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shopmen, the very parties who, receiving my regular | to you, but not one word what you are to do with custom, were bound to protect her.

Case second. My nephew from the country is in lodgings, and, following my advice, he pays his landlady, as he himself is paid, weekly. He calls at your shop for a pair of braces, and forthwith your myrmidons set upon him and do not let him go, until they have mulcted him of six or seven shillings for a stock with flaps to it; he cannot, in consequence, settle with the landlady, and here again is a poor woman pinched because of you and yours.

Case third. My servant Betty goes out with five shillings, two of them to buy stockings, and three to put into the savings' bank. An over-dressed lad with red hair, and enormous breast-pin bullies her into the purchase of a veil, and the threshold of the savings' bank is never crossed.

Your system, then, touches not only my pocket but it affects all around me, and I cannot, and will not, be silent under such a reign of extortion. You may look over your sales-book at night, and you may chuckle at the money drawn, and you may think Jenkin a smart fellow, and Tunstall a regular go-a-head brick, and other such thoughts and still more quaint phraseology may mount to your lips: but the business you have done is not of the right sort, and like some of your own fabrics, "it will not wash." Do you think that my wife, nephew, or servant, will ever enter your shop again? They will pass it, saying, "that's the shop where people are made to buy what they don't want and the whole about it are an impudent set." This is what will be done, and what is done every day.

For my part, I am determined to do as Benjamin Franklin did with the American innkeepers. When I enter a shop I intend asking if this be an establishment where people are solicited to buy what they don't want. If answered in the affirmative, I shall walk off if in the negative, I shall stop and make my purchase. More than that, if I were persuaded that that shop would maintain its integrity, I should buy everything from it, and recommend all my friends and enemies to do the same.

Whoever attempts to reform this abuse (and I make no doubt that some will try to do so), will have much head-way to make against custom, that enemy of all improvement. Waiters are so much in the habit of saying Yes, Sir," that if told to do the most diabolical acts, or to proceed to the most questionable of all localities, they will complaisantly signify acquiescence; and so, in like manner, were Baron Rothschild to go into your shop and order all the wares that it contains, including the gas lustres and shop-fittings, most probably you would ask him, "Anything else wanted?" And supposing that eminent capitalist were, in compliance with your polite request, to enlarge his order to the extent of soliciting you to send to his hotel the calico wealth of Glasgow, your ambition would not be satisfied, and you would repeat your cuckoo song. Nay, if the Baron and his friends were to order of you the whole world, and it were possible for you to sell it, you would sit down like another Alexander, and blubber because "Nothing Else could be Wanted." Such a nuisance as this you must see, on calm reflection, ought and should "cease and determine.' You are very fond of putting such words as the following in large gold letters, on some conspicuous post or pillar of your temple, gallery, saloon, or whatever else your shop may be named:

READY MONEY, AND NO ABATEMENT!

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the public. And what do you want from the public? You want their hard capital paid down upon the nail, and you want them to ask no questions of you for this is the plain English of the phrase entitled "No Abatement." You did not like the old plan of cheapening chattels pursued by a certain class of customers-it wasted your time and your patience. Now, Sir, what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, and what is good for the seller is good for the buyer. Does it never occur to you that I require to economise my time and patience as well as you? Add, therefore, to your golden capitals the following equitable vocables:—

NOBODY ASKED TO LOOK AT, OR BUY ANYTHING,

EXCEPT WHAT HE WANTS.

I use the term "look at " advisedly, because one of the spider's webs which you spread to catch the unwary is, the false and felonious allegation, that you do not want your customers to buy, but merely to look at your commodities-overlooking that this attempt to convert your shop into a museum is a "weak invention." Again, do not imagine that I wish to prevent you from pushing business, as it is called. Far from it. Decore your windows, counters, and shelves, as you will, but do not add the magic of your living voices to augment attractions already powerful enough for gentle woman and spooney young men. Puff on in newspapers, employ locomotive advertisers, and human placardbearers, bespatter all the walls and lamp-posts of the city with shop-bills. Do any or all of these, but do not take me by the button. The tide of public opinion is rising against you, and woe to the man who opposes it. "Can I not," says Sir John Falstaff, "take mine ease in mine inn, but I must be robbed?" And can I not go into a bookseller's shop for a cookery-book without being importuned to buy a family bible? can I not go into a saddler's for a pot of polishing paste without being asked to buy a pair of stirrups? can I not go into an apothecary's for an ounce of tooth-powder without being bullied into the purchase of a packet of stickingplaister? can I not go into a seedsman's for a Dutch hoe without being goaded into the buying of carrot seed? into a pawn-broker's for a Queen Anne's farthing without having a German flute thrust into my hands? can I not order a pair of gaiters without requiring a Codrington? because I need a mustardpot do I desiderate a tureen? If I really cannot be allowed to know my own wants better than any Shopman behind a counter, Where is British Liberty?

Franklin ingeniously shows, that in every state there is a greater amount of taxation levied voluntarily than is exacted compulsorily; and, as we hear a great deal about the rudeness of Government clerks, railway money-takers, and others over whom we have little direct control, it is worth while attempting to suppress annoyances which we can in some measure take into our own hands. Let the people first free themselves from the taxes of idleness, dissipation, and luxury, and then national taxes will reform themselves. Let them also, each in their own sphere, give and exact reasonable civility, and then Government officials will partake in the general improvement. But until we put down "Counter Irritation," I do not see that we should complain of other kinds of relative troubles-we should first reform those which lie within the province of our

In other words you tell what the public is to do own control.

IMPROVEMENTS IN THE TREATMENT OF | tendency to violence, the most soothing treatment is

THE INSANE.

Of late a great change has taken place in the feelings regarding insanity, and this has happily led to great changes in the mode of treating this disease. Formerly insanity was looked upon with extreme aversion, as something almost disgraceful, and the unfortunate victims were huddled out of sight with as much secrecy as possible. The malady, in almost all its forms, was deemed incurable, or all but hope less, and, after one or two trials at first, few persevering efforts of cure were made afterwards. Now, however, the unfortunate victims of this disease are looked upon with more kindly feelings; and, under all its varieties, this malady, like others afflicting human beings, is found either susceptible of cure or of many alleviations. As those changes which have been brought about have arisen in a considerable degree from a more correct knowledge of insanity and its treatment having been diffused among the public generally, it is with a view of still forwarding this good work that we offer the following remarks in further elucidation of the subject: For there are three important subjects affecting society most intimately-Crime-Pauperism-and Insanity,-which, the more they are inquired into and discussed, the more warmly will they come home to the business and bosoms of true philanthropists.

We do not wish to harrow up the feelings by describing the state of lunatic asylums in former times, not only of those devoted to the reception of paupers, but those wherein the sons and daughters of luxury and refinement, who had known better days, and had been accustomed to all the delicacies of domestic affection and tenderness, were consigned for life. Neither shall we pause to describe the numerous instances of deranged persons transformed by neglect into confirmed cases of madness and idiocy, and who were permitted to roam at large among society, the sport, and too often the sad victims, of the thoughtless, and the unfeeling. It is sufficient, in general terms, to state, that the former system was defective in the hopeless view which was taken of insanity; that little effort was made at any attempts at cure, either by physical or mental regimen; and that the madhouse was simply a prison, a place of corporeal restraint, a solitary cell, where the violent were chained and manacled, or where the meek and submissive were immersed in heartless seclusion, without bodily or mental occupation, and without all those soothing companionships and attentions to the diseased and often lacerated feelings which their unfortunate situations so much required. We need not add to this the physical discomforts, the cold, the filth, the want of ventilation,-and too often the unnecessary sternness and cruelty with which such unfortunate beings were surrounded and treated. We would rather dwell upon the improvements of the new method.

Insanity may consist either of a total disturbance of the mind, both as regards its intellectual and moral functions, in which case the individuals exist as in an abstract dream, and act and speak as if unconscious of everything around them; or they are only partially deranged, having just enough conceptions of certain things, but diseased apprehensions and feelings with regard to others. In some cases one or more of the intellectual faculties are disordered, in others the feelings or affections, or what more properly belongs to the moral attributes of the mind. Hence the variety of treatment which the various cases demand. In those extreme cases which are usually accompanied by much excitement and a

now applied instead of the severe coercive measures of former times. Instead of the manacles, and straps, and strait jackets once in use, the judicious attendance of a keeper, and proper arrangements of the cells and apartments, joined to the quiet and cooling treatment, are found to be much more efficacious. In all other milder cases of insanity, the great object is to afford occupation and constant exercise both for the body and the mind. In this consists the great improvement of modern asylums. Instead of being gloomy prisons, and little better than living tombs, as formerly, they are now fitted up with great order and comfort, with large airy apartments,-with gardens and airing-grounds, with workshops, with libraries, with musical instruments, and, in short, with every kind of occupation and amusement with which the patients were familiar in their days of health. Two great objects and purposes are thus aimed at by such modes of treatment. In the first place, this kind of discipline is found best suited to the recovery of sound mind in the most hopeful kind of cases; and, in the next place, the constant amusement and excitement of such a life prevents many from sinking deeper and deeper into states of confirmed idiocy, or total loss of their intellect. Even in extreme cases of melancholy and depression, it is highly pleasing to witness the temporary effects which cheerful society, music, dancing, and other amusements have, in rousing for a time the mind to some sense of pleasure and enjoyment. There is no class of persons who require the aid of constant employment and mental excitement more than the insane. Regular exercise and bodily activity, as conducing to physical health, are absolutely necessary; hence in well-regulated asylums, gardening, walks in pleasure-grounds and short but frequent excursions around the neighbouring country, are regularly had recourse to. Besides these, various mechanic arts are practised. Many of the patients feel happy in assisting in the domestic labours of the establishment, while the turning-lathe and various scientific pursuits occupy the attention of the higher classes of patients. Besides the daily occupation of reading, musical concerts, dances, theatrical entertainments, and the composition and printing of literary periodicals, have all been introduced and persevered in with the most cheering and beneficial effects. Religious instruction has also been afforded, and the attendance on such has been productive of the best results; while schools, both for junior and adult patients, have been regularly persevered in and cheerfully attended by all classes. Even in cases apparently of the most hopeless description, it is astonishing how great a mental stimulus has been imparted in this way. In the Bicêtre in Paris, there is a school for the training of idiots and epileptic patients, and it is wonderful what is there done for persons apparently in the most hopeless degrees of imbecility. We shall give one instance of a boy of fifteen, who was admitted there in 1843. He was in a state of almost complete idiocy, with the few remaining faculties which he possessed in a state of extraordinary activity, rendering him dangerous to himself and to others. He had a voracious and indiscriminate appetite for food, and a blind and terrible inclination for destruction. He had no attachment for his kindred, and no regard for anything around him. He was brutally sensual and passionate, breaking, tearing, and burning every thing which came in his way, and attacking his brothers and sisters indiscriminately with strangers. By dint of perseverance and judicious attentions,

this boy became docile in his manners, decent in his habits, and capable, though not without some visible effort, of directing his vague senses and wandering attention to the objects before him. It is true his general appearance remained still idiotic, and his looks and actions betrayed his limited faculties; yet he would come forward, when called, and sing, in the best way he could, a little solo. He had learned to write, and had obtained some notion of arithmetic by means of marbles and small pins of wood, or by lines and marks upon a board; in short, he was reclaimed as much as his nature would permit, and was certainly a different being, and had more varied enjoyments than if he had been allowed to remain in his original deplorable condition. In every thing that regards food, clothing, and warmth, the improvements of modern asylums are very complete. Large, wellventilated apartments, where a number of the patients can assemble together frequently during the day, and thus share in the cheerful stimulus of human sociality, are used; and even the sleeping apartments, instead of being constructed single and solitary, are now formed of large dimensions, so as to contain a considerable number of beds. In this way the lonely solitude of the night, so generally distressing to insane people, is thus relieved of its terrors, and the presence of judicious keepers produces that degree of restraint which could not be commanded in solitude. In short, the great object of asylums is to assimilate the treatment of the insane as nearly as may be to that of beings in ordinary life, having reference of course to their peculiar condition, and, by all external means to endeavour to render that condition as easy and comfortable as possible. How gratifying it is to dwell on such efforts as these, and how soothing to the feelings of relatives, as well as to all who take an interest in suffering humanity, to know that beings thus afflicted with one of the most awful and mysterious of visitations, are thus tenderly cared for and judiciously treated!

It is a well known fact, which long experience has decided, that insane persons can be much better treated in asylums than under the most solicitous care of the domestic roof. As soon, then, as this disease manifests itself, a removal should, unhesitatingly, be resolved upon. It is a curious circumstance, that it is not the intellect which first generally indicates derangement in such persons, but rather the moral affections, and that thus a change of temper or disposition becomes the first visible symptom of dis

ease.

Thus the mildest and most affectionate of beings will change into the most fretful, peevish, and distrustful-the most generous and open-hearted into the most selfish and penurious-the gayest and most cheerful into the most gloomy and morose. While all this is taking place, more or less suddenly, according to circumstances, the reason or intellect all the while may appear sound and untouched. Unfortunately, too, the excited and changed affections are generally turned with great bitterness against those who were before regarded with the greatest love and esteem. In those cases called monomania, where the mind seems to harp upon one subject of delusion, the judgment and conduct in regard to almost all other circumstances may be correct and unaffected. Hence it becomes exceedingly difficult for strangers, or the unpractised observer, to find out wherein the disease consists. Numerous cases of this kind are met with every day, and some singular ones are on record. Of this nature is the case related by the late Lord Erskine, of a witness whom he questioned and cross-questioned for upwards of an hour, trying him

on all points, and yet receiving the most correct and rational answers. At last Dr Sims entered the court, and suggested to the counsel a question to be put, which he knew would discover his weak point. It was put accordingly, and, to the astonishment of all present, this apparently sane person declared himself to be "the Saviour of mankind." Individuals of this description frequently manifest a great degree of cunning. An instance of this kind is related by Lord Mansfield. "A man of the name of Wood had indicted Dr Munro, the proprietor of an asylum at Hoxton, for detaining him a prisoner when he was sane. This man underwent the most severe examination by the defendant's counsel without exposing his complaint. But Dr Battye having come upon the bench by me, and having desired me to ask him what was become of the princess whom he had corresponded with in cherry juice, he showed in a moment what he was. He answered, that there was nothing at all in that, because, having been, as every body knew, imprisoned in a high tower, and being debarred the use of ink, he had no other means of correspondence but by writing his letters in cherry juice, and throwing them into a river which surrounded the tower, where the princess received them in a boat. There existed, of course, no tower, no imprisonment, no writing in cherry juice, no river, no boat, but the whole was the inveterate phantom of a morbid imagination. I immediately," continues Lord Mansfield, "directed Dr Munro to be acquitted; but this man Wood, being a merchant in Philpot Lane, and having been carried through the city in his way to the mad-house, he indicted Dr Munro over again for the trespass and imprisonment in London, knowing that he had lost his cause by speaking of the princess at Westminster; and such is the extraordinary cunning and subtilty of madmen, that when he was cross-examined on the trial in London, as he had successfully been before, in order to expose his madness, all the ingenuity of the bar, and all the authority of the court, could not make him say a single word upon that topic, which had put an end to the indictment before, although he still had the same indelible impression upon his mind, as he signified to them that were near him; but, conscious that the delusion had occasioned his defeat at Westminster, he obstinately persisted in holding it back. His evidence at Westminster was then proved against him by the short-hand writer."

In general, it is useless to reason with monomaniacs. Argument is either of no avail, or it tends to irritate and confirm them in their delusions. Even in those cases called religious melancholy, where the most despairing views are adopted, they are not to be combated by reasoning, but rather by attempts at rousing the mind to other exertions, by constant cheerful talk, and a firm persuasive authority. In short, the particular subject which engrosses the mind of the patient should never be dwelt upon by conversation, but, on the contrary, every opportunity should be taken of occupying the thoughts with some other ideas. Hence, in such cases, the use of varied society; travelling, or change of place, when such is practicable, and continually presenting to the mind something new or inviting, so as to disabuse it of the all absorbing topic.

In cases where the mind has been over-excited, by cares and anxieties of business; by sudden bereavements of the affections, by excessive study, or anxieties of any sort; quiet, retirement, complete relaxation of the mental powers, and sleep, induced by natural means, are the most efficacious modes of restoring its healthy tone.

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Another important circumstance respects the excellent legal regulations under which all asylums for the insane are now subjected by the legislature of this country. No person can now be committed to such places without the written certificates of two regularly established medical men and all asylums are subjected to periodical visitations by the constituted authorities, whose duty it is to see that no abuses of any kind are practised. In this way the most perfect personal freedom is secured to the community, and no ground is left, for even the most vague fears of the most sensitive and affectionate

relatives.

JAMES HARGREAVES, AND THE SPINNING

JENNY.

HAVING in our last number given an article on MACHINERY, and referred, as an illustration of the beneficial effects of mechanical power, to the cotton manufacture, we think it proper to insert biographical notices of three individuals, whose names are so honourably connected with the invention or improvement of machinery, particularly in the cotton manufacture. We allude to Hargreaves, Arkwright, and Crompton; men whose services to the public cannot be over-estimated, but whose biographies are not generally known. In this number we shall confine ourselves to Hargreaves; and give Arkwright and Crompton, successively, in our two subsequent publications.

We may premise, that the most striking instance of the efficacy of machinery is to be found in the cotton manufacture, a department in which we surpass the whole world, but which is yet of comparatively recent introduction. Mr Baines, in his "History of the Cotton Manufactures," states, that the entire annual value of the cotton goods manufactured in Great Britain, in 1767, was only L.600,000; and the number of men supported by the manufacture not above 40,000. It now amounts to about L.40,000,000 a year, and the number of workmen to nearly 2,000,000. Indeed, above treple the number of men are now employed in the manufacture of machinery that were engaged in the cotton manufacture previous to the days of Crompton; not to speak of the sailors, carriers, &c., to whom it gives employment. Assuredly, the valuable men, by means of whose inventive genius this stupendous result has been accomplished, are entitled not merely to a passing notice, but to the most grateful remembrance.

In 1767, James Hargreaves, a weaver, near Blackburn, in Lancashire, invented a machine known by the name of the Spinning Jenny, by means of which a single person (boy or girl), is enabled to spin two hundred threads of cotton at a time, instead as formerly, of a single thread. The Spinning Jenny at first spun only eight threads, but its powers have since been almost indefinitely developed; and this invention is one of the most splendid, as it may be reckoned the first whereby the cotton manufacture has been raised to its present magnificent state. With this admirable machine, Hargreaves and his family spun weft for his own weaving. Aware of the value of the invention, but not extending his ambition to a patent, he kept it as secret as possible for a time, and used it merely in his own business. But this ingenious man, being a mere workman, was poor; and the wants of a numerous family (for he had seven children), induced him to make a few jennies for sale; and the merit of the invention brought it gradually into general use. A machine, indeed, of such power could not be long concealed; but when it became the subject of rumour, instead of gaining for its author admiration and gratitude,

| the spinners raised an outcry that it would throw multitudes out of employment, and a mob broke into Hargreaves' house, and destroyed the machine! So great, indeed, was the persecution he suffered, and the danger to which he was exposed, that this victim of popular leave Blackburn, and to endeavour to find that sympathy ignorance was compelled, with his wife and children, to and support in a neighbouring county which had been denied him in his native place. Thus the district where the machine was invented lost the benefit of it, owing to the ignorance of its inhabitants; and yet, as in every such case, the invention could not be cancelled, and its general use ultimately prevented.

Hargreaves, on leaving Blackburn, withdrew to Nottingham, where he worked for a while in the employment of Mr Shipley, for whom he had made some jennies secretly in his house. He took out a patent for his invention in 1770; the patent being "for a method of making a wheel or engine of an entire new construction, and never before made use of, in order for spinning, drawing, and twisting of cotton, and to be managed by one person only, and that the wheel or engine will spin, draw, and twist, sixteen or more threads at one time, by a turn or motion of one hand, and a draw of the other."

Before quitting Lancashire, Hargreaves had, as we have already mentioned, made a few jennies for sale; and the importance of the invention, though ignorantly traduced by the operative spinners, being appreciated by the manufacturers, it came into general use, in spite of all opposition. A fresh and desperate attempt, however, was made in 1770 (two years after Hargreaves had left Blackburn), to put down the machine. A mob rose, and scoured the country for several miles around Blackburn, demolishing the jennies, and with them all the carding engines and every machine turned by water or horses. It is said that the mob spared the jennies which had only twenty spindles, as these were by this time admitted to be useful, but those with a greater number, being considered mischievous, were destroyed or cut down to the prescribed dimensions. It may seem strange that not merely the working classes, whose interests were thought to be more immediately concerned, but even the middle and upper classes entertained a great dread of machinery. Not perceiving that machinery, by cheapening commodities, and thereby extending the demand for them, never fails to augment the number of labourers employed, these classes were alarmed lest the poor-rates should be burdened with workmen thrown idle. They, therefore, connived at, and even actually joined in, the opposition to machinery, and did all in their power to screen the rioters from punishment. Manufacturers (among others Mr Peel, grandfather to the present Sir Robert Peel, a skilful and enterprising spinner and calico-printer), were driven from the neighbourhood of Blackburn to Manchester and other places; and it was many years before cotton-spinning was resumed at Blackburn.

Hargreaves, after being for a while in the employment of Mr Shipley, formed a copartnery with Mr Thomas James in Nottingham, the latter raising money to build a small mill, where they spun yarn for the hosiers with the jenny. Meantime, Hargreaves' patent was extensively pirated, and he raised actions against several manufacturers. Attempts at negotiation were tried, but failed; and the actions proceeded. But Hargreaves' attorney, being informed that his client, before leaving Blackburn, had sold some jennies to obtain clothing for his children, gave up the actions in despair of obtaining a verdict. Thus was this poor but ingenious man robbed of any reward for his great invention; an invention, which, though it did not benefit him, and perhaps from disappointment, made his life miserable, was of the greatest public importance, and essentially contributed to that unrivalled manufacturing eminence to which this country has now attained.

His invention being thus ungenerously wrested from him, Hargreaves continued to carry on a small business, with moderate success, in connexion with Mr James. But he did not long survive his disappointment. He died in 1778, within less than eleven years after his invention had been made public. Though others amassed

wealth through the medium of his ingenious machine, it conferred no benefit on himself, except the proud consciousness that he thereby was a public benefactor, and deserved, though he did not receive, public remuneration. He left a widow and children behind him, in comparative destitution; and some of his descendants still survive. At what age he died, it is not easy now to know. His days were probably cut short, partly by the ardour of genius devoted to mechanical invention, and partly by chagrin and disappointment. He was a man, so far as is known, of good principles and of irreproachable character. As to his personal appearance, he is described by the son of his partner, as "a stout, broadset man, about five feet ten inches high, or more." The name of James Hargreaves, though no public kindness was ever shown to himself or family, will ever be mentioned with honour in every country where the history of mechanical invention is known and appreciated.

THE AUTHORS OF THE NINTEENTH CENTURY.

No. III.-THOMAS CARLYLE.

DEATH OF GOETHE.

[1832.]

In the Obituary of these days stands one article of quite peculiar import; the time, the place, and particulars of which will have to be often repeated, and re-written, and continue in remembrance many centuries; this, namely, that Johann Wolfgang von Goethe died at Weimar, on the 22d March 1832. It was about eleven in the morning; "he expired," says the record, "without any apparent suffering, having, a few minutes previously, called for paper for the purpose of writing, and expressed his delight at the arrival of spring." A beautiful death; like that of a soldier found faithful at his post, and in the cold hand his arms still grasped! The Poet's last words are a greeting of the new-awakened earth; his last movement is to work at his appointed task. Beautiful; what we might call a Classic sacred-death; if it were not rather an Elijah-translation,-in a chariot, not of fire and terror, but of hope and soft vernal sunbeams! It was at Frankfort on the Mayn, on the 28th of August 1749, that this man entered the world: and now, gently welcoming the birthday of his eighty-second spring, he closes his eyes, and takes farewell.

So then, our Greatest has departed. That melody of life, with its cunning tones, which took captive ear and heart, has gone silent; the heavenly force that dwelt here victorious over so much, is here no longer; thus far, not farther, by speech and by act, shall the wise man utter himself forth. The End! What solemn meaning lies in that sound, as it peals mournfully through the soul, when a living friend has passed away! All now is closed, irrevocable; the changeful life-picture, growing daily into new coherence, under new touches and hues, has suddenly become completed and unchangeable; there as it lay, it is dipped, from this moment, in the æther of the Heavens, and shines transfigured, to endure even sofor ever. Time and Time's Empire; stern, wide-devouring, yet not without their grandeur! The week-day man, who was one of us, has put on the garment of Eternity, and become radiant and triumphant; the Present is all at once the Past; Hope is suddenly cut away, and only the backward vistas of Memory remain, shone on by a light that proceeds not from this earthly sun.

The death of Goethe, even for the many hearts that personally loved him, is not a thing to be lamented over; is to be viewed, in his own spirit, as a thing full of greatness and sacredness. For all men it is appointed once to die. To this man the full measure of a man's life had been granted, and a course and task such as to only a few in the whole generations of the world: what else could we hope or require but that now he should be called hence and have leave to depart, having finished the work that was given him to do? If his course, as we may say of him more justly than of any other, was like the Sun's, so also was his going down. For, indeed, as

the material Sun is the eye and revealer of all things, so is Poetry, so is the World-Poet in a spiritual sense. Goethe's life too, if we examine it, is well represented in that emblem of a solar Day. Beautifully rose our summer sun, gorgeous in the red fervid east, scattering the spectres and sickly damps (of both of which there were enough to scatter); strong, benignant in his noonday clearness, walking triumphant through the upper realms; and now, mark also how he sets! "So stirbt ein Held: anbetungsvoll, So dies a hero; to be worshipped!" And yet, when the inanimate, material sun has sunk and disappeared, it will happen that we stand to gaze into the still glowing west; and there rise great pale motionless clouds, like coulisses or curtains, to close the flame-theatre within; and then, in that death-pause of the Day, an unspeakable feeling will come over us: it is as if the poor sounds of Time, those hammerings of tired Labour on his anvils, those voices of simple men, had become awful and supernatural; as if in listening, we could hear them "mingle with the ever-pealing tone of old Eternity." In such moments the secrets of Life lie opener to us; mysterious things flit over the soul; Life itself seems holier, wonderful and fearful. How much more when our sunset was of a living sun; and its bright countenance and shining return to us, not on the morrow, but "no more again, at all, for ever!" In such a scene, silence, as over the mysterious great, is for him that has some feeling thereof, the fittest mood. Nevertheless by silence, the distant is not brought into communion; the feeling of each is without response from the bosom of his brother. There are now, what some years ago there were not, English hearts that know something of what those three words, "Death of Goethe," mean; to such men, among their many thoughts on the event, which are not to be translated into speech, may these few, through that imperfect medium, prove acceptable.

"Death," says the Philosopher," is a commingling of Eternity with Time; in the death of a good man, Eternity is seen looking through Time." With such a sublimity here offered to eye and heart, it is not unnatural to look with new earnestness before and behind, and ask, What space in those years and æons of computed Time, this man with his activity may influence; what relation to the world of change and mortality, which the earthly name Life, he who is even now called to the Immortals has borne and may bear?

Goethe, it is commonly said, made a New Era in Literature; a Poetic Era began with him, the end or ulterior tendencies of which are yet nowise generally visible. This common saying is a true one; and true with a far deeper meaning than, to the most, it conveys. Were the Poet but a sweet sound and singer, solacing the ear of the idle with pleasant songs; and the new Poet one who could sing his idle pleasant song to a new air,we should account him a small matter, and his performance small. But this man, it is not unknown to many, was a Poet in such a sense as the late generations have witnessed no other; as it is, in this generation, a kind of distinction to believe in the existence of, in the possibility of. The true Poet is ever, as of old, the Seer; whose eye has been gifted to discern the godlike Mystery of God's Universe, and decipher some new lines of its celestial writing; we can still call him a Vates and Seer; for he sees into this greatest of secrets" the open secret:' hidden things become clear; how the Future (both resting on Eternity) is but another phasis of the Present: thereby are his words in very truth prophetic; what he has spoken shall be done.

It begins now to be everywhere surmised that the real Force, which in this world all things must obey, is Insight, Spiritual Vision and Determination. The Thought is parent of the Deed, nay is living soul of it, and last and continual, as well as first mover of it; is the foundation and beginning and essence, therefore, of man's whole existence here below. In this sense, it has been said, the Word of man (the uttered Thought of man) is still of magic formula, whereby he rules the world. Do not the winds and waters, and all tumultuous powers, inanimate and animate, obey him? A poor, quite mechanical, Magician speaks; and fire-winged ships

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