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to write it.”—“ It is done as you influence over us is so enthralling, do every thing, my child, and it has that they infect us with all their evil, given me so much pleasure, that I by linking us so closely to them. almost think I shall ask you to try Who, alas! can burst their bonds ?”your hand upon more of these songs “ Now, my dear father, if so you of the King of Israel.”—“ Gladly, speak, I could say, Do read the most gladly, will I do my best, my Paradise Regained there you will dear father. Oh! you know not half see that the bonds may be burst. Oh, the delight this little volume would indeed, there is one by whose aid, if give you as it is thus, in our native

we ask it, they will readily be broken. tongue,” (and she placed her little -But you will let me, you ask me, hand fervently and affectionately on to shew you more from whence I the very small Bible that had been have this morning gathered. I will in her basket;)" but if I can lead you leave all, therefore, to time; and a to look into its treasures, by taking day will come when you will read from it my morning translation, how this with me-and that will be hapI shall rejoice. Milton has tried to piness indeed !”—“Dearest Medora! tell of its beauties; but do you child of my heart! what would I not not think, sir, that he is very feeble do to give you happiness? and if it is -worse than feeble, I should say, in the

power of any one to give it me, in Paradise Regained ? When he it is you, my love, it is you! But let gives language to be uttered by our no cloud disturb the sunshine of this Saviour, it seems as if the very pre- most beauteous morning. Letus leave sumption took from him the powers this subject-and now I turn to the and the talents he possessed, and drawings. Ah ! this is sweetly done, could exert to sublimity when deal my dear. What, your old friend Miing with men and angels? I never chael Raeburn ! and where is it you could like his speakings for our Hea- have placed him in such pensive venly Father in the Paradise Lost; mood? is it not the Wishing-Gate? and in the other, I sometimes think Yes, I see it is, and it could not be the poverty of the language, the li- better--'tis the very thing to place berties he takes, the strange and most beside the poem. I must shew our unpleasant words and phrases that friend how well you have illustrated he uses, amount almost to profana- his last little poem. I'm sure he will tion.”—“ Come, come, Medora, ļ be pleased—but what made you think must cry, Hold-enough! I quarrel of such a sketch ?” _“ Old Michael enough with the orb of song, the and I were together for a long time divine Milton,' myself, and have got this morning, and he told me he had into sad disgrace, you know, with been visiting the Gate in his way our own poet, on that account; so I here; and, as we were talking togemust not have you come and suggest ther, I sat on my bench by the hillfresh criticisms against him. I ne side, and just began this part of the ver got through the last poem, having, Gate and the mountains, and, as he to say truth, been disgusted in the walked away from me, I took the lioutset, so I know not the part to berty of taking him.”

“ And then, which you allude.”—“ I am quite when your morning tasks were done, sure you would not like it, and I am or rather, when the labour you deat a loss to think how he could speak light in—when what gives gladness so tamely of the Holy Volume, when to your father-was completed, you weighing it with the works of unin- walked, and walked too far, for surespired men—the men of Greece-of ly you are tired—the morning has whom Satan speaks so grandly.”. been too warm for you. Well, I must “ Ah, my dear, 'tis a melancholy mo tell you a bit of news-our worthy ral, or a severe satire upon poor hu rector has got a living given him, man nature, that even such a man as such as there are few of-I would Milton—(and we must, spite of what there were none--they say, of L.2000 we love not in him, place him on that a-year, on which he means to reside. pinnaclewhere few can stand, of minds Now this rejoices me, for it will be of might and souls that soar) —’tis, I strange indeed if we get not a plea. say, à saddening and humbling re santer neighbour than he has proved, flection, that he depicts best and most and whoever he may appoint as a forcibly those fallen spirits, whose curate, can scarcely be so intolerable

in desk or pulpit as he is. I wish come-but must there not be labourto my heart our friend De Lacey were ers to gather it in ? Remember, dear, to have the curacy, though it is so dear father, how you yourself depoor that the wish is unfriendly, and lighted in Bishop Heber's book. Can the person he went to assist for a I ever forget your marking the pas time may have found some perma- sage about Archdeacon Corrie,* and nent duty for him perhaps ; but if saying, ' Now that man I envy?' Inever I missed the society of a man deed you did ! so what you are now if ever I took real delight in social saying is not your real feeling. 'Tis intercourse with a man so much my indeed painful to part with dear junior-it was in that youth. So friends-the excellent, the amiable, much do I love him, that I am often the kind—but we ought not to muron the brink of desiring the death of mur if they are parted from us, that his poor old uncle Sir Herbert, and they may serve God better elsewhere. that our friend Frederic might find I know that we ought not, though I himself master of the Priory! But feel that it is a heavy sorrow, and the Medora will frown at me for any wish murmur will arise.”-“I cannot that, to do good to one, harmeth ano believe that his uncle will let bim ther; she will have the last lines of go,” said Colonel Blessington, as he Hart-leap well in her mind, so I must paced the room much disturbed, and say no more in that strain-I only ever and anon looking with deep inwish fervently that the youth would terest and kindness at his lovely come to Font-vale for a visit; and in daughter. The breakfast was finishthat wish, you, my dear, will join ed; and as both seemed musing, we me-will you not?” The father look- will draw before them the curtain of ed up at his daughter, in some sur conjecture as to what was passing in prise that the answer did not tread their bosoms, and take our reader on the heels of the question, and he out once more into “ the world in saw the blush with which she said, the open air.”

Certainly, papa-and your wish is When Frederic de Lacey parted granted, for Mr De Lacey is there, but from his loved companion, it was only for a short, short time, I fear. I doing a violence to his nature. Had have seen him this morning, and he he followed the devices and desires brings ill news—to my thinking, at of his own heart, he would not so least-for he is going to India as have torn himself from her: more C'aplain to the new Bishop, who is would he have said.

But I am his particular friend.”—“Now may speaking of those who are actuated India be without Bishops for the rest by higher and better motives than of her days! may her widows go selfish ones; his heart might be burstburn! and her pagodas be filled for ing, but lie must endure that agony, ever! sooner than Frederic de Lacey sooner than relieve it at the risk of should court an early grave by join- bringing future trouble on another. ing the infatuated party that imagine He was turning towards the entrance they can do good there equivalent to to Font-vale Priory, but he rememthe loss of the men of worth and ta- bered that his invalid uncle would lent that have been sacrificed to such not be visible for hours; why not, delusion!”—“ Stop, stop, my dear therefore, ramble and loiter amid the father, you know not what you say! beautiful scenery, which has ten you know not the holy purposes, the thousand sympathies for one ever high hopes, the truly Christian self- ready-which meets us soothingly, devotion of those men, nor do you re- be we in sadness, or gladsomely, be flect on the blessing they have already we in joy? He took the path to the proved among a people who were lake again, and thought, Surely in its in darkness ;-the seed is already in calm bosom I shall find peace to this the ground-the harvest is sure to troubled heart within me. It reflects

* Mission School in Benares." One of the most pleasing sights of all was the calm but intense pleasure visible in Archdeacon Corrie's face, whose efforts and influence had first brought this establishment into activity, and who now, after an interval of several years, was witnessivg its usefulness and prosperity."--Heber's Journal.

I am

the clouds that are passing, but not and grandfather always prays for our one leaves a shade of sadness, or dis- best friends; and then I think of our turbs the tranquil loveliness of its dear lady and of you; and I think, too, still waters. Heaven is ever to be of my pretty little red prayer-book. seen there; and who can gaze upon But grandfather says I should not the heaven above, and the heavens think of that then-only I cannot alon the face of those fair waters, with- ways help it. Pray, forgive me, sir, out being the better for such vision but when I wanted the rushes, I did —without receiving a ray of that not look at your face, only at your peace

which the world cannot give? boots, which looked as if they would He was about to open the volume not mind the water.” She had got he discovered he still had possession quite close to him during this long of, as he lay stretched on the rough and most animated explanation, and ground beside the margin of the lake, was stretching her little neck to look when a soft footstep made him turn up at him all the time. He took her his head. He watched a little girl up in his arms, and gave her a kiss. putting down a basket, which seemed " I shall certainly forgive you, Mary, to contain provisions; and then she for not finding out by my boots that went close to the water, and put a Ig gave you a prayer-book for being a foot forward, and then drew back, good child;—and so now for the rushand then she turned and looked round, es. Do you wish me to go into the very and seeing one on the ground look- middle of them, and gather the finest? ing at her, she came to him, and said, or will you be satisfied with some of “ð! pray do, if you can reach them, those near the edge ?”—“Oh, not inget me some of those rushes, I want to the middle ! you would be drownthem so much; and if grandfather ed; and then so many would be sorknew I got them he would chide me. ry. Only just these, which your long I told him I never would. I'm so glad arms will reach.—Oh, thank you! you are here, sir ; pray, get up and thank you! Why, this will make a get them-you must be able.” Now, large one, or two little ones. if ever there was a lovely little cot so glad I've got them; and your shitage girl, the one who spoke was one ning boot is not wet at all! How a little ardent creature, with such much longer your arms must be than eyes that could be so gladsome, so mine!” « And what are you going beaming--the very spirit of a laugh- to do with these rushes ? _“I can ing summer day—and yet they could make pretty little baskets with them, be so full of deep feeling and sad- while grandfather eats his breakfast, ness, if aught was sad with those she and I say my lessons to him ; and, loved. In this case, they varied in you've got me such a many of them, their expression most bewitchingly; I shall be able to make one for old for there was all the radiance of hope Martha too. _“And who is the other and joy at attaining, and yet the ea for? Is it to be for me, Mary?”—“Oh, ger anxiety and doubt whether she no, not for you, but for our dear should. And then she spoke her little lady; but, if you wantone, I can make entreaty in a sweet touching voice, you one; only you have nowhere to that even a child-hater could not have put it, have you ?”—“ Why, where resisted. “That I will, my dear little will your dear lady put hers, think maid,” said Frederick, rising. “But you ?”—“ Oh, she'll put flowers in why don't you remember me, Mary? it, and place it on the stand in her You see I know you. I don't know own little room, where every thing that I shall get rushes for little girls is prettier than anywhere else in the who forget their old friends.” Mary world. She has got many lovely flownow opened her eyes, and seemed ers on the green stand, and one is puzzled. “Oh, I know you now! It a myrtle, that she loves best of all, was you who came and read to grand- and takes such care to water it. It father when he was ill; it was you was only a bit gathered off when Laread him the beautiful hymn, which dy first had it. Wasn't it you brought our dear lady sent him afterwards to it her that evening from the Priory? keep; and 'twas you gave old Mar. Oh, it is such a beauty! I made a tha the red cloak, and you gave me little rush basket to go over the pot, a little prayer-book. I do remember but no handles, you know.”. Thus you. You are one of our best friends did the lively little girl run on, looking



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all the time earnestly at him to whom "Enough that all around is fair,
she spoke ; and then she suddenly Composed with Nature's finest care;

And in her fondest love;
said, “ But I mustn't stay. Grand-
father will want his breakfast; he's

Peace to embosom and content, up in the corn-fields at the Squire's. To overawe the turbulent,

The selfish to reprove. Good bye, sir-thank you for these nice rushes.” And off she went, first Yes! even the stranger from afar, taking up her basket. Frederick Reclining on this moss-grown bar, stretched himself on the bank again, Unknowing and unknown, and bethought him of all that his lit. The infection of the ground partakes, tle friend had let fall. “ Oh, would Longing for his beloved—who makes that I had unloaded to her all my All happiness her own. heart! And yet why do I say so?

Then why should conscious spirits fear Would it not have been base selfish

The mystic stirrings that are here, ness till I know my doom ?” This

The ancient faith disclaim ? he muttered to himself, scarcely to The local Genius ne'er befriends be heard by the spirit of the waters. Desires whose course in folly ends, He then again opened the volume, Whose just reward is shame. and was attracted to the fly-leaf, where he espied, in the sweetest wri- If some, by ceaseless pains outworn,

Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn, ting in the world, a manuscript poem,

Here crave an easier lot; by the author of the rest. He caught If some have thirsted to renew at it eagerly, not wholly from a love

A broken vow, or bind a true for that writing, but from a delight

With firmer, holier knot. in the bard whom he venerated. It was a short poem, called “ The Wish

And not in vain, when thoughts are cast ing-Gate;"—and suppose we repeat Upon the irrevocable past, it, as all may not have it engraven on

Some pepitent sincere their memories as I have.

May for a worthier future sigh,

While trickles from his downcast eye

No unavailing tear. In the vale of Grassmere, by the side The worldling, pining to be freed of the highway leading to Ambleside, From turmoil, who would turn or speed is a gate which, time out of mind, has The current of his fate, been called the Wishing-Gate, from Might stop before this favoured scene a belief that wishes formed or indul. At Nature's call, nor blush to lean ged there have a favourable issue. Upon the Wishing-Gate. Hope rules a land for ever green.

The sage, who feels how blind, how weak, All powers that serve the bright-eyed Is man, though loath such help to seek, Queen

Yet, passing, here might pause, Are confident and gay;

And yearn for insight to allay Clouds at her bidding disappear;

Misgiving, while the crimson day Points she to aught ? the bliss draws near,

In quietness withdraws;And fancy smooths the way.

Or whenthe church-clock's knell profound, Not such the land of Wishes_There To Time's first step across the bound Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer,

Of midnight, makes reply : And thoughts with things at strife;

Time pressing on, with starry crest, Yet, how forlorn, should ye depart,

To filial sleep upon the breast Ye superstitions of the heart,

Of dread Eternity! How poor were human life!

They pleased much our youthful and When magic lore abjured its might, ardent reader, and gave a gentle turn Ye did not forfeit one dear right, to his thinkings—for he dwelt more

One tender claim abate;
Witness this symbol of your sway,

upon the important question which

his uncle was in a manner to decide. Surviving near the public way,

“I will wend my way to this gate," The rustic Wishing-Gate.

said he; “why should not I seek a Enquire not if the fairy race

friendly sympathy in the being who Shed kindly influence on the place,

rules there ? Why should not I ask Ere northward they retired ;

of that good angel a boon, such as my If here a warrior left a spell,

heart is panting for ?" He sauntered Panting for glory as he fell ;

on, and there were his hopes, his Or here a saint expired.

life, his all of promised joy and bless

ing, again turned to the haven of his his beloved Master. “May, then, my happiness—again with—But stop; lot be cast where I can do most for suttice it, they were not in India; His glory—bring most to His cross; they were not with the zealous bring- and may strength be given me to ers of glad tidings to the children bear meekly the sorrowful partings who wanted light ; they were not and privations that the fulfilment of with his friend the heavenly-minded, this wish may involve." the truly apostolic Townsend ; they And was he not his best self when were not even with his old infirm he turned from the gate ? had he not uncle, smoothing his thorny pillow, fought the good fight ?-for it is no or striving to lead him to the only light thing to put up a wish, or a fountain of comfort and refreshment prayer rather, on this spot. A few after a life of many gifts, and much paces from the gate he again met the forgetfulness of the Giver. No, no, little Mary. “Well, my little friend, one radiant image filled his heart, what, again are we to meet ? And and to part with it seemed anguish. what do you want me to do now? He came in sight of the gate; a still- for you look wistfully upon the bank ness reigned around it—a solemn still. beyond the ditch ?--And the basket ness ;-it struck him, the pensive, is made! and very pretty it is; I must almost warningly sweet note of one certainly have one some day.” only bird told of the silence, and “I daresay the kind lady would spoke to him whose footsteps inter- give you this if she knew you liked rupted it. “What note is that ?” he it; but you must not ask for it, beinwardly asked himself.

“I never

cause grandfather says that it is not heard it before; I feel there is mean- right. But to-morrow, if you'd get me ing in it. I could fancy that it says more rushes, sir, I would make you to me that I am scarcely in fit mood one, and fill it with roses off my own to commune with the Spirit of the bush ; but will you, if you please, Gate ; it seems to warn me not to reach me some of those corn-flowers, wish rashly—to remember that a they would look so pretty with all good angel listens, and will not grant these sweet grasses I have been gathe wish of one who thinks only of thering ? and Lady always likes the his happiness, and overlooks the high corn poppies and those blue flowers and holy purposes for which he was -Will you ?" called into being, and for which he “ Yes, that I will, Mary; only you was endowed with noble faculties, must hold my hat, or I may drop it and various talents. Stop, and re into the ditch as I scramble under flect! Calm the ardour that is glow- that old thorn.” ing in thine heart, and frame a wish “Oh, that is a nosegay of them ! I that will be worthy of you—one that shall have enough for dear old Maris untainted by selfishness, and that tha's basket too-How very good you will not bring upon you the ranklings are to me, sir! You do look so LIKE of remorse!"

the picture when your hat's off, sir, I tell not whether the bird's note I wish you would not wear it.” of touching sadness whispered all “ Not wear my hat this hot day, this to him; or whether the spirit, Mary? what can you mean? And hoverer o'er the gate of tears, of sighs, what picture have you ever seen that of penitence, of prayer, aye, and of is like me? and where?” smiles and joyfulness too, or whe Oh, it is quite like your face, ther the light within him, lit up this though not your clothes ; haven't you pure flame, by which he saw into seen it? There's an old man, and he's himself, I say not ; bůt, after rest- just like grandfather; and then there's ing on the moss-grown bars, and one young, and he's leading him, and meditating such a volume of pure that's like you ; but Lady calls it thoughts and heavenly breathings as Bellesa, or something like that; She even spirits delight to read, there did it; and I love to look at grandfacame from him a wish, not such as ther, and she looks at it too, when was beaming in his eye when first he she is singing and playing sweet approached it, but one that proved music, for it hangs just before her. him a true Christian, a disciple who Wouldn't you like to see it? I'll ask desired, fervently desired, to be a her, sir, if you may, and I think she faithful follower, a useful minister, of will let you, when I tell ber how kind

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