sight;" the other arms were engaged with the bow and violin, tearing out the Campanile with an energy that was demoniac, and a power of sound that was perfectly appalling. It was as if a Titan played upon a Titanic instrument, to rouse the passions of the Gods dethroned, while all the time the carillon rapped out its "tom, tom," as if every bell when struck was stung and shrieked. Still the fiend played on; his unearthly visage pale, fixed, and passionless, while the Tom-face was mopping and mowing like a possessed mountebank's. Suddenly 66 a change came o'er the spirit of my dream : a sweet æoline sounding strain came flowing on my tortured ears in liquid melody, soft as the Memnonian tones that greeted the rising sun. Louder and fuller it swelled, and as it rose the vision that seared my frighted sense faded, the Campanile sounded low and hoarsely, and the bells giving out a tough sound when struck huskily whispered Tom. Still more loudly and fully, and with a ringing vibration, swelled the sphere-born melody, and the vision which haunted my slumber, with all its horrors of sight and sound, vanished,-ceased. A sensation of peaceful pleasure replaced the terrors I had experienced, and at length, calmed and soothed, I awoke. Strange to relate, the melody did not cease; I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and now fully conscious, I found that the dulcet sound which chased my troubled dream, was emitted from the Boanergian lungs of a nocturnal ebriant, who was cheering his homeward way with "All round my hat," that ancient and plaintive melody which Herold, struck by its beauty, pilfered and placed as a slow movement in the overture to his Zampa. Do you not recognise it, O Reader? But it would be an endless task were I to recount all and sundry my sufferings from this dreadful cause-they were Legion; and as varied in appearance as torturing in the infliction. Let the sample I have given suffice; for now that all emotions have sunk into a quiet and philosophic calm, I look back upon them only with amusement. A love-wound in the heart is like an atom of dust in the eye, exciting keen sensations of annoyance, and high local inflammation, by a cause which appears trivial to every one but the sufferer. For myself, I believe my organization has verified the hyperbole of the Persian lovers, whose favourite figure is that "their heart has turned into water." Mine is unruffled as a well shaded from even the most insidious zephyr, and I gaze upon beauty only with the admiration I would feel at the sight of its semblance in chiselled stone-never offering up even the incense of a sigh -never breathing the wish aspirated by the learned Lings

If I've luck, sir,
She's my uxor,

dies benedictorum !

Is not that cause sufficient for remaining a bachelor, or as your fine writers would term it, "an isolated being, cut off from all the tender ties of union and paternity." That is all very fine, as somebody said addressing a Scotch gentleman, named Fergusson, but-paternity! aye, there's the villainy. Where is the bachelor who has ever heard the matrimonial bagpipes open full squeak-great Johnny making the drone, medium Tommy the middle part, and little Miss Jenny, with her eyes shut and mouth wide open, screaming in alt, and completing the delightful harmony-what bachelor has ever heard such music

without blessing his stars that he possessed no such wind instruments ? For myself, I agree with the good Abbe who said—“ I like children that squall! Why? "Because then they are taken away.”

No man will ever take experience on tradition; he must see, feel, and suffer, to gain it. Therefore, shall I not attempt to say who should marry and who should not, as do those turnip-hearted mortals hight Political Economists-cold-blooded pedants, whose wisdom is foolishness and whose schemes may Elderly Nicholas confound! No, I will not vainly endeavour to erect a finger-post on the roads matrimonial, with one hand pointing to Discord and the other to Concord. And yet I cannot help expressing my surprise at the conduct of those numerous couples who often, in a very delightful and pleasing manner announce to each other, and that frequently before a third person, the numerous bad qualities they have mutually discovered; and then wind up with an "Oh, if it were only to do over again," and "What a fool I was to marry." Certainly, Mister or Madam, you were a fool when you married, and are you not still in the same category? What saith that mirror of knighthood, the incomparable Don Quixote? "A wise man changes his mind, a fool-never!" The wise man, who in his temporary derangement marries, and afterwards finds her whom he had imagined— An angel

Just dropped down from the sky!

when he finds his bright and semi-disembodied phantom of feminine perfection solidify into perhaps a rather matter-of-fact and somewhat substantially-built woman, he does not lament his delusion: no, he has too much sense,-for were he to announce himself deluded, what would it be but acknowledging himself a gaby ?-that either he had blinded himself or that she had done so; if the latter, then must she have been far the cleverer of the two. Instead of sitting down with his fingers in his mouth in the role of "Sneak" or "Sullen," he sets about reducing to action that fine piece of ancient wisdom, "make the best of a bad bargain." He is not weakly vexed at finding that that which he possesses and cannot get rid of is not what he anticipated it would prove; he looks at it coolly now, and finds it possesses many valuable properties, while the fool thinks it valueless altogether. Nevertheless, though the jewel may have a flaw, it is a jewel still. Though the wife may not be all we imagined the mistress was, yet she must possess some of these good points of temper or disposition which first called love into being. But some few may observe, She may have been loved for beauty alone!" To which I answer-that is not love! and who so marries from such feelings may be of the "order vertebrata class manmalia," but that he is of "the genus homo❞ I utterly deny. Nor does this assertion require reasons demonstrative of its truth. Those discriminating individuals who will echo it do not require them; those who will not, are alike incapable of reasoning or of understanding any rule but that of "the bridle" appropriated to a quadruped distinguished as much for weakness as obstinacy, the human prototype of which possesses all the obstinacy, without a particle of

the meekness,

66

275

FURNESS ABBEY.

Visions of glory and of grandeur stream
Before the mind, like sun-light on the waves,
Filling the soul with beauty; till it feels
Abstracted from the grosser things of earth;
And o'er the cares of life, oblivion steals,—
Like slumber o'er the eyelids of a child—
Waking the spirit in its silent depths,
The freshness, and the buoyancy, and love,
The world represses, tho' it cannot kill;

And ploughing up the unknown realms of thought,
Where God lies hid in man, and calling forth,
The feeling infinite-aspirings high-

The yearning after greater, nobler things;
The purified ambition-all that links

Man's spirit with eternity.

So rapt

Beneath the ruins of a stately pile,

On which the moonlight dreaming lay—
A youth and maiden stood; uncovered both,
In that unearthly presence; for the light,
Dashed by the quivering foliage, wildly leapt
Thro' the rent arches in fantastic streams,
Broken by jutting angles, and the still
And breathing silence crept into their hearts,
O'erpowering human thought; until they dreamed,
That though yon ivied porch enwrapt in clouds,
The figure of Eternity strode on,

With giant-noiseless footstep.

Magnificent abbey! Emblem thou of man!
Alike ye stand upon the face of earth,

Proud in your high dominion. Flushed with hope,
Ye deem yourselves eternal. But a day-

An hour in the eternity of time,

And ruin reigns around. But that which is
The essence of your spirit, does not die;

Religion builds herself another throne,
And that which is religion in man's heart,

Becomes immortal. Oh! these wrecks still preach
More potent lessons than the tongue of man;
For thoughts of God like memories of love,
Appeal unto the spirit most, when hushed,
And silent to the sense ;-thus musing stood
The youth.

How beautiful!

To watch the soul-lit face of that fair girl;
The chastened sorrow, and the sigh represt;
For that old ruin once had been the shrine

Of her heart's creed; and man had leagued with time
To crush the temple dedicate to God.

A veil of sadness, shadow'd her fair brow,

An half shed tear had dimmed her bright grey eye,
And her lip stirred, as if in speechless prayer;

A seraph mourning o'er the wrecks of time-
For she was an enthusiast, with thoughts
Whose dwelling was amongst the stars of heaven.

W. H. D.

A COMPARISON.

Of all the vain coachmen that have been or are-
There's none, save Sir Bob, can with Phaeton compare!
One drove the Sun's car thro' the heavenly plains,
T'other holds of Britannia's state carriage the reins;
Par nobile Fratrum-as big as you please,
In presumption and arrogance, like as two peas!
There's only betwixt them this difference small,
Phaeton went far too fast-Bob can't go at all!
Yet excuse there's for Phaeton, he was but a lad,
And remember great Phoebus himself was his dad!
No wonder this son of a God should despise
The Earth, and aspire to a turn thro' the skies!
But Bob, what is he? a mere mortal, begotten
Of a poor earthly gold-seeking spinner of cotton!
To think of him driving the car of a Goddess
And ruling the Nations, uncommonly odd is!
Now when Phaeton set out on his journey, we find
His four noble steeds could outstrip the east wind,
But the lad getting bothered 'mongst circles and lines,
And the queer motley throng-the Zodiacal signs-
(Odd FISHES a shaking their tails and their fins,
The RAM and the GOAT and a huge pair of Twins;
The CRAB and the SCORPION extending their claws,
The LION expanding his very big jaws!

The BULL too and Archer, and VIRGIN and SCALES,
And an odd looking WATERMAN wielding his pails)
His courage forsook him-his steeds ran away-
And so near to the earth came this madcap, they say
Big mountains he melted-set fire to the trees-
And the fishes were boiled as they swam in the seas!

This was something like driving-'twas "going the pace!"
But now let's see Bob commencing his race:
First look at his team (for the regular course is
Britannia's coachmen must find their own horses;

But no horses had Bob, for he took the strange whim,

As Mules made his father-so Mules should draw him.)

See Graham and Stanley and Lyndhurst and Buckingham,

With brutes such as these-could he hope to have luck in 'em? First Bucky turned restive, on hearing it hinted

His allowance of Corn would in future be stinted;

"So," said Bob, "take him out! I shall not lay a hand on him, And like other mad cattle, pray, put a knee-band on him!"

This accident caused Bob to feel rather queer,

So he called to a knowing old cove standing near,

'Hey! Arthur! old chap! I dare say you won't mind

(Tho' I hold the reins) just to get up behind?”
Old Arthur consented-now Bob's in his seat,
Little dreaming of dangers he still had to meet,
For scarce was he off-when he sees with surprise
All the monsters that Phaeton met up in the skies
Congregated on Earth!—the poor man to affright-
See the Twins, in the likeness of Cobden and Bright!
There's Muntz, with his beard, is the Goat and no sham,
And old Joey Hume is the battering-Ram!
There's Ferrand (who draws the long bow) Sagittarius,
And good Father Matthew is surely Aquarius!
As for Virgins, behold Beccy's daughters in Wales,
And for Libra, the balance, his own sliding Scales!
Yet Bob thro' these portents still managed to pull,
"Till he came to O'Connell-the wild Irish Bull!
When he saw Dan a stamping and whisking his tail
And heard his loud bellow-then Bobby turned pale,
He strove to get past him—but found with amaze
His brutes were now all pulling different ways!

Some backing-some swerving-some rearing--their tricks
Soon brought hapless Bob to a regular fix.

In vain, in his fear, he set Suggy, his cur,

To bark at the Bull's heels-the Bull wouldn't stir!

In vain Slashing Harry came up to assist

His friend, with a huge pot of grease in his fist,

Crying, hang it! what means all this fuss and turmoiling?
Don't you see that the wheels of the carriage want oiling?
But instead of the wheels-the poor lunatic elf
Daub'd his grease on old Arthur and Bobby himself!
And there he's still sticking, in fear and vexation,
At once the contempt and the plague of the Nation!