and it is for those who believe that "hope" and that "awe" to be for such, to stimulate and direct them to look up-not from their work, through it will do while they are at it-and gladly recognise these things. But thirst and water may be side by side; the cup and the hand as though they were not; and the song of all such workers had much need to be called "Respice finem," for the pleasures of the world's hope oftentimes seem to grow dim with age. The limits of a man's mind are never known to himself, but many men have found out what they are unable to do, by trying, and also by insight into what others have done in the same direction. They have gone their own way, and left others to theirs. If ever Campbell lost sight of the footprints of his guardian angel-while probably she was flirting with somebody else's—it was when he turned aside to express the deeper unities of things. The lines lay broad and well-defined between the provinces of his thought, and to this fact, depend upon it, we owe much of his best work, which another-a higher intelligence, if we choose to call it so-could not have given us. Take as a plain example of this a passage from his lines "On the view from St. Leonard's," of which poem he was most unaccountably proud. The lines are these, in which he speaks of the sea

"The spirit of the universe in thee
Is visible; thou hast in thee the life-
The eternal, graceful, and majestic life-
Of nature, and the natural human heart

Is therefore bound to thee with holy love," etc.

Could anything be tamer or less satisfying?— and yet it seems the broken and muffled echo of a great thought it is near enough to truth to remind us of what it might have been-but appears all the more ridiculous because of what it is. Compare it, for a moment, with the true feeling, nobly expressed because it thrilled the man who tried to utter it

"I have felt

A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts: a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man :
A motion and a spirit, that impels

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things."

But it is ungrateful work to find fault with a man for being unlike another-provided he is himself a blessing to the world—and Wordsworth would have been weak where Campbell is strong had his tentatives not defined his own walk for him. To com

pare those who differ widely is to do justice to neither. The true means of culture is widespread-sometimes even contradictory, for the sake of adjusting the digestive apparatus, and preventing mental dyspepsia; not to speak of the strong demands for change made by the expanding or contracting, but always restless spirit of man. So when Carlyle tells us to fling aside our Byron, and Ruskin desires us to leave Coleridge's poetry unread as "sickly and useless," Wisdom will surely be quite satisfied. if we simply acknowledge the counsel as well meant, and go our own way in search of food, not even taking the advice of such as stand by wickets that lead aside from the broad and rich pastures which the capricious—yet none the less splendidgenius of Carlyle and Ruskin affords.

Campbell has certainly not fulfilled his promisewhich was radiant in the extreme-but he has secured his own place among England's poets (of Scotch, though a Scotsman, he has written nothing), a place on the sunny side of Parnassus ; not high enough to be cold, but which even the highest might seek to fill-in vain !

JOHN HOGBEN.

With steady eye and look serene,

In life's last awful-awful scene,

Slow leaves her sad captivity.

Hark! the shrill horn that rends the sky
Bespeaks thy ready murder nigh,
The long parade of death I spy,
And leave my lone captivity.

Farewell, ye mansions of despair,
Scenes of my sad sequestered care,
The balm of bleeding war is near,
Adieu, my lone captivity.

To purer mansions in the sky
Fair hope directs my grief-worn eye,
Where sorrow's child no more shall sigh
Amid her lone captivity.

Adieu, ye babes, whose infant bloom
Beneath oppression's lawless doom
Pines in the solitary gloom
Of undeserved captivity.

O Power benign that rul'st on high,
Cast down, cast down a pitying eye;
Shed consolation from the sky,
To soothe their sad captivity.

Now virtue's sure reward to prove,
I seek empyreal realms above,
To meet my long-departed love;
Adieu, my lone captivity.

HYMN.

HEN Jordan hushed his waters still,

W And silence slept on Zion hill;

When Salem's shepherds, through the night,
Watched o'er their flocks by starry light-
Hark! from the midnight hills around,
A voice, of more than mortal sound,
In distant hallelujahs stole,

Wild murmuring, on the raptured soul.
Then swift, to every startled eye,
New streams of glory gild the sky;
Heaven bursts her azure gates to pour
Her spirits to the midnight hour.