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if our national anthem was really the It means Howard and Clarkson just as product of this age. And not our people much as it means Fielding and Gibbon ; only, but the men of culture, of rank, of it means Wesley and Whitefield quite power, and the court itself.

And the as much as it means Hume or Watt. story that the king caused the whole And they who shall see how to reconcile house to rise when the “ Hallelujah Cho Berkeley with Fielding, Wesley with rus” was heard is a happy symbol of the Hume, and Watt with Cowper, so that enthusiasm of the time.

all may be brought home to the fold of Their music showed that their hearts humanity at last, will not only interpret were in the right place; but they showed aright the eighteenth century, but they it in more practical ways. The age, with will anticipate the task of the twentieth. all its grossness, laid the seeds of those few words about the eighteenth censocial reforms, which it is the boast of tury afford no space to touch on the greatour own time to have matured. It was est event of it — the Revolutionary crisis then that the greatest part of the hospi. itself. The intellectual preparation for it tals as we know them were founded; the is all that we can here note; and we may asylums, reformatories, infirmaries, bene. hear the rumblings of the great earthfit societies, Sunday schools, and the like, quake in every page of Hume, Adam It was then, amidst a sea of misery and Smith, Priestley, and Bentham; nay in cruelty, that Howard began what Burke Cowper and Burns and Wordsworth and called “his circumnavigation of charity.” Coleridge. The “ Rights of Man,” the Then too began that holy war against Declaration of Independence,” “The slavery and the slave-trade, against bar- Negro's Complaint," "the greatest hapbarous punishments, foul prisons, against piness of the greatest number," " A man's the abuses of justice, the war with igno- a man for a' that,” the “new birth" of rance, drunkenness, and vice. Captain the Methodists, were all phases of one Coram, and Jonas Hanway, and John movement to attain the full conditions of Howard, and Thomas Raikes, led the humanity. The Revolution did not hapway for those social efforts which have pen in 1789 nor in 1793. The Terror was taken such proportions. Jeremy Ben- in '93; the old system collapsed in ’89. tham and Samuel Romilly struck at the But the Revolution is continuing still, abuses of law; Clarkson and Wilberforce violent in France, deep and quiet in and the anti-slavery reforiners at slavery England. No one of its problems is comand the trade in men. Methodism, or pletely solved; no one of them is rerather religious earnestness, lies at the moved from solution; no one of its crea. heart of the eighteenth century; and the tions has complete possession of the work of Wesley, and Whitefield is as field. The reconstruction begun more much a part of its life, as the work of than a hundred years ago is doing still. Johnson or Hume or Watt. That great For they see history upside down who revival of spiritual energy in the midst of look at the Revolution as a conflagration a sceptical and jovial society was no acci- instead of a reconstruction; or who find dent, nor was it merely the inpulse of two in the eighteenth century a suicide, ingreat souls. It is the same humanity stead of finding a birth. which breathes through the scepticism of

FREDERIC HARRISON, Hume, and the humor of Fielding; and it runs like a silver thread through the whole fabric of that epoch. Cowper is its poet, Wilberforce was its orator,

From Macmillan's Magazine. Whitefield was its preacher, Wesley was

UNDER THE SNOW. its legislator, and Priestley himself the philosopher whom it cast forth. The abolition of slavery, a religious respect BESIDE a lovely little lake in Switzerfor the most miserable of human beings land there is a small village of scattered as a human soul, is its great work in the vine clad chalets, and just beyond these world. This was the central result of the the land curves round from a projecting eighteenth century; nor can any century point and forms a bay. On the side of in history show a nobler. The 'new gos. the point nearest the chalets is a shallow pel of duty to our neighbor, was of the creek, and from this goes up a long flight very essence of that age. The French of steps; these are plainly not much used, Revolution itself is but the social form of grass grows between the stones, and on the same spirit. He who misses this will each side, among the dusky silver of the never understand the eighteenth century. I thistle.down, are blackberry bushes laden

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with fruit. No one has been there to take | beside her make the woman look up, with this. And, indeed, when the end of the the weird horror fully shown. steps is reached, one only gets a view of Two gentlemen are standing smoking the opposite shore about two miles away, in the terraced garden at the top of the and of the grand mountain range that wall. One of them, the elder, nods, in a ends the view on the left. The outlook friendly way, and says,

Good-evening, on the right is blocked by the garden wall Madame Engemann." which ends the point; on the left are His friend stands half hidden under a some tumble-down sheds filled with sag. long, vine-covered pergola, that reaches gots, and what may possibly be the rub. from the charming house yonder to this bish of generations.

point. He is a stranger, and he is abAo artist would stand wrapt in admira- sorbed in admiring the hills on the oppotion of the light and shade concentrated site side of the lake, and the grand snow on the strange medley within the sheds mountains rising above them; but at the bits of the roof have been blown away, sound of a strange voice he turns and and although the gloom is too great to starts back as he meets the ghost-haunted distinguish anything, there is sombre eyes of André's mother. color within, and a mysterious suggestive- “You are expecting André," says Mon. ness in the forms that here and there sieur Weissembourg. “I suppose this is stand out of the chaos.

the last outing he gets before he comes There is the tiniest strip of ground be down for the winter, eh ?” tween the sheds and the lake, and from this “Yes, sir, it is the last, till he comes in gourds and vines have climbed up over the October." ruin. On this strip of ground, shading her The joy in her voice spreads over her eyes with her lean, brown hand, André's face, and for a moment even her eyes mother has been standing this half-hour, smile. Then she turns away again and watching the opposite shore. There is looks across the lake. nothing special about ber at first sight; The two men walk under the pergola, she is like a score or so of the women of where the leaves glint gold and green in ber canton. She wears a black, full skirt, the sunshine, and the grapes bang in purmore than half covered by a grey woollen ple clusters ; the wind is rising, and the apron; over this is a short, loose, black long vine-sprays are blown out towards jacket, no cap or collar, only some white the stately blue lilies that border the terlinen shows round her brown neck. Her race. grey hair is smoothly gathered into a “Whoever is that woman ? ” says the knot behind, and is almost covered by a young man, when they have passed out of tanned straw hat bent 'down over her hearing. "Is she old or joung? She square face; her nose is long and thin. looks spirit-haunted.” The rest of her face looks like a shrivelled Monsieur Weissembourg smiles. leaf, but the eyes are strangely young and Well, then, the spirits are good ones. bright, with a look in them that at once She is usually called André's mother, but arrests attention.

her name is Elisa Engemann.” André's mother may be in other re- “ But why does she look so scared?" spects like her neighbors, but no such “Ah well, poor soul ! she has cause. woman in the little village has such a She was married fourteen years ago to a weird story written in her eyes. As a good husband, and they were very happy. rule eyes that are expressive can tell She was a pretty young girl, and he was a many stories, sometimes revealing quite fine handsome fellow, and had the reputaan unexpected chapter of events, but it tion of being one of the best guides at rarely happens to one person in a lifetime Grindelwald, and he had saved money to read the shocked horror that is fixed in enough to buy a chalet here and to fur. the eyes of André's mother, or to see in nish it; and then, before André was born, one face so strange a mingling of age and be took his last journey – he was buried youth. Strangely, too, this weird expres. in a snowfall.” sion is out of place in the sweet, pathetic “ And the shock of his death gave her face; the loving lips seem ready to pro. that look ?” test against the terror which has got, as “It was more than that. He had left it were, embroidered on what may have her, promising to be home before the baby once been a face of beaming joy.

was born. Three days after, between There are times when this terror lurks night and morning, she roused from sleep out of sight, but any sudden emotion re. and heard her husband's voice outside calls it; and now voices sounding close calling to ber. She said the voice was

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loud at first, but it grew feebler, and at gentlemen see the steamer shoot swiftly last died away. She rose up and opened to the landing-place on the other side of the door, but she could not see any one; the lake. she came on to my house, and begged to “ The boy André takes the boat over

I believe I was rough to her, for there,” Monsieur Weissembourg explains, I felt provoked to be roused out of my "and he will be here soon. He has had sleep for what seemed to me an idle to make a long journey before reaching dream; but next day came the news that the boat." Engemann and the traveller he was with The ragged-looking chalet over the way, were missing. Of course my first thought just now atlame with those huge flowers was for Elisa, and then I learned that she that try to stare the sun out of countehad started the day before, when she left nance, is not Elisa's own dwelling-place. me, for the place where her husband was She has spied her friend the carpenter, to make the ascent. You may be sure I who is also the godfather of André, smokfollowed her at once; when I found her ing his pipe in the wooden balcony that she lay in bed in a little mountain chalet goes round his house, and she pauses a with her baby beside her — her hair had moment outside the sunflower plot, to call changed to grey, and that awful look of out, horror was in her eyes.”

“ There is the boat, Hans Christen; There was a pause. Monsieur Weis. André is coming." sembourg's young visitor had come to the Then, with her head bent forward, she Oberland to make the most difficult as. hurries down the road. cent he could find. Elisa's story seemed Hans Christen, a big-headed fellow, to him a troublesome episode; he wished and much too broad for his height, takes he had not heard it. ..

his pipe out of his mouth and looks down When the two men pass out of sight the road after her. the stillness comes back to the lake “Poor soul!” he says. “Poor, loving the grand silence that is in harıony with soul!" the giant mountains beyond the clear, blue-green water. In this evening light their snowy tops are shadowed by delicate SOME little way beyond the village and greys, and the lower hills are a rich pur- the landing-place, a chalet stands beside ple; the long range on the other side that the road, screened from the lake by a row follows the course of the lake to the right of trees. In itself it is not very different and goes on behind the river that flows from the other cottages. It is large, how. into it, and the little town of Dort, grows ever, has two rows of green-shuttered darker and darker, and so does the great windows, and has balconies with slender pyramid of rock just opposite to the place carved rails on each story, made of the where Elisa stands gazing. High up on same brown wood as the rest of the house; the side of this huge pyramid are chalets, the roof of course has very deep, projecttiny specks from this distance; a village ing eaves, and in front these would make lies beneath at its foot, hidden by a low a high-pitched gable if the top had not ridge of green hills, and this is the point been flattened, along the edge of this which seems to magnetize the woman's gable are carved barge-boards; a flight of gaze. She is as still as the mountains; wooden steps leads up to the lowest balher head turned slightly over one should cony. der so that her ear may receive the first There is more than one such chalet sound of the expected steamer. The beside the lake, but not over every one sound has reached her. She turns with does the grape vine and American creeper a look of sudden happiness that fills fing such luxuriant shoots. These climbeven her eyes to the exclusion of the ers reach the ridge of the roof, they cling dread that lives in them; and then she lovingly to the topmost balcony, and then comes briskly up the steps. At the top Aing themselves down in cascades of she waves one hand to the two gentle- green and gold, flame-color and crimson, men, who are coming this way again, as that would seem enough of themselves to they smoke their cigars under the vine- satisfy a lover of color, without the orange wreathed pergola.

and scarlet of gladiolus and nasturtiums "André is coming,"she calls out; “there that gleam through them from the winis the boat."

dow-ledges. One side of the roof stretches And as André's mother crosses the out and forms an open shed; here are dusty road to a bit of garden ablaze with stacked freshly chopped logs for burning, a group of gorgeous sunflowers, the two and brushwood crusted with lichens and

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glowing with shrivelled brown leaves, cleaning, though no one else could see gathered in the skirts of the lofty pine that any cleaning was needed; or she forest that clothes the steep hill behind would make a little extra soup for some the chalet. Near is a bundle of chopped poorer neighbors, by way of sending the broom, on which a handsome black goat phantom to the right-about. is browsing, while a few chickens are The lower balcony went round the picking about, with an anxious mother house, and on one side a gourd kept fast hen that emblem of domestic worry hold of the carved rails with its tendrils; at their heels. In front of the house a on the ground below, showing among the cock and a few brown hens are keenly light and shade of the huge leaves, were watched from the balcony by a small grey globes of golden, rosy fruit, and one of cat with a bushy tail. The tinkle of the these had been cut for soup in honor of goat's bell chimes in merrily with the André's arrival. From the open door on cock-crowing and the cluck cluck of the this side the house came a murmur of hens.

happy voices, then a peal of inerry laughThis is the chalet which André's fa. ter, in perfect harmony with the soft eventher, Joseph Engemann, built with his ing sunshine and the bright beauty of the perilously earned gains. So much sym- flowers. If the grand tranquillity of the pathy had been selt in the little town of lake and the giant mountains had wanted Dort and at Grindelwald when he per- a gem to brighten then, this chalet would ished on the mountain, that the widow assuredly have fulfilled the part. had been able to keep possession of the Inside the bare, spotless room André chalet, and by the sale of ber eggs and and his mother sat side by side on a fruit she had managed to supply her bench. The boy's arm was round her wants. When André left school, at the neck and his face was hidden on her end of last winter, he wanted to live at shoulder, while he pointed to a heap of home to help his mother; he said he felt stockings in his mother's lap. sure be could make the garden yield It was plainly the sight of the stockings twice as much as she did, and he could that had caused his burst of laughter; he save her all hard work. Elisa's heartlay nestling his face in her black stuff yearned to have her boy with her, but he jacket while his shoulders still shook with was delicate, and every one told her that me iment. She too was smiling. if she sent him up to the mountain he “ Fie, then, saucy boy” — she patted would grow strong and hearty; and when his smooth, fair head with her brown the lad found that he could earn wages veined band — "why does he laugh so at there he was eager to go.

bis poor old mother?” He had come home once for a couple of She is not old; she is, on the contrary, days, so brown and healthy-looking that quite young.' He got up, and while he his mother had cried for joy when she kissed her, he tenderly stroked the grey saw his rosy cheeks and how much he hair which matched so ill with her eves; had grown and strengthened. In October then he took up the stockings one by one he would come home for the winter, for and examined them. He was only thir. when once snow covered the mountain-teen, and though he was well grown he top it was no longer a safe abiding-place had still the charming oval face, clear for either sheep or shepherds.

skin, and limpid dark eyes which one During the winter there would be plenty sees in Swiss children, and which so comfor André to do, and in the evenings she pletely deserts them as they grow older. thought he would have time to read his The only fault that could have been found father's books, for Joseph Engemann had with André was that his neck was short, been very fond of reading. She was not so that his head came a little too near his afraid that André would take up with idle broad shoulders; but he was so active ways. One fear she had, but of this she and light in his movements that this was had never spoken. What if he grew to scarcely noticed. love the mountains as his father had loved • Dear little mother!” he stood looking them, and became a guide to travellers ? at the stockings ; " did she make you all, When this thought came to her, Elisa's and had she the conscience to think that heart seemed to stand still as if an icy André could wear you all? You would do hand pressed on it, and the strange look for six Andrés. Naughty little mother to of horror filled her eyes.

sit knitting all day long, when a walk in Then she would tell herself this was an the pine wood would do you good.” idle dream and a selfish one, and she tried “ All day long! Bless him, does he to chase it by giving her house an extra really think I spend so much time on

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LIVING AGE.

VOL. XLII.

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him? Go along then; the goat and the "I had better go back to the mounchicks would not let me, even if it were in tains,” André said; "the air down here me to sit still all day."

feels close and heavy. It is nice to be “You have not then time to feel lonely, with you, mother, but I could not work so mother?"

well down here." He spoke carelessly, but the look in He avoided meeting her eyes, but when his sweet, dark eyes made his mother's she spoke the strange hoarseness in her heart throb. She had never talked to voice drew his attention, and he started him about his father's death. Up, on the when he saw the wild terror in her face. mountains he had learned the sad story Mother," he cried,

are you ill?” from his brother shepherds, and it often She put out her hand. came back to him when he was alone. “Tell me,” she said, "I had best know He thought the remembrance of it must it, André, what kind of life can you have be very terrible to his mother; and she up on the mountains that is not quiet and had so many lonely hours.

lonely?" But a new idea had been growing in The boy hesitated; he was vexed with André's mind; probably it had been latent himself and with his mother; it had been there, and had only needed the solitude easy to keep thoughts to himself up there and silence of his mountain life to de. among his fellows. At the mountain velop.

chalet where he slept he was considered For although the shepherds called to only a merry, light-hearted boy; be kept one another in their pleasant Swiss fash- his confidences for the snow mountains, ion, and travellers sometimes talked to and though these were so far above him, André as they climbed the mountain, he used to talk to them, and tell them his there were many solitary hours to be longings to approach them more nearly. lived through on the green pasture. The André had not counted that the warm pyramid-shaped mountain was not more glow of homecoming would have the than eight thousand feet high, and did not same effect on the reserve he habitually therefore offer great attractions to climb. maintained as the sunshine had on mouners; only a few travellers passed across tain snow, and yet that look in his mothit during the summer. It was, as André's er's eyes made the secret hopes seem a mother often reminded herself, a safe, crime. He stood hanging his head; all out-of-the-way sheep-pasture.

the light had gone out of his face. And yet the fear born with her child “ You are tired of being on the same never deserted her, and now something in pasture,” she said, trying to catch at a his words gave it new power.

fragment of hope, as one seeks for a She returned his earnest gaze, and an- glimpse of blue in a threatening sky; swered the thought she shrank from, rather“ well, then, you must exchange on to the than the question he had put to her. other side of the Simmenthal; you will

Brooding over her sorrow had increased there find an altogether different counher natural quickness of perception, for it try.” had alienated the outward distractions • No, no," he said, “it is not the same. which might have confused this percep- ness I feel; sheep are not like cows, little tion by giving her less time for thought. mother; sheep do not stay in one spot till

You are lonely, then, my child; you they have eaten up the grass ; they stray want a more stirring - what do I say? – here and there, and sometimes they lead a more active life. Well," she went on me up to the very top. Ah, mother, it is quickly, as she saw that he was trying to a grand look-out I have then; it makes speak, “at the château up yonder, they me long to know what more I could see are wanting a good shepherd to manage from those high snow peaks above. Surethe beasts they keep down here. old ly, if one climbed the white mountain Michael is dying, and, besides, he is much herself, one would see to the end of the too old for work. If they would not think world !” you too young, the place might suit you His mother's yearning gaze noted the eh, my boy?

glow in his face, and her lips moved as if André got up from the bench; then he she were echoing his words. She got stood some minutes at the open door, up and turned away, pressing her hardlooking out, seemingly, at the gourd-vine. worked hands together nervously.

His mother waited till he turned round; “I must call in the goats,” she said; a sickening fear clung about ber heart, and she went out. but she would not yield to it, though it In truth, to her also the air had become had made her very pale.

choked and heavy; the look on her boy's

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