" Where the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile. 

 Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile. 

 The slow canal, the yellow blossomed vale, 

 The willow tufted bank, the gliding sail." 



Goldsmith. 



IN these materialistic days it is at the bidding of 

 the poet only that the shadow of the sun-dial moves 

 backwards. If the more glaring the improbabilities 

 in the face of which the miracle is performed, the 

 greater the genius of the worker, among the greatest 

 of the poets and poems of recent days must be 

 Goldsmith and his " Deserted Village." Sweet 

 Auburn, with its garden-flowers growing wild, and 

 Bitterns returning to nest in spots where once 

 villagers had danced and talked local politics, is as 

 real to most of us as Charing Cross, though we know 

 well enough that as " wealth accumulates," trim gar- 

 dens, instead of running to waste, push out in every 

 direction. It is the Bittern which is giving place to 

 man, and not man to the Bittern ; and if we want to 



