KUBLA KHAN.

BY S. T. COLERIDGE.

In the summer of the year 1797 the author of the following fragment, then in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm house between Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been prescribed, from the effect of which he fell asleep in his chair at the moment that he was reading the following sentence, or words of the same substance, in Purchas' Pilgrimage:-"Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto. And thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a wall." The author continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, during which time he has the most vivid confidence that he could not have composed less than from two to three hundred lines, if that indeed can be called composition in which all the images rose up before him as things with a parallel production of the correspondent expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour; and on his return to his room found, to his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone had been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she play'd,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long

I would build that dome in air-
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drank the milk of Paradise.

SUMMER.

BY THOMAS CAREW.

Now that the Winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes; and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream:

But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,

And makes it tender; gives a second birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful Spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array,
Welcome the morning of the longed-for May.
Now all things smile! only my love doth .our;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
To melt the marble ice that still doth hold
Her heart congeal'd, and make her pity co.d
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside; but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep
Under a sycamore; and all things keep
Time with the season. Only she doth carry
Jane in her eyes; in her heart, January!

THE WATER-GLASS; OR, A DAYDREAM OF LIFE.

[Thomas Chandler Haliburton, D.C.L., born at Windsor, Nova Scotia, 1796; died at Isleworth, 27th August, 1865. Educated at King's College, London; and called to the bar in 1820. He was Judge of Common Pleas, and of the Supreme Court, N.S., and on his return to England he was elected M. P. for Launceston. His fame was acquired, and will survive, as the author of The Clockmaker, or Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick of Slickville; The Attaché, or Sam Slick in England; Wise Saws and Modern Instances, by Sam Slick (from which we quote); Letter Bag of the Great Western; Traits of American Humour; Nature and Human: The Old Judge, or Life in a Colony; Bubbles of Canada; &c. These are all works of great power, the

result of keen and extensive observation of life and manners in the colonies and at home (Hurst and Blackett, publishers). His more serious productions are: An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia: Letters to Lord Durham, &c. "He deserves to be entered on our list of friends, containing the names of Tristram Shandy, the Shepherd' of the Noctes Ambrosiana, and other rhapsodical discoursers on time and change,

who, besides the delights of their discourse, possess also the charm of individuality."-Athenæum.]

As the men rowed us towards the Nantasket, the captin and I couldn't very well talk afore 'em on the subjects we wanted to speak of, so we held a sort of Quaker's meetin', and said nothin'. I pulled the peak of my cap over my eyes, for the sun dazzled me, and afore I knowed where I was, I was off into one of my day-dreams, that I sometimes indulge in. I was musin' on what a strange thing life is, what a curious feller man is, and what a phantom we pursue all the time, thinkin' it points the way to happiness, instead of enticin' us into swamps, quagmires, and lagoons. Like most day-dreams it warn't very coherent, for one thought leads to another, and that has an affinity to something else; and so at last the thread of it, if it don't get tangled, ain't very straight, that's a fact. I shall put it down as if I was a talkin' to you about everythin' in general, and nothin' in particular.

and these, in a general way, were valuable. I saw a man in a boat with a great long tube in his hands, which he put down into the sea every now and then, and looked through, and then moved on and took another observation.

66

It was near about dinner-time, so I thought I'd just wait, as I had nothin' above particular to do, and see what this thing was; so when the man came on shore, "Mornin' to you," sais I. That was an awful wreck that, warn't it?" and I looked as dismal as if I had lost somethin' there myself. But there was nothin' very awful about it, for everybody was saved; and if there was some bales and boxes lost, why, in a general way, it's good for trade. But I said awful wrack, for I've obsarved you have to cant a little with the world, if you want even common civil usage.

In fact, in calamities I never new but one man speak the truth. He lived near a large range of barracks that was burnt, together with all the houses around him, but he escaped; and his house was insured. Well, he mourned dreadful over his standing house, more than others did over their fallen ones. He said, "He was ruinated; he lived by the barrack expenditure, and the soldiers were removed, and the barracks were never to be rebuilt; and as he was insured, he'd a-been a happy man if his house had been burnt, and he had recovered the amount of his loss.'

Now that man I always respected; he was an honest man. Other folks would have pretended to be thankful for so narrow an escape, but thought in their hearts just as he did, only they wouldn't be manly enough to say so. But to get back to my story.

"Awful wrack that!" said I, dolefully. "Well, it was considerable, but it might have been wuss," said he, quite composed.

Ah! sais I to myself, I see how it is, you hain't lost anything, that's clear, but you are lookin' for somethin'.

"Sarching for gold?" said I, laughin', and goin' on t'other tack. "Every vessel, they say, is loaded with gold now-a-days."

"Well," sais he smiling, "I ain't sarching for gold, for it ain't so plenty on this coast; but I am sarching for zinc: there are several rolls of it there."

"What was that curious tube," sais I, "if I might be so bold as to ax?"

When I was a boy to night-school with my poor dear old friend, the minister, and arterwards in life as his companion, he was for everlastingly correctin' me about words that I used wrong, so one day, having been down to the sale of the effects of the great Revolutionary General, Zaddoc Seth, of Holmes' Hole, what does he do but buy a Johnson's Dictionary for me in two volumes, each as big as a clock, and a little grain heavier than my wooden ones. "Now," sais he, "do look out words, Sam, so as to know what you are a-talking about.' One day, I recollect it as well as if it was yesterday and if I loved a man on earth, it was that man-I told him if I could only go to the Thanksgiving Ball, I should be quite happy.

"Happy!" said he, "what's that?" "Why happy," sais I, "is-bein' happy, to be sure.

"Why that's of course," sais he, "a dollar is a dollar, but that don't inform me what a dollar represents. I told you you used words half the time you didn't understand the meanin' of."

"But I do," sais I; "happy means being so glad, your heart is ready to jump out of its jacket for joy."

"Yes-yes," sais he; "and I suppose if it never jumped back again, you would be unhappy for all the rest of your life. I see you have a very clear conception of what 'happy' means. Now look it out; let us see what the great and good Dr. Johnson says."

"and

"You may go to the ball," said he; I hope you may be happy in the last sense I have given it."

"Thank you, sir," said I, and off I cuts hot foot, when he called me back; I had a great mind to pretend not to hear him, for I was afraid he was a-goin' to renig―.

"Sam," said he, and he held out his hand and took mine, and looked very seriously at me; "Sam, my son," said he, "now that I have granted you permission to go, there is one thing I want you to promise me. I think myself you will do it without any promise, but I should like to have your word."

"I will observe any direction you may give me, sir," said I.

"Sam," said he, and his face grew so long and blank, I hardly knew what was a-comin' next,-"Sam," said he, "don't let your heart jump out of its jacket;" and he laid back in his chair, and laughed like anythin', in fact I could not help laughin' myself to find it all eend in a joke.

Presently he let go my hand, took both hisn, and wiped his eyes, for tears of fun were in 'em.

"Minister," sais I, "will you let me just say a word?"

"Well, according to Dr. Johnson's third sense, that was a happy thought, for it was 'ready.'"

"Well, I won't say it warn't" said he; "and, Sam, in that sense you are likely to be

"Now," said he, "at most, as it applies to you, if you get leave to go to the ball, and you may go, for I approbate all innocent amusements for young people, you would be only lucky: and in a state where one desire is satisfied. It appears to me," said he,-and he put one leg over the other, and laid his head a little back, as if he was a-goin' to lay down the law,"that that eminent man has omitted another sense in which that word is properly used, namely, a state of joyfulness-light-heartedness-merriment, but we won't stop to inquire into that. It is a great presumption for the likes of me to attempt to criticize Dr. Johnson."

Poor dear old soul, he was a wiser and a modester man than ever the old doctor was. Fact is, old dictionary was very fond of playin' first fiddle wherever he was. Thunderin' long words ain't wisdom, and stoppin' a critter's mouth is more apt to improve his wind than his onderstandin'.

'ready;' take care you ain't too sharp."

But to get back, for I go round about sometimes. Tho' Daniel Webster said I was like a good sportin'-dog, if I did beat round the bush, I always put up the birds. What is a happy people? If havin' enough to eat and drink, with rather a short, just a little mite and morsel too short an allowance of time to swaller it, is bein' happy, then we are so beyond all doubt. If livin' in a free country like Maine, where you are compelled to drink stagnant swamp. water, but can eat opium like a Chinese, if you choose, is bein' happy, then we are a happy people.

Just walk thro' the happy streets of our happy villages, and look at the men-all busy-in a hurry, thoughtful, anxious, full of business, toilin' from day-dawn to night-look at the women, the dear critters, a little, just a little careworn, time-worn, climate-worn, pretty as angels, but not quite so merry. Follow them in the evening, and see where them crowds are going to; why to hear abolition lectures, while their

own free niggers are starvin', and are taught that stealin' is easier than workin'. What the plague have they to do with the affairs of the south? Or to hold communion with evil spirits by means of biology, for the deuce a thing else is that or mesmeric tricks either? Or going to hear a feller rave at a protracted meetin' for the twelfth night, to convince them how happy they ought to be, as more than half of them, at least, are to be damned to a dead sartainty? Or hear a mannish, raw-boned-looking old maid, lecture on the rights of woman; and call on them to emancipate themselves from the bondage imposed on them, of wearing petticoats below their knees? If women are equal to men, why shouldn't their dress be equal? What right has a feller to wear a kilt only as far as his knee, and compel his slave of a wife to wear hern down to her ankle? Draw your scissors, galls, in this high cause; cut, rip, and tear away, and make short work of it. Rend your garments, and Heaven will bless them that's 'In-kneed.' Well, if this is bein' happy, we are a happy people.

Folks must be more cheerful and lighthearted than we be to be happy. They must laugh more. Oh! I like to hear a good jolly laugh, a regelar nigger larf-yagh! yagh! yagh! My brother, the doctor, who has an immense practice among the ladies, told me a very odd story about this.

Sais he, "Sam, cheerfulness is health, and health is happiness, as near as two things, not exactly identical, can be alike. I'll tell you the secret of my practice among the ladies. Cheerfulness appears to be the proper remedy, and it is in most cases. I extort a promise of inviolable secrecy from the patient, and secure the door, for I don't want my prescription to be known; then I bid her take off her shoes, and lie down on the sofa, and then I tickle her feet to make her laugh (for some folks are so stupid, all the good stories in the world wouldn't make them laugh), a good, joyous laugh, not too long, for that is exhaustin', and this repeated two or three times a day, with proper regimen, effects the cure."

Yes, cheerfulness is health, the opposite, melancholy, is disease. I defy any people to be happy, when they hear nothin' from mornin' till night, when business is over, but politics and pills, representatives and lotions.

When I was at Goshen the other day, I asked Dr. Carrot how many doctors there were in the town.

"One and three-quarters," said he, very gravely.

Well, knowing how doctors quarrel, and

undervalue each other in small places, I could hardly help laughing at the decidedly disparaging way he spoke of Dr. Parsnip, his rival, especially as there was something rather new in it.

"Three-quarters of a medical man!" sais I, "I suppose you mean your friend has not a regular-built education, and don't deserve the name of a doctor."

"Oh no! sir," said he, "I would not speak of any practitioner, however ignorant, in that way. What I mean is just this: Goshen would maintain two doctors; but quack medicines, which are sold at all the shops, take about three-quarters of the support that would otherwise be contributed to another medical man."

Good, sais I to myself. A doctor and threequarters! Come, I won't forget that, and here it is.

Happy! If Dr. Johnson is right, then I am right. He says happiness means a state where all our desires are satisfied. Well now, none of our desires are satisfied. We are told the affairs of the nation are badly managed, and I believe they be; politicians have mainly done that. We are told our insides are wrong, and I believe they be; quack doctors and their medicines have mainly done that. Happy! How the plague can we be happy, with our heads unsettled by politics, and our stomachs by medicines. It can't be; it ain't in natur', it's onpossible. If I was wrong, as a boy, in my ideas of happiness, men are only full-grown boys, and are just as wrong as I was.

I ask again, What is happiness? It ain't bein' idle, that's a fact-no idle man or woman ever was happy, since the world began. Eve was idle, and that's the way she got tempted, poor critter; employment gives both appetite and digestion. Duty makes pleasure doubly sweet by contrast. When the harness is off, if the work ain't too hard, a critter likes to kick up his heels. When pleasure is the business of life it ceases to be pleasure; and when it's all labour and no play, work, like an onstuffed saddle, cuts into the very bone. Neither labour nor idleness has a road that leads to happiness, one has no room for the heart and the other corrupts it. Hard work is the best of the two, for that has, at all events, sound sleep-the other has restless pillows and onrefreshin' slumbers-one is a misfortune, the other is a curse; and money ain't happiness, that's as clear as mud.

There was a feller to Slickville once called Dotey Conky, and he sartainly did look dotey like lumber that ain't squared down enough to cut the sap off. He was always a-wishing. I used to call him Wishey Washey