that are shed over them by one sunrise, or that flow up their cold acclivities at each clear sunset. The mountains are more grand and inspiring when we stand at the proper distance and look at them than when we look from them. Their highest call is to be restingplaces of the light, the staffs from which the most gorgeous banners of morning and evening are displayed. And these uses we may observe and enjoy among the moderate mountains of New Hampshire. They are huge lay figures on which Nature shows off the splendors of her aerial wardrobe. She makes them wear mourning-veils of shadow, exquisite lace-work of distant rain, hoary wigs of cloud, the blue costume of northwest winds, the sallow dress of sultry southern airs, white wrappers of dogday fog, purple and scarlet vests of sunset light, gauzy films of moonlight, the gorgeous embroidery of autumn chemistries, the flashing ermine dropped from the winter sky, and the glittering jewelry strewn over their snowy vestments by the cunning fingers of the frost. These are the crops which the intellect and heart find waiting and waving for them, without any effort or care of mortal culture, on the upper barrenness of the hills. "So call not waste that barren cone Above the floral zone, Where forests starve ; It is pure use; What sheaves like those which here we glean and bind XLI. -ABRAHAM DAVENPORT. WHITTIER. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER was born in Haverhill, Massachusetts, in 1808. He has written much in prose and verse; and his writings are characterized by earnestness of tone, high moral purpose, and energy of expression. His spirit is that of a sincere and fearless reformer; and his fervent appeals are the true utterances of a brave and loving heart. The themes of his poetry have been drawn, in a great measure, from the history, traditions, manners, and scenery of New England; and he has found the elements of poetical interest among them, without doing any violence to truth. He describes natural scenery correctly and beautifully; and a vein of genuine tenderness runs through his writings. I N the old days (a custom laid aside With breeches and cocked hats) the people sent And so, from a brown homestead, where the Sound Waved over by the woods of Rippowams, And hallowed by pure lives and tranquil deaths, 'T was on a May-day of the far old year - Birds ceased to sing, and all the barnyard fowls Lowed, and looked homeward; bats on leathern wings * A sa'ga is an old heroic Scandinavian tale. Flitted abroad; the sounds of labor died; The black sky, that the dreadful face of Christ As Justice and inexorable law. Meanwhile in the old State House, dim as ghosts, Trembling beneath their legislative robes. My present duty, and my Lord's command The shad and alewive fisheries." Whereupon, Wisely and well spake Abraham Davenport, Straight to the question, with no figures of speech Save the ten Arab signs, yet not without The shrewd dry humor natural to the man : His awe-struck colleagues listening all the while, To hear the thunder of the wrath of God XLII. RICHELIEU'S VINDICATION. BULWER. SIR EDWARD GEORGE EARLE BULWER-LYTTON (generally known by his original name of Bulwer), one of the most popular and distinguished writers of England, was born at Haydon Hall, in the county of Norfolk, in 1805, educated at the University of Cambridge, and died January 18, 1873. He was the author of a large number of novels, as well as of plays, poems, and miscellanies. He was a writer of various and versatile power, and his novels are remarkable for brilliant description, startling adventures, sharp delineation of character, and especially the later ones - a vein of philosophical reflection. The moral tone of his earlier works is not always to be commended, but in this respect, as well as in substantial literary merit, there is a marked improvement in those of later date. The following passage is from "Richelieu," a play founded upon certain incidents in the life of the great French statesman of that name. MY liege, your anger can recall your trust, To arméd thunderbolts. The Arts lay dead; I am not; - I am just! I found France rent asunder, I have re-created France; and, from the ashes Civilization, on her luminous wings, Soars, phenix-like, to Jove! What was my art? Genius, some say; - some, Fortune; Witchcraft, some. XLIII.-JOHN HAMPDEN. MACAULAY. THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY was born in the village of Rothley, in the county of Leicester, England, October 25, 1800; and died December 28, 1859. He was educated at Cambridge University, and was called to the bar in 1826. In 1830 he became a member of Parliament, and took an active part in the debates on the Reform Bill. In 1834 he was sent to India as a member of the Supreme Council. Returning home in 1838, he was again elected to Parliament in 1839, and was appointed Secretary of War. At the election of 1847 he was defeated, and remained out of Parliament till 1852, when he again became a member. He was created a peer of England, with the |