Child, father, mother-who, left out?

-Not mother, and not father :—

And when, their dying couch about

The natural mists shall gather,

Some smiling angel close shall stand,
In old Correggio's fashion,
Bearing a LILY in his hand

For Death's ANNUNCIATION."

THE MAIDEN AND MARRIED LIFE OF MARY POWELL.

A honeymoon cannot forever last; nor sense of my Areopagitica; and I'll put your name down, danger, when it long hath past ;-but one little dif-Kit, for a hundred copies!""" ference from out manie greater differences between my late happie fortnighte in St. Martin's-le-Grand, and my present dailie course in Barbican, hath marked the distinction between lover and husband. 'There it was "Sweet Moll," "My heart's life of life," "My dearest cleaving mischief;" here, 't is onlie "Wife," "Mistress Milton," or, at most, “Deare or sweet wife." This, I know, is master-ter fulle and seemly.

Oct. Though a rusticall life hath ever had my suffrages, nothing can be more pleasant than our regular course. We rise at five or sooner; while my husband combs his hair, he commonly hums or sings some psalm or hymn, versing it, maybe, as he goes on. Being drest, Ned reads him a chapin the Hebrew Bible. With Ned stille at his knee, and me by his side, he expounds and improves leases us both. Before I have finished my dressing, I hear him below at his organ, with the two lads, who sing as well as choristers, hymning anthems and Gregorian chants, now soaring up to y clouds, as 't were, and then dying off as though some wide echoing space lay betweene us. I usuallie find time to tie on my hoode and slip away to ye herb"market for a bunch of fresh radishes or cresses, a sprig of parsley, or at ye leaste a posy, to lay on his plate. A good wheaten loaf, fresh butter and eggs, and a large jug of milk compose our simple breakfast; for he likes not, as my father, to see boys hacking a huge piece of beef, nor cares for heavie feeding, himself. Onlie, olde Mr. Milton sometimes takes a rasher of toasted bacon, but commonly, a basin of furmity, which I prepare more to his minde than ye servants can.

Onlie, this morning, chancing to quote one of his ye same; then, after a shorte, heartie prayer, reowne lines,

These things may startle well, but not astoundehe sayd, in a kind of wonder," Why, Moll, whence had you that? Methought you hated versing, as you used to call it. When learnt you to love it?" I hung my head in my old foolish way, and answered, "Since I learnt to love the verser.' Why, this is the best of alle!" he hastilie cried; can my sweet wife be indeede heart of my heart and spirit of my spirit? I lost, or drove away a child, and have found a woman." Thereafter he less often wifed me, and I found I was agayn sweet Moll.

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us.

This afternoon, Christopher Milton lookt in on After saluting me with y usuall mixture of malice and civilitie in his looks, he fell into easie conversation; and presentlie says to his brother quietlie enough, I saw a curious pennyworth at a book-stall as I came along this morning."-" What was that?" says my husband, brightening up. "It had a long name," says Christopher: "I think it was called Tetrachordon." My husband cast me a suddain, quick look, but I did not soe much as change color, and quietlie continued my sewing.

After breakfast, I well know the boys' lessons will last till noone. I therefore go to my closett duties after my Forest Hill fashion; thence to market, buy what I neede, come home, look to my maids, give forthe needefulle stores, then to my needle, my books, or perchance to my lute, which I woulde faine play better. From twelve to one is the boys' hour of pastime; and it may generallie be sayd, my husband's and mine too. He draws aside the green curtain-for we sit mostly in a large chamber shaped like the letter T, and thus divided while at our separate duties; my end is y pleasantest, has the sun most upon it, and hath a balcony overlooking a garden. At one, we dine; always on simple, plain dishes, but dressed with neatnesse and care. Olde Mr. Milton sits at my right hand and says grace; and, though growing a little deaf, enters into alle ye livelie discourse at table. He loves me to help him to ye tenderest, by reason of his losse of teeth. My husband careth not to sitt over the wine; and hath noe sooner finished the cheese and pippins than he reverts to the viol or organ, and not onlie sings himself, but will "That's fame, I suppose," says Christopher, make me sing too, though he sayth my voice is drylie; and then goes off to talk of some new ex-better than my ear. Never was there such a tuneercise of the press-licenser's authoritie, which he seemed to approve, but it kindled my husband in a .ninute.

beating time with his feeble fingers, and now and neighbourhoode is too hot to holde them; olde then joining with his quavering voice. (By the friends cowardlie and suspicious, olde and new foes way, he hath not forgotten to this hour, my im-in league together. Leave Oxon they must; but puted crime of losing that song by Harry Lawes; my husband takes my part, and sayth it will turn up some day when leaste expected, like Justinian's Pandects.) Hubert brings him his pipe and a glass of water, and then I crave his blessing and goe to bed; first, praying ferventlie for alle beneathe this deare roof, and then for alle at Sheepscote and For-upon us!" as though her house was as surelie est Hill. doomed to destruction as if it helde y plague.

7. Lawyers, Clients, Witnesses, &c. - Third Article,

Spectator,
Britannia,

(309

311

315

319

323

Author of Maiden Aunt,

328

334

8. The Needlewomen-Great Woman Market, 9. King's Cope,

10. French Opinions of American Literature and Literary World,

Authors,

11. Excursions in Southern Africa,

12. Voices from the Borders of the Better Land, 13. Story of a Family, Chap. XX.

Gathers,

Sharpe's Magazine,

14. Maiden and Married Life of Mary Powell, concluded, POETRY.-Seeketh not its Own; Life and its Results, 324.-Child's Grave at Florence, 333. SHORT ARTICLES.-The Anglo-Saxon Race, 308.-Strange Instinct of the Deer, 322 —The French President; Atlantic and Pacitic Canal, 325.-Mr. Brunel, 326.-Southey's Common Place Book; Glimpses of Spain; Readings for Railways; Ebenezer Elliot, 327.What Amusements are Admissible; Law of Storms, 332.-Humble Pie, 335.

TERMS.-The LIVING AGE 13 published every Satur Agencies. We are desirous of making arrangements day, by E. LITTELL & Co., corner of Tremont and Brom-in all parts of North America, for increasing the circulafield sts., Boston; Price 12 cents a number, or six dollars tion of this work--and for doing this a liberal commission a year in advance. Remittances for any period will he will be allowed to gentlemen who will interest themselves thankfully received and promptly attended to. To in the business. And we will gladly correspond on this insure regularity in mailing the work, orders should be subject with any agent who will send us undoubted referaddressed to the office of publication, as above. Clubs, paying a year in advance, will be supplied as follows:

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.-No. 301.-23 FEBRUARY, 1850.

From Sharpe's Magazine. GOLDSMITH, AND HIS BIOGRAPHERS.*

BY FREDERICK LAWRENCE.

served, from tradition and other sources, nearly all the particulars of Goldsmith's life, which could by possibility be discovered. We do not wish to disparage the patient research and enthusiastic labors of Mr. Prior, when we speak of Mr. Forster's work as readable, valuable and entertaining; for the diligent compiler and the skilful adapter are in our opinion equally entitled to their meed of approbation. Nor will we quarrel with the work of Washington Irving, because it contains no startling fact that is not to be found in the two preceding biographies. "The life of a scholar," says Goldsmith himself, "seldom abounds with adventure; his fame is acquired in solitude * * but we are fond of talking of those who have given us pleasure, not that we have anything important to say, but because the subject is pleasing."

Of all the laborers in our literary vineyard there is scarcely one whose name has a more familiar, household sound than that of Oliver Goldsmith. There is assuredly no writer of the last century for whom we entertain a stronger feeling of personal regard. His character is endeared to us as much by its innate goodness as by its amiable weakness. "The epithet," says Washington Irving, "so often heard, and in such kindly tones, of 'Poor Goldsmith!' speaks volumes. Few, who consider the real compound of admirable and whimsical qualities which form his character, would wish to prune away its eccentricities, trim its grotesque luxuriance, and clip it down to the decent formalities of rigid Goldsmith appears to us to have been the true virtue. 'Let not his frailties be remembered,' type of an Irishman. The virtues and frailties said Johnson, he was a very great man.' But, of his countrymen distinguished him through life. for our part, we rather say, 'Let them be remein- He had the "happy knack of hoping;" the heedbered,' since their tendency is to endear; and we less charity, the thoughtless imprudence, the habit question whether he himself would not feel grati- of blundering, for which Irishmen are proverbially fied in hearing his reader, after dwelling with ad- famous. He was the descendant of a race who miration on the proofs of his greatness, close the were little learned in lessons of worldly wisdom. volume with the kind-hearted phrase, so fondly "The Goldsmiths," Mr. Prior was informed, and familiarly ejaculated, of Poor Goldsmith!'" were always a strange family. They rarely We are pleased to number the author of acted like other people; their hearts were always Bracebridge Hall," and the "Sketch Book," in the right place, but their heads seemed to be among the biographers of Goldsmith. No man doing anything but what they ought." The folhas shown a more lively appreciation or a more lowing sketch of his immediate ancestor, which exquisite sense of the peaceful virtues and peculiar Goldsmith has put into the mouth of the "Man attractions of English domestic life than the in Black," is, we doubt not, true to the very gifted American; and we must add that no mod-life :-" My father, the younger son of a good ern writer of English prose has more closely re- family, was possessed of a small living in the sembled the author of the "Vicar of Wakefield," as well in his clear, lucid, and flowing style, as in the genial, gentle, and loving thoughts scattered through his pages. In the preface to the present biography, Mr. Irving has gracefully acknowledged his obligations to Goldsmith, and his early predilections for his writings, by addressing to him Dante's apostrophe to Virgil::

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