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O, magical glass,

Canst keep in thy bosom

Shades of leaf and of blossom
When summer days pass,

So that when thy wave hardens
It shapes as it pleases,
Unharmed by the breezes,
Its fine hanging gardens?
Hast those in thy keeping
And canst not uncover,
Enchantedly sleeping,
The old shade of thy lover?
It is there! I have found it!
He wakes, the long sleeper!
The pool is grown deeper,
The sand-dance is ending,
The white floor sinks blending
With skies that below me
Are deepening and bending,
And a child's face alone
That seems not to know me,
With hair that fades golden
In the heaven's-glow round it,
Looks up at my own;

Ah, glimpse through the portal
That leads to the throne,
That opes the child's olden
Regions Elysian!

Ah, too holy vision

For thy skirts to be holden

By soiled hand of mortal!
It wavers, it scatters,
'Tis gone past recalling!
A tear's sudden falling

The magic cup shatters,

Breaks the spell of the waters,
And the sand-cone once more,

With a ceaseless renewing,

Its dance is pursuing

On the silvery floor,

O'er and o'er,

With a noiseless and ceaseless renewing.

VII.

'Tis a woodland enchanted!

If you ask me where is it?

I only can answer

'Tis past my disclosing;
Not to choice is it granted

By sure paths to visit
The still pool enclosing
Its blithe little dancer;
But, in some day, the rarest
Of many Septembers,
When the pulses of air rest
And all things lie dreaming
In the drowsy haze streaming

From the wood's glowing embers,

Then sometimes, unheeding

And asking not whither,

By a sweet inward leading

My feet are drawn thither,

And, looking with awe in the magical mirror, I see through my tears,

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Half doubtful of seeing,
The face unperverted,
The warm, golden being,
Of a child of five years;

And, spite of the mist and the error,
And the days overcast,

Can feel that I walk undeserted,

But forever attended

By the glad heavens that bended
O'er the innocent past;

Toward fancy or truth

Doth the sweet vision win me?
Dare I think that I cast
In the fountain of youth,
The fleeting reflection
Of some by-gone perfection
That still lingers in me?

FRENCH ALMANACS FOR 1853.

PHYSICIANS tell us that if you sup

press the humors of the natural body they will break out in sore places, and the same appears to be true of the body politic. Stop the free publication of opinion, and it will publish itself quite as freely, but in irregular and abnormal methods. The blessed President of the French nation, proclaimed Emperor while this sheet is preparing, has abolished the daily press as an instrument of discussion, but, in doing so, has imparted new virility to the almanac.

There has always been a plentiful crop in France of these messengers of science and sentiment, as the jour de l'an or day of each new year, approached, but this year, of all others, Paris has teemed with the product. We have before us some thirty or forty different specimens, and though they are not so various or edifying as the works which Pantagruel found in the library of St. Victor, they are sufficiently interesting as signs of the times.

The first and principal of them, the most dignified and learned, is of course the Almanac of France, put forth by the National Society, having a sort of official character, and aiming at high didactic purposes. A motto on the cover states that 'fifteen millions of Frenchmen learn from the almanac all that they know of the destiny of Europe, of the laws of their counVOL. I.-4

try, of the progress of science, art, and industry, and of their duties and their rights." What a confession, if it be true! And yet recent events in France render it verisimilar, and under present prospects, we should say that even the almanac will be superfluous soon; for there will be few duties or rights left to the people whereof to get informed!

It is twenty years since this almanac was established, on the model of our Franklin's "Poor Richard's," and having devoted itself during the interval to the diffusion of healthful and useful notions among the poorer classes, of the towns especially, besides giving the usual statistics of such publications, we think the statement in the preface for this year sig nificant. It says, "The actual legislation having forbidden excursions into the domain of politics or even of social economy; we shall conform to the law, yet, regretting that we may not allude to the events of the past year." Poor mortals, they cannot give the working men so much as a crumb of advice on their daily pursuits, or a scrap of information as to what their rulers have been doing, without running the hazard of a visit from the police. Great cowards these despots!

But what do they write about in the absence of these topics? you ask; we will tell you. They give of course the ephem

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eris, the ecclesiastical feasts, the state of the tides; the rising and setting of the sun, &c., for in these there appears to be no possible constructive offence to the government; and they give also moral essays, on such novel themes as disinterestedness." and "modesty," or a brief tale illustrative of "filial devotion," or an account of an exposition of flowers, together with the necrology of the year, a timorous anecdote or two, a judicial decision, some curious medical cases, and several agricultural and domestic receipts. Now -you will answer- -that if this is the nature of the reading which fifteen millions of Frenchmen get, you are not surprised at the fantastic tricks of the nephew of his uncle. Nor are we!

Unfortunately this is not all the reading they find. Three of the small annuals on our table are devoted to the special task of indoctrinating them into the beauties of imperial rule. One is called the Almanac of the Empire, and relates all the great things that the Emperor did during the days of his power. Another is the Almanac of Napoleon, and tells what the same glorious individual did all the rest of his days, how he was totally superior to all the other men that ever lived, and how France by his means was raised to a pinnacle of prosperity and renown quite miraculous to see. But then comes the third-for which the foregoing two are only preparatives-called the Imperial Almanac, with a great staring L. N. on the title page, with the "ugly mug" of the same L. N. profusely illustrating the other pages, and a faithful portrait of the identical cagle which lit upon his shoulder (there was some raw meat besides his head in the hat) at the famous descent upon Boulogne. It narrates with a snobbish fidelity that is charming, all the brilliant exploits of the nephew's life, from the time he was born to the time he was about to declare the empire-how he was quite a remarkable infant, and had teeth early; how he rowed his mother in a boat; how he jumped into a stream to save a lady's flower; how he wanted to become a soldier like his uncle, but did not; yet to solace his disappointment, thought it would be equally glorious to sell violets like the little fellow at the gate of the Tuileries; how he put out the gauze of Madame Saqui, the rope-dancer, once, when she caught fire, and many other illustrious and wonderful deeds not chronicled in any other history. We are further informed that he rises at seven o'clock in the morning; that he eats breakfast at eleven; that when sitting at the council board he draws curious figures with a pencil on scraps of paper, having nothing better to do; that he sometimes

rides out in a tilbury; that he dines at seven; that he goes to the opera or some of the minor theatres, and that he sleeps -but nothing is said of that.

The "Almanac of Literature and the Fine Arts," furnishes statistics of the twenty-six theatres of Paris, the names of their directors and principal performers, the pieces that have been performed during the year, portraits of Rachel, Meyerbeer, Sontag, Rohan. Cerito, &c., the officers of the different literary and artistic societies, and a sprinkling of anecdotes about distinguished writers. The latter we do not find very original or very piquant, though a sketch named "a First Representation, or the little Miseries of a Dramatic Author," has much sprightliness of manner. After his play was written, he assembled his friends to hear it read. There were just fifty of them present, and at the close of the exercise he received just fifty different criticisms. One said it had too much action; another, too much dialogue; a third, that the love passages were too ardent; a fourth, that a little love now and then would warm up the heavier parts; another, that it was too classical; another, that it was too romantic; another, that if the three acts were reduced to one it would be capital; and another, that if they were extended to five nothing could surpass its certain success. Thus the manager who had accepted it went away with a long face, the actors who were to perform it were disgusted, and even the callboys began to put their thumbs to their noses. But the play had been announced, and must be played. Then the chief of the claqueurs-as they name the applauders-had to be dealt with, and the proper places for his more or less vehement ap provals rehearsed; then the free tickets had to be distributed to suitable person ages; then the bill-stickers of other theatres bought up; then the feuilletonists or critics of the journals propitiated by a supper; then the dresses of the leading actress presented to her; then the bou quets for the other actresses purchassed, then came the shaking of hands with friends in the saloons; then the lively jests behind the scenes; then the raising of the curtain, and then-an instant, peremptory, irretrievable damnation of the piece, as stupid beyond endurance!

In the "Almanac of the Illustration," we have pictorial excellence as the chief feature, characteristic scenes for each month of the year, views of famous places, copies of pictures, such as the Conception of Murillo, which sold lately for half a million francs; portraits of well known individuals, the figures of the Carnival, popular sports, and caricatures, all exe

cuted with skill and the invariable French love of effect. Of the latter, or the caricatures, the best is a series representing a ball at Paris. First, an old gentleman full-dressed, with his hands under his coat-tail, and his eyes turned to the chandelier, exclaims, "No one yet! it's diabolical, and so many wax lights burning!" Next, the mistress of the house points out a lank fellow busily consuming ice-cream. "A calamity, that chap," she says, "he is now on his fifteenth glass, cost 17 francs 50 centimes, and the soirée has scarcely commenced." Then, an ambitious mother presents a hideously ugly old man to a modest young girl, remarking aloud, "Ernestine, this gentleman does you the honor of inviting you to dance," and at the same time whispering, "Do the amiable, my child; he has thirty thousand francs income. "It would seem, my friend," ob.serves one dandy to another, "that they give no supper to-night;" to which the other replies nonchalantly, "Then I stop my expenses," and coolly takes off his new pair of gloves. Finally the lady entertainer, a fat frowzy creature of two tons or less, not having been invited to waltz the whole evening, pouts out with great indignation, "Catch me at giving another ball to such idiots!" At the same time the master is thrust violently against the wall by the foot of a dancer, who capers altogether too nimbly under the influence of champagne. On the whole, it is an excellent social satire, and we only wish we could give our readers the cuts as well as the conversation.

Fun is the staple of these almanacs. For two or three consecrated to useful purposes, we have fifteen or twenty given up to anecdotes, calembours, jests, quips, cranks, plays, rebuses and caricatures. It is quite curious to see how they find names for so many works of the same purport. There is the Laugher's Almanac, the Comic Almanac, the Droll's Almanac, the Facetious Almanac, the Wit's Almanac, the Almanac of Anecdotes, the Almanac of Games, and a great many others whose sole aim it is to raise a smile. Nor do they always succeed in accomplishing it, in spite of the most prodigious and herculean efforts. Sometimes, indeed, their attempts at droll attitudes, are the most horrible distortions. Old jokes, are pursued through a thousand transparent changes, run a gauntlet of travesties, and at the end come out the same old jokes, only a little battered and worn, in consequence of the hard usage they have received. Every

event of the year is twisted and turned in many ways to discover its ludicrous side. Every personage of note is the butt of innumerable mots. There are comic

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reviews of new books, comic notices of the theatre, comic reports of the tribunals, comic sketches of character, comic odes, comic sermons, comic dramas, comic music, comic pictures, and comic conundrums. All the vices of men, and all their misfortunes, and all their miseries, and all their virtues, are food for laughter. In fact, life itself appears only as a vast field of jokes, or Parisian golgotha, where all the skulls are on the broad grin.

But though many of these dashes at fun are disastrous failures, such is the liveliness of French nature, that the great part of them are really amusing pleasantries. We had determined to entertain our readers with specimens of them, but like the man who went into a wilderness to find a straight stick, and returned without any, we found ourselves at the close of the last volume positively bewildered by the multitude of our materials,-it was a veritable embarras du richesse-and so we threw them by in despair.

Besides the almanacs expressly facetious, there are others quite as much so without intending it, we mean the astrological almanacs, and those whose speciality consists in the mysteries and moralities of the art of divination. The marvels they record are truly wonderful. Spirit rappings are elementary phenomena in comparison with them, and the strange revelations of clairvoyants are of quite inferior note beside the lore that one may acquire from cheiromancy, palmistry, ledgerdemain, biblical sorties, or the study of the stars. Old Albertus Magnus has yet his numerous school of disciples; the necromancers are held in grateful remembrance, while the stern Hebrew prophets are tyros and quacks in the light of the illustrious attainments of the modern Merlins and Zadkiels. But in the midst of a great deal of absurdity and pretension, there are some curious things. One prediction is recorded-a prediction authentically traced to the sixteenth century, which clearly indicates the separation of the United States from the mother coun. try, its rise in political power, and its enormous physical developments, and several other striking facts in our history. This prediction, however, is not yet closed, and it goes on to say, that after a time the mother and daughter will be completely reconciled, that they will enter into an alliance, that their sovereignty will be extended over other nations, and especially that the United States will acquire Japan. Who will not believe in the "manifest destiny" after that?

This prophecy is of course cast in the rather vague and symbolical language which marks the vaticinating afflatus--as

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if a man who saw into the future incontinently lost the use of the common tonguebut it is yet quite as clear as any utterances of the sort that we have had. It speaks thus:

"The proud son (America) and the rough and grasping mother (England) separate with looks of blood. The streams flow with blood.

"The leopard (or lion, England) wars fearfully. A good man, wise, strong as David, when his divinely-directed sling struck down the Philistine giant (Washington) raises up the azure standard sown with stars like the firmament. His mighty voice drives back the raging monster into the seas (the Revolution).

"And causes peace, equity, commerco and industry to flourish. A new world arises. A powerful nation possesses the future. May the name of the just and holy be three times blessed."

The prophecy then alludes in a brief way to the contest between Napoleon and England, which is closed in this figurative line, "The claws of the terrible bird (Napoleon), are worn out by the patience and cunning of the leopard (England)." Though, more authentic history relates that those claws were rather extracted as a skilful dentist extracts teeth, and the imperious eagle himself put into a small cage at St. Helena, where he chafed and raved in a quite undignified way. Yet it was not to be expected, as the modern French historians omit very particular reference to these facts, that an old French prophet of 1608 would be at much trouble to foretell them, and the more especially, as his main object was to show how the proud son was going to whip his mother.

But to resume our own more immediato concerns, the prophecy goes on to declare how the leopard would make prodigious incursions into India and China, and then says:

"Is poison then a weapon allowed a great nation (opium)? The land of idols, of rivers, of waters unknown to foreign ships, is invaded by fire (men of war)!

"But thy justice is eternal! Worlds arise from the ruins. The children recognize their mother (the English and Americans meet in the East).

"There is the azure banner again, and there the terrible and conquering leopard. They are meeting beyond the sea (in Japan most likely).

"But times are altered, the rough and grasping mother and the rebellious son meet in a friendly embrace at the limits of the old world (take courage, Kossuth, and ye who dream of an alliance between England and the United States, and mark the consequence)!

"And barbarism and idolatrous worship disappear before them." They will together establish Christianity over the face of the globe.

All that is doubtful about this prophecy is, whether it was written at the time it purports to have been, or whether it bears a later date, when the events to which it alludes were already looming on the horizon. We have no knowledge on the subject which enables us to give an opinion, but we may state that the Almanach Prophé tique solemnly avers that it was printed in a book written by one Pierre Matisac, under the name of "Spectacle Merveilleux et Edifiant de L'Avenir," as far back as the year 1608, in Paris. The publisher's name was Abraham Saugrin, and many copies of the work are still extant in dif ferent parts of France.

Another prophecy, given in the sanc Almanach, relates to the invention of balloons, and is credited to a Jesuit named Boniface Cerrachi, who went from Italy to France in the suite of Cardinal de Bernis, about the time the latter was engaged in the embassy to Venice. He wrote a work which was entitled "Prophétie Mathématique pour la fin du dixhuitième siècle," of which a limited number of copies only were published. In this work there is this announcement:

"In the middle of the nineteenth cen tury Europe will witness a real miracle. It will occur in the air, will change the face of the earth, and work a revolution in the relations of nations, their commerce and industry."

This is briefer and more obscure than the previous prophecy, and does not necessarily refer to the construction of balloons; it may mean a comet or some unexpected and unknown celestial phenomenon, but the writers of the Almanach are clear that it means balloons, and we suppose they know as much about it as anybody. At any rate, balloons appear to be in the legitimate line of succession, or fulfilment, and as we have some pet anticipations ourselves in that respect, we give in our adherence to the balloon theory, which, to say the least of it, is far more pleasant and christian-like, than any bellicose upturn of the elements or a fizzing spitfire of a comet that may take it into its tail (comets have no heads-have they?) to knock our planet into the future

state.

Following these and other prophecies are a number of curious apparitions and other tales that might have been taken out of Mrs. Crowe's "Night-Side of Nature," but that some of them have occurred since that marvellous record of ghostly visitings was issued. Among the rest, the

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