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The reader will see that we intend to maintain the (See Engraving.)

high standard with which we began. We give again,

his month, NiNE full page Engravings, exhibiting all COME, brothers, arouse, for the night wears on,

the various styles of embellishment presented in the And the moonbeams gild the snow, And over the glen, the fields, the moor,

January number. We give, also, an equally large numThere yet is a league to go.

ber of finely executed wood-cuts scattered profusely Hurra, hurra, for the strides we take!

through the printed pages. For the sterling merit of its The way is shortening fast,

literary articles, the present number surpasses any former The glen is past, and the moor is crossed,

issue of the Magazine. The long paper from Miss Bremer And the roof appears at last!

on "Life in the North” discloses a most interesting view Now, brothers, approach with a softer tread,

of the present condition of the northern countries of EuThe bride to her bower is gone;

rope. The “Author of Mary Barton," who at this time No lamp from the latticed casement gleams,

divides public attention in England with the author of And the bolts and bars are drawn;

"Shirley” and "Jane Eyre,” has contributed a touching But her dream of home shall anon be broke,

domestic tale. Harriet Martineau continues her beautiful While here in the drift we stand,

“Ambleside” papers. Major Richardson has commenced And her throbbing heart shall be borne away, On the lays of her fatherland!

a purely American tale of the settlement of Chicago, which

for thrilling interest can hardly be surpassed. Professor Come, brothers, attune to the roaring blast,

Hart continues his series of Shakspeare papers. Mrs. Which is piping wild and strong,

Kirkland has an article on “Literary Women," in which But warble a melting symphony When the gust hath passed along;

her peculiar talent for ridicule is most skillfully applied. A strain that shall thrill in that slumbering breast,

The paper on Benjamin West, by Mr. Sartain, brings to And open those dark, deep eyes,

light some curious facts in the history of art, as connected Which deem for moment they greet the light with that great man, never before published in this Of their own Italian skies.

country, and little known even in England. We have, Yet, brothers, beware, for the ivy vine

besides, another of “The Tales of the Puritans” by ProWhich had learned the oak to clasp,

fessor Alden, to say nothing of the original series of Though it weather the tempest's rudest rage,

Shakespeare poems from the pens of Mrs. Osgood, Mrs. May yield to an infant's grasp!

Kinney, Mrs. E. Oakes Smith, Miss Sproat, &c.
The nameless joys of the fatherland

Too well can our songs recall,
But why should we open those wounds afresh ?
She hath wept adieu to all!

OUR FASHIONS.-We are every month increasing our fa

cilities for obtaining the Paris fashions at the earliest For, brothers, we think of the oft-told tale,

moment. To show how far we have succeeded in this, we How men that were brave in war,

would remark that three of the Fashions which we gave Dissolved by the strains of their native hills,

last month, (numbers 5, 6, and 7,) were published by us Fled back to their homes afar.

here, before their appearance in “Bell's London World of But the Lord forbid we should e'er untwine

Fashion !" We give again, in the present number, several One tendril of her heart,

figures from the “Moniteur de la Mode," received direct From the noble stem it hath proudly clasped, from Paris only a week before going to press. These Intent but with life to part!

same figures in all probability are not yet published in

London, the method of reproducing them thore being less Nay, brothers, the notes we are pouring forth, expeditious than that adopted by us. We give this month That have startled her gentle rest,

no less than cleven distinct figures. Shall fall like the beams of the moonlight pale, On the snowy landscape's breast.

OUR VALENTINE.-Instend of the foolish and tawdry prints Shadows may darken her life's bright day

usually sold for Valentines, spend your quarter, dear As clouds by the wind are driven,

reader, for the beautiful plate which we have given. It But music shall gladden life's wintry night,

contains a blank line just long enough to contain the That shall blend with the songs of heaven!

Dame of your "friend," who will receive thereby, not only a Valentine more elegant and tasteful than any to be

bought in the shops, but a beautiful Magazine to boot A Card from Miss Bremer.-Feeling the impossibility to

with all its numberless attractions. answer, as I should and would, letters and notes which are sent mc, many of which are precious to me, not only OUR SHAKESPEARE Plates.-We commence this month the as to what concerns me personally, and which I treasure publication of a series of illustrations of Shakespeare's in my heart as things dear and beautiful, I wish by these “Seven Ages." Each Age, as delineated by Shakespeare, lines to make known to my benevolent correspondents, has been made the subject of a picture and of a poem. that if I do not answer them, it is that I cannot find time The series, when complete, will form a striking and very and leisure to do so during my travelling in this land, beautiful feature of the Magazine for 1850. where there is so much to see and to learn. I would tell them that my thankfulness is not the less for that it is

Our COLOUPED PRINTS.-We give this month another of

these brilliant and expensive illustrations, s splendid not now expressed in words. And I would add, that

Illuminated Print by Ackerman intended as a Valentine. though I am well aware that, in saying all this I may incur the charge of vanity, I will rather incur that and

These are embellishments not to be found elsewhere, exbear it, than bear the thought that any heart in the

cept in the most costly Annuals. United States of America should suspect mine of ungrate- ERRATUM.-By a mistake of the printer, the Shakesfulness or disregard.

peare plates and poems have been incorrectly paged. In FRBDERIKA BREMER. binding, insert them after page 120.

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“Then, a SOLDIER; Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the parl. Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth."

A SOLDIER!"- now behold him

Wild on his race to start,
Full of pomp and pride and vanity,--

All skilful in the art
Of setting off his person

With broidered belt and plume, While the colours of his

His scarf and crest illume. With casque, and helm, and breastplate,

And knightly pennon spread, 0! warlike is his bearing now

And proud his soldier tread.

* Full of strange oaths!” This suiteth

The spirit of his Aye: Rough language,-just to show the man

Of mettle on the stage. Bold in hiy martial bravery,

He has earneil the right to swear, And to hang his good sword at his side

With a formidable air!
While - bearded like the parl' his lip

las lost its boyish red,
And o'er the very fierce mustache

The raven's hue is spread.

“ Jealous in honour;" truly

It is the soldier's boast;
Who takes his preciou, pame in vain,

That recreant is lost:
Touch but his reputation

By barmless word or jest,
And straight he threatens broken bones,

A battered helm and crest.
The code of honour calls him out

To fight in honour's name,
And in his foe's hest blood he wipes

The insult from his fame.

“Sudden and quick in quarrel :"

His fiery, feverish eye, The

angry flush on cheek and brow, Warn you of danger nigh. Hasty of speech and violent, He hath not will, nor power


To take upon him the restraint

That waits a cooler hour.
Again he tries his trusty steel,

And little careth he,
Come loss or gain : in dying 24/1

For him is victory!

“The bubble reputation

Sought in the cannon's mouth :" llow burns the thirst for glory

Like a consuming drought. Ilis foot is in the stirrup,

On his heel the shining ppur;
Clad in armour for the battle

Wildly his pulses stir,
At the ringing steps of warriors

All clad in glittering mail-
The bugle's blast,--the trumpet's pote-

Borne on the morning gule.

The sounding clarion calls to arms

The Soldier's heart beats high,
For he dreams of conquest and renown,

Of a name that shall not die.
On, to the combat! mark

The quick tramp of his steed;
In the ranguard of the stormy fight

Doth the gallant rider lead!
Mid shivered shield and lance,

And the deep-monthed cannon's boom, Where the leart of battle burns and bleeds

Like a snow wreath floats his plume.

Now a closing group of foes

las hid him from our sight; A moment--and he clears his path

In the thickest of the fight. Send forth triumphal sounds

Across the gleaming plain-The exulting shout of victory

Till the echoes ring again :-
--Bear the dead soldier gently

Upon his blood-stained shield;
Well has he fought his first good fight

And won his first good field!

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