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That is the lighthouse, looking o'er the bay,-
A pillar of cloud by day,
By night of fire.
Let us go thither down this sea girt way,
And should'st thou chance to tire,
This stranded boat will serve us as a seat
Where we may rest and watch the waves at play,–
While soft beneath our feet
The smooth sands slip away,
And pungent odors greet
Our thirsting senses after city heat.
Strong saline odors of the boundless sea,
Drawn upward from its vast immensity.
How the waves tumble and roar!
Their green transparent crests all flecked with spray
And one advancing higher than before,
Falls with a thunderous might,
Broken and frothy white,
On the resounding shore
To cream about our feet with silver glide,
Then backward slide,
In swift retreat.
With ripple and gurgle once more, once more,
To be caught in the maw
of the restless, insatiable tide.

A lovely sight I saw
This morning in an angle of the beach.
Safe from the water's reach,-
Certes there thrives and grows
A little wilderness of the wild rose,
So sweet it blooms and blows.
A myriad petals pink,
Clustered upon the brink
Of the ocean broad and deep-
Beyond the line
So fixed and fine
Where the hungry waves may creep.

Last night with glimmer and dip
And the shimmer of light, o'er the lip
Of the surging cup
Of the purple wine-tinted sea,
The moon peeped up.
Quiet and calm and benign,
With a stillness holy, divine,-

But tell me how will it be
At the dead of the midnight hour?
For the moon and the tides will show their power,
When the wild white steeds of the sea come out,
To trample and plunge till put to rout
By an unseen force when the waters turn,
And the lights of heaven all dimly burn.
And the dawning silent and grey
Ushers in the unsullied day.

But see the hour grows late, and we
Thus sitting, looking eastward o'er the sea
And shielded by this promontory bold
Do not behold
The shining glories of the west
Where the sun sinks to rest,
Nor all the royal splendors of his bed,
Purple and vermeil red,
And fringed with gold-
Only that far on high
In the blue vaulted sky
A rosy cloudlet floats-
A pennon from the gorgeous panoply,-
And many distant boats
Have caught the while
On their white sails the radiance of his smile.

What bird near by
Furtive and shy
Amid the meadows green
Unknown, unseen,
With sweet and simple trill
Warbles its evening hymn?
Its glad clear note has cheered us all the day,
But let us now away.
The twilight gathers dim.
The shadows deepen, and the air grows chill
And upward from the sea the breezes blow,-
Give me thy hand, belovéd, let us go.

C. D. W.


On the Friday evening of last week a banquet was given in the Middle Temple Hall by members of the Bench and Bar of England to the representatives of the Bench and Bar of the United States of America. The Judge

of the Supreme Court of Errors, Connecticut, in responding to the principal toast with the eloquence we have learned to expect from the great American lawyer, spoke some words which we hope will be always remembered


by the profession. “What binds together the lawyers and Judges of the two countries,” said Judge Baldwin, "is the common law. England has always been the Mecca for American lawyers.

...The legal ancestry of the representatives of both countries is the same. .. Wherever the English tongue has gone the English law has gone, and in loving devotion to all that makes the English law really what it is Americans and Englishmen are one, standing, as it were, under the same flag, not the flag of a country, but of a law.” The history of the friendship between the two Bars is a very old one, for on no side is the English tradition and the sense of a common inheritance so much appreciated in the States as on the legal. The basis of law is the same in both countries, and the English common law is a joint possession. And, apart from the practical aspect, there has been a feeling of kindliness, even for trivial legal forms, which has made the American Courts preserve certain quaint English archaisms. Sir Frederick Pol. lock in the dedication of his “Law of Torts" to Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes tells of the experiences of an English lawyer, travelling overland from Mon. treal to Boston. He leaves Quebec, where the flag is his own but the law is the Code Napoleon, for a country where he has no longer the rights of a natural-born subject. But “when his eye is caught, in the everyday advertisements of the first Boston newspaper he takes up, by these words: ‘Commonwealth of Massachusetts: Suffolk to wit,'—no amount of political geography will convince him that he has gone into foreign parts and has not rather come home." And in addition to this joint possession of the English common law, the two Bars are united by their respect for judicial precedents. In no other system of jurisprudence in the world is such force given to judicial decisions, an attitude which is responsible

in the eyes of a Continental jurist for making English and American law an unfeatured wilderness. For a time, it is true, the American method tended to approach the Continental, and some lawyers began to treat the common law

an "ideal system," to quote Sir Frederick Pollock again, “to be worked out with speculative freedom and little regard for positive authority.” But of late years the current seems to have turned, and we have the testimony of a distinguished American lawyer, Professor Dillon, that the danger has passed. The great works of Kent and Story and Marshall are to be found in every good English legal library, and a great lawyer in England or the Colonies or the United States writes not only for the use of his own Bar, but for the benefit of all English-speaking people. The English law reports are bought by American lawyers, though it is a common complaint that they have become less useful since the number of decisions upon the construction of statutes has so greatly increased. As Professor Dillon, speaking from the American point of view has said:-“In our law libraries we find the learning and labors of Judges administering the system in law reports from India, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the West Indies. We have the same legal literature in which we behold Hale and Marshall, Hardwicke and Story, Blackstone and Kent, Ers. kine and Webster."

The value of this bond of union is much increased by the large part which the profession of law plays, and has always played, in American life. As many of Blackstone's Commentaries were sold on publication in America as in England, and Burke long ago declared that "in no country, perhaps, in the world, is the law so general a study.” It has even colored the popular vocabulary, and throughout the United States the merest layman


will habitually refer to land as “real estate.” The speech of Mr. Chauncey M. Depew at the dinner we have spoken of emphasized this pre-eminence. The Government of the United States, he said, was a lawyers' Government. There have been twenty-one Presidents, of whom seventeen have been lawyers, and of Cabinet Ministers fourfifths have been lawyers. The Constitution was made by lawyers, the Gov. ernment institutions of every kind were built up by lawyers and in the formation of the Government they have created a judicial power, the Supreme Court, which is superior to the sovereignty of the nation. It is true that this excessive political importance may react unfavorably upon the value of the administration of justice, but it at least proves that the profession of the law is at the very centre of national activity. The American Bar, to be sure, has a few superficial differences from our own. The professions of solicitor and counsel, for example, are not separated, but the same is true of most of our Colonies, and any serious effects of the division are nullified by the habit of forming legal partnerships. If, then, we have in the United States a Bar essentially like our own, professing a law the same in origin as ours and closely related in substance, and at the same time exerting a great influence upon every domain of politics, we have a common interest more strong than any sudden gust of racial sentiment or half-hearted diplomatic alliance. The Spectator.

We have thought it right to call attention to this sign of friendship, partly because it is in itself so desirable, and partly because it illustrates what we should be glad to see carried still further,-the decentralization of English law. The law of England is a civilizing agent second only to Christianity, and an Imperial bond of union as strong as any commercial interests. It has gone forth to the ends of the earth, and in spite of its parochial origin, has won conquests as great as any Roman system which was born in the purple. What we desire to see is not the lessening of the importance of the central Courts, but the fostering of legal schools among new conditions and stranger peoples. It is a significant fact that the work on the Government of England by Professor Hearn, of Melbourne, is authoritative on the subject,-a book written by a Professor in a Colonial University far from the traditions of law and government which dwell in Westminster. We should be glad to see the freest and friendliest relations of mutual respect between all the Bars of all the English-speaking people, and in particular we should be glad to see American common-law judgments referred to in English arguments as English cases are cited in New York and Washington. For recent experience has shown that English law is no delicate plant which flourishes best among the surroundings which gave it birth.


I sincerely hope they will let the man go! Nay, I do not think it would be altogether amiss for the nation to give him some small testimonial. Nothing

splendid of course, but a modest and appropriate gift. Let me tell you he has deserved it.

The affair was a trifting one, and may well have escaped your notice, oc

• Translated for The Living Age.


cupied as you have been with the roller-pavement and other marvels of our divine Exposition. Here, however, is the man's story-very simple, but rather touching.

He was a timid young pickpocket, just setting out in life, and his first attempt was both humble and marked by a certain originality. He stole from a friend, with whom he was lodging, a small three-cornered black felt hat, and made off with his prize pressed exultantly against his breast. No thief upon a splendid scale, no high-andmigbty filibustiero, no pirate, no corsair was ever prouder of his capture, or more enamored of his prize. Neither the eagle who bore off Ganymede, nor the crow who sped that eagle, ever regarded more rapturously or embraced with greater fervor the object of his long desire.

This was probably the very circumstance which attracted the attention of those keen-eyed men whose business it is to mar the comfort of malefactors in their unlawful possessions. You cannot carry off a prize under your left arm, occasionally caressing it with the right hand as well, without attracting some attention. In this case the man was stopped, violent hands were laid upon the object of his devotion, he was examined and requested categorically to state why he had appropriated that small, three-cornered hat.

He wept, he shivered, he equivocated, he lapsed into a sullen silence. There is ever a shrinking reserve about your really great passions. But the inevit. able reaction succeeded, and he confessed. That little three-cornered hat had belonged to Napoleon I! His friend had told him so for a positive fact. Had belonged, do I say? Nay,

It was not merely one of the great emperor's hats. It was the hat of the emperor; his own special and peculiar little tricorne.

The young thief had simply been car

ried away by the enthusiasm of an overmastering desire. The act Prometheus when he reft fire from heaven, has been excused by his exaltation of mind; and our young pickpocket was in a very similar case. He stole sublimely, and by the light of glory.

They tried reasoning with him. His injured friend explained, with a broad grin upon his countenance, that the head-gear in question was just a little hat which he himself had worn at a kind of travesty of a masked ball-but all to no purpose. The young thief had his conviction and he clung to it. A flame of pure patriotism burned within, even if it did not illuminate bis mind. He crowned himself with that ideal chapeau, and would not be disabused of his fond error.

Condemn a man for such an illusion! Never! There is nothing so fine as unaffected enthusiasm.

Nevertheless we have here a striking Illustration of the havoc wrought in simple souls by the substance known as Napoleonite. It may be taken for granted that our young zealot had never seen L'Aiglon and that he was unacquainted with the researches of M. Masson into the history of the imperial family. I would take my oath on it in fact, and so would you. All the same we may observe in him the effects of Napoleonite. They furnish us with a study in popular psychology, and illustrate the contagious character of fetishism. We get a sort of epidemic of impassioned admiration by which all minds are more or less affected, though not all, I observe, in exactly the same way.

Our young man appears to have been in some sort hypnotized by the contemplation of that mystic triangle. He had been told that it was authentic. The


assertion is made about every work of art, and ordinarily no harm is done. Yet it is a rash thing


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