shift his linen and other garments, and thus remove every noxious exhalation. But the working man, whose linen and clothes are saturated with the damp from his own body, must still retain it, and is, moreover, debarred from the use of a bath. This is in itself a most fruit. ful source of disease. Since linen has been in common use, the matter is ameliorated; but when woollen garments were worn next the skin, the consequences were most mischievous. In the days of elder Greece, the runners, and wrestlers, and riders, and drivers at the public games, used the bath, and shifted their garments as soon as their toil was ended. In addition to the want of cleanliness, there are other reasons which seem to render personal association between the mechanics and the more refined classes of the community incompatible. Their garments are not only coarse but unsightly, inconvenient, and destitute of all taste. Their food is frequently not of good quality, or if it be, is frequently badly prepared. The quality of the food of a nation is of as much importance in its effects on the body, as good or bad training in its effects on the mind. Again, the language used by the mechanics is frequently of so coarse a kind, as to destroy the good effect of the sterling good sense which may be contained in it; for people are very prone to receive impressions from externals, without diving beneath the surface. But these evils, great as they are, are by no means necessary evils; they may be traced, like the majority of the cases of drunkenness, to the want of a comfortable home, and the absence of pleasurable and rational excitement for the mind. The wretchedness of the dwellings of the mechanics begets a habit of reliance upon temporary expedients, and an absence of all economy. At a far less expense than they at present incur, good dwellings might be provided for them, with every convenience for the comfortable maintenance of their bodies, and the due cultivation of their minds.* My conviction-not lightly taken up, but the In the Staffordshire Potteries, house-rents are cheap, and the married workmen of regular habits usually occu py small houses, instead of living in lodgings. The neatness and domestic regularity of these dwellings is remarkable; yet the men do not earn very high wages. I know no place better adapted for the establishment of cheap libraries for the poor-if the respectable people would permit it. result of long and earnest thought-is, that daily occupation with manual labour is in no way incompatible with the highest mental cultivation and refinement; that so far from the exercise of mechanical employment daily, for a moderate time, being detrimental to the mental powers, it has, on the contrary, a decided tendency to strengthen them; and that, if those who at present serve the public in the capacity of writers were to employ several hours a-day in mechanical labour, their bodily health would be improved, and their writings would take a character of vigour, startling even to themselves. They would find the work-shop a more healthy atmosphere than the drawing-room. There is no reason, save ignorance, why any thing like degradation should attach to the character of the working mechanics. There is no reason, save ignorance, why they should not have dwellings as good as those of their employers, as to all the purposes of comfort. There is no reason, save ignorance, why they should not have refreshing baths after their daily toil, and abundant change of comely garments conducive to health. There is no reason, save ignorance, why they should not have abundance of good and well-prepared food for the body, and access to books of all kinds for the proper culture of the mind. There is no reason, save ignorance, why they should not have access to theatres, and operas, and lectures of all kinds, and picture and sculpture galleries, and museums, far more imposing than any thing the world has yet beheld. There is no reason, save ignorance, why the great body of the work ing people should not possess, in addition to all that is necessary for the comfortable maintenance of the body, all the pleasures of mental refinement, which are now only within the grasp of the very rich. There is no reason, save ignorance, why the ruling power of the State should not be in their own hands, and all else, save only the excitements of ostentation and expensive sensuality. To conclude, I am watching with attentive ear nestness the proceedings of the working classes, believing, that I can trace through the whole the constant development of improvement; which might be hastened, and which may be retarded by their rulers, but which cannot be stopped. I remain, Sir, very truly yours, JUNIUS REDIVIVUS. KORNER'S LYRE AND SWORD. TRANSLATED BY W. CHORLEY. THE readers of this Magazine, though they may have had no other of means of information, cannot fail to know, and, once knowing, who can ever cease to remem. her, the untimely-fallen POET-HERO of Germany, the "Bard and soldier," KORNER. Fragments of his noble lyrics have frequently been translated, and have appeared in different periodicals; but to Mr. Chorley we are deeply indebted for the whole of the Lyre and Sword, which has never before appeared entire in an English dress. Mr. Chorley accompanies his translation with an in • Tail's Magazine, original Series. VOL. I.-NO. X. 66 troduction, written in the right fervid spirit, and with a short Life of Korner. But his brief life is best traced in his verse, and it would, besides, be out of place to recur here to what has already appeared in this periodical. The translation of the war-songs, is executed with the true arnest feeling of one, who, born in the land of Hampden, claims near kindred with the soul of Korner." We are precluded from selecting, as specimens of Mr. Chorley's style of translation, the noblest of the lyrics, as these are already familiarized to most English readers; but we shall venture to select a few stanzas from fresh pieces less known. Those upon RAUCH's bust of the heroic 3 C Louisa, the Queen of Prussia, are, we think, very gracefully executed by the translator. The reader must notice that the bust appears on the monument of the Queen, in a medallion, which Korner writes his father, "is unspeakably lovely, and the strongest likeness of any yet taken." Thou sleep'st so soft! Still life's fair vision o'er, Their freedom,-when upon each hill bright hover In a bolder style, and in the true kindling spirit of the original, is rendered MY FATHERLAND. Where is the Poet's Fatherland? Where corn-flowers for the fair were growing; There was my Fatherland! Which is the Poet's Fatherland? That was my Fatherland! No slavish feeling mingled with the noble patriotism of Korner and the devoted youth of Germany, then leagued to rescue their Fatherland from the grasp of Napoleon, to which it had been given up by the imbecility and crouching spirit of their princes. It is thus he proceeds:→→→ Why weeps the Poet's Fatherland? What will the Poet's Fatherland? And hopes the Poet's Fatherland ? -In her just cause she hopes unshaken ; This hopes my Fatherland! Alas for the Poet's Fatherland! "We can well understand," says the liberal translator, "why these songs should now awaken merely bitter and melancholy recollections in the countrymen of Korner. With how widely different feelings from those expressed in the Lyre and Sword,' are the sovereigns of Austria and Prussia now deservedly regarded by the Germans! The people of Germany rallied round their native rulers when subdued by the French, and spent freely to the last, their property and their blood to win back kingdoms to captive kings. How have they been rewarded for this devotion? No intelligent English reader need be told how the holy devotion of the people to the cause of their country's rulers was craftily, and by degrees, turned against them;-how the very confidence they reposed in their native sovereigns, when oppression came from abroad, was abused to their abasement, in the most heartless and treacherous manner. Therefore, we can indeed understand how the first feelings of a German, now looking back upon the noble times of Korner, should be bitter enough to render the Lyre and Sword' almost odious to him. But let him remember that these songs not the less breathe and foster the only spirit that can regenerate his country. The soul breathing through all our Poet's life and songs, let the Germans never cease to worship with love and pride: for it is a spirit, true, sacred, and eternal; not depending in aught upon Prussia and Austria, or any change of time and circumstance. Thus alone can all their oppressors, whether foreign or domestic, fall before them; and Korner shall still have sung and died to free The Poet's Fatherland."" Said we not well, that Mr. Chorley wrote in the true fervid feeling of poetry and love of freedom, and in the generous spirit of Korner? In his noble strains the inspiration is God and country, and home and hearth; and we hear little of either kings or princes. The Queen, Louisa, as the noblest title belonging to her, is termed a "German wife." We must, in proof of what we assert of the source of Korner's inspiration, give the YAGER'S SONG. Up, up, ye Yagers brisk and free! For our German Fatherland! Yet met, we all are Brothers true; One true-souled German blood. Now, my bold Yagers brisk and free, Up, Brothers! on the foe! Our next extract will be best introduced by the translator's allusion to the prevalent feeling of Germany at the period when those warlike songs were kindling to a purer glow the spirit of the country. "The youth of Germany at last arose as one man, to win their freedom or to die. They naturally rallied around the greater Powers. The eagle of Austria was their banner; the name of the beautiful and injured Queen of Prussia became their watch-word. Mothers freely gave up their sons, and the betrothed sent her lover to his country's war. They mourned for those fallen in this holy cause; but rather with proud thankfulness that those whom they had lost were not wanting, when life was to be given for freedom, than with any deep regretful sorrowing. When a noble spirit thus possesses even the full might of woman's affections, and can control the violence of her fear and grief, there will be found few recreants among the men." Mr. Chorley might say in one word, that the same spirit was now abroad in Germany, which, twenty years bygone, had made the raw levies of the French Republic invincible; and that the same spirit which dictated the Marseillois Hymn, gushed forth in the indignant reproaches cast by Korner on the cravens, who, amidst their country's danger, consulted only their own safety and ease. The Nation arises-war-storms burst wild- Shame, dastard! shame on thee, mannikin tender! Ye comrades true, Who your gleaming sabres drew! 'Midst the hottest battle, as close we fought, When knells our hour, in the fight's hot breath, Ye comrades true, Who your gleaming sabres, drew! This was the language of the awakened soul of Germany;-what power could withstand its accents? In the same scornful, withering spirit, Korner elsewhere denounces the cowardly self-seekers who might be found at this period even in his Fatherland. Before the enraged Doom-giver, My peaceful field alone; Destroy the nation wholly, My child, my house but spare." Korner was born in September, 1791. He fell in the skirmish at Rosenberg, in August, 1813. His profession was not that of arms; and he had already risen to high distinction in letters. He was surrounded by all that could bless and endear life; and the brightest prospects were before him, when, from Vienna, and soon after the battle of Aspern, he wrote thus to his father:"Germany has arisen. The bold-soaring flight of the Prussian eagle awakens strong hopes of German freedom in all true hearts. My Art sighs after her Fatherland. Let me prove a son worthy of her! Now, when I know how far this world's happiness can reach ; now, when all the stars of good fortune shine over me, fair and propitious; now is it, by my God! a noble spirit which stirs in me; now do I give a mighty proof that no offering is too great for man's greatest blessing-the freedom of his country! Shall I be cowardly content with my lyre, to arouse my conquering brethren, by sounding after them songs of triumph! No! I know what anxious fears thou must suffer for me; I know how my mother will weep! God comfort her! I cannot spare you this sorrow. That I offer up my life is no great thing; but that this life is twined with all the flower-wreaths of friendship, happiness, and love, and that thus I offer it!"-Korner left behind him, in Vienna, his betrothed, and the dear friends he styles his "Guardian Genii," and joined Lutzow's Free Corps, then just raised, and consisting of the noblest spirits in all Germany. In this band of brothers, one spirit joined the most widely separated conditions, in the combat for freedom. This corps was solemnly consecrated to the service of Germany, in the church of Rochau, in Silesia, upon the 3d of May, in the year in which Korner fell. A noble hymn, of his composition, was sung upon this occasion and the pastor of the village delivered a powerful discourse to the patriot-soldiers. "Not an eye remained dry," says Korner, in writing to his friends. "At its end, he bade each of us take a solemn oath to spare neither life nor goods, and to meet joyfully either victory or death in the cause of mankind, of our Fatherland, and of our holy faith. We SWORE! Then upon this he threw himself upon his knees, and prayed to God for a blessing upon His soldiers. By God! this was a moment when in every breast, devo tion, even to death, burned with a flame of fire,—when all hearts beat worthy of heroes! The military oath, solemnly pronounced, and repeated by all, and sworn over the drawn swords of the officers, and the singing, A sure defence shall be our God,' concluded this noble ceremony." Mr. Chorley will forgive us if Korner makes us seem to forget Korner's English translator. To him his young countrymen owe a debt of gratitude for the noble lyrics and the nobler character with which he has made them acquainted; and the lovers of poetry, many acknowledgments for the fidelity and spirit with which he has executed a most acceptable work. We have been limited in the power of selection, as we wish to present pieces possessing novelty and freshness to the English readers, and are thus tied up from the finest compositions of the bard, and consequently the happiest efforts of his translator. We have not ventured upon the "Sword Song," which Korner may be said to have died singing as it was composed on the day he fell; nor yet on the "Trooper's Song," or on "Lutzow's Wild Chase," which is translated, preserving much of the fiery vehemence of Korner. As a conclusion, we select a few stanzas from the "Wine-Song before Battle." Many of Koi. ner's lyrics are intended for action as well as music. The inspiring "Sword Song" is to be sung during the performance of the sword exercise; and, at each closing hurrah, "the troops" are to clash their swords. The last line of each verse in the "Wine Song" is the literal form of words often used by convivial parties in Germany, in passing round the drinking-cup, at their more solemn festivals. We hope to see Mr. Chorley's valuable contribution to our translated poetry speedily become a favourite among the youth of Britain. Far are we from desiring to foster the merely military spirit; but Korner was no mercenary soldier. The very same impulse led him forth which guided Wallace, and Tell, and Washington; nor is it of distant kindred to that which inspired Hampden and Sydney. It is not a very utilitarian anti-climax, we trust, to say, that this work forms a small neat volume, far from being costly, and that Liverpool has the honour of being its birth-place. LITERARY REGISTER. THE ANNUALS FOR 1835 FIRST NOTICE. WE shall take these beauties in the order in which they appear before us. Would that we had the power of saying something novel in the way of compliment to the pretty toys! Is it an original remark to say, that they are become the customary fairings of a refined age; the elegant substitutes for the suits of ribbons, gilt gingerbread, and Dutch boxes, formerly presented by lovers and friends, to friends and lovers? These old-fashioned fairings, which it should flatter the Annuals to be compared with, we must devolve, together with Wakes, Ales, Mayings, to him who has such rare power in drawing beauty from whatever of antique rural custom, imbued with the spirit of a tender humanity and touched with the hues of romance, still lingers among us,-to Leigh Hunt. In the present season, beyond all comparison, in pictorial beauty, elegance, and permanent value as a book of art, shines, Fisher's Drawing-Room Scrap-Book, with Poetical Illustrations, by L. E. L. It unites poetry, music, and picture; and, the highest merit in art, with novelty of arrangement; and, need we say, good taste in literature. As few of our fair readers can yet have seen this handsome volume, which is indeed scarcely published, we shall indulge ourselves, while we hope to gratify them, by lingering for a few minutes upon its contents. A new feature, from which we next year anticipate, in the Annuals, all the colours of the rainbow, is a gorgeously-coloured frontispiece, representing magnificent oriental buildings, Mahommedan and Hindoo, with characteristic groups of figures. The vignette is the sweetest picture we can remember to have seen among the multifarious embellishments of the Annuals, since their commencement. It is a little girl with a dog-ETTY'S ROVER, and thus Miss Landon notices it; though even her description, in this instance, falls short of the charming original: FISHER'S SCRAP-BOOK contains some highly-finished subjects from "The Pilgrim's Progress." One of the most beautiful of these is the "Shepherd Boy in the Valley of Humiliation." Miss Landon has devoted some of her finest lines to this picture; but Bunyan's simplicity excels her elegance. Here is his Shepherd Boy, such as Overbury, or Sir Philip Sydney, or some of the quaint old prose-poets might have described him. "Now as they were going along and talking, they espied a boy feeding his father's sheep. The boy was in very mean clothes, but of a fresh and well-favoured countenance; and as he sat by himself he sang. Then said the guide, Do you hear him? I dare to say that boy lives a mer rier life, and wears more of the herb called Hearts-ease in his bosom than he that is clad in silk and velvet." Miss Landon has illustrated a fine view of "Sassoor in the Deccan," with some charming verses upon the old Christmas Observances of England. The thoughts are suggested by an imaginary Anglo-Indian, gazing on the scene on a Christmas day of flowers and sunshine. We select a few of the stanzas. And yet I pine for England, For my own, my distant home; Where'er my steps may roam. I remember how the banners And above each rusty helmet, Waved a red and cheering plume, And the Christmas rose in bloom. And at night the aged harper Played his old tunes o'er and o'er : All were dancing on the floor. These were the days of childhood, The buoyant, and the bright; And the heart and step were light. The "Orphan Ballad Singers," a very sweet engraving, draws forth a pretty ballad from Miss Landon, and a pleasing, simple melody from Mr. Russell. To" The Coquette," not a fashionable, fine lady, but a ship so named, driving before a gale, and about to be overwhelmed by the waters which she had lately walked in sunshine and joy, Miss Landon devotes some of the most spirited verses in the volume,-or of her composition in any volume. She wore her trappings gaily, As a lady ought to do; And the waves, which kissed her daily, And bathed her airy feet; With white foam-wreaths they bound her, Singing, according to Miss Landon's own rural experience,- She cut the blue waves, scorning Ere the winds began to blow; While the gay Coquette was stooping, To her clear, green glass below! How gallant was their sweeping, While they swelled upon the air; Like a mistress, or a child; She knew what life could be; One night, 'twas in September,— The rising of the gale, the thunder-burst, the swell, and chafing of the mocking waves, we must omit, though we cannot yet wholly desert the brave Coquette. Yet bravely did she greet them, They who had been her slaves. Our bold, and fair Coquette; "The Nizam's Daughter" is a beautiful metrical sketch, though not very closely connected with the print to which it is linked. "Cottage Courtship" is a lovely and purely English design, by Stothard, worthy of sweet music, and the graceful words Miss Landon has appropriated to it. We cannot pretend to enumerate the various beauties of this desirable volume. There are landscapes of the East, and of England, architectural and sea views, and portraits of distinguished individuals. We have here Anna Maria Porter as a florid shepherdess; and Jane Porter as a comely, demure Canoness; with a notice that the elder sister claimed glory from having been made lady of a Chapter, (without revenues we suspect,) belonging to some chivalric order, by a German court, at which "Thaddeus of Warsaw" was admired; and the younger sister from having her romance of "The Hungarian Brothers" included in General Moreau's travelling, or camp library—a distinction as great as that which Napoleon conferred upon "Macpherson's Ossian." A dirty copy of "Thomson's Seasons," found on the bench of an Ale-house in Wales, led an eminent man to exclaim, "This is true fame!" but we daresay many lady-authors would value higher the fiat of the German court, and that of Moreau. Among the portraits there are wellexecuted engravings of Sir James Mackintosh, and of George IV., from original paintings by Lawrence; a good print of Dr. Olinthus Gregory, and an excellent one of what Wilkie the painter (Is he now called Dr. Wilkie?) was, from a painting by Sir W. Beechy. One especial ornament of the volume is a print of Raphael, engraved from a portrait painted by himself. The costume is quaint even for the age,-for all painters delight in vagaries, the beauty verges on effeminacy,-yet the face is the face of an angel. The portraits give a great value to this beautiful and most desirable volume, which, if not cheapest in nominal price, is by far the cheapest in reality, of any embellished work we have lately seen. It contains, in a royal quarto form, thirty-six plates, all of first-rate excellence, Miss Landon's verse, and is highly enriched in the binding. Heath's Picturesque Annual for 1835. Scott and Scotland. This we take leave to call the Waverley Annual. The prints, twenty-one in number, are taken from the most celebrated scenes of this country, and the more remarkable events in Scottish history. They are engraved from drawings by Cattermole, and are illustrated by descriptions, written by Mr. Leitch Ritchie,-antiquarian, romantic, poetical, traditionary, and gossiping. The subject of the frontispiece is the Lady Margaret Bellenden, in all her glory, describing, in the hall of Tillietudlem, that immortal desjeuner to his gracious Majesty, Charles the Second, of blessed memory. The subjects are always well selected, and in general cleverly executed; and national feeling gives the work a peculiar value in Scotland. Friendship's Offering, Places its strength in its literature. It has, however, some good, many pretty, and one or two beautiful pictures. My ain bonny lassie, is a very bonny, and, moreover, a very braw lassie. The Sultan's Daughter is a lady dressed to play such a part in a melo-drama at the Hay Market, and ditto the Brazilian Bride. But then Lucy is an exquisite creature,-Childhood, a playful and engaging picture; and these beauties, together with the Two Kates, and same pretty landscapes, furnish forth the pictorial department very creditably. In literature, FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING is strong in approved good names. Barry Cornwall, Miss Mitford, Mary Howitt, Sarah Stickney, Charles Whitehead, Mrs. Hall, Delta, Mr. St. John, the author of the Puritan's Grave, and other writers to us unknown, emulate each other in tale and verse. Among our favourite pieces, are the Unwilling Deceiver and the Two Kates. As a specimen of "Friendship's Offering," we select the following lines by Barry Cornwall: THE HISTORY OF A LIFE. Day dawned. Within a curtained room, Filled to faintness with perfume, A lady lay at point of doom. Day closed. A child had seen the light; But for the lady, fair and bright, |