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Northern Star (1837-1852), 8th May 1852, Edition 2 of 2, Page 3, THE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT. [Sequel to "...

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      Hg&. Iabl The Star Of Freedom. 3 !B

      Hg & . iaBl THE STAR OF FREEDOM . 3 !

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      Bt Critic Asd Poet. Per?— 1 The Winter I...

      BT CRITIC asd POET . Per ?— The winter is past , the rain is over and \ T . the flowers appear on tbe Earth ; the time of CVn « in » of hirdsis come ; and the voice of the X is heard in the land . ' Once again the merry 2 SI of Hay comes with all her beauty , balm , and Koom' and tbe woods are clothing themselves in rnhes of glorious greenery , and the leaves and grasses amir

      flush out sweeter and greener every hour , ifie ¦ - « , m will soon be one mass of golden fire , the lilac , wie blush , of starry bloom , all faint with the over-Leetness of its fragrance . The guelder-rose , the mountain asb , and the gorgeous chesnut trees , are adding forth in all their lavish glory ! From the tender thicket , and the deepening forest , the birds are rim-inff out a thousand eloquent welcomes to the ffierryfmerry May , What a budding bright , melodious morning ! The air is soft and fresh , and full of health and life ; sweet May has dropped her glory _ pon it , and it barns with a golden glow , and what rare treasures snehringeth to lay in the ^ p of Earth , Hkebridal-presentsforabride ! The weary old Earth Ae has awakened from her winter ' s sleep , strange Wmd

      potions have been stirring about her heart oiiate , pulses ofnewfeeling , ^ y ^^^ Cer ? __ d these have sprung upward into life in flowers , powers are waking , buds ate treafang , ail among ftelusk green grasses , as tho' the Earth had just ^ SmS ofgamesome starryeyes , as she heard SvS the Spring . Flowers are marching over Si and meadows , gadding ^ « W « ft * J ^ 3 rfor the human heart , and brimful of beauty , Cbloom on earth ' s green bosom now as wnen the STwey fathers offered np their saenfice on the TeXtSdfand as fair ** *»&* ' * everJhey besomed in fabled Eden . Thank God for flowers , Si ye vrho love them ! cultivate that beautiful ove of lowers , that holy passion ! all ye who feel ifc not . it could and

      How pleasant a thing were , we renew Sadden our existence as the Earth does with every Sp ring which runs like oil and nectar thro' her revivified veins ! , ,, ,, , . Cnmc _ -Pretty fancies , and merry thoughts , bnt , t am thinking of the thousands and millions of our ioffing , Bufiering , bloats , arid sisters , men , women , and cMldren , who are shut up this morning of merry May , in pestilent factories , aud midnight mines , for ffhom no flowers are blowing , no birds singing , no gonlight smiling . Their lives are one heart-sickemng round of toil , from the time when the young blood of infancy dances along the veins until the limbs are shrunken with untimely age . Soon as the sun is in the skv . the y begin the wearying , wearing task ,

      still toiling on far into the night . They cannot go forth and walk and talk , exchanging light-hearted ' good-morrows' with dear Mother Nature . They have no time to go among the flowers , and drink in flia sweet sunshine of their happy looks . They must toil on , perhaps writhing beneath thelash of a tyrant and chafing at his contumely and insults ; toil on , lest tiie kiss of death be white on the cheek of little ones , or its warrant be written by the finger of Want , on tbe bosom one ' s brow ; toil on , with crushed heart and stifled longings , lest the darlings of their lore should waken at midnight and moaa for bread ,

      when they have none to give . Horrible ! is it not , to feel that this over-toil is crashing the best human impulses , and that the clay is lotting out , and taking the placa of soul , day by day ? And this—Oh bitterest of mockeries—is called life ! I know what it is , for I have felt it ; and no one can know unless they have had that experience . Outside lies a boundless land of loveliness—the tender green fields —the woods musical with merry singers—the laughing blue heaven , and all the glad and glorious world bright aud beautiful as though it did not contain a misery or a sorrow ; and this world was meant for them , with its beauty and its plenty , its freedom and its happiness j while

      All day the iron wheels drive onward , Grinding life down from its mark , And the souls that God is calling sunward , Spin on blindly in the dark . Poet . — 1 have heard you say that many such read jour paper , and that ifc is the champion of the downtrodden poor ; let us , then , twine for them a garland of the never-fading flowers of Poetry as our May gift , rich and rare , and if it calls up a cheerful look in the faces of those who seldom smile—if it developes a touch of that better nature which underlies the rudest and the rockiest ^ -if it calls forth some sign of beauty , and lineament of love , our labour will not have been fruitless . Suppose we pluck our first Sower from Tennyson ' s 'May Queen . '

      You must wake and call me early , call me early , mother dear ; To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad new year ; Of all the glad new year , mother , the maddest , merriest , day ; Tor Vm to be Qaeen o' the May , mother , I'm to be Queen o ' the May . Here's many a black , black eye , they say , but none so bright as mine , There ' s Margaret and Mary , there's Kate and Caroline : Bat none so fair as little Alice ia all the land they say , Bo Fat to be Queen o' the May , mother , Vm to be Queen o * the JIay .

      I sleep so sound all night , mother , that I shall never wake , If you do not call me loud whea the day begins to break ; Bat I must gather Jknots of flowers , and buds , and garlands gay , For I ' m to be Queen o * tho May , mother , I ' m ta he Queen o' tho May . As I came up the Talley whom think ye I ' should see , Bat Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree ? He thought of that sharp look , mother , I gave him yesterday , But Fm to be Queen o * the May , mother , I'm to be Queen o' the May .

      ley say he ' s dying all for love , but that can never be : They say Ms heart ia breaking , mother—what is that to me ? There ' s many a bolder lad * 11 woo me any summer day . And Pm tobe < £ aeen o * the ^ May , mother , Tm to be Queen o * the May . little Effie shall go with me to-morrow on the green , And you'll be there , too , mother , to see me made the Queen ; For the shepherd lads on every side ' 11 come from faraway , And I ' m to he Queen o' the May , mother , I ' m to be Queen e * the May . The night winds come and go , mother , upon the meadow grass , And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they

      pass ; ¦ ftere will not be a drop of rain the whole of the live-long day , ^ d Fm to be Queen o' the May , mother , Vm to he Queen o' the May . °° yon must wake and call me early , call me early , mother TV dear » ^^ orroff 'H be the happiest'time of all the glad new Of 5 tar > WaU ibegfednew year , mother , the maddest , merriest , day , ~ f or Tm to he Queen o' the May , mother , Fm to be Queen 0 the Mar .

      Cfiinc . —A daiaty ariel is the muse of Tennyson t subtilizing grace ! what a witchery there is in ™* melod y ! It steals upon you like a breath of the jeet South ! His is the most lyrical genius of any . ° hr living poets ; his words sing of themselves , and ^ thoughts bubble into song as naturally as rich uewf s com a sJc yIaric « perfume from a rose , and ttorhi r a EUmmer n 'S - His poetry is a very w }/™ ^ ndrous beauty—purifying and ennobling Qnai fJ aD < * vorkffig me 0 £ honld be made ac-£ oul ? ? ki fc that the - v mav s et beatttyiut 0 flfifr tevr"V thence into their daily lives . M y only gfJT !* 0 , lt Tennyson is , that he lacks the fire of pas-W * 5 ut l aathaakflfl for what he has given us . "tot hare you there ?

      Tirtg 7 " * most a ^ eet song , by one who ought , by * i & T gcnhi 3 , to place himself side by side ieeo J ' 5 son - I know _ o one so -well qualified to ger Hj ? Poet « f the People in England as Beranis uW t raDee Buras » b Scotland . His genius W _ u atlc , andlyrfcal , he is a most intense man , fctoaH g < 7 ^ fend - toara , and shares the People ' s S ? m ? 0 mandIli ^ t - SQt wTi doea te - < A ascend the sphere of ^ rKLu v l 0 ng SWUD S **&* a * * dark ? ® * en 2 ? i ^ - ^ age h ath n eed of him-a nd FoS I J ° lcein Ms advent . ? Wr ;^ seems fo kck faith ^ himself and his ^ tovin ' ; 7 ? . man erer yet accomplished , without 5 x Pr « 4 ffilSr . ^ * f «» sn P » fc i beside , ho unaaelt sick to th © heart , f the word-jug-

      Bt Critic Asd Poet. Per?— 1 The Winter I...

      glery and caterwauling of our poetasters , and determines to stick by honest Saxon prose . Bnt here are the verses . 0 , the world gee * up . and the world goes down , And the sunshine follows the rain , And yesterday's sneer , and yesterday ' s frown , Can never come back again , Sweet wife 1 "So , never come back again . For , woman is warm , tho' man be cold , And the night shall hallow the day , And the heart that at even was weary and old , Shall rise in the morning , gay , Sweet wife ! To its work in the morning , gay .

      Ceihc—Good . The true love-poet is the married man ; he has looked on the mystery of life from many sides , and is to be trusted . The married men have left this love-poetry-making to the unmarried ones too long . Stick it in our Garland . Poet . —Here is another—just a blossom , it has never been in print . I am not at liberty to mention who gave it me , but the future will tell you his name : — O , the merry , merry lark was up and singing , And tbe hare was out , and feeding on the lea , And the merry , merry hells below were ringing , As my child's laugh rang thro' me I Now , the hare is snared and dead beside the snowyard , And the lark beside the dreary winter sea , And the baby in his cradle in the churchyard , Waiteth there until the bells bring me .

      Is it not sweet I What a rich mnoe music there is in it , and how much more meaning it sobs forth suggestively , than it sets out to tell . Cjutic—I had a volume placed in my hands the other day , entitled ' Poems * by George Meredith ; rather an ominous title in these days , when everybody writes and publishes' Poems j' but , upon dipping into it , I found it to contain some genuine poetry ; and if the author be young , we may safely predict remarkable things of him . This book is mil of promise , and performance too ; there are some songs in it as rich and melodious as any of Horrick ' s , and far more imaginativ e ; I scarce know where to choose , but , surely , this is worth y of our Garland : —

      SOKG . I cannot lose thee for a day , But like a bird with restless wing , My heart will find thee far away , And on thy bosom fall and sing , My nest is here , my rest is here , — And in the lull of wind and rain , Fresh voices make a sweet refrain , " His rest is there , his nest is there . " "With thee the wind and sky are fair , But parted , both are strange and dark ; And treacherous the quiet air That holds me singing like a lark , O shield my love , strong arm above I Till in the hush of wind and rain , Fresh -voices make a rich refrain , " The arm above , will shield thy love !"

      "What was that you were hiding away ? Soh . ' a sonU of your own—pretty and applicable . Come , we mus * give that : —

      SONG . Ah ! 'tis like a tale of olden Time , long , long ago ; "When the world was in its golden Prime , and Love was lord below J Every vein of Earth was dancing With t he Spring's new wine ! 'Twasthej ;* a \*» w ,-j ime of flowers When I met yon , love of mine ! Ah . ' some spirit sure was straying Out of heaven that day , "When I meet you , Sweet ! a-maying In the merry , merry May .

      Little heart ! it shyly opened Its red leaves' love-lore , Like a rose that must be ripen'd To the dainty , dainty core . Bat its beauties bravely brighten , And it grows so dear—Tho' a many Winters whiten , T 7 e go Maying all the year . And my proud heart will be praying Blessings on that day—¦ When I met yon , Sweet J a-maying , In the merry , merry May . Poet . —There is a beautiful song of Hood ' s , richly descriptive of a morning like this ; I think I have it in a corner of memory , and can quote it without the hook : —

      O Lady , leave thy silken thread And flowery tapestry : There ' s living roses on the bush , Aud blossoms on the tree ; Stoop where thou wilt , thy careless hand Some random bud will meet ; Thou canst not tread but theu wilt find The daisy at thy feet . 'Tis like the birthday of the world , "When earth wag born in bloom ; The light is made of many dyes , The air is all perfume 2 There ' s crimson buds , and white , and blue—The very rainbow showers Have turned to blossoms where they fell , And sown the earth with flowers .

      There ' s fairy tulips in the east . The garden of the sun 1 The very streams refect the hues And blossom as they run : While Morn opes like a crimson rose , Still wet with pearly showers , Then , Lady leave the silken thread Thou twinest into flowers . CniTlC—Steeped to the very lips in the dews and spirit of Poetry ! The world does not yet understand what a poet it lost when Hood died broken-hearted . It scarcely listened to him at all as a singer , until he hurled at it that terrible 'Song of the Shirt / and mirrored for it that tragedy of the 'Bridge of Sighs ;' yet had he written true poetry before , and proved

      himself rarely and richly endowed with the faculty divine . He himself eclipsed his own poetic genius by the splendour of his wit and humour . And then the evUdayscameon him , and the dark circumstances gathered around him , and he went down to his rest like a vessel laden with precious treasure , and we shall never know what a priceless wealth of song was hushed with him in death . He suggested that his epitaph should he , ' Here lies the man who made more puns , and spat more blood , than any other that overlived ; ' but I should rather it be , « Here lies a man who , bnt for untoward circumsfcanceH , might have been one of the greatest poets of this century . ' But to return . If I remember rightly , Lowell , the American peet , has an exquisite description of this time of the year .

      Poex . —Yes , at least it is of June . Here it is from the ' Vision of Sir LaUufal / Is is also a fine contrast between the niggardliness of onr competitive world and the silent magnanimity with which Nature —kind mother—gives us her wealth of blessings . Earth gets its price for what earth gives us , The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in , The P « est hath his fee who comes and shrives US , J ? e bargain even for the graves we he in . At the devil ' s booth are all things sold , iach ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold . For a cap ana bells our lives we payf

      jjuooies we earn with a whole soul ' s ' taskioc—, „ ,- Tlfl ¥ £ » alone tbat is given away , * "lis only God may he had for asking There is no price sston the lavish summer And June may be had by the poorest comer . And what is so rare as a day in June * Then , if ever , come perfect days-Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune And over it softly her warm ear lays . ' Whether we look , or whether we listen * Tfe hear life murmur , or see it glisten The flush of life may well be seen "

      Thrilling back over the hills and vallies , The cowslip startles in meadows green The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice And there ' s never a leaf or a Wade too mean To be some happy creature ' s palace ! The little bird sits at his door in the sun , Atilt , like a blossom among the leaves , And lets his illumined being o ' emm With the deluge of summer it receives . Joy comes , grief goes—we h novr how—Everything is happy now 1 Everything is upward striving : 'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true As for grass to be green , or skies to be blue'lis the natural way of living .

      There is much more of the same kind in this poem . I have only taken a few of the lines , and are they not perfectly beautiful 1 What a happy dance there is in the music , a earless , joyous litt as of that bird , ' Atilt like a blossom among the leaves / and how vividly they paint the ripening influence of this opening of the year . I feel with Byron , fav more religions in sunshiny weather ; and who has not felt this purify ing and exalting influence of blue skies , fragrant airs , young flowers , happy birds , Poems by George Meredith , John W . Paiker , Strand , Lonjton .

      Bt Critic Asd Poet. Per?— 1 The Winter I...

      spreading leaves , and shining , silken grasses , when the spring-tide of tender greenery , and the summer ' s flush of glory , come flooding over the world once more 1 To stand in this glorious palace-home of humanity , with its ceiling of azure , reared on walls of crystal , with a rich flowery velvet carpet on its floor , it seems most natural to be good ; and as I have heard it said , that standing beneath the magnificient dome of St . Peter ' s in Rome , one is scarcel y aware of its size and grandeur , because the soul dilates , and fills the place , and becomes like it so is it with nature , and the freed soul seems as if it could fill immensity , and clasp the world and all

      humanity in its arms , and give them vitality in the warmth and largeness of its love . At such a time , methinks the commonest natures , crushed and degraded as we are , worn down b y suffering , and blighted by the dry-rot of slavery , the most earthy feel that their lives do not all turn in darkness but that they also have their angel-side , and the aspiration for nobler growth will be stirring at the heart and tears will flush into the eyes , and they feel they might have been something better , and lived a higher existence , if the world had done justice b y them I Critic—True . But the laws of societare

      y antagonistic to the laws of nature—the beat resolves are crushed by them—the noblest aspirations are thwarted b y them—the bravest hearts are broken by them j either they must bo changed , or there is no general progression for humanity , and it will need the united energies of all the best and bravest men to work this change . Freedom is what we need ; we are cramped and stifled—they have turned the world into a prison , as suffocating as the black hole of Calcutta 1 Room for growth and development ! The cry of the people is for Liberty and Light .

      Poet . —Lowell is likewise a true worker for the people ' s enfranchisement ; among the noble band whose trumpet-strains of freedom are encircling the walls of tyranny till they shall fall flat , like those of Jericho before the Israelitish warriors of old ; his voice rings out , clear and melodious , Here is his noble idea of true Freedom ;— .

      STANZAS ON FBEEDOM . Men ! whose boast it ia that ya Come of fathers brave and free , If there breathe on earth a slave . Are ye truly free and brave ? If ye do not feel the chain , "When it works a brother ' s pain , Are ye not base slaves indeed , — Slaves unworthy to he freed ? Women ! who shall one day bear Sons to breathe New England air , If ye hear , without a blush , Deeds to make the roused blood rush Like red lava through your veins , For your sisters now in chains , — Answer ! are ye fit to he Mothers of the brave and free ?

      Is true Freedom but to break Fetters for our own dear sake , And , with leathern hearts , forgot That we owe mankind a debt ? No ! true freedom is to share All the chains our brothers wear , And , with heart and band , to be Earnest to make others free ' . They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and tho weak ; They are slaves who will not choose Hatred , scoffing , and abuse , Bather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think ; They are slaves who daro not be In the right with two or three .

      Cbitic—A true song by a true singer—one of the very few political songs , so called , that are really lyrical , _ and , as for the matter , America would do well to lay it to heart . There seems to be a great mistake abroad , especially among the poets of the people , about politics . Party politics do not constitute poetry , although poetry may be political , and the genuine poet ' s alchemy will transmute almost any subject into the gold of poetry , as the bee gathers honey from the wild prickly gorse on the desolate moors . The aspiration for freedom is an eternal theme , and few have sung it better than the German poet ,

      Freiligrath . I do not know a finer song in the world of poefoy than his glorious ' Freedom and Right . ' I have it not at hand , or we would bind it up in our ' Garland ; ' but here is oneb y the same poet , whieh alarmed the tyrant of Prussia with his half million armed guards around him , It is a yearning for the golden spring of Freedom to dawn on his country when the seed of the martyrs' blood shall blossom and bear fruit , and it . shall become a free nation , whose sons are a brotherhood . England , too , awaits the bursting of that spring , which shall make the poor man ' s heart to leap for gladness , and the desert of his life to blossom as the rose .

      On manhood ' s tree , springs crowding flowor on flower , By an eternal law they wave thereon ; As here one withereth in its final hour , There springs another full and glorious one ! An ever coming and a ceaseless going , And never for an hour a sluggish stand ! "We see them burst , then earthward see them blowing-And every blossom is a Folk—a Land ! We who yet wander with young feet this woe-land , Already have seen many crushed and dying , — The Tartar Vulture tore the Rose of Poland Before our eyes , and grimly left it lying . Through Spain ' s green foliage , sternly on her way History storms onward . —Shall she fall , then , thill 1 Shall not another realm ' s long dank decay Be blown and scattered o ' er the Bospborus !

      Yet , near to these , which the World ' s spirit-motion Shakes from tbe bough with its resistless might . Others we see full of young life ' s commotion—Clear eyed and joyous , pressing towards the light ; Ah ! what a budding—what a rich unfolding ; What thronging germs in young wood and in old I How many buds have hurst for our beholding—How many are ripe for bursting , full and bold I And Germany ' s rich bad , too , God be praised , Stirs on the stem!—It seems to bursting nigh , "Fresh as when Herrmann on its beauty gared—Fresh as when Luther from the Wartburgh high ; An ancient growth , with life still proudly teeming , Still yearning toward the genial sunbeams ever , Still ever spring—still aye of Freedom dreaming—C ! shall the bud become a blossom never ?

      Thou , at whose touch the flowers unfold their glory ; 0 , breath of Spring , onus , too , warmly blow . Thou who the germs of nations opest iu story , 0 ! breath of Freedom , on this pour thy glow I Thy stillest , deepest sanctuary render , 0 ! kiss it into fragrant splendour free ! Lord God in Heaven ! what a Flower of Wonder This Germany of ours shall one day be I Poet . —The author of that is worthy of his exile Blessings on him , By the bye , have you read the last words of 'Alton Locke '—they are a brave utterance for an English clergyman . What a dogged revolutionary march there is in their music . It seems to me like the measured tramp of a multitude , who come to demand 'Freedom or Death , ' with set teeth , flashing eyes , and defiant hearts !

      Weep , weep , weep , and weep , For pauper , dolt , and slave ; Hark ! from wasted moor and fen , Feverous alley , workhouse den , Swells the wail of Englishmen , "Work ! or the grave !" Down , down , down , and down , With idler , knave , and tyrant ; Why for sluggards stint and moil ? He that will not live by toil Has no right on English soil ; God ' s word ' s our warrant !

      Up , up , up , and up , Face your game and play ifc ! The night is past—behold the sun !—The cup is full—the web is spun—The judge is set , the doom begun ; Who shall stay it ? I am glad to hear that a People ' s Edition of < Alton Locke' is about to be published ; it is a work the people ought to get at . And now I , think we may tie up our 'Garland . '

      Cbitic—Not yet ; I have here the ' Poems of Louis Napoleon /* an excellent joke , i'faith , and how seriously they were advertised ' . This is one of the best shafts of satire that have been hurled at that scamp-Jupiter—almost worthy tho Prince of Parodists , Bon Gaultier , and the illustrations are admirable . On the frontispiece we have Louis the Blase " as Orphens , with his lyre ( N . B . He plays the lyav to perfection ) , the nations are represented as listeners , but the Lion of England turns its tail towards him ! The copyright of the work is secured inboth countries under recent acts . The book may be purchased of all French booksellers who have a weakness for Cayenne . It is dedicated to 'My Uncle , ' 'In whose boots I fain would tread ; you were poetic yourself , you read Ossian ( in the original Gaelic ) , and saw ' " * ' " " '" ' "" ^ ' ' """ ¦¦¦ — - ¦ ' — ***** ¦¦ ¦¦— ..- —i ..-i ¦¦» * Poama by Louis Napoleon . Illustratsd by Hine , DaTid Sofue , SC , jFleet-street ,

      Bt Critic Asd Poet. Per?— 1 The Winter I...

      forty centuries looking down from the Pyramids . May Ossian and the forty centuries have inspired me l' Lest people should remark it as unaccountable that not a few of the lyrics appear to reflect upon their author , it is suggested that he is an unaccountable person . Many readers might not have expected such a sty le of effusion from him ; bnt did they expect the coup d ' etat , or the Orleans confiscation ? Here we have the 'Ideea WapoIeoM * ennee from which we must pluck one or two . 'To gain your point in view—to wade

      Through dirt , and slime , and blood-To stoop to pick up what you want Through any depth of mud , But always iu the fire to thrust Some helpless cat ' s-paw , when Your chesnuts burn—o'esi une Idee Mpoleonienm . To bribe the base , to crush the good , And bring them to their knees—To stick at nothing , or to stick At what or whom they please-To stoop , to lie , to brag , to swear , Foreswear , and swear again—To rise—Ah ! voiu des Isees Napoleonienne .

      What think yon of that , for an exposition of the Napoleonic Ideas ? Everybody should have this little book , that figure of the eagle ( a la Flexmore ' s owl at the Princess ' s ) , with the cocked hat and the wreath of sausages , is worth the price of it J The eagle , after Poe's ' Raven / is a gem ; and so is the * Model Poetic Decree / with many others , all excellent things . Burlesque is the proper style for such a subject , and the author revels and rollics in it gloriously ! We must have one more extract and bind up the' Garland / let it be from « My Armada , ' not Mr . Macaulay ' s , but Louis Napoleon ' s . Should there be any resemblance traced , it may be accounted for by the fact of the noble author ' s long residence here , and his predilection for imitating : —

      Twill be about—on second thoughts , I will not name the day—When Glorious France shall spring to arms at signal other Bey ; No law , no warning , will she give to Albion ' s Mustering race , The bill she holds for vengeance due requires no days of grace , The channel's crossed , the Thames is passed , no need of bomb or ball , The holy bayonets of France are mustering at Blaokwall . With its proud Eagles high in air the conquering army

      comes , Trafalgar Square is echoing now to my Elyaian drums . Around the Nelson column let us halt a little space , For there behoves us to strike out a record of disgrace . Ho ,. ' strike the bronzes down to earth J -down history to the shades , Ho ! gunners fire your battering balls 1 Ho 1 miners , ply your spades 2 'Twas evening when the Nelson bronze opon the pavement rolled—Ere morning every Frenchman ' s sao was stuffed with English gold . Wickt . ftarvlt imrm fchn Inwn i \ f T . miI / lottAATraM Iia imimI . 1 **«\

      Such night old London never saw , nor e ' er again shall see . From Camberwell to Camden Town , from Kew to Ratoliffe Way , That night was one of fight and fright more dread than battle day , For swift to east , and swift to west , the ghastly war-flame spread-High o ' er the . Serpentine it glared , o ' er the now river head ! And made its deadly presence known in each surrounding shire , For in a word , the conquering French had set the town on fire .

      The Banker left his gold untouched in Braham ' s fireproof cares , The savings bank ( no new event ) its hoard no longer saves , Right fierce the names swept Lincoln ' s Ion , and did tho Lawyers brown , And ere tbe day , three hundred wigs were burned , with each a gown , And still at every compass-point up rose the furious fires , And like red-hot extinguishers appeared the Ohurches ' s spires ; O ' er all the batteries of the Tower the flames did climb and peer , And ail tho thousand masts of Thames were blazing far and noar . Then from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet , And a wild stream of fugitives dashed down each roaring

      street , And broader still became the blaze , and louder still the din , As timbers crashed , and rafters smashed , and roofs came plunging in ; In vain , like mad artillery , tho Assurance engines went—Tho Phcenix hoae was bootless now , the County and the Kent , And on and on , those roaring flames , untired thoy bounded still , On Saffron ' s craggy height ihey glowed , on Holbom ' s rocky hill . Till twelve fair counties saw St . Pauls one blaze of lurid liijht , Till flames enwrapped thy new Exchange , and breezes blew its Tito ! Sill England saw nor glory sink in London ' s funeral pile , And owned Invasion was no Sham—and ao did Tom Cariyle ! Who is kneeling blindfold , on three books ( I sup ^ pose his 'French Revolution /) about to receive the fire of a Platoon of French Infantry .

      The Countess Of Rudolstadt. [Sequel To "...

      THE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT . [ Sequel to " Gonjuelo . " ] Bi Ghoroe Sand . However , Oonsuelo soon recovered , and in the evening of the 13 fch day of her captivity , she was caused to reappear upon tho stage . During the first part of the performance a garland of Sowers fell at Consuelo ' s feet , and the servile audience , thinking it came from tbe king , greeted tho singer with thunders of applause . The enraged despot or . dered Pcdnitz , the chamberlain , to carry hor back to prison , and , if he could not prevail upon her to confess , not to let him hear of her for a year . She was , accordingly , again locked up in the fortress of Spandau . The Opera season was at an end , and her instrument ) had been taken from her .

      Deprived of this consolation , poor Consuelo aroused herself with all her courage to continue hor song , and tho composition of music during the evening . She succeeded , and was not long in perceiving tbat her voice , and tho exquisite judgment of hor ear , greatly improved in their dry and difficult exeroise . The fear of falling into error rendered her much more careful , and she listened With redoubled attention , thus involving a labour of memory and excessive observation . Her manner of singing became less conventional , more earnest , more perfect , While her compositions took a more simple character , and she composed in her prison airs of an extraordinary beauty , and

      of a Bubhmo sadness , she none tho less felt the injury to her health and peace of mind which tho loss of hor in strun ent caused . Experiencing tho necessity of incessant occupation , and being unable to rest from the stormy and exciting labour of composition and execution in tbe more tranquil labour of reading and study , she felt fever creeping into all her veins—grief taking possession of all her thoughts . Her active character—joyous , and . full of affection and trust—was not made for isolation and the absence of sympathy . She would , perhaps , have sunk under a few weeks of this cruel regime , had not Providence sent hor a friend , where certainly she least expected to find one .

      1 HB GAOLER ' S 80 S , Below the cell occupied by our recluse , was a great smoky room , the heavy and dusty ceiling of which never received any other light than that of the fire kindled in a vast chimney-place , always filled with iron kettles hissing and grumbling in every tone , enclosed during the whole day the Schwartz family and their skilful culinary operations . While the wife mathematically combined the greatest possible number of dinners with the fewest imaginable provisions and ingredients , the husband , seated before a table black with ink and oil , by the light of a lamp always burning in that gloomy sanctuary , artistically composed the most formidable bills filled with the most fabulous details . The meagre dinners were for the goodly number of prisoners whom tho officious keeper had succeeded in placing upon the list of his boarders ; the bills were to be presented to their bankers or relations , without being suomittod to the

      always inspection of those who had consumed this sumptuous dietary . While this speculative couple gave themselves up ardently to their work , two more peaceable personages , ensconced beneath the chimney piece , lived there in silence , perfect stran « ers to the sweets and profitsoHheoperationscarriedonbefore them . Tho first was a largo lean cat , carrotty and mangy , and its existence was consumed in licking its paws and rolling in the cinders . The second was a young man , or rather a child , still more ugly of his kind , whose silent and contemplative life was divided between the reading of an old book , more greasy than his mother s pots , and eternal reveries which resembled theboautitudesofidiotism rather than the meditations of a reflecting being . The cat had been baptised by the child with the name of Beelzebub , in contrast , doubtless , to that which the child had himself received from Monsieur and Madame Schwartz , his father and mothertho swoet and pious name of Gottlieb . *

      Gottlieb , intended for an ecclesiastic , had , up to the age of fifteen , made good progress in his studies in the Protestant liturgy . But for the four years that had elapsed sinco that time , he had lived inert by the fire ; a rapid and disordered growth having apparently destroyed all his mental powers . His beardless and puffy face terminating in a high and open forehead , did not badly resemble a soft pear . One day , Gottlieb suddenly awoke from his apathy , and expressed & iadesM % to team atraoe ; an innocent wish to which his parents readily consented . Accordingly he was allowed to pass a month in a shoemaker ' s workshop , after which he returned to his chimney , declaring tbat he knew enough . Sinco then he had laboured most indefatigably at J Theophilus—Friend of God , , ,.,,. .. . . r ,.,, ^^

      The Countess Of Rudolstadt. [Sequel To "...

      ewrvVJ" ? wa 32 wer finished , for it took anew shapflt Gonsntfn ^ "eirer ' bv aDV means » the ri ' gflt •**> cell discowf P taken a l 00 Be Mck frm the waI 1 of betf oaner w « . v * Wit 7 ' iu vmca vere Bom pencils and from the rannnu Se / reted her m 0 Dey ' iD order to 8 ave ifi pencils and nan * Sonwartz » and determined to use tho life . Wp f * BV .. v ^ , ; ° 'write ow the events of her prison tions aetSl 1 ]? " ? urnal fro m ^ Mian . The poralready aCqUamtef " * . tancei » with which the mder \ 9 H « ' « ucea , are here suppressed ; - "Aprils I shall—^ i ' 8 '"» wit reflections . I ffi ^ JJjJ . without stopping for long wish only to think of E XL TT ards m * enemie l' I have loved . s ftilom l ' ° ve > and of him whom "~ 4 Tbis horning a robin cim « i , u „ 3 remained there more than a ou . ^ rL to my V 00 ^ ' ? last fifteen days I have been inviSv " ^ fati fr honour , and to ' day he has at to ^ Ji ? J ° J . i !!! LS ^ invitation

      my . Ho lives in an old ivy bu , I J , Lt . TS my window , and whieh my gaolew 7 nZ f J ! , oh - * ? 5 eS their door situated some ' feet beneath fc * , ^ f bird looked at me for some time Su ctiKnd ™^ trustful air . Attracted by the bread wMohlhad JllS up in the form of worms , and which I tSed about in ™ fingers to empt him by the appearance of living prey S came Jigbtly , and as if blown by a gust of wind , Sow tS tanrS * A ° y pHs 0 tl ' H fc as B 00 n as he Perceived the & ception , be flew away with an air of reproach , and gave utterance to a low trill , resembling a complaint . g —;—5 . Another event . Here is a note Ireceived thia SK ! ft m a ha ? ™ ? g scarcely legible , upon a dirty piece of paper :- 'My sister , since the spirit visits you . TH »« f V aiDt ' Iara ^ w I am your friend and servant ! broth ' me and comn } aBd what yo « will of your

      Who then is this friend , this unlooked-for brother ? Ifc W- 0 MlbIe - ° gueas 1 found tbe J 10 * 6 uP ° n roy windowrohinT . . !? 3 ^ , J 0 pe " ed lt > t 0 SR 7 &«** ** tO OS hffcns SoK ° ° ' the d 0 ar ^ * l and rt ^ ri » i , l 0 ther L note thi 8 m ° ™ ing [ This is becoming coa ? J ™« lT ¦& " ?• . 5 00 ked ' dirfcT sorawl i thesama SXu & fc " 5 * £ indor iB no h 5 dal g ° > b ° t he is tea ' 2 ? " ? l ,, Dear Bister J elect soul of God ! you to 2 i 1 * 7 " ? ? P ™ k t 0 rae - Have you nothing vou ? m n % r ? - ls thcre no ™ y ^ which I can servo 8 Li » lLi « , " 70 U 2 ? Goramand your brother then / ^ i TZ ^ s ^ & r *** " ** * i ^ p ^ B ^ f ^^^ ^ AS German K „ ., ed mind of th , s P b W » There is in thesfl onSSSin ^ u- ° W * most disordered , a luxury or imagination which I admire . ' ., . . " ° « A third note Unon mv winilnw . « TtAni- siafci * . *

      »! E- ™ i S lsoI - , ; but the stairme which leads to thffnZf ° vl - iL anothei 'P ' '' of the building , at lilr »^ l / u ^ the apa ^ ment of a lady , a prisoner telfu ™» t „? , ^ iB a mystery , but the robin will Kii &/ ? 8 k hlm - &> r the rest , this is what you fnform you !? m * GottHeb and what he could not vL ^ uisssr ^ anthor of the mysterioua J 2 ill 6 heen - iU J . ? W > and * ken I went oufi yesterday morning Gottlieb ran towards me . I found him changed , and more ugly than usual . His ereafc eyes were

      . « wImWS ra consequence of my illness . " While talking with Gottlieb , I saw appear on the espla . nade a person , whose presence terrified me . It wastha ferocious and perfidious recruiter , whom we met in the BcehmerwaW two years ago . " 3 fr . Mayer , or , as he now calls himself , Mr . Nanteuil , persisted in forcing his disgusting presence upon mo ; hut he at last interested me by saying that , ' Prisoner number two' was named Amelia ; and when he departed ha pro « mised to introduce me to this lady in the evening . " At midnight , an old woman camo to my cell , and conducted mo to the platform of the tower . Here she bade m « wait , and immediately disappeared . "I had not waited long , when , upon turning rounda 6 the sound of footsteps , I found myself face to face with Mayer . Ho told me prisoner number two had refused to see me . He then began to talk to mo in a familiar manner , when I desired to return to my own room , eorry that I bai ever left it .

      "' One moment 1 one moment ! ' said Mayer ; ' your key is in my pocket , and you cannot get back without me . Allow me , my beautiful child , to say two words : — " As he thus spoke , the base recruiter drew near me , and attempted with an air at once impudent and awkward , to bar tho passage and get possession of my hands . I ran towards the battlements of the tower , determined to throw myself into the moat , rather than bo polluted by the least of his caresses . But at this moment , a singular spectacle met my eyas , and I hastened to draw the attention oftha adjutant to this object , that I might turn it from myself It was my salvation , but alas , it all but cost tho life of a being perhaps worthier than I !

      " Upon the elevated rampart which bordered the OthQt Bide of the moat facing the esplanade , a figure which looked gigantio , was running , or rather flying , upon tbo parapet , with a rapidity and skill partaking of the marvellous . Arrived at tha extremity of this rampart , flanked by a tower at each end , the phantom sprung upon the roof of the tower , ' which is level with the balustrade , and climbing tho piu « naolo with the lightness of a oat , appeared to be lost in air , " ' What tho deuco is that V cried the adjutant , forgetting his gallantry in his cares as a gaoler . ' Some prisoner is making his escape , the fiend take me ! And the sentinel is a sleep , by heaven ! Sentinel ! he cried , in the voice of a Stantor , 'look to yourself ! Awako ! awake !'

      " And running towards a battlement whore an alarm-hell was suspended , he set it going with a vigour worthy of so remarkable a professor of infernal music . I never heard anything more mournful than this tocsin , breaking in upon the silence of night with its sharp and grating sound . It was a savage cry of violence and brutality disturbing tha harmony of the few murmurs of the winds and waves . In a moment , all was alert in the prison . I heard the clash of muskets in the hands of the sentinels who ran to the bat « tery , and took aim , at hazard , at the first object which pro sented itself . The esplanade was illuminated by a red light which dimmed the beautiful azuro reflection of the moon . It was M . Schwartz lighting a beacon . Signals answered one another from rampart to rampart , and the echoes ! caught them up in weak and plaintive tones . The alarm

      or cannon soou mingled its terrible and solemn tone m this diabolical symphony . Heavy footsteps resounded upon tha flag-stones . I could see nothing , but I heard all these noises ; and my heart sunk with terror . Mayer had hastily quitted me , hut I never thought of rejoicing at this delivery ; I reproaohad myself bitterly for having betrayed , without knowing what I was about , the escape of some unfortunate prisoner . I waited , frozen with terror , tho end of the adventure , trembling at every gun-shot that sounded atinte *« vals , and anxiously listening for the cries of the wounded fugitive whioh should announce to me his disastrous fate , "All this lasted moro than an hour , and , thanks to Heaven ! the fugitive was neither seen nor overtaken . To assure myself on this point , I joined the Schwartzes upon the esplanade . They were themselves so distressed and agitated , that thoy never thought of being surprised to find me out of my cell in the middle of the night . It may ha that they had agreed with Mayer to let me out on tbat

      particular occasion . Schwartz , after having run up ana down like a madman , and assured himself that none of tha captives committed to his charge were missing , began to grow somewhat tranquil ; but his wife and he were struoK with as sad a consternation as though the salvation of a man ' s life was in their eyee a public and private calamity- / an enormous outrage against divine justice . The rest of the turnkeys , and the soldiers , who were coming ' and going in a state of great alarm , exchanged Words with them 6 X « preaaiva of the twaa despair , the same terror . In their eves , an attempt at eseape was apparently the blackest of all crimes . Oh , good God I how frightful did it appear ta me , to see these mercenary men devoted to tho babaroua employment of depriving their fellow-beings of the sacred right of liberty ! But suddenly it seemed ns if suprema equity had resolved to indict an exemplary punishment on , my two guardians . Madame Sehwartz , having entered \ m apartment for a moment , hastily returned with loud cries . "

      "' Gottlieb ! Gottlieb ! ' said she , in a stifled voice ; ' Hold ! do not fire , do not kill my son ! It is he ; it ia certainly he . ' ' « In the midst of the agitation of the two Sohwartzes , I un derstood from their broken words , that Gottlieb was not to be found either in his bod , or in any other corner of their dwelling , and that probably he had returned , unperceived by them , to his ancient habit of walking upon tha roofs in his sleep . Gottlieb was a somnambulist ! «< I assisted Schwartz to search the ditch , in the fear that Gottlieb had fallen into it ; but when I returned to my cell , I found him slumbering peacefully in my arm chair . "I had heard that a somnambulist could answer tho questions of friendly persons . In reply to m y queries , ha told me that ho had been flying with the red breast very far in * he sky , almost to the dwellings of tbe angels ; an 4 that Beelzebub had pursued them , without being able to reach them .

      •« ' Who then has taught yon to know angels and dis « course so well V "' My master ! ' replied the somnambulist , with an in « fantine smile and an expression of artless enthusiasm , "' And who is your master ? ' I asked . « * God , fivat of & H , and then the sublime * hoe « maker . ' •« < What is the name of this sublime shoemeker V « * Oh , it is a great name ! but you must not tell it , yoa see , because my mother does not know it . She does not know that I have two books in tho hole in the chimney One a book of sermons , which I pretend to read when sha is looking at me , and another , which I have devoured foe tbe last four years , and which is my heavenly bread , my spiritual life , tho book of truth , tho light and the sahfciio ^ of the soul . ' " « And who wrote this hook ?' « « ' Ho , the shoemaker of Golitz , JacquesBoahmev V

      « Hero we -were interrupted by the arrival of Madama Schwartz , whom I prevented with difficulty from precipitating herself upon her son to embrace him . This woman jdores her offspring . May her sins be forgiven her for it I Sho would speak to him ; but Gottlieb did not hear her , and I alone was able to induce him to return to his bed , where , they assured me this morning , he had continue ** to sleep peacefully . He was conscious of nothing , tbongaba strange malady and alarm of the night , were to-day Jha subject pf conversation throughout Spandau . t .., ^ Ai . ra- » j ^^ v ^ :.- ' - ; -. ^ --- ' -t ..-.. ..:,

  • Citation
    • Northern Star (1837-1852), May 8, 1852, page 3, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/ns/issues/ns2_08051852/page/3/