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ing before the arrival of the grand duch- books, that the reader imagines himself
ess Catherine of Russia. That the grand in the company of Speke, or Grant, or
duchess contributed to fortify her objec- Ruxton, rather than in that of a confirined
tion to the marriage seems to have been invalid who is taking refuge amid the
the conviction of Prince Metternich and wilder beauties of nature from an oppres-
of other high personages likely to be well sive sense of bodily infirmities.
informed, but the princess was a person With the exception of his work in jour-
far less amenable to external pressure nalism, almost the whole of Andrew Wil-
than the gossip of the day represented, son's literary remains have been first
and Lady Rose Weigall herself considers given to the public in the pages of the
that the fluctuating conduct of the prin magazine. From his frequent absences
cess was attributable to the independent in the East, in China, and India, he would
workings of her own mind. Such also return with his mind richly stored with
we believe to be the true explanation of impressions of travel, and, settling down
her final decision. Our wish accordingly in some quiet nook, would proceed to
has been to preserve the memory of the record them in a spirit of philosophic
facts, which to her own mind justified reflection. He wrote, as he travelled, in
that decision, and we would reverently a mood of thoughtful leisure, and had no
place a humble wreath of immortelles sympathy with the modern explorer who
upon the tomb of an illustrious lady, to dashes off his diary for the book-market
whom the Fates were not kind during with the same haste as he has galloped
her childhood, and whose thread of life across a continent. Among his earliest
was prematurely snapped asunder to the contributions to the magazine were papers
heartful sorrow of an entire nation, of descriptive of his travels and adventures
which we have a vivid personal recollec- among the wild tribes of the Sindh fron-
tion, at a moment when her youth seemed tier and Beloochistan, a region which at
to have attained to the certainty of hap: that time could be traversed by the Euro-
pier days.

pean only at great personal risk. His ex-
periences as a journalist in China opened
up to him the further East, and on his
return numerous articles contributed to

our pages showed to what good account From Blackwood's Magazine.

his opportunities had been turned. Among THE LATE ANDREW WILSON.

these an account of the “Inland Sea of ACCUSTOMED as the magazine has Japan,” and “Six Weeks in a Tower," — always been to interest itself in those a graphic narrative of his residence among who have identified their literary careers the Chinese in a post in the Kwei-shin with its fortunes, it cannot pass over with district, about a hundred miles from Canout an expression of feeling the death of ton, where he beguiled the time in studyAndrew Wilson, which took place at ing native manners, contrasting Chinese Howtoun, on Ullswater, in the Lake coun- with English character, writing poetry, try, on the ninth of June. It is now a and recalling verses from favorite authors quarter of a century since a little essay - attracted most notice. His Chinese called “Wayside Songs” appeared in experiences during the Taiping Rebellion these columns, and raised hopes that the mostly appeared as papers in the maga: graceful mastery of prose, combined with zine, and were subsequently republished the delicate appreciation of poetry of the in his successful volume, “ The Everthen unknown writer, would win for his Victorious Army.” Another epoch in his gifts a ready recognition in the higher travel life was a summer and autumn circles of criticism. Andrew Wilson's which he spent in Switzerland later on, work has justified these expectations; and of which he contributed an account to and though his health denied him that the magazine in the years 1865-66. power of unremitting application which is During his last visit to the East he essential to the highest literary success, undertook the adventurous Himalayan he has still done enough to keep his journey which he has described in “ The name green in the literary history of his Abode of Snow," and which forms his best generation. In his own particular line of claim to rank among accepted travellers. travel he has hitherto been without a Probably no journey of the same extent rival, and though his aims were not those and difficulty was ever undertaken by one of the explorer or the sportsman, person. so physically unfitted to undergo severe al incident and picturesque description fatigue and privation. His spirit and are scattered so lavishly throughout his endurance, stimulated by his enthusiasm

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taste.

for natural scenery, supplied the place of and it was this invaluable kind of advice which bodily strength, and enabled him to ac- Mr. Blackwood freely tendered, pointing out complish a journey of nearly five months' where the treatment of my subject required duration across passes thirteen thousand expansion, or aiding me by his knowledge of feet high, and encountering ascents be- the world and profoundly appreciative literary fore which even Alpine Club men might have paused. The circumstances under The last excursion made by Wilson was which Wilson crossed the Himalaya a run through the wild state of Kathiawould of themselves have made the jour- war shortly before his final departure ney sufficiently remarkable ; but the ac- from India, a narrative of which appeared count which he has given of it in “The in the magazine in the autumn months of Abode of Snow,” with its glowing pic. 1876. His last contribution was written tures of the unknown beauties of the in the following spring — " Twenty Years Himalayas, its poetical interpretation of of African Travel,” an interesting retrothe charms of the mountain landscape, spect of the discoveries made by Speke its genial humor, and its endless fund of and Grant as compared with those of story and quotation, will effectually stand more recent explorers. between it and oblivion. We have a Andrew Wilson was the founder of a pleasure in looking back to the warm school of travellers which as yet has had réception which Wilson's Hinalayan no other representative except himself. travels received as they appeared in our He had no thirst for discovery, no ambicolumns; and he himself has put his own tion to take rank as a sportsman, no feelings on record. In the preface to desire to encounter sensational dangers. “ The Abode of Snow," he writes : His was a genial delight in natural beauty

I feel deeply indebted for its having been and grandeur, which seldom rose to feel written at all to the encouragement, considera-ings of sublimity, but which, neverthetion, and advice of Mr. Blackwood, the editor less, sank deeply, if quietly, into his naof the famous magazine which bears his name,

ture. His well-stored mind, bis extensive and in which a great part, but not the whole, reading, and the aptness of his memory, of this narrative originally appeared. From made him thoroughly independent of sothe outset he sympathized warmly with my ciety; and when his attention was ar. plan, and throughout he never failed to cheer rested in his wanderings, passages from my flagging spirits with generous praise, not bis favorite authors readily crowded about to speak of other encouragement. Then he his memory, like old friends, to aid and gave me a great deal of admirable advice.

stimulate his enjoyment. Never was There is nothing that is commoner in this world than advice — nothing that is showered there a more delightful guide through the down upon one with more liberal profusion; jungle path or over the mountain pass but there is nothing rarer than judicious useful than Andrew Wilson; and his name will advice, the first condition of which is sympa. long continue to suggest pleasant memothetic appreciation what one would be at;ries to the readers of “ Maga.”

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CONDORS AT REST. — The condor is pecul- | which continues to fly about in regions where iar to the New World, but it approaches very the air is so rarefied, descends all at once to closely to the vultures of the old Continent. the edge of the sea, and thus in a few minutes The immense mountain-chain of the Andes, passes through all the variations of climate. which runs down the continent of South Amer. When driven by hunger, the condor descends ica, is the native stronghold where these birds into the plains, but leaves them as soon as its dwell securely. There, in the regions of per- appetite is satisfied. · Like the rest of its petual snow, and of terrific storms, fifteen thou- species, it subsists on carrion, and often gorges sand feet above the level of the sea, on some itself so as to become incapable of flight. The isolated pinnacle or crag, the condor rears its Indians, who are well acquainted with this brood, and looks down on the plains beneath, effect of_voracity, turn it to account in the yet far away, for food. Though here these chase. For this purpose they expose the dead birds find their home, they build no nest, but body of a horse or a cow. Some of the condeposit their eggs on the naked rocks, without dors, which are generally hovering in the air surrounding them either with straw or leaves. in search of food, are speedily attracted. As Of all birds the condor mounts highest into the soon as they have glutted themselves on the atmosphere. Humboldt describes the flight carcass, the Indians make their appearance, of it in the Andes to be at least twenty thou- armed with the lasso, and the condors being sand feet above the level of the sea. He says unable to escape by Aight, are pursued and it is a remarkable circumstance that this bird, caught by this singular weapon.

Home Words.

Fifth Series, Volume XXXV.

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No. 1939. – August 13, 1881.

From Beginning,

Vol. CL.

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CON TENTS.
I. ITALY; HER HOME AND FOREIGN POLICY, Fortnightly Review,
II. IN TRUST. A Story of a Lady and her Lover,
Part II.,

Fraser's Magazine,
III. SAMUEL PEPYS,

Cornhill Maguzine, IV. COUSIN FELIX. By the author of “Miss

Molly,” “Delicia," etc. Conclusion, Temple Bar,
V. BESIEGED IN THE TRANSVAAL. The De-
fence of Standerton,

Blackwood's Magazine,
VI. A SIBERIAN EXILE EIGHTY YEARS AGO, Temple Bar,
VII. M. DUFAURE, .

Pall Mall Gazette,
VIII. THE RETURN OF THE JEWS TO SPAIN, Le Journal des Débats,

.

418

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TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For Eight Dollars, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING Age will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage.

Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If peither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter, All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co.

Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents,

eaves

NESTLINGS.

All seems a landscape fair as near; O LITTLE bird ! sing sweet among the leaves,

So easy to be crossed and won ! Safe hid from sight, beside thy downy nest;

No mist the distant occan hides,
The rain“falls, murmuring to the drooping And overhead majestic rides

The wondrous, never-setting sun.
A low refrain, that suits thy music best.
Sing sweet, o bird! thy recompense draws Gaze on, gaze on, thou eager boy,
nigh —

For earth is lovely, life is grand;
Four callow nestlings 'neath the mother's wing, Yet from the boundary of the plain
So many flashing wings that by and by Thy faded eyes may turn again
Will cleave the sunny air. O'sing, bird, sing ! Wistfully to the morning land.
(Sing, O my heart !

Thy callow nestlings How lovely then o'er wastes of toil
sleep,

That long-left mountain height appears ! Safe hidden 'neath a gracious folding wing, How soft the lights and shadows glide; Until the time when, from their slumber deep, How the rough places, glorified, They wake, and soar in beauty. Sing, heart, Transcend whole leagues of level years !

sing!) O little bird ! sing sweet. Though rain may And standing by the sea of Death, fall,

With anchor weighed and sails unfurled, And though thy callow brood thy care require, Blessed the man before whose eyes Behind the rain-cloud, with its trailing pall, The very hills of Paradise Shineth undimmed the gracious golden fire.

Glow, colored like his morning world. Sing on, o bird ! nor of the cloud take heed;

MRS. CRAIK. For thou art heritor of glorious spring; And every field is sacred to thy need The wealth, the beauty, thine. O sing, bird, sing!

NIGHTFALL, (Sing, O my heart! sing on, though rain may

LiE still, O heart ! pour;

Crush out thy vainness and unreached desires. Sing on; for unawares the winds will bring

Mark how the sunset fires, A drift of sunshine to thy cottage door, And arch the clouds with rainbows. Sing, Are slumbering 'neath the amethystine glow

Which kindled all the west with red and gold, heart, sing!)

Of the receding day, whose tale is told. O bird ! sing sweet. What though the time be Stay, stay thy questionings; what would'st

thou know, When thou shalt sit upon that swaying bough,

O anxious heart?
With no sweet mate, no nestling by, to hear
The bubbling song thou sing'st to glad them

Soft is the air;

And not a leaflet rustles to the ground Thy task was done, fulfilled in sweet spring

To break the calm around. days.

Creep, little wakeful heart, into thy nest; In golden summer, when thy brood take wing, The world is full of flowers even yet. Shalt thou not still have left a hymn of praise, Close fast thy dewy eyes, and be at rest. Because thy work is over? Sing, bird, sing !' Pour out thy plaints at day, if thou must fret;

Day is for care.
(Sing, O my heart! What if thy birds have
flown?

Now, turn to God.
Thou hadst the joy of their awakening, Night is too beautiful for us to cling
And thousand memories left thee for thine To selfish sorrowing:

O memory! the grass is ever green Sing thou, for task accomplished. Sing, heart, Above thy grave; but we have brighter things sing !)

Than thou hast ever claimed or known, I ween. Chambers' Journal.

F. C. A.

Day is for tears. At night, the soul hath wings

To leave the sod,

near

now!

own;

The thought of night,

That comes to us like breath of primrose-time, THE MORNING WORLD.

That comes like the sweet rhyme He comes down from Youth's mountain-top; Of a pure thought expressed, lulls all our fears,

Before him Manhood's glittering plain And stirs the angel that is in us — night, Lies stretched; vales, hamlets, towers, and which is a sermon to the soul that hears. towns,

Hush ! for the heavens with starlets are alight. Huge cities, diin and silent downs,

Thank God for night! Wide unrcaped fields of shining grain,

Chambers' Journal. HARRIET KENDALL

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From The Fortnightly Review. Leaving the Greeks to plead their own ITALY; HER HOME AND FOREIGN POLICY.

cause as they can, I shall venture, as an It is surprising to see how little charity Italian, to assert that my countrymen there is among men; how unable or un- might be entitled to a little more considerwilling we are to make allowance for the ation where they so long met with so circumstances by which our neighbors much indulgence. I shall attempt an are swayed; how often we grudge com- apology of that long-enthralled' nation, mon justice even though we profess exag- which seems daily to sink in the estimagerated partiality.

tion of those who had perhaps too great a The best-abused nations in Europe at pity on its durance, and who also, perthis moment are those which the general haps, too hastily and too loudly applauded consent and deliberate act of the Euro- its release. pean States combined to recall from polit- There are few words better deserving ical death to life -- the Roumans, the to be treasured up, with respect to Italy, Bulgarians, and other Wallach or Slavic than those which fell from Massimo races; but more especially the modern d'Azeglio, when, amidst the first exultarepresentatives of those two great races tion of the meeting of an Italian Parliaof antiquity — the Hellenes and the ment in Turin, in 1860, he exclaimed, Latins. Few of us remember how harshly L'Italia è fatta, ma chi farà ora Itamen's judgment had for centuries, and till liani.D'Azeglio, both the warmestvery recent times, gone against those hearted and the coolest-headed of Italian fallen people; how persistently Greeks patriots, well knew by what long and and Italians were looked upon as “degen- painful stages freedmen must rise to the erate bastards; the mere dust of the dignity of freemen. Had the emancipanoble generations on whose graves they tion of the peninsula been the result of a trod; the maggots,” to quote the expres- few years' struggle with Austria, or, if sion of a crabbed German, “claiming de- need were, with the whole world, the scendance from the lion's carcass, out of energies called forth by a sustained acwhose putrefaction they swarmed.” Few tion would have brought forth a new race, of us recollect how often it was asserted as it happened in Switzerland at the rise that the Turk or the Austrian was “too of the Forest Cantons, or in Italy itself good for them ; ” how expedient it was at the epoch of the Lombard League of that they should bear their yoke till, for the twelfth century. But the Italy of our sooth, “slavery should ripen them for days was not — fortunately, as some peoself-government."

ple think — sufficiently tempered by the But they had not to wait so long as fire of adversity. She came too easily that; their valor or despair, their good through the ordeal of 1859; she fought fortune or the interested policy of the but little in that year; she fought again great powers, wrought out their deliver- in 1866, and not victoriously. She won ance; Greeks and Italians were allowed by defeat. The generation of" patriots," the free guidance of their own destinies, “rebels,” or “conspirators,” as men may and forthwith our expectations trans- prefer to call them, who gave their blood, cended all limits of reason. We looked their homes, or their fortunes for their for an immediate revival of heroic races; country's cause, is rapidly dying away, for a reproduction of the deeds and and a new set of mere

politicians

has thoughts of ancient Athens, or Sparta, or sprung up, who seem to look upon the Rome; and now, because stubborn reality long trials Italy had to go through as a does not come up to our ideal, we fall mere myth, and laugh to scorn the idea of back on our fathers' ungenerous views, a possibility of their recurrence. They and look upon those "half-emancipated do not inquire by what virtues or by what bondsmen as “corrupt and debased past chances their country became their own; recovery." We lament our ill-bestowed they do not expect to be called upon to sympathies, and almost wish our work produce their title deeds. It is their undone.

country, of course. "Italy for the Ital

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