He, consequently, lets fly a multi 
struck him. 
tude of random shot, relying on the probability 
that one at least will produce a legitimate effect. 
It is not therefore surprising that the literary 
record of these men is a record of literary blund¬ 
ers, relieved here and there by an accidental 
propriety, in short, as critics they are con¬ 
temptible. Shade of Jepprey ! what pigmies 
have usurped thy sceptre! 
If contemptible as critics, they are supremely 
ridiculous as poets. It will no doubt provoke 
a smile on the reader’s pliix to be told that these 
gentlemen sometimes pay court to the muses. 
Their rhymes, however, would figure better in 
advertisements than in the poets’ corner, while 
for their bad puns and ribald jokes we can 6Ug* 
gest no fitter place than the waste-basket. 
“ O’er Peoasus" side 
They ne’er sit astride. 
for the beast, when mounted by noodles, is res¬ 
tive and fractious. Hence, their poetry is per¬ 
force what Horace would call pedestrian. Yes, 
and very lame at that i 
The other class is composed of critics who, 
though possessing sufficient knowledge and 
They are often those 
The unmis- 
ever, that he stood between his sister and imme¬ 
diate deathhis character must be blackened 
that Mart's may be brightened. 
But it is on Elizabeth that the blame is 
mostly laid, and we must hasten to that part 
of the story. 
Mart escaped and rallied her friends, but was 
signally defeated and fled to England. It is 
admitted that Elizabeth imprisoned her; by 
which many understand that the fierce, vain, 
intolerant Queen of England immured iu a dun¬ 
geon the peerless beauty, Mart Stuart, merely 
because she was jealous of her charms. While 
the friends of Mart contend that Elizabeth 
had no right to detain her, they overlook the 
fact that neither had she the right to involve 
her realm in the war which certainly would 
have attended an attempt to replace the de¬ 
throned monarch; and to have left her to herself 
THE TRUE MINISTER 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yoi 
WHAT LIFE HOLDS 
It is more than interesting—it is refreshing—to see 
how clear a conception the poet Chaucer had, in his 
day, of what the speaking man and true Gospel min¬ 
ister ought to be. Tims does ho describe one: 
•> Hh was a shepherd, and no mercenary; 
And though lie holy was and virtuous, 
He was to sinful men full piteous; 
Hie words were strong, but not with anger fraught; 
A love benignant he discroetly taught. 
To draw mankind to heaven by gentleness 
And good example was his business. 
But if that any one were obstinate. 
Whether he were of high or low estate, 
Him would he sharply check with altered mien; 
A better person there was nowhere seen. 
He paid no court to pomps and reverence, 
Nor spiced bis conscience at his soul’s expense; 
But Jesus' love, which owns no pride or pelf, 
He tanght-fwf ./Jrri he followed it himself." 
Where the rocks are grey, and the shore is steep, 
And the waters below look dark and deep, 
Where the rugged pine in its lonely pride, 
Leans gloomingly over the murky tide; 
Where the reeds and rashes are long and rank. 
And the weeds gTOW thick on the winding bank, 
Where the shadow is heavy the whole day through, 
Lies at its moorings the old canoe. 
The useless paddles are idly dropped. 
Like a sea bird’s wings that the storm has lopped, 
And crossed on the ruling, one o'er one. 
Like the folded hands when the work is done; 
While busily back and forth between 
The spider stretches his silvery screen. 
And the solemn owl, with his dull “too-hoo,” 
Settles down on the side of the old canoe. 
The etern half sunk in the slimy wave, 
Rots slowly away in its living grave. 
And the green moee creeps o'er its dull decay, 
Hiding its monldering dust away— 
Like the band that plants o’er the tomb a flower, 
Or the ivy that mantles the falling tower— 
With many a blossom of loveliest hue, 
Springs up o'er the stern of the old canoe. 
The currentleas waters are dead and still— 
But the light wind plays with the boat at will, 
And lazily in and out again 
It floats the length of the rusty chain, 
Like the weary march of the hands of time, 
That meet and part at the noontide chime, 
And the shore is kissed at each turn anew 
By the dripping bow of the old canoe. 
0 many a time with careless kind, 
I have pushed it away from the pebbly strand; 
And paddled it down where the stream runs quick— 
Where the whirls are wild and the eddies thick, 
And I laughed as I leaned o'er the rocking side, 
And looked below in the broken tide. 
To see that the faces and boats were two 
That were mirrored back from the old canoe. 
But now, as I lean back o'er the crumbling side, 
And look below in the sluggish tide. 
The face that I see there ie graver grown, 
And the laugh that I hear has a sober tone. 
And the hands that lent to the light skiff wings 
Have grown familiar with sterner things. 
Bnt I love to think of the hours that flew 
As I rock'd where the whirls their white spray threw 
Ere the blossom waved, or the green grass grew, 
O’er the mouldering stern of the old canoe. 
Lite holds bright hopes; not half so fair 
Is Spring’s first violet, 
Or June’s blown roses, with the dew 
Of morning newly wet-, 
But all its brightest hopes to us are given 
To lead us up th’ eternal steeps to Heaven. 
Life holds some promisee divine, 
That come with sweetest power. 
To gild our pathway thro’ the world, 
And charm each passing hour; 
But all its fairest promises are given 
But as rewards to those who yearn for Heaven. 
Life holds realities; some bright, 
Some sad, if we have erred, 
To take away the bitterness 
Of hope that is deferred; 
But all its fair realities to us are given 
To make us render thanks unto high Heaven. 
Life holds relentless memories 
That, with their fatal touch, 
Doom him to voiceless misery 
Who boastetb overmuch; 
Yet e'en these memories at last have riven 
Us from the wrongand still we climb toward 
Heaven. 
Life holds regrets; not all the bliSB 
Of her most blessed hours, 
Can charm us to forgetfulness 
Of sin's betraying powers ; 
But all regrets will from our hearts be driven. 
When we have reach'd the palace-gates of Heaven. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
FAITII. 
taste, are subjects of envy, 
who have tried poetry and failed, 
tabeable merit of a young aspirant for poetic 
honors excites their spleen, and malicious at¬ 
tacks are the result. If one such critic be a man 
of reputation, he has great power, and is there¬ 
fore capable of great injury. This fact was ex¬ 
emplified in the case of poor Keats. 
It is not for us to determine which class of 
critics causes the most mischief in the world. 
The good of literature demands that both be 
silenced. Shall they he allowed to curse human¬ 
ity in the future, as they do at present and have 
done in the past ? We hail the speedy revival 
of the “ Round Table ” as a stride in the right 
direction. 
To resume.—Having affirmed that a vivid im¬ 
agination is essential to successful poesy, it now 
becomes us to defend what is implied in our as¬ 
sumption, that if there be any bar to the co-ex¬ 
istence of the poet and critic in the same per¬ 
son, that bar must be different degrees of imag¬ 
inative power. 
We have seen that the other main qualifica¬ 
tions of either are common to both. How is it 
with the imagination? Common knowledge 
will at once reply, that this faculty exhibits a 
far higher degree of intensity in poetry than in 
criticism. The reason is obvious. The poet 
must create, while the critic, as the name im¬ 
plies, passes judgment ou the things created. 
The sole business of the latter is to Inspect and 
decide. Hence, the same degree of imaginative 
ardor is not needed in this case as in that. Were 
not this true, almost every critic would be a 
poet; for, in nearly every Instance the power to 
create forms of beauty and grandeur—the divine 
afflatus— is the “ one thing needful ” to make the 
man of culture a Longfellow or a Tennyson. 
Tie could arrange Ida strophes ami an list replies 
as felicitously as did the Greek Dramatists; lor 
the prosodial skill is seldom wanting. Critics 
need only so much imagination as will enable 
them thoroughly to comprehend the concep¬ 
tions of these poets; and this is all which the 
great majority of them possess. 
Our next and last step should be to determine 
whether vividness of Imagination is compatible 
with genuine criticism. From the fact that 
they are almost never found united, we might 
deduce the probability that the two do not har¬ 
monize; but to answer positively either way 
would demand a more searching inqniry into the 
constitution of the human mind, than we led 
warranted in attempting. However, that our 
work may not be wholly barren of results, we 
will briefly notice one item of common belief 
which bears directly on the point in question. 
The human mind, like other organisms, is so 
disposed that all of its faculties are not in ope¬ 
ration at the same time. While 6ome are in 
action, others are in a state of rest and recuper¬ 
ation. The alternative of activity and repose is 
often the result also of Incompatibility. For ex¬ 
ample, we believe it impossible for a person Jo 
listen intently, and at the same time pursue a 
train of abstract thought. We do not assert 
the impossibility of thinking ai all under such 
circumstances. Such an assertion would he 
fatal to our argument. On the contrary, we 
hold that a man can listen with all possible iu- 
tentness, and at the same tune do a certain 
amount of thinking. Editors, by years of disci¬ 
pline, become good examples of this. It is said 
that Horace Greely can write one of his ordi¬ 
nary leaders while attentively listening to ft de¬ 
bate on agriculture. 
If this be true, cannot the same thing be af¬ 
firmed of the imagination and the judgment ? It 
is a well-known fact, that persons ol fervid im¬ 
aginations are also persons of fervid impulses. 
Hence, eminent poets, painters, sculptors, and 
all others Included in the category of genius, 
are with some truth called “creatures of im¬ 
pulse,“ and are popularly supposed to be wholly 
destitute of judgment, except In their particular 
spheres ol excellence. And even here marks of 
correct taste are not always laund. If they were, 
criticism, as a distinct art, would bo superflu- 
Theee is a story told of a little boy who was 
walking with his father through a piecoof woods 
at night, and they were lighted on their way by 
the glimmer of a lantern. The boy, who was 
carrying the lantern, complained to his father 
that the light shone but a short distance ahead; 
and he requested his father to turn back because 
he could not see the way better. His father told 
him to proceed as far as he could see the way, 
and the light would continue to shine in advance 
of him. 
In the Christian life we meet with an experi¬ 
ence analogous to that of the little boy in this 
6tory. To many of us God has given a light 
by which we see only a short distance towards 
Heaven, and but few walk forward with the 
Heavenly city in sight. Most of ns are lighted 
only by the faint gleam of a weak faith. We 
strive to look forward and our eyes are greeted 
only ty a'dark, blank pall of error and unbelief. 
Our little lamp must struggle against the mist 
with which Satan surrounds us. Pride, selfish¬ 
ness and lust strive to put out the light which 
reveals their deformity; and the long catalogue 
of human weaknesses join to assist them. 
Shall we turn back and give up the journey 
because our faith is weak ? Bhall we despair of 
reaching the haven we seek, because we cannot 
see the end of our journey? No! We have the 
blessed assurance that, if we make proper use of 
what faith we have, more will be given to us. 
The increase of his faith Is one of the highest 
aims which the Chrlstaln can set before himself. 
Remember that faith is the gift of God; and to 
merit its bestowal the Christain’s desires must 
be in harmony with the will of God. God gives 
us faith as we merit it, and we merit.it in pro¬ 
portion to our holiness and resignation to His 
will. 
It becomes us not only to Eeek the increase of 
our faith, but we ought always to thank God for 
Its possessiom If one who had become blind 
Ehould have liis eyes opened and be made to 
gee, would he fail to bless the power which re¬ 
stored his vision ? Whenever the light of day 
approached and his eyes opened t© let In such a 
variety of pleasant ideas as eight alone can fur¬ 
nish, would he not remember with gratitude the 
author of his happiness ? What has God done 
for the Christian ? He has not only opened Ills 
eyes to buhold the beauties of nature, but be has 
also let into bis mind the brighter and better 
light of Heaven. He has unsealed his eyes to 
look upon the city of golden streets and walls of 
precious 6toncs. He sends down a beam to him 
from Heaven that will light him through the 
dark cloud of sin—through storms and tempests, 
through mists and through the labyrinthine 
mazes of human reason—to the holy city. That 
beam of light is faith, and it comes from God. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
forbade it: and again, when the same monarch 
endangered the unity of liis kingdom by exces¬ 
sive grief over his unnatural son, the faithful 
general addressed a remonstrance, which, though 
daring, had the effect of rousing the sorrowing 
father to his duties as a king. 
It was so with Elizabeth. The country 
was in a turmoil. Plot after plot was dis¬ 
covered and traced to Mart. And, to crown 
all, the formidable Armada was in preparation. 
Urged by her counsellors, entreated by her sub¬ 
jects, Elizabeth, half distracted by conflicting 
emotions, signed the warrant for Mart’s execu¬ 
tion, and that beautiful head rolled on the scaf¬ 
fold, to which it had brought so many betore it 
If it be justice that a traitress and a murderess 
should not die, merely because possessed of 
rank and beauty, then and then only, is the 
name of Elizabeth dishonored in the matter of 
Mart Stuart. Margaret Marshall. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
POETRY VERSUS CRITICISM. 
Poetry and criticism—we mean the genuine 
articles—seem to be incompatible. We dare 
not assert that no great poet can be a sound crit¬ 
ic, for at once Goethe would stand forth a splen¬ 
did exception; hut if our knowledge he ade¬ 
quate and our recollection faithful, Goethe, as 
an example of the highest «* tcellence in both 
departments, bad no peer. r l Is a significant 
fact iu the history of literature, that the func¬ 
tions of the critic have been discharged almost 
solely by such men as Aristotle, Quintilian, 
Gifford, .Jeffrey, Willson, and others, some 
of whom often poetized, hut none ol’wliom ever 
became poets. Now it may not be wholly friv¬ 
olous to endeavor to ascertain in what this in¬ 
compatibility consists. 
In attempting a solution ol' this problem, we 
disclaim all pretension to logical infalibility. 
We are not disposed to dogmatize on this or any 
other subject. If thought he at all stimulated 
by what we shall say, the knowledge of that fact 
will yield us more rich pleasure than would the 
consciousness of having settled the question 
forever. 
In a former paper we tried to show that vivid¬ 
ness of imagination, good judgment, high cul¬ 
ture, and linguistic learning were at the present 
day essentials of poetic excellence. But the three 
last are essentials also of critical excellence. 
Limiting our attention to these four items, we 
will assume that the antagonism resides in the 
first. 
Perhaps it would be well to notice those qual¬ 
ifications which are common to both critic and 
poet. But they have already been attended to 
in their several relations to poesy; so we will 
now only just glance at them as requisite to 
criticism. 
Though the critical art is often the tool of 
malice and ignorance, yet Its preat and only de¬ 
sign is to promote'.the chastcaess of language 
and of thought. The judgment of the poet is 
generally surpassed by that of tlieprofierly-traiu- 
ed critic. The former judges of substance and 
expression subjectively, while the latter judges 
of precisely the same things objectively. An 
Interested author is not so well qualified for de¬ 
termining the value of his own productions as a 
disinterested connoisseur. Tht discernment of 
the former is quite apt to bo blunted by that 
fondness for the children ofhlsbrain, which can¬ 
not be entertained by a stranger. To these the 
true critic Is a safe guardian, bicause he is just. 
None hut bastards need fear ha authority. 
That the critic should be a nan of knowledge 
and culture is a proposition e< manifestly true, 
that we will not consume spao« by undertaking 
to support it. 
The opportunity, however, o: giving our opin¬ 
ion of two classes of literary censors, we will 
improve, even at, the risk of fatally sundering 
the thread of our argument. 
The first make great pretertions to wit and 
taste, but their real stock In trade is presump¬ 
tion. As a matter of course, the truth of the 
above proposition they persist ntiy ignore. In¬ 
deed, not only are they geuer* ly “all abroad” 
as to the subject-mutter of the article under ex¬ 
amination, but they not seldom grossly err os 
to the signification of particular words—words, 
whose meaning it is no credit to know, bat a 
great disgrace not to know. When one of these 
wiseacres sits down to criticise poetry or prose, 
he no more has an idea of what is required of 
him than did Billt Patterson ol the man who 
execration. Knox made Mart cry—cruel man! 
Why did he ? With the nerve and stern upright¬ 
ness of our Puritan ancestors, he dared, when 
sent for by his sovereign, to tell her some un¬ 
pleasant truths. 
“Think you,” said she, “that subjects, hav¬ 
ing the power, may resist their princes ?" 
“ If princes exceed their bounds, madam, no 
doubt they may be resisted even by power.” 
What wonder this should be unpalatable to 
the Queen of Scotland and Heiress of England. 
Did Mary marry Darxlet for love? The 
little god is fabled blind—surely he wore a dou¬ 
ble bandage when he smote Mart Stuart | freshing it, 
with love for Lord Darn-let. It seems to me, 
that a simpler solution of the problemimay be 
found in the fact that be was the next heir after 
herself to the English throne; and a match cal¬ 
culated to strengthen her pretensions to that 
kingdom was not likely to be overlooked by 
her. That a man is a fool does not render him 
easily managed, as Mart found to her cost, in 
the affair of Rizzio. It has justly been remarked 
that ‘,‘Daunlet had better have been playing 
tricks! with an untamed tigress than with Mary 
Stuart.” 
The next figure that appears in this tragic' 
history is Bothwell, Black Bothwell, as he 
is called. For once, Maev allowed hc-Uaffec- 
tions to run away with her judgment, and hav¬ 
ing dropped the rein, rushed on blindly. 
That Bothwell was the prime mover in the 
murder of Darn-let does not admit of a doubt, 
and that Mary recoiled at its first proposal is 
natural; but crime leads on to crime, and ODce 
having entertained the thought, familiarity with 
it led at last to her consenting in tie deed. 
Darklet, sick and dispirited, heard the fleetiDg 
rumors and trembled: doubtless the} thought 
came to him, as such thoughts will come, of the 
murder of Rizzio, and added fuel to the fire of 
agony that was consuming him."The event 
showed he had cause for fear. What wonder 
that the death of Darklet recoiled on the 
headB of his murderers! What wonder t hat the 
land 6lionld be enraged at euch> crime com¬ 
mitted by its ruler; and that the Scottish 
proverb, “rulers have no more license to com¬ 
mit crime than their subjects,” should force 
FEMININE TOPICS, 
A Portuguese shoemaker used to give his wife 
a severe flogging every month, just before he 
went to confession. On being asked the reason 
of this proceeding he replied, that having a 
very poor memory, he took this measure ol re 
as the wile while undergoing the 
castigation was sure to remind him of all his 
sins. 
An ingenious bachelor in Scotland has devised 
a matrimonial lottery or tray whereof he is the 
bait. All widows and maidens who have not 
attained the age of thirty-two are invited to buy 
of him a ticket at the price of 10s. Alter 300 
tickets are sold the drawing will take place. 
There will be only one prize, and it will be the 
right of the fortunate lady who wins it to claim 
the you ng gentleman as her husband, with the 
£150 produced by the lottery. 
In 1050 a trial took place in Connecticut, under 
the section of the blue laws prohibiting kissing. 
The offenders were Sarah Tattle and Jacob New¬ 
ton. It appears that Sarah dropped her gloves 
and Jacob found them. When Sarah asked for 
them. Jacob demanded a kiss for his pay, and 
ae the demand did not seem extravagant, she 
adjusted It forthwith. The facts were clearly 
proved, uud the parties were each fined twenty 
shillings. 
Sats the Boston Post, the coquettish Mrs. 
L-has just returned from a pleasure trip to 
Washington. She only took with her forty-two 
dresses, twenty shawls, nineteen bonnets, and 
two hundred pairs of gloves. “ Surely,” said a 
friend who happened to be present when she 
was unpacking, “ you did not take all that with 
you?” “I merely took what was indispensa¬ 
ble, my dear. I left behind me all that was cum¬ 
bersome.” “ Ah, yes, I understand, Jane, your 
husband.” 
Miss Dickinson, in answer to the story that 
she was going on the stage, says: —“I am 
doing my best, by thought, study, and travel, to 
maintain the place, not which I have earned, 
but which has been bestowed upon me by ftn 
over-liberal and too generous public. Further: 
while there is so much to do, and so many burdens 
to lighten in the world, I will not, God willing, 
leave my post, nor desert work honestly, il in¬ 
efficiently done, for useless play.” Whereupon 
“Mcrcutio” says;—“ This means, Miss Dickiu 
I son will continue to make public speeches, on 
topics connected with the cause of political and 
social reform—which, she thinks, will he doing 
useful work; hut she will uot condes cend to act 
upon the stage, because that would be wasting 
her talents and her time In “ useless play,” talents 
that, of course, are prodigious, and time that is 
sacred 1 ” 
THE LORD'S TABLE 
It is related of the Duke of Wellington that 
when he remained to take the sacrament at his 
parish church, a very poor old man had gone up 
the opposite aisle, and reaching the communion 
table, kneeled down dose beside the duke. 
Some one—a pew opener probably—came and 
touched the poor man on the shoulder, and whis¬ 
pered to him to move further away, or to rise 
and wait until the duke had received the bread 
and wine; but the eagle eye and the quick ear 
of the great commander caught the meaning of 
that whiBper. He clasped the old mau*6 baud 
and held him to prevent his raising, and in a re¬ 
verential undertone, but most distinctly, said, 
“ Do not move; we ore all equal here.” 
Christ honored virtuous poverty. Be not thou 
ashamed of that which is no cause of shame. 
Be ashamed of neglecting God’s house, of dis¬ 
honoring his day, of keeping away from his peo¬ 
ple. But as to the pooruttlre—If the soul have 
the light of God’s smile resting upon it, it is 
arrayed in shining robes and a costly raiment. 
Go, dear friends, you of the fields, the highways, 
the dusty by-paths, the lowly nooks of life—go 
to the Lord’s house. The Master bids you wol- 
CriUClBIU, lit' « uiDiiut w ui i, vs* 
ous. Now, whether Impulse be a property or 
au Invariable concomitant of a warm imagina¬ 
tion, is a matter of no consequence. Their uni¬ 
versal companionship is sufficient for our pur¬ 
pose. 
The item of common heller above alluded to 
la this: - persous of quick impulses are unfitted 
to form correct judgments In matter* which re¬ 
quire patient and thorough Investigation- This 
holds true in common life; and the poet, who 
Is accustomed to deal with appearances, or im¬ 
ages, In the world of his Imagination, is quite 
apt, io seize upon mere appearances in the ex¬ 
ternal world, aud cling to tnem with unyielding 
tenacity. Id other words, fie is too apt to bo 
governed bv powerful prejudices. 
It will be Been that what has been said does 
notin the least eon fiict with our former state¬ 
ment, thui good Jadgment is essential to poetic 
excellence. While this is plainly true, it would 
indeed be strange if the critic’s judgment, well- 
fitted by nature and education lor its appropri¬ 
ate work, were not generally more reliable thau 
that of the poet. Fumosus. I 
come, however you are clad before men ; be will 
give yon the wedding garment and you shall sit 
down with kings and princes at the marriage 
supper of the Lamb. Aud to the timid, hum¬ 
ble, loving disciple, he, the Lord himself, will 
say, “Yet there is room; come up higher.”— 
British Workman. 
God’s Coin. —“The purified righteous man 
has become a coin of the Lord, and has the 
impress of his king stamped upon him."— Ter~ 
tullian. 
If every year we would root out oue vice we 
should sooner become perfect men. 
ym 
• ; i 
Ol 
