■m
 
 flWU
 
 AUTUMN GATHERINGS, 
 
 & (Collection of prose ana f oetrg. 
 
 SACRED AND SECULAR. 
 
 PHILIP ABRAHAM. 
 
 nix »oip 
 
 : When Autumn scatters his departing gleams, 
 Warn'd of approaching Winter." 
 
 PUBLISHED BY AND FOR THE AUTHOR, AT 
 
 147, GOWEE STREET, LONDON, W. C. 
 1866.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY J. WERTHEIMER AND CO., 
 
 CIRCUS PLACE, FINSBURY CIRCUS.
 
 WSLF 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 The Soul . 
 
 Psalm xxix. 
 
 Consolation 
 
 The Kiss of Purity . 
 
 The Sceptic and the Sage 
 
 "Something after Death" 
 
 Psalm cxxxvii 
 
 "Who is too Young ? . 
 
 To a New-born Infant 
 
 Love .... 
 
 The Rivers of Hell 
 
 To a Lady . 
 
 A Search after Happiness 
 
 The Sinner and the Bible 
 
 "Of Man's First Disobedience 
 
 Praise to the Most High 
 
 Psalm xxiv .... 
 
 Life 
 
 The Creed .... 
 
 Three Dreams . 
 
 The Spirit of Elijah 
 
 To Jessy .... 
 
 Habits of Holiness . 
 
 The Little French Milliner 
 
 Flirtilla 
 
 " Olive Plants" 
 
 The Power of Good . 
 
 The Fisherman . 
 
 The Pilgrims 
 
 Who is my Neighbour? . 
 
 Psalm cxlviii 
 
 The Death of Emily Bronte 
 
 Sacred Dreams . 
 
 Brevity of Life 
 
 Where to Pray 
 
 " Ich Diex" 
 
 La Premiere Danseuse 
 
 Apology for Loving . 
 
 The Stolen Heart . 
 
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 2107374
 
 ER 
 
 M. De Eothschild 
 of H. E.) 
 
 M. De Rothschild 
 of B. H. A.) . 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 "En Attendant" 
 
 Emigration 
 
 Red Riding Hood 
 Blue Beard .... 
 
 Apples of Gold in Frames of Silv 
 Elegy on the Death of Baroness N 
 
 (Translated from the Hebrew 
 Elegy on the Death of Baroness N 
 
 (Translated from the Hebrew 
 Trust in God 
 Human Life 
 Early Closing . 
 Resolution and Amendment 
 The Choice .... 
 Forest Glinton . 
 To Miss Leonora De Rothschild, on the Occasion of 
 
 Her Marriage 
 Hymn for a Day of Religious Confirmation 
 The Jews and their Assailants 
 The Poor Fruit Boy 
 A Love-Letter .... 
 To a Fair Critic 
 Aids to Reflection . 
 Sleeping and Waking 
 
 A Libel 
 
 "A Voice of Song and Salvation 
 
 What's in a Name? . 
 
 The Hebrew Gentleman . 
 
 "Who Gave Tou that Name?" 
 
 Joachim Hayman 
 
 An Epitaph 
 
 Rhymes to the Eye 
 
 Lost and Found 
 
 A Pack of Good for 
 
 Fable and Moral 
 
 The Suit Discarded 
 
 Jews' Meat 
 
 Mr. Neville 
 
 A Petrifaction . 
 
 A Precedent 
 
 The Merriment of Sadness 
 
 " Ex Fumo Dare Lucem" . 
 
 The Hidden Future . 
 
 Nothings
 
 AUTUMN GATHERINGS. 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 A Paraphrase of »3 nn3B> HDE>3 Tl^K 
 
 Morning Service. 
 
 My God ! the soul Thou hast given me, 
 
 Is robed in vestal purity ; 
 
 Pure from Thee it emanated, 
 
 So was it by Thy will created — 
 
 As richest boon from Heaven bequeathed, 
 
 By Thee 'twas formed — in me was breathed ; 
 
 By Thee inspired ; while life remains, 
 
 In me Thy might that soul sustains : 
 
 In time, the gift from Thee which came, 
 
 Wilt Thou at Thine own hour reclaim ; 
 
 Again to be restored to me, 
 
 Immortal in Eternity. 
 
 Be then my care, each transient hour, 
 To praise Thy name, to own Thy power ; 
 My Fathers' God ! Almighty Thou ! 
 Before Thy will all creatures bow ; 
 
 B
 
 PSALM XXIX. 
 
 Omnipotent ! all dost Thou control, 
 Dread Sovereign Thou, of life and soul ; 
 That soul, Thy mercy erst did send, 
 That Heaven with earthly mould might blend 
 That life we render, till Thy breath, 
 Proclaims a life that knows no death ; 
 Revives the lifeless corpse once more, 
 And does to man his soul restore : 
 blessed be Thy name e'ermore ! 
 
 PSALM XXIX. 
 
 EXORDIUM. 
 
 Ye on earth who mighty are, 
 
 Give each day, each praiseful hour, 
 
 Give to Him, more mighty far, 
 
 Honour, glory, strength and power. 
 
 Give unto His holy Name, 
 
 Homage due with voice and lyre ; 
 Loud the hallowed God proclaim, 
 
 Worship Him in rich attire. 
 
 Voices o'er the waters break, 
 
 Dread His thunders thrill the deep ; 
 
 Floods 'neath Glory's God now quake, 
 Awed they from His presence leap. 
 
 Forth the Voice of God rebounds, 
 Charged with all subduing might ; 
 
 Majesty pervades its sounds, 
 
 Quivering forests shrink in fright.
 
 PSALM XXIX. 
 
 Cedars feel the voice, and quail, 
 Proud which stood in Lebanon ; 
 
 See, God's voice the trees assail, 
 Shivered cedars' pride is gone. 
 
 Skipping like some youthful steer, 
 Joying in its strength new-horn, 
 
 Doth Lebanon itself uprear, 
 Eke Sirion as the unicorn. 
 
 Piercing thro' the fire-fed flame, 
 
 Cleaving way God's voice doth make, 
 
 Kadesh shrinks as tho' in shame, 
 
 Howling wastes that voice doth shake. 
 
 Hinds then calve in pain and throe, 
 Forests stand no more concealed, 
 
 Speaks the voice, and answering, lo ! 
 Shines His glory forth revealed. 
 
 Filled with praise the sacred fanes, 
 There they chant the votive prayer ; 
 
 God ! He sway o'er floods maintains, 
 King ! He reigns for e'er and e'er. 
 
 Strength He to His nation gives, 
 Blessed, bids their ranks increase ; 
 
 Pleased the tidings each receives, 
 
 " His people He will bless with peace."
 
 CONSOLATION. 
 
 " I would strengthen you with ray mouth, and the moving of my 
 lips should assuage your grief." (Job xvi. 5). 
 
 Fret not nor repine, when pain or lengthened woe, 
 
 Sinks the lone heart with sad oppression's blow ; 
 
 Discipline thy soul with calm to bear resigned, 
 
 The common lot of grief, foredoomed mankind. 
 
 Why hope to shun the heritage of life, 
 
 Thy share of anxious toil or raging strife ? 
 
 Why seek to 'scape the universal doom, 
 
 That spreads a shade o'er man of darkened gloom ? 
 
 With life comes woe, in birth is death's first germ,* 
 
 And lengthened years but misery's lengthened term. 
 
 What hope secure can mortal joys afford, 
 
 Pendant o'er all, there hangs a glittering sword ; 
 
 A film sustains, it quivers at a breath ; 
 
 Now gorgeous pomp, and now relentless death. 
 
 Look round the world, can'st single one of all, 
 Who shares not in the curse of Adam's fall ? 
 Lives there the man, who free from pain or ill, 
 Maintains unchecked the purpose of his will ? 
 Fearless in power, triumphant conquerors ride, 
 A nation's shoutings sound their names in pride ; 
 
 * — Man, perhaps the moment of his breath, 
 Receives the lurking principles of death. Pope.
 
 CONSOLATION. 5 
 
 Can laurel wreaths avert the aching head ? 
 
 In purple robes do palsied limbs ne'er tread ? 
 
 The roseate colours tint the hero's cheek ; 
 
 ]>oes blanching grief within his heart ne'er speak? 
 
 Oh, who can say, where rolls that ivory car, 
 
 And incense burns, and flowers are scatter' d far, 
 
 What thorns may pierce, what thoughts their pangs 
 
 inflict ? 
 "What Ghosts of buried years his soul afflict? 
 
 Wanton and warm, voluptuous beauties clasp ; 
 Glory and empire seek to court his grasp : 
 How long can beauty charm whom age assails ? 
 His trembling hand to wield the sceptre fails. 
 To do him homage crouching suppliants wait, 
 Can they one pang assuage — retard his fate ? 
 Where viands rare to tempt the taste compete, 
 Does no " one drop " embitter every sweet? 
 Where softest couch in banquet halls is pressed, 
 Sits no "black care " an uninvited guest? 
 
 Feet not nor repine. The sage who woos the night, 
 Whom science guides with all-illuming light, 
 Whom no ambition tempts, no passions lure, 
 Whose joy in Wisdom's page might seem secure, 
 When dearly earn'd some knowledge anxious sought, 
 Hath mourned to find his boasted knowledge nought. 
 The wisest sage, whom God himself endowed, 
 Hath Wisdom's grief in bitter pangs avowed.* 
 Imperfect nature, more it seeks to know, 
 The more it loads its weight of cumbrous woe ; 
 Most sad is he, who aims to raise his kind, 
 With ardent love for man's best aid designed ; 
 
 * Ecclesiastes, i. 18, etc.
 
 6 CONSOLATION. 
 
 Wasting in cheerless hope his vigorous hours, 
 
 Who shall recruit his now exhausted powers ? 
 
 A sad eclipse obscured his brightest dawn, 
 
 Cold hearts have spurned because he could not fawn ; 
 
 " His days are sorrows, all his labours grief," * 
 
 And best from struggling life were death relief. 
 
 Who joys, must grieve — who lives, must see decay ; 
 Affections — kindred-ties — must pass away : 
 The tax we pay to live, as years roll on, 
 Is everlasting sorrow. One by one, 
 The little child — the playmate of our youth — 
 Our dearest friendships— she of changeless truth — 
 Our honoured sires — our venerated guides — 
 Pass from our vision — vanish from our sides ; 
 And, like the fabled mother, turned to stone, 
 We stand bereaved — in misery — alone ! 
 
 Fret not nor repine. Though man be doomed to ill, 
 Who shall control the purpose of His will ? 
 Who dare impugn Omnipotent design ? 
 Through all be sure there reigns a good Divine. 
 The purest silver, shining radiant white, 
 From furnace heat first won its splendour bright ; 
 What mingled dross, what worthless oi*e commixed, 
 In. yon rude mass by Nature's hand seemed fixed ; 
 Purged in the fire, where round the fierce heat glowed? 
 Freed from alloy,! refined, the metal flowed. 
 God loves the world ; when most His chastening hand 
 Would seem to smite, could man then understand, 
 How not to wound, but save, that blow is meant, 
 And but to purge from sin, is sorrow sent. 
 
 * Ecclesiastes, ii. 23. f Isaiah i. 25.
 
 THE KISS OF PURITY. 
 
 Adversity but tries us, through its furnace-fire, 
 Sublimed from earth to heaven we aspire. 
 Lowly then kneel, and humbly kiss the rod ; 
 Can ill, for ill alone, emerge from God ? 
 A purpose reigns, and all for mankind's good ; 
 If man were prescient, this were understood ; 
 For Saints when erring, them He first reproves, 
 And those whom most He chastens, most He loves. 
 
 THE KISS OF PURITY. 
 
 " And when the unconscious infant smiled, 
 
 I kissed it for its mother's sake." Byron. 
 
 I kissed that fair and favoured child, 
 
 But not for the infant's sake ; 
 Though well its look, so pure and mild, 
 
 Might fond affection wake. 
 
 I looked not at its gentle face, 
 Pure Innocence' own dwelling ; 
 
 Scarce gazed I at each budding grace, 
 All beauteous charms foretelling. 
 
 It raised to me its little arms, 
 And pouting outstretched lips ; 
 
 And there were treasured honied charms, 
 Sweet as the queen-bee sips.
 
 THE SCEPTIC AlO) THE SAGE. 
 
 For there was hived a fond embrace, 
 A mother's thoughts revealing, 
 
 As bending o'er its lovely face, 
 Affection's kiss was sealing. 
 
 And chance, thought I, as radiance bright, 
 Gleams in the twilight darkling, 
 
 Perhaps some ray of Virtue's light 
 Might still for me be sparkling. 
 
 Then too, I thought, as evil fled, 
 When touched by Edward's* finger, 
 
 That on those lips so roseate-red, 
 Some purity might linger ; 
 
 Might charm away each lurking ill, 
 
 More chastened thoughts fresh bringing, 
 
 A3 plants, once withered, near the rill, 
 Again in odour springing. 
 
 THE SCEPTIC AND THE SAGE. 
 
 (an epigram.) 
 
 " If there no Future be," the Sceptic cries, 
 
 " How vain your boasted hope, your self-denying." 
 
 " If there a Future is," the Sage replies, 
 
 " How dread the cheating thought your hope 
 supplying." 
 
 * The Confessor.
 
 "SOMETHING AFTER DEATH." 
 
 (IMITATED FROM A TRANSLATION OF PLATO.) 
 
 I webe to blame, if seeing death approach, 
 I felt no fearful dread, no chilling awe ; 
 But that I firmly think a better state 
 Awaits the men who goodly die, and go 
 At first to other gods, both wise and good ; 
 And then to nobler men themselves precede. 
 Therefore, with earnest hope those dead to meet, 
 I welcome death, and feel in heart assured, 
 There still remains a life for them who die ; 
 And better for the good than those who sin. 
 
 PSALM CXXXYII. 
 
 By Babel's streams, when seated there, 
 Our hearts with our loved Zion fraught, 
 
 Weeping in grief, o'erwhelmed with care, 
 Still Zion filled our every thought. 
 
 Our harps, now all their music stilled, 
 Hung silent on the willows round ; 
 
 Our voices, though melodious skilled, 
 Could now no more in joy resound. 
 
 "When there our captors us did ask, 
 
 And bade us mirth and gladness bring ; 
 
 Yea, there our spoilers did us task, 
 That we of Zion's songs should sing.
 
 10 PSALM CXXXVII. 
 
 Oh, how can we in stranger land, 
 The song of our loved God uptake ? 
 
 Oh, how can we, a captive band, 
 The holy hymn of joy awake ? 
 
 Jerusalem ; if e'er forgot, 
 
 Thy blest, thy lov'd, thy honoured soil, 
 If Salem's thoughts I treasure not, 
 
 Then be my right hand's strength a spoil. 
 
 When Memory fails to think of thee, 
 My tongue shall to my palate cleave ; 
 
 All joys above shall Salem be, 
 'Mid every joy for thee I grieve. 
 
 God ! remember and requite, 
 
 Whom in Jerusalem's saddened days, 
 
 When Edom's sons did shout in spite, 
 To earth did our foundations raze. 
 
 Proud Babel's daughter now elate, 
 
 How bless' d, renowned, that man will be, 
 
 Who hurls thee from thy pomp and state, 
 And doth our cause avenge on thee. 
 
 All hail to him, whose ruthless grasp, 
 Where round thy smiling infants flock, 
 
 Their hands shall from thy neck unclasp, 
 And dash them quivering 'gainst the rock.
 
 WHO IS TOO YOUNG? 
 
 *^>n ybw* "»b>k ba "?y ^a ^n tjjj loan b« 
 
 " Say not, I am a youth ; for thou shalt go to all that I shall send 
 thee." (Jerem. i. 7.) 
 
 Say not, "I am a youth, therefore unskill'd, 
 God's will to do, His holy law to keep " ; 
 In early youth who sows, in age shall reap, 
 And see with precious grain his store-house filled. 
 Would' st glean luxuriant crop in hour of need? 
 Think not to idly waste thy spring-tide now, 
 Nor fallow leave the soil that needs the plough, 
 The harden'd clods to break or free from weed. 
 Within thy mind implant the will to do, 
 What though at best the tender graft be weak, 
 Trailing its tendrils firm support will seek, 
 And gathering strength its vigorous growth pursue : 
 Reason developed aids the tender shoot ; 
 Perception conscious bends its course to light, 
 And Wisdom's sap the stem endows with might, 
 In clustering stores to yield its priceless fruit. 
 
 " Say not I am a child and cannot speak; " 
 Whereto the Lord thy missive steps shall send, 
 There go resolved, thereto thy purpose bend, 
 Nor fear to fail tho' humble thou and weak. 
 Strengthen thy faith nor doubt sufficient help, 
 Thine armour gird, thy panoply of truth : 
 Who saved from giant's power the Hebrew youth, 
 From out the paw of bear or lion's whelp,
 
 12 WHO IS TOO YOUNG ? 
 
 E'en He thy helper is ; but will to do. 
 
 That shepherd boy had early taught his tongue, 
 
 The votive lays which Zion's monarch sung, 
 
 And bade in gladsome age his "youth renew." 
 
 Fill full thy heart with generous impulse free, 
 
 Excite, encourage every nobler aim ; 
 
 Who knows how soon thy duty's call may claim, 
 
 Or, what the after-man, lives, child in thee. 
 
 The little Samuel heard revealed a voice ; 
 
 " Eli perceived the Lord had called the child," 
 
 Foresaw the prophet in the infant mild, 
 
 And bade the chosen seer of God rejoice. 
 
 Eest in God's temple, when His voice may call, 
 
 Minist'ring there in snow white garments clad, 
 
 Thy heart shall hear with holy rapture glad ; 
 
 And so no ill shall e'er thy steps befall. 
 
 Yes ! nerve thy soul betimes. Well, early taught, 
 Was he, indulgent-nursed and favoured boy, 
 Who torn from home and reft of every joy, 
 To manhood's cares ere manhood's years was brought. 
 Was he " too young " in virtue's track to steer ? 
 Temptation's wiles had lured him to his harm, 
 But deaf to syren voice or baneful charm, 
 " He feared his God and knew no other fear ; " * 
 Nor dungeon's depths, nor regal palace hall, 
 " Disturbed the even tenor of his mind," 
 As captive slave or monarch's friend resigned, 
 The Hebrew youth saw Heaven's hand in all. 
 
 * " Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, et n'ai point d' autre crainte." 
 
 Racine.
 
 TO A NEW-BORN INFANT. 13 
 
 Yea ! e'en " from mouth of babes and sucklings' lips,* 
 Is strength ordained " and God- like wisdom taught. 
 How oft with words with sweet allurement fraught, 
 (Pure eloquence, which practised art outstrips,) 
 The young has led the aged ; the weak, the strong ; 
 Children when honored are their parents' pride, 
 Who walk unharm'd where foes malign deride ; f 
 The virtuoiis child preserves his sire from wrong. 
 The puny rill will widen to the brook, 
 The brook expands and nils a river's shores ; 
 Onward, unchecked the rapid stream now pours ; 
 This mighty power from yon sequestered nook. 
 If chance had stemmed the streamlet at its course, 
 "Where now had been the river's useful tide ? 
 Who had its banks with liquid wealth supplied, 
 If, failing strength, it faltered in its force ? 
 Thy Life, my son, so like that sheltered rill, 
 Glides yet unheeded — but await the hour, 
 Matured in years, invigorate in power ; 
 Thou shaft thy purposed course in all fulfil. 
 Let so thy deeds — the utterance of thy tongue, 
 Mow gently smooth and shape their onward way, 
 Well pleased, when called, thy Maker's will obey, 
 Nor fear thy strength too weak, thy years too young. 
 
 TO A NEW-BORN INFANT. 
 
 When first through life's new paths you stray, 
 And pause to gaze on all you view, 
 
 So guide through life your glorious way, 
 That all may pause, to gaze on you. 
 
 * Psalm viii. f Psalm exxvii.
 
 14 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Who bids the earth to move ; the spangled sky 
 Who bids to shine ; their vernal green afresh 
 The trees who bids renew ; with instinct rare, 
 Joy-seeking birds their raptur'd mates to choose ? 
 E'en He who bids us love. Of earthly growth 
 It never came ; 't was kindly Heaven sent, 
 Of Heaven's gifts the first — the woes of man 
 To soothe with dulcet balm. Were Love away, 
 Then Life were but a doom of endless death ; 
 But bless' d with Love, we deem each hour an age. 
 
 THE RIVERS OF HELL. 
 
 (to a lady.) 
 
 E'en Phlegethon, when shared with thee, 
 Would seem Elysian groves to me ; 
 And Acheron, though black as night, 
 With thee would beam Olympus bright. 
 In vain I seek the power of Styx, 
 InvuLnerate my heart to fix ; 
 For Lethe's waters bring to me, 
 Eorgetfulness of all — but thee.
 
 15 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 (the writer declining a religious discussion.) 
 
 Say ! why should'st thou think hut a moment I cherish, 
 
 One thought that could hreathe against Purity's home ; 
 Though fixed were my fate in the dark wave to perish, 
 
 I would not besprinkle thy bower with foam. 
 When cold o'er my soul the black water was rushing, 
 
 To gulf every hope once so verdantly bright, 
 As onward destroying, the flood-tide came gushing, 
 
 My last look should be to thy haven of light. 
 Hung high in the air above mortals' rude grasping, 
 
 Are lanterns festooning on China's glad fete ; 
 A sad child of poverty, breathless and gasping, 
 
 One single lamp proffers, alas ! all too late. 
 So he gazes in grief, on this bright scene of splendour, 
 
 Yet he seeks not to dim one iota of blaze, 
 But he watches with care and solicitude tender, 
 
 As he wanders away, yet looks back on the rays. 
 
 Oh, would that the thoughts that like Autumn leaves 
 falling, 
 
 Have withered and left me to mourn their decay, 
 Could come from Oblivion's dark cell at my calling, 
 
 How gladly my spring-buds in homage I'd pay. 
 But think not if plague-spot of evil had tainted, 
 
 One breath of contagion should light on thy shrine ; 
 Far less that thy faith, now so heavenly sainted, 
 
 Should be stained with the doubtings that struggled 
 with mine.
 
 16 
 
 A SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 
 
 " Happiness ! our being's end and aim ! 
 
 Good, pleasure, ease, content, whate'er thy name ; 
 
 That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh, 
 
 For which we bear to live, or dare to die ; 
 
 Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies ; 
 
 O'erlooked, seen double, by the fool and wise ; 
 
 Plant of celestial seed ! if dropped below — 
 
 Say in what mortal soil thou deign' st to grow ? " 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Happiness ! what art thou ? The sought of many — 
 the obtained of none — the toy of our youth — the dream 
 of our age ; ever near and never caught. Yet who can 
 hold thee fast, seeing we know thee not, nor where to 
 find thee ? We ask thy dwelling and each points out a 
 varied road. " Seek her," say the young and elastic- 
 bounding, " seek her on the rosy lips, and the dimpled 
 cheek ; she dwells in the liquid glance and the melting 
 clasp ; her couch is on fragrant flowers, and her home 
 in the soul-drawn kiss." I sought her and I found her 
 not. 
 
 I asked of the warrior; and he bade me to the 
 clarioned field and the ensanguined moat. Was she in 
 the death-crowned breach ? Chance, yes ; but I heard 
 not her voice, for the wounded moaned too loudly. The 
 miser told me she was locked in his chest, but he would 
 not venture to open it, lest she should escape from him. 
 And the priest, he could not unclasp his breviary to aid 
 in his search, the leaves were clotted with some recu- 
 sant's blood. The monarch said 'twas in his crown ; 
 but the crown shivered, and I saw its emptiness.
 
 A SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 17 
 
 The mother pointed to her sleeping child ; I looked 
 again — it was in the sleep of eternity. She flitted 
 awhile before applauded merit — a some-time guest with 
 the sons of genius ; but she fled as she heard the steps 
 of poverty advancing. 
 
 Happiness! where, and in what clime dwellest thou? 
 In the northern wilds — civilised Scythia — where mind 
 and body alike are chilled ? In Moslem-land ? where 
 the soul, like a crowded harem, is stored with beauteous 
 images, yet only sensual in voluptuousness ; surely not 
 with thee. Art thou for Europe's grasp ? Canst thou 
 mingle in the motley group, where statesmen elbow 
 statesmen, weaving chicanery; where the merchant 
 gazes on the broad and heaving bosom of the sea — not 
 to admire her beauties, but to think on the treasures she 
 may bear to him ; where virtue is recumbent, and mam- 
 mon triumphant ? Oh ! not for thee, Europe ! Bleeding 
 Poland wails at the Russian despot ; England, France, 
 in their caleidating policy, saw thee, unheeded, fall ; . 
 can they be happy with that remembrance ? 
 
 Iberia! Lusitania! Hibernia! crouch in enslaving 
 chains, or of superstition, or of tyranny ; and bereaved 
 and debased Italia, proud loved of Cybele — now the 
 earth-trodden of the Austrian — with thee, with her — 
 Oh, no ! 
 
 Art thou happy, Greece — poets' -land — inspiration's 
 birthplace — liberty's tomb? The bowstring scarce 
 untwisted from thy neck, some rude Bavarian (thy 
 Miltiades ne'er had known his country) lords it alike 
 o'er Arcady and Boeotia, or the river Acheron, or the 
 vale of Tempe.* Corinth! with Athens on the east, 
 
 * " Le temps a change tout cela." 

 
 18 A SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 
 
 Sparta on the south; more immortalised still, with Byron 
 thy bard ; how known now ? By a small round grape, 
 wherein thy very name, as if in shame, is emasculated. 
 Is this the happy land — the proiid and the free ? Thy 
 some-time master, the Turkoman — connecting link, leads 
 me to Asiatic realms. For happiness, shall I ask of the 
 beauty-gulfing Bosphorus tales of the Fanar ; where 
 all the loveliest flowers are hived, encaged, till man 
 with ruthless hand shall come to gather ; where lust is 
 dominant, and love — alas ! where love is not, is not 
 happiness. But I pass in fancy's flight near Nineveh, 
 and 'mid its ruins methought I saw that "woman-king," 
 whose death was an atonement for his life ; and he — he 
 seemed happy on the pyre his own "Ionian Myrrh a " 
 had shared with him. But it was delusion all. * Iran, 
 the glorious region, thy sun has set ; thy Satraps crush 
 thee as of yore ; not even in remembrance art thou joyful. 
 Happiness ! I catch the sound — and I fly o'er the flower- 
 ing land, o'er the burning sand ; alas "Felix" is no more 
 — Deserta remains. Syria is desolate — I weep for the 
 woes of Palestine. Hindustan tempts me, but Plutus fol- 
 lows in the track of Juggernaut, from Cashmere's lake 
 down to the plains of the Carnatic. I could not enter into 
 the Celestial Empire, but I saw the pagod of Fohi in the 
 back-ground, and the little children floating dead on the 
 waves, while the mother sat listlessly on the banks, and 
 I said to myself, there is no happiness with the Tartar. 
 Away from Asia on imagination's car — as I pass, I 
 see the little lights glittering on the streams, amid those 
 spicy islets ; and there were bright eyes watching those 
 love-freighted barks — those eyes spoke of Happiness ; 
 a storm arose — the mimic fleet was scattered, and the 
 shore was deserted.
 
 A SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 19 
 
 To Afric. To Mizriiim — the eldest child of science — 
 the primogenitor of civilization — the nursling of old 
 philosophy. Hieroglyphic land! whose facts are as 
 romance and whose history of miracles. Ruled of the 
 priestcraft — of the Pharaoh — of her for whom the world 
 was well lost — of the Roman — of the Turk — of the 
 Idolater — and of the Moslem — land of the enslaving ; 
 land of the enslaved ! Terror-stricken by the wonders 
 of the "Passage," wert thou happy then? Soul- 
 hound by the mysteries of Eleusis, was Typhon a 
 comforter ? Thy happiness, like thine own dead, was 
 enwrapt in enfolding bandages and in gilded gaudy 
 colourings. As at thine own feasts, still sat some 
 skeleton — an Actium to engulf thy silken-swelling sails ; 
 an Acre to triumph over the darings of ambition. Now 
 thou art again civilised — thy Merchant-Pasha plants 
 olive-trees, and exports their oil ; and thy warrior 
 Mamelukes, resting awhile from internal massacre, 
 watch o'er thy cargoes of cotton, or alike indifferent, 
 assist in transporting thy time-hallowed monuments. 
 Away from Egypt — once how superior ! Giant cities — 
 Thebes and Hieropobs, and Memphis and Alexandria — 
 I may see you again in sadness — never in my search 
 for happiness! And where shall I rest on thy continent, 
 
 Afric ? I gaze around, and I see a burning and an 
 arid soil. Here, where man is sacrificed to savage 
 cruelty — there to more savage avarice. Round thy 
 coasts — those piratical hordes — all, ah 1 is ensanguined, 
 by blood — by crime. 
 
 I hear the language of my native land ; I pause — 
 they read the funeral dirge over the last of five brothers. 
 
 1 breathe but pestilence. Why came they there ? I 
 wonder. I ask of some pallid and decrepid youth. He
 
 20 A SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 
 
 points a little to the east, and there lie the Grain Coast, 
 and the Ivory Coast, and the Gold Coast — I wonder no 
 more. 
 
 From Guinea's Gulf, o'er the broad Atlantic, I haste, 
 I haste. One moment on Helena's Isle ; there I stand 
 beneath the willow shade, and I commune with the 
 mighty spirit — the fate-worker — Napoleon. I speak to 
 him of happiness. I ask him of his school-boy days at 
 Brienne's youthful college, when he strove ever to be 
 foremost. He answers, ambition ! I lead him to the 
 hydra-headed monster, France's revolution. I place 
 him at Toulon's breach ; what impelled him there ? 
 Ambition. What led him o'er the bridge of Lodi ? 
 Ambition. He conquered the Austrian — he subjugated 
 Italy — was he happy? He was ambitious. In Egypt, 
 I spoke of Jaffa — and while he shuddered, I could not 
 think of happiness. When at that famous council — 
 where now at the dagger's point — now to dignity 
 exalted — was he haj>py then ? He was of the consids — 
 he was the consul — was he even then content ? He, the 
 unknown of Ajaccio, now the rider of the people — no! 
 no ! he was still ambitious. Of St. Bernard's wondrous 
 traversing — of his glorious warfare — of his more glori- 
 ous peace — in all the commanding — the conquering — 
 was he happv ? No ! no ! no ! still, still ambitious — 
 the Imperial purple floated in the distant horizon — the 
 crown of Charlemagne was in the o'erhanging expanse. 
 The robes were donn'd — the iron crown himself had 
 placed on his brow. "Vive l'Empereur!" shouted 
 thousands of voices — millions of hearts re-echoed the 
 cry. Then — then was he happy? Italy, Germany, 
 Prussia, Spain, Europe ! crouching at his feet ; kings 
 his vassals. Ambition's summit was reached ; now the
 
 A SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 21 
 
 halcyon days were coming ? No, he was childless. He 
 had none born in his house to be his heir. His 
 Josephine — she was happy in His glory — and he wept — 
 aye, even Napoleon wept, as he remembered their part- 
 ing. The proud house of Hapsburg wooed him in 
 alliance, and Maria Louisa shared his couch — he be- 
 came a father. Hope had pointed, and expectation was 
 realised. Again I reiterated my question — if of man's 
 desires all fulfilled, springs contentment ? Faintly, but 
 with a soldier's homage, he murmured "Spain," and I 
 saw a noble hero rushing to wrest the laurel from his 
 brow. I saw him, the fame-girt conqueror— the brave, 
 the immortal Wellington. 
 
 Ambition was again afoot, and where she treads, 
 
 contentment vanishes. With glowing breasts, and 
 
 enraptured shouts the myriads entered Russia. And 
 
 he, the chief — the idolised of all. He spoke of Smo- 
 
 lensko and of Moscow. Still ambition led him on — 
 
 now defeated — now retreating — still the glorious — still 
 
 the Emperor. The Cossack was in Paris ; and he a 
 
 petty chieftain in the Isle of Elba. What awaited his 
 
 return? Bosoms were bared to receive him. Was he 
 
 happy ? No ! Paris was in the distance. The 
 
 Tuileries were entered. With happiness ? No ! the 
 
 vision answered, with ambition. The warrior at 
 
 Waterloo — the captive in the Bellerophon — the exile at 
 
 St. Helena ; deprived, so ruthless policy dictated, of all 
 
 those ties which might endear even exile ; oh, was his 
 
 death-bed happy ? as I paused for the reply, some rude 
 
 red-coated official warned me from the warrior's tomb. 
 
 Now to America, in imagination's search. Not in the 
 icy regions would I commence ; they were near to 
 Europe. I asked in the States of Congress, but they
 
 22 A SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 
 
 were too busy in their calculation of the value of slaves 
 in this land of liberty, to answer my enquiries, and I 
 saw in their election agitations that only in name were 
 they " United." A stalwart red-man lay across my path ; 
 I thought from exhaustion, but saw it was intoxication. 
 I asked him were his fathers happy? A Kentuckian 
 boasted of having shot the last of the Fox-feet. Was he 
 happy ? No ! skins were at a discount. Almost in 
 despair, I sought in Mexico — when I asked for happi- 
 ness, they showed me gold. 
 
 The bending cocoa, and the flowering aloe, and the 
 luscious pine, and the banana, and the fig and the 
 orange, and the thousand sweets of the Western Indies 
 lured me to the Tropics. I saw a bird of gaudy plu- 
 mage hover awhile o'er the lacerated back of some 
 mangled slave — there came a rush of wind, and that 
 bird, and that slave, lay with the scattered fruits, 
 beneath the blast of the tornado. In all the south of 
 this vast hemisphere, I saw alike superstitious credulity 
 and corrupting avarice — men, themselves slaves to 
 ignorance, fighting with cruel earnestness for a phantom 
 they called Liberty. Rapidly, like their own indigenous 
 thistles, which in one night spring to the height of 
 several feet, impeding civilisation and advancement ; so 
 springing into note were petty chieftains, like these 
 thistles worthless ; like them too, wounding and encum- 
 bering the land. Here I knew well happiness could 
 not abide. 
 
 I had heard of those isles of the Pacific, some 
 friendly in name, all of them in nature. One of them 
 I sought, and saw two missionary chapels and three 
 billiard rooms ; on the shore, a native was extorting 
 some extra dollars for a heap of yams, which his father
 
 THE SINNER AND THE BIBLE. 23 
 
 would have been pleased to offer as a gift ; while at his 
 side were two angry disputants, debating the question, 
 " whether the advancement of civilisation is conducive 
 to happiness ! " 
 
 My search is fruitless — in every age, in every clime, 
 in every state, I have sought thee and found thee not. 
 Art thou indeed of those things, which fancy visions, 
 and which exist not in reality ; with Dragons and with 
 Griffins, and the Phoenix and the Kraken ? or if thou 
 do exist, under such varied forms we know thee not, 
 nor where to seek thee. Undefinable Proteus — vision — 
 cheat — shadow — phantom — Happiness! 
 
 THE SINKER AND THE BIBLE. 
 
 din *J2 uif -»»sni rm ny trox ncn 
 
 "a "v D^nn 
 
 " Thou bringest man to contrition, and sayest, Repent ye sons of man. 
 
 Psalm xc. 3. 
 
 " Bless' d tears of soul-felt penitence, 
 
 In whose benign, redeeming flow, 
 Is felt the first, the only sense, 
 
 Of guiltless joy, that guilt can know." Moore. 
 
 Wet with many tears, 
 
 The Bible lay before him ; 
 Wet with many tears, 
 For wither'd hopes and wasted years, 
 Grief-stain' d the sacred page appears, 
 When memory's mournful pall uprears, 
 
 And buried shades flit o'er him.
 
 24 THE SINNER AND THE BIBLE. 
 
 Wet -with tears of shame, 
 God's words his deeds reproaching ; 
 Wet with tears of shame, 
 
 For life of illdishonour'd name, 
 
 j 
 
 For powers misused and blighted fame ; 
 Thus wakened thoughts his acts proclaim, 
 God's book with fear approaching. 
 
 Wet with tears of dread, 
 Of guilt the doom appalling ; 
 
 Wet with tears of dread, 
 
 His burning eyes have woe-full read, 
 
 How surely sin to sorrow led ; 
 
 Remorse doth molten tear-drops shed, 
 Thick rain from dark clouds falling. 
 
 Wet with tears of hope, 
 "Turn from evil ways and live ; " 
 
 Wet with tears of hope, 
 
 As out at sea the telescope, 
 
 (While yet 'mid gloom the seamen grope) 
 
 Foreshows where dawn and daylight ope, 
 "Father," he cries "forgive." 
 
 Wet with tears of joy, 
 See ! mercy yet in heaven ; 
 
 Wet with tears of joy, 
 
 No more earth-soiling passions cloy, 
 
 New hopes his racking cares destroy ; 
 
 He feels a bliss without alloy, 
 Contrite — his sins forgiven.
 
 25 
 
 « OF MAN'S FIRST DISOBEDIENCE." 
 
 A RABBINICAL TRADITION. 
 
 Eve ate the fatal fruit — self-doomed, said Adam, " Give, 
 With thee to share and die; alone 'twere death to live." 
 
 \vby bi6 nbnn 
 PRAISE TO THE MOST HIGH. 
 
 A PARAPHRASE OF T\ 73 nftt?} 
 
 Sabbath Morning Service. 
 
 Che breath of all that lives shall praise Thy name, 
 
 The spirit of all flesh Thy might proclaim ; 
 
 With loftiest strains extolling, ceaseless sing, 
 
 Memorials grateful of the Eternal King. 
 
 Where myriad worlds thro' endless space outshine, 
 
 Protector, Saviour, God, in Thee combine. 
 
 When care or sorrow clouds the anxious brow, 
 
 Our sole Redeemer, sole Protector, Thou ! 
 
 From earliest date, to final doom unchanged, 
 
 Unchecked, Thy power o'er boundless time hath ranged. 
 
 Creation's Lord ! see all creation's ranks, 
 
 Extol Thy Name in amplitude of thanks. 
 
 In mercy He His world with kindness leads, 
 
 With tender care His creatures' wants still heeds. 
 
 Nor sleepeth He — nor seeks to slumber — God ; 
 
 Who sleep, He wakens, rouseth whoso nod ;
 
 26 PRAISE TO THE MOST HIGH. 
 
 The dumb thro' Him in eloquence outpour, 
 And slaves in freedom joy — bound now no more ; 
 Sustained who droop, upraised the fallen, now, 
 To Thee, God, to Thee alone we bow. 
 
 If filled our mouths (as teems the sea) with song, 
 Fluent our tongues, as roll swift waves along ; 
 Our lips replete — our raptured eyes intent, 
 As gleam bright orbs in Thine own firmament ; 
 Heavenwards (like eagles) hands outstretched in prayer, 
 Fleet in good paths our feet like hinds' feet were ; 
 Our best attempts e'en then were idly weak, 
 Thy Name to bless, Thy boundless praise to speak. 
 Yea ! e'en for one, of thousand mercies wrought, 
 Or myriad bounties yielded e'en unsought, 
 Or marvels Thine, Thou didst our fathers show, 
 Or wondrous kindness we their children know. 
 From Egypt's land redeemed, God, by Thee ; 
 From slavery's bonds by Thy dread power set free ; 
 In famine fed, from plenty's bounteous store ; 
 From ruthless sword, from sickness fell and sore, 
 From withering plagues, from all of pain or ill, 
 Released, unharmed, by Thine Almighty will ; 
 Protected yet, in mercy prone to spare ; 
 So ne'er forsaken, still we own Thy care. 
 
 Each pulse for this, each nerve, each quick'ning sense, 
 The breath Thou gavest — soul Thou didst dispense, 
 Volition, motion, speech, shall all combine, 
 To hail their Author — glorious, great, divine ! 
 To bless, to praise, to glorify Thy Name ; 
 Thy might, dominion, sanctity, proclaim ;
 
 PSALM XXIV. 27 
 
 Each mouth adoring offers Thee its prayer, 
 Each tongue, in truth, to Thee alone shall swear, 
 To Thee each knee its grateful homage lend, 
 And all that lives, in reverence shall bend. 
 Imbued with awe, shall thrill each conscious heart, 
 With joy exult each vein, each inward part ; 
 So wrote the bard "my essence all shall speak, 
 Who equals God that guards the poor and weak, 
 Releasing him where tyrants harshly press, 
 And rescuing safe from harm and dire distress ? " 
 
 Who like to Thee ? In aught who can array ? 
 Comparison with Thee, what being dare essay ? 
 Thou great, tremendous, mighty, awful Lord ! 
 In Heaven obeyed, alike on earth adored. 
 And so Thy worth, tho' feebly, we confess, 
 Still shall we praise, still glorify, still bless ; 
 " Bless God," so David sang, "so thou, my soul, exclaim, 
 So shall my heart and inmost soul adore His Holy 
 Name." 
 
 PSALM XXIY. 
 
 Earth unto the Lord belongs, 
 King ! he o'er its fulness reigns ; 
 
 Worlds amid their dwellers' throngs, 
 Own that to Him all pertains. 
 
 Based upon the depthless seas, 
 Fixed by His Almighty power, 
 
 'Stablished there by God's decrees, 
 Eirm 'mid floods does earth uptower.
 
 28 PSAI.M xxrv. 
 
 Who to God's high hill shall mount ? 
 
 Who his course shall thither tend ? 
 Holy praises to recount, 
 
 Who to Holy place ascend ? 
 
 Hands — spot-free from vice or sin, 
 
 Heart — ne'er stained with guilt impure, 
 
 Soul — vain thoughts ne'er entered in, 
 Lips — whose words as oaths are sure. 
 
 This the man, the Lord who loves ; 
 
 Blessings He for such receives ; 
 Righteousness ; — whom God approves, 
 
 Gifted with salvation lives. 
 
 Sacred race, who truthful speak, 
 Here their just ensemblance view ; 
 
 Pure in heart, the Lord who seek, 
 Still they Jacob's God will sue. 
 
 High ! ye gates ! your heads uprise, 
 E'er-enduring doors ope wide ; 
 
 Comes the Lord of earth and skies, 
 Glory's King — the heaven's pride. 
 
 Glory's King, bedecked in light ; 
 
 Who is this that hither tends ? 
 He, the potent, strong in fight, 
 
 God, the mighty, hither wends. 
 
 High ! ye gates ! your heads uprise, 
 E'er-enduring doors ope wide, 
 
 Comes the Lord of earth and skies, 
 Glory's King — the heaven's pride.
 
 LIFE. 29 
 
 " Glory's king bedecked in light," 
 Who this honoured title boasts ? 
 Who ? — The potent, strong in fight, — 
 Glory's king — the God of Hosts. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 FOUR PICTURES. 
 
 I. 
 
 beauteous child ! vision bright as fair ! 
 What sparkling eyes ; what clustering auburn hair ; 
 What roseate charms bedeck each dimpled cheek, 
 And lips though mute, most eloquent which speak. 
 A lovely form, wherein enrapt we trace, 
 The embryo blossoms of each freshening grace ; 
 And Time's each hour, a life of bliss foretelling, 
 Sheds Hght and lustre o'er thy favoured dwelling. 
 
 ii. 
 Another form : — still lovely in the change ; — 
 As o'er some bright parterre in spring we range, 
 And soft Creation cheers our gladdened view, 
 With graceful bud and tints of varied hue ; 
 And when we tread again that verdant vale, 
 Odorous* sweets the fragrant flowers exhale ; 
 So, wreaths of Love and fruits of Hope entwining, 
 Bright Summer's sunlight still is o'er thee shining. 
 
 * " The bright consummate flower 
 Spirits odorous breathes." 
 
 Milton. Paradise Lost, v. 482.
 
 30 THE CREED. 
 
 'Ill 
 
 Again we view : now round thy ripened bloom, 
 What new-born graces multiplied resume ; 
 As when some Indian tree that bends to earth, 
 Its shoots upspring in emulative birth ; 
 Repeated there the parent's gifts combine, 
 Round kindred mother, graceful offspring twine ; 
 Still beauty o'er thy mellowed charms pervading, 
 And e'en more beauteous in this lovely shading. 
 
 rv. 
 And yet again. — But see that withered crone, 
 Mocking she gibes, and speaks in mournful tone — 
 " ' beauteous child ! vision bright as fair ! ' 
 Look at my wasted cheeks, my time-bleached hair. 
 ' Another form : — still lovely in the change,' 
 O'er palsied limbs let now thine eyelids range. 
 ' Again we view, now round thy ripened bloom,' 
 My hopes, my children, wither in the tomb." 
 
 THE CREED 
 
 (Being a Paraphrase of the Hymn Tl "?N 7T3" 1 ). 
 
 Extol we now the living God, 
 
 His praises loud relate, 
 Who is, and whose existence is 
 
 Nor bound by time or date. 
 
 Who, One and only One alone, 
 
 Invisible doth dwell ; 
 And peerless in His Unity, 
 
 His limit who shall tell.
 
 THE CREED. 31 
 
 Material form, similitude, 
 
 Or likeness none hath He ; 
 Nor can there to His Holiness, 
 
 Comparison e'er be. 
 
 Ere glad Creation at His word 
 
 To life and light outburst ; 
 Of primal date — Eternal He, 
 
 "Without beginning, First. 
 
 Of all the Lord ; the wide expanse, 
 
 Its dwellers all around, 
 Proclaim His might, His majesty, 
 
 Which everywhere abound. 
 
 Prophetic powers he deigned to grant, 
 
 Blessed words of Revelation, 
 To them, His treasured men of worth, 
 
 In glorious inspiration. 
 
 But like to Moses none arose, 
 
 'Mid Israel's chosen few, 
 Who face to face with God did speak, 
 
 And did His semblance view. 
 
 And when, in mercy, laws of truth, 
 
 God for His people penned, 
 He by that faithful prophet pleased, 
 
 His holy law to send. 
 
 Nor ever will our gracious Lord, 
 
 Another code bestow ; 
 For, all complete, His perfect law 
 
 No altering change can know.
 
 32 THREE DREAMS. 
 
 Our hidden thoughts, our every act, 
 From Him are ne'er concealed ; 
 
 Yea ! ere commenced, of all the end 
 To Him at once revealed. 
 
 Rewarding kindness as his due ; 
 
 The good man's just return ; 
 But to the wicked, punishment, 
 
 His own misdoings earn. 
 
 Who at His time — in length of days, 
 Will our Messiah send ; 
 
 Redeeming those who anxious wait 
 Salvation as their end. 
 
 In wondrous mercy, then, the dead 
 Revive at God's behest ; 
 
 Be then His praises ever sung, 
 His name be ever blest. 
 
 THREE DREAMS. 
 
 i. 
 I dreamed I was in heaven. Centered there 
 Was store of valued wealth beyond compare ; 
 Inestimable heaps — gems of countless price, 
 The miser's mind insatiate might suffice ; 
 Gold, diamonds, pearls, mystic ocean's treasure ; 
 Ministring unscant, limitless in measure ; 
 And men and women, pleased in this possessing, 
 Feeding in pomp, nor seeking other blessing ;
 
 THREE DREAMS. 33 
 
 Gorgeous-arrayed in richest robes of state, 
 Prompt at their beck dependent flatterers wait ; 
 How rich ! how grand ! how lofty ! and how proud ! 
 As wit and wisdom at their biddings bowed ; 
 And beauty too, resplendent to behold, 
 All else subduing, owns the might of gold ; 
 With glittering chains the wreaths of love entwined, 
 And gold enthralled the universal mind ; 
 Careless of future, reckless of the past, 
 Thoughtless of present, so these bright hours last, 
 Glorying in riches, rank, and pride of birth ; 
 I dreamed I was in heaven ; I woke — 'twas earth. 
 
 ii. 
 
 I dreamed I was in heaven. The morning hour, 
 "Waking, renewed, each dewy-spangled flower ; 
 In thrilling tones the raptured feathered throng ; 
 Carolled melodious their skilled untutored son** : 
 A fragrant dell, where sheltered all around, 
 The homes of happiness gracefully abound ; 
 Hopeful, content, was heard their gladsome voice, 
 Whose guileless hearts in virtuous deeds rejoice ; 
 This pleasant scene the sun's bright beams disclose, 
 Lovely and tranquil, calm in blessed repose. 
 A sound discordant grates the affrighted ear, 
 As troops infuriate o'er the hills appear, 
 Trampling their fierce steeds 'cross the flowery heath, 
 Hurling their blood-brands, woman's breast the sheath, 
 Burning, destroying, merciless, each home, 
 Driving the houseless babes, orphans to roam ; 
 In sacred fanes, o'er murdered priests who trod, 
 Kneeling in blasphemy, thank Eternal God ;
 
 34 THREE DREAMS. 
 
 While mumbled prayers commix with drunken yell ; 
 I dreamed I was in heaven — alas ! 'twas hell ! 
 
 in. 
 
 I dreamed I was in heaven. Stillness and night, 
 Not dark, but radiant in celestial light ; 
 Yarious the scenes that met my wondering gaze, 
 Of worth and valour, shrinking back from praise ; 
 Of patriot courage, nerved with iron -like will, 
 Patient, oft downcast, but triumphant still ; 
 Of filial love, tuning a sweet old rhyme, 
 That quick recalls the old man's youthful prime ; 
 Of fond affection, two as one combined, 
 Where heart with heart, and love with love was twined ; 
 Of gentle pity yielding home and rest, 
 To soothe and calm the fever' d anguish' d breast ; 
 Of reverend age with fervent honest zeal, 
 The mind to cure, the wounded sold to heal. 
 All this I viewed with raptured sense and sight, 
 While radiant-beaming shone that living light, 
 And sweet rich voices floated through the air, 
 Harmonious age with feeble child at prayer ; 
 Entranced I saw thus good to good succeed ; 
 I dreamed I was in heaven — 'twas heaven indeed !
 
 35 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF ELIJAH. 
 
 K»aan n^K ns mb rhv *D3n n:n 
 
 " Behold I send unto you Elijah the prophet." Malachi, iii. 23. 
 " Open the door." — See Passover Evening Service. 
 
 To think ! that spirits good and pure, 
 
 Invisible do roam, 
 From guile and sin our hearts to cure, 
 
 And sanctify our home. 
 To think ! the prophet, Grod inspired, 
 
 Immortal life who won, 
 Again, with holy ardour fired, 
 
 A mortal's course doth run. 
 
 To think ! on each recurring year, 
 
 Earth's paths again to press, 
 His spirit leaves its heavenly sphere, 
 
 Our meal and oil to bless ; * 
 To whisper comfort to the sad, 
 
 Bright hope Elijah giveth ; 
 'Mid lone grief bids the heart be glad, 
 
 " For see your dear child liveth." f 
 
 To think ! again with zeal impressed, 
 
 Sin's altars crushed to break, \ 
 He comes, God's messenger confessed, 
 
 Our sleeping thoughts to wake. 
 
 * 1 Kings xvii. 16. f Ibid. xvii. 23. J Ibid, xviii. 21, etc.
 
 36 HABITS OF HOLINESS. 
 
 To show, forewarn' d the awful day, 
 The " still small voice " bid hear ; * 
 
 To tell, though past from mortal sway, 
 His watchful form is near. 
 
 It needs no stretch of fancy's dreams, 
 
 These thoughts to realise ; 
 "Where light religion's soul-fed beams, 
 
 Elijah's footstep hies. 
 With welcome, haste — with joy replete, 
 
 "Make pure thy path before," 
 For they who would good spirits greet, 
 
 Themselves must " ope the door." 
 
 TO JESSY. 
 
 (with a bouquet of flowers.) 
 
 Though some may prize the fragrant rose, 
 Whilst others for the lily pine, 
 
 Yet still I'd value more than those, 
 To have the lovely Jessy-mine. 
 
 HABITS OF HOLINESS. 
 
 (an epigram.) 
 
 " Thy priests shall clothe in righteousness," 
 
 Thus sacred precepts say ; 
 But Nadab wears not, you may guess, 
 
 His best clothes every day. 
 
 * 1 Kings xix. 12.
 
 37 
 
 THE LITTLE FRENCH MILLINER. 
 
 A TALE OF THE PAST. 
 
 I "was in the habit of passing my college vacations 
 principally with a good-natured uncle, who lived a life 
 of ease and comfort, at his country mansion in one of 
 the Midland districts. I am not about to describe his 
 dwelling, more than to mention that it was perfect in 
 all that could conduce to convenience and enjoyment. 
 Uncle Edward was particularly solicitous to contribute 
 in every way to our entertainment; and when the 
 weather prevented our partaking in any out- door 
 athletic sports, he would beguile, with tales of adven- 
 ture, hours which might otherwise have been weari- 
 some. One narrative specially interested us, though 
 there was nothing important about it — yet somehow it 
 so fixed itself on my memory (for Uncle Edward often 
 '' spoke like a book ") that I think I can almost remem- 
 ber his very words, which ran thus — speaking of his 
 own youth : 
 
 Monsieur, as we called our French master a 1 : 
 Bedford, was one of those peculiar characters, that 
 stamp themselves in originality on the young mind. 
 What he had been, previous to his coming to our 
 school, we could not guess ; some said a nobleman ; 
 others, with equal probability, a perruquier. One, who 
 had seen him carefully brightening a rusted rapier, 
 which hung in useless inactivity in his. chamber, pro- 
 nounced him a ci-devant militaire ; another, who had 
 watched his eager gaze at some faded rose-colour 
 ribbons, set him down as a man-milliner. Enquiries 
 on the subject he evaded, sometimes with a smile —
 
 38 THE LITTLE FRENCH MILLINER. 
 
 often with a sigh. However, whatever he had been, 
 he was esteemed by us all ; even Big Burnet, the bully 
 of the boys, and the plague of the ushers, spared him 
 from molestation. Neat in his attire, unaffected in 
 manner, and assiduous in his duties, when school-hours 
 were over, he would read to a willing auditory, legends 
 of the historian, Alain Chartier, or wondrous deeds of 
 chivalry out of Froissart or Monstrelet, when his eye 
 would gleam with a fire very different from his wonted 
 placidity. Sometimes he woidd, with a skilful hand, 
 accompany himself on the guitar, in some old Provencal 
 melody, or lay of the wandering Troubadour, so sweetly, 
 that even " Sour Sarah," as the boys used to call the 
 housekeeper, came out of the pantry to listen to him. 
 
 Toujours gai ! was his motto — only on the mournful 
 anniversaries of his sovereign's martyrdom would he 
 confine himself to solitude. " Toujours gai" as I have 
 said, as the odour of the musk plant sheds its fragrance 
 on all within its reach, so did his exuberance of spirits 
 diffuse a pleasurable sensation over his associates. But 
 on Saturday evenings he was always particularly mirth- 
 ful; then would he laugh the merriest, and his little 
 silken skirted coat would wag responsive to his exhila- 
 rated movements ; on Saturday evenings his daughter 
 would call to visit him, and frequently would her 
 entreaties win him home to her humble lodgings on the 
 Sunday. Right eagerly would these hebdomadal visits 
 be anticipated, and joyously would he spring to the hall 
 door to clasp his sole remaining life prop, his beloved 
 Adeline. 
 
 The sweetest girl I ever knew was Adeline, and as 
 she tripped across the play-ground, clinging to the 
 arm of her delighted father, there was scarcely a boy
 
 THE LITTLE FRENCH MILLINER. 39 
 
 that did not leave his sport and come with a word of 
 greeting to Mademoiselle. I can but just remember 
 her glance ; so mild, that it would seem to encourage 
 the most timid, yet with such a lurking fire in her eyes 
 that the boldest might be daunted. Moving more with 
 the gracefulness of a sylph than the pertness of a gri- 
 sette, the springing lightness of her petite form bounded 
 on in all the elasticity of youth and innocence. A little 
 basket, tastefully decorated, contained her weekly pre- 
 sents to her father, and the most handsome bouquet of 
 the season was always brought for his acceptance. A 
 love of flowers, as a fair and valued friend observed to 
 me, is always a proof of a susceptible mind, and I 
 conceived a more favourable opinion of Adeline from 
 her fondness for these, earth's loveliest children. Yet 
 those who knew her station, which was only that of 
 assistant to a neighbouring village dressmaker, could 
 not conceive how she could contrive to procure such 
 beautiful exotics, the purchase of which must have been 
 far beyond her means. Some did say, that the camelias 
 were very much like those in the Grange, and the 
 Squire's daughters did not scruple to toss their heads, 
 and wonder why Mr. George would cut so many of his 
 finest geraniums for a little French milliner, when he 
 had refused them only a sprig the day before. 
 
 Well ! it was so — Monsieur kissed her as they parted 
 at the gate, and did not object to confide her to the care 
 of the young candidate for holy orders, who was ever 
 ready to escort her to her home. They waited but his 
 induction to a promised living for the good old French- 
 man to consent to their union. Daily did our regard 
 for Monsieur increase, so kind was he to all ; content 
 with his lot, even out of his trifling pittance he con-
 
 40 THE LITTLE FRENCH MILLINER. 
 
 trived to afford assistance to his less fortunate country- 
 men. In fact, if ever man seemed divested of evil 
 passions, it was our Gallic friend ; and his little smiling 
 daughter, partaking of all her father's good qualities, 
 was a general favourite, not only with us, but with all 
 who knew her. She had gradually established a small 
 connection in tie village, and many a blushing country 
 maid was now attired with a degree of taste and neat- 
 ness which rendered them doubly attractive in the eyes 
 of their wondering Cymons. 
 
 I removed from school, and in advancing adolescence 
 and London gaieties forgot youth's reminiscences. I 
 had rambled into " Offley's " one night, to take a 
 glass of wine and a cigar, after my return from the 
 theatre ; but perhaps I had better first describe 
 what I mean by " Offley's." * Not far from the 
 theatres, suppose a tavern whose hospitable .doors are 
 open to receive the welcome guest, even at an hour 
 when the more quiet citizens have soberly gone to rest. 
 If, wearied with the monotony of a modern drama, you 
 long for more refreshing diet, or if with prudent prospec- 
 tive, you think of the empty larder and the crabbed land- 
 lady at home — if the night air nips you — if the evening at 
 
 Mrs. 's has been more than usually dull, (perhaps 
 
 because her daughters have laboured to be more than 
 usually lively), if you are out of spirits — if you are in 
 spirits — in short, " be thy intent wicked or charitable," if 
 to pass an hour of the midnight morning in enjoyment be 
 your object, go at once to Offley's. At tables, placed on 
 either side of a long room on the first floor, are groups, 
 laughing, chatting and joking; cheating the night's 
 
 * Now a thirg of the past.
 
 THE LITTLE FRENCH MILLINER. 4l 
 
 tediousness with their merriment. Foaming ale, which 
 might tempt Bacchus from his wine-cup, and still 
 replenished goblets of every varied cordial compound, 
 are lavished round with no unsparing hand; busily- 
 employed waiters are bustling to and fro, with a con- 
 stant supply of humble though substantial fare; and 
 where the eye can pierce through the fumes of the 
 Virginian weed, you see all around making desperate 
 havoc with the provender. Now there's a whisper — a 
 buzz of excitement — who is it ? Mr. Mordaunt Gran- 
 ville St. Clair, (the pleasant rogues have all such 
 grandiloquent names) the gentleman whom you remem- 
 ber as the second robber in the Miller and his Men ; 
 and his chivalrous-looking companion, is the gifted 
 demon of the Drury Lane establishment. The arrival 
 of these Roscii causes quite a sensation. Now with 
 shouts uproarious a song is loudly called for; "the 
 Captain" takes the chair, and anacreontics and comica- 
 lities, war songs and erotics, follow each other in quick 
 confusion. A tolerably executed glee, in which the 
 histrionic gentleman with the euphonious cognomen 
 takes the falsetto, thereby earning his nightly modicum, 
 excites peals of applause from would-be musical 
 amateurs. 
 
 " Mirth and fun grow fast and furious." 
 
 The cares of the day are forgotten, and now alive are 
 
 " Jest and youthful jollity, 
 Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
 Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles, 
 Sport that wrinkled Care derides, 
 And Laughter holding both his sides."
 
 42 THE LITTLE FRENCH MILLINER. 
 
 I noticed at a side table, rather apart from the 
 boisterous merriment, a young man, clad in rusty black, 
 who, as if ashamed of being seen, had withdrawn him- 
 self from publicity, as not wishing to partake in the 
 general enjoyment. His single glass, oft diluted, 
 served as an excuse for his protracted stay, even until 
 the first dawn of light, which now came peeping through 
 the window shutters, like a sly girl, who, while she 
 covers her eyes with her hands, looks through the 
 interstices of her fingers at some favoured lover she 
 delights to tease. Changeful, as the same coquette, 
 who has helped me to this simile, the sun had hardly 
 wakened to usher in a bright May morning, when the 
 native fickleness of England's clirne interposed a 
 thickened veil of intercepting clouds, and a heavy 
 shower began to descend. The young man, who had 
 risen to depart, seemed annoyed at this, and resumed 
 his seat with evident unwillingness. Seeing his uneasi- 
 ness, and the waiter having now brought me an 
 umbrella, I offered to share it with the stranger ; this 
 offer he accepted with thanks, and our routes being 
 similar, we entered into conversation, which was deeply 
 interesting to me, being stored with intelligence and 
 information on his part, that imparted a value even 
 to common-place subjects, as at the touch of the Phry- 
 gian king the baser metals turned to gold. 
 
 A casual allusion to Bedford, induced a start on the 
 part of my companion, and a consequent remark caused 
 me to recognise in my new found acquaintance, George 
 "Wilton of the Grange, and the remembered suitor of 
 the little French milliner. Arriving at my lodgings, I 
 requested his company to breakfast, of which he having 
 partaken with an avidity that excited his own observa-
 
 THE LITTLE FRENCH MILLINER. 43 
 
 tion and apology, I asked him news of our old friend 
 Monsieur and his pretty daughter. Sighing deeply, he 
 told me that his father having discovered his attachment 
 for Adeline, and being irritated by its determined con- 
 tinuance, the Grange was no longer a home for him. 
 So far did the old man carry his resentment as to 
 prevail on his patron to revoke the pi'omised living. 
 "I was therefore," said he, " almost destitute; but 
 cheered by the smiles of my dear girl and the continued 
 encouragement of her father, I did not despair. 
 Blessed with some talents, I determined to exert them, 
 and after an affectionate farewell with my friends, set 
 out for London. This was the last time I ever saw 
 them. 
 
 "The overthrow of Napoleon recalled the Bourbons, 
 and their partisans hastened to Paris. The rusted rapier 
 was withdrawn from useless inactivity and restored to 
 pristine brightness, to glitter by the side of the last of the 
 De Guesculins. Not more rapid than had been the altera- 
 tion in his circumstances, was the change in the character 
 of the now ennobled Count from the humble teacher. All 
 the latent passions which had for years lain dormant, now 
 sprang up with added strength, as the earth-hidden 
 dragon teeth grew into armed men ;* pride, ambition, 
 arrogance, and self-love, qualities one would little have 
 thought lurking under his placid demeanor, now, like 
 serpents warmed from torpidity, ruled with re-asserted 
 venom power. The first exertion of his authority was 
 a command never again to see me ; on her remonstrances, 
 he, now supplied with ample resources, hurried her to 
 France, and our last communication was a brief but 
 
 * " Vipereos dentes, populi incrementa futuri."
 
 44 THE LITTLE FRENCH MILLINER. 
 
 love-breathing letter ere her departure. Since then I 
 have never heard of her ; doubtless she has forgotten 
 me — time has passed, 'Tempus edax rerum.' 
 
 " So have I struggled on, supporting myself by literary 
 contributions, one of the " genus irritabile ' ; at length 
 the productions on which I was engaged failed, and 
 the abstruse studies to which I had devoted myself 
 were less pleasing to the gentle public, than the fanciful 
 puerilities of ephemeral novels ; to this I never could 
 apply myseK, and I have often shared the fate of wiser 
 and better men — starvation. Sometimes I have earned 
 a temporary respite by translations for some speculative 
 booksellers ; last evening the purpose of my visit to a 
 place so little congenial to my feelings, was a promised 
 interview with a nighty young bibliopolist, who for- 
 sooth, had, in his whimsical caprice, appointed a 
 midnight tavern meeting, as a fitting occasion to discuss 
 a purposed version of Theocritus. The inconsiderate- 
 ness that would appoint such a meeting had little 
 scruple in disappointing a poor author, and I lingered 
 with hope deferred, till warning note of time forbade 
 me prospect of ingress at my humble lodgings." 
 
 "It is hardly worth boasting," continued Uncle 
 Edward "that I enabled him to obtain a perma- 
 nent livelihood ; much of my little classic lore do I owe 
 to the superior attainments of my talented friend. We 
 were walking together down Oxford Street, when the 
 sight of a very pretty figure induced me to call his atten- 
 tion to its fair owner. With a cry of joy he discovered in 
 the little French milliner before us his own Adeline. The 
 father, now installed in one of the highest offices at the 
 Court of the Tuileries, had, with increasing pride very 
 different from his former comportment, interdicted all
 
 THE LITTLE FRENCH MILLINER. 45 
 
 thoughts of her heart's treasurings ; her letters, his 
 letters had been intercepted ; she had been led to con- 
 sider him faithless ; the death-bed of a domestic revealed 
 the practised treachery, and in disgust she left her 
 home for England. Enquiries at the Grange were met 
 ■with denial and contumely. Indignant at the deception, 
 she would not return to paternal grandeur, but pre- 
 ferred independence in the exertion of her graceful 
 skill, and in the exciting hope of again encountering 
 her unforgotten. One minute's interview, and they 
 were again the loving — the beloved. 
 
 " This was about the time of the late king's accession, 
 and France, as all other countries, sent gratulatory 
 missions. To decorate the elegant tournure of the gay 
 
 Duchesse de D who did the honours of the embassy, 
 
 all the establishment of the talented Devy were in 
 requisition ; most pleasing of all were the attentions of 
 a little French milliner, and she was specially invited, 
 to the envy of her companions, to assist in attiring the 
 swan-like beauty on the morning of the coronation. A 
 light step, and a well-turned compliment ushered to the 
 toilette the nobleman who was to be her escort to the 
 pageant. Adeline started, the recognition was imme- 
 diate ; and the father and daughter were locked in each 
 other's arms." 
 
 "Well, Uncle," said we all eagerly, seeing he paused 
 " of course she was married to George." "Yes! my 
 dears, she was ; last year I dined with the happy 
 couple at their Bel-bois de Guesculin, and while their 
 daughter Georgette, and her now smiling grandsire 
 toyed in mutual gratification, we filled our Champagne 
 d' Ai 'to the olden days at Bedford,' and the remem- 
 brance of the 'little French milliner.'"
 
 46 
 FLIRTILLA. 
 
 (an epigram.) 
 
 At seventeen, Flirtilla cried, 
 
 I will not be Avaro's bride ; 
 
 I scorn bis proffers, spurn bis gold, 
 
 I am too young, — be is too old. 
 
 At eigbteen, and at twenty, too, 
 In vain sbe beard bim vows renew ; 
 In vain bis love be still confess' d, 
 Sbe still bis anxious bopes repress'd. 
 
 At lengtb bis suit ber swain forbore, 
 The proud Flirtilla' s young no more ; 
 Decays ber beauty — fades ber bloom ; 
 "With joy she weds Avaro's groom. 
 
 "OLIVE PLANTS." 
 
 A SACRED ENIGMA. 
 
 1 . Weeping, a mother saw her first-born slain ; 
 Another son ! her hopes revive again. 
 
 2. 'Mid toil and trouble, hear the sire exclaim, 
 "Comfort he gives," be " Comfort" then bis name. 
 
 3. Hopeless in age, the matron sad behold — 
 Eadiant in smiles, her arms her child enfold.
 
 " OLIVE PLANTS." 47 
 
 4. Sweet infant buds the captive exile's balm, 
 Whose "fruitful boughs " affliction's woes becalm. 
 
 5. With beating heart beside the sedgy Nile, 
 She lays the cradled babe — ah ! woe the while ! 
 But oh ! what joy her raptured soul possessed — 
 He draws the life-spring from his mother's breast. 
 
 6. That child a man, of two the happy sire, 
 
 The "Help of God" doth "alien strange" desire. 
 
 7. " Barren and bearing not " shalt yet conceive, 
 Whose wondrous strength Philistia's host shall 
 
 grieve. 
 
 8. The youthful babe by "pleasant" grand-dam 
 
 nurs'd, 
 Whose after grandchild's heavenly hymns outburst. 
 
 9. Plaintive her heart — no voice the still air stirred ; 
 Yet see the boy, whose mother's prayer is heard. 
 
 10. Poor helpless widow, — lost her only one ; 
 
 The prophet cheers, " embrace thy living son." 
 
 11. And mighty she, yet poor, 'mid all her store, 
 AVhose child sore- stricken glads her eye no more ; 
 marvel ! joy ! what new-born hopes upspring, 
 In fond embraces child and mother cling:. 
 
 But pause we here, though scripture leaves enshrine, 
 Long lists of loved ones — heritage divine. 
 12. One — Judah's king, that holy youth shall close, 
 As then so now — may Israel find repose.
 
 48 
 
 THE POWER OF GOOD. 
 
 Where thou art, there, no darkness is, for blessed by 
 
 the ray 
 That beams from thine effulgent eye, the night seems 
 
 changed to day ; 
 All nature brightly lives again, and wondering she 
 
 perceives 
 New light and lustre streaming forth : new life each 
 
 thing receives. 
 The bird that hears thy thrilling voice, grows envious 
 
 of the note, 
 And strains then most melodiously his music- warbling 
 
 throat ; 
 In vain essays to catch the tone, the magic of thy voice, 
 That adds to every joy a bliss, that bids e'en grief 
 
 rejoice ; 
 Above, around, on every side, admiring nature greets 
 Thy coming, robed in gentleness, and redolent of 
 
 sweets ; 
 Odorous flowers and fragrant herbs, had closed their 
 
 buds for night, 
 Thy presence quick unfolds their leaves, at new-created 
 
 light. 
 
 What varied sweets the emulous plants now raptur- 
 ously exhale, 
 
 Unconscious, vying with thy breath, the choicest scents 
 must fail,
 
 TIIE POWER OF GOOD. 49 
 
 Expanding at thy sun-like glance, each brightly gor- 
 geous flower 
 "Would proudly offer to our gaze its jewel-sparkled 
 
 dower ; 
 Yet vainly then awakened* there, each richly teeming 
 
 grace, 
 We turn from their most lovely charms to thy more 
 
 lovely face ; 
 And though in them rich beauties rare to tempt our gaze 
 
 we find, 
 All these we find, and more in thee — in thee there lives 
 
 a mind ; 
 A mind imbued with loveliness, a pure clear radiance 
 
 bright, 
 That warms us with its cheering glow, that glads us 
 with its light. 
 
 The raging tempest stirs the deep, the forest quakes 
 
 with fear, 
 Affrighted hinds, in secret copse, the piercing lightnings 
 
 sear; 
 Obscured and gloomed, and shrunk with awe, creation 
 
 seems to quai], 
 And wild turmoil runs riot now, 'mid fire and storm and 
 
 hail; 
 Yet through this war of elements, like to some twinkling 
 
 star, 
 A httle speck of blue outpeers, it glistens, there, afar ; 
 Out, out at sea — a hand's-breadth now, the horizon 
 
 fondly shrines 
 That speck of blue — it now expands ; celestial heaven 
 
 shines ; 
 
 E
 
 50 THE POWER OF GOOD. 
 
 Still'd at a breath, the tempest's rage, the forest-trees 
 uprear, 
 
 And glittering drops on dancing sprays, proclaim a 
 truce to fear ; 
 
 All, all is joy and happiness, glad smiles bedeck each 
 cheek, 
 
 (Though nestling close, pretending fear, those tender 
 lovers speak) 
 
 Outshines again the glorious orb, and springing back to 
 life, 
 
 Where late was dread, now blossoms hope — and calm- 
 ness, where was strife. 
 
 Thou earnest — where souls in wild turmoil, with angry 
 
 passions tost, 
 Prostrate, uptorn, each hope of life, gone — withered — 
 
 wasted — lost ! 
 Like lightning-blast, despair had scathed, the buds of 
 
 early youth, 
 Torn, prone to earth lay scatter'd there, hope, faith, and 
 
 love, and truth ; 
 One look — thine own — thy hand outstretched, and 
 
 magic ! at thy spell, 
 Life's sap quick filled each wasted branch, the withered 
 
 trunks outswell ; 
 A balm of peace is sprinkled o'er, and bud, and blos- 
 som, leaf, 
 And trees of life and wisdom blend, where late was woe 
 
 and grief. 
 
 Where foul miasma loads the air, and sinking nature 
 
 faints, 
 Beneath the rank pestiferous cloud, the heavy air that 
 
 taints ;
 
 THE POWER OP GOOD. 51 
 
 Sinking while all of living form, with tottering footsteps 
 
 creep, 
 And vegetation lingering droops, in dull and heavy 
 
 sleep ; 
 No sound is heard to glad the ear, no sight to please 
 
 the eye ; 
 Where once to breathe, is doom to fade, where once to 
 
 live, to die. 
 With godlike skill see science come, and from that rank 
 
 impure, 
 Far fly away the poisonous damps, the cattle range 
 
 secure, 
 Emerges many a teeming crop, that gilds the burdened 
 
 land, 
 And clustering fruit now fill the bowl, by fragrant 
 
 zephyrs fann'd ; 
 Loud gladsome mirth, and laughing glee, now dance in 
 
 myrtle shade, 
 Or listen to the warbled notes that thro' the air pervade ; 
 E'en so thy words, like science — art, a gift from realms 
 
 above, 
 Shed round their healing sanctity, and wake to life and 
 
 love. 
 
 ! who can say ? does Heaven's grace a foretaste send 
 
 to earth, 
 To teach men how to reverence a form of heavenly 
 
 birth ! 
 That we might see and learn to love, those deeds of high 
 
 emprize, 
 Should earn us right to dwell with Thee, in yonder 
 
 gleaming skies.
 
 52 THE FISHERMAN. 
 
 Association with the good can win the doubting mind, 
 
 To rouse from dreamy apathy and fellow with his kind ; 
 
 To quit the dull lethargic trance in which he power- 
 less lies, 
 
 And won by virtue, good to love, with good to sympa- 
 thise. 
 
 THE FISHERMAN. 
 
 A TALE, ADDRESSED TO THE LADIES. 
 
 A Fisherman, whose nets were new, 
 And every bait could bring in view ; 
 Capricious as he plied his trade, 
 (Like many a young coquettish maid), 
 And all his prey rose to his wish, 
 Discarded many a useful fish ; 
 But for a fancied fault, forsooth ! 
 They did not please this squeamish youth. 
 Too large, too small, too thick, too thin, 
 Too dark a scale, too bright a fin ; 
 Some reason, just as wise as these, 
 "Would guide his purpose o'er the seas. 
 Yet once he said — to please his mind, 
 Some gold and silver fish he'd find ; 
 He threw the net — the prey he sought ; 
 They, not unwilling to be caught, 
 Came flocking fast in shoals to hand, 
 Yet scorned he now the glittering band ;
 
 THE FISHERMAN. 53 
 
 For still he paused to scrutinize, 
 Imagined faults in shape or size ; 
 And while he thus the time delays, 
 They're far beyond his listless gaze ; 
 What cared he then the giddy youth, 
 He little needed them, in truth ; 
 For now the river, brook, or seas, 
 Will yield their treasures at his ease ; 
 He fishes now but to amuse, 
 He need but only pick and choose ; 
 And soon his daily sport is done, 
 His nets are hanging in the sun. 
 
 But now ! the voice of hunger speaks, 
 
 Again the rod and line he seeks ; 
 
 Again essays the venturous trade ; 
 
 Not as of yore his toil repaid ; 
 
 The useful nets so long abused, 
 
 Or only sought to be misused, 
 
 No longer yield their wonted prey, 
 
 And why ? They've fallen to decay. 
 
 The fisher views with sad alarm, 
 
 The progress of each direful harm ; 
 
 The tattered mesh, the wasted twine, 
 
 And plies again the rod and line ; 
 
 In vain his hook again he baits, 
 
 No finny spoil his longing sates ; 
 
 In vain he plies each varied art, 
 
 Longs for the prey he sees depart ; 
 
 Would fain his former hours retrace, 
 
 When master o'er the watery race, 
 
 He then could please each springing wish, 
 
 With choicest store of dainty fish ;
 
 54 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 And now, the meanest one of these, 
 "Would he with joyful rapture seize, 
 Till fast receding day and light, 
 Compelled to quit his toil by night, 
 And homewards as he bends his way, 
 Sighs, " He that will not when he may, 
 When he will, he shall have nay." 
 
 THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 Enthusiastic in their zeal, 
 
 They traverse wild and waste ; 
 And armed with holy purpose feel, 
 
 More purified, more chaste ; 
 As wending on their desert way, 
 
 They near that sacred fane, 
 And votive heart- strains loudly say, 
 
 " They have not toiled in vain." 
 
 Now home returned with joy elate, 
 
 All worldly passions stilled, 
 In peaceful, blest and happy state, 
 
 Life's holiest wish fulfilled. 
 The hallowed pilgrims thus we trace, 
 
 Themselves of sacred worth ; 
 "Who once have reached that sainted place, 
 
 Are sanctified thenceforth.
 
 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR 55 
 
 So, long through desert tracks my view, 
 
 My faltering steps have sought, 
 That shrine my spirit might renew, 
 
 "With fresh created thought. 
 The mirage tempting in its green, 
 
 Oft lured me with its cheat, 
 And where the sands shone liquid sheen, 
 
 Illusions led my feet. 
 
 But now ! joy-filled, I see enshrined, 
 
 All e'er I hoped to see ; 
 And God's own temple in thy mind, 
 
 Hath bent my heart and knee. 
 New feelings in my soul abound, 
 
 New virtues seem to woo ; 
 Thus when we tread on holy ground, 
 
 Ourselves turn holy too. 
 
 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? 
 
 (an epigram.) 
 
 To love thy neighbour as thyself, 
 Is maxim good and true ; 
 
 But you, who come to ask my pelf, 
 It don't apply to you. 
 
 If love I to my "neighbour" give, 
 
 In it have you no share ; 
 For I in famed Belgravia live, 
 
 And you in Goulston Square.
 
 56 
 
 PSALM CXLVIII. 
 
 (paraphrased.) 
 
 Through earth, through, air, through rolling sea, 
 Where'er Creation's forms there be ; 
 Where'er o'er space His power abounds, 
 Through myriad spheres His praise resounds. 
 
 Where ministering angels gladsome dwell, 
 Loud joyous notes of praise outswell ; 
 Where heavenly hosts in brightness shine, 
 Praiseful they tell His power divine. 
 
 The lucent moon, the stars at night, 
 The radiant sun in splendour dight, 
 The depths below, the heavens above, 
 Proclaim the God of truth and love. 
 
 He spoke — they shone — He willed— they stood, 
 Eternal fixed, and aye for good ; 
 They creatures of Almighty will, 
 Unchanged His purpose e'er fulfil. 
 
 Where raging tempests stir the deep, 
 Where wondrous forms through waves upleap, 
 'Mid fire and snow and hail are heard, 
 Obedient heralds of His word.
 
 PSALM CXLVIII. 57 
 
 Each echoing hill, each verdant mount, 
 Their grateful praises who shall count; 
 What votive whispers stir the breeze, 
 Eespondent from the bending trees ! 
 
 Loud sounding praises forests fill, 
 The young bird warbles near the rill ; 
 The insect chirrups 'neath the sod ; 
 All, all, uplift the voice to God. 
 
 Earth's mighty magnates lowly bow, 
 Prostrate the nations bend the brow, 
 Joyous in praise the princes sing, 
 To Him, the Sovereign — Heaven's King. 
 
 Life's each extreme, the aged, the child, 
 Eervid in heart, in voice though mild, 
 With bashful maidens, vigorous youth, 
 Together chant His love, His truth. 
 
 Exalted He — to Him alone, 
 Obedience earth and heaven own ; 
 Obedience to His sacred name, 
 Aloud hear heaven and earth proclaim. 
 
 And ye ! at evening, noon and morn, 
 His best beloved — upraised your horn, 
 Ye saints who hear His hallow' d word, 
 Ye, Israel's children, bless the Lord !
 
 58 
 
 THE DEATH OF EMILY BRONTE. 
 
 (paraphrased from her sister's letter on that subject.) 
 
 Free from pain and sickness now, 
 In this world no more enduring ; 
 Care no more shall shade her brow, 
 Death, eternal peace securing ; 
 Quenched her spirit's vigorous fire, 
 Bright — yet fleeting ere the morrow, 
 Short, but hard, her conflict dire, 
 Sorrow — sorrow — sorrow — sorrow ! 
 
 E'en the day we hopeful thought, 
 
 Yet some weeks she still might tarry ; 
 
 Soul its native heavens sought, 
 
 Could we — would we — death's dart parry? 
 
 Quietly sad, her wasted frame, 
 
 We 'neath the hallowed pavement placed ; 
 
 Breathing soft our sister's name, 
 
 Slowly home our steps retraced. 
 
 Very calm — our hearts resigned ; 
 
 Who that saw her pain and anguish, 
 
 Would for longer life have pined, 
 
 In longer woe to see her languish ? 
 
 We know, we feel, she is at peace, 
 
 From piercing wind and bitter frost, 
 
 Haply freed she claims release, 
 
 Poor spirit, sadly "tempest toss'd."
 
 SACRED DREAMS. 59 
 
 Had she but lived — but why repine, 
 On thoughts like these we dare not dwell, 
 Her fate, my brother's, chance soon mine, 
 Again shall tone the church-yard knell. 
 Familiar faces — home endearing, 
 Fading — withering — vanished — gone — 
 Woe ! woe to him, who trembling, fearing, 
 Sees them passing one by one. 
 But 't is God's will ; be praised His grace ; 
 For good, of earthly cares bereft, 
 We know our last abiding place, 
 Is better far than that we left. 
 
 SACRED DKEAMS. 
 
 A SCRIPTURE ENIGMA. 
 
 In visions of the darksome night, 
 Foretelling in His wondrous might, 
 Almighty power hath oft revealed, 
 What else had been from man concealed. 
 
 To check the monarch's purposed scheme, 
 In warning came the threatening dream ; 
 When justified and free from blame, 
 Him guiltless doth the dream proclaim.
 
 60 SACKED DREAMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 An exile from his father's home, 
 A pious man was doomed to roam ; 
 Though hard his couch, what dreams delight- 
 God ! and his glorious angels bright ! 
 
 in. 
 In after years when homeward bent, 
 Harsh foes would spoil his peaceful tent, 
 The Syrian's foul design is checked, 
 " The dream by night " doth still protect. 
 
 IV. 
 
 How innocent and artless seems 
 
 That loved one, who recounts his dreams, 
 
 Prophetic of his future state, 
 
 But woe for him whom brethren hate ! 
 
 v. 
 Skilled to explain the mystic truth, 
 In prison see that injured youth 
 Interpret dreams, that one doth glad, 
 While hopeless one is trembling sad. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Mysterious where the corn and kine 
 Are heralds of the will divine, 
 The wise men stand amazed around ; 
 The captive doth these dreams expound. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Boldly amid the adverse host, 
 The warrior takes his listening post ; 
 From troubled visions hears the foe, 
 Predict their own sad overthrow.
 
 BREVITY OF LIFE. Gl 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Assaying, God in slumber's dream, 
 What Israel's king would precious deem, 
 With glory graced that diadem 
 Where wisdom formed its brightest gem. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But not like him that monarch vain, 
 Furious would have the wise men slain, 
 But that, God-taught, the Hebrew youth 
 Revealed the awful vision's truth. 
 
 x. 
 
 So ye, although at first perplexed, 
 With God's aid seek the holy text, 
 Propound what here half-hidden seems, 
 Your senses wake to sacred dreams. 
 
 BREVITY OF LIFE. 
 
 '* "? D-bnn 
 : The days of our years are threescore years and ten." Ps. xc. 10. 
 
 "Threescore and ten," the youth replies, 
 
 " How far off seems that day ;" 
 " Threescore and ten," the old man cries, 
 
 " How quickly pass'd away." 
 
 That lengthened life too short appears, 
 Which wronged nor injured any ; 
 
 If passed in sin, our youthful years, 
 Though few, are all too many.
 
 62 
 
 WHERE TO PRAY. 
 yraiai "pb« xns 'DP nx T3t« x>x mpo tea 
 
 "id °3 mow 
 
 " In all places where I record my name, 
 
 I will come to thee and bless thee." Exodus xx. 24. 
 
 Is it on the mountain top, 
 
 "We best can worship Thee ? 
 Is it on the wide-spread plain, 
 
 Most reverent we should he ? 
 Is it on the swelling deep, 
 
 We best can breathe the prayer ; 
 Or is it in the flowery mead, 
 
 We should the hymn prepare ? 
 
 Plaintive through the solemn woods, 
 
 The " still small voice " be heard? 
 'Mid the city's ceaseless toil, 
 
 His wondrous works revered ? 
 Stately halls exultingly 
 
 Re-echo with Thy might ; 
 Humble peasants eloquent, 
 
 Invoke Thy glorious light. 
 
 Need we tread the sacred fane, 
 
 There only, God to seek ? 
 Temples wide the world outspreads, 
 
 In all, His praise to speak. 
 Ocean — earth — the wide extent, 
 
 Alike His house of prayer ; 
 Where'er invoked, the God of love 
 
 Will come and bless us there.
 
 63 
 "ICH DIEN." 
 
 Air, " The Standard Bearer." 
 
 " At the battle of Crecy, the king of Bohemia, though then eighty 
 years old and entirely deprived of sight, insisted upon being led to 
 the field — he being at that time an ally of France. He fell, as might 
 have been expected, at the first encounter, and his crest, a plume of 
 ostrich feathers, being found after the conflict, was, with his motto 
 ' Ich Dien,' adopted by Edward as the future heraldic distinction of 
 the Prince of "Wales." 
 
 'Mid Crecy' s valiant field of fight, 
 
 There floats a snow-white plumed crest, 
 It decks the helm of bravest knight, 
 
 That foremost e'er in battle pressed. 
 No youthful blood now fills his veins, 
 
 His once bright eyes are sightless seen, 
 But nought his gallant soul restrains, 
 
 Or checks his battle-cry " Ich Dien." 
 
 Though fourscore years had bowed his head, 
 
 Bohemia's king in faith was true, 
 When Edward's hosts o'er Gallia spread, 
 
 To aid his friends the veteran flew. 
 Allied to France — once more his heart, 
 
 Bade glitter forth his falchion keen, 
 Once more resumed the hero's part, 
 
 And once more sounds his cry, "Ich Dien.'
 
 64 LA PREMIERE DAKSEUSE. 
 
 He falls ! Iris noble course is run ; 
 
 The Black Prince brave, his valour heeds, 
 And when the field of Crecy 's won, 
 
 Thus honours he his variant deeds : 
 " Ee this pure crest of spotless white, 
 
 Henceforth 'mid England's trophies seen, 
 By princes claimed — their proudest right, 
 
 Their motto, guide, and faith, 'Ich Dien.'" 
 
 LA PEEMIERE DANSEUSE. 
 
 (FROM AN UNPUBLISHED "WORK OF THE AUTHOR'S.) 
 
 Some years ago, my sister had frequent occasions to go 
 to the Docks, and in her perambulations in that not 
 very desirable locality, had more than once noticed a 
 young girl, whose wan and wretched appearance had 
 excited her commiseration, though there was not 
 sufficient distress apparent to make an offer of unso- 
 licited charity other than offensive. She was, as my 
 sister described her, of very graceful proportions, which 
 her slight vestments showed in their full contour. Of a 
 clear olive complexion, such as only Itaria's skies coidd 
 ripen, though sunk with grief and care, her eyes yet 
 told how bright they must have been in happier hours. 
 Very thinly clad, though the weather was bleak in the 
 extreme ; she wore a slight gauze dress, apparently the 
 cast-off of some elegante's ball dress ; and thin silk shoes, 
 while they disclosed a graceful tapered ankle, were but 
 poor protection against the mud and snow, through 
 which she was compelled to pass.
 
 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 65 
 
 My sister had often observed this young woman with 
 kind inclination, and longed to address her ; when, one 
 evening, she again encountered the interesting stranger. 
 Slowly and dispiritedly she seemed to walk, now lean- 
 ing against the railing of a house, now looking as if 
 to heaven for support, till, at length, exhausted nature 
 gave way, and she sank at the feet of my sister, 
 who was hastening to accost her. With the assist- 
 ance of the bystanders she was raised, and her lodging 
 having been pointed out, thither did Helen (my sister) 
 accompany the senseless object of their care ; but how 
 shocked was her gentle soul at the sight that met her 
 view. After ascending several flights of creaking and 
 dirty stairs, a small attic was indicated as the young 
 girl's chamber. With the exception of a miserable 
 truckle-bed and two broken chairs it was literally 
 empty, save that a large and massive ebony crucifix 
 was appended in front of the chimney, as if religion 
 was a support even in the depths of misfortune. 
 
 Depositing her on the wretched mattress, the old 
 crone who owned the miserable hovel exclaimed, "Ah, 
 poor creature, I thought how it would end, a penny 
 loaf is but scanty living for two days. It was well she 
 paid me that last shilling for lodging, or I don't know 
 where she would have slept ; poor creature, I am quite 
 sorry for her, though she is a furrener." The unfeel- 
 ing Sycorax was then leaving the room, but Helen 
 hastily giving her money, bade her procure immediate 
 relief and sustenance for the exhausted girl. This 
 having been administered, slowly did she return to con- 
 sciousness, and in the purest Tuscan offer her thanks 
 to her benefactress, not considering that her language 
 might not be understood. Answered unexpectedly in
 
 66 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 
 
 her native dialect, an unrepressed emotion of mingled 
 grief and pleasure took possession of her faculties, and 
 falling on my sister's neck she wept aloud. 
 
 # % ■» # 
 
 At a subsequent period, at Helen's request, she 
 thus related her history — 
 
 " mia hella P atria! Dear loved Italy! shall I 
 ever again behold thee ? shall I ever again rove in thy 
 myrtle bowers, or sport in thine orange groves ? Thy 
 vines are twined in purple clusters, never more for me 
 to gather ; and thy laurels still are fresh — but for me 
 no more. And thou, too, Joyed lake, dream-revisited 
 Como, with thy placid glass-like tide, reflecting tree and 
 sky and mount, and thy gondolas swiftly gliding through 
 the moonlit waves, and thy freshening air, and thine 
 eternal brightness — but for me, all dim, all sad, all 
 hopeless. 
 
 " I was born at Bellano, on the borders of the lake ; 
 my parents were poor, but honest and industrious, with 
 rather a numerous family, of whom I was the youngest, 
 and of course the favourite. Even from my childhood, 
 I used to have for a companion the son of a neigh- 
 bouring vintager ; wherever I was, there was young 
 Paulo by my side ; we walked together, talked together, 
 romped, laughed, and played together ; in short, we 
 were inseparable. "Where was Paulo, you might be 
 sure, my mother said, to find Nina ; and if his father 
 wished for his absent son, he had but to call my 
 name, and we were both at his knee. 
 
 "So we grew, the village gossips already coupled 
 us, and the old man smiled and patted my head, when 
 I asked if I should not be his little daughter. One 
 year glided thus after another, and I was the happiest
 
 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 67 
 
 girl in all Italy. The days passed in healthful employ- 
 ment, and in the evenings we would dance under the 
 shade of the chestnut, and in the balmy fragrance of 
 the jasmine and the myrtle. 
 
 " Sometimes, too, Paulo would row me on the lucid 
 lake, and point out each well-known locality to my 
 view ; and there we would trace the beauties dimpling 
 in smiles on nature's cheek, and like a rich carcanet 
 round an eastern satrap's neck, we would note the 
 bright emerald green of the olive and the cork trees, 
 and the sparkling ruby and the rich amethyst of the 
 grape, and the gold-enwrought groves of orange ; while 
 studded here and there, like orient pearls, you might 
 see marble villas shining in whiteness beneath a sky of 
 sapphire, and tinted in the rich opaline hues of the 
 setting sun. Then the moonlight would come, and I 
 would cling closer to my companion, while he would 
 tell me tales of bandits and of robbers ; and I would 
 look to the dim distance of the Alps, rising in the back 
 ground of this glorious amphitheatre, and fancy a 
 brigand in every bush and a musket in every fir tree. 
 
 " Tvvo gentlemen had been in our neighbourhood for 
 a few days ; they had hired a gondolet, but being unac- 
 quainted with its management, had, by inadvertance, 
 overset it in the very view of our cottage. Paulo imme- 
 diately cut the rope of a fishing-boat from its moorings, 
 and with my father hastened to their assistance. With 
 difficulty they were saved, and were borne to our house 
 where they received every attention. In the evening 
 the elder gentleman, who was a merchant in Paris 
 proposed, in the exuberance of his gratitude, to take 
 his young preserver, educate him, and receive him in 
 his counting-house. His father gladly availed himself
 
 68 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 
 
 of this offer, •which, on Paulo communicating to me, 
 with eyes brimful of tears, I would not he so selfish as 
 to wish him to decline. 
 
 " "We had heen dancing the Tarantella together, and 
 as our guests were looking at us, with a little excusable 
 vanity I was endeavouring my best; hut I danced 
 no more that evening. As business required Mons. 
 Delmar to be in Paris, the morrow was fixed for their 
 departure. We had short time for leave-taking ; Paulo 
 promised to learn to write the more quickly, that he 
 might write to me ; and I recollect that, almost before 
 my eyes were dry, I took an old mass book, over which 
 I was toiling for some hours, in the hopes of being 
 enabled to read what he might learn to write. 
 
 " But it seemed as if fate willed that we shoidd both 
 leave home at nearly the same time. The younger 
 gentleman, whom Paulo had saved, was manager of 
 La Scala, at Milan, and he offered my parents to train 
 me as a dancer for the opera. An affair of such mo- 
 ment was referred by my mother to the Confessor of the 
 village, and, as Pather Geronimo assented, the proposal 
 was accepted by my parents. For myself, Paulo had 
 left, and since I could not be with him, I was careless 
 where I was. 
 
 "If I tell you how indifferent I was to all that sur- 
 rounded me, on my transfer from our quiet village to 
 the bustling gaieties of the city, you may judge how 
 deeply my feelings were absorbed. It might have been 
 expected that, to a simple country girl like myself, all 
 would have been excitement and wonder. No ! I was 
 listless and careless, there seemed no attraction in 
 novelty, no amusement in variety ; I was sad at heart. 
 The Director, who I must say, treated me as kindly as
 
 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 61) 
 
 would a parent, used every endeavour to cheer me, and 
 his daughters, grateful for their father's preservation, 
 were almost as sisters to me. They would take me 
 wherever they thought I might find enjoj'ment or 
 amusement. Sometimes to the public walks or gardens, 
 which were alwaj^s well attended ; and where we would 
 see the gay, graceful, and glittering groups, gliding 
 luxuriously under the cooling shades of the trees, or 
 listening with enthusiasm to the military music, which 
 enlivened the lustrous throng. Sometimes we would 
 drive to the Corso, amid noble equipages and splendid 
 equipments, and they would point out to my view the 
 long line of Milanase nobility and Italian aristocracy 
 that followed each other in quick succession, while the 
 rich uniform of the Austrian hussar added to the qqv- 
 geousness of the scene. All this delighted me not ; 
 nor when all classes united in merriment at the attrac- 
 tive movements of Polieinello could I join, in the joyous 
 sounds. 
 
 " But I preferred going to the churches, which are in 
 Milan both numerous and splendid, for I could kneel at 
 the altars and pray for him there unchecked. Whether 
 it was in the ancient aisles of the Basilica Ambrosiana 
 or in any of the numerous churches of the Madonna, 
 or mid the singular Gothic architecture of II Duomo, 
 thronged with its thousand statues and gemmed with 
 its jewelled shrines, I passed with rapidity through the 
 varied beauties of painting or sculpture to kneel at the 
 foot of the altar, where I breathed prayers for his hap- 
 piness in preference to my own. 
 
 "Certainly, one sight did succeed in exciting my 
 attention, and I must, indeed, have been insensate not 
 to have noticed it. The magnificent view that met my
 
 70 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 
 
 gaze on ascending to the spire of the Cathedral far 
 exceeded the utmost limits of my imagination. The 
 spire, which overtopping a mountain of the whitest 
 marble, is itself an object of notice and admiration for 
 miles around, is surrounded by a gallery, to which the 
 spectator arrives hy a flight of about 500 steps ; but 
 well and amply is the ascent repaid. Almost a shout 
 burst from my lips at the gorgeous prospect ; overcome 
 with rapture I gasped for respiration. Immediately 
 below me was the splendid city, with its beautiful 
 irregularity of architecture, conspicuous among which 
 was the noble square in which the Cathedral is situate. 
 The eye, glancing over the city, encounters a well 
 cultivated and highly fertile country, intersected in 
 every direction with liquid mirrors, reflecting on their 
 surface in multiplied continuity a bright unbroken line, 
 which might seem another Eden. Vineyards, olive- 
 yards, orchards, and orange groves were scattered in rich 
 profusion, while extensive cultivations of rice, sloping 
 to the water' s-edge, waved in their verdant vegetation. 
 
 "Further away, like an extended plain below, lay 
 Piedmont, Lombardy, with my own loved Como, and the 
 Venetian States, which might well justify our claim as 
 the garden of Europe ; while innumerable towns and 
 hamlets, studded with spire and turret, gave diver- 
 sity, while they did not diminish the beauty of the 
 scenery. Away in the far expanse of this glorious view 
 was the snow-girt boundary of the Alps, with the pin- 
 nacle of Mont Blanc distinctly visible at the distance of 
 120 miles. To the south, the dark blue of the Apen- 
 nines checked the gaze over Parma and Tuscany, which 
 would seem to stretch to perpetuity. 
 
 "By the kind care of the director I was well edu-
 
 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 71 
 
 cated, and at the Seminario I profited by instructions 
 from first-rate artistes, and, after some time, was deemed 
 competent for a debut as principal dancer in the ballet. 
 Nearly all this time I had been receiving letters which 
 had been forwarded by Paulo to Bellano, and even 
 while the writing was scarcely distinct to the eye, it 
 was legible to the heart. But not having heard from 
 him for three months, I was more than usually dull 
 when the evening arrived for my first appearance. The 
 director was in despair ; great expectations had been 
 raised respecting my performance, and I was angry with 
 myself for my want of spirits, when one of the attend- 
 ants delivered me a letter which had just arrived, and 
 in an instant, like magic, its endearing words worked 
 regeneration. The opera had concluded, and the cur- 
 tain had risen for the ballet. 
 
 " Those who know how eagerly the appearance of a 
 debutante is watched in Italy, will not be surprised at the 
 numbers that had attended. It was a mythological 
 ballet on the Judgment of Paris, in which I played the 
 part of Venus. With palpitating heart I waited for 
 the time of my entrance, resolved to strain every energy 
 for success, for success pointed, through a long vista, 
 to the completion of my hopes, a reunion with Paulo. 
 Strange enough, except at rehearsals, I had never been 
 at the theatre ; and now, when it burst on me in its 
 full splendour, I was absolutely dazzled and astounded. 
 " La Scala is reckoned the finest theatre in Europe, 
 not even inferior to that of San Carlo at Naples ; this 
 magnificent building, brilliantly illuminated, and blazing 
 in the richness of wealth and beauty, was thronged to 
 the roof. The scenery and decorations were worthy 
 its noble tenantry, while the orchestra, at all times in
 
 72 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 
 
 Italy an object of national interest, more particularly 
 so at Milan, was numerous and select. The first sensa- 
 tion of astonishment and wonder having subsided, I 
 entered into the duties of my character, at first with 
 great timidity, but, acquiring fresh courage and resolu- 
 tion from, the possession of my lately received letter, 
 and the associations it inspired, I astonished myself, 
 and, while applauding testimonials stamped the seal of 
 approval, even my kind friend, the director. Suffice it, 
 I was eminently successful, and at once attained the 
 summit of my profession. Liberally repaid for my 
 exertions, I was enabled to render my parents many 
 comforts, nor was I slow to acquaint my youthful com- 
 panion of my good fortune ; about this time, however, 
 his patron had removed his establishment from Paris, 
 and my letters did not reach him. 
 
 "After a bright career at Milan, I was successively 
 engaged at Yenice, Naples, Florence, Eome, and all 
 the principal cities of Italy ; and I, who but a few years 
 back, had been rambling unheeded on the banks of my 
 native lake, was now as the "brilliant Dellcomo," 
 receiving admiration, protestations, valuable presents, 
 and flattering praise from the mighty and the noble. 
 Most eagerly was my presence sought, and most lavish 
 offers of engagement were made to secure my services. 
 At one time I had offers lying on my boudoir from 
 Vienna, Berlin, Paris, London, and even from St. 
 Petersburg, without reckoning others from various parts 
 of Italy and Germany. My decision was soon formed ; 
 it was for Paris, though certainly the proposal from 
 that capital was not the most lucrative. Received with 
 all the honours and attention that might await a noble 
 guest, flattered and feted, I felt more desire to seek the
 
 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 73 
 
 residence of Mons. Delmar, than to avail myself of 
 the enjoyments offered for my participation. 
 
 " My professional engagements, and those civilities, 
 which, without rudeness, I could not entirely decline, 
 considerably occupied my attention, so that it was at 
 the close of my Parisian engagement that I learned 
 the removal of the worthy merchant to Lyons, much 
 crippled in his resources. Thither then was my next 
 stage, in spite of eager and very tempting offers to pro- 
 long my stay at Paris. My journey was of no avail, 
 M. Delmar, heart-stricken at his misfortunes, and sink- 
 ing under their rapid accumulation, had been attacked 
 with i)aralysis, which eventually was the cause of his 
 death. The business was broken up, and the employes 
 had gone, no one knew whither. Letters to Bellano 
 were also fruitless, Paulo had not been heard of there. 
 Even amid all the luxury in which I had been moving, 
 I still looked back with fond retrospection to those 
 happy hours of youth, and I could not but regret the 
 loss of one, whom every succeeding year had but the 
 more endeared to me. 
 
 "It has too long been the idea, that vice and debauchery 
 are inseparable companions from the mode of existence 
 which I followed. To a certain extent it may be true, 
 that females, exposed to a theatrical life, acquire a 
 taint from the moral atmosphere which they breathe. 
 But not from innate vice do they swerve ; if they fall, it is 
 not from want of principle, but from circumstances which 
 they are powerless to control. Cajoled and caressed by 
 those whose sole object is to deceive ; scarcely heeded by 
 those of their own sex whose protection might shield, and 
 whose counsels might guide ; treading 'mid the mazy 
 paths of luxury and excitement — can we wonder, that 
 lured by false lights, they may stray from the right ways,
 
 74 LA PREMIERE DANSEUSE. 
 
 and become entangled in the labyrinth. Walking amid 
 burning ploughshares, it is well for those who come un- 
 scathed from the ordeal. From my own knowledge can 
 I speak of those tempting baits that shine but to decoy, 
 of the fine woven nets spread but to ensnare. 
 
 "In many of the continental cities have I been exposed 
 to those shameless proposals, which men, otherwise of 
 the best sentiments, think it no shame to offer to a 
 female, whose career may be, as mine was, on the 
 stage. I take little praise for saying, I repulsed with 
 indignation these insults. But it was in England, 
 moral as I had always thought it, that I was exposed 
 to the most continuous repetition of this degradation ; 
 and with a perseverance worthy a better cause was I 
 persecuted. Often after enrapturing brilliant crowds at 
 the Opera house, have I retired to my bed, to weep at 
 the insolence of some profligate lordling, or decrepid 
 debauchee, who pursued me with licentious obsequious- 
 ness. My obstinacy, so my resolution was termed, was 
 deemed a fault ; and I, who but the season before was 
 termed a second Terpsichore, now was almost deserted. 
 New divinities appeared, more propitious they said, and 
 a determined and ungenerous opposition was in pro- 
 gress against me. Forgive me that I ascribe these 
 unworthy motives to your countrymen, but, in fact, so 
 determined a party was raised against me, that the 
 manager, in self-defence, was compelled to rescind my 
 engagement. 
 
 "Indignant at this illiberal treatment, I hastened home 
 to prepare for immediate departure for the Continent ; 
 when judge my consternation at beholding my chamber 
 in a state of disorder, the drawers stripped of their 
 valuable contents, and my escritoire, which had con- 
 tained a large amount in money and jewels, completely
 
 LA PREMIERE DANSETTSE. 
 
 75 
 
 rifled. The agitation which I suffered by this sudden 
 
 deprivation threw me into a fever, from which it was 
 
 many months before I recovered. During this illness, 
 
 I exhausted nearly my whole remaining resources, and 
 
 found myself, on my protracted convalescence, in a 
 
 strange land, without friends, without money, without 
 
 resources. Hope of return to my former employment 
 
 was fruitless ; it was with difficulty I could even walk ; 
 
 and I, who had been the idolised of many, now was 
 
 deserted by all. I removed to more humble apartments, 
 
 and contrived by the sale of my remaining necessaries, 
 
 to eke out a wretched life. I sought some whom I had 
 
 assisted in my prosperity, but I was the ' ' stricken 
 
 deer," and they bade me " go weep." Could I have 
 
 reached Italy, there I had yet a home, but that was 
 
 denied me. So day by day I sank in wretchedness, 
 
 never, believe me, in wrong, though persecuted with its 
 
 tempters ; at length, with exhausted purse, I sought 
 
 this wretched hovel, where I have laboured, with what 
 
 skill I might, to drag on a wearisome existence, till 
 
 weakened nature denied her aid. Need I tell you all is 
 
 gone ; all, save that crucifix at whose feet, with Paulo, 
 
 I oft have knelt ; it has been my constant companion, 
 
 my never failing supporter, my mother's gift from 
 
 Como. mia bella Patria! " 
 
 ***** 
 
 It would be too long to tell, how restored to health, 
 Nina was enabled again to repair to her own land, and 
 to occupy a farm and vineyard, which, with happy fore- 
 thought she had purchased in the days of her prosperity, 
 and where, by a fortunate chain of circumstances, she 
 was united for life to the loved companion of her 
 youth, her never-forgotten Paulo.
 
 76 
 
 APOLOGY FOE, LOVINO. 
 
 Blame me not for loving thee ; 
 
 Could I e'er discover, 
 The glimpse of but a fault in thee, 
 
 I'd be no more a lover. 
 
 But while I trace, fair maid, in thee, 
 The presence of each charm, 
 
 How can I from such graces flee, 
 My passion to disarm ? 
 
 Then blame me not, that still I love, 
 
 I know, alas I 'tis vain 
 To raise my thoughts so high above, 
 
 Yet can I not refrain. 
 
 THE STOLEN HEART. 
 
 (IMITATED FROM HEB.RICK.) 
 
 Say, was it kindly done of thee, 
 
 To steal away my heart, 
 And when I would have one for me, 
 
 Refuse with thine to part ?
 
 "en attendant." 77 
 
 It is not fair, thus to retain, 
 
 A stolen heart like mine ; 
 Yet would I, dearest, not complain, 
 
 To barter, love, for thine. 
 
 If still you act the miser's part, 
 
 To covet all you can, 
 And still you prize that pilfered heart, 
 
 Take with the heart — the man. 
 
 " EN ATTENDANT." 
 
 As watching long at heaven's gate, 
 With faith new-sprung and hope elate, 
 Awhile expectant spirits wait, 
 
 Admission there: 
 And all the day-beams of the thought, 
 That heaven long and earnest sought, 
 By penitence is early bought, 
 
 And faith and prayer. 
 
 So I, who wait so anxiously, 
 Thy beaming smile again to see, 
 Yet while the minutes seem to be, 
 
 Each one an hour, 
 I blame not then the sad delay, 
 Anticipation paves the way, 
 And bight, the harbinger of day, 
 
 Pervades thy bower.
 
 78 EMIGRATION. 
 
 Long in the sea the diver lies, 
 
 But now he bears to wondering eyes, 
 
 From ocean cave, the treasured prize, 
 
 His toil repays. 
 So, as the time-tide hastens o'er, 
 I miss thy presence more and more, 
 But ah ! again the brightened shore — 
 
 I meet thy gaze. 
 
 EMIGRATION. 
 
 (a comic effusion.) 
 
 Since now-a-days there's many a man 
 
 Attempting Emigration, 
 Why should not I propose a plan 
 
 To benefit the nation ; 
 Long have I thought in my mind 
 
 To find a fitting home, 
 Might seem by Nature's self designed 
 
 For kindred souls to roam. 
 
 The brewers should to Malta go, 
 
 The loggerheads to Scilly, 
 The quakers to the Friendly Isles, 
 
 And the furriers all to Chili. 
 The little bawling squalling elves, 
 
 Who break our nightly rest, 
 While their nurses haste to Babylon, 
 
 Go to Lapland or to Brest.
 
 EMIGRATION. 79 
 
 From Spithead, cooks run over Greece, 
 
 And while the miser waits 
 His passage to the Guinea Coast, 
 
 The spendthrift's in the Straits. 
 To Geneva quick will drunkards hie, 
 
 At the Needles spinsters be, 
 "While gourmands lunch at Sandwich Isles, 
 
 'Twill suit them to a T. 
 
 Musicians hasten to the Sound, 
 
 The surplus priests to Rome, 
 "While all the race of hypocrites 
 
 At Canton are at home; 
 Send Bachelors to the United States, 
 
 Maids to the Isle of Man, 
 Let gardeners all to Botany go, 
 
 And shoeblacks to Japan. 
 
 "While debtors flock to Ohio, 
 
 And poets to the Meuse, 
 The firemen to the Indians go, 
 
 And to Greenland all the blues. 
 Most lovers rest pleased with Good Hope, 
 
 To some the Horn gives pain, 
 The cockneys pause to Lyons see, 
 
 Bold sailors cross the Maine. 
 
 The stationer, post, inquires for Bheims,* 
 
 Blacklegs for "Wight design, 
 W 7 hile rogues may find a longitude 
 
 That's just below the Line. 
 
 * All proper names to be read as an Englishman would pronounce 
 them, e.g., Reams.
 
 80 RED RIDING HOOD. 
 
 Run surgeons to Connecticut, 
 Finland's the Sharks 1 abodes, 
 
 "While half our idle vagabonds 
 
 Might mend their ways in Rhodes. 
 
 RED RIDING HOOD 
 
 (SET TO MUSIC BY MR. P. TAN NO-GREEN). 
 
 In a neatly built cottage just down by the wood, 
 There lived with her mother, little Red Riding Hood ; 
 To a neighbouring village one morning she went, 
 With kindest of wishes to Grandmamma sent, 
 With a pot of fresh butter, and a half-pound of tea, 
 The one was choice Dorset, the other Bohea. 
 "Now hasten, my darling," her mother did say, 
 " And stop not to gossip or sport on the way." 
 
 She was leaving the wood, when a wolf she espied ; 
 " Good morning, Miss Riding Hood," the animal cried, 
 " Pray where are you walking this morning so fine ? " 
 " To see my dear gran'ma my course I design ; 
 A pot of fresh butter, and tea, too, I take, 
 And see here, mamma has sent a nice cake." 
 Says the wolf, " I'll be first there, let's run then a race." 
 Away then he scampered at swiftest of pace. 
 
 He soon reached the cottage, found the grandma in bed, 
 Ate up the old dame, put her cap on his head, 
 Then jumped in her place, scarce got there before 
 He heard a loud tapping outside the cot door.
 
 BLUE BEARD. 81 
 
 " Come in, my sweet darling," the hypocrite cried, 
 " There put down your basket, and sit by my side ; 
 Now read me a book my time to amuse ; 
 Pray how is your mother, and what is the news?" 
 
 " Dear gran'ma," she said, as she looked with surprise, 
 " How harsh is your voice, and how large are your eyes !" 
 " The better to see with." " And then your big nose!" 
 " The better to smell with, you'll own, I suppose." 
 " What great ears you've got, and then what big teeth!" 
 " The better to eat with." So he sprang from beneath 
 The blankets and sheets upon poor Eiding Hood, 
 And gobbled her up like the daintiest food. 
 
 And now I am thinking, if 'stead of delaying 
 To talk to the wolf she had not been staying, 
 But heeded her mother, and quickly walked on, 
 The wolf had not known where 'twas she had gone ; 
 The granny had lived to drink tea and eat cake, 
 Her little granddaughter with her would partake. 
 Let children all then be obedient and good, 
 And be warned by the fate of poor Eed Eiding Hood. 
 
 BLUE BEARD, 
 
 A COMIC VERSION. 
 (Set to Music by Mr. P. E. Van Noorden.) 
 
 One day said Blue Beard to his spouse, 
 " I'm off to town this morning; 
 
 Here, take the keys of all the house, 
 But listen to my warning ; 
 
 G
 
 82 BLUE BEARD. 
 
 In every room you wish to go, 
 
 My leave you have to enter, 
 Except the one that's just helow, 
 
 The blue room in the centre. {Repeat.) 
 
 This is the key; now pray attend ; 
 
 Look well, its bright and chub-hy" 
 Says she, "You may on me depend; 
 
 Good-bye, my darling hubby." 
 But scarcely gone, his words she mocks, 
 
 In every room doth venture, 
 At length she turns the little locks 
 
 Of the blue room in the centre. 
 
 She screamed, she squalled, she saw a sight, 
 
 For wives lay round about, dead, 
 Like porter that has stood all night, 
 
 Each wife was flat — without head ! 
 The key she dropped, it turned all rust, 
 
 In vain was all her rubbing ; 
 " Bless me," says she, " here '11 be a dust, 
 
 Oh! sha'nt I catch a drubbing." 
 
 Blue Beard came home, she gave the keys, 
 
 Says he, " I think I miss one." 
 " Here 't is." " Ha ! ha ! pray, if you please, 
 
 How came the stain on this one ? 
 One hour I give, go say your prayers, 
 
 You would not heed my warning, 
 Be off — despatch — come quick downstairs, 
 
 Eor you must die this morning."
 
 APPLES OF GOLD EN FRAMES OF SILVER. 83 
 
 From out the tower looked sister Anne, 
 
 To see if help was near them, 
 No help was there of boy or man, 
 
 Nor brothers' aid to cheer them. 
 " Come down!" said Blue Beard, with a roar, 
 
 " Your faults shall now be paid of, 1 " 
 But the brothers rushed in through the door, 
 
 And shaved his beard and head off. 
 
 APPLES OF GOLD IN FEAMES OF SILVER. 
 
 Proverbs xxv. 11. 
 
 (Inscribed to Mr. M. Montagu on the Completion of his 
 Version of the Psalms ; 
 Compared with the Hebrew, Annotated and Revised 
 By the Author of "Autumn Gatherings.") 
 When erst inspired the royal Psalmist wrote 
 The matchless hymns which countless myriads quote, 
 "When erst in words outspoke his raptured mind, 
 Poetic grace with pious thoughts combined 
 To raise, to cheer, to sanctify mankind. 
 
 "When, sad his voice, he told his anguished plaint, 
 How foes pursued, his soul who would attaint ; 
 How wicked men who sought his life to snare, 
 Though guiltless he, would not their rage forbear ; 
 Sunk in distress he wails his cares, his woes : 
 Yet see ! 'mid gloom what cheering hope-fire glows, 
 'Mid darkness see ! a glorious light illumes ! 
 His trust, ne'er failing, all its strength resumes ; 
 Refuge is nigh, and mark that evil band, 
 Now quivering sink, beneath his God's right hand.
 
 84 APPLES OF GOLD IN FRAMES OF STLVER. 
 
 Deliverance-songs now Israel's bards up take, 
 
 Deliverance-songs the choral band awake, 
 
 To God on high up-peals th' harmonious hymn, 
 
 To God enthroned amid the cherubim ; 
 
 'Mid Salem's shrines and Zion's echoing mounts, 
 
 New songs of gladness now each voice recounts, 
 
 And chiefly there amid the exulting throng, 
 
 Hear Israel's king loud chant the grateful song. 
 
 "When holy days and times of sacred note, 
 Saw gathering crowds from distant lands remote, 
 Far off was heard, like sound of flower-fed bees, 
 A hum as soft as zephyr's gentle breeze ; 
 It fills the air, now louder swells the voice, 
 Exulting bids the heaven and earth rejoice ; 
 It nearer comes with myrtle wreath and palm, 
 The festal welcome — blessed — the holy Psalm ; 
 From thousand voices hear the answering quire, 
 A thousand hands now strike the harp, the lyre ; 
 The heart with fervour bows in faith avowed, 
 Rejoicing hymns now thrill that gladsome crowd : 
 Happy those days — their own lov'd land they trod, 
 They sang their sacred ode and praised their God. 
 
 "When sickness came with strength-prostrating power, 
 "When sad distress o'erclouded life's bright hour, 
 "When fading friends and failing health combined, 
 And Jesse's son seemed shunned of all mankind, 
 By man forsaken, aid of God he sought ; 
 Here in these Psalms bright inspiration fraught. 
 Here in these Psalms we learn how God e'er deigns 
 To raise the fallen — how His power sustains
 
 APPLES OP GOLD IN FRAMES OF SILVER. 85 
 
 The humble pious — the orphan to secure, 
 In hope He bids the widow's faith endure ; 
 From death's own grasp, from 'neath the oppressor's rod, 
 Here see displayed the might of mercy's God ; 
 Relieved from woe, from want, from dire distress, 
 Then would the soul its votive thanks express, 
 The grateful thanks with which the mind o'er teems, 
 Seek in these Psalms for gratitude's best themes. 
 
 But not for them alone these gems designed, 
 For Israel's race — ah ! no — for all mankind ; 
 Not doom'd like fleeting verse to gild an hour, 
 These words of worth — this mighty valued dower ; 
 Not for one age — for centuries — all time, 
 Not for one soil — for all — for every clime ; 
 Where'er o'er earth the steps of man had ranged, 
 His faithful guide, his comforter unchanged ; 
 "While earth endures exhaustless treasures yield, 
 This richest mine, this ever fertile field. 
 
 But vain their hope long time to share who sought, 
 The treasured gems — the store of hallowed thought ; 
 Unskilled — for them, alas ! in sacred lore, 
 In vain they sought to share the priceless store ; 
 With anxious eyes the Hebrew child they saw 
 From this loved book his holiest rapture draw ; 
 In vain attempts to reach the light they fail, 
 Their powerless efforts cannot pierce the veil. 
 
 Now see, with patient toil some pious hand, 
 Essays the task, and lo ! each grateful land, 
 In its own tongue now reads these words of worth, 
 These words of heaven kindly lent to earth ;
 
 86 APPLES OF GOLD IN FP.AMES OF SILVER. 
 
 And now so blessed how joyed the nations band ; 
 
 What rapturous hymns resound throughout each land ; 
 
 To all, to each, some blessing- and some balm, 
 
 The holy fanes now peal with each loved Psalm ; 
 
 Again essayed the men of pious heart, 
 
 Each tried his skill and taxed poetic art ; 
 
 From his own store some new-born grace bade spring, 
 
 Some charm of thought, some new-turn'd rhyme to bring, 
 
 To roundelays or strains of amorous note, 
 
 Ere while their skill who did of yore devote : 
 
 How changed their themes — the Gallic poet sings, 1 
 
 And hallowed verse pervades the court of kings ! 8 
 
 Here in this land — here too — long past the time, 
 Holy the thought yet feeble in the rhyme, 
 When savage Henry ruled with vengeful power, 
 And made religion plaything of an hour, 
 Then men 3 too powerless for the task they sought, 
 ('T was strange the task no inspiration brought), 
 To halting verse for public service meant, 
 Transposed these odes of music eloquent, — 
 Would that their skill had equalled their intent. 
 
 Though scant its worth, long time this version seemed 
 Meet for church use, for sacred service deemed, 
 Till now 't was thought in second Charles — his time, 
 Quaint in its phrases, faulty in its rhyme ; 
 And lo ! there sprang another twin-born text, 4 
 Where oft confused the mind is sorely vexed 
 To trace the import of the sense perplexed ; 
 
 . ' Clement Marot. s Francis the First, etc. 
 
 3 Sternkold and Hopkins. 4 Tate and Brady.
 
 APPLES OF GOLD IN FRAMES OF SILVER. 
 
 Yet stamp'd with fiat of tlie state command, 
 Fearless of rivals firm these medleys stand, 
 And rule unquestioned e'er throughout the land. 
 
 Bright reason now demands a chaster muse, 
 
 Poetic grace should o'er these hymns diffuse, 
 
 That, pleased the ear should to their beauties bend, 
 
 While holy words with sounds melodious blend ; 
 
 And yet not dazzled by poetic beams, 
 
 Be still preserved the spirit of these themes ; 
 
 Be still preserved the ancient Hebrew fire, 
 
 That warmed the bard — that woke the sacred lyre, 
 
 And tho' transfused these words ' ' more pure than gold, ' 
 
 Still must their sense, so loved in days of old, 
 
 Breathe in its pureness, in each hallowed verse, 
 
 Which pious hearts would to their God rehearse. 
 
 But where the man the task would boldly dare ? 
 The wrongs of ages who would fain repair ? 
 What various skill should in that man combine, 
 Would nobly venture on this proud design ? 
 A heart replete with pious store of thought, 
 A mind serene with various knowledge fraught ; 
 Wit to discern where oft the sense perplexed, 
 Sees light but glimmering in the mystic text ; 
 A soul poetic, yet with care repressed, 
 Lest fancyded but half the sense expressed, 
 In feeble imagery he attires the rest ; 
 Or, lest extending to a needless length, 
 The text enfeebled loses all its strength. 
 Where seek the man of sense and faith combined, 
 Of pious fervour, wit, poetic mind,
 
 88 ELEGY. 
 
 Would free, release from old enfettering rules, 
 Would burst the bonds of Charles', of Henry's schools, 
 Would make these ways where now all toilsome plod, 
 Religion's road — a pleasant path to God ! 
 
 Thine, Montagu ! the noble task to dare, 
 The " pleasant path " anew to bid prepare, 
 To pluck the weeds that cumbering check the way, 
 And crush the flowers thy care now bids display ; 
 The heart, the mind, the soul, that should combine, 
 In such a task, all, Montagu, are thine. 
 In fitting garb who David's Psalms now see, 
 With thankful heart will grateful think of thee ; 
 0, be they blessed, thy labours and thy care, 
 Long sound thy verses in the house of prayer ; 
 When pealing forth be these orisons given, 
 May each for thee some favour win from heaven ; 
 Through all the land may now thy verse rebound, 
 Responsive now let heart and voice resound ; 
 0, may thy words to good each heart incline, 
 And in their souls be — best reflected — thine ; 
 On earth their joy — in heaven their blessing, this 
 Like theirs, thy joy — like thine, their endless bliss ! 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 On the Death of Baroness N. M. de Rothschild. 
 (Translated from the Hebrew of H. E.) 
 
 The stars are dimmed ; the sun withdraws each ray ; 
 
 From every eye the streaming tears pour forth ; 
 Called to her sires ! alas ! how sad the day, 
 
 When earth enfolds this form of glorious worth !
 
 ELEGY. 89 
 
 Grief and despair throughout the land abound, 
 Men mourn their princess lost to mortal eyes, 
 
 While God's bright angels cheer with welcome sound, 
 The advent of their sister to the skies. 
 
 Near to the helpless — she of noblest mind ; 
 
 Pride in her heart ne'er found a resting spot ; 
 Not for display her liberal gifts designed, 
 
 Secret in good, she cheered afflictions lot. 
 As bounteous rain, dispensed her generous store, 
 
 With kindly grace she bids the poor one live ; 
 Blessed with her gifts, the needy's woes are o'er, 
 
 More wearied they to take than she to give. 
 
 Sadly for her the ranks of Judah mourn ; 
 
 The lorn one weeps her benefactress dead; 
 Each noblest heart, alike with anguish torn, 
 
 The glorious crown is rent from off their head. 
 
 Angels of grace ! from yon celestial heights, 
 
 Look down, behold our tears, our grief-full hearts ; 
 On every side one sad lament incites, 
 
 When meek benevolence like hers departs. 
 Angels of grace ! your sister's form sustain ; 
 
 Your sister she, while yet she lived on earth, 
 A mortal garb did then her limbs constrain, 
 
 But now, like you, in all of heavenly worth. 
 ! valued soul ! in kindred heaven dwell ; 
 
 There, where the saints in seven-fold gladness live ; 
 Thy memory cherish those who loved thee well — 
 
 Eternal bliss thy best reward will give.
 
 90 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 On the Death of Baroness N. M. de Eothschild. 
 (Translated from the Hebrew of B. H. A.) 
 
 Daughter of Israel ! thy sackcloth, gird — strip off each 
 
 garb of joy, 
 A mournful day o'er thee hath dawned — in grief your 
 
 hours employ ; 
 "Weep ! weep ! for her ; her children's hope — illustrious 
 
 in her birth, 
 Our nation's pride ; alas ! hath fled this soul of noblest 
 
 worth. 
 
 How vain their trust — how slight their prop, how fragile 
 
 is their stay, 
 Support who seek, in treasured store, or empty gold's 
 
 display ! 
 Why boast the proud in idle vaunt? to wealth why 
 
 homage yield ? 
 When bursts o'er them the day of wrath, can then their 
 
 idol shield ? 
 
 Estranged from good, from virtue far — why lift the 
 
 haughty head ? 
 Gives then, thy gold, superior power — thou, and the 
 
 poor one dead, 
 Alike ye lie, in kindred dust — low on your earthen 
 
 floor — 
 How poor, then oft, the rich man's lot — how rich the 
 
 needy's store ! 
 ■#
 
 ELEGY. 9 1 
 
 ! what is man — this powerless worm — this evanescent 
 
 flower — 
 That simple he should sigh or grieve — more simply- 
 sport his hour ! 
 A fleeting shadow mortal life — e'en to the grave from 
 
 birth- 
 Then why thy care pangs, shadow, say ? or whence thy 
 hollow mirth ? 
 
 The monarch's throne — how scant in worth, or pomp, 
 
 or pride of state, 
 Arraigned, when stand for justice-doom, the lowly and 
 
 the great ! 
 What boots his empty span of years — his fruitless hopes 
 
 or care, 
 If righteous deeds and virtuous life no monument 
 
 prepare 
 
 Exulting, those in Grod who trust, how joyful is their 
 
 lot; 
 Confiding — e'en at death's fell gates, they blanch, they 
 
 tremble not ; 
 For them no gloom — 'mid darkness, light, a glorious 
 
 sparkling beam, 
 Aye ! e'en amid death's shadow shines, their virtue's 
 
 radiant cdeain. 
 
 Thou righteous woman ! happy thou ! blessed with all 
 
 store of good, 
 How oft thine aid hath bid dispense bright learning's 
 
 choicest food,
 
 92 TRUST IN GOD. 
 
 With fostering hand the poor didst raise ! treasured in 
 
 realms above, 
 Go seek thy meed — whose life on earth was charity and 
 
 love. 
 
 Hear the lament ! the widow's plaint, the orphan's 
 
 saddened wail, 
 Bitter her sighs — thy anxious care — the mother in 
 
 travail ; 
 Who now relieve — who cheer our hearts — who give our 
 
 sorrows ease, 
 Our fainting forms who now support — who clothe the 
 
 limbs that freeze ? 
 
 Steadfast in faith, such their career, and heavenly their 
 
 reward, 
 Whose deeds secure eternal bliss, win favour from the 
 
 Lord ; 
 May life's best charms be those who mourn, from thee 
 
 this truth who learn, 
 In God's own path of virtuous deeds, like thee, their 
 
 course discern. 
 
 TEUST IN GOB. 
 
 bm "n -|b wp "n i? 
 
 " In thee, God ! we hope ; in thee, God ! we trust." 
 
 ("Written in 1854.) 
 
 I. 
 
 Dark shades cloud o'er the earth, with mournfulness 
 
 imbued, 
 Pensive, with downcast eyes, the sterile ground we 
 viewed,
 
 TRUST IN GOD. 93 
 
 "Wearied with vain regrets, we trod th' ungenial fields, 
 Its golden store tlie vacant barn now no longer yields. 
 Anxiously, with throbbing heart, the stalwart workmen 
 
 muse, 
 The bitter grief of mothers sad the hungry child 
 
 bedews. 
 Nations trembling, shrink in awe, fearful rulers quail, 
 Mortal skill, a fragile reed, to check the foe's assail ; 
 Downward, as with vulture- swoop, dart birds of omen 
 
 dread, 
 So stalks grim-visaged famine, with deathlike fatal 
 
 tread. 
 In vain were man's control — but thou, Lord! art 
 
 just, 
 In Thee, God ! we hope, in Thee alone we trust. 
 
 Harsh as in forest wilds, outpeals the tiger's roar, 
 Reverberates a sound through Europe's every shore ; 
 Brazen and rash defiance dares th' imperious North, 
 Sweet gentle peace affrightening, swells that wild cry 
 
 forth ; 
 Aroused, uprise the brave, the glittering falchions grasp, 
 Love-locked in last embrace, despairing maidens clasp ; 
 Alas ! alas ! ere stills again that trumpet's bated breath, 
 Eyes brightly gleaming now will sleep in fearful death ; 
 Thousands be of hope bereft, from home and homestead 
 
 torn, 
 Ensanguined cities flame, and myriad hearts will 
 
 mourn ; 
 Yet will we bravely strive to stem that bad man's 
 
 lust; 
 In Thee, Grod ! we hope ; in Thee alone we trust.
 
 94 TRUST IN GOD. 
 
 Pestiferous in the air hangs a fearful doom, 
 Corrupting light and life with odours of the tomb, 
 Crushing plants of hopeful bud, stems of goodly pride, 
 Pressing down the aged sire — the newly-wedded bride ; 
 Poisoning with carrion breath the roseate darling's kiss, 
 Germinating ill from joy, and misery from bliss. 
 Ghastly figures fill our homes of anxiousness and dread ; 
 They, who would the dear ones mourn, themselves are 
 
 with the dead ; 
 Pamine and war and pestilence cloud the fated land, 
 Calamity threefold, can mortal man withstand ; 
 Humanity is bowed, low to its kindred dust ; 
 In Thee, Lord ! we hope ; in Thee alone we trust. 
 
 rv. 
 Then to Thine indulgent ear prayers did we address, 
 Hearing from Thine holy hill assuaged was our distress; 
 Thou gav'st the word, and vanishing, night gave way 
 
 to day, 
 Pirm support in Thee we found, comfort, hope, and stay. 
 Pamine hastes abashed to hide; amid the waving sheaves, 
 Pregnant with the teeming crop, earth's ample bosom 
 
 heaves ; 
 Shouts triumphant victory gladly from afar, 
 Heralding tranquillity, and stilling cruel war ; 
 Thy balm of grace, medicinal, purifies the air, 
 Winning heartfelt gratitude to Thee "who hearest 
 
 prayer," 
 For Thy soft breath of mercy calms the tempest gust. 
 In Thee, Lord ! we hope ; in Thee, God ! we trust.
 
 95 
 
 HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 "The birds are the messengers of the Gods." 
 
 Euripides. 
 
 In my chamber musing', as I sat perusing 
 
 A book I oft am using, 't is Eogers' " Human Life ;" 
 
 Half calmness, balf dejection, my thoughts without 
 
 connection 
 In dreamy recollection of bygone peace and strife, 
 From out the fire-flame blazing, as listless I sat gazing, 
 I saw — ! sight amazing ! a banner self-upraising, 
 Its legend, Human Life. 
 
 My dreamy thoughts suspending, just then there came 
 
 descending, 
 With early sun rays blending, a milk-white new-fledged 
 
 Dove ; 
 The little fearless creature, so innocent in feature, 
 Seemed pupil both and teacher of faith and hope and 
 
 love ; 
 In sportive happy winging, around my chamber flinging 
 Bright seeds, which, quick upspringing, bore flower 
 
 buds, life-like singing, 
 
 Of new-born Infant Life. 
 
 The roseate tints of morning, each tracery adorning, 
 Soon with sudden warning the silver wings unfold ; 
 And swift as it departed, down heaven's blue vault 
 darted,
 
 96 HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 So swiftly that I started (while thrilling cadence rolled), 
 A blithesome Lark came flying, all practised skill out- 
 vying, 
 With open throat defying, in rampant mirth outcrying, 
 Like joyous Youthful Life. 
 
 Still rapt in fancy's tracing, sweetly interlacing, 
 I saw in soft embracing, two Love-birds fondly twined ; 
 The sun was in meridian, when (bold as warlike Gideon 
 Pursued the hosts of Midian, 'mid raging storm and 
 
 wind), 
 Eye-balls crimson flushing, an Eagle fierce came rushing, 
 Those tender Love-birds crushing, from strife whose 
 
 blood outgushing, 
 
 Well symbolled Manhood's Life. 
 
 Ah me ! " Love lies a-bleeding," the Eagle fierce 
 
 unheeding, 
 Triumphantly was feeding on those two twins of light ; 
 Again the sun-blaze gleaming was in my chamber 
 
 streaming, 
 And through its hottest beaming, shrieking the bird 
 
 took flight. 
 Then twilight hour was shading, an ancient Owl came 
 
 wading, 
 My solemn thoughts as aiding, like wisdom's tones 
 
 pervading, 
 
 O'er man's Declining Life. 
 
 Clouds of darkness rolling, saddened past controlling, 
 The distant knell was tolling, of parting human life ; 
 Sudden, without motion, my room seemed changed to 
 ocean,
 
 EARLY CLOSING. 97 
 
 'Mid strains of pure devotion, resignation rife, 
 Its melody retaining, a dying Swan sustaining, 
 Life gone, but faith remaining, eternity thus gaining — 
 Immortal Human Life ! 
 
 EARLY CLOSING. 
 
 (an epigram.) 
 
 " How's this?" says one, "our neighbour Jew, 
 
 At Saturday noon now closes ; 
 Methinks he must have read anew 
 
 His boasted laws of Moses." 
 
 " The laws of Moses — no ! my friend, 
 
 Think not he heeds such trifles, 
 His shop he shuts — because — attend — 
 
 His shopmen joined the Rifles." 
 
 RESOLUTION AND AMENDMENT. 
 
 (on a recent notice by a co-religionist.) 
 
 In consequence of resolutions passed, 
 
 At Willis's Rooms proposed, 
 This shop will now from Sabbath last 
 
 At two o'clock be closed.
 
 98 THE CHOICE. 
 
 AMENDMENT. 
 
 In consequence of resolutions passed, 
 At Sinai's mount proposed, 
 
 While holy Sabbath day doth last 
 This shop is ever closed. 
 
 THE CHOICE. 
 
 If it were left for me to choose, 
 
 Or heaven alone or earth with thee, 
 Elysium's hopes I would refuse, 
 
 Content on earth to roam with thee ; 
 For what were heaven's joys to me, 
 
 Or what the bliss I there might know, 
 Unshared, those joys could only be 
 
 An endless, lengthened dream of woe. 
 
 Though angel eyes might greet me there, 
 In all their bright cerulean hue, 
 
 Yet e'en their smiles could not compare 
 With that fond glance in thee I view. 
 
 Though cherub lips might speak my praise, 
 And seraph eyes might watch my rest, 
 
 ! where's the heart mid heaven's rays, 
 
 Like that which beats within thy breast. 
 This dream of life will soon be o'er, 
 
 Our souls will then be free to roam, 
 And when they reach the mystic shore, 
 
 Each then will seek its destined home ;
 
 FOREST GLINTON. 99 
 
 But if by fate I'm doom'd to rise, 
 
 And leave thee pining there below, 
 My soul will spurn those cloudless skies, 
 
 And blest with thee, e'en heaven forego. 
 
 FOREST GLINTON. 
 
 A CHARACTER, FROM LIFE. 
 
 In these days of railroads and steamboats, so trivial an 
 incident as a passage to the Continent is scarcely worth 
 mentioning ; it was not so half a century back, the 
 delay, the desagremens and the thousand accidents which 
 which were sure to beset the traveller, were almost 
 certain to involve adventures, more or less important in 
 their consequences. Acquaintances were sometimes 
 commenced, induced by trifling civilities, which at 
 other times would have been unheeded, and there were 
 not wanting many of the sharper-witted portion of the 
 community to take advantage of the unguarded con- 
 fidence too often displayed by the unthinking in the 
 course of a long journey. Particularly exposed to the 
 approaches of these disinterested friends were the 
 honest and confiding Englishmen, who, taking advan- 
 tage of the recent peace, were flocking to France to 
 partake in the revelries of its gay metropolis. 
 
 When that universal leveller, sea-sickness, would 
 give me leisure to make my obseiwations, I could not
 
 100 FOREST GLINTON. 
 
 but notice, with some degree of curiosity, the gradual 
 approaches of one of these remorae of society into the 
 good graces of as genuine an English family as ever 
 left the fat fields of Suffolk to pay for peeping at 
 foreign novelty As they were bound to Paris, I pro- 
 mised myself some amusement in watching their pro- 
 gress, at the same time with a chivalric intent to 
 prevent their recently attached friend from taking too 
 lively an interest in their welfare. This, I confess, was 
 no business of mine, but there was such an honest 
 simple-heartedness about the whole of this family, and 
 having some previous knowledge of the character of 
 their extempore acquaintance, I determined, if possible, 
 to put them on their guard. 
 
 While I was engaged in forming schemes, for the 
 interruption of manoeuvres of which I supposed the 
 Squire and his family to be the intended victims, 
 I was unconscious of the endeavours of one of our 
 fellow voyagers to ingratiate himself into my esteem. 
 Indeed, so unobtrusive and so very gentlemanly were 
 his approaches, such an air of refined breeding, and so 
 inexhaustible a fund of information were at his com- 
 mand, that it was impossible not to be attracted by 
 his demeanour; a friend who accompanied me, was 
 equally captivated by the society of our intelligent 
 companion. 
 
 Forest Grlinton was a younger branch of a noble but 
 comparatively necessitous family. Early in life he had 
 been sent to one of our leading public seminaries, and 
 subsequently to college, at both of which places he had 
 distinguished himself by acquiring the highest academi- 
 cal distinctions. Yet his knowledge seemed to have come 
 to him almost by intuition ; few could remember ever to
 
 FOREST GLINTON. 101 
 
 have seen him studying, — there was not a horse race or 
 a boating match, a private debauch or a public " town 
 and gown contest," but Glinton was one of the melee. 
 Yet, in all points of university lore, the syllogisms or 
 sophisms of logic, the most obscure readings of the 
 classics, or the most abstruse points of mathematics, he 
 was never at fault. How this information was acquired 
 was to many a mystery ; many a freshman who watched 
 his career, and had prepared to see him "plucked," 
 wondered with staring eyes at the encomiums of the 
 learned examiners, and resolved to try, if by a reckless 
 course, like that of Forest Glinton, they might not be 
 equally fortunate, and imbibe at once draughts from 
 " the Pierian spring" with those from the fount of the 
 Bacchic god. Simple youths ! did they indeed fancy 
 that this store of knowledge came to him by inspira- 
 tion, or that Minerva, although in academic groves, 
 would " unsought be won." 
 
 Little did they know that this indifference to study, 
 like his every other act, was but simulated, was but 
 part of what was his whole life, a living lie. Hours 
 after hours, when the wearied companions of his mid- 
 night orgies would seek a fevered and an unquiet 
 couch, in his little study, apart from the world's gaze, 
 would he labour to acquire that information which was 
 to astonish his fellow collegians on the morrow. Of a 
 frame and constitution apparently soft and delicate as 
 a girl's, but truly iron as his own heart, he could endure 
 riotous revelries and excesses which would exhaust 
 many of his robust companions. Seemingly as fatigued 
 and as besotted as themselves, he would stagger to his 
 chambers, where, divesting himself at once of his 
 assumed intemperance, " like the lion shaking the dew
 
 102 FOREST GLINTON. 
 
 drops from his mane," he would, with all the energy of 
 his highly gifted mind, grapple with learned difficulties, 
 and overcome, as with a giant's strength, obstacles that 
 had mastered minds matured in wisdom. 
 
 Truly it was a paradox, yet is it not so oft in nature 
 — do we not see qualities the most opposite and uncon- 
 genial combine in one individual. How beautiful the 
 soft glossiness and rich hues of the tiger's coat, yet 
 with what savage rapacity are these united ! What 
 soul-entrancing music thrills from beneath the dull 
 russet of the heaven- soaring lark, — what harsh ear- 
 grating sounds issue from the gorgeous throat of the 
 peacock ! Nature is no partial mother. If to one of 
 her children she seem to bestow one gift in perfection, 
 be sure she has withheld from that favoured child some 
 other boon, the rightful heritage of his brother. It is 
 thus when we lament the absence of a charm, the only 
 " unfinished window in the living palace," we are never- 
 theless forced to confess that our bounteous mother has 
 been just as she is generous, while so lavishly, yet so 
 considerately, dispensing her treasures. Truly it is a 
 paradox ; yet how often do we see the qualities of the 
 body predominant, while those of the mind, which 
 would be such fitting attendants, alas ! are sought for 
 in vain. Or, if by a happy combination, these should 
 meet in one fortunate individual, where is the heart — 
 the bright sun that should illumine, that should irra- 
 diate, that should warm to life and healthful glow the 
 aspirations of the cultivated mind. 
 
 These reflections will not be misplaced, since they 
 will apply to our consideration of the characteristics 
 of Forest Glinton. 
 
 Of form and figure, as I have already mentioned,
 
 FOREST GLINTON. 103 
 
 femininely, yet not effeminately delicate, beautiful 
 almost as a beautiful woman, and with, a vigour of 
 perception that could seize, as with the quickness of 
 thought each passing incident, to mould or fashion at 
 his will ; with an energy of spirit that could pierce 
 through the obscurity of time, and walk in proud com- 
 munion with the olden men of renown, — with all these 
 qualities of mind and body, Glinton had no heart. No 
 soft sympathies welled up in his bosom for the woes of 
 his fellow-man — no tender yearnings agonised his soul 
 at the misery of another's soul — in vain had "meek- 
 eyed pity" sought an answering echo to her plaintive 
 pleadings — in vain would weeping virtue seek his advo- 
 cacy — his was not the hand to raise the fallen, to loose 
 the bonds of the afflicted — his were not the eyes seeing 
 for the sightless — his were not the ears hearing for the 
 deaf — his was not the soul that could joy at another's 
 triumph, that could grieve for another's downfall. 
 
 Oh! ye ancient wisdom teachers, oh! ye god-men, 
 oh! ye bright-eyed yet venerable sages, — and thou 
 too, thou the muse-loved " blind old man of Scio's rocky 
 isle," were these the lessons you taught — was this the 
 fruit of sacred or of pagan lore ? — or of ancient or of 
 modern teaching ? Of neither. Breathing truth and 
 wisdom, kindness and intelligence, came ye the ever- 
 living sages, — ye first, by God inspired, glowing with 
 life-fire won from the will of the true Divinity ; and ye 
 next, ye too, God inspired (intelligence ever is and 
 must be God's inspiration), veiling beneath pleasing 
 fiction and beautiful imagery all that can elevate, all 
 that can exalt, all that can ennoble mankind. Was it 
 for this that he won the wealthy store, so to misapply 
 the treasure, as one who shall war against a happy
 
 104 FOREST GLINTON. 
 
 nation, only to torture and to enthral its best and 
 bravest. 
 
 Was it for this that he read the pages of the past, so 
 to misconstrue their lessons? Not to mention the 
 divine writers, could not those old Grecians with their 
 wondrous tales of valour and of suffering — of philo- 
 sophy and of mystery — of mind- breathing eloquence 
 and love-fed poetry; could not the olden Roman, 
 gathering and transplanting the Grecian laurels, and 
 telling under their shade his own deeds of patriotism, 
 or rehearsing his own bursts of oratory striving for the 
 right, or his own playful satire, or his love-breathing 
 verse ; could not our own country's histories, where, 
 even amid strife and turmoil, some virtue, some valour, 
 ever shines resplendent, even as a diamond irradiating 
 a cavern's depth ; could not our own sweet, sweet poesie, 
 always redolent of truth and of tenderness, of energy 
 and of faith — could not the gentle Spenser, or the 
 majestic Milton, or the magic Master of all minds; or 
 could not Italia' s vigorous Dante or Petrarch's passioned 
 wooings — nor thine worthy to be princess-loved — 
 could not these — all these — all, as if steeped in heaven's 
 gifts, distilling some good, some blessing; could not 
 these — for with all these he was familiar — win him to 
 sympathy — to affection — to fellow feeling towards his 
 fellow men ? 
 
 And love too — thou sweet emollient, couldst thou not 
 soften — thou, that now with firm yet gentle force — now 
 with fierce yet not less determined efforts, attackest, as- 
 saultest, overcomest what otherwise were impregnable — 
 had'st thou no power ? None ! there was an antagonist 
 even more powerful — no ! not an antagonist, love scorns 
 such an opponent, and quits the contest in contempt and
 
 FOREST GLINTON. 105 
 
 disgust. Selfishness, all-engrossing selfishness, was the 
 gulf that absorbed in Glinton every other thought 
 and sensation — no action, howsoever trivial, but tended 
 to this end — no purpose of his but worked, however 
 remotely, to this intent. I hardly know if selfishness 
 is the term I should have used, if by that term covet- 
 ousness is inferred, for this was not Glinton's vice, 
 neither was it vanity in its generally received accepta- 
 tion, for no man could be more indifferent to another's 
 praise, no man more careless of another's censure, than 
 was Forest Glinton. His was that peculiar feeling that 
 wished to make himself the master spirit of every circle 
 wherein he moved, and to subdue or coerce all others' 
 wills to his own, and thence to his advantage. In 
 general he succeeded ; almost unknowing it his com- 
 panions became his subjects — his victims, and though 
 ruled with no lenient sway, few were conscious of the 
 thraldom to which they submitted. 
 
 To attain the mastery was ever his object, and for 
 this end no scheme too deep — no simulation too tortuous 
 for him to adopt. Even virtue's fairest outside he 
 could seem to wear, as if it were his habitual garment. 
 " Everything with all men," he appeared to yield to 
 their wishes to the abandonment of his own, while in 
 fact they were placidly following in the track he had 
 selected. 
 
 He loved not virtue, nor would he wish others to be 
 virtuous, for he could not deny, even to himself, the 
 superiority, at least inwardly, they must thereby possess 
 over him — internally deriding every feeling, good or 
 p lire — internally scoffing at every precept that leads us 
 heavenwards — yet at will he could assume the appearance 
 of being deeply imbued with, and impressed by their
 
 106 FOEEST GLINTON. 
 
 moral and religious lights. Many a youth of the best 
 and purest principles, listening to his alluring discourses, 
 did not perceive the fine-spun web of sophistry with 
 which he, under the appearance of argument seeking 
 conviction, instilled into the mind of his auditor doubt, 
 scepticism, and often infidelity ; until too late, trembling 
 on the verge of vice and destruction, the victim won- 
 dered how he had been led to the precipitous gulf 
 he saw no hope of avoiding. Then would Glinton 
 chuckle to himself at the ruin he had made, and with a 
 sardonic sneer seek for another victim whose fair fame 
 seemed to mock his own moral turpitude. 
 
 To be superior to Glinton in any one qualification, or 
 in any of the fortuitous distinctions of life, was to incur 
 his hatred. There were many, in fact, most of his 
 associates, men of common and ordinary calibre, with 
 them he was sufficiently friendly — using them, it is true, 
 as his tools, appropriating, almost as a favour to them- 
 selves, their pio-ses and their attentions — with them he 
 would unbend into playful satire, frivolity, debauch, or 
 licentiousness — scenes in which he could best maintain 
 his superiority over their congenial minds ; and still in 
 these he contrived ever to uphold his ascendancy and 
 to receive their homage and their tribute. But roused 
 once into energy by opposition — thwarted in his will by 
 determination — then woke the demon in his soul— then, 
 with rage concealed, or smiling, willing " to murder 
 while he smiled," he nerved into action every spring 
 that should minister to his intention. 
 
 Divested of any thought save of self, careless or 
 indifferent how his purpose might affect others, there 
 was no difficulty he would not overcome, no feelings 
 that could deter him. His mind, Proteus-like, could
 
 FOREST GLUTTON. 107 
 
 assimilate to all, and cunningly he " bided his time " — 
 never using force, hut mostly stealthily gliding like an 
 under-current darkly beneath a flowering surface, he 
 seldom failed to procure sorrow to his opponent, or to sing 
 his "lo Triumphe" over the ruined heart of his victim. 
 
 These features of his character continued in after life, 
 save that he evinced a more decided disposition profita- 
 bly to avail himself of the advantages which his natural 
 or acquired superiority over his associates enabled him 
 to obtain. This became the more necessary to him, as, 
 moving in a more extended circle, he found the limited 
 income which he derived from his family inadequate 
 for his requirements. He was therefore more keenly 
 alive to maintain his ascendancy, for in the busy waters 
 of life he found he was not the only Triton preying on 
 the minnows. He found also that a deeper veil of 
 duplicity was necessary to mask his natural traits, and 
 with a ready aptitude, he glided as if by instinct into 
 each varied disguise, which few were skilful enough to 
 penetrate, while, at the same time, few could more 
 readily distinguish the weak points in another's charac- 
 ter, and with ready tact and a dexterous yielding to 
 those foibles from which the wisest of us are not exempt, 
 he contrived to ingratiate himself with individuals of 
 the most opposite dispositions. 
 
 Glinton had refused some advantageous prospects of 
 fellowships at the University that might have secured 
 him independency, as also a proffered living of some 
 value, if he would have consented to take orders. He 
 thought that a wider field was necessary for his career, 
 and therefore declining these advantages, he had, from 
 the time of his quitting college until the period of 
 which I write, been engaged in perpetual struggles
 
 108 FOEEST GLINTON. 
 
 to support the position to which he aspired. Early shut 
 from the bustling field of politics by some tergiversa- 
 tion which the keen-witted minister had detected and 
 remembered, his sphere of action became comparatively 
 limited, and it often required the utmost exertions of 
 his Machiavel mind to maintain the power and influence 
 he assumed, and to which it must have been marvellous 
 to himself to find so willing a submission. 
 
 It is not to be supposed, that I was acquainted with 
 these particulars at the period of my first knowing the 
 subject of their details. It was not until after a long 
 course of dear-bought knowledge, assisted by the 
 observations and the bitter experience of others, that I 
 was enabled to form the true estimate of this man's 
 character. 
 
 Our acquaintance commenced, as nearly as I recollect, 
 in the following manner. The weather being clear and 
 almost calm, a group, of which I formed one, had as- 
 sembled on the deck, and after discussing varied subjects, 
 had gradually fallen into one in which I could not avoid 
 taking a lively interest. The conversation was on 
 foreign travel. 
 
 " It is a singular thing," observed one of the party, 
 " that many English, who seek for pleasure in behold- 
 ing beautiful scenes and picturesque views in other 
 countries, are entirely unaware of the rich varieties 
 offered within their native land. But this is not the 
 only contrariety in society ; we find our choicest native 
 productions despised and neglected, while we admire 
 and imitate those of our foreign neighbours." 
 
 "And as an addition to your remarks," added my 
 friend, "let me observe how very many who are con-
 
 FOREST GLINTON. 109 
 
 versant with every detail of information as to foreign 
 climes and distant ages, are nearly if not totally igno- 
 rant of their own country's worthies, and to whom the 
 history of their own forefathers is as a sealed book." 
 
 " From that reproach," observed a voice, almost 
 musical, "allow me to exempt the Jews; there is no 
 nation more deeply imbued with the knowledge of their 
 own history, or more sincerely venerating the eventful 
 lives of their own ancestors. It is true that they have 
 a double impetus for this, for associated as their religion 
 is with their history, it becomes a concomitant necessity 
 that the study of the one should accompany the study 
 of the other." 
 
 "With a look of grateful thankfulness I turned 
 towards the speaker, and saw a young gentleman, as I 
 have described Mr. Grlinton. Our glances met, and I 
 am sure he must have observed my enthusiastic look 
 of gratification, though, dropping his eyes modestly 
 to the ground, he seemed almost ashamed of having 
 interfered in the conversation, which now became 
 general. 
 
 "I do not agree with you," observed one of the 
 former speakers. "I have always heard of the Jews, 
 that, beyond a few leading facts, they are ignorant of 
 their own history ; that they observe peculiar customs 
 without being aware of their origin; that they cele- 
 brate remarkable anniversaries without a knowledge of 
 the events they commemorate, so that, uninformed 
 themselves, they are with shame compelled to confess 
 their inability of imparting to others the information 
 so often sought for at their hands." 
 
 I was about replying rather indignantly, knowing 
 the utter groundlessness of the charge, but the white
 
 110 FOREST GLINTON. 
 
 liancl of Glinton gently repressed me, and in his mild 
 voice lie asked — 
 
 " Have you known many Jews ? " 
 
 "God forbid!" was the answer, with a shrug of the 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Then, Sir, I have, and can assure you your impres- 
 sions are incorrect. Few, even among the very inferior 
 classes, that have occasion to blush on account of the 
 ignorance you impute to them — ignorance which, 
 indeed, would be disgraceful to them — to them the 
 chosen heritors of records of divine inspiration — to 
 them the guardians of the annals of time's infancy, of 
 religion's birth, and the nurslings of philosophy, of the 
 advance of science, and the spread of civilisation." 
 
 " Do you mean to assert that the Jews — the scorn of 
 the world — the outcast of nations — " 
 
 "Yes, they are scorned, but in the day of their 
 avenging where will be their scorners ? outcast — yes 
 they are outcast — but they shall become God's chosen 
 instruments of conquest. I tell you, as a learned writer 
 has said before me, that I never look on one of this 
 despised and persecuted race but in him I behold a 
 living instance of God's power; I never see a poor 
 earth-trodden Israelite, even in the humblest avocation, 
 but in him I see the descendant of a mighty people — 
 mighty in its heroes and its sages — mighty in its pro- 
 phets and its poets. Sir, in the Jew is a mine of wealth, 
 and they who seek shall find the store." 
 
 " Come away, my dear," said a short and rather rubi- 
 cund visaged lady to the first speaker; " this gentleman 
 is no doubt largely indebted to the Jews, and he seeks 
 to repay part of the obligation." 
 
 This was said with a meaning glance at myself.
 
 FOREST GLINTON. Ill 
 
 " I am indeed somewhat indebted to the Jews, even 
 in the sense you imply, Madam," said Glinton, with a 
 bland smile ; " but I am under obligations never to be 
 repaid for the enlightenment my mind has received 
 from their histories and their moral code : histories which 
 are the most marvellous as well as the most ancient ; 
 moralities which teem with life and love." 
 
 " Fine words, fine words." 
 
 "Fine words," interrupted I, for I could no longer 
 be repressed. " Yes, Sir, they are fine words, they are 
 noble words, and thus do I, one of the outcast and the 
 scorned, thank their speaker," seizing, as I spoke, the 
 hand of Glinton, which, in my fervour, I could have 
 carried to my lips. " Fine words ; yes, Sir, they are 
 fine words, and no less fine than true. Is not the prac- 
 tice of truth and good feeling inseparably connected 
 with our character and professions ? is not the exercise 
 of charity, linking man to man in mutual sympathy, 
 pointed out in every branch of our laws ? does not our 
 every precept inculcate the folly of pride or of vain- 
 glory, warn against vice and folly, teach us how to 
 avoid temptation to error, to practise patience in adver- 
 sity, and moderation in prosperity?" 
 
 "Come here, my dear," interfered the lady again ; 
 " there's quite enough talk about such rubbish." 
 
 Her not very docile husband, perhaps out of opposi- 
 tion to this open show of authority, or perhaps because 
 he did not consider the subject "such rubbish," pro- 
 ceeded to contest the point. 
 
 " Ha ! I recollect," said he, "I once did know a Jew, 
 and well was I cheated by him." 
 
 "Admit the fact," replied Glinton; "would you 
 charge the crime of one against the mass ? Is this even-
 
 112 FOKEST GLINTON. 
 
 handed justice. Do we Christians never transgress ? 
 yet you, as do some of our otherwise liberal newspapers, 
 specially designate and comment on the error of the 
 Jew, perhaps for its rarity, while too many of our own 
 misdeeds are silently recorded. But where is the com- 
 munity that has not some unworthy member ? Admit 
 your statement as an exception, still I maintain that 
 the Hebrew morality is the morality of mankind ; it is 
 that principle which teaches an equal justice without 
 distinction of ranks — which elevates the poor to the 
 level of the rich — which, in the exercise of its attri- 
 butes, distinguishes not persons — which would make 
 mankind truly brethren." 
 
 "And," added I, "what did the ancient nations 
 admire and imitate ? With them military heroism was 
 often an equivalent to all other virtues. Need I recall 
 the Spartan encouragement to theft, or the father 
 sanctioning treachery in the son as a means of gaining 
 a city, or the classic mother watching with indifference 
 her last child bleeding on the bier ? Shall I call to 
 memory the good citizen banished because he was " the 
 just" or great Plato's master, dying on account of his 
 many virtues ? Shall I tell you how with them pros- 
 perity was ever a licence to luxury, and adversity to 
 despair?" 
 
 " True, the ancients did these things, but were the 
 favoured people exempt from crime? were they im- 
 maculate ?" 
 
 "I do not assert it; many a crime was done among 
 them, for which they were deservedly punished. But 
 with them crimes were not dignified to virtues to be 
 held up to admiration and imitation." 
 
 " Let me also remark," chimed in my ingenious sup-
 
 * FOREST GLINTON. 113 
 
 porter, " on their theocratic form of government, by 
 whose laws even an improper thought was often deemed 
 equal to an improper deed, which curbed every unlaw- 
 ful desire ; when even to wish for the property of 
 another was equally culpable with theft. These laws 
 put checks not only on men's conduct, but also on their 
 opinions. It is this peculiar feature of their legislation 
 which has ensured the admiration of every thinking 
 mind. It is this stamp of divine intelligence that has 
 secured, not merely the attention of the theologian but 
 the wonder of countless ages." 
 
 "Your argument is 'good, I admit; but it's getting 
 near dinner time — yes, yes, very convincing — but upon 
 my honour this keen air gives me quite an appetite — 
 yes, yes, quite conclusive — there's the steward, I declare 
 — all very true, no doubt — yes, my dear, I'm coming ; " 
 and now, nothing loth, he took the arm of his better half, 
 intent to discuss more solid food than unsubstantial 
 words. 
 
 Many more followed the example, and the deck was 
 almost untenanted. Drawing nearer to me, Glinton 
 resumed the conversation. " I have to apologise," said 
 he, " for acting as champion in a cause where you had 
 the best right to be defender, but truly I did not at first 
 know that a Hebrew was present, and I owe too many 
 obligations to the works of your sages ever to allow 
 one of their nation to be reviled without taking up the 
 cause as my own." 
 
 " You have studied our literature," said I, with some 
 surprise. 
 
 " Yes, and well were my labours repaid. When at 
 Oxford I was Jbngaged in rather abstruse enquiries 
 as to the supposed originals of some of the mystic 
 
 i
 
 114 TOIIEST GLLNTON. 
 
 classical legends, as well as of the mythological system 
 of the ancients. My attention was directed of course to 
 the Scriptures, and necessarily to the commentaries." 
 
 " Which you read in the original ? " 
 
 " In the original," replied he, smiling at my wonder. 
 
 " And the result of your enquiries ? " asked I, for of 
 all subjects, I loved to talk of this, our time-honoured 
 literature. 
 
 "In most points satisfactory and conclusive. I have 
 therein traced the germ of many a pagan rite or northern 
 legend ; I have seen how many a mystery of mythology 
 shone but as a scintillation of the attributes of the 
 unknown God. I have recognised amid the fables of 
 Hindoo cosmogony, and amid the chaos of Greece's 
 old antiquity, but a shadowing of God's own creation. 
 The blissful state of our first parents ' ere sin could 
 blight, or sorrow fade,' is the prototype of the poets' age 
 of gold, while the serpent contest and man's prophesied 
 crushing of the reptile teem in varied forms in every 
 clime. Singularly, too, the names of the first mortal 
 pair are preserved in the Sanscrit religious chronicles, 
 and I have found their attributes ' first produced ' and 
 'life '* strangely coincident with the Hebrew original, in 
 a Grecian translation from the Phoenician historians. 
 How clearly is the flood of Deucalion a reflex of the 
 mighty outburst of God's tremendous wrath ! The 
 tripartite division of the universe between Jupiter, 
 Neptune, and Pluto, what is it but the division between 
 the sons of the favoured Noah ? Your Tubal-cain is 
 evidently the original of Vulcan, and his sister (perhaps 
 ' soror et conjux') Na-amah, which I believe you render 
 
 * Protogenes and Eon.
 
 FOREST GLINTON. 115 
 
 ' pleasant'; may she not have been the first embodying 
 of the most pleasant goddess ? Your Tower of Babel's 
 rebellious defiance is probably the first idea of the Titan 
 war against Olympus, for 'there were giants in the 
 earth at that time and also after then.' The labours of 
 Hercules, are they not an amplified version of the 
 labours of Sampson, even to the enthralling of the 
 strong man by the luscious but empoisoned draughts of 
 beauty? The immolation of Iphigenia is identical in 
 deed as verbally with Jephtha-genia or daughter. 
 Pylades and Orestes are the shadows of David 
 and Jonathan. I might mention numerous instances in 
 the Hindoo annals — in the Mexican traditions — in the 
 Eunic Sagas, or the poetic polytheism of the old Gre- 
 cians, which are founded on or incorporated with the 
 records and truths of the Hebrews." 
 
 " But our great lawgiver, to whom will you assimi- 
 late him ? " 
 
 " For him I have no similitude ; none but himself can 
 be his parallel. I believe with a perfect faith," con- 
 tinued he, quoting from Maimonides, " that the 
 prophecies of Moses our instructor, were true, and that 
 he excelled any of the sages who preceded him, or who 
 may succeed him." 
 
 " You are evidently interested in the Jewish histories," 
 observed my friend. 
 
 " Who that is engaged in the details of past ages but 
 must be so. If we seek acquaintance with the history 
 of the Assyrian, the Babylonian, the warlike Persian, 
 or the luxurious Mede, we find them interwoven with 
 facts and allusions which the Hebrew historians can 
 elucidate and explain. But of all these nations, the 
 Assyrian — the Babylonian — the warlike Persian, or the
 
 1 1 6 FOREST GLINTON. 
 
 luxurious Mede, what bears the earth of their remem- 
 brance? — which of their descendants shall trace the 
 records of their bygone glories, or shall say, 'here my 
 fathers triumphed ' ? As a tale of forgotten love, there 
 is none to speak of it — none to weep for the ashes of 
 the past. Where is the ' sacred band ' now ? 
 
 " Foreign eyes in foreign lands read their histories — 
 no kindred sympathy is impulsed for their joys or their 
 afflictions — we own no brotherhood with their wisest or 
 their best." 
 
 " But we Israelites are not so," said I with enthu- 
 siasm — " we remember." 
 
 " Can ye forget ? Among the wreck of nations ye 
 have outlived the tempest — ye look with affection on 
 your early history, for each noble deed is one of your 
 own ancestry's — ye can join in a patriotic voice in each 
 chorus of triumph — ye can wander to your forefathers' 
 land and trace each scene of valour and of worth. Oh ! 
 how I envy even the meanest of your race, imbued as 
 you all must be with the spirit of your faith — entering 
 with devotion into the holiest of mystery! What joy 
 can be so delightful as to imagine the father and the 
 little child, the mother and her dark-eyed daughter, 
 with one accord, reading and fondly commenting in 
 that original volume, and in that self-same language 
 which time has consecrated, and which inspiration has 
 hallowed ! What ecstasy so delicious as that when on 
 your holy sabbath eve the parent blesseth his beloved 
 ones in the time-hallowed aspirations of your revered 
 patriarch ? " 
 
 Borne away by the torrent of his eloquence, I had 
 little power, or, in fact, little wish to interrupt him. 
 Our conversation was prolonged, and its issue was my
 
 FOREST GLINTON. 117 
 
 earnestly and eagerly soliciting the acquaintance of its 
 able supporter. Bound to Paris as well as myself, he 
 promised occasional visits at his disengaged intervals. 
 
 Will it be credited, that ably as Glinton had spoken, 
 warmly and enthusiastically as he had maintained his 
 position — will it be credited that he was totally indif- 
 ferent on the subject. Well acquainted with the details 
 he certainly was — but the warmth with which he spoke 
 of them was artificial — his energy was but as an out- 
 ward garb. Why, then, so eager in the argument? asks 
 the reader. 
 
 Oh! deep and designing, mighty master of man-craft, 
 could he not behold in me one of Israel's sons — had he 
 not heard some remarks where my soul had spoken — 
 did he not seek to win my favour — and oh ! deep and 
 designing, did he not know he sought the readiest and 
 the safest path to obtain it. 
 
 I anticipate my after-knowledge of motives and events, 
 which of course I could not know at the period of their 
 occurrence — nor, indeed, would I have believed them if 
 then revealed to me. 
 
 My friend Frank obtained an earlier insight into 
 his character ; indeed, having no purpose to gain in 
 acquiring the friendship of a younger son, he occasion- 
 ally disdained the forms of disguise, and thus unwarily 
 displayed to Frank's awakened perception, deformities, 
 where to me appeared only beautiful symmetry.
 
 118 TO MISS LEONORA DE ROTHSCHILD. 
 
 TO MISS LEONORA DE KOTHSCHILD, 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF HER MARRIAGE. 
 
 E le mie rime 
 Che son rili e neglette, se non quanto 
 Coster LE ONOEA co'l bel nome santo. 
 
 Tasso. 
 And my rhymes 
 "Worthless and poor, save inasmuch as she 
 Of her most holy and enchanting name 
 Does them THE HONOUK.— Hoole. 
 
 Unexampled worth would Tasso's lyrics praise, 
 Graceful " Leonora" prompts his votive lays ; 
 Leonora ! honour's symbol ! spotless name, 
 Borne on time's pinions, wreathed in purest fame. 
 D'Este's fair princess, of principles sublime. 
 Lives through all ages — triumphs over time. 
 Though beaming bright in nature's loveliness, 
 Beauty for her no value did possess, 
 Save that the light that lit her wondrous face, 
 Lustrous to virtue gave an added grace. 
 Shrinking from praise, so walked this noble maid, 
 Veiling her goodness with a modest shade. 
 Thus true-born worth to noblest acts allied, 
 Admired by all, yet seeks from praise to hide. 
 So she, fair princess, sole on good intent, 
 More noble by her deeds than proud descent.
 
 TO MISS LEONOEA DE EOTHSCHILD. 119 
 
 And blessed parallel — well with prescient skill, 
 Who knew her name would her best worth instil ; 
 Prophetic powers, thy parents seem to share, 
 When her loved name they bade their infant bear. 
 In childhood — youth — in blossomed life — we see 
 Honoue's best symbol glorified in thee ; 
 And all Italia's princess bids us praise, 
 Revives new-born to bless our happy days. 
 Have we not seen thee, like an angel bright, 
 Cheering the drooping — making darkness bight ? 
 Have we not heard thee, when, with constant care, 
 To breathe the improving spirit — righteous there — 
 Poured forth the treasures of thy well stored mind, 
 While clustering childhood heard thy words refined ? 
 But why recount what thousand echos speak ; 
 The poor, they bless thee — my best words are weak ; 
 The poor, they bless thee — their voice has reached to 
 
 heaven, 
 And now to thee, thy best reward is given. 
 
 Sweet love by friendship mellowed into bliss ; 
 
 Is there a joy approximates to this ? 
 
 A kindred tie, where mutual hopes combine, 
 
 A copious store of love's best harvest, thine. 
 
 Each thought new-framed — each end the wish dictates, 
 
 With winning fondness at thy bidding waits. 
 
 Now, doubly blessed, while virtue still thy care, 
 
 Linked, hand in hand, thy loved with thee will share. 
 
 For him, too, Tasso would have nerved his verse ; 
 His deeds of worth, would he, like thine, rehearse. 
 Congenial souls, who all their thoughts employ, 
 Seeking their own, when seeking mankind's joy.
 
 120 TO MISS LEONORA DE ROTHSCHILD. 
 
 " Jerusalem delivered," well the poet sings, 
 
 (Still on fair Venice' lakes the echo rings,) 
 
 Soldiers and martyrs, striving in the fight, 
 
 Gemmed with fresh valour, gleam with added light.* 
 
 But yet, alas ! amid th' ennobled tide, 
 
 Earth's baser impulse — envy, wrath, and pride, 
 
 Motives degenerate noble aims disgraced, 
 
 And stained the standard rashly they embraced. 
 
 Not so his efforts who by faith impelled, 
 Valiant in purpose, other thoughts repelled. 
 While holy ardour anxious zeal inspires, 
 He leaves the home of hope and fond desires ; 
 For Zion's wall, where tottering age doth creep, 
 And sainted pilgrims near its ruins weep ; 
 "Where still oppression rules with iron hand, 
 Crushing with despot grasp the trembling band : 
 For these he strove — for these he raised the voice ; 
 And bade the sunken spirits yet rejoice ; 
 Indolence — fell monster, oft with fear allied — 
 He stern repelled — with industry supplied ; 
 New vigoured strength he bids their limbs employ, 
 And " those who sowed in tears now reap in joy" ; 
 The land will teem, from apathy set free, 
 " Jerusalem delivered " best then by thee. 
 
 And well repaid, " his bread cast on the waters," 
 Art thou not his — thou best of Judah's daughters ? 
 Loved child of God — thou fair — thou promised land> 
 Art thou not his ? What more can man demand ? 
 * " The Crusaders."
 
 121 
 
 HYMN FOE A DAY OF RELIGIOUS 
 CONFIRMATION. 
 
 With grateful heart and gladsome voice 
 
 The votive hymn we raise, 
 Responsive doth each soul rejoice, 
 
 The Rock of Life to praise. 
 
 Each springing day, each new-born hour, 
 Each moment's transient space, 
 
 Bids all creation own His power, 
 And glorify His grace. 
 
 Life's each extreme, the aged, the child, 
 
 The anxious reverent youth, 
 The matron sage, the maiden mild, 
 
 One-voiced proclaim His truth. 
 
 And chiefly we, who clustered here, 
 Like those round Sinai's mount, 
 
 His sacred Law well pleased revere, 
 His wondrous deeds recount. 
 
 God ! who watched our infant course, 
 
 Our onward life secured, 
 Who nerved our limbs with vigorous force, 
 
 Whose love has e'er endured. 
 
 Led by whose will, religious light 
 
 Illumed our inmost soul, 
 And guided by whose radiance bright, 
 
 This day we reach the goal.
 
 122 THE JEWS AND THEIR ASSAILANTS. 
 
 Here, in this sacred house, we stand, 
 Here Israel's faith profess, 
 
 Here raise we now th' imploring hand, 
 God ! our purpose bless. 
 
 With anxious zeal and careful thought, 
 We strove thy law to know, 
 
 With earnest hope our minds have sought, 
 In righteous paths to go. 
 
 Convinced — we seek this day Thy fane, 
 Convinced — our faith declare, 
 
 Thy will shall still our guide remain, 
 Thy law our constant care. 
 
 To love and truth and righteous deeds, 
 Each act and word we vow, 
 
 Deign Tbou, God ! our life to bless, 
 For ever then as now. 
 
 THE JEWS AND THEIR ASSAILANTS. 
 ropfii r6mn ps anbw nm 
 
 " Strangers say there is no expectation nor hope." 
 
 They say we have no country now — they taunt us with 
 
 our name ; 
 They will not see, in glory's wreath, our brightest branch 
 
 of fame ; 
 They wear the veil of prejudice, to shade their dazzled 
 
 sight
 
 THE JEWS AND THEIR ASSAILANTS. 123 
 
 From Judah's blaze of brilliancy — from proud Israel's 
 
 light. 
 Who are these men of yesterday, that dare malign our 
 
 name? 
 Would strip us of our royal robes, and cast us forth 
 
 to shame? 
 Who are these men that nod the head, and pout the 
 
 lip of scorn, 
 Because they think that Jacob, now, is stricken and 
 
 forlorn ? 
 They cannot see the hidden soul, the latent warmth that 
 
 glows, 
 That animates 'mid all our gloom — that cheers through 
 
 all our woes. 
 How can they know, who spurn our race, the patriot 
 
 fire we feel ; 
 Our ardent search for truth and love — our never dying 
 
 zeal? 
 Why need we tell, all time can speak, our valour and 
 
 our worth ; 
 Why need we fear, when heavens praise, the mockery 
 
 of earth ? 
 Who are these puny cavillers — ephemera of an hour ? 
 What is their boasted pomp and pride, their nothing- 
 ness of power ? 
 The envious crew, who fain would rob our shield of 
 
 ancient date 
 Of all the rich emblazonings they cannot emulate. 
 A mighty nation ours was then, when e'en their name 
 
 was not ; 
 A mighty nation still will be, when e'en their name's 
 
 forgot. 
 From heaven's rays our guiding light, before their faint 
 
 spark shone ;
 
 124 THE JEWS AND THEIR ASSAILANTS. 
 
 Our guiding light from heaven still, their feeble meteor 
 gone. 
 
 Well, let them rail : they strut and vaunt, yet crouch 
 and kiss the rod ; 
 
 Ours are the men of old renown, the noblemen of God ! 
 
 Of warriors' deeds, our sages' lore, what need have we 
 to boast ? 
 
 Old time has been our chronicle, the world has seen 
 our host ; 
 
 Has seen that host, first reared in faith, illuminate 
 mankind ; 
 
 Has seen that band dispensing light — forsooth! they 
 callus "blind!" 
 
 Yes ; "blind" are we, that will not see earth's exhala- 
 tions guide ; 
 
 By heaven's orb we steer our course, the vapoury flame 
 deride. 
 
 So, taught to seek empyreum's height, the eagle, king- 
 bird flies ; 
 
 He, too, is "blind" (?) — that royal bird — owl's twilight 
 to despise. 
 
 Perverting right, and strangling truth, calumniators 
 
 flock, 
 Israel's pangs rejoiced to flout — at Zion's throes to mock. 
 glorious deed! it well beseems, who envy us our 
 
 name, 
 With tainted breath to dim our shield, and think they 
 
 blight our fame. 
 The tempest wind has laid us low, the raging storm 
 
 has past ; 
 Prostrate, contrite, at Heaven's will, we bend us to the 
 
 blast ;
 
 TIIE JEWS AND THEIR ASSAILANTS. 125 
 
 Our glorious land is wasted now, our splendid fanes are 
 
 dust ; 
 We bow the head in reverence before the Wise, the Just. 
 Our slaughtered youth and martyred age have perished 
 
 by the sword, 
 Unhallowed feet have dared profane the Temple of the 
 
 Lord ; 
 And still we bear our punishment, while stranger chil- 
 dren flock, 
 And puerile men of yesterday at ancient sages mock. 
 
 Oh! for the time, the glorious time! we patiently await, 
 When crouching men, who now deride, shall stand at 
 
 Zion's gate ; 
 The nations then, with trembling awe, will clutch 
 
 Israel's skirt — 
 The mockers noiv, the tremblers then — their ruin to 
 
 avert. 
 Lebanon then, a fruitful mount, that now is drear and 
 
 waste, 
 Shall shade the crowd of suppliants that round her 
 
 cedars haste, 
 The humbled proud, the mighty weak, in Salem's light 
 
 to live ; 
 Israel's glad revenge shall be, to pity and forgive. 
 Oh ! for that day of triumph ; oh ! for that blissful time, 
 To shield the men who spurn us now, in God's own 
 
 sacred clime ; 
 To hear them say, who jeer us now — repentingly — 
 
 mankind, 
 Their souls have lived, defying death ; we could not 
 
 slave the mind. 
 Ojoy! Ojoy! when once again we tread that sacred 
 
 soil,
 
 126 THE POOR FRUIT BOY. 
 
 We press the vine of fruitful hills, and Gethsemene's 
 
 oil ; 
 And Grilead too distils her balm, and vale and mount 
 
 rebound 
 The echoed notes of gladness then, that through the 
 
 land resound. 
 The time will come, Judah, rouse ! to share this proud 
 
 estate, 
 Awake ! arise ! despise the gibes of envy, scorn, and 
 
 hate : 
 By energy and active good we '11 all their spite defy, 
 By energy and active good we' 11 give our foes the lie. 
 Remember your ancestral deeds — the fame your fathers 
 
 won ; 
 Be this your noblest pride, to be those fathers' worthy 
 
 son ; 
 And when, the tide of lifetime o'er, we bid this world 
 
 adieu, 
 Be this our noblest epitaph, " He lived and died a Jew." 
 
 THE POOR FRUIT BOY. 
 
 He dared not beg, he would not steal ; 
 No friend to help him to a meal, 
 
 To work he was too weak ; 
 His mother sick, his father dead, 
 His little sister wanting bread, 
 
 Pale woe was on each cheek.
 
 THE POOR FRUIT BOT. 127 
 
 One single shilling all their store ; 
 Save that they could not hope for more ; 
 
 A scanty hope for three. 
 And there they sat in commune sad, 
 That sickly mother, child, and lad, 
 
 Of what their course might be. 
 
 A thousand thoughts did each disclose, 
 A thousand fond devices rose, 
 
 Like fairy visions wild ; 
 Till with a smile, as near to glee 
 As could 'mid pinching famine be, 
 
 Out spoke the little child. 
 
 ! mother, love ! my counsel hear, 
 Give all we have to brother dear, 
 
 With that he fruit shall buy, 
 God's blessing on his labours be, 
 With store of profit soon shall he 
 
 Our every want supply. 
 
 The sanguine mother kissed her child, 
 One moment of her cares beguiled, 
 
 And turned aside to weep ; 
 The girl, tho' gnawed by hunger's fangs, 
 To hide from all those piercing pangs, 
 
 Feigned placidly to sleep. 
 
 The boy, with anxious hope elate, 
 Sees brightening forth a happy fate, 
 
 Invests with joy his wealth ; 
 In each fresh fruit he sees some good, 
 In this, for sister, store of food ; 
 
 In that, for mother, health.
 
 128 THE POOR FRUIT BOY. 
 
 Alas ! too soon, alas ! for him, 
 His visioned brightness fading dim, 
 
 He fronts the Justice Seat, 
 Condemned — in Britain's boasted clime ; 
 Since when is industry a crime ? 
 
 Is Justice' self a cheat ? 
 
 The trembling boy, with weeping eyes, 
 His sentence hears with sad surprise ; 
 
 One thought soon fills his mind ; 
 ! who shall ease his mother's grief, 
 To hungry sister bring relief, — 
 
 To prison he's consigned. 
 
 Well pleased, content, the magistrate 
 Now hastens home with joy elate, 
 
 He has his duty done. 
 His wife, with glee, returns bis smile ; 
 His children they with sports beguile, 
 
 How sweet the bright hours run ! 
 
 The well stored plate, the choicest wine, 
 4 And all to tempt his taste combine ; 
 
 Each " dainty cate " is there ; 
 The good man pats his well filled vest, 
 And breathes before he sinks to rest 
 
 To mercy's God a prayer. 
 
 The widowed mother, she, too, prays ; — 
 Five nights and five long anxious days, 
 
 Her heart nigh bursts with grief. 
 The girl, more happy, sinks in death ; 
 The boy returns, a lie each breath, 
 
 A prison-nurtured thief !
 
 A LOVE-LETTER. 129 
 
 God ! God ! is this Thy doom ? 
 Thy venging might and power resume, 
 
 Let loud Thy thunders speak. 
 Not these the laws that Heaven made, 
 Not this the voice of Him who bade 
 
 Protect the poor and weak. 
 
 A LOYE-LETTER. 
 
 TO H . 
 
 (written con-amore.) 
 
 Will you, love, complain, if changing my strain, I seek 
 to amuse in this letter ; and though I indite, in haste 
 as I write, I would that the wording were better. Yet 
 e'er has it chanced, when most I'd advanced, and 
 wished most my skill to display, the words I would 
 speak, were faulty and weak, " like fairy dreams melt- 
 ing away." How often the heart, that pants to impart, 
 the depth of its deep-treasured love, finds eloquence 
 fail, and truth not avail (the raven outflieth the dove.) 
 So falsehood full oft — dark, glossy, yet soft — pours forth 
 in rhetorical flight ; nor pauses, nor falters, its swift 
 speed ne'er alters — though raven-hued, darksome as 
 night. But truth, like the dove, o'erburdened with 
 love, that knows not a thought of dissembling, with 
 timorous wing — though upward she spring — like Noah's 
 bird feeble and trembling. But ah ! happy thought, 
 just e'en as she brought, the olive's bright emerald leaf, 
 though weak is my flight, it pierces the night — once 
 more in the ark ends my grief. Thou, love, art the 
 
 K
 
 130 A LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 Ark, with thee I embark, and care not for storm or for 
 flood. Wild waters were raging, no hope was assuaging, 
 gone, gone, were each floweret and hud ; my soul like the 
 ocean, in restless commotion, with tempest and whirlwind 
 was tossed ; each thought of hope banished, each joy of 
 life vanished, all earthly enjoyments were lost. No 
 voice rose to cheer me, a friend was not near me, I 
 lived in the world's crowd alone ; fatigued with endur- 
 ing, my woes seemed past curing, my heart was fast 
 changing to stone. My soul's best physician — my life's 
 brightest vision — came winning me back from despair ; 
 came rousing and cheering, came fondly endearing, — 
 came, bliss, life, and hope to declare. Oh ! bless' d the 
 desiring, oh ! bless' d the acquiring, oh ! bless' d was 
 thy dearest consenting, oh! joy to behold thee, oh! 
 bliss to enfold thee, my fondest of wishes contenting. 
 Now hfe is worth living — now love is worth giving — 
 now saved from the turbulent billow ; in calm recollec- 
 tion, thy guardian affection throws haloes of light o'er 
 my pillow. The day glides in gladness, untainted by 
 sadness, thy form is for ever before me ; in fancy I 
 press thee, in joy I caress thee, in holy love bless and 
 adore thee. 
 
 The night is advancing, the pale moon is glancing, 
 and nature seems sunk in repose, and I am now musing, 
 how you, dear, are using, the time that so tardily goes. 
 Of me are you thinking ? ere slumber is s i n ki ng, with 
 leaden weight closing your eyes ; or chance in your 
 dreaming, you fondly are scheming, the future in 
 brightest of dyes. Bright, glorious Elysian, the joy- 
 ous glad vision, that lights up thy soul in thy slumber ; 
 far, far, be the feelings, the saddened revealings, the 
 pathways of Hfe that encumber.
 
 TO A FAIR CRITIC. 131 
 
 And so may our union — blessed in communion — like 
 spring-tide embroidered with, flowers, be fragrant aud 
 blooming, each new day resuming, an increase of life's 
 brightest hours. Away every trouble — we'll joyous 
 redouble endeavours each other to please ; and each 
 one confessing, each other a blessing — each other a 
 comfort and ease. 
 
 TO A FAIR CRITIC, 
 
 CONDEMNING ONE OF THE AUTHOR' S PRODUCTIONS 
 (not hebein inserted). 
 
 You blame me that I write in strains, 
 
 Where passion rolls in wildest flood ; 
 Where vice but shows her darkening stains, 
 
 And virtue withers in the bud. 
 You blame me that I bare a heart, 
 
 Base as the world had e'er engendered, 
 Where Heaven claims no kindred part, 
 
 And only demon thoughts are tendered. 
 " False to nature," still you cry, 
 
 " The wretched soul your pen depicted ; " 
 And from the hateful tale you fly, 
 
 As if its sounds some pang inflicted. 
 Oh ! Lady, passing on in life, 
 
 With mind all pure, and heart untainted, 
 You little know the tale of strife 
 
 On human canvas is empainteu.
 
 132 TO A FAIR CRITIC. 
 
 You little guess the rackened pangs, 
 
 Wrung from withered woes' o'erstraining; 
 You never saw foul passion's fangs, 
 
 Nor heard the conscience mute complaining. 
 When vice came decked in virtue's garb, 
 And with insidious tones was stealing, 
 Till rankling now with poisoned barb, 
 
 Too late unmasked the fiend's concealing ; 
 And mingled venom in the veins, 
 
 Changes every noble feature, 
 No healthy feeling now remains, 
 
 But man becomes a fallen creature ; 
 And all the treasured ties we love, 
 
 The mercy-streams of hope and truth, 
 Proud aspirations from above, 
 
 Bright evergreens of springing youth ; 
 Affection's fond and holy greeting ; 
 
 Obedience to a will divine, 
 Words, and hearts, and deeds still meeting, 
 
 In homage at a godly shrine ; 
 And life that might have flown so purely, 
 Like foretastes of a Heaven's beaming, 
 The proud soul treading on securely, 
 
 For all around but light is gleaming. 
 You never saw the saddened wreck 
 
 Of this enriched and noble freighting, 
 When waves rushed o'er the parting deck, 
 
 And death the fated crew awaiting. 
 Oh ! look you on the rock-fixed hull, 
 
 Hushed is the roaring ocean-demon ; 
 The storm has settled in a lull — 
 
 Where are the gallant stalwart seamen ?
 
 TO A FAIE CRITIC. $33 
 
 And look again, the valued bark 
 
 Is crusted all around with living", 
 Foul creatures, mingled mass of dark, 
 
 No glimpse of former glories giving. 
 You ne'er had deemed when anchor weighing, 
 
 Elate with joy, the crew were singing, 
 How soon upon that deck were prej-ing, 
 
 Sea monsters, thousand arms outflinging. 
 Man's mind the wreck, where all forgotten, 
 
 The cargo sunk, the seamen perished ; 
 Yet on the planks now damp and rotten, 
 
 Ten thousand horrid forms are cherished. 
 
 'T is not because you daily see 
 
 Around you only virtue brightening ; 
 And all your kindred seem to be 
 
 Pure lamps of Heaven's own enlightening, 
 That you should doubt of naphtha bubbling, 
 
 From darkened soil unhallowed fire ; 
 Oh ! eould you see the soul's entroubbng, 
 
 The maniac heart, the shattered lyre ; 
 Blights that give the Hfe a tainting, 
 
 Scatt'ring all its bright exhale, 
 Tinging o'er with saddened painting, 
 
 Turning all its joy to wail ; — 
 Could you trace the onward rushing 
 
 Of hopes descending to despair, 
 When cheeks that once were crimson blushing, 
 
 Now only seek in crime to share ; — 
 Could you see pure faith's annulling, 
 
 Blasted in pestif rous breath, 
 Flowers you were this moment culling, 
 
 Wither in a wasting death ; —
 
 134 AIDS TO REFLECTION. 
 
 The thought you were so fondly prizing', 
 
 That still with strength thro' danger buoyed, 
 Could you feel that " one " despising, 
 
 The chambers of the heart home void, 
 The madness, anguish, grief and sin, 
 
 The misery, wretchedness and woe ; 
 How speedily fell vice will win, 
 
 O'er e'en the fairest forms below; — 
 You had not deemed my strain too rude, 
 
 Nor passion all too strongly tinted ; 
 'Tis well when in our solitude, 
 
 The mind is but with good emprinted. 
 
 'Tis gloom yet while these lines I write, 
 Thou sleepest on in happy dreaming ; 
 
 God keep thee still in virtue's light, 
 
 God's guarding love around thee gleaming. 
 
 AIDS TO REFLECTION. 
 
 (an epigram.) 
 
 At sacred facts you mock and jeer, 
 All marvellous deeds you scout, 
 
 Affect a supercilious sneer ; 
 You criticise and doubt. 
 
 The serpent and the speaking ass 
 Awake your curt objection ; 
 
 The hours you stand before your glass 
 Do they bring no reflection ?
 
 135 
 
 SLEEPING AND WAKING. 
 
 ** sleep ! gentle sleep, how have I affrighted thee, 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 
 Nor steep my senses in forgetfulness." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 I deead to sleep — for then remembered themes 
 In brightened tints as in that happy time, 
 When cherished hopes jnst budded in their prime. 
 
 Hush o'er my restless couch in vivid dreams ; 
 
 And then again I live that life of love, 
 And from her lips repeated blisses taste, 
 And clasp again that gently yielding waist, 
 
 And envy not the joys of heaven above. 
 
 Thus nightly o'er my conscious fancy gleams, 
 While once again in fond embrace we meet, 
 And once again in bliss our pulses beat, 
 
 Remembrance of those bright but vanished dreams ; 
 Then while I haste her proffered hand to take 
 The vision fades — and then, I dread to wake. 
 
 I dread to wake — for then my thoughts will stray, 
 And sad I feel, and drear and desolate, 
 And then I brood upon my hapless fate, 
 
 O'er which no hope-beams shed a cheering ray. 
 
 Elate with joy, though now so lowly thrown, 
 What bitterness the live-long day to think, 
 That life to me is but an endless link, 
 
 A chain of woe that drags my spirit down.
 
 136 A LIBEL. 
 
 So like a forest tree the bolt lias blighted, 
 
 That though the trunk remains, the pith has gone, 
 Even in desolation my mind thinks on, 
 
 Upon those verdant hopes my soid delighted. 
 Heart's ruins round thus memory's ivies creep — 
 With these my waking thoughts I dread to sleep. 
 
 I dread to sleep — for busy dreams recall, 
 And then I shudder while again I see, 
 Starting renewed in fancy's imagery, 
 
 That fatal hour, my life-time's funeral. 
 
 Then words are said which pierce my soul to hear, 
 And hands are raised to bar me from her sight, 
 And worst of all, I see the maddening blight, 
 
 Love changed to hate, and sparkling smile to sneer. 
 
 Had this dread sight, indeed, been only seeming, 
 Like nightly dreams had day deeds never been, 
 Such fatal misery had I never seen, 
 
 Elysium still my life had e'er been beaming. 
 
 Now, night or day, my heart but throbs to ache, 
 And then I dread to sleep — I dread to wake. 
 
 A LIBEL. 
 
 " Your brother has said I've the voice of a crow, 
 
 And my features resemble an ox ; 
 He may find me to deal with a troublesome foe, 
 
 If again thus my person he mocks." 
 
 " I think, my dear Sir, your informant is wrong, 
 
 So much of my brother I know, 
 For the animal race his regard is so strong, 
 
 He'd not libel an Ox or a Crow."
 
 137 
 
 : rw*i nan hip 
 " A VOICE OF SONG AND SALVATION." 
 
 INSCRIBED TO SIR MOSES MONTEFIORE, ON THE 20TH ANNIVERSART 
 OF THE OPENING OF HIS SYNAGOGUE AT RAMSGATE. 
 
 Who shall aspire ? The holy task who dare ? 
 A fitting house of God, whose hands prepare ? 
 "The heaven of heavens cannot contain His praise," 
 Then who on earth His sanctuary may raise ? 
 What motives rare should in that man combine, 
 Whose pious heart suggests this grand design ; 
 What impidse guide — what faith his mind pervade, 
 Whom virtue prompts, and heaven's dictates aid ? 
 
 In ancient times, this fond desire we trace, 
 To rear to God some sacred worship-place, 
 Whether as humble altar — gorgeous shrine, 
 Alike in purpose — holy — blessed — divine ! 
 E'en so did pious Abram altars raise, 
 Where'er he wandered in his devious ways ; 
 At Moreh, Hebron, Bethel (house of God), 
 Displayed his faith where'er his footsteps trod ; 
 Transcendant, then, his truth's triumphant test, 
 Moriah's mount, the patriarch's zeal confessed. 
 And mark we well, he best his God doth serve, 
 Who best for man doth kindly love preserve ; 
 Who nerves the weak, who generous aid extends, 
 And prompt, when danger calls, protects — defends !
 
 138 "A voice of song and salvation." 
 
 Through, stranger lands, when Jacob onward pressed, 
 
 Humbly at Bethel hear the heart's request : 
 
 " Be thou my guide, whereto my footsteps roam, 
 
 Be thou my help ; in peace, oh bring me home !" 
 
 With grateful thanks, the reverent Jacob view, 
 
 At holy Bethel, votive vows renew, 
 
 To Him, the guardian God, who succour sent, 
 
 "Whose mercy shielded whereso'er he went. 
 
 When rescued hosts went forth from Egypt's land, 
 Well pleased, free-hearted men heard God's command ; 
 And bounteous gifts were brought with one accord, 
 To grace the Tabernacle — " holy to the Lord." 
 Then Israel's children fashioned true and well, 
 The consecrated home where He might dwell ; 
 Where they might flock with faith and trust replete, 
 And there their Father-God be sure to meet. 
 With zeal intent, with holy purpose fraught, 
 " E'en as the Lord commanded, Moses wrought."* 
 The noble chief, the perfect work confessed, 
 And then, with pious love, the people blessed. 
 
 Yet pause we not, though lengthened lists proclaim, 
 Who structures raised, where blessed His sacred name. 
 Search Scripture's page, and mark the wise and true, 
 With ardent zeal, this sainted work renew ; 
 Ascending still, till now, the climax won, 
 One fabric towers — 'tis thine, King David's son! 
 "Beauty's perfection," " Joy of all the earth, "f 
 Thy wisdom, Solomon, there displayed its worth. 
 But not thy affluent store of Eastern gold, 
 Nor gorgeous wealth the eye did there behold, 
 
 * Exodus xxxix. 43. t Lament, ii. 15.
 
 " A VOICE OF SONG AND SALVATION." 139 
 
 Nor cedar' d shafts, nor matchless works of art, 
 Was half so glorious as thy humble heart, 
 When prostrate, in thy temple, lowly there, 
 In soul-felt eloquence, streamed thy noble prayer. 
 Nor all thy choristers, warbling notes divine, 
 Woke half the harmony, heaven loves, like thine, 
 Around when Israel's congregation stood, 
 And thou — imploring for thy people's good ! * 
 
 We pass the hour of Judah's gloom and woe, 
 
 Her nation captive, and her temple low. 
 
 More joyous theme ! we hail the gladsome sight, 
 
 A second temple merges quick to light ; 
 
 Where Ezra's zeal the people's path directs, 
 
 And Nehemiah bold, their faults corrects. 
 
 And after these, in every changeful time, 
 
 Where Israel roamed through many a varied clime, 
 
 Still vivid piety holy works dictate, 
 
 The house of prayer, to God they dedicate. 
 
 Can modern days no parallel afford, 
 Of righteous men, who strive to love the Lord ? 
 Who, zeal impelled, the hallowed building raise, 
 Assembled where our hearts in fervour praise ? 
 Yes ! well we know how good example moves, 
 How prompt the hand in work the soul approves. 
 So, goodly men, in every age are found, 
 And sacred fanes in every land abound. 
 Worthy, like Abram, one my verse could name, 
 Whose deeds will live, imperishable in fame ; 
 Like Abram, he, by ardent faith impelled, 
 Strove for the right, and every wrong repelled ; 
 * 1 Kings viii.
 
 140 "a voice of song and salvation." 
 
 Like Abram, he, with brotherly love imbued, 
 " E'en to Damascus"* treacherous foes pursued. 
 Subdued and shamed, the scouted tyrants flee, 
 The hero joys — his captive brethren free ! 
 
 Mid glowing heat, or piercing cold, unchanged, 
 To tend his sheep, the patriarch Jacob ranged ; 
 So too, his flock to shield from harm or ill, 
 Our guardian strove, unfaltering in his will. 
 One while to sultry East he wandered forth, 
 Then braved the frosts of chill and piercing North ; 
 And more, the despot's frown he braved to dare, 
 In Israel's cause, unknown or fear or care. 
 Like Jacob, too, he prayed with heart intent, 
 And God protected wheresoe'er he went ; 
 An angel, guarding, walked thy steps beside, 
 Thy course to cheer, to animate and guide. 
 
 So might we trace, in each similitude, 
 
 Some semblance of this man with faith imbued ; 
 
 Alike in name, alike in holy worth, 
 
 Our people's leader wins the praise of earth ; 
 
 In kindly love he aids his people's cause, 
 
 In kindly love promotes our faith and laws ; 
 
 The sacred dwelling, like his namesake rears, 
 
 "Where fervid he, eternal might reveres ! 
 
 Honour and wisdom, right-used wealth, combine, 
 In him, as Solomon, aiding his design. 
 Jerusalem, of each, will honoured deeds recount, 
 Whose bounty flowed 'neath Zion's favoured mount ; 
 Distress assuaged, the needy's want relieved, 
 * Genesis xiv. 15.
 
 what's IN A NAME? 141 
 
 The heart rejoiced, in woe, erewhile which grieved ; 
 Hope for the hopeless, comfort for the weak, 
 Of these their deeds doth grateful Zion speak. 
 
 As diamonds' light, which way so e'er we turn, 
 Sparkling in lustre, radiant we discern ; 
 So, gemmed in him, of various good we see, 
 " Not one, hut many saints' epitome." 
 
 Yes ! this the man, who well the task may dare, 
 
 A fitting house of God, whose hands prepare. 
 
 Well done the task ! the sacred fabric raised ! 
 
 There many a year, right well hath God been praised ; 
 
 "With reverent joy is welcomed holy day, 
 
 There heartfelt piety heartfelt vows repay ; 
 
 Eesponsive there is heard her tuneful voice, 
 
 Whose pious echo bids thy heart rejoice ; — 
 
 Long may she live, thy pleasure and thy pride, 
 
 Thy guardian angel, tending by thy side ; 
 
 Long years of bliss, be yours, ye happy pair, 
 
 Blessed days like this be yours long time to share. 
 
 Whate'er each wish, that wish perfected be : 
 
 "As God with Moses was, so be thy God with thee."* 
 
 WHAT'S IN A NAME? 
 
 (an epigram.) 
 " A name that's expressive, my daughter should bear," 
 
 An "unlicensed practitioner" said; 
 " Your remark," cried a wag, " is both prudent and fair, 
 So we'll Charlotte- Ann christen the maid." 
 * Joshua i. 17.
 
 142 
 
 THE HEBREW GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Apart from all the sacred fame 
 
 That halos round our hero's story, 
 Bright deeds of worth and valour claim 
 
 For him a noble wreath of glory. 
 I speak not now of Abram's zeal, 
 
 His earnest faith in God's divinity, 
 The impetus that made him feel, 
 
 In new-born spotless pure virginity, 
 The reason light that woke his soul, 
 
 That dawned expansive o'er his mind, 
 That crushed the idol's false control, 
 
 And with his every wish combined. 
 
 How, proud to do what God decreed, 
 
 He left his long-loved native home, 
 Unconscious where his course would lead, 
 
 Content, with faith, well nerved to roam. 
 E'en in that saddened parting hour, 
 
 His heart a kindred love confest, 
 And thrilled with sympathetic power 
 
 That could not be in all repressed. 
 One link ere he his home forsakes, 
 
 To shelter, cherish, and protect, 
 Fondly he now his nephew takes, 
 
 Whose course he would in right direct.
 
 THE HEBREW GENTLEMAN. 143 
 
 Yet vainly taught by every good, 
 
 His own example best supplied, 
 In truth and loving brotherhood, 
 
 Lot's course in virtue's path to guide, 
 When strife and passion uncontrolled, 
 
 Their herdsmen stirred with raging ire, 
 Here Abram's generous acts behold, 
 
 See peace his earnest, sole desire. 
 " Leave we," he said, " these fertile plains, 
 
 Choose thou, where'er thy thoughts incline, 
 What then the land to me remains 
 
 Will I for pasture field design." 
 The choice, by right, by age, by power, 
 
 Well might the elder kinsman claim, 
 Yet generous e'en in strife's dark hour, 
 
 He still preserves that noble fame 
 That stamped his every act of life, 
 
 Where'er his varied course we scan, 
 With worth and valour ever rife, 
 
 The fine old Hebrew gentleman. 
 
 And valiant chief, in battle brave, 
 
 Prompt to contrive — quickly achieve, 
 Th' ungenerous Lot he hastes to save, 
 
 Nor him a captive slave will leave. 
 Strategic skill he well displays, 
 
 His force he leads through hazy night; 
 Victorious sees the dawning rays 
 
 Shine on the hero of the flight. 
 In serried ranks his valiant troops 
 
 Their peaceful bearing now resume, 
 Disordered crouch the trembling groups, 
 
 Waiting the vancpiished's fatal doom.
 
 144 THE HEBREW GENTLEMAK. 
 
 The monarch humbled anxious craves, 
 
 Forfeited his subjects' lives, 
 His right to claim as bondage slaves 
 
 The victor's spoil, the chief derives. 
 The gold, the wealth, the richest gems, 
 
 The battle's spoil, the conqueror's prize ; 
 The generous chief with scorn contemns, 
 
 And doth each gorgeous garb despise. 
 And yet with prudent thoughtfulness 
 
 (For self he every gift rejects), 
 For those who shared his proud success, 
 
 Justly their claims he firm protects. 
 
 Triumphant chief, of kings the guest, 
 
 Well might his heart with pride have glowed ; 
 A stronger feeling warmed his breast, 
 
 Calm, modest meekness' loved abode. 
 Who wise, who true, who rightly good, 
 
 Knew, though himself were robed in light, 
 That all had not fell vice withstood, 
 
 That some had swerved froni paths of right. 
 For these he wept, for these implored, 
 
 For these invoked the ruth divine, 
 For these his supplicating word 
 
 Continuous prayed at mercy's shrine. 
 Not as the hypocrites of earth, 
 
 Who walk in self-donned robes of white, 
 Wrapped up in self-spun garbs of worth, 
 
 Their failing brother spurn in spite : 
 Brighter his rays of kindness beam, 
 
 For mankind's good his every plan, 
 As his, my fond and hopeful theme, 
 
 This true old Hebrew gentleman.
 
 THE HEBEEW GENTLEMAN. 145 
 
 Though seeming light, I deem this phrase 
 
 Characteristic, rightly used, 
 For him, throughout whose lengthened days 
 
 Each gentle, noble act was fused ; 
 Whose soul in one melodious tone 
 
 In unison attuned to good, 
 Harmonious echoes oft would own, 
 
 Vibrating where best understood. 
 
 See ! the way-worn wanderer come, 
 
 Fainting across the. desert sands, 
 Welcome ! proffered rest and home, 
 
 And ample food from generous hands ; 
 Sustaining hope, dispelling fears, 
 
 The chieftain hastes his aid to give. 
 The cheering voice the wanderer hears, 
 
 Again his drooping spirits live. 
 Before the feeble voice can speak 
 
 Liberal gifts he bounteous proffers, 
 Sustains the powerless, aids the weak, 
 
 Benevolent his aid he proffers. 
 
 Considerate e'en in hour of grief, 
 
 Kindly when sympathising friend, 
 To give his saddened soul relief, 
 
 Doth willing outstretched hand extend, 
 The "double cave," though much desired, 
 
 Is gratefully as gift rejected, 
 But rightly paid the price required, 
 
 At length is willingly accepted. 
 Unnumbered deeds well might I trace, 
 
 Gremm'd alike with virtue's lustre, 
 Each filled with some most valued grace, 
 
 Sparkling in a brilliant cluster.
 
 146 "who gave you that name?" 
 
 But abler pens can better write, 
 
 Of him who first with faith unfurled 
 The banner of that glorious light 
 
 Which cheers and elevates the world ; 
 For me, I only seek to tell, 
 
 As year to year his course proceeds, 
 The kindly acts he loved so well, 
 
 The worth that kindred worth succeeds, 
 The generous impulses that stirred, 
 
 Congenial with his life-blood ran, 
 Who ever was, in deed and word, 
 
 The true old Hebrew gentleman. 
 
 "WHO GAYE YOU THAT NAME?" 
 
 (an epigram.) 
 
 < ' My name is none of modern state, 
 
 Like Howard, Percy, Seymour, Stanley ; 
 
 I claim a far more ancient date, 
 More noble, glorious, proud, and manly." 
 
 " You're right, my friend, I know the book, 
 Records your claim with compeers plenty ; 
 
 None can dispute who rightly look, 
 In Genesis, second, nineteen, twenty."
 
 147 
 
 JOACHIM HAYMAN. 
 
 (a school-day reminiscence.) 
 
 Among eighty boys who composed the establishment of 
 our principal, it may be supposed there existed a great 
 diversity of disposition, yet in one particular they all 
 seemed to unite. This was in a desire to tease and 
 annoy one individual lad, who now seemed the butt of 
 their jokes, and now the victim of their capricious 
 tyranny. Joachim Hayman was a Hollander by birth ; 
 this alone was sufficient to promote their jibes and jeers ; 
 prone as boys and even men are to catch at national 
 peculiarities, it may be supposed that this, the mere 
 circumstance of his birth, would be enough to provoke 
 their observation and comment; add to this Joachim 
 was dull, sluggish, almost an idiot; yet were times 
 when the flash of genius would sparkle forth with a 
 dazzling radiance ; though after this ebullition of light, 
 the gloom of his mind then seemed doubly obscure. 
 
 Though myself not of the brightest capacity, I was 
 easily tempted to join in this unnatural baiting ; and 
 now I wonder how I could so easily, and with such 
 satisfaction, have partaken in this fiendish torture. 
 Then I did not know, or if I knew, did not sufficiently 
 conceive this youth's story — a few words will tell it. 
 
 His father had been a wealthy merchant at the 
 Hague, and having acquired a princely fortune, pur- 
 posed retiring to England, the native country of his
 
 148 JOACHIM HAYMAIf. 
 
 wife, to enjoy his opulence. For this purpose he had 
 taken shipping in a homeward-bound merchantman, 
 with his four sons and three daughters, and attended 
 by numerous domestics, who, loth to forsake so kind a 
 master, had obtained permission to accompany him. 
 On the morning when they embarked for Albion's shore, 
 the sky was blue and serene, while a freshening favour- 
 ing breeze foretold a prosperous voyage. But a sudden 
 and violent tempest too soon belied these nattering hopes; 
 two nights and days the fragile bark was tossed to and 
 fro, the sport of boisterous winds and threatening 
 waves, till at length striking a hidden rock, she filled 
 and sank almost immediately. Of the whole family but 
 Joachim was saved ; father, mother, kindred, friends had 
 perished ; he was alone in the world. He was picked up 
 in a state of exhaustion by the boat's crew of an English 
 vessel, and being brought to England, was sent by his 
 father's agent to our academy. But the fatal blow had 
 been struck — "reason frighted from her empire" had 
 fled ; and the once lively, gay, and happy boy vegetated 
 into the being I have described him. One single, solitary 
 incident seemed to have possession of his imagination, 
 to the exclusion of all others — a confused recollection of 
 a wreck ; beyond, all was a blank. He had acquired 
 an imperfect knowledge of English, and by a singular 
 fatality, his sole, his only delight was in perusing narra- 
 tives of voyages, tempests, and shipwrecks. For hours 
 together, he would sit in a corner of the play-ground, 
 under an old yew tree, his favourite resort, regardless 
 of the practical jokes of his unfeeling tormentors, (a 
 helpless Samson, ministering sport to the Philistines,) 
 absorbed in the all-engrossing themes that fed the 
 fever of his mind; spelling with assiduous diligence the
 
 JOACHIM HAYMA3T. 149 
 
 difficult words with, which, they ahounded. Poor fel- 
 low ! he had asked the boys to read thera to him, and 
 they had misguided him. The sea phrases caught his 
 attention, recalled for a time former associations, and 
 were treasured up in the store-house of his memory, as 
 an intellectual feast, with which he would occasionally 
 indulge himself. Of course, unacquainted with their 
 technicalities, they were improperly applied by him ; 
 indeed, I much question whether, even theoretically 
 speaking, at this time, he knew the stem from the stern, 
 or any other of the simplest nautical distinctions. Yet 
 have I seen him, even amid the pelting storm, and 
 unconscious of the boisterous merriment that surrounded 
 him, acting, with all the ideal reality of his imagination, 
 and interlarding his actions with oddly assorted phrases, 
 scenes in the life of a mariner. First all joy, 
 animation, and buoyancy weighing anchor ; then by 
 a happy imitation, the boatswain's call; heaving the 
 lead; reefing, and furling the sails; manning the yards ; 
 the steersman at the helm — the captain on the deck — 
 the mariner in the foretop — the crew's exultation at a 
 prosperous gale. Now he would imagine the wind to 
 change — the clouds to threaten — the sky darkening — 
 the sea-birds screaming, and all the portents of a violent 
 tempest. "Hark! Hark!" he would cry, "to that 
 pealing thunder ; see the raging waves that sweep the 
 deck ; quick, quick, all hands aloft ; reef the top sails ; 
 look to the main mast ; it shivers in the lightning's 
 flash ; stand clear ; it falls. Water, water in the hold ! 
 All hands to the pumps. Gracious Heavens, a rock on 
 the starboard bow ! keep her clear ! she strikes ! she 
 leaks! Oh God! she sinks!" He would then fall 
 to the ground, and " like a strong swimmer in his
 
 150 JOACHIM HAYMAN. 
 
 agony" would buffet to and fro, till exhausted by 
 bis exertions of mind and body, be would remain in a 
 state of torpid inaction. 
 
 But a singular circumstance was connected witb tbis 
 delusion of tbe senses. Tbougb, as I bave before 
 stated, attached to nautical descriptions, and employing 
 many of bis leisure hours in designing and carving 
 small models of ships and boats, which he really 
 executed with no small degree of tact, they produced 
 no further amusement to him ; he was unable to launch 
 them, as he never could endure the sight of a pool, or 
 any other collection of the aqueous element.* Tbis 
 feeling differed in a certain degree from that experi- 
 Huced by hydrophobial subjects, as water did not affect 
 him when used as a beverage, but merely when having 
 occasion to pass a brook or other running stream, a 
 confused train of ideas would unbidden rush to his 
 recollection, he would relapse suddenly from the highest 
 ebullition of mirth into involuntary tears, and if not 
 restrained, would seek by flight to avoid the uncon- 
 genial object. These traits of his disposition did not 
 escape his juvenile tormentors, who let no opportunity 
 pass of indulging their malicious sport. To my shame 
 and sorrow be it spoken, I, from having first through 
 mere thoughtlessness joined this brutal pastime, became 
 eventually the foremost of his assailants, " regardless 
 
 * Many years after the above was written, in a report respecting 
 the Asylum for Idiots, at Earlswood, I met with the following (See 
 " Times," June 22, 1866.) — " There is another whose drawings sell at 
 high prices, and who has made perhaps the most complete model of 
 a ship that was ever constructed, which he exhibits with justifi- 
 able pride, and attempts to describe with great volubility, although 
 scarcely able to utter a word which a stranger can understand."
 
 JOACHIM HAYMAN. 151 
 
 of wringing or breaking a heart, already to sorrow 
 resigned." 
 
 Even Saturday, our Sabbath, our day of rest, was 
 no Sabbath, no resting day to him. Unhappy youth, 
 without a parent's aid to guide him — no home to shelter 
 him — no friend to cheer him. 
 
 Yes ! one friend he had, a friendship worth a thou- 
 sand loves : Amelia, thou wert the most meek, the most 
 estimable of women ; to thee, as to a resting-place, his 
 wandering spirit yearned amid the troubled waters; 
 and truly thou didst not withhold the branch of grace. 
 Amelia was the niece of our preceptor, adopted by him 
 at the death of her parents from combined motives of 
 humanity and economy ; she ranked in his house- 
 hold in the capacity between that of a relation and a 
 housekeeper. Of her fitness for the station I know not, 
 but as it gave her an opportunity of attending to our 
 comfort, which was her studious care, she was a general 
 favourite with the scholars. Of a mild, placid, and 
 contented aspect, the beauties of her countenance 
 seemed veiled with resignation to the humble state in 
 which she had been placed — a virgin lily bending to 
 the storm. She was, at the time of which I have been 
 speaking about seventeen, sylpk-like in form, oh ! how 
 angel-like in action ; pensive as she walked along — 
 timid as a young fawn, and starting even at the echo 
 of her own melody, you would have little guessed the 
 language of those gazelle-like eyes that sparkled 
 beneath their silken fringes. Herself an orphan, she 
 was easily attracted by the ties of sympathy to the yet 
 more friendless Hayman. And the boy felt her kind- 
 ness ; the only smile that lit up his sluggish countenance 
 was at her approach, and if the music of her voice
 
 152 JOACHIM HAYMANT. 
 
 floated from the distance, his dull grey eyes would 
 gradually unclose their ponderous lids, and sparkle for 
 a moment with delight. Blessed creature, how often 
 have I seen you beseeching us, the relentless tyrants of 
 this hapless orphan, to desist from our unfeeling enjoy- 
 ment ! Nor did you plead in vain — the sound of your 
 angel voice soothed us to compliance, alas ! but for a 
 time. With me, as being more in her company, she 
 was more frequent in her beseechings in behalf of the 
 poor boy, and I, not insensate to the mute language of 
 tears, that frequently usurped the place of words, made 
 repeated promises, but again to violate them. 
 
 It was a sultry day in July, when Mr. W. desired 
 the boys to prepare for walking. "We were speedily 
 marshalled and in order, under the superintendence of 
 one of the teachers, and, after a promenade of some 
 duration, reached a meadow where was a well-known 
 brook, that had often tempted our heated frames to 
 lave in its cooling streams. It was hidden from our 
 immediate view by a clump of willows, that intercepted 
 the perspective from the point at which we were ap- 
 proaching. Though often wishing to enjoy the refresh- 
 ing element, the injunctions of our master were strict 
 against us, in consequence of some unfortunate acci- 
 dents ; but, in this instance, we hoped to be more 
 successful, as the usher, whose routine it was to convoy 
 us, was deeply immersed in the pages of a pocket 
 Sallust or Virgil, his never-failing companion. He 
 was a mild, ■ harmless, and inoffensive man ; uncon- 
 scious of his own acquirements, yet of profound 
 erudition, a very Dominie. A Scotchman too, a Camp- 
 bell, or a Grant, I forget which, his clan was broken 
 up, and he wandered forth to live by his knowledge.
 
 JOACHIM HA YUAN. 153 
 
 Veiy intellectual was he, even in aspect, not like his 
 co-temporary, the great Colossus, moving under moun- 
 tain masses of flesh, an imperious tyrant in his domain, 
 but gaunt, tall, meagre-looking, yet placid withal. 
 Polyphemus-like, his single orb sparkling with delight 
 at the discovery of some hidden meaning in the Classics, 
 or some supposed coincidence of Xenophon and Plutarch, 
 or the restoration of a lost line of Eschylus or Euripi- 
 des. He verily lived on the fruit of the tree of know- 
 ledge. A glutton in literature, he devoured with 
 eagerness all within his grasp. Abstemious in diet, 
 parsimonious in expenditure (the vice or virtue ? of his 
 countrymen), very, very cleanly in attire, his plain cut 
 suit of grey mixture, his black straw hat, and dark 
 worsted stockings, never varying in appearance, were 
 the outward bark of which the tree was unconscious. 
 He had been at Culloden they said ; more from instinct 
 than inclination "he followed to the field his warlike 
 lord," and had escaped with loss of an eye, to retread 
 the more congenial paths of literature. 
 
 Such was our English master, and it may be supposed 
 that we boys availed ourselves of his abstraction to 
 enjoy our unrestrained caprices. We had now reached 
 the Rubicon, a simultaneous desire impelled us to rush 
 into the stream, like a caravan of camels at the glad 
 sight of water in the desert. Undeterred by the pre- 
 sence of our teacher, who was now seated under the 
 umbrageous boughs of a venerable oak, immersed in a 
 favourite ecologue, I was rushing among the foremost, 
 when my attention was arrested by an unusual bustle, 
 a confused sound of boisterous merriment, and a voice 
 of lament. Hastening to the spot, I saw poor Hayman 
 in the hands of a knot of young Pharaohs, who were
 
 154 JOACHIM HAYMAX. 
 
 preparing to plunge him in the water, regardless of his 
 well-known and unconquerable aversion to that element. 
 They had already divested him of part of his attire, 
 and one boy, the Hercules of the school for size and 
 might, was endeavouring to snatch from his hold a 
 locket which he had worn, and which Joachim convul- 
 sively grasped to retain. "My mother! my mother!"' 
 shrieked the poor boy ; the first time I had ever heard 
 him mention her. Electrically through my whole frame 
 I felt the force of the appeal ; to see and to hear were 
 one impulse ; my sudden and violent blow levelled his 
 assailant with the earth ; the group, struck with aston- 
 ishment retreated for a moment, while their victim 
 bounded like a young fawn across the plain, still shriek- 
 ing as he went, " My mother ! my mother ! " 
 
 From that hour a sudden revulsion of feeling per- 
 vaded my whole frame with respect to this youth — a 
 bond of silent sympathy. He, too, had had a mother, 
 whom he had loved, and whom, like me, he had lost, 
 and whose image he fondly cherished. From having 
 been his foremost opponent, I became his firmest friend 
 and protector; and, accustomed as he had been to 
 regard me as his foe and oppressor, he now looked up 
 to me as an aegis, always ready to shield him. And 
 as I was allowed a greater latitude than the other boys, 
 my father's interest being very useful to Mr. W., I 
 was enabled to procure him many advantages, from 
 which he would otherwise have been debarred, and 
 relieved him from those annoyances to which even his 
 hours of rest, falsely so-called, were subjected. 
 
 Amelia and I were earnest in our mutual endeavours 
 to benefit our unhappy protege, and, as a first step to 
 the gradual enfranchisement of his mind, we resolved to
 
 JOACHIM HAYMAK. 155 
 
 divert his attention from those employments, which, 
 like the baneful Oriental drug, destroyed while they 
 excited. For this reason, we strictly forbade his peru- 
 sal of those tales of toil, of suffering, and of fate, 
 which had hitherto been his chief delight ; and while 
 Amelia diverted his attention from those too pleasing 
 themes, she opened to his gaze the inspired tomes of 
 sacred lore, the revealed records of God's chosen people. 
 All attempts to lead Hayman by the beaten track 
 to an acquaintance with the truths of our religion had 
 hitherto failed, but I now watched with delight his not 
 unwilling progress. His feelings of awe and astonish- 
 ment at the development of the wonders of the Creation, 
 when the mighty word was spoken, and glad Nature 
 lived; his sympathy, "when the world was all before 
 them"; his grief, when that world was stained with 
 the first brother's blood, 
 
 "And man the sacrifice of man, 
 Mingled his taint with every breath, 
 Upwafted from the land of flowers." 
 
 His lengthened thrill of anguish at the empire of the 
 waters; his rejoicings with the rescued; his wanderings 
 with the "chosen one" ; his yearnings at the heart's 
 sacrifice ; his sojournings with "the pious." How his 
 eye would sparkle, and his very soul would listen when 
 he, that "loved one," was torn from his father, and 
 from his home, to be Egypt's lord, and to save his 
 father and his kin. And Egypt's magic land, what 
 store of wonders opened fresh to view ! The mighty 
 Nile, and mighty Pharaoh, and the humble Moses; 
 God's people — God's power — God's triumph. And he 
 travelled with us forth to the wilderness, and he saw 
 His miffht, and he reverenced. He heard how the Law
 
 156 JOACHIM HAYMAN. 
 
 was given, amid fire and amid flame, and he, "the 
 meekest man," was unharmed; and the people mur- 
 mured, and iniquity was punished, and that generation 
 was not. And a new chief arose ; and the walls of 
 Jericho trembled — and the sun stood still — and the 
 Lord's name was glorified. Now the people were 
 oppressed, and there rose a deliverer, and the giant 
 champion perished in his pride. And he, the shepherd 
 king, reigned, and angels listened to his harmony, yet 
 he was not worthy, but the wise son built the " house," 
 and even the wisest was won. Then was Israel a 
 kingdom, and the priests ministered, and the inspired 
 prophesied ; yet the people did not hearken, and the 
 destroyer came, and the land was desolate, and the city 
 solitary. ** By the waters of Babylon we sat down and 
 wept," and the word went out to destroy them, but the 
 hand-writing was on the wall, and the restorer came, 
 and the remnant returned ; yet the ancient men wept 
 when the foundation was laid. But the decree had 
 gone forth, and the flock was scattered till the shepherd 
 cometh to call them to the fold. 
 
 Hayman listened with intensity to those details, and 
 if he could not sufficiently comprehend their mysteries, 
 yet bowed with submission, acquiescing in the sacred 
 truth of their tenets. For myself, though hitherto I 
 had not swerved in the minutest degree from the strict 
 observance of all the ceremonials of our faith, I must 
 confess, that it was principally this developement of the 
 features of the Jewish religion, that led my mind 
 through its paths of universal love, " from Nature up to 
 Nature's God."
 
 1 ^ h 
 
 la. 
 
 AN EPITAPH. 
 
 " Praises on tombs are idly spent, 
 A good name is a monument." 
 
 One word inscribed will tell Her wortb, 
 Well won in death, as erst at birth ; 
 Immortal honour, deathless fame, 
 Is Hers, whose life best speaks Her name, 
 
 rvnn* 
 
 Life ! with every good entwined, 
 
 Kindly heart — expansive mind, 
 
 Soul ! from earthly passions free, 
 
 Vowed, God ! alone to Thee : 
 
 E'en as the sun his daily race, 
 
 Through heaven's paths his course doth trace ; 
 
 Wakening into life and light, 
 
 Each germ of Nature's blessings bright ; 
 
 So day by day, and hour by hour, 
 
 Emulating Heaven's power; 
 
 Pure in thought, in hope, in feeling, 
 
 An angel's course on earth revealing ; 
 
 With one accord did all proclaim, 
 
 Well justified that Holy Name, 
 
 rv-nrv 
 
 happy thought ! an omen sure, 
 Of every virtue brightly pure : 
 Inspired, who guessed thy life-long aim, 
 A reflex of well-chosen name ; 
 Prophetic, saw thy early youth, 
 Gremm'd with priceless grace and truth ;
 
 158 AN EPITAPH. 
 
 Every impulse of whose mind, 
 With holy aspirations twined ; 
 Dawnings of that future day, 
 Thy youth's rich promises repay. 
 Brightest buds where gently blend, 
 All to virtuous years that tend, 
 In every phase of life the same ; 
 "Well honoured thus that sacred name, 
 
 nmrp 
 
 And well, whose rightly tutored thought, 
 A fellow soul in faith who sought ; 
 As kindred plants together twine, 
 With thine did kindred heart combine. 
 Like thee with changeless good imbued, 
 Together then one course pursued, 
 With faith, that erewhile Israel saw, 
 Ye firm upheld God's reverent Law ; 
 Where'er was heard a plaintive sound, 
 Bounties showering all around ; 
 Two as one, to aid distress, 
 Two as one, the poor now bless ; 
 Sharing in all, whose proudest claim, 
 Was well to earn that favoured name, 
 
 rp-nrr 
 
 From distant lands came danger's cry, 
 Housed that ancient chivalry, 
 Which erst in Maccabe'an days, 
 Won for valour deathless praise ; 
 Bids still the Jew "defend the right." 
 And nerved his soul to dare the fight.
 
 AN EPITAPH. 159 
 
 Then shrank she cowering from his side ? 
 No ! Judith-like, her nation's pride, 
 With him the threatening danger dared, 
 With him the fame and glory shared ; 
 In every clime — at Salem's shrine, 
 Still seeking there for grace divine, 
 So day by day she thus became, 
 More worthy of that well won name, 
 
 nmm 
 
 Each thought of virtuous life essayed, 
 
 Each deed of active good pourtrayed ; 
 
 By such example, mankind shown, 
 
 How best a Jewish heart is known. 
 
 The spirit seeks from earth to rise, 
 
 Its home in those bright cloudless skies ; 
 
 Shall we then mourn when Heaven's bloom, 
 
 Sheds radiance o'er the dear one's tomb ? 
 
 Needs there a strain of nattering verse, 
 
 Her life-long virtues to rehearse ? 
 
 One word inscribed will tell her worth, 
 
 Well won in death, as erst at birth ; 
 
 Immortal honour, deathless fame, 
 
 Is hers, whose life best speaks her name, 
 
 nmn*
 
 160 
 
 RHYMES TO THE EYE, 
 
 AN ORTHOGRAPHICAL PUZZLE. 
 
 I weote some lines on a vacant leaf, 
 To pass the time because I'm deaf; 
 I showed them to my little daughter, 
 And saw they filled her full of laughter ; 
 Before she read them half way through, 
 She said she had of them enough : 
 She did not wish my pride to wound, 
 But in them lots of fun she found, 
 Of mirth there was an ample feast, 
 Exciting laughter in her breast ; 
 "With angry voice and gesture rough, 
 Seizing the lines I read them through, 
 When she began to sob and cough; 
 The tear-drops in her eyelids rose, 
 Eor fear my favour she should lose ; 
 She did not wish Papa to plague, 
 She trembled like one in an ague, 
 Of tears she shed a streaming flood, 
 And mournfully before me stood. 
 
 Fondly I strove her grief to ease, 
 And soon to sorrow gave release ; 
 With smiles again my eyes she met, 
 I gave to her a choice bouquet; 
 And her spirits to recruit, 
 A glass of wine and some biscuit ; 
 Showed her models of machines, 
 Where wondrous skill with art combines, 
 Sometimes to guide a new-made plough, 
 Sometimes to mix the baker's dough,
 
 EHYMES TO THE EYE. 161 
 
 How without the hands to knead, 
 And cleanly make our daily bread. 
 Elias Howe's inventions new, 
 To aid who quickly wish to sew ; 
 A new planned curvilinear arch ; 
 A print of France's stern monarch ; 
 A cheaper plan a hut to thatch ; 
 (I gave her an enamelled watch, 
 A new-made India-rubber comb, 
 Engravings of Napoleon's tomb ; 
 And promised, when I'd saved the money, 
 To buy for her a little poney;) 
 Told of Pharaoh and his host, 
 In the depths of Red Sea lost, 
 "Wherein they sank like lumps of lead, 
 As we in Exodus can read. 
 I spoke about Sir Walter Scott, 
 Of Chatham, government depot, 
 Of Croesus, Lydia's monarch rich, 
 Of Deptford and the famed Greenwich ; 
 About the gentle sainted Agnes, 
 The price of Clarets and Champagnes. 
 
 I showed her Haydn's Book of dates, 
 And busts of Plato and Socrates, 
 Statues of a valiant Eoman, 
 Of Joan, that brave devoted woman ; 
 And standing in a hollow niche, 
 A group of Cupid and his Psyche. 
 We also spoke of Snowdon's height, 
 Then of gold's specific weight; 
 Of the Bank's new rate of discount ; 
 Of Nelson, that chivalric Viscount, 
 
 M
 
 162 RHYMES TO THE EYE. 
 
 Whose valour did in youth appear, 
 When struggling with a polar bear ; 
 To board and fight how quick he'd row, 
 No danger could his courage bow, 
 Till sad the bullet laid him low : 
 Where are our naval heroes now ? 
 
 Just then came in my daughter's tutor, 
 He was my dear wife's executor ; 
 In politics he was a Tory, 
 His teeth were whiter than ivory ; 
 A finely chiselled nose and mouth, 
 He'd scarcely passed the bloom of youth ; 
 His eyes and hair were darkly brown, 
 A cloak was o'er his shoulders thrown. 
 Skilled was he in classic pages, 
 Knew a dozen languages ; 
 Well he all his lessons taught, 
 (I just had paid his quarter's draught ;) 
 He spoke about the heavenly spheres, 
 Of Juno, Venus, Mars, and Ceres ; 
 Like me he never would consent, 
 Words should have a wrong accent ; 
 That man, be sure he would indict, 
 He could of faulty speech convict ; 
 Most versatile he was in mind, 
 (A relative of Jenny Lind;) 
 Wrote books about the siege of Acre, 
 Of Saint Bartholomew's massacre, 
 How the Grecians met their foes, 
 Then of Helen's brazen shoes, 
 History's most noted eras, 
 A brochure called "The Two Operas,"
 
 RHYMES TO THE EYE. 163 
 
 How to cook, preserve, or pickle, 
 
 A treatise on the Greek article. 
 
 Curious notions about manslaughter, 
 
 Which oft provoked my young man's laughter. 
 
 I never knew a man alive, 
 
 So thoroughly argumentative ; 
 
 He'd question axioms of Sir Isaac's, 
 
 John Stuart Mill's metaphysics; 
 
 Denied that Linnaeus skill had any, 
 
 In the principles of Botany ; 
 
 Said the painter's " bits of nature," 
 
 Were like a tawdry caricature ; 
 
 That Tennyson's verse was weak and nighty, 
 
 Euskin, in art, no authority ; 
 
 He stampt each lawyer as a rogue, 
 
 Pooh-pooh'd th' Academy's catalogue ; 
 
 One work he'd praise and never vary, 
 
 'Twas Doctor Johnson's dictionary. 
 
 In the Mediterranean sea, 
 
 Near Peninsula of Morea, 
 
 As from the deck a storm he watcht, 
 
 He fell from off the Fairy yacht ; 
 
 As his swimming was not strong, 
 
 He met his fate the waves among. 
 
 When these lines you have read through, 
 (I wrote them near a Scottish lough, 
 My cousin sits for the Borough,) 
 If through them you had time to plough, 
 Perhaps you've had of them enough : 
 I'll write some more if you wish, though 
 I'm troubled with a painful cough, 
 And sometimes for an hour hiccough.
 
 164 
 
 LOST AND FOUND. 
 
 (A HIT OB. A BLOT ? ) 
 
 On a steamer, past Gravesend, (how the Hill it is built 
 
 on!) 
 I was playing Backgammon, (we had just sighted 
 
 Milton,) 
 My board, overboard, was by heavy draughts tost, 
 And four or five black men, and Pair-o'-dice Lost. 
 
 For our tables to cater, came the steward with trays ; 
 
 Some would him traduce, but from " gammon " re- 
 frained ; 
 
 "Give a rope — quick throw — two sink — now doubl' 
 it," he says ; 
 
 On the board placed the black men and Pair-o'-dice 
 Regained. 
 
 A PACK OF GOOD FOR NOTHINGS. 
 
 (a cynic snabl.) 
 
 " He has not a good word to throw to a dog." 
 
 Old Adage. 
 
 Lizzy, you lazy one, out of your bed ; 
 Sukey, you sulky one, lift up your head ; 
 Nancy, you noisy one, shut up your jaws ; 
 Dinah, you dirty one, look at your paws ;
 
 FABLE AND MORAL. 165 
 
 Annie, you artful one, I know your tricks ; 
 
 You want, long- eared Lyddy, a dozen of kicks ; 
 
 Jenny, you jealous one, show not such, spite ; 
 
 Look not, proud Mirabelle, black as the night ; 
 
 Fanny, too frolicsome, stop now your riot ; 
 
 Maggie and Mattie, you'd better be quiet. 
 
 Tilly's too quick, and Milly's too slow ; 
 
 You're mischievous, Minnie, wherever you go ; 
 
 Grace, you disgraced yourself, out on the heath — 
 
 Who cares for your growl, or your sharp-pointed teeth ; 
 
 Sally, you silly one, of puppies so fond, 
 
 I wish you and they were drown' d in the pond ; 
 
 In my garden, you, Flora, have trod down the flowers ; 
 
 Eosa, the rosebuds destroys and devours ; 
 
 Chloe, you cruel one, killed my canary, 
 
 I think none could tame you, except Mr. Earey ; 
 
 Phoebe, and Hebe, and Psyche's no good, 
 
 And you, dainty Dolly, you sulk at your food ; 
 
 Cissy and Prissy how reckless you rush, 
 
 How wild is your hair — when had you a brush ? 
 
 But hark ! there's the Pox, from your kennels now run, 
 Up! Hounds! and at 'em! the Hunt has begun. 
 
 FABLE AND MORAL. 
 
 (an epigram.) 
 " De te fabula narratur." — Horace. 
 
 Pables of you are told, you say, 
 
 For such reports pray do not quarrel ; 
 
 Their untruth I'll at once display, 
 For who could find in you a moral ?
 
 166 
 
 THE SUIT DISCARDED. 
 
 " If you doubt what I say, 
 Take a bumper and try." 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 "Is it true what I hear you your daughter refuse 
 To give to that young man in marriage ; 
 
 He is rich, he is good, he has excellent views, 
 And would buy her her horses and carriage?" 
 
 " I admit all you say, and much I regret 
 
 I must still in refusal persist ; 
 He is good, he is learned, he's respectable, yet 
 
 He knows not an atom of whist." 
 
 "Not know whist — what a great crime! why should 
 that decide ? 
 
 One moment the marriage delay ?" 
 " Not knowing whist is no crime," the father replied; 
 
 " But at whist he persisteth to play." 
 
 JEW'S MEAT. 
 
 (a fact.) 
 
 In a certain country town, 
 The name of which I need not mention, 
 There lived " a citizen of renown," 
 Whose house required a large extension ; 
 So, blessed with fortune's ample store, 
 With health and wealth — no child or wife,
 
 jews' meat. 167 
 
 He left at once the city's roar, 
 To taste the sweets of country life. 
 In this he found a new-born charm, 
 Kept cows and poultry scarce and big, 
 And in his well-stocked ample farm 
 "Was nurtured many a well-fed pig. 
 
 His kindness he to all extends, 
 
 But ere my story I pursue, 
 
 Though with his Christian neighbours friends, 
 
 Must tell you, Shadrach was a Jew. 
 
 That is, he was a Jew by name, 
 
 Of Moses' laws performed a part, 
 
 Did not his Hebrew birth disclaim, 
 
 Like many more, " a Jew in heart." 
 
 Respected by his neighbours all, 
 
 Mutual presents sent and taken, 
 
 He gave them peaches from his wall, 
 
 They gave him ham and well-cured bacon. 
 
 One time, 'twas in the village known, 
 
 (Sent some sharpen'd knives to borrow), 
 
 His purpose did his servant own, 
 
 To kill two fatted pigs to-morrow ; 
 
 Unnumbered letters then there came, 
 
 Hoping he'd not disappoint, 
 
 (Some with baskets filled with game) 
 
 Begging he would spare a joint, 
 
 From matron, widow, wife, and maid, 
 
 And also from the Eector's brother, 
 
 " For Jews' meat," they had heard it said, 
 
 " Was better far than any other."
 
 168 
 
 MR. NEVILLE. 
 
 A TALE IN TWO CHAPTERS. 
 
 (FROM AN UNPUBLISHED "WORK OF THE AUTHOR'S.) 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 " The history of that hour unblest, 
 When like a bird from its high nest, 
 Won down by fascinating eyes, 
 For woman's smile he lost the skies." 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Mr. Neville was a man, whom to see was to admire ; 
 there seemed a flow, almost an exuberance of spirits, 
 which diffused a pleasurable sensation wherever he 
 came ; it was like the bright and cheerful glow of the 
 well-piled hearth, warming and enlivening. With a 
 fine, bold, though somewhat wrinkled forehead, and an 
 eye whose fire was still undimmed by those years which 
 had shorn his once flowing locks, he would sit the soul 
 and charm of his crowding auditors. Versed in details 
 to please the man or glad the youth, to him the elder 
 came for counsel, the young for advice. Many a thank- 
 ful heart profited by his suggestions, many a bashful 
 maiden shamed not to make him her confidant. With 
 a glittering toy for the smiling infant, with a marvel- 
 lous tale for the adventurous boy, the prudence of 
 experience for youth, a kind word for many, a kind 
 deed for all, was it a wonder that he was admired, 
 respected, beloved. 
 
 And such a fund of good nature too — not with the 
 sour asceticism which too often in age usurps the place
 
 MR. NEVILLE. 
 
 169 
 
 of consistent gravity, he would laugh at the jest, pro- 
 mote the mirth-creating game, or join in the chorus, 
 while he would joke at his own quivering cadences, 
 and tapping his next fair neighbour on the cheek, tell 
 her she should have heard him sing "Fair Chloe" half 
 a century ago. Consequently he was a favourite come 
 where he would, from his jocular disposition, which 
 seemed the very antidote to sadness. Among those by 
 whom he was most esteemed was a Jewish gentleman, 
 who, though firm in his principles, had unhappily formed 
 an attachment to a lady of an opposite faith, and who, at 
 the time of this narrative, was in doubtful deliberation 
 whether to forego his purposed union, or to proceed in 
 what he rightly considered must engender unhappiness 
 to many. 
 
 With reluctance did he confide to his venerable friend 
 the workings of his mind. A dull, almost an unearthly 
 paleness came over the countenance of the old man, 
 and the smile which but now had played round his 
 cheek at once saddened into melancholic stupor ; but 
 almost immediately rallying, he complained of the cold 
 night air, and proposed a bowl of " policinello," as he 
 jocosely termed it, promising to give his advice on the 
 morrow. 
 
 Little inclined for society, yet cheered by the promise 
 of sagacious counsel, and a few friends having arrived, 
 the evening was passed in almost j oyous hilarity. Never, 
 as I afterwards learned, did Mr. Neville appear to 
 greater advantage ; — he seemed regenerated — a preter- 
 natural spring in the wintry season, with mirth-provok- 
 ing witticisms, lively and shrewd remarks, which each 
 moment elicited ; quick, and in varied succession, came 
 lively tale and sportive repartee — jokes and puns in a
 
 170 MR. NEVILLE. 
 
 volley of continued rapidity, and when, in a moment's 
 interval, a half suppressed sigh was heard, on which 
 he was jocosely rallied, it was a prelude to a fresh peal 
 of witticism and laugh-provoking drolleries. He seemed, 
 in fact, the ideality of happiness. 
 
 On the morrow, his Hehrew friend, who regretted 
 having asked counsel on a subject, which, though opium- 
 like destroying, he had now resolved not to relinquish, 
 had given orders not to admit any visitors, especially 
 Mr. Neville, whom he was afraid and ashamed to 
 encounter. He was, therefore, surprised and annoyed 
 to be aroused by the friendly salutation of his unwished- 
 for adviser — and rather rudely resented what he now 
 considered an intrusion. 
 
 " Nay, nay, my young friend," said Neville, you must 
 not treat me coldly ; I am come to counsel, possessed 
 as I am of your secret. I am come by the right of 
 friendship, by that of sympathy. Nay, you must hear 
 me ; I have no string of reproofs that might offend — I 
 convey no censure — God knows I have no right — no 
 arguments — no tedious reasoning ; I will not tire your 
 ear with my talk. One little tale — you will not refuse 
 to hear it. At least it may amuse a weary hour. You 
 were wont to be somewhat pleased with my recitals. 
 Shall I proceed ? 
 
 ' ' In the pleasantest part of the most pleasant county 
 of England, the locality of which is not material to my 
 story, in the twilight of a summer evening, a young 
 traveller was riding homeward, when the hum of music 
 and of mirth caused him to glance at the spot whence 
 those joyous sounds proceeded. On a broad and well- 
 shaded garden terrace, that abutted at a short distance 
 from the main road, was a group that might well excuse
 
 MB. NEVILLE. 171 
 
 a passing gaze of admiration. One beauteous girl 
 stood with arms twined round the marble urn of a 
 sculptured Naiad, into which ever and anon she would 
 dip a sportive hand, and laughingly sprinkle the by- 
 standers. Now peeping from the lime-tree covert, now 
 hiding in the acacia shade, you could see darting forth 
 forms of grace, of mirth, and loveliness, filling the 
 scene with gaiety and joy as they strove to escape the 
 playfulness of their companion. At a little distance, 
 seated under a spreading sycamore, was a gentleman 
 of noble and commanding aspect, gazing with com- 
 placency around ; near him stood a small knot of musical 
 amateurs, making the air re-echo with the concert of 
 their sweet sounds. 
 
 " As the tramp of the steed was heard approaching, a 
 little excusable curiosity prompted some of the fair 
 musicians to lean over the battlemented parapet, and, 
 in their laughing bustle, a guitar fell into the main 
 road. On the stranger perceiving this he alighted, and 
 afterwards standing on the back of his well-trained 
 courser, was enabled to return the instrument to its 
 owner. A smile of thankful acknowledgment was the 
 prelude to a few words of interchanged courtesy, and 
 a brief conversation was terminated by a polite invita- 
 tion to join the cheerful assembly. Well pleased to be 
 admitted to this lively society, the traveller rode round 
 to the entrance which had been indicated to him, where 
 his steed was tended by a ready domestic, and himself 
 welcomed by the owner of the mansion. 
 
 " Often again after this adventure, would our young 
 traveller ride towards the lime-tree fragrance, and often 
 again would a blushing form hang over the marble 
 parapet, welcoming his approach. Acquaintance — inti-
 
 172 ME. NEVILLE. 
 
 macy — esteem — affection had followed in quick succes- 
 sion; she, the Nymph of the fountain smiled propitious. 
 He was young, wealthy, the world praised his person 
 and attainments, and so lively withal, Euphrosyne 
 might have claimed a foster brother — he seemed, and 
 he was truly happy. 
 
 " Oh ! fatal passion, our blessing or our bane — loved 
 he was ; it needs not the dull progressing of rules pre- 
 scribed to fit us for this mysterious lore ; we feel its 
 electric force, though we cannot reason on its philosophy. 
 Loved he was ; there is a species of freemasonry which 
 can only be revealed to the initiated — a slight, an 
 almost imperceptible sign, and we own congenial 
 sympathy. 
 
 " A little month, and he had revealed his secret — he 
 was a Jew ! Nurtured with almost an instinctive 
 abhorrence for the name, it required all the prepos- 
 session which had begun to be engrafted in her nature 
 to repress her feelings on this announcement. 
 
 " Her first prejudices overcome gradually, and won by 
 his earnest beseechings, she yielded an acquiescence to 
 a purposed plan, which, sanctioned by her friends' con- 
 sent, would ensure their happiness. I have said our 
 youth was a Hebrew ; one, too, in whom was embedded 
 a strict devotion to his faith ; their union seemed there- 
 fore improbable. But a very little reasoning, and her 
 father and her friends, themselves careless of any faith, 
 acceded; and a few half muttered, little understood 
 words, and some trilling formulas sometimes sanctioned 
 by custom, and she, the fancied convert to Judaism, 
 became his bride. 
 
 "How smoothly blissful then flowed life's cur- 
 rent; the days were crested with joy, and time, like
 
 MR. NEVILLE. 173 
 
 a priceless opal, shone with beauties in every varied 
 aspect. 
 
 "To his home he bore her, his fond mother wel- 
 comed her new-found daughter, and, well pleased, 
 replied to the thousand questions that were elicited at 
 the novel ceremonies and customs which hourly excited 
 attention. It was little exertion for the young wife to 
 acquiesce in these distinctive rites ; pleased at first with 
 their novelty, she now sought the gratification of her 
 fondly attached husband in performing all the minutise 
 of her newly adopted faith to the letter. 
 
 " To one unacquainted with their origin and intent, 
 there must seem a strange peculiarity in the varied 
 ceremonial observances that are incorporated with the 
 Jewish ritual. Though frequently exciting comment, 
 often ridicule, our young friend had still continued in 
 the practice of every principle and custom, the time- 
 consecrated heirlooms of his creed, and without reason- 
 ing too deeply on their mysteries, felt innately convinced 
 that in acting on them he was fulfilling a sacred duty. 
 
 "How rejoiced then must he have been to behold 
 his beloved partner seemingly participating in his strict 
 observance, and fondly he imagined faith had engrafted 
 that compliance, which, in fact, was merely effected by 
 her wish to gratify. Nor could it indeed have been 
 expected, that one whose whole life was at variance 
 with her present professions, could at once have entered, 
 with genuine impression, into those so strange, so appa- 
 rently inconsistent customs. Yet, well-pleased with her 
 willing compliance, it added but another leaf to his 
 
 wreath of happiness. 
 
 * * * 
 
 " An infant smiling on her mother's breast, another 
 climbing round her lovely neck, two laughing boys
 
 174 MR. NEVILLE. 
 
 playing with, her half-loosened tresses, and one, the 
 eldest, a fine lad in embryo military pride, strutting in 
 braided and in plumed attire ; the pleased parents' 
 glance oft interchanged, and the yet lover-like tones 
 each other answering — Why should their Paradise have 
 withered ? 
 
 "Oh! what lovely girls were those sisters of hers, 
 yet how they came, beauteous like the silken store of 
 orient wealth, too oft with pestilence impregnated. 
 From the very hour of their visit and return her whole 
 manner seemed gradually and daily changing. Hitherto 
 she had felt an almost instinctive pleasure in personally 
 superintending many peculiar domestic ceremonials, 
 which the rigid tenets of her husband considered of 
 essential moment; now, relaxing imperceptively, it 
 seemed almost an effort to comply with his wishes in 
 that respect. The aged mother, anxious to hide this 
 neglect from the knowledge of her son, had, by con- 
 tinued exertion, exhausted herself, and her feeble 
 powers wasting, soon ushered her to the tomb. 
 
 "Now that none remained to conceal her supineness, 
 daily and hourly did he experience the effects of her 
 indifference to those observances he had hoped she 
 continued to consider as sacred. It is needless to repeat 
 how very important the Israelites conceive to be the 
 retention of those olden usages ; they are, in fact, the 
 tenure of their peculiar possession, the feudal homage, 
 time out of mind, offered in grateful vassalage to a 
 mighty Lord, munificent in His privileges, very mild in 
 His expected tribute. 
 
 " So years rolled on, instead of the pleased compla- 
 cency wont to gild each springing hour, came a degree 
 of bickerings and complainings ; instead of the candid
 
 MR. NEVILLE. 175 
 
 and the ready reply came equivocating answers or half- 
 murmured denials. From first neglecting his repeated 
 remonstrances, she soon began to ridicule many of his 
 religious forms and practices, and all her inborn feelings 
 rising to her mind, she mocked at those tenets, to him 
 most hallowed. Yet, with all this, he loved her so 
 deeply, that to upbraid seemed as if self-lacerating ; and 
 the exertion of authority, which only force could sup- 
 port, was hateful to his thoughts. And when all the 
 brethren of his faith, compelled by her now openly 
 sneering at their peculiarities, shrank from his society, 
 one by one, as they parted, and he looked in her face 
 to chide, some well-remembered grace, some fresh- 
 budding smile, and all his anger was at a glance 
 forgotten. It seemed vain contending with her, such 
 fine-spun webs were woven round him, 'twas powerless 
 as Arachne's skill against the art of Pallas. Wearied 
 with the contest he gradually succumbed. 
 
 " What power — how won — how used, it boots not 
 telling — she tempting — he yielding. Day by day relax- 
 ing in some minor point, an inroad was advancing in 
 the hitherto impregnable territory. Yet how, as in a 
 faded tapestry, where some less time-worn figure starts 
 in the dim obscurity to light, bringing recollections of 
 what was, so would he, in his downward flight, oft 
 retrace his former views of faith, now in the dim haze 
 quickly vanishing. Bubbles rising on the water's face, 
 floating gossamers on the ambient air, rush more swiftly, 
 rise more thickly, as the air is more disturbed, as the 
 water is more agitated ; so is man's mind ; placid and 
 content it glides well-pleased with approved theories ; 
 distract it, or with vice or unhappiness, or with folly or 
 crime, and it becomes an arena, wherein the wild and
 
 176 ME. NEVILLE. 
 
 the strange passions contend for master} 7 . Acknow- 
 ledged truths become the sport, oft the victims, of 
 speculative theory; and the mind which, in prosperity, 
 was well content to ' stand in awe and sin not,' cannot 
 cannot now ' be still.' So was it with the somewhile 
 happy being we speak of; perfect in faith, he doubted 
 not; why should he doubt, his certainty was happiness ; 
 he has vacillated, and he seeks by fallacious syllogisms 
 to justify self to self. 
 
 "Like those ancient people who used to hide their 
 gems and gold, lest their morals should be by them 
 corrupted, so did he feel the stern necessity of banish- 
 ing himself from her treasured charms, lest their 
 tempting lures should work to his overthrow. Very 
 suddenly, and with desperate resolution, did he quit his 
 native land and depart for an obscure dwelling on the 
 Continent. Years passed — he heard she was in suffer- 
 ing, wailing his absence, and the doating husband was 
 again in her arms. His children, they had flown to 
 welcome him, but when he had blessed them in the 
 language of the Patriarchs, they had laughed, save one, 
 and it was he that the mother hated. Their very 
 father-name too — once borne by sages and heroes, inspi- 
 ration and valour, had been euphonised ; and to all the 
 remonstrances of their parent were they heedless. How 
 wretched then was he — all those hopes, that callow 
 brood he had so fondly nestled, now plumed on their 
 parting wing ! In deference to some remaining embers 
 of that affection, late so brightly glowing, but which 
 now, alas ! lived only in the half-extinguished ashes, his 
 once-anxious partner, though she inwardly sneered at 
 his faith, to the world in some measure concealed how 
 truly she despised her adopted creed ; and now, distant
 
 MR. NEVILLE. 177 
 
 from her sisters and family, who had removed to the 
 metropolis, she felt it a degree of policy to affect a 
 seeming acquiescence with the practices of those with 
 whom of necessity she was compelled to associate. But 
 all his children, all save one, trained in their mother's 
 secret prejudices, scrupled not, openly by word and con- 
 duct to assert their difference of opinions. Gradually 
 withdrawing themselves from the community, they 
 formed ties and connections, which, though no bigot, 
 the father could not behold without heartfelt grief. I 
 have said one son yet remained true to his instilled prin- 
 ciples ; this, his favoured child, was in consequence so 
 unkindly treated by his brethren and sisters, that he 
 left his home in anger and disgust. Why should I 
 protract? The daughters, how in his heart's core he 
 loved them ! scorning a union with worthiness in their 
 father's tribe, became aliens from his home and faith. 
 One son, already half- willingly inclined, was an easy 
 convert to miscalculating zeal, and another, fired with 
 military ardour, had been presented by some friends of 
 his apostate brother with the colours of a marching 
 regiment, and so was the hapless father now bereaved 
 of his children. Desolate indeed was his hearth. In 
 a country town such as the one he inhabited, and where 
 communities watch with a jealous scan, the deviation 
 of his family made him regarded with a supercilious 
 eye by others of his own creed, and his proud nature 
 scorning to justify himself, he seemed almost an outcast 
 to his brethren. 
 
 " Sabbaths and holidays were no longer festal days to 
 him ; he could not joy in them alone. He became 
 moody, silent, and abstracted. Then the works of Vol- 
 taire and Eousseau were exciting considerable attention;
 
 178 MR- ITEVILLB. 
 
 he glanced at them, at first from euriosity, till attracted 
 "by the theories, to him so novel, he became involved in 
 a deep consideration of their sophistical doctrines, and 
 was at every leisure engaged with the dangerous study 
 of the French and German hollow metaphysics. He 
 thought their poisons harmless, having as he imagined 
 an antidote in the strength of his religious principles ; 
 hut he knew not that day by day his boasted talisman 
 was waxing weaker. Against tortures, martyrdom, he 
 would have triumphed unconquered, hut that train of 
 petty annoyances to which he was now hourly subjected, 
 wearied and enfeebled him. 
 
 " His wedded partner, now almost his sole companion, 
 whom could he blame for neglect of those minutise which, 
 perhaps, spite of her better feelings, she could not 
 avoid considering ridiculous ? Whom but self? Beared 
 in a belief so opposite and uncongenial to his own, ought 
 it to have been a matter of surprise that she should 
 neglect it ? There is a train of intuitive instinct almost 
 inherent in our nature, which dictates a partiality for 
 that religion in which we have been born, and under 
 whose precepts we have been nurtured ; and well it 
 should be so ; it is a bond of sympathy attaching friend 
 and kin ; and taught as we are that the pure in all 
 faiths are equally worthy, the motives that would sanc- 
 tion a dereliction are such as few can approve. Blinded 
 in the heyday of youth by the glittering horizon, they 
 of whom this tale is told, had little thought of the 
 inevitable change time would bring, or that as sure as 
 the current which had flowed would ebb, so would, and 
 so did, the reflux of the tide rush back, surcharged with 
 the wrecks of its own violence.
 
 MR. NEVILLE. 179 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 " As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, 
 "While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, 
 So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile, 
 Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while." — Moore. 
 
 "Well! as I have said, immersed in those soul- 
 harrowing applications, his mind's miasma, did he now 
 employ his hours ; they had insinuated their venom by 
 slow degrees, but yet not the less noxiously. His faith, 
 the bright armour of his mind, became, as it were, rusted 
 and corroded ; those imperceptible fastenings which had 
 held together his protecting mail, became one by one 
 loosened and disunited ; and now almost unprotected, 
 he was little able to repel the attacks to which he was 
 consequently subjected. In a word he fell! 'how 
 grand the height from which he fell ! ' 
 
 "It was about this period he began to analyse 
 mysteries his weak mind could not comprehend ; and 
 those truths, which the pure light of religion woidd 
 have shown in their stainless purity, now viewed 
 through the lurid gloom of his tainted atmosphere, were 
 te him shorn of their beaming brightness. Aided by 
 his sophistical studies, he now began to doubt, and 
 cheated by the glitter of their language, he joined with 
 the authors in depreciating and lessening the importance 
 he had hitherto attached to the observances of his fore- 
 fathers. Now came fallacious reasonings and fine-spun 
 doubting — scepticism with rapid strides advancing, laid 
 its chilling iron hand on his heart, freezing into ice 
 those warm currents of faith and love. In shame, oh, 
 in bitter shame, were the fitful glances he would some- 
 times take at the past, and he looked back to that
 
 180 MR. NEVILLE. 
 
 happy time, when, young and haply pure, he walked in 
 proud helief — but now ! And then he would try, 
 earnestly would he essay, to rise from the thraldom 
 which overpowered him ; 
 
 ' He prayed, lie wept, but all in vain ; 
 For him the spell had power no more ; 
 There seemed around him some dark chain, 
 "Which still as he essayed to rise, 
 Baffled, alas ! each wild endeavour.' 
 
 " She died — a severe and prolonged illness, contracted 
 at some new-sprung sectarian meeting to which she had 
 attached herself, consigned her to eternity. He gazed 
 on the pallid form lying before him, and ' like a tomb- 
 searcher memory ran,' and he thought on the joyous 
 hours of their early years — their happiness — their 
 misery ; how happy had each been asunder — how 
 wretched together. Could he then, with the dead 
 before him but grieve, from all estranged. Oh, he did 
 grieve, bitterly — bitterly, that wretched man — hot 
 scalding tears, that quench not but scorch — with one 
 clasped hand linked in with the dead. — Sir, sir, had you 
 seen him then, as the commingling thoughts of past 
 and present came rushing — years of agony in one hour 
 — trembling limbs faltering with fierce emotion — fixed 
 and blood-shot eyeballs straining with internal anguish 
 — convulsive pangs of a bursting brain — suffocating 
 breath-stifling throbs that checked even the attempt 
 at prayer — quivering creepings of the flesh — tortures of 
 the palsied heart — be there angels would they not 
 have pitied? demons, would they not have compas- 
 sionated ? She was buried at her own dying request in 
 the churchyard of her native village. The bereaved 
 husband had promised in her last moments, to accom- 
 pany her to the tomb. Sufficient of his ancient feelings
 
 ME. NEVILLE. 181 
 
 remained to induce a degree of repugnance at inter- 
 mingling in the religious rites of another creed, yet it 
 was astonishing with what a degree of indifference he 
 entered an edifice he would, till now, have considered it 
 idolatry to have gone to. 
 
 To him now seemed alike, and alike unimportant, or 
 synagogue, or church, or mosque, or conventicle ; the 
 serpent-winding had encircled him, had poisoned, had 
 crushed. It was here for the first hour, for many years, 
 he met his children, her children ; here over her grave 
 they hung around him as in youth's time, striking the 
 hardened rock of paternal emotion, that now gushed 
 forth streams of affection and forgiveness. From the 
 grave he almost mechanically accompanied his daugh- 
 ters to their homes, and won by their entreaties, was 
 prevailed on to remain a permanent guest with the 
 youngest in the metropolis. I need not tell you, that 
 every custom, rite, and distinction was now forgotten ; 
 reckless, indifferent to him, were alike unheeded, or 
 holy days, or holy deeds, remembered records of olden 
 time, venerable monuments, time's landmarks, proofs of 
 faith, most ancient, most divine. 
 
 "Now, shaming, he felt ashamed at all that should 
 call the past to mind ; carefully avoiding intercourse 
 with all who might recall uncongenial thoughts, he 
 mixed little with society ; the proud heraldry of his birth 
 was despised and cast away, and he sought by a flimsy 
 disguise to hide from the world his parentage and 
 descent. 
 
 So manhood withered ; led by false meteors, pestilen- 
 tial vapours, that shone as in mockery of heaven's 
 beams — shall I disguise it? — in effect he became a 
 sceptical unbeliever, an all-doubting theorist ; and his 
 few friends, and his very children, shrunk in horror
 
 182 ME. NEVILLE. 
 
 from the impious ravings of distorted reasoning ; and 
 after a brief contention, he, the misanthrope, was again 
 alone. Prostrating sickness came, with sickness came 
 repentance ; not that real remorse, the offspring of con- 
 viction, but that bastard sorrow, engendered of weak- 
 ness and of fear. Untended couch, save by menial's 
 hand ; wasting strength, uncheered by kindly word ; 
 the mind's disease, unministered to, corrupting ; and 
 that soul-healing panacea, religion's balm, as if in 
 mockery, starting to his lips, to be by some hidden 
 power withdrawn. 
 
 " He recovered; ' Carpe diem'' was now his maxim ; 
 what had he to do with the future, the future that 
 chance might never come ; cunningly he masked his 
 agitations ; he disguised the habitants of his soul, 
 those Grorgons that had petrified his heart to stone, and 
 with rare cosmetic skill, filling their wrinkles, the 
 world took them for Graces. Everywhere he came now 
 people envied his joyousness, and noted him happy ; 
 they saw the flowers, not the grave they o'ershadowed ; 
 they saw the glittering gems, not the scars they hid ; 
 the rippling waves, not the wreck they covered ; alone, 
 alone, it was he thought, and the reaction of his 
 assumed joy was thereby the more wretched. ' It is 
 an opinion,' says Locke, ' that the soul always thinks.' 
 
 Truly did he feel this assertion. 
 
 * * * 
 
 " At the door of a physician's reception room, a 
 patient, the physician's friend, recognised an old man, 
 one, whose tale of depression and mental wretchedness 
 had excited the compassion, even of the well-schooled 
 practitioner. To shame his friend's fancied maladies, 
 the physician had related to him those truly agonising 
 symptoms he just with pain had heard. And to wile
 
 HR. SEVILLE. 183 
 
 Mm frorn Ms hypochondriac dulness, asked his com- 
 pany to the festal board of a mutual acquaintance, 
 where, said he, 'I aai invited to meet, for the first time, 
 one, whose mirth and cheerfulness would be of more 
 service in dispelling sadness, than all the drugs in the 
 Pharmacopoeia. 1 
 
 " * And that happy man, that care-disj)eller, by what 
 name shall I hail him ? ' 
 
 " ' His name is Neville.' 
 
 " ; Good God I 'tis his misery you just have told me ; 
 'twas Neville I met at your threshold.' " 
 
 Here the old man paused abruptly from excitement 
 and exhaustion, and fell death pale on the sofa, with 
 clasped hands, ashy lips, and a face of marble coldness. 
 By the constant application of ether and other restora- 
 tives, he was recalled to consciousness. 
 
 "Yes! it was Neville, it was I; it was mine the 
 tale you have heard, it was mine the misery you have 
 known; I have cut deep, that you might trace the 
 source of the gangrene ; I have bared the veins that 
 you might see them festering. My race on earth is 
 run, the curtain is dropped, and the actor's part is over. 
 When that you saw me joyous, knew you my agony ? 
 when that you heard my laughter could you have known 
 its hollowness ? Oh ! she was fair and beautiful as the 
 young sun of the morning — then she was cold, and I 
 followed her to the grave; on earth is none to me, what 
 have I to hope, doubting heaven ? Young man, I have 
 done a fearful and a burning penance in this my 
 history. I have offered it in expiation — may it be 
 accepted. I smile no more. It were less pain to me 
 weeping than seeming gladness. I see you trembling 
 on the unknown precipice, I offer you the hand to save 
 you from the gulf. Will you refuse the aid? You
 
 184 A PRECEDENT. 
 
 are young and happy now — so was I ; Messed in faith — 
 so was I ; I lost my faith, I lost my happiness ; and 
 when myself sinking-, did I not drag another down to 
 destruction ? To-morrow's sun, and I leave England 
 for ever, with not even a parting word from any — and 
 I have children. I have seen them as times they have 
 passed me unheeding, and I have that day been more 
 loud in voice, and more mirthful in tone, but it was as 
 the vulture screech o'er the rankling carcase. "Fare- 
 well! you have heard my tale — yourself apply the moral." 
 So saying the old man rose, and refusing assistance, 
 left the house. He was never seen again. 
 
 A PETRIFACTION. 
 
 " No aid can I give your Asylum to build," 
 
 Said Gripus, from cash loth to part, 
 " To pray your good wishes may all be fulfilled, 
 
 I assure you, you have all my heart." 
 " With thanks e'en this gift we grateful receive, 
 
 Our expenses so largely have grown ; 
 Your heart it is welcome, for now we perceive 
 
 'Twill save us a trifle in stone." 
 
 A PRECEDENT. 
 
 To rise to an office you long time have sought, 
 And pompous pretensions you force ; 
 
 You'll succeed — for it's just to my memory brought 
 That Caligula ennobled his Horse.
 
 185 
 
 THE MERRIMENT OF SADNESS. 
 
 " Mirth to madness near allied." 
 
 Come let's be merry once again ; 
 
 The lively song and the sportive strain 
 
 Shall usher in the dance ; 
 And the flowing bowl, and the sparkling cup, 
 Shall rouse my sleeping spirit up, 
 
 And wake me from my trance. 
 And we'll be merry — ! so glad ; 
 'Twould drive e'en joyous Momus sad 
 
 To see himself outdone ; 
 Such mirth and jollity and glee, 
 Though Dian shall our revels see, 
 
 "We'll hail the rising sun. 
 
 And our wine — ! our wine shall be 
 
 The very best ; 
 And the creaming bowl, still full and free, 
 
 Shall give its zest. 
 And so merrily we'll laugh and drink, 
 Who'll dare, who'll dare, to-night to think, 
 
 Of future or of past ? 
 What though the thorn is in my soul, 
 The rose is swimming in my bowl, 
 
 I'll drink while yet it last. 
 
 And we'll toast — oh ! we'll toast to-night, 
 
 The brightest eyes ; 
 And smiles and lips that call to light, 
 Imagination's fancies bright, 
 
 Of Paradise ;
 
 186 THE MERRIMENT OF SADNESS. 
 
 And we'll hang, we'll hang, a glittering veil, 
 
 O'er by-gone years, 
 And our barks shall float in a spicy gale, 
 With gilded prow and silken sail — 
 We'll have no tears. 
 
 We'll have no tears — ! no, not we ; 
 Why should our glad revels be 
 Check' d with plaint of misery, 
 
 Or doleful voice of woe ? 
 We laugh at all those trifles now, 
 The broken heart — forgotten vow — 
 The wasted cheek, the sadden' d brow ; 
 We'll have no tears,. no. 
 
 Plighted vows — say what are they ? 
 
 A girlish sport, a maiden's play : 
 
 Lightest words and lightest spoken, 
 
 Sportive given — sportive broken : 
 
 Flowers — when with their fragrance cloyed, 
 
 How easily are they destroyed ; 
 
 And even if a leaf should linger, 
 
 The softest breath, the lightest finger, 
 
 Can brush the intruder far away, 
 
 To trample it beneath the clay. 
 
 And broken hearts — I laugh to think 
 
 How easily each link by link 
 
 Of chains that seemed so close entwisted, 
 
 As if but one the two existed, 
 
 Can be by gentlest hands untied, 
 
 Or words more sharp than swords divide.
 
 THE MERRIMENT OF SADNESS. 187 
 
 And then that man should be so vain, 
 To think pledged troth a binding chain, 
 Or that he e'er a tie could find, 
 Would fix the faith of womankind. 
 
 The chain is off my soul, but still 
 
 The canker rust its furrows fill ; 
 
 And o'er its course my life-tide's flood 
 
 Mingles the iron with my blood. 
 
 Fill ! fill ! to the broken heart ; 
 
 Come hither, come hither, my own sweet love ; 
 
 See on my cup bright Yenus' dove, 
 
 Nestles to bless us ere we part ; 
 
 Come kiss me, sweet ; aye, this is kind ; 
 
 Your hands are raised my eyes to blind, 
 
 And while repeated kisses speak, 
 
 I see not your averted cheek. 
 
 ! this is kind — for still you seem, 
 The spirit of my brightest dream ; 
 Now once again — embrace — we part — 
 Fill ! fill ! to the broken heart ! 
 
 Fill ! fill ! whose was that sigh ? 
 Again — 'tis false — it was not I ; 
 Where's the silly fool who sighs 
 While from his cup the sparkle flies. 
 
 1 sighed not — it was I who laughed, 
 As long and deep the bowl I quaffed ; 
 Strange to me you can't descry, 
 
 The difference of a laugh or sigh. 
 
 I laughed, I laugh — what will you more — 
 
 Still each time louder than before ;
 
 188 THE MERRIMENT OF SADNESS. 
 
 Though chance from me each merry sound, 
 Upspringing from an Upas ground, 
 My heart's taint mingling with my breath, 
 Give mirthful notes the tone of death. 
 
 Fill ! fill ! what have we here ? 
 
 Nay, nay, indeed 'tis hardly fair ; 
 
 What frolic could you now design 
 
 To change my ruby-sparkling wine, 
 
 To bitter gall and salty brine, 
 
 And tell me that the cup is mine ? 
 
 "What though one tear my cheek did burn, 
 
 That single drop could never turn 
 
 My sparkling cup erewhile so clear. 
 
 Well — heed it not — though brine and gall, 
 
 Give me the cup, I'll drain it all ; 
 
 And freshly as my heart-drops fall 
 
 At memory's ever-wakening call, 
 
 The bitter draught my soul shall cheer. 
 
 Not bitters — but the sweetest sweet, 
 Mix to make my soul complete ; 
 Balmy words and honied smiles, 
 Shame the sweets of western Isles ; 
 Nectar draughts still fraught with bliss, 
 Teeming in each long-drawn kiss ; 
 And fruitful hopes and roseate hours, 
 Crown my bowl with wreathing flowers ; 
 With memory's dreams hope yet endears, 
 My sweetest draught, of bitter tears. 
 
 Bumpers ! I've a toast to-night, 
 And sure you'll do my bidding right ; 
 Charge ! fresh wine — fresh goblets — fill, 
 He is my foe who lingers still.
 
 THE MERRIMENT OF SADNESS. 189 
 
 All ready ! rise ! and three times tkree, 
 Drink ! though the drink should hemlock be ; 
 My love ! my first, my last ! 
 What now ! what now ! my cup is full,- 
 Great God ! I'm drinking from a skull. 
 
 Come pass the wine, the joke, the song, 
 
 Give the chorus loud and long ; 
 
 A round, a round of mirth and glee, 
 
 My voice shall still the loudest be ; 
 
 You never heard at a funeral 
 
 A priestly voice more loud and full ; 
 
 You never heard the screech-owl cry, 
 
 A higher strain than now do I ; 
 
 I'm loud ! I'm loud ! then who dare say, 
 
 That mine is not a merry lay ? 
 
 Give me the wine ! My soul has quaffed 
 Elysian drink, Lethean draught. 
 
 "With kind oblivion, see, there came 
 Regeneration through my frame ; 
 And see you not my placid brow, 
 And smiling cheek — I'm happy now. 
 
 ! so happy ! — where's my wreath ? 
 Inhaling its soft balmy breath, 
 
 1 care not were an asp beneath ; 
 
 The rose is blushing to my view, 
 The flowers in bright and morning dew, 
 And every bud still fresh and new : 
 I'm happy — happy now.
 
 190 THE MERRIMENT OF SADNESS. 
 
 ! so happy ! bright and brief 
 Shone the buds in that fairy wreath, 
 But the serpent's slime was on each leaf ; 
 
 The wreath is gone — what need I care ; 
 Each thorn that stripped my forehead bare, 
 Can tell how firm the rose was there : 
 I'm happy — happy now. 
 
 More wine ! more wine ! another wreath ! 
 
 "What ! all the flowerets gone ? 
 
 There surely is enough for one, 
 
 That mouldering tomb beneath ; 
 
 Now this is well, and in my bowl, 
 
 The hellebore shall swim, 
 
 "While poppies floating to the brim, 
 
 Give slumber to my soul. 
 
 Sing ! sing ! not you, nor you, but she, 
 Whose every word is minstrelsy ; 
 She ! whose notes I long have heard, 
 While ears drank deep each hallowed word ; 
 And hark ! I hear that voice again, 
 Echoing each remembered strain, 
 To which so oft I sat and listened, 
 While pleasure's gems my eye-lids glistened ; 
 
 1 hear once more that gladsome strain, 
 And scarce my throbbing heart contain ; 
 But yet my love it seems to me, 
 
 Each song, erewhile so full of glee, 
 All saddened o'er with anguish now, 
 Belies thy smiling cheek and brow : 
 
 Give o'er — give o'er, 
 
 We'll sing no more.
 
 THE MERKIMENT OF SADKTESS. 191 
 
 Now am I not a jovial host ? 
 
 Who says I'm sad ? I've drunk the most. 
 
 What to you, so my cup o'erflows, 
 
 That my heart is chilled with wintry snows ? 
 
 You are not half so gay as I, 
 
 Tour wine is gone — your goblet dry ; 
 
 For shame ! for shame ! come, fill and drink, 
 
 Is this a time for us to think. 
 
 Huzza ! advance ! come join the dance, 
 
 And wile away the night ; 
 See a throng, they trip along, 
 
 Nature's beauties blight. 
 I see ! I see I and I and she, 
 
 With every sense entranced, 
 We hail again, that joyous strain, 
 
 To which we oft have danced. 
 
 Closer, closer, while our hands are pressing, 
 
 Brief, but very exquisite that blessing, 
 
 " List thee, dearest, echoing pulses beat, 
 
 And raptured thoughts our answering looks repeat, 
 
 Nor words, nor looks, can tell thee what I feel ; 
 
 Why need I tell, what I could ne'er conceal ; 
 
 For love, give love, and fill my hopes of bliss ; 
 
 That smile, that blush, that look, that thrill, that kiss.' 
 
 Hark ! unto that dreadful crash, 
 Is that the thunder's roar ? 
 
 Fearful I see the lightning flash, 
 Reveal the vacant floor.
 
 192 THE MERRIMENT OF SADNESS. 
 
 Pshaw! I've been dreaming, boys, 
 
 Where is the wine ? 
 Here's to your health, my boys, 
 
 Pledge me now mine ; 
 Here 's to each dear delight, 
 
 Once we have known ; 
 ! they were fair and bright — 
 
 Where have they flown ? 
 
 Come, fill again, Aurora's hair 
 Streaks with light the morning air ; 
 She shall never say that we 
 Blushed to bear her company ; 
 Like morning's golden tints now see, 
 Our bright Champagne and Burgundy ; 
 And now her veil aside she throws, 
 Blushing like a new-born rose, 
 Her roseate colours paint the sky — 
 We 've ruby wine with her shall vie. 
 
 Have we not been joyous— merry ? 
 Indeed, I know that I have— very ; 
 Is there the gloom upon my brow ? 
 What cause have I for sadness now? 
 My very heart and soul are glad, 
 'Tis only parting makes me sad. 
 
 And now we part, yet once again 
 The sparkling bowl my lips shall drain, 
 And spare the words would doleful tell 
 To mirth and love a sad farewell.
 
 193 
 
 "EX FUMO DAEE LUCEM." 
 
 THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY THREE CHIMNIES AT A BIRMINGHAM 
 FACTORY. 
 
 Musing in my solitude, around I cast my glance, 
 
 And listless to the passing world, unheeded Time's 
 
 advance ; 
 I gazed, almost unconsciously, at every bustling scene ; 
 I saw, but yet scarce seemed to see, the heaven's bright 
 
 serene ; 
 Yet as I gazed, methought there came, unbidden to 
 
 my call, 
 New lessons fraught with wisdom's lore, from yon three 
 
 chimnies tall ; 
 E'en mid their smoke, that dimmed the air, and clouded 
 
 o'er the sky, 
 " Sermons in stones," as men can find, so, there might 
 
 we descry 
 Comparisons might wake the sense and animate the 
 
 mind, 
 Might show some phase of new-born light, some image 
 
 of mankind. 
 
 In that tall column, mounting there, as though 't would 
 
 cleave through space, 
 Upwards, unchecked, its spiral dart, now heavenwards 
 
 we trace ; 
 No wind can stem its proud design, no zephyrs tempt 
 
 to swerve, 
 One bold grand volume still upsprings, nor checked by 
 
 break or curve. 
 
 o
 
 194 "ex fttmo dare ltjcem." 
 
 So mounts the mind of man, impelled by ambition's 
 
 daring call ; 
 So triumphs he of bold intent, nor fears he e'er may fall ; 
 So rises he to height of power ; so he with angels vies ; 
 And so, he men of meaner mould, doth scornfully 
 
 despise. 
 
 Unsteady, curling, wreathing waves, that swell from 
 
 yonder shaft, 
 Now yielding to each petty breeze, now swayed by 
 
 every draught, 
 Ere yet our eye can trace a course, in circling eddies 
 
 caught, 
 Fantastic motions cheat the sight, then vanish into 
 
 nought ; 
 How like the man of wavering mind, devoid of fixed 
 
 design, 
 Who yields to every soft impress — or hers — or yours — 
 
 or mine ; 
 No bright ambition fills his soul, but idle pleasures 
 
 wreathe 
 Their web of golden gossamer, wherein content to 
 
 breathe, 
 He wastes his noble energies, and bike a failing stream, 
 So passes life in vapoury deeds : — so fades away his 
 
 dream. 
 
 Now here, how there, a cloudy smoke, a pillar murky 
 
 black, 
 With undulating motion moves, like serpent's stealthy 
 
 track,
 
 "ex fumo dake lucem." 195 
 
 Awhile some purpose seems to guide its course, now 
 
 eastward bent, 
 Then sudden changing in its point, on westward mis- 
 sion sent, 
 Its eddies whirl a sooty shower, and darken all with 
 
 gloom ; 
 No tapering column cheers the view, but restless 
 
 changeful fume. 
 Here view the man whom fortune giudes, if steadily 
 
 he'd woo, 
 One course of honest industry — that course alone pursue, 
 Nor when he sees his neighbour thrive, would envious 
 
 turn his will, 
 To emulate that neighbour's art, in which he boasts 
 
 no skill ; 
 His own employ he thus neglects — his own enjoyments 
 
 fail, 
 Fell darkening ruin's saddened cloud will o'er his path 
 
 prevail, 
 And where he tracks his restless road, will misery mark 
 
 the trail. 
 
 E'en as I mused, the evening bell to toil now gave 
 release, 
 
 Tor lengthening shadows on the wall, foretold the hour 
 to cease ; 
 
 The doors flung wide, and streaming forth, from fac- 
 tories' hot control, 
 
 A tide of human waves poured forth in one continuous roll ; 
 
 And there were stalwart artizans, with heavy work 
 outworn, 
 
 And yet the curse of Adam's race they knew must still 
 be borne,
 
 19G "ex fumo dare lttcem. 
 
 And there were hoary locks, snow-flakes, that hovered 
 
 o'er the grave, 
 Yet sad they toiled, those aged men, their little life to 
 
 save. 
 And woman's gentle voice was heard, in feeble tones, 
 
 yet mild, 
 Encouraging with its dulcet words, her overworken 
 
 child. 
 Their day of labour now is o'er, their hard-earned pit- 
 tance won, 
 Again must be that race of toil, with morrow's dawn 
 
 begun. 
 No sound of gladness greets the ear, too tired is hand 
 
 and will, 
 The sunless sky is black and void — the freshened air 
 
 one chill. 
 And so they totter, dirt-begrimed, with pale and 
 
 saddened looks, 
 And scarce a word of greeting fond, the wearied hus- 
 band brooks ; 
 All prostrate there is might and skill, their strength is 
 
 now o'erwr ought ; 
 And powerful men, all feeble now, like powerless 
 
 infants brought. 
 "Is this," I cried, "the sole foredoom of man to sweat 
 
 and toil, 
 To bend beneath this yoke of pain, this endless sad 
 
 turmoil. 
 The sacred spirit that partook, in man's first primal birth, 
 Is it for ever doomed to toil, as if it too were earth?" 
 
 Yet, as I spoke, a glorious burst of heaven's richest light, 
 Pierced through the distant horizon, in glittering 
 radiance bright ;
 
 "ex fuho dare lucem." 197 
 
 It seemed a soft remonstrance mild, yet tempered all 
 
 with love, 
 Whose tones would fain repress the thoughts they could 
 
 not but reprove ; 
 What various tints of roseate hue, what glorious Tyrian 
 
 dye, 
 Pervade in all their gorgeousness, the western evening 
 
 sky; 
 A molten mass, in fusion rare, new brightnesses arrange, 
 Still changeful in their varied forms, celestial in each 
 
 change ; 
 And see ! though wearied with his toil, that burly 
 
 workman pause, 
 And lift his eyes in gratitude, to Thee, Thou Great 
 
 First Cause ; 
 The old man shows the little child, as though he would 
 
 him teach, 
 To strive to gain that heaven bright, now almost in his 
 
 reach ; 
 The mother thankful views the group, and twines her 
 
 welcome arms, 
 Around her husband's cheerful form, who now slights 
 
 not her charms. 
 New life, new vigour now inspired, a merry laugh 
 
 breaks out, 
 And friends meet friends, and kindred, kin, with mirth 
 
 and joyful shout. 
 And so the evening sun went down in his rich crimson bed, 
 Yet lingering rays of light and life, around are every- 
 where shed. 
 Then spoke my soul, " Though man on earth to toil 
 
 for bread be driven, 
 His spirit soars to seek his home, for endless life in 
 
 Heaven."
 
 198 
 
 THE HIDDEN FUTURE. 
 
 irn'ps "rb nnnoan 
 
 "Heaven from all creatures hides the hook of Fate." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 In vain we ask ; no eye can pierce the veil, 
 
 That mercy hangs to shroud our future fate ; 
 No tongue can tell the yet unfashioned tale, 
 
 No lips the yet unacted deeds relate ; 
 Yainly delusive, hope bright fabrics builds, 
 
 Vainly deluding, roseate visions gleam ; 
 Cheating the sense imagination gilds 
 
 A false and fleeting meteoric beam. 
 All, all in vain, wearied the anxious thought, 
 
 Strives ineffectual through the gloom to trace ; 
 Man's feeble light is vainly glimmering brought 
 
 To wake the mystery of the viewless space. 
 Gay flowers to pluck they haste, and grasp but weeds ; 
 
 Loved words to hear, where mocking echoes speak ; 
 Fond smiles to greet, where scowling hate recedes ; 
 
 Bright lips to kiss, an aspic stings the cheek ; 
 For changed or changing, e'en as lightning quick, 
 
 Ere yet conceived, the hours their courses run, 
 Faint shadowy visions, clust'ring fast and thick, 
 
 Ere bright yet dark, concluded ere begun. 
 
 Round the closed portals of impervious fate, 
 
 Crowding, men seek to pierce the darksome gloom ; 
 Oracular they speak with fond hopes elate, 
 
 Frail hopes that wither in the early tomb. 
 Honours and riches in the distance float, 
 
 Glory and power glide on in fancy's dream ; 
 Distant yet present, near, yet how remote, 
 
 The spectre barks that fill that mirage stream.
 
 THE HIDDEN FUTURE. 199 
 
 How well withheld ! When scintillates with light, 
 
 The blue serene that knows no envious cloud, 
 Why sad foresee the shades of coming night, 
 
 Or darkening mist the heavenly orbs enshroud? 
 That dear first child who climbs the father's knee, 
 
 In whose embrace the mother's heart is blest, 
 Whose future life one endless joy to see, 
 
 Fills with prophetic hope each parent's breast, 
 Would it be well to antedate the time, 
 
 Those hopes o'ercast, and when with failing breath, 
 Too early lost he withers e'er his prime, 
 
 Or better than his life were e'en his death. 
 Would it be well, when hand in hand ye twine, 
 
 Two souls as one, ye start on life's career, 
 The aspirations of your thoughts combine, 
 
 This earth a foretaste of the heavenly sphere. 
 Would it be well, that time, alas ! to know, 
 
 When she you fondly cherished all your own, 
 Changes from summer smiles to wintry snow, 
 
 And leaves your martyred heart to die alone. 
 
 Our lives form part of one harmonious whole, 
 
 Still dare the race, in all foresee the best, 
 Strive for the good, speed on to reach the goal, 
 
 And leave to His just will to guide the rest. 
 God's laws revealing, veiled, e'en Moses stood — 
 
 If God conceals His purpose here below, 
 Be sure Omniscient thought best understood, 
 
 What well to hide, and what we best should know. 
 Could wisdom see the toil of midnight hours, 
 
 New fangled schemes of puerile folly mock, 
 Would wisdom waste his energetic powers, 
 
 The statue ne'er had left the marble rock.
 
 200 TIIE HIDDEN FUTUKE. 
 
 Ye mighty minds that skilful fertilise 
 
 With plenteous seed the erewhile barren soil, 
 Harvests anticipated greet your gladsome eyes, 
 
 And well repay your patient laboured toil, 
 If blight or blast, mildew or stunted yields, 
 
 Ye had forethought, perchance benignant now, 
 The mellow grain would never gild the fields, 
 
 Or fill the furrows of the expectant plough. 
 " Cowards die many times before their death ; " 
 
 Irresolution, ill presaging, lies inert ; 
 Weak doubt enfeebling comes with chilling breath, 
 
 How can the fettered limbs their strength exert ? 
 Bolder his course whose purpose nobly bent, 
 
 Whate'er befalls, strives on in hopeful ease, 
 Beholds the present filled with good intent, 
 
 And trusts the future to His just decrees. 
 Mystery impenetrable ! well dost Thou conceal, 
 
 What could we see would every hour enshroud, 
 What strength would weaken grief to bliss reveal, 
 
 And leave the lonesome heart with sorrow bowed. 
 Our joys were shadows could we antedate, 
 
 Our pains were doubled could we them foresee ; 
 Omniscient ! well dost Thou control our fate, 
 
 And best our trust, confiding best in Thee. 
 
 FINIS.
 
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