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 with the sweat upon his brow—his festivals are worthless unless accompanied by music, and his devotion seems to burst forth in all its power when the united voices of the congregation are blended in a common hymn. The chorus of the people always follows the tones of the hand organ, and when winter gathers the choristers into their domestic abodes, they soon grow impatient for the return of spring, that they may breathe and sing anew in the fresh air. Our harp-minstrels, our french-horn, and clarionet players go forth into the whole of Europe, and yet we have no want of music at home."

But M. Müller appears to me to depreciate too much the value of popular poetry as the auxiliary of history. The historian ought not to be a mere chronicler of important facts, for such facts cover only a small part of the domain of history. Great changes are constantly going forward—changes of the highest interest and importance—which are scarcely to be exhibited in individual events—but which it is the undoubted duty of the historian to display. A love story may throw more light upon the manners and civilization—upon the state of