fish. As he was a good swimmer, he determined to go into the water himself. He therefore laid aside the rusty sword, threw off also the shirt, and jumped into the water. In an instant the fish leaped upon land, shook himself, and there stood Iron Ladislaus, who hastily snatched up the sword, and put on the shirt. When the dragon's wife saw this, she flung herself upon a broom-stick, and flew away. It occurred to the dragon that Ladislaus had become whole again after he had been bound upon his horse, and so he prayed, "When "you have killed me, bind me upon my horse." Iron Ladislaus cut off all the dragon's heads with one blow, and laid them with the body on the horse's back. The horse set off with them, and I suppose is still running round the world with them, for he has never yet come back. Iron Ladislaus took his two brothers from the chimney, where they had become quite black and dry, and brought them to the serpent-king, who healed them. When Ladislaus, and his sister and the brothers, came to take leave of him, there sat on his side a most beautiful lady, with a bright star on her forehead. The serpent-king spoke, and said: "This is my daughter, whom thou hast delivered "from the flames. I give her to thee as thy bride." So a splendid wedding took place, and the rejoicings lasted till Iron Ladislaus's brothers had become quite fat and white again; when they returned with their sister to their father. But Iron Ladislaus remained with his wife in the serpent kingdom, where they are still living, if they are not both dead. APOSTROPHE TO THE KING OF SPAIN. There's trembling thro' the nations-awe Presaging woe to tyrants, horror and despair. From North to South-from East to West, Proud swells each heart within the breast, The indignant smiles of conscious strength Against the bigot and the slave, Who all too long o'er Freedom's grave Have clash'd their chains with maniac glee, And darkly vow'd the doom of all who would be free. Wake, idiot, from thy visions wake Of tyranny and lust, Ere yet the might of England shake Her summons to the free and brave Of those whose swords are drawn for Liberty and Man? It is the cause---it is the cause By all the blood drops shed in vain, Hear thy funereal knell in England's battle cry. Alas! that such a thing as thou With anxious thought one Father's brow, Or make one Mother pale! The tear will start, despite the heart, To see the brave to battle part; But if one drop be shed by Love, One British warrior's corse above, Ev'n hatred's self might weep to see The vengeance that shall light upon thy slaves and thee. ZARACH, VOL. II. 2 c JOY AND SORROW. They are as rival painters-Joy and Sorrow: O'er the flush'd forehead. Then doth Sorrow come, Impossible! it cannot be! yes, the eye---it is the same. Good Heavens, what an alteration! and yet it was considered an admirable likeness: I was twenty-three years old when it was drawn; now at sixty, there scarcely remains a trace of identity. Time, Time, here are your havoes. Where is that smooth forehead-those waving curls of beautiful brown hair, which I would not allow to be pomatumed, or even powdered; that sanguine, ambitious, benevolent eye; the frank, unsuspecting, ingenuous countenance of youth. Where is the lumen purpureum Juvente? vanished---gone for ever. Here I am, like Lear, a decrepit old man, more sinned against than sinning, bald, grey, wrinkled, with all the mistrustfulness of the present, and hankering after the past, of advanced life. And yet, such is the bountiful dispensation of Providence, my recollections, though melancholy, are pleasing. It has been asked, What would life be without hope? Dull and melancholy. But, ah! what would age be without memory? Insupportable. In early life, when we live in an atmosphere of hope, and view objects through an ever-fresh, ever-changing kaleidoscope of fancy, this truth is not attended to; but in the evening of our days, when "If but a beam of solar reason play, "Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away," we feel, with an evidence beyond all demonstration, that Providence's beneficent consideration of the weaknesses of humanity, is in nothing more conspicuous than in endowing us with the faculty of memory--the support, the solace, of old age, and the main contributor to the happiness of existence. A swarm of apt sayings of philosophers and poets on this point, rushes upon my mind. I will not quote them---they are too cold and methodical for my present feelings. What a host of recollections are associated with this portrait ! of dearest relatives in their graves---I trust in Heaven; of passionate love conceived, alas! to be disappointed---" the spell from which e'en yet I am not quite free"- Mary is the contented mother of a mother-I, a moping, melancholy, good-for-nothing old bachelor. Every body told her that Mr. H. was a most desirable match; that it would be imprudent in her to decline £8000 per annum, for me, with a certainty of barely half as many hundreds. Well, she was a woman; she married him, and returned me this portrait. I sometimes think she was right. Could I have made her happier? Could he have felt the hundredth part of my love ?---Psha! he is a worthy, honest man, of £8000 per annum; but with love---that "6 scarce deserves the name: "While mine was like the lava flood, "That burns in Ætna's breast of flame." Well, it is passed; she returned me the portrait, and left me on the strand of existence---shipwrecked and unhappy. I had friends then, attached by the strongest feelings of youthful sympathy. What is become of them? Are these ties of affection, too, dissolved or slackened? Alas! Death has been busy, too busy, here. Of a knot of seven Cantabs of us, who used to meet in Harry Cy's chambers, there are only two living. Poor Harry! his heart was too pure for the selfish commerce of life. Perhaps it is as we!! "He died in early youth, "Ere Hope had lost its rich romantic hues ; "And earth still gleamed with beauty's radiant dews." I have twice visited his grave at Naples. He is buried close to his favorite sister. His cousins Py and Sr are also dead. The former fell like a hero at the head of his regiment at Waterloo, covered with wounds and glory; the other was a victim to the pestilent marshes at Walcheren. Of the other two of our club, Fḍ was, shortly after his return to Ireland, killed in a duel, arising out of his brother's contested election. The poor, tender-hearted, and sensitive Ce was jilted by a coquette, and never after raised his head. He pined away, until, like a shadow, he melted into his tomb. The survivor is the worthy Rector of in Norfolk; and never fails, whenever we meet, to drop a tear over the memory of the departed friends of our youth. Time, distance, and difference of pursuit and habits, have had their usual sway in slackening and severing the ties of other earthly acquaintanceship; and, what is much more painful in the recollection, many of those ties have been snapt rudely asunder by selfishness, heartlessness, and the jarring interests of similar pursuits. " But the alteration of feature is nothing compared with that of feeling. I was then romantic in the extreme. I now look upon the world, and its petty doings, with a scorn and revulsion bordering upon misanthropy, but free from the captiousness of disappointment. I said I was just three-and-twenty when this portrait was taken; at that time my rational expectations were first-rate. With the senate staring me in the face; with day-dream visions of fame and power, and official distinctions flitting across Ambition's eye; with my college honors blushing thick upon me; with the esteem and good will of numerous respectable friends; and with a greater spur than all, as I vainly believe the "beautiful regards upon me of a most lovely girl, I abandoned the certainty of preferment in the church, for the perilous chance of rising" at the bar, and entered my name of the Middle Temple. The woolsack,---at least, in case I fail in ousting the cabinet, then commanded by Mr. Pitt, the Chief Justiceship,-thought I, will be an honorable provision for mature age. At the time I speak of, all Europe was heated and illuminated by the intense blaze of the French revolution, and England was in a condition and excitement not á priori predicable of the English character. This was the time for a man of genius to establish a reputation of ability. I was an early member of the "Society of the Friends of the People;" and I appeal to Lord Grey (then Mr. Grey, an active member) whether most of the decisions were not effected by the eloquence of Mr. ******, “ the "Cambridge Science Medallist," and the "most logical-headed man "of his time;" and whether our ablest statements and most effective pamphlets did not emanate from that gentleman's pen? Pamphlets then were multum in parvo, and not, as now, parvum in multo; and eloquence was not verbiage, nor logical reasoning sophistry; nor did |