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he gave her in marriage to one of herself, and went to the temple rehis officers, with a dowry of ten gularly every morning, to offer up thousand zechins. The officer was vows for the long life of Fædor and enraptured. He protested that he the prosperity of the island of Kemwas profoundly attached to Madame lin. She built a penitentiary alsoStephanie, and would make her the and endowed it, reserving certain best of all possible husbands. But rights to the foundress and her des the bounty of Fædor was not con- scendants. fined to the dowry. He continued This system prevailed for a consito patronize Stephanie, and when derable time. At last Fædor met she was brought to bed, he be- with a serious accident, which drove stowed his name on the child, and M. Ishmael and his wife out of his promised that it should have a ge- head, and made him think of himself neral's commission at three years alone. He suddenly grew pious, and old. The next year, Stephanie had wrote (i. e. signed) fifteen pages of another child, and Fedor made that, advice, which he caused to be comat the age of two years, Bishop of posed for the benefit of all his courKemlin. The third was a girl, who tiers who wanted it. Some copies became chief-forester, which, as there were sent to Madame Stephanie and were then no forests in the island, her family. He then grew more might be accounted almost a sine- pious than ever, and had frequent

The husband of Stephanie conferences with his priest (the Bi

a worthy man, and called shop of Kemlin was then rising five Ishmael. He was a sleek, good- years old only,) upon the subject of humoured, quiet, clerical-looking the past, and the future, and other man; but in the army: we believe, matters of a very serious nature. however, that he had been only in He slept in armour, and had incense the commissariat department, though burned in his room till he was nearly he bore the rank of an officer. He stifled. The physician remonstrated dressed well, wore a fine sword, long at this, but the priest said that it spurs, dark mustachios, loved eating would do good to his soul. Howand drinking, and play, -- and let ever, it came at last to the ears of Madame Stephanie do whatsoever Stephanie, who very speedily settled she pleased. He was, in short, a the affair, and he made her next paragon of husbands, and rather fat. child-which she had in the course As to his wife, she was very proud of the year-Chief Justice of the of her children; more so, in truth, High Court of Kemlin, the very mothan of the good Ishmael her hus- ment he was born.-(The new judge band; for when any of the gossips performed his office, for some time, discovered a likeness between the in- by deputy.) fants and their father, she would re- The good effects arising from this sent the assertion, and aver, that she illness, did not vanish on the return thought them even more like Fædor of health. Fædor remained staunch than her husband.

to his good resolutions. To his orIf Madame Stephanie had a fault, dinary benevolences to M. Ishmael (which we do not insist upon,) it and his family, he superadded the bewas that she had a small—the small- nefits of his good advice. He wrote est possible particle of pride. This essays and homilies—by the dozen, arose from the distinguished manner showing how a variety of things which in which she was treated by the Buc- seemed to be wrong were right.caneer. He gave her precedence He turned moralist and theologian, before all the ladies of his court: he and became so profound a metaphymade epigrams upon her beauty (or sician, that no one in the island caused them to be made-it is nearly could comprehend the subtlety of his the same thing); and placed his speculations. He wrote treatises on hand upon her shoulder whenever he the art of war, and distributed them swore by Lelio to do any thing that gratis among the soldiers. One or was royal. She distributed pensions, two of his theories failed in practice, and patronized authors at the ex- but this he properly enough attripense of Fædor (and the state); had buted to the fault of the officers who à guard of honour to attend on made the experiments. He disputed

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with a famous philosopher, in a but it must be observed that there neighbouring island, and undertook was some murmuring at the bestowal to convince him, that all persons en- of this reward. Cajolem, who nejoyed the earth in fair proportions; gotiated (in disguise) with some of that the fact of his having once led the principal people at Naplitz, rehis soldiers into ambush, was neces- ceived a brazen lock, and was pubsary, and not to be avoided ; that his licly complimented by Fedor for his black charger merely pursued his conduct. He returned an answer own choice, when he spurred him on three hours long, which was apto battle ; and other matters equally plauded by every one who remained sublime and difficult to be compre- awake at the conclusion. hended. He also instituted an order, And thus lived on the great and (the order of “ The Brazen Lock,” gallant Fodor, admired by the fair, by which a lock of brass was fixed and worshipped by the great; the to the noses of such of his courtiers envy of princes whom he excelled, as had done him (or the island) emi- and abused by those who were more nent service. Tattlisky invented a powerful. One man wished for his method of discovering secrets, and figure, another for his strength, a had a brass lock for his pains.-Jab- third under-rated his abilities, and a brousky once talked sixteen hours, fourth his honours. No one could without ceasing, upon the subject of enjoy higher distinctions. For the the nation's prosperity, so that none space of four years he reigned withof his auditors understood a word, out an interval of war, receiving his - and yet each person gave him a piece taxes, and collecting his tribute on of gold coin at the conclusion of his the seas,-drinking Greek and Cyprus oration. This made a good deal of wines, smoking cigars, shooting, noise at court, and Jabbrousky was riding, sailing, feasting, and making decreed to have merited two brass compliments and love ;-a model for locks, which were fixed to his nose any prince, from the source to the - without delay.-(He grew superci- mouth of the Danube,-provided he lious, unhappily, on the instant.) professes the Catholic religion, and Ferretz had a lock for destroying alí is not too wise to gain improvement the rats in the island of Kemlin; from example.

SONG TO TWILIGHT.

1.
COME, gentle Twilight, come!
And spread thy purple wings
Along the shore, with fairy hum
And mystic murmurings;
Come while the lake is still,
And mute the breezes play-
And birds with many an artless thrill
Shall sing thy roundelay.

3.
The lily's ivory bowers
Have lost their elfin-Queen,
The fays have left their dear-loved flowers
To trip it on the green ;
And now the merry crew,
In quaintest revelry,
Are scattering odours o'er the dew,
And welcome dance to thee.

2.
Yon little golden star
Hath fill'd his urn anew,
To aid thy stealthy flight from far
Amid the depths of blue:
Abroad the glow-worm hies,
With living lamp to greet
Thy light fall from the balmy skies,
And hither guide thy feet.

4.
A little longer, then,
Sweet Twilight, linger here,
Till one sole songster 'mid the glen
Enthralls the raptured ear ;
Then in its tangled grove,
Beneath the green-wood tree,
Oh! I will think of my lady love,
And she will think of me!

P. P.

TO THE SUN.

BY BERNARD BARTON.

Monarch of day! once piously adored

By virtuous Pagans; if no longer thou With orisons art worship’d—as the lord

Of the delightful lyre, or dreadful bow; If thy embodied essence be not now,

As it once was, regarded as divine ; Nor blood of victims at thine altar flow,

Nor clouds of incense hover round thy shrine ; Yet fitly may'st thou claim the homage of the Nine. Nor can I deem it strange, that in past ages

Men should have knelt and worship’d thee ;—that kings, And laureld bards, robed priests, and hoary sages,

Should, far above all sublunary things,
Have turn’d to thee, whose visible glory flings

Its splendour over all.—Ere gospel-light
Had dawn’d, and given to thought sublimer wings,

I cannot marvel, in that mental night,
That nations should obey, and nature own thy right.
For man was then, as now he is, compell’d,

By conscious frailties manifold, to seek
Something to worship.-In the heart, unquell'a

By innate evil, thoughts there are which speak One language in Barbarian Goth, or Greek ;

A language by itself well understood, Proclaiming man is helpless, frail, and weak,

And urging him to bow to stone, or wood; Till what his hands had form’d, his heart revered as good. Do I commend idolatry ?-O no !

I merely would assert—the human heart
Must worship :-that its hopes and fears will go

Out of itself, and restlessly depart
In search of somewhat, which its own fond art,

Tradition, custom, or sublimer law
Of Revelation, brings,—to assuage the smart

Sorrows and sufferings from its essence draw,
When it can look not up with hope, and love, and awe.
Can it be wondrous, then, before the name

Of the ETERNAL God was known, as now, That orisons were pour’d, and votaries came

To offer at thine altars, and to bow Before an object beautiful as thou ?-

No, it was natural, in those darker days,
For such to wreathe round thine ideal brow

A fitting chaplet of thine arrowy rays,
Shaping thee forth a form to accept their prayer or praise.
Even I, majestic orb! who worship not

The splendour of thy presence, -who controul
My present feelings, as thy future lot

Is painted to the vision of my soul,
When final darkness, like an awful scroll,

Shall quench thy fires :-even I, if I could kneel
To aught but Him who framed this wondrous whole,

Could worship thee ;-so deeply do I feel
Emotions -- words alone can hope not to reveal.

For thou art glorious !when, from thy pavilion,

Thou lookest forth at morning, flinging wide
Its curtain-clouds of purple and vermilion,

Dispensing light and life on every side ;
Bright’ning the mountain cataract, dimly spied

Through glittering mist; opening each dew-gemm'd flower;
Or touching, in some hamlet far descried,

Its spiral wreaths of smoke, that upwards tower ;-
While birds their matins sing in many a leafy bower.
And more magnificent art thou, bright sun!

Uprising from the ocean's billowy bed ;-
Who that has seen thee thus, as I have done,

Can e'er forget the effulgent splendours spread
From thy emerging radiance?-Upwards sped,

E'en to the centre of the vaulted sky,
Thy beams pervade the heavens, and o'er them shed

Hues indescribable--of gorgeous dye,
Making among the clouds mute, glorious pageantry.
Then, then how beautiful, across the deep,

The lustre of thy orient path of light !
Onward, still onward,-o'er the waves that leap

So lovelily, and show their crests of white,
The eye unsated, in its own despite,

Still up that vista gazes"; till thy way,
Over the waters, seems a path-way bright

For holiest thoughts to travel, there to pay
Their homage unto Him who bade thee “ RULE THE DAY.
And thou thyself, forgetting what thou art,

Appear'st thy Maker's temple, in whose dome
The silent worship of the expanding heart

May rise, and seek. its own eternal home :-
The intervening billows' snowy foam,

Rising successively, seem steps of light,
O'er which a disembodied soul might roam ;

E'en as the heavenly host, in vision bright,
Once did on Bethel's plain, before the Patriarch's sight.
Nor are thy evening splendours, mighty orb !

Less beautiful :-and, O! more touching far,
And of more power--thought, feeling to absorb

In voiceless ecstasy,--to me they are.
When, watchful of thy exit, the pale star

Of evening, in a lovely summer eve,
Comes forth; and, softer than the soft guitar,

Is said to tell how gentle lovers grieve,
The whispering breezes sigh, and take of thee their leave.
O! then it is delightful to behold

Thy calm departure ; soothing to survey
Through opening clouds, by thee all edged with gold,

The milder pomp of thy declining sway:
How beautiful, on church-tower old and grey,

Is shed thy parting smile; how brightly glow
Thy last beams on some tall tree's loftiest spray,

While silvery mists half hide its stem below,
Ascending from the stream which at its foot doth flow.
This may be mere description ; and there are

Who of such poesy but lightly deem ;
And hold it nobler in a bard by far

To seek in narrative a livelier theme.:--
VOL. IV.

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These think, perchance, the poet does but dream,

Who paints the scenes most lovely in his eyes,And, all unconscious of the bliss supreme

Their quiet unobtrusiveness supplies, Insipid judge his taste, his simple strain despise. I quarrel not with such. If battle-fields,

Where crowns are lost and won; or potent spell, Which portraiture of stormier passion yields;

If such alone can bid their bosoms swell With those emotions words can feebly tell,

Enough there are who love such themes as these,
Whose loftier powers I hope not to excel :

I neither wish to fire the heart, nor freeze;
But seek their praise alone, whom gentler thoughts can please.
Yet if the quiet study of the heart,

And humble love of nature's every grace
Have not deceived me;these have power to impart

Feelings, and thoughts, well worthy of a place
In every bosom:-he who learns to trace,

Through all he sees, that Hand which form’d the whole, And, contemplating fair Creation's face,

Feels her calm beauty in his inmost soul,
Can read those mystic lines thought only can unrol.
Nature is lavish of her loveliness,

Until that loveliness, if not denied,
Becomes a theme, which, whoso would express,

And dwell with fondness on, men half deride :
And even thou, bright Sun! who in thy pride,

And gorgeous beauty, dost so often setArt scarcely noticed:-many turn aside

With cold indiff'rence from the scene, and yet 'Tis one which he who feels—for hours may not forget! Have I not found it such, when, at the close

Of a long day in close confinement spent,
I've wander'd forth—and seen thy disk repose

On the horizon of the firmament?
O! I have gazed upon thee—with intent,

And silent ardour, till I could have deem'd
The clouds which compass’d thee, by thee besprent

With glory, as thy brightness through them gleam'd, -
Beautiful in themselves with beautiful visions teem'd.
And I have look'd at them until the story

Of Bunyan's Pilgrims seem'd a tale most true:-
How he beheld their entrance into glory-

And såw them pass the pearly portal through ;Catching, meanwhile, a beatific view

Of that bright city-shining like the sun,
Whose glittering streets appear’d of golden hue,

And in them many men-their conflicts done,
Were walking, robed-with palms—and crowned every one !
Not that the soul's divine imaginings

Can rest in glories palpable to sense ;
Not robes, palms, crowns, nor harps of golden strings,

Awaken thrills of rapture so intense,
Yet check’d by awe, and humble diffidence,

As hopes of meeting, never more to part-
Those we have dearly loved ;--the influence

Of whose affection, o'er the subject heart,
Was by mild virtue gain'd, and sway'd with gentle art.

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