Imatges de pàgina
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to do with, or how to hold the child, and had, therefore a very ludicrous expression.

"A lac of broad rupees he gave him," sung out the inexorable little beauty, relieving him from so unusual a burden, but persevering in her petition for the child. Sir William took out his pocket-book, and most gallantly presenting it to her, desired her to make his little grandson a gift worthy of "a Rajah."

"That will I most readily," said she with the utmost coolness; giving me the infant, and opening the book; she unrolled some banknotes, looked at their amount; and, finding they made up together the sum of £220, she replaced the £20 note in the book, and put the others into the hands of the infant's mother, saying, "Twenty pounds will do for present house-keeping, dear papa; if you want more, your little banker, William here, will lend it to you."

Both Mr. and Mrs. Talbot looked confused, and seemed not to know what to do with the money; but they were both relieved by Sir William saying with much kindness, and, I thought, a tear in his eye, " And it is not the last present I will make my first grandson, the only male descendant in our family;-put it up, dear Fanny, for your little one, and remember you are to use it when you want it, and that there is plenty more where that comes from."

"Only twenty pounds in the blue pocket-book left!" cried Isabel Deane, clapping her hands, (a way she had when much delighted) "but if my jewels should come, we shall all have enough. My precious pearl," said she to the little Fanny, "have you shown mama your necklace?'

"No, Bella," replied the child, "you told me not; and I promised, and have kept my word: shall I run and fetch it now?"

A word was sufficient for her; she returned with a very beautiful pearl necklace, made from part of the fringe of the mantle which had been placed over Isabel when an infant she had sent a quantity of these up to town, and had had them set, with an emerald of great value in the centre, for her little favorite. Mr. Talbot looked at his wife; she looked at the necklace, then on her children; she thought of her injustice to Isabel, and, throwing her arms round her neck, she kissed and embraced her most affectionately.

"Now for the story about the jewels," said Isabel. "Our dear papa has behaved so handsomely, that he is entitled to hear all that I have done so listen to the descendant of a thousand kings," and in a moment this versatile creature had thrown herself down on an ottoman stool, which had been carried to the summer-house for the use of Mrs. Talbot; and, putting her elbows on her knees, and the two palms of her hands against her cheeks, she looked like the Hindoo girl of Eastlake in a moment. Thus she commenced.

"You know, I dare say, very little about the Hindoos; so I will just tell you, that although now there are more than thirty-six impure castes, or offshots, from the original ones, that there are but four that we consider to be the true ones. Perhaps you are not interested?"

"Go on, go on," said Sir William and Mr. Talbot in a breath; "tell us your story in your own way."

"Well, then," said Isabel Deane, "I will give you the names of the

N. S.-VOL. I.

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four original castes in India. First the Brahmins, or priestly tribethey are all holy, and have to do with religious ceremonies. I am of that caste.

"The second is called Cshepterees, or the tribe of warriors-the worldly safety of the rest are especially their care. Much respect and deference is paid to this caste.

"Then come the Vaissyas, who are to procure the necessaries of life, till the ground, invent instruments for agriculture, and measure out the rice, &c. Having so much in their power, they command respect, more from that power, than their station.

"Last come the Sudras, who do all the drudgery of the three other castes. All these four are divided into classes; and, should any unfortunate person lose caste, as it is called, as my beloved mother did by marrying an Englishman, they are deemed accursed, as, should even their shadow pass over a place, or person, it pollutes it.”

Sir William Ogilvie seemed uneasy at hearing this observation, but requested Isabel to proceed.

"Whilst in India, I teased my beloved father until he let me learn the language of our caste: I can both read and write it fluently. About a year ago (since I knew these sweet friends of mine, Matilda and Caroline Ogilvie), I sent off a letter to our reigning Prince of Delhi, my uncle, be it known to you, demanding at his hands, as my unalienable right, all the jewels belonging to my deceased mother. I told him That the blood in my veins was as pure as that in his, for my father was'—but no matter, I cannot bear to speak of him! I called the prince what he is, 'my mother's brother!' 'my own dear relative!' my liege lord, too, and sovereign!' I spoke of my being in a distant land, but that my spirit was often with him and his people. This letter I despatched, unknown to any one, and am astonished that as yet I have had no answer."

"O, Isabel, it will never reach your uncle," cried Matilda Ogilvie; 'you forget the difficulty of getting letters conveyed to natives in that strange land."

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"It has reached the King of Delhi," said Isabel, solemnly; " or my Ayah has perished. She promised, and will keep her word, that she would deliver that golden paper into the hands of her master, or die! She accompanied me to England; she brought me up; she attended my mother in her last illness-she is faithful."

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"A black woman is in the hall," said Wilmot, the butler, entering the drawing-room, about a fortnight after this." She insists on seeing Miss Deane immediately; and is in a great passion because I would not permit her to accompany me: she has a large iron-bound box under her arm, which she would not permit any one to touch."

"It is my own Ayah; she is returned!" exclaimed the young Indian; and in a moment they were in each other's arms, and both were weeping with joy. What a contrast did they present! The native woman with elf-locks and swarthy complexion, frightful in the extreme, twining her long bony arms around the exquisite little form of her mistress! that mistress, so very lovely, kissing and embracing with ecstasy a being the very resemblance of Hecate; pressing the freshest lips in the world to the most skinny and cadaverous ones; so true is it, that what we are accustomed to see, either its beauty or deformity is scarcely perceived by

us; but the slightest change in manner, in affection, is felt almost instinctively a touch of coldness from those we love, the alteration even to a semi-tone of the voice, and we recoil upon ourselves; a re-action takes place within us, and we feel pained, mortified, perhaps indignant, in a moment: we resemble the sensitive-plant, - too rudely handled, the whole state of our being is in collapse.

"There, my own princess, got all her pretty jewels! She no bheestie now (the name for water-carrier in India) she jewel-bearer to her own dear, dear Isa-beel ;" and the excited creature placed at the feet of her mistress the iron-bound case, slung across her shoulders by a leathern belt, as the Jew pedlars carry their boxes of wares. She had been to Bath, where she had left Isabel on her quitting England, and was in an agony at not finding her there. She would not stay an hour, but had proceeded on to Southampton and "The Plantations;" but the high excitement and fatigue she had sustained, and her joy at seeing her beloved mistress, were now too much for the feeble creature to bear: she was carried off to Isabel's own chamber in a fainting-fit: a fever followed; and for many days her life hung, as it were, upon a single thread.

O what devotion of love did this fair young creature show to her attached servant during this illness! Those who sit by the bedsides of the sick, handing to them their medicine, and beating up occasionally their pillows, scarcely can conceive of the heart-felt attentions, the constant watchfulness, the intense anxiety exhibited by this poor girl. She could neither eat nor sleep. No prayers or expostulations could withdraw her, even for an hour, from her Ayah: she would allow no one to assist her; she was even jealous of the slightest offer of aid. "She has watched over me in my infancy, when an outcast from my tribe," she would fervently exclaim; " and now, no hand shall touch her but my own. The vine shall now help to support the tree that once preserved it from being trampled down on the earth." Happily, after some days, the poor native woman recovered; and the delight of her young mistress passed all bounds.

"All the pretty jewels safe, my own dear princess ?" enquired the Ayah, on recovering her senses and recollection.

"Could I look at them, think of them, when my dear Meyna was so ill?" replied her mistress, tenderly embracing her; "we shall have plenty of time now to inspect the jewels of Delhi. I knew they could not refuse my request."

"They did though," exclaimed the native woman, raising herself up in the bed. "They not speak well to Meyna. They not own your father's darling child. They not send the jewels of their murdered princess to my own So-so-I gave them pretty lesson; I taught them to do duty; I knew every turn within their palace, and I stole away our own rightful property."

"You stole away the jewels! O Meyna, why did you do this wrong?" said her mistress, reproachfully.

"No wrong at all, Missy Is-a-beel-a," cried out the native woman, in a most vivacious tone; "they belong to child of my dead princess. I promise her, before she die, to give them to their true owner. I will kill myself, if you say again me did wrong."

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What could be now done?-a case of most valuable diamonds; others of pearls, emeralds, chains of gold, rubies, amethysts, poured out, as if from Aladdin's garden, to our wondering eyes! How the native woman effected her purpose I never could clearly ascertain, as it was thought advisable for the present to place Sir William Ogilvie's seal upon the casket, lest any enquiries might be made in India to the authorities there by the King of Delhi; but I believe nothing of the sort has ever taken place. He would much rather, I have no doubt, give up the possession of these valuables than publish his own disgrace, as he would call it, of any connexion between one of his august family and tribe with an European. We were all advised to hold our tongues about this business until the affair had a little blown over. Now Indian matters are on a different footing; and Isabel Deane has removed the seals upon the casket, considering it her own property.

What more is there to say? Yes, the catastrophe!-but it has been before imagined. When Sir William Ogilvie mustered up courage enough to ask if his beautiful guest would become Isabel Ogilvie the second, with the title of Lady preceding it, the simple-hearted girl, free as an infant from all prepossession in favour of any other man she had ever seen, delightedly replied, "Then we shall be one family, indeed! Never to be parted more! Dear, dear papa ! -for such I will ever call you,-I will be as a sister to your children. I will love you better than a daughter."

Has Isabel Deane kept her word? Yes, to the very letter. Even Mrs. Talbot has been obliged to confess, "that the present Lady Ogilvie has not only made her father the happiest of men, but has taught him to be agreeable, kind, attentive, and generous. No one pays greater respect to her juvenile mother-in-law than herself, or has more reason to rejoice at her father's second marriage.

Caroline Ogilvie has just followed her sister Matilda's example; she has paired off with a very worthy gentleman, who has a summer residence in the Isle of Wight. Before they departed from "The Plantations," Lady Ogilvie took them each to her iron-bound box, and presented them with what had once belonged to a native princess of Delhi; and though the title to these gems might not be clearly made out by a court of law, yet perhaps in one of equity the claim could be established: at any rate, it is very improbable that it will be ever disputed.

One question more, good lady nurse, and we will dismiss you from the present sitting. "Is the Indian girl herself happy?" "Go, ask the humming bird that glitters in the sunshine; the nightingale that sings at its own sweet pleasure in yonder umbrageous tree; the butterfly that sips fragrance from every flower, undisturbed by museumcollectors and schoolboys-what answer will they give? That existence to them is delightful, because they follow the dictates of unsophisticated nature; because they have not put on the shackles of affectation, or submitted to the yoke of prejudice. All the kindly affections of the heart are in full play in the bosom of Isabel Deane; therefore she must be the happiest of human beings, because she has trod in the paths prescribed by the common mother of us all, the officiating priestess in that human temple, sacred to the universal cause of all created things, whose altar is the pure and undefiled heart. Yes, Isabel Deane IS HAPPY.

THE PLEASURES OF GENIUS.

A POEM, IN THREE PARTS. BY JOHN A. HERAUD,
Author of "The Judgement of the Flood," "The Descent into Hell," &c.

PART THE FIRST.

ARGUMENT.

Genius and its Pleasures abstractedly considered; hence, Invention-Civil LifeProperty-Martial Skill; Leonidas; Pleasures of Warlike Genius-SesostrisAlexander; Apostrophe to Ambition-Philosophy of Religion, its proper objectIntroduction of Christianity; Cyrus-Cæsar-Rome-The Jews: History and Philosophy-The Arts and Sciences-Herodotus-Thucydides-Descartes-Locke

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Berkeley-Kant-Scott-Southey-Ariosto-Dante-Virgil; Sculpture-Laocoon -Niobe; Painting-Raffael-Michael Angelo - Rembrandt — Titian — Claude; Music and Poetry - Handel -- Milton-Moore-Homer-Spenser-ShakspereByron-Wordsworth-Tasso-The Cid-Romance-The Gondoliers--The Fishers; Cheerfulness-The Symposia at the Mermaid-The "wit combats" between Ben Jonson and Shakspere: Present state of the Stage-The ancient Masque; Luxury, in excess, destructive; in a certain degree, necessary: Naval Dominion-Britain -Episode of Alexander's Armament on the Hydaspes-Drake-British Enterprise -Ralegh-Nelson: War, and its attractions, not for all-Archimedes-Uses of Conquest-Napoleon.

LIST! heed ye not, uncalled by human hand,
Those lyric murmurs gurgling o'er the strand?
Old Ocean's wanton zephyrs kiss the strings,
And wake the Eolian harp with sportive wings.
But would its chords, unframed for music's spell,
Breathe forth such sounds so wildly and so well?
The spirit thus that animates the eye

Of man erect, conversing with the sky,
Would by each influence be in vain addrest,
That warms emotion in the feeling breast,
But that, susceptible in every sense,

She sympathizes with each influence.

Hence, every breeze that, in the morning hour,
Sheds odour on the hedgerow and the bower;
And every tint that mantles round the sun,
Rising or setting o'er the prospect dun;
The hues that blend the rainbow into glory;
An old wife's fable, or an old man's story;
Books, paintings, statues ;-chief, the Bible's
page,
With truth inspired, and warm with sacred rage;
All-all commove the Genius, 'till it soars,
And trembling dares, but, while it dares, adores.
Know, high upon his intellectual throne,
The God-determined Will presides alone;
With all its treasures, simple or combined,
In one direction strongly sways the Mind;
Of all it hears or sees, or feels or thinks,
Constructs one chain whereof they are the links;
A chain invisible and clankless, . . yet
True as our life,..but worn without regret.

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