But the most gaudy show of the night is yet to comej for the hurried trampling of many feet is heard, and from the Vennel there emerges a band of jolly sailors, the foremost bearing on his head a barrel, out of which the tar has but lately been taken, a huge volume of flame roaring out at its upper end. Some of his companions twitch it from behind, and down it goes upon the backs, and rolls among the feet of the bystanders, who give way before it, half-screaming, half-laughing,—the numerous closes on either side swallowing them up, to emerge again as soon as the danger is past. On go the jolly sons of ocean rolling their portable bonfire, which cuts a way for itself through the crowd, as silently and surely as the prow of their good ship cuts the water. On they go, leaving in their wake huge pools of blazing liquid, till, at one time rolling their cask against a knot of citizens, at another time jerking it up and pitching it upon them, they have fairly made the circuit of the town.

was treasurer of the burgh, and as unwilling to disburse, and forwards. Over heads came thick and frequent the one halfpenny of its income, as of his own. This was huzzas of our loyal rulers, as each welcome toast was not selfishness, for he accounted honourably for the utter- given. most farthing; nor was it regard for the public interest; it was sheer inability to spend. It was not the accident of birth, nor straitened circumstances, that obliged Fto drudge through life the inmate of a faded mansion in a ruinous street, immersed in dry accounts. He was born to a considerable landed property. But to collect and handle money-his own or another's-was to him happiness, and he made his choice accordingly. Widely different from F—— was the dean of guild, a lawyer, but more given to black letter than the forms of practice; one who acquired a reputation for learning by poring over what no one else cared for, and for business talent by being obstinate and overbearing. The provost was a private banker in a small way-a man who had raised himself to that dignity in virtue of his being a complete bundle of negatives. He was neither shrewd nor intelligent, he was not enterprising, he was not well connected, he was not plausible in his manners, and, as the old ladies of the burgh would remark over their dish of tea-" God knows, he wasna bonnie." Yet he drudged on, adding penny to penny, until he grew rich, and was looked upon as a man of consequence, and was invited to fill the civic chair, and allowed to bring his relations and dependants into the town-council, and thus to constitute himself sovereign of the little republic for life. He continued sheepish and ungainly after his elevation, but was not without a consciousness of his dignity. Once do we remember to have heard him at the table of a friend of ours enquire exultingly at the child he had taken on his knee-for he was kind as he was shapeless-while the little innocent shrunk from his ape-like grimace, "Whether she had ever sat upon a lord's knee before?" The rest of our rulers were men of little mark.

There was a respectful making-way among the crowd before each magistrate. The burghers, young and old, were too shrewd to have any idolatrous reverence for them, and not unfrequently did the good men contrive to elevate themselves for a short period to an eminent degree of unpopularity. But withal, there was a kindly feeling towards them on the part of the population as good neighbours, and an instinctive or inherited respect for the offices they filled. This good will, however, did not always prevent some unlucky brats from letting off a eracker among the shins of one or other of them as he advanced towards the banqueting hall, or the assembled citizens from laughing in their sleeves at the unwonted alacrity with which the old gentleman skipped about, emulous of the fidgety firework.

One or two occurrences of this kind reminded the magistrates of what they had either forgotten amid the business of the day, or intentionally overlooked. One of the town officers was now sent out to intimate to the assembled multitude, by tuck of drum, that it was prohibited, under all sorts of penalties, to throw any kind of fireworks, or kindle bonfires on the streets. This was the long-expected signal for commencing. Generally before the worthy official had concluded his harangue, there was a squib sticking in a corner of his three-cocked hat, casting up a brilliant stream of sparks, like some magical feather. Others were whizzing in all directions about his ears. He was obliged to decamp without beat of drum, although the instrument hung by his side. The space round the Cross now presented a lively scene. It was crowded with merry, good-humoured faces. Every window that looked out upon it, was filled with spectators. All eyes were busy following the earth-born stars as they ascended with a rotatory motion and whizzing sound, or darted off with a fierce impetuous gush. Then there was jostling and screaming where they fell, and sometimes a squib, thrown with malice prepense, would produce a minor earthquake among the crowd. But all was in good humour, and rude jokes were bandied backwards

They now return to the Cross, nigh to which they deposit the staves of their barrel, which cannot, in the course of nature, be expected to hold much longer together. Every boy present now comes forward with his hoarded stock of firewood, and piles it upon the blazing heap. The unfortunate gentleman in tattered clothes, who has the whole day been paraded about town on a handbarrow, begging money to burn himself-a northern impersonation of an Indian suttee-is brought forward and deposited on the summit. An interval succeeds, during which the pile emits nothing but huge volumes of smoke; but there the ruddy flame bursts forth at last, and the assembled crowd is distinctly seen as in the daylight; every window mirrors back the glare, and in the background the old black steeple stands out like a spectre from amid the gloom.

The exuberant mirth of the people has by this time evaporated. They are rapidly becoming fatigued and sedate. They gaze, with quiet complacency, on the bright blaze,—on the dark shadows of the figures which flit between them and the fire. The mass is insensibly becoming less dense. The brands begin to burn low, and here come the constables to extinguish them, lest accidents might occur from fragments of flame being driven about by the wind. Some stanch fire-haunters are, however, determined not yet to separate, and a battle royal ensues, in which the baton of the constable is opposed to the halfcharred and still flaming brand. Neither party are, however, very inveterate, and in half-an-hour, darkness and quiet reign through the deserted streets.

Amid all this, there was scarcely one personal feeling towards the king. Every one was seeking his own amusement, and gladly seized at the holyday as an excuse for idling and indulging. Yet there was a quiet under-current of devotion to the throne, which needed but to be called in question to make it overflow. Is this the case now? A cold cloud has intervened for a time between the throne and the people: it has been dissipated, and all are full of professions of exaggerated loyalty. But does this promise to be as enduring as the more tranquil feeling for which it has been substituted? Personal attachment it is not little is known of the king. That an increased devotion to the throne has sprung up among us is equally improbable. The acclaim is bestowed neither upon William nor the king, but upon him who has beat down power obnoxious to the majority. Will the good will, engendered by standing side to side during a short contest, remain long after peace has returned? The question is one of no ordinary moment. There is a much shorter passage from violent endearment to hatred, than from indifference.

These may seem impertinent doubts, on such a day as this; but though the Bystander be not most vociferous with his lip loyalty, it is because he feels deeply. The throne is in England the banner round which the friends

of civil order must rally. If it be allowed to sink, the battle is lost. It is from the depth of this convictionout of the abundance of our love, that our fears have arisen.

GOD SAVE THE King,

AND LET ALL THE PEOPLE SAY AMEN!

THE POETIC MIRROR.

Veluti in speculum.

CAMPBELL.

WHAT plaintive sobs thy filial bosom rent,
Daughter of Adam, when thy father went
Forth from the home, that erst in other years
Witness'd his joys, nor sweeter less, his tears.
While in that old blue bag you stuff these things,
No raptured heart, to love responsive, sings;
Ah, no! the loaded cart is at the door,
Drawn by a hack of twenty years and more,
Who, 'gainst all law of gravitation, stands

On three stiff legs, deep swath'd in thick straw bands.

'Tis true, your father's reign on earth is o'er;

Adam's long sign is torn from 'bove the door;

No more upon that board, turn'd idly by,
We'll list his nimble goose in glory fly;
His web of life has little more to stretch,
Of this world's cloth he's little more to stitch;
Duns at his door, and debts a glorious lot,
'Tis time, all cry, the tailor should-to pot!

CRABBE.

That was a happy day, of days the chief,
Jack Sprat and Janet Coomb became one beef;
Jack long had cast a sheep's eye on the maid,
And Janet to some end her charms display'd.
"'Tis not for nothing," said old Samuel Græme,
"That Janet Coomb has turn'd a saucy dame,
"Cocks up her head, stuck round with gaudy flowers,
"Stands at the close-foot at untimely hours."
Ah, no! the gallant butcher's done his part;
Ah, lack-a-day! he's stuck her through the heart;
And she, that once did faint at bloody knives,
Blesses the red cowl while he's taking lives!

THE FAITHFUL SENTINEL.

A Story.

TRANSLATED FROM THE PERSIAN OF NAKHSHEBI.

By James Noble, A.M., Author of "The Orientalist; or, Letters of a Rabbi."

MEN of a primitive age, the viziers of antiquity, have related thus:

Once upon a time, the King of Teberistan* caused a convivial meeting and entertainment to be held, equal to Heaven and Paradise; so that delicate victuals, delicious morsels, and drinks of various kinds, as well as roast bitst of every description, were tobe had at that banquet. All the princes and young noblemen, as well as the philosophers and teachers belonging to the city, were present; and they consumed the victuals and roast bits, and swallowed and swilled at the liquors.

Suddenly a man, who was a stranger, entered the place. The pages of the court said to him, "Who are you, and whence do you come?" He answered, "I am a gladiator, and a lion-catcher. I profess the art of

A country to the north of Persia, on the banks of the Caspian

sea-TREBIZOND. + Kubabs.

archery, and am such an adept in it, that my arrow will pass even through a hard stone; and, besides this, a great many other arts and mysteries I am well acquainted with. I was first a follower and attendant of Ameer Khojend; but the aforesaid Ameer Khojend did not know the value of my skill, and therefore, having abandoned his service, I am come to the King of Teberistan." The King of Teberistan, having heard his speech, gave orders to his ministers to retain him in his service in the capacity of a sentinel or watchman; and immediately, in conformity to the king's command, the ministers having received him into the service, the aforesaid sentinel spent the time of his watch every night standing on one foot near the palace of the king.

One night the king was walking about till past midnight, on the roof of the palace; and, after looking about on all sides, casting his eyes down below the palace, he saw a man standing on one foot. The king asked him, "Who are you, and why do you stand thus at midnight?" -He answered, "I am the sentinel in charge of the king's palace; and I have continued for some days standing on one foot, as I am in earnest expectation of looking on the august presence of the king. To-night, by the aid and assistance of good fortune and my own auspicious horoscope, I have beheld the grace of the king in perfec tion, and I am greatly delighted thereat."

During this conversation, there came from the direction of the wilds and deserts, a voice to the ear and hearing of the king, saying, "I am going, who is the man will cause me to turn back ?" The king, astonished at hearing this voice and noise, said to the sentinel,—“ O, sentinel! did you hear that voice?" The sentinel replied, "I have heard this voice for several nights, but as I am occupied with my duty of sentinel, I have not investigated the cause of it, or whence the sound may proceed; now, however, if the king shall give order, having gone with proper regularity, I shall make enquiry about this voice, and shall render an account thereof in the court of beneficence, which is peopled with the slaves of the Most Holy." The king said, “Go, and when you have made discovery regarding the voice, bring me word concerning it."

The sentinel immediately went forth; and, a little after his departure, the king, having covered his body and face entirely with a black mantle, followed at a short distance behind him. He perceived on the road, the figure of a beautiful woman standing, and crying out, "I am going, who is the man will cause me to turn back ?" The sentinel asked her, "O, woman, charming in appearance, of exquisite beauty, and of delicate form! who art thou, and why dost thou utter this exclamation?" The woman aforesaid answered in these words, "I am the representation and image of the King of Teberistan's life, the life of the said king has approached its termination, and I am king's life! by what means wilt thou come back, and renow going away." The sentinel said, “O, image of the turn to us again?" The figure replied, “O, sentinel! if you will give your own son in exchange for the life of the king, I will assuredly turn and come back, in order that the said king may live some time in the world, and not die immediately." The king and the sentinel became satisfied and delighted as soon as they heard this speech from the figure. The sentinel replied, "My own life, and that of my son, I will devote and bestow as a sacrifice for the life of the king. Do thou, O figure! delay for a single hour, till I go to my house, bring my son, and slay him in thy presence."

Briefly, the sentinel went to his own house, and told his son all the circumstances. Inasmuch as his son was possessed of fidelity, he gave this answer, "The king is equitable and just, a nourisher of his subjects, and kind to strangers; the existence of such as he in the world is quillity of their inhabitants. From my teacher-the mercy the cause of the prosperity of kingdoms, and the tranof God be upon him-this admonition I have heard,

which he was in the custom of giving to all the children of the school, That if, as the means of averting the destruction of a just monarch, the ministers of the empire should kill an individual from among his subjects, it would not be at all a cause of guilt or crime; because if an equitable monarch be thereby released from destruction, and remain in safety, he will keep thousands of the subjects of his kingdom in tranquillity. If this just man should die, and another, a tyrant, should succeed, then thousands of mankind, by means of his tyranny and oppression, will die, and the whole country become a desert. It is right, therefore, that you take me, and quickly put me to death.”

Then the sentinel brought his son into the presence of the aforesaid phantom, and, having tied his hands and his feet, he took a sharp knife in his hand, and stooped down for the purpose of cutting his son's throat.* At this instant, the phantom seized the hand of the sentinel, and said, "Do not cut your son's throat, The Supreme God, on account of the boldness and rectitude of your conduct, has become favourable and propitious, and has given orders to me to remain sixty years longer."

As soon as the sentinel heard these glad tidings and good news, he experienced extreme delight, and abundant gladness and joy. When the king had seen, from a distance, all these transactions, he became extremely pleased and joyful; and, before the coming of the sentinel, he betook himself to the roof of his house, and walked about on the balcony as before. The sentinel, also, after half an hour, introduced himself to the presence of the king, the treasury of beneficence, and having performed respect, salutation, and obeisance, he gave homage as follows: "May the life, and wealth, and dignity, and state, of the monarch of the world be long continued!" The king said to him, "O, sentinel! explain and relate distinctly what was the meaning of that voice?" The sentinel having folded both his hands upon his bosom, in token of respect in the presence of the king, abundant in beneficence, spake thus: "A woman, elegant in form and exquisite in beauty, being vexed and ill-treated by her husband, had come out from his house, and was sitting on the road making the exclamation. I went up to her, and speaking freely, in soft and kind speeches intermixed with truth, I have caused peace and reconciliation to take place between the woman and her husband; so that she has now agreed, that for the space of sixty years, she will not again go out from her husband's house."

The king, having understood and approved of the sentinel's good conduct and discretion, became well pleased, and addressed him thus: "At the time when you went out from this place, I went after you, and I have seen and heard all your transactions with the woman and with your son, and the attachment and good intentions of yourself and your son. In fine, during the days that are past and gone, you have been poor and needy, and distressed in mind. If it be the will of the Supreme God, in the time that is to come you may hold your mind at ease; you shall assuredly be happy; for I, by the divine assistance, will render you both wealthy and of high dignity."

Then the king went to sleep, and took repose upon his couch. When the dawn shone forth, being seated on his throne, he commanded, and an order was issued to all the ministers of the court, that all the ameers, and viziers, and sages, and rulers of the kingdom should be present; and, in the presence of all the people attending the assembly, he constituted the sentinel his own vicegerent, and committed the locks and keys of his treasury to his charge.

THE FLOWER-GATHERER.
No. III.

THERE is a tomb in Arqua;-rear'd in air,
Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose
The bones of Laura's lover here repair
Many familiar with his well-sung woes,
The pilgrims of his genius. He arose
To raise a language, and his land reclaim
From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes;
Watering the tree which bears his lady's name
With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame.
There is not in the whole range of poetry a holier
name than that of Petrarch. That he had his frailties
as well as other men, there is evidence enough to con-
vince us, but we cannot trace them in his poetry. Gentle
and beautiful, he was "pure in the last recesses of his
mind." A denizen of the most passionate of nations, his
love is spiritual and etherial-a warmer throb of that
mystic Platonism which softened and ennobled all his
feelings. And then how lovely is his old age! Alter-
nately busied in securing against the destruction of time
the thoughts of his intellectual ancestors, and in playing
the part of a conciliator between the fierce states and
chiefs of Italy, he seems a spirit of a milder nature em-
bodied in human clay, in whose presence all angry pas-
sions ought to be hushed, as the summer sea when not a
wind is stirring. Though gentle, not effeminate, as
witness his treatise on liberty, and his purifying influ-
ence over Boccaccio. Witness also the lofty passion with
which he clung to the shadow of Roman greatness.

There is, we confess, an admixture of theatrical parade and worldly policy in the story of his crowning in the capitol, not altogether agreeable to our feelings. When we look narrowly into the circumstances, we find that it was no spontaneous effusion of admiration, but the result of long and anxious intrigues. This gives to the scene a character of outward splendour and inward hollowness. It looks too like a want of faith in his own power and impulses. Yet it is not without a grand and redeeming feeling. Amid the degradation and divisions of his country, he clung to the remembrance of the time when it was united and powerful. The city of Rome was to him a personification of his day-dreams, connecting him with Cicero and Brutus. Her streets were peopled with the shadowy presence of the great men of other days. When he stood in the capitol, the laurel leaves circling his head and rustling in his ears, he heard, not the acclaim of the surrounding multitude, but the voices of those with whose writings he loved to hold high converse, welcoming him into their union. With what a strange and inspiring mixture of philosophic pride and humble Christian abandonment must he have knelt before the altar on which he deposited his crown! In the swelling emotion of that moment, he must have experienced the utmost rapture of which his aspiring and voluptuous intellect was susceptible in this state of existence.

After all, we suspect the real Laura had little in common with her whom Petrarch has created in his sonnets. Her conduct, as far as we can judge of it, evinces a cold and vain disposition. She repulsed all his advances, it is true; but she took care that the feeling her beauty had awakened should not die away. When Petrarch, anxious to shake off his weakness, passed her several successive days without gazing at her as usual, she assumed an air of sadness until she drew him again to her lure. The character is not uncommon. A delicate, soft, yet sparkling beauty, the tender grace of which is easily mistaken for sentiment, united to a heart which finds gratification only in the pride of being sought after, and carefully dispenses its smiles in the exact proportion that stimulates, without

This incident bears a close resemblance to one in the history rendering confident; we have met with such persons ere

of Abraham sacrificing Isaac,

now. There is a want of human feeling about such a being as chills us upon reflection-it is scarce human.

rules the day, reminding one altogether of Spenser's grove versal quiet. The moral of such a show spoke to a royal in the wandering mood, which was

"Not perceable with power of any starr."

It were, perhaps, impossible for any one, even for herself, to tell which of the two objects, the shawl or the husband, she contemplates most complacently, since association whispers, that without the one she might never have possessed the other, while the gift has certainly every chance in favour of its surviving the donor. Beside her mother is the pride of all their parental affection and solicitude, whose fortune has already been chalked out with auspicious foresight, till fancy even sees her seated as the partner of one clad in the supreme ermine of his native city, in which happy hour a father's promise has been pledged for a magnificent necklace of Scotch pebbles, each stone to bear in fine relief the countenance of one of the bailies or deacons, who may constitute the august council, over which her lord and master is to preside, while his full features are reserved for the broader surface of a massy brooch.

There again slink away, on the other and unbeaten side of the path, two who are all in all to one another, and are looking into each other's eyes, as if they could there find themselves hiding-places, in the childish expectation of being then unseen by the rest of the world. And here among our feet, unobserved, or despised if stumbled on, is the grey and aspen head, already bendng far down in its homeward return to the dust, which totters slowly on, not "enamoured of decay," but almost forgetful of its own feebleness in the warmth of new life, which nature has breathed to-night across her whole creation. But it is needless to enumerate or specify old or young, the indigent or the prosperous, when one habit of conduct apparently pervades all. It is, in truth, the stillness reigning among them that is to us so peculiarly attractive. A charm is dwelling on the tongues which but yesterday we heard wagging so loudly, but it is evidently no oppression. We, indeed, who have been accustomed to it since our infancy, are inclined to believe that we can discover the marks of a deeper, though less noisy joy. Yet the complaint is common in the mouths of strangers, that we are too austerely silent on this day. The charge of austerity we put aside, for it proceeds wholly from careless observation, and in allowing, perhaps, that of silence, we not only cannot condemn, but must cordially approve of what is with others the theme of censure. To this judgment we are led by reasons quite independent of religion, and which we think we shall interrupt our ramble just now to say a few words upon, as they are open to the acceptance of every understanding. And if some are disposed to be angry, and accuse us of digressing in too grave and pompous a style, we request them to remember that our province is with illustrations of character, and we may surely be pardoned for a single departure from the path of livelier discourse to advocate what we consider one of the noblest features of the character of our countrymen.

understanding with too homely a voice to be pleasant, and George IV., it is understood, imbibed a far more salutary terror of this living ocean, as he thus beheld it in a season of solemn tranquillity, than he had ever been prompted to do, while the waves were chafing round him, and making wanton exhibitions of power.

Now, what was here a subject of apprehension to a great monarch, is, in reality, a matter of prime boast; and even, to a prince of liberal and discerning spirit, the comparison of this scene, with those observable in other parts of the earth on similar occasions, ought, we think, to have presented a flattering, instead of a threatening, picture of the welfare and stability of his crown; and the very absence of loud vents of joy at such a time, should have carried to his heart strong assurance of the happy dispensations of his government, and consequently of the general affection cherished towards it.

For to address the Sabbath by no more sacred or sounding attribute than "The day of rest," and to watch with what varying manifestations of welcome and hilarity its return in this character is hailed, and its presence celebrated in different quarters, is in fact to try a very infallible pulse of the health or disease of the nation, and one by which we are enabled to pierce the surface of appearance, and, beneath the convulsions of a loud joy, to unveil the dark and deep-rooted canker of despair. Who are so uproarious and extravagant in this one day's mirth as the wretched slaves, who have been chained, lacerated, and abused, for a week before? How loftily the lightened spring bounds here, proportionately to the heavy weight of depression that is removed! But then, after all, how profitless, because how little soothing to the general fatigue, is this burst of violent ecstasy, if, indeed, the expense of bodily strength wasted on it does not hurry on the progress of exhaustion! But, on the other hand, accompany us for a little in our peaceful stroll. "Oh! what a horrid set"-you may probably exclaim-" Vulgar and uninteresting shopkeepers and mechanics-and then so terribly sombrelooking! What a contrast to the light steps and smiling faces among the peasantry of France!" Let us here ask, ere you proceed further, if, while they are so sober in appearance, you think they also seem to be unhappy? Does it resemble the dulness of sorrow? Or is any deficiency visible in the expression of feeling, or the glance of intellect, or in both? Is it like the unmeaning calm of idiocy? You dare not pretend to have imagined such nonsense. For you behold countenances that speak of all the passages of life-the fresh bud not unfolded-the flower ripening under a genial influence-and the veteran stem which has stood before the blasts, and gladdened in the sunshine of a double or triple generation. Is there no joy among all these? No deep and sincere joy?—that cannot be carried off by the common outlet of a glowing phrase, but spends itself silently and tranquilly, and, as it does so, is ever generating another supply, multiplying itself into endless and inconceivable sources of delight. What justifiable inference might one have drawn a few years ago from the sparkling gaiety to which you alluded among the French, or from a Venetian, or even to-day from an Italian carnival, relatively to freedom of political condition in the countries where these festivities reached such a glaring pitch? Liberty and its blessings, you are aware, were no principles in the agency.

Nothing, we know, read so forcible a comment on our national character to the late King of Britain, while on his visit here, as the different expression which the people permitted its loyalty to assume on different occasions. The procession of Saturday was everywhere met by the long and hearty cheering of the multitude, discordant enough, but harmonized at least by its unity of direction, and was attended throughout its progress by a most Not that we mean to assert that the introduction of tumultuous tail of the rejoicing populace. Next morn- liberty renders the bounding step of the peasant at all less ing, the same thousands witnessed the same spectacle, but agile, or the smile less beautiful and winning. They are the vulgarity of its effect was for this hour at an end. only tempered and attuned to a softer cadence, by the Every head, indeed, was uncovered, and bent in profound increased frequency of their exhibition. And instead of respect, but there was nothing more. There was no rush those violent and fitful developements of rapture, which along the streets, nor any wild huzza; and when, as we can succeed each other but at intervals, and are too often well recollect, "some ten voices" feebly attempted to the morbid occupation of many a mind, designed by its burst the silence, the sound instantly sunk without an birthright, but unmanned by oppression, for nobler uses; cho, frighted and stifled by its own noise amid the uni-instead of this, there arrives a pleasure which, under the