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expended the rosy tints of the one and the glories of the other in his devotion to his art, and now he leaned quietly forward upon the instrument which slept in his sleep. Before him also lay paper in confused piles, scraps of unfinished sonatas and oratoriosfragmentary symbols of the revellings of his fancy, which by the magic of their power would yet create worlds of thought and wild joys in sympathetic souls unborn. Instruments lay scattered all around the room, like a hundred voiceless tongues, of which this weary, feeble man was the soulthe only revelant and awakener.

" Agnus Dei" with his expiring breath and strength, then laid him down in sleep.

They placed the body of the young man -for he was only thirty-six years of ageupon a splendid bier, and they covered him with a richly-broidered pall, and the deeptoned organ pealed through the long aisles and lofty arches of the cathedral, and five hundred voices chanted the soft, solemn, soul-subduing requiem over him who had once been a little, ragged, hungry child, fain to wander by the banks of the Moldau, and in the woods of Kosohecz, in order to forget that he had no dinner; but who had Awake, Wolfgang," said a voice in the now won fame even before death, and whom ear of the sleeping composer, and Mozart, his own generation, as well as posterity, deraising his head from its recumbent posi-lighted and delight to honor, as the most tion, looked calmly and without apparent eminent musical genius of any age. wonder in the face of his visitor. That face, however, could not be very distinctly scanned, for it was covered with long black hair, and shaded by a dark cloak and broad hat.

"What do you require of me?" demanded the composer at last, when he had passed his hand across his brow, and recovered sufficient energy to speak.

"I address myself to Wolfgang Mozart?" said the stranger, in a deep low voice, and in a tone of interrogatory.

"And to whom have I the honor to speak?" replied the musician.

"To one who would have you compose a requiem before this day month, and who would pay you amply for it."

"A requiem!" said Mozart, musing, and smoothing his high polished brow with his palm. "Come to me, then, and it shall be done."

CULTIVATION OF TASTE.--I cannot help taking notice of an opinion which many persons entertain, and distinct from the judgment and imagination: a as if the taste were a separate faculty of the mind, species of instinct by which we are struck naturally, and at the first glance, without any previous reasoning, with the excellencies or the defects of a comsions are concerned, I believe it true that the reason position. So far as the imagination and the pas is little consulted; but where disposition, where decorum, where congruity are concerned-in short, wherever the best taste differs from the worst, I am convinced that the understanding operates, and nothing else; and its operations are in reality far from being always sudden, or when they are sudden, they are often far from being right. Men of the best taste, by consideration, come frequently to change their aversion to neutrality and doubt, loves to form on early precipitate judgment, which the mind from its the spot. It is known that the taste (whatever it is) is improved exactly as we improve our judgments, by extending our knowledge, by a steady attention With all the enthusiasm of which his ar- have not taken these methods, it their taste decides to our object, and by frequent exercise. They who dent nature was capable, he devoted him- quickly, it is always uncertainly; and their quickself to this work. When his wife would ness is owing to their presumption and rashness, hang over him, and beseech him to forego dispels all darkness from their minds. But they and not to any sudden irradiation that in a moment such close application to study, he would who have cultivated that species of knowledge smile and exclaim, "I labor for my own which makes the object of taste, by degrees and hadeath." Indeed, the fire of that composi-bitually, attain not only a soundness, but a readition was supplied by the vital warmth of his lifeblood. Death he felt was in his cup, as he bent his noble head over the page, which received upon its white bosom the transfusions of his life, and the records of his immortality; but still, with an ardor that knew no abatement, and a devotion which partook of all that religious unction of which his soul was so full, he labored to leave his sublime thoughts to posterity, and as the swan upon its crystal river sings as its lovely form floats downward to its death, so he, singing as man never sung, finished his

on all other occasions. At first they are obliged to ness of judgment, as men do by the same methods spell, but at last they read with ease and with celerity; but this celerity of its operation is no proof that the taste is a distinct faculty. Nobody, I believe, has upon matters within the sphere of mere naked reaattended the course of a discussion, which turned son, but must have observed the extreme readiness with which the whole process of the argument is raised and answered, and the conclusions drawn carried on, the grounds discovered, the objections from premises, with a quickness altogether as great as the taste can be supposed to work with; and yet where nothing but plain reason either is or can be suspected to operate. To multiply principles for every different appearance is useless, and unphilosophical too, in a high degree.-Burke.

From Hogg's Weekly Instructor.

THE emperor had reached the zenith of his prosperity. He was making kings with as much ease as he was making marshals. Murat had just been transferred from the Grand Duchy of Berg to the throne of Naples, when one morning a carriage drove into my court-yard and a lady alighted from it. Ah, Misericorde! I exclaimed, it is her imperial highness the Princess de Guastalla (Madame Borghese, the beautiful Pauline Bonaparte). I was hastening down stairs to receive her with all due ceremony, when happening to pass a window which looked out to the garden, I beheld advancing towards the house-who but the emperor himself. He rang at a back door, usually appropriated to the servants and entered. He was, I think, accompanied by Berthier. Here was a rencontre ! It was Scylla and Charybdis! I might, perhaps, have feigned not to recognize the emperor, but with a most imperative gesture, he beckoned me to him. I therefore turned to the right about, and leaving the princess to find her way to the drawing-room unattended, I hurried to the emperor.

"Prince," said he, as soon as I was in his presence, "I know that my sister wishes to speak with you. Show me into an adjoining room, where I may hear her break her thunderbolts. Say what you can to appease her, but do not pledge me for anything. Go to her quickly-she will never forgive you for keeping her waiting." I thought of the fatal position of Germanicus with Nero, in Racine's tragedy, in the scene in which Junie complains to the former of the cruelty of the latter. 1 had prepared myself for a most violent reception, but all my expectations fell short of the reality. The princess, as soon as she saw me, taxed me with my want of respect, and complained of not having found me waiting to receive her at the door of hotel. This first ebullition of ill humy mor being exhausted, I said

"His sister, sir! rather say an unfortunate, a forsaken, a miserable slave!"

"Is it possible, madam, that enjoying as you do the favor of his imperial majesty, you can have any cause of complaint?"

"His favor! What a mockery! Does he show his favor by degrading me?"

"No, madam, but by having elevated you to the dignity of an imperial princess, by having conferred on you the Duchy of Guastalla, and united you to a Roman prince!"

"A brilliant marriage, truly! An illustrious rank! I have indeed reason to congratulate myself when I see Caroline a queen, my sister-in-law a queen, and then Josephine's daughter a queen, or on the point of becoming one: and I suppose there is a kingdom in store for Jerome's wife! Eliza, too, will be crowned by and by; whilst I am nothing-hear me, Prince Cambaceres. Go immediately to Bonaparte, and tell him, that if he does not raise me to the dignity of queen, I have a terrible vengeance in reserve for him."

"But which your sisterly affection will not permit you to inflict.” "My affection! I hate him-he is a monster."

"Hush princess!" I exclaimed, with some alarm." "Know that in France walls have ears.'

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"I care not-I defy his police-and I would tell him all I have said to his face. I will seek refuge in England, or he shall perish by my hand."

I became more and more alarmed, and I was about to reply, when the emperor saved me the trouble. He opened the door, and presented himself to the princess.

"Maniac!" he exclaimed, "you shall not go to England, but to Clarenton."

"Ah! so you have followed me," she said. "Then you thought I really intended to throw myself into the Seine, as I threatened! I have come here to request Prince Cambaceres to intercede for me.Now, my dear Napoleon, I must have a crown. I don't care where it is. Make me queen of Portugal-or Denmark, what you

"Madam, if your imperial highness had been pleased to give me notice of your intention to confer on me this honor, I should undoubtedly have observed the due eti-will-I would even reign in Switzerland or quette. But as I am not endowed with prescience, it was only a few minutes ago that I learned from my servants that the sister of our august monarch was in my house."

in Corfu-no matter where-but a crown I must have. Am I to be the only one of the family who does not wear one? Oh, Napoleon! your unkindness will kill me!"


"Let her come in," said the emperor.

With these words, she burst into a flood | mortified and ashamed. Napoleon asked of tears. The capricious beauty had her whether she had come alone. changed her imperious tone to one of sup- named one of her ladies, I do not recollect plication and tender reproach. The Princess whom, and said she was waiting in another Pauline was certainly a most fascinating apartment. woman; but at that moment she appeared to be more charming than ever. I could not wonder at the ascendency she gained over the emperor. He was at first in a violent rage; but his anger was gradually soothed, and when Pauline stopped short in her appeal to him and burst into tears, he advanced to her and said affectionately



My dear sister, why are you not satisfied? I am doing all I can for you. Kingdoms cannot be created at my will. sides, your husband is not a Frenchman." "Let me have a divorce, then." "Heaven forbid!"-" I will be a queen, or I will go to London."-" You shall go to Vincennes.""I defy you! I will strangle myself as I enter."

I know not what circumstance was recalled to Napoleon's mind by this threat! but his brow lowered, his eyes flashed, and he bit his lips till he almost drew blood; and then in a voice faltering with emotion, he exclaimed: "So much the better, Madame. You will rid me of a termagant, whom I find it more difficult to govern than all Europe together! I see that you are only to be ruled with a rod of iron. I therefore command you to go immediately to Madame Mère, and there await the orders which the Prince Arch-Chancellor shall deliver to you from me."

"Then will you make me a queen? must be crowned."


"Really, Pauline, to hear you, one would imagine that I had wronged you of your right of succession to the late king our father."

I had never before known the emperor to have recourse to this sort of pleasantry, but I often afterwards heard him employ similar language. On the occasion which I have first been describing, this good-humored touch of satire had an excellent effect Pauline blushed, and a rapid glance at the past reminded her of her humble origin, contrasted as it was with the high rank to which her brother had raised her. A sudden change was effected in her feelings; she hung down her head, and was evidently

I rang the order was given, and the lady appeared. The emperor directed her not to lose sight of the Princess Borghese, and then, turning to me, he added: "Let us retire to your cabinet."

"I am at your majesty's disposal," replied I; "but permit me first to observe the ceremony due to the Princess."

"Well, well! only be quick!"

He proceeded to my cabinet, and I escorted the Princess to her carriage. As soon as I had got rid of her, I flew to wait on the emperor. I found him walking about the room with hurried steps.

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Well, prince!" said he, as soon as I entered, "this is one of the thousand disagreeable scenes which, tyrant as they say I am, I am compelled to endure. This morning Pauline came to me, commenced an altercation, assumed an imperative tone, and ended by threatening to drown herself. Seeing the excited state she was in, and knowing her violent temper, I became alarmed. She left me; I followed her, and as soon as she stepped into her carriage, I took possession of the first cabriolet I saw standing in the court-yard of the Tuileries. She drove across the bridges; I suspected she was coming to you-I entered by your back door; and you know the rest. A crown for a Borghese! Such a proposition would excite an insurrection in the army! The Borghese are of pure blood-royal, I know; but the kings of my creation must be of my own blood, and must have received the baptism of the sword. However, I am anxious to soothe Pauline. Her husband shall be made governor of Piedmont. Tell her this from me; and, moreover, that I will give her a million francs to clear off her debts and re-set her diamonds. A million francs! What a sum. How much happiness it would diffuse if distributed! Ah, prince! What a cross is a numerous family to a man like me! I have always envied the happiness of Melchisedech, who never knew father, mother, brother, and, above all, sisters." Evenings with Cambaceres.

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What is that sad, that transient smile,
That dawns upon the lip of wo;
That checks the deep-drawn sigh the while,
And stays the tear that starts to flow?
'Tis but a meteor o'er the heart,

When youth's gay dreams have pass'd away; When joy's faint, ling'ring days depart,

And the last gleams of hope decay.

What is that bright, that fearful smile, Quick flashing o'er the brow of care, When fades each fruit of mental toil,

And nought remains to check despair? "Tis the wild lurid lightning's gleam,

Swift bursting from a stormy cloud, That sheds a bright destructive beam, Then sinks amid its sable shroud.

What is that smile, calm, fix'd at last,
On the hoar brow of reverend age,
When the world's changing scenes depart,
And nearly closed life's weary page?
'Tis the rich, glowing, western beam,

Bright mantling o'er the dark'ning skies,
That shows, by its mild parting beam,
A cloudless, heavenly morn to rise.



Why wilt thou weep, my mother? Thou art sighing

Sad is thy heart!

I feel thy tears upon my pale cheek lying,
Yet we must part.

Life from my throbbing bosom now is flying
With every breath;

My eyes grow darkly dim; and I am dying-
And is this death?

I grieve to leave thee now; yet thou hast told me
There is a land

Where we shall meet-where thou wilt yet behold me,

Thy loved one, stand;

Where, robed in light, unnumber'd angels bending

A shining throng

Strike golden harps, with sinless glory blending Celestial song.

Can I be happy there, when thou, my mother, Art gone from me?

And in that land, oh! shall I find another

As kind as thee?

Shall I be glad? Can there be aught will cheer meAsunder riven

From thee, whose smiles with joy were ever near


Whose love was heaven?

Yet thou wilt come and dwell with me for ever Beyond the skies,

In blissful

spheres, where death can enter never, Nor tears, nor sighs.

I will be there, and welcome thee to pleasures
Without alloy;

I will be there, and lead thee unto treasures
Of endless joy.

I'll roam with thee where stars arise entrancing
The sapphire way;

I'll lead thee where the rainbow arches, glancing
With many a ray.

Thou shalt be happy there-no tear bedimming
Thine eye's pure shine;
Thou shalt be happy there with angels hymning
The strains divine.

But now the pangs of icy death oppress me;
Oh! do not weep!

I see thee not, yet thou art near to bless me ;
I soon shall sleep.

Methinks I hear celestial voices humming
My passing knell;

In golden spheres I'll fondly wait thy coming.
Farewell, farewell!


Is it the foot of God

Upon the waters, that they seethe and blaze, As when of old he trod

The desert ways,

And through the night

Fearful and far his pillar poured its light?

Oh for quick wings to fly

Under the limit of yon dazzling verge, Where bright tints rapidly

In brighter merge,

And yet more bright,

Till light becomes invisible through light!

What wonder that of yore

Men held thee for a deity, great sun, Kindling thy pyre before

Thy race is run,

Casting life down

At pleasure, to resume it as a crown?

Or that our holier prayer

Still consecrates thy symbol, that our fanes Plant their pure altars where

Thine Eastern glory rains,

And thy bright West

Drops prophet-mantles on our bed of rest?

Here, watching, let us kneel

From Tait's Magazine.




Sore tried with suffering, yet upheld by faith, she died;

Her near ones wept-I could not weep, but sighed. The time for parting came, and, weeping, forth I went;

But far I had not gone ere all my strength was spent. The night was chilly, but the lamps of heaven shone bright;

And the round full moon poured earthward floods
of light.

No sound heard I, save the low murmur of a stream
That only made my loneliness more lonely seem.-
I felt as one might feel watching at night, alone,
By some sick couch, list'ning to the sufferer's moan.
A sense of dreariness came o'er me; and methought
I shrank into myself-as if with fear o'erwrought.
Oh, man! why is it that, when death doth thee

Of those round whom thy soul's affections thou
did'st weave,

Grieving, thou standest, statue-like, and weepest o'er The lost and loved ones who will gladden thee no more?

Weep thou a sea of tears-they will not come again! Breathe thou a world of sighs-the dead, the dead remain !

Through the still darkness of this grave-like While thus I reasoned-lo! adown the clear blue


Till on our ears shall steal

A whisper, then a chime,

And then a chorus: earth has burst her prison,
The Sign is in the skies! the Sun is risen!



There is a tear that early flows,

The first to fall, like morning dew,
And leaves, like it, the cheek's young rose
Unsear'd in form, undimm'd in hue.
It springs but from some transient pain,
And chasing smiles are always near;
'Tis lightly shed, like April rain-

And this is childhood's guileless tear.

There is a tear than smiles more bright,
Which springs into the beaming eye,
And sparkles there in all the light

Which souls new blest in love supply.
Hopes perfected, but which the heart
Deem'd fate's hand lifted to destroy,
Will make it into being start-
This is the tear of cordial joy.

There is a tear more sweet and soft
Than beauty's smiling lip of love,、
By angel's eyes first wept, and oft

On earth by eyes like those above:
It flows from virtue at distress-

It soothes, like hope, our sufferings here: 'Twas given, and is shed to bless 'Tis sympathy's celestial tear.

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