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never let out all the length of the reins, there is no abandonment of ecstasy of will or intellect, like that of the Arabs in the time of Mahomet, or like that which intoxicated France in 1789. But who would see the uncoiling of that tremendous spring,-the explosion of their well-husbanded forces;-must follow the swarms which, pouring now for two hundred years from the British islands, have sailed, and rode, and traded, and planted, through all climates, mainly following the belt of empire-the temperate zone-carrying the Saxon seed, with its instinct for liberty and law, for arts and for thought (acquiring under some skies à more electric energy than the native air allows), to the conquest of a globe. Their colonial policy-obeying the necessities of a vast empire-has become liberal. “Canada and Australia have become contented with substantial independence. They are expiating the wrongs of India by benefits; first, in works for the irrigation of the peninsula, and in roads and telegraphs; and secondly, in the instruction of the people, to qualify them for self-government, when the British power shall be finally called home.

Still the feudal system survives in the great inequality of property and privilege, in the limited franchise, in the social barriers which confine patronage and promotion to a caste, and still more in the submissive ideas pervading the people. An Englishman shows little consideration for those below him in the social scale, as he looks for little from those above him. But the feudal system can be seen with less pain on large historical grounds. It was pleaded in mitigation of the rotten borough, that it worked well, and that substantial justice was done. Fox, Burke, Pitt, Erskine, Wilberforce, Sheridan, Romilly, and other men like them, were by this means sent to Parliament, when their return by large constituencies would have been doubtful. So now we say, that the right measures of England are the men it has bred; that it has yielded more able men in five hundred years than any other nation : and, though we must not play at providence, and balance the chances of producing ten great men against the comfort of ten thousand common men-yet retrospectively we may strike the balance, and prefer one Alfred, one Shakspeare, one Milton, one Sidney, one Raleigh, one Wels lington, to a million of foolish democrats. England, then, is the land of patriots, martyrs, sages and bards; and if the ocean out of which it emerged should wash it away, it will be remembered as an island famous for immortal laws--for those announcements of original right which make the stone tables of liberty.--EMERSON.

AN ENGLISHMAN'S PRIVILEGES.

In England, a man may look around him, and say, with truth and exultation, “I am lodged in a house that affords me conveniences and comforts, which even a king could not command some centuries ago. There are ships crossing the seas in every direction, to bring what is useful to me from all parts of the earth. In China, men are gathering the tea-leaf for me; in America, they are plant

ing cotton for me; in the West India Islands, they are preparing my sugar and my coffee; in Italy, they are feeding silk-worms for me; in Saxony, they are shearing sheep, to make me clothing; at home, powerful steam-engines are spinning and weaving for me, and making cutlery for me, and pumping the mines, that minerals useful to me may be procured.' My patrimony was small, yet I have post-coaches running day and night, on all the roads, to carry my correspondence ;* I have roads, and canals, and bridges, to bear the coal for my winter fire; nay, I have protecting fleets and armies around my happy country, to secure my enjoyments and repose. Then I have editors and printers, who daily send me an account of what is going on throughout the world, amongst all these people who serve me; and, in a corner of my house, I have books !-the miracle of all my possessions, more wonderful than the wishing cap of the Arabian Tales; for they transport me instantly, not only to all places, but to all times. By my books, I can conjure up before me, to vivid existence, all the great and good men of old; and, for my own private satisfaction, I can make them act over again the most renowned of all their exploits. In a word, from the equator to the pole, and from the beginning of time until now, by my books, I can be where I please."

This picture is not overcharged, and might be much extended; such being the miracle of God's goodness and providence, that each individual of the civilized millions that cover the earth, may have nearly the same enjoyments, as if he were the single lord of áll.

ARNOTT.

BRITISH FREEDOM.

It is not to be thought of that the flood
Of British Freedom, which to the open sea
of the world's praise from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, with pomp of waters, unwithstood.”
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our balls is hung
Armoury of the invincible knights of old :
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.-In everything we are sprung
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

* Written before the institution of Railroads.

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Stripped of his proud and martial dress,
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless,
With darting eye, and nostril spread,
And heavy and impatient tread,
He came, and oft that eye so proud
Asked for his rider in the crowd.

They buried the dark chief; they freed
Beside the grave his battle steed;
And swift an arrow cleaved its way
To his stern heart! One piercing neigh
Arose,-and, on the dead man's plain,
The rider grasps his steed again. -LONGFELLOW.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

Our bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lower'd,

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,

By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,

And thrice ere the morning I dream'd it again.

i

Methought, o'er the battle-field's dreadful array,

Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track; 'Twas autumn-and sunshine arose on the way

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore

From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o’er,

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.

Stay, stay with us-rest, thou art weary and worn;"

And fain was their war-broken soldier to stayBut sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

CAMPBF THE SHIPWRECK.

Her giant form,
O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Majestically calm, would go
Mid the deep darkness, white as snow !
But gentler now the small waves glide.
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.
So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!
Hush ! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last !
Five hundred souls in one instant of dread
Are hurried o’er the deck;
And fast the miserable ship
Becomes a lifeless wreck.
Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,
Her planks are torn asunder,
And down come her masts with a reeling shock,
And a hideous crash like thunder.
Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues
Gleamed softly from below,
And flung a warm and sunny flush
O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral rocks are hurrying down,
To sleep amid colours as bright as their own.

Oh! many a dream was in the ship
An hour before her death;
And sights of home with sighs disturbed
The sleeper's long-drawn breath.
Instead of the murmur of the sea,
The sailor heard the rustling tree,
Alive through all its leaves
The hum of the spreading sycamore
That grows before his cottage door,
And the swallow's song in the eaves.
His arms enclosed a blooming boy,
Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy
To the dangers his father had passed;
And his wife--by turns she wept and smiled,
As she looked on the father of her child
Returned to her heart at last.
-He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll,
And the rush of waters is in his soul.
Astounded the reeling deck he paces,
Mid hurrying forms and ghastly faces;-
The whole ship's crew are there.
Wailings around and overhead,
Brave spirits stupified or dead,
And madness and despair.
Now is the ocean's bosom bare,
Unbroken as the floating air;

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