When winter torrents, by the rain and snow,
Surlily dashing down the hills, were fed,
Its mighty mass of waters seem'd to flow
With deafening course precipitous: its bed
Rocky, such steep declivities did show

That towards us with a rapid course it sped,
Broken by frequent falls; thus did it roam
In whirlpools eddying, and convulsed with foam.

Flank'd were its banks with perpendicular rocks,
Whose scars enormous, sometimes gray and bare,
And sometimes clad with ash and gnarled oaks,
The birch, the hazel, pine, and holly were.
Their tawny leaves, the sport of winters' shocks,
Oft o'er its channel circled in the air;
While, on their tops, and midway up them, seen,
Lower'd cone-like firs and yews in gloomiest green.

So many voices from this river came

In summer, winter, autumn, or the spring; So many sounds accordant to each frame

Of Nature's aspect, (whether the storm's wing
Brooded on it, or pantingly, and tame,

The low breeze crisp'd its waters) that, to sing
Half of their tones, impossible! or tell
The listener's feelings from their viewless spell.
When fires gleam'd bright, and when the curtain'd room,
Well stock'd with books and music's implements,
When children's faces, dress'd in all the bloom
Of innocent enjoyments, deep content's
Deepest delight inspired; when nature's gloom
To the domesticated heart presents
(By consummate tranquillity possest)

Contrast, that might have stirr'd the dullest breast;

Yes,-in such hour as that-thy voice I've known,
Oh, hallow'd stream!-fitly so named-(since tones
Of deepest melancholy swell'd upon

The breeze that bore it)-fearful as the groans
Of fierce night spirits! Yes, when tapers shone
Athwart the room (when, from their skyey thrones
Of ice-piled height abrupt, rush'd rudely forth,
Riding the blast, the tempests of the North ;)

Thy voice I've known to wake a dream of wonder!
For though 'twas loud, and wild with turbulence,
And absolute as is the deep-voiced thunder,
Such fine gradations mark'd its difference

Of audibility, one scarce could sunder

Its gradual swellings from the influence

Of harp Æolian, when, upon the breeze,
Floats in a stream its plaintive harmonies.

One might have thought, that spirits of the air
Warbled amid it in an undersong;

exhibits the same great intellectual power and ceaseless activity of thought, which characterize the Thoughts in London. Mr. Lloyd has taken the common incident of one lover resigning his mistress to another, and the names of his chief characters from Boccaccio, but, in all other respects, the poem is original. Its chief peculiarity is the manner in which it reasons upon all the emotions which it portrays, especially on the progress of love in the soul, with infinite nicety of discrimination, not unlike that which Shakspeare has manifested in his amatory poems. He accounts for the finest shade of feeling, and analyzes its essence, with the same care, as though he were demonstrating a proposition of Euclid. He is as minute in his delineation of all the variations of the heart, as Richardson was in his narratives of matters of fact;-and, like him, thus throws such an air of truth over his statements, that we can scarcely avoid receiving them as authentic history. At the same time, he conducts this process with so delicate a hand, and touches his subjects with so deep a reverence for humanity, that he teaches us to love our nature the more from his masterly dissection. By way of example of these remarks, we will give part of the scene between a lover who long has secretly been agitated by a passion for the betrothed mistress of his friend, and the object of his silent affection whom he has just rescued from a watery grave-though it is not perhaps the most beautiful passage of the poem:

He is on land; on safe land is he come :

Sophronia's head he pillows on a stone :

A death-like paleness hath usurp'd her bloom;
Her head falls lapsing on his shoulder. None
Were there to give him aid! He fears her doom
Is seal'd for evermore! At last a groan
Burst from her livid lips, and then the word
"Titus" he heard, or fancied that he heard!-

Where was he then ? From death to life restored!
From hell to heaven! To rapture from despair!
His hand he now lays on that breast adored;
And now her pulse he feels; and now-(beware,
Beware, rash youth!) his lips draw in a hoard
Of perfume from her lips, which though they were
Still closed, yet oft the inarticulate sigh,

And oft one might have thought, that shrieks were there Issuing from thence, he drank with ecstasy.

Of spirits, driven for chastisement along

The invisible regions that above earth are.
All species seem'd of intonation (strong
To bind the soul, Imagination rouse,)
Conjured from preternatural prison-house.

But when the heavens are blue, and summer skies
Are pictured in thy wave's cerulean glances;
Then thy crisp stream its course so gayly plies,
Trips on so merrily in endless dances,
Such low sweet tone, fit for the time, does rise
From thy swift course, methinks, that it enhances
The hue of flowers which decorate thy banks,
While each one's freshness seems to pay thee thanks.
Solemn the mountains that the horizon close,
From whose drear verge thou seem'st to issue forth:
Sorcery might fitly dwell, one could suppose,

(Or any wondrous spell of heaven or earth,
Which e'en to name man's utterance not knows,)
Amid the forms that mark thy place of birth.
Thither direct your eye, and you will find
All that excites the imaginative mind!

The tale of Titus and Gisippus, which follows, while it is very interesting as a story,

Still were they cold; her hands were also cold;
Those hands he chafed and, perhaps to restore
To her chill, paly lips their warmth, so bold

He grew, he kiss'd those pale lips o'er and o'er.
Nay, to revive in their most perfect mould

Their wonted rubeous hue, he dared do more ;-
He glued his mouth to them, and breathed his breath
To die with her, or rescue her from death.-

Thou art undone, mad youth! The fire of love
Burn'd so intensely in his throbbing veins,
That, had she been a statue, he might prove
A new Pygmalion, and the icy chains
Of death defy. Well then might he remove
The torpor which her o'er-wrought frame sustains.-
If sweet, revival from such menaced death ;
More sweet, revival by a lover's breath!

She feels the delicate influence through her thrill,
And with seal'd eye lay in a giddy trance,
Scarce dare she open them, when had her will

On this been bent, she felt the power to glance
Their lights on him. No, with a lingering skill-
Oh, blame her not!-she did awhile enhance

MR. OLDAKER ON MODERN IMPROVEMENTS.

[NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.]

chuckling over the fall of a brother into a trap set artfully for him in the fair guise of liberal pleading-now whispering a joy past joy in a stumble of the Lord Chief Justice himself, among the filmy cords drawn about his path! When the first bottle was despatched, arrived the time for his wary host to produce his papers in succession, to be drawn or settled by the joyous pleader. The well-lauded inspiration of a poet is not more genuine than that with which he then was gifted. All his nice discernment-all his vast memory-all his skill in drawing analogies and discerning principles in the "great obscurity" of the Year Books-were set in rapid and unerring action. On he went-covering page after page, his pen "in giddy mazes running," and his mind growing subtler and more acute with every glass. How dextrously did he then glide through all the strange windings of the case, with a sagacity which never failed, while he garnished his discourse with many a legal

pect as when, in my boyish days, I felt my heart beating with a strange feeling of mingled pride and reverence on becoming one of its members. The fountain yet plays among the old trees, which used to gladden my eye in spring for a few days with their tender green, to become so prematurely desolate. But the front of the Inner Temple hall, upon the terrace, is sadly altered for the worse. When I first knew it, the noble solidity of its appearance, especially of the figure over the gateway, cut massively in the stone, carried the mind back into the deep antiquity of the scene. Now the whole building is white-washed and plastered over, the majestic entrance supplied by an arch of pseudo-gothic, and a new library added, at vast cost, in the worst taste of the modern antique. The view from the garden is spoiled by that splendid nuisance, the Waterloo Bridge. Formerly we used to enjoy the enormous bend of the river, far fairer than the most marvellous work of art; and while our eyes dwelt on the placid mirror of water, our imagi-pun and learned conceit, which was as the nation went over it, through calm and majestic windings, into sweet rural scenes, and far inland bowers. Now the river appears only an oblong lake, and the feeling of the country once let into the town by that glorious avenue of crystal, is shut out by a noble piece of mere human workmanship! But nature never changes, and some of her humble works are In the greater world, I have observed, with ever found to renew old feelings within us, not-sorrow, a prevailing disregard of the past, and withstanding the sportive changes of mortal a desire to extol the present, or to expatiate in fancy. The short grass of the Temple garden is visionary prospects of the future. I fear this the same as when forty years ago I was accus-may be traced not so much to philanthropy as tomed to refresh my weary eyes with its greenness. There I have strolled again; and while I bent my head downwards and fixed my eyes on the thin blades and the soft daisies, I felt as I had felt when last I walked there-all between was as nothing, or a feverish dream-is common to all. They would fain persuade and I once more dreamed of the Seals, and of the living Sophia!-I felt-but I dare not trust myself on this subject farther.

The profession of the law is strangely altered since the days of my youth. It was then surely more liberal, as well as more rational, than I now find it. The business and pleasure of a lawyer were not entirely separated, as at present, when the first is mere toil, and the second lighter than vanity. The old stout-hearted pleaders threw a jovial life into their tremendous drudgeries, which, almost rendered them delightful. Wine did but open to them the most curious intricacies of their art: they rose from it, like giants refreshed, to grapple with the sternest difficulties, and rejoiced in the encounter. Their powers caught a glow in the severity of the struggle, almost like that arising from strong exertion of the bodily frame. Nor did they disdain to enjoy the quaint jest, the far-fetched allusion, or the antique fancy, which sometimes craftily peeped out on them amidst their laborious researches. Poor T- Wwas one of the last of the race. He was the heartiest and most romantic of special pleaders. Thrice happy was the attorney who could engage him to a steak or broiled fowl in the old coffee room in Fleet-street, were I have often met him. How would he then dilate, in the warmth of his heart, on all his professional triumphs-now

light bubble on the deep stream of his knowledge! He is gone!-and I find none to resemble him in this generation-none who thus can put a spirit into their work, which may make cobweb-sophistries look golden, and change a laborious life into one long holiday!

to self-love, which inspires men with the wish personally to distinguish themselves as the teachers and benefactors of their species, instead of resting contented to share in the vas* stock of recollections and sympathies which

us that mankind, created "a little lower than. the angels," is now for the first time "crowned with glory and honour;" and they exultingly point to institutions of yesterday for the means to regenerate the earth. Some, for example, pronounce the great mass of the people, through all ages, as scarcely elevated above the brutes which perish, because the arts of reading, writing, and arithmetic, were not commonly diffused among them; and on the diffusion of these they ground their predictions of a golden age. And were there then no virtuous hardihood, no guileless innocence, no affections stronger than the grave, in that mighty lapse of years which we contemptuously stigmatize as dark? Are disinterested patriotism, conjugal love, open-handed hospitality, meek selfsacrifice, and chivalrous contempt of danger and of death, modern inventions? Has man's great birth-right been in abeyance even until now? Oh, no! The Chaldæan shepherd did not cast his quiet gaze through weeks and years in vain to the silent skies. He knew not, indeed, the discoveries of science, which have substituted an immense variety of figures on space and distance, for the sweet influences of the stars; yet did the heavens tell to him the glory of God, and angel faces smile on him from the golden clouds. Book-learning is, perhaps, the least part of the education of

tant farms, cheered in their long walks by thoughts not of this world, to converse for a short hour with patriarchs, saints, and apostles! How did they devour the venerable and wellworn page with tearful eyes, or listen delighted to the voice of one gifted above his fellows, who read aloud the oracles of celestial wisdom! What ideas of the Bible must they have enjoyed, who came many a joyful pilgrimage to

the species. Nature is the mightiest and the | such a change as shall make the printed Bible kindliest of teachers. The rocks and unchang-alone the means of regenerating the species. ing hills give to the heart the sense of a dura-"An age of Bibles" may not be an age of tion beyond that of the perishable body. The Christian charity and hope. The word of God flowing stream images to the soul an everlast- may not be revered the more by becoming a ing continuity of tranquil existence. "The common book in every cottage, and a drug in brave o'er-hanging firmament," even to the the shop of every pawnbroker. It was surely most rugged swain, imparts some conscious- neither known nor revered the less when it ness of the universal brotherhood of those over was a rare treasure, when it was proscribed whom it hangs. The affections ask no leave by those who sat in high places, and its torn of the understanding to "glow and spread and leaves and fragments were cherished even kindle," to shoot through all the frame a tre- unto death. In those days, when a single mulous joy, or animate to holiest constancy. copy chained to the desk of the church was We taste the dearest blessedness of earth in alone in extensive parishes, did it diffuse less our childhood, before we have learned to ex-sweetness through rustic hearts than now, press it in mortal language. Life has its uni- when the poor are almost compelled to possess versal lessons far beyond human lore. Kind-it? How then did the villagers flock from disness is as cheering, sorrow as purifying, and the aspect of death as softening to the ignorant in this world's wisdom, as to the scholar. The purest delights grow beneath our feet, and all who will stoop may gather them. While sages lose the idea of the Universal Parent in their subtleties, the lowly "FEEL after Him and find Him." Sentiment precedes reason in point of time, and is a surer guide to the noblest realities. Thus man hopes, loves, reveres, and en-hear or to read it! Yet even more precious was joys, without the aid of writing or of the press to inspire or direct him. Many of his feelings are even heartier and more genuine before he has learned to describe them. He does not perpetually mistake words for things, nor cultivate his faculties and affections for a discerning public. His aspirations "are raised, not marked." If he is gifted with divine imagination, he may "walk in glory and in joy beside his plough upon the mountain side," without the chilling idea that he must make the most of his sensations to secure the applause of gay saloons or crowded theatres. The deepest impressions are worn out by the multiplication of their copies. Talking has almost usurped the place of acting and of feeling; and the world of authors seem as though their hearts were but paper scrolls, and ink, instead of blood, were flowing in their veins. "The great events with which old story rings, seem vain and hollow." If all these evils will not be extended by what is falsely termed the Education of the Poor, let us at least be on our guard lest we transform our peasantry from men into critics, teach them scorn instead of humble hope, and leave them nothing to love, to revere, or to enjoy!

the enjoyment of those who, in times of persecution, snatched glances in secret at its pages, and thus entered, as by stealth, into the paradisiacal region, to gather immortal fruits and listen to angel voices. The word of God was dearer to them than house, land, or the "ruddy drops which warmed their hearts." Instead of the lamentable weariness and disgust with which the young now too often turn from the perusal of the Scriptures, they heard with mute attention and serious joy the histories of the Old Testament and the parables of the New. They heard with revering sympathy of Abraham receiving seraphs unawares-of Isaac walking out at eventide to meditate, and meeting the holy partner of his days-of Jacob's dream, and of that immortal Syrian Shepherdess, for whose love he served a hard master fourteen years, which seemed to him but a few days-of Joseph the beloved, the exile, the tempted, and the forgiver-of all the wonders of the Jewish story-and of the character and sufferings of the Messiah. These things were to them at once august realities, and surrounded with a dream-like glory from afar. "Heaven lay about them in their infancy." They preserved the purity-the spirit of meek submission-the The Bible Society, founded and supported, patient confiding love of their childhood in no doubt, from the noblest motives, also puts their maturest years. They, in their turn, inforth pretensions which are sickening. Its ad-stilled the sweetness of Christian charity, drop vocates frequently represent it as destined to by drop, into the hearts of their offspring, and change all earth into a paradise. That a com-left their example as a deathless legacy. plete triumph of the principles of the Bible would bring in the happy state which they look for can never be disputed; but the history of our religion affords no ground for anticipating such a result from the unaided perusal of its pages. Deep and extensive impressions of the truths of the gospel have never been made by mere reading, but always by the exertions of living enthusiasm in the holy cause. Provi-used as a theme to declaim on. But the praise dence may, indeed, in its inscrutable wisdom, impart new energy to particular instruments; but there appears no sufficient indication of

Surely this was better than the dignified patronage now courted for the Scriptures, or the pompous eulogies pronounced on them by rival orators! The reports of anniversaries of the Bible Society are often, to me, inexpressibly nauseous. The word of God is praised in the style of eulogy employed on a common book by a friendly reviewer. It is evidently

of the Bible is almost overshadowed by the flatteries lavished on the nobleman or county member who has condescended to preside, and

1

A CHAPTER ON "TIME."

BEING AN ATTEMPT TO THROW NEW LIGHT ON AN OLD SUBJECT.

[NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.]

We know what we are," said poor Ophelia, | the past and future in each fragment of the inbut we know not what we may be." Perhaps stant, even as the flavour of every drop of she would have spoken with a nicer accuracy had she said, "we know what we have been." Of our present state we can, strictly speaking, know nothing. The act of meditation on our selves, however quick and subtle, must refer to the past, in which alone we can truly be said to live. Even in the moments of intensest enjoyment, our pleasures are multiplied by the quick-revolving images of thought; we feel