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Akenside had evidently been reading Thom- your lungs dilate with the crisp air, as you walk son. He had the conceptions of a great poet along with him. You laugh with him at the with less faculty than many a little one, and grotesque shadow of your legs lengthened is one of those versifiers of whom it is enough across the snow by the just-risen sun. I know to say that we are always willing to break him nothing that gives a purer feeling of outdoor off in the middle with an &c., well knowing exhilaration than the easy verses of this escaped that what follows is but the coming-round hypochondriac. But Cowper also preferred again of what went before, marching in a circle his sheltered garden-walk to those robuster with the cheap numerosity of a stage-army. joys, and bitterly acknowledged the depressing In truth, it is no wonder that the short days influence of the darkened year. In December, of that cloudy northern climate should have 1780, he writes: “At this season of the year, added to winter a gloom borrowed of the mind. and in this gloomy uncomfortable climate, it We hardly know, till we have experienced the is no easy matter for the owner of a mind like contrast, how sensibly our winter is alleviated mine to divert it from sad subjects, and to fix it by the longer daylight and the pellucid atmo- upon such as may administer to its amusement.” sphere. I once spent a winter in Dresden, a Or was it because he was writing to the dreadful southern climate compared with England, and Newton? Perhaps his poetry bears truer witreally almost lost my respect for the sun when ness to his habitual feeling, for it is only there I saw him groping among the chimney-pots that poets disenthral themselves of their reserve opposite my windows as he described his im- and become fully possessed of their greatest poverished arc in the sky. The enforced seclu- charm,--the power of being franker than other sion of the season makes it the time for serious men. In the Third Book of The Task he study and occupations that demand fixed in boldly affirms his preference of the country to comes of unbroken time. This is why Milton the city even in winter:said “that his vein never happily flowed but from the autumnal equinox to the vernal,"

“But are not wholesome airs, though uperfumed though in his twentieth year he had written,

By roses, and clear suns, though scarcely felt,

And groves, if inharmonious, yet secure on the return of spring

From clamour, and whose very silence charms, “Fallor? an et nobis redeunt in carmina vires

To be preferred to smoke?

They would be, were not madness in the head
Ingeniumque mihi munere veris adest?"

And folly in the heart; were England now
Err I? or do the powers of song return

What England was, lilain, bospitable, kind,
To me, and genius too, the gifts of Spring?

And undebauched."
Goethe, so far as I remember, was the first to

The conclusion shows, however, that he was notice the cheerfulness of snow in sunshine. thinking mainly of fireside delights, not of the His Harz-reise im Winter gives no hint of it, blusterous companionship of nature. This for that is a diluted reminiscence of Greek appears even more clearly in the fourth book: tragic choruses and the book of Job in nearly equal parts. In one of the singularly interest

“O Winter, ruler of the inverted year:” ing and characteristic letters to Frau von Stein, but I cannot help interrupting him to say how however, written during the journey, he says: pleasant it always is to track poets through the “It is beautiful indeed; the mist heaps itself gardens of their predecessors and find out their together in light snow-clouds, the sun looks likings by a flower snapped off here and there through, and the snow over everything gives to garnish their own nosegays. Cowper had back a feeling of gaiety.” But I find in Cow been reading Thomson, and “the inverted per the first recognition of a general amiability year” pleased his fancy with its suggestion of in Winter. The gentleness of his temper, and that starry wheel of the zodiac moving round the wide charity of his sympathies, made it through its spaces infinite. He could not help natural for him to find good in everything loving a handy Latinism (especially with elision except the human heart. A dreadful creed beauty added), any more than Gray, any more distilled from the darkest moments of dyspeptic than Wordsworth—on the sly. But the memsolitaries compelled him against his will to see ber for Olney has the floor:in that the one evil thing made by a God whose goodness is over all his works. Cowper's two “ O Winter, ruler of the inverted year,

Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes filled, walks in the morning and noon of a winter's

Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks day are delightful, so long as he contrives to

Fringed with a beard made white with other snows let himself be happy in the graciousness of the Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, landscape. . Your muscles grow springy, and A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne

A sliding ar, indebted to no wheels,

the winter.” His only hearty praise of winter But urged by storms along its slippery way, is when, as Général Février, he defeats the I love thee all lovely as thoni seeni'et,

French:And dreaded as thou art! Thon bold'st the sun prisoner in the yet wuawning east,

· Humanity, delighting to behold Shortening his journey between morn and noon, A foud reflection of her own decay, And hurrying him, impatient of his stay,

Hath painted Winter like a traveller old, Down to the rosy west, but kindly still

Propped ou a staff, and, throngh the sullen das, Compensating his loss with added hours

In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain Of social converse and instrnctive ense,

As thonghi bis weaknes were disturbed by pain: And gathering at short notice, in one group,

Or, if a juster faucy should allow The family dispersed, and fixing thought,

An undirputed symbol of cum mand, Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares.

The chosen sceptre is a withered bow I crown thee king of intimate deliglits,

Infirmly grasped within a withered hand. Fireside enjoyments, bomeborn happiness,

These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn; And all the comforts that the lowly roof

But inighty Winter the device shall scoru."
Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening know."

The Scottish poet Grahame, in his Sabbath, 1 call this a good human bit of writing, says manfully:imaginative, too—not so flushed, not so .

Now is the time highfaluting (let me dare the odious word!) as

To visit Nature in her grand attire;" the modern style since poets bave got hold of and he has one little picture which no other a theory that imagination is common-sense

poet has surpassed :turned inside out, and not common sense sublimed--but wholesome, masculine, and strong High-ridged the whirled drift has almost reached in the simplicity of a mind wholly occupied

The powdered keystone of the churchyard porch:

Mute langs the hooled bell; the tombs lie buried." with its theme. To me Cowper is still the best of our descriptive poets for every day wear. Even in our own climate, where the sun show: And what unobtrusive skill he has! How he his winter face as long and as brightly as in heightens, for example, your sense of winter Central Italy, the seduction of the chimneyevening seclusion, by the twanging horn of the corner is apt to predominate in the mind over postman on the bridge! That horn has rung the severer satisfactions of muffled fields and in my ears ever since I first heard it, during penitential woods. The very title of Whittier's the consulate of the second Idams. Words delightful Snow-Bound shows what he was worth strikes a deeper note; but does it not thinking of, though he does not vapour a little sometimes come over one (just the least in the about digging out paths. The verses of Emerworld) that one would give anything for a bit son, perfect as a Greek fragment (despite thic of nature pure and simple, without quite so archaism of a dissyllabic fire), which he has strong a flavour of W. W.? W. W. is, of course, chosen for his epigraph, tell us too how the sublime and all that-but! For my part, I

Housemates sit will make a clean breast of it, and confess that

Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed I can't look at a mountain without fancying

lu a tumnitions | rivacy of storm," the late laureate's gigantic Roman nose thrust between me and it, and thinking of Dean They are all in a tale. It is always the Swift's profane version of Romanos rerum tristis hiems of Virgil. Catch one of theni dominos into Roman nose! (I rare un! dom having a kind word for old Barbe Fleurie. your nose! But do I judge verses, then, by unless he whines through some cranny, like a the impression made on mne by the man who beggar, to heighten their enjoyment while they wrote them? Not so fast, my good friend, but, toast their slippered toes. I grant there is a for good or evil, the character and its intellec-keen relish of contrast about the bickering tual product are inextricably interfused. flame as it gives an emphasis beyond Gherardo

If I remember aright, Wordsworth himself della Notte to loved faces, or kindles the gloomy (except in his magnificent skating-scene in the gold of volumes scarce less friendly, especially Prelude) has not much to say for winter out of when a tempest is blundering round the house. doors. I cannot recall any picture by him of Wordsworth has a fine touch that brings home a snow-storm. The reason may possibly be to us the comfortable contrast of without and that in the Lake country even the winter within, during a storm at night, and the passtorms bring rain rather than snow.

He was

sage is highly characteristic of a poet whose thankful for the Christmas visits of Crabb inspiration always has an undertone of bour. Robinson, because they “helped him through geois :

"How touching, when, at midnight, sweep But floods, that fair snow's tender fakes, as their own Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark,

brood, embrace." To hear,-aud siuk again to sleep."

Chapman, after all, though he makes very J. H., one of those choice poets who will not free with him, comes nearer Homer than any. tarnish their bright fancies by publication, body else. There is nothing in the original of always insists on a snow-storm as essential to that fair snow's tender flakes, but neither Pope the true atmosphere of whist. Mrs. Battles, nor Cowper could get out of their heads the in her famous rule for the game, implies win. psalmist's tender phrase, “ He giveth his snow ter, and would doubtless have added tempest, like wool," for which also Homer affords no if it could be had for the asking. For a good hint. Pope talks of " dissolving fleeces," and solid read also, into the small hours, there is Cowper of a “fleecy mantle." But David is nothing like that sense of safety against having nobly simple, while Pope is simply nonsensical, your evening laid waste, which Euroclydon and Cowper pretty. If they must have pretti. brings, as he bellows down the chimney, making ness, Martial would have supplied them with your fire gasp, or rustles snow-flakes against it in his the pane with a sound more soothing than “ Densum tacitarum vellus aquarum," silence

. Emerson, as he is apt to do, not only which is too pretty, though I fear it would hit the nail on the head, but drove it home, in have pleased Dr. Donne. Eustathius of Thesthat last phrase of the “tumultuous privacy." salonica calls snow üdwp épiwdes, woolly water,

But I would exchange this, and give some which a poor old French poet, Godeau, has thing to boot, for the privilege of walking out amplified into this :into the vast blur of a north-north-east snowstorm, and getting a strong draught on the

• Lorsque la froidure inhumaine furnace within, by drawing the first furrows

De leur verd ornement depouille les forêts

Sous une neige épaisse il couvre les guérets, through its sandy drifts. I love those

Et la neige a pour eux la chaleur de la laine." “ Yoontide twilights which snow makes In this, as in Pope's version of the passage in With tempest of the blindung flikes."

Homer, there is, at least, a sort of suggestion If the wind veer too much toward the east, vom But, on the whole, if one would know what

of snow-storm in the blinding drift of words. get the heavy snow that gives a true Alpine slope to the boughs of your evergreens, and

snow is, I should advise him not to hunt up traces a skeleton of your elms in white; but what the poets have said about it, but to look you must have plenty of north in your gale if at the sweet miracle itself. you want those driving nettles of frost that sting the cheeks to a crimson manlier than that of fire. During the great storm of two winters ago, the most robustious periwig-pated

THE SOLDIER'S HOME. fellow of late years, I waded and foundered a couple of miles through the whispering night, My untriei muse shall no luigh tone assimo, and brought home that feeling of expansion Sor strut in arms ;- farewell my cap and plume we have after being in good company. Great

Brief be my verse, a task within my power, things doeth He which we cannot comprehend: I tell my feelings in one happy hour: for He saith to the snow, ‘Be thou on the But whnt an hour was that t when from the main earth.'”

I reach'd this lovely valley once again! There is admirable snow scenery in Judd's A g'orious harvest fill'd my eager sight, Margaret, but some one has confiscated my Half shock'd, half-waving in a flood of light; copy of that admirable book, and perhaps On that poor co tage roof where I was born Homer's picture of a snow-storm is the best the sun look d down as in life's early morn. yet in its large simplicity :

I gazed around, but not a soul appear'd,

I listend on the threshold, nothing heard ; " And as in winter-timo, when Jove his cold sharp I calld my father thrice, but no one came; javelins throws

It was not fear or grief that shook my frame, Amongst ne mortals, and is moved to white the earth

But an o'erpowering sense of peace and home, with enows, The winds asleep, he freely pours till highest promi

Of toils gone by, perhaps of joys to come. nents,

The door invitingly stood open wide, Ilill-trps, low meadows, and the fields that crown with I shook my dust, and set my staff aside.

most contents The toils of men, seaports and shores, are lid, and How sweet it was to breathe that cooler air, every place,

And take possession of my father's chair!

Beneath my elbow, on the solid frame,
Appear'd the rough initials of my name,
Cut forty years before !—the same old clock

Struck the same bell, and gave my heart a shock
I never can forget. A short breeze sprung,

In Little Wild Street Chapel, Lincoln's-Inn And while a sigh was trembling ou my tongue,

Fields, a sermon is annually preached on the Caught the old dangling almanacs behind,

27th of November, in commemoration of the And up they flew, like banners in the wind;

“GREAT STORM" in 1703. Then gently, singly, down, down, down, they went,

This fearful tempest was preceded by a strong And told of twenty years that I bad spent

west wind, which set in about the middle of Far from my native land:- that instant came A robin on the threshold ; though so tame,

the month; and every day, and almost every At first he louk'd distrustful, almost shy,

hour, increased in force until the 24th, when And cast on me his coal-black steadfast eye,

it blew furiously, occasioned much alarm, and And seenid to say (past friendship to renew),

some damage was sustained. On the 25th, and “Ah ha! old worn-out soldier, is it you?"

through the night following, it continued with Through the room ranged the imprison'd humble-bee,

unusual violence. On the morning of Friday, Aud bomb'd and bounced, and struggled to be free. the 26th, it raged so fearfully that only few Dashing against the panes with sullen roar,

people had courage to venture abroad. Towards That threw their diamond sunlight on the floor; evening it rose still higher; the night setting That floor, clean sanded, where my fancy stray'ul in with excessive darkness added general horror O'er undulating waves the broom had made,

to the scene, and prevented any from seeking Reminding me of those of hideous formis

security abroad from their homes, had that That met us as we pass'd the Cape of storms,

been possible. The extraordinary power of the Where high and loud they break, and peace comes never: wind created a noise, hoarse and dreadful, like They roll and foanı, and roll and foam for ever.

thunder, which carried terror to every ear, and But here was peace, that peace which home can yield;

appalled every heart. There were also appear. The grasshopper, the partridge in the field,

ances in the heavens that resembled lightning. And ticking clock, were all at once become

"The air,” says a writer at the time, "was The substitutes for clarion, fife, and drum.

full of meteors and fiery vapours; yet," he adds, While thus I mused, still gazing, gazing still On beds of mass that spread the window-sill,

“I am of opinion that there was really no I deem'd no moss my eyes had ever seen

lightning, in the common acceptation of the Had been so lovely, brilliant, fresh, and green,

term; for the clouds that flew with such vioAnd guess'u some infant hand had placed it there,

lence through the air, were not to my observaAnd prized its hue, so exquisite, so rare.

tion such as are usually freighted with thunder Feelings on feelings mingling, doubling rose,

and lightning; the hurries nature was then in My heart felt everything but calm repose ;

do not consist with the system of thunder." I could not reckon minutes, hours, nor yours, Some imagined the tempest was accompanied But rose at once, and burstou into tears ;

with an earthquake. “Horror and confusion Then, like a fool, confused, sat down again,

seized upon all, whether on shore or at sea; no And thought upon the past with shame and pain; pen can describe it, no tongue can express it, I raved at war and all its horrid cost,

no thought can conceive it, unless theirs who And glory's quagmire, where the brave are lost. were in the extremity of it; and who, being On carnage, fire, and plunder, long I mused,

touched with a due sense of the sparing mercy And oursed the murdering weapons I had used. of their Maker, retain the deep impressions of

his goodness upon their minds though the Two shadows then I saw, two voices heard,

danger be past. To venture abroad was to rush One bespoke age, and one a chilil's appear'd. - into instant death, and to stay within afforded In stepp'd my father with convulsive start,

no other prospect than that of being buried And in an instant clasp'd me to his heart.

under the ruins of a falling habitation. Some Close by him stood a little blue eyed maid,

in their distraction did the former, and met And, stooping to the child, the old man said,

death in the streets; others, the latter, and in “Come hither, Nanoy, kiss me once again,

their own houses received their final doom." This is your upele Charles, come home from Spain."

One hundred and twenty-three persons were The child approach'd, and with her fingers light

killed by the falling of dwellings; amongst Stroked my old eyes, almost deprived of sight. But why thns spin my tale, thus tedions be?

these were the Bishop of Bath and Wells (Dr.

Richard Kidder) and his lady, by the fall of Happy old soldier! what's the world to me?

part of the episcopal palace of Wells; and Lady ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. Penelope Nicholas, sister to the Bishop of London, at Horsley, in Sussex. Those who lost; for most of those that were driven to sea perished in the waters, in the floods of the were safe. Rear-admiral Beaumont, with a Severn and the Thames, on the coast of Holland, squadron then lying in the Downs, perished and in ships blown away and never heard of with his own and several other ships on the afterwards, are computed to have amounted to Goodwin Sands. eight thousand.

The ships lost by the storm were estimated All ranks and degrees were affected by this at three hundred. In the river Thames only amazing tempest, for every family that had four ships remained between London Bridge anything to lose lost something: land, houses, and Limehouse, the rest being driven below, churches, corn, trees, rivers, all were disturbed and lying there miserably beating against one or damaged by its fury; small buildings were another. Five hundred wherries, three hunfor the most part wholly swept away, as chaff dred ship-boats, and one hundred lighters and before the wind.” Above eight hundred dwell- barges were entirely lost; and a much greater ing-houses were laid in ruins. l'ew of those number received considerable damage. The that resisted escaped from being unroofed, which wind blew from the western seas, which preis clear from the prodigious increase in the price venting many ships from putting to sea, and of tiles, which rose from twenty-one shillings driving others into harbour, occasioned great to six pounds the thousand. About two thou- numbers to escape destruction. sand stacks of chimneys were blown down in The Eddystone Lighthouse near Plymouth and about London. When the day broke, the was precipitated in the surrounding ocean, and houses were mostly stripped, and appeared like with it Mr. Winstanley, the ingenious architect so many skeletons. The consternation was so by whom it was contrived, and the people who great that trade and business were suspended, were with him. — “Having been frequently for the first occupation of the mind was so to told that the edifice was too slight to withstand repair the houses that families might be pre- the fury of the winds and waves, he was accusserved from the inclemency of the weather in tomed to reply contemptuously, that he only the rigorous season. The streets were covered wished to be in it when a storm should happen. with brickbats, broken tiles, signs, bulks, and Unfortunately his desire was gratified. Signals pent-houses.

of distress were made, but in so tremendous a The lead which covered one hundred churches, sea no vessel could live, or would venture to put and many public buildings, was rolled up, and off for their relief.” 1 hurled in prodigious quantities to distances The amazing strength and rapidity of the almost incredible; spires and turrets of many wind are evidenced by the following wellothers were thrown down. Innumerable stacks authenticated circumstances. Near Shaftesof corn and hay were blown away, or so torn bury a stone of near four hundred pounds and scattered as to receive great damage. weight, which had lain for some years fixed in

Multitudes of cattle were lost. In one level | the ground, fenced by a bank with a low stone in Gloucestershire, on the banks of the Severn, wall upon it, was lifted up by the wind, and fifteen thousand sheep were drowned. In-carried into a hollow ay, distant at least numerable trees were torn up by the roots; seven yards from the place. This is mentioned one writer says, that he himself numbered in a sermon preached by Dr. Samuel Stennett seventeen thousand in part of the county of in 1788. Dr. Andrew Gifford, in a sermon Kent alone, and that, tired with counting, he preached at Little Wild Street, on the 27th left off reckoning

of November, 1731, says that “in a country The damage in the city of London only town a large stable was at once removed off was computed at near two millions sterling. its foundation and instantly carried quite At Bristol it was about two hundred thousand across the highway, over the heads of five pounds. In the whole, it was supposed that horses and the man that was then feeding the loss was greater than that produced by the them, without hurting any one of them, or great fire of London, 1666, which was estimated removing the rack and manger, both of which at four millions.

remained for a considerable time, to the admirThe greater part of the navy was at sea, andation of every beholder.” Dr. Gifford, in the if the storm had not been at its height at full same sermon, gives an account of several flood, and in a spring-tide, the loss might have remarkable deliverances." One of the most been nearly fatal to the nation. It was so remarkable instances of this kind occurred at considerable, that fifteen or sixteen men-of-war a house in the Strand, in which were no less were cast away, and more than two thousand than fourteen persons: “Four of them fell with seamen perished. Few merchantmen were

1 Belshan's History of Great Britain.

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