Chapter IX: Part 9

We may also observe, that those compositions which we read the oftenest, and which every man of taste has got by heart, have the recommendation of simplicity, and have nothing surprising in the thought when divested of that elegance of expression and harmony of numbers with which it is cloathed. If the merit of the composition lies in a point of wit, it may strike at first; but the mind anticipates the thought in the second perusal, and is no longer affected by it. When I read an epigram of Martial, the first line recalls the whole; and I have no pleasure in repeating to myself what I know already. But each line, each word in Catullus has its merit; and I am never tired with the perusal of him. It is sufficient to rim over Cowley once; but Parnel, after the fiftieth reading, is fresh as at the first. Besides, it is with books as with women, where a certain plainness of manner and of dress is more engaging than that glare of paint and airs and apparel which may dazzle the eye but reaches not the affections. Terence is a modest and bashful beauty, to whom we grant every thing, because he assumes nothing, and whose purity and nature make a durable though not a violent impression upon us.

But refinement, as it is the less beautiful, so it is the more dangerous extreme, and what we are the aptest to fall into. Simplicity passes for dulness when it is not accompanied with great elegance and propriety. On the contrary, there is something surprising in a blaze of wit and conceit. Ordinary readers are mightily struck with it, and falsely imagine it to be the most difficult, as well as most excellent way of writing. Seneca abounds with agreeable faults, says Quinctilian--_abundat dulcibus vitiis_; and for that reason is the more dangerous and the more apt to pervert the taste of the young and inconsiderate.

I shall add, that the excess of refinement is now more to be guarded against than ever; because it is the extreme which men are the most apt to fall into, after learning has made great progress, and after eminent writers have appeared in every species of composition. The endeavour to please by novelty leads men wide of simplicity and nature, and fills their writings with affectation and conceit. It was thus that the age of Claudius and Nero became so much inferior to that of Augustus in taste and genius; and perhaps there are at present some symptoms of a like degeneracy of taste, in France as well as in England.

HUME.

* * * * *

JOHN HAMPDEN.

The celebrated patriot, John Hampden, was descended from an ancient family in Buckinghamshire, where he was born in 1594. On leaving the University, he entered the inns of court, where he made considerable progress in the study of the law. He was chosen to serve in the Parliament which assembled at Westminster, February, 1626, and served in all the succeeding Parliaments in the reign of Charles I. That Monarch having quarrelled with his Parliament, was obliged to have recourse to the open exercise of his prerogative in order to supply himself with money. From the nobility he desired assistance; from the City of London he required a loan of £100,000. The former contributed but slowly; the latter at length gave a flat denial. To equip a fleet, an apportionment was made, by order of the Council, amongst all the maritime towns, each of which was required, with the assistance of the adjoining counties, to furnish a certain number of vessels or amount of shipping. The City of London was rated at twenty ships. And this was the first appearance in the present reign of ship-money--a taxation which had once been imposed by Elizabeth, on a great emergency, but which, revived and carried further by Charles, produced the most violent discontent.

In 1636, John Hampden became universally known by his intrepid opposition to the ship-money, as an illegal tax. Upon this he was prosecuted, and his conduct throughout the transaction gained him great credit and reputation. When the Long Parliament began, the eyes of all were fixed upon him as the father of his country. On the 3rd of January, 1642, the King ordered articles of high treason, and other misdemeanours, to be prepared against Lord Kimbolton, Mr. Hampden, and four other members of the House of Commons, and went to the House to seize them, but they had retired. Mr. Hampden afterwards made a celebrated speech in the House to clear himself from the charge brought against him.

In the beginning of the civil war Hampden commanded a regiment of foot, and did good service at the battle of Edgehill; but he received a mortal wound in an engagement with Prince Rupert, in Chalgrave-field, in Oxfordshire, and died in 1648. Hampden is said to have possessed in a high degree talents for gaining and preserving popular influence, and great courage, industry, and strength of mind, which procured him great ascendancy over other men.

* * * * *

OTHELLO'S HISTORY.

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year: the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have past.
I ran it through, even from my boyish days
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving incidents by flood and field,
Of hair-breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach,
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And 'portance in my travels' history;
Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle,
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,
It was my hint to speak--such was the process;
And of the cannibals that each other eat--
The Anthropophagi--and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to bear
Would Desdemona seriously incline:
still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse; which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage relate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard
But not intentively: I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;
She swore--in faith 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful;
She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd
That Heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me;
And bade me if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake;
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used:
Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

SHAKSPEARE.

* * * * *

FILIAL LOVE.

Verily duty to parents is of the first consequence; and would you, my young friends, recommend yourselves to the favour of your God and Father, would you imitate the example of your adorable Redeemer, and be made an inheritor of his precious promises; would you enjoy the peace and comforts of this life, and the good esteem of your fellow-creatures--Reverence your parents; and be it your constant endeavour, as it will be your greatest satisfaction, to witness your high sense of, and to make some returns for the obligations you owe to them, by every act of filial obedience and love.

Let their commands be ever sacred in your ears, and implicitly obeyed, where they do not contradict the commands of God: pretend not to be wiser than they, who have had so much more experience than yourselves; and despise them not, if haply you should be so blest as to have gained a degree of knowledge or of fortune superior to them. Let your carriage towards them be always respectful, reverent, and submissive; let your words be always affectionate and humble, and especially beware of pert and ill-seeming replies; of angry, discontented, and peevish looks. Never imagine, if they thwart your wills, or oppose your inclinations, that this ariseth from any thing but love to you: solicitous as they have ever been for your welfare, always consider the same tender solicitude as exerting itself, even in cases most opposite to your desires; and let the remembrance of what they have done and suffered for you, ever preserve you from acts of disobedience, and from paining those good hearts which have already felt so much for you, their children.

The Emperor of China, on certain days of the year, pays a visit to his mother, who is seated on a throne to receive him; and four times on his feet, and as often on his knees, he makes her a profound obeisance, bowing his head even to the ground.

Sir Thomas More seems to have emulated this beautiful example; for, being Lord Chancellor of England at the same time that his father was a Judge of the King's Bench, he would always, on his entering Westminster Hall, go first to the King's Bench, and ask his father's blessing before he went to sit in the Court of Chancery, as if to secure success in the great decisions of his high and important office.

DR. DODD.

* * * * *

QUEEN MARY'S BOWER, CHATSWORTH.

When the widowed Mary, Queen of Scots, left France, where she had dwelt since her fifth year--where she had shared in the education of the French King's own daughters, in one of the convents of the kingdom, and been the idol of the French Court and people, it is said that, as the coast of the happy land faded from her view, she continued to exclaim, "Farewell, France! farewell, dear France--I shall never see thee more!" And her first view of Scotland only increased the poignancy of these touching regrets. So little pains had been taken to "cover over the nakedness and poverty of the land," that tears sprang into her eyes, when, fresh from the elegant luxurious Court of Paris, she saw the wretched ponies, with bare, wooden saddles, or dirty and ragged trappings, which had been provided to carry her and her ladies from the water-side to Holyrood. And then the palace itself; how different from the palaces in which she had lived in France! Dismal and small, it consisted only of what is now the north wing. The state-room and the bed-chamber which were used by her yet remain, with the old furniture, and much of the needle-work there is said to have been the work of her hands. During her long and melancholy imprisonment in England, the art of needle-work and reading were almost her only mode of relieving the dreary hours.

From the moment Mary of Scotland took the fatal resolution of throwing herself upon the supposed kindness and generosity of Elizabeth, her fate was sealed, and it was that of captivity, only to be ended by death. She was immediately cut off from all communication with her subjects, except such as it was deemed proper to allow; and was moved about from place to place, the better to ensure her safety. The hapless victim again and again implored Elizabeth to deal generously and justly with her. "I came," said she, in one of her letters, "of mine own accord; let me depart again with yours: and if God permit my cause to succeed, I shall be bound to you for it." But her rival was unrelenting, and, in fact, increased the rigours of her confinement. Whilst a prisoner at Chatsworth, she had been permitted the indulgence of air and exercise; and the bower of Queen Mary is still shown in the noble grounds of that place, as a favourite resort of the unfortunate captive. But even this absolutely necessary indulgence was afterwards denied; she was wholly confined to the Castle of Fotheringay, and a standing order was issued that "she should be shot if she attempted to escape, or if others attempted to rescue her."

Burns, in his "Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots," touchingly expresses the weary feelings that must have existed in the breast of the Royal captive:--

"Oh, soon to me may summer suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair to me the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!
And in the narrow house of death,
Let winter round me rave;
And the next flowers that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave."

* * * * *

TUBULAR RAILWAY BRIDGES.

In the year 1850, a vast line of railway was completed from Chester to Holyhead, for the conveyance of the Royal mails, of goods and passengers, and of her Majesty's troops and artillery, between London and Dublin--Holyhead being the most desirable point at which to effect this communication with Ireland. Upon this railway are two stupendous bridges, which are the most perfect examples of engineering skill ever executed in England, or in any other country.

The first of these bridges carries the railway across the river Conway, close to the ancient castle built by Edward I. in order to bridle his new subjects, the Welsh.

The Conway bridge consists of a tube, or long, huge chest, the ends of which rest upon stone piers, built to correspond with the architecture of the old castle. The tube is made of wrought-iron plates, varying in thickness from a quarter of an inch to one inch, riveted together, and strengthened by irons in the form of the letter T; and, to give additional strength to the whole, a series of cells is formed at the bottom and top of the tube, between an inner ceiling and floor and the exterior plates; the iron plates which form the cells being riveted and held in their places by angle irons. The space between the sides of the tube is 14 feet; and the height of the whole, inclusive of the cells, is 22 feet 3-1/2 inches at the ends, and 25 feet 6 inches at the centre. The total length of the tube is 412 feet. One end of the tube is fixed to the masonry of the pier; but the other is so arranged as to allow for the expansion of the metal by changes of the temperature of the atmosphere, and it therefore, rests upon eleven rollers of iron, running upon a bed-plate; and, that the whole weight of the tube may not be carried by these rollers, six girders are carried over the tube, and riveted to the upper parts of its sides, which rest upon twelve balls of gun-metal running in grooves, which are fixed to iron beams let into the masonry.

The second of these vast railway bridges crosses the Menai Straits, which separate Caernarvon from the island of Anglesey. It is constructed a good hundred feet above high-water level, to enable large vessels to sail beneath it; and in building it, neither scaffolding nor centering was used.

The abutments on either side of the Straits are huge piles of masonry. That on the Anglesey side is 143 feet high, and 173 feet long. The wing walls of both terminate in splendid pedestals, and on each are two colossal lions, of Egyptian design; each being 25 feet long, 12 feet high though crouched, 9 feet abaft the body, and each paw 2 feet 1 inches. Each weighs 30 tons. The towers for supporting the tube are of a like magnitude with the entire work. The great Britannia Tower, in the centre of the Straits, is 62 feet by 52 feet at its base; its total height from the bottom, 230 feet; it contains 148,625 cubic feet of limestone, and 144,625 of sandstone; it weighs 20,000 tons; and there are 387 tons of cast iron built into it in the shape of beams and girders. It sustains the four ends of the four long iron tubes which span the Straits from shore to shore. The total quantity of stone contained in the bridge is 1,500,000 cubic feet. The side towers stand at a clear distance of 460 feet from the great central tower; and, again, the abutments stand at a distance from the side towers of 230 feet, giving the entire bridge a total length of 1849 feet, corresponding with the date of the year of its construction. The side or land towers are each 62 feet by 52 feet at the base, and 190 feet high; they contain 210 tons of cast iron.

The length of the great tube is exactly 470 feet, being 12 feet longer than the clear space between the towers, and the greatest span ever yet attempted. The greatest height of the tube is in the centre--30 feet, and diminishing towards the end to 22 feet. Each tube consists of sides, top and bottom, all formed of long, narrow wrought-iron plates, varying in length from 12 feet downward. These plates are of the same manufacture as those for making boilers, varying in thickness from three-eighths to three-fourths of an inch. Some of them weigh nearly 7 cwt., and are amongst the largest it is possible to roll with any existing machinery. The connexion between top, bottom, and sides is made much more substantial by triangular pieces of thick plate, riveted in across the corners, to enable the tube to resist the cross or twisting strain to which it will be exposed from the heavy and long-continued gales of wind that, sweeping up the Channel, will assail it in its lofty and unprotected position. The rivets, of which there are 2,000,000--each tube containing 327,000--are more than an inch in diameter. They are placed in rows, and were put in the holes red hot, and beaten with heavy hammers. In cooling, they contracted strongly, and drew the plates together so powerfully that it required a force of from 1 to 6 tons to each rivet, to cause the plates to slide over each other. The weight of wrought iron in the great tube is 1600 tons.

Each of these vast bridge tubes was constructed on the shore, then floated to the base of the piers, or bridge towers, and raised to its proper elevation by hydraulic machinery, the largest in the world, and the most powerful ever constructed. For the Britannia Bridge, this consisted of two vast presses, one of which has power equal to that of 30,000 men, and it lifted the largest tube six feet in half an hour.

The Britannia tubes being in two lines, are passages for the up and down trains across the Straits. Each of the tubes has been compared to the Burlington Arcade, in Piccadilly; and the labour of placing this tube upon the piers has been assimilated to that of raising the Arcade upon the summit of the spire of St. James's Church, if surrounded with water.

Each line of tube is 1513 feet in length; far surpassing in size any piece of wrought-iron work ever before put together; and its weight is 5000 tons, being nearly equal to that of two 120-gun ships, having on board, ready for sea, guns, provisions, and crew. The plate-iron covering of the tubes is not thicker than the hide of an elephant, and scarcely thicker than the bark of an oak-tree; whilst one of the large tubes, if placed on its end in St. Paul's churchyard, would reach 107 feet higher than the cross of the cathedral.

* * * * *

THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

Ye mariners of England!
Who guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze,
Your glorious standard launch again,
To match another foe,
And sweep through the deep
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages long and loud,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave;
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages long and loud,
And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep:
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages long and loud,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor-flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

CAMPBELL.

* * * * *

KAFFIR LETTER-CARRIER.

"I knew" (says the pleasing writer of "Letters from Sierra Leone") "that the long-looked-for vessel had at length furled her sails and dropped anchor in the bay. She was from England, and I waited, expecting every minute to feast my eyes upon at least one letter; but I remembered how unreasonable it was to suppose that any person would come up with letters to this lonely place at so late an hour, and that it behoved me to exercise the grace of patience until next day. However, between ten and eleven o'clock, a loud shouting and knocking aroused the household, and the door was opened to a trusty Kroo messenger, who, although one of a tribe who would visit any of its members in their own country with death, who could 'savey white man's book,' seemed to comprehend something of our feelings at receiving letters, as I overheard him exclaim, with evident glee, 'Ah! massa! here de right book come at last.' Every thing, whether a brown-paper parcel, a newspaper, an official despatch, a private letter or note is here denominated a 'book,' and this man understood well that newspapers are never received so gladly amongst 'books' from England as letters." The Kaffir, in the Engraving, was sketched from one employed to convey letters in the South African settlements; he carries his document in a split at the end of a cane.

It is a singular sight in India to see the catamarans which put off from some parts of the coast, as soon as ships come in sight, either to bear on board or to convey from thence letters or messages. These frail vessels are composed of thin cocoa-tree logs, lashed together, and big enough to carry one, or, at most, two persons. In one of these a small sail is fixed, and the navigator steers with a little paddle; the float itself is almost entirely sunk in the water, so that the effect is very singular--a sail sweeping along the surface with a man behind it, and apparently nothing to support them. Those which have no sails are consequently invisible and the men have the appearance of treading the water and performing evolutions with a racket. In very rough weather the men lash themselves to their little rafts but in ordinary seas they seem, though frequently washed off, to regard such accidents as mere trifles, being naked all but a wax cloth cap in which they keep any letters they may have to convey to ships in the roads, and swimming like fish. Their only danger is from sharks, which are said to abound. These cannot hurt them while on their floats; but woe be to them if they catch them while separated from that defence. Yet, even then, the case is not quite hopeless, since the shark can only attack them from below; and a rapid dive, if not in very deep water, will sometimes save them.

* * * * *

THE SEASONS.

SPRING.

Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come,
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.

* * * * *

Hail! Source of Being! Universal Soul
Of heaven and earth! Essential Presence, hail;
To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thought
Continual climb; who, with a master hand.
Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd.
By Thee the various vegetative tribes,
Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew:
By Thee disposed into congenial soils,
Stands each attractive plant, and sucks and swells
The juicy tide--a twining mass of tubes.
At thy command the vernal sun awakes
The torpid sap, detruded to the root
By wintry winds, that now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads
All this innumerous-colour'd scene of things.
As rising from the vegetable world
My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend
My panting Muse! And hark! how loud the woods
Invite you forth in all your gayest trim.
Lend me your song, ye nightingales! oh, pour
The mazy running soul of melody
Into my varied verse! while I deduce
From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings,
The symphony of spring, and touch a theme
Unknown to fame, the passion of the groves.

SUMMER.

From bright'ning fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry hours,
And ever-fanning breezes on his way;
While from his ardent look the turning Spring
Averts his blushing face, and earth and skies,
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.

* * * * *

Cheer'd by the milder beam, the sprightly youth
Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth
A sandy bottom shows. Awhile he stands
Gazing the inverted landscape, half afraid
To meditate the blue profound below;
Then plunges headlong down the circling flood.
His ebon tresses, and his rosy cheek,
Instant emerge: and through the obedient wave,
At each short breathing by his lip repell'd,
With arms and legs according well, he makes,
As humour leads, an easy-winding path;
While from his polish'd sides a dewy light
Effuses on the pleased spectators round.

This is the purest exercise of health.
The kind refresher of the Summer heats:
Nor, when cold Winter keens the brightening flood,
Would I, weak-shivering, linger on the brink.
Thus life redoubles, and is oft preserved
By the bold swimmer, in the swift elapse
Of accident disastrous.

AUTUMN.

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn nodding o'er the yellow plain
Comes jovial on, the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whatever the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared, the various-blossom'd Spring
Put in white promised forth, and Summer suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.

* * * * *

Hence from the busy, joy-resounding fields
In cheerful error let us tread the maze
Of Autumn, unconfined; and taste, revived,
The breath of orchard big with bending fruit.
Obedient to the breeze and beating ray,
From the deep-loaded bough a mellow shower
Incessant melts away. The juicy pear
Lies in a soft profusion scatter'd round.
A various sweetness swells the gentle race,
By Nature's all-refining hand prepared;
Of tempered sun, and water, earth, and air,
In ever-changing composition mix'd.
Such, falling frequent through the chiller night,
The fragrant stores, the wide projected heaps
Of apples, which the lusty-handed year,
Innumerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes.

WINTER.

See, Winter comes to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train--
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These--that exalt the soul to solemn thought
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms;
Congenial horrors, hail: with frequent foot,
Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nursed by careless solitude I lived,
And sung of nature with unceasing joy;
Pleased have I wander'd through your rough domain,
Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure;
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst,
Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd
In the grim evening sky.

* * * * *

Nature! great parent! whose unceasing hand
Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year,
How mighty, how majestic are thy works!
With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul,
That sees astonish'd, and astonish'd sings!
Ye, too, ye winds! that now begin to blow
With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you.
Where are your stores, ye powerful beings, say,
Where your aerial magazines reserved
To swell the brooding terrors of the storm?
In what far distant region of the sky,
Hush'd in deep silence, sleep ye when 'tis calm?

* * * * *

'Tis done; dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends
His desolate domain. Behold, fond man!
See here thy pictured life! Pass some few years
Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength,
And sober autumn fading into age,
The pale concluding winter comes at last
The shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled
Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes
Of happiness? those longings after fame?
Those restless cares? those busy bustling days?
Those gay-spent festive nights? those veering thoughts,
Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life?
All now are vanish'd; virtue sole survives,
Immortal, never-failing friend of man--
His guide to happiness on high.

THOMSON.

* * * * *

ON MUSIC.

There are few who have not felt the charms of music, and acknowledged its expressions to be intelligible to the heart. It is a language of delightful sensations, that is far more eloquent than words: it breathes to the ear the clearest intimations; but how it was learned, to what origin we owe it, or what is the meaning of some of its most affecting strains, we know not.

We feel plainly that music touches and gently agitates the agreeable and sublime passions; that it wraps us in melancholy, and elevates us to joy; that it dissolves and inflames; that it melts us into tenderness, and rouses into rage: but its strokes are so fine and delicate, that, like a tragedy, even the passions that are wounded please; its sorrows are charming, and its rage heroic and delightful. As people feel the particular passions with different degrees of force, their taste of harmony must proportionably vary. Music, then, is a language directed to the passions; but the rudest passions put on a new nature, and become pleasing in harmony: let me add, also, that it awakens some passions which we perceive not in ordinary life. Particularly the most elevated sensation of music arises from a confused perception of ideal or visionary beauty and rapture, which is sufficiently perceivable to fire the imagination, but not clear enough to become an object of knowledge. This shadowy beauty the mind attempts, with a languishing curiosity, to collect into a distinct object of view and comprehension; but it sinks and escapes, like the dissolving ideas of a delightful dream, that are neither within the reach of the memory, nor yet totally fled. The noblest charm of music, then, though real and affecting, seems too confused and fluid to be collected into a distinct idea.

Harmony is always understood by the crowd, and almost always mistaken by musicians. The present Italian taste for music is exactly correspondent to the taste for tragi-comedy, that about a century ago gained ground upon the stage. The musicians of the present day are charmed at the union they form between the grave and the fantastic, and at the surprising transitions they make between extremes, while every hearer who has the least remainder of the taste of nature left, is shocked at the strange jargon. If the same taste should prevail in painting, we must soon expect to see the woman's head, a horse's body, and a fish's tail, united by soft gradations, greatly admired at our public exhibitions. Musical gentlemen should take particular care to preserve in its full vigour and sensibility their original natural taste, which alone feels and discovers the true beauty of music.

If Milton, Shakspeare, or Dryden had been born with the same genius and inspiration for music as for poetry, and had passed through the practical part without corrupting the natural taste, or blending with it any prepossession in favour of sleights and dexterities of hand, then would their notes be tuned to passions and to sentiments as natural and expressive as the tones and modulations of the voice in discourse. The music and the thought would not make different expressions; the hearers would only think impetuously; and the effect of the music would be to give the ideas a tumultuous violence and divine impulse upon the mind. Any person conversant with the classic poets, sees instantly that the passionate power of music I speak of, was perfectly understood and practised by the ancients--that the Muses of the Greeks always sung, and their song was the echo of the subject, which swelled their poetry into enthusiasm and rapture. An inquiry into the nature and merits of the ancient music, and a comparison thereof with modern composition, by a person of poetic genius and an admirer of harmony, who is free from the shackles of practice, and the prejudices of the mode, aided by the countenance of a few men of rank, of elevated and true taste, would probably lay the present half-Gothic mode of music in ruins, like those towers of whose little laboured ornaments it is an exact picture, and restore the Grecian taste of passionate harmony once more to the delight and wonder of mankind. But as from the disposition of things, and the force of fashion, we cannot hope in our time to rescue the sacred lyre, and see it put into the hands of men of genius, I can only recall you to your own natural feeling of harmony and observe to you, that its emotions are not found in the laboured, fantastic, and surprising compositions that form the modern style of music: but you meet them in some few pieces that are the growth of wild unvitiated taste; you discover them in the swelling sounds that wrap us in imaginary grandeur; in those plaintive notes that make us in love with woe; in the tones that utter the lover's sighs, and fluctuate the breast with gentle pain; in the noble strokes that coil up the courage and fury of the soul, or that lull it in confused visions of joy; in short, in those affecting strains that find their way to the inmost recesses of the heart,

Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.--_Milton_.

USHER.

* * * * *

THE AFFLICTED POOR.

Say ye--oppress'd by some fantastic woes,
Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose,
Who press the downy couch while slaves advance
With timid eye to read the distant glance;
Who with sad pray'rs the weary doctor tease,
To name the nameless, ever new disease;
Who with mock patience dire complaint endure,
Which real pain, and that alone, can cure:
How would ye bear in real pain to lie,
Despised, neglected, left alone to die?
How would ye bear to draw your latest breath,
Where all that's wretched paves the way for death?

Such is that room which one rude beam divides,
And naked rafters form the sloping sides;
Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen,
And lath and mud are all that lie between,
Save one dull pane that coarsely patch'd gives way
To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day:
There, on a matted flock with dust o'erspread,
The drooping wretch reclines his languid head!
For him no hand the cordial cup supplies,
Nor wipes the tear which stagnates in his eyes;
No friends, with soft discourse, his pangs beguile.
Nor promise hope till sickness wears a smile.

CRABBE.

* * * * *

MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS.

Thou, who didst put to flight
Primeval silence, when the morning stars,
Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball:
O Thou! whose word from solid darkness struck
That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul;
My soul which flies to thee, her trust her treasure,
As misers to their gold, while others rest:
Through this opaque of nature and of soul,
This double night, transmit one pitying ray,
To lighten and to cheer. Oh, lead my mind,
(A mind that fain would wander from its woe,)
Lead it through various scenes of life and death,
And from each scene the noblest truths inspire.
Nor less inspire my conduct, than my song;
Teach my best reason, reason; my best will
Teach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear;
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, pour'd
On this devoted head, be pour'd in vain.

The bell strikes One. We take no note of time
But from its loss; to give it then a tongue
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours.
Where are they? with the years beyond the flood!
It is the signal that demands dispatch:
How much is to be done! My hopes and fears
Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down--on what? A fathomless abyss!
A dread eternity! How surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful is man!
How passing wonder He who made him such!
Who center'd in our make such strange extremes--
From different natures, marvellously mix'd:
Connexion exquisite! of distant worlds
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity;
A beam ethereal--sullied and absorpt!
Though sullied and dishonour'd, still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal! insect infinite!
A worm! a god! I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost. At home a stranger.
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast,
And wondering at her own. How reason reels!
Oh, what a miracle to man is man!
Triumphantly distress'd! what joy! what dread
Alternately transported and alarm'd!
What can preserve my life, or what destroy?
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can't confine me there.
'Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof.
While o'er my limbs sleep's soft dominion spread,
What though my soul fantastic measures trod
O'er fairy fields, or mourn'd along the gloom
Of pathless woods, or down the craggy steep
Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool,
Or scaled the cliff, or danced on hollow winds
With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain!
Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature
Of subtler essence than the trodden clod:
Active, aerial, towering, unconfined,
Unfetter'd with her gross companion's fall.
Even silent night proclaims my soul immortal:
Even silent night proclaims eternal day!
For human weal Heaven husbands all events;
Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain.

YOUNG.

* * * * *

FAREWELL.

Nay, shrink not from that word "Farewell!"
As if 'twere friendship's final knell--
Such fears may prove but vain:
So changeful is life's fleeting day,
Whene'er we sever, Hope may say,
We part to meet again!

E'en the last parting earth can know,
Brings not unutterable woe
To souls that heav'nward soar:
For humble Faith, with steadfast eye,
Points to a brighter world on high,
Where hearts, that here at parting sigh,
May meet--to part no more!

BARTON.

* * * * *

VOCABULARY OF WORDS USED IN THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON READING BOOK.

* * * * *

[We have considered that it would be useful to the young reader to have a ready means of reference, in the READING BOOK itself, to all unusual words of one syllable, and all the words of two syllables and above, that occur in the various lessons. In the following pages will be found, properly accentuated, all the more difficult polysyllables, with their meanings, derived from Johnson, Walker, and other competent authorities.]

* * * * *

ABA'NDON, _v.a._ give up; resign, or quit; forsake; leave

ABI'LITY, _s._ capacity; qualification; power

A'BJECT, _a._ mean; being of no hope or regard; destitute

ABLU'TION, _s._ the act of cleansing or washing clean; water used in
washing

ABO'LISH, _v.a._ make void; put an end to; destroy

ABO'UND, _v.n._ have in great plenty; be in great plenty

ABRE'AST, _ad._ side by side

ABRU'PTLY, _ad._ hastily; suddenly; without the due forms of preparation

A'BSOLUTE, _a._ positive; certain; unlimited

A'BSTRACT, _s._ the smaller quantity containing the virtue or power of
the greater

ABSTRU'SE, _a._ hidden; difficult

ABU'NDANT, _a._ plentiful

ABU'TMENT, _s._ that which borders upon another

ACA'DEMY, _s._ (from _Academus_, an Athenian, who founded a public
school at Athens, which after him was called Academia, _Latin_),
place of education; an assembly or society of men, uniting for the
promotion of some art

A'CCENT, _s._ the sound of a syllable; a modification of the voice
expressive of the passions or sentiments; the marks made upon
syllables to regulate their pronunciation

A'CCIDENT, _s._ that which happens unforeseen; chance

ACCO'MPANY, _v.n._ associate with; become a companion to

ACCO'MPLICE, _s._ an associate; partner

ACCO'MPLISHMENT, _s._ ornament of mind or body; acquirement

ACCO'ST, _v.a._ speak to; address; salute

ACCO'UNT, _s._ the state or result of a computation--as, the _account_
stands thus between us; narrative; value

ACCO'UTRE, _v.a._ dress; equip

A'CCURACY, _s._ exactness; nicety

ACCU'STOM, _v._ to habituate; to inure

ACQUI'RE, _v.a._ gain; obtain; attain

A'CRID, _a._ having a hot biting taste; bitter

A'CRIMONY, _s._ sharpness; severity; bitterness of thought or language

ACRO'POLIS, _s._ a citadel; the highest part of a city

ACTI'VITY, _s._ quickness; nimbleness

ACU'TE, _a._ sharp, not blunt; sharp, not dull; not stupid; vigorous;
powerful in operation

ADAMA'NTINE, _a._ made of adamant; having the qualities of adamant, viz.
hardness, indissolubility

ADA'PT, _v.a._ admit, justify; yield; permit

ADIEU', _ad._ used elliptically for _à Dieu je vous commende_, at the
parting of friends; farewell

A'DMIRABLE, _a._ to be admired; of power to excite wonder

ADMIRA'TION, _s._ wonder

ADMI'T, _v.a._ suffer to enter; allow

ADO'PT, _v.a._ take a son by choice; make him a son who is not so by
birth; place any person or thing in a nearer relation than they have
by nature or something else

ADRO'ITNESS, _s._ dexterity; readiness

ADU'LT, _s._ a person above the age of boyhood or girlhood

ADVA'NCE, _v.a._ improve; forward; propose

ADVA'NTAGE, _s._ superiority; opportunity

ADVE'NTURE, _s._ chance; hazard; an enterprise in which something must
be left to hazard

ADVE'NTURER, _s._ he that puts himself into the hands of chance

ADVE'NTUROUS, _a._ bold; daring; courageous; inclined to adventures

ADVE'RSITY, _s._ affliction; calamity; misfortune; the public misery

ADVE'RTISEMENT, _s._ something advertised; the public notice of a thing

A'DVOCATE, _s._ he that pleads a cause

AE'OLIAN, _a._ an epithet applied to lyric poetry, because Sappho and
Alcaeus were natives of Lesbos in Aeolia, and wrote in the Aeolic
dialect

AE'RIAL, _a._ belonging to the air; lofty

AFFABI'LITY, _s._ civility; condescension; easiness of manners

AFFE'CT, _v.a._ act upon; produce effect in any other thing; move the
passions; aim at; aspire to

AFFECTA'TION, _s._ an elaborate appearance; false pretence

AFFE'CTION, _s._ state of being affected by any cause or agent; love;
kindness; good-will to some person; passionate regard

AFFE'CTIONATE, _a._ full of affection; fond; tender; warm; benevolent

AFFI'NITY, _s._ connection with

AGGRE'SSION, _s._ first act of injury

A'GONY, _s._ the pangs of death; any violent pain in body or mind

AGRE'EABLE, _a._ suitable to; pleasing

A'GRICULTURE, _s._ the science of making land productive

A'LABASTER, _s._ a kind of soft marble, easier to cut and less durable
than the other kinds

ALA'RUM, _s._ notice of any approaching danger; any tumult or
disturbance

A'LIEN, _s._ foreigner; stranger

A'LKALI, _s._ any substance which, when mingled with acid, produces
effervescence and fermentation

ALLEGO'RY, _s._ a figurative discourse, in which something is contained
other than is literally understood

ALLE'VIATE, _v.a._ make light; ease; soften

ALLO'W, _v.a._ permit; give leave

A'LPHABET, _s._ the order of the letters, or elements of speech

ALTERA'TION, _s._ the act of changing; the change made

A'LTITUDE, _s._ height of place; space measured upward

AL'TOGETHER, _ad._ completely; without exception

AMA'LGAMATE, _v.a._ to unite metals with silver

AMA'ZEMENT, _s._ height of admiration; astonishment

AMBI'GUOUS, _a._ using doubtful expressions; doubtful; having two
meanings

AMBI'TION, _s._ the desire of preferment or honour; the desire of
anything great or excellent

AMBI'TIOUS, _a._ fond of power; desirous of power

AME'RICAN, _s._ native of America

A'METHYST, _s._ a precious stone of a violet colour

A'MIABLE, _a._ kind; gentle; good natured; loving; not selfish

AMMUNI'TION, _s._ military stores, applied to artillery

AMPHITHE'ATRE, _s._ a building in a circular or oval form, having its
area encompassed with rows of seats one above another

AMPU'LLA, _s._ (pronounced _am-poo-la_) a vessel of pure gold, used for
containing the holy oil at coronations

AMU'SE, _v.a._ entertain with tranquillity; draw on from time to time

ANA'LOGY, _s._ resemblance between things with regard to some
circumstances or effects

ANATO'MICAL, _a._ relating or belonging to anatomy

ANA'TOMY, _s._ the art of dissecting the body; the doctrine of the
structure of the body

A'NCESTOR, _s._ one from whom a person descends

A'NCIENT, _a._ old; past; former

A'NECDOTE, _s._ something yet unpublished; biographical history;
personal history

ANEMO'METER, _s._ an instrument to measure the force of the wind

ANGE'LIC, _a._ resembling angels; belonging to angels

A'NIMAL, _s._ a living creature

ANIMA'LCULE, _s._ a small animal, generally applied to those which
cannot be seen without a microscope

ANIMO'SITY, _s._ vehemence of hatred; passionate malignity

ANNIHILATE, _v.a._ reduce to nothing; destroy

ANNO'Y, _v.a._ incommode; vex; tease; molest

A'NNUAL, _a._ that comes yearly

A'NTELOPE, _s._ a goat with curled or wreathed horns

ANTHROPO'PHAGI, _s._ man-eaters; cannibals

ANTI'CIPATE, _v.a._ take an impression of something which is not yet as
if it really was

A'NTIQUARY, _s._ a man studious of antiquity

ANTI'QUE, _a._ ancient; old; odd; of old fashion

ANTI'QUITY, _s._ old times; remains of old times

A'NTRE, _s._ a cavern

ANXI'ETY, _s._ perplexity; lowness of spirits

ANXIOUS, _a._ disturbed about some uncertain event

A'PATHY, _s._ exemption from feeling or passion

APO'CALYPSE, _s._ the Book of Revelations

APO'LOGY, _s._ defence; excuse

APO'STLE, _s._ a person sent with commands, particularly applied to
those whom our Saviour deputed to preach the Gospel

APOSTO'LIC, _a._ delivered or taught by the Apostles

APPARA'TUS, _s._ tools; furniture; show; instruments

APPE'AR, _v.n._ be visible; in sight

APPEARANCE, _s._ the act of coming into sight; phenomenon; apparition;
presence

APPE'NDAGE, _s._ something added to another thing without being
necessary to its essence

A'PPETITE _s._ hunger; violent longing

APPLA'USE _s._ approbation loudly expressed; praise

APPLICATION, _s._ close study; intenseness of thought; attention; the
act of applying; the act of applying anything to another.

APPORTIONMENT, _s._ dividing into portions

APPRECIATE, _v.a._ set a price on anything; esteem

APPRO'ACH, _v n._ draw near; somewhat resemble

APPROBATION, _s._ the act of approving, or expressing himself pleased,
or satisfied; support

APPRO'PRIATENESS, _s._ a fitness to be appropriated

APPROPRIATION, _s._ the application of something to a certain purpose

AQUA'TIC, _a._ that inhabits the water; that grows in the water

A'QUEDUCT, _s._ a conveyance, tunnel, or way made for carrying water

ARA'TOO, _s._ a bird of the parrot kind

AR'BALIST, _s._ a naturalist who make trees his study

A'RBITRABY, _o._ despotic; absolute; depending on no rule

ARBU'TUS, _s._ a strawberry tree

ARCA'DE, _s._ a continued arch; a walk arched over

ARCHBI'SHOP, _s._ a bishop of the first class, who superintends the
conduct of other bishops

ARCHITE'CTURE, _s._ the art or science of building

A'RCTIC, _a._ northern; lying under the Arctos or Bear

A'RDUOUS, _a._ lofty; difficult

ARI'SE, _v.n._ mount upward; get up; proceed

ARMI'LLA, _s._ a bracelet, or jewel worn on the arm

A'RMY, _s._ collection of armed men; a great number

AROMA'TIC, _a._ spicy; fragrant; strong-scented

ARRI'VE, _v.n._ reach any place; happen

ARRA'NGE, _v.a._ put in the proper order for any purpose

ARRA'NGEMENT, _s._ the act of putting In proper order, the state of
being put in order

ARRA'Y, _s._ order, chiefly of war; dress

A'RROGANCE, _s._ the act or quality of taking much upon one's self

A'RROW, _s._ the pointed weapon which is shot from a bow

A'RTICLE, _s._ a part of speech; a single clause of an account; term

ARTI'CULATE, _v.a._ form words; speak as a man; draw up in articles;
make terms

A'RTIFICE, _s._ trick; fraud; stratagem; art; trade

ARTIFI'CIAL, _a._ made by art; not natural

ARTI'LLERY, _s._ weapons of war; cannon; great ordinance

A'RTISAN, _s._ professor of any art

ASCE'NDANCY, _s._ influence; power

ASPE'RSE, _v.a._ bespatter with censure or calumny

A'SPIC, _s._ the name of a small serpent

ASSA'ILANT, _s._ one that assails

ASSE'MBLY, _s._ a company met together

ASSE'RT, _v.a._ to declare positively; maintain; to defend either by
words or actions; claim

ASSIDU'ITY, _s._ diligence

ASSI'MILATE, _v.a._ bring to a likeness; turn to its own nature by
digestion

ASSISTANCE, _s._ help

ASSISTANT, _s._ a helper

ASSI'ZE, _s._ a jury; any court of justice; the ordinance or statute

ASSO'CIATE, _s._ a partner; a confederate; a companion

ASSU'RE, _v.a._ give confidence by a firm promise

ASTO'NISHMENT, _s._ amazement

ASTRO'NOMY, _s._ the science of the motions, distances, &c. of the stars

A'THEISM, _s._ the disbelief of a god

ATHE'NIAN, _s._ a native of Athens

A'TMOSPHERE, _s._ the air that encompasses the solid earth on all sides

ATRO'CIOUS, _a._ wicked in a high degree; enormous

ATTA'CH, _v.a._ arrest; fix one's interest; win; lay hold on

ATTA'CK, _v.a._ to make an assault

ATTA'IN, _v.a._ gain; procure; reach

ATTAINMENT, _s._ an acquisition; an accomplishment

ATTE'MPT, _v.a._ venture upon; try; endeavour

ATTE'NDANT, _s._ one that attends; one that is present at anything

ATTENTION, _s._ the act of attending; the act of bending the mind upon
it

ATTE'NTIVE, _a._ regardful; full of attention

ATTI'RE, _s._ clothing; dress; equipment

A'TTITUDE, _s._ position; expression

ATTRA'CT, _v.a._ draw to something; allure; invite

ATTRA'CTIVE, _a._ having the power to draw anything; inviting

ATTRIBUTE, _v.a._ to ascribe; to yield as due; to impute as a cause

AU'DITOR, _s._ a hearer

AURO'RA-BOREA'LIS, _a._ electrical light streaming in the night from
the north; the northern lights or streamers

AUSTE'RITY, _s._ severity; cruelty

AUTHENTIC, _a._ genuine

AU'THOR, _s._ the first beginner or mover of anything; a writer in
general

AUTHO'RITY, _s._ power; rule; influence; support; legal power

AU'TUMN, _s._ the season of the year between summer and winter

AVAILABLE, _a._ profitable; powerful; advantageous

AVALA'NCHE, _s._ immense mass of snow or ice

A'VERAGE, _s._ a middle proportion

AVI'DITY, _s._ eagerness; voracity; greediness

AVO'ID, _v.a._ shun; shift off; quit

AWA'KE, _v.a._ rouse out of sleep; put into new action

AW'KWARD, _a._ clumsy; inelegant; unready

A'ZURE, _s._ blue; faint blue

**

BA'CCHANALS, _s._ the drunken feasts of Bacchus; fabulous personages who
assisted at the festivals of Bacchus

BALCO'NY, _s._ a frame before the window of a room

BALLO'ON, _s._ a large hollow ball of silk, filled with gas, which makes
it rise in the air

BA'NDIT, _s._ a man outlawed

BA'NISH, _v.a._ condemn to leave one's country; drive away

BA'NISHMENT, _s._ the act of banishing another; the state of being
banished

BARBA'RIAN, _s._ a savage; a man uncivilized

BA'RBAROUS, _a._ savage; ignorant; cruel

BA'RREN, _a._ unfruitful; sterile; scanty

BARRIC'ADE, _v.a._ stop up a passage; hinder by stoppage

BASA'LT, _s._ a variety of trap rock

BASA'LTIC, _a._ relating to basalt

BASTI'LE, _s._ (pronounced _basteel_) a jail; formerly the state prison
of France

BA'TTER, _v.a._ beat; shatter; beat down

BA'TTLE, _s._ a fight; an encounter between opposite enemies

BEA'CON, _s._ something raised on an eminence to direct

BEA'RABLE, _a._ that which is capable of being borne

BEAU'TY, _s._ a particular grace or feature; a beautiful person

BECO'ME, _v.a._ befit; be suitable to the person

BEDE'CK, _v.a._ to deck; to adorn; to grace

BE'DSTEAD, _s._ the frame on which the bed is placed

BEHI'ND, _ad._ out of sight; not yet in view; remaining

BEHO'VE, _v.n._ to be fit

BELI'EVE, _v.n._ to have a firm persuasion of anything

BENEFA'CTOR, _s._ one that does good

BE'NEFIT, _s._ a kindness; a favour conferred; an advantage

BENE'VOLENT, _a._ kind; having good-will

BENI'GHT, _v.a._ involve in darkness; surprise with the coming on of
night

BENI'GNANT, _a._ kind; generous; liberal

BE'NISON, _s._ a blessing

BENU'MB, _v.a._ make torpid; stupify

BESIE'GE, _v.a._ to beleaguer; to lay siege to

BESPRE'NT, _v. def._ besprinkled

BESTO'W, _v.a._ give; confer upon; lay up

BETWE'EN, _prep._ in the middle space; from one to another; noting
difference of one from another

BI'LBERRY, _s._ the fruit of a plant so called

BO'ATMAN, _s._ he that manages a boat

BO'DY, _s._ material substance of an animal; matter; person; collective
mass; main part; main army

BO'RDER, _s._ edge; edge of a country; a bank raised round a garden and
set with flowers

BO'UNTEOUS, _a._ liberal; kind; generous

BOUQUE'T, _s._ (pronounced _boo-kay_) a nosegay

BOWSPRI'T, _s._ (a sea term) the mast that runs out at the bow of a ship

BRA'CELET, _s._ an ornament for the arms

BRA'CH, _s._ a she hound

BRA'CKISH, _a._ salt; somewhat salt

BRI'LLIANCY, _s._ brightness; lustre

BRI'LLIANT, _s._ a diamond of the finest cut

BRI'LLIANT, _a._ shining; sparkling; full of lustre

BU'BBLE, _s._ a small bladder of water; anything which wants solidity
and firmness

BU'LKY, _a._ of great size or stature

BU'LWARK, _s._ a fortification; a security

BUO'YANCY, _s._ the quality of floating

BU'RDENSOME, _a._ grievous

BU'RIAL, _s._ interment; the act of putting anything under earth or
water

BU'RY, _v.a._ inter; put in the grave; conceal