as statues and “Things of Lustre," which | scrub than fish, much to their annoyance; not a few of the present day regard as toys until now the ground is pretty clear, and for children, and in so doing thrust Bacon the bottom of the sea, to a great extent, out of court as an arbiter of taste. I con- turned up with the continual raking, so fess that I should never care to adorn my that the haddocks are able to feed more on garden with topiary or with carpet bed the smaller shellfish, which produces a ding; but I hope always to be cautious in firmer, finer fish. Not only have the trawlmaking declarations in respect of such ers improved the quality of the haddocks matters, that I may not appear to despise by removing the scrub, but much has been another man's pleasures, or vainly desire done to feed them by the throwing overto set up a standard of my own in oppo- board of enormous quantities of offal, imsition to the delightful variety that is en mature and small fish, which the haddock, sured by the free exercise of individual who is a very good scavenger, greedily taste and fancy. Let us grant that these consumes. Haddocks are caught all over things are for children, and what then? the North Sea, but the larger catches are they are not thereby abolished. In my got on the south-east part of the Doggeropinion they have acquired special impor- bank in deep water, and being a lively fish tance, for to please children may be a a brisk wind is most favorable. proper employment at times for a philoso- When the trawler goes haddocking, she pher; and if children's pleasures are to be makes a voyage of from ten to twenty excluded from gardens, then I am pre- days, and will take out with ber five or six pared to say that gardens are altogether tons of block ice. At this time of the objectionable. That there are men and year, when she arrives on the ground she women with childish tastes must also be will shoot her gear in the evening at dusk, admitted, and I propose that we please and commence to get in between four and them as well as the real children.

five the next morning, an operation lasting from two to six hours according to circumstances; but when the bag is in sight, the net approaching the top of the water

haddock being very buoyant – there is From The Fishing Gazette.

generally no lack of excitement, and all THE HADDOCK.

labor is well compensated for by a good The haddock, as food for the million, is take, and to see the pretty creatures as now beginning to take its place, and is, or they lie on the deck is a sight worth being shortly will be, the principal and one of the seasick for. When the net is emptied, most valuable of the many blessings we which often has to be done by cutting a have provided for the use of these over- hole in it, the next operation is to clean : populated islands in the North Sea. Yet each hand gets a knife and opens the fish, it is not long, - not twenty-five years ago carefully cleaning and taking out the livers, — since haddock were thought compara. which are perquisites and much valued by tively worthless, and the then trawlers the crew. After that the fish is well were in the habit of throwing them over- washed on deck, and then packed in board as of no value at all except the last pounds in the fishroom, a layer of ice and haul, which could be brought to the market then a layer of fish; this process is conalive. Even the haddock of ten years ago tinued until the last haul, which is generwas a very different fish from the present ally put below without cleaning, and sold as

When the trawlers began to fish on sound fish. the south-east part of the Doggerbank The cleaned fish when landed are all which seemed to be the favorite place for sold to the curers and converted into haddock, and from which an immense smoked haddocks, either at the landing. quantity is brought with no apparent dim- place or despatched to inland smokers inution of the supply — rather the re- a practice which is becoming more com

- the fish were at first of a soft, mon, as the fish when smoked are better lank description, with a peculiar weedy and when taken out of the smoke-house to the objectionable taste, owing to the great table. Packing in barrels has a tendency amount of "scrub," seaweed, etc., among to deteriorate the fish, and if long packed which the fish dwelt, and on which they they are liable to sweat, which spoils the undoubtedly fed to some extent. Gradu- flavor - and who does not 'like a good ally this scrub has been cleared away by smoked haddock? the trawler fishers, who at first got more



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Fortnightly Review,
Part II.,

Advance Sheets,

Joseph Orsi, .

Fraser's Magazine,
IV. THE BRIDE's Pass. By Sarah Tytler, au-

thor of “What She Came Through," “ Lady
Bell,” etc. Part XI.,

Advance Sheets,

fessor Huxley,

Nineteenth Century,


Chambers' Journal, VIII. CRITICS AND AUTHORS, .

Saturday Review,

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TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For Eight DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the Living AGB will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage.

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Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents.


“On us and others (who shall tell ?) I STOOD one shining morning where

Maybe is falling here a spell The last pines stand on Montanvert,

From Arnold's knightly spirit free, Gazing on giant spires that grow

And Wordsworth's grave serenity.” From the great frozen gulfs below.

Hill-ward we stepped o'er turf and stone, How sheer they soared, how piercing rose

The clear voice-current warbling on, Above the mists, beyond the snows !

I little answering, loth to stay No thinnest veil of vapor hid

That stream of silver on its way. Each sharp and airy pyramid.

Sometimes I checked her, with a smile, No breeze moaned there, nor cooing bird, For the quick heart to breathe a while; Deep down the torrent raved, unheard,

Sometimes she stopped to stoop and pull Only the cow-bells' clang, subdued,

Some ambushed blossom beautiful. Shook in the fields below the wood.

Those tones are hushed, that light is cold, The vision vast, the lone large sky,

And we (but not the world) grow old ; The kingly charm of mountains high,

The joy, “ the bloom of young desire,” The boundless silence, woke in me

The zest, the force, the strenuous fire, Abstraction, reverence, reverie.

Enthusiasms bright, sublime, Days dawned that felt as wide away

That heaven-like made that early time; As the far peaks of silvery gray,

These all are gone : must faith go too? Life's lost ideal, love's last pain,

Is truth too lovely to be true ? In those full moments throbbed again.

In nature dwells no kindling soul? And a much-differing scene was born

Moves no vast life throughout the whole ? In my mind's eye on that blue morn;

Are not thought, knowledge, love's sweet No splintered snowy summits there

might, Shot arrowy heights in crystal air ;

Shadows of substance infinite ? But a calm sunset slanted still

Shall rippling river, bow of rain,
O'er hoary crag and heath-flushed hill,

Blue mountains, and the bluer main,
And at their foot, by birchen brake,
Dimpled and smiled an English lake.

Red dawn, gold sundown, pearly star,

Be fair, nor something fairer far ?
I roamed where I had roamed before,
With heart elate in years of yore,

That awful hope, so deep, that swells
Through the green glens by Rotha side,

At the keen clash of Easter bells,
Which Arnold loved, where Wordsworth died. Is it a waning moon that dies

As morn-like lights of science rise ?
That flower of heaven, eve's tender star,
Trembled with light above Nab Scar; By all that yearns in art and song,
And from his towering throne aloft

By the vague dreams that make men strong, Fairfield poured purple shadows soft.

By memory's penance, by the glow

Of lifted mood poetic, — 10!
The tapers twinkled through the trees
From Rydal's bower-bound cottages,

No! by the stately forms that stand
And gentle was the river's flow,

Like angels in yon snowy land :
Like love's own quivering whisper low. No ! by the stars that, pure and pale,
One held my arm will walk no more

Look down each night on Rydal vale.
Macmillan's Magazine.

On Loughrigg steeps by Rydal shore,
And a sweet voice was speaking clear-
Earth had no other sound so dear.

Her words were, as we passed along,
Of noble sons of truth and song,
Of Arnold brave, and Wordsworth pure,
And how their influences endure.

Below the dark waves, where the dead go

Are gulfs of night more deep;
But little care they whom the waves once

How far from light they sleep.

They have not left us - are not dead,
(The earnest voice beside me said,)
For teacher strong and poet sage
Are deeply working in the age.

“For aught we know they now may brood
O'er this enchanted solitude,
With thought and feeling more intense
Than we in the blind life of sense.

But who, in deepest sorrow though he be,

Fears not a deeper still ?.
Ah, God! that sorrow were as the salt sea,

Whose topmost waters kill.

F. W. B.


From The Fortnightly Review. evanescent parts is really to know nothing ON THE CHOICE OF BOOKS.* worth knowing. It is in the end the same

thing, whether we do not use our minds It is the fashion for those who have for serious study at all, or whether we exany connection with letters, in the pres- haust them by an impotent voracity for ence of thoughtful men and women, eager idle and desultory “information," as it is for knowledge, and anxious after all that called - a thing as fruitful as whistling. can be gotten from books, to expatiate on of the two plans I prefer the former. At the infinite blessings of literature, and the least, in that case, the mind is healthy and miraculous achievements of the press : to open. It is not gorged and enfeebled by extol, as a gift above price, the taste for excess in that which cannot nourish, much study and the love of reading. Far be it | less enlarge and beautify our nature. from me to gainsay the inestimable value But there is much more than this. Even of good books, or to discourage any man to those who resolutely avoid the idleness from reading the best; but I often think of reading what is trivial, a difficulty is that we forget that other side to this glo- presented, a difficulty every day increasing rious view of literature: the misuse of by virtue even of our abundance of books. books, the debilitating waste of life in aim. What are the subjects, what are the class less, promiscuous, vapid reading, or even, of books we are to read, in what order, it may be, in the poisonous inhalation of with what connection, to what ultimate use mere literary garbage and bad men's worst or object ? Even those who are resolved thoughts.

to read the better books are embarrassed For what can a book be more than the by a field of choice practically boundless. man who wrote it? The brightest genius, The longest life, the greatest industry, the perhaps, never puts the best of his own most powerful memory, would not suffice soul into his printed page; and some of to make us profit from a hundredth part of the most famous men have certainly put the world of books before us. If the the worst of theirs. Yet are all men de- great Newton said that he seemed to have sirable companions, much less teachers, fit been all his life gathering a few shells on to be listened to, able to give us advice, the shore, whilst a boundless ocean of even of those who get reputation and truth still lay beyond and unknown to him, command a hearing? Or, to put out of how much more to each of us must the the question that writing which is posi- sea of literature be a pathless immensity tively bad, are we not, amidst the multi- beyond our powers of vision or of reach plicity of books and of writers, in contin

an immensity in which industry itself is ual danger of being drawn off by what is useless without judgment, method, discistimulating rather than solid, by curiosity pline ; where it is of infinite importance after something accidentally notorious, by what we can learn and remember, and of what has no intelligible thing to recom- utterly no importance what we may have mend it, except that it is new? Now, to once looked at or heard of. Alas! the stuff our minds with what is simply trivial, most of our reading leaves as little mark simply curious, or that which at best has even in our own education as the foam that but a low nutritive power, this is to close gathers round the keel of a passing boat ! our minds to what is solid and enlarging, For myself, I am inclined to think the and spiritually sustaining. Whether our most useful part of reading is to know neglect of the great books comes from our what we should not read, what we can not reading at all, or from an incorrigible keep out from that small cleared spot in habit of reading the little books, it ends the overgrown jungle of “information," in just the same thing. And that thing is the corner which we can call our ordered ignorance of all the greater literature of patch of fruit-bearing knowledge. Is not the world. To neglect all the abiding the accumulation of fresh books a fresh parts of knowledge for the sake of the hindrance to our real knowledge of the

old? Does not the multiplicity of vol• A lecture given at the London Institution. umes become a bar upon our use of any?


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In literature especially does it hold that rather than a life,” is dead to them: it is we cannot see the wood for the trees. a book sealed up and buried.

A man of power, who has got more from It is most right that in the great republic books than most of his contemporaries, of letters there should be a freedom of inhas lately said : "Form a habit of read. tercourse and a spirit of equality. Every ing, do not mind what you read, the read-reader who holds a book in his hand, is ing of better books will come when you free of the inmost minds of men past and have a habit of reading the inferior." I present; their lives both within and withcannot agree with him. I think a habit of out the pale of their uttered thoughts are reading idly debilitates and corrupts the unveiled to him; he needs no introducmind for all wholesome reading; I think tion to the greatest; he stands on no cerethe habit of reading wisely is one of the mony with them; he may, if he be so most difficult habits to acquire, needing minded, scribble“ doggrel" on his Shelley, strong resolution and infinite pains; and I or he may kick Lord Byron, if he please, hold the habit of reading for mere read. into a corner. He hears Burke perorate, ing's sake, instead of for the sake of the and Johnson dogmatize, and Scott tell his stuff we gain from reading, to be one of border tales, and Wordsworth muse on the the worst and commonest and most up-hillside, without the leave of any man, or wholesome habits we have. Why do we the payment of any toll. In the republic still suffer the traditional hypocrisy about of letters there are no privileged orders or the dignity of literature, literature I mean, places reserved. Every man who has in the gross, which includes about equal written a book, even the diligent Mr. Whit. parts of what is useful and what is useless ? aker, is in one sense an author; “ A book's Why are books as books, writers as writ- a book although there's nothing in't;" ers, readers as readers, meritorious and and every man who can decipher a penny honorable, apart from any good in them, journal is in one sense a reader. And or anything that we can get from them? your “ general reader," like the grave-digWhy do we pride ourselves on our powers ger in “Hamlet,” is hail-fellow with all the of absorbing print, as our grandfathers did mighty dead; he pats the skull of the on their gifts in imbibing port, when we jester; batters the cheek of lord, lady, or know that there is a mode of absorbing courtier; and uses “imperious Cæsar” to print which makes it impossible we can teach boys the Latin declensions. ever learn anything good.out of books? But this noble equality of all writers

Our stately Milton said in a passage of all writers and of all readers — has a which is one of the watchwords of the perilous side to it. It is apt to make us English race, as good almost kill a man indiscriminate in the books we read, and as kill a good book.” But has he not also somewhat contemptuous of the mighty said that he would “have a vigilant eye men of the past. Men who are most obhow bookes demeane themselves, as well as servant as to the friends they make, or the men; and do sharpest justice on them as conversation they join in, are carelessness malefactors "? ... Yes! they do kill the itself as to the books to whom they entrust good book who deliver up their few and themselves, and the printed language with precious hours of reading to the trivial which they saturate their minds. Yet can book; they make it dead for them; they any friendship or society be more impordo what lies in them to destroy“ the pre- tant to us than that of the books which cious life-blood of a master spirit, im- form so large a part of our minds and balm'd and treasured up on purpose to a even of our characters? Do we in real life beyond life ;” they “spill that season'd life take any pleasant fellow to our homes life of man preserv'd and stor'd up in and chat with some agreeable rascal by bookes." For in the wilderness of books our firesides, we who will take up any most men, certainly all busy men, must pleasant fellow's printed memoirs, we who strictly choose. If they saturate their delight in the agreeable rascal when he is minds with the idler books, the “good cut up into pages and bound in calf ? book,” which Milton calls “an immortality I have no intention to moralize, or to in

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