THE PRINCE IMPERIAL. asm was excited among so impressible a visit to the Queen, during which they people as the French by the purport of a proceeded in state to the city, visited the letter which she addressed to M. Bezet, Crystal Palace, etc., their stay terminatprefect of the Seine, in reply to this pro-ing on the twenty-first. In more recent posal. After warmly thanking the coun-years the Empress has employed her cil for their token of regard, she declined time and influence, more or less, in state the rich gift; alleging that the city was affairs, and several times acted as Regent already overburdened, and that the sum in the absence of the Emperor, as bein question would be more usefully em- came the mother of the, perhaps, future ployed in the foundation of some charit- ruler of France. able institution for the poor and destitute. In accordance with this suggestion, the money was devoted to an establishment for the maintenance and education of sixty young girls chosen from the working-classes of Paris. The life of the Empress Eugénie since her marriage has been comparatively uneventful; made up of the ordinary routine of state etiquette; of migrations to the various royal maisons-de-plaisance, varied by an extended progress through France in company with her husband; and a sojourn for the benefit of her health at Biaritz in the Pyrenees, which has peculiar associations for her, having been the favorite summer resort of her family in the days of her girlhood. On the sixteenth of April, 1855, the Emperor and Empress of the French arrived in England on a short In the family group on the plate appears the face and form of this child of fortune, the Prince Imperial, the only child and heir of the Bonaparte dynasty to the throne of France. He was born in Paris March 16, 1856. The announcement of his birth was received with great rejoicings by the French people. He is now in his tenth year, and his education is being conducted by the ablest and best teachers preparatory to the high station he is expected to fill ere long. He rides out with more display and attendants often than his father. All is done to embue his mind with the notions and habits suited to his imperial prospects. POETRY. HISTORIC POETRY-THE FIRST POEM OF THE WAR. The great family of facts born in the last four years of eventful war, have been united with all past generations of historic deeds to be read of all men to the end of time. The first things in all great events are interesting and important; the first name signed to the declaration of American Independence; the first battle at Lexington; the first gun fired at Fort Sumter; the first poem of the war, thrill the hearts of men with memorable effect. In this view we make this permanent record of the following poem, which tells its own story. It was historically the first poem of the war, having been written on the very day of President Lincoln's Proclamation for 75,000 men to suppress an insurrection." It was immediately circulated as a tract among the earliest regiments departing to the field. It was declaimed at patriotic meetings in support of the war. It was reprinted hundreds of times by the press-even in England by friendly journals. It now appears in several school Speakers and in all collections of the poetry of the war. Not now from River Scheldt to Zuyder Zee, Toll here, in broad, bright day! For not by night awaits A foe without the gates, But perjured friends within betray, Toll! Roland, toll! Thy sound is not too soon! To arms! Ring out the Leader's call! Till cottager from cottage-wall APRIL 16, 1861. LANGLEY LANE. A LOVE-POEM. IN all the land, range up, range down, Is there ever a place so pleasant and sweet, Just out of the bustle of square and street? Swallows' nests in roof and wall, And up above the still blue sky Where the woolly white clouds go sailing by,- For now, in summer, I take my chair, And the swallows and sparrows chirping near; Snatch pouch and powder-horn and gun- And I smile and talk, with the sun on my cheek, The heritage of sire to son Ere half of Freedom's work was done! Till Swords from scabbards leap! Toll! Roland, toll! What tears can widows weep Less bitter than when brave men fall! Toll! Roland, Toll! In shadowed hut and hall Shall lie the soldier's pall, And hearts shall break while graves are filled! And may His grace anoint us all! IV. Toll! Roland, toll! And Freedom so is safe in Ghent ! And Merrier bells now ring, And in the land's content Men shout "God save the King!" So let it be! A kingly king is he Who keeps his people free! Ring out across the sea! Toll! Roland, toll! Nor ever let thy throat Till Freedom's flag, wherever waved, From Northern lake to Southern strand! And the little live hand seems to stir and speak, – Fanny is sweet thirteen, and she Has fine black ringlets and dark eyes clear, And I am older by summers three, Why should we hold one another so dear? Because she can not utter a word, Nor hear the music of bee or bird, The water-cart's splash or the milkman's call! Because I have never seen the sky, Nor the little singers that hum and fly, Yet know she is gazing upon them all! For the sun is shining, the swallows fly, And I hear the water-cart go by, With its cool splash-splash down the dusty row; And the little one close at my side perceives Mine eyes upraised to the cottage eaves, Where birds are chirping in summer shine, And I hear, though I can not look, and she, Though she can not hear, can the singers see,And the little soft fingers flutter in mine! - Hath not the dear little hand a tongue, Hath not my soul an eye to see?- That I only hear as they pass around; And I am happy to keep God's sound. Why, I know her face, though I am blind- Round the pensive light of a brow of snow; And when I sit by my little one, And hear the music that haunts the place, Though, if ever the Lord should grant me a prayer, (I know the fancy is only vain,) I should pray; just once, when the weather is fair, To make God's heaven more strange and sweet! Ofttimes the driving rain, And sometimes the silent snow, Beat on the window-pane, And mingle sad and low With the hopes and fears, the smiles and tears, of a time long, long ago; Till they act the tales they tell, And a voice I once loved well Says, "Open me the door." Then I turn with a chill from the mocking wind, which whispers "Nevermore!" To the little whitewashed room In which my days are spent ; And, journeying toward the tomb, Who haply deem their grandchild's life not joyous, but content, Ah me! for the suns not set, For the years not yet begun, For the days not numbered yet, And the work that must be done, Before the desert path is crossed, and the weary web is spun! Like a beacon in the night, But perchance 'tis for the best, Then not for life to live, For though a heart has nought to take, it may have much to give. And they are old and poor, And to keep his shadow from their hearth, I daily toil and spin. My sorrow is their gain, Have bought their comfort dear, For the storm which wrecked my life's best hope has left me stranded here. But I hear the neighbors say The false and true shall receive their due, and hearts cease aching at last. -Chambers's Journal. PARADISE. I. IN A DREAM. ONCE in a dream I saw the flowers Compared with them. I heard the songs of Paradise: I saw the fourfold River flow, And deep it was, with golden sand; It flowed between a mossy land With murmured music grave and low. It hath refreshment for all thirst, For fainting spirits strength and rest: Earth holds not such a draught as this From cast to west. The Tree of Life stood budding there, And balm indeed. I saw the gate called Beautiful; And looked, but scarce could look within; I saw the golden streets begin, And outskirts of the glassy pool. Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars, Oh green palm-branches, many-leavedEye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, Nor heart conceived. I hope to see these things again, But not as once in dreams by night; II. IN A SYMBOL. Golden-winged, silver-winged, Birds without a name: Singing songs in their own tongue One to another calling, One to another calling In their proper speech: High above my head they wheeled, On wings of flame they went and came Their silver wings tinkled, Their golden wings rang, The wind it whistled through their wings Where in Heaven they sang. They flashed and they darted Awhile before mine eyes, Mounting, mounting, mounting still Where the moon riseth not, Not in any garden That mortal foot hath trod, Not in any flowering tree That springs from earthly sod, But in the garden where they dwell, CHRISTINA G. ROSSETII. -Englishman's Magazine. SUNSET THOUGHTS. WHEN we were at school together, Jack, There was down on neither's cheek! Now!-if we look back along our trackWhich has gained what he would seek? For the woman you loved is lying In a churchyard far away, And the sunset, so swiftly dying, Seems to you the best of the day. My picture is in the Academy, Jack, But the eyes I dreamed should see it, And the lips, whose praise I'd prize, For I see over roof and chimney, Jack, Though the present's black as the stormy wrack, For peace will be won when life is done,— Oh! the sunset hour has for us a power -London Society. BRIEF LITERARY NOTICES. Trübner's American and Oriental Literary Record.-No. I. London: Trübner and Co. 1865. We gladly embrace the opportunity of directing attention to this publication. It is a "Monthly Register of the most Important Works published in North and South America, in India, China, and the British Colonies; with Occasional Notes on German, Dutch, Danish, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Russian Books." The following is the notice prefixed by the enterprising publishers to this first number of their Record: "We desire to bring the literature of the East and West more fully before the reading public of England and Europe: with this view we purpose presenting to our readers a monthly record of every important work published in North and South America, in India, China, and throughout the East. We are not aware of any previous systematic attempt of this kind, but we think the time is ripe for such an undertaking, and we unhesitatingly ask the support of all students and lovers of literature, believing that when our object is fairly understood, we shall neither lack readers nor sympathizers. "In the United States of America, a large number of really valuable works, written in our language, are yearly issuing from the press, selling there by hundreds and thousands, but hardly known here, simply because there has hitherto been no recognized organ through which their existence could become known to the English reading public. We shall, in our monthly issues, record all such books, and occasionally give what brief comments may be necessary, to show the qualifications of the authors, and the nature of their labors. We also purpose occasionally grouping together the books recently published on given subjects, so that the student in any department of science and literature may be made acquainted with the best and most recent American literature on his special branch of study. "The literature of Mexico, and of the Republics and States of Central and South America, has never yet been brought systematically before scholars and students: we have the pleasure of presenting in this number two interesting lists,— 1865.] BRIEF LITERARY NOTICES. one of Peruvian, the other of Brazilian books; "In India and China an important English literature is gradually springing up. Of this department we now give a specimen, and in our future numbers we shall give fuller details. Sanskrit literature, as well as books in all the vernacular languages of India and of the East in general, will be fully reported upon from time to time. Having opened up correspondence with native and European scholars in every part of India, and in various parts of China, we hope to render this department of very great interest to all whose studies are in that direction. "From other fields of literature we shall also supply information of interest to readers of all classes. "Another feature in our undertaking will be, to present copious notes on the bibliography of North and South America; ample materials for which, the collections of many years, are now in our hands. "We trust our readers will bear in mind, that our pages are not of mere ephemeral interest. They will contain, in the course of the year, a vast mass of literary information, no where else to be met with; and we hope will be considered of sufficient importance to rank on the library shelves with the very many valuable bibliographies this century has produced." There is no need for us to add any thing to this clear statement, except that the yearly subscription is the small sum of five shillings.-London Quarterly. his travels, accompanying it by historical notices He In the "Battle of the Styles," Mr. Pullan undoubtedly takes the side of the Classicists. would not abjure medieval architecture, but he loves the other more, and considers we are making a mistake in much of what has of late been done or is now doing. We get at this state of his feeling from some preliminary remarks, and are by no means disposed to question their truth. "In the present day," he says, "that important element in architectural beauty--Proportion-is, for the most part, either altogether ignored, or else completely overlooked, in efforts after the picturesque, or in the adaptation of buildings to Our ecclesiastical buildings are fresuit the utilitarian and economical requirements of the age. quently but imperfect imitations of ordinary town and village churches, or else so-called original compositions in which stunted columns, top-heavy capitals, and windows absurdly elongated, are introduced by way of novelty, or for the sake of contrasts produced by disproportion; and our civic The Principal Ruins of Asia Minor.-Illustrated and other public edifices are often but shapeless and Described. By CHARLES TEXIER, Member masses of stone or brick, all wall or all window, of the Institute of France, and R. POPPLEWELL without that relation between pier and aperture so PULLAN, F.R.I.B.A., Day and Son, London. necessary to give the appearance of lightness, and Following up the record of Byzantine architec- at the same time of stability. In short, we are ture, the joint production of Messrs. Texier and groping in the dark in search of the true princiPullan, a work which we brought to the notice of ples of design." Yet he thinks a glimmering of our readers two or three months ago, we have light is visible, for architects are beginning to see now from the same authors another handsome that any edifice may be designed and erected acfolio volume relating to the remains of Greek and cording to the eternal rules of proportion, and, at Græco-Romano architecture on the coasts of the same time, may preserve the distinctive Eolia, Ionia, and Caria, in Asia Minor. This, characteristics of style. Inasmuch as no nation far more than the preceding publication, seems studied and applied to their buildings these rules or laws of proportion to such an extent as did the specially for the use of the professional student, and we must, therefore, leave the full considera- Greeks, so would he have their works closely tion of it to journals that can afford greater space studied by our own architects, that we may practo the subject than we can at this busy time of the tice the same truths of beauty and harmony as are year, and particularly to those which make archi- learned from what the ancients have left for our tecture their staple material. It is, in truth, noth-guidance; and among these by no means the ing more than an English edition, by Mr. Pullan, of a series of illustrations of some of the finest most unimportant are the scattered and broken, yet often magnificent, remains on the western shores of Asia Minor.-Art Journal. Poems of Purpose and Sketches in prose of Scottish Peasant Life and Character in Auld Lang Syne, Sketches of Local Scenes and Characters. With a Glossary. By JANET HAMILTON, authoress of "Poems and Essays." London: Nisbet |