thought. I have had grand dreams, but they have been only dreams, because I have lived and that, too, by my own choice among poor and mean realities. Sometimes even-shall I dare to say it?—I lack faith in the grandeur, the beauty, and the goodness, which my own works are said to have made more evident in nature and in human life. Why, then, pure seeker of the good and true, shouldst thou hope to find me in yonder image of the divine?"

The poet spoke sadly, and his eyes were dim with tears. So, likewise, were those of Ernest.

At the hour of sunset, as had long been his frequent custom, Ernest was to discourse to an assemblage of the neighbouring inhabitants in the open air. He and the poet, arm in arm, still talking together as they went along, proceeded to the spot. It was a small nook among the hills, with a gray precipice behind, the stern front of which was relieved by the pleasant foliage of many creeping plants, that made a tapestry for the naked rock by hanging their festoons from all its rugged angles. At a small elevation above the ground, set in a rich framework of verdure, there appeared a niche, spacious enough to admit a human figure, with freedom for such gestures as spontaneously accompany earnest thought and genuine emotion. Into this natural pulpit Ernest ascended, and threw a look of familiar kindness around upon his audience. They stood, or sat, or reclined upon the grass, as seemed good to each, with the departing sunshine falling obliquely over them, and mingling its subdued cheerfulness with the solemnity of a grove of ancient trees, beneath and amid the boughs of which the golden rays were constrained to pass. another direction was seen the Great Stone Face, with the same cheer, combined with the same solemnity, in its benignant aspect.

In

Ernest began to speak, giving to the people of what was in his heart and mind. His words had power, because they accorded with his thoughts; and his thoughts had reality and depth, because they harmonized with the life which he had always lived. It was not mere breath that this preacher uttered; they were the words of life, because a life of good deeds and holy love was melted into them. Pearls, pure and rich, had been dissolved into this precious draught. The poet, as he listened, felt that the being and character of Ernest were a nobler strain of poetry than he had ever written. His eyes glistening with tears, he gazed reverentially at the venerable man, and said within himself that never was there an aspect so

worthy of a prophet and a sage as that mild, sweet, thoughtful countenance, with the glory of white hair diffused about it. At a distance, but distinctly to be seen, high up in the golden light of the setting sun, appeared the Great Stone Face, with hoary mists around it, like the white hairs around the brow of Ernest. Its look of grand beneficence seemed to embrace the world.

At that moment, in sympathy with a thought which he was about to utter, the face of Ernest assumed a grandeur of expression, so imbued with benevolence, that the poet, by an irresistible impulse, threw his arms aloft, and shouted,

"Behold! Behold! Ernest is himself the likeness of the Great Stone Face!"

Then all the people looked, and saw that what the deep-sighted poet said was true. The prophecy was fulfilled. But Ernest, having finished what he had to say, took the poet's arm, and walked slowly homeward, still hoping that some wiser and better man than himself would by-and-by appear, bearing a resemblance to the GREAT STONE FACE.

JUGGLING JERRY.1

[George Meredith, born in Hampshire, 1828. He was educated for the legal profession, but devoted himself to that of literature. He has laboured industriously

and well; and has been recognized as one of the best class of contemporary novelists. "In his poetry," says

one of his critics, "we can trace the same qualities which have made his Evan Harrington and his Richard Feverel such pleasant reading, namely, much humour joined to very uncommon powers of observation and graphic painting." His chief works are: The Shaving

of Shagpat; Farina, a legend of Cologne; Emilia in England; Rhoda Fleming; Vittoria; and his latest (1872) The Adventures of Harry Richmond.]

I.

Pitch here the tent, while the old horse grazes:
By the old hedge-side we'll halt a stage.
It's nigh my last above the daisies:

My next leaf 'll be man's blank page.
Yes, my old girl! and it's no use crying:

Juggler, constable, king, must bow. One that outjuggles all's been spying Long to have me, and he has me now.

1 From Modern Love and Poems of the English Roadside, by George Meredith. London: Chapman and Hall, 1862.

340

THE DWARF AND THE INVISIBLE

CAP.

A HARZ LEGEND. 1

Shepherd Jacob's greatest pleasure was his bagpipes. Almost before the morning dawned he was puffing upon them, and he puffed away at night when all other honest people were in bed. Though this afforded much pleasure to Jacob, it was not so well relished by his neighbours.

In a cavern of the mountain upon which Jacob generally took his seat lived a dwarf, who, at the christenings and weddings of the surrounding country, made himself very useful by lending the people knives and pewter plates. Wherever he found a good reception the dwarf proved very friendly, and was well liked by all. Now to this dwarf, the eternal puffing that went on above his head became very tiresome; he therefore one day took his way up the mountain, and with much politeness requested the shepherd to give up his music for a little; but Jacob, casting a contemptuous look on the diminutive figure before him, insolently answered, "What right have you to command me? And what does it signify to me though your head should ache again when I blow my pipes?" And from this time Jacob blew away more furiously at his bagpipes than ever.

The dwarf resolved on revenge, but concealed his anger under the mask of friendship, and strove to win by degrees the confidence of the shepherd. He soon succeeded in this; for he had wit enough to praise the exquisite melody of his pipes, and gradually wrought himself into his full confidence, entertaining him with a thousand merry stories, for the sake of listening to which the shepherd would sometimes forget his darling pipes for half a day. At last the dwarf invited the shepherd to a party at which he promised him a great deal of pleasure. "Knight Fegesack, who lives in yonder castle," said he, "celebrates his wedding to-morrow; he once set his dogs after me to hound me from his court when carrying some plates to his servant to help at a christening. There will be gathered together those great people of the country who look with such contempt upon us and our acorns; we will go thither, and give them a little sauce to their mirth. Here, Jacob, is an invisible cap: if you put it on your head nobody will be able to see you, though you see everything that is going on

1 From Foreign Tales and Traditions, translated by George Godfrey Cunningham

around you. Try its virtues at home, and leave the rest to me; only clean out that bag you have got there, for, unless I am sadly deceived, you will soon have occasion to fill it with something better."

Jacob took the wonderful cap from the dwarf, and made an attempt to try its virtue even before he reached his hut. Well, the sheep came running against him, and not even his own children could find him out when he called them by name with the cap on his head. He now gave himself implicitly up to the di

rection of the dwarf.

The day afterwards Jacob and the dwarf set out with their caps on their heads, and two empty wallets under their arms, to the castle of the knight. During the bridal ceremony they placed themselves upon the large round table, around which the bridegroom and bride and the principal guests were to sit. The dwarf then instructed the tittering shepherd in the part he was to perform.

In the course of an hour the whole company entered the room in pairs, and all took the places which were pointed out to them according to their several dignities, little suspecting the presence of any other guests.

And now the frolic began. The invisible dwarf pulled out the pins which fastened the myrtle garland on the bride's head, and Jacob pushed a large dish out of the hand of the butler which splashed the gravy over the scolding guests. Meanwhile the bridal wreath fell from the head of the bride-a bad omen, which might well wrinkle the brow of the old ladies. and set the younger ones a whispering.

A pause ensued, in which the guests, who waited the filling of the bumpers to resume the conversation, set their jaws briskly in

motion.

But, good saints defend us! What was the surprise of the whole company when, on the appearance of the second course, they stretched their hands out towards the delicates-scarcely had they got a morsel on their forks and raised it to their mouths ere it was snatched away by the dwarf or by Jacob, who crammed it with much laughter into their invisible wallets. The guests opened their eyes wider and wider

- their faces lengthened more and more-a silence, like that of midnight in a cemetery, reigned throughout the whole room-knives. mouths, jaws, were laid at rest, while each gaped in blank astonishment upon his neighbour. Flagon after flagon, cup after cup, now disappeared from the table, and still the thief remained invisible! Well might the hair of the guests now begin to rise on end; every

where all was silent as death, not a sound was heard but the chattering of teeth.

How they might best make their way out of the enchanted room, or hide themselves under the table, became now a question with the horror-stricken guests. Most of them were about to adopt the latter alternative when the dwarf, having suddenly snatched the cap from the head of his companion, all at once the culprit stood revealed to their astonished sight, sitting upon his heels, with each arm supported by a well-filled wallet.

The deathlike silence now gave place to the most outrageous uproar; every arm and every tongue was again in motion, while Jacob, with his head hanging down like a broken reed, was dragged away, under a thousand curses, towards a dark dungeon, where serpents and newts crawled about, there to starve beside his emptied wallets.

They were just about to lower the unfortunate shepherd into this loathsome place, and all around stood the guests mocking and jeering the trembling rustic, when lo! the invisible dwarf approaches the half-dead shepherd, claps the cap again on his head, and in the twinkling of an eye the prisoner disappears.

The spectators stood there as if changed into as many stones, with faces as long as a yard, for the full space of an hour, without bethinking themselves either of eating or drinking or the merriment of the wedding. And there they might have been standing to this hour had not the dwarf, compassionating their blank amazement, taken off his cap and revealed himself for a minute's space in his true form. "Now, Sir Knight," said he, "do not hound me again with your dogs out of your castle-yard; and you, Jacob, I hope you will in future put your bagpipes a little while aside when I politely ask that favour of you."

The guests now tumbled over one another, and scrambled out of the house where the mysterious dwarf had appeared.

THE EDUCATION OF BACCHUS.

I had a vision! "Twas an Indian vale
Whose sides were all with rosy thickets crown'd,
That never felt the biting winter gale;-
And soon was heard a most delicious sound;
And to its music danced a nymph embrown'd,
Leading a lion in a silken twine,

That with his yellow mane would sweep the ground,
Then on his rider fawn-a boy divine!

While on his foaming lips a nymph shower'd purple wine.

CROLY.

MAY MORNING AT RAVENNA.

[James Henry Leigh Hunt, born at Southgate, Middlesex, 19th October, 1784; died in London, 28th August, 1859. As a poet, critic, and novelist he has won a prominent place in the standard literature of our century. As one of the stanchest combatants for the liberty of thought and speech, his name is amongst the foremost in the history of modern progress. He was for some time a clerk in the war-office, and resigned that post in 1808 to become joint editor with his brother John, of the Examiner newspaper, which they established in that year. An article upon the conduct of the Prince Regent, in which he was satirically called an "Adonis of fifty" (22d March, 1812), led to a government prosecution. The brothers were imprisoned and fined £500 each. After his release, and until nearly the close of his life, Leigh Hunt continued to work assiduously at poem, essay, and story. In 1844 the son of the poet Shelley gave him an annuity of £120; and in 1847 government awarded him a pension of £200. His first book was a collection of poems written between the ages of twelve and sixteen, and issued under the title His principal works are: The Story of of Juvenilia. Rimini, The Descent of Liberty, and The Feast of the Poets (written in prison); Captain Sword and Captain Pen; Sir Ralph Esher, a novel; A Jar of Honey from Mount Hybla; numerous essays, and an autobiography in three volumes. The following is from the poem of Rimini.]

The sun is up, and 'tis a morn of May

Round old Ravenna's clear-shown towers and bay.
A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen,
Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green;
For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light,
And there's a crystal clearness all about;
The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out;
A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze;
The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees!
And when you listen you may hear a coil
Of bubbling springs about the grassy soil;
And all the scene, in short-sky, earth, and sea,
Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.
'Tis nature, full of spirits, waked and springing :-
The birds to the delicious time are singing,
Darting with freaks and snatches up and down,
Where the light woods go seaward from the town;
While happy faces, striking through the green
Of leafy roads, at every turn are seen;
And the far ships, lifting their sails of white
Like joyful hands, come up with scattery light,
Come gleaming up, true to the wished for day,
And chase the whistling brine and swirl into the bay.
Already in the streets the stir grows loud,

Of expectation and a bustling crowd.
With feet and voice the gathering hum contends,
The deep talk heaves, the ready laugh ascends;
Callings, and clapping doors, and curs unite,
And shouts from mere exuberance of delight,
And armed bands, making important way,
Gallant and grave, the lords of holiday,
And nodding neighbours, greeting as they run,
And pilgrims, chanting in the morning sun.

MEDICINE AND MORALS.

distinct existences, since the one may be only a modification of the other; however this great mystery be imagined, we shall find with Dr. Gregory, in his lectures "on the duties and

equally necessary inquiry in the sciences of morals and of medicine.

A stroke of personal ridicule is levelled at Dryden, when Bayes informs us of his preparations for a course of study by a course of medicine! When I have a grand design," says he, "I ever take physic and let blood; for when you would have pure swiftness of thought, and fiery flights of fancy, you must have a care of the pensive part; in fine, you must purge the belly!" Such was really the practice of the poet, as La Motte, who was a physician, informs us, and in his medical character did not perceive that ridicule in the subject which the wits and most readers unquestionably have enjoyed. The wits here were as cruel against truth as against Dryden; for we must still consider this practice, to use their own words, as "an excellent recipe for writing." Among other philosophers, one of the most famous disputants of antiquity, Carneades, was accustomed to take copious doses of white hellebore, a great aperient, as a preparation to refute the dogmas of the stoics. Dryden's practice was neither whimsical nor peculiar to the poet; he was of a full habit, and, no doubt, had often found by experience the beneficial effects without being aware of the cause, which is nothing less than the reciprocal influence of mind and body!

This simple fact is, indeed, connected with one of the most important inquiries in the history of man; the laws which regulate the invisible union of the soul with the body: in a word, the inscrutable mystery of our being a secret, but an undoubted intercourse, which probably must ever elude our perceptions. The combination of metaphysics with physics has only been productive of the wildest fairy tales among philosophers: with one party the soul seems to pass away in its last puff of air, while man seems to perish in "dust to dust;" the other as successfully gets rid of our bodies altogether, by denying the existence of matter. We are not certain that mind and matter are

Whether we consider the vulgar distinction of mind and body as a union, or as a modified existence, no philosopher denies that a reciprocal action takes place between our moral and physical condition. Of these sympathies, like many other mysteries of nature, the cause remains occult while the effects are obvious. This close yet inscrutable association, this concealed correspondence of parts seemingly unconnected; in a word, this reciprocal influence of the mind and the body, has long fixed the attention of medical and metaphysical inquirers; the one having the care of our exterior organization, the other that of the interior. Can we conceive the mysterious inhabitant as forming a part of its own habitation? The tenant and the house are so inseparable, that in striking at any part of the building, you inevitably reach the dweller. If the mind is disordered, we may often look for its seat in some corporeal derangement. Often are our thoughts disturbed by a strange irritability, which we do not even pretend to account for. This state of the body, called the fidgets, is a disorder to which the ladies are particularly liable.

A physician of my acquaintance was earnestly entreated by a female patient to give a name to her unknown complaints; this he found no difficulty to do, as he is a sturdy asserter of the materiality of our nature; he declared that her disorder was ATMOSPHERICAL. It was the disorder of her frame under damp weather, which was reacting on her mind; and physical means, by operating on her body, might be applied to restore her to her half-lost senses. Our imagination is highest when our stomach is not overloaded; in spring than in winter; in solitude than amidst company; and in an obscured light than in the blaze and heat of the noon. In all these cases the body is evidently acted on and reacts on the mind. Sometimes our dreams present us with images of our restlessness, till we recollect that the seat of our brain may perhaps lie in our stomach, rather than on the pineal gland of Descartes; and that the most artificial logic to make us somewhat reasonable, may be swallowed with "the blue pill," or any other in vogue. Our domestic happiness often depends on the state of our biliary and digestive organs, and the little disturbances of conjugal life may