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Such musings receive the Pedlar's approba- | misery, is religion the dominant principle of tion, and he says

thought and feeling in the character of any

one human being with whom we are made “My friend! enough to sorrow you have given. The purposes of wisdom ask no inore.

acquainted, living or dead. Of not a single Be wise and cheerful, and no longer read

one, man or woman, are we made to feel the The forms of things with an unworthy eye. She sleeps in the calm earth, and peace is here."

beauty of holiness—the power and the glory

of the Christian Faith. Beings are brought As the Poet, then, was entirely satisfied with before us whom we pity, respect

, admire, love. the tale, so ought to be all readers. No hint The great poet is high-souled and tenderis dropped that there was any thing to blame hearted—his song is pure as the morning, in the poor woman's nine years' passion--no bright as day, solemn as night. But his inspiregret breathed that she had sought not, by ration is not drawn from the Book of God, but means offered to all, for that peace of mind from the Book of Nature. Therefore it fails which passeth all understanding-no question to sustain his genius when venturing into the asked, how it was that she had not communed depths of tribulation and anguish. Therewith her own afflicted heart, over the pages of fore imperfect are his most truthful delineathat Book where it is written, “Come unto me tions of sins and sorrows; and not in his all

ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give ye rest!" The narrator had indeed alleviation or cure of the maladies that kill the

philosophy, lofty though it be, can be found said, that on revisiting her during her afflic- soul. Therefore never will the Excursion betion

come a bosom-book, endeared to all ranks and 6 Her humble lot of books,

conditions of a Christian People, like “The Which in her cottage window, heretofore, Had been piled up against the corner panes

Task" or the “Night Thoughts." Their reliIn seemly order, now, with straggling leaves, gion is that of revelation--it acknowledges Lay scatter'd here and there, open or shut,

no other source but the word of God. To that As they had chanced to fall.'

word, in all difficulty, distress, and dismay, But he does not mention the Bible.

these poets appeal; and though they may What follows has always seemed to us of a sometimes, or often, misinterpret its judgquestionable character

ment, that is an evil incident to finite intelli“I well remember that those very plumes, Those weeds, and the high spear-grass on that wall, so, inspires a perpetual humility that is itself

gence; and the very consciousness that it is By mist and silent rain-drops silver'd o'er, As once I pass'd, into my heart convey'd

a virtue found to accompany only a Christian's So still an image of tranquillity,

Faith.
So calm and still, and look'd so beautiful
Amid the uneasy thoughts which fill'd my mind,

We have elsewhere vindicated the choice That what we feel of sorrow and despair

of a person of low degree as Chief of the From ruin and from change, and all the griefs · Excursion," and exult to think that a great The passing shows of Being leave behind, Appear'd an idle dream, that could not live

poet should have delivered his highest doc Where meditation was. I turn'd away,

trines through the lips of a Scottish Pedlar. And walk'd along my road in happiness.'

“Early had he learn'd These are fine lines; nor shall we dare, in To reverence the volume that displays face of them, to deny the power of the beauty

The mystery of life that cannot die. and serenity of nature to assuage the sorrow Throughout the poem he shows that he doe: of us mortal beings, who live for awhile on reverence it, and that his whole being has her breast. Assuredly, there is sorrow that| been purified and elevated by its spirit. But may be so assuaged; and the sorrow here fond as he is of preaching, and excellent in spoken of-for poor Margaret, many years the art or gift, a Christian Preacher he is not dead-was of that kind. But does not the at best a philosophical divine. Familiar by heart of a man beat painfully, as if violence his parentage and nurture with all most halwere offered to its most sacred memories, to lowed round the poor man's hearth, and hear from the lips of wisdom, that "sorrow guarded by his noble nature from all offence and despair from ruin and from change, and to the sanctities there enshrined; yet the truth all the griefs" that we can suffer here below, must be told, he speaks not, he expounds not appear an idle dream among plumes, and the Word as the servant of the Lord, as the weeds, and speargrass, and mists, and rain- follower of Him Crucified.

There is very drops? “Where meditation is !" What me- much in his announcements to his equals wide ditation ? Turn thou, O child of a day! to the of the mark set up in the New Testament. We New Testament, and therein thou mayest find seem to hear rather of a divine power and comfort. It matters not whether a spring- harmony in the universe than of the Living bank be thy seat by Rydal Mere, “while hea-God. The spirit of Christianity as connected ven and earth do make one imagery,” or thou with the Incarnation of the Deity, the Humansittest in the shadow of death, beside a tomb. God, the link between heaven and earth, be

We said, that for the present we should con-tween helplessness and omnipotence, ought to fine our remarks on this subject to the story be everywhere visible in the religious effuof Margaret; but they are, more or less, appli- sions of a Christian Poet-wonder and awe cable to almost all the stories in the Excur- for the greatness of God, gratitude and love sion. In many of the eloquent disquisitions for his goodness, humility and self-abasement and harangues of the Three Friends, they for his own unworthiness. Passages may percarry along with them the sympathies of all haps be found in the “Excursion" expressive mankind; and the wisest may be enlightened of that spirit, but they are few and faint, and by their wisdom. But what we complain of somewhat professional, falling not from the is, that neither in joy nor grief, happiness nor/ Pedlar but from the Pastor. If the mind, in forming its conceptions of divine things, is the light of a system so congenial to the highest prouder of its own power than humbled in the feelings of our human nature, that the wisest comparison of its personal inferiority; and in spirits amongst us have sometimes been enunciating them in verse, more rejoices in tempted to forget that its origin is divine. the consciousness of the power of its own ge

Had the Excursion been written in the poet's nius than in the contemplation of Him from later life, it had not been so liable to such obwhom cometh every good and perfect gift-it jections as these; for much of his poetry comhas not attained Piety, and its worship is not posed since that era is imbued with a religious an acceptable service. For it is self-worship spirit, answering the soul's desire of the de-worship of the creature's own conceptions, voutest Christian. His Ecclesiastical Sonnets and an overweening complacency with its are sacred poetry indeed. How comprehenown greatness, in being able to form and so to sive the sympathy of a truly pious heart! express them as to win or command the praise How religion reconciles different forms, and and adoration of his fellow mortals. Those modes, and signs, and symbols of worship, lofty speculations, alternately declaimed among provided only they are all imbued with the the mountains, with an accompaniment of spirit of faith! This is the toleration Chriswaterfalls, by men full of fancies and eloquent tianity sanctions-for it is inspired by its own of speech, elude the hold of the earnest spirit universal love. No sectarian feeling here, longing for truth ; disappointment and impa- that would exclude or debar from the holiest tience grow on the humblest and most reverent chamber in the poet's bosom one sincere mind, and escaping from the multitude of vain worshipper of our Father which is in heaven. words, the neophyte finds in one chapter of a Christian brethren! By that mysterious bond Book forgotten in that babblement, a light to our natures are brought into more endearing his way and a support to his steps, which, fol- communion-now more than ever, brethren, lowing and trusting, he knows will lead him because of the blood that was shed for us all to everlasting life.

from His blessed side! Even of that most Throughout the poem there is much talk of awful mystery in some prayer-like strains the the light of nature, little of the light of reve- Poet tremblingly speaks, in many a strain, at lation, and they all speak of the theological once so affecting and so elevating-breathing doctrines of which our human reason gives us so divinely of Christian charity to all whose assurance. Such expressions as these may trust is in the Cross! Who shall say what easily lead to important error, and do, indeed, form of worship is most acceptable to the seem often to have been misconceived and Almighty? All are holy in which the soul misemployed. What those truths are which seeks to approach him-holy human reason, unassisted, would discover to

“The chapel lurking among trees, us on these subjects, it is impossible for us to Where a few villagers on bended knees know, for we have never seen it left absolutely

Find solace which a busy world disdains;" to itself. Instruction, more or less, in wander- we feel as the poet felt when he breathed to the ing tradition, or in express, full, and recorded image of some old abbeyrevelation, has always accompanied it; and we

“Once ye were holy, ye are holy still !" have never had other experience of the human mind than as exerting its powers under the And what heart partakes not the awe of his light of imparted knowledge. In these circum

“Beneath that branching roof stances, all that can be properly meant by Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells those expressions which regard the power of Lingering and wandering on as loth to die ?”

Where light and shade repose, where music dwells the human mind to guide, to enlighten, or to satisfy itself in such great inquiries, is not Read the first of these sonnets with the lastthat it can be the discoverer of truth, but that, and then once more the strains that come bewith the doctrines of truth set before it, it is tween--and you will be made to feel how vaable to deduce arguments from its own inde- rious and how vast beneath the sky are the pendent sources which confirm it in their regions set apart by the soul for prayer and belief; or that, with truth and error proposed worship; and that all places become conseto its choice, it has means, to a certain extent, crated—the high and the humble-the mean in its own power, of distinguishing one from and the magnificent-in which Faith and Piety the other. For ourselves, we may understand have sought to hold communion with Heaven. easily that it would be impossible for us so to But they who duly worship God in temples shut out from our minds the knowledge which made with hands, meet every hour of their has been poured in upon them from our earliest lives “ Devotional Excitements” as they walk years, in order to ascertain what self-left rea- among his works; and in the later poetry of son could find out. Yet this much we are able Wordsworth these abound--age having solemto do in the speculations of our philosophy. nized the whole frame of his being, that was We can inquire, in this light, what are the always alive to religious emotions—but more. grounds of evidence which nature and reason than ever now, as around his paths in the themselves offer for belief in the same truths. evening of life longer fall the mysterious A like remark must be extended to the mo- shadows. More fervid lines have seldom rality which we seem now to inculcate from ) flowed from his spirit in its devoutest mood, the authority of human reason. We no longer than some awakened by the sounds and sights possess any such independent morality. The of a happy day in May—to him-though no spirit of a higher, purer, moral law than man church-bell was heard--a Sabbath. His occacould discover, has been breathed over the sional poems are often felt by us to be linked world, and we have grown up in the air and | together by the finest affinities, which perhaps

are but affinities between the feelings they in- | to come down for an hour from heaven. How spire. Thus we turn from those lines to some solemn the opening strain ! and from the moon a subject seemingly very different, from a mentary vision of Science on her speculative feeling of such fine affinities--which haply are Tower, how gently glides Imagination down, to but those subsisting between all things and take her place by the Poet's side, in his bark thoughts that are pure and good. We hear in afloat beneath Italian skies--suddenly bethem how the Poet, as he gazes on a Family dimmed, lake, land, and all, with a something that holds not the Christian Faith, embraces between day and night. In a moment we are them in the folds of Christian Love-and how conscious of Eclipse. Our slight surprise is religion as well as nature sanctifies the ten- lost in the sense of a strange beauty-solemn derness that is yearning at his heart towards not sad-settling on the face of nature and the them—"a Jewish Family”—who, though out- abodes of men. In a single stanza filled with casts by Heaven's decree, are not by Heaven, beautiful names of the beautiful, we have a still merciful to man, left forlorn on earth. vision of the Lake, with all its noblest banks,

How exquisite the stanzas composed in one and bays, and bowers, and mountains--when of the Catholic Chapels in Switzerland- in an instant we are wafted away from a scene

that might well have satisfied our imagination 6 Doom'd as we are our native dust

and our heart-if high emotions were not unTo wet with many a bitter shower, It ill be fits us to disdain

controllable and omnipotent-wafted away by The Altar, to deride the Fane,

Fancy with the speed of Fire-lakes, groves,
Where patient sufferers bend, in trust
To win a happier hour.

cliffs, mountains, all forgotten-and alight amid

an aërial host of figures, human and divine, on “I love, where spreads the village lawņ,

a spire that seeks the sky. How still those Upon some knee-worn Cell to gaze; Hail to the firm unmoving Cross,

imaged sanctities and purities, all white as Aloft, where pine their branches toss!

snows of Apennine, stand in the heavenly reAnd to the Chapel far withdrawn,

gion, circle above circle, and crowned as with That lurks by lonely ways!

a zone of stars! They are imbued with life. "Where'er we roam-along the brink

In their animation the figures of angels and Of Rhine-or by the sweeping Po,

saints, insensate stones no more, seem to feel Through Alpine vale, or champaign wide, Whate'er we look on, at our side

the Eclipse that shadows them, and look awful Be Charity-to bid us think

in the portentous light. In his inspiration he And feel, if we would know."

transcends the grandeur even of that moment's How sweetly are interspersed among them vision—and beholds in the visages of that some of humbler mood, most touching in their aërial host those of the sons of heaven darkensimple pathos-such as a Hymn for the boat-ing with celestial sorrow at the Fall of Man

when men as they approach the Rapids-Lines on

“ Throngs of celestial visages, hearing the song of the harvest damsels float

Darkening like water in the breeze, ing homeward on the lake of Brientz-the Ita

A holy sadness shared.' lian Itinerant and the Swiss Goatherd-and the Never since the day on which the wondrous Three Cottage Girls, representatives of Italian, edifice, in its consummate glory, first saluted of Helvetian, and of Scottish beauty, brought the sun, had it inspired in the soul of kneeling together, as if by magic, into one picture, each saint a thought so sad and so sublime-a breathing in her natural grace the peculiar thought beyond the reaches of the soul of him spirit and distinctive character of her country's whose genius bade it bear up all its holy adorncharms! Such gentle visions disappear, and we sit by the side of the Poet as he gazes from ments so far from earth, that the silent comhis boat floating on the Lake of Lugano, on the pany seem sometimes, as light and shadow Church of San Salvador, which was almost heaven. But the Sun begins again to look like

move among them, to be in ascension to destroyed by lightning a few years ago, while the Sun, and the poet, relieved by the joyful the altar and the image of the patron saint light from that awful trance, delights to behold were untouched, and devoutly listen while he exclaims

“ Town and Tower,

The Vineyard and the Olive Bower, “ Cliffs, fountains, rivers, seasons, times,

Their lustre re-assume;"

and “breathes there a man with soul so dead," And faith, so oft of sense the thrall,

that it burns not within him as he hears the While she, by aid of Nature, climbs,

heart of the husband and the father breathe May hope to be forgiven."

forth its love and its fear, remembering on a We do not hesitate to pronounce “Eclipse sudden the far distant whom it has never forof the Sun, 1820," one of the finest lyrical effu- gotten-a love and a fear that saddens, but dissions of combined thought, passion, sentiment, turbs not, for the vision he saw had inspired and imagery, within the whole compass of him with a trust in the tender mercies of God? pietry. If the beautiful be indeed essentially Commit to faithful memory, O Friend! who different from the sublime, we here feel that may some time or other be a traveller over the they may be made to coalesce so as to be in wide world, the sacred stanzas that brings the their united agencies one divine power. We Poem to a close--and it will not fail to comfort called it lyrical, chiefly because of its transi- thee when sitting all alone by the well in the tions. Though not an ode, it is ode-like in its wilderness, or walking along the strange streets invocations; and it might be set and sung to of foreign cities, or lying in thy cot at midnight music if Handel were yet alive, and St. Cecilia afloat on far-off seas.

R

Let all remind the soul of heaven;
Our slack devotion needs them all;

25

“Oye, who guard and grace my Home

wither, planted on the bank of “that river While in far-distant Lands we roam, Was such a vision given to you?

whose streams make glad the city of the Lord.” Or, while we look'd with favour'd eyes,

Indeed, we see no reason why poetry, conDid sullen mist hide lake and skies

ceived in the spirit of a most exclusive secAnd mountains from your view ?

tarianism, may not be of a very high order, and "I ask in vain-and know far less,

powerfully impressive on minds whose reliIf sickness, sorrow, or distress Have spared my dwelling to this hour;

gious tenents are most irreconcilable and hosSad blindness! but ordained to prove

tile to those of the sect. Feelings, by being Our faith in Heaven's unfailing love, And all-controlling power.”

unduly concentrated, are not thereby necessa

rily enfeebled on the contrary, often strengthLet us fly from Rydal to Sheffield. James ened; and there is a grand austerity which the Montgomery is truly a religious poet. His popu- imagination more than admires which the larity, which is great, has, by some scribes sit-conscience scarcely condemns. The feeling, ting in the armless chairs of the scorners, been the conviction from which that austerity grows, attributed chiefly to the power of sectarianism. is in itself right; for it is a feeling-a convicHe is, we believe, a sectary; and, if all sects tion of the perfect righteousness of God-the were animated by the spirit that breathes utter worthlessness of self-left man--the awful throughout his poetry, we should have no fears sanctity of duty—and the dreadfulness of the for the safety and stability of the Established judgment-doom, from which no soul is safe till Church; for in that selfsame spirit was she the seals have been broken, and the Archangel built, and by that selfsame spirit were her has blown his trumpet. A religion planted in foundations dug in a rock. Many are the such convictions as these, may become dark lights-solemn and awful all-in which the and disordered in its future growth within the eyes of us mortal creatures may see the Chris- spirit; and the tree, though of good seed and tian dispensation. Friends, looking down from in a strong soil, may come to be laden with the top of a high mountain on a city-sprinkled bitter fruit, and the very droppings of its leaves plain, have each his own vision of imagination may be pernicious to all who rest within its seach his own sinking or swelling of heart. shade. Still, such shelter is better in the blast They urge no inquisition into the peculiar affec- than the trunk of a dead faith; and such food, tions of each other's secret breasts-all assured, unwholesome though it be, is not so miserable from what each knows of his brother, that every as famine to a hungry soul. eye there may see God—that every tongue that Grant, then, that there may be in Mr. Monthas the gift of lofty utterance may sing his gomery's poetry certain sentiments, which, in praises aloud that the lips that remain silent want of a better word, we call Sectarian. may be mute in adoration—and that all the They are not necessarily false, although not distinctions of habits, customs, professions, perfectly reconcilable to our own creed, which, modes of life, even natural constitution and we shall suppose, is true. On the contrary, form of character, if not lost, may be blended we may be made much the better and the together in mild amalgamation under the com- wiser men by meditating upon them; for mon atmosphere of emotion, even as the towers, while they may, perhaps, (and we are merely domes, and temples, are all softly or brightly making a supposition,) be too strongly felt by interfused with the huts, cots, and homesteads him, they may be too feebly felt by usắthey the whole scene below harmonious, because in- may, perhaps, be rather blots on the beauty of habited by beings created by the same God- his poetry than of his faith-and if, in some in his own image and destined for the same degree, offensive in the composition of a poem, immortality.

far less so, or not at all, in that of a life. It is base therefore, and false, to attribute, All his shorter poems are stamped with the in an invidious, sense, any of Montgomery's character of the man. Most of them are breathfame to any such cause. No doubt many per- ings of his own devout spirit, either delighted sons read his poetry on account of its religion, or awed by a sense of the Divine goodness who, but for that, would not have read it; and and mercy towards itself, or tremblingly alive no doubt, too, many of them neither feel nor --not in mere sensibility to human virtues and understand it. But so, too, do many persons joys, crimes and sorrows, for that often belongs read Wordsworth's poetry on account of its to the diseased and depraved—but in solemn, religion-the religion of the woods--who, but moral, and religious thought, to all of good or for that, would not have read it; and so, too, evil befalling his brethren of mankind. “A many of them neither feel nor understand it. sparrow cannot fall to the ground”-a flower So is it with the common manners-painting of the field cannot wither immediately before poetry of Crabbe-the dark passion-painting his eyes--without awakening in his heart poetry of Byron—the high-romance-painting such thoughts as we may believe God inpoetry of Scott--and so on with Moore, Cole- tended should be awakened even by such ridge, Southey, and the rest. But it is to the sights as these; for the fall of a sparrow is mens divinior, however displayed, that they a scriptural illustration of his providence, and uwe all their fame. Had Montgomery not his hand framed the lily, whose array is more been a true poet, all the Religious Magazines royal than was that of Solomon in all his glory. in the world could not have saved his name Herein he resembles Wordsworth-less profrom forgetfulness and oblivion. He might found certainly-less lofty ; for in its highest have flaunted his day like the melancholy moods the genius of Wordsworth walks by Poppy-melancholy in all its ill-scented gau- itself—unapproachable on the earth it beaudiness; but as it is, he is like the Rose of tifies. But Montgomery's poetical piety is far Sharon, whose baim and beauty shall not more prevalent over his whole character; it belongs more essentially and permanently to go, night and day, unbidden, forbidden across ine man. Perhaps, although we shall not say the minds of all men-fortified although the so, it may be more simple, natural, and true. main entrances may be; but when they do inMore accordant it certainly is, with the sym-vade his secret, solitary hours, he turns even pathies of ordinary minds. The piety of his such visitants to a happy account, and quespoetry is far more Christian than that of Words- tions them, ghostlike as they are, concerning worth's. It is in all his feelings, all his thoughts, both the future and the past. Melancholy as all his imagery; and at the close of most of often his views are, we should not suppose his beautiful compositions, which are so often him a man of other than a cheerful mind; for ayowals, confessions, prayers, thanksgivings, whenever the theme allows or demands it, he we feel, not the moral, but the religion of his is not averse to a sober glee, a composed gayesong. He “improves" all the “occasions" of ty that, although we cannot say it ever so far this life, because he has an “eye that broods sparkles out as to deserve to be called abon its own heart;" and that heart is impressed solutely brilliant, yet lends a charm to his by all lights and shadows, like a river or lake lighter-toned compositions, which it is peculiarwhose waters are pure-pure in their sources ly pleasant now and then to feel in the writand in their course. He is, manifestly, a man ings of a man whose genius is naturally, and of the kindliest home-affections; and these, from the course of life, not gloomy indeed, but though it is to be hoped the commonest of all, pensive, and less disposed to indulge itself in preserved to him in unabated glow and fresh- smiles than in tears. ness hy innocence and piety, often give vent to themselves in little hymns and odelike strains, of which the rich and even novel imagery shows how close is the connection between a

CHAPTER III. pure heart and a fine fancy, and that the flowers of poetry may be brought from afar, nor yet be PEOPLE now-a-days will write, because they feli to be exotics—to intertwine with the very see so many writing; the impulse comes upon simplest domestic feelings and thoughts--so them from without, not from within ; loud simple, so perfectly human, that there is a voices from streets and squares of cities call touch of surprise on seeing them capable of on them to join the throng, but the still small such adornment, and more than a touch of voice that speaketh in the penetralia of the pleasure on feeling how much that adornment spirit is mute; and what else can be the rebecomes them--brightening without changing, sult, but, in place of the song of lark, or linnet, and adding admiration to delight-wonder to or nightingale, at the best a concert of mocklove.

ing-birds, at the worst an oratorio of ganders Montgomery, too, is almost as much of an and bubbleys ? egotist as Wordsworth; and thence, frequently, At this particular juncture or crisis, the dishis power. The poet who keeps all the ap- ease would fain assume the symptoms of repearances of external nature, and even all the ligious inspiration. The poetasters are all passions of humanity, at arm's length, that he pious—all smitten with sanctity--Christian all may gaze on, inspect, study, and draw their over-and crossing and jostling on the Course portraits, either in the garb they ordinarily of Time as they think, on the high-road to wear, or in a fancy dress, is likely to produce Heaven and Immortality. Never was seen a strong likeliness indeed; yet shall his pic-before such a shameless set of hypocrites. tures be wanting in ease and freedom--they Down on their knees they fall in booksellers' shall be cold and stiff—and both passion and shops, and, crowned with foolscap, repeat to imagination shall desiderate something charac- Blue-Stockings prayers addressed in doggerel teristic in nature, of the mountain or the man. to the Deity! They bandy about the Bible as But the poet who hugs to his bosom every if it were an Album. They forget that the thing he loves or admires--themselves, or the poorest sinner has a soul to be saved, as well thoughts that are their shadows-who is him as a set of verses to be damned; they look self still the centre of the enchanted circle forward to the First of the Month with more who, in the delusion of a strong creative genius, fear and trembling than to the Last Day; and absolutely believes that were he to die, all that beseech a critic to be merciful upon them with he now sees and hears delighted would die far more earnestness than they ever beseeched with him—who not only sees

their Maker. They pray through the presse “Poetic visions swarm on every bough," vainly striving to give some publicity to what but the history of all his own most secret must be private for evermore; and are seen emotions written on the very rocks—who wiping away, at tea-parties, the tears of contrigathers up the many beautiful things that in tion and repentance for capital crimes perthe prodigality of nature lie scattered over the petrated but on paper, and perpetrated thereon earth, neglected or unheeded, and the more so paltrily, that so far from being worthy of dearly, the more passionately loves them, be- hell-fire, such delinquents, it is felt, would be cause they are now appropriated to the uses more, suitably punished by being singed like of his own imagination, who will by her plucked fowls with their own unsaleable sheets alchymy so further brighten them that the They are frequently so singed; yet singeing thousands of eyes that formerly passed them has not the effect upon them for which singe by unseen or scorned, will be dazzled by their ing is designed; and like chickens in a shower rare and transcendent beauty—he is the “ pre- that have got the pip, they keep still gasping and vailing Poet!” Montgomery neither seeks nor shooting out their tongues, and walking on tip shuns those dark thoughts that will come and I toe with their tails down, till finally they go to

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