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POETRY.-In the Garden, 482. The Christian Path, 482. Christian Musings, 482.

SHORT ARTICLES.- Welsh Churches, 496. Napoleon in Egypt, 496. International Schools, 507. Excavations at Bordeaux and Besancon, 507. Old Orders in Germany, 521.

NEW BOOKS. ADDRESS, delivered before the Homoeopathic Medical Society, of the State of New York, at Albany, 10th February, 1863, by Carroll Dunham, M. D., New York. [Curious to know how a man of so much ability as Dr. Dunham would treat this subject, we have read this pamphlet with much interest. The writer claims great merit for his school, as discoverers of specifics; and adduces the eminent authority of Dr. Forbes in favor of some of his opinions. The speech is not controversial, and would be read with interest by all physicians. ]

THE REBELLION RECORD, a Diary of American Events. Edited by Frank Moore. Parts 23 and 24. Published by G. P. Putnam, and Charles T. Evans, New York. Part 23 contains portraits of Brig. Gen. Barnard, and Admiral D. D. Porter. Part 24, Portraits of Maj. Gen. Sedgwick and Gen. Howard. A companion to the Rebellion Record is said to have reached three Parts.



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GREEN grass beneath, green leaves above, I WAĽK as one who knows that he is treading
That rustle like a running stream,

A stranger soil ;
And sunshine that with tender gleam As one round whom the world is spreading
Touches the Ittle heads I love-

Its subtle coil.
The bestle heads, the dewey eyes,

I walk as one but yesterday delivered That shine and smile through sun and shower,

From a sharp chain ; That are my portion and my dower, Who trembles lest the bonds so newly severed My sum of wealth beneath the skies.

Be bound again. The white doves flutter on the wall,

I walk as one who feels that he is breathing Amid the rose-tree's crimson pride ;

Ungenial air ; The small house opes its windows wide, For whom, as wiles, the tempter still is wreathing Fearless, whatever may befall.

The bright and fair. Whate'er befalls—oh, instinct strong

My steps, I know, are on the plains of danger, Of this strange life, so sad and dear,

For sin is near ;
That still foresees some coming tear, But looking up, I pass along, a stranger,
And of its joy still asks—how long ?

In haste and fear.
I sit and rest from all my woe,

This earth has lost its power to drag medownward; Peace in the air, light in the sky ;

Its spell is gone; Here let me rest until I die,

My course is now right upward and right onward, Nor further pain nor pleasure know.

To yonder throne. Half on the tender greensward round,

Hour after hour of Time's dark night is stealing And half on me, as here I rest,

In gloom away ; My nestlings rustle in their nest,

Speed Thy fair dawn of light and joy and healing With fitful arms about me wound.

Thou Star of Day! The while I read--and smile to see

For Thee, its God, its King, the long-rejected, My boy's eye light with gleams of war

Earth groans and cries ; How the plumed helmet of Navarre For Thee, the long-beloved, the long expected, Set bleeding France at Ivry free;

Thy bride still sighs.

H. BONAL Or in my little maiden's face,

At hearing of Lord Burleigh's bride,
And how he loved, and how she died,

A glow of softer radiance trace:

In the still silence of the voiceless night, While the small brother pauses oft

When, chased by airy dreams, the slumbers flee, In babble half as sweet to hear,

Whom in the darkness doth my spirit seek, The meaning lies beyond his ear,

O God, but thee? But sweet the music chimes and soft.

And if there be a weight upon my breast,

Some vague impression of the day foregone, If there be any cloud that glides

Scarce knowing what it is, I fly to thee,
Unseen above this quiet spot,

And lay it down.
Dear Lord, I thank thee I know not
What still in thy good hand abides.

Or if it be the heaviness that comes

In token of anticipated ill, But while the peaceful moments last,

My bosom takes no heed of what it is,
I snatch this hour, unstained by tears,

Since 'tis thy will.
Out of my stormy tale of years,
To charm the future and the past.

For oh, in spite of past and present care,

Or anything beside, how joyfully For grief dwells long, a lingering guest,

Passes that almost solitary hour, And writes her records full and plain ;

My God, with thee ! But gladness comes and goes again,

More tranquil than the stillness of the night, With noiseless steps that will not rest.

More peaceful than the silence of that hour,

More blest than any thing my spirit lies
And here memorial glad I raise,

Beneath thy power.
How, on one joyous day of June,
Through all the sunny afternoon,

For what is there on earth that I desire
Sang birds and babes unconscious praise. Of all that it can give or take from me,

M. O. W. 0. Or whom in heaven doth my spirit seek, - Blackwood's Magazine.

O God, but thee?

From The Quarterly Review. author is not content with his


work. Roba di Roma. By William W. Story. Sec- In the opening chapter he professes to write

ond Edition, 2 vols., post 8vo. London, for travellers, “ to whom the common out1863.

door pictures of modern Roman life would The author of this book is a son of the cel have a charm as special as the galleries and ebrated American Judge Story, and has risen antiquities, and to whom a sketch of many to high eminence as a sculptor. His “ Cleo- things, which wise and serious travellers have patra attracted much admiration in the In- passed by as unworthy their notice, might ternational Exhibition of 1862, although open be interesting. . . . The common life of the to the serious objection that, whereas the modern Romans, the games, customs, and artist had labored to give beauty and refine- | babits of the people, the every-day of To-day ment to the African type of face, the daugh-... this (he says) is the subject which has ter of the Ptolemies was really of Greek specially interested me (i. 7). We expect, descent; and among the most remarkable therefore, to find in Mr.. Story's volumes the novelties of the Roman studios last winter result of his observation of actual Roman life was Mr. Story's model of “Saul tempted by -sketches of things which every traveller the Evil Spirit”—a figure of extraordinary may see, but sketches drawn with an underpower, and, as we believe, thoroughly origi- standing which is beyond the reach of the nal, notwithstanding the remembrances which mere passing traveller; and such is the best it almost inevitably suggested, of King Clau- part of the book. But, unhappily, Mr. Story dius in Maclise 's “ Hamlet,” and of Scheffer's is not satisfied with the character of a skilful “König in Thule.”

observer and sketcher, but is bent on showMr. Story is not one of those Americans ing us that he is a man of vast learning and who, with the unfailing red book in hand, profound research ; and hence it has come do the whole Vaticán and Peter's easily in to pass that by far too large a portion of his one day ; " who in a few hours make up their pages is occupied with matter fitter for the minds that “ Rome is a one-horse place,” and grave and sober treatises with which, in the will never allow us to enjoy anything there, passage just quoted, he disclaims all rivalry or in any other part of Europe, without some -fit for anything rather than for a work of disparaging comparison with things beyond light and agreeable gossip. the Atlantic. His knowledge of Rome is the Nor can we say that the learning which is result of long residence ; he loves the place ; thus ostentatiously thrust on us is of any very he has gone among its people, and knows satisfactory kind. There may be simple pertheir ways; and when he draws a comparison sons in the world who would look with awe with other nations, it is not for the sake of on such a string of references as the followrunning down the Romans, but rather by way ing :of vindicating them. How far he is disposed

“ Tertullian de an., cap. 46; id., lib. i. to carry this at times may appear from his cap. 82 ; lib. iii. cap. 28 ; lib. iv. cap. 25. plea for the stiletto, the use of which he at- Artemidorus de Somn., lib. xi. cap. 14 and tributes not merely to the passionate nature 49. Fulgentius Mythol., lib. i. Cicero de of the Italians, but also to their entire distrust Divinat., lib. i. See also Leopardi, Dei Sogni, of the possibility of legal redress in the courts. p. 68.”—i. 134. He observes, that

But there is something about the physiognomy " in the half-organized society of the less

of this note which to any one who has had civilized parts of the United States, the pistol

some experience of the artifices of literature, and bowie-knife are as frequent arbiters of must suggest an uncomfortable suspicion ; disputes as the stiletto is among the Italians. and, without having attempted to so see LeoBut ould be a gross error to argue from pardi,” we are pretty certain that the other this, that the Americans are violent and pas- references are borrowed from him wholesale. sionate by nature; for, among the same And so it is with Mr. Story's learning throughpeople in the older States, where justice is out. It has a second-hand look; and, in proclicaply and strictly administered, the pistol portion as his references become more plentiand bowie-knife are almost unknown.”-i. 112-3.

ful, we find ourselves the less inclined to give

him credit for acquaintance with the writings The chief fault of the book is, that the which he cites.

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The continual blunders in Latin and other “ May has come again, the delicateforeign words may be charitably accounted footed May,' her feet hidden in flowers as for by the supposition that Mr. Story was not she wanders over the Campagna, and the cool in England while his book was in the press, loosened hair

. She calls to us from the open

breeze of the Campagna blowing back her and therefore had not the opportunity of cor- fields to leave the wells of damp churches and recting his proof-sheets. We cannot suppose shadowy streets, and to come abroad and meet that he wrote such things as “ Circus Ago- her where the mountains look down from nale” (ii. 113, 199); or “Suetonius in Vit. roseate heights of vanishing snow upon plains Titus (i 227); or Vopiscus in Vit Probus” of waving grain. The hedges have put on (ib); that it was he himself who repeatedly their best draperies of leaves and flowers

, gave us cloacina for cloaca (i. 316-7), and and, girdled in at their waist by double osier Lepsius for Lipsius; who put “old Jason." bands, stagger luxuriantly along the road

like a drunken bacchanal procession, crowned for Æson (ii. 315); who made “ versipelles with festive ivy, and holding aloft their snowy singular, and “ naumachia" plural (i. 231); clusters of elder blossoms like thyrsi. Among or that, when he thought it expedient to their green robes may be seen thousands of mention Philo's Legation to Caligula by beautiful wild flowers,—the sweet-scented its Greek title he was unable to give us laurustinas, all sorts of running vetches and anything more like the correct form than wild sweet pea,” (etc. etc., ending with the "IlpeoBelaç L'apos auov" (ii. 44). Yet surely Mr. bursting of si a cascade of vines covered with

foamy Banksia roses.")i. 152-3. Story, if unable to superintend his own printing, might have secured the help of some But, after all, what is gained by all these competent corrector ; or, at least, he might fine varieties of words? Might not the picthave set the matter right in his second edi- ure of May have been set quite as well before tion. But what are we to say to such a spec- us without them ? imen of Mr. Story's Latin as the interpreta Good-humored as Mt. Story unquestionstion of the Italian name for spring-primavera bly is, there is yet a kind of flippant super-by " the first true thing" (i 87)? Or whatciliousness about him which is very provokexcuse can be made for the blunders which ing. And in matters connected with religion crowd the page when he displays his knowl-|(which necessarily come often before us in a edge of history? But we must beg the reader book relating to Rome) this is especially anto understand why we notice his blunders, noying, whether it take the form of contemptwhether of language or of history. It is not uous toleration, of indignant denunciation, or that we would blame him for not knowing (which is most usual) of sarcastic badinage. things which he is in nowise bound to know, The explanation of much that offends us in but because he pretends, out of place, to a Mr. Story is to be found at vol. ii. p. 224, knowledge which he really has not; because where he tells us that “ the most careful inhe affects an acquaintance with somewhat vestigations of the catacombs ... have failed recondite books, whereas he seems really to to elicit the slightest indication in favor of know them only through the medium of other the peculiar tenets of the Roman Church rebooks.

specting the Trinity, the worship of the VirLittle as we like Mr. Story's learning, we gin, the adoration of saints, or the supremacy relish his wit still less. His jocosity is really of the Pope as Vicar of Christ.” Without overwhelming, and will never leave us any inquiring how this may be, it is enough to peace. · In the midst of descriptions which observe that the doctrine of the Trinity, unought to be simple, he douches us with puns, like those with which it is here strangely tags of quotation distorted to facetious uses, joined as peculiar to Rome, has ample warand other bad jokes of all sorts, in a way that rant in the writings of the ante-Nicene Fais quite distressing; and both in the comic thers ; so that it has no need of any evidence and in the graver parts there are, as is com- from the catacombs. But we quote the pasmon in American writings, too evident traces sage, not with any controversial views, but of a study of cockney models. The style, as in order to furnish a key to Mr. Story's tone might be expected, has all those latest im- on religious matters, and to reprobate the provements which are fast changing our Eng- lack of judgment which has led him to introlish tongue to something very different from duce religious controversy into such a work its older self. Here is a specimen :

as this.

But, having eased our conscience by point " It was dirty, but it was Rome; and to ing out certain faults of Mr. Story's book, let any one who has long lived in Rome even its us now turn to the more agreeable task of very dirt has a charm which the neatness of looking over his pages for the sake of the no other place ever had. All depends, of amusement which is to be found in them. defend the condition of some of the streets,

course, on what we call dirt. No one would In the earlier chapters_of which, as he tells or some of the habits of the people. But the us, the substance originally appeared in an soil and stain which many call dirt I call American magazine-he takes his subjects color; and the cleanliness of Amsterdam according to the course of the Roman year. would ruin Rome for the artist. Thrift and Beginning with his arrival at Rome for the exceeding cleanness are sadly at war with the third time, on the 6th of December, 1856, he picturesque. To whatever the hand of man

builds the hand of Time adds a grace, and sketches his entrance from Civita Vecchia :

nothing is so prosaic as the rawly new. Fancy

for a moment he difference for the worso, if “ After leaving the Piazza (of St. Peter's); all the grim, browned, rotted walls of Rome, we get a glimpse of Hadrian's Mole, and of the rusty Tiber, as it hurries, retortis littore daubs of varying grays and yellows, their jut

with their peeling mortar, their thousand Etrusco violenter undis,' as of old, under the ting brickwork and patched stone-work, from statued bridge of St. Angelo,-and then we plunge into long, damp, narrow, dirty streets. whose intervals the cement has crumbled off, Yet-shall I confess it?—they had a charm

their waving weeds and grasses and flowers, for me. Twilight was deepening into dark as

now sparsely fringing their top, now thickly we passed through them. Confused cries and protruding from their sides, or clinging and loud Italian voices sounded about me. Chil- making a home in the clefts and crevices of dren were screaming -men howling their decay, were to be smoothed to a complete wares for sale. Bells were ringing every- and monctonous tint. What a gain in clean

level, and whitewashed over into one uniform where. Priests, soldiers, contadini, and beg- liness! what a loss in beauty! An old wall gars thronged along. The Trasteverini were like this I remember on the road from Grotta going home, with their jackets hanging over Ferrata to Frascati, which was to my eyes & one shoulder. Women, in their rough, woollen gowns, stood in the doorways bareheaded, into his head to whitewash it all over,-to

constant delight. One day the owner took it or looked out from windows and balconies, clean it, as some would say. I look upon their black hair shining under the lanterns. that man, as little better than a Vandas in Lights were twinkling in the little cavernous taste, -one from whom • knowledge at one shops, and under the Madonna-shrines far within them. A funeral procession, with its entrance' was quite shut out.?»—i. 5, 6. black banners, gilt with a death’s-head and The beggars of Rome are innumerable, and cross-bones, was passing by, its wavering van swarm everywhere. They beset you


your dles borne by the confraternità, who marched walks, and, if you stop a moment, in carriage carelessly along, shrouded from head to foot in white, with

only two holes for the eyes to or on foot, half a dozen of them are upon you glare through."-1.4, 5.

at once. They thrust themselves between

you and your friend when you are in the At present, although the traveller misses the most anxious discussion of your plans and plunge into the glories of St. Peter's on en- movements, and noisily urge their affairs on tering the city, the drive from the station out- you as far more important to you


your side the Porta Portese, through the squalor own. And, as the superstition of Rome tends of the Trastevere, across the island, and by the to affect the sense of religion unfavorably, so Theatre of Marcellus, is even more strangely the beggary of Rome-much of it feigned, striking than that which Mr. Story here de- and all of it importunate-tends to lessen the scribes. But before the English next begin feelings of sympathy with human misery. It their annual occupation of the Piazza di very speedily becomes clear to the most litSpagna and its neighborhood, all this will be eral Christians that the precept, “ Give to changed, as the railway will have been car- every one that asketh thee,” cannot have been ried across the Tiber into the central station, meant to be observed to the letter. If so, it close to the Baths of Diocletian, from which would be necessary to sally forth every mornthe way to the Piazza, or to the Corso, will ing with a huge bag of copper, and to hire a lie through streets which have but little of porter-one of that class which travellers in the peculiarly Roman character. But let Mr. Italy have reason to abhor for its extortion Story go on :

above all other classes to carry it for you.

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