24 The Book- Trade. [Jury, 
Thus, where the profit to the author is, in round numbers, sixty pounds, 
the duties levied by the state amount to forty-four. _ Is not this propor- 
tion monstrous ? 
It is not’at this moment, or in this place, that we can go into ‘the 
details of the proposed reductions—that would require a considerable 
further investigation, both as to minuteness and extent; but the principle 
is still the same, and we think it will bear being very extensively applied. 
At all events, one of the provisions of the proposed alterations of the law, 
should be the paying the duty on paper ata later period; say, at the en- 
tering of the book at Stationers’ Hall. Every book must be entered: 
the number of sheets would be apparent, and the number of copies might 
be ascertained by the affidavit of the printer. The duty on advertise- 
ments also should be materially lessened if not entirely repealed. But 
these, as all the other details, would need inquiry and digestion. 
Let the booksellers strenuously unite to carry these, or similar mea- 
sures into effect, and we cannot doubt of their success. It is a cause in 
which every literary man in the kingdom has a concern as well as them- 
selves—it is a cause in which national interest and national pride are in- 
volved—it is the cause of free trade against extortion, of justice against 
oppression—surely, surely then it needs only activity, unanimity, and 
resolution to carry it through. 
STANZAS. 
Away, away ! and bear thy breast 
To some more pleasant strand ! 
Why did it pitch its tent of rest 
Within a desart land ?— 
Though clouds may dim thy distant skies, 
And love look dark before thee, 
Yet colder hearts and falser eyes 
Have flung their shadows o’er thee ! 
It is, at least, a joy to know 
That thou hast felt the worst, 
And—if, for thee, no waters flow,— 
Thou never more shalt thirst ! 
Go forward, like a free-born child, 
Thy chains and weakness past, 
Thou hast thy manna, in the wild, 
Thy Pisgah, at the Jast ! 
And yet, those far and forfeit bowers, 
Will rise, in after years, 
The flowers—and one who nursed the flowers, 
With smiles, that turned to tears ; 
And I shall see her holy eye, 
In visions of the night, 
As her youthful form goes stealing by, 
The beautiful and bright ! 
But I must wake—to bear along its 
ao th A bruised and buried heart, 
wy gate And smile, amid the smiling throng, 
¢ bak With whom I have no‘ part ; 
s-g.2-... Towatch for hopes that may not bud, 
Amid my spirit’s gloom, 
Till He, who waked the prophet’s rod, y 
Shall bid them burst to bloom! T. K.H. 
