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position, and only to raise it on its reaching the area. Fontana had the happiness of seeing his project accepted; though under certain circumstances, which, occurring at that juncture, had so seriously brought him under the pope's displeasure, that, had a failure in the enterprise ensued, it would in all probability have entailed the forfeiture of his life. Confident in his own resources, his exaltation however, was at first somewhat diminished by the adjunction of two colleagues, Jacques della Porta, and Bartelemi Annanati, nominated by Sixtus V, for concurrent assistance in the work; but consequent upon the event of the before mentioned circumstances, it was ultimately decreed, that Fontana should alone risk an attempt, of which he should alone receive the glory. would be impossible to detail in this brief biographical sketch, all the processes employed by the architect to dislodge, remove, and raise a mass of eight hundred million pounds weight; it suffices to state, that Fontana employed not less than between eight and nine hundred workmen, and one hundred and forty horses. He commenced by lowering the obelisk; they then proceeded to raise it five palms from the ground. This they succeeded doing, in the sight of an immense crowd, to which a vigorous silence was prescribed, under pain of the most severe punishment. The sound of a trumpet, upon a signal being given by the architect, regulated all the movements, and that of bells, the periods for repose. The obelisk was brought upon St. Peter's Place, extended horizontally upon four rollers. The next operation necessary, was to raise it upon its pedestal, and at length upon the 10th of September, 1586, the day upon which the Duke de Piney Luxembourg, ambassador of Henry Quattre, made his entry into Rome, Fontana effected the completion of this prodigious undertaking. The operation had commenced at day-break, and was finished in fifty-two successive essays by sunset. One must be penetrated with the same enthusiasm, felt by the inhabitants of Rome, for the arts in general, and for whatever tends to enhance the magnificence of the Eternal City, to form an idea of the transports and exclamations, which recompensed Fontana for his labours. His workmen carried him in triumph upon their shoulders, amid the clangour of drums and trumpets. Sixtus V. was no less

sensible of the success of such an undertaking; the most important and imposing

of any which had been accomplished under his pontificate. He caused two medals to be struck in memory of the event; ennobled Fontana, and created him a knight of the golden spur. To these honours he further added more solid recompense: he caused five thousand gold crowns to be paid him, and bestowed upon him a pension of two thousand crowns, with reversion to his heirs. Fontana had likewise all the carpenteringwork and materials, which alone produced him no less a sum than twenty thousand Roman crowns.

FAUST'S REPLY,

ON MARGARET INQUIRING, if he BELIEVED IN GOD.

(For the Parterre.)

Oh who can name Him? And who dare avow,

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'I do believe in Him?"
Or who shall now,
Possessing feeling, dare,
Presumptuously declare,
That he believeth not?
The All-enfolding!
The All-upholding!
Encompasses, sustains not he
Thee-me-His own divinity?
Doth not the mighty vaulted sky
Stretch its wide arch around, on high?
Doth not the quiet earth below
Lie stedfast? and the solemn flow
Of twinkling stars eternally arise,
Cheering with friendly light the bound-
less skies?

And are we not e'en now,
'Gaging love's gentle vow,
Deep in each other's eyes?
Doth not all this come crowding o'er
thee,

Filling thine head and heart,
Weaving in mysteries around thee,
Not with thee-not apart?
Let then thine heart, big as it is,
With these emotions fill,-

And when thou'rt flowing o'er with
bliss,

Then name this mystic thrill,
And, as thou wilt, say it is joy,-
Or heart, or love,-
Or call it-God-
No name can I employ,-
'Tis feeling that is all in all,-
Name, is but sound's void flow
Or vapour, with its misty thrall
Inshrouding Heaven's glow.
25th Nov. 1836.

CAROLUS.

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I would that my words be not like the stone cast in the river-which makes a noise, sinks, and is forgotten."

"What do you mean?"

"Have I not piled the venison in your lodge-killed the buffaloes whose skins form your couch?"

"Toshe-yes," she murmured, "but it is because you left them there; ask no favours for your gifts; take them back if you feel sorry you gave them. The father and brothers of Om-pay-too can kill deer and carry enough skins to the trader to feed and deck her in beads and ribbands."

"I was not asking for what I gave you; I was but telling Om-pay-too that my heart was sore and that she can cure it. Have I not helped you when our people journeyed, and made music on the cha-ton-kah the livelong night while you slept, and still Om-pay-too loves me not!"

"I do love you," returned the maid, fervidly; but still with such a rigid coldness in her beautiful countenance as almost contradicted her words; "but there are others I love more; yes, Ahkitch-e-tah, more than myself." "Who are they?" anxiously demanded the youth, seizing her hands in his with convulsive grasp.

"My people," answered she, withdrawing her hands, while the soulkindled fire of enthusiasm illumined her features. "My people," she repeated; "the graves of my fathers-the bones of the warriors and braves who have passed away but are not forgotten. Om-pay-too is the daughter of a chief; the blood of her father fills her veins, the heart of her father beats in her bosom, and one must do more than hunt, more than blow music, ere she will share his wigwam and be the mother of his children."

"What else do you ask," cried the youth, as if determined to surmount every obstacle in the way of possessing her. "Am I not a brave, a warrior? The skunk's skin hangs at my knee. I

am called Ah-kitch-e-tah, the soldier,' for my deeds, and three scalps hang in my wigwam?"

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Yes, alas!" sighed the girl; "but from whose heads were they taken? men whose skin was red-redder," she said, emphatically, "than yours; whose forefathers smoked the pipe of peace at the same fire with my forefathers; go, take down your trophies, rub your face with black, and mourn for the red-men you have slain."

Her lover looked on her as she spoke, and the eager glance with which he answered her last words seemed to demand, "what further shall I do ?"

But searching into his innermost soul she kept her eyes immovably on his, nor vouchsafed him a reply.

"Speak," entreated he; "tell me what more to perform."

"That," she answered sternly, "to make me proud of the father of my children! I love you, Ah-kitch-e-tah; but I repeat, I am a chief's daughter, and he that weds me must make himself a warrior of renown."

The young man eyed her in surprise, and bethought that her brain must wander.

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'Om-pay-too's words are like a muddy lake," said he, "through which the bottom cannot be seen.'

"She will tell you her meaning-the Great Spirit gave me a dream last night, and I saw a young doe which ran through the woods; it went here and there wherever it chose; its father and mother played by its side, and the flock of its relations roamed where they pleased; then I felt glad and wished that I was the doe. But after a while a herd of wolves came and drove the poor fawn and its relations away to-day and farther to-morrow and still farther next day, and every evening when the sun went to sleep, they were more distant from the spot it found them in the morning; and there was a young buck kept at the side of the doe; he wanted to marry her; but her heart was sad, and she drooped more and more as they journeyed on. One night the Great Spirit visited her in a dream and told her what to do, then she arose while all were asleep and took out her heart and cut it in seven pieces and tied it on to the foreheads of seven of her foes who lived nearest to her."

The youth clasped his hands, a thrill of agony shook his frame, the big tear stood in his eye, but she continued

"The next day when the buck asked her to marry, go, get my heart,' said

she, if you wish to keep it.' Ha! are the words of my mouth now like muddy water, or is the head of Ah-kitch-e-tah like the brow of the buffalo, which nothing can penetrate?"

And as she leaned toward him, a fierce laugh burst from her lips, a wild fire from her eye.

The warrior started, and struck his hand heavily on his heart as he cried, "They are my friends!"

"Om-pay-too," she answered calmly, with a sneer, "asks nothing, bids nothing. The hands of her father and her brothers, which have been dipped elbowdeep in Sac blood, can do all the Sioux girl asks; the foolish girl gave the preference to Ah-kitch-e-tah, who said his heart was sore; let him add, whose heart is weak,'

"Hear me! hear me!" gasped the youth, imploringly; "when I had nothing to eat, they fed me, when I was dying, their big medicine cured me-'

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"The man who steals your wigwam, the very spot on which it stands," inter

rupted she, stamping her foot with indignation; may give you a stick of wood out of it without hurting himself. But I must go," she added, raising her hands to her temples, and making a semicircular motion about her head with each, "THEY must hang here when Ompay-too is a bride!" and her startling

shriek broke the silence of the forest.

CHAPTER II.

Three days have passed; it is morning the sun is rising, his golden disk just visible; a number of skin lodges form dusky spots on the small plain thickly enclosed by trees and undershrub, nearly impervious to all but the natives of those wilds.

Hark! a noise breaks on the silence, the bushes yield, the heavy dew plashes from the agitated trees, and Ah-kitch-etah stands before the wigwam of his bride.

A fiendish smile is on his face, his body naked and clotted with blood, his hair dishevelled and matted with human gore; from a wound in his arm oozes a crimson current; but he heeds it not; a joy which none but the savage can know beams in his looks; he comes to claim his bride, and his eagle eye is on the savage trophies which are to wreath her brow.

CHAPTER III.

"Now," cried she in the ecstasy of delight, "Om-pay-too is the wife of the soldier;' she looks handsome and worthy

of the warrior who has bound her head with seven fair-haired scalps, the scalps of her enemies, the enemies of her people."

And as she spoke the dance continued, the whoop of victory rent the air; the scalps fastened on the poles were waved aloft, then trampled under foot.

Still the wild song of revenge was heard the chorus of savage mirth rang on the new-born day-the fierce yell of triumph echoed up to heaven.

CHAPTER IV.

When the excitement of the dance was over, when the bride slept in her night rested on all, Ah-kitch-e-tah rose new wigwam and the chill darkness of from the nuptial-bed and sought the outskirts of the wood; a deep gloom pervaded his mind and his haggard cheek told a tale of grief as he looked on the smouldering ruin of the trader's mansion. He reflected that those people, though white, had saved his life, had protected his people from the frosts of winter, and

in reward he had fired their house;

his single arm had torn the scalps from

the mother, the father and their children, and this to gratify a squaw who loved revenge better than she did him, who thirsted for blood more than for his affection, and his soul sickened as he listened to the crackling of the

tenement before him, and recollected that he, though an Indian woman's child, was the son of a white man; the tears

of too late repentance rush from his eyes, a groan of misery burst from his breast. bride awoke at the report of a rifle, and He flew back to his lodge-when the the dead body of the half-bred rolled at

her feet!

J. R. B. G.

THE DISMAL MAN.

(For the Parterre.)

"The sun's eye had a sickly glare, The earth with age was wan." CAMPBELL.

JEREMIAH NIGHTSHADE was born in a dull, back street in London, just at daybreak, before the fires were lighted, one thick, foggy, raw, chilly, damp, drizzly, utterly comfortless November morning. The dismal appearance of the world, when he first popped his head into it, made such an impression upon him, that he never got the better of it; and as he grew up, he still continued to look at every thing in a very bad light. All

matters; great and small, presented themselves to his vision through a hazy and discoloured atmosphere. This earth he regarded as a huge store - house of sorrows, troubles, trials, and tribulations; and his ideas concerning the next were not by any means of a comfortable character.

Jeremiah Nightshade was never known to smile. He used to look in the dictionary for the meaning of "cheerfulness," and words of a similar import; and as for laughter, he regarded it as a singular and most extraordinary natural phenomenon - a strange affection -a spasmodic contraction of the facial muscles a distressing and dangerous convulsion; and he was wont to say, that if people generally were only aware of the number of their species that had gone off in laughing hysterics, they would be a little more cautious how they gave way to such a senseless and unaccountable propensity.

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Jeremiah's face was very long, and of a most funereal aspect. He undoubtedly belonged to the very extensive family of the "Croakers," but yet he was a good deal unlike the vulgar body of that disagreeable brotherhood. He was not morose or splenetic, or ill-natured, but simply lugubrious, sad, mournful, melancholy, and most unduly impressed Iwith the calamities of existence. He was no raven-he desired not to croak evil tidings in order to make others unhappy, but naturally and unconsciously infected them with unhappiness, if his humour could be so styled. His horror of anything like a merriment or jocularity, was much of the same morbid character as that of the old gentleman in Ben Jonson's "Silent Woman,' whose dislike of noise is so excessive, that all his servants have to answer him by signs, and creep about the house in felt shoes. Having nothing on earth to think about or trouble him in reality, he was, therefore, troubled at all things. Property in the funds to the amount of 50007., besides ten shares in that capital speculation, "The London Cemetery Company," relieved him from the necessity of struggling against physical wants and difficulties; and the consequence was, that he had full time and leisure to nourish and indulge his mental malady, which had latterly increased to such an extent, that all in the neighbourhood, troubled with an exuberance of spirits, were invariably recommended by their friends to go and take a dose of Nightshade.

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Jeremiah was somewhat of a literary turn. His library was not extensive certainly, but then it was grave and solid. Nothing light or trivial, or amusing, was admitted there: "Young's Night Thoughts," Hervey's Reflections among the Tombs," "Dodd's Prison Thoughts," "Drelincourt on Death," (without Dr. Johnson's Ghost Story), "Blair's Grave," with other works of a similar character, a few volumes of shipwrecks and remarkable calamities, "Buchan's Domestic Medicine," Harrison's Diseases of the Human Form," &c. &c., made up the staple of his light literature; and never was he more pleasantly or tranquilly unhappy, than when seated over one of those enlivening volumes on a dull, dreary evening, with the rain pattering monotonously on the almost deserted street, the silence of which remained unbroken, except by the hollow knocking at, and opening and closing, of an occasional door, as some shivering citizen sought shelter for the night in his humble domicile. This suited him exactly, and was what he termed sober and rational enjoyment.

Mr. Nightshade lodged in a house rented by a worthy clock and watchmaker of the name of Phillips. This man was just the antipodes of Nightshade. He was not unlike a bottle of ginger pop; his body being somewhat of the shape of that particular kind of bottle, and his spirits full as light, brisk, and airy, as the pleasant beverage contained therein. He arose early and worked late, in order to provide for seven matrimonial tokens which his wife (an industrious woman as it would appear) had presented him with, and he sang and whistled all the time he worked. The shadow of care never fell upon him, except indeed when he came in contact and entered into conversation with Mr. Nightshade. This did him good in some shape. It had a sedative effect, allaying the effervescence of his spirits; it regulated him; for his great fault was that he did every thing in a hurry, and his time-pieces, like himself, went rather too fast. And as might be expected, Jeremiah and he regarded one another as prodigies. They could not at all account for each other.

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at," soliloquised Jeremiah a dozen times a day, as the hearty laugh of the man of watches ever and anon startled him in the midst of some dismal speculation.

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"It is awfully thoughtless of him considering that he has a wife and seven children and provisions on the rise too!" But Phillips was not a man of thought-he was a man of action. He did his best for to-day, and took no heed of to-morrow: his faith in being provided for was immense. With Jeremiah, on the contrary, coming events" invariably "cast their shadows before," and most gloomy and sombre shadows they were. He was ever "perplexed with fear of change :"-" doubt and scruples shook him strongly." We are told from high authority that we are all made of clay, yet it was really rather puzzling to think how such two very different kinds of animals as those, could have been constructed out of any thing like the same materials.

A favourite morning employment of Jeremiah's, was to gain admission into the different church-yards of the metropolis, and edify himself by reading the inscriptions upon the tombstones. He had been twice apprehended on suspicion of being a resurrectionist on the lookout, yet he could not resist the temptation of visiting those congenial spots; and this it was that principally induced him to become such an extensive purchaser of shares in the "London Cemetery Company," in order that being a proprietor, he might follow the bent of his humour undisturbed. After impregnating himself with grave aphorisms and sepulchral reflections, he would return moping home to dinner, when as he had to pass through the shop of the whistling, singing, care-defying watch-maker, the tenor of his thoughts would be interrupted by some such strain as—

"Come lads, life's a whirligig.

Round we whisk

With a joyous frisk,

And till death stops the turn of our twirligig.
Merry go down's the life for me!"
"Eh! Mr. Nightshade. Live and
laugh-that's my motto.'

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"And a very foolish motto it is, allow me to impress upon you Mr. Phillips-more especially for a man of your years. You cannot in the course of nature expect to live long! Really you astonish me. I should think the awful reflections that your employment must naturally generate, would—”

"Awful reflections!"

every tick of the watch in your hands remind you that you are hastening to the worms? I should think every stroke of the clocks around you would be a warning! Why sir, you are five minutes nearer your grave since I entered this very shop!"

Jeremiah having just been five minutes in the said shop, the truth of his assertion was undeniable.

"Lord Mr. Nightshade, I never think of such things. All I want is to make and sell as many watches as will provide for my wife and young ones, God bless them!"

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Really Mr. Phillips you're as happy and as thoughtless as a child. It is very unbecoming-very; I will lend you Drelincourt on Death."

"La! Mr. Nightshade," cried Mrs. Phillips from the inner shop-"how you talk! You should get a wife and a parcel of young merry faces round you, and then you would have no time for such dismal fancies."

This was too bad of Mrs. Phillips. The mere idea of Jeremiah being the progenitor of "merry" faces was most preposterous.

"A wife!" groaned Jeremiah, as he seated himself in his solitary apartment"a wife! What to do? To have a light, gadding, giggling, flirting, fantastical thing, disturbing, and perplexing my solemn thoughts, day and night! To find myself tied to a shrew-a vixen

perchance worse! Children! noisy incumbrances, that might grow up monsters of iniquity, and end their days upon a scaffold! Children that might have a legal and not a natural claim upon me! Oh! the contingencies of marriage are fearful!-No, no-no wife, no wife!"

How short sighted are mortals-how Six irresistible is the passion of love. weeks after his anti-matrimonial soliloquy, Mr. Nightshade found himself a married man.

The thing came about in this way. A widow lady of the name of Starling took lodgings next door to Mrs. Phillips. Mrs. Phillips and her were not long in patching up a sort of womankind friendship or acquaintainship; the visible manifestation of which, was, that they now and then went and drunk tea out of

each other's cups. It so fell out, that at one of those hyson or souchong meet"Yes, awful reflections! Does not ings at the house of Mrs. P., Mr. Night

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