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From the Athenæum.
Poor earth-poor heart !—too weak, too weak A CHILD'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE.
To miss the July shining :
Poor heart !- what bitter words we speakA. A. E. C., born July, 1848, died November, 1849.
When God speaks of resigning !
Sustain this heart in us that faints,
Thou God, the self-existent !
-We catch up wild at parting saints,
And feel thy heaven too distant.
The wind that swept them out of sin
Has ruffled all our vesture :
On the shut door that let them in
We beat with frantic gesture :
To us us also open straight!
The outer life is chilly.
Are too, like the earth, to wait
Till next year for our Lily?
-0, my own baby on my knees, Her little face still played in
My leaping, dimpled treasure-
At every word I write like these,
Clasped close, with stronger pressure ! So, Lily-from those July hours
Too well my own heart understands
At every word, beats fuller-
-My little feet, my little hands,
And hair of Lily's color!
But God gives patience:-Love learns strength, As Dante, in abhorrence
And Faith remembers promise,
And Hope itself can smile at length
On other hopes gone from us.
Love, strong as Death, can conquer Death, Who perfumed with pure blossom
Through struggle made more glorious : The house !-a lovely thing to wear
This mother stills her sobbing breath,
Renouncing, yet victorious.
Arms empty of her child she lifts,
With spirit unbereaven :-
“God will not all take back His gifts And mimicked the gnat's humming.
My Lily's mine in Heaven. Said—“Father, Mother :"—then, left off
“Still mine-maternal rights serene For tongues celestial, fitter!
Not given to another!”
The crystal bars shine faint between
The souls of child and mother.
“ Meanwhile,” the mother cries, "content!" Behind the cloud that hid them :
6. Our love was well divided : -“ Let little children come to me,
Its sweetness following where she went, And do not thou forbid them.”
Its anguish stayed where I did.
Well done of God, to halve the lot,
And give her all the sweetness !
To us—the empty room and cot ;
To her—the heaven's completeness.
To us—this grave; to her—the rows
The mystic palm-trees spring in;
To us—the silence in the house ;
To her--the choral singing !
For us—to hope and bear on :
Grow, Lily in thy garden new,
Beside the Rose of Sharon !
Grow fast in heaven, sweet Lily clipped, Should leave the place too earthy,
In love more calm than this is;
And may the angels dewy-lipped
Remind thee of our kisses !
While none shall tell thee of our tears-
These human tears now falling :
Till, after a few patient years,
One Home shall take us all in :
Child, father, mother-who, left out?
Some smiling angel close shall stand,
In old Correggio's fashion,
Bearing a Lily in his hand
For Death's ANNUNCIATION.”
THE MAIDEN AND MARRIED LIFE OF MARY POWELL. A honeymoon cannot forever last ; nor sense of my Areopagitica; and I'll put your name down, danger, when it long hath past ;—but one little dif- Kit, for a hundred copies !" ference from out manie greater differences between my late happie fortnighte in St. Martin's-le-Grand, Oct.—Though a rusticall life hath ever had my and my present dailie course in Barbican, hath suffrages, nothing can be more pleasant than our marked the distinction between lover and husband. regular course. We rise at five or sooner ; while 'There it was “ Sweet Moll,” “ My heart's life of my husband combs his hair, he commonly hums or life,” “My dearest cleaving mischief;" here, 't is sings some psalın or hymn, versing it, maybe, as onlie “ Wife,” “ Mistress Milton," or, at most, he goes on. Being drest, Ned reads him a chap“Deare or sweet wife.' This, I know, is master- ter in the Hebrew Bible. With Ned stille at his fulle and seemly.
knee, and me by his side, he expounds and improves Onlie, this morning, chancing to quote one of his ye same; then, after a shorte, heartie prayer, reowne lines,
leases us both. Before I have finished my dressing,
I hear him below at his organ, with the two lads, These things may startle well, but not astounde
who sing as well as choristers, hymning anthems he sayd, in a kind of wonder,“ Why, Moll, whence and Gregorian chants, now soaring up to y' clouds, had you that? Methought you hated versing, as as 't were, and then dying off as though some wide you used to call it. When learnt you to love it?'' echoing space lay betweene us. I usuallie find I hung my head in my old foolish way, and an- time to tie on my hoode and slip away to ye herbswered, • Since I learnt to love the verser.” market for a bunch of fresh radishes or cresses, a
Why, this is the best of alle!" he hastilie cried ; sprig of parsley, or at ye Jeaste a posy, to lay on
can my sweet wife be indeede heart of my heart his plate. A good whcaten loaf, fresh butter and and spirit of my spirit? I lost, or drove away a eggs, and a large jug of milk compose our simple child, and have found a woman." Thereafter he breakfast ; for he likes not, as my father, to see boys less often wifed me, and I found I was agayn sweet hacking a huge piece of beef, nor cares for heavie Moll.
feeding, himself. Onlie, olde Mr. Milton sometimes This afternoon, Christopher Milton lookt in on takes a rasher of toasted bacon, but commonly, a
After saluting me with ye usuall mixture of basin of furmity, which I prepare more to his minde malice and civilitie in his looks, he fell into easie than ye servants can. conversation; and presentlie says to his brother After breakfast, I well know the boys' lessons quietlie enough," I saw a curious pennyworth at a will last till noone. I therefore go to my closett book-stall as I came along this morning.”—“What duties after my Forest Hill fashion ; thence to marwas that ?" says my husband, brightening up. “ It ket, buy what I neede, come home, look to my had a long name, says Christopher : "I think it maids, give forthe needefulle stores, then to my was called Tetrachordon.", My husband cast me a needle, my books, or perchance to my lute, which suddain, quick look, but I did not soe much as I woulde faine play better. From twelve to one is change color, and quietlie continued my sewing. the boys' hour of pastime; and it may generallie
“ I wonder,” says he, after a pause, “ that you be sayd, my husband's and mine too. He draws did not invest a small portion of your capitall in aside the green curtain—for we sit mostly in a the work, as you say it was soe greate a bargain. large chamber shaped like the letter T, and thus However, Mr. Kit, let me give you one small hint divided while at onr separate duties ; my end is yo with alle y® goode humour imaginable ; don't take pleasantest, has the sun most upon it, and hath a advantage of our neare and deare relation to make balcony overlooking a garden. At one, we dine ; too frequent opportunities of saying to me anything always on simple, plain dishes, but dressed with that would certainlie procure for another man a neatnesse and care.
Olde Mr. Milton sits at my chrashing !"
right hand and says grace; and, though growing a Then, after a short silence betweene alle, he sud- little deaf, enters into alle ye livelie discourse at dainlie burst out laughing, and cried, " I know 't is table. He loves me to help him to ye tenderest, by on the stalls ; I've seene it, Kit, myself! Oh, reason of his losse of teeth. My husband careih had you scene, as I did, the blockheads poring over not to sitt over the wine ; and hath noe sooner finthe title, and hammering at it while you might ished the cheese and pippins than he reverts to the have walked to Mile End and back!”
viol or organ, and not onlie sings himself, but will “ That's fame, I suppose,” says Christopher, make me sing too, though he sayıh my voice is drylie; and then goes off to talk of some new ex- better than my ear. Never was there such a tuneercise of the press-licenser's authoritie, which he fulle spiritt. He alwaies tears himself away at seemed to approve, but it kindled my husband in a laste, as with a kind of violence, and returns to his ninute.
books at six o'the clock. Meantime, his old father “What folly! what nonsense!” cried he, smiting dozes, and I sew at his side. the table; “these Jacks in office sometimes devise From six to eight, we are seldom without Buch senselesse things that I really am ashamed of friends, chance visitants, often scholarlike and being of theire party. License, indeed! their li- witty, who tell us alle ye news, and remain to cense! I suppose they will shortlie license the partake of a light supper. The boys enjoy this lengthe of Mollis curls, and regulate the colour of season as much as I doe, though with books before her hoode, and forbid the larks to sing within sounde them, their hands over their ears, pretending to con of Bow bell, and the bees to hum o' Sundays. Me the morrow's tasks. If the guests chance to be muthoughte I had broken Mabbot's teeth two years sicalle, the lute and viol are broughte fortlie, to agone; but I must bring forthe a new edition of lalternate with roundelay and madrigal ; the old man
beating time with his feeble fingers, and now and neighbourhoode is too hot to holde them ; olde then joining with his quavering voice. (By the friends cowardlie and suspicious, olde and new focs way, he hath not forgotten to this hour, my im- in league together. Leave Oxon they must ; but puted crime of losing that song by Harry Lawes ; where to goe? Father, despite his broken health my husband takes my part, and sayth it will turn and hatred of the foreigner, must needes deparı up some day when leaste expected, like Justinian's beyond seas; at leaste within ye six months; but Pandects.) Hubert brings him his pipe and a glass how, with an emptie purse, make his way in a of water, and then I crave his blessing and goe to strange land, with a wife and seven children at liis bed ; first, praying ferventlie for alle beneathe this heels? Soe ends mother with a “ Lord have mercy deare roof, and then for alle at Sheepscote and For- upon us !" as though her house was as surelie est Hill.
doomed to destruction as if it helde ye plague. On Sabbaths, besides the public ordinances of Mine eyes were yet swollen with iears, when my devotion, which I cannot, with alle my striking, husband stept in. He askt,
“ What ails you, prebring myself to love like ye services to which I cious wife?" I coulde but sigh, and give him the have beene accustomed, we have much reading, letter. Having read ye same, he says, “ But what singing, and discoursing among ourselves. The my dearest? Have we not ample room here for maids sing, the boys sing, Hubert sings, olde Mr. them all? I speak as to generalls, you must care Milton sings; and trulie with soe much of it, Ifor particulars, and stow them as you will. There woulde sometimes as lief have them quiete. The are plenty of small rooms for the boys ; but, if your Sheepscote Sundays suited me better. The sab- father, being infirm, needes a ground-floor chamber, bath exercise of the boys is to read a chapter in the you and I will mount aloft. Greek testament, heare my husband expounde the I coulde but look my thankfullenesse and kiss his same ; and write out a system of divinitie as he hand. * Nay,” he added, with increasing gentledictates to them, walking to and fro. In listening nesse, “think not I have seene your cares for my thereto, I find my pleasure and profitt.
own father without loving and blessing you. Let I have alsoe my owne little catechizing, after a Mr. Powell come and see us happie ; it may tend humbler sorte, in ye kitchen, and some poore folk to make him soe. Let him and his abide with us, to relieve and console, with my husband's concur- at the leaste, till the spring ; his lads will studdy rence and encouragement. Thus, the Sabbath is and play with mine, your mother will help you in devoutlie and happilie passed.
your housewiferic, the two olde men will chirp My husband alsoe takes, once in a fortnighte or together beside the Christmasse hearth ; and, if I soe, what he blythelie calls “ a gaudy day,” equallie find thy weeklic bills the heavier 't will be but to to his owne content, the boys', and mine. On these write another book, and make a better bargain for occasions, it is my province to provide colde fowls it than I did for the last. We will use hospitalitie or pigeon pie, which IIubert carries, with what without grudging; and, as for your own increase else we neede, to the spot selected for our camp of cares, I suppose 't will be but to order two lego dinner. Sometimes we take boat to Richmond or of mutton insteade of one!” Greenwich. Two young gallants, Mr. Alphrey And soe, with a laugh, left me, most joyfulle, and Mr. Miller, love to joyn our partie, and toil at happy wife! to drawe sweete out of sowre, dethe oar, or scramble up the hills, as merrilie as the lighte out of sorrowe; and to summon mine owne boys. I must say they deal savagelie with the kindred aboute me, and wipe away theire tears, bid pigeon pie afterwards. They have as wild spiritts them eat, drink, and be merry, and shew myselfe as our Dick and Harry, but withal a most wonder- to them, how proud, how cherished a wife! full reverence for my husband, whom they courte to Surelie my mother will learne to love John Milread and recite, and provoke to pleasant argument, ton at last! If she doth not, this will be my secret never prolonged to wearinesse, and seasoned with crosse, for 't is hard to love dearlie two persons who frolic, jest, and witt. Olde Mr. Milton joyns not esteeme not one another. But she will, she must, these parties. I leave him alwaies to Dolly's care, not onlie respect him for his uprightnesse and magfirste providing for him a sweetbread or some smalle nanimitie, coupled with what bimselfe calls" relish, such as he loves. He is in bed ere we re- honest haughtinesse and self-esteeme," but like him turn, which is oft by moonlighte.
for his kind and equall temper, (not“ harsh and How soone must smiles give way to tears! Here crabbed," as I have hearde her call it,) his easie is a letter from deare mother, taking noe note of now of mirthe, his manners, unaffectedlie cheerwhat I write to her, and for good reason, she is soe fulle ; his voice, musicall; his person, beautifull; distraught at her owne and deare father's ill con- his habitt, gracefull; his hospitalitie, naturall 16 dition. The rebels (I must call them such) have him; his purse, countenance, time, trouble, at bis sve stript and opprest them, they cannot make theire friend's service; his devotion, humble; his for. house tenantable; nor have aught to feede on, had givenesse, heavenlie! May it please God that my they e'en a whole roof over theire heads. The mother shall like John Milton!
To eat Humble Pie.—Mr. Editor-Your cor- table, inferior of course to the verison pasty which respondent, Mr. Hammach, having rocorded Mr. smoked upon the dais, and therefore not inexpresPepys' love of “ brave venison pasty," whilst ask- sive of that humiliation which the term “ eating ing the derivation of the phrase, " eating humble humble pie' now painfully describes. The “ pie,” in reference to a bill of fare of Pepys' age, 1 bles” of the deer are constantly the perquisites of venture to submit that the humble pie of that period the gamekeeper.-A. G.-Ecclesfield, Nov. 24, was indeed the pie named in the list quoted; and 1849. - From Noles and Queries. a new and very not only so, but that it was made out of the “um- interesting weekly paper, original in its design, bles” or entrails of the deer, a dish of the seconds and hitherto most successfully carried out.-Exam.
1. Life and Writings of Dr. Chalmers,
289 2. My Journal : The Events of 1815,
295 3. Court Ceremonies,
297 4. The Nile Boat,
298 5. Passages in the Life of Mrs. Margaret Maitland, Examiner,
300 6. British Repudiation-Newman on the National
302 Debt, 7. Lawyers, Clients, Witnesses, &c. Third Arti
Scotsman and Scotlish Press,
306 cle, 8. The Needlewomen-Great Woman Market, Spectator,
309 9. King's Cope,
311 10. French Opinions of American Literature and
} Literary World,
315 Anthors, 11. Excursions in Southern Africa,
319 12. Voices from the Borders of the Better Land,
N. Y. Observer,
323 13. Story of a Family, Chap. XX. - The Cloud} Author of Maiden Aunt,
328 14. Maiden and Married Life of Mary Powell, con.
Sharpe's Magazine, ,
331 cluded, Poetry.- Seeketh not its Own; Life and its Results, 324.—Child's Grave at Florence, 333. SIIORT ARTICLES.—The Anglo-Saxon Race, 308. - Strange Instinct of the Deer, 322 – The
French President; Atlantic and Pacitic Canal, 325.- Mr. Brunel, 326.- Southey's Com. . mon Place Book ; Glimpses of Spain ; Readings for Railways; Ebenezer Elliot, 327.What Amusements are Admissible ; Law of Storms, 332.— Humble Pie, 3j5.
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Wa8WUXOTON, 27 Dec., 1845. Or all the Pi lodical Journals devoted to literature anel science which ahound in Europe and in this country, cho bas appeared to me to be the most useful. It contains indeed the exposition only of the current literalure of the English language, but this by its immense extent and comprehension includes a portraiture of the human inind in who utmost expunsion of the present age.
J. Q. ADAMS
LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.—No. 301.-23 FEBRUARY, 1850.
From Sharpe's Magazine. served, from tradition and other sources, nearly all GOLDSMITH, AND HIS BIOGRAPHERS. *
the particulars of Goldsmith's life, which could BY FREDERICK LAWRENCE.
by possibility be discovered. We do not wish Op all the laborers in our literary vineyard to disparage the patient research and enthusiastic there is scarcely one whose name has a more labors of Mr. Prior, when we speak of Mr. Forsfamiliar, household sound than that of Oliver ter's work as readable, valuable and entertaining ; Goldsmith. There is assuredly no writer of the for the diligent compiler and the skilful adapter last century fur whom we entertain a stronger are in our opinion equally entitled to their meed of feeling of personal regard. His character is approbation. Nor will we quarrel with the work endeared to us as much by its innate goodness of Washington Irving, because it contains no as by its amiable weakness. “ The epithet,” startling fact that is not to be found in the two says Washington Irving, “so often heard, and preceding biographies. “The life of a scholar,” in such kindly tones, of Poor Goldsmith !' speaks says Goldsmith himself, “seldom abounds with volumes. Few, who consider the real compound adventure; his fame is acquired in solitude of admirable and whimsical qualities which form but we are fond of talking of those who have given his character, would wish to prune away its us pleasure, not that we have anything important eccentricities, trim its grotesque luxuriance, and to say, but because the subject is pleasing.” clip it down to the decent formalities of rigid Goldsmith appears to us to have been the true virtue. • Let not his frailties be remembered,' type of an Irishman. The virtues and frailties said Johnson, he was a very great man.' But, of his countrymen distinguished him through life. for our part, we rather say, “Let them be remein- He had the “ happy knack of hoping ;' the heedbered,' since their tendency is to endear; and we less charity, the thoughtless imprudence, the habit question whether he himself would not feel grati- of blundering, for which Irishmen are proverbially fied in hearing his reader, after dwelling with ad-famous. He was the descendant of a race who miration on the proofs of his greatness, close the were little learned in lessons of worldly wisdom. volume with the kind-hearted phrase, so fondly “ The Goldsmiths,” Mr. Prior was informed, and familiarly ejaculated, of · Poor Goldsmith!'” were always a strange family. They rarely
We are pleased to number the author of acted like other people; their hearts were always · Bracebridge Hall," and the “Sketch Book," in the right place, but their heads seemed to be among the biographers of Goldsmith. No man doing anything but what they ought.” The folhas shown a more lively appreciation or a more lowing sketch of his immediate ancestor, which exquisite sense of the peaceful virtues and peculiar Goldsmith has put into the mouth of the “ Mao attractions of English domestic life than the in Black," is, we doubt not, true to the very gifted American; and we must add that no mod-life :—“My father, the younger son of a good ern writer of English prose has more closely re- family, was possessed of a small living in the sembled the author of the “Vicar of Wakefield,” church. His education was above his fortune, a8 well in his clear, lucid, and flowing style, as and his generosity greater than his education. in the genial, gentle, and loving thoughts scattered Poor as he was, he had his flatterers poorer than through his pages. In the preface to the present himself; for every dinner he gave them they rebiography, Mr. Irving has gracefully acknowl-turned him an equivalent in praise ; and this was edged his obligations to Goldsınith, and his early all he wanted. The same ambition that actuales predilections for his writings, by addressing to him a monarch at the head of his army influenced my Dante's apostrophe to Virgil :
father at the head of his table; he told the story Tu se lo mio maestro, e'l mio autore ;
of the ivy-tree, and that was laughed at; he reTu se' solo colui, da cu'io tolsi
peated the jest of the two scholars and one pair Lo bello stile, che mi ha fatto onore.
of breeches, and the company laughed at that ; Mr. Forster's spirited and eloquent sketch, but the story of Taffy in the sedan chair was sure Though deformed by certain mannerisms, or rather to set the table in a roar. Thus his pleasure inCarlylisms, which we would rather have seen creased in proportion to the pleasure he gave ; he avoided, is, unquestionably, a valuable addition loved all the world, and he fancied all the world to our standard literary biography; whilst to the loved him.” What wonder was it that from such u voluminous and indefatigable” Mr. Prior belongs a father poor Oliver should inherit some genial the undisputed honor of having collected and pre- peculiarities and harmless eccentricities at which
* The Life of Oliver Goldsmith, M. B., from a variety worldly wise men shook their heads ! of Original Sources, hy James Prior, 2 vols. 1837. The “ Oliver's education” —we quote from Wasbr Life and Adventures of Oliver Goldsmith: a biography in four books, by John Forster, 1848. Oliver Goldsmith: ington Irving—" began when he was about three * biography, by Washington Irving. 1849.
years old ; that is to say, he was gathered under 22