assisted me in making the toast, and companion way, in order to gain strength for the interadded a cracker and a cup of tea. With these, on a view. I then proceeded forward, and as soon as he small waiter, I was returning to the cabin when, in discovered me a bright gleam passed over his counten. passing the freight, which consisted of boxes, bags, etc., ance, and he instinctively held out to me the same famished a little tawny famished looking hand was held out from hand! My feelings were no longer to be controlled. between the packages. The skeleton fingers, agitated There stood a child before me not more than eleven or by a convulsive movement, were evidently reached forth twelve years of age, of yellow complexion and sad with a view to the food in my possession. Shocked, but countenance, nearly naked, his back seared with scars, not alarmed by the apparition, I laid the cracker on the and his flesh wasted to the bone. I burst into tearshand, which was immediately withdrawn. No one ob- into lamentations, and the jeers of others were, for a served the transaction, and I went swiftly into the cabin. moment, turned into sympathy.

The sick child was gratified with its meal, and when It, however, began to be suspected that I had brought in the afternoon it wanted more, I again offered my the boy on board, and in that case the vessel must put services. I apologized to the steward for the liberty I back in order to give me up also. But I related the was taking in visiting his premises so often, but pleaded circumstances as they occurred, and all appeared the necessity of attending to the little invalid. I found satisfied with the truth of my statement. he was a father, and enquired the names of his children.

I requested that I might be allowed to feed the boy, I brought him presents for them, and so ingratiated my- which request was granted, and I carried him some self into his favour that I soon had free access to the dinner on a plate. He took it with an eye of sadness, larder, and often found nice things prepared for myself and looked into my face every time he raised a bit to as well as for the little one in the cabin. But whatever his lips. There was something confiding in the look. I could procure was divided with the famished hand, When he had finished his meal, as I took the plate, he which, to me, had become a precious charge. There rubbed his fingers softly on my hand, and leaned his head must have been an eye to watch my motions. I fancied towards me with an air of weariness. Oh! that I I could see that eye gleaming at my approach, but at could have offered him a place of rest—that I could other times closed in dim despair.

have comforted and protected him,-a hapless child, a As all was tranquil on board, it was evident that I feeble, emaciated, innocent lad, reserved for bondage and alone was aware of the presence of the unseen fugitive, the torture. and I humbly returned thanks to God for allowing me Before night he was taken below, and I was no more the privilege of ministering to the necessities of his allowed to see him. But I learned that he was put in the outcast, despised and persecuted image. That the un- steerage strongly bound, and that the ‘Proper Authorities? fortunate being was a slave I doubted not, but how could of New York would be consulted as to the disposal I serve him or her, or whoever it might be, effectually ? of him. We came to anchor during the night at some I knew the laws and usages in such cases-I knew that distance below the city. The Captain informed us in the poor being had nothing to expect from the Captain the morning that the vessel had been forbidden to enter and crew of the vessel, and repeatedly asked myself the the port with a fugitive slave on board. That she must agonizing question, Will there be any way of escape ?, I discharge her cargo where she lay, and return with all had hope that we might land in the night, and so under possible despatch to Norfolk. A boat was provided to favour of darkness, the fugitive might be enabled to go on carry us up, and I remarked to the captain that there shore unseen by those on board. I determined to was great ado about a helpless child." He replied, watch for and assist the creature who had been thus " that the laws must be obeyed." providentially consigned to my care.

As I approached the city I could not help exclaiming, On the sixth day (we having a long passage) I found“Is this the region, this the soil,' of boasted freedom? that the goods below were being moved in order to come Here, where a child is treated like a felon, manacled at something which was wanted, and so filled up was the and withheld from the shore, to be sent back to slavery passage that I could not go below. My heart seemed and the lash, deprived of the fostering care which even to die within me, for the safety of my charge had the brute is allowed to exercise towards its young ? become dear to me. We sat down to dinner, but the Here the slender boy seeks the protection of a fatherdishes swam before my eyes. I felt that a discovery name dear to helplessness. Does humanity aid him in must take place. The tumbling of the goods below had the search ? No, for humanity is limited in her opernot ceased. Each moment I expected an alarm. Atations by laws which consign one portion of freedom's length I heard a sudden “ Hallo”-and all was silent. sons and daughters to the service, the control, and the Presently the steward came into the cabin, looked sig- brutality of others. Humanity looks on and weeps. nificantly at the company, and whispered to the Captain Further she may not do. “The laws must be obeyed. who was carving, but who immediately laid down his And now since years have passed, wliere is that boy ? knife and fork and went on deck. One of the pas. Does he still live in hopeless bondage ? Are other scars sengers followed him, but soon returned, and in a laugh- added to those imprinted on his infant skin ? When I ing manner informed us that a strange passenger had saw him he appeared innocent as a child of freedom been found among the freight. " It is” added he, só a would appear. He felt and suffered as a child of free small mulatto boy, who says that he belongs to Mr. , parents would feel and suffer. His sorrows were touchof Norfolk. That he had been concealed among the ing as those of a white child would have been. Alas! Jumber, on the wharves, for two weeks, and secreted poor youth, from me thy fate is hidden. If living, thou himself in the schooner the night before we sailed. He art still young, but were thy days turned into pages, is going to New York to find his father, who escaped what a volume to meet the human eye.

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THE CHRONICLE OF A RAGGED RASCAL.

By EDWARD YOUL.

For when you come, and you make haste, to look,
You find that you have lost your pocket-book.
And you remember well

That it contained
A roll of notes, the number and the dates

Unknown, so hard the vengeance of the Fates,
Nor consolation does the thought bestow,
That all which you have lost, the thief has gained.

Then, first, you swear,
And, secondly, you pull your hair
As if you meant to tear it from

your head:-
Reflection interposes, you desist,
And, with wild staring of your eyes, instead,

You grope your way along, and clench your fist.

IV.

Part the Second.

I. THE Muse will now commence the second canto. O, evil morning, if it was the morning, If not, O, evil night, or afternoon,-

Whether the sun beheld it, or the moon, (Did not an earthquake or eclipse give warning?) That saw our rascal born, when he began to Inhale the circumambient air,

And exercise his infant lungs

With a surpassing gift of tongues;-
0, evil day, when such a wretch had birth,
The pest of man, a nuisance on the earth,
Detested, spurned, avoided everywhere!

II.
To do him justice, there was that within
His breast, whose impulse urged recoil from sin;
And there were moments, when his own disgrace
Brought something like a blush into his face.
He had affection, but for what? for whom ?

Some men who are not opulent in friends,
Make pets of animals, and reap amends
In the attachment of a dog or cat;

Sorry companionship-he had not that, A desert was his world, his heart a tomb. “Men, my relations,” thoughts like these escaped His soul, and into language thus were shaped, “I do not wish to wrong you, but I must; Ye trust each other;

;-me ye will not trust :
Yet I was made,- I was not born, your foe;
Your kindness might have won me long ago;
Have ye been kind ? Have ye been gentle ? No.
To you, I am a nuisance, and a scourge;
To me you are—what wrongs have I to urge ?
You call me thief, -I do not wish to steal,
But when I famish, I must get a meal.
I linger in your streets in dismal plight,
And none will help, so I must rob to-night.
There is a house unguarded by a dog;
'Tis ten o'clock, and fortune sends a fog."

III.
The lamps are useless, every one;
Along the streets, the link-boys run;
He does not pause,--as if by day,
As readily as if the sun
Lighted his steps, he finds his way;
While men, who know not where they are,
Think London Bridge is Temple Bar:
The foul fog wraps them like a cloak,
But for its stench, they seem to choke
In an atmosphere of furnace smoke.
The thieves are out, they come by scores ;
There's not a thief confined by doors,

Unless the gaoler keeps the key :
A prisoner gets no release.
To-night, who cares for the police ?

'Tis only thieves have eyes to see. Alert to dart upon their prey,

They seize and fly,--there's no pursuit;
Your hat is gone, a daring fellow
Wrests from your grass, your silk umbrella ;

Stop thief,'--you might as well be mute;
He went, but please to tell which way.

Alas, you cannot tell ;
He snatched, and disappeared ;
It cost a guinea not a month ago.

Unutterable woe!
The worst has happened that you feared,

Although the fog was dense as any cloud
That rests on Skiddaw, the bewildered crowd
The ragged rascal threaded ;-like a kid
He bounded, and his zig-zag way amid
The vehicles that moved with progress slow,
Or those that knew not where to go,

And so stood still,
He dashed ;-was danger in the way ?

He cared not-did not dream of ill;
It might have been the noon of day,

Instead of that foggy night, and chill, So rapidly he ran, nor altered

Once his pace, nor checked, nor faltered.
But his steps are arrested, the cloak of the fog
Is around him,—the house, unprotected by dog,
Like a rude shape, chaotic, looms out of the dark,
'Tis his trust, 'tis his temple, his refuge, his ark.
O man, be not wakeful. O woman, recline,
And close to thy pillow, that warm cheek of thine
Nestle down, that the chink of the plate that is taken,
Thy dream inay not banish, thy slumber awaken:
Let his grasp once contain it, he knows where the poti
Is provided, they watch there,—the furnace is hot.

But, hush! what's that?
Was it a voice? It might have been a cat.

His auditory sense
Is wide awake,-it came-it came from thence.

Hark, 0, be still!-
It speaks. He listens pantingly. “Now, Bill,
If any cove within should wake up reg'lar,
Out with your knife, and draw it through his jug'lar."

“Leave that to me, and hold your prate;
Your duty 'tis to seize the plate.”

The rascal hears,
And scarcely can believe his ears ;
He came to rob, but he arrived too late.

V.
He stands,- he knows not what to do;

The other rascals,--who are they?
He is but one, and they are two,

Older than himself and bigger,

He will cut a pretty figure,

If they find him in the way.
Strong in themselves, they do not want his aid,
And all men hate a rival in their trade.
(Of morals that are very much in vogue,
The Muse will warrant this a fair example,
Be honest, when you cannot be a rogue,'
And men, who do not hesitate to trample
On moral laws, and moral lessons spurn,
Obey this counsel, when it serves their turn.)
He cannot steal, but he can save,

Yes, he can raise alarm;
He will not longer be a knave,

For Virtue hath a charm.
Now, burglars, rascals that ye are,
There's one that ready stands to mar

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The plans that ye prepared afar,

And hither came afoot, Guided by unpropitious star,

Resolved to execute. He greedily listens,-each sentence is heard, That you speak in a whisper,—Yes, every word ; You are springed.-What will follow? A prison and

gyves, And black bread abroad for the rest of your lives.

VI.
They wrench a shutter, all within

Is quiet, so is all without;
The silence that betrays a pin

When dropt, or mouse that creeps about,
Reigns through the house, and they produce
A lantern ma for burglar's use.
Our rascal darts along the street;
A constable he hopes to meet,
And soon encounters one-two-three;
He sees them, but they cannot see.
“It was his lot--an honest man,
To overhear the burglars' plan,
Who talked, intent upon their prey.”.
He tells his tale and leads the way.
But not to lengthen out a tedious tale,
The Muse consigns the burglars to a gaol;
And none will say, the sentence was severe,
That sent them to the Southern Hemisphere.
Did this good action of our rascal go
Unpraised ? Was he left unrewarded ? No.
It was,-0 reader, for surprise prepare,
The Chaplain's house, and he resided there.
The rascal knew it, but he feigned surprise,
And he has merit in the Chaplain's eyes.
“I bade you alter your career.”_"You bade,
And here I am, what your advice has made.”
“ It does you credit, I will not forget;
Altered you are, and rich you may be yet.
Me you shall serve, and I will give you proof
How I esteem you, lodged beneath my roof.”

He looked around the court, and seemed to say,
· Hark, how this man will swear my life away!
The trial ended, and the sentence passed,
The Chaplain seeks an interview,--the last.
Some books he brings the prisoner. “Peruse
These tokens of forgiveness. You refuse?”.
I want no tokens, what are books to me,
Banish'd for life, and only twenty-three?"
" At least, acknowledge you deserve your fate."
“A thief you knew me, why expose your plate ?
My habits form’d, you were my friend Too LATE.
I was not four years old, when I was made
To thieve, and robbery has been my trade."
“You said the counsel that I gave, of old,
Had changed your heart.” ." It was a lie I told,
But had you met me in my childhood, then,
I had been honest among honest men,
Now see the ruin which the world has wrought,
That punishes the wretch it should have taught."

IX.
Tlie convict-ship is on the sea ;

Unto another clime,
It bears its freight, a terrible weight

Of outcast human crime.
Chains are clanking on the deck,

Manhood there is manhood's wreck,
And, 0, for the wreck of woman!

Eyes of blue, and eyes of jet, Sparkling, dazzling, soft, and yet There are those, that would have us quite forget That the heart beneath is human.

LETTERS FROM PARIS.

(For Howitt's Journal.)

No. VII.

THE CLUBS OF PARIS.

VII.
A week has passed, the rascal does not roam;
Within the Chaplain's house, he finds a home.
0, if he knew his happiness! but bred
As he had been -what more is to be said ?
One morn, the Chaplain rose, and found him fled.
Stript was the house of valuables and plate;
He found a friend, but found that friend TOO LATE.
Fruit of its kind, the seed in childhood sown,

In manhood yields;
The grain that we have planted, is alone

Ripe in our fields.
Who looks for wheat, that left the ground to tares ?
No golden harvest springs up unawares.

VIII.
Now, of the rascal's story what remains ?
A convict's destiny, a felon's chains,
His first crime was committed at his birth.
What right have ragged rascals upon earth ?
How dared he come, that had no place therein ?

Moreover, in a ragged rascal's case,
The little stranger is a child of sin,

While opulence is blest with babes of grace. How dared he wander barefoot through the street ? How dared he beg that had no bread to eat ? Pity for him! No, overwhelming scorn, And the world's anger for his being born;These were his due,-a debt to such a pest, Paid to the full, and paid with interest.

He soon was captured, and the Chaplain stood Witness against him ;-in his hardihood

DEAR FRIENDS,

There is a considerable difference between an English club-stick, and an Irish shillelagh : so also between the clubs of London, and the clubs of Paris. Much more so indeed. Our clubs of the West End, and these clubs of the Pays Latine, have in one sense a wide sea between them. The Carlton would not acknowledge the Sorbonne, nor the Montagne, the Reform. A deal of enmity would, alas! still be found between the United Service, and the Central Club of the Garde Nationale. We English, are still wearied with Waterloo in France. Clubs are trumps now, however, at Paris. He that has a club does not want a musket. He works on by intellectual force, laying about him with a spiritual shillelagh, often the best sort of weapon, and doing battle with brain, instead of gun cartridges. The club, these election times, is the best card in your pack. A club missed, and you lose your deal. In shuffling the pack at Paris, therefore, we must not leave out the clubs.

All Paris is sectioned out in clubs. Every edifice, the Bourse, the Sorbonne, the colleges, every dancing room from the Salle Valentino to the Grand Chaumiére, is now a place of political re-union for the Parisians. Some of these halls of rendezvous are meublé, simply furnished. Others are garnis, handsomely adorned. Most of them are decorated more or less, with the three republican colours. In some the entry hall is tapestried with blue, red, and white, drapery. From the walls of others ribands of the three colours, hang in graceful festoons from immense rosettes. Over the tribune of most of the clubs, but always in some prominent position in

the assembly, the glorious flag of the Republic, dis- late revolution in France has as yet manifested no great plays its three hues

orators, with the exception of Lamartine, Lacordaire,

and Louis Blanc. Lamartine's talk is talent. It gleams “One, the red morning from the skies ; One, the blue depth of seraphs' eyes;

with glory and grandeur. It is invested with imagery,

like a Pantheon. Your thought tells you that he is a One, the pure spirits robe of white;

Poet Peer, and you admire. Lacordaire unfolds the reAll blended in a heavenly light!”

ligious roll before a realm of saints. He strikes you Then even the commissaries, or ushers of the meeting, His light beams from the sacred gloom of the seventh

with the sublime. He astonishes you with the awful. wear as a distinction, tricolor favours upon their arms. Besides which, many of the members still retain in their heaven, and you venerate. Louis Blanc's is a sound of button holes, the three-coloured cockades of the eventful serious softness. He preaches the pity for the poor. He February, many of which undoubtedly were in the smoke counsels the rectitude of the rich. Ever justifying jusof the Barricades. The general effect of this tricolored tice, ever reaching for the right, there is yet in his elodisplay is gay and handsome. The three colours blend quence a sober softening, and a bewailing beseeching. harmoniously enough together. They are gay without You see his heart and you love. These three, however, being garish; striking without approaching the bizarre. triad of her tongue, her tri-color floating in speech. The

are the principal orators of revolutionized France—the The tricolor is a glorious standard flag! The American ensign may have its stars for its chiefs of the clubs generally, although many of these states, but it has also its stripes for its slaves. The ban- are great men, have not yet expressed themselves in ners of the nations which typify brute force, with their eloquence. Still the French, as a nation, appear adapted three headed eagles and vultures, their panthers, their

for orators. Their language has a strong dramatic form. lions and unicorns, and other animal insignia, and bar- They have infinite action. The hand ever accompanies barous escutcheons, we can afford to lose amid the the tongue, and the tongue the thought. With all this, musty lore of heraldry ; but not so the tricolor of however, in their favour, the clubs are as yet but counfreedom, the heavenly iris that blooms as a sign of cils of clamour; not organs of oratory, but nuclei of hope, that the storms will pass over, and the skies noise. Much of this no doubt is owing to the late abbecome clear and sunny for the suffering nations

sence of assembly under the monarchy. They are by

no means adepts in the art of assembly, The elections, “For 0, thou Rainbow of the Free,

moreover, are the chief subjects of discourse, and as beOur tears and blood must follow thee,

ing more epitomizing than elevating, are opposed to 0If thy bright promise fades awảy,

quence.

We have no fear therefore but that the new Our life is but a load of clay."

Republic has yet to open upon the world its oratory.

Lamartine, Lacordaire, and Louis Blanc, are old oraTruly, 0 people! of whatever nation, the tricolor is tors. When, however, young France leaves election, thy fag. It is the Banner of Progress, the Standard of and essays legislation, its new Demosthenes, its new Revolution, harmonious with the stars. Wrap thyself Cicero, will arise. Democracies are ever specially auin its glorious folds, peacefully if it may be. The sol- spicious for eloquence, and the clamour of the clubs will diery are of the people. Say unto them, like the young soon cease before the voice of vigour and the sterling student of February fame,

sound of sense. “Soldiers ! it is your flag-fire, if you dare!"

The chiefs of the clubs at Paris are, however, not to On entering a club at Paris, one generally pays a sous le despised. Quinet is at the head of one. Auguste or two for admission. The members mostly have peri- Barbiere, the Poet, Author of “Il Pianto,” is the Preodical cards, at a less charge than is paid by the casual sident of another--the Club of the New Republic. Rasvisitor, which frank them for a given time. You enter pail, the celebrated physiologist also presides over a a club, any club, every club, and your eye first sees its club, as well as editing a paper, which takes the title of president and bureau, elevated on a platform, or if the Marat's old organ—, L'Ami du Peuple.” Sobrier, a place of meeting is an amphitheatre, separated by rail- man of talent and influence, is likewise the President of ings, or otherwise, from the general assembly. Beneath the Central Republican Society-the most powerful and the seat of the president is the tribune of the orators. extended democratic confederation. Cabet also, is buAt least this is the most frequent arrangement, but sily engaged with his Central Fraternal Association. The sometimes it is by his side. The president first an- Jacobins, with an ex-colonel as their chief, adopted nounces, that the session (séance) of the club is opened. some of the absurdities of '93 in costume, and have been Then the secretary reads the minutes of the last meet- partially laughed down. The Club of the Mountain, ing, which are generally a summary of the proceedings however, still continues, and augments. Its President and speeches of the last assembly, even to noting the is the Abbé Constant, author of " The Bible of Liberty,' time when the previous session began and closed. “ The Book of Love," and other works, partaking of After this, the correspondence of the club is read. This the style of Lamennais' “Words of a Believer.” The mostly causes some member to rush to the tribune, and Phalaństerians have a powerful club meeting at the office demand la parole, or desire leave to speak, although the of their daily paper- La Democratie Pacifique. Other demand sounds rather imperatively according to the clubs bear the names of Club of Popular Salvation, Club English acceptation of the word. Then follows speech of Social Rece ..eration, Club of Prevoyants, Club of the upon speech, motion upon motion, pour and contra. Republican Lniversity, Central Club of Work, Society of Candidates for the elections make their profession de the Rights of Man, Revolutionary Committee, and the foi ; then they are questioned, and answer; while at Club of the Street of Armed Men—all titles which more every slip of the tongue, anti-revolutionary sentiment, or less carry their meaning with them. Women also or even unpopular form of expression, the speaker's have formed their clubs, and established under the title voice is drowned in the cogent clamour of the club. of the Voice of Woman, a daily paper. The clubs geSurging on the sea of stormy sound, which swells nerally are noticed by all the papers, but are specially around him, a pilot voice if it is ship-shape to the popu- reported by two journals, the Voice of the Clubs, and lar element, may sometimes cause à calm of the tem- the Commune of Paris, or the Monitor of the Clubs. pestuous club; but the timid, the ungainly, even the I have attended most of the clubs in Paris-an ardusmall in sound, albeit they be large in thought, may ous undertaking. A great sameness prevails through never still that surfy sea of multitudinous murmurs, them all. The chief difference is that some dwell more either for slumber or for sunshine.

upon political, others more upon social and industrial The clamour of the clubs is not an idle term. The topics. The other evening I was at the Club of the Sor

bonne, where the students and working men unite. A specimens that will be little, if at all, known to the geneyoung student filled the chair, supported by a bureau of ral reader. We have the quaintness of the thinly seats working men and students of equal numbers. I have tered older poetesses from Juliana Berners to Queen seen this assemblage praised in some of the English pa- Elizabeth—and as many and as much as is necessary of pers. For myself, I like the idea on which it is formed, those belonging to an intermediate period when verse but must confess that it is the noisiest club in Paris. In was abundant and poetry rare—when both men and wofact, the French generally have not advanced so far in men had abandoned the exhaustless and life-giving acthe art of assembly as we have in England. People, quaintance of nature for vapid imitations of one anhowever, must go into the water before they can learn ther. We are proud and, more than that, delighted to swim.

with a cheering pleasure to see that nearly the half of In conclusion, I may be perhaps permitted to state, this handsome volume is occupied with the poetesses of without obtrusive egotism, that I have had the pleasure our own age, and that the amount of genius and nature of addressing one French club since my stay at Paris. is fifty times that of all the rest together. It was the Phalansterian Club. I spoke in English, and This is an evidence that the shackles and prejudices my speech was translated, sentence by sentence, into which formerly subdued the female mind are in a great French by a gentleman present. I may also add, that measure abandoned, and that woman now has her capaan English club has been formed here, by Lord Walls- city enlarged in proportion to her freedom and just esticourt, an Irish peer; Percy St. John, the author of the mation. What an illustrious constellation of female English history of the late Revolution; Hugh Do-genius presents itself as we con over the inere names herty, one of the Editors of the Democratie Pacifique, of Mrs. Opie, Joanna Bailliè, Miss Mitford, Mrs. Howitt, myself, and others. It has taken the name of the Paris Mrs. Southey, Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Norton, L. E. L., Eliza Progress Club; and will, I hope, work usefully. A re- Cook, Mrs. Butler, Mrs. Barrett Browning, etc. Tempted publican club of English residents is very requisite in as we are to extract from many of them, we must conParis. The so-called deputation of English, who bore fine ourselves to one of the exquisitely pathetic lyrics of the address to the Provisional Government, worked in Mrs. Southey. “The Dying Mother to her Infant" the dark. Unlike the residents of other nations, they brings Tennyson's May Queen strongly to mind. It never announced their intention by a placard; and it was written long before that beautiful poem, and will was therefore utterly unknown to the majority of Eng-bear the fullest comparison with it. In fact, no poet or lish in Paris. An English Paris Progress Club will, poetess of any country can surpass Caroline Southey in however, prevent anything of this kind for the future. the qualities of deep religious feeling and natural pathos. And now long life to the Clubs of Paris. May their cla- What a fine Radical, or, in other words, Christian poem mour cease, but may they survive. May never again is the following, written as it is by one of the most conthe sacred right of meeting and association be impeach- servative women of England. How the divine philosoed in France. If by the battle of the barricades Paris phy of Christ, operating on a noble womanly nature, has won nothing more than the clamour of the clubs, breaks through all teachings and narrowings of human yet in time from that healthy hubbub will arise the creeds and interests. angel forms of Reflection, Reason, and Right.

THE PAUPER'S DEATH BED.
Yours truly,
GOODWYN BARMBY.

Tread softly bow the head

In reverent silence bow !
No passing-bell doth toll,

Yet an immortal soul
Literary Notice.

Is passing now.
Stranger ! however great,

With lowly reverence bow:
The Female Poets of Great Britain Chronologically

There's one in that poor shedArranged: with copious Selections and Critical Re

One by that paltry bed, marks. By Frederic Rowton, Author of " The

Greater than thou. Debater ;" “ Capital Punishment Reviewed,” etc.

Beneath that beggar's roof, London: Longmans. 1848.

Lo, Death doth keep his state; Mr. Rowron has filled a vacuum in our literature. We

Enter -no crowds attendhave numerous collections of our poets, but none of our

Enter !--no guards defend poetesses. We have now a beautiful compendium of

This palace gate ! them, and the specimens of their productions and short

That pavement, damp and cold, biographical notices will enable readers who may wish

No smiling courtiers tread; to make a further acquaintance with any of them to do

One silent woman stands so. Mr. Rowton has a true and therefore a high esti

Lifting with meagre hands mate of the powers, influences, and mission of woman,

A dying head. and he argues her cause well in his introductory chapter, which he concludes thus:-

No mingling voices sound“It is our policy, therefore, no less than our duty, to

An infant wail alone; admit and develope, in their fullest extent, the noble in

A sob suppressed-again tellectual gifts which nature has bestowed upon woman.

That short deep gasp, and then

The parting groan. Urged by a blinding pride, or a ridiculous envy, we have for ages denied her right to share with us the

Oh, change! oh wondrous changethrone of intellect; and, as has before been urged, we have

Burst are the prison bars-paid a heavy penalty for our folly. Let us amend our fault

This moment, there, so low, for the future. Let us give woman's intellect that free

So agonized, and now scope for its exertions which we have so long refused

Beyond the stars ! it. And let us gratefully recognize in woman a partner, not a rival, in the mental race; a fellow worker, and

Oh, change ! - stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod : that a pure and courageous one, in the great task of en

The sun eternal breaks lightening and elevating the whole family of man.'

The new immortal wakes-Mr. Rowton has brought forward some names and

Wakes with his God,

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