Taught, half by reason, half by mere decay, To welcome death, and calmly pass away. Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, The poor contents him with the care of Heaven. The starving chymist in his golden views See some strange comfort every state attend, Meanwhile opinion gilds with varying rays These build as fast as knowledge can destroy; Een mean self-love becomes, by force divine, HAPPINESS. Know then this truth (enough for man to know), "Virtue alone is happiness below:" The only point where human bliss stands still, And tastes the good without the fall to ill; Where only merit constant pay receives, Is bless'd in what it takes and what it gives; The joy unequall'd, if its end it gain, And, if it lose, attended with no pain: Without satiety, though e'er so bless'd, And but more relish'd as the more distress'd: The broadest mirth unfeeling folly wears, Less pleasing far than virtue's very tears: Good from each object, from each place acquir'd, For ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd; Never elated while one man's oppress'd; Never dejected while another's bless'd; And where no wants no wishes can remain, Since but to wish more virtue, is to gain. See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow ! Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know: poor Yet with fortune, and with learning blind, For him alone hope leads from goal to goal, Self love thus push'd to social, to divine, Gives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing thine. Is this too little for the boundless heart? Extend it, let thy enemies have part: Grasp the whole world of reason, life, and sense, In one close system of benevolence: Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree, And height of bliss but height of charity, God loves from whole to parts: but human so Must rise from individual to the whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; The centre mov'd, a circle straight succeeds, Another still, and still another spreads: Friend. parent, neighbour, first it will embrace; His country next, and next all human race; Wide and more wide, th' o'erflowings of the mod Take every creature in, of every kind: Earth smiles around with boundless bounty best, And heaven beholds its image in his breast. LOST DAYS.1 The lost days of my life until to-day, What were they, could I see them on the stres Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of what Sown once for food, but trodden into clay? Or golden coins squandered and still to pay! Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet! Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat The throats of men in hell, who thirst alway! I do not see them here; but after death God knows I know the faces I shall see, Each one a murdered self, with low last breath "I am thyself-what hast thou done to me "And I-and I-thyself" (lo! each one said, "And thou thyself to all eternity!" 1 From Harper's Magazine. HEREDITARY HONOURS.1 A TALE OF LOVE AND MYSTERY. PRELIMINARY CHAPTER. close to the metropolis of this country, there once lived a certain young lady, of the name of Laura. She was the daughter and sole heiress of an honest gentleman-an attorney-at-lawand was particularly addicted to novels and falling in love. One day she was walking in the woods in a pensive manner, observing how affectionate the little birds were to each other, and thinking what a blessing it was to have an agreeable lover-when, leaning against an elm-tree, she perceived a young man, habited in a most handsome dress that seemed a little too large for him, and of that peculiar complexion-half white, half yellow-which custom has dedicated to romance. He wore his long, dark locks sweeping over his forehead— and fixing his eyes intently on the ground, he muttered thus to himself "Singular destiny!-fearful thought! Shall I resist it?-shall I flee? No! that were unworthy of the name I bear! For four hundred years my forefathers have enjoyed their honours -not a break in their lineage-shall I be the first to forfeit this hereditary distinction? Away the thought!" "Si tu es pot de chambre, tant pis pour toi."-VOLTAIRE. Hereditary honours are certainly the most rational of human devices. It was an excellent idea to suppose that a man propagated his virtues to the most distant posterity. Few notions have succeeded better in keeping the world in order. In fact, it was the best method of granting to the multitude the inestimable gift of a perpetuity of dependence. Had the idea stopped with the king or chief magistrate, it would not have been half so beautiful, or a hundredth part so useful. So far, a reason for the custom is obvious to the most superficial. Hereditary distinction, it is said, preserves a people from the wars and tumults that might arise from the contests of elective distinction. Very well-I do not dispute this assertion-it is plausible. But dukes and earls?-if their honours were not hereditary, would there be contests about them? The world suffers itself to be disturbed by individuals wishing to be kings, but it would not be so complaisant to every man that wished to be a lord. "On ne desarrange pas tout le monde pour si peu de chose," we should not have wars and discords, as the seeds of that sort of ambition. We do not, then, grant hereditary honours to these gentry as the purchase of peace-we do not make them as a bargain, but bestow them as a gratuity. Our reasons, therefore, for this generosity are far deeper than those which make us governed by King Log to-day, because yesterday we were governed by his excellent father King Stork --so much deeper, that, to plain men, they are perfectly invisible. But a little reflection teaches us the utility of the practice. Hereditary superiority to the few necessarily produces I shall not pursue this interview furtherhereditary inferiority to the many-and it the young people were in love at first sight-a makes the herd contented with being legisla- curious event, that has happened to all of us tively and decorously bullied by a sort of pre-in our day, but which we never believe happens scriptive habit. Messieurs the Eels are used to be skinned-and the custom reconciles them to the hereditary privilege of Messeigneurs the Cooks. CHAPTER II.-THE MEETING. "As it fell upon a day." There is a certain country, not very far distant from our own: in a certain small town, 1 From the New Monthly Magazine. The The young gentleman walked haughtily from the tree, and just before him he saw Miss Laura fixing her delighted eyes upon his countenance, and pleasing herself with the thought that she saw before her an earl-marshal, or a grand falconer at the least. young gentleman stood still, so also did the young lady-the young gentleman stared, the young lady sighed. "Fair creature!" quoth the youth, throwing out his arm, but in a somewhat violent and abrupt manner, as if rather striking a blow than attempting a courteous gesture. Full of the becoming terror of a damsel of romance, Laura drew herself up, and uttered a little scream. "What!" said the youth, mournfully, "do you, too, fear me?" Laura was affected almost to tears-the youth took her hand. to other people. What man allows another man to have had any bonnes fortunes? Yet, when we see how the saloons of the theatres are filled by what must once have been bonnes fortunes, the honour must be confessed to be of rather a vulgar description! But what am I doing? Not implying a word against the virtue of Miss Laura. No, the attachment between her and the unknown was of the most platonic description. "They met again and oft;" and oh, how devoutly Laura loved the wer. She was passionately fond of seniom happens in the novels liked ung ladies that a lover is permitted to be ess than a peer's son-smaller people niv brought in to be laughed at odd awers-white-stockinged quidnunes. acers who are to be cheated-brothers to be sued in short, the great majority of human creatures are Russell-squared into a becoming degree of ludicrous insignificance. Accordingly, to Miss Laura, a lover must necessarily be nothing of a Calicot-and she reflected with indescribable rapture on the certainty of having a gallant whose forefathers had enjoyed something four hundred years in the family! But what was that something? She was curious -she interrogated her lover as to his name and rank. He changed colour-he bit his lip -he thrust both hands into his breechespockets. "I cannot tell you what I am," said he: "no! charming Laura, forgive meone day you will know all." "Can he be the king's eldest son?" said Laura to herself. After all, this mystery was very delightful. She introduced the young gentleman to her father. "Ah!" quoth the former, squeezing the attorney's hand, "your family have been good friends to mine." "How!" cried the attorney-"Are we then acquainted! May I crave your name, sir?" 66 An attorney is a bow-a crooked thing with two strings to it. It was in the wood that the lawyer met the stranger. The stranger was examining a tree. "Strong, strong," muttered he; "yes, it is worth buying." Are you a judge of trees, sir?" quoth the attorney. "Hum-yes, of a peculiar sort of tree." "Have you much timber of your own?" "A great deal," replied the stranger coolly. "Of the best kind?" "It is generally used for scaffolding." "Oh, good deal!" The lawyer paused. 'You cannot," said he, archly, "you cannot conceal yourself; your rank is sufficiently apparent." "Good heavens!" "Yes, my daughter says she heard you boasting of your hereditary distinctions--four hundred years it has existed in your family.” “It has indeed!" 'And does the property-the cash part of the business, go with it?" "Yes! the government provide for us." "Oh, a pension!-hereditary too?" "You say it." "Ah! 'tis the way with your great families," said the lawyer to himself, "always quartered on the public." "What's that he mutters about quartered!" inly exclaimed the stranger with emotion. "It is from our taxes that their support is drawn," continued the lawyer. "Drawn, sir!" cried the stranger aloud. "And if it be not the best way of living, hang me!" concluded the lawyer. You," faltered the stranger, clasping his hands: "horrible supposition!!!" CHAPTER IV.-ENLIGHTENED SENTIMENTS. The lover looked confused-he mumbled out some excuse-just at present, he had reasons for wishing it concealed. Our unknown had a long military nose he looked like a man. who might have shot another in a duel. "Aha!" "Joy was not always absent from his face, said the attorney, winking; and lowering his voice "I smell you, sir-you have killed your man-ch!" "Ha!" cried the stranger; and slapping his forehead wildly, he rushed¦ out of the room. CHAPTER IIL-THE LAWYER MATCHED. "But let us change the theme."-Marino Faliero. It was now clear: the stranger had evidently been a brave transgressor of the law; perhaps an assassin, certainly a victorious single combater. This redoubled in Laura's bosom the interest she had conceived for him. There is nothing renders a young lady more ardent in her attachment than the supposition that her lover has committed some enormous crime. Her father thought he might make a good thing out of his new acquaintance. He resolved to find out if he was rich-if rich, he could rry him to his daughter; if poor, he might "inform against him, and get the reward. But o'er it in such scenes would steal with tranquil grace."-Childe Harold. "You will really marry me then, beautiful Laura," said the stranger kneeling on his pocket-handkerchief. Laura blushed. "You are so-so bewitching-and--and you will always love me and you will tell me who you are. After our marriage, yes," said the stranger somewhat discomposed. "No! now now,"-cried Laura, coaxingly. He was silent. "Come, I will get it out of you. You are an eldest son." "Indeed I am," sighed the stranger. "You have an hereditary title?" "Alas! yes!" "It descends to you?" "It does!" "You have a-a-the means to support it?" "Assuredly." "Convince me of that," said the lawyer, who had been listening unobserved, "and my daughter is yours-let you have killed your man a hundred times over!" "Wonderful liberality!" cried the stranger, enthusiastically, and throwing himself at the lawyer's feet. CHAPTER V.-CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. "The soul wears out her clothes."-PLATO.-Apparently not! he vehemently, "they are the poison of my existence. I shall lose Laura; I shall lose her fortune; I am discovered. No, not yet; I will flee to her, before the boots spreads the intelligence. I will force her to go off with me -go off!-how many people have I forced to go off before!" To avoid the people in the passage, the stranger dropped from the window. He Laura in the garden-she was crying violently, hastened to the lawyer's house-he found Miss the stranger offered her his own. and had forgotten her pocket-handkerchief; Her eyes fell on a marquis's coronet, worked in the corner, with the initials "T. P." "Ah! it is too true, then," said she sobbing; "the-the Marquis de Tête Perdu-" Here her voice was choked by her emotion. The stranger wore a splendid suit of clothes. The mystery about him attracted the admiration and marvel of the people at the little inn at which he had taken up his lodging. They were talking about him in the kitchen one morning when the boots was brushing his coat. A tailor from the capital, who was travelling to his country-seat, came into the kitchen to ask why his breakfast was not ready. "It is a beautiful coat!" cried the boots, holding it up. "What a cut!" cried the chambermaid. "It is lined with white silk," said the scullion, and she placed her thumb on the skirts. "Ha!" said the tailor,—“what do I see! it is the coat of the Marquis de Tête Perdu: I made it myself." "It is out-it is out!" cried the waiter. "The gentleman is a marquis. Gemini, how pleased Miss Laura will be!" "What's that, sir? so the strange gentleman is really the Marquis de Tête Perdu?" asked the landlady. "John, take the fresh eggs to his lordship. "Impossible!" said the tailor, who had fixed on the fresh eggs for himself. "Impossible!" and while he laid his hand on the egg-stand, he lifted his eyes to heaven. "Impossible! the marquis has been hanged "The tendency of the age is against all hereditary this twelvemonth!" CHAPTER VI.-THE DEPARTURE. "They have their exits and their entrances, And each man in his time plays many parts, Of which the end is death."-SHAKSPEARE, "Good heavens! how strange," said the lawyer, as he dismissed the landlord of the little inn. "I am very much obliged to you-only think I was just going to marry my daughter to a gentleman who had been hanged!" Laura burst into tears. 66 What if he should be a vampire!" said she: "it is very odd that a man should live twelve months after hanging." Meanwhile the stranger descended the stairs to his parlour; a group of idlers in the passage gave hastily way on both sides. Nay, the housemaid, whom he was about, as usual, to chuck under the chin, uttered a loud shriek and fell into a swoon. "The devil!" said the stranger, glancing suspiciously round; "am I known, then?" "Known! yes, you are known!" cried the boots-"The Marquis de Tête Perdu.' "Sacre bleu!" said the stranger, flinging into the parlour in a violent rage. He locked the door. He walked up and down with uneven strides. "Curse on these painful distinctions these hereditary customs!" cried "Damnation! what sobbed out the word "H-a-ng-e-d!" -what of him?" With great difficulty Laura "It is all up with me!" said the stranger, with he is certainly a vampire," wept the unfortua terrible grimace, and he disappeared. "Oh! nate Laura; "at all events, after having been hanged for twelve months, he cannot be worth much as a husband!” CHAPTER VII.-THE PHILOSOPHER. demarkations."-M. ROYER DE COLLARD. It was a melancholy dreary day, and about an hour after the above interview it began to rain cats and dogs. The mysterious stranger was walking on the highroad that led from the country town; he hoped to catch one of the public vehicles that passed that way towards the capital. He buttoned up the fatal coat, and took particular care of the silk skirts. "In vain," said he, bitterly, "is all this finery; in vain have I attempted to redeem my lot. Fate pursues me everywhere. Dn it! the silk will be all spotted; I may not get another such coat soon: seldom that a man of similar rank," here the rain set full in his teeth and drowned the rest of his soliloquy. He began to look round for a shelter, when suddenly he beheld a pretty little inn, standing by the roadside: he quickened his pace, and was presently in the traveller's room drying himself by the fire. There was a bald gentleman, past his grand climacteric, sitting at a little table by the window, and reading "Glumenborchiusisiculorum on the propriety of living in a parallelogram, and moving only in a right angle." Absorbed in his own griefs, the stranger did not notice his companion-he continued to dry his shirt-sleeves, and mutter to himself. "Ah!" said he, "no love for me; never shall I marry some sweet, amiable, rich young lady; the social distinctions confine me to myself. Odious law of primogeniture! hateful privileges of hereditary descent!" The bald gentleman, who was a great philosopher, and had himself written a large book in which he had clearly proved that "man was not a monkey," started up in delight at these expressions-"Sir," said he, warmly, holding out his hand to the stranger, "your sentiments do credit to your understanding you are one of the enlightened few whose opinions precede the age. Hereditary distinctions! they are indeed one of the curses of civilization." "You speak truly, venerable sir," said the stranger sighing. "Doubtless," continued the sage, "you are some younger son deprived of your just rights by the absurd monopoly of an elder brother." "No, I am myself the elder son; I myself exercise, and therefore deplore, that monopoly.' "Noble young man!-what generosity!-see what it is to be wise!" said the philosopher: "knowledge will not even allow us to be selfish." The stranger kindled into enthusiasm, and into eloquence. "What," said he, "what is so iniquitous as these preordinations of our fate against our will? We are born to a certain line we are accomplished to that line alone our duty is confined to a certain routine of execution we are mewed up like owls in a small conventual circle of gloom-we are paid sufficient for what we perform-we have, therefore, no incentive to our enterprise and ambition-the greater part of our life is a blank to us. If we stir abroad into more wide and common intercourse with mankind, we are perpetually reminded that a stamp is upon us -we cannot consult our inclinations-we must not marry as we please-we can never escape from ourselves" "And," pursued the philosopher, who liked to talk himself as well as to listen; "and while so unpleasant to yourself are these dangerous and hateful hereditary distinctions, what mischiefs do they not produce to your fellow-creatures!-condemned to poverty, they are condemned to the consequences of poverty;-ignorance and sin-they offend, and you hang them!" 'Hang-them!" "Ah!" the benevolent stranger covered his face with his hands. "What philanthropic tenderness!" said the philosopher; "Pardon me, sir, I must introduce myself: you may have heard of me; I am the author Slatterenobigioso; you, so enlightened, are probably an author yourself; perhaps you have turned your attention to morals, and are acquainted with the true nature of crime." "Ay," groaned the stranger, "I am acquainted with its end." "Or perhaps biography, the great teacher of practical truths, made you first learn to think. For my part I amuse myself even now by taking the lives of some of the most remarkable of my contemporaries." "Indeed!" said the stranger with inexpressible dignity, and then putting on his hat with an air, he stalked out of the room, saying over his left shoulder in a voice of conscious pride-"And I, sir, have done the same." CHAPTER VIII.-THE JEALOUSY. "She wrongs his thoughts."-The Corsair. "Ah, miss!" said the tailor, as he passed through the country town on a high trotting horse, and met the unfortunate Laura walking homeward with The Sorrows of Werter in her hand: "Ah! so the spark has carried himself off. How could you be so taken in? What? marry a "I know what you would say," interrupted Laura haughtily, "and I beg you will be silent. You knew him, then." "Ay, by sight. I have seen him on trying occasions, sure enough. But you will meet him no more, I guess: he is wanted in town to-morrow morning." "Gracious heaven! for what?" said Laura, thinking the Marquis de Tête Perdu was again apprehended for not having been hanged sufficiently. "Why-be prepared-miss, he is going to tie the noose." "Wretch! perfidious wretch!" shrieked Laura, as her fear now changed into jealousy; "do you mean that he is going to lead another to the altar?" "Exactly, miss!" said the tailor, and off went his high-trotting horse. CHAPTER IX. THE DENOUEMENT. "It is not for myself I do these things, but for my country." PLUTARCH'S APHORISM WHEN IN PLACE Common Aphorism among all Placemen. "Poor cousin Jack!" said the lawyer, as he was eating his breakfast; "he has been playing very naughty pranks, to be sure: but he is our cousin, nevertheless: We should pay him all possible respect. Come, girl, get on your bonnet; you may as well come with me: it will divert your mind." "La! papa: but, to be sure, there will be a great crowd. It is a most affecting sight; and, after all, I think a drive may do me good." "That's right, girl," said the father: and they were soon on the road to the capital. They arrived at an open space, but filled with spectators; they beheld a platform, raised above the heads of the people; |