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We are here, however, concerned with his commonplace-book, not his biography, and yet it is very full of autobiographic traits of unusual value. The following, for example, explain a good deal of the inner man whose outside bearing laid him open to many a misconstruction :—

was, or could be, guessing at anything. filled in with the gentler home-touches which Every new notion came from his brain totus. unquestionably existed, and of which, as if not always teres; he was essentially aunquestionably, the popular notion of Whateteacher. He advised a man one day, who was ly stands very much in need. puzzled with some Aristotelian difficulty, to lay hold of a pupil, and try to teach him it. The advice was sound as a rule, and it is evidently the way in which he learned himself. No doubt this way of teaching one's self by the help of other people's stupidity, and sharpening one's own brains by making whetstones of everybody else, brings with it a certain contempt for the persons who contribute the passive element to the operation; and in this, as every one knows, Whately was far, indeed, from being deficient to begin with. It ends, also, too probably, in a sort of appetite for followers, clacqueurs, and assentatores, which dwarfs and deteriorates the class-leader.

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endure what can't be cured." From this about it as a bear, and make up my mind to time I struggled as vigorously to harden myself against censure as I ever had to avoid it.

I was acting more wisely than

I thought for at the time, and I succeeded beyond my expectations; for I not only got rid of the personal feeling of shyness, but

I suffered all the extreme agonies of shyness for many years; and if the efforts to about his gaucherie, copy other people's which I was continually stimulated [to think manners, etc.] had been in any degree successful, or had been applauded as such, I should probably have gone on to affectation, and have remained conscious all my life; but finding no encouragement, I was fortunately driven to utter despair. I then said to myVery early in Whately's career, Dr. New-self, Why should I endure this torture all man tells us, he had observed that Whately if there were any progress made, any success my life to no purpose? I would bear it still did not like people to differ from him; and to be hoped for; but since there is not, I will we almost fear that what was originally a die quietly without taking any more doses. love of good healthy banter, with a fair 1 have tried my very utmost, and find that I amount of give-and-take about its war of must be as awkward as a bear all my life in words, degenerated into an archiepiscopal ten-spite of it. I will endeavor to think as little dency toward something very like snubbing The battle is no longer equal. The pupil may retort; a brother don, however dull in general, may deal a telling back-hander now and then; but the palace is an awful place. The chaplain who has obtained promotion, and the curate who is looking out for it, also of most of those faults of manner which must suppress the repartee that springs to consciousness produces, and acquired at once his lips, all the more determinately in pro-an easy and natural manner, careless, indeed, portion to its vigor. It is not, however, fair in the extreme, from its originating in a stern to form even a passing conjecture as to defiance of opinion, which I had convinced Whately's falling into this unwholesome mess myself must ever be against me; rough and of obsequiousness on the one hand and brus- awkward, for smoothness and grace are quite querie on the other, until we have consider-out of my way; and, of course, tutorially ably better means of forming a judgment pedantic; but unconscious, and therefore respecting his later life than any that can be giving expression to that good-will towards men which I really feel.—(1818.)” gathered from Mr. Fitzpatrick's preeminently impertinent invasion of the literary proprieties. Miss Whately promises to conclude her labors with a "Life of her Father," and though probably no one now can supply the living features of Whately of Oriel-i. e., the true Whately; for we take it that the Dublin Whately was an ungenial mistake, a fish out of water-as Nassau Senior, for instance, could have done had he still survived, yet we may be sure of much interesting detail; and at all events, the picture will be

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Again, in 1857 :

"I have known a man-a son of my father's-who was regarded by nearly half of his most intimate acquaintances as excessively sanguine, and by rather more than half as excessively desponding. A phrenologist, in examining his skull, gave a description which might explain this strange discrepancy;

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very enterprising, very persevering, not at all sanguine.' This judgment was based on hope, sinall; cautiousness, large; and again, firmness, conscientiousness, veneration, benevolence, constructiveness, and the

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These are not at all either livelier or more characteristic extracts than might be made from almost any page of Miss Whately's singularly interesting little volume. Perhaps for the first time we here see Whately very much as he saw himself. Even in matters

reflective organs, all large.' The latter or- being a whimsical person who was above gans made him devise schemes for the public personal resentment, and of deliberate esteem good (in which his firmness insured perse- and disesteem, founded on principles of justice, verance) and try at them as a matter of duty the vulgar have no notion. They can undereven when the chance of success was small, stand bearing malice,' and they can unsince duty consists in trying, not in succeed-derstand forgive and forget,' but to forgive ing; and the former organs led him to antic- without forgetting seems to them a contraipate failure. Again, that same person was diction." regarded by some (though not many) of those who knew him well, as very opinionated, pertinacious, contemptuous towards opponents, and intolerant of dissent; and by most, as very hesitating in forming his judgment, very open to conviction, and eminently tolerant. The cause was, I conceive, that the strongest assertions unsupported by proof, and the ten-thousandth iteration of such which occupied his serious attention for years assurances, had no weight with him at all; and to which he devoted large volumes with and moreover that, the more numerous and inexhaustible liberality, we prefer his embryopertinacious and able were those who differed octavos as they appear here, sometimes in from him, the more he adhered to his opin- an essay of 'a couple of pages, sometimes in a ions, when his reasons for them had been pithy sentence. The little collection of given, and remained unanswered; because, in proportion to the number and the zeal and Apophthegms that he made from yvμai scatthe ability of his opponents, tered the probability is the stronger that some flaw in the arguthere were. Thus far, those who please may take the passage for an analysis of a "son of his father," but the irrepressible personal pronoun cannot be longer kept in :—

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"Some doctrines which I have maintained have been before the public, with my reasons in support of them, from fifteen to thirty years, and have attracted no small attention. That the majority are opposed to them, and have been ali along, confirms my adherence to them more and more every year, because no answer at all, or none that deserves the name of an argument, has ever appeared. And this some regard as a proof that I hold cheap all who differ from me, when in truth it proves the very reverse, since I consider that they would have found a refutation in all that time, had refutation been possible.

There is something of the wrong side, as well as of the right side, of Whately here. It never occurs to him that any human being, of appreciable intellectual worth, could be honestly able to say that he never read the doctrines, or never thought it worth

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up and down his works-they are only twenty-five in all-might be greatly enlarged, perhaps even into a volume something like one of Coleridge's "Table-talk." If this ever comes pass, we may be allowed to beg that it be not headed, as here, Apothegms. Possibly Whately wrote it so, as we observe that he once writes cúnμεiv and now and then misquotes his Greek and Latin; but it is not expedient to remind the world that the archbishop's forte lay in his own language, his authority on matters of scholarship being unfortunately inconsiderable.

Also in a future reëditing of the Commonplace-book (in full), together with a good selection of sentences and bright sayings from his works, we venture to request the omission of his poetry. It only fills twenty pages; but it afflicts one much as one is afflicted by being shown, at Abbotsford, Walter Scott's old coat and trousers. The Napoleonic effusions fever of the time. But it is scarcely fair to very possibly passed muster in the patriotic Whately to give enduring record to such rant as the following::

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The parenthesis, in a serio-comic point of "If with mattock and spade his body we lay view, is inimitable but the age is unluckily In the common alluvial soil,

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gifted with too ready a perception of the lu- He'll start up and snatch these tools away dicrous for such experiments. That Whately In a stratum so young the Professor disdains Of his own geological toil; could have written serio-comic verse (though That embedded should lie his organic remains. scarcely verse of any other kind) the following, from a supposed "Elegy on Dr. Buckland," gives genial evidence :

"Where shall we our great Professor inter,
That in peace may rest his bones?
If we hew him a rocky sepulchre
He'll rise and break the stones,

And examine each stratum that lies around,
For he's quite in his element underground.

"Then exposed to the drip of some case-hardening spring

His carcass let stalactite cover,

And to Oxford the petrified sage let us bring
When he is incrusted all over;

There, 'mid mammoths and crocodiles, high on a

shelf,

Let him stand as a monument raised to himself."

THE PRESIDENT ON. THE ELECTION.
WASHINGTON, 10 Nov.

:

THE President appeared at an upper window, and, when the cheers with which he was greeted had ceased, spoke as follows :"It has long been a grave question whether any government, not too strong for the liberties of its people' can be strong enough to maintain its existence in great emergencies.

"On this point the present rebellion has brought our Republic to a severe test; and a presidential election, occurring in regular course during the rebellion, has added not a little to the strain. If the loyal people united were put to the utmost of their strength by the rebellion, must they not fail when divided and partially paralyzed by a political war among themselves? But the election was a necessity. We cannot have a free government without elections; and if the rebellion could force us to forego or postpone a national election, it might fairly claim to have already conquered and ruined us.

"The strife of election is but human nature practically applied to the facts of the

case.

What has occurred in this case must ever recur in similar cases. Human nature will not change. In any future great national trial, compared with the men who have passed through this, we shall have as weak and as strong, as silly and as wise, as bad and as good. Let us, therefore, study the incidents of this as philosophy to learn wisdom from, and none of them as wrongs to be revenged [Cheers.]

"But the election, along with its incidental and undesirable strife, has done good too. It has demonstrated that a people's government can sustain a national election in the

midst of a great civil war. [Renewed cheers.] Until now it has not been proven to the world that this was a possibility. It shows, also, how sound and how strong we still are. It shows that, even among candidates of the same party, he who is most devoted to the Union and most opposed to treason can receive most of the people's vote. [Applause.] It shows also, to the extent yet unknown, that we have more men now than we had when the war began. Gold is good in its place, but living, brave, patriotic men are better than gold. [Cheers, and other demonstrations of applause.] But the rebellion continues, and now that the election is over, may not all, having a common interest, reunite in a common effort to save our common country? [Cheers.]

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For my own part, I have striven, and shall strive, to avoid placing any obstacle in the way. [Cheers.] So long as I have been here, I have not willingly planted a thorn in any man's bosom. While I am deeply sensible to the high compliment of a reelection, and duly grateful, as I trust, to Almighty God for having directed my countrymen to a right conclusion, as I think, for their own good, it adds nothing to my satisfaction that any other man may be disappointed or pained by the result. [Cheers.] May I ask those who have not differed with me to join with me in this same spirit towards those who have? And now let me close by asking three hearty cheers for our brave soldiers and seamen and their gallant and skilful commanders."

The three cheers were enthusiastically given, accompanied by music and the sound of cannon.

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POETRY.-Dr. Holmes on Bryant's Seventieth Birthday, 530. Salt and Fresh, 530. To Bryant, 576. Don't say, Non Possumus, 576.

Redmouth, 576.

SHORT ARTICLES.-Who would not be a Governess, 537. Coal Resources of Great Britain, 552. Mr. Gladstone at Bolton, 574.

NEW BOOKS.

PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE OF THE LIVING AGE.

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This will be read with great interest by every family which has, or has had, a father, brother, son, or friend in the military or naval service of the United States. A knowledge of the facts so calmly and clearly stated herein, is indispensable to every man who wishes to form a true opinion of the Rebels and the Rebellion.

CUSTOMS OF SERVICE FOR NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS AS DERIVED FROM LAW AND REGULATIONS, AND PRACTISED IN THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES. Being a HandBook for the Rank and File of the Army, showing what are the Rights and Duties, how to obtain the former and perform the latter, and thereby enabling them to seek promotion and distinction in the service of their country. By August V. Kautz, Capt. Sixth U. S. Cavalry, Brig. Gen. U. S. Volunteers. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co.

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The change is made only after every other resource has been exhausted; and we confidently ap peal to the kindness and justice of our old friends, asking them, not only to continue their own subscriptions, but to add the names of their friends to our list.

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BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

O EVEN-HANDED Nature ! we confess
This life that men so honor, love, and bless
Has filled thine olden measure. Not the less
We count the precious seasons that remain ;
Strike not the level of the golden grain,
But heap it high with years, that earth may gain
What heaven can lose,-for heaven is rich in song:
Do not all poets, dying, still prolong
Their broken chants amid the seraph throng,
Where, blind no more, Ionia's bard is seen,
And England's heavenly minstrel sits between
The Mantuan and the wan-cheeked Florentine?
This was the first sweet singer in the cage
Of our close-woven life. A new-born age
Claims in his vesper song its heritage.
Spare us, oh, spare us long our heart's desire!
Moloch, who calls our children through the fire,
Leaves us the gentle master of the lyre.
We count not on the dial of the sun
The hours, the minutes, that his sands have run;
Rather, as on those flowers that one by one
From earliest dawn their ordered bloom display
Till evening's planet with her guiding ray
Leads in the blind old mother of the day.
We reckon by his songs, each song a flower,
The long, long daylight, numbering hour by hour,
Each breathing sweetness like a bridal bower.
His morning glory shall we e'er forget?
His noontide's full-blown lily coronet?
His evening primrose has not opened yet;
Nay, even if creeping Time should hide the skies
In midnight from his century-laden eyes,
Darkened like his who sung of paradise,
Would not some hidden song-bud open bright
As the resplendent cactus of the night
That floods the gloom with fragrance and with
light?

How can we praise the verse whose music flows
With solemn cadence and majestic close,
Pure as the dew that filters through the rose?
How shall we thank him that in evil days
He faltered never,-nor for blame, nor praise,
Nor hire, nor party, shamed his earlier lays?
But as his boyhood was of manliest hue,
So to his youth his manly years were true,
All dyed in royal purple through and through!
He for whose touch the lyre of heaven is strung
Needs not the flattering toil of mortal tongue;
Let not the singer grieve to die unsung!
Marbles forget their message to mankind:
In his own verse the poet still we find,
In his own page his memory lives enshrined,
As in their amber sweets the smothered bees,-
As the fair cedar, fallen before the breeze,
Lies self-embalmed amidst the mouldering trees
Poets, like youngest children, never grow
Out of their mother's fondness. Nature so
Holds their soft hands, and will not let them go.

Till at the last they track with even feet
Her rhythmic footsteps, and their pulses beat
Twinned with her pulses, and their lips repeat

The secrets she has told them, as their own:
Thus is the inmost soul of Nature known,
And the rapt minstrel shares her awful throne!
O lover of her mountains and her woods,

Her bridal chamber's leafy solitudes,
Where Love himself with tremulous step intrudes,
Her snows fall harmless on thy sacred fire;
Far be the day that claims thy sounding lyre
To join the music of the angel choir!

Yet, since life's amplest measure must be filled,
Since throbbing hearts must be forever stilled,
And all must fade that evening sunsets gild,
Grant, Father, ere he close the mortal eyes
That see a Nation's reeking sacrifice,

Its smoke may vanish from these blackened skies! Then, when his summons comes, since come it must,

And, looking heavenward with unfaltering trust,
He
wraps his drapery round him for the dust,

His last fond glance will show him o'er his head
The Northern fires beyond the zenith spread
In lambent glory, blue and white and red,—
The Southern cross without its bleeding load,
The milky way of peace all fleshly strowed,
And every white-throned star fixed in its lost
abode !
-Atlantic Monthly.

SALT AND FRESH.
Oн, I love the sailor !-indeed, I do,
The sailor so blithe and free;
(Though a genuine salt I never knew,
And none of the craft knows me.)

His life is the merriest life that oats,

And a storm is his vital breath; (You never catch me in one of his boats;

For a storm would scare me to death.)
Oh, sweet must it be in shrouds to cling
When the hurricane shrieks in his ears!
(Though I reckon it wouldn't be just the thing
For a man of my habits and years.)

Oh, his purse, it is open to every lad,
And his passion to every lass!
(But his business habits are rather bad,
And his morals-well, let them pass.)

He roves unfettered from land to land,
Wins treasure from every sea;
(I wish he would visit the country, and
Bring his beautiful things to me.)

And I guess he will, when he comes to learn
How I have grown pale and thin

In writing these wonderful verses, to earn
Some beautiful things for him!
-Boatswain's Whistle.

J. G. H.

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