It was while Chief Justice that he became eminent for the great light he brought to bear upon many important and intricate questions of law; and his fame may be said to rest mainly upon the profound ability with which he exercised the functions of this trust. In 1859, when Lord Palmerston succeeded to the brief administration of Lord Derby, Lord Campbell was finally raised to the summit of his profession. He was the fourth Scotchman who has been Lord Chancellor within the century, and is a worthy compeer of such men as Loughborough, Erskine, and Brougham. The long years of unremitting toil were at length crowned with glorious success; and the great man died in the midst of duty, affluence, honor and power, while enjoying the prerogatives of the highest judicial trust, during the summer of the past year. Whether we consider him as a lawyer, statesman, author, or man, his character appears in a most amiable light. Profound without pedantry, subtle without craft, zealous without bigotry, and humane without effeminacy, he lived a philanthropic, pure, and consistent life. His highest eulogium is that he lived and died in the service of his country; that through every vicissitude his chief care was the national weal; that his chief fame rests in the love and veneration which he awakened in his countrymen; and that few Englishmen of the present century have left more enduring monuments of public wisdom and private example. 'O, civic music, to such a name, To such a name for ages long, To such a name, Preserve the broad approach of fame, And ever ringing avenues of song.' * * * * * CHILD'S CALL AT EVENTIDE. Bright and fair,-- Golden hair, Still white hands and face; Not a plea Moveth thee; Nor the wind's wild chase, As yesterday, calling thee, Even as I, in vain. Come--wake up, Gerda! Come out and play in the lane! See! the wind, From behind, Sporteth with thy locks, From the land's Desert sands And the sea-beat rocks Cometh and claspeth thy hands, Even as I, in vain. Come--wake up, Gerda! Come out and play in the lane! Closed thine eyes, Gently wise, Dost thou dream the while? Falls my kiss All amiss, Waketh not a smile! Sweet mouth, is't feigning this? Then do not longer feign. Come--wake up, Gerda! Come out and play in the lane! Forehead Bold, White and cold; Sealed thy lips and all; I am made Half afraid In this lonely hall. Night cometh quick through the glade! I fear it is all in vain,-- All too late, Gerda,-- Too late to play in the lane! * * * * * THE GOOD WIFE: A NORWEGIAN STORY. PART I. NOTHING LOST BY GOOD HUMOR.