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Winter invades the Spring, and often pours
Though this is poetry, yet poetry utters a great many truths; and it is a very curious and suggestive fact that English climate and character so entirely coincide. John Bull is a blustering fellow, just like his winds, and, if his climate is fickle and sudden in its changes, so is he moody and his tempers uncertain. Are his winters frosty, and his summers genial ? So are his likes and his dislikes, his loves and his hates; he has much winter and not a little sunshine mingled in his character.
Now, if we turn to France, we shall find a people of very different character, and an equally diverse climate. The atmosphere is soft and transparent, and the temperature uniform and genial. Every breeze is freighted with the odor of flowers, and every grove is vocal with the song of birds. Now, though we would not ascribe everything to climate, yet how strikingly do French manners coincide with the aspects of nature around them!
“ The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk,
min It may be said that the vices of these people have blunted their sensibilities, and rendered them brutal and dull. If we but turn our eyes to the islands of the Southern Pacific, we shall see a people more degraded, equally destitute of education, and, so far as we know, equally low in patural endowments. But do we find the same dullness, grossness, stupidity, and gloominess that characterize the Esqui. maux? Here, the sun shines in all his glory, gilding the mountains and trees and waters with his radiance, and making the earth beautiful to look upon; here, flowers bloom, birds sing, and warm and soft breezes blow. Can man be gloomy here? Can be resist the spirit of gladness that breathes around? These islanders are expert and elegant dancers. Unlike their northern brethren, they rejoice in a rude music, and take pleasure in social assemblages and personal display. Dancing is generally regarded as an indication of hilarity, and of some degree of exhilaration of animal spirits, though, in promiscuous assemblies, certainly attended with a deterioration of manners; yet, so far as it is the expression of gayety in these islanders, it shows a correspondence between their climate and character. No such amusement obtains in rude climes and on inhospitable shores.
These observations might be extended to all the countries of the earth. Wherever extremes in climate and striking characteristics of natural scenery obtain, we are certain to find corresponding developments of character in the people. Certainly, the instances are not all equally striking or manifest, yet are we never without some signal proof of the facts in question. As before observed, we do not refer all the peculiarities of character that distinguish one nation from another to the influences of external nature ; on the contrary, we believe that Nature lays the foundation of many of them, and bume may be traced to the influences of other nations, to traditional and religious observances, and other causes.
If our facts and observations have established the proposition that the aspect of external nature exerts a very important influence in moulding the character of man, we think the fact itself cannot be devoid of interest as a matter of curious information, or barren of instruction in matters of higher moment. If it is the law of man's nature that he becomes assimilated to the things around him, it becomes important for him to bestow some attention upon the architecture of his dwellings and places of constant resort, and upon the aspect of their position and adornments. We know that this law of our nature has been taken advantage of in bygone ages to nurse the worst superstitions, and even now resort is had to the same measures for impressions to bolster up decaying systems of error.
The law of assimilation is peculiarly active in associations between moral and intelligent beings. We are told, in the Scriptures, that “ we all with
In Italy, the same correspondences exist between the face of the country and the character of the people ; for, though it be true that idleness and sensuality have debased the Italian character, and brought down its high aspirings, yet such is the magic of their sunny clime that, despite the most adverse moral influences, it still, chameleon-like, reflects the hues of the scenes amid which it is nursed,
We shall find a further confirmation of our idea by a reference to barbarous nations. The life of the poor Esquimaux is peculiarly dreary, rendered 80 as much by their modes of life as by their climate. Captain Parry says they are dull and gloomy, living together like swine in snow-houses and dark caves, and that they are scarcely ever seen to laugh or heard to joke. All the circumstances of their lives conduce to these results. A poet has embodied these ideas in the following beautiful lines :
“Half enlivened by the distant sun, That rears and ripens man, as well as plants, Here, human nature wears its rudest form. Deep from the piercing season sunk in caves, Here, by dull fires, and with unjoyous cheer, They waste the tedious gloom. Immersed in furs, Doze the gross race.
Nor sprightly jest nor song, Nor tenderness they know; por aught of life Beyond the kindred bears that stalk without."
open face beholding, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.” What a glorious assimilation is this! With what gratitude should we reflect on the fact that God has given us natures susceptible of such glorious trans
formations, and capable of such high attainments in the scale of being !
Scripture exhortations to cheerfulness have a reference to the same law. “A sad countenance" seems to be the peculiar characteristic of the hypocrite, and is always a premonition of moral blight.
A SABBATH MORNING IN OCTOBER.
DY HENRY SEYMOUR CHASE.
Mount Tom, with joy, the merry poal receives
The farmer's wife looks glad
Each humble cot,
SERENELY wakes the morn;
The azure depth
Like maiden coy,
Mountain, plain, and glen,
In grateful praise,
This lofty mount,
Sweet-smelling herbs, and fragrant buds,
Behold the Sabbath!
With careful steps, across the village green,
O fragrant flowers
THE SILENT MULTITUDE OF THE DEAD.
O MIGHTY city of the dead! what numerous hosts are here; And yet all motionless they lie, unmov'd by sorrow's terr, Or by the mourner's wailing grief, who weeping stands
above This temple fill'd with pulseless hearts of lost and buried
Though gladsome rays of morning come to gild the hal
lowed spot, Unnoticed all their glories shine; the sleepers heed them When, with the sunset's tearful gleam,
A chill wind wasteth the green bowers, And Mind perforce with Nature mourns,
Each for its summer flowers
Though radiant beams of noontide fall with clear,pffulgent
light, Yet to that silent multitude 'tis one long dreamless night. The evening sunshine kindly stays to throw its influence
there, And twilight's pitying dews descend to weep the gentle tear; That hour so full of holy thought, to sweet communion
given, When the spirits of the loved below commune with those
But beauty all of earth and air, of sky and boundless seaThe glorious face that nature wears, all glad and bright
and free Charm not the sleepers resting here, nor cause one throb
of joy: O Death, insatiate conquerorl thou 'rt mighty to destroy. The husband here in calmness lies, and resting at his side Is she, his heart's young chosen one, his fond and trusting
bride: He cares not that she there reclines in quiet by him now, For Death's unfeeling touch has chilled that fair and pol
ished brow. The tender buds of hope and love, that came with morn
ing's bloom, The frosts of death have blighted now, and laid them in
the tomb: The lovely form of youth is here, the beautiful and puroAlas, thou mighty conqueror! thine aim is ever sure. Here, all unmoved, the mother's heart lies pulseless, cold,
and still; That heart so constant, warm, and true-80 firm through
good and ill: The dirging grief of stricken ones cannot avail them now, Nor cause one ray of tenderness to light that pallid brow. But oh! a new unclouded dawn, a glorious morn shall rise, A morning of celestial birth-a herald from the skiesWhen pealing through the trembling air the trumpet's
sound shall come, To wake the silent multitude that slumber in the tomb. The wicked, ah! their fearful doom-no mighty One to
save; Far better to have slumbered on within the gloomy grave: Not so the faithful and the good-with joy they'll quit the
tomb, And rise to life and light again, and youth's redoubled
When all the birds of varied note,
And scented vine and slender tree, Are flown or fading, and the woods
Have voices like the sea I met a maiden in my walk,
A blossom that was scarcely blown,
And fragrant in her tone.
A joy which none before had taught herA light soft as the mirrored star,
When dusk is on the water.
But from it ever sought to rove;
Was eloquent of love.
A sudden, tremulous tinge of rose
To break her heart's repose.
The summer, too, was ebbing low;
Toward the hills of snow!
Deeper than rose or twilight stream;
A revery-a dream!
I have no season but her eyes;
of the blue summer skies.
THE FADED FLOWER.
Then heart shall meet with kindrod heart, and anthems
loud shall rise, And rapturous notes of harmony shall echo through the
skies: "All hail, thou great Deliverer!" the ransomed ones shall
sing, "O Grave, where is thy victory! O Death, where is thy
sting!” Asheville, N. C.
BY HELEN HAMILTON.
In the lone forest dell,
Around my pathway fell.
The heavy clouds apart;
A deeper on my heart!
Her beauty's radiant glow, For death had set his awful seal
In beauty on her brow. Her eyes were glorious with the light
Of brighter worlds than ours; She faded slowly from the earth,
From young life's fairest flowers. And now I sit alone, beneath
The weight of changeless sorrow: This is no pagsing cloud of grief,
"Tis night without a morrow.
BY A. J. REQUIER.
'Twas in that season of the year
When, here and there, a crimson leaf Amid the pleasant foliage seems
A harbinger of grief
BY BERTHA BRAINERD
Sad feels his heart as mem'ry opes ·
To view bright dreams of days gone by; Sad 'tis to think his golden hopes
In youth were doomed to fade and die! Each promised joy has come to naught,
And sickness now his strength is stealing; Ilis brain is steeped in anxious thought
His form in pains of keenest feeling. His cheok has lost its radiant hue
His eye and brow are growing dim; And dearest friends, once fond and true,
Have lost the love they felt for him. He misses many a smiling lip
A loving eye, a voice of truthAnd all the sweet companionship
With genial souls of kindred youth. And now his heart has such a thirst
For early friendship’s smile and tone, It seems as though with grief 'twould burst,
When brooding o'er those treasures flown. With bitterest pangs his soul it stirred,
To learn, in dark misfortune's hour, But few could love a drooping bird
A withered leaf-a fuded flower. Long has he drank of sorrow's cup;
Deep is the gloom his features wear: There's naught can cheer his spirits up,
So filled his breast with dark despair. And oft he feels, when none are nigh,
A smothered woe so full and deep; 'Tis sweet relief to breathe the sigh,
And melancholy bliss to weep.
Sweet health is gone-youth's joys are fled; No earthly hope his bosom warms
He longs to slumber with the desd! And feebly now his breast's core beats
The vital thread Fate soon will sever; Ere many morns his spirit greets,
His eyes may close, and close forever! And when his form shall pulseless lie,
Outstretched beneath the coffin-lid; Ah! who think you from Sorrow's eye
Will o'er his urn one teardrop shoc! Who'll seek his grave at twilight hours,
When earth is robed in vernal bloom, And o'er it strew those fragrant flowers
'That speak of hope beyond the tomb.
THE sweetest bird that ever raised
Its morning song of praise to heaven, Though soaring often to the skies,
Hath still most vainly striven To live without the aid of earth,
Her berries ripe, her waters clear; Though loud its song, and bold its flight,
Its nestling-place is here.
Its blessed fragrance on the air,
Had perished in their care,
About the spot which gave them birth; Though lovingly it looks above,
Its resting-place is earth.
As singing-birds, and perfumed flowers, Cling still to earth, though softly woood
By genial suns and showers,
May for my frailty be forgiven,
My fervent prayers to heaven.
TO THE WEAK.
On aching hearts, by care oppressed, Oh weeping ones, that know no rest; Oh mourners, that have suffered long; Oh ye, the faint of heart, be strong!
Ye drooping ones, your sorrows bear; Steel your weak breasts, repel despair; For they who buffet with their fate, And brave its anguish, shall be great!
Sorrow is power, and when ye bow,
Some struggling star, that, froed at length,
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM OF HOME.
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM OF HOME. Written on sering the “ Soldier's Dream of Home, * in the
March number of " Godky's Lady's Book."]
[From a Picture.]
BY FAXXY FALES.
BY J. L. SWAX.
The soldier now is resting on
The bank, at eventide;
His cap is by his side.
With an unsteady glare;
The evening meal prepare.
Is dimmed by ssure clouds ;
Amid the misty shrouds.
Is pillowed on his arm;
Has sought another charm.
Come flitting softly there,
His baby-boy so fair.
TEARS! tears! they gather as I gaza
The soldier dreams of home
While blessed visions come:
The harvest sheaves around-
With purple heather crowned;
He folds again his own;
Around his neck are thrown:
In dreams, the weary soldier 's blest.
Born since he left the nest, Stands, tiptoe, dimpling by his side,
And waits to be carest:
Did not his spirit meet
And list their welcome sweet?
Once more within his Highland home
He treads his native heath; And every breeze that passes by
Is laden with its breath.
As dear, familiar objects meet
His anxious, tearful eye, With beating heart, he seeks the home
Where all his treasures lie.
The goats upon the mountains browse;
The shepherd's song is heard :
Nor breathes a single word.
An eye, his well-known face;
Within his warm embrace.
BY H. COLMAN PAIGE.
As, leaning o'er her sinking form,
“My father!" greets his ear, A little Jean is bounding forth
To meet her father dear.
Each object of his joy;
No more his baby-boy.
To meet their coming friend;
Their happy voices blend.
Another follows now:
Has smote upon his brow.
Pause not! thou 'It reach the goal at last;
Will seem like dreams to thee:
Thrice happy then thou 'lt be.
For despair sheds a chill
How strong soe'er thy will.
Only vengeance can repay
And cause a brighter day.
And God will aid the Right;
And day succeeds the night.
And as the life-blood gushes forth
Upon the thirsty loam, The soldier's dream is past for aye
“The soldier's dream of home!”