character and hopes. We understand that this publication is to be superintended by the third member of the honourable and highly-promising triumvirate, who inherit, along with the name of Carpenter, the talents and virtues by which it has hitherto been distinguished. May they all be long preserved to brighten its lustre by many a good work and labour of love!

T.

HEAVEN.

You ask me where the radiant region lies-
The Heaven of God-the soul's last best abode,
When it has burst its chain, and spurned its load
Of clay-where roams it when the body dies
That had enthralled it; toward the lofty skies
Wings it an upward flight, where on his throne
God dwells in light-Changeless-Supreme-Alone?
Of this we know not; but the Heart replies;
Heaven is not distant, nor remote thy God;
They are not local-but where'er the soul,
In the wide worlds, has spurned the base control
Of sin, and nobly kept the ascending road
Of truth and virtue, there is brightest Heaven-
God is enthroned, and his reward is given.

WREATHE ME A CROWN!

Wreathe me a crown-a crown of deathless flowers!

That may survive this passing world—and bloom
Beyond the narrow precints of the Tomb;
That midst the garlands of celestial Bowers
May find a place wherever nobler powers
Than Earth can boast-a Father's love adore-
Where souls to loftiest heights of Virtue soar,
And in sweet converse, pass the holy hours!
Wreathe me a crown! draw not from distant seas
The pearl-let not the starry jewel shed

Its lustre there-torn from its secret bed—

I ask for richer-nobler things than these.

Wreathe it of holy thoughts-affections pure

And Love's bright flowers-these, Christian, will endure !

ART. VII.-HOURS WITH THE MUSES. By JOHN C. PRINCE. Second Edition. Simpkin, Marshall, and Co.

THAT poetical genius is not confined to any rank, or produced by any external circumstances, is an old and true remark. We have seen poets grow up under the stern and stirring influence of republican rule, and fostered by the splendid pomp of Courts, as well as nurtured in the careless retirement and literary ease of private life; nor does it seem unnatural to find ardent feelings flowing into song amid the wild hills and simple pleasures of rural life, or to discover some amongst an educated Scottish santry, who whilst they speak to our hearts by their enthusiasm for their "ain fire side," astonish our minds by the degree of cultivation and intellect visible in their works. But in the Author before us we have poetic talent appearing in circumstances where we were little prepared to expect it, nurtured in starvation and squalid misery in the dismal precincts of a Wigan cotton-factory.

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There is a little sketch of Prince's life affixed to his poems, which affords a striking illustration of Shelley's opinion, that

"Most wretched men are cradled into poesy by wrong,

They learn in suffering what they teach in song."

J. C. Prince was born at Wigan in 1808. His father made reeds for the weavers, supporting a family of several children by a very precarious business. Not having means to send his son even to a day school, the only instruction within young Prince's reach was the scanty portion he received at a Sunday school, where he obtained a very imperfect knowledge of reading and writing; but his application was unwearied, and he spent every leisure moment in poring over any stray books he could procure. Even when at the age of nine he was put to his father's trade, and obliged to work fourteen or sixteen hours a-day, he would steal from his bed when the rest of the family were asleep, to read by the dim light of the "slaked" fire such romances as those of Monk Lewis, Mrs. Radcliffe, and Defoe. He at length obtained a copy of Byron, which he studied with intense delight, and then burst upon him the feeling that he was himself a poet.

"A Child of Song. Oh! sadly pleasing name

Which steals like music o'er my gladdened heart,
And uttered by the myriad lips of fame,

Becomes a spell whose power will ne'er depart.

"His is the universe-around, above,
Beauty is ever present to his eye;

He breathes the elements of hope and love,

And shrines his thoughts in words which ne'er will die.

Then who would change the poet's dark career

For all that power can grant, that wealth can give ?
Man's common lot may be his portion here,

But when he dies, he does not cease to live."-p. 132.

His father, who seems to have been a severe man, made every effort, though most unsuccessfully, to check his son's mental activity. The family removed to different towns to obtain work, living in great poverty and discomfort.

Young Prince married before he was nineteen a gentle and pleasing girl, who has made him a most excellent wife. He still continued to work for his father, and when his family increased to three children, finding he could hardly provide them food sufficient to keep them from starvation, he determined to seek for work in France and Germany. There he was unfortunate, finding no employment, and being sometimes two days without food. At length, hopeless of success, and unable longer to bear absence from his wife and children, he set off on foot on his return, worn out with starvation and fatigue. But his poetic spirit supported him throughout, and enabled him keenly to enjoy the beauties of his journey, and explore with ardent curiosity everything worthy of attention.

There is a beautiful poem, addressed to J. P. Westhead, Esq. containing a sketch of his life, very touchingly and simply given, in which is some account of his journey :

"At length worn out, I left my cheerless home,
Though rashly, in another land to roam,

Where I became the poorest of the poor,
For I was forced (Oh! soul-degrading task !)
With low and supplicating voice to ask

The meed of bitter bread from door to door.

"From house to house-from crowded town to town
A wretched outcast wandering up and down,
From every little comfort kept aloof;
Without a shelter, naked and unfed,
The cold and stony ground my only bed,
The dark inclement sky my only roof.

"The vast and everlasting hills of God,

The rocks and streams, the forests and the sod,

Exultingly I felt were all my own.
But when I mingled with the city's hum

My soul grew joyless, and my heart grew dumb,
For peopled places made me doubly lone.

That falls so sweetly on its burning face;
At every forward step, some strange delight
Wakened my slumbering heart, and charmed my sight
With some new feature of surpassing grace.

My wondering soul with poesy was fraught,
And higher, nobler, and serener thought,
Which I had never felt or known before;
Back to my native land I gladly flew,
Resolved my best endeavours to renew,

And quit my kindred and my home no more."-p. 181.

On his return, he found his wife and children in the workhouse, whence he removed them to an unfurnished garret in Manchester; and what they endured was dreadful, being often on the brink of absolute starvation, from the difficulty of obtaining any work either for his wife or himself. He and his family have still continued up to the present time to struggle on, often unable to obtain work. We hope the publication of these poems will be instrumental in lessening their privations. The memoir concludes with this little notice of Prince's character :

Mr. Prince is of a very retiring character; and no one would imagine, from a slight acquaintance with him, that he had seen much of the world, much less that he had wandered in foreign lands, and drank so deeply of the bowl of misery. He seems to have passed through these varieties of human condition rather as an observing wayfarer, than as participating therein. In a great measure his ill success in the world is fairly attributable to the want of confidence in himself, and of that becoming assurance without which, however great a man's talent or sterling merit, the path to advancement is not in his way."

It is necessary in some degree to realise his sufferings, physical and mental, in order to appreciate the true nature of his genius, which mainly consists in power of mind, enabling him to conquer every difficulty, and produce, during times of intense and grinding anxiety and suffering, polished, philosophical, and spiritstirring verses, remarkable for an unfailing enjoyment of nature, and strength of sympathy with the moral even more than the physical trials of his fellow-operatives, and an intense longing

for their mental freedom and education. This and much more

is beautifully expressed in the following lyric, beginning thus :
Sons of my mother, England!
List to the voice of song,
And turn from that degrading path
Which ye have trod too long.
Shake off that mental slavery
Which lays your manhood low;
Up! awake for Freedom's sake,
As through the world ye go.

"Sons of my mother, England!
I know ye are oppressed;
But let not vengeance fire the soul,
Nor burn within the breast.
Let wiser thoughts, let higher deeds,
Let milder language flow;

Nor cherish strife, the bane of life,
As through the world ye go;
But walk with hope and charity,
As through the world ye go.

"Sons of my mother, England!
Ye have unconquered been
On deadly War's unhallowed ground,
'Mid many a fearful scene.

A nobler warfare ye must wage
With many a subtle foe,

If ye would rise more free and wise,
As through the world ye go;
And with a bloodless banner march,
As through the world ye go.

"Sons of my mother, England!

Brave deeds must yet be done;

But 'tis not by man's strength of arm
That liberty is won.

But ye must bear unclouded minds,

And hearts with love that glow,

And truth must guide your steps of pride,

As through the world ye go,

And shine, your constant beacon-fire,

As through the world ye go.