perfect as the angels or scabbed like Lazarus, why should you seek to
know? Rather, dwell in the hopeful sweetness of your no-knowing.
"And who are you?" again asked the man we had elected for our
host, ere we had time or thought to answer.

"We are travelling, and have lost our way," said we.
"Sit down and eat," said the master of the mansion.

“And then, if

the world has left you a light conscience, you can, if you will, sleep." "We'll first see to Bottom, and then sup with you," said we for there was a ring of truth and good-fellowship in the man's voice that, as we felt, made us old acquaintance. We crossed the threshold, and taking saddle and bridle from Bottom, sent him to his supper of sweet grass. We then returned to our host.

"And what brought you here?" he asked, offering the dish.

"Bacon and eggs," said we, helping ourselves to the glorious condiments bearing those names.

The man paused, looked down upon us, scratched the nape of his neck, and walked to a corner of his habitation. He then returned with a blushing gammon, which he sliced with the potent hand of a master Smiling upon our appetite, he cracked a dozen or two more eggs, and flung them singing into the pan.

We would give a hundred guineas from the aforesaid saddle-bags, we thought, if we could carry away with us a lively portrait of our host. We shall never forget him he will to our mind always be a stirring presence; but how-how shall we ever fix him upon paper?}

"You don't eat," said our host, seeing our knife and fork for a moment idle, as we mused upon the difficulty. "Eat, eat, if you'd be welcome to the Hermit of Bellyfulle.'

"Are you a hermit?" we asked, with a wondering look.

"Have I not said it? the Hermit of Bellyfulle, and this my Hermitage; this the Cell of the Corkscrew," cried the anchorite; and he then turned to the pan, his eye melting on the frying eggs.

462

DAY-DREAM ISLAND.

A FRAGMENT.

A THOUSAND, yea, a thousand isles
Bedeck the sparkling seas,
Endeared by heaven's sweetest smiles,
And heaven's balmiest breeze.

Fair places, fresh as with the bloom
Of Eden's fragrant bow'rs,
Ere sorrow's tears or passion's gloom
Defiled the laughing hours.

Ah, yes! not yet hath vanished hence
That grace of blessed price,
That gives to human innocence
A human paradise.

And not amidst these lovely fanes—

Still sanctified below

From sordid hopes and selfish pains,
Man's vanity and woe-

Can aught more beautiful be known
Than that delicious spot

Where dwelt-a king on Nature's throne-
A fay of happy lot.

A very king that fairy wight,

Amidst a courtly throng

Of creatures lovely to the sight,

And singing Truth's own song.

Ten thousand trees his courtiers were,
With fruits aye lowly bent,

And birds that through the spicy air
Their unbought music sent.

And myriad flowers of brightest dyes,
Endowed with every sweet,

Did turn on him their laughing eyes,
And kiss his straying feet.

The kid, the squirrel, and the roe,
The parrot, jay, and dove,

Did leap, and scream, and murmur low
Their unaffected love.

'Twas thus that pigmy elf was king,

And thus, by noblest right,
He fealty had of everything
By Love's supremest might.

It was, in sooth, a radiant home
Where dwelt that pigmy free:
All land of fairy you might roam,
Yet no such region see.

The ocean, clad in glassy sheen,
Upon its breast did hold
An island of eternal green,
Beneath a sky of gold.

The cocoa and the foodful palm,
The plane of giant span,
The herb of medicinal balm,
And bountiful banyan ;

The fig, the tamarind, the vine,
The sago, and the cane,
Pomegranates, and the luscious pine,
And fields of yellow grain;

The myrtle, decked in bloom of snow,
Where humming wild-bee feeds;
The tulip-tree's resplendent show,
And hyacinthine meads;

Each lovely and each gracious thing
Rewarding human toil,

Spontaneous in that isle did spring,
As erst in Eden's soil.

The very sand upon the shore
Was delicate and bright,

As that which tells the minutes o'er
To wisdom's watchful sight.

And there in constant murmurs fell

The placid, shining main—
A haunting sound, a mighty spell,
To lull the aching brain;

To lay the feverish thought to rest,
To hush the rising groan,
And harmonize man's jarring breast
With Nature's solemn tone.

And still the bounteous ocean threw

Its treasures to the day;

A thousand shells of burnished hue

Made glorious the way.

And when the light of starry skies

Was trembling on the sea,

The mermaid from her cave would rise,
And warble melody.

And oft across the main would float

A strange and solemn swell-
The wild, fantastic, fitful note
Of Triton's breathing shell.

And sounding still that music sweet,
The sea in silver spray

Would break beneath the sea-nymph's feet,
And glitter in the ray.

In every star, in every air,

In every sound and sight,

A look and voice of love was there,
And peacefullest delight.

And pondering on that lovely scene
Of land, and sea, and sky,

The dearest, fondest thought had been

To ebb away and die :

That, dying, we might seek the spring
Whence flowed the tide of good,
And bathe the spirit's earth-clogged wing
In that immortal flood.

O Nature, beautiful and wise!

Thus be it ever given―

That we may read within thine eyes

The promises of heaven :

That with a love as deep, as true,

As sinless and intense,

As ever youthful bridegroom knew
For plighted innocence-

We still may woo thy truthful gaze,
May listen to thy voice!
Assured the bliss of after days
In thee, our early choice.

So, loving thee, this life's a feast
By Peace and Plenty spread,
And Death himself a holy priest→→
The grave, a bridal bed.

WHY should not Lazarus make to himself an order of tatters? Why should not poverty have its patch of honour? Wherefore should not the undubbed knights of evil fortune carry about them, with a gracious humility, the inevitable types of their valorous contest with the petty iniquities of life? Wherefore may not man wear indigence as proudly as nobility flashes its jewels? Is there not a higher heraldry than that of the College?

Not a very long time ago the King of Greece awarded to an Englishman the Order of the Redeemer. The Englishman did not reject the gift; he did not stare with wonder, or smile in meek pity at the grave mockery of the distinction; but winning the consent of our sovereign lady Victoria to sport the jewel, the Knight of Christ-knight by the handiwork of the King of Greece-hung about him the Order of the Redeemer !

And what may be the gracious discipline of this Order of Redemption? Has the new knight sold off all that he had, and given the money to the poor? We have heard of no such broker's work; and surely the newspaper tongue would have given loud utterance to the penitence of mammon. What discipline, then, does this Order of Christ compel upon its holy and immaculate brotherhood?-what glorifying services towards the heart and spirit of man? what self-martyrdom does it recompense? Is it the bright reward of humility-of active loving-kindness towards everything that breathes? Is it that the knighted, beyond ten thousand thousand men, has proved the divine temper of the spiritual follower of Jesus, making his hourly life an active goodness, and with every breath drawn, drawing nearer to rewarding heaven? Surely the Order of the Redeemer-that awful, solemn badge, setting apart its wearer from the sordid crowd of earth-could only be vouchsafed to some hard Christian service, could only reward some triumphant wrestling of the suffering soul-some wondrous victory in the forlorn hope of this dark struggling life., These are our thoughts-these our passionate words; whereupon the Herald of the Court of Greece-a grave, fantastic wizard—with mildly reproving look and most delicate speech, says, "You