"Whilst impelled on the one hand by the strong desire to regulate the arbitrary and oppressive exactions, which cramped their energies and held them for ever at the mercy of their despot's caprice, and restrained on the other hand by their habitual reverence for their feudal princes. Artevelde stepped forth, and in their startled ears pronounced the word "_Resist!_" His eloquence was well seconded by the grasping severity of a needy and extravagant court, until gradually combining their wrath and intelligence with the energies of the populace jealous of their rights, the merchants and citizens of the cities of Flanders rose upon the bears and butterflies who infested and robbed them, and, thrusting them forth, set modern Europe the first fearful example of a people's strength, and the rottenness of the wooden gods for whom they laboured. Whilst princes, on their parts, learned a lesson they have not since forgotten or ever ceased to practise, and combining their hosts of slaves, lashed them onward to scare this stranger, Freedom, from the earth, even as in our times of intelligence they have done, and will do; and the brainless slaves, so lashed, shouted and went forward to the murderous work which rivetted their own fetters, even as in our time they have done, and will again do in times to come." * * * * * SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS. * * * * * TWENTY YEARS. BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. They tell me twenty years are past Since I have look'd upon thee last, And thought thee fairest of the fair, With thy sylph-like form and light-brown hair! I can remember every word That from those smiling lips I heard: Oh! how little it appears Like the lapse of twenty years. Thou art changed! in thee I find Beauty of another kind; Those rich curls lie on thy brow In a darker cluster now; And the sylph hath given place To the matron's form of grace.-- Yet how little it appears Like the lapse of twenty years. Still thy cheek is round and fair; 'Mid thy curls not one grey hair; Not one lurking sorrow lies In the lustre of those eyes: Thou hast felt, since last we met, No affliction, no regret! Wonderful! to shed no tears In the lapse of twenty years. But what means that changing brow? Tears are in those dark eyes now! Have my rush, incautious words Waken'd Feeling's slumbering chords? Wherefore dost thou bid me look At you dark-bound journal book?-- _There_ the register appears Of the lapse of twenty years. Thou hast been a happy bride, Kneeling by a lover's side; And unclouded was thy life, As his loved and loving wife;-- Thou hast worn the garb of gloom, Kneeling by that husband's tomb;-- Thou hast wept a widow's tears In the lapse of twenty years.