The present edition of the author's works is conducted by friends who understood and valued his object, and [{783}] who were able to fill up, without blemishing, the unfinished parts of his lectures. Nothing can be done more faithfully, or in better taste; but there are many blanks too wide to be filled even by such skilful hands. Ozanam says himself, that the two poles of his work are the "Essays on the Germans before Christianity," and that on Dante. These form the third and fourth volumes. In the fifth volume is his "Essay on the Franciscan Poets;" and that on Dante closes the series. We have confined ourselves to the subject-matter of the first and second volumes, which contain the lectures on the civilization of the fifth century, and which suffice to show the lofty Christian philosophy with which Ozanam beholds the course of modern history. More than this it would be difficult to show. The lectures themselves are fragments; ideas snatched from the rapid flow of his eloquence, and that eloquence itself could feebly express the thoughts which visited his mind, and the impressions of glory which left no trace but sensation. There is no chronology, no succession. He fixes his eyes on the fifth century—he penetrates its mysteries, and the secret influences which it sends forth to after times. He speaks of what he sees; and we learn that the world of Christendom has had its decadence and renaissance, yet that progress continues. The crimes of the middle ages conceal that progress, and so do the troubles of the present time. O passi graviora, dabit Deus hic quoque finem.
From Chambers's Journal.
THE BELLS OF AVIGNON.
Avignon was a joyous city,
A joyous town with many a steeple,
Towers and tourelles, roofs and turrets,
Sheltering a merry people.
In each tower, the bells of silver,
Bronze or iron, swayed so proudly,
Tolling deep and swinging cheerly,
Beating fast and beating loudly.
One! Two! Three! Four! ever sounding;
Two! Four! One! Three! still repeating;
Five! Seven! Six! Eight! hurrying, chasing;
Bim-bom-bing-bang merry beating.
All the day the dancing sextons
Dragged at bell-ropes, rising, falling;
Clanging bells, inquiring, answering,
From the towers were ever calling.
Cardinals, in crimson garments,
Stood and listened to the chiming;
And within his lofty chateau
Sate the pope, and beat the timing.
Minstrels, soldiers, monks, and jesters
Laughed to hear the merry clamor,
As above them in the turrets
Music clashed from many a hammer.
Avignon was a joyous city:
Far away across the bridges,
'Mong the vine-slopes, upward lessening,
To the brown cliffs' highest ridges,
Clamored those sonorous bells;
In the summer's noontide wrangling,
In one silver knot of music
All their chimes together tangling.
Showering music on the people
Round the town-house in the mornings;
Scattering joy and jubilations,
Hope and welcome, wrath and scornings;
Ushering kings, or mourning pontiffs;
Clanging in the times of thunder,
And on nights when conflagrations
Clove the city half asunder.
Nights and nights across the river,
Through the darkness starry-dotted,
Far across the bridge so stately.
Now by lichens blurred and blotted,
Came that floating, mournful music,
As from bands of angels flying,
With the loud blasts of the tempest
Still victoriously vieing.
Who could tell why Avignon
All its bells was ever pealing?
Whether to scare evil spirits,
Still round holy cities stealing.
Yet, perhaps, that ceaseless chiming,
And that pleasant silver beating,
Was but as of children playing,
And their mother's name repeating.
One! Two! Three! the bells went prattling,
With a music so untiring;
One! Two! Three! in merry cadence,
Rolling, crashing, clanging, firing.
Hence it was that in past ages,
When 'mid war those sounds seemed sweeter,
La Ville Sonnante people called it,
City sacred to Saint Peter.
Years ago! but now all silent,
Lone and sad, the grass-grown city,
Has its bell-towers all deserted
By those ringers—more's the pity.
Pope and cardinal are vanished,
And no music fills the night-air;
Gone the red robes and the sable;
Gone the crosier and the mitre.
From The Lamp.
ALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.
BY ROBERT CURTIS.
CHAPTER X.
It is not to be wondered at that two persons, equally clever in all respects, and having a similar though not identical object in view, should have pretty much the same thoughts respecting the manner of carrying it out, and finally pursue the same course to effect their purpose. But the matter involves some nicety, if not difficulty, when it so happens that those two persons have to work upon each other in a double case. It is then a matter of diamond cut diamond; and if, as I have suggested, both are equally clever, the discussion of the subject between them would make no bad scene in a play. Winny wanted to find out something from Kate Mulvey, and at the same time to hide something from her. Kate Mulvey was on precisely the same intent with Winny Cavana in both ways; so that some such tournament must come off between them the first time they met, with sufficient opportunity to "have it out" without interruption.