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blood in her veins, an English complexion, The French look upon the toilette as a work and most probably English tastes. When of art, and pay the same tribute to it that she returned from Notre Dame after the we do to any other artistic production. marriage ceremony, the vast crowds assem- They accepted and valued her success as bled near the Tuileries to view her entry another proof of the supremacy of France there, gave her no welcome, received their in this as in other matters. empress in silence; yet in a few months We really think it very hard, however, France unanimously pronounced her charm- that the empress should be charged with ing. She had none of the conventional the present monstrosities of dress, the hidemanner prescribed to royalty; she laughed ous bonnets, the heavy wreaths loading the

' when she should have been grave, and wept brows and lengthening the face so as to when she should have been composed; she give some women—as a man in the pit of wore fancy dresses, offensive to court eti- the Opera last year remarked—“ the appearquette, yet in spite of all this, in spite of ance of unicorns." The exaggerated hoops, her being as natural as Frenchwomen are too,--are these purely French? We have generally artificial, she was pronounced always had a liking for hoops in England, charming. Her beauty and grace ated and some of our most decorous periods of the other sex ; but we have no hesitation in costume have been those when the hoop saying that one cause of her popularity with was worn. We half think this is a fashion her own, was her being beyond all compar- for which we are as much responsible as our ison the best-dressed woman in the empire. neighbors across the water.

HOLIDAY HEXAMETERS.

Gladstone will festival hold in the sombre city

I of coal, PURPLE autumn is here once more, and the Boast of his famous finance, safe from Sir days of recess :

Stafford's replyGaily the Whigs depart, and forget the sight Prove the Income-tax a capital thing on the of the House,

whole Weary no doubt of the place where so often Also that acid Bordeaux is the cheapest they got in a mess

liquor to buy. Heartily glad to hear the swift wild whirr of the grouse.

As for the jolly Premier--his vagaries who

shall foresee? Russell to Ireland is off, and wont write a

Sheffield has tried the blade : Dover's exsingle despatch : Wood will try to forget his ridiculous quarrel Never did any one play the Harlequin better

pecting him soon. with Laing :

than he; Full felicity surely will come to the whole of

Though he is old enough quite for the part the batch,

of the Pantaloon.

C. Far from Cobden's invective and Osborne's laughable slang.

-The Press.

Learned Lewis away in Wales will study the

stars : Wherefore does he not teach us a little astrol

ogy tooTell as if Italy's fields will be reddened by dominant Mars

The other day a little Frenchman, just ar. Tell us what in the world McClellan is going rived, who had been taking English lessons, on to do?

the voyage, from a fellow-passenger, complained

much of the difficulty of our grammar, espePeel, that “ broth of a boy,” to Ireland surely cially the irregular verbs.

For instance, says he, “ Ze verb to go. Did Making a progress there, with speeches very you ever see one such verb ? And with the polite :

utmost gravity he read from a sheet of paper : Carlisle's Earl will be glad to see him, we all I go; Thou departest; He clears out; We cut of us know

stick; Ye or you make track; They absquatuAnd the O'Donoghue too, who is rather fond late. “Mon Dieu ! mon Dicu! What disrege of a fight.

ular verbs you have in your language !"

will go,

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COME!

EARL CANNING. O MEN and brothers ! wherever ye are,

(We insert the following verses rather for In our country's need—stand fast !

their literary force than because we think they Come now, to our aid-we suffer afar- have grasped accurately either the strength or Our strength has weakened at last !

the weakness of Lord Canning's powerful char

acter. -Ed. Spectator.] We have struggled, shoulder to shoulder, here.

Come home at last! And many of us have died,

From the half royal crown which whoso wears For the sake of the land we hold most dear ;- Aches both in head and heart--the weight so Come now, with help to our side !

vast;

From scathing suns, and still more scathing We know you could not sit there at your ease, cares; If you knew, what we have, here

From that far grave so fresh, 'tis still an. This moment of grace-up, brothers, and seize! gras'd, For oh! the danger is near !

Where the bright lady of his love doth lie,

Come home at last to die.
Quit ye like men, in the daily strife-
New strength in your souls be born

We had scarce time,
For what is the use of saving your life,

To welcome him with sword and star of state, Friends—if f your country is gone?

With voiceful banquet, and with lofty rhyne ;

Yet not the blossoms make the forest great, Boy heads, with a mother's blessing, their seal, Not the reward—the work makes man sublime. I've watched fall low at my side

What matter now? Methinks, 'twere overbold, With only a prayer for their country's weal,

To give a martyr gold. While their brows shono glorified !

One gift we have, Bearded men, -(on the hot roadside, one day,

Not misbeseeming our much love, nor him

Who saved the Indies for our sons-a grave ! Their faces grew soft-and smiled, Because some poor woman sat there at play,

Bury him in the Abbey, in the dim With a little blue-eyed child)

Religious light among our wise and brave,
Among our saints and senators, and men

Of golden thought and pen.
Those men, with a tender place in their hearts,
Where in dreams some small hands clung-

Not like his sire,
In the thickest fights they have borne their parts, with torchlike words, with flowers and lights
Great Souls ! unknown, unsung!

of speech,

Hearts could he finely win, or greatly fire ; O men and brothers ! be yo not appalled With drums and tramplings, through the deadly With the cruel way we've trod

breach “Let every man wherein he is called,

He never marched; or wrote and tuned the Therein-abide with God!"

lyre,

Like him, the gentlest of immortals, who And ye are called ! To come here in your might.

Sleeps next his Montagu. Stout-hearted, and brave, and strong!

O truer tongue Come, loving Christ, your Country, and Right, Whose eloquence was that great word—forgive ! And to conquer, this great wrong!

O braver warrior by loud fame unsang,

O nobler pages worthier far to live, First, save the Country! Ay, at any cost. Stamped with the rights of those who did as Do ye mind those gone before ?

wrong! Ah ! can we stand by, while their blood is lost ? O England's calm uncanonized saint Can they watch us from that shore,

Enskied by self-restraint. And wonder perhaps that we waste the time,

At last come home. Feel their trust in us misplaced ?

Welcome,high welcome with the organs grieving, O brother, the heights that we yet can climb, Majestic through the glory and ihe gloom; So our Flag be not disgraced !

Welcome with tears that tell the undeceiving

Of life-long dreams at last beside the tomb. O men and brothers ! wherever ye are,

Welcome, for here whero England's mightiest rest In our Country's need-stand fasti

There comes no nobler guest. And to every State, with a fallen star,

Come home at last! Restore it, undimmed, at last !

Childless and crownless, weary and heart

wounded, Come, with new courage, fresh aid, and brave A better name than sons can give thou hast, cheer,

And that deep weariness is aye surrounded Ah! hark !-the roll of the drum!

By the sweet arms of Christ around thee cast, The battle's din even now in our ear

And from thy crown of thorns, and heartaché For God, and our Country, come!

freed, --Transcript.

Thou art at home, indeed. W. Ai

LUCERNE,
AN HOUR OF PRAYER.

Here the crucifis shone o'er the altar stair,

And its dim light made me at last aware Just after the sunset yesterday,

Of the Lamp that was burning faintly there. When the last of the crowd had passed away, I went to the little church to pray.

There are notes of music and tones of love, My spirit was clouded with discontent,

Memories and sights that bare power to move And the faith I had was nearly spent,

The soul to communion with things above. When I came, like a thief impenitent

So I fixed my gaze on the steadfast ray, Weary and foiled in the weary race,

Till it seemed as if earth and its troubles lay To hide myself from my own disgrace, In the valley of restlessness far away. And steal some comfort from the place. Nothing for naught in the world they say, A dreamlike procession of early years And little they get who have little to pay : Swept through my spirit; the frost that sears But the chapel was open all the day.

Our life fell from me in tranquil tears.
The choir was as free as the aisles of a wood,

The riddle of doubt was solved at last,
And I found, when under its shade I stood,
That the air of the church was doing me good. A light on the labyrinth of my past.

As the growing and glimmering lustre cast
In the silence, after the city's smoke,
My spirit grew calmer and thoughts awoke

God makes each heart a cathedral dim, From sleep that I fancied dead-I spoke : With its vaults where gloomy vapors swim,

And its altar burning still for him. "Perhaps they were not unwisely bold, Who called this God's House—the men of oldDoes the shepherd wait within the fold ?” I woke from my trance in the church alone,

Aud the church bell marked that an hour had So up the choir, with footsteps faint,

flown,
In the fading light of each shining saint, As it pealed in a sombre monotone.
I wondered if He would hear my plaint.
There was something surely in kneeling where Like a deep voice singing a noble song,
A thousand hearts bad left their care

It bade me arise and bear along
That helped to contradict despair.

My lamp still bright, my courage strong.
Biarritz, May, 1861.

J. N. “No hope remains in the world,” I cried, “ So far have I wandered, so much denied,

-Spectator. Is there any way left as yet untried ? “I love, but it only makes death more drear And truth moro distant; I love in fear, 'Tis not with the love that sceth clear.

LUCERNE. “I toil, but the range of my restless glance, Still stretches afar; an aimless dance

The lake beneath, and the city, I see, and name it the work of chance.

And the quiet glorious hills,

Bending beneath the sunset,
They are blown together, like dust in the wind,

With strong submissivo wills.
The feeble frame and the lordly mind,
And only their ashes are left behind.

The mound above and the rampart,

And the river that swiftly flows, My words are bitter ; what proof remains

Between the walls to the meadows, To prove them false; are a prisoner's chains

In the evening's deep repose. Lighter because he forgets his pains ? ~ Hear me, for mine is a soul in need :

Three towers are set in the sunlight, On the cold damp ground I sink and bleed,

And gleaming in burnished gold ; Hear me, and show thou art God indeed.

Over one the twilight is creeping,

It stands in the shadow cold.
“ The lamp of my spirit was lit in vain,
The light went out long since in the rain,
Can faith once lost be found again ?

Four stages of life recalling,

Our birth, our love, our toil, 'Tis dark without it, but how can we,

And the last that lies in the shadow,

And waits to receive the spoil.
When the night is starless, pretend to see
Across the darkness an image of Thee ?”

-Spectator.

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POETRY.-The Bachelor's Dream, 66. She left me at the silent Time, 66.

SHORT ARTICLES.-Shooting Stars, 90. Persecution of Mr. Peabody, 90.

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LIT TELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON.

For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, tho LIVING Age will be punctually forwarded free of postage.

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

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

ANY NUMDER may be bad for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value.

PART VIII.--CHAPTER XXIV.

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man with light thin hair and mustache, two WHEN Vincent was set down in the dark- ladies, one with a blue veil. With a pang ness and silence of the Sunday night in the which penetrated through the cloud of fatigue Dover railway station, stunned as he was by which enveloped him, he did his best to deall that he had heard and seen, and worn scribe Susan as he had seen her last, and out with fatigue and want of rest, his facul- repeated with melancholy mechanical iteraties were not at his command, as they ought tion the one circumstance he knew about to have been at the command of a man in the other companion of her flight—the blue such desperate straits, and with such a mat- veil. This dreadful piece of female drapery ter in his hands. When his fellow-passen- seemed to float through the occurrences of gers trooped away with all the bustle and the past week, visible through the feverish excitement of travellers who had then only haze which obliterated all distinctions of completed the first stage of their journey to day and night, and made a kind of dull the pier, and the night-boat which waited to eternity, broken by no divisions of time, of carry them across the Channel, he, left be- this terrible crisis in Vincent's history. The hind, after being vainly stimulated by vari- description, however, gained him some inous porters and attendants with adjurations formation, though not what he sought. The to make haste, and warnings that he would party had left the inn an hour or two before be too late, stumbled out at length into the -suddenly, as if upon some sudden news unknown place-into the gloom of night, or unexpected necessity — where, nobody only half aware of the immediate occupa- could tell. Vincent received the account of tion that lay before him. The image of their departure dimly, scarcely able to folSusan grew hazy before her brother's eyes. low its details ; but he understood that it Mary's revelation did not move him now was most probable they must have gone with the quickening thrill of anguish and across the Channel, and had consciousness rage which had at first stirred him when he enough left to rush as fast as his wearied heard it. He had no longer bis wits about limbs would carry him to the pier. Had he him ; anxiety, fear, the impulse of revenge, been in time enough, he would have leaped were all obliterated by the utter weariness on board the boat without further question, which dulled all his senses, and made the and gone hopelessly far away from poor necessity of throwing down his wearied Susan and her terrible fate; but the collimbs in some corner, and somehow drop- ored lamp on the mast of the steamer was ping to sleep, more imperative than any just gliding out of the shelter of the harbor other need. He had not energy enough to as he stumbled down through the darkness ask where the hotel was to which Mary had into the midst of the dispersing lookers-on. directed him, but wandered along in the Nobody there could tell him anything about darkness with the sound of the sea booming that blue veil; there was no other boat till in his ears-sounding all the more thundery morning—and whether the party he pursued and tempestuous because it was unseen. had gone in this one, he could get no inforThis heavy unaccustomed cadence aided the mation. It was very late, very dark and dull effect of weariness. His own thoughts cold, and the ominous moan of the sea again left him altogether-he was scarcely con- bewildered all the confused powers he had scious of anything but the measured roll of left. He took his troubled way back again the sea and the languor of his own worn-out to the inn, possessed above everything with frame, as he went on mechanically towards an overwhelming desire to throw himself the lights before him. When he came into down somewhere and rest. When he had the brighter street, and began to encounter got into a room there, he summoned once other wayfarers, his mind returned to him more the waiter who had first identified the so far that he became dimly aware of what fugitives. He wanted to hear over again, he had to do. The hotel of which Mary had if perhaps he could understand a little more told him was directly in his way, and the clearly this time the particulars of their desight of it roused him still farther. He went parture. in and asked first for Mr. Fordham, and "It's my opinion they've not gone off then for Colonel Mildmay, without any suc- yet,” said the man: “just afore you come

Then he described the party-a tall in, sir, going the opposite way from the pier,

cess.

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