sisters answer for themselves. Mary, Anatole, and Martin, signified their acquiescence by a very distinct and sonorous toll, but Zoe, the youngest, seemed to hesitate, and make very imperfect attempts at enunciation. Some said it was mauvaise honte, others surmised that she lisped, a third attributed it to timidity, to which a fourth rejoined that any one might be excused a little alarm who was on the point of being hung up in the belfry: but it was presently discovered that a portion of the silver tissue had intervened between the clapper and the side of the bell; which impediment being removed, Mademoiselle Zoe instantly uttered a petulant and sharp toll as if anxious to shew that she had as good a tongue in her head as any of her sisters. Thrice did each deliver a similar response to as many interrogatories; and if after this public and solemn pledge made before the proxies of Majesty, and in presence of the assembled population of Versailles, they can ever forfeit their words and be wanting to their duty, I can only say that they must have more brass in their composition than even the manufacturer himself is probably aware of.

A sermon followed, in which the metallic sisterhood were apostrophized, exhorted, and dehorted, to all which they submitted with becoming resignation, except for a single moment, when Anatole, in the midst of a most pathetic appeal, sent forth a sudden and dissonant clash. As strenuous endeavours are now making to bring miracles into vogue, this occurrence was at first hailed as a supernatural manifestation, but a moment's enquiry ascertained that it was attributable to the gigantic Swiss Beadle, who had accidentally entangled his foot in the satin ribbon, and jerked out of Anatole's iron jaws that alarming yell. As far as the writer's observation extended, he verily believes that the congregation would have been deeply edified by the discourse, could they have only determined whether Madame de Veracques' veil and lappets were craie dentelle de Malines, ou de Bruxelles; and he is the more inclined to this opinion, because at the conclusion of the ceremony, when the whole assemblage were allowed to mount the platform and walk round the bells, there was not one who did not appear to be profoundly penetrated with the solemnity of the brocade, and suitably affected by the awfulness of the white satin rosettes. H.

SLEEP.

IT chanced, that in a certain solitude
Wherein it was my fortune to sojourn,
Sleep overtook me in my wandering,
And at his powerful bidding I did pause
To commune with him after his own fashion.
In accents more of kindness than command,
He bade me yield myself unto his sway;
And I did yield myself: whereat he laid
His hand upon my head, as if in token
That he had power above me for a season.
That touch did, as it were, destroy the life
Which I held heretofore, and in its stead
Another and a stranger being came;
And I did pass from out the visible world
Into the shadowy and silent realm

Peopled with phantom forms and ruled by Sleep.

"Tis said that Sleep is awful-he is so;
He comes upon us, like the shade of Death,
Darkly, and silently, and for a season

He holds the power which Death will hold for ever.
His still commands come forth without a voice,

But all things bow to their omnipotence,
And sink into the silence which he loves.

And then come shadowy forms, which are not life,
But fashion'd as in mockery of life,

And hold a mirror to our sleeping sight,
And whisper marvels in our sleeping ears;

And strange and fitful knowledge comes upon us
In this our living death-as if the grave
Had yielded up its secrets for our use,

Making the past, the present-things forbidden,—
Vengeance, and ghastly sins, and guilty hopes
That dwell within the bosom of the night,
Do clothe themselves in grisly shapes, and come
And keep their watch beside the couch of Sleep,
And mutter their dark counsel to the heart.

What things befel me in the fearful realm
Of which I spake, I will essay to tell,
Darkly, and indistinctly, as they came.
I seem'd as seated in a lonely bark
That slumber'd on the bosoin of a sea
Boundless and solitary-not a wave
Rippled its dusky waters-not a sound
Broke the stern silence of its deep repose.
I gazed around the far horizon's sweep,
The circle of that strange and fearful mirror;
But nothing might I see save sea and sky,
That met and mingled in their solitude.
Oh! how I long'd once more to hear the roar
Of the dark surges, leaping into life

At the hoarse tempest's bidding-and the cry,
The clangor of the winged wanderers

That dwell amid the cliffs of mine own home,
And make the storm their pastime,-it is fearful—
Fearful and beautiful to watch the strife

Of winds and waters, warring in their fury,
To see the exulting billows, how they spring
To grapple with their viewless enemy;
-And danger is forgotten in delight,
And the rapt mind drinks deep of awful joy
To think how it can view such strife and live.

But the strange stillness of that silent sea,

And dark, yet cloudless sky, smote on my heart,
And weigh'd my spirit down with nameless fears,

And weariness, and sad unquiet longings

After, I cared not what-so it were change.

my

mind

How long this state did last I cannot tell,
But ages seem'd as though they roll'd away
Without a change, and earthly hopes, and fears,-
And thoughts, and passions, died within
As through old age, and lack of nourishment,
Leaving it tenantless,-'till it became
As still, and dark, and cloudless as the life
(If life it might be call'd) wherein I dwelt

At length there came a change, and fitfully,
As though they had been borne upon the wind,
Came voices sounding in mine ears-their tones
Resembled not the accents of the earth,

But, tuned in strange and solemn cadences,
Full of command-yet melancholy, seemed
As if they chaunted forth the awful bidding
Of some immutable and fearful power

Before which all things bow'd. Straightway the sun,
As though it had been traced upon a cloud,
Grew indistinct and wavering, fading slowly
'Till utter darkness did envelope me,

Blind and without a star; and then the chaunt
Of the unearthly voices died away,

And all grew still again. For very awe

I held my breath. Darkness and silence seem'd
As though they had enfolded each the other
In an eternal clasp; it seem'd as though
The infinite Creation had expired,

And blind immortal Chaos had resumed
The voiceless empire of the desolate realms
Of motionless and everlasting space.
-Oh what a fearful thought, to be alone
In dark infinity-to see the death
Of life itself to dwell within the grave
'That held the universe-and yet to live!

Again there came a change, and to mine ear,
Low-breathed and deep, and floating from afar
Came the omnipotent tones of which I spake,
In their unutterable harmony,

Like all sweet music melted into one.
Rapt in an ecstasy of fear and wonder
I drank the awful accents, as they rose
With overpowering swell. Swift as a flash
Of lightning, or of thought, the darkness fled,
And all grew light.—Oh what ineffable light!
Abyss of thought,
What have you in your depths that may embody
The rapture of that moment, and the glory,
The unutterable glory of the light
That sprang to life before the thrilling tones
And awful music of that voice of Power!
I have beheld the majesty of Night
Bright with its countless stars-like seraphim
Before the throne of the Omnipotent.
I have beheld the mild and virgin Moon,
Her sweet face shaded with a silvery cloud
That veil'd her beauty, but obscured it not,
Making its light more tender. I have seen
The morning Sun soar upward on his course
Full of immortal beauty; like a god
Exulting in his strength, his radiant locks
Floating upon the bosom of the cloud,

Whose white and shadowy embrace did clasp him ;

And darkness shrank before his look of joy;

And all things waken'd into living light;
And Nature's self did cast away her sleep

To smile upon that sight of loveliness.

-I have beheld the lights, that in the North
Do league themselves in glittering files together,
Careering through the sky in awful pastime,
As if in mockery of mortal pomp,

With spear, and shield, and brand, and flaunting pennon,
Fashion'd of fire; and as they speed along,

The awe-struck watcher fancies he can trace
The shadowy coursers with their wings of might,
That bear the dazzling warriors on their path.
-I have look'd forth into the night, to see
The leaders of the fearful race that dwell
Within the bosom of the thunder-cloud,
Cleaving the solid darkness of their prison,
Like spirits of destruction, swift to slay;
And light is in their eyes, whose glance is death;
And speed is in their feet,-the speed of thought,
And ruin and oblivion in their hands,
And in their hearts no pity. I have gazed
Upon their terrible brightness, 'till I lost
All sense of danger in their awful beauty.
-But oh the unimaginable splendor
Of that immortal light, that, like a flood
Of living radiance, burst upon my sight.-
Myriads of forms of most unearthly beauty
Floated upon the calm and vocal air,
Whose very breath was music-silvery sweet.
-I felt as if all individual feeling
And separate existence were absorb'd
In the eternal loveliness around me,
The life of light of which I seem'd a part.
With deep delight I gazed upon the race
Of which I spake-the dwellers in that sphere;
And soon my watchful eye did rest on One.
Oh! how surpassing, even amid that throng
Of deathless beauty!-When her eye met mine,
She smiled her own sweet smile. Oh! Memory,
Is she not treasured in my heart of hearts!
Did I not feel that well-remember'd smile,
Whose beauty might not sleep within the grave,
Sink deep into my soul! like the long ray
That streams into the darkness of a dungeon,
Gladd'ning the wretched with the light he loves,
Because it speaks of days of joy gone by.
-Eternity had wrought but little change;

Brighter she seem'd than when she dwelt on Earth;

But oh! not fairer. Parted gracefully,

Her dark hair gave to view her ivory brow,

Serene and calm. Still had her eye that light

Of pure intelligence and lofty thought,

Temper'd with maiden softness-grave, yet sweet,
Prophetic of eternity of joy.

-I did essay to speak; an agony

Came fearfully upon me, and I struggled

As for my life. I did essay to speak

At first in vain At length my voice came forth,

And mortal grief broke in upon the calm

Of that immortal dream. Oh! misery!

Swift as the dark cloud swallows up the lightning,

The glorious vision vanish'd; and the gloom,
The tenfold gloom of night return'd upon me.
Sleep frown'd a withering frown, and with a look
That smote me to the heart-a look of wrath-
Unfurl'd his shadowy pinions to the wind,
And soaring upwards,-left me.

SPAS AND WATERING-PLACES.

We have put to scorn the surpassing wisdom of our ancestors, dimsighted beings that we are!—we have M'Adamized our turnpike roads, and encouraged stage-coach travelling at the rate of eight or nine miles an hour--we have improved our morals or our police, and contemptuously set at nought the rosinantes and saddlebags of our forefatherswe have annihilated the brave race of highwaymen, who, in more ancient (and consequently better) days, kept the poetry of life in full display; for now robbers and beggars on the roads, those stimulants of the courage and eleemosynary propensities of our ancestors, are almost extinct, and will soon become objects of grave attraction to the Royal Society of Antiquaries. Thus it is to innovate on established usages. The better sympathies of man have now no adequate room for action; no pathetic partings now occur on commencing a journey from York to London, knitting closer the ties of social affection and keeping the best passions in exercise. The member of parliament in Cumberland or Cornwall, instead of making his will and attending divine service before parting from his family at the rookery with secret forebodings, or mounting his horse at the hall-door and proceeding down the long avenue of trees through which the wind whistles in ominous music, (followed by the tearful eyes of his family and neighbours, who stand gazing till he is out of sight, and summing up the perils of his precarious journey,) now enters a post-chaise or a mail-coach, and reaches his destination in the number of hours which it had occupied his predecessors days. How strange that these times are still envied! Yet such is the nature of man, and such is his desire for that which is out of his reach, whether past or to come, that could he recall them again, he would anxiously and foolishly desire something equally beyond his power, to the full as inconvenient and worthless as the travelling habits of his forerunners. These were my thoughts, when, with a small portmanteau in my hand, I proceeded to a coach-office in Piccadilly, undetermined, until I came in sight of it, whether I should go to Bath or Cheltenham.

Finding

and the busy hum of London was beginning to stun the ear. the Bath coach full, I booked myself for Cheltenham, and in five minutes afterwards was fast leaving "the wen" behind me, as Cobbet in his spleen has nicknamed the metropolis. O that my grandsires had seen me bowling along the road at nine miles an hour! how would they have lifted up their eyes in astonishment, and have called upon the parish parson to lecture me, upon my return, on presumption and wicked interference with old usages, while his rosy gills, redolent with fat ale, would have been dis