their splendour, were of no avail, when the plague-spot of sin was on them. He pleaded with them as with low-born, unlettered men; he reasoned with them as with poverty-stricken, ignorant mortals: he denounced their iniquities, their vanities, their fashionalities, with boldness and courage; he was a Nathan among the aristocracy; he forced home the truth; he pierced through heaped honours and accumulated distinctions to the soul; he exclaimed, in the burning utterances of his sacred oratory, "Thou art the man!" He was "one who 'strove,' says Carlyle, 'to be a Christian priest in an age most alien to the character'who reminded the subtle Coleridge of Luther and Paul-one who stormed on the solitary whirlwind of his eloquence into the very heart of London popularity, and hovered there, unequalled and unapproached, till his own wild breath turned the current-one whose errors were all of the blood, and none of the spirit— the herculean, misguided, but magnificent man -Edward Irving.' JOHN KEATS. -one LATMIAN air, sweet-scented, breathed around us, and the sky was blue with beauty. The forest spreading there did sun itself in the morning light. Within its cool retreat was an open space, green-set, and "full in the middle of this pleasantness there stood a marble altar.” The silver daisy sprinkled the emerald lawn. The clouds were bright in the eastern heaven. "A melancholy spirit well might win oblivion, and melt out his essence fine into the winds,' in the freshness of that early dawn. "Rainscented eglantine gave temperate sweets to that well-wooing sun.' The morn broke into beauty: children gathered round the altar in joyous merriment, "wishing to espy some folk of holiday." They wait not long; music "filled out its voice and died away again." "The light-hung leaves" trembled through copse-clad vallies" with the faint melody. And there was heard "the surgy murmurs of the lonely sea." 66 66 "Leading the way, young damsels danced along," "each having a white wicker, overbrimmed with April's tender younglings; then followed shepherds and a "venerable priest begirt with ministering looks," and afterwards came another crowd of shepherds." Then was heard the rolling of "a fair wrought-car:" Who stood therein did seem of great renown Among the throng. His youth was fully blown, Showing like Ganymede to manhood grown: And for those simple times, his garments were A chieftain king's: beneath his breast, half-bare, Was hung a silver bugle, and between His nervy knees there lay a boar-spear keen. But there were some who feeling, could scan And see that oftentimes the reins would slip Through his forgotten hands: then would they sigh, And think of yellow leaves, of owlets' cry, Of logs piled solemnly. - Ah, well-a-day Why should our young Endymion pine away! "Soon the assembly, in a circle ranged, stood silent round the shrine," and there were mystic Methought I lay Watching the zenith, where the milky way To commune with those orbs, once more I raised Not oat-sheaves drooping in the western sun, She wooed him to a spot all "soft with flowers, and "there were store of newest joys upon that alp." Then again came sleep with "its drowsy numbness," and he afterwards awoke to dismal loneliness. His sister, fair Peona, gave soothing comfort and so he breathed once more, some other "meeting blessed." By this the sun was setting, and the heavens were crimsoned westward. Endymion wandered still amid the "woods of mossed oak," and through an opening passed onwards, when a voice bade him descend "into the sparry hollows of the world." Down, down he went; down, down, still down. And there was silence, breathing silence. But anon "he came upon a chamber, myrtle-walled, full of light, incense, tender minstrelsy," and there was "manna, picked from Syrian trees in starlight, by the three Hesperides," and "wine alive with sparkles." "Then there was a hum of sudden voices, echoing" to the sleeping Adonis :-" Clear summer had forth walked into the clover-sward;" she has sung "full soothingly to every nested finch." Here Endymion beheld the meeting of " Amphitrite, queen of pearls," with her new-born love: she smiles and bids him hope. Then came he to "a jasmine bower, all bestrewed with golden moss." "The little flowers felt his pleasant sighs and stirred them faintly." Then came sad Melancholy, and he was lonely as a bird robbed of his chirping mate. And he did dream of her, his own loved-one, and wondered where might be her silver dwelling-place, upon what skies she gazed. Then he welcomed sleep to banish sorrow; and threw himself on "the smoothest mossy bed and deepest" he could find. "The known unknown was there; long time ere soft caressing sobs began to mellow into words; and there 66 "" were entranced vows and tears.' Morning rose and dawned; and he was all alone. Other loves he heard; the loves of Arethusa and her Alphæus. "He turned-there was a whelming sound-he stept, there was a cooler light;" and so onwards pressed he till he saw the giant sea above his head." Here he met with an old man who welcomed him with joy. In one destiny were both entwined. He narrated his tale of love and woe. "Twin brothers' they in all-powerful fate. "Sweet-music breathed her soul away, and sighed a lullaby to silence." The youth dared to achieve, and so Olympus smiled. "A soft blending of dulcet instruments came charmingly; and then a hymn;" this worship to the Ocean-god. Then all the glory passed, and "a placid lake came quiet to his eyes;' "lulled with its simple song his fluttering breast," felt once more happy. He "was offering up a hecatomb of vows," when the melancholy words of sorrowing maiden reached him. There's not a breath will mingle kindly with the meadow air, till it has parted round, and stole a share of passion from the heart." Endymion's mind was racked to madness; and he forgot his own celestial being, moved by the plaintive song of this lone creature. He "could not speak ;' but "gazed and listened to the wind that now did stir about the crisped oaks full drearily, yet with as sweet a softness as might be remembered from its velvet summer song." Her liquid tones bewildered. Woe, woe, woe to that Endymion! where is he?- -even these words went echoing dismally through the wide forest;' " then came "two steeds jet-black" from the green-clad earth, "the youth of Caria placed the lovely dame on one," and on the other himself did mount. Slowly they sailed amid the air, and Endymion dreamed that he was on bright Olympus. All the immortals saw he, and her he loved: then sprang towards her, but gazed back upon "the stranger of dark tresses, ," and was again unfaithful. Then on they "passed toward the Galaxy," and his companion melted from his side. 66 Down, down, he came, down down again to earth, and found the Indian maid. "Pan will bid us live in peace, in love and peace among his forest wildernesses." Thus Endymion "strove by fancies vain and crude to clear his briered path to some tranquillity:" but no such peace would come. The stranger sat all sorrowful, and forbidden by "heavenly powers" to be his love. Peona finds them both; and tells that on this very night will be a hymning up to Cynthia, queen of light;" both the maidens then leave with promise to meet at "golden eve," in "those holy groves that silent are behind great Dian's temple." 66 Eve came gently on; vesper twinkled sweetly, and Endymion met Peona and the stranger :Then he embraced her, and his lady's hand Pressed, saying: "Sister, I would have command, If it were heaven's will, on our sad fate." At which that dark-eyed stranger stood elate, And said, in a new voice, but sweet as love, To Endymion's amaze: "By Cupid's dove, And so thou shalt! and by the lily truth Of my own breast thou shalt, beloved youth!" And as she spake, into her face there came Light as reflected from a silver flame : Her long black hair swelled ampler, in display Full golden; in her eyes a brighter day Dawned blue, and full of love. Aye, he beheld Phoebe, his passion! joyous she upheld Her lucid bow, continuing thus: "Drear, drear Has our delaying been; but foolish fear Withheld me first; other decrees of fate; And then 'twas fit that from this mortal state Thou shouldst, my love, by some unlooked-for change Be spiritualized. Peona, we shall range These forests, and to thee they safe shall be As was thy cradle; hither shalt thou fee To meet us many a time." Next Cynthia bright Peona kissed, and blessed with fair good night; Her brother kissed her too, and knelt adown Before his goddess, in a blissful swoon. She gave her fair hands to him, and behold, Before three swiftest kisses he had told, They vanished far away!-Peona went Home through the gloomy wood in wonderment. THOMAS MILLER. TAKE up the works of this author and you are immediately in the country. This is the fine charm of his writings, they breathe so much of the beauty and luxuriance of our lovely isle. To those indeed who have no simpathy with descriptions of the nooks and corners of our land, he possesses little to interest; but to those young ardent spirits, who love the breath of fields and the open sky of day, there is everything to enchant and thrill. He is thoroughly English; he knows nothing of balmier lands; sufficient for him, the "low humming of unseen insects in the air," "the solemn tapping of the woodpecker, measuring the intervals of silence," and the "blue-winged jay," as she goes "screaming through the deep umbrage, startled by the harsh sounding of the woodman's strokes ;" sufficient for him the meadows of England with their buttercups and daisies. Yes, he revels amid the thousand sweets of nature; he dreams amid her thousand beauties. There is scarcely a page of his writings wherein this love of the country does not shew itself. And indeed on this account is it that we so highly prize them. They are cheerful and healthy companions, carrying the heart back to former years, and breathing the fine noble tone of an Englishman. How pleasantly he talks in that exquisite paper-Home Revisited! How full of meaning is the opening sentence: "The commonest objects become endeared to us by absence; things which we before scarcely deigned to notice are then found to possess strange charms, bringing to the memory many a forgotten incident, and to the heart many an old emotion, to which they had been dormant for years.' And then he tells us of his going back to the home of childhood, and of the old house looking still the same, yet "somehow more venerable," and "the old clock" standing in the oldfashioned kitchen seeming "to have lost that strange clear clicking" which used to greet him in former days:' "the gilt balls, which decorate the tall case, were tarnished; the golden worlds into which my fancy had so often conjured them were gone; the light that played around them in other days was dimmed; the sunshine rested upon them no longer;' and then he speaks of the "old mirror," and the "large slate," and the playthings of his youth; his reading away the soft sweet hours in the lonely wood, and his bright joyous holidays. It is a charming essay, entering into the very soul. cooler at the sound, as if we felt the silver spray playing upon our cheek. Above the dead-eyed Triton, round whose brow the green ivy has twined, stands a peacock with his gorgeous train expanded, screaming at intervals, and drowning the fountain's sound. We see the ancient oaks rearing their gnarled arms over the hills and valleys, and extending their shadows to the fern and gorse and golden broom, standing with their burnished helmets in the sunlight. Occasionally we catch a glimpse of some stately swan arching its silver neck and scudding along the broad lake, just descried by the straggling beam that sleeps upon its surface, glittering between the trees above the tall rushes that skirt the margin. Herds of deer are also scattered in picturesque positions, some lifting up their antlered heads, and browsing upon the young branches that fall within their reach, while others lie upon the cool grass beneath the deep umbrage of old trees, or are trooping through the open glades at full speed, now glancing by some winding avenue, then bounding over some distant hillock, and anon lost in the far-off thicket. We hear the cawing of the rooks as they hover round their airy city, buried in the rich foliage of the elms. The soft coo of the ring-dove comes upon the whispering wind that sweeps lazily by us laden with the perfume of the woodbine, which floats on with that mourning sound. The lowing of kine reaches us from some rich pasture hidden from our sight by the clustering beeches; we see the long-eared hare nestling on her seat in a tuft of high grass, or the rabbit hopping across some footpath and hastening to its burrow in the sandbank by the young plantation; and the hawk wheeling above the summit of the gnarled hawthorn, or poising himself over his prey, and then dropping like a plummet from our sight; while the heron wafts herself above the tops of the tall pines, now seen for a moment sweeping over a sea of branches, then vanishing in the distance, or alighting by the still lake in quest of food. portions of the old hall thro' the openings of the trees, here a turret arises, towering above the topmost bough of a large oak; there a stack of chimneys are seen, the blue smoke curling in fantastic wreaths between the foliage; while glimpses of lawns and shubberies and grey pillars and glittering windows, and cackling of hens, and the We see And then that beautiful production on the woods, breathing all their solemn silence: "There is no tranquillity like that which settles upon the solitary forest; the tops of hills are peaceful when they lie far away from town or hamlet, but in the curtained depths of dim gabbling of ducks, and deep baying of the mastiff, and glens where no sky is visible, and no outstretched landscape catches the wandering eye, there alone dwells the pure serenity of repose;" breathing all their sounds, "the melancholy murmurs of a brook hardly heard above the faint whistle of the tall reeds by which it is hidden;" "the lone coo of a mournful ring-dove, that scarcely awakens the sleeping air;" "the humming bee, as it drowsily buzzes from bell to bell;" "the descending leaf, that falls dancingly down upon the stream;' "the pattering rain that treads with silver feet" from branch to branch; "the shrill chirp of the flower-buried grasshopper;" breathing all their thousand sweetnesses, and tinged with their thousand shades. the low bleating of some pet lamb, tell us that wealth and happiness and beauty, with all pleasant sights and sounds, are embosomed among the tall trees. 64 Thus Miller's sketches are teeming with generous memories of England's venerable and happy homes: how full is this passage of sweet reminiscences, how clustered round with poetry! It is equal to anything ever written by those lovers of the country, Howitt, Gilpin, and Mitford. The exquisite History of Selborne does not exceed it in meadow-beauty. All his pages have a green look;" "he carries with him the true aroma of old forests; his lines are mottled with rich mosses, and there is a gnarled ruggedness upon the stems of his trees. His waters have a wet look and a And how thrilling and exhilarating is the pleasing sound about them, and you feel the chapter opening with the bugle-note, "Morn- fresh air play around you while you read. His ing, and on the hills!" How full of sunny birds are the free denizens of the fields, and music! But he is even more sweetly pastoral, they send their songs so life-like through the and teems with finer associations when he covert, that their music rings upon the ear, talks about the old English park; how elo- and you are carried away with his 'sweet pipquent he grows when alluding to "its longings. """ You see "the trailing woodbine blushlines of moss-covered walls extending for miles, built of small bricks, and upheld against the crumbling finger of time by massy buttresses.' But we must give the passage entire, so full is it of beauty We look through the huge iron gates that swing upon the tall stone pillars, each crowned with a couchant greyhound, and see the long carriage-path overhung with its noble row of elms, and here and there a sunbeam bursting through the branches, and making the yellow gravel glitter like gold. Farther down is seen an old fountain pouring its clear stream into a large Conch shell of granite, while a stony Triton bends above it, as if it were listening to the music-making waters. We hear the low murmuring, and the air around us feels ing along the road-side," and "the wild cherry sheeted with blossoms;" there are lilacs, and beeches, and willows in his writings. Indeed you are shut out from town with its noise and bustle and vanity, and become a dweller in the woods or a wanderer on the hill-tops. This is his charm; and for this we dearly love the pastoral poet. It is all of the country, it is all of fields and streams, these writings of his; they are literally embued with the freshreading him, you see the rustic village; nay, ness and beauty of nature. You feel free in sometimes you are sitting in the window of some woodbine cot, and drinking in the breeze that floats languidly by, or else perhaps lying on the grassy banks of a brawling brook, looking upward, in dreamlike mood, on the clear blue sky. Even the wood-cuts which adorn his books are replete with this colouring and feeling. They are perfectly his own sketches. How exquisite is that one prefixed to his Summer-day with its rural scenery. There is the steeple of the village church arising heavenward, then the sun is seen dawning on the meadows, and scattering "orient pearls" on every blade of grass, and on the yellow buttercups; then the stream babbles on so sweetly, while a lover of nature is gazing upon the beautiful landscape from an old stile. It is truly full of the charms of creation. And two we have by us now, one representing a dark wood, overarched with green branching foliage, and just shewing a glimmer of light between the mossy trunks. The waggon, loaded with the woodman's labors, grinds heavily onwards, making the stillness of the lone copse more profoundly striking: the other is almost as beautiful. There stands the thatched cottage embosomed in ash and elm; at a distance is seen the old church, its spire just peeping upwards from the luxuriant foliage. The stream seems to be without a current, so placid and quiet it looks, so gently does it flow. The boat is moored along the bank against the tall rushes. It appears to be the time of summer: all smiles beneath the sunshine. But we must give a few illustrations, although we love to dally with this subject; we love to linger over these pictures of rural peace and quietness without fixing our thoughts particularly on any one. We love to wander amid his sweets, and dream away the "leaden-footed hours,' without stopping to admire this or that to the neglect of the rest. The path is so flowery, the banks are so green, the river flows so silently along, the air so fresh, the sky so blue, the sounds so soft and exquisite, that we can but linger and dream-would that we might thus linger and dream for ever! The description of the stream shall be our prelude: How pleasant is a broad stream running thro' an expanse of meadow-land-a few reeds skirting its banks, with an elder or two hanging over, in the shadow of which some trout has taken up his position! A fallen tree extends across it even in the same direction as it was blown down one stormy night, and it has never been moved, and the bank is worn away by the passing footsteps; and half-way out of the water stands a long pole, and this you must reach-if you can-to balance yourself on the rural bridge. You look through the clear crystal, and see the entangled roots and loosened fibres swayed to and fro by the motion of the current. the centre of the stream, where scarce an eddy moves, lie clusters of white and yellow water lilies, almost buried amid their large shield-shaped leaves. The white ones look like carved ivory scattered upon the glassy pavement of a palace; the yellow-like spots of gold enamelled upon a floor of silver. And the primrose waterflag lifts its broad blades of green above the stream, while the gaudy dragon-fly sweeps over its yellow flowers. In The tall bulrush too stands high over above all, with its feathered head, like a proud chieftain, only deigning to nod to the wind. And the water poe has expanded itself at the feet of the long rushes, whose seedy heads hang like tassels in the sunshine. Occasionally a bird will start up from the sedge, and, winging its way between the water flags, alight in the opposite meadow; or a frog plunge to the bottom, with a clear short sound; or How full of life is this sylvan sketch! You see the meandering stream with its lilies and rustic bridge and flags; you almost hear the gurgling of the water, and feel the warm sunshine! What memories it recals from the waste of years; memories of Keel Hall, with its fine wood in which we went a-nutting; memories of Ashley, where we beheld the silver pond covered with the white lily; memories of the fields which lie on the road to Trumpington, and through which we used so often to saunter, listening to the whimpling of the brook and the airy notes of the lark and dreaming softly and sweetly of all things: Oh, how delightful it is to wander forth into the sweetsmelling fields; to set one's foot upon nine daisies-a sure test that spring is come: to see meadows lighted with the white flowers: to watch the sky-lark winging his way to his blue temple in the skies, " singing above, a voice of light:" to hear the blackbird's mellow flutelike voice ringing from some distant covert, among the young beauties of the wood, who are robing themselves for the masque of summer! All these are sights and sounds calculated to elevate the heart above its puny cares and trifling sorrows, and to throw around it a repose calm and spirit-like as the scene whose beauty hushed its heavings. There is an invisible chord, a golden link of love, between our souls and nature: it is no separate thing, no distinct object, but a yearning affection towards the whole of her works. We love the blue sky, the rolling river, the beautiful flowers, and the green earth; we are enraptured with the old hills and the hoary forests. is a cheering voice in the unseen wind; and the gurgling The whistling reeds say something soothing to us; there brook, as it babbles along, carries with it a melody of other years, the tones of our playfellows-the gentle voice of a lost mother-or the echo of a sweet tongue that scarcely dared to murmur its love. But we must close our dream of the green, green things of nature; we must forget for a while the harmony of the creation: pleasant have been our visions, and we linger still, linger, linger with bursting love. However, one other sketch, and we have done; it is worthy the pencil of Goldsmith or Washington Irving, so exquisitely is it touched : Trees and flowers alone can throw a soft repose around the harsh features of death; we gaze upon his dwellinga green and flowery grave in some still sequestered nook, over which droops a beautiful tree, and we feel half in love with the dusky messenger. Look at our own village churchyard, surrounded with elm and sycamore, over which rise the swelling hills, crowned with these lovely woods, and within the sound of the murmuring Trent, all so quiet, that even the dead seem but to sleep beneath the budding hillocks: and the low-voiced breeze, that sings hushingly over their slumber, creeps along so still, that we almost fancy we can hear the flowers grow which decorate their graves. POLLOK. A FRIDAY, on the 19th of October, now some fifty years back,-Glasgow, as ever, smoky dull; the citizens begin to stir-ships unload all bustle, all confusion: the world's wealth is being poured into its close-packed warehouses. Now and then a true soul passes who can see beauty in the fine old cathedral, and who, perhaps, mourns for its almost forgotten anthem. Not a sound there; no liquid melody; no voice of prayer each day: cold and silent is that massive pile. The day seems no otherwise than yesterdayall goes on the same-the din and hurry of business alone heard. A strange face here and there, perchance; but the rest we know them well-anxious, plodding men, crowding onwards. The artizan gazed upwards as he walked to his accustomed toil, and deemed it a fresh and beautiful morn; the student looks out from the college window in High-street, and yearns for his simple kirk and homely manse among the distant hills. A few miles off, and to-day is not as yesterday. An autumnal sky spreads itself over Moorhouse; that only is the same. Ben Lomond and Ben Ledi look solitary and sublime from the distance: their summits encircled with mists: God's huge altars once, "when holy were the haunted forest boughs, holy the air, the water, and the fire," and the sacrificial flame flared up. wards to the gigantic heavens, and the priestly Druid ministered. The sun just lightens up the glens and dark tarns: the moor is swept over by the October winds-a wild, deep sweep. Sweep, sweep on: there is hope in yonder cottage. The wife, about to become again a mother, wishes the curtain drawn aside, that the golden beams may tremble in. Light in the chamber, and hope, we said. A boy is born. That family all unknown; he will not rest so. There will be strange faces; the face of the Southern and the face of the free. That day has changed it. There is sanctity now on mountain, moor, and glen. The child will become a fearless, lion-hearted man. To-night the stars will twinkle as usual-all silent, all still; but on earth the first moments of a young immortal will be passing away. That boy early manifested a love for the widespread heavens and the "God-sown world." Amid the sublime solitudes of his native home, his sympathies linked themselves with creation's ever-changing aspect. The gloomy darkness of the lowering storm, and the sullen magnificence of sunset, quickened the manly breathing of his soul. The radiant softness of summer deepened the feeling of awe-wrapt emotion; morning and evening came, and rolled their harmonies on the ear; the golden clouds, as they floated in the pure blue sky, were significant of the earth's glory and the earth's decay; nor did the sweet tints of the wild heather minister in vain. Under such training, the soul of Pollok waxed strong; he exhibited signs of great ability; his spirit, endowed with genius, had caught the inspiration of the throne; it clave to the Eternal. Paradise, with its chaste joys, and this nether world, with its bowers of bliss, opened on his gaze; his taste became assimilated to that of angels; he revelled amid scenes of perfect and unalloyed beauty. The sunlight of heaven glanced on the unruffled calm of the flowery landscape; he was enchanted, enthralled, and yet free. Life was happiness. He looked upwards upon the starry skies, and his heart beat high: he looked downwards on the earth, with its towering mountains, and green vales, and moss-crowned banks, and multitude of waters, and felt the divinity of poetry. Then came the voice of fame. He paused; was thrilled; longed to be renowned. Thus stood his mind, when round him came a cloud. Of ills we mention not; enough to say, Of loss, he as some atom seemed, which God Oh! who can tell what days, what nights he spent, But "God passes by in mercy:" henceforth his energies are directed to the Supreme; they are consecrated to creation's Lord; the cloud rolls for ever away; the faces of friend and kindred grow beautiful again. The skies, the stars, speak more eloquently; the sun and moon gleam yet with a brighter lustre; the earth glistens in the early dawn-the green and manytinctured earth. His mind is renewed; the Spirit of the living Jehovah sprinkles it with the waters of regeneration; he bows himself at the throne; he determines to minister in the temple. Pollok now enters the university: it is the year 1817. Arise, O sun! and shine; a gigantic soul is passing through the court-yard of the Glasgow Alumni-once again a true man treads her pavement. Now little known, little cared for, but by the home of infancy: ah, reader, he bears a father's and a mother's blessing. His eyes are softened into tears: the world is all before him. But that solitary spirit will become one of Scotia's noblest sons; he will be rugged Caledonia's pride, therefore M |