And bloomy boughs of hawthorn white with flowers.
And when the sere and yellow autumn leaves
Dropped down in beauty from the silent woods
He with brown acorns filled his wallet up,
Or 'mongst the uplands gathered hazel nuts;
And driving homeward all his herd of swine,
With his large wolf-dog lounging at his heels,
As the young children ran to greet him back,
Would toss them handfuls of his nutty store,
And shake his mighty sides to see them roll
With hearty frolic, scrambling for the prize.

And so it came to pass when Lord and Squire,
And Priest and Layman, all the country round,
Had given golden largess to upbuild

The great Cathedral on old Lincoln's hill:
That this same Swineherd,-who for many years,
Had laid such earnings by as he could spare,
To help him in the winter of his age,-
Resolved to give up all to serve his God,
And trust his God to serve him in his need.
With that he went into his lowly hut,
And from the rushes drew an ox's horn,
Full to the brim with silver pennies bright;
And forth that night he went, along the road
Which those old Romans as a highway cut
From ancient Lindum thrö the Vale of Trent;
And 'mongst the moony fogs and mocking fires
Walked straight to Lincoln, where the Holy Men
Who had the charge of the foundation sat.
Next morning, at the crowing of the cock,
E'er yet the sun had risen in the East,

He sought them out; and whilst they sat at meat
Had audience of them in the breakfast hall.
"I come" he said, "to give an alms to God,
"Who am his debtor both for life and food

The horn from out his bosom reverently;

And laid it on the table, where they sat,

These holy men,-who asked him whence he came, And who he was, and if these pence were his. "A moment since they were; now they are yours,” He answered; as the deputies of God "To build a house for him, or help to build. "I am a Swineherd from the lands of Stowe;

"And for each penny in the ox's horn

"I paid a day of honest sweat and toil.

"Fear not the offering, reverend sirs, to take, "I would not steal for God."

Then they replied

"It is a noble and a pious gift;

"And thrö all time for this thou shalt be known.
"Thou, with thy horn of silver pence shalt be
"Cut in rare sculpture, worthy of a King;
"And gazing on the Temple's western front,
"The Pilgrim and the Stranger as they come
"To pay their vows before the sacred shrine,
"Shall read the history of thy generous deed,
"In after years when thou and we are dead."

And I, late born in these strange after years,
Have read it there; and wondered as I read
O'er all the births of time which crowd the world
Since the poor Swineherd vanished in the dark.

And thousand thousands yet shall

go and gaze

On the stone effigy, with wondering eyes,

And wondering thoughts o'er still more strange events, When I am dead; and centuries lie between

Me now alive, and them with death asleep.

CONSOLATIONS OF POVERTY.

BY JANUARY SEARLE.

HOSE persons who, like me, are poor, and fancy they should be happy enough if they had plenty of money, have fallen into an error which I

have always avoided as the snare and bane of life. For it is not only a profane imagination to suppose that happiness lies in wealth, but it is high treason against the sov'reignty of the soul, and a denial of its spiritual prerogative. It is a kind of thinking which sets all the faculties of man afloat, and drifts him over Dead Seas, where there is neither bottom nor anchorage. We cannot too soon throw overboard these false and alluring notions, if we wish to have a prosperous voyage in the vessel that carries our fortunes. I have long since learned to hold the appendages and paraphernalia of society as things impertinent to the true life of a man, and as hindrances rather than furtherances to wise and sober living. Independence of these outward matters, which are mere contingencies, and, like the coquettes of fashion, more frequently jilt than stick to their lovers, is certainly the first condition of peace and happiness. It becomes every one, therefore, in these flitting and ghostly times, to find out what is solid and lasting, and cleave to it, if he would not be an Ephemeral whom the great sun laughs at, and finally burns up with his fire. For there are rocks, as well as bogs and quicksands, in the way of life, and he is the best person, to my thinking, who can feel the hard earth under his feet.

We make too much of wealth, which I neither despise nor covet, and think too meanly of poverty, which, as an apprenticeship, is proper for all men. I, at least, will praise the master who has made me skilful in my trade; and altho my Indenture bound me to him for years, during which, according to the regulations of the Guild, I had to work hard, to live hard, and to lie hard, I never found it 'damned hard,' as the soldiers declare it to be,—and who are, therefore, responsible for the oath,-but can testify that it is good to serve, even upon these or worse conditions. I know, likewise, that the counsels of books, and the spoken words of a wise and generous heart, are great consolations to a lean and hungry body. Hold fast by thine integrity,' was the noble text which a good Quaker friend of mine used to preach to me in my days of poverty; and the beloved voice sounded in my ears like the voice of a Prophet and a Father; not without result. Indeed, if I might venture on a figure without bungling, I would call Rectitude the belt of stars with which Fortitude, the giant of the soul, girds up the strength of his loins, and becomes thereby immortal and divine. Let us emulate the sublime endurance of Prometheus, even tho the Vulture be tearing our vitals. For it is better to bear suffering like a God, than to complain of it like a Craven. The world is not so full of brave examples that it can afford to lose one. And if we reflect how short a time we have to play our parts in it, what does it matter, so that we are true and honest, whether we live in a Cabin

A a

or a Palace? whether we eat bread and drink water, or feed on the dainties of

flesh and wine?

It is, at all events, well to know gold from glitter, and learn, as early as we can, to esteem things according to their value. It is not the title which makes the

lord, nor is it poverty that makes a man poor. I have seen many an ugly beggar in fine clothes, and many a nobleman in rags. I wish all men to be so rich, that poverty and wealth may be equally acceptable to them. Not to know whether we are rich or poor, is a sign of the highest affluence, which is not without even modern exemplars. There are such numberless blessings and enjoyments, in all human conditions, that it is not worth while to hunt after black swans. Let us be poor and pious, leaving the Cottage door open that Angels may come in. I have still faith in these holy visitations, notwithstanding the exorcisms of science; nor can I be persuaded that the less holy creatures whom our poetic forefathers saw dancing in the moonlight, have yet forsaken their haunts on the green sward. It is a license of belief which I acquired in Lincolnshire, when bread was scarce, and beauty and sorrow were plentiful. The old religion is better than the new, to my liking. And whilst these recollections are upon me, I will relate what happened during my sojourn, as a poor teacher, in the Trent Valley, on the Lincoln side, which, as it was of importance to me, may serve others in like circumstances, who may chance to read this paper. It will show at least, in what light a good and great man regards poverty, which is something to the purpose of this essay. My Quaker friend, who lived, and still lives, I hope, in the next hamlet to that which is the scene of my short story, lent me (now eight years ago) a very memorable book styled Chartism,' which, night after night, I devoured and redevoured, by the dim lamp that served my reading humor in the School-House. In a fit of youthful enthusiasm, I ventured, from this obscure dwelling, to write a letter to the author, who, because I believed him to sit in the highest region, over all the thrones and potentates of literature, would, I felt quite sure, pardon his small Idolator, and perhaps throw him a sunbeam to cheer his loneliness. Nor was I disappointed. For the words he sent

me-as I told him one starry night, not long since, whilst sitting alone with him on a rustic seat in that Rawden Garden-made a new epoch in my life, and bound me to him with still stronger ties of love and reverence. Here are the words which made me who never cared much about Poverty, care still less about it, and resolve to grind out of it whatever blessings were in it. 'As to Poverty,' says the writer, why I will bid you by sufficient trial of that too, never mind poverty! Poverty is not a bad thing at all, if there be a brave man at the bearing of it. You will get priceless blessings out of poverty, such in very truth as no man with his riches can buy, if you take it up wisely, valiantly. This may be incredible to you at present, but I hope a day is coming, when you will find it true enough.'"

a The School-house which I have spoken of above, shall have a speaker for it here, out of old regard. It was a new building, with four square walls, and some six windows, which being without blinds, I was freely visited by the sunshine during the day, and by the welcome faces of the moon and stars at night, which seemed, out of their lone immensities, to smile upon me in my cloistered solitude. I have often seen the same faces since, and never without a friendly recognition passing between us, altho I have lately

These sentences are worthy to be remembered by every poor student in particu lar, and every poor man in general. They hide all manner of swords and heroism; and eyes like sunny landscapes look out of them, as the reward of the conqueror: Indeed, as I intimated above, poverty is a severe, but celestial discipline, and worthy of all acceptation. According to my notion, every man who is destined to occupy a prominent place in the councils of his country, or to be in any wise a ruler of men, should be trained in this school, that he may know how to prize and use his prosperity, and learn to sympathize with the sufferings of his fellows. I never heard of a brave man who lost in this noble struggle, but there are num berless instances on record, of those who have gained in it all that was worth having. Jean Paul prepared himself for immortality in his mother's kitchen, and Thomas Carlyle, as a poor Edinbro scholar, had to study Newton's Principia on an empty stomach. No Tamerlane Conqueror,' I heard him say, 'with all the East under his foot, was half so rich and happy as I, when, at the end of the long winter, the Principia lay before me subdued and vanquished." Nay, there are examples of whole nations, whose poverty was their pride and glory. The Laconians ate black bread and broth, and their chief prayer to the gods was that they might have honor alone for their virtuous deeds; and every one knows to what heights of magnanimity and grandeur the old Spartan republic attained under the iron laws of its founder. It is but lately, when I had the honor of receiving as a guest the Philosopher of Massachusetts, that he told me of one Thorow; a ripe scholar and a man of genius, who lived at Concord, in a wooden house of his own building, and who never allowed himself more than a shilling per week wherewith to supply his table. If he needed more money for the 'things of a man' than his scrip would afford him, it was his custom to apply to the Philo sopher for leave to work on his farm, until he had earned sufficient for his pur poses. This brave person, who was worthy to have lived in the days of Lycurgus, or to have driven his plough with Cincinnatus, had measured well his own power;

fancied there was a tinge of sadness in their smile, which was not wont to be there. But sorrow is a holy thing; and perhaps, my old friends-the stars-have become more reli gious than they were, altho, it must be confest, I never saw them gay, even when they looked fullest of hope. I must come back, however, from the stars to the School-house, with which, indeed, they have a paradoxical relationship-viz. that of something, and nothing. The walls of the school were whitewashed, and having neither money nor maps, I set to work, and drew and colored upon the said walls, from a borrowed atlas, as many as they would hold, until most of the Geographies of Earth flamed there in notable illumina tions. In the spaces between the windows were all the Kings and Queens of England, drawn out at full length in solid Indian Ink letters, with the printed dates of their appearance and disappearance upon this island. I had traced, likewise, in other vacant places, a Grammar of the Mother Tongue in Cipher, and gave lessons from the same, for lack of Lindley Murray's books. Every niche was filled up with memorials of 'sage, wise, and good men,' as Plutarch calls them, in the shape of sculptured saws and moral admonitions; and to complete the Academic medley, and remind all comers that this house was for the worship of WORK, and not for the profanity of idleness, I wrote this paraphrase over the lintels of the doorposts

Keep for the horse a whip,

Keep for the ass a bridle;
Keep for the fool a rod,

And flank him when he's idle.

An imperative warning, which was, in most instances, heeded by those whom it concerned.