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is, in such expressious, rejis- 111.trole, Of course a difference of opinion may arise it to which is the true in this nense, and which is not. The Greek wondel 1111 the likelit: futilment of certain functions; the lira11.11.11 1:alliness in physical respects, but it conformity to that works hardts which belongs to the Chri-tians of th... (1?

We lodio. no wish to dispute with either.

Bli-, that th... objart of Art is to yive a sensible fordil to it them!...!!! 10!!.

But in one point, We Hindir tioni! Girl!!..... In fixing his ideal he seems to, whereas it is our conviction, thit tlie Hotel Win it !114.-; 1r criterion of the merit of an artist. With th... Lihilo ..! Tim which he exhibits throughout hii. bun, he rejects with iwination all subservience to worldly utilit: i blit la loilo!... acknow. ledgment of the highest articlrwr...!:... religious utility is the goal to which he wennel - Miri:lviltine. Why

every artist write down li. 0:11 CM, :-:- "lhy bind him down to certain moral theories, the link tilid mihing him the tool of an enslaving faction! Drive in the state of thought, painting and sculpturn will, it! lovni : inefficient teachers.

On this subject, however, wi do the dwiilitt!. Viraduate promises to discuss it more at length in it thuis il volum, which is vet to come. For the same rei-ul), vrelu lint 10 20h !ch up his chapters concerning “ Typical Beauty.'


,!ll tullia mistaken reading of a profound trul; but we buretu bolelle of an author, from whose suggestions we have derivad mul instructiva. for whose talents we have the highest idilmir.ativ!l. 1.110 of whos tendencies, as we have said, - We hari umilsys"-piciunes.

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For shadows, Rembrandt might have stooil there: for human passions, Hogarth holds forth the pencil.

A huge blast furnace, sweltering heat, one roar like a northern wind; giant power of toil, wondrous influence of flexibility over stubbornness; the primeval, welded bowels of the earth pouring

molten forth, and liquid, as from the freshest fountain of the eternal mother; grim shadows from rereward wall and iron-girded roof ; broad glare now running with its greedy tongue across the granite floor, now coiling swiftly back again, in the pauses of each blast, as a serpent to its lair !

And here sit Flukes, and Jinkle, and Truckling Jim, and Bob the Brassy, and Drooping Mite, and Ben the Parson ; swarthy, bare-arm Titans for the work they have to do. But it's Whitsun's Eve ; they are about to be jolly, and have a night of it! Flukes and Jinkle are laying down the coppers on a dog-match to come off on Monday—Grizzle, the under-shot-jawed mastiff, looking on from his bed in the warm ash-hear, with outstretched nose and stedfast eye, as if odds were none against him ! Jim and Bob are scoring a round of cribbage on a down-turned keg, whilst Mite, who is somewhat senile and tear-dropping, cares not for amusements so strong, but has an ear whilst Ben halloos the last broadside murder from the “ Sheers," not forgetting that on the reddest glow, which serves instead of a tablecloth, lie pipes and shag. It is as I say, Whitsun's Eve!

Well ! Titans have been immemorially a thirsty crew, and here comes the Titan drop at last, in an especial Brown Tom, who, beside being astride on his barrel, has a wig on his head as crisp as an alderman's, though young Joe has come running with him the whole way from the Hart,” where the company keep score ! But, bless you, Brown Tom wears his wig crisply: when he has three XXX's in him ! “ Hallo !” cries Flukes, looking up as Joe sets down the gallon jug I very properly call Tom, from the brown, and comfortable, and pipe-smoking little gentleman depicted thereon ; “ be the mates a-coming—and what be the'st afe-ter?” They be ;' and then Joe hesitates,

At last he says, 'Measter wur at the Hart, a-paying sum on 'em, and so I ak’s for a holiday ; and a' got it.'

“Whew" whistles Flukes ; " where be’st a-going ?”

“ To Lichfield,” answers Joe, and as he speaks his eyes dilate, and the ragged smock heaves as from the throe of some deep inarticulate gladness.

“ The'st could get smock and ha’lows nearer wum, I reckon," says Jinkle, as he scores a new hieroglyphic on the keg.

" It in'na a smock,” replies Joe, moving away ; " but good

night 'n.”

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“ The'st dunna go dry-lipped,” cries Flubes, is he fills a horn and holds it forth ; for there is it -03methin' in the box that has ever had a mastery over his cor-, hand nature. "Well, and what in’na, eh ?-the'st bin on thin bolivar a while ?"

They all press now with eacher 91-1101-. (Villenile Irooping eyes look up, till Joe, putting hak Brown Tom': glory almost untasted on the key, says, " 11.11, 11:4 it-tors, it be ton harken to the Minster-organ.'

“ Ha! ha! ha! ha!” roars round ibute the Weine. But Joe is gone, and they have it to the calven till the other mates cume, the pipes are lighted, and the business of the night fairly -et in.

Joe is on with fleet steps beneath the clear Juna night, -for Nature has spread lier beautitul ??tle over the tiread and shutlidded Day-far away from tho Lulling themes and lurid snoke, to where the serenity of heaveu lieu calm am -ill upon il 'uster of forgemen's cottages beyond the Warth common.

Ile lightly taps upon a door, lifts the latch, 90.8 in : an old woman its read. ing a very blackened book by the strong fire-blaze, for pit- lic beneath the soil, and no inflatevi bradle-topen out here to dole parishgiven coals. This woman keropos ir dame-school, and has moothed Joe's rugged orphanage with the use of it cuttened word, and many an ill-spared slice from the hard-won loat: Blezinys on such bread !-the manna of the world. She huons . ready car for the impulse of the natural heart. that Joe has got the holiday; so without more ado, she lays aside the book, id oliven her palsied hand into a ponderous leather pocket that is beneath her quilted gown, and as she sits, touches the floor; wherefrom at last, after a jingle that would be music to a baby's wondering car, comes forth a little lump of papers, which a girl, hitherto in the chimneycorner, steps quickly near to see unwrapped. One lix one the papers fall into the dame's lap—the huck-ter's orr'the blurrec scrap of copy, the packman's list of wires, the leaf of the slumbed spelling-book, and, last, from a fragment of some vieni gown, perhaps the one of the long-past marriage - May, comes forth, bright like a jewel as it is, a minted sovereign, brighter for the little beaded drops of toil that stand upon it! The palsical creature knows it is the hoarded thrift of years gathered up like sandgrains from the shore ; and, if hoarding it in her heart woull add one jewel-drop, there she would hoard it, for Joe has soothed her weariness, and brightened up her fire, and said Civil's words of

poor human speech as his coarse nurture las. Yet

grace in such

withal she doesn't know Joe's big secret, and the grace of nature will not let her ask it. But there is a word of caution.

“ It 's hard-earned, Joe; and the folks in the towns be a pinch

ing lot."

"They wun'na take we much in, gran'an,” says Joe, “but I'll a' my sights on. Good night on thee!

The aged creature blesses, and Joe is glad to get away for his secret riots to have vent; but Nell knows it, trust me ; she comes to the door with something which Joe tucks under his smock pretty quickly, and then, with a nod, he is off, looking back, though his steps are eager.

Far away out in the woodlands the night is still more glorious ; the moonlight sleeps upon the gnarled trunks, and flickers like a winged spirit on the gently-waving leaves ; and Joe, freshened by the night, gets on bravely, though now and then stopping to satiate the large wonder that is upon

him. Ile rests as dawn comes ; then gets on more slowly as day gathers up and life comes out with newer freshness. Men and women, villages and trees, lanes and brooks, each one is a book ; for this is the first time Joe has been a traveller; so it is far noon before he comes within sight of Lichfield Minster. He waits for evening before he ventures nearer, for he is ashamed to meet the smart holiday-folks in his poor ragged smoke-discoloured smock. Yet is there not soul-eagerness to know if “the big organ” Scrape, the itinerant fiddler, has told him about, makes sweeter sounds than such as he has so long heard in the depth and articulateness of the mighty forge ?

Evening has fallen. He steals into the Cathedral, gray, cold, silent. The verger is sleeping on a tomb-stone; the organ is there, yet has no tongue ; nothing but the Spirit of God is above and around !

Black hands, timid feet, wonder-expressing gaze into the gathering shadows, and Joe reaches the choir ; when lo! at his ear, the entrancing wonder bursts forth in its mighty articulate

His ears seem filled ; his heart to swell and throb ; a haze, a sort of reeling film to gather on his eyes ; that which in the forge-blast was a struggling power, blind, groping, flushes within the soul angel-winged ; the swathement of genius is burst ; the power to articulate and create is born ; the forge-boy knows he is musician ; and that in the forge-blast, the winter's wind,

ness !

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the voice of man, one vreät universal spirit of SATIRE'S HARMOXY waits, but, for the l'eco-ni-in, car.

Joe is as rigid as the dead beneath his feet, when the verger's stick, cold as a cotiin-nail, otelin him on the face. With a sort of stupid stare, as one at Wake gred tro:n il lorp, very visible by the clear orthodox light of the verger, 1:0W lincovered, lantern Joe looks round, and belole- not only the little friviil iciele of the church's much-to-be-Baumeitend leanness, llit in ondel, -trangelooking man, that ha-jul-e stepped down to the organ-luft. Le is strangely dressed, ilm has a haggard, 1!"!tral countenance, though marked and sensitive ; a chorister's - upplier twinted round his head for the nonce, he might pass for chief camwh in the seventh heaven of Mahomet. He, whoever he ...., recognises the power new-born, for the brotherhood alone know that the baptism of genius is by flowing tears ; and Joe's :low; lile j11-t as this stranger speaks in il il torreun tongue, the server raises his stick again again-t infringing implied...!!...trochuilpauper wickedness, and Joe is wone; his titull in lowly though, on the faint echoes of the aisle.

Joe has a pemy besiile- the oninio hupety; lot t?ii- won't get a bed, so far in the green lave, where the evenin: -:m had glinted on him, he finds one lini free, though, withiolit :il!! Loreta ur curtains ; and as certain lærk, and thru-hen and telufirin it may be the womankind amongst them are up lov time on the duties of their little democratie commonwealtli-, and winy, ihil chirr, and twitter, like veritable human orators, Jor - tip, ton, im away into the town.

IIe lingers aboui the Minster till the shops are open, and then he has a greedy eye for every window, piling liv some quicker than others, till at last, in a little odel oli of book wler's window, and in the


furthest corner hangs -----it il must have it out at last, Joe) a hit, a little dried-up cheleton of a tiddle', as if it had been played upon till it had become an intomy; and it hangs there with a world of dust upon it, thicker than that on the few discoloured books that have stood so long open at certain pages,

that cvery parish boy and chorister know their contents by heart, for even a friendly draught has never turned them orer. Well, having viewed it, and peeped at it as acutely as a logician might with the mind's eye the three necessary propositions to his syllogism, Joc, like a mouse about to go into a trap-suspected

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