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
Back to the caves, where, robed in garments dun,

Silence and sadness ever more abide,
And rocky portals bar the beating tide

Of heaven-descended light. So flew the mien
Of Ernest's tranced soul, when to his side.

A spirit bent, in lessening distance seen,
All radiant as the face of night's ethereal queen.

Gay roses twined around her snowy brow,

And blooming cheeks reflected back their hue.
Now played her parted lips with smiles, and now

The stamp of thought to deeper impress grew,
As all the scenes of earth broke on her view;

Scenes—where glad joy shares throne with dismal pain
Then fell her song, as falls the crystal dew,

When evening comes with all her shadowy train, And winds and waters mingle in a murmuring strain.

SONG.

I've left my home in the far off sky,

Where the stars are shining bright,
And, on wings of air, I have sped my way

O'er a pathway paved with light.
For the smiling world, with its wooing voice,

Was calling me below,
While day went by, and night approuched

With her footsteps calm and slow.

I saw thee lie 'neath the oaken tree,

Where flow the waters clear;
I heard the song which a spirit breathed

To your fixed and ravished ear.
I knew that voice with its cadence soft,

To your deepest heart would creep,
Like a vision blent, in the stilly night,

With the stealthy charm of sleep.

I know the place where the spirit dwells;

'Tis in a shady bower;
She dwells alone, and she has no one

Who may lighten a heavy hour.

Her cheek is pale, and her eye is wet

From the bitter fount of tears,
And sighs escape from her heaving breast,

For her heart is full of fears.

But often she flies to the earth alone ;

She hushes the rising sigh,
She tries to change for a cheerful look

Her sad and tearful eye ;
She tunes her voice to a pensive lay,

Which is wasted on the gale,
And the hearts of some are lured away

By the fair, deceitful tale.

Beware! beware how thou trust her word

And follow her commands.
She bids thee hie to some quiet place,

And there exhaust life's sands,
Far, far removed from the busy world,

With toil and turmoil rife.
But list to me, and I'll try to tell

Of a better, nobler life.

I flew this morn from the spirit world,

To a far-off heathen land;
I saw a child in its mother's arms,

On the white and wave-washed strand.
A monster huge, from the foaming deep

To the surface slowly rose,
When lo! the child, from her clasping arms,

The mother quickly throws.
One cry is all, and the harmless babe

Is a feast to the monster wild.
I stood by the mother and asked her why

She thus should slay her child.
She beat her breast with her trembling hand,

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.
I saw the sot, as he reeled along

By the side of rich and proud.
I saw that one whose league is made

With the fearful sovereign-Death;
And she stained the cheek of the modest girl,

With her sin-polluted breath.

I entered the door of a falling hut,

In a dark and lonely street,
And beheld the form of a dying man,

With a fair child at his feet.
The rest were gone to a land of peace,

Above the bright, blue sky,
And they were left in the gloomy hut,

Alone to starve and die.
I entered the mansion of wealth and pride,

And trode its spacious halls;
I saw a man, arrayed in gold,

Who heeded not mercy's calls.
He did not care for the dying poor,

Nor the prayer of sin and woe;
He forgot that all were his brethren here,

The high-born and the low.

I saw a youth 'neath an oaken tree,

His mind in fancy's bowers.
I heard him say that the noisy world

Should ne'er command his powers ;
But, in loneliness and solitude,

He would pass a tranquil life,
For, far from the scenes of the busy world,

With toil and turmoil rifo.

Oh! rouse thee! rouse from the dreamy sleep,

And hear the world's loud call!
It comes, it comes from the heathen land,

Fast bound in error's thrall.
It comes from the land of the tyrant's sway,

And from the weary slave;
From the guilty, who yield to their deadly lusts,

At the verge of the very grave.
Oh ! listen not to the siren tongue,

Which bids thee linger here ;
But haste to war, with thine armor on,

And thy heart fast closed to fear.

Go forth, as an angel of light from heaven,

Who dost love thy fallen race;
And thy name shall then have right to claim

With noble names a place.

The fires which glowed upon the far-off West

Had flickered and gone out, save one bright spark,
Which shone like jewel on a virgin breast.

Hovered the shades like sprites all grim and stark
Round forests whispering through their mazes dark.

Ernest awoke from out his happy trance,
Wet with the tear-like dews of heaven. And hark !

O'er slumbering lake, and mead, and grove, there dance
The tones which tell how fast the hours of night advance.

ECCLESIASTICAL ARCHITECTURE.

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

VOL. XI.