warmth of heart in his hospitality-a strength of friendship, which seemed rather a part of the natural man than any acquirement. He could not, it appeared, be otherwise if he would. His social qualities were very visible and attaching. On those who met him for the first time, they always left an indelible impression. He had at one time-perhaps he never gave it up—an idea of human perfectibility, or the possibility of a near approach to it at some future period. These hopes of human advancement were strong. He contended that, as nothing stood still, and a far greater portion of the mass of mankind was largely in advance of what it was in ancient times, when there were a few individuals of a higher order of mind than in later days, so he believed the benefit then confined to a few was now diffusing around a wider circle, and thus bringing by slow gradations the advancement of general happiness. He would not believe that the Supreme Being was a being of vengeance, who devoted the larger part of mankind to destruction hereafter. Thinking that such a doctrine derogated not only from the benevolence but the omniscience of the Creator, who must have foreknown all things, he thought that the end of his creation was concealed from man, Providence not being accountable to the creature of a moment; and that in the words of Mülner

The wherefore may when the dead rise be told us.

Hence the foundation of that evenness of mind and temper—that beneficence which was stamped upon his character; and hence, too, much of that simplicity, and disregard of the "low ambition" of many who had not half the claims to superiority which he had. He overlooked this in the philosophical contemplation of ultimate results. Equally agreeable in the lively or serious mood, he ever exhibited principles based upon what he considered an immoveable foundation. He showed no wavering. He complied often with the fancies and prejudices of others for the sake of those who held them, so far as not to disturb them. He loved peace before all things; and though the delight of any assembled circle, either of wits or of society at its common level, they never knew half his mental worth and excellence, who in his best days had not enjoyed his society in an insulated state. Many of his ideas were novel and striking. While he endeavoured to reconcile the condition of humanity with his own views of the justice and goodness of Heaven, he had a great dislike of that too prevalent sin, the preaching up one doctrine and practising its opposite. Homines ignari opera, philosophi sententia, raised his abhorrence.-But enough. We might proceed to a great length on a matter in which the truth might be supposed to be violated through the partiality of friendship, by those who take superficial views of things. We therefore leave the subject, with the assertion that we might have better spared a better man; and with regret-a regret, alas! not uncommon, to witness the ravage death makes around us of those who were once the ornament, delight, and honour of society; exclaiming in the words of another, not without the full impress of the feeling their sense induces, "Good Heaven! how often are we to die before we go off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part. God keep those we have left! Few are worth praying for, and ourselves the least of all!"

THE BROTHER'S SUMMONS.

BY MRS. ACTON TINDAL.

FRANCIS, first Duke of Brittany, conceived a violent hatred against his brother, the Prince Gilles; he confined him for many years in dismal dungeons, and after in vain attempting to poison him, he was strangled in the prison of Mount St. Michel, on the coast of Brittany. A poor brother of the Cordeliers heard his dying confession through the bars of the dungeon-window. The dying man summoned his tyrannical brother to meet him in forty days at the bar of God. This message was delivered to the Duke Francis by the Cordelier, who met him returning from a victorious campaign. History further records, that before forty days were passed the Duke Francis had gone to his great account, and was succeeded by a surviving brother.-ROUJOUX's Histoire des Ducs de Bretagne.

THE bold Duke from the battle rode,

The foremost of the warrior band;
Banner and plume around him flow'd,

The trumpet sounded through the land;
And well the steed and rider knew,
Nestled amid those mountains blue,
And in the bocage green and free,
The pleasant homes of Brittany.
The stout duke rode with stately grace,

But stormy passions on his face

Had left their deep and branding trace;

His brow was grave, tho' not serene;

There care and dark thought oft were seen,
And kindled in his eagle eye

No kindly light of charity;
And e'en if he were lured to smile,
A something cruel seemed the while
Around his lip and mirth to hang,
And dissonant his laughter rang.
Yet was he valiant in the fray,
As is the wild bull turned at bay;
Strong in his purpose, bad and bold,
No laws of God nor man controlled;
He little recked for human life,
But in the madness of the strife,

Drunken with carnage, pride, and hate,
His soul within him rose elate.

He rode a victor thro' the land,

Heading his armed and conquering band;
When sudden in his pathway stood
A friar barefooted and grey;

From his pale face he cast his hood,

And barred with his weak arm the way;
And neither knight nor steed might dare
Dispute his right to stay them there.

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Monarch," the friar gravely said,

"From Mount St. Michel by the wave

I come with feeble, faltering tread, Charged with a message from the grave." 'Stay, monk," the Duke in trouble cried,

66

66

'New grants make I to thee and thine,
Lands that might form a noble's pride;

And on the Virgin's holy shrine
I bid perpetual candles shine."
"Nay, hear me," said the friar stern,
""Tis not of earth that I must tell;
"I bear the words that blast and burn-
"Thy summons to the deepest hell.

Sept.-VOL. LXXXVII. NO. CCCXLV.

"I heard between the iron bars
"Of that lone prison by the sea,
"Where the wave 'gainst the granite jars
"In dull and drear monotony-
"I heard thy murdered brother's prayer,
"Breathed forth amid life's latest pang,
"And on the dungeon's fœtid air

"His cry for justice madly rang;
"My ear against those bars was prest
"While he breathed forth his last behest,
"Mid calls for mercy-sobs of pain-
"And tears that fell like scalding rain.
"He told me of the weary days

"In listlessness and anguish passed, "Resting upon the sea his gaze,

66

Thinking some hope would come at last, "Or that thy stony heart would bend "And thou wouldst be thy brother's friend. "He told me how, when night drew nigh, "And neither hope nor friend was there, "He laid him down to weep and sigh, "In sullen grief or wild despair; "For sleep he dreaded more than pain, "As then he dreamed that he was free,

"And stood within his home again,

"And his young son was at his knee, "And to his faded cheek seemed prest "The bright lips of his blooming wife,

"And bounded in his wasted breast

"The pulses high of joyous life.

"Pale monk,' said he, thou ne'er canst know 'My dread amount of rage and woe,

'When, waking from my dream of bliss 'On this lone dungeon's dreariness,

'I felt beneath my staring bones

'The keen cold angles of these stones,
'While on my misery looked the stars
'Dimly between those iron bars.-
'Sometimes again a child I've been
'With my hard brother on the green,
'Disporting merrily;

'Or in the same soft bed we lay,
And kneeled together down to pray
'At our blest mother's knee,

'Ere power and pride his heart had changed, 'And all a brother's love estranged.

"Then I woke up amid my tears

'To muse upon those happy years,
'And felt that I could even yet
'Forgive him, and my wrongs forget;
"That I could still arise and go

To the stern cause of all my woe,
'For the dear sake of her that bore
'The brother who hath vexed me sore!
'I, that was born with ardent heart,
"In all life's joys to take my part;
'I, that upon the mountains went
'With the first beams the sunrise sent,
'And ranged their summits far and free,
'Exulting in my liberty;

'And pressed the heather fresh and sweet, 'Untrodden yet by other feet;

'And breathed the morning's first pure breeze

'Ere yet it whispered through the trees;

'And saw beneath me in the glen
'The quiet homes of slumbering men:—
"Yes! I have languished many a year
'Amid these waters wild and drear-
'Nor looked upon the face of man,
'Nor living thing hath met my scan,
'Save the white seagull winging by
'Rejoicing in the wave and sky,

And glancing through the feathery spray
Like some glad genius of the day.
'Pale monk! thy fasting and thy prayer
'Shall nought avail thee in thy need,
"If thou be deaf to my despair,

'And take not to my message heed. "Go! tell the brother who hath lain "Within the breast that gave me life, 'How I have watched and wept in vain'Of my long grief and fiery strife; "How slowly in my heart declined "The hope that he might yet be kind:"Tell him I've gnawed these iron bands,

"And dashed my head against these stones, 'And fought those bars with my weak hands 'Until the metal grazed the bones:"Ha! tell him that with direst hate "My parting soul was animate. "For mercy dying sinners pray,

'But vengeance, O my God! I call "On him who took my youth away, "And bound me living in the pall, "And chained me to this loathsome rock, "Whose solitudes my sorrows mock:"In forty days my foe shall stand

'Before the face of God on high, "To be requited at his hand

For my dread lingering agony:'I summon him to meet me there, "That I may gaze on his despair, "And see the Virgin's holy face

"Averted from his prayer for grace:

Oh! he hath turned my blood to gall!"

"Then," said the monk, "I heard him call,

In words that now my soul appal,

And summon thee in forty days

To give account of all thy ways.
Francis of Brittany, I swore

To bear this summons dread to thee:
Nothing have I to tell thee more

Of that poor prisoner by the sea:

I heard a struggle and a groan,

That died amid the wave's dull moan.
No sin too hateful is, or dread,

For Jesu's blood to wash away;

Then, oh! fling ashes on thy head,

And cease not thou to weep and pray

Repentance, deep as is thy sin,
Perchance may e'en thy pardon win!"

THE SPIRIT OF CHANGE IN SOUTHERN EUROPE.
BY JAMES HENRY SKENE, Esq.

CHAPTER V.

DISAFFECTION OF THE GREEKS OF THE IONIAN ISLANDS.

I SHALL now endeavour to throw some light on the past and present state of the Ionian Islands, where our conduct as protectors is so important for the establishment of our political and diplomatic fame in the surrounding countries.

The consequences to ourselves of our mode of managing these small states are, indeed, infinitely more serious than would appear on a prima facie consideration of the subject; because, although they be insignificant in point of extent, wealth, and population, still their social and political condition becomes a sample of the principles of government which are adopted by the English, and an earnest of the value of our friendship. The effects of enlightened policy on our part in the Ionian Islands must tend most materially to raise the credit of the English name in Italy, Greece, Turkey, Syria, and Egypt; and must prompt the desire among the inhabitants of these countries, which are in constant communication with the Seven Islands, to secure to themselves also the benefits derivable from an amicable connexion with Great Britain. fact, the state of affairs in those dependencies of our empire will probably influence very powerfully the future development of events in that quarter, and the necessary results which the mere agency of time cannot fail in realising.

In

Among the Greeks of the Ionian States there exists a desire of change, which has been elicited and evinced in the most unequivocal manner; but before entering into the details of their late conduct, it will be necessary first to define distinctly the previous position and respective bearings of those fields for colonial policy, on which it is our duty to establish tranquillity and contentment among a population whose welfare has been confided to us.

The administration of the Ionian Islands, as colonies of Venice, was conducted during several centuries by absolute governors, who also discharged the functions of judge, treasurer, and general, under the title of Proveditore. Their rule was despotic, their object was extortion, and their practice was bribery and corruption; for tyranny and venality increased in proportion to the declining vigour of the decrepid Lion of St Mark. At the same time, a certain appearance of civilisation and a semblance of improvement grew out of even so pernicious a system as this; and although morals gained nothing by the example of the Venetians, manners and knowledge certainly did advance. The Greeks of the various towns became more like the Italians, and their character and habits merged into a sort of intermediate state between those of the original population and those of their masters. That such a modification should be wholly advantageous, would be in direct violation of the known effects of the intermixture of races and different grades of civilisation, and it would be in contradiction to old experience in the history