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and, could we hope that our expression of gratitude could reach the royal eye, we would tell his Majesty that those words have been wept over by many a poor and persecuted Protestant—that they have been pasted in the commencement of the family Bible, and that at the sacred service of each evening, from many a cottage fireside has ascended up to the throne of the King of Kings, the unbought prayer of many a heart that is now ready to spill the last drop of its blood in defence of his sacred person. We take from the St. James's Chronicle the following report of his Majesty's reply to the birth-day address of the bishops:

My Lords-- You have a right to require of me to be resolute in defence of the church. I have been, by the circumstances of my life, and by conviction, led to support toleration to the utmost extent of which it is justly capable; but toleration must not be suffered to go into licentiousness : it has its bounds, which it is my duty and which I am resolved to maintain. I am, from the deepest conviction, attached to the pure Protestant faith, which this church, of which I am the temporal head, is the human means of diffusing and preserving in this land.

“ I cannot forget what was the course of events which placed my family on the throne which I now fill: those events were consummated in a revolution which was rendered necessary, and was effected, not, as has sometimes been most erroneously stated, merely for the sake of the temporal liberties of the people, but for the preservation of their religion. It was for the defence of the religion of the country, that was made the settlement of the crown, which has placed me in the situation that I now fill; and that religion, and the church of England AND IRELAND, the prelates of which are now before me, it is my fixed purpose, determination, and resolution to MAINTAIN.

The present bishops, I am quite satisfied, (and I am rejoiced to hear from them, and from all, the same of the clergy in general, under their governance,) have never been excelled, at any period of the history of our church, by any of their predecessors, in learning, piety, or zeal in the discharge of their high duties. If there are any of the inferior arrangements in the discipline of the church (WHICH, HOWEVER, I GREATLY DOUBT) that require amendment, I have no distrust of the readiness or ability of the prelates now before me to correct such things; and to you, I trust, they will be left to correct, with your authority UNIMPAIRED and UNSHACKLED.

" I trust it will not be supposed that I am speaking to you a speech which I have got by heart. No, I am declaring to you my real and genuine sentiments. I have almost completed my sixty-ninth year, and though blessed by God with a very rare measure of health, not having known what sickness is for some years, yet I do not blind myself to the plain and evident truth, that increase of years must tell largely upon me when sickness shall come : I cannot therefore expect that I shall be very long in this world. It is under this impression that I tell you, that while I know that the law of the land considers it impossible that I should do wrong, that while I know there is no earthly power which can call me to account—this only makes me the more deeply sensible of the responsibility under which I stand to that Almighty Being before whom we must all one day appear.

When that day shall come, you will know whether I am sincere in the declaration which I now make, of MY FIRM ATTACHMENT to the church, and RESOLUTION TO MAINTAIN IT.

“I have spoken more strongly than usual, because of unhappy circumstances that have forced themselves upon the observation of all. The threats of those who are enemies of the church, make it the more necessary for those who feel their duty to that church TO SPEAK OUT. The words which you hear from me are indeed spoken by my mouth, but they flow from my heart.”

Surely, surely, these noble sentiments call for some peculiar expression of gratitude on the part of the Irish clergy: On our pastors and our bishops we now affectionately call. The King has declared his sentiments towards you ; it is your part to declare yours towards him. Venerable men, come forward on the moment, from the holy duties of your office, to thank your protector for the assurance that he will assent you the uninterrupted discharge of your duties. If you do this, and if the nation be, what we believe it to be, a loyal and a Christian nation—THE CRY OF Church and King WILL RING THROUGHOUT THE LAND IN ONE BURST OF GENEROUS AND AFFECTIONATE ENTHUSIASM OF PROTESTANT AND RELIGIOUS BRITAIN.

ANTHONY POPLAR'S NOTE-BOOK.

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While our eye glances orer the few Almighty! at thy signal from its place sunny spots of greenery which adorn our Is dropped a leaflet here. • library table,” it reverts again and again There, at thy signal, through unbounded toThe Dream, and other Poems,” by Mrs. space, George Lenox Conyngham, a fair coun- Is hurled a wandering sphere. trywoman of our own. This interesting volume is brought out in beautiful type We may, en passant, observe the coinand paper, by Mr. Moxon of Dover-street, cidence between the expression of MatLondon. To us the authoress is better thison in the third verse: known by her virgin name, Elizabeth 0! wie umschlingt und hält der Holmes. We knew her in our college

Wesen Heer days, not many years since, when the Der ew'gen Liefe Band, names of wife and mother were yet stran- and that of Montgomery, who applies gers to her ear, and as such we remember the same thought to “beauty," her_“the admired of all admirers." 0! Beauty is the master shell,

Even then her reputation as a German The syren of the soul, scholar was remarkable, and she was, Whose magic zone encompasseth perhaps, the first lady in this country Creation with control. who made German literature her study, While, however, we notice the coinand who ventured to clothe in our lan- cidence, we do not forget the remark of guage the creations of the German muse. A celebrated critic :-“ The expression of

In turning over the pages, our eye is two writers may be similar and sometimes caught by the motto “ beglantz vom identical, yet be original in both." But rothen Schein des Himmels bebt" a truce with the cold criticism of poetical prefixed to a sweet poem called “ The plagiaries, while one of the spirit-stirring Summer Evening.This is a transla- passages of “ The Persians" of Æschylus tion from the classic Matthison; but if presents itself as a motto to “ A Greek we remember rightly, the original is war-song,” in the volume before us. called “ The Evening in Spring." (Frah- And here we pause to thank our lingsabend.) We cannot resist the temp- fair countrywoman, whose knowledge of tation of giving a few lines.

Greek literature is not less than that of

German, for the beautiful recollections On the young stalk the tint the red of the Greek dramatic poets which adorn heaven throws

her pages; we feel the more inclined to Plays o'er the trembling dew: do so in this age of brass, when historical The vernal landscape's quivering image and classic associations are alike forgotten glows

for the fustian of the self-important Through waves of clearest blue. Punch (fit emblem of the present spirit

of the times) and the march of humbug. The mountain rill, the brightly blos- In the following specimens of the som'd hedge,

« Greek war-song,” which is an original Woods bathed in sunlight streams, poem, vigour, fire, and classic chasteness The evening star, that on the purple edge harmoniously combine. To enjoy it Of yonder soft cloud beams.

fully, let the reader imagine himself a

spectator of the battle of Salamis. Oh! how encircleth everlasting love Before him the unnumbered fleets of the Creation with its band !

Persian sweep the Saronic straits on The glow-worms light, the fiery orbs land his multitudinous army, of many above

nations, is congregated-on the rocky Are kindled by one hand.

brow of Ævialus, that frowns over the

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island, sits the haughty Xerxes on a We lay down the volume, which we gorgeous throne of silver, in proud anti- can sincerely recommend to all our readcipation of immediate victory; and here ers with associations of mingled pleasure the band of Greeks, led by Themistocles, and regret; pleasure, in the recollection breathe united strength; and as they of some delightful hours spent in the come on, their war-song rises in one society of the writer, “when life was heart-stirring cry:

fresh, and youth was in its spring;” re

gret, that her lot is now cast in another Sons of the Greek! advance!

country, where the duties of a wife and Defend your liberty !

mother demand her residence, away from This day's departing glance

her native land. Must leave you fall’n or free.

Of her country she was then, and, we The stranger is at hand,

doubt not, still is, a passionate lover; His fleet is on the sea:

and the enthusiasm of her feelings when Ere night, your native land

she spoke of Ireland, its history, and its That stranger's slave may be.

sorrows, commanded, from her very child

hood, the admiration of all that knew With bis myriads of troops

her. He would sweep us away:

We well remember the last evening Like the eagle that swoops

passed in her society, some ten years From the clouds on his prey,

since; and as she sat by a young friend Yonder despot now deems

who had been her schoolfellow in EngHe shall crush us today:

land, and listened to her singing our Let him trust Fancy's dreams

national Gramacbree, we will not soon We are truer than they.

forget, as the words were repeated, In his pomp and his power let the tyrant

So sleeps the pride of former days,

So glory's thrill is o'er," confide, In the minions that crouch at his nod, how the bright tear stood in her long In the ministering reptiles that pamper lashes, and spoke feelings for her country his pride;

too beautiful for words, too tender for Our defence is the patriot's God! utterance.

We envy not the individual who could Look round, as brave men dare,

then have looked upon that radiant counUpon your fathers' graves;

tenance with unmoistened eye. They left you free as air, Unshackled as the waves :

But we grow pathetic, and forget that Their blood must never flow

we ourselves are now a sober BenedictWithin the veins of slaves

and our days of romance passed away. He who beats back the foe,

Before we lay down our pen we would His father's glory saves.

notice two other volumes of poems, one of

which lately issued from the English press, We would gladly dwell on this sweet printed in a very attractive shape and volume, and more particularly on the style, and at a price within the reach of principal poem, “ The Dream,” which all; by the Rev. John D. Hull. contains passages of great power, If genuine poetic feeling, and, what is fire, and beauty, but must be read better, a sound moral feeling—and what throughout to be appreciated as it de- is far better still, a pure Christian feeling, serves.

are recommendations, this little volume The language is chaste, unincumbered has all these, and more. It abounds ly superfluous epithets or ornament; and in “sheaves of gentle and religious the thoughts and the expression of them thoughts,” which recommend themselves abound in that pithy vigour, condensation, to every reader of taste and sensibility. and point so seldom found in poetry, and The following specimens are taken almost for which the fair authoress promises to at random :be no less remarkable as a writer than her father-one of the most deservedly Oh! for the hour_ the ecstatic hourdistinguished and respected members of the When Winter's raven blasts take Irish bar-has long been as a speaker and wing; an advocate.

And Rapture's renovating power The poems are dedicated to him in Comes bounding in the breath of language alike simple and interesting.

Spring!

roves,

When trees are newly blossoming, What a joy will inspire When flowers beneath the sun expand, The believer hence taken, And songs through all the ether When Glory's full choir ring—

On his ear shall awaken!" What heart the impulse can withstand,

We shall close our extracts with a Nor inly bless the God, who hath such blessings planned ?

merited tribute to Henry Martyn :

“ O'er many a sea and sultry waste How deeply blest is he who loves

Had the way-worn pilgrim wended; To mark and study Nature's charms!

The wished-for goal is gained at last, He, while through endless sweets he

And the days of his mourning are ended. But little recks of life's alarms; No pitying bosom sustained his head,

Aloof from carnal strifes and harms, With anguish and fever burning ; From pride, and care's malignant spite, No tear beside his dull couch was shed,

He steals-and still his bosom warms, As the spirit to God was returning. As more entranced at every sight, Ile drinks delicious draughts of ever-new

He dies far away from his native land,

From the friends of his deep affection ; delight.

While merciless heathens around him

stand, The following lines on music, are spi- To embitter each dreary reflection. rited and beautiful :

Yet, though lonely and stricken to mortal “ Hark! how deep comes the sound

eye, Of those liquid tones meeting !

One Comforter still was near him ; How the heart's happy bound

And an angel-band was hovering nigh, Feels in unison beating !

Aloft in their arms to bear him. How each soul-gnawing pain,

Like a charmed adder, slumbers; Then deem not so cheerless and dark hislot, E'en Care slacks his chain,

Though by suffering marked severely; While he lists to the numbers. He hath entered the rest by his Saviour

boughtOh, 't is amid care

The Saviour he prized so dearly.
Music deepest entrances;
As the desert's hot air

Ah! bright seems the warrior's wreath

while renown The spring's coolness enhances. For in moments of glee,

Speaks loud of his brave endeavour; No soft anodyne needed,

But who heeds the Christian hero's crown, Like rain on the sea,

That shines, as the stars for ever.” Drop the sweet notes unheeded.

We must confess that we have a strong But when clouds wrap the mind,

prejudice in favour of sacred poetry,

when taste in the selection, and talent And no bright star befriends us,

in the execution of a subject so difficult What a bliss unconfined

to be treated well, recommends it so Soothing Melody lends us ! Slow and sad it begins,

strongly to favourable notice as in the little volume before us.

But before we Then, with gentle transition,

close our observations on this particular The rapt soul it wins With a magic Elysian.

department, we would call the reader's

attention to a second series of the Sacred As fast as each tone

Harp; a collection of gems from authors, From the instrument breaketh,

living and dead, of the highest poetical An answering one

fame. Independent of the claims which In the bosom awaketh:

the Sacred Harp is justly entitled to As the harp-string resounds

upon this ground, the style in which To the hand o'er it stealing,

it has been got up is a credit to the

Dublin Press— we have never seen a The soul-chord rebounds To the fine touch of Feeling.

finer specimen of typography. Oh! if in a sphere

Here we have a truculent-looking Where some note is still wanting, volume of poems, spattered with gold as The strains which we hear

to its external. What kind of dust is Be so sweetly enchanting

there within ?

we

But let us tell the reader what the wanders into all variety of rythm, and it book is. “ The Royal Mariner, etc. etc.” transmutes into verse all sorts of topics, by C. D. Sillery; a collection of poems however recondite. There is a piling of the fruits, we imagine, of some rather armour-a marshalling of brand and banelaborately employed years.

ner-an apparelling of maidens—a glitterWe remember having complimented ing of gems—a clustering of fruitsa Mr. Sillery upon the ability with which grouping of trees-a strewing of flowers he treated a divinity work of considerable a tinting of skies—a smiling of seas, and merit. At that time, to our shame be a tossing of waves, such as no other poem it spoken, we did not know that he had that we are acquainted with exhibits.”(!!!) ever committed a line of poetry; and in this our ignorance how far were

But this is mere child's play to the behind the knowledge and judgment of a

Glasgow Free Press :Scotch critic, whose observations upon “ With a daring that has something Mr. S., as a poet, are quoted at some bold and redeeming in it, even blank length, amongst myriads of favourable

verse (i. e. of Vallery) is, for the first notices, at the end of the volume before us.

time, interspersed with rhyme in the We quote a passage or two, partly because splendid Mosaic, along which the stream we are in some degree at issue with the of story sparkling flows, with a brightness learned reviewer, and partly because it is that confuses us, and a bubbling music not every day that the “ungentle craft”are that almost makes amends for the foamy to be caught in such sublime good-humour obscurity sometimes that mars its clearas the Edinburgh Observer.

Speaking ness. of a poem by Mr. S., yclept “ Vallery,” Verily if our Anthony Poplar, Gent., the critic proceeds:

should, taking leave of his sober senses, “ A more enthusiastic child of song shall be poetically born and delivered in

become a poet of the 19th century, he than Charles Doyne Sillery, has rarely the Land of Cakes. appeared on this terraqueous globe. We in a sentence of what we have quoted to

There is gas enough have seen him in retirement, and we have balloon a Parnassian to the third heaven seen him in society; and, whether seated of poetical repute. in the dark penetralia of our office, or acting the gay and gallant

cavalier among Edinburgh Literary Journal," speaks of

« If he,” (that is, Mr. Sillery,) says the fair women and brave men, we found him invariably the same single-hearted, architecture seem at his fingers' ends !—if

an ancient castle, all the technicalities of frank-spoken, honest fellow. Like Ana

he ascends a mountain, geology opens her creon Moore, his wit Aashes in incessant coruscations, Like the same illustrious inhabited island, botany pours her trea

stores for him !-if he lands on an unbard, he sings his own songs, and dashes even his prose with poetical ornature.

sures into his lap!- the still midnight He possesses, moreover, the astronomical

finds him pointing to the heavens with enthusiasm of a Newton, the philosophie vessel that bears him to distant lands,

the wand of an astronomer, and the vein of a Brown, and the mechanical skill of a Watt. About the ordinary

carries with it a curious observer of the size, and exceedingly slender in figure

, phenomena of nature!" To which may be we never look upon his eye, gleaming added, from ourselves, as an illustration with intellectual fire, but we think of of Irish climax, when the sky falls Mr. the

Sillery shall be found catching larks!

After all, joking apart, it was cruel in -mighty soul, that working out its way, Fretteth the puny body to decay.'

the press to blow a trumpet so loud that

that it was laughable. Mr. Sillery, if he Mr. Sillery is still very, very young, yet has one ounce of brains, must know that he has visited, not only mentally, but he is not Sir Walter Scott, nor fit to bodily, the uttermost parts of the earth. brush his shoes; and yet he has hoarded, He has been rocked by the tropic billows at the end of his volume, more praise--has seen the tomb of Napoleon--doubled if it be not humbug-upon his qualities the cape of storms-gazed on the palmy and qualifications as a poet, than, we headlands of Hindostan, and learnt to eat could swear, was ever bestowed upon the with chop-sticks in China.(!!!) The mu

bard whose memory we bless as tations of bis boyhood have given a versa

reverently breathe his name.” tility to his muse that it would not be easy Mr. Sillery had something else at his to parallel : it leaps like lightning from fingers' ends, beside the “ technicalities of land to land, and from sea to sea; it architecture,” when he penned the follow

we

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