A fear such as he ne'er before had known;
For nothing less than tete a tete with phantoms
Could satisfy his mind; or gain that truth

He so much wish'd to know. Though Saunders had
Through a long life an honest fellow been,
And Job-like, his integrity maintain❜d,
The bare idea of encountering those
Aerial people made him quiver; and

His hair, like aspen trees, erect to stand.

The thought too, (and 'twas something more than thought,

The tranchant plough had oft the fact reveal'd)

That in the field hard by the pit, there lay

Half pulverized human bones; the sad

Though silent chroniclers of those who had been
The victims of a barbarous feudal age,-
Produc'd a thrilling dread within his mind.

But what of mould'ring bones! These could not hurt.
No! 'twas the waken'd ghosts he dreaded most;
Myriads of whom, 'tis said, at midnight deep,
Soar in the troubled air, and mournful cry,-
Or stalk in church-yards, or by-paths or lanes,
To warn the wretch of sickness, woe, or death.
Such were his fears; yet shrunk he not, but tried
With falt'ring steps to steer his course along
Towards the limestone quarry. Village clock
There was none,-or he might have thought he heard
The midnight hour proclaimed in his ear;
The fairy hammer, and clock hammer, each
Their part performing, and comingling sounds,
A jarring choir producing. As it was
He fancied he descried near the pit's brink,
At least a dozen fairies; all engag'd
In rural games, such as he often play'd,
Before his beard the razor's aid requir'd.
Again he paus'd-again the task resum'd;
And as he reach'd the focus of their mirth,
He smil❜d to find them but gigantic weeds,-
Which, in obedience to the passing breeze,
Such motions and such figures had assum❜d.
The quarry too, which hitherto he thought
The chief place of their work, deserted was;
Yet still they plied their hammers farther on,
To windward. Heedless of defeat he press'd
Towards the place from whence he thought the sound
Proceeded. As he onwards went, the knocks
From loud to louder grew; till, strange to tell,
Midst a potato field the fairy stood
Disclosed to his view-tall, thin, erect,
The work of my own brother's culled skill,—
A windmill placed there to scarce the rooks!
Thus ended his research. And now my tale
Must likewise terminate; yet not without
Affording a good lesson to the man
Who loves to draw a moral from a tale.
And as the clouds of sorrow may presage,
Or teem with fairies, fancid or real,
Throughout the mystic path of human life,
Let him, like Saunders, probe them to the core;
And as the twilight of unbending truth
Aids him in his research, he too may find
Them end in windmills and gigantie weeds.

JAMES REID.

TO THE BRETHREN OF THE MANCHESTER UNITY OF THE INDEPENDENT ORDER OF ODD FELLOWS.

SIRS AND BROTHERS,

WHEN I take a retrospective view of our Society generally, and behold the advancement made therein, as regards the increase of members, funds, &c., and I may justly add intelligence also,-I have often been surprised that hitherto no attempt has been made to rescue the aged members of our Institution from that distress, and those privations which is commonly their sad lot to endure. It is, however, a self-evident fact, that many of our elder brethren are advancing far in life, and so far from being able to obtain those necessaries of life, in that degree as to make themselves comfortable, they must of necessity depend upon other sources for their subsistence. What can pain the minds of real Odd Fellows more than seeing their elder brethren sinking in the vale of years, amidst poverty, wretchedness and misery,-often parochial relief being his only permanent support, or perhaps depending upon a relative almost as necessitated as himself. I have often thought if some plan, or system, could with propriety be adopted, to place aged members of our society in an independent situation of life, so that they might be able to provide for themselves, with a moderate degree of labour, it would be very desirable and advantageous, both as respects ourselves individually, and the Society's welfare generally. It is not, therefore, without much reflection and study, that I have been induced to submit to your notice and consideration the following plan, though I must confess, it is capable of many improvements.

1. That the Independent Order of Odd Fellows lease an estate, capable to keep and maintain, say 1000 aged members and their wives, (if any,) including a certain number of the orphans of Odd Fellows, as may be agreed upon.

2, That no member be allowed to be admitted thereon, whose age did not exceed 55 years, nor orphan above the age of 10 years; such orphans to reside thereon, until of age, to be put to some trade.

3. That all persons admitted upon the estate, shall be employed for the equal benefit of the whole of them, unless any may he considered at too advanced an age, or ill health, &c., in such case to have equal privileges and be kept as though they were able to work.

4. That the proceeds from the land, or any other source shall be applied for the maintenance and support of the whole, the rent, and other incidental expenses being paid therefrom.

5. That a Board of Management be chosen annually by the A. M. C., and vested with authority to arrange all laws for the government thereof, admit persons upon the estate, such individuals having been previously recommended by the District wherein they reside.

6. That a Superintendent, or Governer, be appointed by the Board of Management, and continue in office so long as he gives the satisfaction required.

7. That the Governor shall have full power to direct, manage, and control all the operations of the establishment; and if any member should prove refractory, and act contrary to the arrangements and rules of the Institution, he shall be reported to the Board of Management, who shall be authorized to act in such cases according to their judgment.

The method how to obtain the means. That a voluntary subscription be made throughout the Order, in aid of obtaining sufficient funds to stock the estate sufficiently, and erect a suitable place or places to reside in, and be under similar arrangements as Greenwich Hospital.

Also, a certain amount from the general fund of the Order might be appropriated, and a levy, if necessary, be made upon every District in the Unity, according to their number of members.

If such a system as the foregoing was adopted, I have no doubt it would confer an inestimable benefit upon our Lodges and the Order generally, and more especially would the good resulting therefrom be manifestly felt and experienced by ourselves individually; and I do humbly conceive, that it would realize for necessitated aged members and their wives, and orphans also, a condition of life, that would be agreeably pleasant and happy,-for then no poor-law workhouse, or cold charity asylum would be our

refuge at the close of this earthly career; but all who might arrive at a certain age, and are necessitated, would be decently provided for, with those comforts that would be necessary, and with no more bodily exertion than would be beneficial for health, either physically or mentally. Thus should we be placing our Order indissolubly firmer, and lay such a foundation that the superstructure of our benevolent Institution could not be easily shaken, or even ultimately fall; the evening of our existence would pass calmly and pleasantly away, amidst associates, who would become mutually interested in each other's welfare; and all Odd Fellows would have an asylum to look to for future years.

In conclusion, let no member say such an object could not be accomplished,; look at the munificent donations that have been given by our Order, from time to time, to other charitable institutions. Surely, then, we may have the disposition to do something for ourselves, especially when such a glorious object is to be attained thereby. Finally, let us remember, that the united exertions of 100,000 men is capable of effecting mighty and efficient changes, if those exertions are properly directed to a good object. I therefore leave every Odd Fellow to consider the subject for himself, and beg him to weigh it in his own mind calmly and dispassionately; suffice it, therefore, for the present to say, every recollection of the past, every aspect of the future, speaks aloud,-Odd Fellowship must go forward, and like the sun in its course, shine brighter and brighter, even unto the perfect day, until its blessings are more fully known and realized from pole to pole, which is the hearty wish and desire of yours most sincerely to promote,

King George the Fourth Lodge, Newton Heath District.

ROBERT JACKSON, C. S.

ON A PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING ESTABLISHMENT CONNECTED WITH THE ORDER.

I often feel very much surprised that as our Order has increased so extensively, that something of the above has never been contemplated by some of our enlightened and experienced members attending A. M. C. meetings. I have been waiting, or rather expecting, for several years past to hear of such an establishment being formed and conducted by proper qualified experimental hired servants, under the direction of the G. M. and Board of Directors; but as such is not yet the case, I have taken the liberty of troubling you with this letter, hoping that you will insert it in the next Magazine. I am not particularly acquainted with this branch of business, as touching the probable expense at the outset, but I have no doubt the means are in our own hands either to purchase presses, types, and every other requisite out of the general fund, or by every District in the Unity, or by an optional number of Districts becoming shareholders. We should then have our printing, bookbinding, &c., which costs us so many hundreds of pounds per annum, performed within ourselves, receive all the profits, and consequently, a great annual saving would be realized. Hoping that this will be the means of arousing some abler scribe from his slumbers, to say something on this subject, and that the next A. M. C. will give it their most serious consideration.

I remain, yours, in the bonds of the Order,

ON THE IMAGERY AND DESCRIPTIVE POWERS OF POETRY.

[Written by G. Fletcher, of the Chillington Lodge, Wolverhampton, and delivered by him at the Lichfield Mechanics' Institute, on Tuesday evening, Jan. 16th, 1838.]

INTRODUCTION.

THE hesitation, which I confess I feel in addressing you this evening, arises from a conviction that the subject I have chosen for my present paper is somewhat, I regret to say, unsuited to the tastes of a meeting of mechanics. But, in the dearth of lectures or essays on any subject at this time, I trust the attempt of any one will be received with forbearance, though it may chance, in the opinion of some, to appear mis-directed. Some of you have heard me before with patience, if not with satisfaction. I must entreat the same patience now; and the more so, because the theme is rather an uncommon one. For my own part, I deeply regret that poetry (the subject of my paper) is not better known among the many. It is the luxury of language-the flowers of the garden of literature. At the same time, though I fervently look forward with hope to the further advancement of the study of poetry among us-the operatives, I am aware that the more useful acquirements should not be slighted for that study-but, still that need not be neglected. It tends by its reading, I think, to humanize the darker parts of our nature, and, if judiciously studied, cannot produce an evil effect. And, trusting you will excuse any imperfections which a limited education may betray; or any incorrectness in the quotations, which are chiefly made from memory; I proceed at once to the subjects which I have chosen this evening to dilate on, and which I have entitled

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE IMAGERY AND DESCRIPTIVE POWERS OF POETRY.

In order to do justice to the works of the poets, it is essential that we should in reading fully comprehend their beauties. This can only be done by a slow and attentive perusal. Verse, however, being considered by many to come under the department of light reading, few give it that attention which is requisite to understand its meaning; they satisfy themselves with the harmony of the measure, without seeking or wishing to know more. Hence, those images, the fine creations of the poet's brain-coruscations of light and beauty flashing from the altar of genius, fall forceless on the eye. But this should

not be: we do injustice to the pilgrims of poesy by this neglect We content ourselves with a glimpse only of the shrines which they have erected to the muses, without stopping to examine the beautiful garlands hung about them, or the brilliant gems with which they are enriched. In other words, we peruse the works of the poets-we award them that meed which too often public taste has already given them, and are content; those chaste and sweet similies-born of the poet's inspiration, are passed by almost unheeded. It need scarcely be remarked that rhyme is not necessarily essential to the formation of poetry. Passages in the blank verse writings of our great dramatists furnish abundant evidence to the contrary, and contain the very spirit of poetry in their imagery, vigour, and expression. Rhyme is but the harmonious measure in which poets dress their wordsit is the fervour, the glow of feeling, speaking forth in musical numbers-in itself more musical-that constitutes true poetry. Rhyme is but the naked form, which the poet clothes with the garments of his own creative and imaginative spirit.

I will not be so presumptious as to cite examples from such as are termed classic poets. That should be left to those individuals whose education and taste befit them for the task; or, I should rather say pleasure, for to such men the search after imagery among the ancient bards, must be richly repaid. The classic scholar strikes the rock of antique lore with the wand of translation, and the songs of Greece, of the Hundred Isles, of the delightful cities of the Sun,"-the oriental land of flowers and perfume-gush forth in a mighty stream.

It is not, however, my province or capability, as I before remarked, to speak of the imagery of the poets of the olden time. I have collected a few specimens from those of our own day; and if I can but write down one of their beauties on your "heart's table," I shall not have laboured in vain.

But, before I endeavour to illustrate any passage on the subjects which I have chosen, I would premise that I am not prepared to go deep in the matter. Unacquainted with VOL. 6-No. 2-N.

the mechanical rules by which poetry is guided; I can only offer the opinions of one perhaps ill able to speak on its relative merits. I can only say I have felt the beauty and force of well-conceived imagery, and my heart has ever been stirred by the descriptive power which verse sometimes possesses Conscious that the fine conceits, the brilliant similies or imagery, are passed over too lightly, I would direct attention to them in par ticular; for to the influence of description all hearts are open; and I shall only cite examples of the latter, from sources not easily attainable, to give variety to my discourse. As to the effect produced on the mind by poetical imagery, it will be neither vivid nor lasting, unless the similies are just and true to nature. But with respect to the descriptive nature of verse the case is different; stirring passages, though over-wrought, take a much firmer hold of the memory than false imagery.

The eloquent and enthusiastic Pemberton, whose impassioned oratory is in itself poetry, (and which all who have listened to his lectures" On the Drama," and "Landscape Scenery" will testify,) recommends that, whether we peruse or listen to what the poet describes by his pen, that we endeavour to conjure up in our mind's eye the scene which he delineates. For instance, be it laid in the east, and lo! a land, whose dwellings are palaces! trees, to whose greenness and fragrance the produce of our colder clime are but as a mockery,—a region of fountains and flowers, fearfully intermingled with scorching desarts, earthquakes, and hurricanes pass before us, phantasmagoria-like, to aid the picture created by the poet. If the north is spoken of—a rugged an inhospitable shore, where no sound breaks on the ear but the fall of an avalanche; where the magnificent Aurora Borealis supplies the light of the sun, who for a long season wraps himself in a mantle of darkness; where rocks of ice and snow exhibit the rude and eternal form of nature, these, and every clime, country, and nation, may be called up at imagination's powerful spell. These remarks are equally applicable to poctical imagery. Let us con trast them, as they pass before us, with what they are likened to; and if the similies are just, with what pleasure shall we garner them up in the store-house of our memory.

With this preface I come at once to the subjects which I shall endeavour to illustrate -namely, "The Imagery and Descriptive Powers of Poetry ;" and I trust the examples I shall bring forward will fully elucidate my design. My first extracts will be made from a production of Miller's, the basket-maker, of Southwark, the author of a charming volume, called a "Day in the Woods," and many other works, and, I may venture to add, a poet of a high order. I quote from him, not only as offering appropriate specimens, but as being one of my own grade-the writer of the "Dying Widow" being an operative. The widow has lost her husband by shipwreck; and she is introduced on her death-bed speaking thus:

"Those cold white curtain-folds displace,
I would that form no longer see;
It hath assumed my husband's face,
And all night long it looked at me.

I wished it not to go away;

Yet trembled while it did remain :
I closed my eyes, and tried to pray,-
Alas! I tried in vain ""

How love to the death is here exemplified! Things inanimate assume the features of the beloved; and the idea of the dead looking at her" all night long," would be almost appalling, were you not told she "wished it not to go away." Sir Walter Scott has related an incident (I think it is in his "Demonology and Witcheraft," somewhat similar. He says he was struck, on entering his room, by observing the likeness of a deceased friend (Lord Byron) standing in the apartment; as he approached the phantom, however, it resolved itself into the objects with which the wall was hung, which things had (assisted by Sir Walter Scott's highly-wrought fancy) assumed the form of his friend. It is very probable, notwithstanding, that Miller was indebted to no other source than his own imagination for the similie, when he wrote his "Dying Widow." But to continue, after several stanzas of almost overpowering pathos, the widow, speaking of her husband's miniature, says:"Within my coffin let it lie

And find its way to where I loved!"

That is, as her form decayed, the likeness, placed on her breast, might sink down till it reached her very heart. This must be meant when she says, " And find its way to where I loved." Simplicity and affection, indeed, pervade the whole poem.