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From The Independent, 22 May.
DR. G. W. BETHUNE.

lish eloquence and poetry: and very few certainly, outside of the professional students and teachers of the languages, were so conversant as he with the Greek and Latin letters. On his working nights, the light rarely left his window until long after midnight; and the large and various library he had collected showed the breadth and variety of his mental tastes and scholarly culture.

THE death of Rev. Dr. Bethune at Florence, the tidings of which reached this country last week, has taken the public as well as his many personal friends by surprise. It has been understood, indeed, for several years, that his health was precarious; and it has been known by those who knew him well that he himself anticipated his sud- He was by no means, however, simply or den death as probable at no distant day. mainly a literary man. Bred in the city, and But recent accounts had represented him as accustomed all his life to the parlor and the improving in strength and spirits; and he pavement, he yet had as true a relish for the had been till lately so full of an exuberant country as any man we have ever met. The vitality, so careless of exposures, so confident leafy woods were to him a very temple of in his strength, and so prodigal in the ex- delight. No elaborate music was so sweet penditure of it for public and private uses, to his ear as the gurgle of brooks. So often that it is more difficult to realize that he now as June came back upon the town, he was sleeps the sleep of the grave, than it would restless as a boy who thirsts for his vacation, have been in the case of most other men. till under the shadow of the Eastern pines, He has left many attached and admiring or amid the intricate and tempting channels friends to lament his departure, and has left of the Thousand Isles, he was camping a place vacant in the pulpit and on the plat-out" with a few rude attendants, and whipform which will not soon or easily be filled. ping the runs or trolling the river for trout It is fitting that this journal, which often and pike. An enthusiastic sportsman, and found occasion honestly and energetically to a true lover of the wilderness, he let nothing oppose him while he lived, should pay its cheat him of this annual recreation. tribute to his character and powers now that he has passed away.

Born of parents distinguished for intelligence, and still more distinguished for a thoughtful, enterprising, and beneficent piety, -the son of that eminent Christian merchant, Divie Bethune, and the grandson, on the mother's side, of Isabella Graham,-Dr. Bethune inherited from them a strong and exacting physical organization, generous sensibilities, an affectionate, courageous, and chivalrous temper, and an intellectual nature in which humor and tastefulness were united with a judgment not always sound, but always vigorous, and capable of exerting large influence on others. The circumstances of his life were uniformly fortunate. He was accustomed to speak of his early academical training as imperfect; not, however, through the want of the amplest opportunities which love and wealth combined could furnish him, but only through the want of any purpose on his part to improve himself by means of them. But in later years he was a fond and faithful student, not of philosophy and theology only, but of the best English literature, and of the classics. Few men were more familiar with the whole circle of Eng

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He was interested in men, too, for their mere manly qualities, without reference to their acquirements or their social condition. He commenced his public and clerical life as a chaplain to seamen in the city of Savannah. For them he wrote that beautiful hymn, which is often contained in our lyrical collections without being credited to him as its author, "Tossed upon life's raging billow." And he often referred in subsequent life to these labors among the sailors with the keenest interest, and a peculiar satisfaction. So in later years some of the most touching and eloquent sermons which he ever has preached have been those which he delivered to the men who cared for his tent and his canoe in his excursions to the woods. These men valued and honored him as a Christian teacher, while they eulogized and emulated his skill as a fisherman; and it was not an uncommon thing for him to be sent for from a distance of ten or even twenty miles to hold a service on Sunday, to visit the sick, or to bury the dead, in the depths of the woods.

As a speaker on public and festive occasions, when he was in his happier moods, few men of his time, almost none of his

profession, have been his equals. Personal on to the splendid conclusion, how breathprejudices, unfortunate at the beginning, less and almost awe-bound was his audience! and which ripened too easily into settled The pen was not his noblest instrument. and unreasonable personal antipathies, threw His lips were musical, dropping sweetness, him early in his career out of sympathy with when the afflatus was upon him. And some the causes which would have drawn forth of these speeches will live in our recollection his best and highest powers as a speaker; as among the finest forensic efforts to which so that one could not help often feeling in it has ever been our privilege to listen. hearing him that if he had been on the other Into the sanctuary of his private life it is side-for the grandest Freedom and the most not for us as journalists to enter. But it is absolute Justice, and not a mere apologist fitting that we should say expressly, as those for institutions and influences against which who know, not only that the coarse and his better nature protested-it would have slanderous stories which have occasionally given a liberty and exhilaration to his men- been circulated concerning his habits, as if tal processes which in his actual position he had been an intemperate glutton, are they wanted; for want of which his com- without any sufficient foundation, but also paratively manacled powers did themselves that amid both his joys and his trials—in at such times no justice. Alas, how sadly neither of which was his life wanting-he must we feel now that if he had been so de- bore himself as a genuine and disciplined voted as he might have been, with his great Christian man; and that his kindness to powers of passion and persuasion, to the the poor, his generosity to the unfortunate, principles of Liberty and of national Right- his ready and spontaneous sympathy with eousness, if he had heard the real voice o the sorrowful, his kindness to children, his God in our land and our times, and had courtesy to the humblest, endeared him as a given such utterance as few others could pastor to the successive peoples of his give to that Gospel which preaches "deliv-charge; endeared him as a friend, to be erance to the captives," it would have been long remembered, to those who shared his for his own highest happiness, for his most permanent remembrance and usefulness. All the coarseness and bitterness of which men sometimes complained in his speech came out when he threw himself, in defence of institutions to which tradition attached him, against principles which he resisted because they were identified with men whom he disliked. He wanted only the inspiration to be gained by such a nature as his from the noble mission of facing the Nation on behalf of its oppressed, to have given such wings to his thought and speech as would have made them a possession forever in the land.

But even with this prodigious drawback, how rich in humor, how brilliant with wit, how various, affluent, persuasive, delightful, was often his most unstudied public speech. And when he closed, as frequently he did, with some appeal to the higher reason, the conscience of his hearers, or to their Christian sensibilities and sentiments, with what fine finish did phrases and paragraphs leap from his lips; how even the sluggish and heavy form seemed lightened, exalted, made instinct with feeling, and elate in a sense of glorious supremacy! And when he swept

ample hospitalities. All that was earthly and vehement in his nature seemed to pass away from him when he spoke of Christ. And never was he so moved himself, or so delightful and exalting to others, as in the solemn offices of prayer.

Dr. Bethune was settled successively at Rhinebeck, Utica, Philadelphia, Brooklyn, and in this city. His theology was of the older Calvinistic type, and he was warmly attached to the Dutch Reformed Church, in whose service his ministerial life was passed; but his heart surpassed denominational limits, and was in lively catholic sympathy with all who look for life and salvation through the cross of the Lord. Though a favorite speaker before popular assemblages, and among the most distinguished and acceptable of lecturers, he had the highest appreciation of the dignity and usefulness of the Christian ministry, and several times declined invitations to prominent and responsible literary positions, preferring to retain his place in the pulpit. His last public service was performed in a Protestant chapel at Florence, on the morning of April the 27th. Recognizing a friend from Brooklyn in the congregation, he walked with him to

his lodgings, after the worship, and was | sion, his pathos in prayer, and his filial and there seized with the apoplectic attack from unfailing confidence in God-we cannot which, after several hours of unconscious- doubt that his last Sabbath on earth was ness, Death released him. introductory to that which is eternal in heaven; and we read with a new and more tender emotion those lines of his, so often sung at the funeral service :—

We have often dissented emphatically from his opinions. There were passages in his career, and traits in his character, which those who loved him best must be the first to wish had been otherwise. But looking back to the ten years during which we who write this notice knew him well, and met him often, recalling the playfulness and manliness of his temper, his rich resources of thought and knowledge, the unaffected humility with which he referred to his Christian experience, the tone of sadness which often in private shaded the wit that in public was only too reckless and trenchant; recalling his interest in all Christian discus

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A NICER SORT OF BREAD.-Threescore and I ten, it is said, are the years of a man; but forty and two appear to be the years of a journeyman baker. At this rate the great master-baker is a sort of giant, who grinds his workman's bones to make him bread. According to Miss Martineau, Stevens' Bread-making Machinery promises to put an end to this baker-grinding. Having pointed out the advantages of the new mechanical contrivance for economizing labor in the manufacture of bread, Miss Martineau writes as follows:

Putting all these things together, can there be a doubt that the journeymen bakers' grievances are coming to an end by a better means than an Act of Parliament ? There will not be a speedy end, if an end at all, to home-made bread, but the kneading will not long be done by the cook's stout arm."

THIS is certainly not the age when a successful author is treated shabbily by the publisher. We read, for example, that Victor Hugo is to have £1,000 per volume for his new work published at Brussels, "Les Misérables;" and as the work will extend to six volumes, here are £6,000 for the illustrious exile and the author of "Notre Dame de Paris." The work, which is making some sensation, is not likely to escape some severe criticism, however, chiefly from the strong political tendencies of the author. For all that, every one is sure to read it, and some portions with a heavy heart. The artist overpowers the philosopher; and the bulk of those who may peruse "Les Misérables will be sympathizers rather than critics.-Critic.

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A RUMOR is current in Rome that the Pope intends to canonize Begum Sumroo, the mother This is very welcome intelligence. Eating of Dyce Sombre, and that the first step in the bread of which the making kills the journey-process has been taken. Some of the Begum's man baker, is, in a manner, eating the journey-wealth did go to Italy, but the rumor is to us man baker himself. This thought is calculated to create a disrelish for dry bread, if not to induce us to quarrel with our bread and butter. Bread prepared by means of machinery will be eaten without a shudder; and the rather by reason of the consideration that, if in the case of home-made bread kneading is no longer done by the cook's stout arm, neither in that of bakers' bread can it any more be performed by a different application of muscular power exerted on the dough by several journeymen bakers.-Punch.

simply incredible. There never was a more evil old lady. It is of her that the story is told how an Indian lady found her lover flirting with one of her slaves, and buried the girl alive under her chair. She lived with half a dozen paramours, and then in after-life tried to hedge for heaven, writing to the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Pope for spiritual advice while still remaining a Moslem, and practising small idolatries. If she is to be a Saint, Antonelli will have a sympathizing intercessor.-Spectator, 5 April.

No. 942.-21 June, 1862.

CONTENTS.

1. Concerning Beginnings and Ends, by A. K. H. B., Good Words, [The reader is to bear in mind, as he reads this article,

that it is written by a clergyman.]

2. Sister Anna's Probation. Chap. 7 and last, 3. The Witness. To be concluded next week, 4. A Literary Life,

5. Grammars-Cotton-Wine, .

PAGE.

574

Miss Martineau,

556

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Chambers's Journal,

564

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All the Year Round,
Spectator,

585

592

POETRY.-One Year Ago, 546. The Breeze in the Church, 546. To John G. Whittier, 563. Ode to Tobacco, 563. The Lost Expedition, 563.

SHORT ARTICLES.-Mrs. Norton's Life of Sheridan, 555. New Hymn Books, 555. Testimonial to Isaac Taylor, Author of "The Natural History of Enthusiasm," etc., 555. Coventry Patmore, 555. Chronicles of Carlingford, 555. Punch's Probable Chronology of Future Wars, 584.

NEW BOOKS.

The Rebellion Record, Part 18. Edited by Frank Moore. Published by G. P. Putnam. New York. This Part contains Portraits of Maj.-Gen. Sigel, and of the Rev. H. W. Bellows. It completes the Third Volume of this Standard History.

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY

LITTELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON.

For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded free of postage.

Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume.

ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers.

ANY NUMBER may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value.

ONE YEAR AGO.

BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.

ONE year ago our glorious flag

Lay trailing in the dust,

Rent were the grand old stars and stripes,
By Treason's deadly thrust.
One year ago, and every cheek

Was tinged with manly shame,
And eyes flashed fire of storm and ire,
At sound of Sumter's name.

One year ago, and Treason stood
With scornful mien and high,
And blotted out, one after one,

The stars that lit our sky.

Oh, fearful shame, and foul disgrace,
That Freedom's holy lamp
Should turn into a baleful torch
To light a rebel camp!

Then-then it was our hearts were stirred
By one electric thrill,-

A remnant of the ancient fire

That blazed on Bunker Hill,-
And every hilltop caught the flame
That herald's war's alarms,

When on the startled ear there rang
The clarion cry "To arms!"

State after State with loval zeal

Marched manful to the front,
Contending which should strike the first,
And which should bear the brunt.
The grand uprising of that time
Shall live in deathless song,
The protest of the loyal free
Against disloyal wrong.

And now, beneath the Southern sky,
A hundred camp-fires gleam,
On Carolina's land-locked coast,

Beside Potomac's stream;

And, scattered through the mighty West,
By river-course and plain,

The white tents of our soldiers mark
Law's re-established reign.

We send them forth with prayers and tears,

Our dearest and our best;

That they are true, and brave as true,

Our battle-fields attest.

Full many a hard-won victory

Has crowned their valor tried,

Yet not alone by mortal strength,
For God was on their side.

A year ago, and blank distrust
Held all our hearts in thrall,
The fabric of our nation's life

Seemed swaying to its fall.
Now our advancing columns march
Behind God's pillared flame-
He turns the scales of victory,
And blessed be his name!

-Christian Register.

THE BREEZE IN THE CHURCH.

'Twas a sunny day, and the morning psalm
We sang in the church together;
We felt in our hearts the joy and calm
Of the calm and joyous weather.

The slow and sweet and sacred strain,
Through every bosom stealing,
Checked every thought that was light and vain,
And waked each holy feeling.

We knew by its sunny gleam how clear
Was the blue sky smiling o'er us,

And in every pause of the hymn, could hear
The wild birds' happy chorus.

And lo! from its haunts by cave or rill, With a sudden start awaking,

A breeze came fluttering down the hill, Its fragrant pinions shaking.

Through the open windows it bent its way,
And down the chancel's centre,

Like a privileged thing that at will might stray,
And in holy places enter.

From niche to niche, from nook to nook,
With a lightsome rustle flying,

It lifted the leaves of the Holy Book,
On the altar cushion lying.

It fanned the old clerk's hoary hair,
And the children's bright young faces;
Then vanished, none knew how or where,
Leaving its pleasant traces.

It left sweet thoughts of summer hours
Spent on the quiet mountains ;

And the church seemed full of the scent of flowers,

And the trickling fall of fountains.

The image of scenes so still and fair,

With our music sweetly blended,

While it seemed their whispered hymn took share

In the praise that to heaven ascended.

We thought of Him who had poured the rills, And through the green mountains led them, Whose hand, when He piled the enduring hills, With a mantle of beauty spread them.

And a purer passion was borne above,
In a louder anthem swelling,
As we bowed to the visible spirit of love
On those calm summits dwelling.

-Poems, by Mrs. Hinxman.

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