A MEDITATION ON EGYPT. [José Agostinho de Macedo, born at Lisbon 1770, died 1831. This author is known as a voluminous writer in prose and verse. One of his principal poems Portentous Egypt! I in thee behold 'Midst deserts does the persevering hand Of greater worth, O thou immortal Rome, Buried beneath light grains of arid sand, And the immortal pyramids contend Scarce grazes his ne'er-resting iron wing. In Egypt to perfection did the arts Was in portentous Egypt laid. The doors From thee derived his creed. The arts from Of vasty Nature by Geometry Followed Sesostris' arms to the utmost plains Vast Hindostan thy worship and thy laws From out the bosom of thine opulence Thebes is in ruins, Memphis is but dust, O'er polished Egypt savage Egypt lies. Are opened; to her fortress she conducts Translated in Quarterly Review. THE TOBACCO-PIPE. [Gottfried Konrad Pfeffel, born June 28th, 1736, at Kohnar, in Alsatia; studied law at the University of Halle, became blind and returned to his native city, where he founded a private school and was made President of the Protestant Consistory. He died May 1st, 1799.] "Old man, God bless you' does your pipe taste sweetly? A beauty, by my soul! A red clay flower-pot, rimmed with gold so neatly! What ask you for the bowl?" "O, Sir. that bowl for worlds I would not part | "This very limb, I lost it by a shot, Sir, "Just hear now! once, as we hussars, all And when I die, your thanks, kind master, merry, Hard on the foe's rear pressed, A blundering rascal of a janizary Shot through our captain's breast. "At once, across my horse I hove him,- And from the smoke and tumult drove him The Turkish pipe shall be." Translated by C. T. BROOKS. ROCK ME TO SLEEP. Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your Make me a child again just for to-night; “I nursed him; and before his end, bequeath- Take me again to your heart as of yore; ing His money and his bowl To me, he pressed my hand, just ceased his breathing, And so he died, brave soul! "The money thou must give mine host,-so thought I, Three plunderings suffered he: Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years! And, in remembrance of my old friend, I have grown weary of dust and decay, brought I The pipe away with me. "Henceforth in all campaigns with me I bore it, In flight or in pursuit ; It was a holy thing, Sir, and I wore it Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away, Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again as of old; Mother, dear mother, the years have been long CRADLE SONG. FROM "BITTER-SWEET." [Josiah Gilbert Holland was born in Belchertown, Mass., July 24th, 1819. He graduated with honor from the Berkshire Medical College, in Pittsfield, in 1844. His talent for writing asserted itself at an early age, and in 1847 he founded the Bay State Courier. He became widely known as a lecturer, and in 1868 went to Europe for two years, and it was during this trip that he conceived the idea of Scribner's Monthly, which, immediately upon his return, was carried into effect. His works, some of which were published under the assumed name of "Timothy Titcomb," are: The Bay Path, a novel; Letters to the Young; "Bitter-Sweet," a poem ; Gold-Foil; Miss Gilbert's Career, a novel; Lessons in Life; Letters to the Joneses; Plain Talk on Familiar Subjects; Life of Lincoln; "Kathrina," a poem; The Marble Prophecy; Arthur Bonnicastle; "Garnered Sheaves," Who can tell what a baby thinks? By which the manikin feels his way Into the light of day? Out from the shore of the unknown sea, Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, Cup of his life, and couch of his rest? Though she murmur the words Words she has learned to murmur well? I can see the shadow creep THE OLD AND THE NEW, OR THREE SOULS TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD. secrecy was long preserved. gone to mass with his family-in which he informed him of his sudden departure, took leave of him, and begged him to purchase, with the ten gold ounces which [Fernan Caballero is a pseudonym of which the accompanied the letter, some keepsake for his wife and sister. He then added to his letter to Ramon Ortiz the following postscript: Her true name WILS Cecilia Bohl von Faber; for her father was a German merchant, who had settled in Spain, and married a Spanish wife. Cecilia was born at Morges, in Switzerland. Her infancy was spent in Spain, but at the age of six she was sent to Germany to be educated, and did not return till she was sixteen. At the early age of sixteen Cecilia von Faber married a Major Planells, with whom she went to America. In a few years he left her a widow. She soon after espoused the Marquis Arco-Hermoso, and when he also died within a few years, she entered the wedded state for the third time, marrying Señor de Arrom, a lawyer, who was made Spanish consul in Australia, whither she did not follow him, and where he died in 1863. After his death Queen Isabella offered her a home in the famous old Moorish habitation, the Alcazar, at Seville; and here she lived until her death, preserving to the last her mental freshness and vigor. Unfortunately, it is impossible to translate the best of Fernan Caballero, though it has been attempted. Her chief power lies in depicting the Andalusian peasant, full of fun, repartee, and gracia, playing upon words in every sentence. In another mood Caballero is the Spanish Miss Yonge, only the sentimental devoutness of her heroines, and their devotion to saints and virgins; would sound strange to English ears. The story from which we take our extract deals with the unfortunate attempt of the Spanish Liberals, in 1822, to force their king to grant them a constitution.] Very early next morning Leopoldo received a letter without signature, which a sailor handed him. But Leopoldo recognized the handwriting, which was Valverde's. The note ran as follows: Leopoldo, you are incorrigible, and were only born to bring your friends to despair. You were so rash as to appear at a public promenade, to bow to a very well-known lady, and to talk to her for some time. Her little daughter has spoken of it, and betrayed your residence. This very morning you will be arrested. To prevent this, put on the sailor's dress which the bearer of this letter-a man who possesses my full confidence-will give you, and then follow him. He will also see that your property is brought to a safe place.' As soon as Leopoldo had read this letter he packed up his belongings, put on the sailor's dress that had been brought him, wrote a few lines to Don José-who had 'I have been discovered, and must fly. The child Margarita-that little Havanese magpie, that chattering little tell-talehas betrayed me. I have no time to write more. I shall acquaint you with the future fortunes of your friend, the most persecuted and perpetually wandering of men. He then closed both letters; but, in his customary absence of mind, he changed the addresses, and directed the one destined for Ramon Ortiz to Don José, and Don José's to Ramon Ortiz. The former he left on the sitting-room table with the ten ounces, and then followed his guide. Half an hour later the family returned from mass. Don José, who was the last to arrive. "Where is Don Leopoldo?" asked "I suppose he is not up yet," replied his wife. "If he did not go to bed so late-" grumbled Don José. "Poor fellow! Do let him sleep; young people always love sleep," said Doña Escolastica. แ Yes, yes; let him sleep," cried Doña Liberata. 'As long as he sleeps he can neither feel cross, nor vexed, nor do harm." "Poor fellow-always poor fellow!" grumbled Don José. You are so taken with the young gentleman, that you will end by saying your prayers to him. Poor fellow! Poor is the devil, who is never to see God. That may well be his fate if he continues his present path.". "Pepe, I hardly know you," said his sister; "you judge him quite wrongly. Don Leopoldo is a true Christian, and his pranks are only from high spirits." "And besides, he does not mean badly," added his wife; "there is no malice about him, and he feels very kindly towards us. Meantime Don José had approached the table, and now he noticed the letter which Leopoldo had placed there. A letter for Don José! That was an event quite too extraordinary. I wonder if this letter is from the poor fellow? Pepe, brother, do read it. While Don José put his large glasses on his nose, his wife and sister muttered: "St. Raphael guide him! St. Gaëtan protect him!" Don José opened the letter and began to read : 666 Where, my good fellow, do you suppose that your dearly-beloved chum now finds himself?' "My dearly-beloved chum !" said Don José. "Where does this intimacy come from? And to call me his good fellow! That is hardly decent towards a man of my years. "That is only his friendly way," said his wife. "Stuff and nonsense!" said the reader, and continued: "He has become the victim of tyranny and despotism.' "The old story!" grumbled Don José -"of tyranny and despotism, and is shut up at Port St. Mary, which might well be called 'Port-of-all-the-devils-"" Quite right," said Doña Liberata, "since the bull about the holy crusade-' Don José continued without letting himself be interrupted: "In the Castle of Fee-fi-fo-fum, which contains as many fools as inhabitants.' Don José stopped reading, glanced at his wife and sister, who were looking down to the ground, and went on reading: "Imagine your friend-the enthusiast for freedom and advancement, the worshipper of the new, the fanatic of elegance-locked up in a common casual With -a-a schoolmaster, who physically and morally is a two-legged donkey, not omitting the long immoderate ears peculiar to his race.' "Wha-at? Wha-at?" exclaimed Don José, whose just-mentioned ears had turned scarlet, and whose under lip was more protruded than ever. "Well, what do you say now to the poor fellow, the true Christian? He knows how to call names, the dear innocent! Liberal! Redder than red! In that matter, they are of the first water. And to take French leave, with a sack ful of insults and impertinences as his only good-bye for us! Can that sort of thing be conceived among decent people?" "It is not as it should be," said Doña Liberata. |