MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 181 



Friendship's Offering for 1836. Smith, Elder, and Co. 



This splendidly-bound volume contains many excellent articles, both in prose 

 and verse. The illustrations are also of the highest order. Mr. Harrison has paid 

 a feeling tribute to the memory of the able Editor who preceded him. His name 

 is alrea:]y familiar to the reading world. His own admirable article in the present 

 volume, entitled " The Man that could never say No," alone bespeaks his com- 

 petence for the present undertaking. When we mention the names of W. Jerdan, 

 Barry Cornwall, L. E. L., the author of the Gipsy, the Hon. Mrs. Norton, T. 

 K. Harvey, Douglas Jerrold, " Chartley," " Truckleborough Hall," and many 

 others which have become household words in our literature, we have said 

 enough, to confirm its high rank, which is sooner increased than diminished. 

 There are also four poems by Thomas Miller, basket-maker. The Literary Ga- 

 zette, AthencBiim, Court Journal, Courier, Globe, and many other able papers, 

 have already pronounced their favourable opinion of his merits, and we shall pro- 

 ceed to extract the following poem, without offering any further remarks than say- 

 ing, that we coincide in their judgment. 



THE EVENING HYMN. 



How many days, with mute adieu. 



Have gone down yon untrodden sky .' 

 And still it looks as clear and blue. 



As when it first was hung on high. 

 The rolling sun, the frowning cloud 



That drew the lightning in its rear. 

 The thunder, tramping deep and loud, 



Have left no foot-mark there. 



The village bells, with silver chime, 



Come softened by the distant shore ; 

 Though I have heard them many a time, 



They never rung so sweet before. 

 A silence rests upon the hill, 



A listening awe pervades the air ; 

 The very flowers are shut, and still, 



And bowed as if in prayer. 



And in this hushed and breathless close. 



O'er earth, and air, and sky, and sea. 

 That still low voice in silence goes, 



Which speaks alone, great God! of Thee. 

 The whispering leaves, the far-off brook, 



The linnet's warble fainter grown. 

 The hive-bound bee, the lonely rook, — 



All these their Maker own. 



Now shine the starry hosts of light. 



Gazing on earth with golden eyes; 

 Bright guardians of the blue-browned night ; 



What are ye in your native skies ? 

 1 know not ! neither can I know, 



Nor on what leader ye attend. 

 Nor whence ye came, nor whither go, 



Nor what your aim or end. 



I know they must be holy things, 



That from a roof so sacred shine, 

 Where sounds the beat of angel-wings, 



And footsteps echo all Divine. 



