THE GREAT ELECTRICAL MACHINE | scanty fragments of information which the literature | emitted it, carried them back with it. In connection of the middle ages affords on this and every other with our subject, Sir Isaac Newton may be the next

AT THE ROYAL PANOPTICON, LONDON.

THE

From the London Journal.

HE presence of a machine of this kind in a recep tacle devoted to the exhibition of art and scientific progress, naturally suggests a few observations on the subject of electricity itself, which is still being cultivated by some with an ardor commensusurate with its importance in the eyes of the philosophic world.

This branch of physics is by no means of modern date. So early as the seventh century before the Christian era, we have it reported by writers that Thales described the power developed in amber by friction, of attracting bits of straw and other light bodies. To explain this phenomenon, also, formed one of his philosophical dogmas. He, however, bequeathed to us no accounts himself of his discoveries -at least they have not descended to posterity: consequently, the carliest description extant of the existence of the electric property is found in the "Treatise on Stones," by Theophrastus, who flourished three hundred years after Thales.

scientific subject, may be left unnoticed; and from
the time of Pliny to the end of the fifteenth century,
no advance whatever took place in this branch of
natural philosophy.

noticed, as being the first who remarked that excited glass would attract light bodies even to the surface opposite to that upon which it had been rubbed. In his "Optics" he also alludes to the phenomena of Then Dr. Gilbert published his "Treatise on Mag-electricity for other purposes. Mr. Hawkesbee is the next electrical experimentnetism," in which several new electrical phenomena were brought forward; and from that date, electricityalist deserving notice, in the order of time. In 1705, as a science-justly entitled to the name, by acting he observed that mercury shaken in glass vessels, upon judicious reasoning and careful experiment-produced a light visible in the dark, and that when may be said to have originated. Much of the reason- the density of the air is diminished to one half, the ing of Gilbert, however, was necessarily erroneous, from the imperfect development of facts which then existed regarding the true nature of bodies; but his parallel between electrical and magnetical attraction being ingenious, must in his day have been instructive.

Passing over as erroneous the ypotheses of Sir F. Bacon, Sir Kenelm Digby, Gassendi, and Des Cartes, we come to Boyle, whose experiments added to the list of known substances capable of electric excitation several others. His theory, however, did not greatly differ from the theories of his immediate It does not appear that Pliny's knowledge upon predecessors. He supposed that the electric body this subject extended beyond that of Theophrastus, emitted a glutinous effluvium, which laid hold of, or although ancient naturalists were aware of the elec- became entangled in, the pores of small bodies in its trical phenomenon in the shocks of the torpedo. The egress; and upon its return to the body which had

light becomes much more brilliant. He ascertained that this was caused either by the friction of mercury against glass, or of the air-but could not satisfy himself by which.

In his next series of experiments, he exhibited light produced by rubbing together vacuo amber and flannel, glass, and flannel, glass and oyster shells, woollen and woollen, and glass with glass. Subsequently, he showed new experiments, and finally arrived at the construction of the electrical machine, not differing essentially from some very recently in use. His machine was, in fact, a glass globe, capable of being whirled round in a wooden frame. When exhausted of air and turned briskly, the application of his hand would produce a strong light in the inside; and, by readmitting the air, light appeared

on the exterior also—but, with this singularity, that it appeared to stick to his fingers, or to other bodies held near the globe. By bringing an exhausted globe near to an excited one, he found that a light was produced in the former, which soon disappeared, but which immediately reappeared in great beauty, if the latter were again put in motion.

"I didn't speak a word, but quartered on just as fast as could. I thought he would never stop paring, or speak a word more. By-and-by he stuck the point of his knife into an apple, and unwinding the skin from around it, he handed it over to me. It was a red skin, I remember, and cut as smooth as a ribbon.

in common, that they are treated as two distinct | Robert Otis, who had been listening with a flushed
subjects. Connecting links, however, appear to face.
"What did you say?"
exist between every branch of physical science-so
the secret agency of the former may be traced in
every operation of the latter. Upon this subject,
however, we cannot here enlarge; bnt must content
ourselves with again drawing attention to the Elec-
tric Machine-of which we give an accurate engrav-
ing—and which must be regarded as another of the
many proofs which this science has from time to
time given of the careful investigations it receives
at the hands of the experimental philosopher.

STORY OF A COURTSHIP.

"I shouldn't a bit wonder if that dropped into a letter G,' says Mr. Gray. Supposing you try it." "Well, I took the red apple-skin, and whirled it three times round my head, and down it went on to the floor, curled up into the nicest capital G that you ever sat eyes on.

Many more electrical discoveries were made by this philosopher, whose path was followed by G. Grey, Wheler, Du Fay, Desaguliers, Bore, Winkler, Ludolf, Watson, Le Meunier, and Pivati, when we arrive at the interesting and fertile period of Dr. Franklin's discoveries. The first communication of this great man to Mr. Peter Collinson, of the Royal Society, is dated March 28th, 1747, and his last letter on electrical subjects is in 1760. Although Watson, one of the fellows of the Royal Society, had about the same time discovered and published the explanation of the real action of the glass and rubber, Franklin's first papers show that he had arrived at a similar conclusion. He says: "The electrical fire is not created by friction, but collected —being really an element diffused among, and attracted by other matter-particularly by water and metals." He further says: "To electrise plus or minus, no more needs to be known than this-that the parts of the tube or sphere that are rubbed, do, in the instant of the friction, attract the electrical fire very easy thing to get up again. Now bustle about, night," said the old lady, demurely, smoothing her

-and therefore take it from the thing rubbing; the same parts, immediately as the friction upon them ceases, are disposed to give the fire they have received to anybody that has less." This theory, although considered entirely the discovery of Franklin, is, in fact, no more than a further extended development of Watson's; and, to the honor of the American, he did not attempt to slight the labors of his contemporary-but, in a just and generous philosophic spirit, mentions them in his own description, only correcting what he considered an erroneous explanation of an experiment on the part

of Watson.

Early writers compared the electric spark to flashes of lightning, but it remained for Franklin to verify their points of analogy. It would be superfluous here to enumerate wherein the numerous points of similarity were found by experiment to exist. We must not, however, forget to notice the application of the result of this great man's electrical discoveries to a purpose of practical utility. This is found in the conductor, such as is now in usenamely, a pointed rod of metal extending above the top of a building, and terminating in the earth, or in water, whereby a cloud, highly charged with electricity, might be discharged in safety through the perfect conductor to the earth. This brilliant discovery has immortalised the name of the American philosopher, and given him a name amongst the benefactors of his species. Since the time of Franklin, Priestly, Cavendish, Coulomb, Voltawhose discoveries gave a name to the voltaic branch of electricity-Lavoisier and La Place have pursued their investigations in the same path, with various success; whilst the discovery of Galvani has almost created a new science.

Although there is an opinion that electricity and galvanism are but modifications of the same agent yet both the facts made known by experiment, and the theories deduced from them, have so few points

"COME

[From Mrs. Stephen's new Novel, "Fashion and Famine."]
OME-come," said Mrs. Gray, "you have
been moping there long enough, nephew,
forgetting manners and everything else. Here are
the apples waiting, and no one to hand them round,
for when I once get settled in this easy-chair"
here the good woman gave a smiling survey of her
ample person, which certainly overflowed the chair
at every point, leaving all but a ridge of the back
and the curving arms quite invisible—“it isn't a

and while we old women rest ourselves, you and
Julia, there, can try your luck with the apple-

seeds."

"I remember the first time I ever surmised that

Mr. Gray had taken a notion to me, was once when
we were at an apple-cutting together down in Maine.
Somehow Mr. Gray got into my neighborhood when
we ranged round the great basket of apples. I felt
my cheeks burn the minute he drew his seat so
close to mine, and took out his jack-knife to begin
work. He pared and I quartered. I never looked
up but once then his cheek was redder than mine,
and he held the jack-knife terribly unsteady. By-
and-by he got a noble, great apple, yellow as gold,
and smooth as a baby's cheek. I was looking at
his hands sidewise from under my lashes, and saw
that he was paring it carefully, as if every round of
of the skin was a strip of gold At last he cut it
off at the seed end, and the soft rings fell down over
his wrist as I took the apple from his fingers.

"Now,' says he, in a whisper, bending his head
a little, and raising the apple-peel carefully with his
right hand, 'I'm just as sure this will be the first
letter of a name that I love, as I am that we are
alive.' He began softly whirling the apple-peel
round his head; the company were all busy with
one another, and I was the only one who saw the
yellow links quivering around his head, once, twice,
three times. Then he held it still a moment, and
sat looking right into my eyes. I held my breath,
and so did he.

"Now,' says he, and his breath came out with a quiver, what if it should be your name?'

"I did not answer, and we both looked back at the same time. Sure enough it was a letter S. No pen ever made one more beautifully. Just as I expected,' says he, and his eyes grew bright as diamonds-'just as I expected.' That was all he said."

"And what answer did vou make, aunt?" asked

"Mr. Gray, he looked at the letter, and then sort of sidewise into my face. S. G.,' says he, taking up the apple-skin, and eating it, as if it had been the first mouthful of a Thanksgiving dinner. 'How would you like to see them two letters on a new set of silver teaspoons?"

face, it burned so; but I couldn't speak more than "I re'lly believe you could have lit a candle at my if I'd been born tongue-tied.”

"But did you never answer about the spoons?" asked Julia.

"Well, yes, I believe I did, the next Sunday

apron.

SWEET TO BE LOVED.

IS sweet to love,-and sweet to be loved!
The maiden hath owned, and the lover proved;
The parent, the child, the husband, the bride,
The grandsire old, and the babe by his side;
The wanderer here, and the stranger there,
The rich in his pride, the poor in his care;
The world's one heart, with its Legion-tongue,
Since Light from the realms of Chaos sprung,
Wherever the human foot hath roved,
Has throbbed this same yearning-to be beloved.

The child is gay when the mother smiles,-
The stripling is raptured with Love's first wiles,
The bride asks no joy but the loved one's care-
The mother's heart leaps at her babe's first prayer,
And the weary heart of the worn and old,
By Life's rude jostles pulse-chilled and cold,
Is thrilled with the warmth of childhood now,
When the young and the fair before him bow;
And the homeless stranger, afar removed,
Forgets his sorrow if but beloved.

"Mine own! mine own!" 'tis a clasping word!
And folds-ah! closely, the heart it has stirred,
And we feel we are wrapped in a holy shield,
That shall bear us safe through Life's battling field :-
There we lean and rest till we half forget
That a thousand ills in our path are set,
While the bright lip trembles through falling tears
(Bright, linking drops between joy and fears)
Pulse-timed with the heart to whose thrilling tone
Responsive it echos-"mine own-mine own!”

Ay-t is sweet to be loved-at the fireside bright,
Where home-eyes are blending their holy light;
It is sweet to be loved by the wise and the old;
By those whom the world names proud and cold:
By the gentle hearts where our own have slept,
Who have joyed in our joy-in our sorrow wept;
And 't is sweet to be loved by those spirits bright,
Whose glowing thoughts fill our own with light;
But oh, when our souls from earth are riven,
How sweeter far, to be loved in Heaven!

Once again, Stephen had to conquer an instinctive propensity to dislike this old woman, though her manner was as honest and simple as a manner possibly could be. With a gentleness that was as natural to him as he knew it to be to Rachael, he pursued the subject that interested her in her old age.

“Well, missus,” said he, “I ha seen the lady, and she were yoong and handsom. Wi' fine dark thinkin eyes, and a still way, Rachael, as I never seen the like on."

Young and handsome. Yes!" cried the old woman, quite delighted. "As bonny as a rose! And what a happy wife!"

Aye, missus, I suppose she be," said Stephen. But with a doubtful glance at Rachael.

"Suppose she be? She must be. She's your master's wife," returned the old woman.

Stephen nodded assent. "Though as to master," portions of tea and sugar, a loaf, and some butter, said he, glancing again at Rachael, “not master from the nearest shop. The bread was new and onny more. That's aw enden twixt him and me." "Have you left his work, Stephen?" asked Rachael, anxiously and quickly.

Age, especially when it strives to be self-reliant and cheerful, finds much consideration among the given the old lady pain, when his landlady came poor. The old woman was so decent and con- stumbling up the narrow stairs, and calling him to tented, and made so light of her infirmities, though the door, whispered in his ear. Mrs. Pegler was they had increased upon her since her former inter- by no means deaf, for she caught a word as it was view with Stephen, that they both took an interest uttered.

in her. She was too sprightly to allow of their "Bounderby!" she cried, in a suppressed voice,
walking at a slow pace on her account, but she was starting up from the table.
very grateful to be talked to, and very willing to let me be seen for the world. Don't let him come
talk to any extent: so, when they came to their up till I have got away. Pray, pray!" She trem-
part of the town, she was more brisk and vivacious bled, and was excessively agitated; getting behind

"Coom to my poor place, missus." said Stephen, "and tak a coop o' tea. Rachael will coom then, and arterwards I'll see thee safe t'thy Travellers' lodgin. 'T may be long, Rachael, ere ever I ha th' chance o' thy coompany agen."

They complied, and the three went on to the house where he lodged. When they turned into the narrow street, Stephen glanced at his window with a dread that always haunted his desolate home; but it was open, as he had left it, and no one was there. The evil spirit of his life had flitted away again, months ago, and he had heard no more of her since. The only evidences of her last return now, were the scantier moveables in his room, and the grayer

and bonnet in her hand, when Stephen, himself pro foundly astonished by this visit, put the candle on the table. Then he too stood, with his doubled hand upon the table near it, waiting to be addressed.

For the first time in her life, Louisa had come into one of the dwellings of the Coketown Hands; for the first time in her life, she was face to face with anything like individuality in connexion with them. She knew of their existence by hundreds and by thousands. She knew what results in work a given number of them would produce, in a given space of time. She knew them in crowds passing to and from their nests, like ants or beetles. But she knew from her reading infinitely more of the ways of toiling insects, than of these toiling men and women.

Something to be worked so much and paid so much, and there ended; something to be infallibly settled by laws of supply and demand; something that blundered against those laws, and floundered into difficulty; something that was a little pinched when wheat was dear, and over-ate itself when wheat was cheap; something that increased at such a rate of percentage, and yielded such another percentage of crime, and such another percentage of pauperism; something wholesale, of which vast fortunes are made; something that occasionally rose like a sea, and did some harm and waste (chiefly to itself), and fell again; this she knew the Coketown Hands to be. But, she had scarcely thought more of separating them into units, than of separating the sea itself into its component drops.

She stood for some moments looking round the room. From the few chairs, the few books, the common prints, and the bed, she glanced to the two women, and to Stephen.

"The name of being troublesome."

Then, by the prejudices of his own class, and by the prejudices of the other, he is sacrificed alike? Are the two so deeply separated in this town, that there is no place whatever, for an honest workman between them?"

Rachael shook her head in silence.

"He fell into suspicion," said Louisa, "with his fellow-weavers, because he had made a promise not to be one of them. I think it must have been to you that he made that promise. Might I ask you why he made it?"

Rachael burst into tears. "I didn't seek it of him, poor lad. I prayed him to avoid trouble for his own good, little thinking he'd come to it through me. But I know he'd die a hundred deaths, ere ever he'd break his word. I know that of him well."

Stephen had remained quietly attentive, in his usual thoughtful attitude, with his hand at his chin. He now spoke in a voice rather less steady than usual.

"No one, excepting myseln, can ever know what honor, an what love, an respect, I bear to Rachael, or wi' what cause. When I passed that promess, I towd her true, she were th' Angel o' my life. 'Twere a solemn promess. 'Tis gone fro me, fur ever."

He was neither courtly, nor handsome, nor picturesque, in any respect; and yet his manner of accepting it, and of expressing his thanks without more words, had a grace in it that Lord Chesterfield could not have taught his son in a century.

Tom had sat upon the bed, swinging one leg and sucking his walking-stick with sufficient unconcern, until the visit had attained this stage. Seeing his sister ready to depart, he got up, rather hurriedly, and put in a word.

"Just wait a moment, Loo! Before we go, I should like to speak to him a moment. Something comes into my head. If you'll step out on the stairs, Blackpool, I'll mention it. Never mind a light, man!" Tom was remarkably impatient of his moving towards the cupboard, to get one. "It don't want a light." Stephen followed him out, and Tom closed the room door, and held the lock in his hand.

"I say!" he whispered. "I think I can do you a good turn. Don't ask me what it is, because it may not come to anything. But there's no harm in my trying."

His breath fell like a flame of fire on Stephen's ear; it was so hot.

66

'That was our light porter at the Bank," said Tom, "who brought you the message to-night. I call him our light porter, because I belong to the Bank too."

Louisa turned her head to him, and bent it with a deference that was new in her. She looked from him to Rachael, and her features softened. What Stephen thought "What a hurry he is in!" He will you do?" she asked him. And her voice had spoke so confusedly.

softened too.

"Well!" said Tom. "Now look here! When are you off?"

"Weel, maam," said Stephen, making the best of it, with a smile; "when I ha finished off, I mun "T'day's Monday," replied Stephen, considering. quit this part, an try another. Fortnet or misfort-Why, sir, Friday or Saturday, nigh 'bout." net, a man can but try; there's nowt to be done wi'out tryin'-cept laying doon an dying." "How will you travel?" "Afoot, my kind ledy, afoot." Louisa colored, and a purse appeared in her hand. Rachael raised her eyes, and they sufficiently an- The rustling of a bank-note was audible, as she un swered no, and dropped again. folded one and laid it on the table.

"I have come to speak to you, in consequence of what passed just now. I should like to be serviceable to you, if you will let me. Is this your wife ?"

"I remember," said Louisa, reddening at her mis

take; "I recollect, now, to have heard your domes tic misfortunes spoken of, though I was not attending to the particulars at the time. It was not my meaning to ask a question that would give pain to any one here. If I should ask any other question that may happen to have that result, give me credit, if you please, for being in ignorance how to speak to you as I ought."

As Stephen had but a little while ago instinctively addressed himself to her, so she now instinctively addressed herself to Rachael. Her manner was short and abrupt, yet faltering and timid.

"He has told you what has passed between himself and my husband? You would be his first resource, I think."

"I have heard the end of it, young lady," said Rachael.

“Rachael, will you tell him—for you know how,

without offence

that this is freely his, to help him
on his way? Will you entreat him to take it?"
"I canna' do that, young lady," she answered,
turning her head aside; "bless you for thinking o'
the poor lad wi' such tenderness. But 'tis for him
to know his heart, and what is right according to
it."

Louisa looked, in part incredulous, in part fright-
ened, in part overcome with quick sympathy when,
this man of so much self-command who had been so
plain and steady through the late interview, lost his
composure in a moment, and now stood with his
hand before his face. She stretched out hers, as if
she would have touched him; then checked herself,
and remained still.

"Friday or Saturday," said Tom. "Now, look here! I am not sure that I can do you the good turn I want to do you-that's my sister, you know, in your room-but I may be able to, and if I should not be able to, there's no harm done. So I tell you what. You'll know our light porter again?"

"Yes sure," said Stephen.

"Very well," returned Tom. "When you leave

work of a night, between this and your going away,

just hang about the Bank about an hour or so, will you? Don't take on, as if you meant anything, if he should see you hanging about there; because I shan't put him up to speak to you, unless I find I can do you the service I want to do you. In that case he'll have a note or a message for you, but not else. Now look here! You are sure you understand?"

He had wormed a finger, in the darkness, through a button-hole of Stephen's coat, and was screwing that corner of the garment tight up, round and round, in an extraordinary manner.

"I understand, sir," said Stephen.

"Now look here!" repeated Tom. "Be sure "Not e'en Rachael," said Stephen, when he stood you don't make any mistake then, and don't forget. again with his face uncovered, "could mak sitch a I shall tell my sister as we go home, what I have in kind offerin, by onny words, kinder. T' show that view, and she'll approve, I know. Now look here! I'm not a man wi'out reason and gratitude, I'll tak❘ You're all right, are you? You understand all about two pound. I'll borrow't for t' pay't back. "Twill it? Very well then. Come along, Loo!" be the sweetest work as ever I ha done, that puts it in my power t' acknowledge once more my lastin thankfulness for this present action."

She was fain to take up the note again, and to substitute the much smaller sum he had named.

He pushed the door open as he called to her, but did not return into the room, or wait to be lighted down the narrow stairs. He was at the bottom when she began to descend, and was in the street before she could take his arm.

Mrs. Pegler remained in her corner until the bro- might not be remiss in his engagement, he resolved windows were golden, which showed the Coketown ther and sister were gone, and until Stephen came to wait full two hours, on this third and last night. people a sun eternally in eclipse, through a medium back with the candle in his hand. She was in a There was the lady who had once kept Mr. Boun- of smoked glass. state of inexpressible admiration of Mrs. Bounderby, derby's house, sitting at the first floor window as he and, like an unaccountable old woman, wept, "be-had seen her before; and there was the light porter, cause she was such a pretty dear." Yet Mrs. Pegler sometimes talking with her there, and sometimes was so flurried lest the object of her admiration should return by any chance, or anybody else should come, that her cheerfulness was ended for that night. It was late too, to people who rose early and worked hard; therefore the party broke up; and Stephen and Rachael escorted their mysterious acquaintance to the door of the Travellers' Coffee House, where they parted from her.

They walked back together to the corner of the street where Rachael lived, and as they drew nearer and nearer to it, silence crept upon them. When they came to the dark corner where their unfrequent meetings always ended, they stopped, still silent, as if both were afraid to speak.

looking over the blind below, which had BANK upon
it, and sometimes coming to the door and standing
on the steps for a breath of air. When he first came
out, Stephen thought he might be looking for him,
and passed near; but the light porter only cast his
winking eyes upon him slightly, and said nothing.

Two hours were a long stretch of lounging about,
after a long day's labor. Stephen sat upon the step
of a door, leaned against a wall under an archway,
strolled up and down, listened for the church clock,
stopped and watched children playing in the street.
Some purpose or other is so natural to every one,
that a mere loiterer always looks and feels remark-
able. When the first hour was out, Stephen even

"I shall strive t' see thee agen, Rachael, afore I began to have an uncomfortable sensation upon him go, but if not "

"Thou wilt not, Stephen, I know. 'Tis better that we make up our minds to be open wi' one

another."

"Thour't awlus right. 'Tis bolder and better. I ha been thinkin then, Rachael, that as 'tis but a day or two that remains, 'twere better for thee, my dear, not t' be seen wi' me. 'T might bring thee into trouble, fur no good."

of being for the time a disreputable character.

Then came the lamplighter, and two lengthening lines of light all down the long perspective of the street, until they were blended and lost in the distance. Mrs. Sparsit closed the first floor window, drew down the blind, and went up stairs. Presently, a light went up stairs after her, passing first the fanlight of the door, and afterwards, the two staircase windows, on its way up. By and by, one corner of "'Tis not for that, Stephen, that I mind. the second floor blind was disturbed, as if Mrs. Sparthou know'st our old agreement. 'Tis for that." sit's eye were there; also the other corner, as if the "Well, well," said he. .. 'Tis better onnyways." light porter's eye were on that side. Still, no com"Thou'lt write to me, and tell me all that happens,munication was made to Stephen. Much relieved Stephen ?" when the two hours were at last accomplished, he went away at a quick pace as a recompense for so much loitering.

But

"Yes. What can I say now, but Heaven be wi' thee, Heaven bless thee, Heaven thank thee, and reward thee!"

He had only to take leave of his landlady, and lie down on his temporary bed on the floor; for his bundle was made up for to-morrow, and all was arHe meant to be clear of ranged for his departure.

“I towd thee, my dear," said Stephen Blackpool the town very early; before the Hands were in the

streets.

-"that night-that I would never see or tkink o'
onnything that angered me, but thou, so much bet-
It was barely daybreak, when with a parting look
ter than me, should'st be beside it. Thou'rt beside
it now. Thou mak'st me see it wi' a better eye. should ever see it again, he went out. The town
round his room, mournfully wondering whether he
Bless thee. Good night. Good bye!"

It was but a hurried parting in the common street, yet it was a sacred remembrance to those two common people. Utilitarian economists, skeletons of schoolmasters, Commissioners of Fact, genteel and used-up infidels, gabblers of many little dog's-eared creeds, the poor you will have always with you. Cultivate in them, while there is yet time, the utmost graces of the fancies and affections, to adorn their lives so much in need of ornament, or, in the moment of your triumph, when romance is utterly driven out of their souls, and they and a bare existence stand face to face, Reality will take a wolfish turn, and make an end of you!

was as entirely deserted as if the inhabitants had
abandoned it, rather than hold communication with
him. Everything looked wan at that hour. Even
the coming sun made but a pale waste in the sky,
like a sad sea.

By the place where Rachael lived, though it was not in his way; by the red brick streets; by the great silent factories, not trembling yet; by the railway, where the danger lights were waning in the strengthening day; by the railway's crazy neighborhood, half pulled down and half built up; by scattered red brick villas, where the besmoked evergreens were sprinkled with a dirty powder, like untidy snuff-takers; by coal-dust paths and many varieties Stephen worked the next day and the next, un-of ugliness; Stephen got to the top of the hill, and cheered by a word from any one, and shunned in all looked back. his comings and goings as before. At the end of the second day, he saw land; at the end of the third, his loom stood empty.

He had overstayed his hour in the street outside the Bank, on each of the two first evenings; and nothing had happened there, good or bad. That he

Day was shining radiantly upon the town then, and the bells were going for the morning work. Domestic fires were not yet lighted, and the high chimneys had the sky to themselves, Puffing out their poisonous volumes, they would not be long in hiding it; but, for half an hour, some of the many

So strange to turn from the chimneys to the birds. So strange to have the road-dust to his feet instead of the coal-grit. So strange to have lived to his time of life, and yet to be beginning like a boy this summer morning! With these musings in his mind, and his bundle under his arm, Stephen took his attentive face along the high road. And the trees arched over him, whispering that he left a true and loving heart behind.

(To be continued.)

THE CRESCENT AND THE COSSACK.

BEHOLD, oh! mother-earth, once more

Over Dnieper's frozen flood,
Swoop down the hordes of Cossack blood,
As swept the Scythian tribes of yore.
Under Attila's banner red,

Upon the turbid Danube's banks,
Where Rome's last veteran "legion "-ranks
Sank down beneath their whelming tread.
Behold a despot, greedier yet

Than he surnamed "the scourge of God,"
Camps on that field by him once trod,
Before whom Rome's dimm'd glory set.
Lured by a more deceptive star

Than led the old barbarian King-
Thy myriad sons. oh! earth, to bring
Beneath the sceptre of a Czar!
"To quench the old poetic fire,

Whose bursts of most celestial light'
Were erst to man's internal sight
Transmitted through blind Homer's lyre."
To chain art's soaring spirit down,

And ban the soul that dares to try
And reach those fairy realms on high,
Where Raphael won his dazzling crown.
These be his aims. Oh! thou bright sun,
That fling'st thy glories on our earth,
In vain thy primal rays had birth,
If deeds like these are to be done.
In vain beneath thy quickening might
The gems of life, wrapped in the gloom
Of nature's dark mysterious womb,
Burst into beauty, strength, and light-
If Freedom, Poet, Art no more,

Upon the gems of thought divine
That slumber in the soul supine,
Their vivifying beams may pour.
But lo! above the Moslem spears,

Above the Moslem turbans white,
Now mustered on that field of fight
A radiant crescent-moon appears.
Meet symbol of cur glowing hope,

That in the looming battle storm,
May truth, and right, and patriot arm
With giant wrong triumphant cope.
And thought of resurrection fires

Hungaria's bleeding bosom now,
And haply dreamest Poland thou
To venge thy brave Sarmatic sires.
Wherever clank of chain may be,

Beneath our heaven-true souls uplift
To God their yearnings for the gift
Of freedom's nobler destiny.
Oh! Lord of hosts, in mercy soon.

Spite of the Cossack steeds and guns,
Unto these "heavy laden" ones
Vouchsafe thy hollest, brightest hoon.