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[JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

He spoke of Burns-men rude and rough Press'd round to hear the praise of one Whose heart was made of manly, simple stuff, As homespun as their own;

And, when he read, they forward leaned,

Drinking, with thirsty hearts and ears, His brook-like songs, whom glory never weaned From humble smiles and tears.

Slowly there grew a tender awe,

Sun-like, o'er faces brown and hard;

As if in him who read they felt and saw
Some presence of the bard..

It was a sight of sin and wrong,

And slavish tyranny to see;

A sight to make our faith more pure and strong
In high humanity.

I thought, these men will carry hence
Promptings their former life above,
And something of a finer reverence
For beauty, truth, and love.

God scatters love on every side,

Freely among his children all;

And always hearts are lying open wide,
Wherein some grains may fall.

There is no wind but soweth seeds

Of a more true and open life,

RAILROAD CAR.

Sec Page 41, Vol. I.]

Oh, mighty brother-soul of man,
Where'er thou art, in low or high-
Thy skyey arches, with exulting span,
O'erroof infinity!

All thoughts that mould the age begin

Deep down within the primitive soul; And from the many slowly upward win, To one who grasps the whole.

In his broad breast the feeling deep,

That struggled on the many's tongue, Swells to a tide of thought, whose surges leap O'er the weak thrones of wrong.

All thought begins in feeling,-wide
In the great mass its base is hid;

And narrowing up to thought, stands glorified--
A moveless pyramid.

Nor is he far astray who deems

That every hope, which rises and grows broad In the world's heart, by order'd impulse streams From the great heart of God.

God wills, man hopes: in common souls,

Hope is but vague and undefined;

Till from the poet's tongue the message rolls
A blessing to his mind.

Never did Poesy appear

So full of Heaven to me, as when

Which burst, unlook'd-for, into high-soul'd deeds, I saw how it would pierce through pride and fear

With wayside beauty rife

To find within these souls of ours

Some wild germs of a higher birth,

Which in the poet's tropic heart bear flowers, Whose fragrance fills the earth.

Within the hearts of all men lie

These promises of wider bliss,

Which blossom into hopes that cannot die,
In sunny hours like this.
All that hath been majestical

In life or death, since time began,
Is native in the simple heart of all-
The angel heart of man.

And thus among the untaught poor,

Great deeds and feelings find a home, That cast in shadow all the golden lore Of classic Greece and Rome.

THE

To the lives of coarsest men.

It may be glorious to write

Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century.

But better far it is to speak

One simple word, which now and then Shall waken their free nature in the weak And friendless sons of men;

To write some earnest verse or line,

Which, seeking not the praise of art,

Shall make a clearer faith and manhood shine
In the untutor'd heart.

He who doth this, in verse or prosc,
May be forgotten in his day;

But surely shall be crown'd at last with those
Who live and speak for aye.

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[Miss PROCTOR. See Page 142, Vol II.]

A LITTLE past the village
The inn stood, low and white;
Green shady trees behind it,

And an orchard on the right;

Where over the green paling
The red-cheeked apples hung,
As if to watch how wearily
The sign-board creaked and swung.

By kind permission of B. W. Proctor, Esq.

The heavy-laden branches

Over the road hung low, Reflected fruit or blossom

In the wayside well below; Where children, drawing water, Looked up and paused to see, Amid the apple-branches,

A purple Judas-tree.

The road stretched winding onward
For many a weary mile-
So dusty foot-sore wanderers
Would pause and rest awhile;
And panting horses halted,

And travellers loved to tell
The quiet of the wayside inn,
The orchard, and the well.

Here Maurice dwelt; and often
The sun-burnt boy would stand
Gazing upon the distance,

And shading with his hand
His eyes, while watching vainly
For travellers, who might need
His aid to loose the bridle,

And tend the weary steed.
And once (the boy remembered
That morning, many a day—
The dew lay on the hawthorn,

The bird sang on the spray)
A train of horsemen, nobler

Than he had seen before,
Up from the distance galloped,
And halted at the door.

Upon a milk-white pony,
Fit for a fairy queen,

Was the loveliest little damsel
His eyes had ever seen:
A serving-man was holding
The leading-rein, to guide
The pony and its mistress,
Who cantered by his side.
Her sunny ringlets round her
A golden cloud had made,
While her large hat was keeping
Her calm blue eyes in shade;
One hand held fast the silken reins
To keep her steed in check,
The other pulled his tangled mane,
Or stroked his glossy neck.

And as the boy brought water,

And loosed the rein, he heard

The sweetest voice that thanked him, In one low gentle word;

She turned her blue eyes from him,
Looked up, and smiled to see

The hanging purple blossoms
Upon the Judas-tree;

And showed it with a gesture,

Half pleading, half command,
Till he broke the fairest blossom,
And laid it in her hand;
And she tied it to her saddle

With a ribbon from her hair,
While her happy laugh rang gaily,
Like silver on the air.

But the champing steeds were rested—
The horsemen now spurred on,
And down the dusty highway

They vanished and were gone.
Years passed, and many a traveller
Paused at the old inn-door,
But the little milk-white pony
And the child returned no more.

Years passed, the apple-branches
A deeper shadow shed;

And many a time the Judas-tree,
Blossom and leaf, lay dead;
When on the loitering western breeze
Came the bells' merry sound,
And flowery arches rose, and flags
And banners waved around.

Maurice stood there expectant:
The bridal train would stay
Some moments at the inn-door,

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eager watchers They come the cloud of dust draws

near

'Mid all the state and pride, He only sees the golden hair

And blue eyes of the bride.

The same, yet, ah! still fairer ;
He knew the face once more
That bent above the pony's neck

Years past at that inn-door:
Her shy and smiling eyes looked round,
Unconscious of the place,
Unconscious of the cager gaze

He fixed upon her face.

He plucked a blossom from the treeThe Judas-tree-and cast

Its purple fragrance towards the bride,
A message from the past.

The signal came, the horses plunged--
Once more she smiled around:
The purple blossom in the dust

Lay trampled on the ground.
Again the slow years fleeted,

Their passage only known
By the height the passion-flower
Around the porch had grown;
And many a passing traveller
Paused at the old inn-door,

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But the bride, so fair and blooming,
The bride returned no more.
One winter morning, Maurice,
Watching the branches bare,
Rustling and waving dimly

In the grey and misty air,
Saw blazoned on a carriage

Once more the well-known shield, The stars and azure fleurs-de-lis Upon a silver field.

He looked-was that pale woman,
So grave, so worn, so sad,
The child, once young and smiling,
The bride, once fair and glad?
What grief had dimmed that glory,
And brought that dark eclipse
Upon her blue eyes' radiance,

And paled those trembling lips?

What memory of past sorrow,

What stab of present pain, Brought that deep look of anguish, That watched the dismal rain, That watched (with the absent spirit That looks, yet does not see) The dead and leafless branches Upon the Judas-tree?

The slow dark months crept onward Upon their icy way, 'Till April broke in showers,

And spring smiled forth in May;

Upon the apple blossoms
The sun shone bright again,
When slowly up the highway
Came a long funeral train.

The bells tolled slowly, sadly,
For a noble spirit fled;
Slowly, in pomp and honour,
They bore the quiet dead.
Upon a black-plumed charger

One rode, who held a shield, Where stars and azure fleurs-de-lis Shone on a silver field.

'Mid all that homage given

To a fluttering heart at rest, Perhaps an honest sorrow

Dwelt only in one breast. One by the inn-door standing Watched, with fast-dropping tears, The long procession passing,

And thought of bygone years.
The boyish, silent homage

To child and bride unknown,
The pitying tender sorrow
Kept in his heart alone,
Now laid upon the coffin

With a purple flower, might be
Told to the cold dead sleeper;
The rest could only see
A fragrant purple blossom,
Plucked from a Judas-tree.

THE WISH.

[ABRAHAM COWLEY. Born 1618. Educated at Winchester and Cambridge. Subsequently became a member of St. John's College, Oxford. Died at Chertsey, 1667.]

WELL, then, I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree;
The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
And they, methinks, deserve my pity
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings
Of this great hive, the city.

Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave,
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books; both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!

And, since love ne'er will from me flee,

A mistress moderately fair,

And good as guardian-angels are,

Only beloved, and loving me!

Oh, fountains! when in you shall I
Myself, eased of unpeaceful thoughts, espy?

Oh, fields! oh, woods! when, when shall I be made
The happy tenant of your shade?

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood;
Where all the riches lie, that she

Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition herc

Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear;

Here rought but winds can hurtful murmurs

scatter,

And nought but Echo flatter.

The gods, when they descended, hither
From heaven did always choose their way;
And therefore we may boldly say

That 'tis the way to thither.

How happy here should I,

And one dear she, live, and embracing die!
She, who is all the world, and can exclude
In deserts solitude.

I should have then this only fear-
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live like me,
And so make a city here.

"THE

THIN

RED LINE."* [A. W. KINGLAKE. See Page 50, Vol. II.] INCLUDING the chasm which divided the Grenadier Guards from the Coldstream, the whole line in which the Duke of Cambridge now moved forward to the attack of the Kourganè Hill was more than a mile and a half in length. It was only two deep; but its right regiment was supported by a part of Sir Richard England's division; and Sir George Cathcart was on its left rear with the part of his Division then on the field. On the extreme left and left rear of the whole force there was the cavalry under Lord Lucan.

These troops were going to take part in the first approach to close strife which men had yet seen on that day between bodies of troops in a state of formation deliberately marshalled against each other. The slender red line which began near the bridge, and vanished from the straining sight on the eastern slopes of the Kourganè Hill, was a thread which in any one part of it had the strength of only two men. But along the whole line from east to west these files of two men each were strong in the exercise of their country's great prerogative. They were in English array. They were fighting in line against column.

| sad. He pined; and was like a man dying with-
out any known bodily illness, the prey of some
consuming thought. At length he suddenly an-
nounced to Lord Wellesley his resolve to go back.
to England; and when he was asked why, he said,
"I observe that in Europe the French are fighting
in column, and carrying everything before them,
and I am sure that I ought to go home directly,
because I know that our men can fight in line."
From that simple yet mighty faith he never
swerved; for, always encountering the massive
columns of infantry, he always was ready to meet
them with his slender line of two deep-with
what result the world knows.

Long years had passed since the close of those great wars, and now once more in Europe there was going to be waged yet again the old strife of line against column.

Looking down a smooth, gentle, green slope, chequered red with the slaughtered soldiery who had stormed the redoubt, the front-rank men of the great Vladimir column were free to gaze upon two battalions of the English Guards, far apart the one from the other, but each carefully drawn up in line; and now that they saw more closely, and without the distractions of artillery, they had more than ever grounds for their wonder at the kind of array in which the English soldiery By kind permission of the Author.

After the rupture of the peace of Amiens, Sir Arthur Wellesley, being then in India, became singularly changed, growing every day more and more emaciated, and seemingly more and more

were undertaking to assail them "We were all astonished," says Chodasiewicz-yet he wrote of what he saw when the English line was much less close to the foe than the Guards now were-"we were all astonished at the extraordinary firmness with which the red-jackets, having crossed the river, opened a heavy fire in line upon the redoubt. This was the most extraordinary thing to us, as we had never before seen troops fight in lines of two deep, nor did we think it possible for men to be found with sufficient firmness of morale to be able to attack in this apparently weak formation our massive columns." But soon the men of the column began to see that though the scarlet line was slender, it was very rigid and exact. Presently, too, they saw that even when the Grenadiers or the Coldstreams began to move, the long line of the black bearskins still kept a good deal of its straightness, and that here, on the bloody slope no less than in the barrack-yard at home, the same moment was made to serve for the tramp of a thousand feet.

Beginning on our right hand with the Grenadier Guards, and going thence leftwards to the Coldstream, and, lastly, to the Highland brigade, we shall now see what manner of strife it was when at length, after many a hindrance, five British battalions, each grandly formed in line, marched up to the enemy's columns.

Advancing upon the immediate left of the ground already won by Pennefather's brigade, the Grenadiers were covered on their right, but their left was bare; and it was in that direction in the direction of their left front-that the Vladimir battalions stood impending. The Grenadiers were marching against the defeated but now rallied column which had fought with the 7th Fusileers, when Prince Gortschakoff, having just ridden up to the two left battalions of the Vladimir, undertook to lead them forward. First sending his only unwounded aide-de-camp to press the advance of any troops he could find, the Prince put himself at the head of the two left Vladimir battalions, and ordered them to charge with the bayonet. The Prince then rode forward a good deal in advance of his troops, and his order for a bayonet charge was so far obeyed, that the column, without firing a shot, moved boldly down towards the chasm which had been left in the centre of our brigade of Guards. The north-west angle of this strong and hitherto victorious column was coming down nearer and nearer to the file-the file composed of only two men—which formed the extreme left of the Grenadiers.

Then, and by as fair a test as war could apply, there was tried the strength of the line formation, the quality of the English officer, the quality of the English soldier. Colonel Hood first halted; and then caused the left subdivision of the left

company to wheel-to wheel back in such a way as to form, with the rest of the battalion, an obtuse angle. The manœuvre was executed by Colonel Percy (he was wounded just at this time) under the directions of Colonel Hamilton, the officer in command of the left wing. In this way, whilst he still faced the column which he had originally undertaken to attack, Colonel Hood showed another front, a small but smooth comely front, to the mass which was coming upon his flank. His manœuvre instantly brought the Vladimir to a halt; and to those who-without being near enough to hear the giving and the repeating of orders-still were able to see Colonel Hood thus changing a part of his front and stopping a mighty column, by making a bend in his line, it seemed that he was handling his fine slender English blade with a singular grace; with the gentleness and grace of the skilled swordsman, when, smiling all the while, he parries an angry thrust. In the midst of its pride and vast strength of numbers, the Vladimir found itself checked; nay, found itself gravely engaged with half a company of our Guardsmen; and the minds of these two score of soldiers were so little inclined to bend under the weight of the column, that they kept their perfect array. Their fire was deadly, for it was poured into a close mass of living men. It was at the work of "file firing" that the whole battalion now laboured.

On the left of the interval wrought by the displacement of the centre battalion of the Guards, the Coldstream, drawn up in superb array, began to open its smart, crashing fire upon the more distant battalions which formed the right wing of the Vladimir force.

We shall see the share which other Russian and other British troops were destined to have in governing the result of the struggle, but if, for a moment, we limit our reckoning to the troops which stood fighting at this time, it appears that the whole of the four Vladimir battalions and the lessened mass of the left Kazan column were engaged with the Grenadiers and the Coldstream. In other words, two English battalions, each ranged in line, but divided the one from the other by a very broad chasm, were contending with six battalions in column. And, although of these six battalions standing in column there were two which had cruelly suffered, the remaining four had hitherto had no hard fighting, and were flushed with the thought that they stood on ground which they themselves had reconquered.

But, after all, if only the firmness of the slender English line should chance to endure, there was nothing except the almost chimerical event of a thorough charge home with the bayonet which could give to the columns the ascendancy due to their vast weight and numbers; for the fire from

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