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Beneath these deep pathetic eyes
Which closed in death, to save him !
“ Thus! oh, not thus ! no type of earth
Could image that awaking,
Of seraphs, round him breaking-
Of soul from body parted;
• My Saviour! not deserted !
“ Deserted! who hath dreamt that when
The cross in darkness rested,
No love was manifested?
The atoning drops averted-
That one should be deserted ?
“ Deserted ! God could separate
From his own essence rather:
The righteous Son and Father-
His universe hath shaken-
· My God, I am forsaken!'
" It went up from the Holy's lips
Amid his lost creation,
These words of desolation;
Should mar not hope's fruition;
His rapture, in a vision !".
More to the mind than to the eye-or rather to some perception belonging to all the senses—is manisested the change that steals over nature towards the to-fall of the day-such change as is now going on among the moun. tains, and informis us, who have been taking no heed of time, of the very hour, which we could name within a few minutes as surely as if there were a clock to look at in the niche above our head. Is that the murmur of insects or of the sea ? That hoarser noise, till now inaudible, is of the cataract behind the castle, and it tells of cliffs.
The small loch is smaller in shadow-has lost much of its expression--and ceased almost to be beautiful; but the solemnity of the mountain ranges, lying far and wide in the blue haze that precedes the twilight, attracts the eyes of a spirit desirous of the calm momently settling deeper and deeper on them all—the uniting calm of earth and heaven.
Strange and sad to say, but it is the truth-seldom during all this long lonely day-only then when writing down a few words concerning them-have we thought of them whom we visited in the castle-last time we were there—and who so soon afterwards were dust! To-night we shall go to the old burial-place, and sit by their tomb.
Like subterranean music the noise of the bagpipe comes from the castle to our cave. That oldest of Celts—no raven can be his contemporary—is now strutting like a turkey. cock with his tail up, to and fro on the esplanade-blow. ing out from below his elbow - The Gathering of the Clans”-for the yacht is coming up the loch goose-winged before the wind, and Donald is saluting the advent of his chieftain, on his return from a victorious expedition into the forest against the King of the Red Deer. And there goes the gong-struck by the Hindu. An hour to dinner. time—and we must descend to our toilet-for there is to be a brilliant company this evening at the castle, and we shall show them in full fig a Lowland gentleman of the old school.
Ha! heaven bless thee! and hath our own Genevieve come again to the cave to tend our steps down the dell and across the bridges ? A kiss-not on thy lips—but on thy forehead-ample and serene! Ay—let us wreath our arm in thine and
“ Like morning brought by night,” shall be our entrance into the home of thy fathers.
ITALY AS IT WAS.
(Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 1839.)
You tell me, my dear Eusebius, that you wish to deter a young friend from going to Italy ; and therefore desire me to put on paper some of those disagreeable incidents, that when I told them to you some years ago, you thought, if published, would keep many a tourist of our comfortloving age, within the more decent bounds of our own counties, or the three kingdoms ; though I know not, but that if decency be the measure, one of the three may be omitted. In the first place, Eusebius, I greatly admire your simplicity in imagining that incidents of difficulties, annoyances, or even danger, will deter a young friend from his proposed travel. For, suppose him to be of that extremely indiscreet age at which the law of the land thinks fit to make him his own master, the prospect of encountering them will naturally so excite his youthful spirits, that he will but bid you good-by the sooner. Try the contrary method, and tell him of all the pleasures he will have to enjoy, and the chances are that none will be to his taste, and he will grow cool. There is always a disposition in youth to kick manfully at every obstacle put in its way; however pleasant a toy that which you put in their way might have appeared, before they find it out to be an obstacle, then fire and fury is in them, and the very moon looks pale lest that obstacle be kicked in her very face, so high does the spirit of indignation mount; and if you repeat this, you will surely beget in them pertinacity, which, nolens volens, will make a fool of you, (excuse, dear Eusebius, the personality,) and of themselves too. You had better let them expend their ill-timed and megrimbred desires by giving them the full scope of talk, and they will subside of themselves. Hercules would never have made the choice, if Virtue had not put the difficulties before him, and you know Pleasure was sent packing. But there is proof in matter of fact, and therefore, I give you an example. I was requested to remonstrate with a youth who had unaccountably, so his friends said, taken a whim, a fancy to enter the army, to which profession his friends had an aversion, and the youth an unfitness. It arose from their laying before him a scheme of life, it being then about the time he should finish his course at the university. They dwelt upon the country Elysium of a quiet parsonage, how easy would be his progress through the university ; but unfortunately they did not stop there, but dwelt in much detail upon the dangers, disgusts, horrors, and turmoils of the several other professions, and particularly of the army. Would you believe it, the gentle youth, who never had a hand to grasp a sword, a heart to shed blood, or a head for “plots and stratagems” whom nature had gifted like the cat with domesticity, and to purr out his quiet happiness at a parsonage hearth, with his infant cherub saces about him, copies of his own and their mother's tenderness,--this lamb of men decides upon acting the tiger, and nothing will go down with him but the army. Letters of remonstrance passed in quick succession : this only made the matter worse, or rather made it what it was, a temporary fever ; and in this state I was requested to remonstrate with him. But I took care to do no such thing. I talked it over with him, and, assuming that he had chosen that profession, I spoke of the glory of it, and thence gently let down the talk into the requisites for it, and questioned him, as I remembered reading that Socrates did a youth of a somewhat similar ambition.
Of course, I made him prove himself consummately ignorant in all that related to war. I questioned him upon statistics and politics, and all the mysteries of strategy generally, and in particular what I could muster up or invent. I saw some considerable shame at his own igno. rance, and the first interview ended, after he had shown up himself as unfit for the regular army, with a determi. nation to join General Evans in Spain. I reported the matter to his friends—advised them to let a little while pass, and then to authorize me to let him take his choice. They did so, and my next interview with him showed that his fever was of the ague kind, and had its hot and its cold fits. I began by lamenting, on his account, that General Evans (for so it was), would return, and receive no more volunteers--but that I had great satisfaction in assuring him, that his friends had fully acquiesced in his wishes, and that they would procure him a commission in our own army, and without doubt he would soon see military ser. vice. This was an unexpected blow to his pertinacity, for it took him in the very place where he had prepared no defence. He looked the cold fit, when he should have assumed the hot, and stammered out thanks to his friends ; but that, in fact, he had made up his mind to join General Evans in his glorious career, and of course he could not exactly yet make up his mind to fight on the other side. But he would think of it, and in a short time acquaint me with his decision. I laughed in his face, exposed to him the humbug he had been practising, perhaps upon himself, and certainly upon others, and showed him so clearly that I knew all the turnings of his own mind, that in the end he laughed too, and said, with a little remaining air of humbug, that perhaps it would be better, or at least more honourable in him now, as the case stood, in his turn to acquiesce in the wishes of his friends, and that he there. fore would make a sacrifice of his own desires to theirs. The rest is easily told. « Cedunt arma toga.”
I will furnish you, Eusebius, with another example. You know my excellent friend B. He was in lise a prac. tical philosopher, and many a delightful proof of it will I, one of these days, give you, for he loved to be open in all his thoughts and actions to his friends. Well, then, he had a son in London, in employment that brought him in a moderate income, even for a single man, but he was young, and there were hopes of progressive improvement. The youth fell in love with the daughter of the woman with whom he lodged-this was a very hot fit-and of this there is almost always sure to be a cold fit, but it comes frequently too late, when the remedy taken has proved worse than the disease. The good father had ever