have known him by the wild lustre of his, his bowl in the stream with a fine bold eye, and the fine freedom of his air. He air, and expressed his intention of analyz→ gaily dipped a goblet in the tide, and ing part of the water which he procured. vowed, in his high spirited manner, that Next came Hunt, with a rich, fanciful he would turn his share to nectar. He goblet in his hand, finely enamelled with departed with smiles. I heard the wings Italian landscapes. He held the cup to play pleasantly in the air while he was his breast as he approached, and his eyes bending over the stream. sparkled with frank delight. After catchI now perceived a person advance ing a wave, in which a sunbeam seemed whom I knew to be Southey. His brow freshly melted, he intimated that he was bound by a wreath of faded laurel, should water hearts-ease and many favo which had every mark of town growth. He appeared quite bewildered, and scarcely could remember his way to the inspiring stream. His voice was chaunting the praises of kings and courts as he advanced, but he dropt some little poems behind him, as he passed me, which were very opposite in tone to what he himself uttered. He was compelled to stoop be. fore he could reach the water, and the tion then turned to poetry; and from the gold vessel which he used procured but simplicity of the remarks of Lloyd and little at last. He declared that his inten-Lamb, I found that their very hearts were tion was to make sack of what he obtained, On retiring, he mounted a creamcolored horse, which was in waiting, and set off in uneven paces for St. James's. Then appeared Rogers, with a glass in his hand, which, from the cypher engraved thereon, had evidently once belonged to Oliver Goldsmith. He caught but a few drops, and these he meant to make the most of, by mingling them with common water. the Crabbe, with a firm step and steady countenance, walked sedately to stream, and plunged a wooden bowl into it. He observed that he should make strong ale for the country people of all that he took away; and that, after the first brewing, he should charitably allow Mr. Fitzgerald to make small beer for his own use. In a pensive attitude, Montgomery sauntered to the water's brink. He there mused a while, uttered a few somethings of half poetry and half prayer, dipped a little mug of Sheffield ware in the wave, and retired in tears. With a wild, yet nervous step, Campbell came from the throng. Light visions started up in the fair distances as he moved, and the figure of Hope could be She faintly discerned amidst them. smiled on him as he advanced. He dipped rite flowers with it. The sky appeared of a deep blue as he was retiring. Coleridge, Lamb, and Lloyd, walked forth arm in arm, and moved gently to the stream. They conversed, as they passed, on the beauties of the country-on its peaceful association, and on the purity of domestic affections. Their conversa wedded to innocence and peace. Coleridge talked in a higher strain, but he at last confused himself with the abstruseness of his awn observations. He hinted at a metaphysical poem he was about to write in 100 books. Lamb remarked to him that he should prefer one of his affec tionate and feeling sonnets to all his wan not un derings of mind. Each of these poets held in his hand a simple porringer, declaring that it brought the finest recollections of frugal fare and country quiet. Lamb and Lloyd dipped in a bright but ra ther shallow part of the stream; Coleridge went to the depths, where he might have caught the purest water, had he fortunately clouded it with the sand which he himself disturbed at bottom. Lamb and Lloyd stated that they should take their porrengers home and share their contents with the amiable and simple hearts dwelling there. Coleridge was not posi tive as to the use to which he should ap ply his portion of the stream, till he had ascertained what were the physical rea sons for the sands propensity to mount and eurl itself in water; he thought, how ever, of clubbing it with the portions of his companions, and making a lake of the whole. These three poets left the stream in the same manner they approached it. Last came a calm and majestie figure moving serenely towards the stream. The slowly and mysteriously plunging an old Celandines and small flowers sprang up to skull into the brook; while poor Cottle catch the pressure of his feet, the sunlight fumed and angered, but scarcely reached fell with a finer glow around, spirits the stream at last. There were no enrustled most mirthfully and musically in couraging signs in the elements-no dethe air, and a wing every now and then lightful sounds of attendant spirits; no twinkled into sight (like the autumn leaf springing up of flowers to cheer these that trembles and flashes up to the sun), worthies in their pursuits-they seemed and its feathers of wavy gold were almost perfectly satisfied with their own greattoo sparkling to be looked upon. The ness, and were flattered into industry waters of Castaly ran brighter as he ap-by their own vanity and loudness. After proached, and seemed to play and dimple some time, the perpetual activity of with pleasure at his presence. It was tongues fatigued my ear, and I turned myWordsworth! In his hand he held a vase self from the noisy crowd, towards the of pure crystal, and when he had reached silent heavens. There, to my astonished the brink of the stream, the wave proudly and delighted eyes, appeared Shakspeare, swelled itself into his cup. At this mo- surrounded with excessive light, with ment the sunny air above his brow became | Spenser on one hand, and Milton on the embodied, and the glowing and lightsome other; and with the best of our early spirit shone into being, and dropt a gar- bards thronging about him. One glance land on his forehead; sounds etherial of bis eye scared the silly multitude from swelled, and trembled, and revelled in the the brook; then, amidst unearthly music, air, and forms of light played in and out he calmly ascended, and was lost in the of sight; and all around seemed like a splendors of the sky. At this moment I living world of breathing poetry. Words- awoke; and musing on the wonders of worth bent with reverence over the vase, my dream, slowly bent my way homeand declared that the waters he had ob-wards. tained should be the refreshment of his soul. He then raised his countenance, which had become illumed from the wave over which he had bowed, and retired with a calm dignity. The sounds of stirring wings now ceased the air became less bright, and the flowers died away upon the banks. No other poet remained to obtain water from the Castalian stream, but still it sparkled and played along, with a soul CATULLUS CI. BY AGRICOLA. Inferiæ ad fratris tumulum. Through many nations, and o'er many a sea, My brother! thus at length I come to thee! A sad relief to dark affliction's load, like and melodious sound. On a sudden I heard a confusion of tongues behind me. On turning round, I found that it arose from a mistaken set of gentlemen, who were chattering and bustling and dipping at a little brook, which they deemed was the true Castalian. Their splashing and vociferation and bustle can only be im agined by those who have seen a flock of geese wash themselves in a pond with gabbling importance. There was Spenser, with a goblet, lent to him by a lady of quality; and Hayley, simpering, and bowing, and reaching with a tea cup at With the freshness of spring may the everthe water; and Wilson, with a child's pap: shall tell How lovingly I speak my last farewell. FROM SIMMIAS (THE THEBAN.) BY AGRICOLA, green creep spoon; and Bowles, laboriously engaged O'er the spot where thy ashes, great Soin filling fourteen nut-shells; and Lewis, phocles, sleep! May the rose in luauriance shed round its than I, of the greatness and goodness of the heart that then disclosed itself. We had our differences of opinion. I thought that be too much feigned a want As the meed due thy learning and sweet-of earnestness, and that he made a pretense of undervaluing his art, which was ness of song, For to Muses nor Graces can sweeter be not good for the art that he held in trust. long. IN MEMORIAN-(THACKERAY) BY CHARLES DICKENS. But when we fell upon these topics, it was never very gravely, and I have a lively image of him in my mind, twisting both his hands in his hair, and stamping about, laughing, to make an end of the discussion. When we were associated in remem. It has been desired by some of the per- brance of the late Mr. Douglas Jerrold, he sonal friends of the great writer who es-delivered a public lecture in London, in tablished the Cornhill Magazine, that its the course of which he read his very best brief record of his having been stricken contribution to Punch, describing the from among men should be written by the old comrade and brother in arms who pens these lines, and of whom he often wrote himself, and always with the warmest gen erosity, grown-up cares of a poor family of young children. No one hearing him could have doubled his natural gentleness, or his tho roughly unaffected manly sympathy with the weak and lowly. He read the paper I saw him first, nearly twenty-eight years most pathetically, and with a simplicity of ago, when he proposed to become the illus-tenderness that certainly moved one of his trator of my earliest book. I saw him last, audience to tears. This was presently af shortly before Christmas, at the Athenæum ter his standing for Oxford, from which Club, when he told me that he had been in bed three days-that after these attacks he was troubled with cold shiverings, "which quite took the power of work out of him”—and that he had it in his mind to try a new remedy which he laughingly described. He was very cheerful, and looked very bright. In the night of that day week he died. place he had dispatched his agent to me, with a droll note (to which he afterward added a verbal postscript), urging me to "come down and make a speech, and tell them who he was, for he doubted whether more than two of the electors had ever heard of him, and he thought there might be as many as six or eight who had heard of me." He introduced the lecture just mentioned with a reference to his late electioneering failure, which was full of good sense, good spirits, and good humor. He had a particular delight in boys, and an excellent way with them. I remember his once asking me with fantastic gravity, when he had been to Eton where my eld est son then was, whether I felt as he did in regard of never seeing a boy without wanting instantly to give him a sovereign? I thought of this when I looked down into his grave, after he was laid there, for 1 looked down into it over the shoulder of a boy to whom he had been kind. The long interval between those two pe riods is marked in my remembrance of him by many occasions when he was supremely humorous, when he was irresistibly extravagant, when he was softened and serious, when he was charming with children. But by none do I recall him more tenderly than by two or three that start out of the crowd, when he unexpected ly presented himself in ny room, announcing how that some passage in a certain book had made him cry yesterday, and how that he had come to dinner, "because he couldn't help it," and must talk such passage over. No one can ever have seen These are slight remembrances; but it him more genial, natural, cordial, fresh is to little familiar things suggestive of the and honestly impulsive, than I have seen voice, look, manner, never, never more to him at those times. No one can be surer be encountered on this earth, that the mind first turns in a bereavement. And greater) father caressed his little child with. There things that are known of him, in the way is some young love, as pure and innocent of his warm affections, his quiet endu rance, his unselfish thoughtfulness for others, and his munificent hand may not be #old. If, in the reckless vivacity of his youth. his satirical pen had ever gone astray or done amiss, he had caused it to prefer its own petition for forgiveness, long before: I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain; The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain; The idle word that he'd wish back again. and pretty as the truth. And it is very remarkable that, by reason of the singular construction of the story, more than one main incident usually belonging to the end of such a fiction is anticipated in the beginning, and thus there is an approach to completeness in the fragment, as to the satisfaction of the reader's mind concerning the most interesting persons, which could hardly have been better attained if the writer's breaking-off had been foreseen. The last line he wrote, and the last proof he corrected, are among these papers In no pages should I take it upon mythrough which I have so sorrowfully made self at this time to discourse of his books. my way. The condition of the little pages of his refined knowledge of character, of of manuscript where Death stopped his his subtle acquaintance with the weak-hand, shows that he had carried them nesses of human nature, of his delightful about, and often taken them out of his playfulness as an essayist, of "his quaint pocket here and there, for patient revision and touching ballads, of his mastery over the English language. Least of all, in rected in print, were, "And my heart throbthese pages, enriched by his brilliant qual-bed with an exquisite bliss." God grant ities from the first of the series, and be forehand accepted by the Public through the strength of his great name. and interlineation. The last words he cor that on that Christmas Eve when he laid his head back on his pillow and threw up his arms as he had been won't to do when very weary, some consciousness of duty done and Christian hope throughout life. humbly cherished, may have caused his own heart so to throb, when he passed But, on the table before me, there lies all that he had written of his latest and last story. That it would be very sad to any one-that it is inexpressibly so to a writer-in its evidences of matured de-away to his Redeemer's rest! signs never to be accomplished, of inten He was found peaceably lying as above tions begun to be executed, and destined described, composed, undisturbed, and to never to be completed, of careful preparaall appearance asleep, on the 24th of December, 1863. He was only in his fiftytion for long roads of thought that he was never to traverse, and for shining goals third year; so young a man; that the mother who blessed him in his first sleep that he was never to reach, will be readily believed. The pain, however, that I have blessed him in his last. Twenty years be felt in perusing it, has not been deeper fore, he had written, after being in a white than the conviction that he was in the squall: healthiest vigor of his powers when he wrought on this last labor. In respect of earnest feeling, far-seeing purpose, character, incident, and a certain loving picturesqueness blending the whole, I believe it to be much the best of all his works. That he fully meant it to be so, that he had become strongly attached to it, and that he bestowed great pains upon it, I trace in almost every page. It contains one Those little girls had grown to be women picture which must have cost him extreme when the mournful day broke that saw distress, and which is a master-piece. their father lying dead. In those twenty There are two children in it, touched with years of companionship with him they had a hand as loving and tender as ever a learned much from him; and one of them And when, its force expended, Came blushing o'er the sea; A prayer at home for me. has a literary course before her, worthy of ing our troops to be in their front, they her famous name. On the bright wintry day, the last but one of the old year, he was laid in his grave at Kensal Green, there to mingle the dust to which the mortal part of him had returned, with that of a third child, lost in her infancy, years ago. The heads of a great concourse of his fellow-workers in the Arts were bowed around his tomb. Editor's Table. MONTHLY RECORD. wheeled round and fled. This ludicrous mistake enabled some gallant artillery men, mounted but unarmed, to attack them and drive them back across the Rivanna. We suffered no loss but the baggage and a few caissons of one of the batteries. Gen. Custar, thereupon, hastened back, and on March 1st encountered General J. E. B. Stuart, with an inconsiderable force. As they were double. our strength, and had two Parrot guns of Ransom's battery, our cavalry could only harrass them, but with the aid of reinforcements under Colonel Stedman, they made their retreat good, and erossed Robinson river again at night. The Month of March, proverbially blus- A few mills were destroyed, some negroes tering, seems to have given that character and horses carried off, and many houses to the few important movements under-pilfered, but no result worth the expenditaken in various parts of the vast theatre ture in men and horses was obtained. Gen. of war. The Yankees have advanced on Kilpatrick had, in the mean time, moved all sides, with an evident desire to "feel down towards Louisa county, where some our position." Finding it stronger than slight damage was done to the Central they had been led to expect by newspaper Railroad, and a few officers on a Court articles and deserters, they have been com- Martial captured, most of whom escaped pelled to fall back in every instance, suf- again. Moving towards Richmond, with fering, occasionally, heavy losses. On the the intent to free their prisoners on Belle Northern frontier, in the State of Virginia, Isle, in the James River, to set the city on a raid of much daring, and not without fire, and to capture or murder the Prèsiingenuity in its outlines has been disgrace- dent and his Cabinet, they sent a talented fully defeated by utter want of pluck and and ambitious young commander, Colonel lack of ability on the side of the enemy, Dahlgren, son of the U. S. Admiral of that and admirable gallantry of a few detached name, in advance, who, after pilfering and corps, and great good luck on our side. On plundering private houses, and destroying the 28th February, General Custar left Cul- some little public property, was met on peper Court House with 1500 men, in light March 2nd at Walkerton, in King and marching order, and General Kilpatrick, a Queen county, by volunteers. Cut off from young man of 28, who graduated at West the main body by skilful manœuvring on Point in 1863, crossed at 7 o'clock, A. M., of our part, he attempted to cut his way the same day, the Rapidan at Ely's Ford, through, and charged repeatedly, but fell surprising and capturing our pickets. The at the head of his men. On his body former under the protection of a heavy orders and directions were found, written infantry force, that had occupied Madison and issued by him, revealing the atrocious Court House to cover his and Kilpatrick's purpose of the expedition. It was totally move, passed through Green county with- defeated by the unexpected and most galout resistance, and penetrated into Albe- lant resistance of our volunteers. Another marle county till within about seven miles party attempted to fight their way to the from Charlottesville. On reaching the East of Richmond, where General Butler Northern bank of the Rivanna river, he had sent a force to New Kent Court House came suddenly upon an artillery camp. for the purpose of co-operation. This, Dividing a small force into two detach- however, failed also, as he appeared a ments, he sent them across to attack the day too late. They suffered severely by camp. After losing sight of each other a very skilfully managed night attack at for a time they met and eventually believ- Atlee's Station, where General Hampton |