anything of that sort—but a Power;—a power, in short, to use the exact words of Mr. Mathews, “that _utters forth_ his loud behest, till mountain, lake and river shall attest the puissance of a Master’s _large commands_.” _Utters forth_ is no doubt somewhat supererogatory, since “to utter” is of itself to emit, or send forth; but as “the Power” appears to be somewhat excited he should be forgiven such mere errors of speech. We cannot, however, pass over his boast about uttering forth his loud behest _till_ mountain, lake and rivers shall obey him—for the fact is that his threat is _vox et preterea nihil_, like the countryman’s nightingale in Catullus; the issue showing that the mountains, lakes and rivers—all very sensible creatures—go fast asleep upon the spot, and pay no attention to his rigmarole whatever. Upon the “large commands” it is not our intention to dwell. The phrase is a singularly mercantile one to be in the mouth of “a Power.” It is not impossible, however, that Mr. Mathews himself is —busy in the cotton trade And sugar line. But to resume. We were originally told that the Spirit “lowered” and spoke, and in truth his entire speech is a scold at Creation; yet stanza the eighth is so forgetful as to say that he spoke “with a wide-cast look of bounteous power and _cheerful_ majesty.” Be this point as it may, he now shakes his brandished arms, and, swelling out, seems to grow— As grows a cedar on a mountain’s top By the mad air in ruffling breezes _took_ —or as swells a turkey-gobbler; whose image the poet unquestionably had in his mind’s eye when he penned the words about the ruffled cedar. As for _took_ instead of _taken_—why not say _tuk_ at once? We have heard of chaps vot vas tuk up for sheep-stealing, and we know of one or two that ought to be tuk up for murder of the Queen’s English. We shall never get on. Stanza the ninth assures us that the woods are deaf and will not be aroused, that the mountains are asleep and so forth—all which Mr. Mathews might have anticipated. But the rest he could not have foreseen. He could not have foreknown that “the rivers, housed beneath their banks in _darksome stillness_,” would “loiter like a calm-bound sea,” and still less could he have been aware, unless informed of the fact, that “_cliff, wilderness and solitude would be spoused in anchored nuptials to dumb apathy_!” Good Heavens—no!—nobody could have anticipated _that_! Now, Mr. Mathews, we put it to you as to a man of veracity—what _does_ it all mean? As when in times to startle and revere. This line, of course, is an accident on the part of our author. At the time of writing it he could not have remembered To haunt, to startle, and waylay. Here is another accident of imitation; for seriously, we do not mean to _assert_ that it is anything more—