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TALES BY AN ARAB WATCHFIRE.
In No. 64, we gave an account of the journey of Dr. Ross from Baghdad on a visit to the ruins of Al Hadhr, but our limits prevented us from inserting his description of the mode in which he passed one of the nights in the course of his pilgrimage, when the rain came down in such a deluge as to render it impossible to sleep. On this occasion the time was whiled away by the watchfire in listening to the tales told by an old Arab of the exploits of a renowned Bedouin chief; and we transcribe them for the amusement of our readers, who, if their imagination be lively, may perhaps contrive to convert the parlour-fire and soft carpet into a half-extinguished watchfire, and the inhospitable sands of
A cup of coffee revived us, and, as sleep was entirely out of the question, old Shi'al related to us many extraordinary anecdotes of the celebrated Shammar Sheikh Banaya, whose servant he had been from his own childhood till the Sheikh's death; some of them were very curious;-I here insert them :
rained, and next morning, on renewing the fight on slippery
"One of Binnaya's daughters is still living, and is looked upon "The tribe one evening was forced to encamp on a part of the She holds a divan desert near Sinjar, where not a bit of shrub nor a blade of grass could by the Shammar as little inferior to a deity. be procured. They had scarcely pitched the tents when some of the every evening, and her word is law. I have several times gone to 'Aneizah (at that time friends) arrived and halted at the tent of Bin-her tent, and she once or twice sent me a dinner. She sits behind a screen at her evening meetings: her name is Abtah." naya. Not to give them coffee, and even dinner, would have been an everlasting disgrace, and how to cook either no one could divine. At last Binnaya went to a travelling merchant, who happened to be with the tribe, and bought two bales of coarse cotton cloth; these he had torn up and soaked in melted butter: with this a fire was made, and the guests had as good a dinner as was ever cooked in Bedwin camp: old Shi'al swore he himself tore up the cotton.
"Two men came before him to settle a difference. One claimed a camel from the other; and, his case being clear, the Sheikh decided in his favour: the other demurred, and Binnaya sent them Still the to the old men, who confirmed the first sentence. defendant would not give in; so the Sheikh sent for him, and after some abuse, gave him a poke, seemingly a slight one, with the small crooked-headed stick always used by the Bedwins; yet so tremendous was his strength, that the wood passed through the poor man's chest and out at his back, killing him dead on the spot. The Sheikh had to pay his blood-money.
"On another occasion, while sitting with a number of people in his tent, he observed two eyes peeping through the reed mat which separates the women's part of the tent from that of the men ; and this being once or twice repeated, he became annoyed, and took up the iron pestle used to pound the coffee: after seemingly playing with it for a few seconds, he threw it, to all appearance carelessly, against the mat; a shriek followed, and, on the people going in, his own wife was found dead, her head having been smashed by the force of the blow.
"Binnaya, when the tribe fought, always charged first alone; he wielded his weapons equally well with both hands, and the terror of his name and appearance was such, that a thousand men would scarcely venture to oppose him. He was tall and gaunt, with a scanty beard, large eyes, long projecting teeth, and an immense long hooked nose. Once, when out with a small party, he fell in with a large force of the 'Aneizah (then at feud), and, having put a reserve spear between his thigh and the saddle, charged singly. His first spear soon broke; the second shared the same fate he took to his sword, which also went close to the hilt. The enemy pressed upon him, and Binnaya was, for the first time in his life, seen to turn his back and run: he soon, however, pulled up, when it appeared that in the interim he had separated the stirrup-leather from the saddle, and, swinging the heavy iron round his head, returned, though desperately wounded, to the He fray his friends followed, and the day was soon decided. here received a wound in the shoulder, which for years did not heal, and eventually protruded into a large mass of raw flesh: for this he came to Baghdad, and was sent to the medical officer attached to the British Resident as the only person who could cure him. The surgeon proposed to cut it out: the Sheikh consented to have it done instantly, but positively refused to allow any one to hold him during the operation, which he bore with the most perfect indifference, telling the operator to cut deep and never fear.
"The death of this extraordinary man was a vile business, and will remain for ages a foul stain on all those concerned in it. He was fighting with the Montafik under blind Hamud, and had for some days driven them all before him. One night, however, it
QUEEN ANNE'S FARTHINGS.
FEW subjects have excited more general attention, or occasioned more speculative conversation, than the much-talked-of question concerning Queen Anne's farthings. The popular belief is, that there was only one, or at most three, struck off in her reign. Under this impression large sums of money have been frequently required and obtained by those who believed themselves to be the fortunate possessors of this rare coin, for the imagined treasure ; but the number of these lucky persons has hitherto puzzled the curious in such matters. We have heard from good authority that the keepers of the British Museum are continually pestered with letters and applications upon this subject; and it is not very long since a noble earl addressed a letter to the trustees, or some of the officers, for information, in consequence of one of his lordship's "Queen Anne's tenants having discovered what he thought was a farthing." But what is most surprising is, that some one acquainted with the real facts of the case has not before this publicly explained them, and so have the matter set at rest. This, however, not having been done, it is reserved for us to have the merit of determining a point so long mooted; and what will the reader think when he is informed that there is not, nor ever was, a single Queen Anne's farthing in existence! Yet such is the truth. The following particulars are derived from a source on which the most confident reliance may be placed, and they will abundantly clear up the whole mystery.
Some short time before the death of Queen Anne, it was her intention to issue a coinage of farthings, and she gave directions to that effect. Those directions more particularly were, that three dies of different patterns should be sunk, and a specimen of each struck off for the queen's inspection, and she was to select one out of the three. This was accordingly done; but before the queen had signified her approbation of either, she expired, and, of course, there was no issue of a farthing coinage in her reign. The dies became useless; but it is probable that before they were destroyed many other impressions were privately taken from them, and given away as curiosities. Hence it is easy to account for the number of supposed Queen Anne's farthings which have from time to time been brought to light; but it is obviously a mistake so to call them, because they never could become the coin of the realm without the sovereign's sanction, and the proclamation of the queen and privy-council; and no such proclamation is on record. A specimen of each impression of the dies may now be seen in the British Museum; and the circumstances above mentioned we have no doubt would be admitted to be, at least in substance, correctly stated, by the keeper of the coins in that institution.
It is only a subject of marvel that this simple explanation has never been given to the public before, when it has been no secret
to several persons not connected with the British Museum, for some years past; but the facts have been well known to the persons who have had the charge of the coins in that establishment from the first. They might, however, perhaps have thought it was no part of their duty to betray their own knowledge, or to enlighten the public mind on so interesting a topic. It may be in the recollection of some of our readers that the famous Mr. Christie, the auctioneer, sold one of those spurious coins for several hundred pounds; so true is the adage, that "a fool and his money is soon parted."-London Observer.
What is the life of man!-The lightning's gleam;
From which it grieves us but in thought to part!
Yet not a tie that binds us to the earth,
No wish or thought that gives to pleasure birth,
But finds from savage War a cause to mourn.
NOT AT HOME.
The following anecdote is related of Lessing, the German author, who in his old age was subject to extraordinary fits of abstraction. On his return home one evening, after he had knocked at the door, his servant looked out of the window to see who was there. Not recognising his master in the dark, and mistaking him for a stranger, he called out, "The professor is not at home." "Oh, well!" replied Lessing, "no matter-I will call another time;" and he composedly walked away.-Athenæum.
TURKISH TITLE OF EFFENDI.
Effendi, in the Turkish language, signifies "master;" and accordingly it is a title very extensively applied- as to the muftis and emirs, to the priests of mosques, to men of learning and of the law. The grand chancellor of the empire is called Reis Effendi.
An old Dusch merchant retiring from business with an opulent fortune, invited his city friends to dinner. They were shown into a splendid room, and expected a corresponding banquet; when a couple of old seamen brought in the first course, consisting of herrings, fresh, pickled, and dried, served up on wooden plates, put on a blue canvas cloth. The guests stared, and did little honour to the repast; when a second course came in of salt-beef and greens. This being taken away, a splendid festival appeared, brought in by powdered lacqueys, served on damask table-cloths, and a sideboard of generous wines. The old merchant then said, "Such, gentlemen, has been the progress of our republic; we began with strict frugality, which begot wealth; and we end with luxury and profusion, which will beget poverty. It is better to be contented with the beef, that we may not be forced to return to our herrings." The guests swallowed the maxim with the banquet, but it is not said that they profited by it. American Paper.
You may as well sit down by a corpse, and ask it to chat with you, as solicit a kindness from a niggardly man.
The grace of independence, like that of beauty, is much enhanced by occasion.
Instruction without plain-dealing is like a world without a sun.
A man may wear a sound constitution under a soiled coat, and be truly independent in low fortune.
Many people keep a stock of compliments, like a pack of harriers, to catch the unsuspecting.
A wolf strongly resembles a dog, and a flatterer a friend, but their designs are very dissimilar.
Flattery is like armour of needle-work-pleasant to wear, but of no avail for defence.
The wealth of a miser, like the sun when it has sunk below the horizon, cheers no living creature.
Fortune in a miser's possession is like a banquet furnished for the deadnothing is wanting but a guest to enjoy it.
THE UNIVERSAL PENNY POSTAGE.
We have now enjoyed the "benefit and blessing " of a UNIVERSAL PENNY POSTAGE for nearly three months, and though the period is so short, it is not unreasonable to ask what has been the result. Already the novelty of the thing has abated; many not accustomed to letter-writing, but who wrote just to be able to say they had written, have returned to their old habits of non-intercourse; members of both Houses of Parliament have felt the change; and the mercantile body has enjoyed it ! The other day we heard a lively, lightheaded man, who, before the change took place, was one of the bawlers for cheap postage, now, after we have got it, turning round, and saying that it was all humbug! On being asked his reasons, he said that he had supported the measure for the benefit of the poor; but the poor don't write now, any more than they used to do, while rich merchants are getting all the benefit of that reduction, to the injury of the revenue, and perhaps the laying on of a tax on some article of consumption which will press heavily on the very class who ought to get the benefit of cheap postage, but do not care for it.
This is a specimen of the way in which superficial people reason. body who looked at the matter at all, knew that the mercantile body would be the first to enjoy the benefit of the universal penny postage. They may be said to have won it, and they have a very good right to reap the fruits of their labours. But how many clergymen, and other active and benevolent individuals, with time on their hands or money in their purses, are now enabled to enlarge the sphere of their labours! How much intercourse has been already promoted between individuals! That the poorer classes of the community have not enjoyed the full benefit of the "great boon," is certainly more the fault of high rates of postage than of low rates, if the fault is be laid on postage at all. a hard-working man, who has not been accustomed to the habitual use of the pen, the writing of a letter is rather a formidable affair; and the high rates of postage have so accustomed people to the idea of sending letters worth the paying for, that even with the penny postage they must laboriously fill up the three sides of a sheet. The habit has yet to be formed; and we may as soon expect that a child, when first sent to school, will acquire "reading, writing, and arithmetic" in three months, as expect that in the same period a national change should be felt in its extent throughout the community.
We hope that the "people" will not allow the antagonists of cheap postage to say that the experiment has failed. Let all who have any interest in the education of the masses induce all they can to "put pen to paper;" let the post-office be used; it may be made, by the people themselves, one of the "mightiest engines" for promoting the good of the people; and it would be but a sorry compliment to their common sense to allow it to be said that they were incapable of appreciating its value. Indeed, they do appreciate it; for, according to Mr. Rowland Hill, the projector of the penny postage scheme, and who is now watching its progress with parental anxiety, the increase has ́ already been very great, considering that the plan has not yet been brought into complete operation. In less than a month after the penny rate was introduced, the increase was 165 per cent. Including letters of all kinds, govern
ment letters, franked letters, &c., the number which passed through the general post was, for the week ending 24th Nov., 1839, under the old rates, 1,450,873; for the week ending 22nd December, under the fourpenny rate, 1,874,587; and for the week ending 23rd February, 1840, under the penny rate, 3,199,637.
According to an abstract of parliamentary returns, the number of London letters, between the 10th January and the 13th February, 1839, was 930,215, and for the same period of 1840, it was 2,286,385; showing an increase of 1,356,170, under the penny-rate, as compared with a similar period under the higher rates of postage. The money collected for letters under the high rates during the same period of 1839 was 60,060. 14s. 8d., and for the same period of 1840 it was 40,5271. 8s. 7d.; showing a decrease of only 19,533. under the penny-rate, in the London district.
The VOLUMES of the LONDON SATURDAY JOURNAL may be had as follows:-
BACK NUMBERS and PARTS, to complete Sets, may always be obtained.
Ineffectual plain-dealing is no more worth wearing than a pointless sword. When Alcibiades, on occasion of some festival at Athens, sent rather ostentatiously a multitude of presents to Socrates, and Xantippe, dazzled by the display, was urgent with her husband to accept them, "No," said he; Edinburgh: FRASER will meet Alcibiades on equal ground, and show as much spirit in refusing his and Co. Dublin. CURRY and Co-Printed and Stereotyped by Bradbury and gifts as he in offering them." Evans, Whitefriars.
LONDON SATURDAY SATURDAY JOURNAL.
PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM SMITH, 113, FLEET STREET.
THE VIRGIN WIFE.
SATURDAY, APRIL 18, 1840.
ONE of the members of a large family always bore the somewhat dubious title of "Philosopher." It was not exactly a nickname, for-being given more in compliment than in banter-it was acquiesced in and adopted by father and mother, brothers and sisters, and tolerated with a smile by the titular personage
Harry had received the appellation of "philosopher" from an old woman, whom in his infancy he used to tease with his questions, and amuse by his shrewd observations. From the old woman the name passed into the family, and amongst the neighbours; from thence it entered school; and though it began to drop out of familiar usage when Harry was sent to business, it was still recollected, and occasionally applied. He had, indeed, some claim to the title. Fond of books, he was reading when his companions were at play; and amongst his young fellow-workers, none were so studious, so sedulous, so quiet as he. All difficulties were referred to his decision; he was the living dictionary and encyclopædia of the workshop; and if a problem was started too profound for the " philosopher" to solve, it was generally dismissed, as being beyond the range of his companions' capacity.
When Harry was getting into manhood, it became a standing topic of debate between his mother and some neighbour matrons, whether the " philosopher" would ever take it into his head to go "a-courting." His mother stoutly maintained the negative; he was too much of a sober-sides, she said, to think of wasting his time with the girls; and when any one, taking up the positive side of the argument, would say, "Wait a bit-let Harry alone; he'll look after the girls, I warrant ye, for all his philosophy!"-the mother generally retreated to her citadel of defence, which was, that Harry was fonder of poring over a dried skull, which he kept in a box under his bed, than of looking in the face of the prettiest girl in the parish.
This same dried skull was long a source of alarm and annoyance in the family. Harry's little sister would not enter the room where it was kept; and another sister, two years older than Harry, used to exclaim, with a shudder, Ugh! the ugly piece of anatomy!" Not all their reverence for Harry's philosophy would have prevented them from pitching it out of doors, had they not been afraid—that is, not afraid of Harry, but of the skull. One night, when Harry was attending a scientific lecture, a boisterous who was courting the sister, discovered the skull in its box, took it out, made the grown-up children scream, and almost sent the young ones into hysterics. Elated by his success, he got a candle, to make its sockets glaringly hideous, spouting out, with stentorian voice,
"The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out,
And they sported his eyes and his temples about!"
This sent the household into the street, and the screams and shouts brought a number of neighbours to see what was the matter. At this moment Harry came up, and perceiving the indignity done to his skull, he snatched it from the profane hands of its violator,
with a look that seemed to say, "That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the knave jowls it, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder!" Then he addressed a smart reproof to the foolish young man, and concluded by telling him that perhaps that skull once inclosed a far nobler brain than the one which was lodged in the head-piece of the person who so irreverently did it wrong. This was too much for the merry mischief-maker; the idea that a dried skull might once have been nobler than his own, was rather strong for him; and he bid adieu not only to Harry, but to his sister. She, on her part, rested not till the skull and its box were put out of the way-for it was good for nothing, she said, but frightening children and losing lovers.
But though the skull became stale, as a defensive argument, on the part of Harry's mother, she soon got hold of others. She told her neighbour gossips about the wonderful things Harry was doing with his blow-pipe: but though they could understand that a philosopher might have to do with a skull, they could not comprehend what he wanted with a blow-pipe. All his other knickknackeries were matters of common talk; and even the most incredulous were at last so convinced about the attachment of Harry to his books and his “ gimcracks," that it became matter of general belief that the young philosopher was destined to die a bachelor. The girls, therefore, took their revenge; he was called a dry old stick," "a stupid-looking fellow," and a number of other complimentary epithets. At last, a waggish damsel, in allusion to the colour of a coat he had worn for a long period, dubbed him "Plum-colour; " a nick-name which seemed likely to supplant that of "Philosopher."
to profess his faith, he would have said, with Benedick, "Because I will not do the women the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is (for the which I may go the finer) I will live a bachelor."
Business led Harry frequently in a certain direction; and though usually absorbed in himself and his own meditations, he gradually became conscious that he was in the habit of seeing two full, lustrous eyes, which, as they met his, were always immediately turned towards the ground, and shaded by long, fringing eyelids. He was not very sharp in catching the external qualities of those he passed; had he met his mother in the street, he would have been puzzled, had he been afterwards asked what was the pattern or colour of her gown. He must, therefore, be excused for only recollecting that he was in the habit of meeting merely a pair of most beautiful, modest-like eyes; and it required several casual meetings to enable him to imprint the image of those eyes on his fancy. One day, passing along a narrow foot-path bridge, which spanned a romantic stream, he became conscious that his eyes were approaching him; as the balustrades helped to confine
Bradbury and Evans, Printers, Whitefriars.
duced; he thought of writing her a sensible letter, and then he
his attention, he could see that the figure which bore the eyes | For a long time he was in great distress as to how to get introtowards him was handsome; and as it drew near, the eyes seemed seated in a very pretty face. A moment before, a passer-by might have said that Harry was a peculiar, but stupid, or at least heavy-looking young man; but now a latent fire seemed to have blazed up, and his own eyes appeared like beacons shining through the darkness of night. Harry stood still, for something was coming over him which he did not rightly understand; and as he leaned his hand on the balustrade, the figure which carried his favourite eyes passed him. She perceived that Harry was gazing; and maiden modesty threw over a somewhat pale face a flush that might have rivalled some of the hues of a sunset on a summer's She passed on, and Harry turned to look after her. Up to this period, he had hardly been conscious of a sentiment or feeling of beauty. Women had hitherto only been distinguished in his mind by being young or old, dark or fair; and his mother was the "best of the lot." Now, as he gazed after the sylph-like creature who was descending the slope of the arch, he thought he had never seen a more graceful figure; and when she disappeared from his view, he looked over the balustrade, and perceived, what he had never perceived before, that the wooden bridge on which he stood was exceedingly light and elegant. Then the shadows which chased each other over the ripples of the water assumed the most fantastic and beautiful shapes which imagination could conceive; and the whole outline of the river and its banks entered into his heart in a way which was like the imparting of a new sense. Harry moved gently onwards, but still occasionally looked back to where she had disappeared from his view; and he was now conscious of having in his fancy, not the mere impression of two beautiful eyes, but the whole-length portrait of a most lovely creature, whose soul, in looking out from the windows of her arabesque palace, had dispossessed him of his own. That night Harry caught himself trying to make poetry, and threw his pen down, half angrily and half laughingly.
For about a week, the philosophic bachelor struggled with the fancy which had entered into his heart; and had he left his native place at that particular time, his fancy would have gradually become dim, until it faded away altogether. But ten days afterwards, he met his "fairy" again; and she seemed even more lovely than at first. Harry could not criticise the details of her personal appearance; all he knew was, that somehow or other though he could not exactly tell why-she was the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen in his life. Harry's "philosophy" at last gradually revealed to him that he was in love.
to remark, long before they became acquainted, that there was
His love, however, received a somewhat rude shock before he had contrived to become acquainted with the subject of it. Passing an open parlour-window, through which he caught a glimpse of a number of young ladies' heads, he saw amongst them his own "sweet fancy," and distinctly heard her exclaim, "As I live, there's Plum-colour!" Harry knew that he had been honoured with the appellation, and though he affected to treat "popular opinion" with a sturdy indifference, the sobriquet of "Plum-lover. colour" had made him change his coat. Still the nickname stuck to him; and the idea that the first time he ever heard the damsel speak about him it should be with a scoff, was deeply mortifying. What! was there, after all, no soul to look through those impressive eyes? Was that graceful figure the habitation of a frivolous mind? He went home, and instead of trying to make poetry, or experimenting with his blow-pipe, he sat down, and felt as if he could cry!
Harry, however, was not quite a chicken; and so, like a man, he got over his mortification, and, like a philosopher, resolved to let the ascertaining of facts precede the construction of a theory.
"O happy love! when love like this is found!
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale!"
Yes! there is true, genuine, unalloyed pleasure in such a courtship as we have been describing: and more of it would be enjoyed, if we were less affected and more trusting-more anxious to establish
an affection which will endure for a life, than to snatch a moment-ful, and even lively. "Harry," she said to him, one day, "and ary admiration. so, my own philosopher, you are going to lose me!" "Eliza-Eliza-do not be so cruel-Oh, do not talk in that
Some six months had elapsed since the courtship commenced; and to both the time had been but as a pleasant day. The winter set in; and one night, after attending a crowded meeting, the lovers were foolish enough to walk about till the cold drove them homewards, receiving on their way a drenching from a shower of rain. Eliza caught a cold, which settled into a dry, distressing cough; and after the spring had set in, instead of getting rid of it, as Harry had fondly predicted it would, it seemed rather to acquire greater strength. A roseate tinge began to play over her face but Harry, with all his science, had not experience enough to enable him to understand the warning which it gave. He called one day; she was very cheerful; her eye had an almost supernatural brilliancy; the crimson of her cheek was of the richest dye of heaven; and her transparent skin seemed scarcely to conceal the coursing of the "eloquent blood." Harry thought he had never seen a more glorious creature in human shape, and he burst out with "My angel-"
"Hush, Harry," she said, interrupting him; "why should you talk nonsense; you know I am not an angel, and it does not become a sensible man like you to say so."
"Why, Eliza, I am so glad to see you so much better! I never saw you so charming in your life; I am sure you must be much better."
"Do not be too sure, Harry, about anything. Come here, Harry, and sit down beside me. There, that will do. Now, Harry, look me steadily in the face."
Harry laughed, looked her steadily in the face, and then kissed "Now, Eliza, will that do?"
"Yes, that will do: but I want you to be serious."
"Why, now, that is very good of you. Often have I wished you to be serious, and you have as often laughed in my face." "Harry-would you like to lose me?"
He started to his feet, repeating "Lose you! lose you! what-?"
He paused; and as he gazed on her solemn yet animated aspect, the truth suddenly flashed upon him; and he beheld the word CONSUMPTION visible in her lovely countenance.
Such was indeed the truth. A physician called in, after a stupid surgeon had run up a long bill with his useless bottles and prescriptions-had pronounced her case to be alarming and requiring great care; and Eliza, knowing that previous deaths had occurred in her family from the same disease, had at once made up her naturally strong mind to the possibility-if not the probability-of an "early grave."
Harry was at first stupified; but on learning that some chance yet remained from removal to milder air, he set to work to prove that his affection lay in his heart. Assiduous were all his attentions; he accompanied her on her journey, and put his invention to task to render absence as endurable as possible. The summer passed away drearily; hope and fear alternately counterbalanced each other; now would Eliza write, to say that she felt herself surprisingly well, and again would the mother send up a desponding message. After some months, homewards came the invalid, for she longed to see home once more, and she said— "If it is to be, I should like to have Harry beside me when I die!" And when Harry, on her arrival, took her in his arms, and helped her up stairs, something seemed to whisper to him, "It is to be;" and so all he could say to her was, "Eliza !— dear Eliza!"--and then he sobbed passionately.
Eliza had been dull and miserable in the country; but now that she was home again, and had Harry beside her, she became cheer
"Nay, Harry," she added, "do not think I talk in a tone of bravado or affected carelessness. I perfectly feel that DEATH is an awful thing, and I would wish to live, if it were only for you!" Harry stooped forward, and kissed her, and bathed her cheek with a tear.
"Harry," she again said, "do you remember that passage which you once repeated, and which I repeated after you, without missing a word? Well, now, I will repeat it again, just to show you what a good memory I have
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ;
The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
To what we fear of death !'
There, now, Harry, that is all right, I think. Now, though I certainly have no such fearful ideas of DEATH, fearful as death is, still I so far enter into the spirit of the passage-I know so much of this beautiful world, and so very little of a future state, that I could wish to live, for your sake—just to be your own little wife, Harry!" Then, with a quick inclination of the head, she said, 'Harry, you are a philosopher-tell me, what is DEATH?"
A death-like paleness overspread Harry's face, but he did not speak.
"Ah! it gives you pain, my dear Harry, to hear me talk in this way. Well, we will change the subject-What is LIFE?" Still Harry was silent, for "thick-crowding fancies" were struggling in his brain.
"Now, Harry," she continued, in a lower, graver tone, since I became acquainted with you, I have lived in a new world. Often, when you have been explaining to me about the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and all the wonderful things of this earth, have I longed to be able to sail through the universe, to examine everything, to understand everything, to be able to comprehend something of the marvellous works of God. Then I have said to myself, What a poor stupid you are! you don't know anything. Oh, I wish I were a man! Harry, why did God make us MEN and WOMEN?"
Well, I will take your advice. My body is weak, but I feel as if my mind was wonderfully active. Come to-morrow, Harry, and you must answer my questions; for you have yet much to teach me before I die!"
On his way homeward, a dark cloud came over Harry's mind. “What a wonderful creature," he thought; "noble in body, generous and confiding in disposition, quick in intellect—a rare combination in ordinary life! And yet is all this combination of moral and physical beauty-is this glorious girl about to drop into the dust, and be as if she had never been?" If Harry had no other source of comfort but his knowledge, he might have dropped in despair. But he did, as a good man of the olden time did,