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honeysuckle, and bound it round her brow; then, standing before her lookingglass, she curtseyed profoundly to her own image.

“O, who would not have given worlds to see her thus lightly clad, her forehead decked with flowers, smilingly dancing on her rosy, tiny feet?

"She slept, but her sleep was restless. Her hands moved convulsively, her breath was short, and the heaving of her heart rapid and irregular, she seemed troubled with some frightful dream, and twice or thrice she muttered my name. "It was late when her mother entered her room. 'Are you not well?' asked You look pale and

she, with a kiss. weary.'

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"No, mother, I am well,' replied she; "but last night I dreamt-O, I had a fearful dream. I heard a well-known voice weeping underground, and another voice replying, 'It is too late, you cannot now return!'

"These words caused me a fearful pang. Three days had passed since I had left my body inanimate. Without delay I sallied forth, and gave all possible speed to my flight. The air was heavy; the birds, conscious of the approach of a storm, were taking shelter in the trees; the wind was burning and suffocating as the air of a furnace, but I hastened on, on, on, heeding nought in my terror.

"At length I reached home, and thought I should soon be able to comfort my mother. When I arrived at my own door, two unusual circumstances attracted my attention. On the steps of the house lay a heap of black cloth, which had been removed from over the door, and the windows of my own

room

were wide open, although the blinds were carefully closed. What could all this mean?

"I flew in at the window of my bedroom. The interior was in the greatest disorder, and my body no longer lay on the bed where I had left it. On the carpet I observed a hammer and some nails, some blood-stained linen, and more black cloth. Such was my perturbation, that I could not comprehend the meaning of what I saw. With my utmost speed I flew into my mother's

room.

“Oh! never shall I forget the spectacle that was there revealed to my horror-stricken sight! Her attitude

betrayed the most poignant grief. Her eyes were closed, her countenance pale; she was wringing her hands in the writhings of grief. She was surrounded by my relations, who were all in tears.

"One of them whispered to her something which I could not hear, upon which she threw herself backwards in her chair, and exclaimed, in a voice broken with sobs

"Oh, my child, my son! who could have foreseen that you would die so young, and so cruel a death!'

"I saw it all. The horrors of truth flashed on me in all the fearfulness of their entirety! During the absence of my spirit, I had been taken for dead, and physicians had been called in. After much discussion, they had agreed that apoplexy had caused my sudden and terrible death. To make sure of this, they had subjected my poor body to an examination, which must have obliged my spirit to depart, even had it been present.

"One last hope remained. I flew to the church-to the graveyard. Alas, it was too late! The last shovelfull of earth had been thrown upon my coffin, and the crowd was silently dispersing.

"I went home distracted, weighed down by the awful burden of my sorrow! I cursed my imprudence, and the fatal power that had been its cause ! For many days I remained absorbed in my grief, and weeping over the sorrow that I had caused.

"Some time after my demise, the door of my mother's room suddenly opened, and Margaret flew into my mother's arms. Then I saw how great had been her love for me, and what a treasure I had lost! My dreams of happiness had vanished-my hopes of bliss had faded forever!

"I made a superhuman effort to speak, and explain my invisible presence. I wished to say to them,⚫ Do not weep, my loved ones-do not weep! I am here beside you, invisible, but ever devoted to you. My body is no more, but my spirit remains, and will never leave you!'

"Vain effort-I was as speechless as I was invisible. I envied even the fate of my body, which was at rest, and knew not this misery. So great was my wretchedness, that I would fain have died-but no !-my immortality weighed as a curse upon me!

"Two years have now elapsed since that dreadful day; and, since then, I have become one of those countless wandering spirits that hover in the regions of space without shape or soundthat remain unknown and unfelt until their Maker recall them into life, by placing them in some new-born earthly

tenement.

"For days and days I remained almost inanimate, broken by misfortune. Besides my regret for the past, besides my present sufferings, I had to endure the dread of the future. In the midst of my sorrows, my thoughts returned to Margaret. I resolved to watch over her, and be present with her forever in my spiritual shape, since I could not reveal myself to her otherwise.

"From that hour I have divided my existence between my mother and my promised bride. The more she grew in beauty, the more intense was my despair.

"The first bursts of grief gave way in her to a more peaceful melancholy. Often she called, weepingly, upon my name, little dreaming that it was MY spirit that dictated her sorrow. It is this very gift of ubiquity (which we possess, perhaps, too unwittingly during our life-time) that occasions our heart-vexations, and causes us to regret the dead. "When one loves, and is beloved, a fusion takes place between the spirits of the lovers. Each receives from the other a portion of that Divine breath which inspires us with life-each lives at once in himself and in the other loved being -each lives in the heart of the other; thus, by this interchange, is the spirit of each revived, inspired with new strength, with new faculties, new sensations, new delights-then both creatures are happy.

"But when, of these two united beings, one grows weary of its affection, and, yielding to the temptations offered by inconstancy, recalls that portion of spirit which it had imparted, then the balance of the other spirit becomes disturbed, a great void is felt, it feels dispossessed of a portion of its own existence, and suffers the pangs of unrequited love, until it find a fresh portion of extraneous vitality to replace that which it has lost.

"When death has destroyed the body which we inhabit, when we part from our clayey mansion never to return

to it, we take flight, leaving to those whom we had loved on earth that portion of ourselves which had been theirs during our life-time-thus do we still exist in their recollection. When they think of us, it is that our voice responds to theirs; when mortals experience moments of sadness for which they cannot directly account, and aspirations which appear aimless, it is that their spirit answers instinctively to the call of some portion of itself from which it has been riven by death.

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"We also, when released, carry with usthose portions of various spirits which have been in greater or lesser quantity imparted to us by those whom we loved while upon earth; and it is this interchange of spiritual ingredients which will occasion, in future generations, the novel and modified instincts that will be revealed to them. Thus the spirit goes on through the varied phases of life to which it is condemned, exchanging its atoms, completing its perfection, purifying itself, and expanding daily, until at length it becomes worthy of a place in those blissful regions, which it will only inhabit when it has again been admitted to form a part of the great Unit from whom it was originally separated. Margaret knew nothing of all this. She was unaware of my continual presence within her, and her grief served but to increase my own. I was with her unceasingly. I followed her to the balls which her mother compelled her to attend; and hovering about her, shed round her an atmosphere cooler than the heated air of the rooms. Ah! could she but know how often I have rested upon the delicate flower-wreaths that encircled her brow! At times I used to dip into the cups of the flowers she loved best, and return to her redolent of their perfume. In winter I am very unhappy, The trees are leafless, and the flowers faded! I know not where to seek shelter, and I wander restlessly in search of places that can protect me from the chilling blasts. But I end by returning to my beloved Margaret. Often, however, it happens that, just as I have reached her door, weary with combating the force of the gales, and numbed with the falling snow, a gust of wind seizes me, and hurries me far away. I have no strength to resist its violence, and am carried off, in company with other wandering and troubled spirits.

On the wings of the hurricane, I traverse wild regions and vast expanse of ocean, hearing the sailors uttering wild prayers for help as the wind passes over their ship, and we shriek in pain as we are hurled through the sharp cordage, or dashed against the mast.

"These torments might have lasted to all eternity, had not Heaven in its mercy permitted me to return to life amongst men. This night my incarnation will take place, and I hasten to write this account of my misfortunes, as a warning to others who might be as imprudent as myself.

"One evening I was in Margaret's room, when her mother entered, and, kissing her affectionately on the forehead, told her this was her twentieth birth-day, and that she must think seriously of marrying. Margaret bowed her head, and, with tearful voice, uttered my name. Her mother reproved her tenderly, and argued with her upon the inutility of her protracted regret, enforcing upon her the imprudence of sacrificing the advantages which the present occasion offered, for the sake of that which could be nothing to her but a reminiscence.

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Margaret hesitated. She fixed her eyes upon her mother for a long time without speaking-an inward combat was going on. At length, with the courage of one who has taken a great resolve, she threw herself into her mother's arms, saying, 'Mother, I obey you!'

"The marriage was thenceforward looked upon as settled.

"At first she was cold and reserved towards her intended husband: a voice

seemed ever to murmur in her ear, 'Remember! remember!' But this voice grew weaker, and the recollection of my poor self seemed to fade gradually away.

"I was in despair! I had forgotten that all wounds may be healed, and that love is a Phoenix which dies but to revive again!

"In the midst of my sorrow, a bright thought came across me. They were just married, and perhaps I might obtain permission to return to earth in a shape that should be dear to Margaret. I rose to heaven, and laid my prayer before its almighty Monarch. He, having compassion on my protracted sufferings, and deeming that I had sufficiently expiated my crime of rashness, granted the petition which I had laid at his feet. Thus all is over; and, to-morrow, one miserable soul the less will people the boundless regions of space.

"I shall reappear before Margaret's eyes in a form dearer to her than even that which I was wont to bear. Yes, I, who have so long worshipped Margaret as her lover, shall henceforth love her as her child!"

*

Here the manuscript came to an end. When I had finished it, my candles were burnt very low, and I decided that it was too late to begin my new work. I re-lighted my narguileh, and looked out pensively into the brilliant night; and, for the last four-and-twenty hours, I have believed implicitly in the transmigration of souls. CAMPANA.

Our readers will perceive that, owing to a press of matter, we have added two extra

pages to our present number.

NORTHERN MAGAZINE.

No. XI.

JANUARY, 1853.

VOL. I.

HOLLY-BERRIES FOR CHRISTMAS AND THE NEW YEAR.

WINTER SCENERY-THOUGHTS OF THE SEASON-TRANSLATIONS FROM ANACREON -TO MY SISTER-A CHRISTMAS PARTY-LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP-A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

God!

And we, the NORTHERNS, who have now to keep our first Christmas day with our friends the public, feel all our faults, but, with the waits, we would cry,

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Pardon, Gentles, give to us

Upon this Christmas morning!"

And as at this season there is a sweet and graceful custom in England, and the South of Ireland, of dressing and adorning the churches with the bright, glistering holly, and ivy " never sere," typical of the undying soul, and its unfading glory in the Hereafter; and as these glancing leaves are tokens of kindness from one heart to another, and speak one feeling, that of gratitude to the Giver of all, so will we decorate our little niche in the Northern as a pledge of our thoughts for you, dear Public, and gather some glancing holly-berries of thought, bright, red, and shining.

SOME months have passed and mirrored Error for the future, with the blessing of themselves in history since we gleaned in the harvest-field of literature and art; and winter has stolen upon us unawares, and arrived at our fireside before we were dreaming of his approach. The white, fleecy snow-flakes come floating and flying through the cold December air to the bosom of mother earth; the bell-shaped icicles, hanging to the grey and brown branches of the bare and leafless trees, make fairy, mournful music in the frost-bringing wind which gently waves them to and fro with its unseen and spirit-like hand, while the glancing wintry sunbeams, coldly falling on them, light them with a thousand varied hues, and they meet the rays with a sparkling glance, until their smiles change to tears, and they vanish from our sight. The buried fences, marking where fields, and hedgerows, and pastures lie, seem in the silvery frost like trellised fairy-land, and nature is all clad in one great robe-a spotless shroud of white. The season brings to us both joy and sorrow; the gleaming of the yule-log, the happy meeting at the Christmas fireside, the kind wishes of the New Year, all remind us that another of our years has flown, and that we are one step nearer to eternity! Neglected duties, shortcomings, sins committed, and benefits forgotten, all rise before us; and yet, rainbow-like, they make an arch to shine on the future, and the recollection of our faults this year we treasure as a warder to guide us and keep us from the Land of

What a pile of communications are heaped up on the editorial table; tiny little notes, with scarlet-edged and bluefringed envelopes, and perfumed wax, square and severely-folded letters, bulky packages-yea, whole volumes of manuscript, an entire novel, doomed, we fear, never to see the light in our pages, heavy historical essays and rechauffées, pilgrimages, scenes, reflections, and such a quantity of poetry as would make Dominie Sampson exclaim " Prodigious!"

Diving into the heap, as the diver of

old did into the whirlpool for the ring, we
explore the treasures of the deep, and
find ourselves the possessor of half-a-
dozen poems.
One after another is
tossed aside. Ah, "Moimeme!" your
first warblings are sweet, but, as yet, but
the lay of an imprisoned bird, longing to
escape and be free; soon we trust it
will essay a higher flight, for your "Look-
ing Forth" is a pretty little picture, but

the

too diffusely worded. "Julias," "Leonoras," "Sybillas," relentless we pass you by; but here is one, who, with a youthful, classic fancy, has sent us some really excellent translations of matchless Odes of Anacreon-translations full of fire and vigour, and of much promise. Take the following as an example of his fidelity to the original and his musical ear:

TRANSLATIONS FROM ANACREON.
ODE I. TO THE LYRE.

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Glasgow.

I WISHED to sing of Atreus old,
Of mighty Cadmus to have told,
But on the lyre's resounding strings,
Love, love, almighty love, yet rings.
When I the lyre had once unstrung,
On it of Hercules had sung,
Even then, upon its sounding strings,
Love, love, almighty love, yet rings.
Then, said I, heroes fare-ye-well,
Your deeds no more the lyre shall tell,
For still, upon its sounding strings,
Love, love, almighty love, yet rings.

ODE XVIII.-TO HIS MISTRESS.

COME, best of painters, paint with art,
The absent mistress of my heart.
Come thou, endowed with Rhodian skill,
Paint her who holds me at her will.
Paint first her hair of raven hue,
Let it be soft, and flowing too,
And paint, beneath the purplish hair,
Her ivory forehead, smooth and fair.
And do not part her eyebrows much,
But, softly meeting, let them touch.
Make black the arch the eye around,
As in her beauteous self 'tis found.
And let her flashing eye beam bright,
As radiant star in darksome night;
And make it like Minerva's, blue,
Let it be moist, like Venus', too.

Then paint her cheeks and chisell'd nose,

When milk you've mingled with the rose :
And her inviting lip so make,

That I may wish a kiss to take;

Paint next with skill her dimpled chin,

Which may the prize of beauty win;
And round her Parian neck let twine,
In flutt'ring grace, the three divine.
Then robe her all in purple hue,
Yet leave some glimpses to the view
Of the fair form, which may recall

The perfect loveliness of all.
Enough! I see herself appear!
Speak, wax, and charm my waiting ear!

Translations innumerable we have before us, but none so good as these. We now make another venture, and find ourselves the possessors of some lines

L. C. G.

"To my Sister." Christmas time will bring to many a heart some sad thoughts like these, so, as a tribute to the memory, not of one, but of many, we insert them.

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