would deepen into a fixed despondency, if he persisted in withdrawing from his friends, and shutting himself up like a monk in his cell. "Oh, I am at no loss for much better society than the world can give me," was his reply; "come hither and see what a charming companion I have." So saying, he led me up to an oil-painting, of the size of life, representing a handsome gipsy girl, the work, as he informed me, of a Polish emigrant. In an enthusiastic and excited tone, he proceeded to give me the history of the picture, evidently quite unconscious of the hallucination the following narrative betrayed: "I was walking down Great Queen-street, when I saw this beautiful creature in a broker's shop, gazing upon me with such a friendly smile, that I instantly stood transfixed. So much was I smitten with the painting, that I inquired the price, but finding that it was forty guineas, much more than I could afford to give, I uttered a deep sigh, and walked on to Long Acre. But the gipsy was still before me, smiling at me as I proceeded, and thus she continued to bless me with her lovely presence, until I reached my home. Even in the darkness of night it was just the same. I could not sleep, because those beautiful eyes were still benignly fixed upon mine; and in the morning I asked myself, why I should be made miserable by not possessing that which forty guineas would obtain. I procured the money, accordingly, hurried to secure my beauty-there she is—and I would not take a thousand guineas for her! See how she smiles upon me! so she does in whatever part of the room I may be placed, and even when I quit the room. How can I be solitary with such a sweet companion? I talk to her constantly, and she always gives me a gracious reply. You laugh, and I don't wonder. Mark you, I don't that you, or any one else, can hear her mellifluous voice; but I do, and that is quite enough to make her society charming, and more than enough to supply the place of all other companionship. say Seeing that it would be difficult, and, perhaps, hardly desirable to dispel an illusion which had a peculiar charm for his imaginative mind, I did not attempt to combat it, and willingly admitted the great beauty of his canvas innamorata. How long this species of nympholepsy lasted, I cannot say; I was told he had completely chased away the vaporous clouds by which his fine mind had been depressed, but one subsequent return of his hypochondria fell within my own immediate cognisance. From time to time he would run down to the provincial town in which I reside, on which occasions he passed the greater part of the day with me as long as he remained. One afternoon he made his appearance, evidently in deep dejection of spirits, telling me that he had given up his chambers, and after having tied up all his money, between one and two hundred pounds, intending to bring it with him, he had ensconced himself and his valise in the stage-coach, for the purpose of paying me a visit. When the coach arrived at Reigate, he suddenly recollected that he had left his money-bag on the table of his bed-room, whereupon he jumped instantly out, ordered a post-chaise, urged the postilion to drive as fast as possible, sped back to London, and had the satisfaction to find that the landlady had found and carefully locked up his treasure. The worthy dame, after having made him count it over in her presence, to be sure that nothing had been abstracted, again tied it up, secured it in his pocket, and the money-laden bard, throwing himself into another stage, finally reached his destination in safety. it have come "And why, in the name of wonder," I demanded, “ did you not pay into your banker's? and for what earthly purpose can you hither with so large a sum of money?" "Pay it into my banker's!" exclaimed the poet, "why, my good friend, I have just drawn it out. As to my purpose in doing so, I will disclose it to you; but I do so in confidence. The fact is that I shall stay here for some time: I have secured capital apartments at the hotel; I shall live handsomely until the money is all gone; I shall then take advantage of some fine morning to go out in a boat, as if for the purpose of fishing; and when we are at a sufficient distance from land, I have made up my mind to jump overboard, that I may take my leave for ever of a goodfor-nothing and ungrateful world, which no philanthropist can improve, and which no gentleman can wish to live in-I beg your pardon; you are willing, I believe, to take a prolonged lease of life: I am tired of mine, and care not how soon I get rid of it." I treated this as a joke, or as the splenetic effusion of the minute; but his look and manner evinced a seriousness that pained and alarmed me. A few post-prandial glasses of wine, however, so completely chased away his blue devils, that he quickly became too much elevated in spirits to be quite guarded in his language; and subsequent meetings gave me occasion to observe, that very slight potations disturbed the equipoise of his mind. Bracing air, change of scene, and a little cheerful society, having cured his morbid despondency, he returned to London in a few days, with his health invigorated, and his money-bag unemptied. The last time I encountered my friend was at his own house in Victoria-square, Pimlico, where he took great delight in showing me his library, a projecting skylight room, built at the back of the premises. "This is much better than your study," he said, rubbing his hands; a library should be always lighted in this way; first, because it gives you the command of the whole wall for your books; and secondly, because, instead of being tempted to sit at the window, and look out upon living knaves and fools, you hold uninterrupted communion with the surrounding spirits of departed sages and philanthropists; or if you look upwards, you gaze out upon the pure and glorious heavens." It will be seen that there was still a touch of misanthropy in his language; but it was literally a façon de parler; it never reached his heart. Summoned to attend his burial, I performed the melancholy duty of following this eminent bard and distinguished man to his last, and most appropriate resting-place in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey. His funeral suggested to me a short poem, with the last stanza of which I will conclude this brief and slight notice of Thomas Campbell: To me, the humblest of the mourning band, Who knew the bard thro' many a changeful year, It was a proud, sad privilege to stand Beside his grave, and shed a parting tear. This all-unworthy wreath on such a poet's bier. THE BALLAD OF RUDIGER THE PROUD. BY MRS. PONSONBY. HEAR how Rudiger the Proud Touch'd his brow and golden hair. Thus he spoke-" How fair this valley! Gilds the turf beneath my feet. "All around lie fertile pastures; High above my castle stands, Looking o'er the forest ranges, Looking o'er the meadow-landsO'er the stately forest ranges, Where, amid the rich green-wood, Fox and bristly boar lie hidden, Gallant hart and red-deer good. "O'er the flat and fertile meadows, "O'er the wild and open country, Where, uncheck'd by bit or rein, Steeds, which never hand hath harness'd, Rear the head and toss the mane. Far away to where the ocean, Breaking on the rocky shores, "All are mine, from tower to turret- Mine is all that rank can boast; "Fair before me lies the future, Smooth the road, and bright the bride Still, though in my coffin sleeping, Above the woods of LindaunayHeedless how, 'mid troubled foamings, Heaven's and earth's wild waters meet, While no more the sunlight shining Gilds the turf beneath his feet. Round him now the tempest gather'dHowl'd the wind-the thunder roar'dThrough the whirl'd and tortured branches Down the heavy rain-drops pour'd; Lit the woods of Lindaunay. But with proud and changeless eye, "God," he said, "will from the tempest Shield the head he made so high.' Swift the answer came in lightning: Sudden from his swerving horse, Rudiger-by lightning levell'dSinks amid the torrent's course. "" III. THE CELL. THE air was heavy and still. It crept through the murky cell with flagging wings, as if it feared to break the wizard muteness that was about. Not a gleam of light shone through the darkness, save where that pale cresset's feeble ray gave out a sickly flame; flickering against the wall, it but added fantastic horrors of its own to the too real terrors round. For chains encrusted with gore, and daggers rusting with red stains-whips, matted and torn from frequent use-fetters for the free hand, and the strong arm, and the swift foot-and tell-tale marks on the clayey floor, which here and there was moist and slippery with undried pools of human blood, all these did the pale light reveal to the eyes of the bound and captive priest; a fearful tale, too sadly read! Seated on a low wooden stool, the wretched Zimnis had now full leisure to think over his crime in loving, where the Myriad-named* had forbidden. He had full leisure for calmness and repentance. But, as yet, his heart beat too full for the stillness of reflection. He cared not for the guilt, he cared only for her punishment, and for their mutual separation. Were she safe, or were they to perish together, their souls breathed out in one last long embrace, the proud ones might do their worst, and he could smile at their tortures. But alone-she afar off, suffering degradation or punishment which made the blood clot through his veins as he thought-he to be slain, and leave her thus alone and defenceless, when but an hour's space had given them both joy and life for ever-it was not cowardice which forced that heavy sigh-it was not cowardice which blanched his cheek and darkened his full eye! powerless, when every nerve is strained and every vein pulsing with eagerness to act and defend-to be bound, when the wild heart is speeding on its way with the swiftness of the falcon's flight-to be chained, when the arm would raise and strike home-oh! surely hell hath no greater torment-surely the ASSESSORS, when they condemn the unclean soul to its debased habitation, are more merciful than man's nature and his fate! 66 To be "Oëri! Oëri!" he groaned; even now thy shrieks are penetrating through the thick walls of this loathsome cell! Even now I hear the hissing of thy crimson blood, as the heated iron tears thy tender fresh! -even now I see thee, beautiful and beloved! kneel at the feet of thy executioners, and pray them for mercy-in vain! Thy voice could charm Aphophist from his course, but may not move these ruthless souls to pity. And, again, if the very Gentile's measure of tenderness be meted out to thee, with what maddening desecration of thy spirit's holy temple is it clogged! The bright bird of pity will flee to thy aid, Isis-the Myrionomous. † A pestilent serpent, slain by Horus. (Apollo and Python.) July.-VOL. LXXX. NO. CCCXIX. X yet the stern Baieth* will be fairer ! The love of Semmuthis, of itself, could drag a soul to the lowest of the condemned! Oh, ye gods! slay us both on the instant-let our freed spirits wander, wrapped in each other's embrace, through the pathless ether! Slay us, ye gods! slay us now and together! Gods!-do I pray to the phantoms of policy?" he added, bitterly; "what can the mute idols of the Edes do for the living man? And even if they exist in their glorious places, it is but with scorning that they look upon our ways!" and he hid his face, shuddering as he pronounced these fearful words with such passionate emphasis. "Will not life, and the aid of thy kind, be dearer to thee?" said a voice near. It was a woman's voice, with a foreign accent hanging upon its silvery tones. "Ah!" sighed Zimnis, moving restlessly, "the cruel Typhonf hath tempted me; he hath mocked at my misery, and made his sport of my despair." "Thou art not mocked," said the same voice; "tell me, wilt thou flee, and with Oëri?" "Gods! this is too much!" groaned the priest, burying his face deeper in his robe. "Why this sorrow, when the cup of joy is held to thy lips ?" and a light touch was laid on his hand. This at the least was not fancy. He started up and stared wildly before him. A young girl of exquisite shape and beauty, dressed in a foreign garb, stood by his side, her eyes cast on the ground. "Follow me," she said, still without raising her looks. "If thou wouldst see thy beloved, follow on my path. Be brave; fear nothing. I will not lead thee to harm." And she looked into his face with a sudden energy, which made the blood crimson on her cheek. It was a strange glance from one so young and fair to him! She pointed to a small door in the wall, which had afforded herself an entrance, and which now stood open. She turned toward it, and beckoned to the priest that he should follow her. Zimnis shook his head with a mournful calmness, as he pointed to his fetters. "These on thee!" she cried, paling to a deadly hue: she knelt-she took the links in her small slender fingers-as by a magic spell they fell from his limbs; were those bright tears which so rapidly gemmed the rusted links, the embodiments of that spell? A moment passed, and he stood free and unbound. The girl still knelt. Apparently she had forgotten her mission. "But once!" she then cried, looking at Zimnis with her large, swimming eyes; "but once, and only once!" She took his hand and pressed it to her lips. They burnt like living flame, hot as the tears which accompanied them. "Come!" she whispered, rising and darting forward. The priest followed; and the door of the cell closed behind them. After a rapid descent, far down into the bowels of the earth, they entered into a long, dark corridor. They had not gone far when the sound of advancing feet was heard, and the light of torches blazed in the distance. * The Human Soul on its departure from the body. |