All the virtues of herbs and metals, Well he knew the tricks of magic, For the mighty master Agrippa To a cobbler Minnesinger The marvellous stone gave he,— And he gave it, in turn, to Keezar, Who brought it over the sea. He held up that mystic lapstone, And he counted the long years coming By twenties and by tens. "One hundred years," quoth Keezar, "And fifty have I told: Now open the new before me, And shut me out the old!" Like a cloud of mist, the blackness Still ran the stream to the river, And there were the bluffs and the blue sea-line, But the mighty forest was broken Turning a score of mill-wheels, The stream no more ran free; White sails on the winding river, White sails on the far-off sea. Below in the noisy village And shone on a thousand faces Swiftly the rival ploughmen Turned the brown earth from their shares; Here were the farmer's treasures, There were the craftsman's wares. Golden the good-wife's butter, Yellow and red were the apples, And the ripe pears russet-brown, And with blooms of hill and wild-wood, "What is it I see?" said Keezar: "Am I here, or am I there? Is it a fête at Bingen? Do I look on Frankfort fair? "But where are the clowns and puppets, And imps with horns and tail? And where are the Rhenish flagons? And where is the foaming ale? "Strange things, I know, will happen,- "Here are smiling manly faces, And the maiden's step is gay; Nor sad by thinking, nor mad by drinking, Nor mopes, nor fools are they. "Here's pleasure without regretting, And good without abuse, The holiday and the bridal Of beauty and of use. THE FIRST ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH. "In the name of the Prophet: - Figs!" "EH, bien, Sare! wiz you Field and ze uzzers! Zey is ver' good men, sans doute, an' zey know how to make ze money; mais gros matérialistes, I tell you, Sare! Vat zen? I sall sink I know, I! Oui, Monsieur, I, César Prévost, who has ze honneur to stand before you, I am ze original inventeur of ze Télégraphique Communication wiz Europe!" It was about the period when, with the fast world of cities, De Sauty was beginning to become type of an "ism”; already the attention of excitement-hunters had travelled far from Trinity Bay, and Cyrus Field had yielded his harvest. Nevertheless, to me, who had just come to town from a quiet country seclusion into which news made its entry teredofashion only, the performances of the Agamemnon and Niagara were matters of fresh and vivid interest. So I purchased Mr. Briggs's book, and went to Guy's, to cut the leaves over a steak and a bottle of Edinburgh ale. It was while I was thus engaged that the little Frenchman had accosted me, calling my attention to his wares with such perfect courtesy, such airy grace, that I was forced to look at his baskets. And looking, I was induced to lay down my book and examine them more closely; for they were really pretty, made of extremely white and delicate wood, showing an exquisite taste in their design, and being neatly and carefully finished. Then it was, that, having apparently noticed the title of my book, M. César Prévost had used the language above quoted, and with such empressement of manner, that my attention was diverted from his wares to himself. I looked at him with some curiosity. He was a little old Frenchman, lean as a haunch of dried venison, and scarcely less dark in complexion, - though his though his color was nearer that of rappee snuff, and had not the rich blood-lined purple of venison. His face was wofully meagre, and seemed scored and overlaid with care-marks. Nevertheless, there was an energetic, nervous, almost humorsome mobility about his mouth; while his little beady black eyes, quick, warm, scintillant, had ten times the life one would have expected to find keeping company with his fifty years. In dress, he was very threadbare, and, sooth to say, not over-clean; yet he was jaunty, and moved with the air of a man much better clad. I was impressed with his appearance, and especially with his voice, which was vibrant, firm, and excellently intoned. It is my foible, perhaps, but I am always charmed with bonhommie, I class originality among the cardinal virtues, and I am as eager in the chase after eccentricity as a veteran fox-hunter is in pursuit of Reynard. M. César promised a compensative proportion of all three qualities, could I only "draw him out"; and besides, he was not like Mr. Canning's "Knife-Grinder,”—for, evidently, he had a story to tell. Observing my scrutiny, he smiled; a singular, ironical smile it was, yet without a particle of bitterness or of cynicism. 66 "Eh, bien!" said he; "you stare, Monsieur ! you sink me an excentrique. Vraiment! I am use to zat, I am use to have persons smile reeseeblement, to tap zere fronts, an' spek of ze strait-jackets. Never fear, I am toujours harmless! Mais, Monsieur, it is true, vat I tell you: I am ze original inventeur of ze Atlantic Telegraph! You mus' not comprehend me, Sare, to intend somesing vat persons call ze Telegraph, - such like ze Electric Telegraph of Monsieur Morse,· a vulgaire sing of ze vire and ze acid. Mon Dieu, non! far more perfect,- far more grrand, far more original! Ze acid may burn ze finger, -ze vire vill become rrusty,ze isolation subject always to ze atmosphere. Ah, bah! Vat make you in zat event? As ze pure lustre of ze diamant of Golconde to ze distorted rays of a morsel of bottle-glass, so my grrand invention to ze modes of ze telegraph in vogue at present!" Monsieur, you shall tell me about it," said I, pointing to a seat on the other side of the table; "sit down there, and tell me about your invention, and in your native language, that is, if you can spare the time to do so, and to drink a glass of Bordeaux with me." He accepted my invitation as a gen tleman would, sipped his wine like a connoisseur, passed me a few compliments, such as any French gentleman might toss to you, if you had asked him to join you in a glass of wine in one of his city's cafés, and then proceeded with his story. My translation gives but a faint echo of the impression made upon me by his life, vigor, and originality; but still I have striven to do him as little injustice as possible. covery more momentous, it may be, than that of gunpowder or the telescope, — ten million hundred times more worth than the vaunted great achievement of M. le Professeur Morse. Not that its whole import came to me at once. No, Monsieur, it is full twenty years now since the first light of it glimmered upon César Prévost's mind, and he gave ten years of his life to it - ten faithful years - before it was perfect to his satisfaction. Ah, Monsieur, and 'tis more than one year now that I have been what you see me, in consequence of it. Eh, bien! I shall die so,— rightly,— but my discovery shall live forever. "But pardon, Monsieur,-I see that you are impatient. You shall immediately hear all I have to say, after I have, in a few words, given you a brief insight into the nature of my invention. Come, then!- Has it ever occurred to Monsieur to reflect upon that something which we call Sympathy? The philosophers, you know, and the physiologists, the followers of that coquin, Mesmer, and the bêtes Spiritualists, as they now dub themselves, these have written, talked, and speculated much about it. I doubt not these fellows have aided Monsieur in perplexing his brain respecting the diverse, the world-wide ramifications of this physiological problem. The limits, indeed, of Sympathy have not been, cannot be, rightly set or defined; and there are those who embrace under such a capitulation half the dark mysteries that bother our heads when we think of Life's under-current, instinct,- clairvoyance, — trance, — ecstasy, all the dim and inner sensations of the Spirit, where it touches the Flesh as perceptibly, but as unseen and unanalyzed, as the kiss of the breeze at evening. Sans doute, Mon "Monsieur, it is ten years since I accomplished, put in practice, and evoked practical results from this international communication, which your two peoples have failed to establish, in spite of all their money, their great ships, and the united wisdom of their savans. I am a Frenchman, Monsieur, and, you know, France is the congenial soil of Science. In that country, where they laugh ever and se jouent de tout, Science is sacred; the Academy has even pas of the army; honors there are higher prized than the very wreaths of glory. Among the votaries of Science in France, César Prévost was the humblest, — serviteur, Monsieur, 't is very wonderful, all this, — and sieur. Nevertheless, though my place was only in the outermost porch of the temple, I was a faithful, devoted, self-sacrificing worshipper of the goddess; and therefore, because earnest fidelity has ever its crown of reward, it happened to me to make a grand discovery, -a dis then, also, 't is very convenient. Our ships must have a steersman, you know. And, par exemple, unless we call it sympathetic, that strange susceptibility which we see in many persons, detect in ourselves sometimes, what name have we to give it at all? Unless we call it sympa |