met. All the voices of the sacred college were unanimous in favour of the Spanish cardinal. Behold him, therefore, pope! Immediately after the ceremonies of his exaltation, Don Torribio, admitted to a secret audience, wept with joy while he kissed the feet of his dear pupil, whom he saw fill with so much dignity the pontifical throne. He modestly represented his long and faithful services. He reminded his holiness of his promises, those inviolable promises, which he had renewed before he entered the conclave. He hinted at the hat which he had quitted on receiving the tiara; but, instead of demanding that hat for Don Benjamin, he finished, with most exemplary moderation, by renouncing every ambitious hope. He and his son, he said, would both esteem themselves too happy, if his holiness would bestow on them, together with his benediction, the smallest temporal benefit; such as an annuity for life, sufficient for the few wants of an ecclesiastic and a philosopher. During this harangue the sovereign pontiff considered within himself how to dispose of his preceptor. He reflected that he was no longer very necessary; that he already knew more of magic than was sufficient for a pope; that it must be highly improper for him to appear at the nocturnal assemblies of sorcerers, and assist at their indecent ceremonies. After weighing every circumstance, his holiness concluded, that Don Torribio was not only a useless, but a troublesome dependant; and, this point decided, he was no longer in doubt what answer to return. Accordingly, he replied in the following words: "We have learned, with concern, that, under the pretext of cultivating the occult sciences, you maintain a horrible intercourse with the spirit of darkness and deceit; wherefore we exhort you, as a father, to expiate your crime by a repentance, proportionable to its enormity. Moreover, we enjoin you to depart from the territories of the church within three days, under pain of being delivered over to the secular arm, and its merciless flames." Don Torribio, without being disconcerted, immediately repeated aloud the three mysterious words which the reader was desired to remember; and, going to the window, cried out, with all his force, "Jacintha, you need spit but one partridge, for my friend the Dean will not sup here to-night" This was a thunderbolt to the imaginary pope. He immediately recovered from a kind of trance, into which he had been thrown by the three magic words, when they were first pronounced; and perceived that, instead of being in the Vatican, he was still at Toledo, in the closet of Don Torribio, and saw by the clock it was not yet a complete hour since he first entered that fatal cabinet, where he had been entertained with such pleasant dreams. In that short time he had imagined himself a magician, a bishop, an archbishop, a cardinal, a pope; and at last he found he was only a dupe and a knave. All was illusion, except the proofs he had given of his deceitfulness and evil heart. He instantly departed, without speaking a word, and, finding his mule where he had left her, returned to Badajoz, without having made the smallest progress in the sublime science in which he had proposed to become an adept. THE TEMPLE OF ASTARTE. 'Twas now the hallow'd eve; her feast ordain'd, The lunar deity, heaven's empress, hight Astarte, or horn'd Ashtaroth, far famed Of heathen worshippers. There Moloch's priests That o'er the lawn a lighter shade diffused, The myrtle grove bowers of inwoven shade Of Tyre. In midst a mystic orb, inwrought, Its broad circumference hung Poised, where a wavy shadow ran athwart, Blazed in the radiance bright of burnish'd gold. All shone; but it was the shining of the moon, Faint image of the sun. Each figure bore Similitude of languor and decay. There human kind sunk down in senseless swoon, Half life, half death. On the herbless plain, the steed Lay panting. There the kid, in act to fall, Hung o'er the sere flower, withering 'neath his foot. Each feather smooth: lower'd his crest, and gleams In guidance of a minister of death, With ringlets shorn, and torch extinct, sank down Such was the mystic veil, that hid from view Of lamps, and flame of torches, sparkling wide, Of bull, or ram, beak'd bird, and scaly coat: Of loathsome birth, that to their shapes abhorr'd Breathed up in pestilence from marsh and fen: And the webb'd foot that haunts both land and flood, Terror alike of both. To each its shrine And worshipper, to creatures of all kinds, Sotheby. FIVE ANECDOTES. A HINT TO A KING. THERE was one Ferguson, an intimate of King James I. who, being about the same age, had been a playfellow with him when they were young, came with him into England, and, extending the rights of friendship too far, frequently took the liberty of advising, and sometimes admonishing, or rather reproving his sovereign. He was a man truly honest: his counsels were disinterested, with a view for himself; having a decent patrimony of his own. The king was, however, often vexed by his freedoms, and at length said to him, between jest and earnest, "You are perpetually censuring my conduct: I'll make you a king some time or other, and try." Accordingly one day, the court being very jovial, it came into his majesty's head to execute this project; and so calling Ferguson, he VOL. II. C |