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the high and the lowly of earth, the most important moral lesson that the light and darkness of this strange life can teach to tried, allured, rational yet corruptible, intellectual yet sense-involved beings the most important we are capable of giving or receiving.

The scenes, characters, and events in these dramas are, as in human life, exceedingly various, and exceedingly diversified in their degrees of moral purity or turpitude; but if they are allowed only to be such as fall really within the scope of our nature, they need no defence, for they must be full of lessons of wisdom and of stimulus to good.

THE SEVEN TEMPTATIONS.

In a gloomy chaotic region of universal space inhabited by the Spirits of Evil, who, enraged at their expulsion from heaven, still endeavoured to revenge themselves upon the justice of God, by overturning or defacing the beauty of his moral creation in the spirit of man, sate three of the lower order of Spirits. Among them was, Achzib the liar, or the runner to and fro,-a restless, ambitious spirit, who, hating good, coveted distinction among the bad.

For a long time they had sate in silence, each occupied by his own cogitations; and there is no telling how much longer they might have remained so, had not the attention of the youngest been diverted by a gloomily magnificent procession, which was dimly seen passing in the distance.

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Achzib was upon earth. He took up his abode in a famous city, and assuming the character of a philosopher, inquired out their most learned men. All told him of a poor scholar. Achzib saw him and conversed with him. He found him young, worn out with study, and as simple, unpractised and inexperienced in the ways of men as a child. This shall be my first essay, said Achzib; and accordingly, accumulating learned treatises and immeasurably long parchments of puzzling but unsound philosophy, he made his attempt. Whether Achzib or the Poor Scholar triumphed, shall be seen.

THE POOR SCHOLAR.

PERSONS.

THE POOR SCHOLAR.
ACHZIB, THE PHILOSOPHER.
THE MOTHER.
LITTLE BOY.

The Scholar's Room. - Evening.

THE POOR SCHOLAR AND LITTLE BOY.

Little Boy, reading. "These things I have spoken

"Another of the favoured ones," said he, "is this unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the day crowned!"

"Ay," replied Achzib, "it is an easy thing for some to obtain distinction! I have desired it for long; I have done services to merit it; but my merits, like my desires, are fruitless."

"Hast thou," inquired the eldest of the three, "proved the supremacy of evil? hast thou shown that we are stronger than God?”

"I have done much," said Achzib, "as ye all know!"

"But, if thou have failed to do this,' rejoined the other, "thou canst not have deserved the distinction thou desirest!"

"But that is soon done!" answered Achzib.

Not so soon!" interrupted the youngest spirit. "I have tried to prove it till I am weary; and now I unreluctantly make the confession, that though we are mighty, God is mightier than we-his mercy is stronger than our hate, his integrity than our craft!"

"I deny all this," said Achzib, "and I will prove it beyond controversy! I will directly ascend to the earth and of the human spirits whom I will tempt, I will win the greater number, if not all of them, to their ruin!"

"If thou do this," said the eldest spirit, "thou wilt indeed deserve to be crowned like him whose hon

world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." Here endeth the 16th chapter of the Gospel according to St. John. Poor Scholar. Most precious words! Now go your

way;

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The summer fields are green and bright;
Your tasks are done. Why do you stay?
Christ give his peace to you: Good night!
Boy. You look so pale, sir! you are worse;
Let me remain, and be your nurse!

Sir, when my mother has been ill,
I've kept her chamber neat and still,
And waited on her all the day!

Schol. Thank you! but yet you must not stay; Still, still my boy, before we part

Receive my blessing-'tis my last!
I feel Death's hand is on my heart,
And my life's sun is sinking fast;
Yet mark me, child, I have no fear,-
'Tis thus the Christian meets his end:
I know my work is finished here,
And God thy God too-is my friend!
The joyful course has just began;

Life is in thee a fountain strong; Yet look upon a dying man, Receive his words and keep them long!

Fear God, all-wise, omnipotent,

In him we live and have our being;
He hath all love, all blessing sent-
Creator-Father-All-decreeing!

Fear him, and love, and praise, and trust:
Yet have of man no slavish fear;
Remember kings, like thee, are dust,
And at one judgment must appear.
But virtue, and its holy fruits,

The poet's soul, the sage's sense,
These are exalted attributes;

And these demand thy reverence. But, boy, remember this, e'en then Revere the gifts, but not the men! Obey thy parents; they are given

To guide our inexperienced youth; Types are they of the One in heaven, Chastising but in love and truth! Keep thyself pure-sin doth efface

The beauty of our spiritual life:
Do good to all men-live in peace
And charity, abhorring strife!

The mental power which God has given,
As I have taught thee, cultivate;
Thou canst not be too wise for heaven,
If thou dost humbly consecrate
Thy soul to God! and ever take

In his good book delight; there lies

The highest knowledge, which will make
Thy soul unto salvation wise!
My little boy, thou canst not know
How strives my spirit fervently,
How my heart's fountains overflow
With yearning tenderness for thee!
God keep and strengthen thee from sin!
God crown thy life with peace and joy,
And give at last to enter in

The city of his rest!

My boy

Farewell-I have had joy in thee;

I go to higher joy-oh, follow me!
But now farewell!

Boy.

Kind sir, good night! I will return with morning light.

[He goes out. [The Poor Scholar sits for some time as in meditation, then rising and putting away all his books, except the Bible, he sits down again.

Life cannot comprehend thee, though thou showest
Thyself by all the functions of our life-
'Tis death- death only, which is the great teacher!
Awful instructor! he doth enter in

The golden rooms of state, and all perforce
Teach there its proud, reluctant occupant;
He doth inform in miserable dens

The locked-up soul of sordid ignorance
With his sublimest knowledge! he hath stolen
Gently, not unawares, into the chamber
Of the Poor Scholar, like a sober friend
Who doth give time for ample preparation!
He hath dealt kindly with me, giving first
Yearnings for unimaginable good,
Which the world's pleasure could not satisfy;
And lofty aspiration, that lured on

The ardent soul as the sun lures the eagle;
Next came a drooping of the outward frame,
Paleness and feebleness, and wasted limbs,
Which said, "prepare! thy days are numbered!"
And thus for months had this poor frame declined,
Wasting and wasting; yet the spirit intense
Growing more clear, more hourly confident,
As if its disenthralment had begun!

Oh, I should long to die!

To be among the stars, the glorious stars;
To have no bounds to knowledge; to drink deep
Of living fountains -to behold the wise,

The good, the glorified! to be with God,

And Christ, who passed through death that I might

live!

Oh I should long for death, but for one tie,
One lingering tie that binds me to the earth!
My mother! dearest, kindest, best of mothers!
What do I owe her not? all that is great,
All that is pure-all that I have enjoyed
Of outward pleasure, or of spiritual life,

I have derived from her! has she not laboured
Early and late for me? first through the years
Of sickly infancy- then by her toil
Maintained the ambitious scholar-overpaid
By what men said of him! Oh thou untired,
True heart of love, for thee I hoped to live;
To pay thee back thy never-spent affection;
To fill my father's place, and make thine age
As joyful as thou mad'st my passing youth!
Alas! it may not be! thou hast to weep —
Thou hast to know that sickness of the heart
Which bows it to the dust, when some unlooked-for,

Schol. Now, now I need them not, I've done with Some irremediable woe befals!

them.

I need not blind philosophy, nor dreams

Of speculating men, entangling truth
In cobweb sophistry, away with them-

One word read by that child is worth them all!
-The business of my life is finished now
With this day's work. I have dismissed the class
For the last time- I am alone with death!
To-morrow morn, they will inquire for me,
And learn that I have solved the last, great problem.
This pale, attenuate frame they may behold,
But that which loves, and hopes, and speculates,
They will perceive no more. Mysterious being!

Surely ere long thou wilt be at my side,
For I did summon thee, and thy strong love
Brooks not delay! Alas, thou knowest not
It was to die within thy holy arms

That I have asked thy presence! Oh! come, come,
Thou most beloved being, bless thy son,
And take one comfort in his peaceful death!
[A slight knocking is heard at the door
and the Philosopher enters.
Philos. Well, my young friend, I've looked in to
inquire

After your health. I saw your class depart,
And would have conference with you once again.

Schol. To-night I must decline your friendship, sir. Just tottering on eternity! Delusion,

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Pardon me, sir,

Are they not full of lofty argument
And burning eloquence? For a strong soul,
Baptized in the immortal wells of thought,
They must be glorious food!
Schol.
They are too specious; - they gloss over error
With tinsel covering which is not like truth.
Oh! give them not to young and ardent minds
They will mislead, and baffle and confound:
Besides, among the sages whom you boast of,
With their proud heathen virtues, can ye find
A purer, loftier, nobler character;

More innocent, and yet more filled with wisdom,
Fuller of high devotion- more heroic
Than the Lord Jesus-dignified yet humble;
Warring 'gainst sin, and yet for sinners dying?
Philos. Well; pass the men, what say you to the
morals?

Schol. And where is the Utopian code of morals
Equal to that which a few words set forth
Unto the Christian. "do ye so to others
As ye would they should do unto yourselves."
And where, among the fables of their poets,
Which you pretend veil the divinest truths,
Find you the penitent prodigal coming back
Unto his father's bosom; thus to show
God's love, and our relationship to him?
Where do they teach us in our many needs
To lift up our bowed, broken hearts to God,
And call him "Father?"-Leave me as I am!
I am not ignorant, though my learning lie
In this small book-nor do I ask for more!
Philos. But have you read the parchments?
Schol.
All of them.
Philos. And what impression might they make
upon you?

For knowing as I do your graceful mind,
And your profound research beyond your years,
I am solicitous of your approval.

Schol. I cannot praise-I cannot say one word
In commendation of your misspent labours.
Oh, surely it was not a friendly part
To hold these gorgeous baits before a soul

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Philos.

Enough, enough!
I see that you are spent. I have too long
Trespassed upon your time. But is there nought
That I can serve you in? Aspire you not
To win esteem by study? I will speak
Unto the primest scholars throughout Europe
In your behalf. All universities

Will heap upon you honours at my asking.

Schol. There was a time these things had been a snare;

But the near prospect of eternity

Takes from the gauds of earth their tempting'st lure;
No, no-it was a poor unmeet ambition

Which then was hot within me, and, thank God,
Affecteth me no more!

Philos.

Nay, but my friend,
For your dear mother's sake would you not leave
A noble name emblazoned on your tomb?

Schol. Can such poor, empty honours compensate Unto a childless mother for her son?

You know her not, and me you know not either! Philos. But think you, my young friend, learning is honoured

By every honour paid to its disciples:
Your tomb would be a shrine, to learning sacred.
Schol. There is more comfort, sir, unto my soul
To feel the smallest duty not neglected,
And my day's work fulfilled, than if I knew
This perishable dust would be interred
In kingly marble, and my name set forth
In pompous blazonry.

Philos.

Not to be great —
You do mistake my drift - but greatly useful;
Surely you call not this unmeet ambition!

Schol. Sir, had the will of God ordained a wider, A nobler sphere of usefulness on earth,

He would have given me strength, and health, and

power

For its accomplishment. I murmur not
That little has been done, but rather bless Him
Who has permitted me to do that little;
And die content in his sufficient mercy,
Which has vouchsafed reward beyond my merit.

Phalos. Nay, I must serve you! Let me but con- Full of redeeming knowledge, making wise

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Here have I lived-here from my boyhood lived;
These naked walls are like familiar faces,

And that poor pallet has so oft given rest

To my o'erwearied limbs, there will I die!

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Nor got by fraud, nor wrung from poverty-
God blessed the labourer while he toiled for thee,
And may'st thou bless the widow!-lie thou there-
I shall not need you more.I am departing
To the fruition of the hope of one,
And where the other cannot get admittance!
And now a few words will explain the rest:-
[He writes a few words, which he encloses
with them, and making all into a packet,
seals them up.

God comfort her poor heart, and heal its wounds,

Philos. But you do need physicians-here is gold, Which will bleed fresh when she shall break this seal.

I know the scholar's fee is scant enough!

I will go hence, and send you an attendant.

Schol. I cannot take your gold, I want it not. My sickness is beyond the aid of man;

And soon, even now, I did expect my mother.

Philos. [affecting sorrow.] My dear young friend, I

have to ask your pardon;

The letter that I promised to deliver,

I did forget - indeed I gave it not!

Schol. How have I trusted to a broken reed!
Oh mock me not with offers of your friendship,
Say not that thou would serve me!

Oh my mother-
Poor, broken-hearted one, I shall not see thee!
[He covers his face for a moment, then
rises up with sudden energy.
Whoe'er you are, and for what purpose come,
I know not-you have troubled me too long —
But something in my spirit, from the first,
Told me that you were evil; and my thought/
Has often inly uttered the rebuke,

"Get thee behind me, Satan!" Leave me now-
Leave me my lonely chamber to myself,
And let me die in peace!

[The Philosopher goes out, abashed.
The scholar falls back into his chair,
exhausted; after some time recover-
ing, he faintly raises himself.

Tis night-fall now- and through the uncurtained
window

I see the stars; there is no moon to-night.
Here then I light my lamp for the last time;
And ere that feeble flame has spent itself,
A soul will have departed!

Let me now
Close my account with life; and to affection,
And never-cancelled duty, give their rights:

[Shortly after this is done, he becomes sud

denly palera convulsive spasm passes
over him; when he recovers, he slowly
rises, and kneels upon his pallet-bed.

Schol. Almighty God! look down
Upon thy feeble servant! strengthen him!
Give him the victor's crown,

And let not faith be dim!
Oh, how unworthy of thy grace,

How poor, how needy, stained with sin!
How can I enter in

Thy kingdom, and behold thy face!
Except thou hadst redeemed me, I had gone

Without sustaining knowledge to the grave!
For this I bless thee, oh thou Gracious One,
And thou wilt surely save!

I bless thee for the life which thou hast crowned
With never-ending good;

For pleasures that were found

Like wayside flowers in quiet solitude.

I bless thee for the love that watch'd o'er me
Through the weak years of infancy,
That has been, like thine everlasting truth,"
The guide, the guardian-angel of my youth.
Oh, Thou that didst the mother's heart bestow,
Sustain it in its woe,

For mourning give it joy, and praise for heaviness!
[He falls speechless upon the bed.
His mother enters hurriedly.
Mother. Alas, my son! and am I come too late?
Oh, Christ! can he be dead?

Schol. [looking up faintly.] Mother, is't thou?
It is! who summoned thee, dear mother?
Mother. A little boy, the latest of thy class;
He left these walls at sunset, and came back
With me e'en now. He told me of thy words,

[He opens his Bible and inscribes it. And of thy pallid cheek and trembling hand ;—

This I return to thee, my dearest mother,
Thy gift at first, and now my last bequest;
And these poor earnings, dust upon the balance
Compared with the great debt I owe to thee,
Are also thine-would I had more to give!
There lie you, side by side.

Sorrowing for all, but sorrowing most because
Thou saidst he would behold thy face no more!
Schol. My soul doth greatly magnify the Lord
For his unmeasured mercies! -and for this
Great comfort, thy dear presence! I am spent-
The hand of death is on me! Ere the sun

He lays a small sum of money with the Bible. Lightens the distant mountains, I shall be
Among the blessed angels! Even now

Thou blessed book,

I see as 't were heaven opened, and a troop

Of beautiful spirits waiting my release!

talents, and friends, yet has the moments when the soul, reacting upon itself, prays to be disenthralled.

Mother. My son! my son! and thou so young, so None are retrieveless; none are utterly alien to good, wise,

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Time is done,

Joy is won,

Come to glory infinite!

Hark! the angel-songs are pealing!
Heavenly mysteries are unsealing,

Come and see, oh come and see!

Here the living waters pour,
Drink and thou shalt thirst no more,
Dweller in eternity!

No more toiling no more sadness!
Welcome to immortal gladness,

Beauty and unending youth!
Thou that hast been deeply tried,
And like gold been purified,

Come to the eternal truth!
Pilgrim towards eternity,
Tens of thousands wait for thee!
Come, come!

Achzib was surprised at the ill success of his attempt upon the Poor Scholar. He was humiliated to feel how powerfully he had been rebuked by one comparatively a youth-one who was poor, and who had so little knowledge of men. It was before the authority of virtue he had shrunk, but he had never believed till that moment, that virtue possessed such authority; and almost confounded, he walked forth from the door of the Poor Scholar into the fields that surrounded the city.

Achzib had done unwisely in making too direct an attack. The integrity of principle may be undermined, but is seldom taken by storm.

save the victim of avarice; for when did the soul, abandoned to this vice, feel misgivings? when did it feel either pity or love? or when did it do one good thing, or repent of one evil thing? It will strip without remorse, the fatherless, the widow, nay even the very sanctuary of God! Avarice is the Upas of the soul-no green thing flourishes below it, no bird of heaven flies over it; and the dew and the rain, and the virtues of the earth, become pestilential because of it! It shall be the love of gold which shall be my next temptation."

THOMAS OF TORRES.

PERSONS.

THOMAS OF TORRES.

ACHZIB, A STRANGER.

THE SECOND LORD OF TORRES.
ISABEL, A WIDOW,

AND OTHER SUBORDINATE CHARACTERS.

Time occupied, one-and-twenty years

SCENE I.

A green hill overlooking a broad valley, in the centre
of which, among a few old trees, stands a noble
mansion of grey stone; a fine lake appears in the
winding of the valley, and the hill-sides are scattered
with a few worthless old trees, the remnants of woods
which have been felled. - Thomas of Torres comes
forward, and throws himself on the grass.

Thomas. That was my home-the noble hall of
Torres !
Mine were those meadows

mine,

-

yon bright lake was
Where when a boy I fished, and swam, and hurled
Smooth pebbles o'er its surface; those green hills
Were mine, and mine the woods that clothed them-
This was my patrimony! a fair spot,
Than which this green and pleasant face of earth
Can show none fairer! With this did descend
An honourable name-the lord of Torres!
An unimpeachable and noble name,
Without a blot on its escutcheon,
Till it descended to a fool like me —

When Achzib had duly pondered upon the cause of his failure, his desire was only redoubled to make a fresh attempt. “I will neither choose a dying man, a scholar, nor one of inflexible virtue," said he, "and yet my triumph shall be signal and complete." He thought over the baits for human souls-love-A spendthrift fool, who is become a proverb! ambition-pleasure; but all these he rejected. My father was a good and quiet man"For," said he, "is not avarice more absorbingly, He wedded late in life; and I was born more hopelessly cruel than all these? The lover may The child of his old age; my mother's face be fierce, ungovernable, extravagant; still is the I knew not, saving in its gilded frame, passion in itself amiable. The man of ambition may Where, in the chamber of her loving husband, wade through blood to a kingdom; yet even in his It hung before his bed. My father died career, give evidence of good and great qualities. The When I was in my nonage. Marvellous pains, votary of pleasure, though he sacrifice health, wealth, Reading of books, study, and exercise,

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