Made like him, like him we rise, Ours the cross, the grave, the skies. H. 152, v. 3, 5. And then the cross! how it is made to buoy up the soul in the verse :—

We too with him are dead,

And shall with him arise;

The cross on which he bows his head Shall lift us to the skies.-H. 267, v. 4. And yet once more, take the best verse in a hymn which it is said by some came not from his pen, though why they should so say I am sure I do not know. it is:

Here

To shame our sins He blush'd in blood; He clos'd his eyes to show us God: Let all the world fall down and know That none but God such love can show. H. 292, v. 3. But I have not yet made out my case, and I have a great deal more to say. I shall be told, and it is true, that those from whom I quote are far from the first rank of the world's great men; and, though they both knew how to write good verse, their best friends will not place them on a par with Pope. Turn we then to the first name on the list of those, who, by their pens, have won a fame that will not die; to him who shines like a sun at noon, and of whom it may well be said that, while placed by the side of his verse, the best things of Pope are but as the light of a dull far-off star. Let us read his King Lear, one of the best, if not the best of his plays, and see what he does with the short words at which Pope laughs. Let us see if there be no strength in them, no life, no power; and if he dares to crowd ten of them into

one line.

In this same act there are some scenes

in which the king and his fool try their wit, old man, though he has found that one in which, of course; the fool wins. The of his girls has proved false, has great hopes that it will not be so with both, but the fool says,

I can tell what I can tell. Fool. She will taste as like this as a crab does Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?

to a crab.

In the next act the king finds this to be true. The Duke of Kent, who served him, he finds fast in the stocks, put there by that child of whose kind love, till now, he had felt sure. Let us see how and by whom this foul deed was done. The duke, the old king's son-in-law, in wrath, cries

out,

Fetch forth the stocks, ho! we'll teach you.
Sir, (says Kent,) I am too old to learn:
Call not your stocks for me: I serve the

king!

Duke. Fetch forth the stocks, there shall he sit till noon.

This does not suit his wife.

Till noon? (she says) till night, my lord, and all night too!

They put him in the stocks, and there Lear finds him. His breast swells with rage. It cannot be that they, to whom he gave his all, had caused this to be done. Kent swears that it is so, that they have done it, and for no cause. The king's wrath is hot, but for a time he checks it, and mark, now, how well the short words

do their work :

Lear. Tell the hot duke that

No, but not yet; maybe he is not well.

Bid them come forth and hear me.

At length the duke and his wife do come to meet him. To her he tells his grief, but she mocks at it; and, in a word, the old man is worse used than he was in the place he left. In sad tones he says,— I gave you all.

And in good time, (says she,) you gave it. This is too much. He goes forth to meet the storm, and bares his old gray

head to meet the blast; but ere he leaves

them he thus gives vent to his pent-up grief:

Let shame come when it will, I do not call it.

You see me here, you gods-a poor old man,
As full of grief as age. I will do such things,-
What they are, yet I know not. You think I'll
weep,

But I'll not weep. O fool! I shall go mad!

The scenes in the next act, the third, are full of life and power. They show the great skill and art of the bard, and had he penn'd naught else would have placed him high on the rolls of fame. There, in the wild storm on the heath, the king with the Duke of Kent, and the fool, meet the young man who fled for his life and feign'd to be mad,—the son of him whose eyes are torn from his head, in this same act, and who is sent forth from his own house blind, as the wretch says who did the deed, "to smell his way." I may not quote at length; but a few lines, here and there, shall serve to tell the tale, and show what can be done by what Pope calls low words; and you shall see how they creep in dull lines. Of the storm on that dread night the Duke of Kent says,

Things that love night love not such nights as these.

But the king, buoyed up by wrath, and with his wits, as yet not quite all gone, will face the blast and bid the storm howl on:

from the blast. In his deep grief his kind heart still yearns to the fool who shared with him the storm:

Come on, my boy; how dost, my boy? Art cold?
I am cold. In, boy: go first.
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

In the cave the fool is scared by the sight of him of whom I have said he feign'd to be mad, that thus he might shun his foes Lear's. He calls himself poor Tom, and and save his life. His style is not like of him who paints man to the life, in all all through the play shows the great skill

states in which our world has seen him. I glean from his talk, here and there, in this act of the play :

Who gives any thing to poor Tom, whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame? Bless thy five wits! Poor Tom's a-cold. Look where he

The foul fiend bites my back.
stands and glares.

But rats and mice and such small deer
Have been Tom's food for seven long year.

In the first scene of the next act "poor Tom" is met by an old man, who leads by the hand the duke, whose eyes had been torn out and stamp'd under foot. This is the first time the sire and his son have met since the young man fled for his life, and now he sees and knows at once who it is that has been thus used. But I quote:

Old man. How now? Who's there?

Ed. (aside.) O, gods! who is 't can say, I am at

Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head. Yet you see how this world goes. A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears.

Lear is now led off by the Queen of France, is put in bed, and watch'd, and cared for by that child of whose true love he once had doubts. The scene, when the king wakes and finds her by his side, is full of grief, and true to the life :

Tear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave:

Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire that mine own tears
Do scald.

The queen asks,—

Sir, do you know me?

Lear. You are a spir't, I know: where did you die?

Queen. Still, still, far wide!

But I shall make my piece too long; and I have been warned, as well as all who write for this work, not to do so. Let us pass then to the last act, and now Lear comes to us with the queen, his dear child, Idead in his arms. If Pope be right, it is most clear that short words will not do now. We cannot bear that the scene which ends this tale of grief shall be dull, or low, or that the lines should creep. Nor do they; at least I think they do not: but you for whom I write must be the judge. I have said the king bears in his arms his dead child, and thus he speaks Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of

stones;

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so That heav'n's vault should crack: 0, she is gone!

LAND of the dim, deep-crimson'd West!
Land of dreams, of joy and rest!
To thee the nations look; in thee
The hopes of unborn millions be.
The Persian knew thee, and adored
Thee as the temple of his God.
Dream'd the Greek of thee in his power,
And mused of thee in the sunset hour;
And with lifted voice and outstretch'd hand,
He cried to the gods of the sunset land!
And for him the sun did set on thee,
Italia! pride of the inland sea,
The Latin look'd to the crimson'd West,
And dream'd of a land of hope and rest;
Of a fertile soil, and a balmy air,
Of fruit and flowers, and perfume rare.
His happy land was the ocean shore,
Where billows rage and tempests roar.
Then across Atlantic's rolling tide

The old world look'd from its castled pride,
And it dream'd, Columbia, of thee!
A golden land beyond the sea,

Where mountains of gold and precious stone
Threw back the blaze of a torrid sun.
Youth bloom'd unfading and undying,
And sorrow came not there, nor sighing;
But a land of joy forevermore

Was the land of hope-the sunset shore!
And the shore was gain'd in wild delight,
But the hope-land faded from the sight;
As the desert stream that seemeth nigh,
But flies the eager-seeking eye.
The sceptre unto thee hath gone,
Columbia! 't is thine alone.

And there's gold upon thy western strand,
But not the gold of the dreamer's land;
Nor are thy fields that Eden fair,
With its life-streams clear and balmy air.
There is sorrow here, and pain, and wo,
And sere to the grave the aged go.
O, where is the sky that the evening sun
Crimsoneth deep as it sinketh down?
Where is the land that its setting smile
Bathed in beauty? is it the isle
Men call the bless'd, that, passing fair,
Floats in the clouds of upper
air!
Where is the land of Persian story?
Where is the Grecian land of glory?
Land the ages dream'd of ever,
Land of faith-of vision never,
When shall men thy glory see?
When the nation's joy in thee?

S. B. NEWCOMB.

WHAT a virtue we should distil from frailty-what a world of pain we should save our brethren-if we would suffer our own weakness to be the measure of theirs.

A TOUCH OF THE MYSTERIOUS.

OF

all stories that are told, none have so absorbing an influence over the human mind as a ghost story. This remark, perhaps, might have been made years ago with even greater propriety than at the present time; for as knowledge has become more generally diffused, and superstitious tales been subjected to a closer scrutiny, much that was once believed is now discredited. There is, however, still a disposition very hastily to attribute to supernatural causes such events as cannot on common principles be explained. As in seasons of danger every quailing heart takes away from the confidence of those around, so in cases of mystery every one that gives in his adhesion to error becomes a traitor to the truth, and betrays the cause which he ought to investigate. But to our tale.

We go back to a period when, with youth sparkling in our eyes, hope told us many a flattering tale of those years through which we have since passed. We were then living in a populous town, whose reputation for useful and ornamental manufactures is wide as the world. A report was suddenly spread around, that in the habitation of a certain tailor the windows were broken in an unknown and most mysterious manner. Great was the sensation produced by this wondrous announcement, and we were among the first who hastened to the spot. On arrriving at the house we found it a scene of confusion. Neighbors were going in and out; strangers were arriving from more distant localities, drawn there by the strange reports which had reached them; and the tailor and his wife, seemingly half beside themselves, were doing their best to satisfy the continual inquiries that were made. In the midst of the hurry and consternation which prevailed, every now and then there came a crash of the windowpanes, and down came the jingling glass on the kitchen floor and the pavement in the yard. The house of the tailor was at the corner of the street, and the large window of the kitchen, which was glazed with small panes, looking into the yard, beyond which stood a few low buildings with a garden adjoining. House, yard, and garden were promenaded by the excited visitors of the place, in the vain attempt to discover the unseen cause of wonder.

Such a state of things could not long exist without a great increase of excitement. From a private affair it became a public one; and every hour, rumor, with her hundred tongues, called forth the curiosity of the young and the old, so that women and children, apprentices, working men, and masters, hurried off to the habitation of the tailor. There they saw the devastation which had taken place, and there, from time to time, they witnessed with their own eyes the mysterious crashing of the window-panes. Wondering they came, and wondering still more they went away. Those who visited the house went away awed by what they had seen, while others who had not been there were affected by their reports in a similar manner. The affair became far too serious to be kept uninvestigated, for the neighborhood was in alarm. The constable and officers of police-"runners," they then called them-came in a body to inspect the premises; but while all of them were present, the windows continued to be broken as before. In vain they went up-stairs and down, kept their eyes in all directions, and posted themselves in different places; it was all to no purpose. The mystery was yet unrevealed, and the devastation still continued.

And now a consultation, at which we were present, was held, the constable, a man proverbially shrewd, taking the lead. After many suggestions, the general opinion seemed to be that the missiles which did the mischief were projected from a distance by the aid of a cross-bow, an airgun, or some instrument of a like kind. It was therefore agreed to set watchers on the top of the house to ascertain the direction in which the stones were cast, and to extend their search far beyond the tailor's premises. This plan was at once put into operation, but with as little success as before. The watchers on the house-top declared that the stones flew too quickly for them to see them; and the examination of the surrounding premises afforded no clew to unravel the mystery. In spite of the constable and police, on went the breaking of the windows.

All at once a strange occurrence came to light, which added greatly to the mystery that prevailed, and altogether changed its character, for it was observed that the lead which had held the broken windowpanes was bent outward, thereby exciting

suspicion that the mischief was done from the inside of the house.

Before this discovery, it was usually supposed that some neighbor, who owed the tailor a grudge, had in some way cast the stones, but now the belief gained ground that the house was haunted. People gravely shook their heads, and said all was not right in the tailor's dwelling: there must be something wicked there, that broke his window-panes.

The report of the tailor's house being haunted spread rapidly; but as some still held the opinion that the glass was broken from without, it was proposed that a large sheet should be suspended outside the window-pane. This plan of proceeding was adopted, but, lo and behold! the glass was broken just as before-the stones, in the apprehension of many present, passing through the sheet, and leaving no hole. It was now a settled thing that the house was assuredly haunted.

At this period, groups might be seen in different parts of the premises, whispering together, or talking with suppressed voices. The bent lead had done much, but the untorn sheet had done still more in convincing the skeptical and confirming the wavering in the belief that an evil agent was at work. Little doubt was entertained by several that some dreadful deed had there been perpetrated. Had it not been so, such mysterious things would never have taken place. Many who had laughed became grave, and not a few were thoroughly convinced that the windows had been broken by an evil spirit.

We are all wont, when an affair of mystery has been explained, to smile derisively at those who were impressed or puzzled by it, and to think that we ourselves should have acted with less simplicity; but let him who has the strongest mind first hear the report, that in a house said to be haunted, stones were thrown through a sheet without making a hole in it, and then, hastening to the spot, find himself in the position of seeing with his own eyes the jingling and broken glass falling from a window, while twenty people were gazing upon it from the one side, and a white sheet suspended over it from the other; let him witness, too, the pale faces, the wonder, the awe, and the fear, of the weaker-minded around him, and we doubt not that he will feel the infirmities of humanity working within him.

now.

We were, as we have already said, much younger when the occurrence we have described took place than we are We had not seen what we have since witnessed, and were little capable of forming a correct judgment in a case of mystery. No wonder that we were carried along by the stream, and ready to adopt the opinions of those older than ourselves. On went the breaking of the large window in the kitchen, till not a pane of glass remained whole, and now and then a square in the chamber window was smashed. Toward night, however, visitors became few, and at last the house was quiet; but while the little girl who acted as a servant was in the cellar, brick ends came thundering at the door, and no sooner did she go up to bed than she ran down stairs again, shrieking out fearfully -six or seven panes in her window had been broken.

On the morrow the mysterious occurrences of the preceding day were renewed, and visitors increased in number, hour after hour, wondering what would be the end of the marvelous events which had taken place. A strange story seldom loses anything in its progress, nor did that of the haunted house. The wildest reports went abroad, and found plenty of people ready to believe them. We had been into the yard with the constable, where we met the little girl crying out that she had been struck by a stone, and we had been into the garden, where people were watching on the walls, when two or three friends came to us; so we all entered the house together. Not long had we been together in the kitchen, which was more than half full of people, before, to the fearful astonishment of all, hot burning coals came tumbling down upon us from the ceiling. There was a general cry out from the assembled company, and some made a precipitate retreat into the yard. It seemed as though something terrible was coming upon the habitation. Surprise and dread were visible in every face as the hot coals were seen rolling and smoking on the floor.

Things had now run their length, and the mysterious occurrences of the haunted house were drawing to a close. Hitherto they had proceeded almost without a check. The constable was at fault, the police had been baffled, the watchers had made no discovery, and those who had visit