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of precedence runs thus: Robe, gown, pan- of society; and neither are conferred for sertaloon, breeches. Robe is sublime, and may vices of a very eminent kind. The kind be used in epic poetry. Gown, that is to say, of merit which procures a pair of breeches an academical gown, is sufficiently staid and for an agricultural laborer is very much dignified to be mentioned in high-flying prose. the same kind of merit as that which usuPantaloons never find their way into any ally procures the garter for a peer. It concomposition superior to a comedy or a novel; sists chiefly in having kept himself out and breeches are usually buried altogether of mischief, and having got together more under some euphemism. The rural mag-money than his neighbors. Yet how differnates who preside over Agricultural Societies ent is the grandeur of the two words ! Perhave fallen into great trouble from ignoring haps, however, that is a mere question of the Pariah character of this last word. No class. Very possibly the breeches are looked small part of the ridicule to which they have on with as much reverence among the agribeen exposed for prizes given to agricultural cultural laborers as the garter is among us ; laborers has arisen from the fact of one of and the whispered announcement, “ Jim those prizes being a pair of breeches. The Hodges is to have the breeches,” excites a word is down in the world ; it is an unlucky thrill of interest as keen as the rumor that word, and will bring ridicule on any one who “the Duke of is to have the vacant uses it. The different fate which attends garter” does in Belgravia. Still, as there is kindred words might furnish matter of re- no touching tale of the loves of a gallant sovflection to the moralist. There is nothing ereign to protect and apologize for the agriintrinsically more exalted in a garter than in cultural decoration, perhaps a waistcoat, or a pair of breeches. Both are articles of a pair of strong boots, would be better. dress appertaining to the legs ; both are con- When mankind have resolved that anything ferred as rewards, only upon different classes shall be prosaic, they will have their way.

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THE FIRST PAPER MONEY IN EUROPE.- words, and trusting that he would be as willing The following account of the first issue of paper to perform the one promise as he certainly was money in Europe is taken from Washington able to perform the other, took these curious Irving's “Chronicle of the Conquest of Gre

morsels of paper without hesitation or demur.

Thus by a subtle and most mysterious kind of pada :"

alchemy did this cavalier turn a uscless paper " After the city of Alhambra was taken from into precious gold, and make his impoverished the Moors, the veteran Count de Tendilla was garrison abound in money. It is but just to left governor,

and we were informed that this udd that the Count of Tendilla redeemed his cavalier at ono time was destitute of gold and promise like a loyal kniglit; and this miracle, silver wherewith to pay the wages of his troops, as it appeared in the eyes of Antonio Agrepieda, and the soldiers murmured greatly, seeing that is the first instance on record in Europe of pathey had not the means of purchasing nccessi- per money, which has since inundated the civi. ties from the people of the towns.

lized world with unboundcd opulence.” “In this dilemma what does this most sagacious commander? He takes him a number of little morsels of paper, on which he inscribes various sums, large and small, according to the DEATH OF ADAM TIE BATTLE-PAINTER. nature of the case, and signs them with his own Albrecht Adam, the German battle-painter and hand, and these did he give to the soldicry in the Nestor of Munich artists, is just dead, at the earnest of their pay. How, you will say, are age of seventy-six. He began life, like Claude, soldiers to be paid with scraps of paper ? Even as a pastry-cook's apprentice; and after quitting 80, I answer, and well paid too, as I will pres that profession, passed through stirring scenes, ently make manifest; for the good count issues and saw a good deal of the life of camps. Ho a proclamation ordering the inhabitauts of Al went through the campaign in Russia as far as hambra to take these morsels of paper for the the burning of Moscow, in the suite of Eugène full amount thereon inscribed, promising to re- Beauharnais, and the Austrian campaign. Two deem them at a future time with silver and gold, of his large battle-pieces, “ Novara " and “ Cusand threatening severe punishment on all who tozza,” are in the new Pinacothek in Munich; sbould refuse.

and a third, “Zorndorf” was finished shortly The people having full confidence in his before his death for the Maximiliancum. THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. 945

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From The Saturday Review. Cheviot-side he was invited, welcomed, ROBERT STORY.*

fêted, and caressed, by duke, by mill-owner, A MAN who has been successively, or by bagman, by tapster, and by peasant. No simultaneously, a shepherd, plowman, pri- man, perhaps also, has ever made so much vate tutor, schoolmaster, fiddler, newspaper real hard cash by publication of poems by contributor and editor, rate collector, parish subscription. His canvassing tours for names clerk, and Civil Servant in Somerset House, were invariably successes, though not, of and all along a poet, besides trying once to course, equally remunerative in all cases. be a sailor, must, on the whole, be something On one occasion extraordinary, and his biography cannot fail to have the interest of abrupt transitions and expected; but the late Miss Currer, the

« The subscription-list did not fill as he sudden surprises. Such was Robert Story. amiable proprietor of Eshton Hall, and a When we add to this large variety of the ex- true friend of literary merit, to whom he had ternal phases of human existence, the in- dedicated the work, somewhat made up the trinsic qualities of a fond and feeling heart, deficiency by presenting him with twenty a social and genial temperament, and a firm pounds." bottom of religious principle unalloyed by On the publication of his longest poem, cant or extravagance, anıl tested by many Guthrum the Dane, his biographer resevere crises of financial distress and domes- marks:tic bereavement, we must be allowed to have before us a man worthy of mark while living, stanch friend, Miss Reaney of Bradford,

“He dedicated it, at my suggestion, to his and of memory when dead. A passing now Mrs. Thornton, who in this and many trance of Deism in the dreamily eager period other instances) proved that she was the of his intellectual development, and a youth- worthy patroness of a worthy poet by subful sin of incontinence which charged his scribing for eighty copies.” later life with embarrassment, are all the in

Again, when towards the close of his life consistencies with his better self which a he projected a collected edition of his works, candid examination of Story's biography re- and invoked the patronage of the Duke of veals. No doubt the examples of impru- Northumberland, that noblemandence, in several rash steps which he took in quest of fame, or livelihood, or mere vicis-“ not only gave permission for the volume situde of task and scene, are a proper com- it should be adorned at his expense, in

to be dedicated to him, but suggested that plement of his sanguine and uncalculating a manner befitting the contents. The character. Throughout his shiftful life a work was printed in colors, by Messrs. Pigs man of small means but many friends, Story of Newcastle, and in a style of beauty and seems always to have found the amicus certus magnificence which I do not remember to a substantial resource amidst the res incerta. have seen equalled by the provincial press. If he was not backward to claim assistance, cost his Grace five hundred pounds."

The mere expense of adorning the work be found the wide circle who loved and admired him even more ready to respond to

To turn from the more bulky and elabbis cry

of distress, or to relieve it unsolic-orate to the lighter and more fugitive pieces ited, than he was to invoke their aid. The of the volume now before us, these latter fact that only in a few fitful flashes did his are the genuine effusions of the man in the fame emerge from the mezzotint of provin- mood of the moment. They consist of artcial celebrity, is really to be set down among less raptures evoked by the presence of the the substantial successes of his career. Per- ( hills, streams, woodlands, birds, breezes, and haps no man ever went so far in reversing wild-flowers of the poet's native scenery, or the adage of the “prophet” in “his own by the remembrance of the same, stirred up country." In London, he was a mere jovial, amid the contrast of other scenes. There somewhat thriftless, Civil Service clerk, with are also addresses to friends on all occasions a scanty inner circle of warm bosom friends. —the marriage-bell, the mourning, the partIn all the land from the Humber to the ing, the meeting again, the festive-board, the

reminiscences of the dead. These are inter* The Lyrical and Minor Poems of Robert Story, with a Sketch of his life and Writings. By spersed with occasional patriotic outbursts John' James, F.S.A. London: Longman & Co. to the “Altar," the “ Throne," the “old

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war-flag,” the ancient barons," our Saxoni“ For wha kens,' pled the thought, but this fathers," "the wives and the mothers of

bonnie flower bloomin' Britain," and come down to the period when

May have some kin' o' feelin' or sense of its

ain? “Sebastopol” was “low.” In all these our It'll change wi' the lift, be it smilin' or gloomin' poet rather rings the changes pleasantly on Exult in the sunshine, an' droop in the rain. a sweet peal of village bells than yields the “« An’ wha kens that it has na some pleasure broad swell and full deep compass which

in gi'ein' mark the higher masters of the lyric art. In that it has na a secret an’sweet sense o' bein?

Its bloom to the e'e an' its sweets to the day? the manner, too, there is sometimes a bare

So I left it to bloom on its ain native brae !" escape--even if an escape—from a somewhat bald and prosaic form of expression, in the next stanza—the more forcibly, we

The poet then proceeds to point the moral and an occasional dip into the penny-a-liner's empty-bottle style, which makes us remember grieve to remember, as it had been the very

lesson which he himself in youth forgot. the provincial journalist in the poet. Still,

The “bonnie pink" is a “bonnie lass," and with a few such exceptions, though he flies

the finder is admonished low, like a swallow skimming summer meads

Then if he can mak' her a wife, let him tak' and streams, he is undeniably on the wing,

her, and hardly ever drops into a sermo pedestris ; An' bear her in joy an' in triumph away! and, though he chases the bee and butterfly, But oh ! if he canna-beguile her he manna, his movements are lively and varied, his

But leave her to bloom on lier own native

brac ! flight nimble, and his turns of thought, if obvious, yet graceful. Though called the

To say that a lyrist may be compared at “Burns of Beaumont Side," he will remind once with Moore and with Burns, even every reader far more of Moore than of though we necessarily apply each compariBurns. He lacks, indeed, the exquisite pol

son with limitation, is of itself no mean ish and finish of the Irish songster, and the praise. There is a wide range of points on perfect execution in rendering the thought The powerful, homely vigor which drives

which no poet can be matched with Burns. to the ear, yet he has more of the genuine charm of sincerity, and a purer rustic

deep the thought with a stroke, the native

grace of nature and truth. A few of Burns's edge of mind that hews Scotch granite lighter verses might be fairly compared with whilst others are scratching in alabaster,

were the Muse's gist to him. While others, his. Yet, taking “ Ye banks and braes” as a specimen of Burns in the mood of a sim- Story for example, gently tickle, Burns ple nature-worshipper-in which Story, on

pokes his finger into your ribs right home the whole , shines most fairly and frequently send up lively jets of sentiment, Burns un

upon the laughing nerve. Where others —there is something quaint and exquisite in

sluices his great waters of pathos. Yet in the earlier poet's simple contrast of the things without and the thoughts within the Story, too, when plaintively roused, we feel mind, which passes far beyond the superfi- the bitterness of loss in those we love, or

that it is a human heart pleading artlessly cial assonance with nature to be found in Story's endless variations on his loved

the desolating contrast in the promises of Roddam, Craven, Howsden, Cheviot, and hope broken by time. Three sets of brief

and tender verses, in which he mourns the Homil-Heugh. Yet we mark the contrast

deaths of three children within two years, in no spirit of depreciation ; but rather to

in indicate the standard up to which our author

pages 143, 145, 148–9, are fair samples. comes more effectively, if negatively, by

We will quote one or two stanzas, which

may bear comparison with average specishowing that of which he falls short.

mens of Hood :The following, probably, treads more

“ We often laughed at Fanny, closely on the heels of Burns than anything

But we loved her while we laughed; in the volume. The bard, revisiting, as She was so odd a misture usual, the hills of his youth, relieves his feel- Of simplicity and craft. ings in rhyme, which turns on a flower, “ Whate'er she thought she uttered,

And her words-she “reckoned nou't" bonnie pink," he had thought of plucking;

Of the fine flash talk of Londonbut a second and 66 tenderer thought She was Yorkshire out and out! checked his hand :

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And we oft recall her sayings,

he was burnt “in effigy" out of the little Her playfulness and craft;

town of Gargrave, near Skipton, where he But now, 'tis odd, we weep the most At what the most we laughed !”

had for some time had a thriving school.

He lost thereby his clerkship of the parish, Again, the poet has lost a son, and sings:- and threw himself for a livelihood yet deeper “My William died in London,

into the same troubled stream, becoming In London broad and brave;

editor of the Carlisle Patriot, for which town His life was but a little drop

Sir James Graham was then the ConservaDashed from her mighty wave! And few there were that mourned my boy,

tive candidate, in whose behalf he wrote When he went to his grave.

“ vigorous leaders,” and who promised per

manent assistance, perhaps on the chance O London ! fatal London !

of success, but who, it seems, on losing the How proud to come was I! How proud was he ! how proud were all !

election, straightway forgot his humble And all have come to die !

backer, and Story returned to the schoolPass on, sad years, and close the tale

room once more, but not for long. On a With its best words—HERE LIE.'»

registration objection, he was struck off the And again, a daughter has dropped into list of voters by the influence of the hostile an early grave :

faction, and being resolved to retain the “ Sleep, my Mary! Sleep, my Mary!

sweet pleasure, at all hazards, of “plumpDieam not thou art left alone;

ing” for the Conservative candidate, made a Listen, Mary! Listen, Mary!

rash investment in cottage property, which Well was once my footstep known ! enabled his creditors to bring him to great Hush ! that sob was much too loud; Glad am I the grave is deep !

temporary straits.

He returned, on his It would pain her in her shroud,

school dwindling through his political zeal, Could she hear her father weep!”

to Gargrave again for a short while, and was Here is a lighter specimen of thought soon after appointed a "supernumerary,” as struck out by the damp of a new house; he too late discovered, in the audit office, but the bard-audacious trifler—is playing through the instrumentality of the late Sir

Robert Peel. with edge tools :

The rest of his tale is soon told. He re• The walls yet sparkle to my lamp

moved on this to London, where scanty May Heaven protect us from the damp ! But if it must destroy onc life,

means, a precarious appointment, a sickly Suppose, just now, it take my wife.

family, and sereral unhealthy abodes in sucWell, free again, I chat and love

cession soon brought him sore trials. His With beauty in the moonlight grove,

friends, however, rallied to his support, and Till my heart dances to the tune Sweet of a second honeymoon.

his clerkship was made permanent, and in a 'Tis a most pleasant thought !—But stay! few years his salary increased. Placed for Suppose it just the other way;

the first time beyond the shifts and straits Supposc it spares my loving wife, And takes lier loving husband's life ;

of want, his health soon began to fail. He And further, that another swain

contracted a heart-complaint, which was supAssumes the matrimonial rein,

posed almost to the last to be but a temporary And drives the team I drive at present, ailment, and was cut short while yet apparBy Jove ! this thought is not so pleasant."

ently in the prime of his powers. He cherThe troubled political waters of the pe- ished to the last his love of friends and of riod immediately before and after the pass- the muse, and was solaced in his final sicking of the Reform' Bill colored Story's ex- ness by the kindness of the Duke of Northistence deeply, and brought out his heart umberland. But the candle of life burnt sudTarmly on the Conservative side. His par- denly out, and a widow and several children tisan warmth was such as to kindle for

are left to hang with trembling hopes on the the fires of representative martyrdom, and profits of this and his other works.

A SEA-SIDE DRAMA.

a

with you

than your

From Punch. Mr. J. Nor I; nor why they should make THE NAGGLETONS OUT.

other people so.

Mrs. N. Well, as you are in a sweet huThe Scene represents the Breakfast-Table at mor, I shall take my novel and go down to Mr. and Mrs. Naggleton's lodgings at a the beach and read, and perhaps you'll be in Watering-Place. T'he distinguished couple a happier frame of mind by lunch-time. at breakfast.

Mr. N. When a novel-fit is on you, it is Mr. Naggleton (who is justifiably cross, useless for me to expect any attention. If because he went out late to buy a Timesyou imitated some of the perfection you are and all the copies had been sold to un- so fond of reading about, it might not be known persons, whom he therefore hates). amiss. What bad tea!

Mrs. N. Very neat, dear, and very new, Mrs. N. There's coffee.

and very much calculated to make an imMr. N. That's worse.

pression. Mrs. N. It was not my fault that water Mr. N. (who is, somehow, getting the worst didn't boil, I suppose.

of it, and is aware of the fact). Of course. Mr. N. No. But I suppose it was your Any scribbler's sentiments have more weight fault for using water that didn't boil.

husband's. Mrs. N. Do you want to have a fire in the Mrs. N. Well, dear, I am not unreasonaparlor with the thermometer at 70° ? or do ble. I do not ask you for sentiments. Senyou wish your wife to go down into the timent at your time of life would be about kitchen of a lodging-house, and heat the as suitable to you as leap-frog. kettle ?

Mr. N. (in despair, castles). Pray don't Mr. N. I only wish to have decent tea or let that anchovy paste come up any morecoffee.

it is not fit to be upon the table. Mrs. N. You have managed to drink both Mrs. N. You bought it yourself. such as they are; so if I were you I would Mr. N. Because I could get nothing else say no more about it.

provided for me. I shall throw it out of the Mr. N. I am much obliged for your ad- window if I see it again. vice, and should be more obliged if you Mrs. N. Pray do, or commit any other act would condescend to attend to what I believe of boyish impatience. I suppose you conis a woman's department.

duct yourself in that ridiculous way in the Mrs. N. If you had gone to an hotel, you hope of seeming younger than you are. could have bad all the luxuries, the want of Mr. N. (thinks he sees an opening). No, which makes you so amiable.

my dear. I have given sufficient proof, in Mr. N. I didn't choose to go to an hotel. the later part of my life, of not being as

Mrs. N. Then you must take things as wise as I ought to be, considering. you find them.

Mrs. N. (carelessly). Have you, love ? Mr. N. I have had good breakfasts at Nerer mind. It's too late for regrets now. the sea-side in other days.

But (arrested in the midst of her victory, Mrs. N. I am happy to hear it. That and angrily) it's too early to begin smoking makes it all the fairer that you should some that abominable pipe. times put up with bad ones. Not that the Mr. N. (availing himself of the enemy's breakfast has been bad to-day, only your indiscretion). I obserre, my dear, that the temper.

names of things vary with the temper of the Mr. N. I say it has been bad. The speakers. This is a pipe, when you are in shrimps were anything but fresh.

a rage, but it is a meerschaum, when you Mrs. N. Do you wish me to up early are going to fill and light it, preparatory to in the morning, and go out shrimping ? some little domestic manquvre.

Mr. N. I certainly wish you would get up Mrs. N. A man who deserved to be called early in the morning as it is ridiculous to be a husband would not make domestic maneubreakfasting at ten o'clock at the sca-side. vres necessary, and a husband who deserved

Mrs. N. I don't see why people should to be called a man would not reproach a wife come to the sea to make themselves uncom- with any little display of kindness. Howfortable.

ever, such a thing will not occur again.

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