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his rapidity of utterance, variety and impressiveness of action, and harmonious tones of voice, now deep and richly melodious in the expression of solemn emotion, now loud and piercing in the excitement of passion, almost defy description. Imagine Imagine all the beauties of Kean's performance of Othello crowded into half an hour's highly sustained eloquence, and you have some tangible idea of what is the effect. While the impulse is upon him he seems as if possessed, his nature is stirred to its very depths, the fountains of his soul pour forth unceasingly the living waters. His head glows like a ball of fire, the soul struggles through every outlet of expression. His arms now raised aloft, as if in imprecation, are, in a moment, extended downwards, as if in supplication, the clenched fingers clasped like those of one in strong agony. Anon, and the small, thin, delicate, wiry hand, is stretched forth, the face assumes an expression the very ideal of the sarcastic, and the finger of scorn is pointed towards the object of attack. A thousand varying expressions, each powerful and all beautiful, are crowded into the brief time during which his excite

ment (which, like that of actors, though prepared, is genuine while it lasts) hurries him on to pour forth his whole soul in language of such elegance and force.

Mr. Sheil occupies a position different from that of most of his countrymen in parliament. The Irish member who most approaches him in intellectual qualities, though not in actual eloquence, is Mr. Wyse. Like Mr. Wyse, he has associated himself with the Whig party, who chose him to be one of their ministers when they desired to fraternize with the Irish Catholics, because he was at once talented, moderate, and respectable. For joining them, he has been made the subject of virulent abuse by the extreme party in Ireland; but he has too much steadiness of purpose and good sense to be much affected by it. His position in the House is well earned, not merely by his eloquence, but also by the general amenity of his disposition, whether as a politician or a private individual. Were all the Irish members like Mr. Sheil, the Irish question might be speedily and satisfactorily settled.

THE CAGED LARK.

HOUR by hour the dreary day
Slowly, sadly wore away;
Heavy drops of ceaseless rain
Beating 'gainst the window-pane;
Bitter winds with gusty sound
Mournfully were wailing round,
Till at last the outward gloom
Seem'd to fill my quiet room,
And I look'd with tearful eyes
Upward to the weeping skies.
Now and then a few quick feet
Pass'd along the village street,
Now and then a child's shrill cry
Mingled with the wind's deep sigh.
Many a thought of other days-
Fairer scenes and brighter Mays-
Fill'd my discontented heart:
I, who oft had taken part
In the gladness of the spring;
I, whose joy it was to sing
Of the earth's awakening
From her ice-bound wintry sleep,
Now could only pine and weep,
For my soul grew faint and dull,
Longing for the beautiful.

Spring was wont of old," I said,
"Blessings on my path to shed.
Once her skies were all serene,
All her fields of richest green,
All her flowers of loveliest sheen.
Then the hidden cuckoo sang,
Till the leafy greenwood rang
With his lay, and thousands more
Sounding till the day was o'er;
Nor were even hush'd at night
Songs and echoes of delight.
Then, where'er my feet might tread,
Starlike flowers were gaily spread:
Studded were the banks and fields
With the primrose' yellow shields,
Cowslip-bells and violets small
Blossom'd ere the grass was tall,
And the murmur of the bee
Ever rose unceasingly,

Where the scented furze unroll'd
Banners fair of green and gold.

Then the bright-wing'd butterfly,
Like a dream of joy, flew by,
Or awhile in quiet hung

Where the tufted harebells swung.
All of old was bright and glad,—
Now, alas! how changed and sad!
Now the skies are cold and grey,
And throughout the live-long day,
Prison'd in my room, I hear
Not a sound of joyous cheer-

Nothing but the ceaseless rain
Beating 'gainst the window-pane,
And the wind, with hollow tone,
Round my dwelling making moan.
Few and pale the leaves I see
Budding on yon chestnut-tree.
Here and there, within the bound
Of my plot of garden-ground,
Some stray flower of fairest dye
Half unveils its timid eye,
Till the storm-blast, rushing by,
Blights its charms, but half-reveal'd,
And its early doom is sealed.
Spring-time-season sad and drear,
Once the gayest of the year,
I am alter'd e'en as thou!
Pain hath left upon my brow
Shadows that may ne'er depart;
Care hath brooded at my heart,
Till I feel I cannot be

E'er again in spirit free.

Now I have no spells to raise

Thoughts that cheer'd my brighter days;

Other visions life hath brought,

Sadder lore than once I sought."

Thus, in lonely hour, I said,

Half believing joy had fled,

And my own bright hopes were dead.
Suddenly, while still I spoke,

Blithest music near me woke,

Piercing through the gloomy air,
Like a voice of praise and prayer.

Though the wind blew loud and shrill,
Yet it had not power to chill
Gladness such as fill'd that strain;
And the shower beat in vain
Round the prison, where had birth
Those rich sounds of dauntless mirth.
Well I knew the strains I heard
Came from an imprison'd bird,
One whose nature was to cleave
Freest air from morn till eve,
Prone to greet with fearless wing
Sunshine and the breath of spring.

Yet, though men had done him wrong,

Still arose his cheerful song;

Still, although the clouds were dark,

Wildly sang that captive lark.

Quickly faded the distress

Of mine hours of loneliness.

Near me seem'd to pass once more
Lovely things I'd seen of yore;
Sense of all the love and joy

Time and change could ne'er destroy.
Thoughts of eyes whose loving light
Still could make my dwelling bright,
O'er my spirit rush'd again,
At the bidding of that strain;
And my humbled head I bent,
Heedful of the lesson sent
To rebuke my discontent.

May, 1845.

Brightly falls the sunshine now
On each blossom-laden bough.
Every moss-grown apple-tree
Is a lovely sight to see,
With its bloom in clusters fair
Opening to the sunny air.
Breezes, stealing round about,
Shake the hidden fragrance out,
Flinging on the ground below
Frequent showers of mimic snow.
Gleams of purest white are seen
'Mid the chestnut's tufts of green;
Pyramids of pearly flowers

Peeping from their thick-leaved bowers.
'Mong the boughs light breezes pass,
And the shadows on the grass

Move the while like living things;

Many a pendent blossom swings
From the lofty sycamore,
And along the turfy floor
Thick the lowly daisies beam;
King-cups shed a golden gleam
O'er the meadows near the stream.
Proud, and beautiful, and strong
Still the river sweeps along,
Here and there a pleasant shade
Elm or hawthorn-bough hath made,
Or the willow's streamers gay
Throw their shadow on its way;

Beauty more than gloom they shed
O'er the river's sunlit bed.

Swallows in their merry flight

Haunt the stream from morn till night.

Gracefully as fairy boat

On a magic lake might float,

Now and then a milk-white swan

In his stately joy moves on.

Yet though spring's rich beauty glow
As it did long years ago,

I am but a captive still
With an oft-impatient will;
But whene'er my heart is fain,
In its weakness to complain,
Hark! for once again I hear
Blithest music, rising clear
From that other captive near.
Little of the sky he sees,
Little of the flowers and trees;
Little he was used to rove,
Houses round him and above!

Yet upon the sod he stands
(Laid, perchance, by kindly hands
On his prison-floor) and sings,
E'en as if his folded wings
Still were free to range at will
Higher than the highest hill.
And again my heart will heed
This sweet lesson in its need;
And in others' bliss rejoice,
Bidden by that captive's voice.

THE B.G. AND THE N.G.

A FEW WORDS ON THE GAUGE DISPUTE.

RAILROADS have awakened so much interest of late, interest so profoundly melancholy in those who have approached the subject as stags, so eager and hopeful in those who look at it as a pecuniary investment, or as an immense national question, that we feel little apology is due to the readers of the Magazine for dedicating a few pages to a railroad dispute which is going on with great activity at this moment-the dispute of the broad and narrow gauges. A number of pamphlets have been sent to us upon this question, with the Commissioners' Report, and an abstract of the lengthened examinations into which those gentlemen entered. We have before us, A Railway Traveller's Reasons for Adopting Uniformity of Gauge; Railway Eccentrics, exemplifying the Inconsistencies of Men of Genius; The Gauge Question, by Wyndham Harding; The Broad Gauge the Bane of the Great Western Company; The Broad and Narrow Gauge, by Henry Lushington, Esq.; Reply to the Observations of the Great Western Railway Company; and, Gauge Evidence: the History and Prospects of the Railway System; Illustrated by the Evidence given before the Gauge Commission, by Samuel Sidney, with a Map.

The Railway Traveller takes a rapid and pathetic view of the luggage and umbrella question.

He

points out the inconvenience families suffer in turning out at Gloucester at the break of gauge. He asks Mr.

Brunel how he would like Mrs. Brunel and her children to be subject to the same annoyance? "Jeanies of Buckley Square" has published a little pamphlet in Punch upon the same side. Jeames says he lost his infant at Gloucester, and until he acknowledges the recovery of that interesting child, leaves the world to suppose that Mr. Brunel, in a manner, is guilty of its abstraction.

"Railway Eccentrics" are Messrs. Brunel and Saunders, the two chief advocates of the broad gauge, who are both brought to book for having, at former periods of their existence, uttered quite different opinions on various railway matters to those

VOL. XXXIII. NO. CXCVIII.

The

which they now advocate. largest work of the anti-Brunel series is that of Mr. Sidney.

Mr. Samuel Sidney opens his "Brief History of the Gauge Question" with an apt quotation from Captain Law's evidence: "We owe all our railways to the collieries in the north the difficulties which their industry overcame taught us to make railways, and to make locomotives to work them." The coalowners and workers of Northumberland and Durham, wanting to transport their coal from the pit's mouth to the water, invented tram-roads. Seeing the success of these, the merchants and manufacturers of Liverpool and Manchester bethought them of making use of similar means for the transport of their goods between these two great towns, and did not, in their first undertaking, contemplate any thing beyond "a solidly constructed tram-way worked by horse-power."

George Stephenson was the man whom the Liverpool and Manchester manufacturers employed to execute their plan. Before the works were completed, he had discovered that "carriages driven by steam were capable of surmounting gradients of considerable altitude by the force of their weight alone, and proposed to employ locomotive instead of horsepower for the merchandise and passenger traffic." The gauge, or width between the rails, adopted on the Liverpool and Manchester line, was four feet eight and a-half inches, which has since been designated the "Narrow Gauge."

The idea of a steam locomotive caused much alarm to a body of the shareholders. They took counsel with two eminent engineers, one engaged in public works, and the other in steam-engine building; and both these authorities, in a "very able document," proved the practical and commercial inexpediency of Mr. Stephenson's project. Two of Stephenson's pupils-Robert, his son, and Joseph Locke-answered this document in another still more able; for the horse scheme was abandoned, and the company determined on trying

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