at the end of fifty years, the greatest happiness of those it bound together. Under such favourable circumstances did the youthful prince enter upon the arduous duties of his office: but a more arduous task he imposed upon himself,-to strengthen and elevate his powers by liberal, all-sided culture, and to cause the prince to be forgotten in the man.

His heart, susceptible of friendship, had opened itself to a young man full of high aspiring, and profound feeling, whom he had met with at Frankfort on his way to Paris, before he assumed the reins of government, and whose writings had filled him with lively admiration. He gave him a cordial invitation and soon won, for his whole life, the most faithful servant, and intimate friend-nay, such a crown and ornament to his reign as no other land can boast. Pursuing his remarkable career of mental developement, it appeared to him-whose great object was future self-dependence-that a free, natural mode of life was the highest good, and that hardiness of body was a necessary condition of vigour and activity of mind.

At his court all cramping (restraints were as much as possible removed; nothing was valued but what betokened freshness and vigour of mind; inquiry, experiment, investigation were set on foot in every direction; the physical sciences were zealously pursued; care was taken to open every possible path to industry and commerce; personal efforts were made to further every useful undertaking; facilities granted to every attempt at improvement, and a refined taste exercised and cultivated. And though many precipitate schemes failed, and even many well grounded expectations were disappointed, yet the active spirit was never discouraged, the clear glance was ever more strongly attracted by objects of zeal and universal utility.

Every fresh acquisition of knowledge or experience was therefore for the good of the whole; all were to participate in every advantage of their prince. He amended and simplified the administration of justice; took further precautions for the security of the poor and unprotected; abolished fines to the church; opened the gloomy walls of the orphan-house, and gave its inmates fresh life and energy in the bosom of domestic comfort. Herder's aid was obtained for the church and public education, and he was as soon as possible placed at their head; public instruction was elevated and extended; normal schools for the formation of a regular supply of country-school-masters were founded; a free-school of design was instituted; art and industry on all sides encouraged.

Similarity of character and pursuits united him closely with the excellent Margrave Karl-Friedrich of Baden, with the noble prince of Dessau, with the frank and upright Duke George of Meiningen. His near connection with the elector of Mainz had a considerable influence on the choice of Karl von Dalberg as coadjutor, with whom he kept up a most confidential and mutually delightful correspondence.

His frequent travels brought him acquainted with the most remarkable statesmen and learned men of foreign countries; he was eager to drink from every source; to profit by every opportunity.

At the breaking out of the disastrous war with France, he joined the Prussian army.

As if he were only about to make some new and interesting experiment, his Goethe must be his associate and share his danger and glory. At the siege of Mainz, at the battle of Kaiserslautern, he gave proof of all the virtues of a soldier; every privation was borne with calmness, every opportunity of perilous distinction was eagerly seized.

In 1793 he had to endure the loss of his only and beloved brother, and the destruction of all his hopes of a favourable termination of the war. He returned to his country with dejected heart, but bore with him the unbroken, persevering activity which he now turned with double zeal to the service of his own subjects.

Nothing escaped his attention. He imported finer breeds of cattle and improved implements of all kinds; examined into the state of medical schools and hospitals, of charitable institutions, of means of preservation from fire and other calamities;-wherever human succour could prevail, there was the Duke to be found by day and by night.

The meanest had access to him and a hearing at all times. Intimately acquainted with the necessities of all classes, he excited in all confidence and love, he attracted all irresistably to him, without restraint or command. An approving look from him was the highest reward, a benevolent wish more than law. Affection, and pleasure in serving him, often rose to passion, and they who had once attached themselves to him could never leave him; a word, a look from him, made them forget every toil. Thus did he reign securely and tranquilly by the simplest means. His power was doubled by the love his philanthropy inspired.

He continued his reforms of the administration of justice. His acute and vigilant eye detected in the circle of his faithful councellors the modest, profound, and laborious man; fitted to be placed at the head of affairs, and worthy of his entire confidence. In the person of Voigt he found a compensation for the many aged excellent advisers of his earlier reign.

But the Beautiful went hand in hand with the

Useful, and art and science flourished under the prince's liberal care. Under Goethe's immediate direction, the court theatre became the model-school of German dramatic art, and of easy natural acting, Foreigners resorted to Weimar and to Jena where youthful talents unfolded themselves in a secure and free asylum, and often attained to a maturity by which other countries were destined to benefit. This was the most flourishing period of the University of Jena. Its pre-eminence was not produced by wealth, nor by any artificial excitements; it was the observant encouraging eye of the prince which animated and enhanced those glorious efforts, which stimulated those noble aspirations. It was the mild and gentle atmosphere of mental freedom and tolerance of opinion, which made every one feel so perfectly at ease in this narrow space': and as in the great garden of nature, trees and flowers of the most differing kinds unfold in luxuriance side by side, so did we here see the most various nay repugnant spirits, distinguish themselves undisturbed, each in his own province, secure and free under the shield of their high-minded patron.

Under such auspices were fostered a Griesbach, Paulus, Reinhold, Fichte, Schelling,* a Loder, Fenerbach, Thebaut, Schutz, Tiek; †-the Humboldts, Hufeland, Schlegel. Here Schiller found a second home, and, in Karl-August's favour and warm sympathy, fresh stimulus and tranquil leisure for his immortal masterworks. The cosmopolitan Bode, the far-travelled Gore, chose Weimar as their place of rest, here did the noble refugees Montmorency, Mounier, Camille Jordan, and many others, find an asylum and respect amid the storms of the time; the most delightful and refined society surrounded the court, and Weimar, as well as the tranquil valley of Tiefurt (the summer residence of the Duchessmother), was the hallowed resort of the most distinguished pilgrims from all countries.

In the midst of these peaceful happy times, the youthful hope of the country, the first-born son of the duke, had attained maturity, and had been united to the daughter of an imperial house. But this domestic felicity was soon interrupted by the most fearful calamity. Honour and duty summoned our prince to the unequal combat (1816) which Prussia waged against the overwhelming might of Napoleon; far from the land of his ancestors, at the head of the only yet unconquered corps d'armee, the duke had to learn the invasion and pillage of his states-the threatened annihilation of his existence as a sovereign.

But even this tempest of calamity could not shake his heroic firmness. He insisted on remaining at the side of the King of Prussia, and only that monarch's express command-a proof of magnanimity worthy of a king-could induce him to lay down his fieldmarshall's staff, and to think of returning home and making terms with the conqueror.

On the fearful day after the battle of Jena, his highhearted wife, by her intrepid firmness and dignified serenity, had impressed the conqueror with a respect and admiration, which was the immediate cause of the salvation of the country, and of the ducal house. He received an envoy from Weimar in his headquarters, and before the end of the year peace was concluded at Posen. Soon after his return home, the duke had to lament the death of his beloved mother; the most afflicting consequence of the war which had disturbed and broken all the springs of

that invaluable life.

Philosophers and Philologists. + Jurists.

frontiers, with mistrust and resentment against the most high-spirited of German princes in his heart, and with many a threat of violent measures on his tongue. But Providence preserved our sovereign to

us.

He escaped from the battle of Leipsig, as by a miracle. His heart beat high when he was greeted by the conquering monarchs on their visit to Weimar, as one of the saviours of Germany; he instantly joined the great confederation, and marched at the head of the third corps d'armée, to which his own brave subjects and all the Saxon troops were attached, into the Netherlands. Immediately after the conquest of Paris he hastened thither, and while he seduously attended to the political interests of his country, devoted himself with his usual zeal to science and art. A visit to England afforded him the long desired opportunity of seeing industry and mechanical skill carried to their highest pitch. At his return (Sept. 1814) the triumph dearest to his heart awaited him,-the thousand voiced joyous acclamations of his people.

Returning home with a considerable accession of territory, he immediately resolved to place the faithful servants and assistants of his government in situations of more extended activity and higher dignity, and thus to render them sharers of his own prosperity. He made the wisest arrangement in his ministry; introduced various useful reforms, and on the birthday of his noble consort, his most valued servants of all classes and ranks received from his own hand the first honourable decorations as proof of his approbation. Having thus satisfied the desires of his generous heart, he turned his whole mind to the construction of a fundamental law on the constitution and rights of the states (Land stände), and thus secured to his people the most solid guarantee for good government and civil freedom.

Taxation was rendered more uniform and equal; public credit raised and established; the peasant delivered from the oppressive remains of feudalism; burthens on landed property lightened, and trade freed from many vexatious restraints.

His perseverance conquered every obstacle that was opposed to the establishment of a supreme court of appeal. (Ober-Appellations - Gericht) in Jena; common to the dominions of all the Saxon houses of the Ernestinian line.*

In a critical period of political excitement and exaggerated demands, among the youth of the German universities his admirable sense led him to combine firmness with indulgence.+

He did not desist till he had improved the condition of every sort of establishment for education, from the university to the meanest village school, both as to the funds and the course of instruction. He was also assiduous in completing lines of roads, as means of promoting intercourse between all his subjects.

He was continually occupied with the consideration how the burthens caused by the war could be reduced to their minimum, and, after numerous experiments, he succeeded in leaving a most beneficent example how much may be accomplished with how little. By a judicious change of the portion of the population bearing arms, he made nine-tenths of the soldiery available for agriculture and mechanical employments.

His generous temper delighted in constant sympathy with the personal condition and fortunes of all who came in contact with him after long years he retained a grateful recollection of every pleasant hour, of every little service; and testified this recollection to children and children's children.

Such a temper secured him respect and love wherever he went. Every foreign land was his home. His residence in Milan (1817) was commemorated by a medal. "Il principe uomo" was the simple and beautiful title which accompanied him in his travels. The horizon of his life gradually became brighter and more cloudless; the tranquil enjoyment of the fruits of his progress in the arts and sciences, in all of which he took a lively interest, became more pure and deep-felt; gleams of the high intents and destinies of creation broke with increased brightness on his inquiring mind, from nature and from history; chemistry and botany peculiarly attracted him; his mild spirit felt itself at home amid the tranquil beauties and fresh bounties of the vegetable world. He collected around him the plants of every part of the world, watched the secrets of their growth with constant and tender ease, and returned refreshed to the cares of government.

Thus was that free, natural life, after which he had striven in his early years, at the expense of considerable sacrifices of care and comfort, now granted to him in a fairer and more spiritual sense. He often stayed at Welhelmsthat in the beauty and serenity of summer, assembling around him tried friends and accomplished guests; but even from this retreat he conducted all the affairs of his government, and on hill and valley, in field and forest, there was not a

i. e. descended from Elector Ernst, son of Friedrich der Sanftmuthig, b. 1441.-Trans.

↑ This refers to his conduct on occasion of the famous festival on the Wartburg, concerning which he and his ministers seem to have judged with an indulgent good sense, very favourably contrasted with the alarm and severity of the great powers. -Trans.

spot to be found which did not share his affectionate

cares.

Amidst this constant alternation of solicitude and of action, of exertion and dignified enjoyment, the day of the celebration of the fiftieth year of his reign approached. Averse from all ostentation, he wished to withdraw from it, but he was obliged to yield to the loud wishes of his people. What a festival of joyous gratitude of deep emotion did he then witness, heightened by the marked sympathies of other countries.

Inspired by his own spirit, towns, villages, and individuals, rivalled each other in their efforts to hallow this day by institutions which might render it blessed to contemporaries and posterity. A weildesigned medal was presented to him by his most attached servants, and the establishment of the excellent burgher schools at Weimar and Eisenach, as well as of many other new beneficent institutions, confirmed that consciousness of having laboured for the civilization of the remotest generations, which was his ever present reward. And thus may it truly be said of him, that even while he tarried among us, he enjoyed the fairest and noblest immortality.

The oldest and most confidential of his servants stood in unchanged freshness by his side. He entered with ardour into all arrangements for consecrating a second festival to this honoured friend, (7th November, 1825.) Singular and rich as had been the blessedness of such a life, long union must be its reward. He caused a gold medal to be struck, on which his own likeness and that of his noble consort were united with that of Goethe, and as the three had blended their light through life in one constellation, one common jubilee embraced their golden day of honour,

His second son returned from America in health and safety, and enriched with knowledge and experience.* A triple band of grand-children bloomed around the beloved ruler; his eldest daughter was married to the son of the King of Prussia, and thus he saw the early ties of blood and of affection which had bound him through life to the destinies of the noble house of Hohenzollern, secured to his heart's content.

He was spared to bless even a great grandson, whose birth he looked upon as an additional reason for visiting Berlin. Anxieties, but too well justified by the doubtful state of his health, gave rise to the most pressing entreaties that he would not attempt the journey, and many a gloomy presentiment oppressed his people, but, unused to spare his valuable life, and to repress that activity which was the element of his being, he disregarded all warnings. At first he appeared to overcome all the fatigues of the journey. Received most affectionately by the king and the royal family, greeted with reverence and honour by all, he enjoyed the noblest and purest pleasure of his heart; when, on his return, while the memory and relish of these delightful hours was yet on his mind, the angel of death overtook him, and gently and suddenly called him, without pain or struggle, to his better home. He died at Graditz, ner Torgau.

Who was more worthy of such a death than he! Even in the deep unutterable grief which oppressed the noble partner of his life and reign, and all his family, which depressed us all, and made us deplore the loss of his presence as an irremediable calamity, even at his hallowed tomb, we say, as Goethe said at the grave of his incomparable mother,-"This is the prerogative of the noblest natures, that their departing to higher regions exercises a no less blessed in fluence than did their abode on earth; that they lighten us from above like stars by which to steer our course, often interrupted by storms; that those to whom we turned in life as the Beneficent, the Helpful, now attract our longing, aspiring glance as the Perfected, the Blessed.

ANECDOTE OF A HIGHWAYMAN,
FOUNDED ON FACT.

(From the "Lounger's Common Place Book.") A clergyman on his way from London to the parish in which he resided, within twenty miles of the metropolis, as the evening was closing, overtook a traveller on horseback, and as the road had been long notorious for frequent robberies, begged leave to join company, which was agreed to.

The appearance of the stranger, half-suppressed sighs, and a rooted melancholy stamped on his countenance, against which he seemed to be ineffectually struggling, interested the old gentleman in his favour They conversed on various subjects, and soon dissipated that unsocial reserve, which has sometimes been considered the characteristic mark of an Englishman. Politics, the weather, and the danger of travelling near London at night, with other extemporaneous topics of new acquaintance, were successively the subject of their conversation. "I am surprised," said the ecclesiastic, that any reasonable being, should expose himself to the infamy and destruction which sooner or later always follow the desperate adven

* Prince Bernhard, whose "Travels in America" are well known. Trans.

tures of a highwayman; and my astonishment at the infatuation increases when I recollect several instances of wanderers in this dangerous path, who were men of sound intellect, and, previous to the fatal act, of sober life and conversation; they must have known that in this our Christian country, there were inexhaustible resources of pity and relief, in the hands and hearts of the charitable and humane, many of whom make it the business of their lives, to seek for, and assist real distress in any form."

"I agree to the truth of your description generally speaking," replied the traveller; "the princely revenues and bulky magnificence of our various public hospitals; the vast subscriptions on every occasion of general calamity or individual distress; the thousands, and tens of thousands, fed, cloathed, and instructed; the Gallic fugitives, and the shoals of exiles from every part of the continent, confirm the justice of your panegyrics on British benevolence and hospitality; but there is a species of suffering, which shrinking from public notice, and brooding in silence over its sorrows, often escapes the benignant, but rapid glance of modern charity. There are spirits, Sir," continued the stranger, in an elevated tone of voice, his eyes flashing at the moment with ferocious pride, and tortured sensibility, "there are spirits which would rather perish by inches than attempt to waken the generosity, or expose themselves to the neglect or contempt of the giddy unthinking part of mankind;-spirits, Sir, which would not hesitate a moment in flying for refuge in instant death, in order to evade the arrows of misfortune, and conclude their own miseries, but who cannot see a wife, a child, or a parent, bereft of the necessaries of life, without resolving, at any risque, to alleviate their difficulties? There is a species of distress which does not always strike the wealthy, which they cannot often find out, and] which prudent men when they do see it often laugh at and revile; they tell the sufferer that he is poor and miserable only because he deserves to be so; that while he has legs to support him and arms able to work, he has no right to expect relief; that it would be injustice and bad policy to bestow on imaginary poverty, refined indolence, and culpable affectation, the meed due only to irretrievable calamity and indigent infirmity. Your appearance, Sir, from the moment you approached me, and your conversation since, have strongly prepossessed me in your favour, and I am resolved, without fear or reserve, to inform you of a secret, which I never meant should have passed my lips; it will account for that anxiety and dejection, which cannot have escaped your observation. I am a wretched being of that class, which, as I have just said, the gay overlook, the prudent censure, and the ignorant despise; I was reduced by a union of folly and misfortune, from ease and affluence, to a total deprivation of the means of existence; I cannot dig; I am ashamed to beg; but this is the least part of my affliction, as one desperate, (I do not say justifiable) step, would at once remove me from the evils I endure; but the pangs of want are aggravated by the bitter reflexion, that a beloved wife, an aged parent, and three lovely children are involved in the same ruin. Too proud to appeal to the humanity, I resolved to work upon the fears of mankind, and I have for some time supported my family by force of arms. I confess without scruple that to procure a purse at all events is the business of my present journey-be not alarmed, Sir, at the avowal," cried the stranger, seeing the clergyman somewhat terrified at his words, "be not alarmed; I would cut off my right hand rather than abuse the confidence you have placed in me. It is on individuals of a very different description that I mean to raise contributions; on the luxurious, the wealthy, and the indolent, who parting with a little loose cash are deprived of only a minute portion of their superfluity which they would otherwise dissipate in folly or vice."

The divine, somewhat recovered from his embarrassment, now ventured to speak.

"I cannot by any means be prevailed on to agree to your positions, nor can I, as a minister of the gospel, refrain from warning you against the fatal conclusions you draw from them; such is the discriminating sense, such the enlightened philanthropic spirit, and such the persevering benevolence of the times, that I am convinced there is no species of distress, however it may recede from public view, or bury itself in obscurity, that can escape the sharp sighted optics of English humanity. Not content with conferring favours on humble applicants, it is one of the most prominent features of the present day to form societies, for the express purpose of exploring the darkest recesses of human misery; no grievance properly explained and well authenticated, is suffered to go unredressed; -remove all possibility of imposition; and to know calamity in England, is to remove it. But allowing for arguments sake that the case was otherwise; on what principle of religion or right reason, are you authorised, rash and mistaken man, to desert the post at which providence placed you, and at the first appearance of difficulty or disaster, forgetting duty, interest, friendship, and every social tie, insolently to rush into the presence of your creator, your hands reeking with your own blood; and murder most foul, vile, and unnatural, branded on your cheeks, in defiance of divine pre

cepts, and in direct violation of that principle, which he has so wisely and so mercifully implanted in your breast." The good man would have proceeded; but his companion seeing, as the moonlight shone through the parting clouds, a post-chaise ascending the hill, thus interrupted him :

"To know calamity is to relieve it, if I rightly understood you, is one of your positions?"—"It is." -"An opportunity for putting to the test the truth of your assertion, now offers itself," said the stranger; "the carriage which is coming is, in fact, what I have several hours been expecting. The owner of it is a rich man, and if my information be correct, has a considerable sum of money with him: I will without exaggeration or reserve, explain my situation to him; according to your honourable, but in my mind, romantic and unfounded doctrine, I will endeavour to prevail on his reason to acknowledge the justness of my claims, and try to interest his feeling to relieve my distress."

The trier of this dangerous and unlawful experiment, immediately turned his horse, and descending the hill, in a few minutes met the gentleman's carriage. Requesting the driver to stop, he advanced to the door, without any appearance of violence, and, in a gentle tone of voice, thus addressed the person who was in it: "Sir, the urgency of my wants must be an apology for this abrupt application: myself, my wife, and an infant family, are in want of support, our accustomed resources have vanished; you are plentifully supplied with the means, have you the inclination effectually to serve me?"

The gentleman, considering what he said as the common-place cant of mendicant imposture, by which the hearts of the frequenters of London are so naturally, but too indiscriminately hardened, sometimes against the wailings of real misery, yet not able wholly to suppress those feelings which an indiscriminate address had awakened, twisted all his loose silver into a paper, gave it to the petitioner, and ordered the post-boy to drive on. "This trifle, I am sorry to say," replied the illicit collector, "is by no means adequate to the pressure I feel; it will not provide for my family a week. A fifty-pound bank note, which will not be missed in your abundance, would remove all my difficulties, and give me time to apply to a wealthy relation, who lives in another kingdom. If you can prevail on yourself to afford me this timely assistance, I will give you my name and address, to a place, where you will see positive proof that your benevolence has not been imposed on, and I may possibly recover by diligence, and good friends, my customary place in society."

66

"You are troublesome, ungrateful, and impertinent," said the gentleman, somewhat irritated; can you suppose I am to be duped by so shallow an artifice, can you expect me to give so serious a sum to a man whose face I never saw before, and probably shall never see again; I will do no such thing; you are mistaken in your man: post-boy, I insist on it, that you drive on directly. "Let him do it at his peril!" cried the robber, raising his voice and presenting a double barrelled pistol: "stir not an inch; before we part I must have your money or your life. There is in your portmanteau that which will relieve all my wants; deliver me instantly the key; your pocket-book which I see you have dropped to the bottom of your chaise, must with its contents be also surrendered. Driver, alight directly, and if you have any regard for your safety, stand steadily at the heads of your horses, throw aside your whip, turn your back to the carriage, and unless you wish for a slug through your head, take not the least notice of anything that is doing." The key of the portmanteau was produced, the cords and straps divided with a knife, and three hundred guineas, in two yellow canvass bags were conveyed to the pockets of the highwayman. Having amply supplied his pecuniary wants, the marauder did not neglect to take the necessary means for insuring his own safety; cutting pieces from the cord which had secured the baggage, he tied the hands and feet of the getleman and the post-boy, placed them in the chaise, then taking the harness from the horses, he let them loose on the heath, remounted, and quickly rejoined the clergyman, to whom he gave a circumstantial account of the whole transaction; declared himself confirmed in his system, spurred his horse, and wishing him a good night, was in a few minutes out of his sight. The old gentleman soon reached his house, reflecting with a heavy heart on the circumstances of the evening; the stranger so obstinately persisting in a theory so opposite to all laws, human and divine, and defending violence by argument, disordered his feelings, and kept him awake more than half the night. Rising early, he walked to the seat of his brother, a magistrate, who resided in a neighbouring village, to whom he related the adventure of the preceding night. They resolved, assisted by a gentleman who presided at one of the public offices, to whom the ecclesiastic immediately wrote, to watch the progress of the unhappy man, whose destruction they saw was certain. It was not long before what they dreaded came to pass; in a few posts they received a letter from their friend in London, informing them, that by means of one of the bank-notes in the pocket-book, the robber had been detected, taken into custody, and conveyed to prison. So vigorous, indeed, were

the means pursued, and so rapid the march of justice, in consequence of the Judges of the Assize being sitting at the moment of the offender's apprehension, that an indictment was prepared, the bill found, and the culprit actually arraigned at the bar, by the time the clergyman was able to reach town. He hurried into court, anxious to be convinced that the prisoner at the bar was the companion of his nocturnal journey. in whose fate he felt himself so strangely interested. Pressing with some difficulty through the crowd he instantly recognized him; and, to add to the sorrow he felt, a verdict of guilty, in consequence of evidence which it was impossible to resist, was pronounced against him, at the moment of entering. The worthy priest was not able to suppress or conceal his emotions at beholding a young man, of pleasing person and manners, and of a good understanding, who might have been an ornament to his country, the delight and solace of his family, thus cut off in the prime of life, by adhering to a system radically preposterous and unwarrantable. Rushing from the afflicting scene, he relieved himself by a shower of tears. The criminal soon after suffered an ignominious death. But the worthy clergyman did not let his feelings make him forget his duty. He considered virtue as something more than a well-sounded period, or an harmonious flow of words, and recollecting that the deceased had left a mother, widow, and children, he hastened to them, and became a parent to the fatherless, promoting, and largely contributing to a subscription in their favour. In exercising this kind office, he procured further information concerning this unhappy man; he found that he was the son of an industrious and successful mechanic, who had realized a small fortune by frugality and perseverance; but instigated by the vanity or folly of his wife, and perhaps glad to make that an excuse for indulging his own, he had yielded in an unlucky moment to the infatuation of the times. He gave his eldest son a genteel and expensive education, that pernicious weakness in large families of small fortune; he taught him to despise that humble, but honest art, which had raised his family from indigence; the fabrication of some one part of the complex machinery of a watch, in the formation of which human industry is divided into so many separate and distinct branches, while the putting the whole together and superintending its movements, constitutes another reputable employment. The young man was thus disqualified for tread ng in the footsteps of his father, which would have led him by the paths of duty and regularity, to health of body, peace of mind, and competency he became that wretchedest of all beings, an accomplished gentleman without fortune, without any intellectual or material dexterity, which would enable him to procure one; a class of men to whom the gaming-tables, or the road, afford a common last resource. He had been taught to spend, and actually had spent thousands, but had not been initiated in the more mercenary art of earning his dinner. But this was uot the whole of the evil; in frivilous or vicious pursuits, he had dissipated a large portion of that property, which, at his father's death, ought to have been equally divided among himself, his brothers, and sister. The miserable parent felt, when it was too late, the effects of his mistake, and injudicious partiality. In the decline of life he was deprived of those little indulgences, those sweet reliefs of age and pain to which honest industry is fairly entitled. This fatal error, of which I believe every person who peruses this page can produce numerous instances, embittered the old man's declining days with unavailing repentance, and hurried his son into a disgraceful death.

:

LA SORTILEGA; OR, THE CHARMED RING. (From Lays and Legends of Spain.)

In the province of Andalusia there lived a rich and noble cavalier, named Don Remigio de la Torre, who had to wife Donna Ines Pauda, the most beautiful woman in all the land. Long and happily they lived together; so that their felicity had become a byeword among their neighbours, and they were held up as an example to all young persons entering into the blessed state of matrimony. Indeed neither tongue nor pen can describe how happily they were consorted.

One day, as they sat together in the lady's bower, their talk turned upon death. The thoughts of a possible separation made each feel melancholy, and they remained silent for some time. At last Donna Innes said,

"If you should die, my love, l'am sure I should die too."

Don Remigio kissed her eyes, which were full of tears, and pressed her to his bosom.

"What should I do," murmured he, half choked with his imaginary sorrow, "if you left me alone in this bleak world?"

They kissed and comforted each other; and soon the momentary melancholy they had experienced was absorbed in sentiments of encreased affection. However, it was agreed between them that the survivor

should watch nine successive nights in the sepulchre of the deceased, with the coffin opened and the face of the corpse uncovered; and that during that vigil which was to commence an hour before midnight, and terminate an hour before dawn, his or her eyes should never for a moment be taken off the corpse.

Time fled, and a period was about to be put to their happiness. In one single week from the day on which this conversation occurred, Donna Ines was attacked with a deadly malady. Three days more, and she departed this life to the unspeakable sorrow of her agonized husband. Her funeral was celebrated with every possible pomp and magnificence. All the nobility and clergy of the neighbouring country accompanied the body, which was deposited in an old vault, at a short distance from the castle of Don Remigio, and which had been used by his ancestors since the days of Pilayo. The concourse then departed to their several homes, and the disconsolate husband retired to his chamber.

An hour before midnight according to his compact with the deceased, he entered the vault in which lay the earthly remains of all that he had loved in the world. In pursuance of his plighted word, he proceeded to unfasten the coffin lid, and to uncover the face of his beloved Ines. This done, he fell on his knees beside her, and alternately kissing her cold lips, eyes, and cheeks, prayed aloud, in the most fervent strain, for the repose of her soul.

Midnight, which was announced by the giant bell, found him engaged in this occupation. Just as the last stroke of the bell reverberated in his ear, his attention was attracted by a sudden noise at the other side of the vault. He started back in momentary affright, as an enormous serpent, with eyes like fire, and scales sparkling like polished steel, sprung forward to attack him. But his dismay was but momentary, he stepped aside instantly-the serpent shot past him, and before the reptile could again renew the attack, Remigio smote it with his trusty sword, and, behold, in its place, he perceived a beautiful ring glittering with jewels, lying on a written scroll of paper, the letters inscribed on which were of burnished gold. Don Remigio approached and took the ring and the scroll; on the latter he read, in glowing characters, the following verse:

Take this ring and straight apply it
To the corse's lips, that lieth

In the sleep of death so quiet;

Quick to life you'll bring her by it,
In the blessed Trine's name try it.

While he read these lines the air seemed to resound with strains of wild harmonious music. When he had finished he did not delay a moment in trying the means for the recovery of his beloved wife from the grave, which had been so strangely revealed to him.

"In the name of the Blessed Trinity-Father, Son, and Holy Spirit," said he, touching at the same time the corse's pale cold lips with the talisman, "arise, and live once more."

'Ines arose as if from a sleep.

"My beloved wife."-"My beloved husband." They could say no more for some minutes, so absorbed were they with each other. At last tears came to their relief, and they wept in joy until the day broke, and they left the sepulchre together.

Unconscious in the fullness of their happiness whither they went, they wandered unwittingly the whole morning, until at noon they found themselves on a broad beech, the sands of which shone like diamonds in the sun; and the sea before them. They ste down at the water edge, and Don Remigio exhausted from contending emotions, laid his head on his lady's lap, and took his siesta while she watched over him as a mother over her child.

But while he continued in this deep sleep a gallant barque, with all her sails set, neared the shore, the captain, a young man of most comely presence, leaped from her deck, beside Donna Ines.

"Fair Lady," said he, enamoured at the first glimpse of her extreme beauty, "what dost thou here in a place of such danger. Know ye not that this cave is the resort of Moorish Zebeques; and that if they find you here they will carry you off to captivity."

Don Remigio slept on, and heard not a word of this discourse. Donna Ines imperceptibly shifted his head from her lap, until at last she laid it on a large stone which was beside them.

Leave your drowsy, ungallant companion," continued the captain, "and come with me on board my brave barque. I love you more than I may say. We wil go to my home in a distant country, and you shall be my bride, and mistress of all my broad lands. Come, sweetest, come, you shall know neither fear nor sorrow; but your life shall be as one long sunny day of delight."

The lady hesitated a moment, and looked at her husband; she then rose, averted her head, put forth her hand to her seducer, and stepped on board his barque. A fair wind sprung up, the mariners bent on their oars,-the sails filled, and bellied in the breeze, and in a very short period Ines and her new over were out of sight of land.

When Don Remigio awoke and missed his wife, he stormed and raved like a man distracted. Now he

thought she might have been carried off by the Moors, and he cursed his untoward drowsiness; anon, he deemed that she had returned home, and left him to find his way as he best could; but his good opinion of himself did not suffer him to entertain this thought for more than a moment; and at last he imagined that it might be all nothing more than a dream. Filled with this idea he sped back to the sepulchre; but he found the door open, and only the sere cloths, of which he had divested the body of Ines, in the coffin. His wife was not there, and he was convinced. He then hastened home.

Arrived at the castle, he called to his servants, and anxiously inquired whether his wife had returned? But the servants, astonished beyond measure, one and all answered in the negative.

"What does our master mean?" inquired the hoary Castellan. "I have nursed him on my knee when a child-I have shared in his sports when a boy -I have waited and watched for him, a man-and never before heard I such a question from him."

But Don Remigio, who had returned from an unsuccessful search in his lady's bower, under the impression that she might have entered the castle unheeded by his servants, explained to them the cause of his question; and they all stood aghast with horror and surprise at the strangeness of the tale.

Moreover," ," said he, "I mean to leave my castle to-morrow, never, perhaps, to return again; so make speed for my departure. Stay you here, however, and never want support, while my demesnes afford it. Before the dawn I shall depart, and let no one on his peril seek for me or speak of me after I shall have gone."

The menials bowed their heads; they were filled with grief, for he was a good and a kind master. They then went to eat their dinners and discuss his project, as far as they could conjecture its significance. The hoary Castellan was so sad that he retired to his ward-room got intoxicated, and deranged his stomach for an entire week on the strength of his

sorrow.

Before the dawn, Don Remigio had departed from the hall of his fathers disguised as a mendicant, but with a large sum of money and many valuable jewels concealed about his person. Two day and two nights he journeyed thus, in pursuance to a vow he had made previous to his setting out, of subsisting only on the alms of the pious, until he once more found his beloved wife, he eat only the bread of charity. On the evening of the third day he fell in with a poor fellow equipped at all points like himself, and also bound like him on an eleemosynary expedition, with this difference, that was not it from inclination, but from necessity he undertook it. Short time sufficed to make these companions in misfortune known to each other, for there are not many formalities among the poor; and misery, says the old saw, makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows.

Don Remigio proposed that they should join company, a proposal which the beggar most readily agreed to, since his partner renounced all claims to further share in the alms they received, than was absolutely necessary to his support; this done, they journeyed on together.

Many long days, and many weary miles did they wander on, they knew not whither. Many a kind heart did they meet in their course, many an unkind one-the kind hearts preponderated, and they were principally women. In the meanwhile, each had manifold opportunities of knowing the other. At length, one sultry afternoon, as they lay in the shade of a cork-tree, high in the Sierra Morena mountains, Remigio's companion earnestly inquired of him, whither he was going? Remigio moved by the poor fellow's sympathy told him all. This drew closer the bonds of friendship with which they had become insensibly attached to each other; and in reply to a suggestion of the former that he might leave him if he chose, he said he would follow him while he had life and his permission. When the air cooled they pursued their journey together.

Days and days, and leagues and leagues they wandered on, over mountains and rivers, through vallies and gardens, on-on, until they arrived at last at a great city, fatigued, foot-sore, and anxious for a little repose after their toils. Here they made up their minds to remain and rest for a week. It would seem as if this resolve were the inspiration of some protecting spirit. They had been there but two days, when going to mass on the third, which was Sunday, they learned from their brethren in misery, whom they had met with at the church doors in crowds, that the nuptials of a great lord of the land with a beautiful Andalusian lady, were to take place the same day, and that an entertainment was to be given in the court-yard of his palace to all the mendicants of the city and its vicinity. After mass was over, they joined company with their brother beggars, proceeded to the palace of the great lord, and placed themselves at one of the long tables which were laid out in the court-yard, covered with wholesome and savoury food.

Seated behind the jalousies in her balcony, the Andalusian lady and her lord, saw with curiosity, the concourse of mendicants to the banquet provided for

WINDOWS.

66

If a merry meeting is to be wished," says the man in Shakspeare, may God prohibit it." If there is any sunshine to be had, stave it off; especially if you have been grumbling for its absence all the rest of the year.

"Would you have us sit then and be baked, Mr.London Journal?"

Dear Madam, you ask the question with so pleasant a voice, and such a pretty good-natured exaggeration, that you are evidently one of those who may do, or not do, just what you please. We shall not find fault with you, if you close every shutter in the room, let the sun be never so smiling. Besides, we give up the hottest days in July and August. But grant us at any rate, that to have verandas always, as we see them in some houses, is hardly more reasonable, than having windows down to the floor at any time; and that the horror of a sunshine, by no means too abundant in this region, has more to do with the fear of discoloured curtains and carpets than it ought to have, especially among the rich. What signifies the flying of a few colours, easily replaced, compared with the giving a proper welcome to the great colourer himself, the sun that makes all things beautiful? There are few sights in your town-house more cheerful than a sudden burst of sun into the room, smiting the floor into so many windows, and making the roses on the very carpet look as if they felt it. Let them fade in good season as the others do; and make up for the expense, dear fashionable people, by staying a little more at home, keeping better hours, and saving the roses on your cheeks.

Verandas have one good effect. They are an ornament to the house outside, and serve to hide the shabby cut of the windows. Still more is to be said for them, where they and the balcony include flowers. Yet windows down to the floor we hold to be a nuisance always unnecessary, uncomfortable, absurd,—to say nothing of perils of broken panes and scolded children. They let draughts of air in across the floor, where nobody wants them; they admit superfluous light,-from earthwards instead of from heaven; they render a seat in the window SPARROW, PRINTER, CRANE-COURT.

No. 21.

impossible or disagreeable; they hinder the fire from sufficiently warming the room in winter-time; and they make windows partake too much of out-of-doors, shewing the inhabitants at full length as they walk about, and contradicting the sense of snugness and seclusion. Lastly, when they have no veil or other ornament outside, they look gawky and out of proportion. But the outside cut of windows in this country is almost universally an eye-sore. We have denounced them before, and shall denounce them again, in the hopes that housebuilders may be brought to shew some proofs of being the "architects" they call themselves, and dare to go to an expense of nine and sixpence for a little wood or plaster, to make a border with. Look at the windows down the streets at the west-end of the town, and they are almost all mere cuts in the wall, just such as they make for barracks and work-houses. The windows of an Irish cabin are as good, as far as architecture is concerned. The port-holes of a man of war have as much merit. There is no pediment, nor border; seldom even one visible variety of any sort, not a coloured brick. And it is the same with the streets that contain

shops, except, in some instances, those of the latest construction; which if not in the best taste otherwise, are built with a little more generosity, and that is a good step towards taste. When we meet with windows of a better sort, the effect is like quitting the sight of a stupid miser for that of a liberal genius. Such are the windows in some of the nobler squares; and you may see them occasionally over shops in the Strand and Piccadilly. Observe for instance the windows of Messrs Greensill and Co. the lamp-oil manufacturers in the Strand, compared with those of the neighbours; and see what a superiority is given to them by the mere fact of their having borders, and something like architectural design. We will venture to say it is serviceable even in a business point of view; for such houses look wealthier; and it is notorious, that the reputation of money brings money. Where there is no elegance of this kind, (and of course also where there is) a box of flowers along the windows gives a liberal look to a house, still more creditable to the occupants, from the certainty we have of its being their own work. See in Piccadilly, the houses of Messrs. Rickards the s pirit-merchants, near Regent Street, and Messrs. we forget the name-the waxchandlers, near the Park end. We never pass the latter without being grateful for the beautiful shew of nasturtiums,—a plant which it is an elegance itself to have so much regard for. There is also something very agreeable in the good-natured kind of intercourse thus kept up between the inmates of a house and those who pass it. The former appeal to one's good opinion in the best manner, by complimenting us with a share of their elegancies; and the latter are happy to acknowledge the appeal, for their own sakes as well as that of the flowers. Imagine (what perhaps will one day be the case) whole streets adorned in this manner, right and left; and multitudes proceed ing on their tasks through avenues of lilies and geraniums. Why should they not? Nature has given us the means, and they are innocent, animating, and contribute to our piety towards her. We do not half enough avail ourselves of the cheap riches wherewith she adorns the earth. We also get the most trivial mistakes in our head, and think them refinements, and are afraid of being "vulgar!" A few seeds, for instance, and a little trouble, would clothe our houses every summer, as high as we chose, with draperies of green and

use.

PRICE THREE HALFPENce.

scarlet; and after admiring the beauty, we might eat the produce. But then this produce is a bean; and because beans are found at poor tables, we despise them! Nobody despises a vine in front of a house; for vines are polite, and the grapes seldom good enough to be any Well; use, we grant, is not the only thing, but surely we have no right to think ourselves unbigoted to it, when it teaches us to despise beauty. In Italy, where the drink is not common, people have a great respect for beer, and would perhaps rather see a drapery of hops at the front of a house, than vine-leaves. Hops are like vines; yet who thinks of adorning his house with them in England? No: they remind us of the ale-house instead of nature and her beauties; and therefore they are "vulgar." But is it not we who are vulgar, in thinking of the ale-house, when nature and her beauties are the greater idea?

It is objected to vegetation against walls and windows, that it harbours insects; and good housewives declare they shall be “over-run.” If this be the fact, care should be taken against the consequences; and should the care prove unavailing, every thing must be sacrificed to cleanliness. But is the charge well-founded? and if well-founded in respect to some sorts of vegetation, is it equally so with all? we mean, with regard to the inability to keep out the insects. There is a prejudice against ivy on houses, on the score of its harbouring wet, and making the houses damp; yet this opinion has been discovered to be so groundless (see London Journal, No. 4, p. 32), that the very contrary is the fact. Ivy is found to be a remedy for damp walls. It wards off the rain and secures to them a remarkable state of dryness; as any one may see for himself by turning a bush of it aside, and observing the singular drought and dustiness prevailing between the brick or mortar and the back of the leaves.