Little I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone, (A _very plain_ brown stone will do,) That I may call my own;-- And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun.

Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten;-- If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen!

I always thought cold victual nice;-- My _choice_ would be vanilla-ice.

I care not much for gold or land;-- Give me a mortgage here and there,-- Some good bank-stock,--some note of hand, Or trifling railroad share,-- I only ask that Fortune send A _little_ more than I shall spend.

Honors are silly toys, I know, And t.i.tles are but empty names; I would, _perhaps_, be Plenipo,-- But only near St. James; I"m very sure I should not care To fill our Gubernator"s chair.

Jewels are baubles; "tis a sin To care for such unfruitful things;-- One good-sized diamond in a pin,-- Some, _not so large_, in rings,-- A ruby, and a pearl, or so, Will do for me;--I laugh at show.

My dame should dress in cheap attire; (Good, heavy silks are never dear;)-- I own perhaps I _might_ desire Some shawls of true Cashmere,-- Some marrowy c.r.a.pes of China silk, Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.

I would not have the horse I drive So fast that folks must stop and stare; An easy gait--two, forty-five-- Suits me; I do not care,-- Perhaps for just a _single spurt_, Some seconds less would do no hurt.

Of pictures I should like to own t.i.tians and Raphaels three or four,-- I love so much their style and tone,-- One Turner, and no more, (A landscape,--foreground golden dirt,-- The sunshine painted with a squirt.)

Of books but few,--some fifty score For daily use, and bound for wear; The rest upon an upper floor;-- Some _little_ luxury _there_ Of red morocco"s gilded gleam, And vellum rich as country cream.

Busts, cameos, gems,--such things as these, Which others often show for pride, _I_ value for their power to please, And selfish churls deride;-- _One_ Stradivarius, I confess, _Two_ Meerschaums, I would fain possess.

Wealth"s wasteful tricks I will not learn, Nor ape the glittering upstart fool;-- Shall not carv"d tables serve my turn, But _all_ must be of buhl?

Give grasping pomp its double share,-- I ask but _one_ rec.u.mbent chair.

Thus humble let me live and die, Nor long for Midas" golden touch; If Heaven more generous gifts deny, I shall not miss them _much_,-- Too grateful for the blessing lent Of simple tastes and mind content.

_Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies;-- Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower--but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what G.o.d and man is._

TENNYSON.

LXXVIII. THE BRITISH CONSt.i.tUTION.

THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.--1809-

_From_ KIN BEYOND SEA.

The Const.i.tution has not been the offspring of the thought of man. The Cabinet, and all the present relations of the Const.i.tutional powers in this country, have grown into their present dimensions, and settled into their present places, not as the fruit of a philosophy, not in the effort to give effect to an abstract principle; but by the silent action of forces, invisible and insensible, the structure has come up into the view of all the world. It is, perhaps, the most conspicuous object on the wide political horizon; but it has thus risen, without noise, like the temple of Jerusalem.

"No workman steel, no ponderous hammers rung; Like some tall palm the stately fabric sprung."

When men repeat the proverb which teaches us that "marriages are made in heaven," what they mean is that, in the most fundamental of all social operations, the building up of the family, the issues involved in the nuptial contract, lie beyond the best exercise of human thought, and the unseen forces of providential government make good the defect in our imperfect capacity. Even so would it seem to have been in that curious marriage of competing influences and powers, which brings about the composite harmony of the British Const.i.tution. More, it must be admitted, than any other, it leaves open doors which lead into blind alleys; for it presumes, more boldly than any other, the good sense and good faith of those who work it. If, unhappily, these personages meet together, on the great arena of a nation"s fortunes, as jockeys meet upon a racecourse, each to urge to the uttermost, as against the others, the power of the animal he rides; or as counsel in a court, each to procure the victory of his client, without respect to any other interest or right: then this boasted Const.i.tution of ours is neither more nor less than a heap of absurdities. The undoubted competency of each reaches even to the paralysis or destruction of the rest. The House of Commons is ent.i.tled to refuse every shilling of the Supplies. That House, and also the House of Lords, is ent.i.tled to refuse its a.s.sent to every Bill presented to it. The Crown is ent.i.tled to make a thousand Peers to-day, and as many to-morrow: it may dissolve all and every Parliament before it proceeds to business; may pardon the most atrocious crimes; may declare war against all the world; may conclude treaties involving unlimited responsibilities, and even vast expenditure, without the consent, nay without the knowledge, of Parliament, and this not merely in support or in development, but in reversal, of policy already known to and sanctioned by the nation. But the a.s.sumption is that the depositaries of power will all respect one another; will evince a consciousness that they are working in a common interest for a common end; that they will be possessed, together with not less than an average intelligence, of not less than an average sense of equity and of the public interest and rights. When these reasonable expectations fail, then, it must be admitted, the British Const.i.tution will be in danger.

Apart from such contingencies, the offspring only of folly or of crime, this Const.i.tution is peculiarly liable to subtle change. Not only in the long-run, as man changes between youth and age, but also, like the human body, with a quotidian life, a periodical recurrence of ebbing and flowing tides. Its old particles daily run to waste, and give place to new. What is hoped among us is, that which has usually been found, that evils will become palpable before they have grown to be intolerable....

Meantime, we of this island are not great political philosophers; and we contend with an earnest, but disproportioned, vehemence about changes which are palpable, such as the extension of the suffrage, or the redistribution of Parliamentary seats, neglecting wholly other processes of change which work beneath the surface, and in the dark, but which are even more fertile of great organic results. The modern English character reflects the English Const.i.tution in this, that it abounds in paradox; that it possesses every strength, but holds it tainted with every weakness; that it seems alternately both to rise above and to fall below the standard of average humanity; that there is no allegation of praise or blame which, in some one of the aspects of its many-sided formation, it does not deserve; that only in the midst of much default, and much transgression, the people of this United Kingdom either have heretofore established, or will hereafter establish, their t.i.tle to be reckoned among the children of men, for the eldest born of an imperial race.

_It fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so: That, howsoe"er I stray and range, Whate"er I do, Thou dost not change.

I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip Thou dost not fall._

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

LXXIX. THE LORD OF BURLEIGH.

LORD TENNYSON.--1809-

In her ear he whispers gayly, "If my heart by signs can tell, Maiden, I have watch"d thee daily, And I think thou lov"st me well."

She replies, in accents fainter, "There is none I love like thee."

He is but a landscape-painter, And a village maiden she.

He to lips, that fondly falter, Presses his without reproof: Leads her to the village altar, And they leave her father"s roof.

"I can make no marriage present; Little can I give my wife.

Love will make our cottage pleasant, And I love thee more than life."

They by parks and lodges going See the lordly castles stand: Summer woods, about them blowing, Made a murmur in the land.

From deep thought himself he rouses Says to her that loves him well, "Let us see these handsome houses Where the wealthy n.o.bles dwell."

So she goes by him attended, Hears him lovingly converse, Sees whatever fair and splendid Lay betwixt his home and hers; Parks with oak and chestnut shady, Parks and order"d gardens great, Ancient homes of lord and lady, Built for pleasure and for state.

All he shows her makes him dearer: Evermore she seems to gaze On that cottage growing nearer, Where they twain will spend their days.

O but she will love him truly!

He shall have a cheerful home; She will order all things duly, When beneath his roof they come.

Thus her heart rejoices greatly, Till a gateway she discerns With armorial bearings stately, And beneath the gate she turns; Sees a mansion more majestic Than all those she saw before: Many a gallant gay domestic Bows before him at the door.

And they speak in gentle murmur, When they answer to his call, While he treads with footsteps firmer, Leading on from hall to hall.

And, while now she wonders blindly, Nor the meaning can divine, Proudly turns he round and kindly, "All of this is mine and thine."

Here he lives in state and bounty, Lord of Burleigh, fair and free, Not a lord in all the county Is so great a lord as he.

All at once the color flushes Her sweet face from brow to chin: As it were with shame she blushes, And her spirit changed within.

Then her countenance all over Pale again as death did prove; But he clasp"d her like a lover, And he cheer"d her soul with love.

So she strove against her weakness, Tho" at times her spirits sank: Shaped her heart with woman"s meekness To all duties of her rank: And a gentle consort made he, And her gentle mind was such That she grew a n.o.ble lady, And the people lov"d her much.

But a trouble weigh"d upon her, And perplex"d her, night and morn, With the burden of an honor Unto which she was not born.

Faint she grew, and ever fainter, As she murmur"d, "O, that he Were once more that landscape-painter, Which did win my heart from me!"

So she droop"d and droop"d before him, Fading slowly from his side: Three fair children first she bore him, Then before her time she died.

Weeping, weeping late and early, Walking up and pacing down, Deeply mourn"d the Lord of Burleigh, Burleigh-house by Stamford-town.

And he came to look upon her, And he look"d at her and said, "Bring the dress and put it on her, That she wore when she was wed."

Then her people, softly treading, Bore to earth her body, drest In the dress that she was wed in, That her spirit might have rest.