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passed, with his book, into oblivion. Yet only one source for their knowledge, which there are some clever things in the volume, is nature, however much they may differ in with a few of which I may hereafter regale their interpretation of nature's facts.” my readers-amongst them criticisms upon the American poets who were the author's

A CRAZY CANNIBAL.—"A man has been cotemporaries—Dwight, Trumbull, Barlow,

arrested in Hungary for killing four children and perhaps Freneau.

and eating their hearts raw. He acted on

the belief that he would have the power to “THE AIR WE BREATHE. — “Malakoff,' | become invisible when he had eaten seven, Paris correspondent of the New York Times, but was not permitted to carry his experitells an interesting and frightful story about ment to a conclusion.” the quality of the air breathed in theaters and other close houses containing a thousand

PROGRESS IN WORSHIP.-"In a prominent or more persons. A chemist made an analy- church at Indianapolis, last week, the execusis of the air breathed by such persons. tion of a fine piece of music was applauded He carried into a theater, at 10 o'clock at with clapping of hands and stamping of feet.” night, a bottle of ice placed on a plate, and EDGAR POE'S LAST MOMENTS.—“It having then collected the vapor which rapidly con- been denied lately in a magazine article that densed on the outside of the bottle and flowed Edgar Allan Poe died in consequence of a down on to the plate. At first this vapor thus drunken debauch, Dr. J. E. Snodgrass, who collected had the smell, the taste, and, far as was a personal friend of the poet's, has pubcould be determined, every chemical quality lished an account of his death, from which it belonging to the waters of the most deadly appears that he (the writer) found Poe ‘in a fever marshes. Under the microscope this state of beastly intoxication' in a low tavern water was at first clear, but soon—that is to in Baltimore, and assisted in having him say, in a week-it was found to be full of removed to a hospital, where he died, one fine animalculæ. A little later on, these week later, of mania d potu. Poe's body was animalculæ had grown, and the big ones buried in the cemetery belonging to the were seen pursuing and devouring the little Westminister Presbyterian Church—not in ones. Still later on, at the end of two months, the Potter's Field, as has been stated—and the water was thick with animalculæ; vari- the only mark by which his grave could be ous forms were seen, and still the work of distinguished was “a piece of undressed destruction was going on. At last, but three pine board, as unlettered as it was unsuited.' hideous monsters were seen-microscopic During one of his lucid moments, and when monsters, of course, since they were con- it became clear that he was about to die, the tained in a drop of water—and these were physician in attendance asked him if he still fighting to see which could devour the would like to see any of his friends; to which other. At the end of three months the water Poe replied, pressing his hand to his forebecame clear and miasmatic again.” head: 'Friends! My best friend would be

“A CHAP who was told by a tract pedlar to he who would take a pistol and blow out ‘remember Lot's wife,' replied that he had these d-d wretched brains!' Poe died on been in trouble enough already about other Monday, the 7th of November, 1849." men's wives."

MENTAL CULTURE IN ADVANCED LIFE. AGASSIZ ON DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. “Instances have frequently occurred of indiProfessor Agassiz, in his Lecture upon Mon-viduals in whom the power of imagination keys, speaking of the right which mankind has, at an advanced period of life, been found have to differ with each other in opinion, susceptible of culture to a wonderful degree. says:

In such men, what an accession is gained to “A great change has come upon men in their most refined pleasures !—what enchantthat respect. It is no longer possible for any ments are added to their most ordinary perman, or for any set of men, to assume that ceptions! The mind awakening, as if from the truth is with them exclusively. Men a trance to a new existence, becomes babituhave learned that there is only one common ated to the most interesting aspects of life foundation for their beliefs, however much and of nature; the intellectual eye is ' purged they differ from one another in their religious of its film;' and things the most familiar and propositions. Men have learned that there is I unnoticed disclose charms invisible before.

The same objects which were lately beheld a sensible sign, in order to form a conception with indifference occupy now all the powers of the Most High. And is not the sun, the and capacities of the soul-the contrast be- incomprehensible source of light, an image tween the present and the past serving only of that Invisible Being who blesses and preto enhance and to endear so unlooked-for an serves all things ?' The Israelite thereupon acquisition. What Gray has so finely said rejoined: 'Do your people, then, distinguislı of the pleasures of vicissitude conveys but a the type from the original? They call the faint image of what is experienced by the sun their God, and, descending from this man who, after having lost in vulgar occu even to a baser object, they kneel before an pations and vulgar amusements his earliest earthly flame! Ye amuse the outward, but and most precious years, is thus introduced blind the inward eye, and while ye hold to at last to a new heaven and a new earth: them the earthly, ye withdraw from them the The meanest floweret of the vale,

heavenly light. Thou shalt not make unto The simplest note that swells the gale, thee any image or any likeness.' 'How, then, The common sun, the air, the skies,

do you designate the Supreme Being?' asked To him are op'ning Paradise.''

the Parsee. We call him Jehovah Adonai, The above is from the pen of Dugald that is, the Lord who is, who was, and who Stewart.

will be,' answered the Jew. "Your appella"OUR FATHER.”—“A Jewentered a Parsee tion is grand and sublime,' said the Parsee, temple, and beheld the sacred fire. What!' | but is awful too!' A Christian then drew said he to the priest, 'do you not worship nigh, and said, “We call him Father.' The the fire?' 'Not the fire,' answered the priest; Pagan and the Jew looked at each other and ‘it is to us an emblem of the sun, and of his said, “Here is at once an image and a reality; genial heat.''Do ye, then, worship the sun it is a word of the heart,' said they. Thereas your God?' asked the Jew; 'know ye not fore they raised their eyes to Heaven, and this luminary, also, is but a work of that said with reverence and love, Our FATHER!' Almighty Creator?' 'We know it,' replied And they took each other by the hand, and the priest; “but the uncultivated man requires all three called one another brothers."

LONGFELLOW - FLOWER DE LUCE.

BY JAMES MAURICE THOMPSON.

To what extent transcendentalism will ex- | may be certain he beholds a child of song. pand before another crisis, another culmina- If we see a lawyer, a doctor, a saddler, or a tion of revolutionary opinions will bring silversmith walking the street with a hangabout a new order of things, is a quære; dog look, we know a poet is in travail, and but it is certain that in literature, especially a poem is soon to be. In fact, if we meet a in poetry, this crisis ought to be much de- man, a hundred chances to one he is a poet ! sired. Parnassus has become frightful on The good old time of Poeta Nascitur is nearly account of the rank weeds that cover it from forgotten. It only lives in the memory of base to brow, and also on account of the those who cling to the dead. The art conhideous reptiles that crawl and hiss and show cerning which Horace said so many delicious their forked tongues at every step. In truth, things, is now taught in log school-houses by poetry has “ become a name ”-the poet has pedagogues of every grade of culture. There become the rule, the honest man the excep-are a thousand Anacreons for every Ionia tion. If one looks into a barber-shop and now a thousand Pindars for every Bæotia, sees a mild-eyed man strapping a razor as if and every overhanging rock of every possibe were keeping time to a hornpipe, one ble shore is lined with wailing Sapphos

ready to leap. In these center the nerves of In Clark County, in the State of Kentucky, progress and, as a matter of course, the about six miles south of the little village of wheels slip on the track without advancing Kiddville, stands, or did stand, an humble log an inch. It is the only consolation left to house, at the opening of a singularly beautithe lover of genuine literature to know, that ful dell, known as Chalybeate Hollow. This while there are only a few light-houses on house was the home of a dark-haired, hazelthe Mare Tenebrarum their rays are un-eyed boy, with whom in our youth we were mistakable, though a thousand wills-o'-the-well acquainted. He was a boy of remarkwisp wave their delusive torches. The readable mind, and devoured the contents of ing world has lately been shown three new every book he could obtain. From the time volumes of poems-poems of a high order of our first meeting down to the present, a poems of the immortal. Jean Ingelow's narrative of events has been kept, which book is full of that inspiration which comes reads as follows: from Aiden, from the Garden of Delights,

“ MY LOST YOUTH. from the haunts of beauty-those delights

And the burden of that old song, that are rainbow sorrows, that beauty which

It murmurs and whispers still; is a sad “joy forever.Laus Veneris comes A boy's will is the wind's will, from Helusion, from the dusky groves, from

And the thonghts of youth are long, long thoughts.' the flowery meads, from the perfumed ha "To-day I met Paul Hope, and am inclinrems of a pagan paradise. Jean has all the ed to think he is the strangest boy in the voluptuous vigor of Oriential imagery—the world. Sometimes he is as timid and bashipink of Persian peach-blooms tinges all her ful as a girl—sometimes he is solemn and poems; but she is vague in her expression, gloomy-sometimes he is wildly hilariousand after all, leaves us where she found us, sometimes really cynical. Paul is sixteen, only a little less contented with our lot. and rather tall for his age. A little dell runs Swinburne is fierce and melancholy by turns away from Paul's house, sinking deeper and -now a vulture, now a sad dove; he tears deeper at every step into delicious shade, till our hearts one moment—the next he coos us at length in the coolest, wildest crypt imagininto tears; but at all times and at every turn able, a spring of yellow chalybeate water he evinces all the animal vitality of Bul- gurgles out to lave the feet of some giant tuwer's “ Margrave.” The third of the above lip-trees, and runs off among flowering alders named trio, and by far the best book of and clumps of witch-hazel. Paul was readpoems published since Tennyson's “In Me- ing Longfellow's ‘Birds of Passage'a greater moriam,” is “Flower de Luce,” by Prof. part of the time while we were together Longfellow. Of this we purpose to write; sitting by the spring. He has a rich voice and and first, let us retrospect.

is an excellent reader. Over against a huge Longfellow, from the very beginning of rock he sat facing me, with his fine head pilhis literary career up to the present, has writ-lowed on the moss, and his dreamful eyes ten in too moods alternately. Some of his half-closed. I am three years older than poems are of the soul, others are the offspring Paul, but I have already found that he knows of mere intellect. Of passion, properly so much more than I do.

He reads Greek, called, he has none, consequently there is Latin, French, German, Italian, Spanish, and little voluptuousness in his pictures. He Arabic, and I heard him speak of the Hefails in nearly all his love passages from brew Talmud as if he had read that too, sheer necessity, while his power to express though I do not know what that is. 'Santhe affections is unlimited. We might quote dalphon, one of Longfellow's most artistic a score of poems illustrating our assertions, poems, brought up the subject. “Here is the but will not on account of our limited space. finest passage of mere poetical expression to The “ Children's Hour," “ Weariness," and be found, perhaps, in any language,' said “Footsteps of Angels,” are brimful of a Paul as he read: holy affection, free from the faintest tinge of

When I look from my window at night passion. Just here some sad, but pleasantly

And the welkin above is all white, sad, reminiscences arise. Through our study All throbbing and panting with stars, of Longfellow is woven back and forth the Among them majestic is standing

Sandalphon.' story of a heart. There may be a moral in the tale.

He read the verse italicised in a peculiarly

THE PICNIC.

was

mellow tone, and ever since it has been ring * Bear a lily in thy hand;

Gates of brass can not withstand ing in my ears. I think I shall never look

One touch of that magic wand.' upon the sky of night again without thinking of the Angel of Prayer.”

“Poor Paul ! it seems his heart has not

been strong enough to withstand' it any Longfellow's first poems are, in one respect,

more than the brass gates! I am impatient his best. They are natural. His “Hymn to the Night” is a “cry of the human,” as Mrs. to see this Carrie Gray of whom Paul talks

so much. I know she is beautiful, for Paul Browning terms it. However consummate a is a real artist: his taste is never at fault. command of language he has since acquired, Well

, we are going to have a May-day party and however sweetly and elaborately modu- despite this dreadful war, and I'll meet her lated may be the cadences of his later poems, there. It is so lucky that we live in this sethe " Psalm of Life" is his truest poem. It

cluded section. is the echo of his individual nature-indomitable energy. The thoughts of his youth

'Ob, stay!' the maiden said, and rest were " long, long thoughts." His will"

Thy weary head upon this breast!' the wind's will,” and he sang like a bird. " I have just returned from Italy after an The wind blew almost a hurricane, and the

“The last day of April was a terrible one. absence of two years and a half

. I have rain fell in torrents. May, however, dawned been squandering time in travel and amuse

fair, the wind blowing in fitful gusts. It was ment, learning nothing. I have just been to but a short gallop from home to the place see Paul Hope, and find him full-grown but slender, and rather inclined to be weak appointed for the picnic. I went early and physically. He has studied too hard-taken till I could see Carrie Gray. Ifound a num

alone, meaning only to stay an hour-only too little exercise. When I look upon his ber of young people collected at Mrs. M.'s, pale face and furrowed brow, and think how hard by the place of rendezvous, and joined ruddy and weather-beaten and strong I am, them. Paul had not yet arrived. The little I feel that my vagabondage has had at least

boys and girls of a neighboring school were one good result; and I thank my stars I am Do poet—no student. And, furthermore, I present in holiday attire, running and shout

ing on the lawn in front of the house, and am under the deepest weight of obligation

some one in the parlor was singing: to Fate for so constituting me that to love, in the poetical sense of the word, is impossi

"Come to me, 0 ye children!

For I hear you at your play, ble. Paul is desperately in love with one

And the questions that perplexed me
Carrie Gray, whom he has seen somewhere. Have vanished quite away.
He says she is a perfect Houri, whatever that

"Ye open the eastern windows
is, and he has written some verses about her
-verses, too, of the most extravagant kind. Where thoughts are singing swallows
Here is one stanza :

And the brooks of morning run.'
Calling across the hush of night,

“ The voice was the sweetest I have ever Soft voices wake me from my dreams; heard, though I have listened to those who Far in the starry deeps of light

have made the world wonder. Soft and low, A vision of thy beauty gleams.'

clear as a flute, it warbled and cooed till my "Paul is still reading Longfellow, but he heart almost ceased to beat as I stood chain. bants the love-passages now, and reads themed to the spot. When the song ended I went rapturously.

in. A girl not over fifteen sat on the pianoMaiden! with the meek brown eyes,

stool, whereby she had swung herself round In whose orbs a shadow lies

so as to face the company after singing. She Like the dusk in evening skies.'

was as sweet as an angel could be. Her " If you could hear Paul read that stanza eyes were dark as night and full of passionand those that follow, you would but love ate tenderness-full of the deep splendor of the exquisite poem from which they are love! She was a.brunette, and her jetty hair taken with doubled fervor.

was a crown of dusky glory. A faint blush Like the swell of some sweet tune,

glimmered on either cheek, and her lips were Morning rises into noon,

red as rubies. I was fairly startled when my May glides onward into June!

eyes met hers; and instantly I thought of

That look toward the sun,

the verses Paul had so often read to me of Paul wrung my hand unmercifully, and the girl standing on the brink of the river of whispered quickly: Allow me to present womanhood:

you;' and before I could think, turned me

face to face with Carrie Gray. I am certain 'Deep and still that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem,

my eyes then looked upon the most magnifiAs a river of a dream.'

cent woman in the whole world from the be“She sat at ease, gracefully but motionless, ment so full of ease that it seemed involun

ginning of time. She had risen by a movelooking right into my eyes-right into my tary, and stood before me slightly swaying soul, with a smile of baby-innocence playing forward, and her eyes looking directly up about her lips and just stirring the twin dim

into mine. ples in her chin and cheeks. She was al

“ Can I tell you how she looked? Can I lowed to rest but a moment; then the whole company begged her to sing again, and she You have seen these latter, but you have

paint a sunset? Can I photograph a dawn? turned to the piano. She swept the keys not seen Carrie Gray. She was dressed hurriedly, then turned to me and said in a in a light blue picnic dress of very costly sweet, child-voice:

material made high in the neck, where it “«Mr. T—, please help me to sing this ended in a snowy ruffle encircled by a narlittle song.'

row pink cravat. The dress just tipped the “Had a ball of fire fallen at my feet I could floor as she bent, and the flowing sleeves alnot have been more astonished.

most hid her little hands, whose taper fingers "Come,' she continued, 'I have heard so were white as snow. She was about the much of your singing.'

middle hight, round and rather full of form, “She was an utter stranger, and I at first with slightly tapered shoulders, and the bust tried to excuse myself, but I could not sylla- of a Venus. Her neck, as white as a swan's, ble a single word; so I rose mechanically drooped gently forward. Her chin was firmly and walked to the piano.

set, but fell gracefully away to a pouting un"You are kind,' she whispered, 'very der lip which, even in repose, stood slightly kind, and I thank you. After we have sung apart from the upper, giving a continuous I wish you to tell me all about the countries half-smile to her mouth, in which were set you have been visiting, the people you have the most beautiful teeth it is possible to imseen, and a thousand pleasant and curious agine. Her cheeks were pink, not red, and things. We don't need an introduction—I her forehead was fair as Parian marble. Her have heard so much of you; my name is nose was straight and small, with thin nosAnnette Gray.'

trils, and over it the arched brows left a space “She now began the song, and we filled the which dimpled when she raised her eyes. room with our voices and the deep tones of The contour of her face was oval, and her the magnificent instrument. While we were forehead was rather broad and low, over singing, some one entered the room, and I which her dark brown hair shone splendidly. heard Paul Hope's voice. I can not account But her eyes ! They were wells of rapturefor the condition I was in. I grant I was they were deeps of glory—they were reblinded by the artless beauty of Annette splendent mysteries! Dim shades that were Gray; but this was not all. Some one I had not shadows played across fields of light, and not seen thrilled me more. I knew she had brown glooms softened to tenderness what come. I knew she sat at my back looking would otherwise have been a starry gleam. at me. The excitement under which I la- They were bewildering mazes of shade and bored gave my voice a quavering volume, sheen and dusk and splendor-they were and if I ever sang well it was then. When hazel orbs of liquid vitality—they were transwe had finished I turned slowly round. I lucent spheres of embodied life. They looksaw Paul's face first. It was flushed, and ed beyond you—beyond the horizon into the there was a flash of joy in his eyes. I had infinity of the future—at least it seemed sothought him handsome before; now I thought and you were awed while enraptured. I can him superbly beautiful, magnificently noble- not say what passed in the next half hour. looking. I fixed my eyes on his and walked It passed, however, and the company rose to over to shak his hand. I ew wh sat be down to a high bluff on a little river side him, but did not even glance at her. I hard by-the spot chosen to pass the day.

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