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"The future hides in it gladness and sorrow;
We press still thorough:
But he could scarcely guess then that "the dark portal, goal of all mortal," was so near to him. The poetry of life gladdened his home and heart, the everlasting epic of fatherhood and love was ringing and singing within him, but around him the catastrophe of the tragedy of death was thickening. The voice said, “Come," and his spirit arose and went; earth said:“ Farewell” to bim, eternity greeted him with welcome, the outstretched plans of futurity were left behind, and he entered into a land of new and continual song without fear, for he knew the Elder Brother of men.
Another of the large family of Smith shortly afterwards (January 17th), too, went down before the resistless mower. James Smith's researches into" The life and travels of St. Paul," and his endeavour to discover the route by which he was taken along the Mediterranean, are known to all who value Biblical studies, and was one of the earliest works which attempted to realize the narrative of the holy Word by bringing it into contact with the actual experiences of life. He was an old and valued patron of the boyhood of the writer, and in his splendid library he has often learned the wealth and luxury of thought which books contain, and not a little of the book-greed of his soul is due to the days spent in shelf-laden repositories of thought which were opened to him as a boy in the library of the laird of Jordan Hill.
Among the other losses of the month we may record William Kidd, the genial gossiper about animals, the friend of the animal creation, and the humane and kindly expositor of beneficence to the lower order of created things ; Solomon Munck, the blind Hebraist, who succeeded Rénan ; and Dr. Robert MacPherson, one of the divinity lights of Aberdeen University.
Among the losses of the literary world in February Frederick Kohlrausch is perhaps the greatest. For more than half a century he had held a high place among German historians for his ability to present a vivid and succinct account of the eventful course of time, to awaken a sympathetic interest in the results of life, and to narrate with impartiality and justice the facts of history. In his History of Germany-nearly a quarter of a century ago translated by our able and earnest teacher of German, J. D. Haas-e has composed a book for the young which has met the wants of Protestant and Romanist alike in its graphic pictoriality and its freedom from prejudice. A long life of industry was his, and he departed from this scene of time into the realm of reality like an autumn fruit fully ripe. One of Britain's most learned Egyptologists, R. S. Poole, also resigned his studies in the far past of the era of the Pharaohs for the knowledge that is to be found " beyond the veil." We sball only note a friend's name more, that of one of the humbler
toilers in the field of letters; a grammarian, a lexicographer, and a preacher, in all of which characters the Rev. John Oswald did good though unobtrusive service to scholars, and to the generations who were taught by his help the growth of words, the structure of sentences, and the methods of God's grace in the salvation of mankind. To Mr. William Dargan a word of remembrance is due. He did not write books, but he has inscribed his name on the heart of Ireland as one of her self-raised sons and one of her most notable patriots, for he taught all men not only the art of making a success. ful career, but of making-what is much more difficult-willing selfsacrifice. Like his master, Telford, he had genius, industry, and nobility of spirit; and had Ireland a few Dargans among her children, a nobler independence than she ever dreamed of would be hers before many years had clad his grave with the glorious green of his native island.
If in March—the month of boisterous winds and preparatory dust and industry-we mention only one name as that of national concernment, it shall be because that one man in his heroic beart had a wealth and plenitude of life, of productiveness, of energy and power which few can equal. On 2012 March the Rev. John Campbell “ fell on sleep." It is difficult to conceive his restless spirit quieted even by the all-compelling might of death, he seemed so gladiatorial and massively minded. He certainly never lost the sense of the swing of the sledge-hammer, or the verity of the lesson learned in his youth of striking the iron while it is hot. The indomitable energy and the flagless perseverance which led him from the forge and the anvil to the University of St. Andrew's, and enabled him to attain a living recognition in London which spread itself into all the corners of Christian civilization, speak to his power more emphatically than words can. Clear in his aim and unwearied in the exertions he was called on to make in the gaining of it, he was a sort of St. Peter of the Nonconformists, full of earnest love to Jesus, but rash, headlong, and headstrong; mighty in the ardour of his faith, narrow in his interpretation of the doctrines of his Lord, but willing to follow to the utmost verge the results to which they led or seemed to lead him. He was not perhaps altogether" the British standard" of Christian life, but he was an able - ensign " bearer in the Church militant and a “Christian witness " against many of the errors of the age. His was a keenly controversial spirit, and he wielded the whole armory of argument with dexterity, force, fearlessness, and guileless faith, and it must be confessed that he “ fought a good fight.” He has “finished his course," and the peace of eternity rests in his heart.
To the memory of the Very Rev. Richard Dawes, Dean of Hereford, perhaps a word is due, as an earnest and enthusiastic educationist, and a man not only of culture, but of singularly lucid intelligence. He was not, so far as we are aware, a brilliant writer or an engaging, popular preacher ; but he was a dutiful, earnest, and thoughtful worker in the cause of man, and for the glory of his God.
A highly meritorious, versatile, and able journalist, playwright, novelist, and literary critic passed away from among his busy compeers. Though all his efforts had not been able to place his foot, except in imagination, on a “ladder of gold,” he has effectively inscribed his name on the roll of literary celebrities. He was a native of Cork, but early transferred to Dublin, and in his youth had a Civil Service engagement; but he loved literature, the stage and oratory, and he revived the Historical Society of Dublin, as well as produced comedies for the theatres. He outgrew Dublin, and went eager-heartedly to London, where he entered upon a course of hard, bread-winning work, and yet found time to do a little to gain the favours of fame. He was a working editor of singular efficiency, and almost exhaustless fertility. He finished the naval history left incomplete by Southey, and the “ History of England” which Sir James Mackintosh was called away from by death. Histories, comedies, novels, memoirs, travels, &c., seemed to rush from his pen-point with equal facility. His Lives of the English Poets," and his edition of their “Works,” give him a claim to the gratitude of all to whom poetry is dear and honest work is precious.
A brain as versatile and as active was taken away from France, the author of " Eloges” on Montaigne and Montesquieu, the biographer of Cromwell and of Gregory VII., the critic of criticism, and the Cicero of modern France,-Abel François Villemain. Possessed of an inimitable style, remarkable for purity of diction and attractiveness of phrase, for extent of knowledge and ingenuity of thought, for clearness of perception and uprightness of sentiment, he has attained an almost unrivalled place among the modern classics of France. He is moderate yet independent, and free at once from the rashness of unreason and the timidity of over-scrupulousness; and the singular equability of his faculties have led to his being allotted a first place among the notable thinkers and writers of France in which country letters are so often the ladders of states
The surly cold of an ungenial May struck its fangs into the lungs of one of Britain's most eminent historians, essayists, and lawyers; and on the 23rd thereof, after a fortnight's illness, he expired. Well born and highly cultured, Sir Archibald Alison “scorned delights and lived laborious days," doing, as the work of his leisure, that which is ordinarily looked upon as the most difficult task to which the human mind can be set. His “ History of Europe," with its immense array of facts, statistics, geographical description, resonant with the shouts of revolution, with the march of armies, and the collision of host with host, was only begun in the quiet of an advocate's study, but was afterwards continued amid the busy avocations which fall to the lot of the sheriff of Lanarkshire, and the social and civic engagements which such a position involves. Yet, after days in the crowded court-house, amidst the squabbles of petty dealers and their customers, listening patiently to the mass of detaile, intrinsic and extraneous, which enter into the evidencegivenin
sheriff's courts, or in the assemblies of the guardians of the peace,considering the means by which property and the order of society might be preserved, he lit the lamp of research during the night, and caused the events of the preceding century to unroll itself to the mind's eye in winding narrative and vigorous picture, in ingenious generalization and copious flow of words, in splendid speculations on the course of empires and the prosperity of states, and in brilliant descriptions of courts or detailed ground-plans of battles, on which he exhibits with due circumstantiality the pomp, glory, and horror of war. Europe in his pages reassumes the activity of the past, and he epitomizes the babble and Babel of rumour, correspondence, bulletins, reports, newspapers, and histories with skill, address, adroitness, and readability-though without expressing thence all its verbosity. His “Life of Marlborough” added a new page to British biography: and his “ Essays” in Blackwood show industry, fertility, extensive reading and research, and a marvellous fluency of expressive words for thoughts of much clearness, if not depth. He was notable as an administrator, and his professional works, though produced in early life, have stood the tests of time and law, frequent republication and practical use. The rapidity with which he wrote was immense, and the high average of literary workmanship he displayed is perhaps unparalleled by any one who has written so-to use Sheridan's phraseology-luminously and voluminously. History survives, but the historian is gone, and the biography of his being has been already written in the archives of eternity.
We owe to Dr. John Anster a translation of the weird and fascinating “Faust” of Goethe, which is of rare excellence for felicity of phrase and vigour of transfusive grace. The correctness and admirable rhythm of this version attained the admiration of the strange old poet, and it retains much of its value still. Though not perhaps the most capable of giving an idea of the force and fragrancy of the original, it has the advantage of reading like an original poem, and bears no traces of the withering influences of transplantation. His “ Xeniola," if it contains few pieces which rise to the first rank of poetic inspiration, gives evidence of careful culture ; while his many contributions to periodical literature show that the width and range of his powers were singular even in our age of versatility. He was besides a most painstaking professor of " civil law” in Dublin University. In his life he united many dissimilarities, and so transposed them into a unity, that, like the rain. bow, they gave off a radiance greater for their harmonious variety. And is not human life a rainbow, an intermixture of variety and unity P as Goethe has said,
“ Well paints the varying bow our life's endeavour,
the same for ever." • The Nestor of British Surgery," who died 5th July, was one of the favourite pupils of Abernethy, and one whose reputation as a
writer on physiological subjects goes back to nearly the beginning of the century, at which time Lawrence on Man created almost as great a sensation in scientific and theological circles as Combe's work on the “ Constitution of Man,” the “ Vestiges of Creation," Darwin's "Origin of Species,” or Rénan’s “ Jésus." This excitement was greatly due to the clear expository style adopted, the general readableness of the work, and the simple form in which it was cast. Its popularity very speedily extended beyond the profession, and it appeared at a time when the materialistic inductions, to which he as a surgeon confined himself, were calculated to make a strong impression upon the public mind. He has written largely on almost all professional subjects, and he did much by his translation-augmented and corrected—of Blumenbach's Comparative Anatomy” to increase the attention given to scien. tifio education in England. He held some of the highest offices and honours available to one of his profession; was one of the most earnest of self-culturers, and one of the hardest of workers in his profession and in general schemes of benevolence. He had only recently received the honour of baronetcy from her Majesty when he was stricken down by a paralytic seizure beyond the aid of
On the same day John Pitcairn Trotter, sheriff-substitute of Dumfriesshire, and a man who mingled with the sterner duties of his calling under Themis some of the lighter pleasures attainable under the favour of Minerva. He was a novelist of considerable talent, and had a genius for writing singular weird stories, for composing ballads, and for smart criticism. He lent light to Blackscood's Magazine, and supplied several useful translations from the German to the English public. He was singularly philanthropic, and though somewhat cynical in speech on ordinary occasions, was warm-hearted in bis love of all literary men, and especially those who were zealously battling against the stern opposition of poverty. He died in the full hope of another and a brighter being, in which the face of mystery creation wears would be fung aside, and his Lord should reveal Himself.
Three days afterwards one of the famous men of the Scottish borders expired. He had devoted himself to the collecting of the “Traditions of the Covenanters,” and had told their story so sympathetically and well that he stirred the hearts of the land of the Covenant, and the name of the Rev. Robert Simpson, of Sanquhar, had become a household word for many years among the pastoral regions of Scotland. He was a faithful and zealous minister of God, and died in the good old faith for which the Covenanters fought and suffered, and in the promotion of which be boured and wrote, and in the firm assurance that he would receive God's Danted mercies." On the same day—8th July—the Countess of Blessington's niece, Miss Marguerite Power, a minor novelist of the day, who added little to our knowledge of life and its purposes, though she opened up some peeps iặto the practices of society, also died. We