riences, I transferred myself to my bed chamber, where I noted down this record of an ignorance and credulity quite unexpected, in this enlightened age. I can well imagine many throwing this article down with expressions of unbelief, yet I vouch for its being an unexaggerated report; and, let me ask, if these simple, very simple villagers are in verity more eccentric, than those men and women of higher education and greater intelligence, who are daily exhibiting themselves as converts to spiritualism,—a system concerning which and its mysteries we have already[1] expressed our opinion.
A cloud from the dark ages still rests over England, and it needs wiser heads than mine to point out a way to disperse it; but it will be well for all to remember that the superstition which may be held harmless while it takes no deeper hue than a foolish girl’s desire to pry into her future, usurps a vile domination over the mind when it assumes a darker shape.
SEPTEMBER THE THIRD.
(THE ANNIVERSARY OF CROMWELL’S DEATH, OF DUNBAR, AND OF WORCESTER.)
I.
Whereas the storm had died away, and thou,
Brave spirit, parting too, didst render vain
(So thought thy people) every strongest vow
And most assurèd prayer for thy domain:
If then, uprising over dim Whitehall,
And far beyond the blear and sunken day,
Thou didst attain some midway-hanging throne
To watch the striving nations rise and fall,
And see the seeds of thy most high essay
Ferment and quicken in their proper day,
Thyself forecasting all result full grown,
II.
Even now behold us where we battle still,
And toil, and—toiling—see not yet the end,
But barren wrangling, apathetic will,
With friend and foe commingled, foe and friend.
Strike one strong ray on our bewildered kind,
Meting sure limits for true men and good,
For wise men and for foolish, rich and poor:
Until we wonder, simpler grown, to find
State-knots resolved and Parliaments renewed:
And wake to lessons of the blessed Rood
Fairer, more beautiful, undreamed before.
III.
But—for wild winds, foul-striking, may drive on
Some plague of storm even to our northern gate—
If any, in the rack, with smile or frown,
Seeking occasions, question of our state,
Let none, word valiant, gage of battle scorn:
Let no mock union a mock fight foreclose:
But, always near, instruct us to be free,
As once[2] among the rows of Severn corn:
Or when with solemn face, on scattered foes
That reddened grassy Brockburn, God arose[3]
Beyond St. Abb and the grey German sea.
RECOLLECTIONS OF AN ENGLISH GOLD MINE.
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ix years ago the gold fever was imported from Australia, and for a short space of time raged in England with unmitigated violence; a greater yellowness than usual tinged the City mind, and the conversation of City men; little else was talked about, but the discovery which had just been made—that if there was one mineral with which English soil was abundantly furnished, it was the precious metal in question. With that energy of enterprise which distinguishes our great nation, companies were immediately formed for extracting the gold from the ore, and our still more enterprising neighbours across the Atlantic found a splendid field for their peculiarly inventive genius, and sent us over machines to facilitate our endeavours by amalgamating the auriferous soil with quicksilver, after pulverising it first by the aid of steam-power.
At that particular period, I had just reached my twentieth year; but sitting in judgment over myself at this distance, I have come to the conclusion that, owing to my singular greenness and incapacity for business at the time, I was in reality much younger than my age. In spite of these unlucky characteristics, somebody who took a great interest in me (my father), had just established me in the city as an analytical chemist and mining engineer. Now if there was one thing in the world for which I was peculiarly, and I may even say, extraordinarily unfit, it was that very useful profession; but it is a well-known fact that the fondest parents are not always the most discriminating in the choice of professions for their sons.
So I had spent two years in a school of chemistry, attending lectures, and performing analyses, qualitative and quantitative, and various other chemical experiments, which I used to think very droll and amusing, in order to fit myself for my future career—and at length, thanks to my father’s kindness, I found myself master of a laboratory which had been arranged in a manner regardless of expense, with water and gas laid on in every possible corner, and bottles, chemical stoves, and scales, &c., of a most ornamental brightness and perfection.
Here I waited for employment daily, and entertained my friends with sumptuous hospitality at- ↑ See Vol. III. pp. 403 and 489.
- ↑ Worcester.
- ↑ Dunbar. As the Royalists fled from the field, the sun rose over St. Abb’s Head: then Cromwell, falling on his knees on the ground, recited from the 68th Psalm, “Let God arise, and let his enemies be scattered.”
