And peril to his body. He was one Who, gifted with predominating powers, Bear yet a temperate will, and keep the peace. Father John. Had Launoy lived, he might have passed for great, But not by conquests in the Franc of Bruges. Van Artevelde. They will be dim, and then be bright again. All is in busy, stirring, stormy motion; And many a cloud drifts by, and none sojourns. And lightly is death mourned: a dusk star blinks Twinkles the re-illuminated star, And all is out of sight that smirched the ray. Father John. The worse for us! He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. For life's worst ills, to have no time to feel them. Be it avowed, when all is said, Too young she loved, and he on whom At times o'ertook him in his course, For grace and beauty far above Their due deserts, betrayed a heart Which might have else performed a prouder part. First love the world is wont to call In soil which needed not the plough; And passion with her growth had grown, A tenderness had filled her mind We add a few sentences of Sir Henry's prose writings : On the Ethics of Politics.-From The Statesman.' The moral principle of private life which forbids one man to despoil another of his property, is outraged in the last degree when one man holds another in slavery, Carry it therefore in all its absoluteness into political life, and you require a statesman to do what he can, under any circumstances whatever, to procure immediate freedom for any parties who may be holden in slavery in the dominion of the state which he serves. Yet, take the case of negro slaves in the British dominions in the condition of barbarism in which they were thirty years ago, and we find the purest of men and strictest of moralists falling short of the conclusion. In private life, the magnitude of the good which results from maintaining the principle inviolate, far overbalances any specific evil which may possibly attend an adherence to it in a particular case. But in political affairs, it may happen that the specific evil is the greater of the two, even in looking to the longest train of consequences that can be said to be within the horizon of human foresight. For to set a generation of savages free in a civilised community, would be merely to maintain one moral principle inviolate at the expense of divers other moral principles. Upon the whole, therefore, I come to the conclusion that the cause of public morality will be best served by moralists permitting to statesmen, what statesmen must necessarily take and exercise-a free judgment namely, though a most responsible one, in the weighing of specific against general evil, and in the perception of perfect or imperfect analogies between public and private transactions, in respect of the moral rules by which they are to be governed. The standard of morality to be held forth by moralists to statesmen is sufficiently elevated when it is raised to the level of practicable virtue such standards, to be influential, must be above common opinion certainly, but not remotely above it; for if above it, yet near, they draw up common opinion; but if they be far off in their altitude, they have no attractive influence. spent in Sheerness. But before he had completed his tenth year, he was transferred to the guard-ship Namur, then lying at the mouth of the river-'a first-class volunteer in His Majesty's service, and not a little proud of his uniform.' Two years were spent at sea, after which Douglas, with his parents, removed to London. He became apprentice to a printer-worked diligently during the usual business hours-and seized upon every spare moment for solitary self-instruction. The little, eager, intellectual boy was sure to rise in the world. He had, however, a sharp novitiate. His great friend at this time was MR LAMAN BLANCHARD (1803-1845), who was engaged in periodical literature, and author of numerous tales and essays, collected after his premature death, and published with a memoir of the author by Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton. Douglas Jerrold took early to dramatic writing, and in his eighteenth year he was engaged at a salary of 'a few pounds weekly' to write pieces for the Coburg Theatre. His nautical and domestic drama, Black-eyed Susan, was brought out at the Surrey Theatre in 1829, and had a prodigious success. It had a run of above three hundred nights, and produced many thousands to the theatre, though it brought only about £70 to the author. The other dramas of Jerrold are- The Rent Day, 1832; Nell Gwynne and The Housekeeper, 1833; The Wedding Gown, 1834; The School-fellows and Doves in a Cage, 1835; Prisoner of War, 1842; Bubbles of the Day and Time Works Wonders, 1845; The Catspaw, 1850; Retired from Business, 1851; St Cupid, 1853; Heart of Gold, 1854. The plays of Jerrold, like all his other writings, abound in pointed and witty sayings and lively illustration. His incidents and characters are also well contrasted and arranged for stage-effect, yet there is a want of breadth and simplicity. About 1831 Jerrold became a contributor to the magazines; and in 1840 he was editor of a series of sketches, called Heads of the People, illustrated by Kenny Meadows, to which Thackeray, R. H. Horne, Blanchard, Peake, and others contributed. Some of the best of Jerrold's essays appeared in this periodical. Afterwards Punch Wisdom is corrupted by ambition, even when the he still continued to write occasionally for the absorbed the greater part of his time, though quality of the ambition is intellectual. For ambition, Henceforward his life was that of a even of this quality, is but a form of self-love, which, stage. seeking gratification in the consciousness of intellectual professional littérateur, steadily rising in public power, is too much delighted with the exercise to have estimation and in worldly prosperity-famous for a single and paramount regard to the end-that is, the his sarcasm, his witty sayings, and general conmoral and spiritual consequences-should suffer deroga-versational brilliancy. In 1852 a large edition tion in favour of the intellectual means. God is love, and God is light; whence, it results that love is light, and it is only by following the effluence of that light, that intellectual power issues into wisdom. The intellectual power which loses that light, and issues into intellectual pride, is out of the way to wisdom, and will not attain even to intellectual greatness. Of Wisdom.-From 'Notes from Life.' Wisdom is not the same with understanding, talents, capacity, sense, or prudence; not the same with any one of these; neither will all these together make it up. It is that exercise of the reason into which the heart enters -a structure of the understanding rising out of the moral and spiritual nature. It is for this cause that a high order of wisdom-that is, a highly intellectual wisdom is still more rare than a high order of genius. When they reach the very highest order they are one; for each includes the other, and intellectual greatness is matched with moral strength. But they hardly ever reach so high, inasmuch as great intellect, according to the ways of Providence, almost always brings along with it great infirmities—or, at least, infirmities which appear great owing to the scale of operation; and it is certainly exposed to unusual temptations; for as power and preeminence lie before it, so ambition attends it, which, whilst it determines the will and strengthens the activities, inevitably weakens the moral fabric. DOUGLAS JERROLD. The works of DOUGLAS JERROLD (1803-1857) are various, consisting of plays, tales, and sketches of character, in which humour, fancy, and satire are blended. The most popular of these were contributed to Punch, or the London Charivari. Jerrold was born in London in January 1803. His father was an actor, lessee of the Sheerness Theatre, and the early years of Douglas were was made to his income-1000 per annum-by his becoming editor of Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper. He was a zealous advocate of social reform; a passionate hater of all cant, pretence, and affectation; and though on some grave questions he wrote without sufficient consideration, his career was that of an honest journalist and lover of truth. Of his personal generosity of character many memorials remain. Mr Dickens relates one instance: 'There had been an estrangement between us-not on any personal subject, and not involving an angry word-and a good many months had passed without my even seeing him in the street, when it fell out that we dined, each with his own separate party, in the strangers' room of the club. Our chairs were almost back to back, and I took mine after he was seated and at dinner. I said not a word-I am sorry to remember and did not look that way. Before we had sat long, he openly wheeled his chair round, stretched out both his hands, and said aloud, with a bright and loving face that I can see as I write to you: "For God's sake let us be friends again! A life's not long enough for this."'* He died, after a short illness, on the 8th of June 1857, and was interred in Norwood Cemetery-followed to the grave by all his literary confrères, who nobly raised a memorial fund of £2000 for the benefit of his family. The collected miscellaneous writings of Douglas Jerrold fill six duodecimo volumes. The longest is a story of townlife, St Giles and St James, by no means his happiest production. He was best in short satirical and descriptive sketches-spontaneous bursts of fancy or feeling. His Caudle Lectures, Story of a Feather, Men of Character, and Sketches of the English, were highly popular. The style is concise and pungent-too much, perhaps, in the manner of dramatic dialogue, but lightened up by poetic feeling and imagery. His satire was always winged with fancy. Some brilliant or pointed saying carried home his argument or sentiment, and fixed it firmly in the mind. Like Charles Lamb and most humorists, he had tenderness and pathos. 'After all,' he said, 'life has something serious in it-it cannot be all a comic history of humanity.' Hence, amidst all the quips and turns of his fancy, the real mingles with the ideal, and shrewd, kindly observation and active sympathy are at the bottom of his picturesque sketches and portraits. He was often wrong, often one-sided-an ardent, impulsive man—but high-principled, sincere, and generous. In witty repartee he was unequalled among his contemporaries. The following extracts are from his drama of Bubbles of the Day: Fancy Fair in Guildhall for Painting St Paul's. Sir Phenix Clearcake. I come with a petition to youa petition not parliamentary, but charitable. We propose, my lord, a fancy fair in Guildhall; its object so benevolent, and more than that, so respectable. Lord Skindeep. Benevolence and respectability! Of course, I'm with you. Well, the precise object? Sir P. It is to remove a stain-a very great stain from the city; to give an air of maiden beauty to a most venerable institution; to exercise a renovating taste at a most inconsiderable outlay; to call up, as it were, the snowy beauty of Greece in the coal-smoke atmosphere of London; in a word, my lord, but as yet 'tis a profound secret-it is to paint St Paul's! To give it a virgin outside-to make it so truly respectable. Lord Skin. A gigantic effort! Sir P. The fancy fair will be on a most comprehensive and philanthropic scale. Every alderman takes a stall; and to give you an idea of the enthusiasm of the citybut this also is a secret-the Lady Mayoress has been up three nights making pincushions. Companies for leasing Mount Vesuvius, for making a Trip all round the World, for Buying the Serpentine River, &c. Captain Smoke. We are about to start a company to take on lease Mount Vesuvius for the manufacture of lucifer-matches. Sir P. A stupendous speculation! I should say that, when its countless advantages are duly numbered, it will be found a certain wheel of fortune to the enlightened capitalist. Smoke. Now, sir, if you would but take the chair at the first meeting-(Aside to Chatham: We shall make it all right about the shares)—if you would but speak for two or three hours on the social improvement conferred by the lucifer-match, with the monopoly of sulphur secured to the company-a monopoly which will suffer no man, woman, or child to strike a light without our permission. Chatham. Truly, sir, in such a cause, to such an auditory-I fear my eloquence. Smoke. Sir, if you would speak well anywhere, there's nothing like first grinding your eloquence on a mixed meeting. Depend on 't, if you can only manage a little humbug with a mob, it gives you great confidence for another place. Lord Skin. Smoke, never say humbug; it's coarse. Sir P. And not respectable. fact is, humbug has received such high patronage, that Smoke. Pardon me, my lord, it was coarse. But the now it's quite classic. Chat. But why not embark his lordship in the lucifer question? Smoke. I can't I have his lordship in three companies already. Three. First, there's a company-half a million capital-for extracting civet from asafoetida. The second is a company for a trip all round the world. We propose to hire a three-decker of the Lords of the Admiralty, and fit her up with every accommodation for families. We've already advertised for wet-nurses and maids-of-all-work. Sir P. A magnificent project! And then the table in the ward-room; with, for the humbler classes, fittings-up will be so respectable. A delightful billiardskittles on the orlop-deck. Swings and archery for the ladies, trap-ball and cricket for the children, whilst the Weippert's quadrille band is engaged, andmarine sportsman will find the stock of gulls unlimited. Smoke. For the convenience of lovers, the ship will carry a parson. Chat. And the object? Smoke. Pleasure and education. At every new country children may go to school and learn the language. The we shall drop anchor for at least a week, that the trip must answer: 'twill occupy only three years, and we've forgotten nothing to make it delightful-nothing from hot rolls to cork jackets. Brown. And now, sir, the third venture? Smoke. That, sir, is a company to buy the Serpentine River for a Grand Junction Temperance Cemetery. Brown. What! so many watery graves? Smoke. Yes, sir, with floating tombstones. Here's the prospectus. Look here; surmounted by a hyacinth Lord Skin. But you don't want me to take a stall--the very emblem of temperance-a hyacinth flowering to sell pincushions? Sir P. Certainly not, my lord. And yet your philanthropic speeches in the House, my lord, convince me that, to obtain a certain good, you would sell anything. Lord Skin. Well, well; command me in any way; benevolence is my foible. lucifers—I know his lordship's goodness—he 'Îl give you in the limpid flood. Now, if you don't feel equal to the up the cemetery. (Aside to Chatham: A family vault as a bonus to the chairman.) Sir P. What a beautiful subject for a speech! Water-lilies and aquatic plants gemming the translucent crystal, shells of rainbow brightness, a constant supply of gold and silver fish, with the right of angling secured to shareholders. The extent of the river being necessarily limited, will render lying there so select, so very respectable. Time's Changes.-From Time Works Wonders. Florentine. O sir, the magic of five long years! We paint Time with glass and scythe-should he not carry harlequin's own wand? for, oh, indeed Time's changes! Clarence. Are they, in truth, so very great? Flor. Greater than harlequin's; but then Time works them with so grave a face, that even the hearts he alters doubt the change, though often turned from very flesh to stone. Clar. Time has his bounteous changes too; and sometimes to the sweetest bud will give an unimagined beauty in the flower. Retired from Business. Tackle. Kitty, see what you'll get by waiting! I'll grow you such a garland for your wedding. Kitty. A garland, indeed! A daisy to-day is worth a rose-bush to-morrow. Puffins. But, Mr Pennyweight, I trust you are now, in every sense, once and for ever, retired from business? Gunn. No; in every sense, who is? Life has its duties ever; none wiser, better, than a manly disregard of false distinctions, made by ignorance, maintained by weakness. Resting from the activities of life, we have yet our daily task-the interchange of simple thoughts and gentle doings. When, following those already passed, we rest beneath the shadow of yon distant spire, then, and then only, may it be said of us, retired from business. Winter in London. The streets were empty. Pitiless cold had driven all who had the shelter of a roof to their homes; and the north-east blast seemed to howl in triumph above the untrodden snow. Winter was at the heart of all things. The wretched, dumb with excessive misery, suffered, in stupid resignation, the tyranny of the season. Human blood stagnated in the breast of want; and death in that despairing hour, losing its terrors, looked in the eyes of many a wretch a sweet deliverer. It was a time when the very poor, barred from the commonest things of earth, take strange counsel with themselves, and in the deep humility of destitution, believe they are the burden and the offal of the world. ing to it, forgets its wretchedness in sympathy with suffering. A time when, in the cellars and garrets of the poor, are acted scenes which make the noblest heroism of life; which prove the immortal texture of the human heart not wholly seared by the brandingiron of the torturing hours. A time when in want, in anguish, in throes of mortal agony, some seed is sown that bears a flower in heaven. The Emigrant Ship. Some dozen folks, with gay, dull, earnest, careless, hopeful, wearied looks, spy about the ship, their future abiding-place upon the deep for many a day. Some dozen, with different feelings, shewn in different emotions, enter cabins, dip below, emerge on deck, and dise and food, lying in labyrinth about. The ship is in weave their way among packages and casks, merchansible she can be all taut upon the wave in a week. Her most seemly confusion. The landsman thinks it impostangle, such disorder, like a wench's locks after a mad yards are all so up and down, and her rigging in such a game at romps. Nevertheless, Captain Goodbody's word permitting, the frigate-built Halcyon, with her white is as true as oak. On the appointed day, the skies wings spread, will drop down the Thames-down to the illimitable sea. She English hearts and English sinews-hope and strength She carries a glorious freightage to the antipodes— to conquer and control the waste, turning it to usefulness and beauty. She carries in her the seeds of English cities, with English laws to crown them free. carries with her the strong, deep, earnest music of the English tongue-a music soon to be universal as the winds of heaven. What should fancy do in a London dock? All is so hard, material, positive. Yet there, amid the tangled ropes, fancy will behold-clustered like birds-poets and philosophers, history-men and story-men, annalists and legalists-English all-bound for the other side of the world, to rejoice it with their voices. Put fancy to the task, and fancy will detect Milton in the shrouds, and Shakspeare looking sweetly, seriously down, pedestaled upon yon main-block. Spenser, like one of his own fairies, swings on a brace; and Bacon, as if in philosophic chair, sits soberly upon a yard. Poetic heads of every generation, from the halfcowled brow of Chaucer to the periwigged pate of It was a time when the easy, comfortable man, touched Dryden, from bonneted Pope to night-capped Cowper with finest sense of human suffering, gives from his abun--fancy sees them all-all; ay, from the long-dead day dance; and, whilst bestowing, feels almost ashamed that, of Edward to the living hour of Victoria; sees them all with such wide-spread misery circled round him, he has gathered aloft, and with fine ear lists the rustling of all things fitting, all things grateful. The smitten spirit their bays. asks wherefore he is not of the multitude of wretchedness; demands to know for what especial excellence he is promoted above the thousand thousand starving creatures; in his very tenderness for misery, tests his privilege of exemption from a woe that withers manhood in man, bowing him downward to the brute. And so questioned, this man gives in modesty of spirit-in very thankfulness of soul. His alms are not cold, formal charities; but reverent sacrifices to his suffering brother. It was a time when selfishness hugs itself in its own warmth, with no other thoughts than of its pleasant possessions, all made pleasanter, sweeter, by the desolation around; when the mere worldling rejoices the more in his warm chamber, because it is so bitter cold without; when he eats and drinks with whetted appetite, because he hears of destitution prowling like a wolf around his well-barred house: when, in fine, he bears his every comfort about him with the pride of a conqueror. A time when such a man sees in the misery of his fellow-beings nothing save his own victory of fortune-his own successes in a suffering world. To such a man, the poor are but the tattered slaves that grace his triumph. It was a time, too, when human nature often shews its true divinity, and with misery like a garment cling Puns and Sayings of Ferrold. Dogmatism is the maturity of puppyism. Unremitting Kindness.— Call that a kind man,' said an actor, speaking of an absent acquaintance; a man who is away from his family, and never sends them a farthing! Call that kindness!' 'Yes, unremitting kindness,' Jerrold replied. The Retort Direct.-Some member of 'Our Club,' hearing an air mentioned, exclaimed: "That always carries me away when I hear it.' 'Can nobody whistle it?' exclaimed Jerrold. Australia.-Earth is so kindly there that, tickle her with a hoe, and she laughs with a harvest. The Sharp Attorney.-A friend of an unfortunate lawyer met Jerrold, and said: 'Have you heard about poor R- ? His business is going to the devil.' Ferrold: That's all right: then he is sure to get it back again.' The Reason Why.-One evening at the Museum Club a member very ostentatiously said in a loud voice: 'Isn't it strange; we had no fish at the marquis's last night? That has happened twice lately-I can't account for it.' 'Nor I,' replied Jerrold, 'unless they ate it all up-stairs.' Ostentatious Grief-Reading the pompous and fulsome inscription which Soyer the cook put on his wife's tomb in Kensal Green Cemetery, Jerrold shook his head and said: 'Mock-turtle.' A Filial Smile. In a railway-carriage one day, a gentleman expatiated on the beauty of nature. Cows were grazing in the fields. In reading in the fields,' said he, 'sometimes a cow comes and bends its head over me. I look up benignantly at it.' 'With a filial smile,' rejoined Jerrold. The Anglo-French Alliance.-A Frenchman said he was proud to see the English and French such good friends at last. Ferrold: Tut! the best thing I know between France and England is—the sea.' The Scotch-Jerrold was fond of girding at the Scotch jocularly. Every Scotchman has a niche [an itch] in the temple of Fame.' Look at the antiquity of the paintings in Holyrood Palace! Ay, and you had the distemper before the oil-paintings.' 6 GILBERT ABBOT À BECKETT-MARK LEMONSHIRLEY BROOKS-TOM TAYLOR. This cluster of genial wits and humoristscontributors to Punch, and all of them well known in general literature-attempted the drama, and one of them (Mr Taylor) with continued and marked success. MR À BECKETT (1810-1856) delighted in puns and burlesque; he produced above thirty dramatic pieces, and wrote the Comic Blackstone and Comic Histories of England and Rome. He latterly filled the office of police magistrate a man universally respected and beloved. MARK LEMON (1809-1870) wrote a vast number of dramatic pieces-above fifty, it is said-but his highest honours were derived from his editorship of Punch, a valuable weekly periodical, witty without coarseness, and satirical without scurrility -which he conducted from its commencement, July 17, 1841, till his death. Mr Lemon was author also of occasional poems and prose sketches. CHARLES SHIRLEY BROOKS (1815-1874) succeeded Mark Lemon as editor of Punch, to which he had for many years been a regular contributor. Mr Brooks was a native of London, studied for the law, and was articled to a solicitor (his uncle) at Oswestry; but he early adopted literature as a profession. He was engaged on the Morning Chronicle, writing the parliamentary summary of that journal for five years. He also travelled in the south of Russia, Asia Minor, and Egypt as special commissioner for the Chronicle, investigating the condition of the labouring classes; and part of the results of his journey was published under the title of The Russians in the South. Mr Brooks was author of several successful dramas and of four novels-Aspen Court, The Gordian Knot, The Silver Cord, and Sooner or Later. All these works are distinguished by witty and sparkling dialogue, by variety of incident and knowledge of the world, especially of town life and character. We subjoin one short extract from The Gordian Knot: Portrait of Douglas Ferrold. Margaret found herself alone; but not being one of the persons who find themselves bores, and must always seek companionship, she sat down, and amused herself with one of the new books on the table. And as the volume happened to be a fresh and noble poem by a poetess who is unreasonable enough to demand that those who would understand her magnificent lines shall bestow on them some little thought in exchange for the great thought that has produced them (and then the reader is but like the scrubby Diomed giving his brass arms for the golden harness of splendid Sarpedon), Margaret's earnest attention to Mrs Browning rendered the reader unaware that another person had entered the room. His footfall was so light that her not hearing his approach was not surprising; and as he stood for a minute or more watching her intelligent face as it expressed the pleasure she felt as rose-leaf after roseleaf of an involved and beautiful thought unfolded and expanded to her mind. Then, as she raised her eyes, her half-formed smile changed to a look of surprise as she found herself confronted by a stranger; and she coloured highly as that look was returned by a pleasant glance and a bow, respectful and yet playful, as the situation and the difference of age might warrant. Before her stood a gentleman, considerably below the middle height, and in form delicate almost to fragility, but whose appearance was redeemed from aught of feebleness by a lion-like head, and features which, classically chiselled, told of a mental force and will rarely allotted. The hair, whose gray was almost whiteness, head. The eye, set back under a bold strong brow, yet was long and luxuriant, and fell back from a noble forein itself somewhat prominent, was in repose, but its depths were those that, under excitement, light up to a glow. About the flexible mouth there lingered a smile, too gentle to be called mocking, but evidence of a humour ready at the slightest call-and yet the lips could frame themselves for stern or passionate utterances at need. The slight stoop was at first taken by Margaret for part of the bow with which the stranger had greeted her, but she perceived that it was habitual, as the latter, resting his small white hands on the head of an ivorywith a nod at the book: Fine diamonds in a fine handled cane, said in a cheerful and kindly voice, and casket there, are there not?' His tone was evidently intended to put Margaret at her ease, and to make her forget that she had been surprised; and his manner was so pleasant, and almost fatherly, that she felt herself in the presence of some one of a kindred nature to that of her Uncle Cheriton. By a curious confusion of idea, to be explained only by the suddenness of the introduction, Margaret seized the notion that her other uncle was before her. I am sorry, however, to say that neither the poetess's page nor the visitor's phrase inspired her with a cleverer answer to his speech than a hesitating 'O-O yes, very.' tive's greeting; but as she rose, the gentleman made a And then she naturally expected to receive her relaslight and courteous gesture, which seemed to beg her to sit, or do exactly what she liked, and she resumed her chair in perplexity. Her companion looked at her again with some interest, and his bright eye then fell upon Bertha's volume, which Margaret had laid on the table. 'Ah,' he said, pointing to the word on the cover, those five letters again in conspiracy against the peace of mankind. They ought to be dispersed by a social police. But may one look?' touched.' "There is scarcely anything there,' said Margaret, as he opened the book. Only a few pages have been Ah, I see,' he said. 'Just a few songsters, as the bird-catchers put some caged birds near the nets, to persuade the others that the situation is eligible. But,' he continued, turning on until he came to a drawing, 'this is another kind of thing. This is capital.' It was a sketch by Margaret, and represented her cousin Latimer, in shooting-costume, and gun in hand. At his feet lay a hare, victim of his skill. 'Capital,' he repeated. Your own work?' 'Yes,' said Margaret ; 'the likeness happened to be thought fortunate, and so' 'No, no; you draw charmingly. I'll give you a motto for the picture. Shall I?' |