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upon the soft green sward, with an enor- | neither claws nor fangs, the girl arose, and mous lion amorously lying near her, with the valets rushing from their ambuscade, his paw in her lap, while a troop of valets, fell upon the poor beast, which sneaked off armed with forks and clubs, and concealed without offering any resistance, with lopped behind a cluster of trees, were watching ears and dragging tail. And Bernard their movements. The young girl sustain- dreamed, too,—that in the midst of a field ed with one hand the paw of her tawney buried in snow, and beneath a frozen sky, wooer, and with the other, with a pair of he saw suddenly arise a beautiful lily, scissors was trimming the claws which do- which perfumed the air ; but, as he apcilely protruded themselves from their vel proached to pluck it, the royal flower was vet couch. When each paw had under- changed into a fairy, with ebony eyes and gone the like operation, the beautiful child golden hair, which winged its way through drew from her pocket an ivory handled the cloud, and alighted upon those charmfile, and, putting her arm around the head ing shores where reign eternal spring. of the beast, she raised, with one hand, the And finally, Raoul dreamed that it was the thick and heavy lips, and, with the other, evening of his nuptials, and that at the gently filed a double range of formidable very moment of opening the ball with the teeth. If occasionally the patient suffered young Baroness de Vaubert, he discovered a surly growl to escape him, she would soon to his stuperfaction, that his cravat was on quiet him by her soft caresses.

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the wrong side before. cond operation finished, when the lion had

To be Continued.

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WHERE sleeps the breeze? In vain, my brow I bare
To some faint impulse of the sultry air,

-
So faint, it scarce the slight-stemmed vine doth move
That hangs untrained, the latticed porch above,
And twining inward, of the light afraid,
Drops, loosely pendant, in the uncertain shade.
The o'erarching heavens are all too blue and bright;
The aching sense rejects their ardent light,
Shrinks, as the jay, on brilliant plumage springs,
And would the red-bird furled her radiant wings:
Her slender song, at times, the silence breaks,
But no response the feeble utterance wakes;
Save one lone voice, monotonous, that still
Repeats with wearying cadence, whippoorwill !"
Or when, from out the scanty herbage dry,
Starts up the locust's shrill, and ear-piercing cry.
The lizard's form no more the sight deceives,
Too close companion of the quivering leaves;
The sun, pervading where he lies outspread,
Converts his coat of green to tawny red.
Slow drops the balmy Clethra, one by one,
Her delicate white blossoms in the sun.
From sturdy cedar to enduring pine,
The languid jessamine trails her drooping vine:
The fig-tree dies for lack of vernal shower ;
And hardy Kalmia scarce puts forth her flower.
Softly, as infant spirits pass away
The leaves, unnurtured, fall from flower and spray;
Of Zephyr all forsaken, and the dews,
Such faint and dying odor they diffuse,
As haply, conscious of the bane beneath,
Where lurks the reptile, whose sharp fang is death :
Here, thridding slow, with sinuous lapses, the brake,
Gaudy and graceful, glides the glittering snake.
Nor less, the incautious wanderer need beware,
When steals that unctuous sweetness o'er the air
Of apple orchards, when their fruit is red ;
For that betrays where, 'neath the unwary tread,
With tongue

of venom,

and malicious eyes,
Deceitful coiled, the wily rattle lies.
Oh, for the grass-green fields, and groves beloved,
In happier days, my feet securely roved!
Oh for the breeze that o'er my native hills,
The frame with strength, the sense with fragrance fills !
For thee, New England, let me weave the strain,
Dear Mother-land !-thus sings thy child again.

NEW ENGLAND.

New England! what lovelier theme could I choose ?
Her mornings of zephyr-her evenings of dews,
Her beautiful sunlight, of fierceness disarmed,
That clasps the soft landscape and leaves it anharmed :
Her wide-spreading forests, her blue winding streams,
Those haunts of my childhood, now mine but in dreams.

My soul, like a summer bird, homewardly wings
To verdurous glades, and the gushing of springs;
Where mountains uplift their broad heads to the sky,
And cool in their shadow green villages lie;
And white-blossomed orchards, and field-growing flowers
Are dropping and fresh with the fragrance of showers.
The scent of the clover—and the wave of the corn,
The unrevealed melodies mingled at morn,
The brooklets that over the pebble-stones gush,
The trill of the bird in the blackberry bush ;
Like music, the lapse of those silvery streams,
And song-laden breezes revisit

my

dreams. I know where the flag-root is found by the brook, I know where the swallow has built in her nook. The wayfarer pauses, the road-side along, For the sweet briar's breath, and the wood-robin's song, Or wearily, gives, in the shadow of trees, His lips to the brook, and his brow to the breeze. 'T time for the lilac's reet clusters to blow; The apple trees all are in blossom I know : The farmer's wife spreads her white webs on the green; The children, with buttercups laden are seen; Through trees, in the distance, the village church gleamsI hear the bells chiming-alas,--but in dreams.

The clear voice of Freedom rings cheerily out,
The song from the meadow, from hill-top the shout.
The labors of life, fellow-freemen divide,
And springs the rich harvest each cottage beside ;
The fruit-laden bough, and the grain-waving soil,
The golden reward of industrious toil.
Those burthens, those pleasures no longer I share,
Though friends of my bosom-my kindred are there :
But near is the hour, when my pilgrimage o'er,
We'll mingle again as we mingled before;
While, wrapt in the music of heart-stirring themes,
I wake to those blessings, now mine but in dreams.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Every person familiar with the English and is a part of the humorous catastrophe. language in its most elegant and classic He looks out upon human nature from the forms, acquainted with the writings of Gold- level of his own life, the level of the midsmith. In the harmony of his style, and dle class. Aristocracy is the heaven above the delicate, antithetical turn of his pe- him; and however independent he may riods, he is the equal of Bolingbroke and have been in his proper spirit, there is the superior of Johnson. In the instinc- nothing in him of that haughty individualtive choice of the most harmonious words, ity, which raises the man of genius in his a faculty more than any other the gift of na- secret thoughts and aspirations to a level ture, and so purely instinctive as scarcely to with great lords and dignitaries. We do be improved even by cultivation, Goldsmith not wish to call attention to this peculiaristands without a rival among English wri- ty as a defect; had Goldsmith possessed ters, and is comparable in this respect, it, he might have become an aspiring poliamong modern writers only with Voltaire. tician or a discontented placeman, and his

It is perhaps to these qualities, and to a writings have discovered none of that simvein of humor perfectly humane, free from plicity and modesty which is their peculiar the slightest tinge of bitterness or sarcasm, charm. If we except Dickens, Thackethat he owes his extensive popularity as a ray,

and
very

few others of less note, the novelist and essayist; for we are unable, popular writers of our time partake so conscientiously, though our admiration of strongly of the republican spirit of the age, him be excessive, to attribute to this de- which desperately aspires to make the inlightful author any of the grander quali-dividual, in his proper self, the equal, and ties of pathos, sublimity, or knowledge of if possible the superior of kings; their the human heart, which characterise the writings tend to vex and disturb while writings of Shakspeare, or even, among they rouse and aggravate our self-esteem; writers of our own times, of Walter Scott. lords and ladies have ceased to be the heNot a single attribute of greatness can roes of fiction, and in their place we have with justice be conceded to him, unless it the aspiring children of genius, rising by be necessary to include

among

those attri- the force of nature, and the revolutionary butes, a perfect honesty, simplicity and fortune of the time, to become the leaders kindliness of nature. Of pride of char- and idols of the people. acter, in the heroic sense ; of a philosoph- The heroes of Carlyle are commoners ical patriotism, the result of meditation, or of low degree; the characters of Bulwer, of that haughty superiority to the weak- it were a shame to call them heroes, are nesses and accidents of nature and fortune, persons of doubtful reputation who achieve which so elevates us in the writings of Mil- fortune and fashion, through evil report, by ton, and combined with less genius, in dint of pure scorn; even Goethe took his those even of Dr. Johnson, we find noth- Wilhelm Meister from among the Bouring, either in the verse or prose of this truly geoisie. In a word, novels of high life, pastoral writer. If we compare him with properly speaking, are no longer written; Tasso, we find him deficient in the gentle- for cannot include among such, · manly, or rather chivalrous sentiment, of fictions like those of D’Israeli, whose evithe author of Jerusalem Delivered. If we dent design is to set forth the vices and compare him with Virgil, we find his pa- weaknesses of hereditary nobility, contrasted thos comparatively domestic and vulgar. with that untitled nobility of character and If with Irving or Addison, his humor ap

intellect. Literature has gone over to the pears less tempered and controlled by cul- people, and has shown itself the inveterate tivated pride. He mingles with the scenes foe of aristocracy. and characters which himself describes, And with justice ; since it is with action

we

and personal achievement that the novelist the class, and we are not acquainted with must deal, and not with names and cere a single writer of great eminence and popumonies.

Wherever the active working larity, who has had the courage or the power spirit of ambition is to be found, bringing out to draw his leading characters from the upthe passions to their liveliest play, there per classes of society, except with the intentoo, the novelist must find his heroes and tion of drawing them down from their arishis characters.

tocratic height to the level of common huIndependently, however, of the above manity. In the essays and reviews of Cardescribed peculiarity, the literature of the lyle, aristocracy, whether of church or present day is distinguished from that of state, is set at nought, and all distinctions, the epoch of Goldsmith and his cotempo- save those of genius and virtue, treated raries by a characteristic, which also dis- either with subtle irony or undisguised tinguishes it from that of all other ages, contempt. namely, by its political character. Novels, So completely has this sympathy with plays, and poems, are at present written natural, nnassisted humanity possessed for the purpose of inculcating certain the writers of this time, we may, political ideas, and not merely, as for on a careful review of the body of our merly, to elevate the sentiments and refine modern letters, pronounce the whole of it the social feelings. A novel of Gold- to be democratic and revolutionary. Litesmith or of Fielding inculcates frankness, rature has gone over to the people; it has generosity and courage : a novel of Wal- gone over to the stronger side; for, notter Scott excites our admiration for these withstanding the unfavorable turn which qualities in others, and inspires respect for events have taken the present year, we are the magnanimous traits of nobility and still under the necessity of believing that chivalry. Prior to the days of Lord By- the people, as distinguished from the arisron and of Bulwer, if a character of the tocracy, are actually the stronger side. middle or lower class was introduced, it We were remarking also, that the wriwas in strict subordination to his superiors ; ters of our day were distinguished from and the virtues dealt out to the inferior their predecessors of the last century members of society, were of a kind to ex- by a perpetual effort to inculcate cercite affection and pity, and never to stim- tain political ideas. To make this ulate the pride or pique the ambition of the clearer, let us endeavor to remember the reader. With the modern school of nov- impression produced upon our minds by elists this order is reversed, and in viola- the novels of Richardson, of Fielding, of tion of the most ancient and settled preju- Smollett, and of those who immediately dices, we find, in Bulwer, the highwayman preceded and succeeded them. On rising carried up into the sphere of fashion and from the perusal of any one of these, we heroism ; in D’Israeli, the Hebrew, for- do not find ourselves infected with that pemerly the scorn of civilization, elevated to culiar melancholy and discontent which a the very pinnacle of power, pathos and poem of Byron, a pirate romance of Coopsentiment. In Eugene Sue and George er, or a novel of George Sand, leaves with Sand, and a host of French novelists and We think only how excellent the virdramatists, if a character of worth or in- tues, and how happy the fortunes of the terest is taken from the upper class, it is hero or the heroine ; how elegant the manonly to save appearances. With these ners, how worthy of imitation ; we rise, too, writers, it seems necessary first to have with a feeling of deference for the forms become an outcast, miserable, friendless and and the usages of the good old time. degraded, to become fitted for the admira- With these writers, as with those of Queen tion and respect of all mankind: even Elizabeth's day, the established ranks of Cooper, the American novelist, has taken society and the forms of government were his heroes from among the hunters and ab- things as necessary and as unquestioned as origines ; and in some of his inferior no the very laws of nature. Nobility and vels, from among the buccaneers and pi- gentry were not so much the reward of virrates of the last century. “The Robbers” tue, as a condition proper to the order of of Schiller, if not absolutely the first in the universe, and as stable and enduring as this class of writings, is, at least, a type of the flow of rivers, and the forms of conti

us.

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