Since He, though every earthly friend has fled, Thou wilt exclaim-' He hath done all things well!' One feels that it would have been a cruel thing to ask this glib and beaming consoler why Jehovah's arm was not beneath those other waves which engulfed the balance of the family. There are certain types of simple believers whom no sceptic but the dastard or the cad can attack, and the Rev. Cornelius Whur came high among them. In default of a catastrophe Mr. Whur would make himself comfortable in a cemetery. Tombstones never failed to move him. He has a number of poems upon graves, all amusing but too long to quote. As a specimen of his mortuary manner here is the exordium of The Lady's Tomb': A young gentleman, who is a Clergyman, and who had the misfortune to lose his amiable lady a few weeks subsequently to her confinement, by a severe attack of influenza, gave instructions for a grave to be prepared, nine feet in depth, for the reception of her loved remains, intending, as he afterwards informed the author, to rest there himself. It may likewise be proper to inform the reader that the lady left behind a sweet little boy. About thirteen weeks previously to this sad event the writer had the honour of dining with this excellent young lady, and being in the neighbourhood in which she had resided he again waited upon the bereaved gentleman, and accompanied him to the melancholy spot where the sharer of his former joys was reposing. Several years afterwards this excellent Clergyman removed to a distant part of the kingdom, and in the lines which follow he is supposed, previously to his departure, to have visited the scene, and when standing by the tomb of the deceased lady her spirit is to be understood as having addressed him as she is represented to have done in the verses which are subjoined. The poem is, as usual, merely the same thing over again, but not so concise. One tomb poem I may, however, quote in full. With great daring it is written in the metre of The Soldier's Dream,' almost the least suitable that could be chosen by an indifferent technician. THE ROSE-COVERED GRAVE. The author, in passing through a beautiful churchyard in the county of Norfolk was particularly struck with the appearance of a recently covered grave, which was surrounded by a profusion of roses. Afterwards while proceeding on his journey he casually overtook the gentleman whose lady had been interred in the grave which had engaged his attention, and of whose sudden departure he gave the following relation: He had an only daughter, who at the period referred to was seriously indisposed, and who had been deploring that circumstance in consequence of the inconvenience it occasioned in the family. The lady, who at that time was in perfect health, endeavoured to console the mind of her afflicted daughter by exclaiming, 'Thank God, I am quite well, and will alleviate your sufferings !' But within twenty minutes the affectionate mother, who had thus spoken, was a corpse, and in the above-named grave her remains were reposing. The morning arose, and its beauties were beaming, As they danced in her vision like snow-crested wave; That hour was a season of gloomy decision, As she stood on the brink of her rose-covered grave! She'd heard too, to add to the keen separation, A long nurtured daughter despondently rave; Who would weep as she went to her rose-covered grave! Yet she fell 'mid emotions of exquisite sorrow, So awfully did the grim monster behave; Such such is the spot, yet this pleasing reflection May arise from His goodness who liveth to save— Here you see Mr. Whur at his happiest. He is the kind of man who would build his country house in the valley of the shadow. His very walking-stick smelt of mortality, for before it came to his hand it had been the property and daily companion of a gentleman (a member of the Church of England) who although a layman, most laudably employed several evenings in each week preaching to and instructing the peasantry in different cottages in his neighbourhood. This gentleman upon a certain occasion gathered what he supposed to be mushrooms, in eating of which himself, a sister, and a little boy were poisoned. But Cornelius was not always serious: he had his levities too. One of his poems describes his adventures on journeying into Northamptonshire to preach, and being arrested by mistake immediately on arrival and conveyed to the chief constable. The little error, however, led to the discovery of a whole nest of new and warm friends for the victim-pious gentlemen and amiable ladies, after his own heart-and he therefore had nothing but gratitude for the adventure. But why do I narrate the incident when Mr. Whur's own words are available? On Sunday morning, March 5, 1843 [he writes], a certain minister [himself, for a pound!] who happened to be an entire stranger, was requested to preach in a place of worship which is situated in Northamptonshire. Unfortunately, however, his object not having been properly understood, he was unceremoniously addressed by a Policeman, and by him taken to a gentleman who happened to be the Constable. But notwithstanding this unpropitious commencement, a large circle of friends was subsequently raised up, who treated the preacher in question with much Christian courtesy ; and it is by the express desire of a highly respectable gentleman who was present upon the occasion that the singular circumstance is referred to, and has a place in this volume. Another light, or less weighty, poem takes the form of an address to a dog in the possession of a chemist, a gentleman of literary habits who mixes but little in society,' whose affection for the animal altered not, no matter how variable the seasons. The ode concludes with this stanza : But, as for thee, such is thy state, Thou wouldst, hadst thou right organs, sing To magnify thy loaded plate, And bless the guiding hand of fate That put thee 'neath a Chemist's wing! Another poem more or less in this genre felicitates a happy but tardy couple under the straightforward title The Unexpected Boy': The following lines were addressed to a gentleman, who had no children save an only daughter, and as nearly thirteen years had elapsed since her birth, no addition to the family was contemplated. But contrary to previous calculation, a most interesting little boy vouchsafed to pay his parents an unexpected visit by introducing himself to notice, August 11, 1839. The poem opens thus: He who regulates the storm, Sends the rain and falling dew, To increase His creature's joy? We come upon satire in the poem 'occasioned by hearing of a gentleman who occupies a rather distinguished position in the religious world, whose visits to the looking-glass, as some suppose, VOL. XXV.—NO. 148, N.S. 35 are unbecoming, and too frequently repeated.' But Mr. Whur's heart was not in satirical jocular exercises. Pathos was his real line death and disaster and physical affliction. The maimed appealed to him at once, and he had a peculiar, almost Barnumesque, faculty of alighting upon intelligent deformities; and having alighted upon them one may be sure that he lost no time in pointing out the compensations of their unhappy lot. An early poem in his first volume is addressed to a little girl' who was born without either legs or arms, and who (of course) is altogether dependent upon her parents under all circumstances.' The poem begins questioningly : It continues: Not having legs or arms how wilt thou play Thou wilt, I fear, find friends a rarity! At least, such friends as thou wilt then require, A voice from heaven, speaking through the child, supplies the solution : He, who sees all, Wealthy or indigent, effective or Feeble, who giveth each his daily food, Guarding from harm or lack unnumbered worlds, Directs His eye on me complacently! In another and similar case the precise assistance rendered to the afflicted by heaven is explained. The poem is called 'The Armless Artist,' and it was' suggested by seeing an artist who was born without arms, who supports himself and his parents also by his profession. The parties, being but in humble life, the circumstance ought to be viewed as one of Jehovah's extraordinary methods of relieving those who were in a trying situation.' The poem opens thus, a moment or so after the birth of the prodigy : 'Alas! alas!' the father said, In such a situation? Be not surprised at my alarms, The monologue goes on in an increase of pessimism, ending with these expressions of despair: 'I have no hope, nor confidence, The scene around is dreary; I am by trying, weary. You must, my dearest, plainly see, The prose argument has already told us, in defiance of art, what the sequel was. The boy became an accomplished artist; but whether he held the brush in his mouth or in his toes we are not informed. If he was half as good as the armless artist whose pencil drawings are exhibited in a stationer's in Holborn, he was a wonder indeed. It was a lady, it will be remembered, who commissioned the first poem in Mr. Whur's book, and one gathers from a perusal of his pages that he held himself always very ready to obey the behests of the fairer members of his flock; although now and then we find him accepting poetical suggestions from gentlemen too. For example, the poem entitled 'The Early Adieu,' although even without an invitation Mr. Whur must inevitably have written it, was requested by a young gentleman to whom this sad and untimely farewell was breathed. Let Mr. Whur relate the melancholy circumstances: The lines below refer to the premature departure of an interesting young lady, whose hand had been promised to a gentleman between whom and herself a mutual attachment had existed for several years. For some considerable time the health of this amiable young lady had been declining, and early in 1839 alarming symptoms rendered her removal to a more salubrious part of the kingdom indispensable. But alas! it was too late, and the change of scene not having produced any of its desired effects, an immediate return to her native village became imperatively necessary. The young lady, therefore, under the care of her parents and the object of her anxious solicitude, after five days of successive travelling arrived at home. But ere the shades of evening had enveloped the place which gave her birth, she, leaning her head upon the shoulder of the young gentleman, whispered adieu ! The writer afterwards saw the grave of this accomplished young lady, and by the request of her unfortunate lover introduces the melancholy circumstance to the notice of his readers. It is a question if the bereaved lover was Mr. Whur's ultimate quarry. I fancy he wrote more for the ladies than for the gentlemen, and, like all poets, had one Laura, one Beatrice, most prominent in his thoughts. Mr. Whur mentions no names, but we are probably |