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lous realism of his imagination, if we may ditches on the way. Of this tendency use so paradoxical an expression, and his Defoe was the typical example. He wa character in a political point of view is so the climax to which the art pushed itsel little attractive, that we could have wished through all its softer and broader proc a different choice. It is no doubt true, as

With Addison it was conjoined is well said by the last biographer of this with the purest poetical inspiration; and strange genius, that his life was essen. Sterne, a little later, mingled it artfully tially that of a journalist and political with many other ingredients, the evi writer, and that his fictions were but inci- part of which should not make us forge dents in his career. But at this distance that by times he also rose to a high and these are the incidents which tell. And beautiful level of ideal conception. Bu the peculiarity of Defoe's imaginative Defoe, with his brilliant intellect and works is, we think, specially characteris- prosaic character, carried it to the mos tic of the time, which was not an age for absolute development which art ever had abstractions or elevated fancy, but one We do not know very much about the which loved detail and that fiction with kind of man his Crusoe was no ideal o the air of fact in it of which Defoe was the him, nor of what he would do in othe supreme master. The imagination of circumstances, could have formed itself in Addison was of a loftier kind. It con- the mind of any reader; but we know ceived an ideal character, while Defoe himself where he stands, and could mak only created an imaginary man : but yet his portrait, and map. out the road, an there is that resemblance between them find the shelf on which he kept his treas which runs even through the portraits of ures. He is as real to us as our nex a period, - a resemblance which, no neighbors. We see him go and come doubt, has something to do with costume, and note all his industries and the clever yet is more than costume. Sir Roger de ness of his inventions, and never Coverley is such a noble gentleman as ourselves for a moment whether any o Defoe has no conception of. Yet he is these wonderful expedients are unlikely set before us with all the tender skill of a How, indeed, can they be called unlikely miniature painter — line upon line, tint when we see them, and the need of them upon tint — his peruke, his ruffles, his old and perceive how his resources meet th hall and servants, idealized only so far as ever-increasing strain made upon them the genius that created him was of a spir. It is the very triumph of fact turned int itual kind, and had called forth out of the imagination of the real taken posses unknown a noble and tender human be. sion of, moulded and leavened and worke ing, superior to all his surroundings, be- out, pervaded by a creative force, bu fore proceeding to set him bodily before never losing its distinct and solid stand us, among the fresh fields and old-world ing-ground. This man of fiction — thi habits in which he lived. The details shipwrecked sailor - is, we repeat, a here are in just subjection to the beautiful our next-door neighbor, whom we watc ideal of humanity which makes the whole every day of our lives, and see in ever world more bright, — but yet the details particular of his existence, yet know not? are there, and though illuminated by a ing about. We could touch him an more lovely light of fancy, all is real in handle him did we stretch forth a finger the soft landscape, every turn of the road but we have never come to speech of hin and undulation of the soil painted for us, nor do we know what is in his hear and even the very manners of the chair. The mental tendency of the time toward men and shouts of the linkboys in Covent minute observation and lengthened recor Garden, when our fine old gentleman the spirit which found so much inte comes to town. A painter could make a est in life that every turning of a corne picture from nothing but these descrip- was an event, and all the facts of exis tions, not perhaps so deadly exact as ence memorable — reached its very fu Hogarth, but full of visionary resem- thest point in this great, curious, intens. blance, and perhaps more true though less and yet limited intellect, of which we fe real. This is the literary tendency of the sometimes inclined to doubt whethe age. Memoirs, letters which are autobi- notwithstanding its so vivid and extrao ographies, reported interviews, in which dinary imaginative efforts, it possesse every word of every dialogue remains, any imagination at all. Here, howeve and

you know how many lackeys the the remembrance of a work, to our ow suitor passed in the great man's aute-eyes much more striking and impressiv chambers and how many horses he had to than any of the others — the “Journal his coach, if not how many ruts and ! the Plague comes before us and stoj

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our mouths. But even there, though the statement personally took away our power of putting himself into a place and breath, yet it is not without evidence in circumstances conceived by fancy is ex- its favor. But when we turn to the examtraordinary, we are again confronted on ples given, for instance, of Gay, we can every side by the real, and know very but reflect, with dismayed astonishment, little, though more than Crusoe, of the that the writer of those feeble verses man by whose side we walk, and through walked complacently about the world lawhose eyes we see.

belled poet, in the lifetime of Pope, and Here, however, is the boundary-wall consorted with that master of expression sharply marked, against which we can do on terms of easy equality as being, he too, no more than knock our heads, if any one a master of song. Contemporary eyes, of us should have the ambition of super- we suppose, will continue to make these seding Defoe. He has gone as far as strange mistakes until the end of time. man can go in the path he has chosen. Thus Dr. Burton places before us one Genius greater and more suggestive may of the most critical periods in our history, diverge on all sides, but Defoe carries — an age full of corruption and meanness, his art to the last limits of the possible. yet likewise of such a bold and resolute He is the perfect realization of fact in stand upon a broad principle as has selfiction, and absolute prose in imagination. dom been equalled either in its tenacity He is a photographer, but of a scene that or its success; a reign full of petty cabals exists only in fancy; a printer, but with and backstairs intrigues, yet in which the types that never were founded. How far best men were chosen for the offices they this is from the highest art it is almost were most fit to fill, with as much disimpossible to say, yet it is the climax of crimination as if wisdom herself, and not that realism which ran through all liter- court-favor, had presided at their selecary effort in his period, most perfect in tion. It would have better suited the skill

, most bewildering in facsimile, –a supposed logic of events that the hussort of highly concentrated marketable band of Duchess Sarah should have been essence of fact reproduced in fiction. So a fool and an incapable person, instead strongly was this the case, that when a of the greatest soldier and diplomatist of real record of remote individual experi- his times. But Providence was kind in ences dropped into the world without this respect to the solitary queen and much information about its authorship, childless woman who was so little adapted the very gravity of its truthfulness sug- for a crown, yet in whose period of sov. gested to the critics that it must be the ereignty the English throne was settled work of Defoe. He was thus the most so securely that all the deficiencies of perfect example of his age and its ten- the new dynasty, and all the romantic dency in literature. It was an age of attractions of the old, failed to shake its narrative, and he was narrative imper: equilibrium for a moment; and two nasonified — the very genius of the material tions full of jarring elements were hapimagination.

pily made into one, and thus stood fast It is amusing, however, to note, through and have stood fast ever since — against the medium of some of these literary all assaults; and the English arms gained sketches, how very little merit was nec- more than the barren glory which so essary, notwithstanding the existence of often attends great victories, by subduing so many great writers, to gain a figure and rendering harmless the only antagoamong the men of letters of Queen nist who could have interfered with the Anne. This is a reflection, perhaps, internal peace and safety of the country. which every new generation makes. Not To set forth the great aims pursued very long ago, we were startled and hor- through much personal pettiness, and a rited to hear from one of the best of con- bewildering flutter of contemporary comtemporary critics the audacious assertion ment, — to show the energy and fulness that the world-renowned coterie of the and exuberant life of the period, and all Edinburgh Review, in place of being, as it accomplished, -- was no light task. . We devoutly supposed, brilliant men of Dr. Burton has fulfilled it with a breadth genius all, and worthy to have invented of philosophical discrimination, justice, the modern periodical, were not a bit and impartiality which the readers of his beiter than their successors nay, that former works will indeed fully calculate magazine writers of the present day are upon, but which are rare qualities at a o à class superior, both in what they time when picturesque description has Ezre to say and the manner in which almost won the day among us over sound zey say it, to those demigods. The l judgment and impartial truth.

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From Blackwood's Magazine. ". Are you in, Donnelly?' I shouted. BUSH-LIFE IN QUEENSLAND.

"Oh!' said a feeble voice, inside; • who are you?'

Thompson. Don't you know me,

Mrs. Donnelly?'
THE CATTLE-BUYER'S YARN.

6. Have

you seen my husband ? ' “I WAS 'super' of a sheep-station up “My heart felt like a lump of lead. north two years ago, and had got along “No, I said, speaking as cheerfully as I very well without having come into colli- could. “Isn't he here?' sion with the blacks. The station had “I haven't seen him since Monday been formed for about six years, and morning' (this was Thursday night), and those who had taken it up and managed oh, I fear – I fear L' Here her sobs it before my time had been equally fortu- interrupted her. nate. Some of the neighbors had had “ I still sat on my horse outside, for the men killed and sheep driven away, but conversation was being conducted with we always escaped. We had grown so the door barred. careless as to have given up carrying fire- “Did you hear or see anything to arms about the head-station; and even

cause you alarm ?' said I. the shepherds were in the habit of going "No; nothing. Only on Sunday night unarmed, although living far away from – the last night I saw him — the dogs each other.

howled the whole night through; and I “Having gone out one evening to count was frightened, and he kissed me, and the sheep at one of the sheep-stations, I told me no harm should befall me while was surprised to come across a strange he was near. I fear – oh, I do not know flock, evidently unshepherded, grazing, what I fear! A snake may have bitten and scattered through the bush in the him, or he may have had sunstroke, or vicinity of the yard. On examining them, perhaps blacks may have been around they proved to be a flock which had been the house watching him depart on Monshepherded by a man living with his wife day. My dear, kind fellow?' Here she and child at another hut eight or ten miles broke once more into a fit of weeping. away.

". Now, Mrs. Donnelly, you must hope " I guessed that something had gone for the best,' said I, not knowing well wrong: the man had gone to sleep per- what to say; for the woman was distracted haps, and the flock had gradually, fed with grief, and half maddened with the away without his knowledge, and on weary watching of these awful days. She awakening, he had not been able to find knew not the way through the trackless them; or he had got separated in some bush and over the mountains to the headsilly way from his charge, and they having station. Her only hope was to sit still been shepherded at this sheep-station be- and wait; but oh, the agony of that waitfore, made their way back to their favorite ing! old beat. The thought of blacks being Oh, there is no hope, no hope! I on the run never entered my mind. knew it; I felt it when his sheep, came

“ As soon as I had counted the sheep home on Monday night without him, and and secured the strange flock in an empty the dog that loved him so brought them yard, I started down the creek to the to the yard and went away; and she only sheep-station hut where lived Donnelly, came back to-day, wherever she has been the shepherd of the wandering flock, with Oh, if she could only tell! I kept the his wife and child. It was a calm, balmy, sheep, two days in the yard and then I moonlit night, and as I rode through the turned them out up the creek, in the silent bush no sound was heard save the hopes that they might go back to their mournful wailing shriek of the wild curlew old run, and so give notice of something as it rose, shriller and shriller, until, fad- being wrong.' ing away, its plaintive cry was lost in the ". Now, Mrs. Donnelly,' said I, “if you forest depths; or when, startlingly near, like I'll ride in for help and be out the arose the prolonged howl of the dingo, first thing in the morning, and track and echoed back again on all sides.

find your husband; or if you feel fright “There was something in the air as I ened, I'll just lie down here and go in the approached the hut which caused my morning.' heart to sink. A foreboding of evil seized 66. Don't wait,' implored the poor crea me, as I rode up to the little dwelling ture. 'Oh, go at once; it will save time which looked so weird-like in the ghostly perhaps his life! Oh, pray, yo! Neve moonlight.

mind me. I'm not afraid for myself.'

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"Well, good-night, and God keep you,' stream. Something there was there. I uttered in a broken voice; for I'm Yes something. What is it? Is it a hanged if the whole thing wasn't rather sheep? No. Ő God ! now I see. It is too much for me."

a naked body, on its face, jammed in be“No wonder," ejaculated his audience. tween the rocks, the poor stiff legs mov"Well, I pushed home that night and ing up and down with the rapid current. roused up the overseer, got fresh horses I cooeyed. The overseer came hastily. up and firearms cleaned and loaded. We My face told him. took a man with us to shepherd poor Where is it?' he breathed, in a fearful Donnelly's flock, which we counted when whisper. we arrived at the yards. They were seven “ I pointed at the dreadful it. short. From that time I had little hope, “The head! Look, it has no head!' although I said nothing.

he cried. "We called at the sheep-station hut, “I looked again. It was true. The just to give the poor woman the comfort bare neck-bone stood out several inches of knowing we were doing what we could. above where the flesh had been cut. Then we searched until we found the Somehow I felt relieved. It was bad tracks of the shepherd as he followed his enough to have to view the swollen, fesfock out to pasture on that Monday tering, sun-blistered corpse, but at that momorning. The sheep in coming home ment I felt that to look on the sodden, had, as their nature directs them, chosen water-bleached face, with the ghastly a different route, so that the tracks were goggle eyes and tangled dripping locks, not obliterated. Slowly keeping on the would have been more than I could track (for a man does not make much of stand. a mark on hard ground, and we had no "Well, we cleared out of that fast black boy), we followed until we came to a enough, you may depend. I sent my large river, into which the sheep-station companion to bring in the woman to the creek emptied itself, considerably lower head-station, while I myself rode off to down. Ah,' thought I, “they came here despatch letters calling for the assistance to drink. Yes, here's their camp: they of the native police. I then got a couple camped here during the heat of the sun.' of more men, and taking a woolsack and The tracks now led down to the bank of pick and shovel, we went back to give the river, where I lost them among the poor Donnelly Christian burial. We bard shingle and gravel. My companion waded out and managed to slip some bagand I searched carefully along the banks, ging under the corpse, and brought him but there were no tracks returning; then ashore. Alas! he was shockingly mutithey led down to the water's edge, and lated. And there, on his left side, the there we lost them. The river was bere little round hole too surely told where the broad and rocky; a waste mountainous deadly spear had penetrated. His head country lay on the other side. There was we could not find. We buried him under no inducement for him to cross. Sud. a river-oak of that darkly timbered island. denly the overseer raising his head ut. And the dense underwood, amid which tered a short ejaculation.

had lurked his savage slayers, now shel** Found anything?' I asked quickly. ters the lonely grave where, unheeded by

"Silently be pointed in the air. Words all save One, that disfigured clay lies.” could have conveyed no more significance “What became of the poor woman ?” than that gesture. Circling on the air asked his hearers. mere numbers. of carrion - kites, while “ The overseer brought her in. She others sat on trees, either gorged, or received the news of her husband's death awaiting to commence a banquet of hor- in a dull, stupid sort of manner, as if for. What that meant my throbbing hearing without understanding. She had beat only too surely told me. A long apparently lost all interest in life. She s'and, clothed with thick vegetation, lay sat all day by herself, rocking to and fro, between us and the other shore; and it with the poor fatherless child clasped Tas above the furthest channel that the tightly to her bosom. We made a subtirds of evil omen flew.

scription for the poor creature, and sent * Hastily stripping, and tying up our her down to her friends, who lived in borses, we grasped our revolvers and Sydney; but since then I have heard Erded the first stream. We searched up nothing of her.” and down the island, looking for what we “Now, then, have some more Henfeared to find. Nothing was to be seen. nessy;”, said Fitzgerald, pushing the A: last I cast my eyes on the other brandy-bottle towards Thompson," and

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tell us how you got mixed up with the the mountains closed so abruptly on bot niggers; and after that I'll tell you of an sides of the creek, that the only passag adventure which befell me about three lay among the rough boulders and shing months ago."

of the river-bed. I had been up countin the sheep, and left the hut at dark on m road home. The distance before me wa

about sixteen miles. I rode along, m THE CATTLE-BUYER'S YARN, CONTINUED.

mind occupied with conjectures as to th "I TOLD you that I had sent off for the best disposal of my sheep during the tr native police,” commenced the ex-super. ing drought. The road now turned dow after a deep draught of “three-star,” judi-into the river-bed, and picking his wa ciously qualified, though by no means the best he could, my horse cheerful drowned, with water. "Well, they came jogged on his homeward path. TH after about a week had elapsed. I might mountains towered in shadowy gloom have followed the trail myself, with some either side above me as I rode along t! of our men : but in the first place, I feared side of the river, which, although consi that we were not strong enough for the erably, shrunk by reason of the summ natives, who were evidently in large num- droughts, churned and foamed as i bers; and in the second, Í could not be rapid current forced its way through i certain that my own men would not report rock-barred channel. Occasionally I the occurrence to government, in which track led through clumps of river-oak sa case, supposing any of the wretches to lings and bushes, emerging from which have been knocked over, I would in all could discover a bare patch of sand, as probability have had to stand my trial for beyond that shadow. My horse knew t murder.

road, however, and I cared not; half n “ The detachment came at last, and al- time was spent in similar lonely rides, a though officers of police are supposed to I was not nervous. I was getting mig allow no whites to accompany them, yet ily hungry, however, besides which, t being well known to the sub-inspector in mail-man was expected at the station, a charge, he was only too glad of my com- I longed to read my home letters. pany for a few days.

horse's shoes clattered against the ston “The boys of the troop, on arriving at as I stuck my spurs into his sides to ur the spot where I had lost the tracks on the him onward. A sudden turning in t shingle, spread out, and their acute eye- road now showed me a number of sm sight enabled them to read the characters fires glowing ahead. But that they we on the earth as one would a printed stationary, I should have been inclined book.

think them caused by fireflies.

On I Here, Mahmy,' said one to his chief left there were more.' The sudden tu - here that been cut him head off. You ing of the river had placed some in fro mil-mil (see) blood.'

and some behind, and hitherto the th “I shuddered. There, now that it was groves of flooded oak had hidden th pointed out to me, on the very stone I had from my sight. On my right frowned sat down on when stripping to search for overhanging crag. I drew my rein ; ! the body, the blood-stains were plain. haps (for blacks often chatter loudly They spattered the dead leaves, and their camps) they had not heard me. stained the grass-stalks.

listened. Not a 'sound save the rushi Well, we started on the tracks, over- tumbling river-current. It was, after took the retreating tribe, gave them a perhaps only the remains of a bush-f sound punishment, and returned home. Some of the logs were still alight, and Other duties soon effaced the memory of night air had fanned the embers int the affair, and we concluded that for some glow. Again I listened intently. time at least nothing would be heard of blacks really were in the camp, they na the offending blacks. The season proved have heard me coming; no doubt t a very dry one, and I found myself obliged had barred the way ahead and beh to erect temporary yards and huts on the The broken river-channel forbade very outskirts of the run, in order to make trusting to flight. What should I use of hitherto unoccupied ground. One Not three miles away lay poor Donne station in particular I had caused to be their victim, in his cold grave of built several miles up the river, beyond river-sand. What was his fate tl the spot now known as 'Donnelly's grave.' might be mine in a few minutes. I It was difficult of access. A short dis- termined to keep still and wait for v tance above that well-remembered spot, I might turn up. Presently I heard bus

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