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myself, Ist, as perspicuously as possible; | cellence of poetry. The mechanism of 2nd, as concisely as possible; 3rd, as Southey's poetry is perfect; and his deimpressively as possible. The difficulties scription of scenery, his visions, and his in narration are to select and to arrange. sketches of character, are often vivid and The first may depend upon your judg-picturesque in the highest degree. Corment. For the second, my way is, when rect drawing. capital grouping - fine the matter does not dispose itself to my colouring," said Wilkie, standing before liking, and I cannot readily see how to a picture; "but — but — but —it wants connect one part with another naturally, it wants it wants what does it or make an easy transition, to lay it want? It wants" (with a snap of his aside. What I should bungle at now finger) "it wants that." And this is what may be hit off to-morrow; so when I you feel in taking up Southey's poetry. come to a stop in one work I lay it down You read, you admire and you yawn; and take up another." These were the and yet you are at your wits' ends for an only rules of style that Southey had; and answer when you ask yourself why you yet perhaps no more vivid and transpar-yawn. But the answer lies upon the surent English is to be found than in the face: Southey's poetry is deficient in best of his prose writings in his personal interest. You can ask none of sketches, for instance, of Wesley and his heroes to supper. They are all more Nelson. His English is always pure, like statues in a museum than flesh and always fresh, always picturesque; and blood. All that you feel inclined to do all that you regret in laying down his at best is to admire the workmanship of works is, that he was compelled to throw the artist, and to walk on. You can trace away the best years of his life in the out every scene that Scott and Byron hand-to-mouth work of writing for news- had in their eye when they were writing papers and reviews, instead of concen- the "Lady of the Lake" and "Childe trating all the powers of his genius upon Harold." It is all chalked out in Mura work which should have found its ray's Handbooks, and every one of Cook's place among the classics of English lit- excursionists knows it as well as he erature, and that the works upon which knows the front gates of his own garden. he wished to stake his fame as an author But the scenery of Southey's poems lies are upon subjects in which the mass of out of the beaten track, and all that you Englishmen take hardly the slightest can do is to shut your eyes, picture it to interest. His histories of Portugal and yourself as best you can, and then allow Brazil are in themselves works of the high-it to slip out of your recollection. It est merit; but who cares a straw about the history of Brazil or of Portugal? His articles in the Quarterly Review were read with great zest and interest when they appeared fresh from his desk, and Lord Liverpool thought so much of them that he wished to see Southey in Parliament, and to have him close at hand in Whitehall to consult upon questions of policy; but when these articles were collected together, a few years afterwards, hardly a dozen volumes were sold over Mr. Murray's counter.

wants the charms of personal associa tion, of personal interest; and wanting this, of course it wants everything.

This, too, is the main fault of Southey's life. It was the fault of his character. You could not get at the man's heart; he kept all his feelings under a bearskin. Southey knew this as well as any one; knew what "a confused, visionary, impracticable sort of min he must appear

to those who did not belong to the corps of his fireside friends - how cold and self-contained his manners were; and this This, too, has been the fate of most of is the peculiarity that struck all his visithis epics. They were but little read, even ors and all the friends whom he met in when they were fresh from the press, the course of his visits to London. “To and now they are simply not read at all. have that poet's head and shoulders," This is Southey's own fault; for he had said Byron, after spending an evening not a spark of passion in his nature. with him at Holland House, "I would Imagination and an ear for the cadence almost have written his Sapphics. He is of blank verse were the only poetic gifts the best-looking poet I have seen. He that he possessed. His tone is higher is intelligent, well-informed, and gentleand purer than Byron's, and his style far manlike-and-and- and - there you more artistic and finished than Scott's. have his eulogy." It is not a very high But when you have said that you have eulogy, and it is a eulogy based upon said all; and, as it happens, purity and nothing more than a shake of the hand, music do not constitute the highest ex-"a glass of wine," and ten minutes'

chat about the topics of the day. But in this sentence Byron hits off the first impressions of most people about Southey, and Southey was not the man to allow one person in a hundred to correct their first impressions by a second, or, better still, by a third.

From Blackwood's Magazine.
ALICE LORRAINE.

A TALE OF THE SOUTH DOWNS.

CHAPTER XLIII.

(continued.)

ory's glory, yet dashed irregularly with doubts of the honesty of its origin, till, in quite his old manner, he made up his mind to keep his own counsel about the thing and ride over to the county town, leaving Applewood none the wiser. For John Shorne had orders the night before to keep his message quiet, which an old market-hand could be trusted to do; and as for the ladies, the Grower was sure that they knew much less and cared much less about the assizes than about the washing-day. So he went to his stables about nine o'clock, with enough of his Sunday raiment on to look well but awake no excitement, and taking a good horse, he trotted away with no other THE Grower was filled with vast de- token behind him except that he might light at the idea of marching into court not be home at dinner-time, but might and saying to all the best people of the bring a stranger to supper perhaps; and town, Pray allow me to pass, sir. My they ought to have something roasted. son is here somewhere, I believe. A "Pride," as a general rule, of course, fresh-coloured barrister, if you please," goeth before a fall;" but the father's ma'am, with curly hair below his wig. pride in the present instance was so Ah yes, there he is! But his lordship is kindly and simple that nature waived her whispering to him, I see; I must not in-favourite law and stopped fortune from terrupt them." And therefore, although his time might be worth a crown an hour, ere his son's fetched a penny, he strove in vain against the temptation to go over and look at Gregory. Before breakfast he fidgeted over his fields, and was up for being down upon every one just to let them know that this sort of talent is hereditary. His workmen winked at one another and said (as soon as he was gone by) that he must have got out the wrong side of the bed, or else the old lady had been rating of him.

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He (in the greatness of his thoughts) strode on, and from time to time worked his lips and cast sharp glances at every gate-post in the glow of imaginary speech. He could not feel that his son on the whole was a cleverer fellow than himself had been; and he played the traitor to knife and spade by hankering after gown and wig. "If my father," he said, "had only given me the chance I am giving Gregory, what might I be now? One of these same barons as terrify us with their javelins and gallows, and sit down with white tippits on. Or if my manners wasn't good enough for that, who could ever keep me from standing up and defying all the villains for to put me down so long as I spoke justice? And yet that might happen to be altogether wrong. I'm a great mind not to go over at all. My father was an honest man before me." In this state of mind he sat down to breakfast, bright with reflections of Greg-'

upsetting him. Although when he entered the court he did not find his son in confidential chat with the Lord Chief Justice, nor even in grave deliberation with a grand solicitor, but getting the worst of a conflict with an exorbitant fishmonger; and though the townspeople were not scared as much as they should have been by the wisdom of Gregory's collected front, neither did the latter look a quarter so wise as his father; yet a turn of luck put all things right, and even did substantial good. For the Grower at sight of his son was not to be stopped by any doorkeeper, but pushed his way into the circle of forensic dignity, and there saluted Gregory with a kiss on the band of his horsehair, and patted him loudly on the back, and challenging with a quick proud glance the opinions of the bar and bench, exclaimed in a good round Kentish tone

"Well done, my boy! Hurrah for Greg! Gentlemen all, I'll be dashed if my son does not look about the wisest of all of 'ee."

Loud titters ran the horsehair round, and more solid laughter stirred the crowd, while the officers of the court cried "Hush!" and the Lord Chief Justice and his learned brother looked at the audacious Grower; while he, with one hand on each shoulder of his son, gazed around and nodded graciously. "Who is this person this gentleman, mean?" asked the Lord Chief Justice,

I

"No, father, no more about him," The judge was well pleased with this said Gregory, sadly and submissively. little scene, and kindly glanced at Greg-"I wish I had never brought him here." ory, of whom he had heard as a diligent "No harm, my son; no harm whatpupil from his intimate friend Mr. Mala- ever. That little fancy must be quite hide; and being a man who missed no worn out. Elias is not over bright, as opportunity as his present position we know; but he is a steady and worthy pretty clearly showed he said to the young fellow, and will make her a capital gratified franklin, " Mr. Lovejoy, I shall husband." be glad to see you if you can spare me half a hour, after the court has risen."

were all things large and good, and going on for a thousand ages, with very little difference. When the cock-robin died, and the thrush was shot, there would be quite enough to come after them. When the leaf that glanced the sunset dropped, the bud for next year would be up in its place. Even if the trees went down before the storms of winter, fine young saplings grew between them, and would be glad of their light and air. Therefore, Mabel, weary not the ever-changing world with woe.

"What! Mabel, Mab, all out here alone; and trying to hide from her own brother!"

Gregory jumped from his horse, and caught her; and even in the waning light was frightened as she looked at him. Then she fell on his neck, and kissed and kissed him. Bitter as her disappointment was, it was something to have so dear a brother; and she had not seen him for so long, and he must have some news of Hilary. He felt her face, all wet with tears, turned up to him over and She did not reason thus, nor even think over again, and he felt how she trembled, at all about it. From time to time she and how slim she was, and he knew in a looked, and listened for her father's Gal-moment what it meant; and in his steadloway, and the heavy content of the sum-fast heart arose something that must mer night shed gentle patience round have been a deep oath, but for much her. As yet she had no sense of wrong, deeper sorrow. And then, like a man, no thought of love betrayed, nor even he controlled it all. any dream of fickleness. Hilary was still to her the hero of all chivalry, the champion of the blameless shield, the Bayard of her life's romance. But now he lay wounded in a barbarous land, perhaps dead, with no lover to bury him. The pointed leaves of an old oak rustled, a rabbit ran away with his scut laid down, a weasel from under a root peered out, and the delicate throat of the sensitive girl quivered with bad omens - for she had not the courage of Alice Lorraine.

"I will walk with you, darling, and lead my horse; or, father, perhaps you will take the bridle, and tell mother to be ready for us. Mab is so glad to see me that she must not be hurried over it."

"Bless my heart!" said the Grower; "what a heap of gossip you chits of children always have. And nothing pleases you better than keeping your valued parents in the dark."

you."

Gregory thought it a very bad sign that Mabel sent no little joke after her father, as she used to do. Then he threw his firm arm around her waist, and led her homeward silently. But even by his touch and step she knew that there was no good news for her.

With this little grumble he rode on, leading Gregory's horse, and shouting Through the slur of the night wind back, at the corner of the lane, "Now (such as it makes in July only), and the don't be long with your confab, children; random lifting of outer leaves too thick I have scarcely had a bit to eat to-day, to be dealt with properly and the quiv-and I won't have my supper spoiled for ering loops of dependent danglers who really hoped that they might sleep at last—and then the fall-away of all things from their interruption to the sweetest of all sweet relapse, and the deepest depth of quietude; Mabel heard, through all of these, the lively sound of horses' feet briskly ringing on a rise of ground. For the moment some folly of fancy took "Oh, Gregory, what is it all about?' her, so that she leaned against a gate, she cried, with one hand on his shoulder, and would have been glad to get over it. and her soft eyes deeply imploring him. She knew how unfit she was to meet him."You must have some message for me at At last he was coming, with her father, last. It is so long since I had any. He to her! She had not a thing on fit to is so kind, he would never leave me withlook at. And he must have seen such out any message all this time, unless — girls in Spain. Oh, how cruel of him to unlesscome, and take her by surprise so! But perhaps after all it was herself, and not her clothes, he would care for. However, let him go on to the house if she kept well into the gate-post-and then she might slip in, and put on her dress - the buff frock he admired so; and if it was much too large in the neck, he would

know for whose sake it became so.

"He is wounded, you know; how can he write?" asked Gregory, with some irony. "Until he was wounded, how many times did I bring you fifty thousand kisses?

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"Oh, it is not that I was thinking of, though I am sure that was very nice of him. Ah, you need not be laughing, Gregory dear, as if you would not do the

"That he does what? And is that all "If you thought that Lorraine was un-your authority? I am beginning to laugh worthy of you, you could make up your at the whole of it." mind to forget him, I hope."