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essays in the "Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions." Not only does the paper bring us new accessions of knowledge; but, what is more important, inferences which had escaped former inquirers, are derived from much that was familiar. This essay is, throughout, in Mr. De Quincey's best stylea style singularly lucid whenever he chooses to move without putting his singing robes on.

Michelet has told the story of Joan of Arc in that strange dialect which, we suppose, he regards as eloquence. He commences by an essay on the authorship and the influence of the book known by the name of "Thomas à Kempis" (Institution of Christ), and of those of the French work which was founded on it, "The Internal Consolation;" and he then tells us that Joan was this book embodied-was a living legend-was poetry of the highest kind. In Mr. Michelet there never is an absence of diligence-there is often a just feeling of whatever is good and generous; but his style is absolutely the worst in which a man of genius has ever communicated with the publicextravagant raptures at everything; no one scene told in straightforward earnestness delirium tremens simulating madness, almost undistinguishable from it. That the historian should have to record much that the philosopher would call insanity that even the most sober acts of policy should assume to him this character, and be commented on with such view, is quite intelligible. We may agree with or we may differ from such comment; but that he who draws up the record should feel it necessary to express in his language maniacal sympathy with each of his heroes and heroines is, we think, in discord with the exercise of that calm judgment which the indolent reader has a right to expect. Michelet's answer may be, that the reader has no right to be indolent, and that the historian's business is but to give such pictures as he best can of the incidents which are brought before him by his subject; that the moral judgment which they call into exercise is rather for his reader than himself; and that, without the perpetual excitement of the imagination, the narrative would become languid, and incapable of in any way animating the reader into the kind of mental exertion necessary to perform his part. Allowing great weight to such considerations, we

yet think that between the mere annalist and such a scene-painter as Michelet, something intermediate would be better than either.

Mr. De Quincey divides the story of Joan of Arc into two parts, which cannot be easily brought into one view the first, when, acting under the impulses of her own strong conviction, she inspired others with confidence-when, feeling the important advantage which the fact of actual coronation would give Charles VII. over his rival, she succeeded in effecting this object; and, this being done, regarded her mission at an end. The other, when she reluctantly allowed herself to be an instrument in the hands of mere politicians; and was moved, not by what she regarded as divine inspiration, but by such poor motives as the exigencies of the moment suggested to those whose instrument she was. The first of these periods was exultation-victory- triumph; the second, defeat humiliation-to her, deathto every one else concerned, utter disgrace. All this is well told.

The closing essay in the volume is the best, and one which well deserves to be read with care. The subject is, Popular Superstition. A number of stories, most of them fully authenticated,

"Of calling shapes and beckoning shadows dire. And aëry tongues that syllable men's names, On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses,"

are here brought together, and are told with the same power and the same entire earnestness of manner that so im presses the reader of Scott's "Demonology and Witchcraft." It is really a matter of astonishment to us-though, perhaps, in part to be accounted for by Mr. De Quincey having brought together essays written at very different periods of life-to find such great contrasts of style as are exhibited in these volumes. But throughout, even where we are most dissatisfied, there is the element of very considerable mental power; and if we feel that, using no other forms than those which elevated prose supplies, he has sometimes failed to produce the poetical effects at which it would seem he is aiming, it must be remembered that it is an experiment in which no man, without the aid of the forms which poetry demands and justifies, and the involuntary sympathics which they call up as if by magic, has ever succeeded.

THE DEDICATION OF THE TEMPLE.

Εἰ γὰρ τὸ καταργούμενον διὰ δόξης, πολλῶ μᾶλλον τὸ μένον ἐν δόξη.—2 Cor. 111. 11.

"All put on a gentle hue,
Hanging in the shadowy air,
Like a picture rich and rare.
It was a climate where they say

The night is more beloved than day."-COLERIDGE.

WHERE falls the moonlight fairest? On tall ships
Seen from the headland of an ocean shore !
Where falls the moonlight fairest? On the tips
Of trees that stand upon a mountain hoar,
Listening all night to some blue river's roar :
Where in his foxglove-bell the wandering bee
Wraps round his golden head right royally!

But where falls moonlight fairest? On a fane,
An English Church of medieval mould!
O! let me waken at my will again

A dream of spires, and terraces of gold,
Incense, and cedar, delicately scroll'd,
That pass'd across my heart one summer night,
By such a church, in such a fair moonlight.

Of days I thought when the Crusader gave
His lordly acres to that Gothic altar;

Hung up the helm, and habergeon, and glaive,
And taught his manly Saxon lip to falter

The dark old tongue of beauty through the Psalter;
Therewith resigning to the Lord the whole

Long-treasured memories of a soldier's soul.

Of all magnificence of thoughtful stone
Then seem'd I the original to scan;

Of Time's superbest temples many a one,

Typing the Infinite, though reared by man ;
Mighty cathedrals metropolitan,

To whose high brows, like many crowns, are given
The stormy pomps, and starry peace of heaven.

I look'd, albeit 'twere an English June,

On Solomon's temple with amazèd eye,

The great round rosy oriental moon*

Tinging the paleness of the immaculate sky;
I heard the wondrous octave's wassailry,†
Like multitudinous murmurings alive,
When all the summer hums about the hive.

"The moon which hung over our head displayed colours of fire and of the rose."Lamartine's Voyage, &c.

"Solomon held a feast, and all Israel with him, seven days and seven days."—1 Kings, viii. 65.

I saw the glorious moonlight raining through

The lateral windows. * What a wealth was there
Of glistering stones of every orient hue!
What onyxes, and Indian jewels rare,

What rich orfevyry of barbaric air!t
Brave things, the camel bore a weary road,
Or gallant ship with canvas moon-besnow'd.

From Gihon, peradventure, golden-bright,
Or Havilah, whose tropic forests quiver,
Sleepily parleying, in the purple light,

Unto the liquid lyre of Eden's river,

That panteth forth on its four chords for ever
Sweet sorrow, like the strain a wild bird weaves,
Remembering summer 'mid the yellow leaves.

The air was taken with a faint fine sense

Of eastern gums, of cedar, and of nard;
Cherubs were hanging o'er the frankincense,
Carven to keep eternal watch and ward,

With calm deep eyes, of passionless regard;
And flowers were there, with half their leaves unroll'd,
Steep'd in the fadeless sunset of their gold!

A little space, and this magnifical

And profuse beauty, beyond fancy's showing,
Was fill'd with seraph's songs that rise and fall;
Seven sweet blue summers§ in its silent blowing-
God for the dew, and it the lily growing|-

Well might it task angelic harps to swell
Up from Shallecheth¶ unto Ariel !**

Two "holy ones and watchers" of that throng
Fix'd my regard by an attraction sweet,
Standing all radiant, where the angel strong,

Whilome with coming of his stormy feet,
Troubled the red waves of Araunah's wheat;

The younger seraph first his anthem sung,
And this its import in our mortal tongue :-

"Glory to God upon God's holy mountain,

Keep the wild spirit of the world in tune!
Joy, too, be ours, who saw, like column'd fountain,
These shafts spring upward to the sun and moon;
Not from man's cunning heart the ideal hewn,

But graven first on yon empyreal blue

A faultless flower, created ere it grew !tt

. แ
"Windows of narrow lights."-1 Kings, vi. 4. See margin.

↑ "I have prepared with all my might for the house of my God onyx stones, and stones to be set, glistering stones."-1 Chron., xxix. 2.

The curious reader may find, in the first book of "Raleigh's History of the World,” a chapter of the place of Paradise," in which, among a variety of theories, there are some given which identify it with the lands reached by the navies of Hiram and Solomon. S" So was he seven years in building it."—1 Kings, vi. 38.

Compare the imagery in Hosea, xiv. 5.

"Westward with the gate Shallecheth."-1 Chron. xxvi. 16.

Καὶ τὸ ἀριὴλ πηχῶν τεσσάρων καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀριὴλ. κ. τ. λ. Ιxx.; Ezek. xliii. 15. The altar is here called Ariel, . e., the hearth of God; the same appellation is extended to the city of Jerusalem.-Isaiah, xxix. 1

tt "All this, said David, the Lord made me to understand in writing by his hand upon me."-1 Chron. xxviii. 19; c. f. Ex. xxv. 40; Gen. ii. 5.

I mark'd the anointed singer year by year

Gather the waifs wash'd up by war's wild tide;
What though the old man might not live to hear
His psalms to-day adown Moriah's side
Sweep, by the mountain echoes glorified;
Yet Faith, like Poetry, can bear to be
Fed upon things a blind world cannot see.

And still he stored an appanage that shamed

Imperial spoils his songs of thought divine,
Gifts of the muse, in Paynimry so named;

There with adulterous beauty made to shine,
By lust call'd love, idolatry, and wine;
Here fitliest emblem'd by a maid who sings,
Moved by the Spirit, to the King of kings.*

And yester morning from the vaulted fire

Over Heaven's crystal storiest downward borne.
O what a burst I heard from lip and lyre,

Jeduthun's harp and Heman's sounding horn ;‡
And silver-snarling trumpets bade the morn
Go tell the godless waves on Gentile coasts
How Salem singeth to the Lord of Hosts!

"Praise our good God!" on many a tube and chord,
Some subtle spirit inextricably blent,
Music's dark dream with the interpreting word. §
Zebulon deem'd his sea|| that strain had lent,
Tuned by some Jubal for an instrument,

To crash with grander touches than before,
His fine old endless anthem evermore!

That measure paled with awe Dan's lion brow, T
And tented Issachar's, the thoughtful-eyed;"
And the fair sons of Joseph's fruitful bough

Look'd on a prouder pomp than ever dyed
Their ancient mountain tops at eventide ;††
And Asber saw the red gold blazing higher
Than all his nightly furnaces of fire !‡‡

Then from the Holiest, the brightly dark,
Earth's only reliquary meet to hold
The ancient, awful, stream-compelling ark,
The living heart, whose pulses manifold

Make this house living-on the Presence roll'd,

And on the brazen scaffold left the King,
Fairer than God of mythic fancying.

"It is time to baptise poetry in Jordan, for she will never become clean by washing in the waters of Damascus."-Cowley, Pref. to Davideis.

† Amos, ix. 6.

1 Chron. xxv. 3, 5.

"The trumpeters and singers were as one, to make one sound; they lifted up their voice with the instruments of music, and praised the Lord, saying, for He is good.”— 2 Chron. v. 13.

Zebulon shall dwell at the haven of the sea."—Gen. xlix. 13.

"Dan is a lion's whelp."-Deut. xxiii. 22.

"Rejoice, Issachar, in thy tents."-Deut. xxxiii. 18. "The children of Issachar, which were men that had understanding of the times, to know what Israel ought to do."— 1 Chron. xii. 32.

tt "Joseph is a fruitful bough."-Gen. xlix. 22. "Blessed of the Lord be his land for the chief things of the ancient mountains."--Deut. xxxiii. 13-15.

"And of Asher he said, under thy shoes shall be iron and brass."-Deut. xxxiii. 24, 25, margin. "Brass and iron were here melted, being in great plenty in this country."— Bishop Patrick, in locum.

Wiser than wrinkled men, who watch the disc
Of the weird moon from many a turret tall;
Or trace their dreams on starry obelisk,

Where, white as their own hair, the cataracts fall
Of Egypt's Nile, yet beautiful withal;
Whose sunny-featured Father's Spirit lies
Saintly behind the Hittite's passionate eyes.

In flower and leaf he reads a history writ,*

Thousand sweet silent tongues, one central thought!
Man's life (the theme of Ethnic's moon-blind wit)
Opens its gates to him, and hideth not

Dreams that the very dreamer hath forgot;
His eye hath follow'd manhood's stormy main
To its far fountain in the baby's brain.†

But still that awful sea of wisdom breaks

To the sweet tune call'd poetry by men;
And still for him his darkest thinking takes

A luminous robe of words, the glory then
Of eloquent tongue and wonder-working pen.
A strange triplicity of realms hath he
Crown'd king of nations, thought, and poesy!

He spake glad words that trembled into woe;

He rose, and blest the host with happy hand;
As on an autumn day, those flags of snow

The torrents, motionless on their rocky stand,
The hot mist hides, and half the golden land-

So hung the cloud before a thousand eyes,
Till fire came down and lit the sacrifice."

Ceased the fair spirit; and angelic creatures
With choral acclamation made consent.
The elder seraph, then, of calmer features,
Exceedingly majestical, that blent

Something like sorrow in their temperament—
Shadows from amaranthine flowers of bliss!-
Spake to a graver argument like this:-

"Yea, let Magnificats proclaim the birth,
Unto the dwellers in the lands below,

Of this fair place, the joy of all the earth,'

This dim-bright place, where faintest odours flow
From cedar flowers eternally in blow;

And faintest hues as from Heaven's windows fall,
In gloried darkness round the ritual.

"The heavenliest thing of all that is not Heaven!
Yet worthier far an angel's lauds to reach,
The lamps of worship lighted morn and even-
God's silent witnesses that always teach,
Like day and night, with an unutter'd speech;

His visible ark, man's dovelike soul to win
From earth's great waterflood of woe and sin.

This alludes to Goethe's beautiful speculations on the idea of the general form of a plant, which has been considered by competent judges the leading idea of modern botany.— See Whewell's Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences, vol. i. pp. 30-32.

In these lines the writer has spoken with some recollection of Cousin's "Critique on Locke" in his History of Modern Philosophy, lecture xvi.

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