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Poetry.

In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author, is printed in Small Capitals under the title; in Selections, it is printed in Italics at the end.

Miscellaneous.

"I have here made only a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own, but the string that ties them."-Montaigne.

THE RETURN OF THE SENNERIN.'
From the German of Anastasius Grün, by M. H.
THE mountain tops are glancing
With ice all silvery sheen,
And autumn from the valley
Strips the wreaths of leafy green.

The slopes around the village
Still verdant meadows show,
But all the meadow flow'rets
Are withered long ago.

Hark! Hark! What from the mountain
Like joy-bells peals along?

What through the dale resoundeth
Like sweetest bridal song?

"Tis, with her herd returning,
The youthful Sennerin ;
Down from the Alps she cometh,
Her home once more to gain.
The fairest of her heifers

Bears tinkling bells with pride,
With fresh flower-wreaths bedecked,
Moves foremost like a bride.
Round her in frolic measure
The whole herd press and play,
As gay young friends together
Make glad some festal day.
The swarthy bull, as stately

As such a chief should be,
Brings up the rear, as Abbot brings
A bridal company.
Before the nearest dwelling

Three times the maiden cries;
Through alp and dale and village
Far, far, the glad sounds rise.
The matrons and the maidens

All quickly round her stand,
And warm and true the Sennerin
Reaches to each her hand.

"A thousand welcomes, fair and fresh,
Brought from green alpine height!
How long, how very long since we
Have met each other's sight!

"For all the long, long summer

I sat there quite alone

With the herd and with the blossoms,
As sunlight-moonlight shone."

With look serene her greeting

She gives to the young men,
To one alone, the bravest,

She gives no greeting then.

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ANECDOTE OF LORD KENYON.

AN interesting anecdote of Lord Kenyon's sensibility was related in the House of Commons by Mr. Morris, in the debates of 1811. Of the occurrence that gentle man had been an eye-witness. "On the Home Circuit," he said, "some years since a young woman was tried for having stolen, to the amount of forty shillings, in a dwelling-house. It was her first offence, and attended with many circumstances of extenuation. The prosecutor appeared, as he stated, from a sense of " duty; the witnesses very reluctantly gave their evidence, and the jury still more reluctantly their verdict guilty. The judge passed sentence of death; she instantly fell lifeless at the bar. Lord Kenyon, whose sensibility was not impaired by the sad duties of he office, cried out in great agitation from the bench, 'I don't mean to hang you; will nobody tell her I dont mean to hang her? I then felt,' he justly added, ́s I now feel, that this was passing sentence, not on the prisoner but on the law.' This deserved reproach never startled the learned judge, who was a devout believe in the perfection of the penal laws; and, without rising superior to the prejudices of the age in which he lived, gained a reputation for mercy above his colleagues, by yielding more frequently than they did to the impulses of compassion. His humanity, active in cases of lik and death, so far as his conscience would allow, was less alert in behalf of those criminals to whom secondary punishments had been awarded; and never slumbered so soundly, as when a fashionable libertine was to be amerced in damages; a seditious libeller to be sent a gaol, or a knavish attorney to be struck off the rolls,”— Townsend's Lives of Eminent Judges.

It is much safer to reconcile an enemy than to conquer him. Victory deprives him of his power, but recond liation, of his will: and there is less danger in a which will not hurt, than in a power which cannot. The power is not so apt to tempt the will, as the will is studious to find out means.-Feltham's Resolves.

In former times a popular work meant one that adapted the results of studious meditation, or scientific researci, to the capacity of the people: presenting in the concrete by instances and examples, what had been ascertained in the abstract and by the discovery of the law. Now on the other hand, that is a popular work which give back to the people their own errors and prejudices, and flatters the many by creating them, under the title of the public, into a supreme and unappealable tribunal intellectual excellence.-Coleridge.

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ture; and probably the glass-houses of Tyre and Sidon | his parents, in spite of their poverty, had him taught were supplied thence with this material, which may have given rise to the tradition.

According to the Venerable Bede, we are indebted to the Abbot Benedict or Biscop, the founder of the Monasteries of Jarrow and of Weremouth, for the introduction of glass into England: he brought over into our land, from France, glaziers, as well as masons; by which means, the stately Abbey of Weremouth became celebrated, not only for its architectural beauty, but also for the glass windows with which it was decorated. As soon as glass became known in France, it was used as a luxury in the dwellings of the rich; and in this respect they were far before their English neighbours; for it was not until the eleventh century that glass windows were at all commonly used, either in private dwellings, or in public and religious edifices, throughout England. Even as late as the reign of Elizabeth, the glass in the windows of Alnwick Castle was taken down from the nails which attached it to the frames, and laid by, during the absence of the Earl and Countess of Northumberland: and, generally speaking, it was considered rather in the light of moveable furniture, than as forming part of the house. It appears probable, that the art of colouring glass was discovered and prosecuted at a period very little subsequent to that of the manufacture of the article itself: the most ancient authors, who have mentioned the existence of the material, have also recorded the fact of its being tinged with various colours, in imitation of gems. It was long, however, before the art of transfusing the colouring matter through the whole mass of the glass became known. The date of true painting on glass may be fixed about the middle of the fifteenth century; its tints were then enamelled by the action of fire, and thus remained in pristine beauty, as long as a fragment was left of the window they had adorned. Jacques l'Allemand, and the celebrated Albert Durer, in Germany; Henri Mellein at Bourges, and Leprince at Beauvais, were the first men of genius who responded to the call of the newly awakened science: but while they were occupied in developing all its powers, and applying them to their noblest use in decorating the Cathedrals and Churches of their native land, others, again, thought that it might likewise be employed on porcelain, so that the potteries of modern Europe should rival those of the ancient world.

It may be well, before we enter on the life of the singular man to whom the art of the potter is so much indebted, to give some account of that peculiar branch of it which he brought to a high degree of perfection; and, in doing so, the connexion between painting on glass, and the production of porcelain, will become evident. Enamel is glass made opaque by the oxide of tin, and rendered fusible by the oxide of lead: all glazes that contain lead participate in the properties of enamel : it is necessary to vary the composition of the glaze, in order to suit the different materials that form the body of the ware; since that would be a very fine glaze for one mixture of earths, which would be wholly inappropriate to another, proving deficient in lustre, and being liable to crack. No philosopher had then discovered, as long afterwards Reaumur did, that "the Chinese porcelain was a semi-vitrified compound, in which one portion vitrifies at that degree of heat, and enveloping the infusible part, produces that smooth, compact, and shining texture, as well as transparency, which are distinctive of true porcelain." At the time Bernard de Palissy was seeking the secret of enamel, only the coarse earthenware was known in France, which served for the commonest purposes; and, if not its inventor, he had at least the merit of discovering it as it were a second time, and of introducing it into his native country. He was born near Biron, a village in the old diocese of Agen, in 1499;

reading and writing, which at that time was a grea: deal. A land surveyor, who had come to Agen to lay down a plan of that part of the country, remarked yo which he watched his operations, and asked his parents' Bernard's singular precocity, and the attention with leave to take him away with him to learn his business,

This was readily granted, and such progress did he make in practical geometry, that he was often employed in making out charts of contested property by the local authorities, and in mapping out districts, when he had which was his regular avocation, he occupied himself a scarcely ended his apprenticeship: but, besides this drawing and in painting on glass, and was sent for to many places, as his name became known, to adorn both churches, and the castles of the nobles, with windows d stained glass. In 1539, Palissy quitted his native village, here he had the mortification of seeing his various mas and established himself at Saintes, where he married: of obtaining a livelihood become daily less profitable, and employment itself was often not to be had. In the cen parative idleness which thus was forced upon him, he gave himself up more and more to the indulgen scientific theories; he felt the working within him energies which had never yet been called into f action, and, in this state of mind, a beautiful eup enamelled porcelain, which had probably been made st Faenza, in Italy, fell into his hands. This ha accident gave a fresh impulse to his genius, and va the means of leading him into the path in which he destined to excel: from that moment he thought ca of how to produce a similar vase; what had once bea accomplished he knew might be done again, but he had not the power of obtaining the experience of others and his first essays were made in the dark. Giving hi self wholly to this one object, he entirely abandoned painting on glass, which, however unproductive head found it, had at least sufficed to give bread to his family. Palissy burnt the clay himself, mixed it with vario ingredients, covered it with ever varying preparations, and tried them, with constantly renewed hope, in the furnaces of glaziers, and those of potters; but he wa doomed as constantly to disappointment. He rep sents himself in his "Traité de l'Art de Terre" as alter nately building and demolishing his furnace, for e this, he found at last, that his success would ultimate chiefly depend. In those days, a man who, like it self, was endowed with genius, which placed him in að vance of his neighbours, and with perseverance to carry out his views, was almost sure to be suspected of se cery, and his friends soon began to look upon him wa terror; others imagined him to be a coiner of false money, from which one would have thought his poverty must have been a safeguard, and the more charita thought him mad: but worse than all this was th consciousness of the poverty to which he was reducing his family.

His wife and children continually implored him, with tears, to renounce his chimerical hopes, and to return any one of his former honest employments, which wor bring back comfort to his home. He has described in terms of bitterest feeling the conflict in his own breast at this time, and we cannot fully applaud his deter nation under such circumstances to persevere in his perilous course; yet he bore outwardly a cheerful countenance, and strove to inspire them with the con dence he felt himself, that he should one day place them in affluence, and be enabled to overpay with happiness all the privations they were enduring then Fifteen years thus passed away: Palissy was still fir in his conviction, and yet had not succeeded; and nothing short of producing enamel in all its perfection would satisfy him.

One day, when he thought himself on the very point of attaining the great object of his life, a workman, whom he had engaged to assist him in his labours, suddenly announced his intention of leaving him, and

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insisted on receiving the wages that were due to him: Palissy had no money, and paid him with the few clothes he had left. He had now to do all his work alone, to prepare his colours, and to heat and watch the furnace that his own hands had made. Once more he found himself on the verge of success: he placed in his oven a vase, on which his last hopes were centred, and ran for wood to feed the fire; but what was his consternation at finding it all consumed? He stood for a moment overwhelmed with despair, but it was only for a moment;he rushed to his garden, and tore up the trellis that supported his fruit-trees, broke it in pieces, and heated his furnace up sprang the flame once more, then sunk into the deep red glow that promised the fulfilment of his desires; but again it burnt low, and this time, he lost no time; for want of fuel, he had recourse first to his chairs and tables, then to the doors; after them, the window frames were consumed, and at last the very flooring of his house fed the furnace.

It was the final effort of the artist, but this effort insured his triumph. One long shout of joy echoed through the dismantled dwelling; his wife and his children ran to him. Was it a cry of exultation or of despair! Palissy showed them the vase he had just aken out of his furnace: it was bright with the imperishable colours that till then he had only seen in dreams, since he had once beheld the goblet of Faenza! While yet they scarcely could believe that their trials were over, he was again calm he had always expected to succeed sooner or later, and he had now to perfect his discovery. It was not long before his beautiful works found their way into all parts of France, and fortune miled at last on the man of genius who had endured so much.

The king, Henry the Second, wished for vases and figures to adorn the gardens of his palace, and Palissy was commissioned to make them: soon afterwards he sent for him to Paris, and gave him apartments at the Tuileries, with a patent, which set forth that he was the inventor of a new kind of pottery, and under the especial protection of the king, the queen, (Catherine de Medicis), and the Constable de Montmorenci: he was known at Paris by no other name than that of Bernard des Tuileries.

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SOME PASSAGES FROM THE JOURNAL OF A WILTSHIRE CURATE.1 December 20.-This day passed quietly, though I cannot say very pleasantly; for Loster, the grocer, sent me in his bill. It was larger than I expected, considering what we have had from him, although we never sent for anything without writing it down ourselves. But, though it agreed with our account, he had increased the prices of every single thing. The worst is, there are still some arrears from last year, which he begs me to pay, as he is in great want of money. The whole amounts to eighteen shillings.

I went to Mr. Loster, a civil and well-behaved man; and hoped to persuade him to take half on account, with the promise that I would pay the remainder at Easter. But he was inflexible, and regretted that necessity might oblige him to have recourse to extreme measures. If it had been possible, he said, he would willingly have waited, but he was obliged to make a remittance within three days, and, in trade, punctuality is everything. I saw that any further remonstrances were useless, and as I could not run the risk of being arrested for debt, as he threatened, I sent him the entire sum by which means, I now possess but eleven shillings in the world! Please God, the actor may soon repay my loan; if not, I know not where to turn for help. But if you know not, weak and doubting man, there is One who knows it! Why is your heart so troubled? in the eyes of God poverty is no sin! You have no crime wherewith to reproach yourself, and

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December 24.-After all, what slight things will make one happy. We are all delighted with Jenny's new gown, in which she looks as lovely as a bride. She means to appear in it, for the first time in public, at church on Christmas-day. She tells me every evening how small the day's expenses have been. To be sure, she sends us all to bed at nine o'clock, to save coals and candles: but there is not much harm in that the girls work harder in the day-time, and they lie chattering together till past midnight. We have a good provision of potatoes and dried vegetables, and some bacon; and Jenny thinks we can manage to get on for six or eight weeks without running into debt: which would indeed be a great feat; and, before that time, we trust Fleetman will repay me honourably what I have lent him. If I ever express the slightest doubt upon the subject, Jane gets quite angry with me; she will let no one speak ill of the actor. He is constantly the subject of our conversations; it is strange how much the two girls have to say about him. His appearance was a great event in the uniformity of our life, and will give us something to talk about for at least half a year. Jenny's indignation is really quite amusing when Polly teazes her, by saying, "What a pity he is nothing but a player!" She tells her of all the great performers in London, who have been known even to dine with royal princes, and says she is certain Fleetman will become one of the very best actors in the world: that he has great abilities, much grace and dignity, and a beautiful choice of language in speaking.

Bernard de Palissy is worthy of our admiration, not only for the intelligence, and the love of the beautiful, evinced by his discovery, but also for its utility. It was to him in process of time that France owed her transparent porcelain, which even now England can scarcely rival: he may be styled the father of ceramic art; but the services he rendered to his country did not end here. He showed himself no less persevering in imparting to others the knowledge he had won with so much toil and sorrow, than he had been in obtaining it for his own advantage. He formed the first cabinet of natural history that France had ever possessed: he lectured on this science, as well as on those of chemistry and agriculture, before the ablest physicians and the profoundest scholars of his day; and in his lectures he substituted positive facts, and ocular demonstration, for the fanciful and superstitious doctrines of the science of that period. Palissy had thought deeply, and struggled long to bring forth his thoughts into actual realities, and now he spoke simply, but with the eloquence of truth, knowing that neither his words, nor his life, would fail of influeneing the minds of his audience. Thus also he wrote with singleness of purpose, and in a style which, though he knew neither Latin nor Greek, reminds one of the style of Montaigne. Every page of his "Traité de l'Art de Terre" breathes an unspeakable charm; there he tells s the story of twenty years of anxiety, labour, and dire privation, and we feel our hearts sink at the recital of so much suffering. Bernard de Palissy warmly embraced the principles of the Reformation. He was arrested at the time of the first edict against Protestants, framed at Ecouen by Henry the Second in 1559 he recovered at eyes were fixed on you when he said it."

liberty in consequence of the intercession made for him

of language, for he called you an angel!"
"Yes, indeed," said Polly, slily; "a beautiful choice
"And you too!" said Jane, half angrily.
"Oh, yes, I was thrown in to the bargain, but his

(1) Continued from page 7.

This childish talk made a painful impression on me. Polly is growing up; Jane is eighteen. What prospect have I of ever being able to provide for the poor girls? Jane is a lovely creature, modest, and well-educated; but everybody in Cricklade knows how poor she is, and it will be difficult for her to find a husband. Now-a-days, an angel without money is not thought half so much of as a devil with a sackful of guineas. The only advantage that Jenny gets from her sweet face is, that she is kindly treated wherever she goes. The other day, when she carried the grocer his money, did he not make her a present of a pound of almonds and raisins; and assure her that he was much grieved at being forced to take the money from me; and that, if I chose to employ him again, he would give me credit till Easter? He never said as much to me! But if anything were to happen to me, who would protect my unfortunate children?.... Who but their Heavenly Father, and their own good name, which may procure them some honest service? Let me not torment myself about the future.

December 26.-These last have been two painful days. Never have I passed so sad a Christmas. I preached five times in the two days, and in four different churches. The roads from one village to another are dreadful; the wind howled, the rain fell in torrents. I begin to feel that I am no longer young. I am not as active or as cheerful as I used to be. Perhaps living so much upon potatoes and vegetables, and drinking nothing but water, has made me thinner and weaker than I used to be.

I dined both days with Farmer Hurst. People are more hospitable in the country than in towns; it is more than six months since anybody has thought of asking me to dine with them here. What plenty! what profusion! Ah, if my poor daughters had only been with me! Could they but have had the remnant of the farmer's feast to celebrate their Christmas! However, they have had some cake for their share, which they are enjoying famously at this moment. How lucky it was, that I had courage, when the farmer and his wife pressed me to eat, to say that, if they would allow me, I should like very much to take some cake home to my daughters. These excellent people made | me up a large parcel of good things, and, as it was raining furiously, sent me home in a covered cart. Certainly one ought to be content if one has enough to satisfy hunger and thirst, but it is impossible to deny that a good dinner is a very comfortable thing. One feels more in charity with the whole world; one's ideas are more liberal and enlarged.

December 27.—This has proved a most joyful day; but we must learn moderation even in joy. This is a lesson which I must teach my daughters; and therefore I have laid aside, unopened, the packet of money which has just reached me from Fleetman. I will not break the seal till after dinner. My lasses are true daughters of Eve; they are dying with curiosity to know what Fleetman says they have studied the direction over and over again, and take up the packet every minute to examine it anew. To say the truth, I am more astonished than pleased. I lent Mr. Fleetman but twelve shillings, and now, from the superscription, I find he has sent me five pounds sterling. He must have met with some extraordinary good luck.

What a mixture of joy and sorrow is this life! I called this morning on Squire Fieldson, the magistrate, to endeavour to ascertain the truth of a shocking report which reached me yesterday, that Colonel Brooke, of Wottonbasset, had cut his throat. The extreme disorder of his affairs was said to be the reason of this dreadful act. He was a distant connexion of my late wife's, and some years ago I was induced to become security for him for the sum of a hundred pounds, and he still possesses my bond to that amount. The poor man has met with many misfortunes, and latterly has taken to drinking. Mr. Fieldson has rather quieted my anxiety, although the same report had reached him;

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but he seems to think it quite impossible that poor Brooke could have made away with himself, at least D official intelligence has been received, so I came quietly home, praying to the Almighty to spare me this new misfortune.

Then it was, as I approached the house, that Polly rushed to meet me, almost breathless with delight screaming out, "A letter from Mr. Fleetman, father, enclosing five pounds !-it is written on the outside: and there's sevenpence to pay for the postage." And, before I had put down my hat and stick, Jenny, with a face as red as fire, came and put it into my hands. The children seemed really out of their wits with joy. How ever, I rejected the scissors, which they produced, te open the packet without breaking the beautiful scal and said, "Now, you see, my children, how much m difficult it is to bear great joy with self-possession and calmness, than great sorrow or distress. I have of wondered at your cheerfulness when we were enduri many bitter privations, and scarcely knew how we should provide for the morrow. Now the first smile: fortune quite turns your little heads; so, to punish you the packet shall not be opened till after dinner." vain Jenny assures me, she is not half so much please with the money (much as we wanted it) as at the cess of Fleetman's gratitude, and his honourable c duct; she says she is only impatient to know what says, and whether any good fortune has befallen ha I persist, however, in my determination. This childish curiosity must be punished.

The same Evening.—Our joy is quickly changed to grief. The money and letter were not from Flecta but from Dr. Snarl, who informs me, in answer to y letter, that, from Easter next, my duties as his care cease. He tells me I shall have sufficient time, in te interval, to look out for another curacy; to facilite which, he not only encloses me the last quarter of Ly salary in advance, but has given instructions to y successor, if I do not object, to take my duty im diately.

So, then, there was some truth in the reports with circulated in the town, and there may be even some for dation for what I have just heard, that the new car: » has received his appointment so speedily, in retara ir his complaisance in marrying a relation of the rec whose character was not quite as good as might e wished. So I am to lose my place, and my children's bread, to hide the misconduct of an unprincipe. woman!-and I, and my poor innocent girls, are t turned into the street, because there exists a man las enough to purchase advancement with his own honour!

Jane and Polly turned as pale as death when, stead of news from Fleetman, I read out to them the rector's cruel letter; and they found the packet to e tain, not the liberal gift prompted by gratitude, the last and bitter wages of the labour of years. P threw herself back in her chair, sobbing aloud; Jaz hurried out of the room. My hands trembled so, t the letter fell to the ground. I, however, hastened! my closet, shut the door, threw myself on my knees and endeavoured to pray, still hearing my poor chik sobs. Soon I arose, consoled and tranquillized, opened the Bible. The first words on which my eye fell, were, "Fear not; for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name, thou art mine." (Isa. xliii. 1 Fear and distrust fled from my bosom, and, raising my hands to Heaven, I exclaimed," Yes, Lord, I am thine!" Polly's sobs had ceased; I returned softly to the room but, when I beheld the sweet child kneeling, her hands folded, while a beam of consolation lighted up her face, I went back to my closet, closing the door gently that might not disturb her. Jane soon entered the ro and I then joined my daughters, who were seated at th window. I saw, by Jenny's red eyes and pale checks that she, too, had bitterly felt this last blow. The both looked timidly in my face; I believe they

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