described. The pieces, when founded, are soldered together; but a statue or a group cast in this manner, has much less artistic merit than a work cast in one mould.
Statues are sometimes cast in other metals than bronze; in gold or silver, for instance. The ancients, who were richer and more prodigal than their modern descendants, were accustomed to the sight of statues cast in precious metals, for the adornment of their temples or villas. In these days we are fain to content ourselves with marble or bronze, and no government would think of ordering a statue like that of the Jupiter of Phidias which measured forty feet in height, and was of pure ivory and gold. The Minister of Finance of the period, when he discharged the sculptor's little bill, probably did not indulge in the grimace, which a nineteenth century political economist would assuredly make, under similar circumstances. At most, he perhaps gave an uneasy smile, but even if he did this—which is not certain—he had, at all events, the satisfaction of knowing that he paid for a priceless work: which is more than can be said of sundry ministers now-a-days, who, at much cost to the national purse, have adorned the British capital with very dismal effigies; as for instance the dreary monster riding a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, by way of Constitution Hill; and that other monster in a curly wig, also bound for Banbury Cross by way of Trafalgar-square.
A Wreath of Fancies.
WEAPONS.
Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt,
And so are tongue and pen,
And so are sheaves of good bank notes
To sway the souls of men.
But guns and swords, and gold and thought,
Though mighty in their sphere,
Are sometimes feebler than a smile,
And poorer than a tear.
FOUNDERED.
How many a glorious morning have I seen
Darken ere noon in fearfullest eclipse!
How many a sea, pellucid and serene,
Have I known treacherous to deep laden ships.
Alas! alas! how many a gallant soul—
Artist, romancer, scholar, bard, divine,
Poor wherries in the wild Atlantic roll—
Have I seen founder in the pitiless brine!
A GRAVE.
Bury me not, bury me not,
Under the greenwood tree;
Bury me not in the earth at all,
Bury me in the sea!
What do I care for a monument?
What for a lying scroll?
What for a record of this or that?
I am a living soul!
And if the spirit should haunt
The place where the body lies,
Then mine shall float on the flying wind,
Betwixt the waves and skies.
Spite, nor malice, nor scorn,
Shall desecrate the spot,
And the whirling breeze shall sing the dirge
Of one remembered not.
THE GREAT WARRIOR.
I am a warrior, stout and strong,
I've fought the cold world, hard and long,
I've fought it for a crust of bread,
And for a place to lay my head.
I've fought it for my name and pride,
Back to the wall, with both hands tied;
I've felt its foot upon my brain,
And struggled, and got up again!
And so I will, if so I must,
Until this dust returns to dust.
Meanwhile the battle rages on,
Let me die fighting, and begone!
HEAVEN AND HELL.
Is Heaven a place, or state of mind?
Let old experience tell!
Love carries Heaven where'er it goes,
And Hatred carries Hell.
CLOUDS.
Nobody looks at the clouds
With a love that equals mine,
I know them in their beauty,
In the morn or the even shine.
I know them and possess them,
My castles in the air,
My palaces, cathedrals,
And hanging gardens fair.
Sometimes I think, star-gazing,
That many a monarch proud,
Has far less joy in his halls of stone
Than I in my halls of cloud.
THE DEVIL AND I.
The devil? Yes! I have often seen him,
Changeful ever in form and face;
Once in the shape of a lump of money,
Once like a maid in her youthful grace.
Once like a life-long hope accomplished,
Once in the shape of a thought instill'd,
Once in the guise of my heart's ambition,
Once like a promise of joy fulfilled!
Never he comes as a roaring lion.
No! He is always calm and bland,
Courteous, witty, and pleasant spoken
As the bravest gentleman in the land.
'Tis a cheating game that we play together;
But he's not so clever as men opine!
I know that his worship's dice are loaded—
He does not know that I've loaded mine!
Wretchedville.
Danks took to drinking, and as for his matrimonial affairs, the late Sir Cresswell Cresswell was fain to take them in hand; and a pretty case was Danks versus Danks, I promise you. Having sold or mortgaged every "carcase" he possessed, and undermined his own with strong liquors, Danks went into the Bankruptcy Court, and soon afterwards died, of a severe attack of rum and water, and trade assignee, on the brain—a wholly ruined, and still uncertificated trader. It was a sad end for a man who had once served the office of churchwarden, and driven his own chaise-cart—who had banked with the London and County, and whose brother-in-law's uncle was reputed to be the proprietor of a New River share; but the mills of the gods grind small, and Danks,
