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THE wheel of Time turns whirring on,
It never varies, never stays;
Somewhiles we watch, somewhiles we shun,
But it nor lingers nor delays.
And if perchance Love seize the wheel,
And seek to stop it in its flight,

He only learns the more to feel

He cannot lengthen Life's delight.

Yet Love will strive to change its course,
And with a soft hand grasps it fast;
Though whirled by its resistless force,
All things must leave it at the last.
Love sometimes holds, and while it turns
Faint with the speed yet faithful dies;
But oftener, when his hand it burns,
He quits at once and distant flies.
- Fraser's Magazine.

F. G. F.

THE OLD CATHEDRAL ORGANIST

'Tis forty years ago since first

I climbed these dusty, winding stairs To play the Dean in: how I spurned

Beneath my feet all meaner cares, When first I leant, my cheek on fire, And looked down blushing at the choir.

Handel, and Haydn, and Mozart

I thought they watched me as I played; While Palestrina's stern, sad face

Seemed in the twilight to upbraid; Pale fingers moved upon the keysThe ghost-hands of past centuries.

Behind my oaken battlement

Above the door I used to lean, And watch, in puffing crimson hood, Come stately sailing in the Dean; On this, the organ breathing low, Began to murmur soft and slow.

I used to shut my eyes, and hear
The solemn prophecy and psalm
Rise up like incense; and I loved

Before the prayer the lull and calm,
Till, like the stream that bursts its banks,
Broke forth brave Purcell's "O give Thanks."

I knew those thirteen hundred pipes
And thirty stops, as blind men do

The voices of the friends they love,

The bird's song, and the thunder too; And the fierce diapason's roar, Like storms upon a rocky shore.

And now to-day I yield me up

The dusky seat, my old loved throne, Unto another; and no more

Shall come here in the dusk alone, Or in the early matin hour,

To hear my old friend's voice of power.

And yet methinks, that centuries hence,
Lying beneath the chancel floor,
In that dark nook I shall delight

To hear the anthem's swell once more,
And to myself shall quietly smile
When music floods the vaulted aisle.

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Vision unto vision calleth,

While the young child dreameth on. Fair, O dreamer, thee befalleth

With the glory thou hast won!

Narrow their world, but sunny its airs,
Full of small joys that were great to them,
Transient sorrows and simple cares

(Burs on youth's glittering raiment-hem);

Darker wert thou in the garden, yestermorn, by And innocent hopes, that loomed so large

summer sun.

We should see the spirits ringing

Round thee-were the clouds away! 'Tis the child-heart draws them, singing In the silent-seeming clay

Singing!-Stars that seem the mutest, go in music all the way.

As the moths around a taper,

As the bees around a rose,

As in sunset, many a vapor

So the spirits group and close

Through the purple mist of their morning-prime,
That a kingdom's fate or an empire's charge
Had laid less weight on the busy time.
Living their life-dreaming their dream-
Thus flowed the golden hours away,
Shining and swift as the lapsing stream

In the sand-glass turned by a child in play.

They had a language that mocked at rules,
A foolish tongue that was all their own;
Its words had values unknown to schools-
Dear for the sake of a look or tone.

Round about a holy childhood, as if drinking its Learned it was not, nor was it wise,

repose.

Shapes of brightness overlean thee,
With their diadems of youth
Striking on thy ringlets sheenly-

While thou smilest-not in sooth

Thy smile but the overfair one, dropped from some ethereal mouth.

Haply it is angels' duty,

During slumber, shade by shade To fine down the childish beauty To the thing it must be made,

Ere the world shall bring it praises, or the tomb shall see it fade.

Softly, softly! make no noise!

Now he lieth dead and dumbNow he hears the angels' voices Folding silence in the room

Yet it had purport earnest and true,
Full of such playful metonymies!

Figures-which love and the hearer knew;
Gay ellipsis-that left to the guess

Tender half-meanings; metaphor bold;
Fond hyperbole-saying far less

Than the heart held or the kind eyes told;
Strange pet-names that were nouns unknown,
Epithets-mocking the love-charmed ears,
Verbs-that had roots in the heart alone,

Jests-whose memories now bring tears.

For the "strong hours" came, that come to all,
Bearing away on their stormy wings

All the poor treasures, great and small,

Love had amassed as his precious things; All the rare joys, on the path they trod,

And the cares that look so like joys, when pastWhen one great grief-like the serpent-rodHath swallowed all lesser griefs at last:

Now he muses deep the meaning of the heaven- All the rich harvest of mutual thought,

words as they come.

Speak not! he is consecrated

Breathe no breath across his eyes.

Lifted up and separated

On the hand of God he lies,

The sweet life-memories-reaped in vain,
And last the language that Love had taught-
Ne'er to be uttered nor heard again.

One was taken-the other left;
Where was the use of that idle lore?

In a sweetness beyond touching-held in clois- Bury it deep in the heart bereft,

tral sanctities.

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And the benediction speak?

Ne'er to be uttered, nor needed more!

"What doth it matter? solemn and sweet
Is the communion the True Life brings;
Love needs no symbols where next we meet
Hath it not put away earthly things?

Would ye not break out in weeping, and con- How should we want these foolish words

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And-deaf to the quiring angels-pines
For one poor word of that lost Love-Tongue!
-Dublin University Magazine.

THE CROAKERS.

FROM GOETHE, BY REV. DR. HEDGE.

THE pond in the meadow was frozen tight,
The frogs beneath, in a doleful plight,
Could no more leap as they had done—
Their gambols stopped, and all their fun.
Half numb, they murmured dreamily
What they would do when they were free.
Once clear of winter's icy yoke,
They promised never more to croak;
No more in concert would they rail,
But each should sing like a nightingale.
The south wind blew, the ice gave way,
The frogs once more could frisk and play;
They stretched their limbs, they leaped ashore,
And they-croaked as drearly as before.

LEISURE.

GRAND is the leisure of the earth;
She gives her happy myriads birth,
And after harvest fears not dearth,

But goes to sleep in snow-wreaths dim. Dread is the leisure up above,

The while he sits whose name is Love,
And waits, as Noah did, for the dove,
To wit if she would fly to him.

He waits for us, while, houseless things,
We beat about with bruised wings
On the dark floods and water-springs,

The ruined world, the desolate sea:
With open windows from the prime,
All night, all day, he waits sublime,
Until the fulness of the time

Decreed from His eternity.

Where is our leisure? give us rest!
Where is the quiet we possessed?
We must have had it once-were blest
With peace, whose phantoms yet entice.
Sorely the mother of mankind
Longed for the garden left behind;
For we still prove some yearnings blind
Inherited from Paradise.

-Jean Ingelow.

LINES WRITTEN IN A FRANCISCAN

CONVENT.

How oft from this small casement high,
When chanted was the vesper-psalm,
The lonely monk has raised his eye

Toward that heaven so pure and calm,
And watched the moonlight showering pale
Upon the church and trees below,
And heard the soft and wandering wail
Of waters in perpetual flow!

One looked, but sight so beautiful
Awoke no answering thrill in him;
And, with a heart benumbed and dull,
He saw as if his eye were dim.

No charm to him, no solemn sound,

Had waves, or winds, or clouds, or starsHis range of thought the cloister bound, And in his soul he wore its bars.

Perchance, some mind of finer mould
Has gazed up that clear, starry air,
And seen the golden gates unfold,

And wings of angels waving fair-
In trance beheld the Virgin nigh,
Heard voices sweet and heavenly sounds-
While, smiling on his votary,

St. Francis showed his mystic wounds.

One, with a heart of slumbering power,
Once scathed by passion's fiery glow,
May here have stood and blessed the hour
His lips pronounced the awful vow.
From envy, pride, and care, release

He may have found in cloistered walls,
And fancied he had grasped the peace
That is no guest in pleasure's halls.

How many felt, through blighted years,
The writhing pangs of inward strife,
And mourned with unavailing tears
The error which had poisoned life-
The bondage of a vow at war

With nature frenzied by control,
As if the cord and scapular

Could chain the fiends that haunt the soul!

Their minds roamed sadly through the past
To youth, with hope's bright fancies flushed,
Ere clouds the prospect overcast,

Ere care life's opening blossom crushed;
Then weary days and nights forlorn,

The struggling mind, the sickening heart, Till, in the conflict overborne,

All earthly ties they rent apart.

They sought the fenced, the holy ground-
Behind them died the world's vain din-
But soon, alas! too soon, they found

That they had brought the world within.
Beyond its outward range they passed,
And vainly hoped its power to foil;
Out from the heart the world to cast-
This was the duty, this the toil.

So Jerome through the streets of Rome
Could wander with undazzled eyes,
In lordly mansions seek no home,

And all its pomp and pride despise;
But in the wilds, the singing bird

Brought back Rome's voice on every wind,

And every leaf, that idly stirred,
The thought of friends left far behind.

Some died in hoary age, some young,

Their hearts grief-cankered at the coreAnd bells were rung, and psalms were sung, When opened was the chancel floor; They moulder there, that ghastly bandTheir shadows glimmer through the gloom— And I, a stranger in the land,

Muse mournfully above their tomb.

-J. D. Burns.

The distinguishing badge of the Order of St. Francis.

BRIEF LITERARY NOTICES.

Notice of Anthony Stradivari, the Celebrated Violin-Maker. By F. J. FÉTIS. Translated by JOHN BISHOP. London: Robert Cocks & Co., 1864. The name of Dr. Barlow has long been familiar to the student of Dante; and the handsome volume he has recently published bears ample testimony to the extent of his researches, and the ardor of his devotion to the study of the great Florentine, whom he designates, "Poeta, Teologo, e Filosofo, sempre sommo." For fourteen years and upwards the author has been accumulating materials, examining and comparing the various codici of the "Divina Commedia" preserved in the public libraries of Europe, and studying the writings of the long series of critics and commentators who have preceded him. Few are the great writers who have suffered so little from the lapse of centuries as Dante. A blaze of light encircles him. Five of the codici now extant date from within thirty years of his death; and we have not only the commentaries of his contemporaries, Boccacio and Jacopo della Lana, but that of his own son, Jacopo di Dante. Nearly five hundred codici of the "Divina Commedia are now in existence, of which about three hundred and fifty contain the whole poem, and of this large number between sixty and seventy are in English libraries, the Bodleian containing fourteen, and the British Museum twelve. Our collection is larger than that of any other country, Italy excepted, where, naturally, the greatest number are preserved, the Italian codici amounting to nearly three hundred and ninety, of which two hundred are in Florence and other cities of Tuscany. The Laurenziana Library alone contains eighty-seven codici, eight of which are of especial value and authority in deciding doubtful readings; but the most beautiful codici probably in existence, and the one which Dr. Barlow considers to be without a rival, is that known as the 'Urbinato," No. 365 of the Vatican, a folio of 296 leaves, written on vellum in neat, slightly Gothic characters, and enriched with above one hundred elaborate miniature paintings.

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The various readings to which the greater part of Dr. Barlow's volume is devoted are many of them of but slight importance; and the renderings which critics have chosen are not always those that are supported by a majority of readings, or corroborated by the testimony of the earliest manuscripts. Dr. Barlow states shortly the number of codici for and against the received text, the opinions of different critics, and sometimes his own conclusions. He mentions that the largest number of codici he has himself consulted for any one reading is one hundred and sixty, and that the collections of manuscripts that he has examined are those of Rome, Florence, Venice, Milan, Paris, London, and Oxford. More than two hundred passages have been investigated in this manner, and the result is a collection of readings and authorities which must be sought in vain in any other book in the language. Nor are Dr. Barlow's labors at all confined to mere technicalities of the text. His notes upon religious and philosophical questions are well worth reading, and though he is rather inclined to see more in some passages than a less

fervent worshipper can discover, his comments often throw light upon obscure allusions which have escaped preceding annotators. He quotes the canon of criticism laid down by a brother Dantophilist, Professor Carl Witte, of Halle, to the effect that, in judging of the genuineness of a text where two readings occur, one easy and the other difficult, it is always safe to consider the latter as the most authentic. Dr. Barlow

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discards as untenable on all grounds the theory rhapsody of love. It was written shortly after Vita Nuova," which makes it a mere Dante's marriage, and cannot, he avers, be the history of a childish attachment to Beatrice, the daughter of Folce Portinari, and the wife of Simone de' Bardi, but as an allegorical vision, in which the name of Beatrice only stands for the ideal idol of his inner life-a being whom he addresses in strains of mystic adoration, and to whom alone such language as that in the thirteenth canto of the "Paradiso" could apply. The appearance of this valuable and learned work is well timed, for in May next Florence will be called upon to celebrate the six hundredth anniVersary of Dante's birth; and Dr. Barlow dedicates his labor of love to this approaching day of commemoration.—Westminster Review.

A Critical and Grammatical Commentary on the Pastoral Epistles. With a Translation. By Rt. Rev. CHARLES J. ELLICOTT, D.D., Lord Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol. Warren F. Draper, Andover. Hurd & Houghton, New-York. 1865. Mr. Draper deserves great credit for the excellent character of the books which he publishes. They are standard works, and of great value, especially to the theologian. The Commentary of Bishop Ellicott on the Epistles ranks among the best. It is learned, critical, and sound in doctrine. The author is evidently a master of the original Scriptures, and of German biblical literature. To those who understand the Greek language, this is a work that cannot fail to render important aid in a correct and critical understanding of the sacred text.

It is a work

A Treatise on the History and Structure of the tive View of the Forms of their Words and the different Languages of the World, with a ComparaStyle of their Expressions. By J. WILSON, A. M. With Photograph and full Index. Albany: J. Munsell. This is a work which well deserves the attention of all who are interested in the study of language as a science. which so good a critic as Tayler Lewis, LL.D., affirms "shows profound thought and extensive tient toil in the preparation of this work, and destudy." The author has spent many years of paserves the thanks and patronage of the public for the good service he has rendered. Comparative Philology is yet in its infancy among us; but such contributions as the author here renders, and those of Dr. Benjamin W. Dwight, will be eminently serviceable. The work makes 384 octavo pages, and is sent, postage paid, for $3.50.

George Geith of Fen Court. A Novel. By F. G. TRAFFORD, author of "Too Much Alone," etc. Boston: T. O. H. P. Burnham. 1865. Pp. 555. A quiet, well-told English story, without much plot or incident, yet healthful in tone and readable to the end. It possesses quite the aver

age interest and ability of the better class of our novels.

Jenkins's Vest-Pocket Lexicon. An English Dictionary of all except Familiar Words; including the principal Scientific and Technical Terms and Foreign Moneys, Weights, and Measures, omitting What Everybody Knows. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co., 1865. A neat, unique, and highly convenient pocket dictionary.

or the Dawn-animal of Canada.-Chambers's Journal.

has been for some time in progress, and will probFormation of the Alps.-A geological debate ably have a long career, for the debaters are Sir Roderick Murchison, Professor Ramsay, late president of the Geological Society, and Professor Tyndall. The subject is the mode of formation of the Alps. Sir Roderick argues that the mountains were formed by upheaval and subsequent HOURS AT HOME, is the name of a new monthly fracture. The two professors contend that Switzwhich is about to start in this city, with the well- this water, operating through long ages, has erland was once covered by water, and that known house of Charles Scribner and Co. as pub-fashioned the mountains and hills, valleys and lishers, and Rev. J. M. Sherwood as editor. It ravines. The debate is exciting; and Professor is designed to stand among the monthlies as the Tyndall, who has climbed many an alp to observe representative of the religious element in Amer- ice and snow, and the effects of light and temican literature. It will be earnest and catholic, perature, has now a reason for climbing them all not denominational; less scientific than our quar- again, to gain facts and evidence in support of his terlies, but of a high literary character, embracing reviews of books, tales, poetry, history and biog- last summer's journey to Switzerland was undernew geological argument. It was for this that his raphy, travels, papers on popular science, and essays, brief and condensed, on miscellaneous sub- taken; and looking forth from the heights, he conjects. No pains or expense, we are assured, will cludes that water, ice, and wearing away have, to use his words, sculptured the Alps into their be spared to make it just such a religious and literary magazine as a Christian family would present form; and he says, "that such is their like to possess. Its list of contributors embraces genesis and history, is as certain as that erosion a very large number of the most eminent writers produced the Chines in the Isle of Wight. The belonging to all Christian denominations. We erosion theory ascribes the formation of Alpine cannot doubt that the religious community will Valleys to the agencies here referred to. welcome such a monthly and sustain it liberally. by which its work is performed are still there, vokes nothing but true causes. It is matter of surprise that this field has rethough it may be in diminished strength; and if mained till now virtually unoccupied. they are granted sufficient time, it is demonstrable that they are competent to produce the effects ascribed to them."

SCIENCE.

It inThe artificers

Of course there is a good deal to be said on the other side of the question, especially as regards discover-mountain-ranges in countries where there are no snow, ice, or water. In what way did they become fissured? And the long straight fissure now filled by the Red Sea, might be adduced as an example of the fracture theory on the largest scale.-Ditto.

Geologists have made many startling ies since the Geological Society was formed, but perhaps none more so than that mentioned by Sir Charles Lyell in his address to the British Association—namely, the discovery of a fossil animal which must have lived thousands of ages before the period usually assigned by geologists themselves to the beginning of life upon the earth. Heretofore, as is well known, an immense series of rocks below the Silurians, have been termed azoic, as exhibiting no remains of animal life; but this term must now be dismissed.

The history of this discovery may be told in a few words. It is well known that a staff of competent geologists, under the direction of Sir William E. Logan, one of the ablest of our public functionaries, have been engaged for some years in a geological survey of Canada. The oldest rocks in that country are granite, described as Upper and Lower Laurentian, their thickness being 40,000 feet, with bands of limestone intervening. In one of these bands in the Lower series of rocks, which are the most ancient, there were discovered in 1858 certain flattish rounded masses, which seemed to be of organic origin. These were examined under the microscope by Dr. Dawson, of Montreal, who, from their structure, declared them to be Foramenifera, similar in character, but very different in size, to the Foramenifera living at the present day in vast multitudes at the bottom of the sea; and to this newly-discovered and wonder-exciting creature he gave the significant name Eozoon Canadense,

Structure of the Thumb in Apes.-This subject, which has had such an important bearing upon the semi-theological discussion as to man's place in nature, has lately received the attention of that distinguished brain-anatomist, M. Gratiolet. This savant declares that according to his dissection the differences between the hands of man and apes are far more striking than has been supposed. In the latter the thumb is moved toward the palm by an oblique division of the tendon of the common flexor muscle of the fingers; hence it is drawn in during all movements of flexion on the part of the fingers, and has no intrinsic or special power of motion. The same type of structure is observed in the gorilla and chimpanzee; but the small tendon which should move the thumb is reduced in these species to a mere tendinous thread, which has no action, for at its origin it is lost in the synovial folds of the flexor tendons of the other digits, and it does not terminate in a muscular fasciculus; the thumb therefore has its typical power very much diminished in these animals. In none of them is there the faintest trace of that powerful and independent muscle which moves the human thumb, and, so far from being of a complete form, this phalanx (so characteristic of the human hand) ap

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