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From The Examiner. of water.” “What have you done, Señora !” ANDALUSIAN TALES.

said the niece, when the rich cavalier was To the collections of popular tales of di- gone away, leaving her three bundles of flax vers countries, which we have already named, to prove her skill upon. “What have you we may add, though the date on its title-page done, Señora ! You know that I can't spin.” is 1859, the “Cuentos y Poesias populares ” | " Let be," said the old woman. " We must of Andalusia, collected by the lady who as- always make ourselves out better than we sumes the name of Fernan Caballero. The are, and leave the rest to God. How else collection was suggested by Grimm's note should we get on?” “It is a wicked busiupon the wealth of Spanish legend, that ness,” the niece said, weeping. And she has not yet been brought to book. Of the wept in her room at night, commending popular poetry Trueba has given many a herself to the protection of the Blessed transcript; Don José Maria Goizueta has Souls, that she had in especial reverence. made a collection of the Traditions and Whilst she prayed three Souls clothed in Songs of the Basques, and here is a clever light and wonderful in beauty appeared to lady who retains the phrase and manner of her and told her not to vex herself, for they the Andalusians—there is no vulgarity, in would help her in return for all the good a mean sense, in any form of provincial she had done them by her prayers. Each Spanish-while she repeats all she has heard took a bundle of flax, and in a twinkling of Andalusian song or story. The tales are had it spun into a thread fine as a hair. for the most part humorous, often dashed Next day, when the nabob came, he was with Catholicism, and animated with a half- amazed at the girl's skill and industry. malicious love of mischief. The family like-“ Didn't I tell your noble worship so ?” ness of many of them to stories that are to bragged the old woman. The cavalier be found in Grimm's collection and else- asked whether the girl could sew. “ Sew where is very distinct, but equally distinct indeed,” the aunt answered for her. are the turns of local character that fit them needle in the hand or a cherry in the mouth to the Spanish soil. There is a story, for would be all one to her.

The nabob gave example, in Grimm of “ Three Spinners” | her linen to be made into three shirts, and answering to the Andalusian tale of the as it was with the spinning so it was with Souls,—which, as we here find it, curiously the sewing. So it was also on the next folillustrates among other things the lowness lowing day and night with the embroidering of the morality sustained by superstition :- of a fine waistcoat. Only that on the third

Once upon a time there was a poor old night the Souls said to the girl: “Don't vex woman who had a good and very pious yourself

. We will do the embroidering, but niece, blindly obedient to her, but shy and upon one condition,—that you ask us to stupid. What, thought the poor woman, your wedding." “What,” cried the girl would happen to my niece if at my death amazed, “and am I to be married too!” she were unmarried ? Now the aunt had a "Yes," said the Souls, “ you are to be the neighbor who took lodgers, and among her wife of that rich Indiano." So it was. lodgers was a rich Indiano (that is the Span- For when the cavalier saw that the waistish form of nabob, enriched in the West coat was embroidered so magnificently as instead of the East Indies, or in South almost to blind him with its splendor, he America), and the rich Indiano, it was said, said to the aunt that she must let him have was well disposed to take to wife a well-bred, her niece in marriage. industrious, and active girl. The aunt, when Aunt was delighted, but the girl said to she heard this, went directly to the cavalier her, “O Señora, what will become of me and told him what a jewel of a niece, she when my husband finds out that I can do had, a girl active enough to catch a swallow nothing ?” • Pooh, nonsense," the aunt flying. “Very well, I'll come and see her,” said, " Trust the Blessed Souls who have said the nabob. He did come, next morn- got you out of other hobbles to find you a ing, and the first thing he asked the girl way also out of that.” was whether she could spin. “Spin in- The wedding-day was fixed, and on the deed!” said the aunt for her, “ she'll twist eve of it the bride went to an altar dedicated a thread as soon as you will drink a glass to the Blessed Souls, and asked them to her wedding. So at the wedding, when the fes- | man and asked why her eyes started out of tival was at its height, there came into the her head and were so red? “Dear son," room three old women so excruciating in she replied, twisting her eyes round like a their ugliness that the bridegroom, struck top as she spoke, “ that comes of much sewwith horror, opened his eyes wide and ing and bending over needlework." The couldn't shut them. One had an arm too words were hardly out of her mouth before short and an arm too long that she dragged the nabob was by his wife's side again, and after her upon the ground; the second had said to her, “Take your needles and your a humped back and a crooked body. The threads and throw them down the well, and third had eyes that started from her head, mind well that on the day I see you with a worse than a crab's, and were as red as two needle and thread in your hand, I divorce crab-apples. “Jesus Maria !” shrieked the you. For the wise man takes warning by bridegroom, “ Who are these scarecrows ?" the hurt of others." “Friends of my father," the bride said, So the helpful Souls, for they were the “ whom I invited to the wedding." old women, saved their worshipper from all

The cavalier, being of good breeding, then her trouble. offered them seats and entered into conver- The collection from which we tell this tale sation with them. “ Tell me, madam, I includes among many good stories a drapray you," he said to the first, "why you matic proverb expressing the popular Spanhave one arm so short and one so long ?” ish notion of the worldly way out of per“Dear son," said the old woman, " that plexities, “Ver venir, dejarse ir, y tenerse comes of my having spun so much.” Then allá"-Let come, let go, and withhold one's up rose the Indiano, slipped to his wife's self; which rule of “gray grammar" is the side, and said to her, “Go instantly and exact opposite to national sentiment in Engburn your distaff and spindle. Let me land. But the large dramatic element in never see you spin."

Spanish folk lore the editor has found it Then he inquired of the second old woman necessary, as a whole, to exclude from her why she was so hump-backed and crooked ? collection. There are anecdotes, jests, and “Dear son," she answered, “ that comes of a rhymed peasant's calendar. In verse also so much bending over the embroidery frame.” there are moral couplets, lullabies, love and The nabob took three leaps to the side of war songs of labor, rhymed jests, satires, his bride. “Upon the spot burn your em- and epigrams. With some of the lullabies broidery frame, and let it never in your life and other songs the editor gives also the again enter your head to embroider!” music that shows how they are sung by the

After this he turned to the third old wo- Andalusians.

The Cottage History of England. By the Author wnich certainly does at least full justice to the

of “Mary Powell." London: Hall, Virtue merit of the smaller work. and Co.

Tuis little book is designed to introduce into kitchens and cottages a knowledge of some of The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longthe leading events in English history. If it ever

fellow : including his Translations and Notes. penctrates into the places which it is intended to

London: H. G. Bohn. reach, it may possibly carry out its purpose to This is, as far as we know, the only edition some extent. In an apologue prefixed to the which contains, in one volume, the whole of preface the author implies that her history oc- Longfellow's poetical works. It is illustrated cupies the same place, in relation to those of by twenty-four engravings, which neither add to Hume and Macaulay, that a penny tart does to nor detract from the value of the book to any roast mutton and baked potatoes, a comparison / material degree.

From Blackwood's Magazine. And haunt us with a load of vain regret-

God may forgive, we never can forget.
CowPER! thy lines of tenderness so deep

Surely, I thought, too late, or far too soon, Pierce home, and many times have made me Just when I seemed to feel, to comprehend,

Heaven hath reclaimed the unutterable boon. weep. In heart those darling lineaments I sce,

And in life's mysteries to discern an end; And feel that I am like yet unlike thee ;

Just when my long-reluctant heart began Like in my loss; unlike, because in vain

Some faint yet genuine recompense to plan; I seek an outward charm to soften pain,

Just when I learned to understand thy worth, And in the wide world never inore can find

Thou, my ono care, was taken from the earth. Fit semblance of the form which haunts my Robbed of my former self, I stand alone.

So, 'mid the wreck of visions overthrown, mind, Nor aught presenting visibly and well

Inly I gazed upon the saddening scene

Of that which is, and that which might have The consecrated Past wherein I dwell.

been, Deluding fancies, even while they gleam, Melt like the faery frostwork of a dream.

And in my spirit hoard a life-long grief,

To all unenviable-of mourners chief;
Hark! the familiar footsteps round me fall !
See, a still shadow moves along the wall !

Doomed to grow old, and fall beneath the sun,

In dire deliberation self-undone.
Low murmurs in the air, more felt than heard
Linger prophetic of some wished-for word Better by far it seemeth to me now
'Tis a vain instinct both of eye and ear.

In mcek submission unreserved to bow, Fond dreamer, cease—thou hast no mother here. Thanking the love that left thee here so long, My father, I remember to this day,

Nor joined thee earlier to that purer throng. And shall remember till I pass away,

I would not change my wretchedness to-day

For all that earth can give or take away.
How, on an evening, in a happier time-
And, I half think, in some more blessed clime- No cold philosophy can unteach this-
In the dim silence thou didst turn to me,

More pain is more capacity for bliss.
Not worthy of my mother nor of thee,

Never had any labor, any art, And, with a manly tear upon thy cheek,

Fathomed the meaning of a mother's heart, of this sweet strain in moving accents speak- Felt what the absence of that heart can mean.

Had not my life through many a troubled scene, Ah me! thy closing words, how deep they dwell

Scarce could a gentler loss my spirit bring “Such is thine own dear mother-guard her To trace love yearnings in a little thing, well."

And how affection moveth as she may And did I guard her, I, thy careless son?

In each sweet office of a common day, O IIeaven, the world of duties left undone!

How through weak tasks heroic actions shine, The chill dark grave that closes over men

And one brief clause makes drudgery divine. * Hath taught me many things I knew not then.

All this, and more, that once seemed idle breath, Scarcely remains a memory within,

Came with conviction from the couch of death. But, weighed and sifted, it reveals a sin. So, amid all the complex web of chains

Earth round me weaves, thy influence yet reBetter by far it seemed to me, when first

mains; I knew hope darkened and my life reserved,

So have I learned to love thee more and more ; And, rudely snatched from wondering unbelief, So have I known thee closer than before ; Saw, front to front, the ghastliness of grief,

So can I half rejoice thy race is run, Better by far it seemed, a thing worth choico, Since every moment makes me more thy son; A God-sent gift, a reason to rejoice,

So may I meet thee, in the liome on high, If I had lost thee in my tender years,

Ten thousand-fold a mother when I die! When grief, though keen, is charmed to rest by

And if of absence I could spcak, forgivetears, And through the world, thenceforth, our souls The phrase not lower than the lips doth live. retain

Not now the courses of my mind afar Enough to soften, not enough to pain;

Roam in uneasy doubt from star to star, Since no remorse for hard things done or said

And wildly question earth and wandering wave Mars the remembrance of a parent dead.

If all indeed be ended in the grave. For later on, dark records graven deep

In calm, in pain, in waking, and in sleep, Add their own anguish to the loss we weep;

All day, all night, I feel thy presence deep. And a misused or ineffectual Past

More than the life I breath art thou to me, Claims a severe repentance to the last.

Though unbeheld by gross mortality. Follies we held in no account before,

For all the fetters of the iciest charm, Seen in their meaning pierce us to the core.

Only the tangible might Death disarm. Neglected sympathies of mutual prayer,

That spirit which, even in terrestrial flight, Words left unsaid that might have soothed a

Was strange and admirable and infinite,

Is it not now the same, yet mightier still, care, The light acceptance, in some heedless hour,

Free to go out and to return at will ? Of tokens heavy with affection's power,

Is freedom blind of memory above ? And all the coldnesses that mar our youth,

Or shall the free remember, and not love, Rise in the stern investiture of truth,


Or, loving, smile in absence evermore,

And Christ, in mercy to my soul, with thine Coldly debarred from all they felt before ? Hath made his own pure service to combine. For me, I doubt not, though no human eye I do for him whate'er is done for theePierces that interval of mystery,

How vast a boon for frail humanity! Lying in cloud, with dark conjectures rife, Beyond the gates of that which we call life, Hence, by a road not wholly without flowers, That still the dead behold me night and day,

Cometh unnamable the hour of hours, Still hear my words, and, watching in my way, Rich with all wealth to which our hopes aspire, Smile, if my deeds have worth and single scope, Acme of all experience, all desire, Full of high sympathy and God-like hope, When faithful eyes that hunger for the light True hope, not now akin to doubt and fear- Feel all the wonders of God's world in sight. While daily I draw nearer and more near.

Eye hath not scen, ear heard, nor spirit known,

What there the Lord will offer to his own. Limnèd upon the heart in lines more true, Yet certain is it that no doubt or fears More moving-sweet, than ever pencil drew, Thither ascend, no partings and no tears. Still will I cherish thee from youth to age, Then may I see the Highest face to face ! Dearest companion of my pilgrimage.

Then may I know thee in thine own true place! Pleasant it is to trace each well-known scene, There with changed lips may I thy kindness Musing in silence where thy feet have been,

And to be able, when my soul is drear, And thine no longer shall be answerless.
To feel “ A mother's lips have spoken here;
Here the flower withers, and the leaf falls dead,
But that dear speech can never be unsaid.”

Nor only thus-but every room hath grown What is that faint and melancholy note,
Impregnate with a memory of its own.

Borne feebly on the sharp east wind, Here, kneeling with clasped hands about her Whose eager blast bites through our overcoat, chair,

With down of eider thickly lined ?
We murmur lispingly our childish prayer; It sounded forth of yonder clump of oak,
Here anger died before her accents mild,

Darkling beneath the laden sky;
And brother was to brother reconciled ;

Through the bare twigs some plaintive creature Or kind rebuke, urged lovingly apart,

spoke. Drew generous tears, and changed the weeper's It was the Cuckoo's cry!

heart; Here, worn with watching, anxious and alone, That timid thrill outpoured from yonder brake! She calmed her sick one's suffering with her Ah! can it be the Nightingale ? own,

That broken jug! That interrupted shake ! Soother of pain, wherever pain might be,

The breeze cuts short the poor bird's tale, Not for me only, but the most for me.

The Throstle, too, as though for cold in pain, Often, a subtil anguish to assuage,

High perched upon the leafless tree, I turn, for thought, to some poetic page; Attempts a fitful and a dreary strain, But from the first blank leaf before me rise Sung in a minor key. These words, “A mother's gift,” and dim-my There's one, an only, Swallow to be seen ;

cyes; Three little words--yet mcaning vast they bear,

With feeble wing the straggler flies. Owned by my heart the sweetest poem there.

What docth hu out in this air so keen, Writ with a tale whose sameness cannot pall,

Unless hic flies for exercise ? That one blank leaf is more divine than all;

On such a day no gnat will stir for him: Yet all in their degree the charm partake,

All insects find it much to cool: And lofty verse grows loftier for her sake.

He would not catch one midge, were he to skim So, while I feed upon cach hidden theme,

The nearly frozen pool. And link cach spot with its peculiar dream,

The Redbreast shivers o'er her callow brood; From my rapt being falls ofi

' the crust defiled,

The-shrunk, nipped bnds, her nest reveal. And once again I am a little child. Henceforth, though good desires in frailty melt, Cocksparrows cannot find their children food; I cannot wholly lose what I have felt.

No caterpillar for a meal!

The badger', dormouse, hedgehog, squirrel creep There lives, though planted in a barren place, A love which is the hate of all things base.

All into their respective holes : Deeds foully done, my mother, which should be This merry May sends all such things to sleep, A barrier guilt between my soul and thee,

A May as at the Poles ! Como laden with such agonies intense,

Ah, how I pity birds and beasts that roam And fettered with so dire a consequence,

Unsheltered sare by fern and brier ! That still I cannot do them, if I would

I know what I shall do ; I shall go home, One hope preserves me negatively good.

Draw down the blinds; make up a roaring Oh, may I more and more that hope enfold,

fire; Who the true substance lightly held of old ! Command a basin of hot soup, and dine Though in my breast there beats a wavering On Christmas beef; and, having fed, will,

Brew for mysr''a tankari of spiced winc; I feel that I have power to please thee still;

Have thai, ...I go to bed.

-Panch, 18 Jay.

From The Spectator, 8 June. ery seemed to work so ill. To talk with YOUNG AMERICA AT PARIS. Mr. Cowdin of the national Union being WE have earned our right to a candid formed not for Americans alone, but for“ the hearing, when we remonstrate with the for- whole family of man,” or even with Mr. Bureign representatives of the American Gov- lingame, of its being the “noblest which ernment on the perverse and suicidal policy ever shed its blessings on mortal man,” is which they have recently been pursuing simply American rodomantade. We, wat We at least have uniformly expressed the least, do not think so, and if English symwarm sympathy which is felt by the great pathy is to be heartily enlisted it cannot be mass of the English people with the North- on the mere constitutional aspects of the ern cause, and we do not believe that a few struggle. And the Republicans would do hasty and rather blustering speeches even well to look further than this even as regards from those who seem to represent the official their own support at home. The Union mind of the Federal Government will have feeling is strong, but alone it will scarcely the power to wean English sympathy either give birth to an endless crop of militiamen from the cause or the party which represents or volunteers to supply the place of those it. But nevertheless we must speak from who fall in an internecine strife. Unless a the very depth of our sympathy with that greater issue is distinctly raised, and the cause, a few words of warning to those who people learn that they are fighting for a so grievously neglect its true interests. If final condemnation of slavery in the civilthere be a policy by which they can so far ized world, the requisite spirit of self-sacriplay into the hands of their adversaries as fice may not be easily maintained. No great to paralyze for a moment the popular sym- civil war has ever been sustained long in pathy in England, and to change the hesitat- modern times without something deeper ing attitude of the press into one of fixed than a political issue. In England and in damaging intent, it is the policy they are France religious enthusiasm, and that alone now adopting of hesitating principle, un- was powerful enough to draw the middle worthy flattery to the French despot, and and lower classes in hosts into the ranks : blustering defiance to English statesmen. and the slavery cause, which is essentially On slavery they are still quite too reticent; a religious issue, will alone be found strong on Napoleonism they almost fawn; on Eng- enough to feed the zeal of the Northern land they openly frown, muttering challenges freemen. If the Republican diplomatists and maledictions. The Union has hitherto are to open their lips to England and the gained credit for the most able and acute world, it is a pity they do not take more dediplomatists in Europe-surely, it will not fined ground on this head. be from the date of the first Republican Ad- Next, if they deliberately wish to soil their ministration that that reputation will begin pure cause, not merely in England, but in to decline ? At present we must say that Europe, they could not do better than fawn they have spoken, and spoken very unwisely, upon Louis Napoleon and accept his system where silence would have been the truest as the natural outcome of popular institudignity, and that, having spoken, they have tions. When Mr. Cassius Clay recalls the omitted to say almost the only important old alliance between France and America thing which it would be well for the Repub- against England, and reminds the emperor lican party openly to proclaim. First, then, that the exile of St. Helena is unavenged, if those who can claim to represent the Re- we smile at his clumsy diplomacy. But publican party really wish to excite the full when he apologizes for the French system sympathy of England, it would be well for almost in the language of panegyric, it is them to accept rather more distinctly the great hard to realize that he is indeed the man issue on which our sympathy depends. We who has sacrificed so much in the cause of can understand the Union feeling the true freedom. It is not pleasant to English ears national feeling-in the United States, and to hear the question, “ Does any man venheartily condemn the calculating treachery ture to say that the French of to-day have of the seceders. But, sincere as this feeling paid too much in treasure and blood for the is, we certainly could never be expected as liberties they now enjoy, which this great peoa nation to indulge in any profound grief ple and the great chief of their choice equally over the break-down of a democratic consti- recognize ?" And though Mr. Clay tells us tution which we never affected to admire. in the next sentence, in that august style to On that ground, though we feel sincere re- 'which Mr. Dickens has accustomed us, that gret, we can pretend to no national emotion, this "world-wide statesman and philanthroand were not the cause of the struggle one pist, waiting upon nature, and following of far deeper principle, we should probably upon the fading footprints of the ages, with watch with equanimity the experiment of a holds the hand of rash propagandisa." ; little political rivalry where the old machin-, we fear he can scarcely intend to convey

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