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Since the appearance of our last number, nasties, too little to the freedom of peoples. the great fact in this country in relation to But shall we cry out for this reason — Let the war has been the desertion of the nation there be no war? So have some men played al cause by men from whom the nation had the game of Russia, — refusing to cripple the a right to expect better things. The smaller great foe of liberty at all, because every lesser Peelites we could spare without concern. Sir foe is not to be equally crippled at the same James Graham might add yet another change time. Our status quo dream, however, is now to the all sorts of changes which have pre- of the past. We have drifted far beyond ceded, and no man feel much either of sorrow that. Austria and Prussia might have made or surprise. But that Mr. Gladstone and the war too much a war of dynasties — thanks Lord John Russell should have gone over to to those powers, there is now the chance of the side of the enemy at such a moment is a its becoming something much better.

The grave matter. The statesmanship of the first hoisting of the Union Jack on the isthmus has proved to be the statesmanship of books – of Perekop may rouse the sleepers at Vienna mawkish and treacherous when brought into and Berlin, but they will have slept too long. the actual world. The statesmanship of the Sebastopol has fallen. The Crimea evao second has been the great Whig drag, im- uated, Russia, we are told, will only be less peding nearly all liberal measures in the Low- disposed than ever to think of peace. No er llouse for many years past. Lord John doubt of it. If, Alexander II. should submay now attempt to play the great Liberal mit, like Louis XIV., to humiliating terms, again for such has been his wont in every it will be because the strong hand of necesseason of displacement - but it will be too sity has imposed them. Russia must not be late. The experiment has been made too often. expected to think of peace while she has the Most sincerely do we hope, that no great slightest chance of regaining what she had interest of this country will ever be intrusted lost in war. It is an idiot dream to suppose again, either to our late Chancellor of the that she may be soothed into peaceful tendenExchequer, or to our late representative at cies. If her brigand temper be ever curbed, Vienna. We may say of Lord John as of it must be by the strong hand. Lord Brougham,

it would have been well But the power of Russia, say some, is for his reputation if he had lived out little great, her will indomitable. Yes — and see more than half his days.

you not in that the horrors of the sway with Lord Palmerston is no prodigy either of which Europe is menaced? The truth lies in political consistency or of political earnestness. a small space. The Allies must beat, or be The war, too, it may be, has had too much beaten- that is, must save the independence respect in its beginning to the safety of dy-l of Europe, or resign it to Czarism.

Do not, crouch to-day, and worship

The old Past, whose life is filed.
Hush your voice to tender reverence ;

Crown'd he lies, but cold and dead : For the Present reigns our monarch,

With an added weight of hours, Honor her, forshe is mighty!

Honor her, for she is ours !
See the shadows of his heroes

Girt around her cloudy throne ;
And each day the ranks are strengthen'd

By great hearts to him unknown ;
Noble things the great Past promised,

Holy dreams, both strange and new ; But the Present shall fulfil them,

What he promised, she shall do.

She inherits all his treasures,

She is heir to all his fame,
And the light that lightens round her

Is the lustre of his name ;
She is wise with all his wisdom,

Living on his grave she stands,
On her brow she bears his laurels,

And his harvests in her hands.
Coward, can she reign and conquer

If we thus her glory dim?
Let us fight for her as nobly

As our fathers fought for him.
God, who crowns the dying ages,

Bids her rule, and us obey -
Bids us cast our lives before her,
With our loving hearts, to-day !

- Household Words.

From the Examiner.

“ the rushing of great rivers

Through their palisades of pine trees, The Song of Hiawatha. By Henry Wads

And the thunder in the mountains,
worth Longfellow. Bogue.

Whose innumerable echoes
Mr. LONGFELLOW has here done his best

Flap like eagles in their eyries." to accomplish for the Indian border-land of These “ innumerable echoes

are one of America what years ago Walter Scott did for the most marked features in the song. Like our own Scottich border-land. He has given the Hebrew poets, whose verses reply to each it a poetical interest, and sought to link with other in measured cadence, the Indian songit enduring associations. Nor will such a singer never fails to repeat the more emphatic service be a slight one. All future wander- closing lines of every section, varying in ers across those prairies, all who may pene- words, the same in substance. The result is trate the pine forests of the North-western a peculiar and original, and certainly very States, track the course of the Upper Missis- effective, wildness. sippi, or explore the shore of the Great Lake, There is, however, another peculiarity in will have reason to be grateful to the poet. the poem, which is also as certainly original, Something to complete the charm was absent but not effective at all. This is the too until now. No tradition linked the present abundant use of Indian words. So far is with the past. No rich imagination, no this carried, that if Mr. Longfellow had warmth or wealth of fancy, bad lighted up wished, in his professional capacity, to give the scene. Travellers, and tourists in Amer- us a course of Ojibway, he could hardly have ica hereafter will owe a debt of honest grati- done more. Nor might we gracefully have tude to the Song of Hiawatha.

declined such a close to the duties of a chair And here at home we have reason to be he has discharged so long with so much grateful

. In giving a new life to the far honor. But as English readers and not AmerWest

, Mr. Longfellow has also brought the ican students, we must protest against an spirit of it to our firesides. We get all that introduction of such quantities of miserable, was worth preserving of the Red Man, and harsh, unpleasing, useless words into an may gladly and gratefully consign the rest of English poem. Proper names are admissible. him to extirpation and silence.

Minnehaha (so called after the most sparkThe Song of Hiawatha is a tale of Indian ling of waterfalls), Nokomis, Hiawatha himmythology. Its hero is one who lived, prayed, self, and others - to these we cannot reasontoiled, and fasted for his people's good ; ably object. But to be bored with the Ojibwho was prophet and king, at once a ruler way for “blue heron," or crawfish," or and a seer, the first of all the “mystery seagulls,” is quite unnecessary. They add men ”; who taught the maize to grow, and no real local truth to the picture. They the weeds to yield their healing virtues ; who weary and annoy the reader. What possible invented the canoe for the waters, and hunt-object can lincs like these serve unless it be ed down the enemies of his race; and who to remind us how Adam named the animals : at last, his mission ended, and his work performed, underwent human loss and sorrow,

“ Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee,

Saw the blueberry, Meenahga, and faded away in the light of dawning

And the strawberry, Odahmin, Christianity. With this main story are And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, interwoven tradition and logend, descriptions And the grape vine, the Bemahgut.” of scenery and sketches of life, pathetic, or these : humorous, fanciful, playful, all very fresh and new, and all tinted with the rich color

Kago, kago ! do not touch it,

Ah kaween !' said Mudjekeewis." ing of an Indian summer.

The metre of the poem has been boldly Mr. Longfellow must really be persuaded chosen -- but we are not disposed to think to banish from his fifth, or his fiftieth edition, unwisely. Its unrhymed trochees appear at such specimens of “unknown tongues.” first monotonous and strange ; but as we

Small blemishes are they, however, in a read on we see their meaning and intention volume of so much beauty and tender grace. better

, and still as-we advance they speak to Every page shows us something we would us more and more clearly of

gladly transfer to our columns, particularly

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that section of it which seems to us fullest squirrel watches them as they travel through of fancy and choice expression - the Hunt- his woods. ing of Pau-Puk-Keewis. But we have space only for two short quotations, by no means

“ From the sky the sun benignant

Looked upon them through the branches, remarkable; we could easily choose a hundred

Saying to them, O my children, such,

Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, Hiawatha has a friend, Chibiabos, “ the Life is checkered shade and sunshine : sweet singer," who has died, and Hiawatha Rule by love, O Hiawatha!' sits in his wigwam lamenting.

“ From the sky the moon looked at them, “He is dead, the sweet musician !

Filled the lodge with mystic splendors,
He the sweetest of all singers !

Whispered to them, O my children,
He has gone from us forever,

Day is restless, night is quiet,
He has moved a little nearer

Man imperious, woman feeble,
To the master of all music,

Half is mine, although I follow :
To the master of all singing !

Rule by patience, Laughing Water !'"
O my brother, Chibiabos !!

Mr. Longfellow's reputation will, we think, “And the melancholy fir trees

be raised by the Song of Hiawatha ; it is by Waved their dark green fans above him,

far, in our judgment, the most original of all Waved their purple cones above him, Sighing with him to console him,

his productions ; though we do not expect it Mingling with his lamentation

to be immediately popular. Its peculiarities Their complaining, their lamenting.” of subject, of treatment, particularly of metre,

may forbid this.

But when these get familAs brief must be our closing extract. iarized to the taste and the ear, its beauties Hiawatha has wooed and won fair Minnehaha will open out and display themselves more (or Laughing Water), a daughter of the freely, and it will appear generally what it Dacotahs. He is bringing her home, and all really is, a charming poem, and an undoubtnature is rejoicing in his joy. The bluebird edly high work of art. and the robin sing out congratulation, and the

New SECT IN WHITE. – To whom did Henry marched through various provinces, following a IV. refer in his opening speech to the Parlia- cross borne by the leader of the sect, and by a ment, when he made the following announce- great show of piety, so captivated the people ment?

that numberless persons of every kind joined its “ And whereas the King hath certainly under- ranks. Boniface X., fearing soine plot, ordered stood that a new sect hath risen up, clothed in the leader of this host to be apprehended and white vesture, and assuming to themselves great committed to the flames. After his death the sanctity, and whereas the people of this realm multitude gradually dispersed.”] - Notes and may lightly consent and be perverted by its nov- Queries. elty, their alms be diverted, and the kingdom itself be subverted, should the new professors

QUOTATIONS WANTED. - Who are the authors enter the realm : therefore, by the advice of the of the following ? Lords spiritual and temporal, the King hath " Qui jacet in terra, con habet unde cadat." ordained by proclamation that every county and seaport shall be shut against them; and any one

“ Vox audita perit, litera scripta manet.” harboring or maintaining them shall forfeit all “ Fiat justitia, ruat cælum.” that he is able to forfeit." - Rolls.

J. W.

“ Indocti discunt, et ament meminisse periti.” [Mosheim has given some account of this sect

(This is the motto to Laharpe's Cours de Litin his Eccles. Hist., book III. pt. 11. ch. 5: “In térature.) Italy a new sect, that of the White-clad Breth “ He equall'd all but Shakspeare here below.” ren, or the Whites (fratres albati, seu Candida),

“ Death hath a thousand ways to let out life.” produced no little excitement among the people. Near the beginning of the fifteenth century a

• Forgiveness to the injured does belong, certain unknown priest descended from the Alps, But they ne'er pardon who have done the clad in a white garment, with an immense num

wrong." ber of people of both sexes in his train, all clothed

J. Sn. like their leader, in white linen, whence their

PHILADELPHIA. name of the White Brethren. This multitude

Nates and Queries

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From the Critic. ing he ever made, and which had long hung The Crayon : a Journal devoted to the Graph- framed under that roof.” Another drawing,

ic Arts and the Literature related to them. “ a slight sketch," was purchased by the in. Vol. I. New York : Stillman and Du- defatigable worshipper from a clerk in the rand. London: Trübner and Co. employ of Messrs. Smith, Elder, and Co.,

Ruskin's publishers; and this last, with This first volume of an American weekly autograph appended, was sent to the New publication, the scope of which is sufficiently York Academy Exhibition, where it excited indicated by its title, deserves notice on ac- much criticism and considerable ridicule. Mr. count of its novelty of plan, as well as the Ruskin, on hearing of this transaction, is enthusiasm that evidently actuates its con- naturally very much annoyed, and writes a ductors. It offers no bait of pretty engrav- letter to The Crayon, of which the following ings, like the so-called “ Art” periodicals passages have more than merely local interof our own country, but relies upon an earn-est: Until I was 18 or 19, I was totally est exposition of, and commentary.upon, the ignorant of the first principles of drawing -profound principles of the graphic arts to and as I never had any invention, it would interest and edily its readers. Its motto is be difficult to produce anything more confrom “ Modern Painters"-"Whence, in temptible in every way than the sort of fine, looking to the whole kingdom of organ- sketch I used to make in my boyhood. Nor ic nature, we find that our full receiving of do I at present rest my hope of being of serits beauty depends, first on the sensibility, vice as a critic on any power of painting. and then on the accuracy and touchstone When I praise Turner, I do not think I can faithfulness of the heart in its moral judg- rival him, any more than in praising Shakments ;” and Ruskin's writings are its chief speare I suppose myself capable of writing oracles. The editor has disinterred and re- another Lear.' But I can now draw steadpublished a long series of papers entitled ily, thoroughly, and rightly, up to a certain * The Poetry of Architecture ; or the Archi- point; and as the American public have seen tecture of the Nations of Europe, considered my child-work, I shall be grateful to them in its Association with Natural Scenery and if they will do me the justice to examine, National Character, by Kata Phusin,” which with some attention, the drawing which I appeared in Loudon's Architectural Maga- shall take care to have in the next New York zine about eighteen years ago, and are from Exhibition, if it may then be accepted. the hand of Ruskin. These are interesting You sent me two rather formidable queries as compositions, belonging to the vernal sea- in your last private note to me. On one — son of a style which has since reached so What are the liinits of detail ?' I have elaborate and full-colored a development, something like sixty pages of talk in the third and also as showing the careful study and volume of Modern Painters,' which, if I thought bestowed by the young man upon live, will be out about Christmas ; but I may his subject, along with that nicety of obser- answer hurriedly, as you will at once undervation, at once poetic and microscope, which stand what I mean, that as far as you can is so rare and exquisite a gift. But these

see detail you should always paint it - if papers also exhibit very distinctly, in their

you intend your picture to be a finished one, cruder modes of expression, his tendency to and to be placed where its finished painting fantastic and incoherent deductions from ill

can be seen.

In every picture intended established premises, assuming the guise of for finished work, and intended to be seen logical accuracy and the boldness of indispu- near, the limit of detail is — visibility — and table truth. We also, from an attempt or no other.” The Crayon is also an advocate two which are utter failures, catch a hint of of the Pre-Raphaelite school of painting, the deficiency of humor in Ruskin, in com- which appears to have many warm admirers mon perhaps with most very dogmatic mon. on the other side of the Atlantic. For the

The Oxford graduate is much more pas- rest, it contains some poetry, not particusionately honored and admired in America larly noticeable either as bad or excellent, than in his own country; and from this feel and a great deal of æsthetic criticism, which ing, a somewhat amusing incident took its is, we much fear, like most such ware, rather rise in connection with the Academy of De- enthusiastic than strong, rather flatulent sign in New York last spring. An American than nutritious. Enthusiasm, however, is enthusiast, it appears, visiting Mr. Ruskin's at all events a living condition, and we wish house at Denmark Hill, in his absence, our youthful contemporary all manner of obtained from the house-keeper, " in addi- success and development, internal and extion to other precious little reminiscences ternal. of genius, probably the first preserved draw


I KNEEL within the church alone

Dust we were, and dust to be,
All through the long, long day,

Dust upon us, dust about us,
And list the night's low breezes moan

Dust on everything we see,
Amid the turrets gray;

Dust within us, dust without us;
In summer-time I faintly hear

Saith the preacher, “ Dust to dust!"
The laugh of merry children near,

Let them mingle, for they must.
Their voices blithe and gay
Hushed by the aisles and walls of stone

Dust we raise upon the road,
Down to a sad soft under-tone.

Dust we breathe in dancing-hall;

Dust infests our home abode,
They play amid the quiet graves

Dust, a pall, is over all !
That thickly lie around,

'Tis the housewife's daily bread, And softly to the silent caves

Dust, the emblem of the dead.
Comes the untroubled sound;
The long grass trembles in the air,

When the sky above is fair,
The wild thyme sheds its perfume there

And the sun upon the streams, Above the hallowed ground,

Floats the dust throughout the air, And daisies, like Faith's upward eye,

Gleaming in its fallen beams; Gaze ever deep into the sky.

Every mote is like a man,
Here have I heard the bridal vows

Dancing gaily while he can.
In faltering accents low,

Ere the tempest gathers strong, Have gazed on fair unfurrowed brows

Blows at times the warning gust, Unworn by wave of wo;

O'er the plain it sweeps along, Have heard the pastor's voice proclaim

Tempest's thrall, a cloud of dust; The union of heart and name,

Every mote is like a man,
And seen her tears o'erflow

Flying from Oppression's van.
Who saw the strange new path untried,
And feared, yet joyed, to be a bride.

Now the swollen clouds grow dark, And I have seen through silent aisles

Comes the long-expected flood, The dead brought solemnly

Falling deluge-like and stark ;

Dust is beaten down to mud,
Past the gray columns' ancient piles,
Beneath my gaze to lie;

So are times when men must grovel And while the clear, calm voice of prayer

In the palace as the hovel.
Silverly fell on the hushed air,

Thus we are but motes of dust,
Have seen the mourner's eye

On the ground and in the air, Turn with a fierce despair on me,

Blown by pleasure, fear, and lust, As though I mocked his misery.

Beaten down to low despair;
I gazed with calm and tranquil gaze

Born of dust, to come to dust,
Upon his bloodshot eye;

Let us mingle, for we must.
The sunlight's soft and pleasant rays

Fell on him tenderly;
A prisoned robin's quiet lay

Whispered his wild despair away
Like tones of memory,

And gentler thoughts around him crept, SLOWLY, slowly up the wall
Until he bowed his head and wept.

Steals the sunshine, steals the shade; I watch amid the slumberers here,

Évening damps begin to fall,
And the long years roll on;

Evening shadows are displayed.
Each Sabbath, listening throngs appear, Round me, o'er me, everywhere,
Each week, I am alone;

All the sky is grand with clouds, New faces fill each vacant nook,

And athwart the evening air New children turn their thoughtful look Wheel the swallows home in crowds. Upon my brow of stone,

Shafts of sunshine from the West New tombstones stare in moonlight cold,

Paint the dusky windows red; New lichens grow upon the old.

Darker shadows deeper rest
The gray-haired minister will pass

Underneath and overhead:
Amid his flock to rest,
Soon o'er his head the waving grass

Darker, darker, and more wan.
By strangers' feet be prest;

In my breast the shadows fall;

Upward steals the life of man,
The sun's last parting rays will come,

As the sunshine from the wall.
And squares of light amid the gloom
Fall softly on my breast,

From the wall into the sky,
Till, rising from their silent caves,

From the roof along the spire; The dead shall leave me but their graves

Ah, the souls of saints that die -Chambers' Journal.

Are but sunbeams lifted higher.

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