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✓ Hogg's INSTUCTOR.
Currer Bell,

Second Year of the 'War;

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INDEX TO VOL. XLV.

.

.Adam, The Chinese,
African Exploration,
Andre, Major,
Andersen, Hans Christian,
Aristocracy, British,
Austen, Jane, Biographical Notice of,
Australia, and its Gold Regions,
Austria, Memoirs of the Court of,
. Austrian Brutality,

54 | Balloon, The Royal,

228
.58, 296 Blessington, Countess of,

61, 86
116 Braddock's Defeat,

766
707 Buckingham, James Silk, Autobiography of, 354
205 Cary, Alice, Poems by

127
329 California-its Daily Wonders,

331
401 Canadian Policy,

576
489 | Christian Prospects of the World to Come, 104

50, 56

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE - No. 567.-7 APRIL; 1855.

CLEAR THE SHIP!

LOOK-upon the rim of night
Leaps a tumbling fringe of light-

Breakers at their play!
How they race, and roar, and fight;
How they toss their foam-crests white;

Sea beasts hot for prey; Mad to rend yon gallant vessel, That with wind and wave doth wrestle,

In the reef-bound bay.

Then checrily, oh! with a yeo heave, oh!
Cheerily, oh! with a stamp and go,

Though she roll till her yard-arms dip. Leave croakers and cowards to drivel and

doubt. The ship's heart of oak, and will stand this

bout, And be good for many a trip! Thanks to common men, mere brains and

muscles, Neither PALMERSTONS, Gordons, DERBY8,

nor RusselLS! Clear the ship! Clear the ship! Clear the ship!

(Punch.)

Stem on to the rocks she's driving,
Spite of steersman's skill and striving.

Hark—the minute gun!
Masts are rending, sails are riving,
Seamanship forswears contriving.

What can be, is done.
God be with all souls aboard here !
To your prayers ! For death take order,

Ere life's sand be run!

From Fraser's Magazine HOME.

No; not yet all hope forswearing-
Hold on, gallant hearts! she's wearing !

Hurrah! Off she pays!
Upward shoots the blue light flaring;'
And her tafsrail land-ward bearing,

By the lurid blaze,
On å gilded scroll, fair written,
Shows that good ship's name -

“ GREAT BRITAIN," Wreathed about with bays.

Broad lands and stormy seas lie spread

Between me and my home,
But still its ancient paths I tread,

Still round its walls I roam.
A stranger hath my heritage,

But lie'll ne'er be rid of me,-
I climb the stairs, I pace the floors,
I pass unchallenged through the doors,

A ghost no eye can see.
I stand in the dewy morning now,

Just as I stood of old,
Under the sweet laburnum bough,

With its showery green and gold;
I thread the orchard alleys dim,

I hear the breezy sound Of the wind that ripples the leaves o'erhead, And I see the apple blossoms shed

Their snow-flakes on the ground.

Over her bulwarks fiercely leaping,
Fore and aft the sea comes swceping,

Clean from stem to stern !
Where are they should watch he keeping ?
Some are spent, and some are sleeping,

Waking to discern
All too late their fatal error,
Hither, thither, mad with terror

Helplessly they turn.

Birth-right pilots—'tis the hour
Wherein to display your power.

Up and prove your claims !
Craven pilots ! Do ye cower?
Leaping waves and skies that lower

Lack respect for names.
Up, or stand aside for ever,
While plebeian hands endeavor

To repair your shames !

Poor garden! changed and sad its plight!

It seems to peak and pine, I miss a world of sweet delight

It owned in auld lang syne;' The broad box-edges run to waste,

Weeds creep where flowers should bloom; The axe has plied its cruel war, And wrought its ravage wide and far; What right had strangers' hands to mar

My home ? still, still, my home!

Common hands, come clear the deck,
Man the pumps the leak to check.

Over with each gun !
Out knives, risking limb or neck,
Cut away that floating wreck;

Let the anchors run!
Out with red tape and top hamper:
We may be drier, can't be damper.

Give way, and 'tis done!
DLXVII. LIVING AGE. VOL. IX. 1

By the garden hedge, ere daylight dies,

I love, in thought, to lean,
And scan, with soft, tcar-troubled eyes,

The old familiar scene.
The meadow, velvet-smooth; the tall

Dark grove of ancient trees;
The little river, flashing bright,
Like a sunny beam of liquid light,
And the lowing kine, and the swallow's flight,

My heart doth yearn to these.
My heart doth yearn, despite the pain,

Aud gazing thus afar,

I see, in my dream, dawn once again,

BROWN AND JONES. Youth's dewy moroing star.

“Lord Palmerston said that Mr. Lavard had inI bare my forehead, and seem to feel

dnlged in what he must be permitted to call vulgar Its clouds of grief and care

declamation against the aristocracy. Talk to him Pass off and away, pass off and away,

of the aristocracy! Why in the charge at Balakla As the vapors of night at the break of day,

va, Lord Cardigan (loud cheers), etc. Pass off in the azure air.

Debute, Monday, Feb. 19th.

VULGAR? How sad! But then he spoke I am young, I am young, I'm a merry boy! Of vulgar, low, and common ihings,

What's gloom ? what's grief? what's doubt? Such as with gay War Tyler joke, What sorrow can darken or dim my joy?

A Viscount 10 oblivion flings. I laugh,-I sing. -I shout;

Of common honor, common sense, But the sun goes down, and the stars steal forth Of common soldiers' wasted bones And the ghostly mists arise,

And bored the Commons with defence And fast as the night shades grow and grow, Of common folks like BROWN and Joxes. The old care-cloud comes back to my brow, And the tears to my troubled eyes.

He talked of armies doomed to die

Throngh dull officials' want of thought; Ah! then I mount the winding stair,

Your Lordship stated in reply, With faltering step and slow,

How nobly CARDIGAN had fought. To the little room, so white and fair

That "points" of yours but rarely miss
In the dear old time, I go, -

A docile House of Commons owns,
To the room where my childish prayer was said, But really logic such as this
Where slumber was sure to creep

Would hardly do for Brown and Jones.
O'er my drowsy lids, like a spell that's thrown
By a loving hand from a world unknown Such audience as your Lordship finds
Would God! that now I could lay me down Accept and cheer each jaunty flaslı,
And sleep as sound a sleep!

But vulgar and plebeian minds

Regard it as evasive trash. Would God ! I could drop away from this 'Twill hardly teach us to forget Dark coil of strife and pain,

Who caused sad Balaklava's groans, And enter my long-lost bower of bliss,

And there's another matter yet And be a child again!

That will occur to Brown and JONES. To wake, to feel life's freshness lic Like dew on heart and brow,

Three lords were mised in that affair, Cool, calm !-Oh, flower of paradise !

Lucas and Raglan blundered, botn, Oh, Youth! what blessing beyond price, The third, who slowed a hero there. What boon from heaven ari thou!

Did their joint bidding, greatly loath

Two Lords were blunderers out of three, Oh, little room ! I used to lie

(One bee between a brace of drones), And watch, on nights like these,

A chance of better odds you'd see The great red.visaged moun climb high

In taking Smith, and Brown, and Jones. Alove the ancient trees; Climb high in the purple heaven and pour But not at Lords he aimed his sbota Broad tloods of liglit below,

You ne'er mistook what he was at: Paler and paler, pure and clear,

You talk some folly, but you 're not Till the lawns and gras-y levels near

Quite such a MALMESBURY as that. Lay white as fields of snow.

Ile spoke (unhappily he's young,

And has to learn convention's rone),

The words you'd hear from every tomone, And at dawn how pleasant to hear the brief Brisk swallow's chir; again :

If Lords could mix with Browns arid Jones. And the flapping and fluttering ivy leaf

He cursed our great State Lottery srbeme, Tap, tap, on the window pane. To rise with the sun, to wander forth,

Whose prizes fall to Wealth vid Runk, Free-hearted, blithe and wild,

While Merit wakes from patriot drei in And be wooed by the morning's rosy kiss

To find he draws a hopeless blank. What rapture hath life more rare than this?

He banned the System, where Rouille

Jobs, skintiles. Bullies, shirks, postponcs, Would God! I could enter my bower of bliss, And be again a child !

Until its ciumay working 's seen

By those vulgarians, Brown and Jones. No more! no more ! wild waves outspread My yearning footsteps hold,

Ile :old you. (Punch has said the same) And wastes ne'er tracked by mortal tread

Join Buli, at many a fault will wink, My bower of bliss enfold;

But ruined u mjes, sullied name, But hearts in pious pilgrimage,

And crushing taxes makes binnlink. Flit past o'er land and sea,

A vulgar loint-yet those who prize Like wandering birds, noskill can cage.

Hoons whose fountains are bene tuones, Oh! a stranger hath my heritage,

Should take it. Jesi, in coarser guise But he'll ne'er be rid of me!

It come, some day, from Brown and Jones. T. WESTWOOD.

l'unch,

|

nian.

From the Quarterly Review. only logical result of their principles. The 1. The Eclipse of Faith. 5th Edition. Lon- elder, finding that the exercise of the underdon. 1854.

standing plunged him into the depths of 2. Phases of Faith, 3rd Edition, with a re- Pyrrhonism, tied for refuge to the authority ply to the Eclipse of Faith. By F. New- of an infallible church and renounced his priLondon. 1854.

vate judgment altogether. The younger, by a A Defence of the Eclipse of Faith. 2nd Edi- similar exercise of arbitrary will, has checked tion. London. 1854.

his downward career for a time at the stage

of Deism ; whereof he has adopted a peculiar THE “Eclipse of Faith.” having gone modification, which professes to retain the through five editions, in less than two years, is sentiment of religion without the form. He so generally known and appreciated, that it first expounded his present creed in a work would be superfluous to recommend it to the upon “ The Soul, and her Aspirations;" but notice of our readers. Moreover, its subjects the difficulties which induced him to abandon are too vast and various to be properly' dis- Christianity are set forth in the “ Phases of cussed in a single article; and its arguments Faith.” must lose force and illustration by the conden- The form he has chosen for his argument is sation needful in a summary abstract

. Hence an autobiography, in which he gives the hiswe should probably have passed over this tory of his religious experience, and describes work in silence, in spite of (and partly be the process by which he was led, year after cause of) its great merit

, had it not been as- year, to reject, bit by bit, the articles of his sailed with an asperity and unfairness that belief, casting away fragment after fragment provoke us to give some account of the con- til he had reduced himself to a state of spitroyersy which originated in its publication. ritual nudity. There is something in the per

The author's main design is to apply But- sonal character of his narrative which gives ler's great argument to some recent modifica- an impression of reality and truthfulness to tions of Deism. He has thrown his reasoning the book, and it thus creates a far more lively for the most part, into the form of dialogue; interest than could be won by a mere theoló and we think that the Socratic weapons have gical treatise. Mr. Newman's objections to never, since the time of Plato, been wielded Christianity are not original; but the manner with more grace and spirit. Various talkers in which they are marshalled in detachments, are brought upon the stage, who state fair- and brought against the successive positions ly the opinions of different Deistic schools, taken up by his retreating faith, gives them an and are successively foiled by a sceptical air of freshness and novelty. The principle friend who overthrows them in succession by which he assumes throughout is that his indithe very objections they have urged against vidual consciousness is the standard of religious Christianity. This task is accomplished not truth. He agrees with those Greek philoonly with great power of logic, but also with sophers who held that “Man is the measure unusual liveliness of illustration, seasoned of all things; only that, in practice, he reswith a plentiful admixture of sarcastic hu- tricts Man to Newman. His development of mor; the latter being never intruded need- this idiosyncracy for the benefit of the world lessly into the argument, but springing natu- has produced a pleasant mixture of theolorally out of it. The principal representative gical argumentation with personal gossip; the of Deism in the dialogue is a disciple of Mr. whole being blended and harmonized by a Francis Newman, whose writings are made to neutral tint of egotistic naïveté which often supply a large contribution to this species of reminds us of the “ Confessions” of Rousseau. entertainment. Their author has been per- The taste of the performance also not seldom suaded by his friends to reply to his critic; recalls that of the French autobiographer. and has published his answer in the second For instance, it is usual in English writers to edition of his “ Phases of Faith,” a perform- shrink from details of their domestic history ance of which we must give a brief account, and family feuds. Mr. Newman by discarding in order to render the sequel intelligible. such scruples makes his book far more amus

We must premise that Mr. F. Newman, ing than those of his predecessors. Thus he like his more celebrated brother, is a disciple describes “ a painful and injurious conflict” in of the logic of difficulties. The former has which he was involved with "a superior kinsbeen led to Deism, the latter to Romanism, by man" in his early youth; he gives the parthe same bias of understanding, differently ticulars of an uneasy collision” with his modified in the two cases by a different moral brother at Oxford; he informs us that in conconstitution. Each brother alike is irresisti- sequence of theological differences the same bly impelled to reject creed after creed, as he relative at a later period " separated himself discovers in each some difficulty which he entirely from his private friendship and accannot solve ; but neither of them will ac- quaintance." quiesce in the absolute scepticism which is the The same reference of all truth to the

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