Fore

of the English Mind. The determining sentiments | credit of the paper currency of the country forbids of the people are to war, industry, and general in-you to hope for here." Indeed, nothing could more dividual and material aggrandizement-to things forcibly demonstrate how complete is the organizahuman rather than to things divine; but every tion of the English Mind, than this interpenetratrue Englishman, however much of a practical tion of the form of the religious element with its Atheist he may be, feels à genuine horror of infi- most earthly aims; and therefore it is that the delity, and always has a religion to swear by, and, real piety of the nation, whether episcopal or evanif need be, to fight for. He makes it. -we are gelical, is so sturdy and active, and passes so readispeaking of the worldling-subordinate to English ly from Christian doctrines into Christian virtues. laws and customs, Anglicises it, and never allows In its best expressions it is somewhat local, but it to interfere with his selfish or patriotic service what it loses in transcendent breadth and elevation to his country, or with the gratification of his pas- of sentiment it gains in practical faculty to persions; but he still believes it, and, what is more, form everyday duties. believes that he himself is one of its edifying ex- We must have performed this analysis of the ponents. This gives a delicious unconscious hy-level English Mind with a shameful obtuseness if pocrisy to the average national mind, which has we have not all along indicated and implied its long been the delight and the butt of English hu- capacity to produce and nurture great and strong morists. Its most startling representative was the men of action and men of thought. It has, in old swearing, drinking, licentious, church-and-king truth, been singularly fertile in forcible individuCavalier, who was little disposed, the historian als, whose characters have the compound raciness tells us, to shape his life according to the precepts of national and personal peculiarity, and relish of of the Church, but who was always "ready to fight the soil whence they sprung. Few of these, howknee-deep in blood for her cathedrals and palaces, ever cosmopolitan may have been their manners for every line of her rubric, and every thread of or comprehensive their reason, have escaped the her vestments." Two centuries ago, Mrs. Aphra grasp of that gravitation by which the great mother Behn described the English squire as "going to mind holds to her knee her most capricious and her church every Sunday morning, to set a good ex- most colossal children. Let us look at this brood ample to the lower orders, and as getting the par- of giants in an ascending scale of intellectual preson drunk every Sunday night to show his respect cedence, fastening first on those who are nearest for the Church." Goldsmith, in that exquisite the common heart and represent most exclusively sketch wherein he records the comments made by the character of the nation's general mind. representative men of various classes on the prob- most among these is Sir Edward Coke, the leviathan able effects of a political measure, makes his sol- of the common law, and the sublime of commondier rip out a tremendous oath as a pious prelim- sense-a man who could have been produced only inary to the expression of his fear that the measure by the slow gestation of centuries, English in bone, in question will ruin the Church. The cry, raised and blood, and brain. Stout as an oak, though generally by cunning politicians, that "the Church capable of being yielding as a willow; with an inis in danger," is sure to stir all the ferocity, stu- tellect tough, fibrous, holding with a Titanic clutch pidity, and ruffianism of the nation in its support. its enormity of acquisition; with a disposition Religion in England, is, in fact, a part of politics, hard, arrogant, obstinate, just; and with a heart and therefore the most worldly wear its badges. avaricious of wealth and power, scorning all weak Thus all English warriors, statesmen, and judges, and most amiable emotions, but clinging, in spite are religious men, but the religion is ever subor- of its selfish fits and starts of servility, to English dinate to the profession or business in hand. "Mr. laws, customs, and liberties, with the tenacity of Whitfield," said Lord George Sackville, conde- mingled instinct and passion; the man looms up scendingly, "you may preach to my soldiers, pro- before us, rude, ungenerous, and revengeful, as vided you say nothing against the articles of war.' when he insulted Bacon in his abasement, and Mr. Prime Minister Pitt spends six days of the roared out "spider of hell" to Raleigh in his unweek in conducting a bloody war to defend the po- just impeachment, yet rarely losing that stiff, darlitical, and especially the religious institutions of ing spirit which drafted the immortal "Petition England against the diabolical designs of French of Right," and that sour and sullen honesty which Atheists and Jacobins, and on Sunday morning told the messenger of James I., who came to comfights a duel on Wimbledon Common. Sometimes mand him to pre-judge a case in which the king's the forms of religion are condescendingly patron- prerogative was concerned, "when the case hapized because they are accredited marks of respecta-pens, I shall do that which will be fit for a judge bility. Percival Stockdale tells us that he was to do." Less hard, equally brave, and more genial, appointed chaplain to a man-of-war, stationed at Chief Justice Holt stands before us, with his EnPlymouth, but found it difficult to exercise his glish force of understanding, sagacity of insight, functions. He at last directly requested the cap-fidelity to facts and fear of nothing but-the tongue tain to allow him to read prayers. "Well," said of Lady Holt,-wise, and with a slight conceit of the officer, “you had better, Mr. Stockdale, begin | his wisdom-a man who has no doubts that laws next Sunday, as I suppose this thing must be done as long as Christianity is about." But perhaps the quaintest example of this combination of business and theology is found in that English judge, who was condemning to death, under the old barbarous law, a person who had forged a one pound-note. Lord Campbell tells us, that after exhorting the criminal to prepare for another world, he added: "And I trust that, through the mediation and merits of our Blessed Redeemer, you may there experience that mercy, which a due regard to the

should be executed and that rogues should be hanged, and before the shrewd glance of whose knowing eye sophism instantly dwindles, and all the bubbles of fanaticism incontinently collapse. Thus he once committed a blasphemous impostor by the name of Atkins who belonged to a sect, half cheats half gulls, called "The Prophets." One of the brotherhood immediately waited on him and said, authoritatively, "I come to you, a prophet from the Lord God, who has sent me to thee, and would have thee grant a nolle prosequi to

John Atkins his servant, whom thou has sent to prison." Such a demand might have puzzled some judges, but Holt's grim humor and English sagacity darted at once to the point which betrayed the falsity of the fanatic's claim. "Thou art a false prophet and lying knave," he answered. "If the Lord God had sent thee, it would have been to the Attorney-General, for He knows that it belongeth not to the Chief Justice to grant a nolle prosequi. But I, as Chief Justice, can grant you a warrant to bear him company," which, it is unnecessary to add, he immediately did. The masculine spirit of Coke and Holt is visible in all the great English lawyers and magistrates, refined into a graceful firmness in Hardwicke, caricatured in the bluff, huffing, swearing imperiousness of Thurlow, and finding in Eldon, who combined Thurlow's bigotry with Hardwicke's courtesy, its latest representative.

the service of the nation's applying talent, in the vast field of its industrial labors, what a proof of the richness, depth, strength, variety, and unity of the English Mind is revealed in its literature alone. This bears the impress of the same nationality which characterizes its manners and institutions, but a nationality more or less refined, ennobled, and exalted. If we observe the long line of its poets, Chaucer, Shakspeare, Ben Jonson, Dryden, Pope, Byron, with hardly the exceptions of Spenser, Milton, and Wordsworth, we shall find that, however exalted, divinized, some of them may be in imagination and sentiment, and however palpable may be the elements of thought they have assimilated directly from visible nature or other literatures, they still all rest on the solid base of English character, all partake of the tough English force,

"And of that fibre, quick and strong,

Whose throbs are love, whose thrills are song." Though they shoot up from the level English mind to almost starry heights, their feet are always firm on English ground. Their ideal elevation is ever significant of the tremendous breadth and vigor of their actual characters. Mountain peaks that cleave the air of another world, with Heaven's most purple glories playing on their summits, their broad foundations are still immovably fixed on the earth. It is, as the poet says of the Alps, "Earth climbing to Heaven." This reality of manhood gives body and human interest to their loftiest ecstasies of creative passion, for the super

urges it up, and never mimics the crazy fancy of Oriental exaggeration. When to the impassioned imagination of Shakspeare's lover the eyes of his mistress became "lights that do mislead the Morn," we have a more than Oriental extravagance; but in the shock of sweet surprise it gives our spirits there is no feeling of the unnatural or the bizarre.

In respect to the statesmen of England, we will pass over many small, sharp, snapping minds, eminent as red-tape officials and ministers of routine, and many commanding intellects and men versed in affairs, in order that we may the more emphasize the name of Chatham, who, though it was said of him that he knew nothing perfectly but Barrow's Sermons and Spenser's Fairy Queen, is pre-eminent among English statesmen for the union of the intensest nationality with the most thoroughgoing force of imagination and grandest elevation of sentiment. Feeling the glory and the might of his country throbbing in every pulsation of his heroic heart, he was himself the nation individual-lative is ever vitalized by the positive force which ized, could wield all its resources of spirit and power, and, while in office, penetrated, animated, kindled the whole people with his own fiery and invincible soul. As a statesman, he neither had comprehension of understanding nor the timidity in action which often accompanies it; but, a hero and a man of genius, he was fertile in great conceptions, destitute of all moral fear, on fire with Observe, again, that portion of English literapatriotic enthusiasm. Possessing a clear and bright ture which relates to the truisms and the problems vision of some distant and fascinating but seeming- of morality, philosophy, and religion. Now, no ly inaccessible object, and bearing down all oppo-didactic writing in the world is so parched and mesition with a will as full of the heat of his genius chanical as the English, as long as it deals dryly as his conception was with its light, he went crash- with generalities; but the moment a gush of thought ing through all intervening obstacles right to his comes charged with the forces of character, truisms mark, and then proudly pointed to his success in instantly freshen into truths, and the page is all justification of his processes. In a lower sphere alive and inundated with meaning. Dr. Johnson of action, and with a patriotism less ideal, but still is sometimes, with cruel irony, called "the great glorious with the beautiful audacity and vivid English moralist," in which capacity he is the vision of genius, is that most heroic of English most stupendously tiresome of all moralizing wordnaval commanders, Nelson. Bearing in his brain pilers; but Dr. Johnson, the high-churchman and an original plan of attack, and flashing his own Jacobite, pouring out his mingled tide of reflection soul into the roughest sailor at the guns, fleet after and prejudice, hating Whigs, snarling at Milton, fleet sunk or dispersed as they came into collision and saying "You lie, Sir," to an opponent, is as with that indomitable valor guided by that swift, racy as Montaigne or Swift. Ascending higher sure, far-darting mind. His heroism, however, into the region of English philosophy, we shall find was pervaded through and through with the vul- that the peculiarity of the great English thinker garest prejudices of the common English seaman.is, that he grapples a subject, not with his underHis three orders to his men when he took the command on the opening of the French war, sound like the voice of England herself: first, "to obey orders implicitly; second, to consider every man their enemy who spoke ill of the King; and, third, to hate a Frenchman as they did the devil."

In ascending from men eminent in action to men renowned in thought, we are almost overwhelmed by the thick throng of names, illustrious in scientific discovery and literary creation, which crowd upon the attention. Leaving out of view the mass of originating genius which has been drawn into

standing alone, but with his whole nature, extends the empire of the concrete into the region of pure speculation, and, unlike the German and Frenchman, builds not on abstractions, but on conceptions which are o'erinformed with his individual life and experience, Hobbes and Locke, in their metaphysics, draw their own portraits as unmistakably as Milton and Wordsworth do theirs in their poetry. This peculiarity tends to make all English thought relative, but what it loses in universality it more than gains in energy, in closeness to things, and in power to kindle thought in all minds brought

within its influence. The exception to this statement, as far as regards universality, is found in that puzzle of critical science, "Nature's darling" and marvel, Shakspeare, who, while he comprehends England, is not comprehended by it, but stands, in some degree, not only for English but for modern thought; and Bacon's capacious and beneficent intellect, whether we consider the ethical richness of its tone or the beautiful comprehensiveness of its germinating maxims, can hardly be deemed, to use his own insular image, "an island cut off from other men's lands, but rather a continent that joins to them." Still, accepting generally those limitations of English thought which result from its intense vitality and nationality, we are not likely to mourn much over its relative narrowness, if we place it by the side of the barren amplitude, or ample barrenness, of abstract thinking. Take, for example, any great logician, with his mastery of logical processes, and compare him with a really great reasoner of the wide, conceptive genius of Hooker, or Chillingworth, or Barrow, or Burke, with his mastery of logical premises, and, in respect to mental enlightenment alone, do you not suppose that the clean and clear, but unproductive understanding of the passionless dialectician will quickly dwindle before the massive nature of the creative thinker? The fabrics of reason, indeed, require not only machinery but materials.

As a consequence of this ready interchange of reflective and creative reason in the instinctive operation of the English mind, its poets are philosophers, and its philosophers are poets. The old English drama, from its stout beginning in Marlowe's "consistent mightiness" and "working words," until it melted in the flushed, wild-eyed voluptuousness of Fletcher's fancy, and again hardened in the sensualized sense of Wycherley's satire and the diamond glitter of Congreve's wit, is all aglow with the fire and fierceness of impassioned reason. Dryden argues in annihilating sarcasms and radiant metaphors; Pope runs ethics into rhythm and epigrams. In the religious poets of the school of Herbert and Vaughan, a curious eye is continually seen peering into the dusky corners of insoluble problems, and metaphysic niceties are vitally inwrought with the holy quaintness of their meditations, and the wild-rose perfume of their sentiments; and, in the present century, the knottiest problems of philosophy have come to us touched and irradiated with the etherial imaginations of Wordsworth, Shelley, and Coleridge, or shot passionately out from the hot heart of Byron.

But, reluctantly leaving themes which might tempt us to wearying digressions, we wish to add a word or two respecting the mental characteristics of four men who are pre-eminently the glory of the English intellect-Chaucer, Shakspeare, Milton, and Newton; and if the human mind contains more wondrous faculties than these exhibit, we know them not. The essential quality of Chaucer is the deep, penetrating, Dantean intensity of his single conceptions, which go right to the heart of the objects conceived, so that there is an absolute contact of thought and thing without any interval. These conceptions, however, he gives in succession, not in combination; and the supreme greatness of Shakspeare's almost celestial strength is seen in this, that while he conceives as intensely as Chaucer, he has the further power of combining diverse conceptions into a complex whole, "vital in every part," and of flashing the marvelous combination

at once upon the mind in words that are things. Milton does not possess this poetic comprehensiveness of conception and combination; but he stands before us as the grandest and mightiest individual man in literature-a man who transmuted all thoughts, passions, acquisitions, and aspirations into the indestructible substance of personal character. Assimilating and absorbing into his own nature the spirit of English Puritanism, he starts from a firm and strong, though somewhat narrow base; but, like an inverted pyramid, he broadens as he ascends, and soars at last into regions so exalted and so holy that his song becomes, in his own divine words, "the majestic image of a high and stately drama, shutting up and intermingling her solemn scenes and acts with a seven-fold chorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies!" It would not become us here to speak of Newton-although, in the exhaustless creativeness of his imagination, few poets have equaled him-except to note the union in his colossal character of boundless inventiveness with an austere English constancy to the object in view. His mind, when on the trail of discovery, was infinitely fertile in the most original and ingenious guesses, conjectures, and hypotheses, and his life might have been barren of scientific results had he yielded himself to their soft fascination; but in that great, calm mind they were tested and discarded with the same rapid ease that marked their conception, and the persistent Genius, pitched far beyond the outmost walls of positive knowledge,

"Went sounding on its dim and perilous way!"

In these remarks on the English Mind, with their insufficient analysis of incomplete examples, and the result, it may be, of a most "scattering and unsure observance," we have at least endeavored to follow it as it creeps, and catch a vanishing view of it as it soars, without subjecting the facts of its organic life to any rhetorical exaggeration or embellishment. We have attempted the description of this transcendent star in the constellation of nationalities, as we would describe any of those great products of nature whose justification is found in their existence. Yet we are painfully aware how futile is the effort to sketch in a short essay characteristics which have taken ten centuries of the energies of a nation to evolve; but, speaking to those who know something by descent and experience of the virtues and the vices of the English blood, we may have hinted what we could not represent. For this proud and practical, this arrogant and insular England,

"Whose shores beat back the ocean's foamy feet," is the august mother of nations destined to survive her; has sown, by her bigotry and rapacity no less than her enterprise, the seeds of empires all over the earth; and from the English Mind as its germ has sprung our own somewhat heterogeneous but rapidly organizing American Mind, worthy, as we think, of its parentage, and intended, as we trust, for a loftier and more comprehensive dominion; distinguished, unlike the English, by a mental hospitality which eagerly receives, and a mental energy which quickly assimilates, the blended lifestreams of various nationalities; with a genius less persistent but more sensitive and flexible; with a freedom less local, with ideas larger and more generous, with a past, it may be, less rich in memories, but with a future more glorious in hopes.

THER

Editor's Easy Chair.

for the glory of England than any other class of Englishmen.

It is ludicrous to think that William Shakspeare would not be "received" by Victoria Guelph.

The Queen, of course, as a Queen, is a mere form. Her state functions are simply ceremonies. But why should she live always in state ceremo

HERE have been of late some remarkable incidents in the history of authors. We hinted at them last month. Béranger died, and the French army had to parade to protect Paris from a possible revolution over his grave. Dickens was in-nies any more than wear her crown and hold her vited to perform before the English Queen and court, and declined to appear unless he and his friends, being gentlemen, were treated as gentlemen-a natural courtesy which the Queen (being no gentleman) declined. Thackeray, running for Parliament in the city of Oxford, was defeated by only a few votes, and Mr. Macaulay is now Baron Macaulay.

The meaning of all this is, that as the world grows, and the troubadour, from a sweet singer in a hall, becomes a power in society, his words are continually ripening into deeds. And where the popular will makes the government, it naturally selects for governors men who have shown that they know human life and human nature.

Béranger was an idol in France. His name stood for the idea of popular freedom. It was a lyric of liberty, and its very mention carried music to the general heart.

He declined office under the Monarchy and Empire; so he did under the Republic. But, like most genuine men of letters every where, his heart was with the popular cause. He knew that, ideally, the will of the many would make the most practicable law for the many; and the French people reverenced themselves in honoring Béranger.

But it was a singular spectacle to see this simple, retired man-a singer not too choice in his life or in his verse-borne to his grave amidst the hushed expectation of an empire; the government, which feared his name might be the war-cry of a revolution, taking care to soothe with it the excitement of the populace. It made itself chief mourner. Imperial carriages followed the bier; imperial soldiers preserved "order," as the word is understood in despotisms, and with imperial honors the poet of the people was laid in his grave.

sceptre in her nursery? May not the Queen of England be a lady, as she is a mother? Is it not etiquette for the Queen of England publicly to honor in her palace the most illustrious man in England? May she publicly "receive" the most distinguished roués in her kingdom-the Earl of Cardigan, for instance-and decline to notice the great successor of Walter Scott?

Poor little woman! You pity her for being imprisoned in all that state splendor. You can not believe that it was she who shut the door in Dickens's face, and the faces of his friends. The Queen of England may be a form, but why must Victoria Guelph be a snob?

The snobbishness should have been left entirely to the American gentlemen in Paris, who declined, a year or two since, to ask Dickens to a Washington ball, to which they did not hesitate to invite one of the most notorious women in Paris-the Princess Mathilde.

And Thackeray was defeated at Oxford.

Let us hope that Mr. Cardwell can serve Oxford better. Only it is no argument against Thackeray, as a member of Parliament, that he is a man of genius and a novelist.

Wellington was but a general-until he showed he could command the Commons as well as an army. That a man has not passed his tender years in sucking red tape is no disadvantage to him, and all governments gain by plain good sense.

Of course, we are all reconciled to Thackeray's defeat-regretting only that he should be beaten any how or any where, and remembering that Bayard Taylor writes of having seen some of the sketches for the new novel which has been so long coming-"The Virginians"-in which, let us hope that he will do for us and our life and society what Such things are hardly possible elsewhere than he has already done for his native English. He in France. Douglas Jerrold was buried quietly by was not long in Virginia; but he seems to have a a group of famous men, his friends, on a soft sum- kind of cavalier's sympathy for it, and has already mer afternoon. No army was called out; but En- touched its soil in "Henry Esmond." That was gland mourned one of the powers of England. No a splendid historical study-a book to read in its speech was made at either grave; but there was quaint old type, and believe that we were tasting a very loud lesson at the grave of Béranger. It the very times themselves in a delightful relic. was this: that literature is no longer a dream; But the historical novel that deals with historical that an author is not a tumbler on tight-ropes and facts, instead of the spirit of historical epochs, can a dancer on bottles only, but that a poet may never be more entertaining than a very good hispractically paralyze an emperor, and his song be tory. Macaulay's story of the Monmouth rebellion more terrible to despotisms than an army with is quite as good as any novel that could be written banners. upon the same subject. Besides, the same faculties which make a good novelist of society to-day do not necessarily make a good novelist of yesterday. A man may see well and clearly into the life around him, and yet be very blind when he throws his eyes further.

And so, in old times, courts had their buffoons and jesters, and ranked them with their servants. Now, the court is challenged to recognize the proper claim of genius-and, failing to do that, is compelled to seek its amusement elsewhere.

The Queen of England comes of a family notoriously dull, coarse, and illiterate. The Hanoverian court of England has never been renowned for a solitary thrill of sympathy with what is noblest and best in England. Her present fruitful Majesty frowned to death the Lady Flora Hastings, tied a garter around the leg of Louis Napoleon-the uncertain son of an uncertain mother-and now declines to receive as gentlemen the men who do more

Happily, no author has a surer instinct of the scope of his own genius than Thackeray, and we may very safely leave ourselves in his hands.

WE have spoken of Béranger. We want to speak of one of his songs. They can no more be translated properly into English than Burns can be done into French. But that much may be done toward faithfully rendering their drift—but never

the ad- | measure, nor is it by any means literal, but it has the ring, the afflatus, of the original.

THE GARRET.

their wit, or pathos, or rhythm, or color.
mirable translations of Mr. Young show.
There is one of his most famous songs, Le Gre-
nier—“The Garret" of which that quaint and "Oh, it was here that love his gifts bestowed
fascinating literary artist, Father Prout, has made
an exquisite paraphrase.

Who Father Prout is?

Long ago, then, in the remote antiquity of ten or a dozen years since, when Easy Chairs sportively took their pleasure about the world, the present Easy Chair, on the loveliest days of late October -or was it November? so transfigured is every thing in Italy-came to Rome.

"Where shall I now find raptures that were felt, Joys that befell,

And hopes that dawned at twenty, when I dwelt" in Rome!

The dear old city is full of quaint and curious things-men in strange costumes, and women in stranger; and monks, friars, popes, cardinals, and others of the third sex, in the strangest of all. To be strange in Rome is, therefore, to be very strange.

One day, idly sauntering along the Corso, we stopped to watch a small man, with spectacles on his nose, a baggy surtout enveloping his form, and enormous mocassins on his feet. There are all kinds of curious boots and shoes in Rome - the Russians, especially, wear surprising things at that end of the body; but mocassins were entirely new. The small man slid and shuffled along in them, as if he were navigating himself in a pair of scows, and his face had the gleam of inward humor which showed him to be a man of fancy and an Irishman. His eyes, seen behind the spectacles, had that peculiar watery, sea-green illumination - a superficial light-which is quite enough to have given the descendants of King Brian the sobriquet "emerald," even if they had not received it from the "swate green oil" over which the family reigns.

On youth's wild age!

Gladly once more I seek my youth's abode

In pilgrimage.

"Dreams of my youthful days! I'd freely give,
Ere my life's close,

All the dull days I'm destined yet to live
For one of those!

Where shall I now find raptures that were felt,
Joys that befell,

And hopes that dawned at twenty, when I dwelt
In attic cell!"

The old man lived and died faithful to the recol

The little man was hidden in his own thoughts as he sailed by us, and the friend who was leaning on one of our arms told us that the figure was that|lection. His whole life was as simple and natural of a Jesuit manqué-a man who was not quite a Jesuit—an Irishman of talent, and valuable to his church, but, unhappily, too fond of what Sheridan loved. He was a suspended priest, or a priest out of place; his name, Father Mahony; his fame, that of Father Prout.

as this little song which tells one of its passages. The applause of a nation, and its fond idolatry, never elated or deceived him. No other man but Napoleon ever excited such enthusiasm in that most enthusiastic people; and, by the force of his own sincerity, the poet praised only what was noHe was an old magazinist in England; wrote ble and admirable in the Emperor, not sparing his in Frazer and elsewhere; was a friend of Ma- vanities and errors. He was not a poet onlyginn; turned Mother Goose's rhymes into Greek; he was a power in France. Among all modern wrote burlesques and grotesques; translated, par- poets he is one of those who truly fulfilled the aphrased; was full of knowledge, wit, poetry, pa- poet's office. He played upon the hearts of a peothos, facility; delighting every body, never get-ple as upon a harp, and his pen was more potent ting on, shiftless, uncertain, a beautiful bit of machinery wanting only the mainspring; just such a character as Dr. Shelton Mackenzie knows more about and writes better about than any body else -an Irish literary soldier of fortune, with his heart in his hand, doubtless; one of the best fellows in the world, and good for nothing-in fact, what right has Dr. Mackenzie to delay longer telling us about Father Prout?

than the most patriotic sword in the country. Béranger must be ranked among the few real poets in history. His claim is as indisputable as that of Shakspeare or Burns; although he was as different from each of them as they were from each other. His very name has already become a synonym of geniality and patriotism. Governments feared him, the people loved him: and so great was the fear of Government of the dead Béranger, that it affected to love him more than the people, that it might thrust them from his grave. From his grave they could do it—but not from his memory-not from his words. They will sing his songs

and tell the simple story of his life until their own natures are changed. Béranger knew the genius of France, and nowhere is it so well justified as in his poetry.