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desperation the arm of the quondam Capuchin aside. Off went the cocked pistol and, whether he was shot or not, such a yell arose, that, in the utmost trepidation,-I awoke. "Hold him-hold him, for the sake of goodness!" shouted the grazier-" he is furious-wild-noncompos-as mad as a march hare!!" "He has broken all the coachwindows!" cried the lady.

"He has broken my head!" responded her mate.

"Will nobody succor us?" "Murder -murder ! " chorus of man and wife.

was the

When Jehu, with his coat of nineteen capes, opened the door to inquire the meaning of all this strange disturbance, it was some time before I was sufficiently recovered from my sleep and terror to explain that a striking picture, which I had lately seen, had forcibly wrought on my imagination in a dream. At last I succeeded in persuading all parties that I was safe traveling company to the next stage; and ever since that night, I have been frequently haunted with terrible visions of this Pass of the Abruzzi.

THE THREE MARIES. BY WILLIAM HOWITT.

THEY sate, in sorrow sunken low,
Astounded and amazed;

They had seen the fairest visions go;
On fearful things had gazed.
Apart, in places secret, still,

In shadowy nooks they sate apart;
A scatter'd troop, all sunk in heart,
Devoid of hope or will.

Theirs had a splendid progress been,-
A path than earth's more bright ;
There Heaven had pour'd its richest sheen,
There bid its peace alight.
And they had walk'd in glory on,

With songs and with rejoicings loud,
A wondering, hoping, happy crowd,
Round God's benignant Son.

But horror, like a bolt of fire,

Burst on them sudden, vast;
Struck down they saw the hoped Messiah ;
O'er earth hell's shadow cast:
They saw their temple's veil all rent!
The world was rocking 'neath their tread!
Wide yawn'd the graves; forth walk'd
the dead,
And through the city went!

Like men by lightning struck, they lay
Bewilder'd, crush'd, and low;
And ponder'd through the sabbath-day,
In half-despairing woe.
For this they trusted had been he
That Israel should at length redeem :
Gone was the hope-a glorious dream!
A brilliant mockery!

Thus did his proudest followers do ;-
Thus did heroic men!

But woman's spirit, soft yet true,
Rose in its brightness then.

In life, from pleasant Galilee,

They follow'd meekly in his train;

To watch his need, to soothe his pain; Thus did the Maries three.

She who had borne that slaughter'd son-
The mother through whose soul
The sword of agony had gone
To make her people whole;
She whom his mighty word set free
From fierce and fiendish spirits seven;
One who her sons to him had given:
A fair, immortal three.

They saw him perish on the cross;
In earth they saw him laid;
They felt his pangs, they wept his loss,
Trembling and sore dismay'd.
But woman's heart and woman's will
Glow'd warmly through their wildest

woe;

They felt the ruin of the blow,
But felt they loved him still.

And long before the coming dawn
They sate amid the gloom,
Regardless of the watchers' scorn,
Beside the Saviour's tomb.
With precious spices in their hand
They weeping sate, and there did tell
Of each good deed and miracle
He wrought through all the land.

Oh! worthy were ye, women true,
That first to you was given
The wondrous and the wildering view
Of all the power of Heaven.
To see the tomb forever rent;

The gates of heavenly life set wide; To see the Scorn'd and Crucified Arise-Omnipotent!

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THE story of Heyne* is, probably, sufficiently known; but respecting Vitalis, perhaps the information is not so general. Certainly it is not, save amongst students of Swedish literature, or readers of the Foreign Review, wherein is the only account of the birth and calamitous life of this ill-fated poet, so early doomed to the tenancy of the grave. Our own Henry Kirke White is but a feeble shadow, compared to what young Vitalis became; though, it must be acknowledged, that the former died much younger than the latter, who lived to complete his thirty-fourth year. Perhaps the following extract from the Foreign Review may be valuable:

"The restlessness of his (Vitalis) temper, the constant struggle of a gigantic mind with a weak and feeble frame

A fiery soul which, working out its way,
Fretted the pigmy body to decay'—

his eager longing for the liberation of the spirit from the trammels of earthly cares and sufferings, all became for him the springs of lofty lyrical effusion. The character of lyrical poetry is subjective within the breast of the poet, and expanding the world of sentiment, feeling, and ideas. The lyrical poet stands in no need of history or of practical life in order to produce effect; he draws from his own sources, is the creator of his own world. He abandons not the recesses of contemplation in

order to celebrate what he sees and experiences without he rather draws the visible objects of external life within the sphere of his internal world. He sings not of others, but of himself. The following delineation of the character of Vitalis, by an abler hand than ours, may serve to corroborate the view which we have taken of him. Geijer says:

The

Earnestness, honesty, purity, were the ever harmonious tones of his character, which, in other respects, appeared, and undoubtedly was, a composition of contrasts. As his physical frame was a contrast to his strength of mind, so his mind, in many respects, was its own contrast, displaying, both together and alternately, weakness and strength, softness and severity, humility and pride, candor and suspicion, mirth and sadness, childish whims and manly reason. constituents of the man were also those of the poet, and both of these wanted a higher harmony. Suffering, cares, and penury, also, too often seized upon that wondrous soulmusic of which the purified tones now belong to more exalted spheres. The language of Vitalis is the image of a spirit striving to gain its due expression-at times harsh, torpid, rough, and wearying-at others pure and delightful: it is not a stream conducted by an easy art to reflect all flowers on its way it is rather a metal, fused by the internal fire, and thus cast in unbroken and sounding forms.'

* See Atheneum, Vol. III. 3d Series, p. 78.

32 ATHENEUM, VOL. 5, 3d series.

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My spirit then felt the longing to soar From home afar in its flight,

small pension from the heir-appa rent of Sweden, while studying at the University of Upsala. The consequence was, that Vitalis threw himself into the arms of penury, and that penury corroded his lifeblood, like slow, cunning, and subtle poison. But this very act showed that poor Vitalis carried in his breast a small portion of the leaven of human weakness. When was it

To roam, like the Sun, still from shore to given to humanity to be perfect in

shore,

A creator of flowers and light.

At even I stood on the mountain's brow, And, wrapt in devotion and prayer, Saw night-rise in silver and purple glow, And I cried- Oh Death, how fair!'

And when that the soft evening wind, so meek,
With its balmy breathing came,

It seem'd as though Nature then kiss'd my
cheek

And tenderly sigh'd my name!

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Like stars in the Heavens arise!

"Poor Vitalis! thy longing was soon gratified, and thy impatient spirit freed from its prison of mortality. Now are known to thee the manifold and mysterious meanings of thy worshiped Nature-the smiling loveliness of fields and flowers; the awful silence of the forest; the unfathomable depth of lakes and seas-all-all are explained to thee in the clear light of Wisdom and of Love."

We were once speaking with an acquaintance respecting Vitalis, and we urged our opinion that he died in consequence of his sheer ignorance of the world; for had he known the world better, he would have better learnt to accommodate himself to its common ways. But our acquaintance thought differently; expressing himself in the highest terms of praise of the poet who chose to retire into independent beggary, rather than receive a

all things? Had Vitalis possessed a better knowledge of the world, he would, doubtless, have acted otherwise had he possessed, as a counsellor, another Archivarius Lindhorst, his name would not now, perhaps, be found upon a tomb-stone, for true and virtuous hearts to weep over; but would have been as a star dominant in the galaxy of the illustrious on earth, that humbler men might bask in the rays of its all-glorious light, praying for the continuance of its benignant influ

ence.

But, in want of this counsellor, Vitalis was left unacquainted with the sinuous ways of this turmoiling world, and he shut himself up in a circumscribed valley and a rugged cave of his own,-where he communed with Poetry and Despair, until at length they tore out his entrails, and feasted, in laughter, on his mangled limbs. What good reason had Vitalis for refusing the kindness of his sovereign's son? A mere apprehension that he might be conceived a court pensioner! What if he had been so noted down in the opinions of all men ? Is a truly virtuous Prince amongst those Utopian formations, thought of, dreamed of, but never seen! If so, the human race is stultified in placing government in the hands of individuals who would be, by the inscrutable will of Providence, a race more akin to the beasts of the field than to man, made erect, and after the image of his Maker. But the consciousness of his own existence, his own sense of virtue, must have given a contradiction to this supposition of Vitalis. Did not Shaks

peare partake of assistance from a friend? Did not Spencer receive a portion of public money? Did not Schiller and Hoffman eat of the bounty of a patron? Has not Göthe been long indebted to the good Duke of Weimar ? Does not Bowles stand obliged to the patron of the advowson of Bremhill? Is not William Wordsworth in the pay of government; and Robert Southey Poet Laureate of England? And is virtue incompatible with the trust of offices and the receipt of favors? If so, where are the miserable wretches who so far degrade human nature by their base venality? Drag them into punishment; for it were good for them that a millstone were about their necks, and they were cast into the sea! But let Humanity lift up its desponding head; virtue is not incompatible with our nature. He who, taking his place amongst his fellowcreatures, fulfils, amidst the temptations and trying circumstances of life, his duty to his neighbor, is, indeed, as far as man is concerned,

"The happy warrior, this is he

Whom every man in arms should wish to be!"

But Vitalis would have had it otherwise he was tutor in a family of consoling friends during the period of his last illness; they paid him every possible attention; but the unbending soul of the poet could not brook this consideration, and he went into an hospital, and died! Did we not know it were otherwise, we should ask, was there the true milk of human kindness in the bosom of this man? Had his heart ever overflowed with the sweet waters of gratitude? By what right did he assume to be a dispenser of favors, if he spurned a proffered kindness? Is not human existence carried onward by the laws of mutuality? Is not a man a gregarious animal ? and if so, was it intended that he should approach his neighbor, and, taking his stand, should gaze at him in proud independence; or is it not in his mortal destiny

that he should assist and be assisted in turn? Is it not in the order of his earthly existence that he should be a cenobite, and not an ascetic? And yet Vitalis-poor, misguided, unhappy, virtuous Vitalis-wished, in his own person, to counteract the pre-ordained operations of nature! Did we not know the man's character thoroughly, we should have concluded that his actions emanated from pride and stubbornness; and these qualities are not predicates of the possession of all-soaring genius! The earth is the fitting habitation of the two monsters, pride and stubbornness; the angel form of allsoaring genius is under perpetual effort to mount upwards, to regain and walk upon the golden pavements of its own paternal mansion in the skies. Had Vitalis known the world, he would have been conscious that life required active duties; that existence must be supported by the never-ceasing labor of the hands. "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread," was God's primeval curse on man; it behoves not man, therefore, to sit down in indolence, expecting a pitying Providence to send him food, miraculously, by the ravens of Elijah the prophet! Yet when we contemplate the life and death of this younger prophet, this true genius and son of song, we could weep, for very sorrow, in bitterness of heart.

A little would have saved him; an early counsellor, a calm, prudent, guiding, and loving friend would have extricated him from all danger, supported his tender footsteps over the burning marl of mortal life, until he had gained strength, and been able to walk abroad in the fulness and ripened energy of manhood. The secrets of existence, however, are dark-dark and unfathomable; yet the lives of Vitalis and Blake proclaim this manifest moral: "Youth, arise, and be a-doing in the path marked out for thy career of life by the omniscient and omnipotent Taskmaster in heaven!"

CURSORY REMARKS ON THE STYLE OF BURKE.

BY JOHN MERRITT, ESQ.

If I were compelled by any irresistible power to give some sort of answer to that vague and useless question, which in the wantonness of psychological controversy has sometimes been started; who is the master mind of the human race, or which is the "largest-sized intellect" that the records of nature have yet shown? I should be tempted to name, though not without hesitation, Edmund Burke. He always appeared to me to have a clearer and deeper insight into the phenomena of human nature and civil society than any other writer; and these two capital objects of mental contemplation afford, I should presume, a fair criterion of intellectual strength. But the power by which Burke was enabled to reach his vast conclusions was rather intuitive than ratiocinative. What is called a chain of reasoning he never attempted, and probably despised. I doubt whether he had patience or endurance for the elaborate eduction of remote truths from obvious premises. His strength was, indeed, gigantic; but it was rather the strength of a Hercules which tears up a tree by the roots, than of the sturdy woodman who brings it down by continued labor. His was a process far less slow, though little less sure. He could not, as other philosophers have done, descend by obscure and painful steps to the bottom of the well where truth is said to lie hidden. He must discern it at a glance, and seize it by a spring, or it eluded his grasp. But when dragged to light by his irresistible energy, the homage of every eye and the assent of every understanding were, at once, compelled.

Such being the character of Burke's astonishing mind, it is evident that his faculties were not adapted to any work which required a series of combined and sustained efforts. His capacity was to in

struct mankind, not by dissertations and treatises, but by sentences and phrases. The only attempt he ever made at systematic composition was his Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, written in early youth: and it exhibits rather the results of his studies than the products of his natural powers. It is in many parts finely imagined and beautifully written; but as a work of philosophy, it is fast passing into oblivion.

His opinions having in them, as we have seen, more of the nature of instinct than of conviction; he was liable to be sometimes in the wrong : and in that case, his errors became truly portentous and alarming. As they struck on his own mind with the force of self-evident truths, he made no allowance for those who could not see so far, and felt no toleration for those who saw differently. He sent them forth to the world with all the power of his mighty eloquence, and they effected their conquests by the irresistible tyranny of genius. It is far from my present purpose to attempt any analysis of those doctrines which have divided the whole civilized world. They are noticed merely as an illustration of his character as a writer.

In my judgment, the fame of Burke will, as I have already intimated, rest principally on the profundity of his philosophy; his deep inspection into human action and human motive; his exact acquaintance with the nature of civilized and social man, the structure of governments, their principle of action, and capacities of improvement. With a large portion of the public, however, he seems to be viewed in a different light. It is the eloquence of Burke, and not his philosophy, on which his renown has hitherto rested.

Of the peculiar and distinctive character of this eloquence, though it is now necessary to speak, it is not easy to give an adequate de

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