o another difficulty; one which, judging from the volume
before us, M. Michelet has yet to overcome: we mean the
difficulty--after education, and after achieving the heights to which
honourable ambition aspires--of forgetting the terrible and bitter
punishment of early penury and trouble; of cherishing no longer the
anger and hatred that were borne against the world, whilst the struggler
looked upon it as a world in arms against him. The author of THE PEOPLE
tells us, that in his saddest hours he knew no _envy_ towards mankind;
but he acknowledges also, that in his sufferings, he deemed all rich
men, all men, _bad_; that he pined into a misanthropic humour, and, in
the most deserted quarters of Paris, sought the most deserted streets.
"I conceived an excessive antipathy against the human species." The
writer, to use his own expression, "is raised, but not altered." The
antipathy, somewhat chastened by prosperity, is not removed. It takes a
bodily form in the volume that teaches France to regard the earth as her
enemy, and calls upon her to vindicate her pre-eminence and glory in the
field of battle and of blood.

THE ROSE OF WARNING

A LEGEND FROM THE GERMAN. BY A. LODGE.

Where towering o'er the vale on high,
Those ice-bound summits pierce the sky;
And on the mountain flood amain,
The giant oak, and dusky plane,
Uptorn, with ever-deepening sound,
Rush roughly 'mid the gorge profound:
Behold--where horrors mark the scene,
And loveliest Nature smiles between,
Yon ivied arch and turrets gray,
Mouldering in serene decay;
Half choked, the scanty columns rise,
Where the prone roof in fragments lies;--
Of yore, so legends tell, the fane
Was call'd, of sainted Bernard's train;
Pious Brethren, self denying,
Fill'd with thoughts of holy dying,
Here, 'mid penance, prayer, and praise,
Content they wore their tranquil days;
Now the heavenly truths expounding,
In the Lord's good work abounding;
For deeds of love the dome was bless'd;
The hungry fed, the faint had rest;--
Thus they gave their light to shine,
And the Bread of Life divine!

These walls confess'd, long ages flown,
Strange tidings of the world unknown;
And dark the boding wonder fell,
With signal of the midnight bell:
For ever, as in solemn row,
The Brotherhood, devout and slow,
Paced the dim-lighted aisles along,
Loud echoing to the choral song;
To each--when the dread hour was n