e for color, its harmonies and contrasts, raises him with a
strong hand into the clear atmosphere of exertion for a useful and
definite end--makes him a 'calico-painter.'

It was a great scandal for the Bohemians of art to find this
calico-painter received every where in refined and intelligent society,
while they, with all their airs, long hairs, and shares of impudence,
could not enter--they, the creators of Medoras, Magdalens, Our Ladies of
Lorette, Brigands' Brides, Madame not In, Captive Knights, Mandoline
Players, Grecian Mothers, Love in Repose, Love in Sadness, Moonlight on
the Waves, Last Tears, Resignation, Broken Lutes, Dutch Flutes, and
other mock-sentimental-titled paintings.

'God save me from being a gazelle!' said the monkey.

'God save us from being utility calico-painters!' cried the high-minded,
dirty cavaliers who were not cavaliers, as they once more rolled over in
their smoke-house.

'In 1854,' said Gordon, one day, to Rocjean, after their acquaintance
had ripened into friendship, 'I was indeed in sad circumstances, and was
passing through a phase of life when bad tobacco, acting on an empty
stomach, gave me a glimpse of the Land of the Grumblers. One long year,
and all that was changed; then I woke up to reality and practical life
in a 'Calico-Mill;' then I wrote the lines you have asked me about. Take
them for what they are worth.

REDIVIVUS.

MDCCCLVI

'He sat in a garret in Fifty-four,
To welcome Fifty-five.
'God knows,' said he, 'if another year
Will find this man alive.
I was born for love, I live in song,
Yet loveless and songless I'm passing along,
And the world?--Hurrah!
Great soul, sing on!

'He sat in the dark, in Fifty-four,
To welcome Fifty-five.
'God knows,' said he, 'if another year
I'll any better thrive.
I was born for light, I live in the sun,
Yet in, darkness, and sunless, I'm passing on,
And the world?--Hurrah!
Great soul, shine on!'

'He sat in the cold, in Fifty-four,
To welcome Fifty-five.
'God knows,' said he, 'I'm fond of fire,
From warmth great joy derive.
I was born warm-hearted, and oh! it's wrong
For them all to coldly pass along:
And the world?--Hurrah!
Great soul, burn on!'

'He sat in a home, in Fifty-five,
To welcome Fifty-six.
'Throw open the doors!' he cried aloud,
'To all whom Fortune kicks!
I was born for love, I was born for song,
And