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which she is afflicted from undertaking any of the few occupations which, according to the custom of these countries, are open to females, the gift of song is to her, what it is to very few, a blessing as well as an enjoyment. If she has been deprived of "the vision," she has been gifted with the "faculty divine;" and if she has lost many enjoyments, she has at least one consolation

“ Ainsi la cigale innocente, Sur un arbuste assise, et se console et chante."

In an age like the present, so prolific in verse-writers, it is something to made one'sself heard-and this Francis Brown has done. She has made for herself an admiring, a sympathizing, and, we believe, an increasing audience.

The following little tale is sweetly told :



"Sigismund, last of the Jagellons, on the death of his father was unanimously elected King of Poland. But having previously married a lady of humble birth, whom the nobles requested him to divorce, as, according to the prejudices of that age, unworthy to be a Queen; Sigismund sternly told them, that either his wife should share the crown or he would never wear it. The senators, convinced that so true a husband must make a worthy King, immediately consented to do her homage as his Queen-and both were crowned accordingly.

"Oh! minstrel, wake thy harp once more,

For winter's twilight falls-
And coldly dim it darkens o'er
My lonely heart and halls:
But memories of my early home
Around me gather fast-

For still with twilight shadows come
The shadows of the past.
Then wake thy lyre, my faithful bárd,
And breathe again for me
The songs that in my land were heard
While yet that land was free!
The lays of old romantic times,

When hearts and swords were true,
They will recall the dazzling dreams
That youth and childhood knew.'
"'Twas thus the noble matron spake

To one whose tuneful strains
Could win her exiled spirit back
To Poland's pleasant plains;
But how did memory's wizard-wand
Far distant scenes portray,
As thus the Minstrel of her land
Awoke his lyre and lay :-

"The shont hath ceased in Volla's field,
But still its echoes ring,

With the last thunderburst that hail'd
Sarmatia's chosen king.
For young Jagellon now ascends
His fathers' ancient throne-

"Yet still the chosen monarch stands
Uncrown'd-but not alone!

A lovely form is by his side,
A hand is clasp'd in his,
That well might be a monarch's bride
Even in an hour like this-
For never fairer face was seen
In saint's or poet's dreams-
Nor ever shone a nobler mien
In Poland's princely dames.

"Oh! many a princely dame is there,
And many a noble knight-
The flower of Poland's famed and fair-
The glory of her might.
But there is pride in every face,

And wrath in every tone,

As on that fair young brow, their gaze
Of gather'd scorn is thrown.

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There came an ancient senator

With firm and stately tread, And to the silent monarch there


In courtly phrase he said :'The love that cannot grace a throne A king should cast asideThen let Jagellon reign alone, Or choose a royal bride.' "The monarch yet more closely clasp'd That small and snowy handThen like a knightly warrior grasp'd His own unrivall'd brand; And from his dark eye flash'd the pride Of all his martial line,

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"A tradition existed among this ancient people of South America, regarding a demigod or superior intelligence of some description, who had formerly reigned among them," and at length departed westward, with the promise of a future return and a more brilliant reign; to which the natives looked forward as a certain millennium. And when the Spanish ships first reached their coasts, it is said many of them believed it was their returning deity.

"It was a glorious dream that hung

Around that race of old;

By kings believed-by poets sung-
By saint and seer foretold!
The sage amid his mystic lore,
The monarch in his hall,
And the weary peasant waited for
That promised hope of all-
The God, whose presence early blest
The children of the golden west.

"His coming brighten'd childhood's hour,
And crown'd the hope of youth;
And manhood trusted in the power
Of its unquestion'd truth;

And eyes, upon whose light had fall'n
The mists of time and tears,
At death's dark portals linger'd on,

To see those glorious years,
Which to their life and land should bring
The blossoms of eternal spring.

"But children grew to toiling men.

And youth's bright locks grew gray,
And from their paths of care and pain
The aged pass'd away;

And many an early shrine grew cold,
And many a star grew dim,
And woods grew dense, and cities old-
Yet still they look'd for him!—
But never breeze or billow bore
That glorious wanderer to their shore.

"At last, when o'er the deep, unfurl'd,
They saw the first white sail
That ever sought the Western World,
Or woo'd the western gale,
How did the Golden Land rejoice,
And welcome from the sea,
With all a nation's heart and voice,
Her wandering deity!

But knew not that she hail'd with joy
The mighty only to destroy.

"Yet who was he that mingled thus

With all a nation's dreams-
And on the monarch's mem'ry rose,
And in the poet's themes?
Was it the child of some far land,
The early-wise and bright,
Who shed upon that distant strand

His country's gathered light?—

Or wanderer from some brighter sphere,
Who came, but could not linger here?

"Was it some shadow, vainly bright,

Of hope and mem❜ry born-
Like those that shed a passing light
Upon the world's gray morn ;
Whose dreamy presence lingers still
By old and ruin'd shrines-
Or flits, where wandering Israel
For her Messiah pines ?—

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The next volume on our list *is one that has interested us very much in many respects, and is entitled to consideration, as well from the taste and intelligence which it displays throughout, as from the circumstances under which it was written, and the Mr. class to which the author belongs. Herbison is one of those whom it has been the fashion to call "uneducated poets "though "self-educated" would perhaps be a more correct expression-men who, in their childhood, have been deprived of the advantages of a school education, and who, from early boyhood have been compelled to. maintain themselves by unremitting manual labor. "At the age of fourteen,' "he says in his preface, "I was harnessed to the loom, and doomed for life to be an operative weaver an occupation at which those engaged must either toil with incessant drudgery, or starve."

Not, however, satisfied with the material web on which he was industriously and incessantly employed, our poet has contrived: to weave a more lasting and more valuable woof, composed of the stuff vhich dreams are made of, embroidered with many a flower of fancy, and with the fine golden. thread of nature running through the entire. The loom seems to have some particular attraction for the muse, as many men, both in the North of Ireland and in Scotland, who have creditably distinguished themselves by their verses, have been engaged in the same pursuits as our author. trust we may be enabled to return to this subject again, when our readers shall hear more of the weaver-poets of the North. At present, we recommend this little volume to the public, and the author to such persons in his own neighborhood (Dunclug, near Ballymena) who may have it in their power to assist him in his " way of life."


* "Midnight_Musings; or, Thoughts from the Loom." By David Herbison, Author of "The Fate of M'Quillan," and "O'Neill's Daughter.' Belfast: J. Mullan, &c. 1848.

David Herbison, though an Irish patriot, up, we are glad to perceive, to the exigencies of the time, seems to have been influenced much more by the Scotch poets than by the Irish, if we except, perhaps, Mr. Ferguson. Burns, Tannahill, and Mac Neill, seem to have been his models, and he has not disgraced them. Some of his verses are very musical; take this stanza, for instance, page 195:

"The dew sparkles clear

O'er the green-spreading bushes;
The linnet sings near

Where the crystal stream gushes;

The dove in the grove

Is caress'd and caressing;

Arise now, my love,

And partake of the blessing."

Or the three stanzas, page 198, notwithstanding the faulty grammar of the concluding couplet of the first verse :

""Tis no the slae-thorn blossom,

Or the wreath of feathery snaw, Can show sae fair a bosom

As the flow'ret o' Buckna; Her cheeks outvie the roses, That open to the view, When o'er their breast reposes The silvery drops of dew.

"Her step is light, her eye is bright, How meet for lady's bower-

I never saw, by day or night,
Sae beautifu' a flower;

Far frae the lofty city

And the joys that courtiers wear, "Tis bliss to meet my Betty,

Whare there's nane to see or hear.

"When wandering by the river, Yon willow trees amang, Enraptur'd wi' my lover,

And the little linnet's sang," I'll press her to my bosom, Frae sorrow and frae care, Nor let my peerless blossom

Feel the bitter chilling air."

Some of the convivial or drinking-songs are amusing from their naïveté. We hope our author was libelling the gentle craft, when, speaking of himself and poets in general, he makes the following candid confession :

"When sober we're dry and as stupid as asses, We meet ne'er a smile from the nymphs of Parnassus."-p. 170.

And when again, in the same song, page 171, waxing bolder as he goes along, he exclaims, with the proud independence of an anti-tetotaller

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"Dear lassie ! would you gang wi' me,
And leave these hills and vales,
I'll launch my bonnie boat for thee-
Unfurl her snowy sails;

And when we reach old Rathlin's Isle,
Amid my lands sae wide,

You'll find brave men and maidens' smile,
O'erjoy'd to see my bride:

But still she sang, while Claggan rang
Re-echoing back the strain-

How sweet the days when o'er these braes
M'William courted Jane!

"Fair maiden! he has left you now— A richer maid he's wed;

I saw him pledge the bridal vow,
And laid in bridal bed.

You lie! false coward loun-you lie !
And, were M'William here,
Your blood wad stain the dasied lea,
Red reeking frae his spear!

And then she sang, while Claggan rang,
Re-echoing back the strain-
How sweet the days when o'er these braes
M'William courted Jane!

"I wad be laith, dear lass! to see
M'William gain your hand-
The hame that he has got for thee
Is like his barren land;
There's nought within its lonely wa's
But wears the cypress shade,
A wintry blast against it blaws
Would chill my peerless maid.

But still she sang, while Claggan rang,
Re-echoing back the strain-

How sweet the days when o'er these braes
M'William courted Jane!

"Come, lass! and see what land is mine-
What flocks are feeding there;

I'll mak thee like a lady shine
In ilka thing that's fair;

In Rathlin's fertile flowery isle.

Sae free frae care we'll dwell

You'll soon forget M'William's guile,

And this romantic dell:

But still she sang, while Claggan rang,
Re-echoing back the strain-
How sweet the days when o'er these braes
M'William courted Jane !

"Aft hae I dream'd my lovely maid,

O'er a' thy witching charms-
Aft hae I cross'd the angry Braid,
To woo thee to my arms;
O come away! my dappled gray
Is fleeter than the wind,
That soon will bear my lassie dear
Love's happiest joys to find!

And still she sang, while Claggan rang,
Re-echoing back the strain-

How sweet the days when o'er these braes
M'William courted Jane!

"What for your lands and stately towers-
Your grandeur and your gear-
The beauty of our woodland bowers
Grow faint when ye draw near;
I wouldna leave these hills and vales,
Wild though they seem to you,
Nor listen to your guile-fraught tales,
For a' that charms the view:

And still she sang, while Claggan rang,
Re-echoing back the strain-

How sweet the days when o'er these braes
M'William courted Jane!

"Far happier hours I here hae seen,

Beneath our favorite tree,
Than e'er will meet my eye again,
While absent he's frae me.

Wha prais'd these hills and sparkling rills
That smile sae sweetly now-
By them I'll keep my fleecy sheep,
Nor prove to him untrue :

And still she sang, while Claggan rang,
Re-echoing back the strain-

How sweet the days when o'er these braes
M'William courted Jane!

"Nae langer could I be conceal'd Frae ane sae true and kind, Wha aften had her love reveal'd To ease my troubled mind;

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THE JENNY LIND LITIGATION.-This celebrated cause, in which it will be remembered that Mr. Bunn recovered a verdict with £2,500 damages against Mdlle. Jenny Lind for breach of an engagement, is still in litigation. The next proceeding will be a writ of error on the part of the defendant, which cannot be argued in the Exchequer Chamber before Michaelmas Term in November. Mr. Justice Erle has lately been engaged in settling a bill of exceptions tendered on the trial, and by an order made, the damages, with £1,000 for costs have been paid into the Court of Queen's Bench. The costs of the cause, have been taxed at nearly £700, and the residue of the sum paid into court is to meet the accruing expenses. The action was commenced in March, 1847, so that in all probability it will be about two years before it will be finally decided.—John Bull.

TRANSMISSION OF SOUND.-During a recent lecture delivered by Dr. Faraday, at the Royal Institution, two remarkable experiments were exhibited, with a view to show peculiarities in the transmission of electricity. A long strip of wood was suspended from the ceiling of the lecture room, touching a wooden box at one end. A tuning fork was struck and applied to the other extremity of the sical note issued from the box, though the sound of connected strip of wood, when presently a loud muthe fork at the other end was inaudible. The next experiment was still more curious. A rod connected with a pianoforte in a room beneath came through the floor of the lecture-room, and on the top of the rod Dr. Faraday applied a guitar to act as a sounding board. When the piano was played, the sound seemed to issue from the guitar as loudly as if the instrument were in the room, but the instant the connection was broken between the rod and the guitar, no note could be heard. Another analogy between vibrations producing sound and electricity communicating on touching a vibrating bar of meis the sensation, resembling that of an electric shock, tal, or a vibrating string. The school trick of fixing a wet string or piece of tape round the waist, and then pulling it through the fingers, was practised by Dr. Faraday on his assistant, for the purpose of showing how readily the sensation of an electric shock may be imitated by vibrations.

From the New Monthly Magazine.



The world of letters has experienced, in | teaubriand, in his preface to " Atala," "when I the death of the Viscount de Chateaubriand, conceived the idea of writing the epopee of the a loss that had been for some time foreseen, man of nature, or of painting the manners of savbut which is not for that the less keenly After the discovery of America, I saw no subject ages, by connecting them with some known event. felt. This distinguished author and states- of greater interest, especially for Frenchmen, than man died at Paris on the 5th of July. To the massacre of the colony of the Natchez at the honor of France, people of all parties, Louisiana, in 1727. All the Indian tribes conand of all political factions united to do spiring, after two centuries of oppression, to rehonor to the memory of their illustrious store liberty to the New World, appeared to me countryman. The life and adventures of to offer as fine a subject for the pen as the conthe Viscount de Chateaubriand have filled quest of Mexico. I threw a few fragments of this work on paper; but I soon perceived that I so large a space in the politics, the litera- wanted reality of coloring, and that if I wished to ture, and the society of France during the paint that which was, I must, as Homer did before first thirty years of the present century, and me, visit the people whom I intend to describe. his fame has been perpetuated by so much of "In 1789, I communicated to M. de Malsherbes romantic interest, or conventional adulation, my intention to visit America. But wishing at throughout the period immediately pre- the same time to give a useful object to my journey, pre-formed the design of discovering by land the ceding our own time, that although the reflection of his past greatness alone remained doubts. I started; I saw the American solitudes, passage upon which Cook had thrown so many to light up his declining years, his death and I returned with plans for another journey was an event of sufficient interest to divert which was to have lasted nine years. I proposed attention from the living occurrences of an to myself to traverse the whole of the continent age not less agitated than that in which it of northern America, to make my way upwards was his lot to have attained distinction and along the coast north of California, and to return by Hudson's Bay. M. de Malsherbes undertook to have risen to eminence. to lay my plans before the government; and it was upon that occasion he heard the first fragments of the little work, which I now present to the public. It is well known what became of France up to the time when Providence caused one of those men to appear whom she sends in sign of reconciliation when she is weary of punishing. Covered with the blood of my only brother, of my sister-in-law, with that of the illustrious old man, their father; having seen my mother and another sister, full of talent, perish from the treatment to which they were subjected in the dungeons, I wandered in foreign lands, where the only friend that remained to me destroyed himself in my arms."*

M. de Chateaubriand was born in the year 1769, like so many others of the men who were destined to play a prominent part in the gigantic labors of the last generation. Amongst the ample list of his immediate contemporaries, we find the great captains, the statesmen, the poets, who were to inaugurate the 19th century upon the ruins left by the first French revolution. They in their various paths discharged that task; but whilst they conquered nations, governed mankind, or adorned their age, M. de Chateaubriand remained faithful to his vocation. After ten years of the brutality and blasThat vocation was not, as has been repre- phemy of Jacobin clubs and revolutionary sented, one simply of knight errantry. The journals, France was enchanted to strike a young Breton officer who had retired from fresh vein of poetry in the pages of "Atathe army of Condé, after the siege of la." M. de Chateaubriand had previously Thionville, when the storm of the first published in this country, where he had French revolution had, for the time blown taken refuge for a time, a work, entitled over, did not become a mere wandering "An Essay on Ancient and Modern Reemigrant. M. de Chateaubriand sought publics," which had not obtained for the in the gloom and sadness of his solitary author the success which he was now desexile for a vent for mixed and melancholy tined to achieve. "Atala "" was penned in emotions, in which his poetic soul had been the desert, under the shelter of the huts of steeped by the events that had passed savages. It is a sort of poem, half descriparound him. tive, half dramatic; every thing lies in the

I was still very young," says M. de Cha

* They had both been five days without food.

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