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Age has its joys-mere relics all-
E'en when its lamp most clearly burns;
Where Time's long shadows deepest fall,
Memory herself a relic turns!

The brow is calm, though many a line
Is traced its faded surface o'er ;-
What is the heart?-a peaceful shrine
Of precious relics laid in store!

The portrait of departed worth-
The value to mere toys assign'd-

The dear-loved spot that hail'd our birth-
All prove this influence o'er the mind!
The gem-deck'd star-the warrior's plume-
The poet's lyre-the sage's pen-
What are they?-relics from the tomb,
Snatched by the loftier sons of men!

Then smile not, if the pilgrim draws
Heart-treasured relics from the shrine;
He but obeys the general laws
Which rule, in different forms, in thine!

THE DREAMING CHILD.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

Alas! what kind of grief should thy years know?

Thy brow and cheek are smooth as waters are

When no breath troubles them.-BEAUMONT & FLETCHER.

AND is there sadness in thy dream, my Boy!-
What should the cloud be made of?-blessed child!

Thy spirit, borne upon a breeze of joy,

All day hath ranged through sunshine, clear yet mild :

And now thou tremblest!-Wherefore ?-in thy soul
There lies no Past, no Future. Thou hast heard
No sound of presage from the distance roll,
Thy breast bears traces of no arrowy word:

From thee no Love hath gone: thy mind's young eye
Hath look'd not into Death's, and thence become
A questioner of mute Eternity,

A weary searcher for a viewless home:

Nor hath thy sense been quicken'd into pain,
By feverish watching for some step beloved;-
Free are thy thoughts, an ever-changeful train,
Glancing like dewdrops, and as lightly moved.

Yet now, on billows of strange Passion toss'd,
How art thou wilder'd in the cave of Sleep!
My gentle child! 'midst what dim phantoms lost,
Thus in mysterious anguish dost thou weep?

Awake! they sadden me-those early tears,
First gushings of the strong dark River's flow,
That must o'ersweep thy soul with coming years—
Th' unfathomable flood of human woe!

Awful to watch, ev'n rolling through a dream,

Forcing wild spray-drops but from Childhood's eyes !—
Wake, wake! as yet thy life's transparent stream

Should wear the tide of none but summer skies.

Come from the shadow of those realms unknown,

Where now thy thoughts dismay'd and darkling rove,
Come to the kindly region all thine own,

The Home still bright for thee with guardian Love!

Happy, fair child! that yet a Mother's voice
Can win thee back from visionary strife!—
Oh! shall my Soul, thus waken'd to rejoice,
Start from the dream-like Wilderness of Life?

PROVERBS.

"He dances well to whom Fortune pipes."

"SENSE, shortness, and salt," are said to be the proper characteristics of proverbs,-qualities, admirable indeed in almost every species of composition, from a sermon to a sonnet, but so rarely found united, that one is a little disposed to feel surprised when, on inquiring for a collection of proverbs, a very respectably-sized octavo is put into our hands. But, in the first place, many specimens are courteously admitted, with little title but their brevity to the distinction; and, in the second, we probably possess every tolerable proverb that ever was composed. Many, indeed, similar in sense, and nearly similar in expression, have doubtless sprung up, independently of each other, in various climes and ages. They are not translations, but originals; and the resemblance in their features should not persuade us that they are not descended from different stocks. Their like ness only proceeds from the similarity in the general feelings, wants, infirmities, and passions of man. These brief and pithy maxims, which speak home to the "business and bosoms" of us all, may well claim various authors without exciting, like the double simultaneous discovery of logarithmns, suspicion and astonishment. But when once born, it is not easy to imagine that a proverb could ever die; its shortness would ensure its retention by the weakest memory, and its applicability to common occurrences occasion its frequent repetition and certain promulgation. These favorites of "the blunt monster with uncounted heads," these darlings of the multitude, have had a less precarious existence than the nurslings of philosophy and genius epics, tragedies, histories, and orations, may have been buried in oblivion, or left their titles alone to tantalize modern scholars and antiquaries, while these little, strong, portable productions have bidden success

ful defiance to barbarian eruptions, Mahomedan conflagrations and Popish bigotry, to fashion, time, moths, damp, and the dark ages.

Notwithstanding this hardy principle of vitality, the influence of these pigmy moralists is proportioned to their size rather than to their duration. A proverb is no meet antagonist for a passion; and raging love, wild ambition, obstinate avarice, or furious revenge, would speedily overthrow, in their headlong course, a hundred such Lilliputian adversaries. Let not this, however, be considered the peculiar defect of proverbs, or at all to be imputed to their brevity; the lengthy and learned homilies of a preacher, the eloquent speeches, three hours long, of a Parliamentary orator, the interminable harangues of a wife, seldom encounter a better fate. "The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree." With regard, however, to our follies and our weaknesses, to the daily course of domestic annoyances and petty duties, one is less inclined to doubt the occasional utility of a proverb. Though we must not attempt to "patch grief with proverbs," yet the disguised philosophy of "what can't be cured must be endured" has probably stopped more murmurs over torn gowns and broken china than stoicism or Christianity, assistants which we only think it necessary to call in on great occasions. "A stitch in time saves nine," has saved us many a respectable pair of boots, and is a maxim so injurious to trade that it ought to be exploded by Act of Parliament; and "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," has conducted more coquettes to the altar of Hymen than all the tears and prayers, the incipient insanity and threatened suicide, of lovers.

Many proverbs are assertions rather than maxims, and, like the one we

have chosen for our motto, merely convey in a few words generally acknowledged facts, without deducing from them any consequent rule of conduct. "He dances well to whom Fortune pipes," is a truth which eve. ry-day experience confirms; but we derive no useful hints from this proverb, or its numerous equivalents in our own and various languages, as to the means by which the goddess may be persuaded to play to us. We all know that her pipe is sweeter than Colinet's flageolet, more improving to our steps than the instructions of D'Egville; that, like the reed of Orpheus, it can give animation to clods, agility to bears, and grace to asses; but how she may be bribed to admit us into her quadrille still remains a secret. It cannot be necessary, in a light essay of this nature, to assert our conviction that fate, fortune, chance, &c. are only other names for the will and arrangements of Providence; it is second causes only which are now under discussion,-he is, indeed, both unwise and unhappy who looks no farther; it is of the visible effects of the machinery we are now speaking, blind and miserable must those be who detect not the Master-hand which guides it. Let not our meaning, therefore, be mistaken, when we speak of "fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the Sisters three, and such branches of learning."

There is something particularly gloomy and discouraging in Fatalism, in the idea of the vain exertion of our energies, the useless waste of our powers, in a long, hopeless struggle against inevitable necessity; yet the notion has, in all ages and countries, been a great favorite with mankind. It pervaded the mythology and philosophy of Greece and Rome; it is discovered among the wildest and most barbarous nations; it is the parent of astrology, the corner-stone of Mahomedanism, and the origin of many an Eastern tale, Northern Legend, and prevalent superstition.

Fruitless at

tempts to elude the authority of Fate is the principle on which a number of fictions are founded; the dream, the prophecy, the fairy's warning, the oracle's decree, are sure to prove true, and the victims hasten the event by the very means adopted to escape it. In modern times, we have substituted a coquette and a harlequin for the stern" Destiny," the inexorable "Necessity" of former days; we acknowledge that "luck's a monkey," and we offer a dubious sort of worship to the fickle demon, in which prayers and laughter, honor and ridicule, are strangely mingled. According to Ariosto,*«Fortuna dei pazzi ha cura ;" and, indeed, the world is pretty well convinced that she is a true flirt, dispensing her favors with unintelligible caprice, and much more ready to smile on a fool than a philosopher. French say, "Mieux vaut une once de fortune qu'une livre de sagesse ;" and we all of us must have plenty of examples to produce of unsucces l industry, unrewarded merit, useless wisdom, and vain exertion, while we must all of us have seen "greatness thrust" upon the indolent, the frivolous, and the undeserving, whom fortune pipes into "some flowery spot, for which they never toiled nor swat.” When she plays, it is impossible to make a false step; under the influence of her pipe, trips turn into graces, and blunders into advantages, while a whole orchestra of instruments, with the Virtues and nine Muses to play upon them, and Minerva herself to lead the band, cannot insure the most cautious dancer against a fall.

The

"Some men are born with a silver, and others with a wooden spoon in their mouths ;" and "He who was born under a three-halfpenny planet will never be worth twopence," are two melancholy Proverbs, expressly intended for the use of the losers in the game of life, the dejected, wearied competitors in the race we are all running, the awkward and unsuccessful dancers to whom Fortune's pipe never

* Fortune takes care of fools.

taught a single chassez. The language in which they are couched is mean and plebeian, but let it be recollected that it is the language of adversity, the language of the poor and dispirited such maxims do not pass the lips of the prosperous and happy, they acquire no polish from the rich and the elegant, who are very apt to forget that there are such things as wooden spoons or copper money in existence, and are sure to attribute their right to the use of fiddle-headed king's-pattern spoons and gold and silver coin to their own indefeasible privileges and indisputable merits. For it is a remarkable fact that those who dance oftenest in Fortune's cotillon, and are most indebted to her pipe, frequently assert that they supply their own music, and that their fine steps are entirely owing to the admirable way in which they themselves are performing on a jewsharp or penny trumpet. She, partial goddess, takes no umbrage at their gratitude, plays on to her thoughtless favorites, nor turns one glance to the crowds of worshipers who are imploring a single tune from her lips. Yet, notwithstanding the arrogance of the prosperous, those who look on and observe the banquet, can readily distinguish the "wooden spoon" adhering with spiteful pertinacity to its original owners. They cannot part with their birthright, friends endeavor in vain to exchange it for a utensil of more valuable materials, and they themselves exert all the powers of their body, the energies of their mind, to aid the benevolent design. But all in vain; they used it for their soup, and they will use it for their dessert.

These ill-starred creatures have no reason to regret the suppression of lotteries, since not even the nominal prize of twenty pounds ever came to their share; and their dislike of the legacy tax is exasperated by no selfish feelings, as they were never called upon to contribute towards it in the slightest degree. Their rich, childless male relations always astonish the world by becoming husbands and fathers in their dotage: while their old 45 ATHENEUM, VOL. 2, 3d series.

female ones either purchase Poyais bonds and are ruined, or marry a Methodist preacher; and if a friend has promised to remember them in his will, he is sure to die suddenly before he has made one. They are always a little too late in asking for a favor, and a little too soon in abandoning a speculation; and they generally sell their shares in a mining company, at a heavy loss, just before the discovery of a bonança. If money is ever within their grasp, a law-suit speedily loosens their hold, and it falls into the capacious hands of some silver-spooned sons of Themis; their landed property is always in the West Indies, and their ready cash in a bank that fails. In their youth heiresses have an antipathy to them; and when they marry, their wives are very liable to have twins. If they are botanists or entomologists, they never find a rare plant or uncommon insect; dandelions and groundsel seem to spring up beneath their feet, cockchafers and cabbage butterflies to pursue them; it is out of the question that their eyes can ever behold a lady's slipper or a purple emperor, and if they should chance to possess the chrysalis of a death'shead moth, a servant or a child will throw it away by mistake. As sportsmen or fishermen they are equally unfortunate; their gun always misses fire at a cock-pheasant; and, notwithstanding a diligent observance of the rules of "Salmonia," their hook fails, or line breaks, whenever a trout of any size has taken the bait.

As the "wooden spoon" is not confined to the male sex, its influence often dooms the fairer part of the creation to a series of troubles and vexations. Its victims are very unfortunate in their domestic affairs: if they get a good servant, she is sure to marry away; if they wash at home, it always rains at the time; if they have a dinnerparty, the weather is hot and thundery, their custards are sour, a little soot falls into the soup, and fish is extravagantly dear. The china of these unhappy women appears more brittle than that of their neighbors; their gowns seem

to possess a magnetic quality for brambles; if a glass of port wine is thrown over at table, you need not ask whose dress has been spoiled; and if they take a walk, unprovided with an umbrella, no barometer is required to tell you it will rain. When invited to a particularly pleasant party, they catch cold and cannot go; when they visit the Opera to hear Pasta or Sontag, she is sure to be too indisposed to sing. In early life, they are subject to spraining their ankle just before a ball, and to splitting a shoe when they are about to dance with the man they prefer. At dinners they are generally placed between aged clergymen and persevering gourmands, bores take a fancy to them, incorrigible old bachelors bestow their tediousness upon them, and they are apt to fall in love with half-pay ensigns and country curates. Their hair goes grey early, they lose their teeth soon, their husband is particular about his dinners, and their children have the hoopingcough twice.

Behold, on the contrary, the happy man who with a "silver spoon" in his mouth, dances through life to the pleasant music of Dame Fortune! His

uncles are all childless, nobody will marry his aunts; he sends a basket of game to a capricious old miser, and is rewarded by a legacy of 10,000l.; he preaches a sermon before a lady of quality, and gets a rich rectory; he buys worthless land, and the next year there is a rage for building upon it; he writes to his agent to purchase mining-shares, and the letter miscarries. If he is a physician, he is called in just as his patient's disorder takes a favorable turn; if he is a lawyer, his clients happen to be in the right; if he is a naturalist, nondescripts reward his most careless search; if he sports with a friend, the birds always rise on his side. History and biography occasionally furnish us with examples of this peculiarly favored race. Mr. Whittington was evidently one of them, whose very cat proved a source of riches; so was the gentleman who, worn out by a painful disorder, attempted

to commit suicide, opened an inward imposthume and was cured-the Persian condemned to lose his tongue, on whom the operation was so performed that it merely removed an impediment in his speech-the painter who produced an effect he had long aimed at in vain, by throwing his brush at his picture in a fit of impatience and despair-and the general who once upon a time besieged the town of Bushire, and had the gates blown open for him and the wall overthrown by the first discharge of a sixty-eight pounder, which the inhabitants fired to prevent his approach. Who can doubt that if these several individuals had been born with "wooden spoons" in their infant mouths, their fate would have been very different? Whittington's cat would have turned out no mouser, the sword gone through the sick gentleman's heart, the tongue been extracted to the very root, the painting irrecoverably spoiled, and the general repulsed with the loss of a limb.

There are not many persons, however, thus unchangeably favored or persecuted by Fortune; her fickleness is in general occasionally experienced even by the most beloved of her children, and it is said that "Every dog has his day, and every man his hour." There are some proverbs still more cheering-" After clouds comes clear weather," and " Many a rainy morning turns out a fine day," seem to imply that those who have danced a good many quadrilles to the dull double bass and croaking bag-pipe of Poverty and Misfortune, have every reason to expect that they shall soon have their turn in tripping to more lively music. Uninterrupted prosperity appears still less probable than constant adversity; it is too luscious a draught for man, and is so seldom bestowed upon us for any length of time, that the wise have considered a state of extreme felicity ominous of approaching ill. The Chinese have a proverb, "When the sky is clear a wise man trembles, when it thunders he is undaunted," which approximates pretty closely to the "Sperat infestis, metuit

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