and also in the world that lay beyond the stone hut she knew nothing of frowns and denials. Notwithstanding the difficulty of carrying her and his yarn or linen at the same time, Silas took her with him in most of his journeys to the farm-houses, unwilling to leave her behind at Dolly Winthrop's, who was always ready to take care of her; and little curly-headed Eppie, the weaver's child, became an object of interest at several outlying homesteads, as well as in the village. Hitherto he had been treated very much as if he had been a useful gnome or brownie-a queer and unaccountable creature, who must necessarily be looked at with wondering curiosity and repulsion, and with whom one would be glad to make all greetings and bargains as brief as possible, but who must be dealt with in a propitiatory way, and occasionally have a present of pork or garden-stuff to carry home with him, seeing that without him there was no getting the yarn woven. But now Silas met with open smiling faces and cheerful questioning, as a person whose satisfactions and difficulties could be understood. Everywhere he must sit a little and talk about the child, and words of interest were always ready for him: "Ah, Master Marner, you'll be lucky if she takes the measles soon and easy!"-or, "Why, there isn't many lone men 'ud ha' been wishing to take up with a little un like that: but I reckon the weaving makes you handier than men as do out-door work-you're partly as handy as a woman, for weaving comes next to spinning." Elderly masters and mistresses, seated observantly in large kitchen arm-chairs, shook their heads over the difficulties attendant on rearing children, felt Eppie's round arms and legs, and pronounced them remarkably firm, and told Silas that, if she turned out well (which, however, there was no telling), it would be a fine thing for him to have a steady lass to do for him when he got helpless. Servant-maidens were fond of carrying her out to look at the hens and chickens, or to see if any cherries could be shaken down in the orchard; and the small boys and girls ap. proached her slowly, with cautious movement and steady gaze, like little dogs face to face with one of their own kind, till attraction had reached the point at which the soft lips were put out for a kiss. No child was afraid of approaching Silas when Eppie was near him: there was no repulsion around him now, either for young or old; for the little child had come to link him once more with the whole world. There was love between him and the child that blent them into one, and there was love be

tween the child and the world—from men and women with parental looks and tones, to the red lady-birds and the round pebbles.

Silas began now to think of Raveloe life entirely in relation to Eppie: she must have everything that was a good in Raveloe; and he listened docilely, that he might come to understand better what this life was, from which, for fifteen years, he had stood aloof as from a strange thing, wherewith he could have no communion: as some man who has a precious plant to which he would give a nurturing home in a new soil, thinks of the rain, and the sunshine, and all influences, in relation to his nursling, and asks industriously for all knowledge that will help him to satisfy the wants of the searching roots, or to guard leaf and bud from invading harm. The disposition to hoard had been utterly crushed at the very first by the loss of his long-stored gold: the coins he earned afterwards seemed as irrelevant as stones brought to complete a house suddenly buried by an earthquake; the sense of bereavement was too heavy upon him for the old thrill of satisfaction to arise again at the touch of the newly-earned coin. And now something had come to replace his hoard which gave a growing purpose to the earnings, drawing his hope and joy continually onward beyond the money.

In old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led them away from the city of destruction. We see no whitewinged angels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and bright land, so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child's.

VERSES.1

Unthinking, idle, wild and young,

I laugh'd, and talk'd, and danced, and sung:
And proud of health, of freedom vain,
Dream'd not of sorrow, care, or pain;
Concluding, in those hours of glee,
That all the world was made for me.
But when the days of trial came,
When sickness shook this trembling frame,
When folly's gay pursuits were o'er,
And I could dance and sing no more,
It then occurred how sad 'twould be,
Were this world only made for me.

1 These sweet and simple lines are said to have been written by the Princess Amelia, daughter of George III.

PARADISE AND THE PERI.

[Thomas Moore, born in Dublin, 28th May, 1779, died 25th February, 1852. As a song-writer, Christopher North esteemed him as the best "that ever warbled, or chanted, or sung." But he also distinguished himself as a miscellaneous writer and as a biographer. He was a great favourite in private and public life, yet he was as severely condemned by many critics as any author who ever wrote. Lalla Rookh is his most important work, and it is regarded as one of the most perfect series of pictures of eastern life, manners, and scenery, although the poet obtained all his knowledge of the East from the study of books of travel. One critic declared that reading Lalla Rookh was "as good as riding on the back of a camel." D. M. Moir in his Sketches of Poetical Literature says of it: "Its great charm consists in the romance of its situations and characters, the splendour of its diction and style, and the prodigal copiousness of its imagery." The following is one of the four poems of which Lalla Rookh is composed.]

One morn a PERI at the gate
Of Eden stood disconsolate;
And as she listen'd to the springs

Of life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings,
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should ere have lost that glorious place.

"How happy," exclaim'd this child of air, "Are the holy spirits that wander there,

'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall; Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, And the stars themselves have flowers for me, One blossom of heaven outblows them all!

"Though sunny the lake of cool CASHMERE, With its plane-tree isle reflected clear,"

And sweetly the founts of that valley fall; Though bright are the waters of SING-SU-HAY, And the golden floods that thitherward stray,3 Yet-oh 'tis only the bless'd can say

How the waters of Heaven outshine them all!

1 Mr. Murray paid three thousand guineas for Lalla Rookh, and it is to the credit of the poet that he sent two-thirds of that sum to his parents. As another instance of the high prices Moore received for his work, it is mentioned that he received altogether for his Irish melodies £15,000—which is computed to be at the rate of six pounds per line!

2 Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake of Cashmere. One is called Char Chenaur, from the planetrees upon it.-Forster.

3"The Altan Kol or Golden River of Tibet, which runs into the Lakes of Sing-eu-Hay, has abundance of gold in its sands, which employs the inhabitants all the summer in gathering it."—Description of Tibet in Pinkerton.

"Go wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world, as far

As the universe spreads its flaming wall; Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless yearsOne minute of Heaven is worth them all!”

The glorious angel, who was keeping
The gates of light, beheld her weeping;
And as he nearer drew, and listened
To her sad song, a tear-drop glistened
Within his eyelids, like the spray

From Eden's fountain when it lies
On the blue flower which-Bramins say-
Blooms nowhere but in Paradise!*

"Nymph of a fair, but erring line!" Gently he said-"One hope is thine. "Tis written in the book of fate,

The Peri yet may be forgiven Who brings to this Eternal Gate

The gift that is most dear to Heaven! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin;"Tis sweet to let the pardon'd in!"

Rapidly as comets run

To the embraces of the sun;--
Fleeter than the starry brands,
Flung at night from angel hands
At those dark and daring sp'rits
Who would climb the empyreal heights,
Down the blue vault the PERI flies,

And lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.

But whither shall the spirit go
To find this gift for heaven?—"I know
The wealth," she cries, "of every urn,
In which unnumber'd rubies burn,
Beneath the pillars of CHILMINAR ;
I know where the isles of perfume are,
Many a fathom down in the sea,
To the south of sun-bright ARABY;
I know too where the Genii hid
The jewell'd cup of their king JAMSHID

7

"The Brahmins of this province insist that the blus Campac flowers only in Paradise."-Sir W. Jones. 5"The Mahometans suppose that falling-stars are the firebrands wherewith the good angels drive away the bad, when they approach too near the empyreum or verge of the heavens."-Fryer.

6 The Forty Pillars; so the Persians call the ruins of Persepolis. It is imagined by them that this palace and the edifices at Balbec were built by Genii, for the purpose of hiding in their subterraneous caverns immense treasures which still remain there.-D'Herbelot, Volney.

7 The Isles of Panchaia.

"The cup of Jamshid, discovered, they say, when digging for the foundations of Persepolis."-Richardson.

8

With life's elixir sparkling high-
But gifts like these are not for the sky.
Where was there ever a gem that shone
Like the steps of ALLA's wonderful throne!
And the drops of life-oh! what would they be
In the boundless deep of Eternity?"

While thus she mused, her pinions fann'd
The air of that sweet Indian land,
Whose air is balm; whose ocean spreads.
O'er coral rocks and amber beds;
Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam
Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem;
Whose rivulets are like rich brides,
Lovely, with gold beneath their tides;
Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice
Might be a Peri's Paradise!

But crimson now her rivers ran

With human blood-the smell of death Came reeking from those spicy bowers, And man, the sacrifice of man,

Mingled his taint with every breath Upwafted from the innocent flowers! Land of the sun! what foot invades Thy pagods and thy pillar'd shades, Thy cavern shrines and idol stones,

Thy monarchs and their thousand thrones? "Tis he of GAZNA,1-fierce in wrath

He comes, and India's diadems Lie scatter'd in his ruinous path.

His blood-hounds he adorns with gems, Torn from the violated necks

Of many a young and loved Sultana;2Maidens within their pure Zenana, Priests in the very fane he slaughters, And chokes up with the glittering wrecks Of golden shrines the sacred waters!

Downward the PERI turns her gaze;
And, through the war-field's bloody haze,
Beholds a youthful warrior stand,

Alone, beside his native river,-
The red blade broken in his hand,

And the last arrow in his quiver.
"Live," said the conqueror, "live to share
The trophies and the crowns I bear!"
Silent that youthful warrior stood
Silent he pointed to the flood

All crimson with his country's blood,
Then sent his last remaining dart
For answer to th' invader's heart.

False flew the shaft, though pointed well;
The tyrant lived, the hero fell!

1 Mahmood of Gazna or Ghizni, who conquered India in the beginning of the 11th century.-Malcolm.

2"It is reported that the hunting equipage of the Sultan Mahmoud was so magnificent, that he kept 400 gray-hounds and blood-hounds, each of which wore a collar set with jewels, and a covering edged with gold and pearls."-Universal History, vol. iii.

Yet mark'd the PERI where he lay;

And when the rush of war was past, Swiftly descending on a ray

Of morning light, she caught the lastLast glorious drop his heart had shed, Before its free-born spirit fled!

"Be this," she cried, as she winged her flight

"My welcome gift at the gates of light;
Though foul are the drops that oft distil
On the field of warfare, blood like this,
For liberty shed, so holy is,

It would not stain the purest rill
That sparkles among the bowers of bliss!
Oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere,
A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear,
"Tis the last libation liberty draws

From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!"

"Sweet," said the angel, as she gave
The gift into his radiant hand,
"Sweet is our welcome of the brave,
Who die thus for their native land.
But see-alas!-the crystal bar
Of Eden moves not-holier far
Than even this drop the boon must be,
That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee!"

Her first fond hope of Eden blighted,

Now among AFRIC's lunar mountains,3
Far to the south, the PERI lighted;
And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains
Of that Egyptian tide,-whose birth
Is hidden from the sons of earth,

Deep in those solitary woods
Whereof the Genii of the Floods
Dance round the cradle of their Nile,
And hail the new-born giant's smile!
Thence over EGYPT'S palmy groves,
Her grots and sepulchres of kings,
The exiled Spirit sighing roves;
And now hangs listening to the doves
In warm ROSETTA'S vale-now loves
To watch the moonlight on the wings
Of the white pelicans that break
The azure calm of MŒRIS' lake."
"Twas a fair scene-a land more bright
Never did mortal eye behold!

Who could have thought that saw this night,
Those valleys and their fruits of gold
Basking in heaven's serenest light;-
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending
Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads,
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending,
Warns them to their silken beds;

3 "The Mountains of the Moon, or the Montes Lune of antiquity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to arise."-Bruce.

"The orchards of Rosetta are filled with turtledoves."-Sonnini.

5 Savary mentions the pelicans upon lake Moris.