a’ eternity—­or whether the people should be edicated up to the highest pitch o’ perfection, or preferably to be all like trotters through the Bog o’ Allen—­or whether the government should subsedeeze foreign powers, or spend a’ its sillar on oursells—­or whether the Blacks and the Catholics should be emancipawted or no afore the demolition o’ Priests and Obis—­or whether (God forgie us baith for the hypothesis) man has a mortal or an immortal sowl—­be a Phoenix—­or an Eister!—­From the Noctes.

* * * * *

CURSES OF ABSENTEEISM.

What is the condition of the country-seat of the absentee proprietor?  The mansion-house deserted and closed; the approaches to it ragged and grass grown; the chimneys, “those windpipes of good hospitality,” as an old English poet calls them, giving no token of the cheerful fire within; the gardens running to waste, or, perchance, made a source of menial profit; the old family servants dismissed, and some rude bailiff, or country attorney, ruling paramount in the place.  The surrounding cottagers, who have derived their support from the vicinage, deprived of this, pass into destitution and wretchedness; either abandoning their homes, throwing themselves upon parish relief, or seeking provision by means yet more desperate.  The farming tenantry, though less immediately dependent, yet all partake, more or less, in the evil.  The charities and hospitalities which belong to such a mansion lie dormant; the clergyman is no longer supported and aided in his important duties; the family pew in the church is closed; and the village churchyard ceases to be a place of pleasant meeting, where the peasant’s heart is gladdened by the kindly notice of his landlord.

It is the struggle against retrenchment, the “paupertatis pudor et fuga,” which has caused hundreds of English families, of property and consideration, to desert their family places, and to pass year after year in residence abroad.  At the close of each London season, the question too often occurs as to the best mode of evading return to the country; and the sun of summer, instead of calling back the landlord to his tenants, and to the harvests of his own lands, sends him forth to the meagre adventures of continental roads and inns.—­Quarterly Rev.

* * * * *

SOLILOQUY.

THE KING OF DARKNESS.

On the Fallen Angels.

  They’re gone to ply their ineffectual labour,—­
  To sow in guilt what they must reap in woe,—­
  Heaping upon themselves more deep damnation. 
  Thus would I have it.—­Little once I thought,
  When leagued with me in crime and punishment
  They fell,—­condemned to an eternity
  Of exile from all joy and holiness—­
  And the first stains of sinfulness and sorrow
  Fell blight-like o’er their cherub