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We care not what they "demand” in res- and darkened in the mire of this world that olutions, nor what helpless trash they pro- shall one day shine very brightly in its heavclaim on the housetope. We do not believe enly setting. They also suggest the thought in their power to attain so much as an armis- that men in the position of workhouse chaptice for two years to come. If an armistice, lains may do a world of good and be great indeed, were offered, and the invading troops comforters to suffering souls who are let out were withdrawn, of course we should not ob- of life by that grimmest door of death, the ject to it, and good use could be made of it. pauper's grave. Blessings be upon all who

But, mark well, ye armistice mongers ! Dur- in this way are true to the Master's word ! ing that suspension of hostilities all negotia- Several of the pieces in this little book may tions must be between government and gov- fairly claim a place in collections of hymns, ernment. Our lines should be more strictly as the following characteristic specimen will guarded than ever. No negotiations or fra- show:ternization of parties by public meetings or] « My lot on earth is poor and mean, private conferences; no bargaining with the My circumstances sad indeed ; calm voice of reason; no secret pocketing of

But Jesus cheers the dreary scene : Wall's " Common Christianity."

He meets me in my greatest need. But armistice there will be none, and we “ He smiles on me though some may turn, are glad of it. Our sovereign independence He pities failings none can see ; is already won and paid for with treasures of

He welcomes me, whoe'er may spurn : brave blood.

How kind my Jesus is to me! It shall not be sold by pedlers, to be built into a Yankee platform.

“ He comforts and he succors me;

He teaches me to look above,

Beyond this life and its rough sea,
From The Athenæum.

To yonder land of rest and love. Songs in the Night. A Collection of verses “ He hushes all my passions still, by the late Grace Dickinson. Wertheim

He makes the storm become a calm, & Co.

Brings sweet submission to his will,

And holds me with his mighty arm. Tuese are songs in the night in sad verity!

“ He makes the curse a blessing prove ; sung by a poor bed-ridden woman in a union

He turns my sorrow into joy ; workhouse. The description of the circum He teaches this hard heart to love, stances under which they were sung is touch And make His praises my employ. ing indeed-one of those pathetic facts of life “ He turns my darkness into light, which beat the best fictions of literature. He makes this earth become a heaven; Grace Dickinson became an inmate of the

Gives inward peace 'midst outward fright: Halifax workhouse in consequence of being/

All glory to His name be given.” in a deeline ; and it was there she wrote this The piety is better than the poetry—such collection of verse. At first she jotted her is often the case with hymns; and, apart from thoughts down on a slate-later she was un- the literary estimate, the little book deserved able to do this ; but curiously enough she had publication for the facts which it contains. learnt the deaf and dumb alphabet on pur. There must be many kind hearts that will be pose to converse with a poor deaf and dumb touched by the story to put forth a helping workhouse companion, and when she could hand; for it appears that when poor Grace not sit up in bed to hold her pencil, she dic-Dickinson fell worn out at the workhousetated her verses to her mute amanuensis. door she had with her a burden of two chilBooks have been composed under many sin- dren. These she had toiled hard for during gular conditions, but these we look upon as eighteen months of widowhood, and failed at among the most singular and interesting. last. These are still living in the workhouse. The chaplain of the Halifax union workhouse The book is printed in their behalf; and vouches for the verses being a genuine ex- the dying mother would undoubtedly have pression of the writer's religious feelings, and thought her verses had won ample fame if as such they give us one more proof that she had known that they would be of service many and many a jewel of God gets trampled to her little ones, as we trust they may be.


“OUT IN THE COLD." The poplar drops beside the way

BY LUCY LARCOM. Its tasselled plumes of silver-gray ;

What is the threat! “ Leave her out in the cold?** The chestnut pouts its great brown buds, impa Loyal New England, too loyally bold: tient for the laggard May.

Hater of treason !-ah, that is her crime;

Lover of freedom, too true for her time.
The honeysuckles lace the wall ;
The hyacinths grow fair and tall ;

Out in the cold? oh, she chooses the place, And mellow sun and pleasant wind and odorous Rather than share in a sheltered disgrace, bees are over all.

Rather than sit at a cannibal feast,

Rather than mate with the blood-reeking beast Down-looking in this enow-white bud, How distant seems the war's red flood !

Leave out New England? and what will she do, How far remote the streaming wounds, the sick. Stormy-browed sisters, forsaken by you? ening scent of human blood !

| Sit on her Rock, her desertion to weep?

Or, like a Sappho, plunge thence in the deep? For Nature does not recognize

No; our New England can put on no airs ; This strife that rends the earth and skies; No war-dreams vex the winter sleep of clover-Woning will change the calm look that she wears heads and daisy-eyes.

Life's a rough lesson, she learned from the first,

Up into wisdom through poverty nursed. She holds her even way the same,

Not more distinct on his tables of stone Though navies sink or cities filame;

Was the grand writing to Moses made known, A snow-drop is a snow-drop still, despite the na

Than is engraven in letters of light tion's joy or shame.

On her foundations the One Law of Right. When blood her grassy altar wets,

She is a Christian ; she smothers her ire, She sends the pitying violets

Trims up the candle, and stirs the home fire, To heal the outrage with their bloom, and cover Thinking and working and waiting the day it with soft regrets.

When her wild sisters shall leave their mad play. O crocuses with rain-wet eyes !

Out in the cold, where the free winds are blowing, O tender-lipped anemones !

Out in the cold, where the strong oaks are growWhat do ye know of agony and death and blood

ing, won victories?

Guards she all growths that are living and great ;

Growths to rebuild every tottering State. No shudder breaks your sunshine trance,

Though near you rolls, with slow advance, | “ Notions” worth heeding to shape she has Clouding your shining leaves with dust, the an

wrought, guish-laden ambulance.

Lifted and fixed on the granite of thought ;

What she has done may the wide world behold; Yonder a white encampment hums;

What she is doing, too, out in the cold.
The clash of martial music comes ;
And now your startled stems are all a-tremble

Out in the cold ! she is glad to be there,
with the jar of drums.

Breathing the north wind, the clear healthful air,

Saved from the hurricane passions that rend Whether it lessen or increase,

Hearts that once named her a sister and friend. Or whether trumpets shout or cease,

There she will stay while they bluster and foarn, Still deep within your tranquil hearts the happy Planning their comfort when they shall come home, bees are murmuring “ Peace !"

Building the Union an adamant wall, O flowers ! the soul that faints or grieves

Freedom-cemented, that never can fall. New comfort from your lips receives ; Freedom, dear-bought with the blood of her sons; Sweet confidence and patient faith are hidden in See the red current ! right nobly it runs ! your bealing leaves.

Life of her life is not too much to give

For the dear nation she taught how to live.
Help us to trust, still on and on,
That this dark night will soon be gone,

Vainly they shout to you, sturdy Northwest ; And that these battle-stains are but the blood-red

'Tis her own heart that beats warm in your breast; trouble of the dawn

Sisters in nature as well as in name,

Sisters in loyalty, true to that claim. Dawn of a broader, whiter day

Freedom your breath is, O broad-shouldered North! Than ever blessed us with its rayA dawn beneath whose purer light all guilt and

Turn from the subtle miasma gone forth

Out of the South land, from Slavery's fen, wrong shall fade away.

Battening demons, but poisoning men. Then shall our nation break its bands, Still on your Rock, my New England, sit sure, And, silencing the envious lands,

Keeping the air for the great country pure. Stand in the searching light unshamed, with There you the “wayward” ones yet shall enfold; spotless robe, and clean, white hands. There they will come to you out in the cold. -Atlantic Monthly.

-Taunton Gazette.

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POETRY.--Little Charley, 98. The Sunken City, 98. May, 98. Archery at Sydenham, 143. The Stagnant Pool, 143. Crinoliniana, 144. Spring, 144.

SHORT ARTICLES.—The Sunday Question, 123. Phoebus Apollo's Complaint, 131. Mr. Buckle as a Talker, 134. The Great Stone Book of Nature, 142. Novel Mode of Lighting a Church, 142.


For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the Living Age will be punctually forwarded free of postage.

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From The New Monthly Magazine. Todiles and the boas are masters of the river ; THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS OF THE the jaguar, the peccari, the dante, and the AMAZONS.*

monkeys traverse the forest without fear and The boundless forest district which, in the without danger : there they dwell as in an torrid zone of South America, connects the

ancient inheritance.” In fact, just as, georiver basins of the Orinoco and the Amazon

logically speaking, the earth in the epoch of is, undoubtedly, one of the wonders of the

the growth of arboreal ferns in temperate cli. world. This region deserves, according to

Wmates, the reign of huge and paradoxical amDe Humboldt, to be called a Primeyal, or Pl

phibia, and the possible predominance of a hot Virgin Forest, in the strictest sense of the

and humid atmosphere, charged with carbonio word. If every wild forest, densely covered

acid, was not prepared for man, so the great with trees, on which man has never laid his primero

primeval forests of tropical America are in destroying hand, is to be regarded as a prim

the present day in the same condition, in a itive forest, then, argues that great natural

certain sense, and, as yet, the habitation of ist, the phenomenon is common to many parts

the predecessor of man only—the monkeyboth of the temperate and the frigid zones;

except where clearances are effected. if, however, this character consists in its im

" This aspect of animated nature, in which penetrability, primitive forests belong exclu

man is nothing,” Humboldt goes on to resively to tropical regions. (“ Views of Na

mark, “ has something in it strange and sad. ture," Bobn's ed., p. 193.)

To this we reconcile ourselves with difficulty This is the view entertained of a primeval

on the ocean, and amid the sands of Africa; forest by one of the great authorities on the

though in these scenes, where nothing recalls subject - one who, of all old investigators,

to mind our fields, our woods, and our streams, Bonpland, Martius, Poppig, and the Schom

we are less astonished at the vast solitude burgs, and before the time of Wallace and

through which we pass. Here, in a fertile Bates, had spent the longest period of time

country adorned with eternal verdure, we in primeval forests in the interior of a great

seek in vain the traces of the power of man; continent. Although we prefer to use the we seem to be transported into a world difterm in its simplest and accepted sense, of a

ferent from that which gave us birth. These forest with which man's toil has had noth-impressions are so much the more powerful, ing to do, we may add, that in Humboldt's

in proportion as they are of longer dörration. somewhat arbitrary definition as to its im- A soldier, who had spent his whole life in penetrability,” that this is by no means, as is

the missions of the Upper Oroonoko (as De often erroneously supposed in Europe, always

Humboldt spells the name of the river), slept occasioned by the interlaced climbing lianas,

with us on the bank of the river. He was an or creeping plants, for these often constitute

intelligent man, who, during a calm and sebut a very small portion of the underwood. rene nemt, pret

rene night, pressed me with questions on the The chief obstacles are the shrub-like plants. magnitude of the stars, on the inhabitants of wbich fill up every space between the trees

the moon, on a thousand subjects of which I in a zone where all vegetable forms have a Was ar

was as ignorant as himself. Being unable by tendency to become arborescent.

my answers to satisfy his curiosity, he said In these great primeval forests man is not. To

ot to me, in a firm tone : With respect to men, ** In the interior of part of the new conti

I believe there are no more above than you nent,” Humboldt says, in another work,“ we

would have found if you had gone by land almost accustom ourselves to regard men as

from Javita to Cassiquaire. I think I see in not being essential to the order of nature.

the stars, as here, a plain covered with grass, The earth is loaded with plants, and nothing

and a forest traversed by a river.' In citing impedes their development. An immense

these words, I paint the impression produced layer of free mould manifests the uninter- by the monotonous aspect of those solitary rupted action of organic powers. The croc-rea

There is more in it, though, than appeared * The Naturalist on the River Amazons : a Rec- at the moment even to the philosophic Ilumord of Adventures, Habits of Animals, Sketches of boldt. It is the deeply humiliating sense in Brazilian and Indian Life, and Aspects of Nature under the Equator, during Eleven Years of Travel." By Henry Walter Bates. "Two Vols. John Murray. pared to be his abode, that, except in the

hat the

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