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good-humored-looking person, who did not appear to have exchanged roast-beef for olla, in changing his country. He had lived in Aranguez for twenty-odd years, but he had not lost his nationality, nor forgotten English comfort. I was ushered into a snug parlor, where a genial fire was blazing upon the hearth, and in the course of a half hour, I sat down to a most capital old-fashioned English dinner, which commenced with roast-beef, and finished with plum-pudding.

The Royal Palace was commenced by Philip II., and finished by Philip V. The building covers a large surface, but it is without architectural beauties, and, like every thing in Spain, is suffering for want of repairs, both inside and out. The apartments appeared to me small, and wanting in the usual elegance which characterizes the abodes of royalty. Being a summer-residence, great labor and expense have been bestowed on the gardens, which are very beautiful. Situated upon an islet between the Tagus and Jarama, these rivers supply abundance of water for irrigation, very necessary in this parched-up country, and for the numerous fountains and artificial cascades which beautify the grounds. The trees are magnificent, and the finest we have seen in this almost treeless land; they are said to have been brought from England by Philip II.

The ornaments of art are in bad taste, and entirely unworthy of the garden. The fountains are mean in comparison with those at Madrid, and the statuary, nearly all of which is painted plaster, looks out of place among the avenues of noble trees.

The Casa del Labrador, or house of the laborer, situated in the midst of the gardens, is well worthy of a visit. This is a miniature palace similar to that one at the Escurial, and was likewise built for Charles IV. It is a charming little play-thing, which art, luxury, and taste have combined to beautify and render attractive. The stair-cases are of marble and jasper, the floors in beautiful mosaic, and the walls hung in white satin, covered with landscapes embroidered by hand, which must have been the result of great labor.

R. T. M.

HEREAFTER:

A N

EXTRACT.

'If all our hopes and all our fears
Were prisoned in Life's narrow bound;
If, travellers in this vale of tears,
We saw no better world beyond;
Oh! what could check the rising sigh!
What earthly thing could pleasure give!

Oh! who would venture then to die.

Oh! who would venture then to live!

'Were life a dark and desert moor,

Where mists and clouds eternal spread

Their gloomy veil behind, before,
And tempests thunder overhead;

Where not a sun-beam breaks the gloom,
And not a floweret smiles beneath-

Who could exist in such a tomb?

Who dwell in darkness and in death?

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WE lingered far into the night's decline;
Abroad in fitful gusts the rain was falling;
All silently we quaffed the ruddy wine,

And gazed therein, our absent loves recalling.
We spoke not, for the soul's dark depths within
With fancies strange and wonderful were teeming;
Before me sat, as in a trance, LEVIN,

My friend LEVIN, with eyes unearthly gleaming.

I.

I spoke to him: 'Thy look doth frighten me!
Öft have I dared in the dread midnight-hours
Within the mirror mine own face to see;

Then such a form as thine before me towers:
Then sense of life and being seem to flee;

And from her cave, with horrid darkness reeking,
The Sphynx-eternal soul-doth look on me,
In low and scornful tones her riddle speaking.'

III.

'So doth thy gaze my very soul appal!

And yet elsewhere no earthly shape may daunt me: Thy look is demon-like; 'tis spirit all,

And like a spirit doth thy presence haunt me.

Thou art a ghost, and wanderest bodiless:

Oh! turn thy gaze, that I may peace recover!

Thy body dead, fast in the earth's embrace

Hence, wandering ghost! round me no longer hover!'

IV.

Then, like dull flame with fuel fresh supplied,

His troubled soul 'gan at my words to quicken;

The dusky curtain had I torn aside,

And with rude hand the heart's deep chords had stricken: Who has not thrilled before their awful might?

Silent we heard, our souls with transport riven,

And trembling looked into the realm of night,
Far from whose depths the cheerful day is driven.

V.

Oh! what a silent and an unknown land!

E'en to the elect but scanty news it giveth;

He only may their import understand

Who in true faith the ghostly words receiveth.
Such was LEVIN: the thoughts that in him lay
Now found a voice-in magic chains he bound us;
Entranced we sat: the hours fled fast away,

And the gray morn still eager listeners found us.

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But modestly its roseate garb it wore,

And with green leaves its fragrant blossoms covered, When, as He stood on Jordan's holy shore,

The heavenly Dove, descending, o'er HIM hovered.

Within this holy shrine secure it lay;

To GOD with pious rites 't was consecrated, And with its resting-place was borne away, To Italy by angel-hands translated.

IX.

'Old is it now, all withered, dead, and dry; In vain you wet it in the flowing river, Or in the flower-vase lay it carefully;

Its faded leaves would crumble then for ever.

But on one night, one single night alone,

It wakes from sleep, its radiant garb assuming,

And, beauteous as on Jordan's banks it shone,

Bursts to full bloom, the air with sweets perfuming.

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"Tis on the night when all along the Rhine

From tower and town the Christmas-chimes are pealing;

Then doth the priest within a glass of wine

Place the dead flower, in rapt devotion kneeling:

And when the clock the midnight hour hath tolled,
And o'er the land the matin-bells are sweeping,

Then silently the withered leaves unfold,

As the fair flower the holy day were keeping.

ΧΙ.

'A sudden life impenetrates its clay,

Through every withered leaf and fibre flowing, And, as if freshly plucked but yesterday,

The holy flower with rosy youth is glowing: Again in gleaming, blushing red 't is seen,

As from its native heath in beauty springing, And through its velvet leaves of darkest green Sweet odors to the morning air is flinging.

XII.

'Thus doth it stand till night again draws near,
The holy festival of Christmas ending.'
In trembling mood this mystery I hear,

In fervent prayer my hands to heaven extending.
With fear and joy my knees in prayer I bend:
So knelt the shepherds once in fear and wonder:
I am a child—give me thy hand, O friend;
This night o'er LUKE's inspired page I'll ponder.

THE PLANET. *

HOW I WAS INDUCED TO LEAVE THE EARTH AND BECOME ONE.

M83. FOUND IN THE PORTFOLIO OF A LUNATIC.

L 0.

I was always something of a rover. It runs in our family, the spirit of wandering. My father was a sea-faring man, and my mother, I believe, fared no better than he did. He made long, venturesome voyages, mostly out of sight of land for days and days together. In this he was like my grand-father, who, I have been told, went to Botany Bay; yet I don't know as he deserves much credit for it, as it was not his notion: he went on 'government business.' As I hinted, I have knocked about the world a good deal. Travelling is much easier now and more expeditious than it used to be, as I remember to have remarked some five years ago to a gentleman from Greenland who took the cars with me (the morning was too stormy for other conveyance) at Cairo to visit the sources of the Niger, which was then a very fashionable resort, with as comfortable hotels as you will find in Africa. But, ah me! the good old days of lion-hunting are gone for ever, and you may walk along the banks of the Niger for half a day together, and not see above a dozen crocodiles for your pains. I should like to have lived a century or so ago, when hunting was hunting. However, I have met some adventures in my day. The last that befel me is in every way so remarkable that I propose to relate it.

As we used to reckon in that period of duration which men called time, it was in the summer of the year 2076. I was sitting in the observatory, on the top of my house, reading an account of the last skrimmage between the Mormons of Salt Lake and the Nebraska Infantry, and watching rather languidly the balloons that were flying about in every direction, when one of those light air-carriages came floating toward me, and its occupant, stepping out upon the roof, fastened his

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balloon to the lightning-rod, and holding out his hand as he approached, bid me 'Good post-meridian.' I was rejoiced to recognize my old friend Aldebaran Smith-(this is the same family as the John Smiths, who became so numerous a century ago that Congress passed an enactment that every Smith born after the passage of it should not be called John under penalty of losing his surname, but should choose his Christian name from some one of the constellations or stars. So, you may meet Arcturus, Taurus, Cetus and Sirius Smiths, and I even knew one scaly specimen named Libra. I learn that they have already exhausted all the constellations and stars of the first and second magnitudes.) Mr. Smith had been absent for the last year as envoy to the republic of Constantinople, stopping on his return to confer with the Irish President about the proposed tunnel through the Mountains of the Moon, a project which it was thought would much facilitate the Caffre trade.

We chatted for an hour or so concerning the improvement in manners and literature abroad, and the change at home, when, rising as if to go, he said he had called in relation to a little matter he hoped would not make any difficulty between us-indeed, he was sure it would not; but he had noticed that morning, in making some alterations in his outbuildings, that his lot was less in width than it was when he left home. He did not like to believe that our division-fence had been moved, and yet his house-lot was the matter of six inches narrower than when the last survey was made. I assured Mr. Smith he must be in error; the fence had not been moved. Upon this, he was more confident in his assertion. I protested; he still affirmed, with considerable warmth; indeed, both of us grew not a little heated in the dispute, when I proposed to test the truth by an actual examination, and we both went down. There were no external marks upon the ground indicating that the posts had been moved, yet Mr. Smith's statement was more than confirmed; his lot was at least ten inches less in width than I had known it to be two months before. With some confusion of face, I protested my innocence anew, but I saw Mr. Aldebaran Smith evidently thought me a villain. We parted in no very good humor; and I, being a bit of a philosopher, went to my observatory with some uneasy reflections.

It was a favorite retreat of mine in those days; and surely I cannot imagine a better one, both for observation and meditation. Elevated above the world around, I looked down upon its teeming life and activity; off over its boundless fields, now rich with the harvest; upon its mills and huge factories; upon a white monument here and there rising above the trees, commemorating the bravery of some patriot who fell fighting for the integrity of the Union; upon fair and stately edifices, and upon the river winding along between banks noisy with the labor of electric engines and clamorous machinery. It was one of the glorious, cloudless days in September. The hum of many-voiced labor below formed a chorus to the flow of my thoughts. The whole air was alive with balloons. Some dark, piratical-looking crafts-air-marauders; some neat business-carriages, driving along like the wind; and yet others of airy build, fair with streamers, decked with high-flushed summer-flowers, filled with gay forms, exuberant in young beauty and mirth, moving languidly along now soaring to dizzy heights, now sinking so low that

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