he grace and
charm of this poem come from regions beyond the range of literary
criticism, and the heart shrinks from making a revelation of the
emotions which it awakens.

We have left ourselves but little room to speak of the new volume,
called "Thirty Poems," which lies before us. While nothing in it was
needed for the poet's well-established and enduring fame, it will be
welcomed by all his admirers as an accession to that stock of finished
poetry which the world will not let die. Here we find the same dignity
of sentiment, the same fine observation, the same grace of expression,
as in the productions of his youth and manhood. The tone of thought is
grave, earnest, sometimes pensive, but never querulous or desponding.
Declining years have not abated in him a jot of heart or hope. His is
the Indian-summer of the mind, made genial by soft airs and golden
sunshine, by green meadows and lingering flowers; and still far distant
is the time,--to borrow a noble image from this very volume,--

"When, upon the hill-side, all hardened into iron,
Howling, like a wolf, flies the famished northern blast."

All honor to the strong-hearted singer who, in the late autumn of life,
retains his love of Nature, his hatred of injustice and oppression, his
sympathy with humanity, his intellectual activity, his faith in
progress, his trust in God!

* * * * *

ANNESLEY HALL AND NEWSTEAD ABBEY.

The picturesque region of Matlock, with its cliffs and streams, its deep
woods and romantic walks, is full of attraction. There we not only see
the outward graces of Nature, but catch glimpses of her subtler
elements. Springs, dripping from hidden sources, transform the fruit, or
the bird's-nest with its fragile eggs, into stone with a Medusa touch;
while in deep caverns are found beautiful spars, exquisitely tinted, as
if prepared by the genii of the rock for the palace of their king.

Varied and wonderful are the workings of earth, air, fire, and water in
the Derbyshire valley, where a sensitive nature recognizes more things
in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in the philosophy of many a
passing traveller. To this region of beauty and mystery Byron often came
in his youth. These cliffs and streams and woods were familiar to the
young poet, and his retentive memory must have received here many of
Nature's deep and marvellous lessons. Perhaps among these scenes there
came to him those

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