vincial name of the kestrel is quite as vivid as that description. With it may be compared another local name, "stand-gale," and also "crutch-tail," formerly applied to a kite, both equally descriptive of the birds. But Mr. Tennyson has yet more to tell us about the habits of hawks. For instance, take the following landscape, when Sir Aylmer's hall is pulled down

And the broad woodland parcelled into farms,
And where the two contrived their daughter's good

Lics the hawk's cast.

The last word we know well as a Lincolnshire term for the pellets of indigestible food which owls and hawks throw up. In the High Peak of Derbyshire the more expressive term "hawk's-cud" is used.

We will not stop over the words "burr," for the seed-vessel of the burdock, used by Shakspeare; nor "Martin's summer," also used by Shakspeare; nor "pock-pitten," though we perhaps like the form "pockfretten" better-all of them used with a poet's nice sense of fitness. We will rather dwell on the picture of Leoline and Edith, how

With her he dipt

Against the rush of the air in the prone swing,
Made blossom-ball or daisy chain.

Blossom-ball, if it be not a provincialism, of which we are not sure, is
evidently formed after the West-country "cowslip-ball," the "tisty-tosty
ball" of Dorsetshire and Somersetshire, which children yearly make.
Ben Jonson uses a somewhat similar word for the downy globe of the
dandelion, and sings that Earine's footstep is so light that it will not bend
a blade of
grass,

Nor shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk.

Again, take the picture of Sir Aylmer, who

When dawn

Aroused the black republic on his elms,

Sweeping the froth-fly from the fescue brush'd
Thro' the dim meadow.

"Fescue," though a Romance word, and formerly in common use, is now decidedly a provincialism, and we have to thank Mr. Tennyson for restoring us the castaway. "Froth-fly" we do not remember to have met as a provincialism. It sounds like one, and is more expressive than the common word "brock." If it be Mr. Tennyson's own coinage, we must congratulate him on forming a word so true in its analogy.

We think that we have now shown, as far as a slight sketch would permit, not only the vigour and the life that colour our provincialisms, but also how in the hands of a poet they may be made to yield fresh beauty. Many of them still wait to be taken up. The requirements of science will absorb some. The special use of "forecast," a term which never died out in the Midland counties, with reference to the weather, is a good instance how a forgotten word may be rendered serviceable. But

science, as a rule, makes her own words. To the poet must the care of our provincialisms be left. He alone possesses the instinct to perceive which must be kept, which rejected. And he must choose them, on the one hand, from no sentimental feeling; nor, on the other, from any Dryasdust prejudice, but simply because he finds them the most expressive and the most beautiful. If he chooses them from any other reason he will only be the resurrectionist, instead of the Prometheus of words. Clare, for instance, possessed a far wider knowledge of provincialisms than Mr. Tennyson, but he knew not how to make a proper use of his riches. His verse is consequently only encumbered by them, and has sunk from the high purposes of poetry to become simply an object of interest to the philologist and the county historian.

And never had we more need of fresh life and vigour in our poetry than at the present moment. Our Muses have emigrated from the woody heights of Parnassus and the springs of Hippocrene into Mayfair. Poetry, instead of being an oak of the forest, nurtured by the wind and the rain, is now a plant forced in the hot air of drawing-rooms. The manliness of tone, which so stamped itself upon our Elizabethan dramatists, seems in danger of dying. Those great poets mixed with the crowd, wrestled with a thousand ills, and throve upon misfortunes, which would overwhelm the modern minstrel. One was a brick-mason, one a parishclerk, and the greatest the son of a butcher. Their plays are full of life, of its stern trials, such as the poor only know, reflect man's passions and joys and aspirations, and above all, are written in strong homely English. And yet upon mere words poetry of course does not depend. You may use the most beautiful words, as a limner the most beautiful colours, and still produce only a daub. For poetry comes only out of a high, earnest life, purified by discipline, and fortified by reason in the essential goodness of things, and then comes only at those rare intervals when

Our great good parts put wings into our souls.

The Shoddy Aristocracy of America.

Show me the fortunate man, and the Gods I forget in a moment.-SCHILLER.

SOMEWHERE on this broad earth can always be found fit prototypes of the most wildly-conceived heroes and heroines of the fairy-tales. There are little Jacks in our day subduing giants quite as formidable as those of the time of the great Blunderbore. The genii Steam and Electricity are offering seven-league boots and listening-caps to old and young; and bean-stalk ladders are springing up at the feet of the restless Jacks whom fortune favours. The age has its drowsy Gullivers and its wide-awake Lilliputians, its Sinbads, big with adventure, and its "army of faithful believers," tilting at everything. There are still Pussies-in-Boots faithfully serving my lord the Marquis of Carabas; daughters spinning weary threads from distaffs never growing less; social harps which at last cry "Master!" and waken terrible ogres, and inquisitive wives vainly trying to re-polish the tell-tale key. We have Blue Beards, with sheathed scimitars, grimly extending their matrimonial relations; and sister Annies ever watchful of another's needs. There are Sleeping Beauties, alas! by the thousand; and fair ones with golden locks for whom princes and poets struggle. There are beasts, too, whom we learn to love, after we have entered their rose-lit sanctuaries; and monsters who have sung

Fee! fo! fum!

I smell the blood of an Englishman!

There are Strong-backs who bear the world's burdens, and Hop-o'-myThumbs who contrive to slip its responsibilities; maidens whose tongues shed dangerous vipers, and maidens whose words are a shower of roses and pearls. Proud sisters are every day being humbled; and patient Cinderellas dropping the slipper that shall win them the prince. Foolish old couples are wasting their "wishes" on black-pudding; and wise younger ones are finding the "treasure of life" in each other. There are saintly, ministering Red Riding-hoods, and-heaven save the mark! grandams, with very big eyes and ears, eager to devour them. Men and women are still sighing for the waters of perpetual youth; and duennadragons are guarding enchanted and enchanting maidens. There are Ali Babas and envious Cassims; sham oil-merchants and avenging Morgianas; wicked but lucky pedlers and tailors, like those in the tales of the brothers Grimm, and Aladdins with very wonderful lamps indeed!

And here, after drifting down the stream of fairy lore, we cast anchor;

for it is with these pedlers and tailors and Aladdins that we have to deal. In short, at the risk of mixing the metaphor, I propose to "strike oil,” the oil that fills the Aladdin-lamps of our own matter-of-fact day, when men cry Cui bono? to everything, and expect title-deeds to castles in

the air.

The discerning reader need not be told the name of this oil; nor that the tailors and pedlers alluded to, with their fleet-winged geese and magic packs, are the so-called Shoddy contractors of the land of Stars and Stripes.

Verily, it is true. Here in this far land, wherein I write, the wildest tales of fairy chroniclers are rivalled by every-day experience. What are the exploits of Ali Baba compared with the discoveries of those who first said 'Open Sesame' to the caves of Cali Fornia, and other geological misers? And what was good Mrs. Cassim's zeal compared with that of the indefatigable Want-to-get-rich of modern days? Then, when the caves were opened, how everybody rushed in, some coming out richly-laden, and some finding themselves (metaphorically) drawn and quartered, like poor Cassim! But why tell an old story? There is newer material for fairy work than this. There are these tailors and pedlers and Aladdins at whom all America is just now gazing with distended eyes, wondering at the new palaces flashing into existence, at the streams of wealth flowing into startled pockets, at the presto-touch changing ragged clowns into dazzling gentlemen, and above all, at the fearful spell' being cast upon American life by these strange creatures, lifted, as it were by enchantment, into sudden wealth and importance.

first.

We shall consider the pedlers and tailors, i.e. the Shoddy contractors, 'Shoddy' according to one Simmonds-whom both Worcester and Webster use as a cat's-paw in handling the ugly dissyllable--is "a fibrous material obtained by 'devilling' refuse woollen goods, old stockings, rags, &c. It differs from 'mungo,' ," he says, "in being of an inferior quality, and is spun into yarn with a little fresh wool, and made into coarse cloth, drugget, padding, and other articles."

So say the lexicographers. But in this fast age yesterday's dictionary is almost as much out of date as yesterday's newspaper. In the world's great book of synonyms we find that Shoddy has been given a far wider signification. If Liszt, in his Life of Chopin, can devote pages to the explanation of the Polish word zal, we should require volumes to fairly describe the (now) American word 'Shoddy.' It means pretence, vulgarity, assumption, the depth of folly and the highest altitude of the ridiculous; also gilded ignorance, mock patriotism, wire-pulling, successful knavery, swindling, nay treason itself. On the other hand, it implies innocent good luck, reward of merit, and the miraculous and sudden appearance (in the newly-rich man) of super-intelligence and all the cardinal virtues. It means vast expectations in hovels and discomfort in palaces; hippoo-birds, wretched with real golden crowns, the secret envy of hippoos with the comfortable yellow crest common to hippoodom,

It

means gorgeous affluence in the son, and bare penury in the father. It will mean ignorant dismay in the son at the scornful superiority of the grandson-and grandsons who will feebly ignore the name and character of the founder of their illustrious house.

And this word, with its varied meanings and strong significance, has been raised to its present altitude by no less a lever than the great American rebellion.

Now a great rebellion calls for two things-men to carry it on, and men to resist it; and these, whatever may be their several patriotic aspirations, their valour and enthusiasm, must be fed, clothed, and equipped. Their respective governments, having no time to lose, stand on the "outer wall" of circumstance, and call loudly for the vendors of food, clothing, and ammunition to draw near. Honest industry hears the call, and prepares to answer it as far as conscience and means will allow. Meantime enterprise, whether honest or not, pricks up its ears-" Hallo! here's luck! country in trouble wants something in a hurry-no time to examine-little down-hearted, I see no harm in cheating the Government." And the consequence is, A CONTRACT made so very advantageously to the Treasury Department that honest merit sighs, says, "I can't afford to go in," and settles down to the old routine.

The fortunate contractor at once buys up all the floating "poor stuff" at home and abroad; and his minions, with their sub-contracts, fatten themselves like vampires on the poor serving-women of the land. Then come immense supplies of army clothing-flannel under-shirts, made of "human creatures' lives," and blankets and uniforms of veritable "shoddy." The armies march forth in gallant array. Soon follow innumerable catastrophes like that described by an observing troubadour of 1861:

"March!" said the Colonel; "forward march !"
Crack went the seams in halves!

A hundred steps-a hundred men
Showed just two hundred calves!"

Notwithstanding this sad event, confiding officials still trust to the shoddy garments. They fade, and rip, and burst apart, and drop to pieces, but the contractor feels secure. His fortune is made, let the soldiers shiver and curse as they may. What are a few thousand poorly-clad men to him? He is comfortable in his "marble halls."

Then come the pedlers with their packs-everything by this time valued at an exorbitant rate-for must not the army be fed and equipped?" With lying tongues and exultant hearts they present their wares. The inspectors are in a hurry; in fact, their eyes are dim with war-smoke. Everything is "passed "-leaky tents, glued shoes, mouldy oats, hickory beef, rusty pork, poor muskets, and worse ammunition. Broken-down horses and donkeys are transmuted (on paper) into war-steeds and mules; and leaky, unseaworthy tugs, yclept "vessels" by Shoddy, are sold at fabulous prices for the pursuit of nimble privateers, and the safe trans