A hundred years of wrong-shall make our vengeance strong!
A hundred years of outrage, and blasphemy, and broil,
Since the spirit of Unrest, sent forth on her behest,

Th' apostate and the Puritan to do their work of spoil.

Since the Tyrant's wanton bride trod the Truth down in her pride,
And God, for England's sin, gave power to a Lie,-
And through the land, the light of Falsehood burnt all bright,
As each churl thought to see the day-spring dawn on high.

And furiously and fast, like the rushing of the blast,

There rose the clang of voices 'midst strife, and storm, and din;
Yet through that angry tone, the church prayed on alone-

As a mother pleads the more for her children when they sin.

Mr. Smythe says that he has "purposely made no distinction between the churches of Rome and England" in this ballad. If that be the case what is the meaning of these dark allusions to a hundred years of hoarded vengeance, the trampling down of the truth, and the prayers of the pitying church?

Amongst the kingly subjects embalmed in these glowing verses is the touching for the evil, one of the old superstitions of our royalty which the better sense and, let us say, the purer Christianity of modern times has shelved among the monstrous things of the old priesthoods of the world. The lines in which Mr. Smythe has caught the poetical elements-such as they are of the subject, are not much in themselves, but they are curious as giving a new and unexpected turn to the popular credulity which invested the king's touch with such miraculous powers. He hints that these wonderful cures were matters of faith, not to be treated lightly -a doctrine which may do very well in flexible quatrains, but which will hardly bear examination in rigid prose.

A sketch of a cabinet dinner in the last century introduces us to Walpole in his sumptuous house at Claremont, entertaining the ministers of the day. The picture is new, quaint, and significant. We can give only a scrap from it:

Peace,"

Hark! cannot you fancy you hear a confused murmur of voices, through which, ever and anon, you catch the words, "Right of Search,” "War," "Spain," "the Regent," "Balance of Power," and "Sir Robert ?"

Perhaps the last word is more often dwelt on and heard than all the others. It might be a curious thought, to some perhaps a melancholy one, to imagine all the assentation and obsequiousness here preferred by the noblest in England to that plain Norfolk squire. And yet there is not one of that select and envied number who does not cherish a liope of supplanting and succeeding him. Perfidy is the genius of each speech-self the motive of each guest.

Are you deceived because Newcastle is so sedulously attentive to Sir Robert's every whisper, because Harry Pelham, with that most sure of all flatteries, has caught and imitated his blunt, frank tone, because black Harrington seems so full of grave and courteous admiration, or because Carteret, with every fresh glass of champagne, repeats his opinions with more point, and his jokes with more vivacity.

And these men are the counsellors of a great empire. Do they give no heed to their mighty responsibilities? Do they take no thought of their awful account? There is not an opinion which they may give to-night by which millions may not be affected-not a decision which universal nations may not have to rue and bewail.

Might we venture to suggest that a slight change of time and place

of

would give this picture an application to inspire it with greater interest than the reader of to-day will care to take in Walpole and his group hypocrites?

A large portion of this volume is dedicated to the French Revolution. The sketches of the principal men thrown up to the surface, in that interval of agitation, are admirably drawn. We are balanced between the prose and the verse of the book. The former is nervous, graphic, and energetic-the latter picturesque and imaginative-both fresh, fantastic, original. The character and events of the Revolution afford ample room for the display of the peculiar characteristics of the author; and the prose papers on M. Just, Mirabeau, and Dumouriez, and the wild lyric on the Jacobins of Paris, full of extraordinary vehemence of feeling and grandeur of expression, may be cited amongst the most successful examples. Here there is great breadth of style and fluency of thought. The topic never stays for the writer-nor the writer for inspiration. All is free, bold, and powerful. The opening of this magnificent poem will serve better than any description to show the energy Mr. Smythe throws into these productions:

Ho, St. Antoine! Ho, St. Antoine,-thou quarter of the poor,
Arise with all thy households, and pour them from their door;
Rouse thy attics and thy garrets, rouse cellar, cell, and cave,~~
Rouse over-worked and over-taxed,-the starving and the slave.

Canaille"-ay, we remember it, that word of dainty scorn,
They flung us from their chariots, the high and haughty born.
Canaille canaille-ay, here we throng, and we will show to-night,
How ungloved hand, with pike and brand, can help itself to right...

ato. It was a July evening, and the summer moon shone fair,
When first the people rose in the grandeur of despair.
But not for greed, or gain, or gold, to plunder or to steal,
We spared the gorgeous Tuileries-we levelled the Bastille.

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A little year, we met once more, yea" canaille" met that day,
In the very heart of his Versailles, to beard the man Capet
And we brought him back to Paris, in a measured train and slow,
And we shouted to his face for Barnave and Mirabeau.

Ho, Condé, wert thou coming, with thy truant chevaliers,
Did'st thou swear they should avenge the Austrian wanton's tears?
Ho, Artois, art thou arming for England's ceaseless pay,
Thy Brunswickers and Hessians, and brigands of Vendée.

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To a similar class belongs the "Merchants of Old England." The versification is rich and satisfying like a flood of cathedral music. It possesses something of the force and vitality of the old English poets, with much of the beauty and earnestness, and massive colouring of a later class. The first part, alluding to the days of enterprise and adventure under Elizabeth, and the formation of the American colonies, is like a piece of gorgeous romance :

The Land, it boasts of its tilted hosts,they could not vie with these,
The Merchants of Old England, the Seigneurs of the Seas.

In the days of great Elizabeth, when they sought the western main,
Maugre and spite the Cæsar's might, and the menaces of Spain;
And the richly freighted argosy, and the good galleon went forth,
With the bales of Leeds and Lincoln, and the broad cloths of the North,

And many a veteran mariner would speak 'midst glistening eyes,
Of the gain of some past voyage, and the hazards of emprise;
Or in the long night-watches the wondrous tale was told
Of isles of fruit and spices, and fields ofwaving gold;

And the young and buoyant-hearted would oft that tale renew,
And dream their drearest dream should be, their wildest hope come true.
So with brave hearts and dauntless, they sailed for the Unknown;
For each he sought his inmost thought, and a secret of his own.
And reason fair, how wild soe'er had been each young belief,—

O reason fair! had they to dare with Raleigh for a chief!

Then, when long years had glided by, in those colonies they made,
The same free spirit, which was theirs, in those Plantations stayed.

As refuge here and shelter full many an exile found,

When the Old World grew in dotage, and by priests and kings was bound,
And in some far savannah, where man had never been,

They came with thoughts as simple as was that savage scene;

Or in the lonely prairie, they kept their solemn tryst,

When Sacred Word and Hymn were heard, and the equal laws of Christ.
And the young and strong republic was by these in virtue bred,
She was cradled in adventure, she was nursed in good men's dread,
The young and strong republic that has filled the world with fame,
And with great praise and marvel of the Anglo-Saxon name,
And well she shows her origin in the deeds that she has done,
With her Franklin, and her Whitney, and her hero Washington.
Then glory to the fathers who had such sons as these,
The Merchants of Old England, the Seigneurs of the Seas!

There are several topics in the volume to which we have not alluded in detail. We desire rather to show the spirit of the whole than to trace its special development. In the few observations we before offered, the reader will, perhaps, have reason to feel that our literature has made a valuable acquisition in Mr. Smythe, whose talents are unquestionably of a high order, and who, from the abundance and excellence of the promise put forth in these papers, may be expected to realize still greater and profounder things hereafter. We look with a grave and watchful interest to his future progress as a poet, should his parliamentary avocations not have the too common effect of weaning him from the gentler charms of literature altogether. As to his political opinions they are, fortunately, much more liable to undergo a sea-change" than his intellectual tastes and capabilities; and even Mr. Smythe will scarcely think we throw any slight upon his principles if we conclude by saying that we have a deeper faith in his poetry than his politics. We often discern the influence of the former giving a palpable but unconscious direction to the latter. His poetry often speaks when he believes it to be the voice of his politics,and it will be heard when the doctrines of Young England shall have lapsed into oblivion. We are too confident of the reality of his genius not to be quite sure that it will long survive the vicissitudes of party.

66

PEOPLE WHO "ALWAYS KEEP THEIR WORD.

BY LAMAN BLANCHARD, ESQ.

Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks,
Ham. Oh! but she'll keep her word.

THE people who always keep their word, if you will take their word for the fact, are to be met with in immense varieties. To portray them is to paint Legion. It is also to unite opposites under one head; for those who always keep their word are not to be known sometimes from those who never do.

For example: there is no family in town in which the virtue of fidelity in the performance of a promise is so much cried up as in the Froth family; and whoever happens to be intimate with any of its members knows particularly well that there is not an atom of that virtue existing amongst them. Conscientious exactness is insisted upon by each, and not a word they say can be taken as worth more than the breath that utters it.

In one respect only have they been faithful; in the promise which all the younger ones gave to take after their elders. Likeness could hardly prevail more in a family of peas. Old Mrs. Froth, full of her sons, always cries, "Nick's word is his bond!" or, "Ah! you may trust Joseph;" and the venerable head of the Froths, smiling in sweet paternal pride, exclaims, "If Julia promises, conclude it done."

Who would not believe in their belief when they join in one note, "What a blessing to have children around one in whom every body can place reliance."

And the children themselves echo the conscious flattery-"We were brought up with such strictness in our family, and taught to hold promises so sacredly, that no doubt, we are a little particular-we always keep our words.

These Froths utter their falsehoods so complacently to each other's faces, and appear so unmisgivingly in earnest, that not to confide, as they seem to do, is for a season impossible. It is easier to distrust one's senses than their assertions; such is the handsome, honest-looking front carried by the family faith.

Joseph is honour itself," remarks Julia; "sensitive to a fault about the sanctity of his word. He would forfeit life in one instant, rather than fail to redeem any trifling pledge that he had given."

"Really," cries Joseph, once a day, "if there be an angel upon earth, a human creature all divine truth, purity, and conscientiousness, it is my sister, Julia Froth. То say that she never broke her word yet, is saying nothing; I venture to assert that she never will break it; she can't."

And yet it were wiser to walk on rotten ice than to put faith for an instant in that angel upon earth, or in that soul of honour, her panegyrist. Trust is not to be reposed in any member of the Froth family without risk of ruin; in truth, it is doubtful how far it would be right to take their word, even if they faithfully promised to break it. Possibly, however, they might then be trustworthy-but then only. If the little squalling Froth in the cradle were to promise, with its first fragments of words, and instalments of innocent nursery phrases, to cry lustily for hours,

with all the lungs it could command, would nobody credit the babe ! The nuisance would be otherwise probable, but the promise would operate as1à security against it. If the child, a few years afterwards, grown into the unruliest little rebel alive, were to threaten to tug off the table-cloth, soup, fish-sauce, and all, you might proceed to finish your dinner undismayed, for to believe a word of his would be ridiculous. Nobody believes the Froths from birth to burial.

It would be difficult to say what profit they find in pursuing such a course, and it is not easier to surmise the nature of the pleasure which they take in it. But doubtless it imposes upon them the necessity of standing by each other, and gratifies self-love by drawing largely for praise upon lips privileged to utter it while its own are sealed. Vanity, like murder, will sometimes speak miraculously enough, though it have no tongue. It sets all its family to puff it vehemently. The praise can neither be too frequent nor too fervent. Son puffs father, mother daught ter, and sister brother, great aunts and cousins alike administering and partaking the gale if need be-nay, the fondest of grandmammas being called in upon occasion; all evincing the ardour of that affection, so prevalent in families, which runs the great circle and is still at home.

Nick, perhaps, of all the family we have been adverting to, is fore most in coolness when breaking the word which it is the game of his life to vow he always keeps. Whether this coolness disarms or deceives people may be doubted; but they rarely complain; continuing to allow Nick Froth to make fools of them at all hours and in his own way.

In whatever water you may happen to be, there he is upon the surface floating buoyantly within hail, and anxious to play the friend in any emergency. But just as you are sinking, he lets go your hand, and swims off in search of the life-buoy, promising to return with speed. He enters eagerly into an engagement to get you out of hot water, and when the element has had plenty of time to cool, there he is at his post, ready to redeem his promise.

Nick Froth is as noisy as the sea-surf, and about as safe in his mode of handling those he serves. Escape his intervention you cannot. What ever be the affair you have in hand he insists upon taking it at once out of your direction, and managing it for you. Whatever you are doing, that he must undo. He pounces upon your best considered plans, and with his broad fist and clumsy foot, dashes the delicate machinery to atoms. Now he is to show you what he will invent and set up in its place.

You have thought long over the matter; deeply interested in it, your natural penetration has been quickened, your inventive faculty taxed to the utmost; you have arrived by the clearest means open to your com prehension at the shortest road to the accomplishment of your object and you are, therefore, the more astonished, the more charmed, at the ex quisite ease, and almost, intuitive knowledge with which Nick Froth, quietly walking in, and surveying your much-meditated scheme, pro nounces it to be all "wrong," and demolishes in a breath, what you had conceived with such fondness and constructed with such care. Wrong it must all be; since Nick Froth, whose interests are unconcerned, and whose opinion is unsolicited, can see so readily that it is a mistake.

True, he does not immediately point out the "right" in place of it-but enough for one day is the detection of error. The task of discovering the true way is reserved; that is his affair, that is to be left to him, he is to set about that the first opportunity. His promise is enough;

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