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DEATH OF ROBERT BROWNING.

afford our readers (as far as we can) the result except bruises on his nose. At same opportunity with ourselves for inde- last he concluded that the perch could not pendent judgment; and carefully to point be caught, and ceased to try for it. The out any mistakes into which we may dis partition was then removed; and the pike cover ourselves to have fallen.

could have swallowed the perch at any We will do our best, I say, to present moment. But he had made up his mind the evidence in such form that others may that the thing was impossible, and he let be able to judge of its value as well as his prey swim under his jaws without even ourselves. But we cannot make bricks making a snatch at it. without straw. The success of the inquiry Now let the pike represent mankind, depends in reality on the number of per- and let the perch stand for knowledge of sons whom we can persuade to expend a an unseen world. The sheet of glass will certain amount of time, trouble, and tact, be the supposed impassable demarcation in collecting first-hand evidence from their between

* material and “spiritual own acquaintances. Our group of active“ natural ” and “supernatural” things. and capable volunteer collectors is a grow. Perhaps if we make a bold dash we shall ing one; and we observe that, as soon find that there is no barrier at all, and as any one has looked deeply enough into that perches innumerable are swimming the matter to feel its reality, his inter about in our midst. Let us hope that the est is pretty certain to continue and to meshes of our census may be drawn increase. Considering how many people tightly enough to catch them. there are who are anxious for more light

FREDERIC W. H. MYERS. on the deepest problems, we may fairly hope that more and more of them will come to see that it is by collecting facts, and pot by cherishing aspirations or spin. ning fancies, that light is ultimately won.

From The Fortnightly Review. Light, I repeat, on the deepest prob. A SEQUENCE OF SONNETS ON THE lems which can occupy mankind. For although I have thought it right to explain that in the view of the majority of the The clearest eyes in all the world they read savants who have set their sanction on

With sense more keen and spirit of sight this inquiry the fresh knowledge to be looked for is such as will fall within the Than burns and thrills in sunrise, when the domain of accepted science, ordinary

dew psychology, yet I have no wish to conceal Flames, and absorbs the glory round it shed, my own confident hope that more light As they the light of ages quick and dead, will thus be shed, even as (I hold) much

Closed now, forsake us: yet the shaft that

slew light has already been shed, on man's inmost nature, and his prospect of survival Nor death discrown that many-laurelled head.

Can slay not one of all the works we knew, after death.

Up till the present time there has been the works of words whose life seems lightscarcely any serious attempt to collect and

ning wrought, weigh the actual evidence for our survival, And moulded of unconquerable thought, in the same way as we collect and weigh And quickened with imperishable flame, the evidence - often still more sporadic Stand fast and shine and smile, assured that and inferential -- for all kinds of phenom

nought ena in the past or present history of the

May fade of all their myriad-moulded fame, earth and man. The inquiry is virtually a

Nor England's memory clasp not Brown

ing's name. new one; and although to those who are

December 13th, 1889. wont to scale the infinite with leaps and bounds ours may seem a sadly terre-à-terre proceeding, yet the advantage of terrc-à. Death, what hast thou to do with one for terre progress is that at least you feel firm whom ground beneath your feet.

Time is not lord, but servant? What least A pike and a perch — my readers will

part

Of all the fire that fed his living heart, recognize that this is a fact and not an

Of all the light more keen than sundawn's apologue were once confined in a tank,

bloom each on one side of a glass partition. For That lit and led his spirit, strong as doom some months the pike butted constantly And bright as hope, can aught thy breath against the transparent barrier, with no

I.

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III.

VI.

Quench? Nay, thou knowest he knew thee And bore in hand the lamplike spirit of what thou art,

thought A shadow born of terror's barren womb, To illume with instance of its fire sublime That brings not forth save shadows. What The dusk of many a cloudlike age and clime. art thou,

No spirit in shape of light and darkness To dream, albeit thou breathe upon his brow, wrought, That power on him is given thee,

No faith, no fear, no dream, no rapture, breath

nought Can make him less than love acclaims him That blooms in wisdom, nought that burns in now,

crime, And hears all time sound back the word it | No virtue girt and armed and, helmed with saith?

light, What part hast thou then in his glory, No love more lovely than the snows are white, Death?

No serpent sleeping in some dead soul's

tomb,

No song-bird singing from some live soul's A graceless doom it seems that bids us grieve; height,

Venice and winter, hand in deadly hand, But he might hear, interpret, or illume

Have slain the lover of her lovely strand With sense invasive as the dawn of doom. And singer of a storm-bright Christmas eve. A graceless guerdon we that loved receive

For all our love, from that the dearest land What secret thing of splendor or of shade Love worshipped ever. Blithe and soft and Surmised in all those wandering ways bland,

wherein Too fair for storm to scathe or fire to cleave, Man, led of love and life and death and sin, Shone on our dreams and memories evermore Strays, climbs, or cowers, allured, absorbed, The domes, the towers, the mountains and afraid, the shore

Might not the strong and sunlike sense invade That gird or guard thee, Venice: cold and Of that full soul that had for aim to win black

Light, silent over time's dark toil and din, Seems now the face we loved as he of yore. Life, at whose touch death fades as dead We have given thee love - no stint, no things fade? stay, no lack :

O spirit of man, what mystery moves in thee What gift, what gift is this thou hast given That he might know not of in spirit, and see us back?

The heart within the heart that seems to

strive,

The life within the life that seems to be, But he – to him, who knows what gift is thine, And hear, through all thy storms that whirl Death ? Hardly may we think or hope, and drive, when we

The living sound of all men's souls alive? Pass likewise thither where to-night is he, Beyond the irremeable outer seas that shine And darken round such dreams as half divine He held no dream worth waking : so he said, Some sunlit harbor in that starless sea

He who stands now on death's triumphal Where gleams no ship to windward or to steep, lee,

Awakened out of life wherein we sleep To read with him the secret of thy shrine.

And dream of what he knows and sees, being

dead. There too, as here, may song, delight, and But never death for him was dark or dread: love,

“ Look forth” he bade the soul, and fear The nightingale, the sea-bird, and the dove,

not. Weep, Fulfil with joy the splendor of the sky All ye that trust not in his truth, and keep Till all beneath wax bright as all above : Vain memory's vision of a vanished head But none of all that search the heavens, and As all that lives of all that once was he try

Save that which lightens from his word: but The sun, may match the sovereign eagle's

we, eye.

Who, seeing the sunset-colored waters roll, December 14th. Yet know the sun subdued not of the sea,

Nor weep nor doubt that still the spirit is

whole, Among the wondrous ways of men and time

And life and death but shadows of the soul. He went as one that ever found and sought

December 15th. ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

IV.

VII.

v.

Fifth Sorios, Volume LXIX.

}

No. 2382.- February 22, 1890.

{

From Beginning,
Vol. CLXXXIV.

.

.

CONTENTS. I. THE ASCERTAINMENT OF ENGLISH,

Nineteenth Century, II. SAMUEL RICHARDSON,.

Gentleman's Magazine, III. HOLLAND HOUSE,

Murray's Magazine, IV. His UNCLE AND HER GRANDMOTHER, Blackwood's Magazine, V. A HANOVERIAN MARRIAGE,

Edinburgh Review, VI. THE DECLINE OF GOETHE, .

Temple Bar, VII. HOSTS AND GUESTS,

Longman's Magazine, . VIII. SHIP-CANALS,

Spectator,
IX. THE EPIDEMIC OF INFLUENZA,

Nature,
X. SOME MISSING POEMS OF SIR JOHN BEAU-
MONT,.

Atheneum,
XI. SHEEP-SHEARING BY MACHINERY,

Chambers' Journal,

451 459 466 470 483 493 501

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a

run

TO A DAISY IN DECEMBER.

I was just five years old, that. December,

And a fine little promising boy-
SAD, solitary daisy, did some dream
Of unknown life and long-desired delight

So my grandmother said, I remember,

And gave me a strange-looking toy:
Flash on thy wintry sluinbers like the gleam
Of silent lightning in the summer night?

In its shape it was lengthy and rounded,
What sudden promptings pierced thy tender One end with a glass top was bounded,

It was papered with yellow and blue, core,

At the other a hole to look through. And thrilled the quivering fibres of thy

root? What secret longing never felt before

“Dear granny, what's this?I came, cryImpelled thy leaves thus ere their day to

ing
shoot?

“A box for my pencils?— but see,
I can't open it, hard though I'm trying

O, what is it? what can it be?
Did'st seem to hear the lark's light love-song
Adown the sky, and fall extinct to earth?

“Why, my dear, if you only look through it, Did'st feel the glow of summer's golden sun

And stand with your face to the light; Flush thy pale petals at its rosy birth?

Turn it gently (that's just how to do it I),

And you'll see a remarkable sight.” Wast wooed with whispers by the warm west“0, how beautiful!” cried I, delighted,

wind To dash the trembling dewdrop from thine The bright fragments now closely united,

As I saw each fantastic device, Did'st taste the kiss of one of thine own kind,

All falling apart in a trice. And faint with new life feel content to die?

Times have passed, and new years will now How sad to wake and find 'twas but a dream! To feel the blasts of winter's icy breath,

Each birthday, no longer a boy, And shiver 'neath the pale sun's cheerless Yet methinks that their turns may remind me

Of the turns of my grandmother's toy.
beam,
To hear no lark, to die a lone death!
Academy,
PAGETTOYNBEE. For in all this world, with its beauties,

Its pictures so bright and so fair,
You may vary the pleasures and duties,

But still, the saine pieces are there.

eye?

find me,

From the time that the earth was first

founded, WAITING.

There has never been anything new

The same thoughts, the same things, have re“In winter, Earth wears a pathetic aspect, because

dounded she is waiting for Spring, and this is better than Au

Till the colors have pall’d on the view. tumn, which looks so hopeless." “BETTER calm death than dying life,” I But — though all that is old is returning, thought,

There is yet in this sameness a change; As on the sodden earth the brown leaves lay, And new truths are the wise ever learning, Or, fluttering from the boughs, day after day, For the patterns must always be strange. Were still by wandering winds in legions

brought, And cast on fields and woodland ways, and Shall we say that our days are all weary? tossed

All labor, and sorrow, and care, From hedge to plain — and back in wild un- That its pleasures and joys are but dreary, rest.

Mere phantoms that vanish in air?
Now, in this scene, by silence all possessed,
No leaves appear, for, swept away and lost,

Ah, no! there are some darker pieces,
Those sapless forms and dry no more are

And others transparent and bright; here,

But this, surely, the beauty increases, But yielding their sweet lives (once deemed

Only — stand with your face to the light. so fair), Give nurture to the flowers and roots, and

And the treasures for which we are yearning, Themselves to dust, that in the new-born year Those joys, now succeeded by painFresh beauty may arise; thus Nature weaves Are but spangles, just hid in the turning; A crown of glory from her own dead leaves. They will come to the surface again. Chambers' Journal. J. C. Howden. Gentleman's Magazine.

“B”

wear

From The Nineteenth Century. THE ASCERTAINMENT OF ENGLISH.

better chance of acceptance, if it had not

been encumbered with the scheme of the In the year 1712 Dr. Jonathan Swift, academy on the Paris model, unwelcome the renowned author of “ Gulliver's Trav- to the English people because it was els” and the “Tale of a Tub,” one of the French, if for no other reason; and might literary magnates of an eminently literary have been considered on its merits, as the age, published a pamphlet, containing a Dean of St. Patrick's doubtless hoped proposal for “ correcting, improving, and that it would be. But in those days every: 'ascertaining 'the English tongue.” The thing that was French was unpopular; idea excited little attention except among and literature itself was not much regarded the witlings and petty puosters, who bung unless its influence was directed to the on to the skirts of literature, as their suc. support of factions and parties which were cessors do now, and who did their best, or then, as now, the scandal and misfortune their worst, to turn it into ridicule. These of Great Britain and all free countries, people were especially hostile in their own and governments dependent upon mob small way to the notion that the govern- support. Had the ruling powers of that ment should give any assistance to the day understood the importance of litproject of establishing an Academy of erature to a great nation — great because Letters, similar to that which had not long of its literature, as well as on account of previously been instituted in France by its arts, its arms, and its material wealth royal authority. The academy was the - and had had sagacity and forethought main recommendation of the plan by which enough to include a minister of education, Dr. Swift hoped to effect his much-needed as well as a minister of war, of finance, reform. The proposal, in spite of the in- and of foreign affairs, among its high difference and the opposition with which functionaries, the project of the dean it was received, had much to recommend might have fared better at the hands of it, although the necessity of such a regu. his contemporaries. This is a consumlation of the literary language of the na- mation, however, to which the nation has tion was much less imperative than it has not even yet arrived, though some apsince become. Dean Swift was not san- proaches have been made towards it. guine enough to hope that the reformation In our School Board era - when the new would apply to the wild and reckless col. generations are being taught to handle the loquial speech of the multitudes which tools of knowledge, to read, to write, and then as now was overburdened by vulgar to cast accounts, and boys and girls think slang unfit for the purposes of literature, themselves educated because these tools and confined his efforts at correction and of education are put within their reach, improvement to the language employed in although the skill and the power to use books, or in the speech of the educated them to advantage are not given them, or classes, of the bar, of the pulpit, and of the are possible to be acquired by them in the senate, and the ordinary conversation of fierce competition for bare existence, con. refined and intelligent people. In those sequent on the excess of population and days slang was almost wholly confined to the overcrowded state of the labor market the lowest classes, to the tramps, the beg. in our narrow islands a revival of the gars, and the thieves, to whom books and project of Dean Swift might have a more letters were unknown, and whose jargon favorable chance of acceptance by the had not penetrated out of the slums, and State than it had in his day. the haunts of the dishonest and disrepu- The questions involved are still open table, into the ordinary conversation of for discussion. Our noble speech promgentlemen and gentlewomen, or become ises to become the predominant, though the stock in trade of vulgar and aggressive not perhaps the only, language of the civjournalists of the lowest grade, and had ilization of the coming centuries, and is not grown into excrescences and deformi. already heard like the morning drum-beat ties on the fair body of literature. of British power in every part of the globe.

Possibly the project would have had a l It floats upon the wings of a widely per

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