he gave her in marriage to one of his officers, with a dowry of ten thousand zechins. The officer was enraptured. He protested that he was profoundly attached to Madame Stephanie, and would make her the best of all possible husbands. But the bounty of Fodor was not confined to the dowry. He continued to patronize Stephanie, and when she was brought to bed, he bestowed his name on the child, and promised that it should have a general's commission at three years old. The next year, Stephanie had another child, and Feedor made that, at the age of two years, Bishop of Kemlin. The third was a girl, who became chief-forester, which, as there were then no forests in the island, might be accounted almost a sinecure. The husband of Stephanie was a worthy man, and called Ishmael. He was a sleek, good humoured, quiet, clerical-looking man; but in the army: we believe, however, that he had been only in the commissariat department, though he bore the rank of an officer. He dressed well, wore a fine sword, long spurs, dark mustachios, loved eating and drinking, and play, and let Madame Stephanie do whatsoever she pleased. He was, in short, a paragon of husbands, and rather fat. As to his wife, she was very proud of her children; more so, in truth, than of the good Ishmael her husband; for when any of the gossips discovered a likeness between the infants and their father, she would resent the assertion, and aver, that she thought them even more like Fodor than her husband. If Madame Stephanie had a fault, (which we do not insist upon,) it was that she had a small-the smallest possible particle of pride. This arose from the distinguished manner in which she was treated by the Buccaneer. He gave her precedence before all the ladies of his court: he made epigrams upon her beauty (or caused them to be made-it is nearly the same thing); and placed his hand upon her shoulder whenever he swore by Lelio to do any thing that was royal. She distributed pensions, and patronized authors at the expense of Fodor (and the state); had a guard of honour to attend on herself, and went to the temple regularly every morning, to offer up vows for the long life of Fodor and the prosperity of the island of Kemlin. She built a penitentiary alsoand endowed it, reserving certain rights to the foundress and her descendants. This system prevailed for a considerable time. At last Fodor met with a serious accident, which drove M. Ishmael and his wife out of his head, and made him think of himself alone. He suddenly grew pious, and wrote (i. e. signed) fifteen pages of advice, which he caused to be composed for the benefit of all his courtiers who wanted it. Some copies were sent to Madame Stephanie and her family. He then grew more pious than ever, and had frequent conferences with his priest (the Bishop of Kemlin was then rising five years old only,) upon the subject of the past, and the future, and other matters of a very serious nature. He slept in armour, and had incense burned in his room till he was nearly stifled. The physician remonstrated at this, but the priest said that it would do good to his soul. However, it came at last to the ears of Stephanie, who very speedily settled the affair, and he made her next child-which she had in the course of the year-Chief Justice of the High Court of Kemlin, the very moment he was born.-(The new judge performed his office, for some time, by deputy.) The good effects arising from this illness, did not vanish on the return of health. Fodor remained staunch to his good resolutions. To his ordinary benevolences to M. Ishmael and his family, he superadded the benefits of his good advice. He wrote essays and homilies-by the dozen, showing how a variety of things which seemed to be wrong were right.He turned moralist and theologian, and became so profound a metaphysician, that no one in the island could comprehend the subtlety of his speculations. He wrote treatises on the art of war, and distributed them gratis among the soldiers. One or two of his theories failed in practice, but this he properly enough attributed to the fault of the officers who made the experiments. He disputed 3 with a famous philosopher, in a neighbouring island, and undertook to convince him, that all persons enjoyed the earth in fair proportions; that the fact of his having once led his soldiers into ambush, was necessary, and not to be avoided; that his black charger merely pursued his own choice, when he spurred him on to battle; and other matters equally sublime and difficult to be compre hended. He also instituted an order, (the order of "The Brazen Lock,") by which a lock of brass was fixed to the noses of such of his courtiers as had done him (or the island) eminent service. Tattlisky invented a method of discovering secrets, and had a brass lock for his pains.-Jabbrousky once talked sixteen hours, without ceasing, upon the subject of the nation's prosperity, so that none of his auditors understood a word, and yet each person gave him a piece of gold coin at the conclusion of his oration. This made a good deal of noise at court, and Jabbrousky was decreed to have merited two brass locks, which were fixed to his nose without delay. (He grew supercilious, unhappily, on the instant.) Ferretz had a lock for destroying all the rats in the island of Kemlin; but it must be observed that there was some murmuring at the bestowal of this reward. Cajolem, who negotiated (in disguise) with some of the principal people at Naplitz, received a brazen lock, and was publicly complimented by Fodor for his conduct. He returned an answer three hours long, which was applauded by every one who remained awake at the conclusion. And thus lived on the great and gallant Fodor, admired by the fair, and worshipped by the great; the envy of princes whom he excelled, and abused by those who were more powerful. One man wished for his figure, another for his strength, a third under-rated his abilities, and a fourth his honours. No one could enjoy higher distinctions. For the space of four years he reigned without an interval of war, receiving his taxes, and collecting his tribute on the seas,-drinking Greek and Cyprus wines, smoking cigars, shooting, riding, sailing, feasting, and making compliments and love ;-a model for any prince, from the source to the mouth of the Danube,-provided he professes the Catholic religion, and is not too wise to gain improvement from example. TO THE SUN. BY BERNARD BARTON. MONARCH of day! once piously adored Of the delightful lyre, or dreadful bow; As it once was, regarded as divine; Nor blood of victims at thine altar flow, Nor clouds of incense hover round thy shrine ; Yet fitly may'st thou claim the homage of the Nine. Nor can I deem it strange, that in past ages Men should have knelt and worship'd thee;-that kings, Have turn'd to thee, whose visible glory flings Had dawn'd, and given to thought sublimer wings, That nations should obey, and nature own thy right. For man was then, as now he is, compell'd, By conscious frailties manifold, to seek Something to worship. In the heart, unquell'd By innate evil, thoughts there are which speak One language in Barbarian Goth, or Greek; A language by itself well understood, Proclaiming man is helpless, frail, and weak, And urging him to bow to stone, or wood ;Till what his hands had form'd, his heart revered as good. Do I commend idolatry?—O no! I merely would assert-the human heart Must worship:-that its hopes and fears will go In search of somewhat, which its own fond art, Of Revelation, brings,-to assuage the smart Can it be wondrous, then, before the name Of the ETERNAL GOD was known, as now, No, it was natural, in those darker days, ́ Shaping thee forth a form to accept their prayer or praise. Even I, majestic orb! who worship not The splendour of thy presence, who controul My present feelings, as thy future lot Is painted to the vision of my soul, When final darkness, like an awful scroll, Shall quench thy fires:—even I, if I could kneel To aught but Him who framed this wondrous whole, Emotions-words alone can hope not to reveal. For thou art glorious!-when, from thy pavilion, Through glittering mist; opening each dew-gemm'd flower; Its spiral wreaths of smoke, that upwards tower ;— And more magnificent art thou, bright sun! Thy beams pervade the heavens, and o'er them shed Making among the clouds mute, glorious pageantry. Then, then how beautiful, across the deep, The eye unsated, in its own despite, Still up that vista gazes; till thy way Over the waters, seems a path-way bright For holiest thoughts to travel, there to pay Their homage unto HIм who bade thee "RULE THE DAY. And thou thyself, forgetting what thou art, Appear'st thy Maker's temple, in whose dome The silent worship of the expanding heart May rise, and seek its own eternal home: The intervening billows' snowy foam, Rising successively, seem steps of light, E'en as the heavenly host, in vision bright, Once did on Bethel's plain, before the Patriarch's sight. Nor are thy evening splendours, mighty orb! When, watchful of thy exit, the pale star Comes forth; and, softer than the soft guitar, The whispering breezes sigh, and take of thee their leave. O! then it is delightful to behold Thy calm departure; soothing to survey VOL. IV. To seek in narrative a livelier theme: These think, perchance, the poet does but dream, Their quiet unobtrusiveness supplies, Insipid judge his taste, his simple strain despise. Enough there are who love such themes as these, I neither wish to fire the heart, nor freeze; But seek their praise alone, whom gentler thoughts can please. Yet if the quiet study of the heart, And humble love of nature's every grace Have not deceived me ;-these have power to impart In every bosom :-he who learns to trace, Through all he sees, that Hand which form'd the whole, And, contemplating fair Creation's face, Feels her calm beauty in his inmost soul, Can read those mystic lines thought only can unrol. Nature is lavish of her loveliness, Until that loveliness, if not denied, Becomes a theme, which, whoso would express, With cold indiff'rence from the scene, and yet O! I have gazed upon thee-with intent, And silent ardour, till I could have deem'd The clouds which compass'd thee, by thee besprent With glory, as thy brightness through them gleam'd,— Beautiful in themselves-with beautiful visions teem'd. And I have look'd at them-until the story Of BUNYAN'S Pilgrims seem'd a tale most true :How he beheld their entrance into glory And saw them pass the pearly portal through ; Catching, meanwhile, a beatific view Of that bright city-shining like the sun, Whose glittering streets appear'd of golden hue, Were walking, robed-with palms-and crowned every one! Not that the soul's divine imaginings Can rest in glories palpable to sense; Not robes, palms, crowns, nor harps of golden strings, Yet check'd by awe, and humble diffidence, Was by mild virtue gain'd, and sway'd with gentle art. |
