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of priests, coming aboard to do such part of their duty as lay in the command, “honor the king ;” and mounting a hat box, which was convenient, I tranquilly awaited the result.
Onward they came in their robes, a long line like Banquo's issue, till the eye, wearied with their number, and from the regard with which our magnate considered them, only their number prohibited me from thinking that, like Banquo, he might “claim them for his own"-subject, of course, to a small mortgage by the devil. They threw themselves upon him and eagerly kissed his cheeks, his hands, or his coat sleeves, as opportunity offered, and relationship favored the selection, till exhausted by so much attention, the Prince dexterously released one hand, and lifting his hat, gave the signal to “come to order”—just as I was making the discovery that my rostrum had given way, or in other words, that I had gone through the hat box, which, for the sake of inquiring friends, I will state was empty—that is, till it held my leg.
While extricating myself from this “durance vile," I observed the gentleman with gold lace round his cap, whom my friend had mistaken for Purser's clerk, in his call for his toddy, smiling facetiously and slowly enunciating the word biglietto, which I understood to correspond to our expression of “ ticket, sir ?” Now my ticket happened to be in the possession of a certain Don Carlo, who, in spite of my stewards polite prefix to his name, figured in the capacity of courier to myself, and who, for the sake of fresh air and a small reduction in price, was at that moment on the forward deck. As I perceived no method of communicating with him, and il capitano appeared in a hurry, I did as well as I could, and gave what I thought, considering his connection with the great waters, should not offend him, which was-my last wash bill. It was neatly folded and resembled a “ ticket” as much as any thing, so that he bowed, took it, and I heard nothing more of it till my servant, on the production of the genuine biglietto at my order, demanded, in return, the proof I wasn't clear on credit.
I was next saluted by a man in English, who asked me whether I was an American, and on my answering him in the affirmative, addressed me as follows:-"You gum to my o’tel--I ave gabital o'tel--one Signore Americans die in my o’tel tree day ago. I know de Consule, he live pres to my o'tel. You gum--boat take you subitisimo-ab you de pasaporto ?" Fortunately, at this interesting crisis my valet interposed, and marshaling the way led me into a small edition of what had just afforded me so much merriment; where, after waiting about twenty minutes, while my passport was being made over, a new one made out, a permission to debark brought, and my luggage brought on board, we at length spread something white and pointed our head toward the opposite shore. What followed our arrival must be delayed to another chapter.
THE TWO SPIRITS.
(Concluded from page 13.)
Shades crouch and fly before the orient sun;
The dreamy mists, in grim battalions glide
Silence and sadness ever more abide,
Of heaven-descended light. So flew the mien
A spirit bent, in lessening distance seen,
Gay roses twined around her snowy brow,
And blooming cheeks reflected back their hue.
The stamp of thought to deeper impress grew,
Scenes—where glad joy shares throne with dismal pain
When evening comes with all her shadowy train, And winds and waters mingle in a murmuring strain.
I've left my home in the far off sky,
Where the stars are shining bright,
O'er a pathway paved with light.
Was calling me below,
With her footsteps calm and slow.
I saw thee lie 'neath the oaken tree,
Where flow the waters clear;
To your fixed and ravished ear.
To your deepest heart would creep,
With the stealthy charm of sleep.
I know the place where the spirit dwells;
'Tis in a shady bower;
Who may lighten a heavy hour.
Her cheek is pale, and her eye is wet
From the bitter fount of tears,
For her heart is full of fears.
But often she flies to the earth alone ;
She hushes the rising sigh,
Her sad and tearful eye ;
Which is wasted on the gale,
By the fair, deceitful tale.
Beware! beware how thou trust her word
And follow her commands.
And there exhaust life's sands,
With toil and turmoil rife.
Of a better, nobler life.
I flew this morn from the spirit world,
To a far-off heathen land;
On the white and wave-washed strand.
To the surface slowly rose,
The mother quickly throws.
Is a feast to the monster wild.
She thus should slay her child.
And the tears flowed down her cheek; She said, 'twas not that she hated it,
But the smile of God to seek.
Away I flew, o'er the azure sea,
To the land where a tyrant reigns. I saw the poor by his power crushed down,
And stript of their hard-earned gains. I saw the slave, at his cruel task,
Beneath a driver's eye, I saw the grief which oppressed his heart,
And heard his deep-drawn sigh.
I turned my steps to a city fair,
And mingled with its crowd.
By the side of rich and proud.
With the fearful sovereign-Death;
With her sin-polluted breath.
I entered the door of a falling hut,
In a dark and lonely street,
With a fair child at his feet.
Above the bright, blue sky,
Alone to starve and die.
And trode its spacious halls;
Who heeded not mercy's calls.
Nor the prayer of sin and woe;
The high-born and the low.
I saw a youth 'neath an oaken tree,
His mind in fancy's bowers.
Should ne'er command his powers ;
He would pass a tranquil life,
With toil and turmoil rifo.
Oh! rouse thee! rouse from the dreamy sleep,
And hear the world's loud call!
Fast bound in error's thrall.
And from the weary slave;
At the verge of the very grave.
Which bids thee linger here ;
And thy heart fast closed to fear.
Go forth, as an angel of light from heaven,
Who dost love thy fallen race;
With noble names a place.
The fires which glowed upon the far-off West
Had flickered and gone out, save one bright spark,
Hovered the shades like sprites all grim and stark
Ernest awoke from out his happy trance,
O'er slumbering lake, and mead, and grove, there dance
It is an original principle of our nature, which leads us to consecrate shrines and temples to the Deities whom we worship, and to lavish upon them all the beauty which our skill can command. In the most savage state of society, we behold men throwing together rude heaps of stone upon which to offer sacrifice to their uncouth idols; and passing on among civilized nations, we see hill and valley crowned for the same object, with stately structures, rich in dome, and portico, and colonnade, and adorned with the most beautiful conceptions of the painter and the sculptor.
As this spirit was implanted within us at our very creation, so it is among the most pure and lofty feelings of which we are conscious. What object more noble, more appropriate to man as an immortal being, can be imagined, than the rearing of temples which shall be fit habita. tions for the God of the Universe ; in massive solidity typical of His unending life ; in solemn grandeur of His ineffable majesty ? When we look upon it in this light, sacred Architecture rises to an eminence and a dignity far above that to which any other art has attained. It fills us with the most exalted ideas of the nature of worship, withdraws our imagination from low and polluting objects, and carries it upward and onward to the great Divinity. Let us endeavor, therefore, to catch a few occasional glimpses of its progress during the various periods of its history.
If we look first at that primæval nation, the Hebrews, we shall find that the temple of religion among them far surpassed in magnificence the most celebrated structures of ancient or modern times. As we read the description of it in Holy Writ, we can almost see it rise up before us in its pristine grandeur, flashing in the sunbeams with gold, and marble, and jewels innumerable, and dazzling the eye of the beholder with an almost etherial beauty. To the Jew it was something more