into an old coffin, and placed in one of the meanest rooms, there to lie unattended until the time prescribed by law for his interment. In the meantime Hansi and the young disciple were arrayed in the most magnificent habits; the bride wore in her nose a jewel of immense price, and her lover was dressed in all the finery of his former master, together with a pair of artificial whiskers that reached down to his toes. The hour of their nuptials was arrived; the whole family sympathised with their approaching happiness; the apartments were brightened up with lights that diffused the most exquisite perfume, and a lustre more bright than noonday. The lady expected her youthful lover in an inner apartment with impatience; when his servant, approaching with terror in his countenance, informed her that his master was fallen into a fit, which would certainly be mortal, unless the heart of a man lately dead could be obtained, and applied to his breast. She scarcely waited to hear the end of his story, when, tucking up her clothes, she ran with a mattock in her hand to the coffin where Choang lay, resolving to apply the heart of her dead husband as a cure for the living. She therefore struck the lid with the utmost violence. Soon the coffin flew open, when the body, which to all appearance had been dead, began Terrified at the sight, Hansi dropped

to move.

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the mattock, and Choang walked out, astonished at his own situation, his wife's unusual magnificence, and her more amazing surprise. He went among the apartments, unable to conceive the cause of so much splendour. He was not long in suspense before his domestics informed him of every transaction since he first became insensible. He could scarcely believe what they told him, and went in pursuit of Hansi herself in order to receive more certain information, or to reproach her infidelity. But she prevented his reproaches: he found her weltering in blood; for she had stabbed herself to the heart, being unable to survive her shame and disappointment.

Choang, being a philosopher, was too wise to make any loud lamentations: he thought it best to bear his loss with serenity; so, mending up the old coffin where he had lain himself, he placed his faithless spouse in his room; and unwilling that so many nuptial preparations should be expended in vain, he the same night married .the widow with the large fan.

As they both were apprised of the foibles of each other beforehand, they knew how to excuse them after marriage. They lived together for many years in great tranquillity, and not expecting rapture, made a shift to find contentment.

THE tree of deepest root is found

Least willing still to quit the ground;

"Twas therefore said by ancient sages,

That love of life increased with years
So much, that in our latter stages,
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.

This great affection to believe,
Which all confess, but few perceive,
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.

When sports went round, and all were gay,
On neighbour Dodson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room,

And looking grave-" You must," says he,

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Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." "With you! and quit my Susan's side? With you!" the hapless husband cried. "Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard! Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared : My thoughts on other matters go; This is my wedding-day, you know."

What more he urged I have not heard,

His reasons could not well be stronger;
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.
Yet calling up a serious look,

His hour-glass trembled while he spoke-
"Neighbour," he said, "farewell! no more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour:
And further, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have,
Before you're summoned to the grave:
Willing for once I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve;
In hopes you'll have no more to say;
But, when I call again this way,

Well pleased the world will leave."
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.
What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he lived, how wise, how well,

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Half-killed with anger and surprise,

"So soon returned!" old Dodson cries.
So soon, d'ye call it ?" Death replies :
Surely, my friend, you're but in jest!
Since I was here before

'Tis six-and-thirty years at least,

And you are now fourscore."
"So much the worse," the clown rejoined;
"To spare the aged would be kind:

However, see your search be legal:
And your authority-is't regal?
Else you are come on a fool's errand,
With but a secretary's warrant.
Besides, you promised me three
warnings,

Which I have looked for nights and
mornings:

But for that loss of time and ease

I can recover damages."

"I know," cries Death, "that at

the best

I seldom am a welcome guest : But don't be captious, friend, at least:

I little thought you'd still be able To stumpabout your farm and stable: Your years have run to a great length;

I wish you joy, though, of your strength!"

"Hold!" says the farmer; "not so fast!

I have been lame these four years

past."

"And no great wonder," Death

(Drawn by W. WIEGAND.)

But while he viewed his wealth increase,
While thus along life's dusty road,
The beaten track content he trod,
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.
And now, one night, in musing mood,
As all alone he sate,

The unwelcome messenger of Fate
Once more before him stood.

For legs and arms would make amends."

"Perhaps," says Dodson, "so it might,

But latterly I've lost my sight." "This is a shocking tale, 'tis true; But still there's comfort left for you: Each strives your sadness to amuse; I warrant you hear all the news." "There's none," cries he; "and if there were, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear." "Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined,

66

These are unjustifiable yearnings;

If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,

You've had your three sufficient warnings; So come along; no more we'll part," He said, and touched him with his dart. And now old Dodson, turning pale, Yields to his fate-so ends my tale.

I HAD a little daughter,
And she was given to me
To lead me gently backward

To the Heavenly Father's knee, That I, by the force of nature, Might in some dim wise divine The depth of His infinite patience To this wayward soul of mine.

I know not how others saw her,

But to me she was wholly fair,

And the light of the heaven she came from Still lingered and gleamed in her hair; For it was as wavy and golden,

And as many changes took,

As the shadows of sun-gilt ripples
On the yellow bed of a brock.

To what can I liken her smiling

Upon me, her kneeling lover,

How it leaped from her lips to her eyelids,
And dimpled her wholly over,
Till her outstretched hands smiled also,
And I almost seemed to see
The very heart of her mother

Sending sun through her veins to me! She had been with us scarce a twelvemonth, And it hardly seemed a day,

When a troop of wandering angels
Stole my little daughter away;

33-VOL. I.

Or perhaps those heavenly Zincali
But loosed the hampering strings,
And when they had opened her cage-door,
My little bird used her wings.

But they left in her stead a changeling,

A little angel child,

That seems like her bud in full blossom, And smiles as she never smiled. When I wake in the morning, I see it

Where she always used to lie, And I feel as weak as a violet

Alone 'neath the awful sky;
As weak, yet as trustful also;
For the whole year long I see
All the wonders of faithful Nature
Still worked for the love of me;
Winds wander and dews drip earthward,
Rain falls, suns rise and set,
Earth whirls, and all but to prosper
A poor little violet.

This child is not mine as the first was,
I cannot sing it to rest,

I cannot lift it up fatherly,

And bliss it upon my breast; Yet it lies in my little one's cradle, And sits in my little one's chair, And the light of the heaven she's gone to Transfigures its golden hair.

N what foundation stands the warrior's pride, How just his hopes let Swedish Charles decide;

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire;

wide domain,

Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain;

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; Behold, surrounding kings their powers combine, And one capitulate, and one resign;

And shows his miseries in distant lands;
Condemned a needy supplicant to wait;
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.
But did not chance at length her error mend?
Did no subverted empire mark his end?
Or hostile millions press him to the ground?

vain:

A petty fortress, and a dubious hand :

CLOSE by the threshold of a door nailed fast,
Three kittens sat; each kitten looked aghast.
I, passing swift and inattentive by,

At the three kittens cast a careless eye;

Not much concerned to know what they did there,
Nor deeming kittens worth a poet's care.
But presently, a loud and furious hiss
Caused me to stop, and to exclaim, "What's this?"
When lo! upon the threshold met my view,
With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue,
A viper long as Count de Grasse's queue.
Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,
Darting it full against a kitten's nose;
Who, never having seen, in field or house,
The like, sat still and silent as a mouse;
Only projecting, with attention due,
Her whiskered face, she asked him,
you?"

66

Who are

On to the hall I went, with pace not slow
But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe:
With which, well armed, I hastened to the spot

To find the viper, but I found him not.
And turning up the leaves and shrubs around,
Found only that he was not to be found;
But still the kittens, sitting as before,
Sat watching close the bottom of the door.

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I hope," said I, "the villain I would kill Has slipt between the door and the door-sill; And if I make dispatch, and follow hard, No doubt but I shall find him in the yard." (For long ere now it should have been rehearsed. 'Twas in the garden that I found him first). E'en there I found him: there the full-grown cat His head with velvet paw did gently pat; As curious as the kittens erst had been To learn what this phenomenon might mean. Filled with heroic ardour at the sight, And fearing every moment he would bite, And rob our household of our only cat That was of age to combat with a rat; With outstretched hoe I slew him at the door, And taught him never to come there no more!

I WAS sick-sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving

me.

The sentence-the dread sentence of deathwas the last of distinct accentuation which reached

my ears. After that, the sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy indeter minate hum. It conveyed to my soul the idea of revolution-perhaps from its association in fancy with the burr of a mill-wheel. This only for a

brief period; for presently I heard no more. Then silence, and stillness, and night were the universe.

I had swooned, but still will not say that all of consciousness was lost. What of it there remained I will not attempt to define, or even to describe; yet all was not lost. In the deepest slumber-no! In delirium-no! In a swoon-no! In deathno! Even in the grave all is not lost. Else there is no immortality for man.

Very suddenly there came back to my soul motion and sound-the tumultuous motion of the heart, and in my ears the sound of its beating. Then a pause in which all is blank. Then again sound, and motion, and touch—a tingling sensation pervading my frame. Then the mere consciousness of existence, without thought-a condition which lasted long. Then, very suddenly, thought, and shuddering terror, and earnest endeavour to comprehend my true state. Then a strong desire to lapse into insensibility. Then a rushing revival of soul and a successful effort to move. And now a full memory of the trial, of the judges, of the sable draperies, of the sentence, of the sickness, of the swoon. Then entire forgetfulness of all that followed-of all that a later day and much earnestness of endeavour have enabled me vaguely to recall.

So far, I had not opened my eyes. I felt that I lay upon my back, unbound. I reached out my hand, and it fell heavily upon something damp and hard. There I suffered it to remain for many minutes, while I strove to imagine where and what I could be. I longed, yet dared not to employ my vision. I dreaded the first glance at objects around me. It was not that I feared to look upon things horrible, but that I grew aghast lest there should be nothing to see. At length, with a wild desperation at heart, I quickly unclosed my eyes. My worst thoughts then were confirmed. The blackness of eternal night encompassed me. I struggled for breath. The intensity of the darkness seemed to oppress and stifle me. The atmosphere was intolerably close. I still lay quietly, and made effort to exercise my reason. I brought to mind the inquisitorial proceedings, and attempted from that point to deduce my real condition. The sentence had passed, and it appeared to me that a very long interval of time had since elapsed. Yet not for a moment did I suppose myself actually dead. Such a supposition, notwithstanding what we read in fiction, is altogether inconsistent with real existence: but where and in what state was I? The condemned to death, I knew, perished usually at the "auto-da-fés," and one of these had been held on the very night of the day of my trial. Had I been remanded to my dungeon to await the next sacrifice, which would not take place for many months? This I at once saw could not be. Victims had been in immediate demand. Moreover,

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my dungeon, as well as all the condemned cells at Toledo, had stone floors, and light was not altogether excluded.

A fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in torrents upon my heart, and, for a brief period, I once more relapsed into insensibility. Upon recovering, I at once started to my feet, trembling convulsively in every fibre. I thrust my arms wildly above and around me in all directions. I felt nothing; yet dreaded to move a step, lest I should be impeded by the walls of a tomb. Perspiration burst from every pore, and stood in cold big beads upon my forehead. The agony of suspense grew at length intolerable, and I cautiously moved forward, with my arms extended, and my eyes straining from their sockets, in the hope of catching some faint ray of light. I proceeded for many paces; but still all was blackness and vacancy. I breathed more freely. It seemed evident that mine was not, at least, the most hideous of fates.

And now, as I still continued to step cautiously onward, there came thronging upon my recollection a thousand vague rumours of the horrors of Toledo. Of the dungeons there had been strange things narrated-fables I had always deemed them -but yet strange and too ghastly to repeat, save in a whisper.

My outstretched hands at length encountered some solid obstruction. It was a wall, seemingly of stone masonry-very smooth, slimy, and cold. I followed it up; stepping with all the careful distrust with which certain antique narratives had inspired me. This process, however, afforded me no means of ascertaining the dimensions of my dungeon; as I might make its circuit, and return to the point whence I set out, without being aware of the fact; so perfectly uniform seemed the wall. I therefore sought the knife which had been in my pocket when led to the inquisitorial chamber. But it was gone; my clothes had been exchanged for a wrapper of coarse serge. I had thought of forcing the blade in some minute crevice of the masonry, so as to identify my point of departure. The difficulty, nevertheless, was but trivial; although, in the disorder of my fancy, it seemed at first insuperable. I tore a part of the hem from the robe, and placed the fragment at full length, and at right angles to the wall. In groping my way around the prison, I could not fail to encounter this rag upon completing the circuit. So, at least, I thought; but I had not counted upon the extent of the dungeon, or upon my own weakness. The ground was moist and slippery. I staggered onward for some time, when I stumbled and fell. My excessive fatigue induced me to remain prostrate, and sleep soon overtook me as I lay.

Upon awaking, and stretching forth an arm, I found beside me a loaf and a pitcher with water.