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Aye, he is down to rise no more,
Triumph and toil alike are o'er;
Unscathed his lord

Leap'd from his seat at one fierce bound,
Shook his clenched hand-gazed wildly round,
Then proffered, kneeling on the ground,

The Duke, his sword.

'There is rebellion in thine eyes,
Menace and guilt,' the Duke replies,
In murmurs low;

Ha! hurl ye thus my sword away,
My kindness thus would ye repay?
Beware-who scorns a friend to-day
Shall find a foe.'

The bugles breathe a merry strain,
Thunders the stormy drum again,
The sport is o'er!

But where is he who braved the power
Of Russian lords? From that same hour
Was he in camp, or field, or bower,

Seen, never more !"—pp. 26-32.

In a note to these verses the writer reminds us of the facts, that the offence of this victim of cold-blooded despotism consisted in his inability to suddenly wheel a high-spirited horse; that, at the second leap a Russian general interceded for the offender, but in vain; that, at the fourth leap the horse fell; and that the rider, who arose and immediately resigned his sword to the Duke, was sent to the guard-house, and never afterwards heard of.

The last of these "Poems of the Month" is the best, whether as regards polished execution in the rhyming art, or the influence which its lessons and appeals will have on society and in behalf of the interests of humanity. The title sufficiently indicates the nature of the work, and directs the feelings at once to those defenceless and fragile members of the community, in christianized and enlightened Britain-the infant victims of the "Factories."

The writer of this poem is said to be Mrs. Norton; and though the production would not detract from the fame of the brightest muse that England can produce, the subject and the manner in which it is treated, eminently accords with all that mankind hold most beautiful, sensitive, or adorning in woman. The most striking features of the piece, as a literary effort, is its artistic accuracy and grace; although the whole seems to be the natural and spontaneous outpouring of a heart intensely alive to the great rights of humanity, and wrung to the core by the violations which man practises against his kind, under the sanction of legislative enactments.

The poem is judiciously dedicated to Lord Ashley; but we predict

that it will find in the case of every reader either a strenuous friend, or an unreserved convert to the cause it pleads, who will exclaim with the writer, "I earnestly hope I shall live to see this evil abolished." We could willingly transcribe every one of these verses, and point out many exquisite beauties in them, but this may not be; for though strong and repeated attestations of the writer's finely cultured genius would thus be furnished, it is the moral purpose of the work which we chiefly regard; and this will be best exemplified by a complete picture of domestic but humble life, as seen in England.

The happy homes of England! they have been
A source of triumph, and a theme for song:
And surely if there be a hope serene

And beautiful, which may to earth belong,
'Tis when (shut out the world's associate throng,
And closed the busy day's fatiguing hum)
Still waited for with expectation strong,
Welcomed with joy, and overjoyed to come
The good man goes to seek the twilight rest of home.
"There sits his gentle wife, who with him knelt
Long years ago at God's pure altar-place;
Still beautiful-though all that she hath felt
Hath calmed the glory of her radiant face,
And given her brow a holier, calmer grace.
Mother of SOULS IMMORTAL, she doth feel
A glow from Heaven her earthly love replace;
Prayer to her lip more often now doth steal,
And meditative hope her serious eyes reveal."

We pass over some lines, that we may give a few portraits that are not more graceful than faithful, and sketched with a feeling not more earnest than" touching-forming a fine conclusion to our "Poetry of the Month."

"Scattered like flowers, the rosy children play

Or round her chair a busy crowd they press;
But at the FATHER'S coming start away,
With playful struggle for his loved caress,
And jealous of the one he first may bless.
To each, a welcoming word is fondly said;
He bends and kisses some; lifts up the less;
Admires the little cheek, so round and red,

Or smoothes with tender hand the curled and shining head.

"Oh! let us pause, and gaze upon them now,
Is there not one-beloved and lovely boy?
With mirth's bright seal upon his open brow,
And sweet fond eyes, brimful of love and joy?
He, whom no measure of delight can cloy,
The daring and the darling of the set;
He who, though pleased with every passing toy,
Thoughtless and buoyant to excess, could yet
Never a gentle word or kindly deed forget P

"And one, more fragile than the rest, for whom
As for the weak bird in a crowded nest-
Are needed all the fostering care of home,
And the soft comfort of the brooding breast:

One, who hath oft the couch of sickness pressed!
On whom the mother looks, as it goes by,
With tenderness intense, and fear suppress'd,

While the soft patience of her anxious eye

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Blends with God's will be done,'-'God grant thou mayst not die!'

"And is there not the elder of the band?

She with the gentle smile, and smooth bright hair,
Waiting, some paces back-content to stand
Till those of Love's caresses have their share;
Knowing how soon his fond paternal care
Shall seek his violet in her shady nook-
Patient she stands-demure, and brightly fair-
Copying the meekness of her mother's look.
And clasping in her hands her favourite story-book.
"Wake, dreamer!-Choose :-to labour life away
Which of these little precious ones shall go
(Debarred of summer light and cheerful play)
To that receptacle for dreary woe,

The Factory Mill P Shall he, in whom the flow

Of life shines bright, whose free limbs' vigorous tread
Warns us how much of beauty that we know

Would fade, when he became dispirited,

And pined with sickened heart, and bowed his fainting head?

Or shall the little quiet one, whose voice
So rarely mingles in their sounds of glee,
Whose life can bid no living thing rejoice,
But rather is a long anxiety;-

Shall he go forth to toil ? and keep the free

Frank boy, whose merry shouts and restless grace

Would leave all eyes that used his face to see

Wistfully gazing on that vacant space

Which makes their fireside seem a lone and dreary place ?

"Or, sparing these, send her whose simplest words
Have power to charm-whose warbled, childish song,
Fluent and clear and bird-like, strikes the chords

Of sympathy among the listening throng,
Whose spirits light, and steps that dance along,
Instinctive modesty and grace restrain :

The fair young innocent who knows no wrong-
Whose slender wrists scarce hold the silken skein
Which the glad mother winds ;-shall she endure this pain?

"Away! the thought-the thought alone brings tears!
THEY labour-they the darlings of our lives!

The flowers and sunbeams of our fleeting years;

From whom alone our happiness derives

A lasting strength, which every shock survives;

The green young trees beneath whose arching boughs
(When failing energy no longer strives),

Our wearied age shall find a cool repose ;

THEY toil in torture !-No-the painful picture close."

ART. IX.—Discourses by the Rev. John B. Patterson, A.M., Minister of Falkirk; to which is prefixed a Memoir of his Life, and Select Literary and Religious Remains. 2 vols. Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd. 1836. Nor many months ago we had occasion to review Lord Teignmouth's "Sketches of the Coasts and Islands of Scotland;" a work

in which, among other things, he professed to give a faithful and fuller account of the state of education, and of the social as well as the religious and moral condition of the people inhabiting these regions, than had before been made public. It was impossible, however, not to detect many proofs of ignorance and illiberality which disfigured his statements; and also to discover his conviction to be, that unless in the ancient Universities of England, and within the pale of the English Establishment, there is no adequate provision made for superior learning, or most exemplary piety. In short, his desire and attempt were to show, that academical and ecclesiastical education, as enforced by the Presbyterian Establishment of Scotland, was miserably deficient, when compared with the same thing under Episcopacy in England; that in the former country the teachers, whether in the school-room or in the pulpit, were comparatively incompetent men; that their morals, their motives, and their station in society, were inferior to what prevailed in the latter country; and that therefore corresponding standards of character, manners, and feeling existed in the sister kingdoms ;-and all this for want of Bishops of Oxford and Cambridge.

Now, we recommend it to his Lordship, if he is anxious about being correctly informed on these matters, and if conviction be not more dreadful to him than reproof, to peruse the two volumes now before us. Nay, if he, or any one who may entertain the same prejudices, take delight in what is lovely and rich in genius, graceful in refined humanity, beautiful and triumphant in classical learningespecially when adorning modest youth-and captivating in polished writing, let him make the Life, the Literary, and Religious Remains of the Rev. J. B. Patterson, his repeated study. Or if the records of fervent and pure devotion, of unobtrusive piety, and the memory of a minister of the Gospel, who though his sojourn on earth was brief, yet will live in the annals of theological literature, let the subject of these volumes be regarded; and then it will be seen, that though great have been his achievements, there was that within him that promised much more.

It is a delightful occupation to trace such a career as is delineated in these volumes; for while Mr. Patterson was an ornament to society in his own day, he was furnishing materials that will be a blessing and a treasure to posterity; since, in one who was his companion in boyhood, and a dear friend till death severed them, he has found a competent biographer; one, indeed, whose judgment, affection, and tastes, as disclosed in the Memoir which occupies the greatest portion of the first volume, show that the deceased had, among his earliest associates, one of a congenial spirit with his own. It is true, that in his Letters and other writings here produced, Mr. Patterson has become to a great extent his own historian. But had it not been for the anxious arrangement of these materials, and the connecting notices that accompany this sort of autobiography, it

would have been impossible for the world to understand or estimate, in any thing like an adequate manner, the rare genius and the lovely character that we now find depicted in it. The second volume consists exclusively of Ministerial Discourses, delivered in the capacity of a parish pastor. To the former we confine ourselves.

The Memoir furnishes much that is rich and striking, with regard to academical instruction, and classical and elegant literature; but more interesting still, it abounds in tokens of the method, the rapidity, and the character of development which distinguished the mental history of an extraordinary man-extraordinary, whether loveliness of disposition, variety of powers, or the conquests which these powers secured in a marvellously short space of time be considered. These are matters eminently deserving of the marked attention of other journals, than those which are of an exclusively religious character. To the latter, however, we leave the particular consideration of what, in reality, constituted the highest charm in Mr. Patterson's life-the Christian gifts that adorned and exalted the man.

J. B. Patterson was born in Alnwick, in Northumberland, on the 29th of January, 1804. His father, who was a gentleman of distinguished integrity and piety, died while his son was yet a child. His mother, who, for any thing we know, still survives, seems to have been worthy of such a husband and such a son; nor could less be predicted of her, when it is stated, that her father was the Rev. John Brown, of Haddington, whose Self-interpreting Bible and many other works are known throughout the religious world, and whose life and character were truly apostolical. In 1810 Mrs. Patterson removed to Edinburgh with her family, consisting of a daughter and two sons, John being the elder. He was now placed at the classical academy of Mr. Benjamin Mackay, afterwards one of the masters of the celebrated High School of that city. Under this gentleman's tuition he remained until 1814. In the course of the following year, Mrs. Patterson took up her residence in her native town; and here her son was sent to a school, where his attention was not only directed to the Latin classics, but to French and Elementary mathematics. It was also here that the Editor of the present work became acquainted with the subject of its narrative, and formed an intimacy that never was broken but by death. The survivor of the twin-companions, so to speak, says—

"Some trivial circumstance introduced them to each other's notice, and their acquaintance soon ripened into intimacy and attachment. Their intercourse, once begun, was as free and mirthful as that of boys at their age generally is. John, however, none of his early comrades can have failed to remark, was uniformly much less volatile than most of his companions, and exhibited fewer of the caprices of boyhood. His pastimes were usually of such mirth as after no repenting draws.' In rustic excursions his sedateness sometimes gave way to a considerable

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