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per, with true burghal feeling, helped to at the same time, and to assure the Johnresist. The old bridge, however, is not sons and the Roses, that, though Lady wholly gone—a portion of it still remains, Hesketh and her servants were with him, and even does good duty. It appears there was still room for their accommodathat after much litigation, a compromise tion. It is now no longer in the occupation was come to; the county trustees having of one family. At the one end is a grocer's been at the expense of a smart new bridge shop, at the other an infant-school (and across the meadows, while that portion of the noisy lessons of the children swelled the old bridge which spans the ordinary pleasantly in our ears as we stood in the channel of the river still remains. Like street on that summer's day), while beall patched pieces of work, the result has tween them, is a sort of arched gateway, been unsatisfactory. There is a raised apparently intended for a carriage-entrance, causeway between the two bridges, and leading to a yard, up which a straw-plait they do not stand parallel to each other; manufacturer carries on his trade. From so that a man who should hold a straight the market-place, a narrow lane leads down course on leaving the old bridge, would, towards the vicarage. This is Silver End, instead of entering on the other, tumble famous in Cowper's correspondence as the right over into the bottom below. But, be it abode of most of the idleness and depravity from reverence for its association with Cow- of Olney. The vicarage itself stands in per, or whether it be from the more vulgar another street, and nearly opposite to Cowmotive of saving his money, his lordship per's house, each house having a garden retains the bridge as it is, to the annoyance behind it, with one wall at the upper end, of the inhabitants-an annoyance, however, serving for the boundary of both; and it in which the poetical visitants of the place was that Cowper might meet the Olney will hardly share.

curate-that curate was John NewtonOlney is a smaller town than Newport without encountering the stare of the “Silin fact, though possessed of a weekly mar- ver End blackguards,” that a door was ket, it has more the appearance of a large broken out in the wall aforesaid, to allow village than anything else. It consists the two friends to communicate through chiefly of one large street, stretching to the their respective gardens. The vicarage is a porth-east. At the upper end, the street sweet and pleasantly situated house, formopens out on the right, and forms a trian- ing a strong contrast to the gloomy old gular area, which constitutes “the Market mansion on the Market-bill. Its front is hill." At the upper end of this Market- nearly hidden with evergreens and flowerhill, and upon the right hand, stands Cow-ing shrubs. We were told that the inper's house. It is in some respects of more mates of Cowper's house, as well as the ambitious pretensions than its neighbors, person who now holds possession of the being a story higher than any of the others, garden, were very courteous to strangers, as well as being much longer, but without and willing to show the relics that still reany pretensions to superior elegance of style mained of him. There, it was said, are to or convenience of accommodation-in fact, be seen the hole he cut in the parlor-door it is exactly what Dickens would call "an to allow of the uninterrupted gambolling of old, large, rambling house." Its eight win- bis tame hares on the carpet, and also the dows in a row are all of the same dull com- greenhouse in the garden, in which he common-place style; and, looking at the mo- posed the greater part of the “Task," and notonous appearance of the old house, with translated the “Iliad,” and which is kept the mean accessories that surrounded it, up much as he left it: while, though the and recollecting all the poverty and dis- door broken out in the garden-wall to comtress which Cowper hinself describes as municate with the vicarage was closed again surrounding him, we could not feel sur- when Mr. Newton left for London, still the prised that a man of his exquisite and mor- patching was visible. These were tempting bid sensibilities should have deeply felt the objects to gaze upon; but, on the other depression these daily scenes were calcu- hand, we hate to exhibit our enthusiasm lated to inspire. The house is so large before strangers; we must either indulge that it is a marvel how the small establish- our fancies in the presence of a friend or in ment of Cowper and Mrs. Unwin could solitude; and we turned away to those obhave occupied it; though certainly its sizejects of interest which lay accessible to all, explained at once how it was that the poet and where we needed no cicerone. Among was able to entertain so many of his friends! these was the tall and solitary elm which

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grows at the bottom of the market-place, shuts were almost destitute of furniture. In and which forms so conspicuous a feature one case, an aged woman sat at the door of in all the pictures we have seen of the her cottage with her needles and her pillow, poet's residence; and near it there stands in the act of lace-knitting—the very picture the identical pump of whose erection Cow- of the cottager whom Cowper so finely conper so humorously complains in one of his trasts with Voltaire as one who letters, as entailing expense on the inhabitants, while it would benefit no one but the

"Just knew, and knew no more, her Bible true,

A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew." shoemaker, opposite whose door it was erected. We repeated the lines with which From the town we bent our steps to the he commemorated the event

churchyard, and, pacing in its quiet walks, “ Let Bannister now lend his aid

we mused upon the exalted privilege of geTo furnish shoes for the baker,

nius, which could confer upon an insignifiWho has put down a pump, with a lamp at the top, cant village like this, and its no less insigFor the use of the said shoemaker."

nificant inhabitants, an immortality for The pump is now in a state of dilapidation, wbich thousands have struggled in vain. arising from neglect, so that it does not what a satire upon the restless schemes of seem to have gained popularity with years. ambitious men, that in a few years oblivion, There is no lamp on the top, nor could we in spite of all their efforts, closes over the learn there ever had been, so that it is names and memories of so many of them! probable the opposition to the schemes of while here, without an effort, and without the reforming baker had been too powerful even the intention, the routine business and for him as for some greater reformers, and the petty squabblings carried on in an obthat he had been compelled to give up his scure village, with the petty actors in these design of surmounting it with a lamp as ignoble affairs—the Reedons, the Rabans, some solace to the outraged feelings and the Peares, and the Pages, “poor Nat pockets of the frugal inhabitants.

Gee,” and “old Geary Ball”—have become In wandering through a strange town, it enshrined in the memory of every reader of is always instructive to get into its back sensibility and taste, and their names have streets and lanes. We have no faith in the received an immortality as lasting as the appearance which the main thoroughfares English language can bestow. And now present, as revealing the character of the where were they all ? Daniel Raban, the place or the condition of its inhabitants. baker, who would not tolerate Thomas They are always sure to put the best face Scott, the commentator's preaching, and on the matter; they wear a starched, hypo- set up a rival meeting himself-Reedon, the critical demureness, as if to cheat the stran-schoolmaster, who had“ made his prayer to ger into a belief in their respectability. God that he might become acquainted with But in the back streets, and still more in some talent, and now, in the acquaintance the narrow lanes, you have the character of of this worthy gentleman (meaning me, the place presented to you without disguise says Cowper), had found that prayer fulfill. or any effort at concealment. There is no ed”—Thomas Ashburner, the joiner, who, painful struggle there between poverty and at a county election, had courageously respectability; want, and beggary, and pro- throttled the ringleader in a riot, and quellfligacy feel that there they are upon their ed the disturbance-all of them, unknowing own ground, and that they have no occasion and reckless of the fame which had been seto hide their heads. Animated by such feel-cured for their memories, slept beneath the ings as these we turned down Silver End, turf we trod, without even a stone that we and through a back street, and emerged could find to mark their graves. again upon the main thoroughfare by a lane Musing on these sobering recollections, that was narrower than any wynd in the we turned our steps outside the town, High Street of Edinburgh. The accounts paused again on the old bridge, and gazed that are scattered through Cowper's corres-on Weston, about a mile and a half up the pondence of the deep poverty of the people, river, and which is truly what its name inseemed, as far as we could judge by this dicates, “ underwood,” reached the division hasty glance, to be borne out to the letter of the road that leads to Clifton, gained the The hovels of the people were small and crest of the hill, and, pausing long on its ruinous, though in most cases scrupulously summit, where the best view of the town clean ; while, through the open doors, it could be obtained, we turned at last, and could be too plainly discerned that their bade farewell to Olney.

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From Taits Magazine.

PLAINT.

BY EBENEZER ELLIOT:

Dark, deep, and cold the current flows
Unto the sea, where no wind blows,
Seeking the land which no one knows.
O'er its sad gloom still comes and goes
The mingled wail of friends and foes,
Borne to the land which no one knows.
Why shrieks for help yon wretch, who goes
With millions from a world of woes
Unto the land which no one knows ?

Though.millions go with him who goes,
Alone he goes where no wind blows,
Unto the land which no one knows.
For all must go where no wind blows,
And none can go for him who goes;
None, none return whence no one knows.

Why should the wretch who shrieking goes With millions from a world of woes, Reunion seek with it on those ?

From Tait's Magazine. THE MEMORY OF THE PAST. The night which wrapped the sullen fell, And lulled the town in seeming death, No footfall broke-no clanging bell, And e'en the night-wind held her breath, Till when the stillest hour had sway, And all its sacred influence shed, When music-like, an earlier day Brought waking to a slumberer's bed. So clear, though slow, the strain arose, So soft, ihough quick, the sleeper woke, That waking was itself repose, It but prolonged the dream it broke; With every note that nursed his mood, The tide of years seemed ebbing fast, Till the bare channel, ruin-strewed, Gave back the memory of the past. "Oh! often in my hours of pride,”! He said, "I've sought these thoughts to quell, And even deemed that if the tide Of Lethe flowed for me 'twere well; As if the past some phantom were I dared not to myself avow, Or some dark shade of bygone care, Whose presence shamed the happier now." “Is then the future in thy dreams So bright that there thy thoughts would dwell ? Or else the golden present teems With joys thou canst not court too well ? O fool! go back, in deep regret, Kneel at the altar of the past, And own the joys thou wouldst forget Have been thy best—may be thy last. "Are these all nought—these things to shun? The home where childhood wept and knelt, The few unselfish deeds thou'st done, The thousands thou hast known and felt ? The act of love too lately learned, The watchful toil, the prayerful tear, So ill-deserved—so ill-returned, It wrings the heart to name them here? “The book that nursed thy waking dream, And hopes, as false as flattering, gave, The copse, the lane, the wooded stream, Where first the swimmer struck the waveAll these are thine, as in the hour Of living presence, so to-day. Let fortune on the future lourIt cannot tear the past away. “ As in that hour ? ay more—for ne'er? Such charms appeared in sweetest things, As stealing through the midnight air, This music o'er their memory flings; Like those soft potes, the loved scenes are, Which fond remembrance bids arise, Though sweet the strain, more sweet by far The conscious silence when it dies."

Alone with God, where no wind blows,
And death his shadow-doom'd he goes :
That God is there, the shadow shows!
Oh, shoreless deep, where no wind blows !
And thou, oh, land, which no one knows!
That God is All, the shadow shows.

GLIMPSES OF THE BEAUTIFUL.

BY JAMES HENDERSON.

THE SONG OF TIME.

Iffleet along, and the empires fall,

And the nations pass away,'
Like visions bright of the dreamy night,

That die with the dawning day.
The lordly tower, and the battled wall,

The lawn, and the holy fane,
In ruin lie, while I wander by,

Nor rise from their wreck again. I come with age to the hoary sage,

And the lamp of life grows dim,
Nor more its rays upon being's page

Emblazon delights to him.
I mourn the flight of the fleeting breath

From youth in its golden prime,
But Time is linked with decay and death,

And death is the lord of Time.

ODE ON INDOLENCE.

From the People's Journal.

LIFE. AN APOSTROPHE.

BY JOHN KEATS.

BY JOHNSON BARKER.
"They toil not, neither do they spin.”
One morn before me were three figures seen,

What is life?
With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced;
And one behind the other stepp'd serene,

It is the flower,
In placid sandals, and in white robes graced ;

Spring's offspring bright and fair, They pass’d, like figures on a marble urn,

That blossoms for a sunny hour, When shifted round to see the other side;

Entwin'd around a leafy bower, They came again; as when the urn once more

Untouch'd, unscath'd by care Is shifted round, the first seen shades return;

How happy it seems, And they were strange to me, as may betide

In the sunny beams; With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.

How merrily plays

In the brightening rays How is it, Shadows! that I knew ye not?

As it haughtily nods to the saucy wind How came ye muffled in so hush a mask ?

That snatches a kiss, Was it a silent deep-disguised plot

In its joyous bliss, To steal away, and leave without a'task

And with easy grace My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour;

And quickening pace The blissful cloud of summer indolence

It laughingly leaves the flower behind. Benumb'd my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;

But ah! how soon-how soon doth change Pain had no sting, and pleasure's wreath no

The laughing breeze in its morning range; flower ;

It stoops not to brush O, why did yé not melt, and leave my sense

With a gentle rush Unhaunted quite of all but-nothingness ?

The dew from the leaves of the bower : A third time pass'd they by, and, passing, turn'd

Nor deigns it to sip Each one the face a moment whiles to me;

From its ruby lip Then faded, and to follow them I burn'd

The kiss from the beauteous flower: And ached for wings, because I knew the three;

Nor nestles it there The first was a fair Maid, and Love her name;

In a genial air The second was Ambition, pale of cheek,

To whisper a loving mind, And ever watchful with fatigued eye;

But it passes along
The last, whom I love more, the more of blame

In a bustling throng,
Is heaped upon her, maiden most unmeek,- And leaves the poor flower bebind.
I knew to be my demon Poesy.
They faded, and, forsooth! I wanted wings :

Away from the plant is its love of life,
O folly! What is love? and where is it? Away are its dreams of happiness hurled,
And for that poor Ambition ! it springs

This earth is but a field for strife;
From a man's little heart's short fever-fit; Lament not, dear flower, 'tis an ill of the world !
For Poesy !-00,-she has not a joy, -

But its head stoops At least for me, so sweet as drowsy noons,

Its beauty droops And evenings steep'd in honied indolence;

It loves not now the bower : O, for an age so shelter'd from annoy,

Where is its smile That I may never know how change the moons,

With its winning wile? Or hear the voice of busy common-sense!

Alas poor flower. And once more came they by ;-alas! wherefore ?

My sleep had been embroider'd with dim dreams; Then again comes the wind with a boding frown, My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er

An angry, fierce, destroying blast, With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled In its every moan its mood is shown, beams;

Alas! poor flower, thy fate is cast. The morn was clouded, but no shower fell, Then again comes the wind with a boding frown, Tho' in her lids hung thé sweet tears of May; And sweeps from the plant its dewy crown, The open casement press'd a new-leaved vine, With its outspread arms, and its angry face, Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay; It snatches the flower from its wild embrace.

O Shadows! 'twas a time to bid farewell! Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.

Fallen and crush'd the floweret lay, So, ye three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise

The blast with a scream few shrieking away; My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass ; A hoarse sounding laugn gave the flying wind, For I would not be dieted with praise,

And left the poor flower a corse behind. A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce !

Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn;

Life's the plant that healthy lasts Farewell! I yet have visions for the night,

Throughout bright summer's time: And for the day faint visions there is store; Life's the flower that winter blasts Vanish, ye Phantoms! from my idle spright,

In all its beauty's prime.
Into the clouds, and never more return.

Such the world's unhappy strife
Milnes' New Edition of Keats. Such alas ! 100-—such is life!

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PROMISED REFORM IN THE CONDUCT OF PUB- the expediency of copying that practice also: but LIC Business. The Report of the Select Com- the Committee apologizes for not discussing constimittee on Public Business must be accepted as a tutional or essential changes, from its own want of real earnest of reforms in the conduct of Parlia- time. It also objects, that in this country the clô. mentary affairs. It is remarkable in many ways. ture would lead to surprises; which is true while It included men of the most diverse character and the mere voting members use their license of stayposition : besides the intelligent Chairman, Mr. Eve- ing away except at voting time, lyn Denison, there were, the administrative Gra- In the Congress of the United States, they have a ham, the industrious Hume, the economic Cobden, practice which they call " the previous question," the midnight Brotherton, the conservative Inglis, the and which is not at all like our “previous quesCommittee-ruling Greene, the acute and imaginative tion,” but closely resembles the French clôture: it Disraeli, and the great political realist Peel. Among works well. The Americans have besides a rule, the witnesses, were the Speaker, M. Guizot, and a that no speeches shall last more than one hour; Member of the United States Congress. The do- which also works well, and is conducive to the procument is not voluminous, yet it is full of matter. gress of public business : even those who at first obThe Committee and the witnesses co-operated jected to it now approve, and the public is better heartily to get to the truth, so far as they saw fit to pleased. Our speaker affirms that the speeches on understand the scope of the inquiry. The Com- Wednesdays, when the shortness of the sitting enmittee did not touch one branch of the subject more forces conciseness, are apt to be of better tissue. A important than any which it has investigated—the similar result is observable in the higher class of expediency of delegating the minor functions of our periodical literature--want of space puts a Parliament to subordinate tribunals. We notice screw on the style, and tends to counteract prolixity here and there, as usual, a tendency to press a and diffuseness. On this practice the Committee crotchet, or to block out an unwelcome conclusion. observes, that a great deal of business in the United But on the whole, sober earnestness and candor States is transacted in the State Legislatures, so that mark the drift of questions and answers. The re. the central parliament is relieved; which ours is not, sults are, evidence to the purpose, and a succinct but so that we need more extended time. The Commitsubstantial report.

tee forgets that it was considering “discussion," or The report includes several recommendations ; lengthening debate, not as a facility but as an obthree to be enacted, three to be optional, and one struction to the transaction of much business. The optional in form but having a coercive force. The objection is very suggestive in another way: it recommendations of fixed rules are, that the num- points to the expediency of delegating the minor ber of stages on which any measure shall be open functions of parliament—its local business, private to discussion be diminished, thus diminishing the bills, and railway jurisdiction—to subordinate trinumber of debates ; the abolition of occasions for bunals. That might be done without derogating purely fictitious or obstructive debates, such as those from the prescriptive power and authority of Paron adjournment, by decreeing that questions of ad- liament, by delegating those functions during journment be decided by simple vote, without de- pleasure” —not with a view to frequent changes, bate; and the waiving of the “money bill” privilege but in order to retain the supreme hold ostensibly of the Commons touching imposts by the House of and in fact. However, the improved discussion Lords, in cases where such imposts are purely of likely to ensue from those recommendations which the nature of penalties or of costs for service ren- the Committee has adopted will pave the way for a dered, and do not at all partake of taxation. more profitable discussion of further reforms here.

In the French Chambers, they have a practice after. called “la clôture," or the closing of the debate, The recommendations which the Committee which may be demanded by any two members, and makes by way of advice, and not to be formally enis decided by vote without any debate, except one acted, are, that adjourned debates should usually be speech in opposition to the demand: it is very con- resumed at the next sitting, taking precedence of venient for terminating a debate that manifestly other business,-a very good suggestion, based on drags on without further progress; it has worked the principle of attending to one thing at a time; well, and not oppressively. On this practice the that the speaker should enforce “ the established Committee observes, that the French Chambers rule of the house which requires that members did much preliminary work in their Bureaux or should strictly confine themselves to matters im. subdivisions of the whole,-a fact which suggests mediately pertinent to the subject of debate,”-a

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