person, or of a being vested with choice and volition, and has reference to the will of such person respecting the object of his choice. This object may subsist in the person himself; in his lot or possession; or in any constituent of his being or state whatever." It is a maxim of mathematical science that "equals to the same thing are equal to one another," and although it is not frequently the case that moral or social science admits of the same formulæ as the stricter science, we think our previous remarks will enable us to develop the same principle in the following argumentative formula: Existences having the same origin and nature are naturally equal. All men have the same nature and origin. Therefore all men are naturally equal. This principle holds good, however long the chain of descent may be continued, providing that at no time the links have been broken by "voluntary consent" to "alteration" in any individual case; but even then, "voluntary consent" only affects the person willing and consenting, and cannot affect a third party against his will; hence slavery, or involuntary servitude, by the nature of things can never become a right; "voluntary consent" being a necessary condition to every alteration of the natural equality of mankind, slavery can under no circumstances be justifiable. can be made in the possession of natural right without the consent of the individual possessor. In every condition of society it has been a practice to punish some infractions of the criminal and commercial law, by deprivation of personal liberty and forced labour, and it is thought that this must be a proof of the justifiable nature of slavery under some circumstances; but on a moment's reflection it will be perceived this has nothing at all to do with the question of slavery. It is a punishment for wrong done-a defence of natural right, which had been infringed by the person punished, and not an abnegation of that right. "The amiable vice, Hid in magnificence and drowned in state," is also made a pro-slavery advocate; fit co-worker this, which "Looses the fiend, receives the sounding name Ofglorious war; and through the admiring throng, Uncurst, the ornamented murderers move." The right of conquest has been freely assumed as valid argument, justifying the demand of involuntary servitude from prisoners of war. Were we to object, as we fairly may, that war is unjustifiable, what then becomes of the boasted rights of conquest, or prisoners of war? They become nonentities. Yet, as we would not be thought to evade what the pro-slavery advocate considers one of his strongest bulwarks, we meet him upon his own ground, and observe that the laws of nations give to each nation the right to detain prisoners of war in safe custody during the continuance of the war, and the right to demand ransom or exchange of prisoners: but a prisoner is not a slavedetention in safe custody is not slaverythe ransom or exchange of prisoners is not dealing in the flesh and bone, the body and soul of prisoners-it is an acknowledgment of the injury done, or capable of being done, to the state releasing the prisoner, by the individual, as an integrant portion of the belligerent state: hence the practices of war fail to justify the existence of slavery. In exact unison with the foregoing remarks is the declaration of the apostle Paul, and the scriptural account of the creation of our first parents; so far, reason and revelation agree in the prohibition of slavery: but it may be urged that the natural right to freedom in some instances has been forfeited by consent, by overt act, or by some other mode implying volition on the part of the slave, and thereby, under certain circumstances, rendering slavery justifiable in the present day. To these assumptions we object in toto; for should a person have sold himself to another for the purpose of servitude, as was practised among the Jews and other nations of antiquity, still this act of selling was voluntary on the part of the servant himself; it was not the act of a third party selling him against his will into a state of involuntary servitude, neither was it a forcible act of the master, and it could not affect the descendants of the servant, because, The predatory incursions of some African as we have previously shown, no alteration | tribes upon their less powerful and more We have never known any civilized people of modern times who have sold their prisoners of war into perpetual slavery, except the Moors. peaceable neighbours, is rather to be desig-creased—the inherent value of the immortal nated wholesale man-stealing than war; we soul is ignored-and millions of our fellow therefore only refer to the horrible cruelties men, made " of one blood" with ourselves, originating in that benighted and barbarous equally with us "the offspring of God," are land to show that the right of conquest can- reduced to hopeless misery, endless toil. Yet not justify the practice of slavery throughout "It often falls in course of common life, the New World. The negro, being a man hunted and captured by a band of his fellow men, cannot be a prisoner of war; he occupies a relation to his captors analogous to that of game to the sportsman. Nature, reason, revelation, the laws of commerce and of war, all are shown to be opposed to slavery of any kind-herein slavery is evidently unjustifiable upon principle; but as a fact, in its social and moral bearing it is equally unjustifiable, for it is subversive of the true dignity of human nature. God is dishonoured-the standard of morals is debased-vice, cruelty, and crime are in That right long time is overborne of wrong, Reader, our object has been, not so much to vanquish opposing writers as to afford suggestive thoughts and principles, by which you may become a philanthropist to the slave "That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be, And serpent-like, that none may injure thee." L'OUVRIER. The Essayist. POETIC CRITIQUE.-No. IV.* "Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme." "Love's Labour Lost," act i. scene 1. "Some of them had more feet than the verses would bear." "As You Like It," act iii. scene 2. "Bring me a rope, and an oaken staff, And I will bind him fast; Short be his shrift, for he shall swing From yonder tall top-mast." "Sir Gillum of Mydetoun." erect, immovable, bathed in a flood of light and beauty, as the pine upon the mountain top stands amid the glories of the setting sun. The heat of life is dispelled by glorious shadowy evening, falling like a benediction upon the soul; then all petty cares are lulled to rest, all is peaceful, like the foreshadowing of a future heaven. Half revelations or pre-monitions-come to the sensitive soul, like the voice of God in cool of the evening. They are star-points of light relieving the rays of the setting sun-tremulous evening whispers of a glorious morning history - lamps lit for vespers by the declining torch of day. When the soul awakes to the beauty of the world it inhabits, and enters into communion This human reverie in divine things is shared with the beings which are ever present in our in some degree by all. Whether these inklings of dream-life-the REAL, though not the ACTUAL-radiance serve as lights to guide, or as glimmerings when it listens to the "eternal whispers," which are ever hovering around to address themselves to a soul elect to find themselves an abiding place in a chosen human breast, which shall hearken to their teachings, treasure them up in its "heart of hearts," then mould and fashion them into the language of the time, to urge on the human race to elevate the common into the regions of the beautiful, that so the actual may assimilate itself to the ideal, then is the material held in abeyance, and the spiritual is strong. The whole of man's being is wrapt in that calm, from whence springs the strength of souls that set at nought all outward things-they stand calm, * Those of our readers who wish to understand some of the references in this article should first read "Poetic Critique, No. III." in our number of July, 1852. that mislead, depends partly upon the individual, and partly upon his mental and physical conformation. But certain it is that only to the few is the privilege given to gaze, like the eagle, unabashed, at the full, glaring, mid-day sun. These few are the gifted. For the right to interpret for humanity, which is the province of genius, can never be shared by all. The poet may, perhaps, have this position accorded to him as his by right par excellence. We know not how it is; but so it is. A poet is indescribable, and "is, as one should say, a poet." And though we cannot pretend to analyze one, yet we shall all perceive that there is a vast difference between him and the mere versemaker, however sweetly he may sing: for, as we have said before, there are many writers of ballads, sonnets, poems, &c., who may charm and delight us, and yet have no pretensions to the title that belongs to few. We may not be able to draw the boundary line in definable limits, yet a line there is that separates the two classes of writers. We know them, each in his place, and each apart, but can give no pass-word by which to designate unerringly the one or the other. It is, perhaps, to this want of demarcation that are to be attributed the many claims of imposture, the soit disants nourrissons du Parnasse.* But that such dry, milkless-nurtured babes as "Ignotus," and others of our correspondents, should lay claim to the title, is certainly a most ludicrous idea, and is of itself sufficient to exonerate us from being considered "merciless critics." Coleridge says, "There is a great difference between an egg and an eggshell, but at a distance they look remarkably alike." This, perhaps, is one of the pithiest distinctions between sham and reality that has ever been penned, and is just the difference we have to point out. The real thing is full of life-giving meat-there is vitality within it; whereas, for the other, you have only just to prick it-say with a steel pen-and you find that, like Sir Charles Coldstream's head, "there's nothing in it." Yet it is wonderful how many chickens have been hatched in these dry cradles -the shells without meat-and how they strut about like walking anatomy-nothing but boneadmiring their own deformity, and thinking others ill made; as the peasants in one of the cantons of Switzerland, who had large, thick necks, laughed at strangers because theirs were not so too, little thinking it was their own misfortune, and not the strangers'.+ The desire to be thought "somebody" seems to have a fast hold on the minds of many young men. They no sooner begin to read than they fancy they have a MISSION to write. Do they read Bacon or Kant, they will be philosophers; or Milton, they will be poets; or Hume, and they, too-yes, they will be sceptics! and-what a sensation! We should be sorry to ruffle the feathers of our warbling correspondents; but we must protest against this sickly phantasy-this morbid craving to appear in print on "magazineday," as though all the world were waiting in breathless anxiety to read their effusions. As an instance, one of our subscribers was highly indignant that "his" article had not been noticed tout-a-coup. Others, deeming their merits of the highest order, are indignant at our remarks, and think them "rather hard." Yet we are glad to notice improvement steadily pursued by others, who have taken our advice and gone to prose writing, by which they may express in clear, legible outline, what they wish others to understand, and succeed in making men at least respect them. We know it is harder to be than to seem to be, at least when seeming has once commenced, for then one sham must be held up as a curtain to screen another. It really is very difficult to give up trying to be poets. But we must remember the old saying, that, if we take the highest seat at the feast, the master of the house may place one before us; whereas, if we take the lowest, he may say, "Friend, go up higher." We shall always honestly speak what we think of the effusions * The would-be children of Parnassus, or would. be poets. See fourth verse of "Shame is a Goddess," by "Ignotus." All on a sudden-at once. sent to us for notice, whether they please or displease. We like the old proverb well, "Spare the rod and spoil the child;" and it is particularly applicable in this case. But we fear that we shall trespass on the space allotted to this part of the magazine, and will at once to business. We shall not notice all the verses that have been sent, as many are anonymous, and we purpose to pass in silence such as are not accompanied by the name of the writer, and we may say that we have not even read the contributions so sent. We shall reserve them till our correspondents entrust us with their personality. We wish this to be kept as a rule which we shall always abide by; not that we shall ever publish names when there are other signatures appended, but that we hold it as a bad principle to admit contributions to a magazine, unless accompanied by the writer's name as a guarantee of his sincerity and good faith. To commence, then, with P. W. D.-1, "The Poet's Grave;" and, 2, "The Years that have gone." There is, certainly, a poetic fancy running through these verses; but we would advise P. W. D. to take more care in the selection of his words and phrases, as there is a phraseology, always to be avoided, which rather suggests ludicrous images than otherwise. Take as a sample (perhaps the worst line in the composition), "Oh, poet, now thy thoughts are all sublime! It suggests "all serene to our minds. For a young writer we prefer simplicity of dietion; then, if there is any merit in the thought, it will out. The thoughts should be "sublime," or "beautiful," or "heavenly," &c., not the words; as it has been well said, "The poem should be moral, not the hero." We should feel, and express our feelings, if we chose; but not the writer. A witty friend of ours used to reply, when asked what he had to say on the matter, "Oh, nothing; I don't feel ' 'profound.'' In this "feeling pro found" lies the great mistake of many who attempt to give utterance to their thoughts. In No. 2 we do not like the last line of the first verse, where "past" is made to serve as a double word, or as two words, a proper noun and an adjective, "To that past eternity." It is seen at once that it is compelled to perform that duty. Again, we object to the construction of the verses; they are somewhat "lame." The shortening of the last line in each verse is bad, as well as being very difficult for a beginner; it palls upon the ear. We think that in early attempts also, and especially in short pieces, the measure with which they are commenced should be followed out to the end, otherwise it has the appearance of trying to see how mechanically clever it is possible to be, or it is like a vain endeavour to get out of a difficulty; even where it succeeds, we only excuse it for the thoughts and real merit of the production, and not for the beauty of the change. What we mean will be best illustrated by the burlesque following, where it will be seen that all sorts of stratagems are resorted to to overcome this obvious difficulty, as also in "Ignotus's" original. We should be glad to see No. 2 re-written in a better form. As P. W. D. confesses he has never read Goethe's "Faust," we can only say he ought not to write another line till he has; we cannot excuse him on any pretence; it is almost as bad as never having read the "Pilgrim's Progress," or Shakespere. We remember, some years ago, doing penance for not having read "The Vicar of Wakefield." Next comes "Ignotus," which, we prophecy, he will always remain, so far as regards being a poet. But first for his letter, which runs as follows: "Dear Sir, I beg to acknowledge the receipt perhaps, be surprised to hear that I have just 1. "Lines to my Mother." As a specimen, take this: "In childhood's happy hours of joy You ne'er forgot your eldest boy, But strove to please, with some small toy, Wretched! No excuse that it was written at twelve years of age. We have seen verses written by a girl, thirteen, that far exceed in merit anything "Ignotus" has written since he was "a boy." And yet she would not have the hardihood to call herself a poetess. The translations are tolerably executed; though, as you say, too literal: that is the fault of all early attempts. Not that we would give much liberty in this delicate task of translating another's thoughts. "Ode to Poetry" might have been better with greater care. "Christmas Hymn" is rather tame, though the language is wild and extravagant enough, as is also that in the "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington." rhyme At the end of twenty-four pages of Ignotus" says, "And now, sir, I await your decision. Have I, or have I not, the right to claim the title of poet?" Modest, unassuming little "Ig." We will give our readers a few specimens, and see what they think, and then show how easy it is to produce such glib nonsense, "by way of amusement," as our friend of " Auld Scotland" would honestly say. He says, he believes he dreamt, one night, that he showed some verses to a friend, who said he ought to be ashamed of himself; the next day he wrote "Shame is a Goddess." We can only say, the friend of "Ignotus's" dream was a better friend than his "wide awake" ones. But, "to our task": "Let others shrink to meet their gaze, Shall eagle cease to soar on high, The croaking of a jay? "Or shall the meteor in its flight Or shall the tuneful nightingale We need give no more of this; it will serve as a specimen. Next is "Hark! 'tis the bugle's last To call the camp to life again." Then we have the lines on the death of the "With military pomp and show, They come! they come ! "Their standards veiled, The nation is in tears," &c. &c. We think our readers will agree with us, that there is not much in "Ignotus's" verses, if they have even the merit of that title, which we scarcely think they have, to warrant his claims to consider himself a poet. Just to show how easy it is to string together lines in a certain order, with tolerable metre and with rhyme, we will offer the following perpetration, written off at once, without any consideration as to where it may lead; for, after all, that is the way most of the silly nonsense, these novices in the art of verse-making perpetrate, is done. "Shame is a goddess, before whose shrine I'll crouch like one in pallid fear, What she is pleased to say. 2 Poor, crippled lines! "They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way." "Paradise Lost," book xii. line 648. "Like Caudle, too, with mute amaze, That is, if I on eagle's wing "Or yet, supposing I had spun In childhood's hours of joy;' When, hoping that his mother dear Would think that he was 'no small beer,' And strive her biggest boy to cheer With cake or some small toy.' * "Or if I could or would have sung,"* And night is nearly nigh. "'Tis time to snuff the candles out, For fear their Ma's should know they're out,' And thus throughout the busy camp Who comes with heavy tread. "Why, then, as surely as I live——— Er ripple o'er the stones? "And thus my prayer should rise on high:- Behold, I bow me to thy feet, And kicked me on the chin. "Come, now,' she cried; 'let's have no soap; Come, cut it short, or, by the Pope, I'll treat you to a yard of rope, And make you know your place.' * "Thus sung, or would, or could, or should have sung." "Don Juan," canto iii. stanza 103. + As some of our readers may be disposed to question whether the goddess "Shame" should dwell aloft, we beg to suggest that she should be enveloped in clouds. More than that; humanity, we hope, will never be above Shame when they have done wrong. Therefore, dear goddess, 'pray be seated;' and, while we have imperfect natures, may we never be "Shame"-less. "Lend me ten thousand eyes." (a) Surely, we may borrow a half one. Troilus and Cressida," act ii. scene 2. So, bolting quickly my chagrin,? Though feeling sore about the chin, I thought it better to begin To finish saying grace. "Then hear,' I cried, 'my suppliant prayer, "Or e'er again, by mouth or pen, When flowers begin to nod;" Or if I only celebrate In verse my birth-day, twenty-eight, "Or e'er I rise with crippled wing, And-' 'Hold!' the goddess cried, in scorn; 'I see the fast-approaching morn Is gilding yonder field of corn With gold (?), though rather dim.¶ ? We know that chagrin should be pronounced shagreen, and therefore would not rhyme with "chin," &c.; but, as we said we had to "bolt it quickly," we thought it might “go down." A malicious friend, who wishes to spoil the above verse by his critical remarks, says 'twas Adelgisa sang it. Now, as that name is too long for our purpose-for Ad-el-gi-sa has too many feet to walk or run smoothly in that line-we think our friend is hypercritical; nevertheless, if our readers will pardon the use of a rather vulgar, though we are sorry to say a somewhat common word, we can oblige our friend, and at the same time prove our ability to rhyme the word, as also logically prove that we were correct in the first instance. Thus, then, "As Adelgisa spoke in Norma's cause, 'Twas Norma spoke through Adelgisa's jaws." What says our critic now? We consider our editor blameable in pointing out the above phrase as being exceptionable, as it might have passed without observation had he not underlined it. We know as well as he does that "we cannot gild without gold," at least in manufactures (which we are half inclined to think now that our editor has something to do with, though we always thought him before a tolerably handsome fellow); but he would not, surely, wish us to electro-plate the "field of corn." We only gilded it poetically, not as a workman would buttons, to hide the brass; yet, |