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And proud of its observer, strait the wood Tried old surprises on him; black it stood. A sudden barrier ('twas a cloud passed o'er),

So dead and dense the tiniest brute no more Must pass; yet presently (the cloud dispatched)

Each clump, forsooth, was glistening, detached,

A shrub oak-boles shrunk into ilex-stems! Yet could not he denounce the stratagems He saw thro', till, hours thence, aloft would hang

White summer-lightnings; as it sank and

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Paracelsus" is the history of the innner life of the middle-age scholar and searcher for the philosopher's stone. It is his life, told from the point of view of thought, not of action; and Browning represents him as an enthusiast rather than a quack. It is a noble poem, which, with" Sordello," better illustrates the quaint, curious, intellectual processes of which Browning is fond, than any other of his works.

Of the dramas, we have no room to say more than what we have incident

ally hinted. As acting plays, they would hardly succeed, although "Strafford" and Colombe's Birth-Day" have had their career upon the stage. Browning is rather a dramatic lyrist in the completest sense, than a playwright -and of these dramatic lyrics, the "Pippa Passes" is the most remarkable. The story is simply that a young Italian girl, from the silk-mills at Asolo, walks through the town on New-Year's morning, singing as she "passes" along. Her song floats into the windows of different houses, and into the hearts of the people there, and by its appositeness affects them profoundly. The poem proceeds in its description of the dramatis persona and their situation, and the varying strains and sentiments of the singing mingle with the rest like a criticizing chorus.

The

conceit is natural and beautiful, and its elaboration in the work gives us one of the most striking poems in the language. The first hearers of the song to whom we are introduced, are Ottima and Sebald, the wife of an old man and her paramour. They have just murdered the husband, and the day breaks upon them together. It is a magnificent and terrible picture of the most imperial and voluptuous passion. The nature of Ottima is strong in sin. It sways and

tosses her lover, who is appalled at the enormity of his crime and the audacious supremacy of his mistress's love and lust. They lie in the hot morning, which seems to the quaking Sebald "a night with a sun added," and recount their crime and the details of their passion, during which Sebald is gradually swept away and sustained in evil by Ottima.

We quote the crisis of this scene, as a passage unequaled for its perfect expression of absolute passion, and that the reader may see and know that with this masterly and, in a sense, tremendous power, the poet is true to God, and not, as so many poets have been with similar power, to the devil:

"Ottima. Then our crowning night"Sebald. The July night? "Otti. The day of it, too, Sebald! When the Heaven's pillars seemed o'erbowed with heat,

Its black blue canopy seemed let descend
Close on us both, to weigh down each to each,
And smother up all life except our life.
So lay we till the storm came.
"Seb. How it came!

"Otti. Buried in woods we lay, you recol lect;

Swift ran the scorching tempest overhead; And ever and anon some bright white shaft Burnt thro' the pine-tree roof-here burnt and there.

As if God's messenger thro' the close wood

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venture,

Feeling for guilty thee and me: then broke The thunder like a whole sea overhead"Seb. Yes!

"Otti. While I stretched myself upon you hands

To hands, my mouth to your hot mouth, and shook

All my locks loose, and covered you with them

You, Sebald, the same you"Seb. Slower, Ottima!"Otti. And as we lay

Seb. Less vehemently! Love me--Forgive me-take not words-mere wordsto heart

Your breath is worse than wine! Breathe slow, speak slow

Do not lean on me

"Otti. Sebald, as we lay,

Rising and falling only with our pants,

Who said, 'Let death come now-'tis right to die!

Right to be punished-nought completes such bliss

But woe! Who said that?

I felt you,

"Seb. How did we ever rise? Was't that we slept? Why did it end? "Otti. Fresh tapering to a point the ruffled ends Of my loose locks 'twixt both your humid lips (My hair is fallen now-knot it again!)

Seb. I kiss you now, dear Ottima, now, and now!

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The song is the lightning flash, that cleaves, with avenging purity, the sultriness of passion. Remorse for his crime, hatred of his paramour, aggravate each other in Sebald's bosom. The spell is broken, and he wakes to conscious despair. We cannot follow the rest of the poem. We believe, after this taste, our readers will do so for themselves.

This is the poet who is called obscure, because he is not particularly easy reading; and immoral, because he recognizes every great fact of human development, but is never for a moment warped from the true vision of what is essentially true.

Browning's dramas would amply supply material for another article. Our present object has been rather to show the general character and affluent variety of the poet's genius; and to remind the reader that if there is much of his verse which will demand close study to understand, there is very much which is really as simple and original and beautiful as any poetry. Browning is an objective poet in an age of subjective poetry. His heart beats strongly for the noblest truths. With all his profound sympathy with the spirit of many countries and times, he is never, for a moment, recreant to the loftiest spirit of his own age and country. Yet this sympathy never appears directly; never, by any chance, in the way of preaching. He holds the mirror to medieval Germany, Italy, France, and England, and so firmly that the picture is perfect, and is its own criticism. He holds the mirror to his own day as truly, and the reflection is a profound

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commentary upon the time, as in “The Italian in England." The proof of the genuineness of his dramatic power, in the Shakesperian sense, in such lyrics as • Pippa Passes," Frà Lippo Lippi," "Andrea Del Sarto," and the like. These, also, have the final evidence of their genuineness in the marvelous fidelity of his transcripts from external nature. A remarkable study in this direction is, "The Englishman in Italy," which is full of a purely pre-Raphaelite accuracy.

A poet's poet, he has been called. But if a poet's poet, then how much a poet! We beg the reader not to judge this man unheard, nor to believe him only a phrase-monger, because some critics cannot slip along his verses as smoothly as they do upon some others. Browning is not less a poet because he is not like other good and true poets. He would be less a poet if he were more like them; for he would then be less original and individual. His individuality is not a spasmodic use of words for thoughts; but it is the exquisite perception of a strong and rich mind, using words with a delicate skill, and an inward music.

In the valedictory of Men and Women," his last volume, Browning lays aside his dramatic variety of character, and speaks before all the world to his wife, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in "One word more." Shelley, in the introduction to "The Revolt of Islam," had paid a similar homage of the heart to his wife, in lines which he rarely surpassed. In both instances, it is the devotion of a loyal mind and a loving heart to the power which the true man and the true poet prove their truth by acknowledging. The singular thoughtful beauty and grace of Browning's valedictory we can only mention, and we gladly seal our article with a few lines from it, showing how the poet and the man are one:

“I shall never, in the years remaining,
Paint your pictures, no, nor carve your statues,
Make you music that should all express me;
So it seems: I stand on my attainment.
This of verse alone, one life allows me;
Verse and nothing else have I to give you.
Other heights in other lives, God willing---
All the gifts from all the heights, your own,
Love!"

IT

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Safely in harbor

in the deep nook, where once
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there's she's hid,
The mariners all under hatches stowed;
Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labor,
I have left asleep; and for the rest of the fleet,
Which I dispersed, they have all met again,
And are upon the Mediterranean flote."

was on the seventh of June, that the frigate was flying over the water, going on her course like a belle to a ball. We had sailed past the Azores, the ocean smooth as a carpet, the sky at times a little trade-cloudy, with the light, white fleece occasionally skimming, like gauze, through the heavens, and darkening the water beneath; the lovely, mellow moon, too, gleaming large, full, and soft, putting most of the stars to shame, and glowing like silver, over the rippling waters; then the stately frigate, all alone in this magnificent scene, flooded with white sails upon her lofty masts, up, up, then, to those little trucks, which almost touch that pale, twinkling planet, while her broad wings spread far out on either side the darkened hull, as the sea rolls back in sparkling bubbles from her bow, and opens a path before her resistless power.

The lower cables had been bent; for we scented the land afar off. As the sun colored the eastern sky, the mountains of Spain and Africa developed their high outlines, and, with the advanIcing light, we found ourselves at the entrance of the strait of Gibraltar. In

a few hours, aided by breeze and current, we sailed rapidly past cape Spartel and Tangier, on the one side, and Trafalgar and Tarifa on the other, and soon after meridian, the frigate, heeling over to the strong puffs that swept through the gorges of Andalusia, reached the anchorage, and let run the chains, with the Devil's tower just open with Gibel Tarek, or the rock of Gibraltar.

A health-boat, with a boarding officer, was soon alongside. "Where were we from? and were we contagious?" was the pith of the information he cared to elicit; and, being assured of our general salubrity and freedom from infection, he snapped up a blank bill of health with a pair of sheet-iron tongs, which, being properly filled out by the surgeons, was received again by the

tongs. After an arm's length inspection, we were informed that we might communicate with the shore, and thus we received what is called " pratique."

In a few minutes those jolly souls, the bumboat people, came bobbing about the frigate; their pipes, bread, tobacco, fruits, straw hats, fried fish, oranges, eggs, and onions, piled in promiscuous heaps in their boats, while the venders were clamorously profuse in offers of sand and holy-stones to the first lieutenant, for the privilege of supplying the crew.

The bumboats were soon followed by other vessels, filled with soldiers' wives and maidens generally, each provided with letters of recommendation, as washerwomen, which they held above their heads to attract some sympathizing officer's eye, who might, perchance, be

afflicted with soiled linen.

Presently our young consul came on board, looking a smaller edition of his patriotic father before him, and then the thunder of twenty-one guns officially informed the governor of the fortress of our arrival, to which the water-battery, at the ragged staff, replied in similar tones, when, with nine more by us to the consul, the powder was locked up in the magazine.

I went on shore, and landed at the old mole, amid the crowd of quaint lateen-rigged luggers, with their picturesque sails and hulls shading the quay.

I touched my hat to the same scarletcoated soldier, or guard, at the pierhead; pushed my way through the same throng of Moors, in their petticoat breeches; a thorough cluster of chibouque-sucking Turks; Jews, with pointed beards and eyes; Andalusians, all a-jingle with silver buttons and velvet jackets; through smugglers, boatmen, porters, and vagabonds that I had seen, or others, may be, just like them, years and years before. Then over the moat, under the portcullis, through ponderous

gates and strong pickets-all the while touching the point of my cocked-hat, right and left, to the sentinels on postuntil, at last, I gained a little streetroom in the main avenue of the town. Here the crowd thinned a little; but yet there was no lack. Plenty of Moors still, with tawny legs and full, snowy turbans; hosts of Levites, with hawkbill noses, and usurious eyes; lots of guides to the excavations and batteries; droves of small buros, with their drivers and water-butts; groups of bustling, florid-faced Englishmen, dark-skinned Spaniards, and merchant-skippers; then an interval of healthy-looking English women, or mantilla-robed brunnettas, from San Roque or Algeziras— all these moving throngs dotted about with the soldiers of the garrison. There they are, at the corners, on the pavé, in the streets, craning out of every window of that great range of barracks, fatigue-parties moving backwards and forwards, guard-houses filled with them, everywhere, save in the wine shops; then officers, too, brilliant in red and blue, lace, bullion, and swords, greeting one at all times and in every quarter. To one fond of military display, there is no better place for this enjoyment than in Gibraltar. English troops, though more rigid and stiff in movement than the French, still fill the eye very pleasantly; for with scarcely an exception, they are picked men, of fine stature, and, so far as cleanliness of dress and elegance of equipment go, they are unexceptionable.

At the time of our visit, the garrison was composed of four regiments of foot, five companies of artillery, and one of sappers. It was one of these regiments, the 44th, that had the opportunity of distinguishing themselves at the memorable Bladensburg races, and to this day carry that name on their colors.

After a visit to the consul, I strolled to the Alemada-a flat esplanade, beveled from the face of the rock, and where, even now, the monkeys sometimes descend from their subterranean retreats, to watch how the world wags, and to note, perhaps, how well the pretty groves of orange trees and shrubbery thrive in their former haunts. Even in this promenade, there are every where seen great pyramidal stocks of cannon-balls and ranges of grim cannon staring out upon the bay.

As all the world knows, Gibraltar is an isolated rock, about fourteen hundred feet high, with a ridge as sharp as a wedge; narrow for its length of three miles; which may once have been standing by itself, nearly midway of the strait between Africa and Europe. It has not, however, changed its relative position in that respect; but the low sand-link, which connects it by the "neutral ground" to Spain, has probably been formed by the meeting currents of the Atlantic and Mediterranean. On the side of the Mediterranean, it is precipitous, but it shelves less abruptly on the western face, towards the bay, where the town is built.

The renowned excavations are on the northern point, where the sheer, red rock rises almost perpendicularly, overlooking, as from the eyrie of an eagle, the green slopes of the hills of Andalusia, in the distance.

The galleries and batteries constructed there, were the result of a happy accident in war, during the assault of the Spanish and French forces, in 1782. Previously, a small battery had been planted on the northernmost peak of the rock; but, to reach this spot, many lives of the garrison were lost in carrying supplies by an exposed path, under the fire of the allies, the inuzzles of whose guns were elevated by bags filled with sand.

To remove this necessity of exposure, the English engineers began to cut a means of ascent by a channel within the shell of the mountain. In executing this work, and when about half-way up, while blasting in the gallery, a fragment of rock was blown clean out towards the isthmus, which, upon being discovered by the allies, was welcomed by shouts of derision.

The besiegers were not left many hours to exult over this accident; for, in the natural embrasure caused by the explosion, a heavy piece of ordnance was pointed, and the nearest batteries below were obliged to abandon their positions.

In all the sieges for which Gibraltar has become historical, the most desperate, determined, and prolonged, were those repulsed by General Eliot, afterwards Lord Heathfield. He married a descendant of Sir Francis Drake, who was, himself, one of the boldest old viking freebooters that ever "scuttled ship;" and should their descend

ants be imbued with the blood of that union, Britannia will never lack, in that family, sailors to rule the main, or soldiers to lead her armies.

There is a club-house for strangers, in the town, whither I betook myself, and swallowed an imperial pint of ale; for, of all things,

-my soul sentimentally craves British beer!"

and a free English port is the place to drink it in perfection. Then, buckling my sword about, I bent my steps to the mole again. As the sunset-gun, from the summit of the rock at St. Michael's, poured forth its report, I passed through the sombre archways; the gates rolled together, the portcullis came down, the draw-bridge went up, and all the Gibraltar world were made sensible that the fortress was locked up, and, at the same time, I knew myself to be locked out for the night. Thus being left to my own devices, I got into one of the frigate's boats, and pulled to my floating home on board.

On the following day, in virtue of mine office as one of the staff, I went on a visit of ceremony to the governor of the fortress, Lieutenant-general Sir Robert Gardner, K.C.B. The official residence is at a former convent, near the centre of the old town. We were received at the gateway by a brace of aids-de-camp, who at once ushered us up a cool, spacious stairway, to the second story. Then traversing a broad corridor, which overlooked a gem of a garden and lemon grove, and where, no doubt, in times past, many an old friar or imprisoned nun regaled themselves, while telling over their aromatic beads, we reached the end of the hall, and were, in a moment, in presence of General Gardner. He was a tall, elderly gentleman, on the advanced posts of life, with silvery hair, fine eyes, and a cordial, pleasant expression of visage. He wore an artillery uniform, and on his breast a Waterloo medal. He received us very graciously, but apologized for being deprived of the pleasure of granting more than a momoment's interview, since he had been commanded to attend the Archduke Maximilian of Austria to the "ragged staff," prior to the embarkation of that illustrious personage for Cadiz.

This young brother of the emperor of Austria, by the way, was serving as a lieutenant on board a steamer of war,

lying, at the time of our arrival, in the bay. Contrary, however, to the usual naval etiquette, the commander of the steamer did not send a boat on board the American frigate, to inquire after our well-being. The omission was possibly attributable to the bad name M. Kossuth had given us in the dominions of the House of Hapsburgh. Our grief, however, at this slight, was not of a permanent nature; and we hoped, at some future day, to teach the subjects of that house better manners.

We took leave of the governor, returned to the mole, and rowing through a fleet of felucca-smugglers, watching a chance to evade the Spanish gun-boats, we reached the frigate.

On getting on board, the wind was blowing too fresh from the westward to get under way, from the position the ship lay; and it was only when the sun fell behind the mountains of Spain that the wind lulled sufficiently to make sail.

Ships I have always believed to have been the invention of the foul fiend himself; for it matters not how great care or forethought be exercised in their peculiar management, there is, at the most inopportune moment, a screw loose, or something to go wrong, that our arch enemy, the inventor, delights in.

The trouble this evening with us was, the refusal of the rope messenger, used to draw in the chain-cable, to clasp the capstan tight enough to heave up the anchor. It would keep slipping around the oaken barrel, and no skill or contrivance would make it hold.

At last, however, the anchor was dragged just clear of the bottom, but when canvas was spread upon the ship, she fell off into shoaler water; so that the infernal grapnel would take to the ground again, and then we went waltz ing about the bay. Vessels, too, were all around us; but by the mere force of good luck, we avoided them very cleverly, and, notwithstanding our perplexities, we passed clear out in a style which would have called forth the utmost admiration from the British fleet, had they beheld our lucky manoeuvrings. we got into deep water, the obstinate anchors were brought to the bows, and we steered for the open strait.

As

The giant fortress reposed like a lion couchant in silent security, just as it did, no doubt, when the Moors in 712 built their castles on it; when Barbarossa's Algerine corsairs pillaged it in

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