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From a late Liverpool paper.

“ You ’re antichrist and bigot

You'd train them up for hell." And England, sorely puzzled

To see such battle strong, Exclaimed with voice of pity

Oh, friends, you do me wrong! Oh, cease your bitter wrangling!

For till you all agree, I fear the little children

Will plague both you and me.” But all refused to listen :

Quoth they “ We bide our time ;" And the bidders seized the children

Beggary, Filth, and Crime ; And the prisons teemed with victims,

And the gallows rocked on high, And the thick abomination

Spread reeking to the sky.

From Ilousehold Words

DIRGE.

THE CHILDREN. “W10 bids for the little children

Body and soul and brain ;
Who bids for the little children -

Young and without stain ?
Will no one bid," said England,
“ For their souls so pure and white,
And fit for all good and evil

The world on their page may write ?” “ We bid," said Pest and Famine,

" We bid for life and limb; Fever and pain and squalor

Their bright young eyes shall dim. When the children grow too many,

We 'll nurse them as our own, And hide them in secret places,

Where none may hear them moan.” “I bid,” said Beggary, howling,

“I'll buy them, one and all, I'll teach them a thousand lessons

To lie, to skulk, to crawl ; They shall sleep in my lair like maggots,

They shall rot in the fair sunshine ; And if they serve my purpose,

I hope they'll answer thine." “ And I'll bid higher and higher,”

Said Crime, with wolfish grin, “ For I love to lead the children

Through the pleasant paths of sin. They shall swarm in the streets to pilfer,

They shall plague the broad highway, Till they grow too old for pity,

And ripe for the law to slay. ** Prison and hulk and gallows

Are many in the land, ’T were folly not to use them,

So proudly as they stand. Give me the little children,

I'll take them as they ’re born; And I'll feed their evil passions

With misery and scorn.
“ Gire me the little children,

Ye good, ye rich, ye wise,
And let the busy world spin round
While

ye

shut your idle eyes ; And you judges shall have work,

And you lawyers wag the tongue ; And the jailors and policemen

Shall be fathers to the young.” « Oh, shame !" said true Religion,

“Oh, shame, that this should be ! I'll take the little children

I'll take them all to me.
I'll raise them up with kindness

From the mire in which they've trod , I'll teach them words of blessing,

I'll lead them up to God.” “ You 're not the true religion,"

Said a Sect with flashing eyes ; “Nor thou,” said another scowling

“ Thou ’rt heresy and lies.” “ You shall not have the children,"

Said a third, with shout and yell ;

A FALLEN angel here doth rest :
Deal gently with her, Memory ! lest
In after years thou com'st to know
God was more merciful than thou !
She cannot feel the timid peeping
Of loving flowers — the small moss creeping
Over her grave the quiet weeping

Of saltless dews ;
She hears not — she that lies there sleeping-

Whoe'er accuse !
She hears not how the wild winds crare
An entrance to her sheltered grave ;
Nor heeds how they bewail and moan,
That one door closed to them alone;
She nothing recks the cold rains' beating,
The swathed turf-sod's icy sheeting,
Nor hears, nor answers she the greeting

Of such cold friends!
Nor more, of summer suns unweeting,

To them attends.
Alas! no season now has power
To charm her for one little hour !
Each change and chance that men oppress
Pass o'er her now impressionless.
She cannot note the gradual merging
Of Night in Day ; the Days' quick urging
To longer Weeks ; the Weeks' converging

In Months — Months, Years ! On Time's wide sea forever surging,

Till hea ven nears.
The light is parted from her eye,
The moisture on her lips is dry ;
No smile can part them now ; no glow
Ever again those cheeks can know.
Harsh world! oh, then, be not thou slow'r
The ugly Past to bury o'er!
Time yet may have some sweets in store

For our poor sister ;
Life cast her off ; that self-same hour

Death took, and kissed her!

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.- No. 474.-18 JUNE, 1853.

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CONTENTS. 1. Madame Guyon,

British Quarterly Revicw, 707 2. Paris after Waterloo,

Athenæum,

734 3. Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin,

Economist,

735 4. Lady Lee's Widowhood — Part III.,

Blackwood's Magazine, 737 5. The Kingdom of Reconciled Impossibilities,

Household Words, 755 6. Coal Mine Explosions,

Chambers' Journal, 758 7. Richard Henry Dana,

New Monthly Magazine, 762 8. Ludwig Tieck,

Atheneum,

766 POETRY: With a Guitar - Homeward Bound, 705 ; The “ Green-Horns ” — Day Dreams

- Sculptured Vase — “Nothing to do," 706 ; Spring Cleaning, 754. Suort Articles : Mysterious Music, 736; Thomas Chatterton, 754; The Cherry, 761 ;

Jackson's Epitaph on his Wife — Management of the Finger Nails, 767. , New Books: 768.

As it floats through boundless day,
WITH A GUITAR.

Our world enkindles on its way: -

All thi knows, but will not tell
BY SHELLEY.

To those who cannot question well
The artist who this idol wrought

The spirit that inhabits it : To echo all harmonious thought,

It talks according to the wit Felled a tree, while on the steep

Of its companions, and no more The winds were in their winter sleep ;

I3 heard than has been felt before, Rocked in that repose divine

By those who tempt it to betray On the wind-swept Apennine,

These secrets of an elder day. And dreaming, some of Autumn past,

But, sweetly as its answers will And some of Spring approaching fast,

Flatter hands of perfect skill, And some of April buds and showers,

It keeps its highest, holiest tone
And some of songs in July bowers ;

For our beloved friend alone.
And all of love ; und so this tree
0! that such our death may be ! -
Died in sleep, and felt no pain,

HOMEWARD BOUND.
To live in happier form again ;
From which, beneath heaven's fairest star, Flow fast, ye waves ! ye burnished billows, roll!
The artist wrought this loved guitar, Ye cannot flow so fast as speeds the soul ;
And taught it justly to reply

Thought goes before you; winds, your clarion To all who question skilfully,

sound! In language gentle as thine own;

Waves, fuster flow! ye bear the Homeward Whispering, in enamored tone,

Bound ! Sweet oracles of woods and dells,

Upon the deck they stand, with wistful eye And summer winds in sylvan cells ; Watching the ocean's verge which meets the sky, For it had learnt all harmonies

And now mistaking for an island dim Of the plains and of the skies,

Some purple rays upon the ocean's rim ; Of the foresis and the mountains

While speeds their bark as racing with the clouds, And the many-voiced fountains,

And tired swallows drop amid its shrouds, The clearest echoes of the hills,

And land-birds' voices on the glad ears chime The softest notes of filling rills,

Of earth and flowers — green grass and fragrant The melodies of birds and bees,

thyme ; The murmuring of summer seas,

And sen-weeds float in emerald lustre rare, And pattering rain, and breathing dew, Like the shorn tresses of mermaiden's hair And airs of evening, and it knew

Signs of the shore !- and now its rocks they That seldom heard mysterious sound

Which, driven on its diurnal round, Its bright white cliffs ! the guards of liberty ! CCCCLXXIV. LIVING AGE. VOL, I. 45

see

BY KEATS.

on

And, bravely cheering, gladly on they come, 'Tis well that Time, corroding Care,
To anchor soon by Fatherland and Home ;

And bitt'rest Ill have left me this :
With pleasures pure their earnest bosoms blest, Life's real sorrows who could bear,
The nearer home - the greater is their zest ; Did not some dear imagined bliss,
As with the poet — best beloved the throes

Like Spring's green Footsteps, wake up flowers, That bring his song to its melodious close.

To cheer and bless Time's waste of hours ? "T is well at times to get one home

To childhood's birthplace, and to see From the California Correspondent of the Milwaukee

The loved - the lost ones - round one come,
Sentinel.

Just as of old they used to be,
THE GREEN-HORNS" --A PARODY. And feel that neither change nor care

Can veil the soul's communion there.
The Green-horns came down, like the wolf on the
fold,

From erery Ruin of the Past To the land that was said to be teeming with gold,

An echo comes to charm mine ear.

Love woke the utt'rance first and last, And the gleam of their wash-pans, like comets or stars,

And love, when lost, how doubly dear! Flashed bright o'er our gulches, our canons, our

Such concords how shall time impart, bars.

As the first music of the heart?
Like the leaves of the forest, when summer is
green,

A SCULPTURED VASE.
That host in the month of October was seen ;
Like the leaves of the forest, when autumn hath
blown,

HEARD melodies are sweet, but those unheard That host in December was scattered and strown.

Are sweeter ; therefore, ye soft pipes, play For the “ Fiend of the Storm” spread his wings Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,

on the blast, And rain, at his bidding, came sudden and fast: Fond youth, beneath the trees thou canst not

Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: And the waters were raised till each creek was a

leave flood, And provisions went up on account of the mud.

Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ;

Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, And there lay the tools they had bought upon Though winning near the goal-yet do not grieve, trust,

She cannot fade though thou hast not thy Each wash-pan and crow-bar all covered with dust;

Forever wilt thou love and she be fair. And there lay each Green-horn coiled up in his

tent His pork-barrel empty, his money all spent.

From the Ladies' Companion. And the victims themselves were quite loud in

NOTHING TO DO?” their wail,

“ Nothing to do?" O, pause and look around And the merchant who sold upon credit turned

At those oppressed with want, and sorrow too! pale,

Look at the wrongs, the sufferings that abound, And those who prayed hardest for rain at the

Ere yet thou sayst there's naught for thee to do. first, Were now by their comrades most bitterly cursed.“ Nothing to do ?” Are there no hearts that

ache In vain they prospected each dreary ravine — No care-worn breasts that heave an anguished In vain they explored where no white men had sigh

No burthens that thy hands may lighter makeThe riches they fondly expected to clasp,

No bitter tears thy sympathy might dry? Like the will-o'the-wisp, eluded their grasp.

Are there no hungry that thy hand may feedAnd some of the Green-horns resolved upon flight, No sick to aid, no naked to be clad ? And vamosed the ranch in desperate plight;

Are there no blind whose footsteps thou mayst While those who succeeded in reaching the town

lead Confessed they were done most decidedly brown. No mourning heart that thou couldst make less

sad? From Eliza Cook's Journal.

“ Nothing to do?" Hast thou no store of gold —

No wealth of time that thou shouldst well em-
DAY-DREAMS.

No hidden talent that thou shouldst unfold
I love my day-dreams, warm and wild,
Whate'er ungentle lips may say ;

No gift that thou shouldst use for others' joy? I dearly love, e'en as a child,

Nothing to do?” O, look without, within ! To sit and dream an hour away

Be to thyself and to thy duties true : In visions which heaven's blessed light Look on the world, its troubles, and its sin, Makes but the holier to my sight.

And own that thou hast much indeed to do!

bliss ;

been ;

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From the British Quarterly Review. ing there on which any fire may kindle after Life and Religious Opinions and Experience divine calm, the fruition of an absolute repose

death. It promises a perfect sanctification, a of Madame de la Mothe Guyon ; together with some account of the Personal History

on this side the grave. It has been both and Religious Opinions of Fenelon, Arch persecuted and canonized by kings and ponbishop of Cambray. By 'THOMAS C. UPHAM,

tiffs. In one age the mystic is enrolled Professor of Mental and Moral Philosophy burns him, or a lettre-de-cachet consigns bim

the saints ; in another, the inquisitor in Bowdoin College. 2 vols. New York: to the Bastille. But the principle is indeHarper and Brothers. 1851.

structible. There always have been, and JEREMY Taylor relates, in one of his ser- probably always will be, ininds whose religion mons, the following legend : “ Saint Lewis assumes spontaneously a mystical character. the king having sent Ivo, Bishop of Chartres, States of society continually recur which necon an embassy, the bishop met a woman on the essarily foster this disposition. There have way, grave, sad, fantastic, and melancholy, been periods in which all the real religion with fire in one hand, and water in the other. existing in a country has been found among He asked what these symbols meant. She its mystics. Then this inward contemplative answered, My purpose is with fire to burn devotion becomes conspicuous as a power Paradise, and with my water to quench the ventures out into public life, and attracts the Aames of hell, that men may serve God eye of the historian. Then its protest is without the incentives of hope and fear, and heard against literalism, formality, scholaspurely for the love of God." This fanciful ticism, human ordinances. It reacts strenupersonage may be regarded as the embodiment ously against the corruptions of priesteraft. of that religious idea to which we give the But its voice is heard also discoursing concernname of Quietism. It is the ambition of the ing things unutterable. It speaks as one in a Quietist to attain a state in which self shall dream of the third heaven, and of celestial be practically annihilated - in which nothing experiences and revelations fitter for angels shall be desired, nothing feared - in which than for men. Its stammering utterance, the finite nature ignores itself and all creu- confused with excess of rapture, laboring with tures, and recognizes only the Infinite — is emotions too huge or with abstractions tvo swallowed up and hidden in the effulgence of spiritual for words, is utterly unintelligible. the Divine Najesty. Quietism attempts self- Then it is misrepresented. Mysticism betranscendence by self-annihilation. It calls comes in turn the victim of a reaction — the on man to become Nothing, that he may be delirium is dieted by persecution dissolved in Ilim who is All. It has many signed once more to secrecy and silence. various names to denote its beloved contrasts There it survives, and spins in obscurity its of self-emptiness and Divine fulness. That mingled tissue of evil and of good. We must reduction of self to an inappreciable quantity not blindly praise it in our hatred of formalism. which it inculcates, is called poverty, simpli- We must not vaguely condemn it in our fication, denudation, indifference, silence, horror of extravagance. quiet, death. That self-finding in God which Mr. Upham has contributed to the literais the immediate consequence of this self- ture of America an interesting and instructive loss, is termed union, transformation, perfec- book. To write the biography of Madame tion, pure love, immersion, absorption, deifi-Guyon has been with him a labor of love, and cation.

he makes us love hinn for his labor. To what Mysticism is the romance of religion. Its external section of the Christian community history is bright with stories of dazzling spir- he may belong we know not, but his devout itual adventure, sombre with tragedies of the spirit and large-hearted Christian charity bring soul, stored with records of the achievements him near to our hearts at once. He has and the woes of martyrdom and saintship. It | availed himself conscientiously of the best has reconciled the most opposite extremes materials within his reach. His style is calm of theory and practice. In theory it has and equable -almost too much so. His verged repeatedly on pantheism, ego-theism, modest and gentle nature would seem to have nihilism. In practice it has produced some been schooled in the Quietism he records.. of the most glorious examples of humility, The wrongs of Madame Guyon are narrated benevolence, and untiring self-devotion. It by him with a patient forbearance equal to has commanded with its indescribable fasci- that with which she endured them. For unnation the most powerful natures and the most charitableness itself he has abundant charity, feeble — minds lofty with a noble disdain of and the worst malignity of persecution cannot. life, or low with a weak disgust of it. If the provoke him to asperity or carry him away self-torture it exacts be terrible, the reward it with indignation. In his sympathy with: holds out has been found to possess an irre- Madame Guyon, and in his admiration for sistible attraction. It lays waste the soul her character as a whole, we fully agree with with purgatorial pains, but it is to leave noth-him. In bis estimate of her Quietism and of

it is con

She re

Quietism generally, we differ. We shall find powerful stimulant. There she read of huoccasion, as we proceed, to show why we miliations and austerities numberless, of think him wrong in regarding Quietism and charities lavished with a princely munifithe highest Christian spirituality as identi- cence, of visions enjoyed and miracles wrought cal. In his anxiety to do justice to Madame in honor of those saintly virtues, and of the Guyon, he has transposed and paraphrased intrepidity with wbich the famous enthusinst ner language, softened many expressions, and wrote with a red-hot iron on her bosom the omitted others. He underrates, we think, characters of the holy name Jesus. The girl the allowance which thoughtful readers will of twelve years old was bent on copying these be disposed to make for her. It would have achievements on her little scale. been more satisfactory bad he represented her lieved, taught, and waited on the poor ; and, to us just as she was, without veiling a single for lack of the red-hot iron or the courage, extravagance. There is a nobleness in her sewed on to her breast with a large needle a which would survive the disclosure, and pre- piece of paper containing the name of Christ. serve for her memory a place in the affection She even forged a letter to secure her adof every liberal mind. The biographer might mission to a conventual establishment as a have appended to her exact words whatever nun. The deceit was immediately detected ; explanation or comment he thought necessary, but the attempt shows how much more favorleaving his readers to judge for themselves. able was the religious atmosphere in which The best course would have been, to have she grew up to the prosperity of convents placed occasionally side by side with her than to the inculcation of trutń. meditations some of the rhapsodies of Angela With ripening years religion gave place to de Foligni or St. Theresa. It would then vanity. Her handsome person and brilliant have been seen, that, in comparison with these conversational powers fitted her to shine in he-praised and sainted devotees, the persecuted society. She began to love dress, and feel Madame Guyon was sobriety itself. Thus jealous of rival beauties. Like St. Theresa, instructed, the Protestant would be placed in at the same age, she sat up far into the night a position to do her full justice. But, igno- devouring romances. Her autobiography rant of mysticism generally, and of the expres- records her experience of the mischievous sions to which Romanist mystical writers had effects of those tales of chivalry and passion. long been accustomed, he would see in When nearly sixteen, it was arranged that Madame Guyon standing alone only a monster she should marry the wealthy M. Guyon. of extravaganco. Professor Upham, however, This gentleman, whom she had seen but threo has brought much less information of this days before her marriage, was twenty-two kind to his subject than could have been years older than herself. desired. The particular form of mysticism The faults she had were of no very grare which goes by the name of Quietism can description, but her husband's house was only be thoroughly understood by a compar- destined to prove for several years a pitiless ison with some of the other developments of school for their correction. He lived with its common principle.

his mother, a vulgar and hard-hearted woman. Jeane Marie Bouviéres de la Mothe was Her low and penurious habits were uraffected born on Easter-eve, April 13th, 1648, at hy their wealth ; and in the midst of riches, Montargis. Her sickly childhood was dis- she was happiest scolding in the kitchen tinguished by precocious imitations of that about some farthing matter. She appears to) religious life which was held in honor by have hated Madame Guyon with all the every one around her. She loved to be dressed strength of her narrow mind. M. Guyon in the habit of a little nun. When little loved his wife after his selfish sort. If she more than four years old she longed for mar- was ill, he was inconsolable. If any one spoke tyrdom. Her school-fellows placed her on against her, he few into a passion ; yet, at her knees on a white cloth, flourished a sabre the instigation of his mother, he was continover her head, and told her to prepare for the ually treating her with harshness. An artful stroke. A shout of triumphant laughter fol- servant girl, who tended his gouty leg, was lowed the failure of the child's courage. She permitted daily to mortify and insult his was neglected by her mother, and knocked wife. Madame Guyon had been accustomed about by a spoiled brother. When not at at home to elegance and refinement - beneath school she was the pet or the victim of ser- irer husband's roof she found politeness convants. She began to grow irritable from illo temned and rebuked as pride. When she treatment, and insincere from fear. When spoke she had been listened to with attention ten years old she found a Bible in her sick- now she could not open her mouth without room, and read it, she says, from morning to contradiction. She was charged with prenight, committing to memory the historical suming to show them how to talk, reproved parts. Some of the writings of St. Francis for disputatious forwardness, and rudely de Sales, and the Life of Madame de Chantal, silenced. She could never go to see her pafell in her way. The latter work proved a rents without having bitter speeches to bear

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