years and attempt to reconstruct the fabric of old English literature, its proportions and form can only be determined by the structure which society was at that period assuming. It was then the dawning point-the time of the first great impulse to both literature and society. There had been a long night of darkness in which England with the rest of Europe had been shrouded for ages, but the obscurity was now beginning to vanish, and upon the eastern sky could be seen the first faint but sure harbinger that heralded the coming day. Various influences had been tending to this. The crusades had arisen and poured in upon the European world the light of Oriental art and refinement. The feudal system was becoming freed from its harsh and tyrannical features, and the strict exaction of military servitude from the yielding vassal became less and less rigidly enforced. The retainer had begun to despise the degrading bondage in which he had so long been held and to look upon himself as worthy of a better state and entitled to higher privileges than any which he had yet enjoyed. Kings were taking into their own hands the power which the nobles had heretofore so despotically exercised over their vassals, and thus while removing that which had been such a fruitful source of violence, were also changing the state from a collection of petty clans and feuds to a single united and consolidated whole. Society seemed waking up from its slumber of ages, and rousing itself for a new effort, it endeavored to shake off the fetters of ignorance and superstition which had so long bound it in the dust. In England the active spirit of Edward III. was doing much to favor this movement. Not content with his wars carried on so successfully in Scotland and France, he directed many of his efforts to the improvement of the civil and social condition of his people. The code of laws which Edward I. had instituted, and which the weakness of Edward II. had prevented from carrying out, Edward III. faithfully executed. Under him, social order in England spread itself through the community. Society was still rude and uncultivated it is true; there was a great deal yet that needed culture before it should attain a high degree of refinement; but the work had begun, and in looking back now upon that time, we can clearly discover the germ of that social tree whose strength and maturity after ages were to unfold, and whose vigor was to increase while the storms and the tempests that sometimes sweep over society were to visit it in vain. Perhaps in no case does the physical condition of man undergo any material change without affecting in a corresponding degree his intellectual state. The whole history of the world shows the inseparable connection that exists between the social and mental progress of man. So closely are these two woven together that neither can be separated from the other without destroying the whole fabric of human society. Hence we expect to see any advancement in one of these particulars followed by a corresponding development of the other, and we are very rarely disappointed. Both must progress together; and so they will as long as the present constitution of things remains unaltered. In viewing therefore the movement which was now taking place in English society we cannot be surprised at the change which also marks the literary history of that period. It was a change more wonderful and distinct than has perhaps ever characterized the literary history of any other nation. Since the time of the conqueror, the French language had been universally spoken among the nobility of England, but this was now beginning to give place to a form of speech far better suited to the national tastes and feelings of a country-loving Briton. The English language, which had heretofore been merely the rough means of communication between the inferior orders of society, now became the vehicle of thought for almost all classes, from the low menial up to the king. The long hostility that had been cherished between the Saxon and Norman seemed to be now dying away. Both for the first time stood upon a common ground, when the proud Norman laid aside the language of his fathers and adopted another which they had so long looked down upon with contempt. This was a strange concession, and it would doubtless never have been made had it not been for the change that was now going on in the civil and social relations of the people of England. The retainer was leaving his down trodden condition and fast rising in the scale of society, while the lord was being forced to consider himself in the light of a retainer to the king. Both classes were coming nearer and nearer together, and the noble, in order to preserve his power, found himself obliged to yield to some of the tastes and feelings of the vassal whom he had heretofore despised. No concession which he could make was calculated to be received with so much favor by the common people as the adoption of their language, and nothing was better fitted than this to establish a permanent and national literature. The English language, as such, was now considered worthy of the attention of the learned. It was no longer a rude dialect, the use of which would stamp a man with disgrace, but as the means of communication between the higher circles, ignorance of it could not be tolerated. Every effort was now made to improve and cultivate it. Translations into English from the classics were at this period made for the first time in the primary schools. Many of the romances of the south of Europe began to be rendered in the native dialect of Britain. The songs of the Saxon were frequently substituted by the minstrels for the gay ballads and love ditties of France. Previously to this the works of the learned were all published in Latin, since no one had heretofore seemed willing to run the risk of writing a book and giving it out in his own native tongue. It was an experiment which in those times of little reading, for a long while no author had the hardihood to perform. But the changes which society was now undergoing promised better for the author and seemed to call for some work, which all could read and which should tend to give stability and firmness to the language so recently adopted. The call was obeyed, and in 1356 were published Mandeville's travels, the first book in the English language. The Bible of Wickliffe soon after appeared, and English literature had taken its first step. To us in this age of books it may seem a short and feeble stride; but when we look at it in the light of that rude age, and think of the difficulties that were to be faced and the prejudices to be overcome before such a work could be accomplished, we cannot but feel that it never made at any one period of its history a truer or greater advancement than this. It was a good beginning of a work which a master hand was soon to carry on. The foundations had been laid and the work well prepared for the father of English Poetry to arise and carry on the edifice in which he was to be the first and greatest architect. Cb. OH! SING THAT SONG FOR ME. That plaintive song-Oh! stay not yet, But sing it once again, For many sweet remembrances Are wakened by the strain. Though it may have no soothing charm, No magic power for thee, Its music strangely moves my heart-- *Hallam. Hist. Lit. Sweet thoughts of other happier years, Those hours, when Fancy fondly dreamed Of friends whose forms so dear, so loved, I never more shall see These memory wakens in my breast- Long years have passed since first I heard Years in which sorrow's heavy clouds Have gathered o'er my way But Hope's uplifted finger points To realms of bliss, "the Better Land" Oh! sing that song for me! THE BIRTH OF THE DEW-DROP. Day had passed, and Evening stole along with silent step and sober mien, and spread her gray robe over field and forest. But Earth moaned sadly, and the breezes filled the ear of Evening with her voice of wailing. Then Evening said, "Why art thou disquieted, O Earth, and why dost thou refuse to lie in quiet beneath the robe I have spread above thee?" And Earth said, "Because there is in it no beauty. Day cometh and giveth me a garment of brightest green. At her voice the flowerets raise their heads and she arrayeth them in gorgeous hues---but at thy approach, they bow upon their stems, for thou takest away their loveliness. It is not thus that thou hast dealt by the sky, for though thou hast hidden its kingly sun, and taken away its tapestry of cloud, yet hast thou placed therein a million of gems and it is filled with glory." Then Evening mused awhile and said, "Thou hast not spoken ill, and Earth at night shall also have her jewels." And she sprinkled dew drops on every leaf and flower and scattered them over each vale and hill. Then Earth looked upward to the sky and smiled, for Evening had now given both their sparkling beauty. JANE EYRE. Нашшена. Who has not heard of JANE EYRE? It has been emphatically the novel of the season. Young ladies have read and admired. Young ladies' men have admired without reading. Old ladies have read and criticised-Literary pundits criticised it unread. We confess that all this gave us an unreasonable prejudice against the book. We detest literary fashions. Nevertheless we too read Jane Eyre. It was a bright warm day in vacation. We had perambulated Broadway-infested Amity-street-lounged at the book-store and the Post Office-and from the Doric piazza of the Amherst House watched the turmoil of business on Phenix Row; with all our endeavors it was not yet ten A. M. In a despairing mood we invested a quarter in Harper's edition; ascended unto our den; ensconced ourselves in our biggest chair; and thus opened Chapter I. Even now we cannot look back on this quiet vacation-day without pleasure. Not a step echoed through the deserted halls of old South; not even a daring sunbeam stole through the closed blinds into our cool shaded room. Shut as it were for a time from the every-day world and our every-day self, we followed all day long with eager interest the heroine's adventures: nor laid down the book and arose from our dream, till by the light of the setting sun we had traced her to the end. Was it a day wasted? Many will reply in the affirmative. We might have sawed wood: we might have reviewed Euclid: we might have beguiled our leisure with four and twenty pages of Eschenburg. As it was, the day added neither to our physical or mental wood-pile. We got no exercise; no fixed facts; yet if there be any value in enlarged conceptions, stirring thoughts, freshened emotions, that make the soul "Better in purpose, stronger in resolve, Apter to use all means that compass good And of more charitable mind to all," then surely that pleasant day was not without its reward. But this is a question we will not stop to debate. Beyond all doubt Jane Eyre is a remarkable book. Considered simply as a tale, it possesses a plot which for finish and elaborateness is unequalled in recent literature. The closest criticism can detect no discrepancy even in its minutest details. The skill with which every successive developement of the plot is concealed until the time |