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BRITISH and American writers owe a large debt of gratitude to BARON TAUCHNITZ, who came forward at a time when the rights of English Authors were wholly unprotected, and constantly invaded, and without any possible claim on their part, offered them most liberal terms for the Continental Copyright of their productions.
Conduct so honourable, and liberality so remarkable, could not fail of reward. The Tauchnitz Collection speedily superseded all others, and is now unrivalled and unapproachable. No English or American traveller on the Continent fails to provide himself with a supply of those handy and well-printed volumes, which prove such pleasant companions on railway and steam-boat, and serve to beguile the tedium of a long evening at an hotel.
The Collection, which comprises the best works of all the most eminent writers of the present day, now numbers One Thousand Volumes. BARON TAUCHNITZ has worthily marked this point in his great undertaking, by an exceedingly beautiful reprint of the New Testament;* and has confided the supervision of the volume to the learned PROFESSOR TISCHENDORF, of Leipsic, than whom no one better qualified for the task could be found.
Well is it observed by PROFESSOR TISCHENDORF, in his Introduction to this beautiful reprint: "A magnificent display of human intellect in the Literature of England and America was that which the noble originator of this Collection aspired to accomplish for the benefit of the educated world beyond the native countries of the authors represented. As the Thousandth Volume he introduces the Word of God which we have received at the hands of the Apostles of the Lord; and it is without a doubt the most worthy crown of this edifice erected by human genius."
Vast as it is, the edifice is not more than half completed; and we hope to record the publication of the Two Thousandth Volume of the Collection.
*The New Testament. The Authorised English Version, with Introduction and Various Readings from the three most celebrated manuscripts of the original Greek Text. By Constantine Tischendorf. Tauchnitz Edition; vol. 1000. Leipzic, 1869.
HOW SIR COURCY DE VERE WAS WATER
BY WILLIAM JONES.
SIR COURCY DE VERE was a mettlesome knight,
The Soldan oft cursed him in words unpolite,
For he poach'd on his Moors with a pitiless hand. In the field, in the breach, in the press of the battle, His blows on the Moslemites' thick skulls would rattle; He made them "eat dirt” in a manner most striking, And gave them much more than they had to their liking. On his steed, white as snow,
Through their ranks he would go,
At a speed that exceeded the flight of a crow,
Of each heathenish foe,
As reckless and bold as a Visgoth or Viking!
But the crusades were over, De Vere was a lover,
So home he return'd, with his trophies well earn'd,
He travell'd by day,
His spirits were light as a roundelay,
At that time 'twas a perilous journey to take,
That chances were few it would weather a squall;
By land it was worse,
How Sir Courcy de Vere was Water-bewitched. 301
The celestial in charge of the highways—
I quote ancient sages,
Who tell us how scant were the by-ways.
All who came in their way
As legitimate prey;
And besides all these chances, or rather mis-chances,
For the monks would not often their larders disclose.
Sir Courcy de Vere had of course a small share
And with news from the wars would the fathers repay.
And he rambled about,
He thought of the beautiful maiden he lov'd,
The minster stands near,
Its broad shadows on the still waters appear:
Is the hour for the spell,
That will cheer me with hope and my destiny tell.'
Five white pebbles he cast in the river,
Five magic words on his nervous lips quiver, But what makes Sir Courcy turn pallid, and shiver? He sees the house of his lady love,
He marks a light in her chamber move;
There was not a doubt of that figure and face
"Over the hills, and far away,"
He is spurring before the break of day.
Or one doing penance for naughty deed,
The sight was so fearful, men shook their heads,
Or he could not have stood such a shaking of bones,
Such leaping of trenches and fences and wall,
The feat of Dick Turpin was nothing to this
How Sir Courcy de Vere was Water-bewitched.
In fact, if there had been inscriptions thus telling,
To read and to write-'twas a monk's occupation.
He muttered "revenge!" with clench'd teeth, while on
To such rude exertions his steed not demurring;
That "high junks" were rife, it was perfectly clear.
"Rude guest I should be, what with rent clothes and
But I long to give all a confounded good thrashing,
To cover the mischief now lurking behind,
And a horrible scowl,
Sir Courcy he vow'd, from the depth of his soul,
And saw, plain enough, by the moon's feeble light,
March-VOL. CXLIV. NO. DLXXIX.