NOVEMBER'S hail-cloud drifts away, November's sun-beam wan Looks coldly on the castle gray, When forth comes Lady Anne. The orphan by the oak was set; Her arms, her feet, were bare; The hail-drops had not melted yet Amid her raven hair. "And, dame," she said, "by all the ties That child and mother know, Aid one who never knew these joys,- The lady said, "An orphan state Yet worse the widow'd mother's fate Who mourns both lord and heir. "Twelve times the rolling year has sped Since, while from vengeance wild Of fierce Strathallen's chief I fled, Forth's eddies whelm'd my child." "Twelve times the year its course has borne," The wandering maid replied, "Since fishers, on St. Bridget's morn, Drew nets on Campsie side. "St. Bridget sent no scaly spoil; An infant well-nigh dead They saved, and rear'd in want and toil That orphan maid the lady kiss'd,- They've robed that maid, so poor and pale, And pearls, for drops of frozen hail, [For the National Magazine.] FROM out the deep well's bottom, Except his lantern ray, So who would not be dazzled Beyond the reach of day; Whence up, through zones of darkness, He'll see God's stars for aye. "Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive." Acts xx, 35. What can this mean, thought I? Who wrote this? For what purpose was it written? These, and many kindred questions crowded rapidly upon my mind. But being much pressed with business at the time, I slipped the dollar bill into my vest pocket, and while occupied with many cares, it was almost forgotten. One night, however, I dreamed. Strange things appeared before me, and among other objects, the one dollar bill, with its mysterious inscription. Several weeks passed by, and I was threading my way through the dense crowds of Fulton-street. This time I was in no haste, and leisurely walked along. Presently my eyes fastened upon the pale, wan features of a poor woman, who had at her side about a dozen boxes of un inviting-looking matches for sale. Her clothing was scanty and soiled, and there was a downcast, desponding look about her that spoke of misery within, and which at once engaged my sympathy. A haggard, barefooted little boy, with a dirty face and uncombed hair, shared with her the step on which she was seated; and from his gaunt look, his thin bony fingers, his sunken eyes, his lack of childish playfulness and energy, and his disregard of objects around him, I concluded that the poor child might be a sufferer from want of wholesome food, and that she who appeared to be his mother, might be quite unable to supply his necessities. Here, thought I, is a woman who is trying to support herself and her child in an honest way. She is doing what she can to procure a livelihood. But what a stock in trade! A shilling ought to buy the whole. And here she may sit and sit from morning till night, and no one perhaps will buy of her. Where is she to get bread today? Where sleep to-night? With what shall she pay for food and lodging? While I was thus ruminating, I leaned against the iron railing that surrounds the old Dutch church, and waited a full halfhour to see if some one would not buy. Busy men, with sharp anxious faces, urged onward with the great motive of gain, moved in throngs within a few inches of the poor match-woman, but not one of them deigned a compassionate look. Children tripped along laughingly, and even ladies, whose hearts are said to be more sensitive to the finer feelings of our nature, did no more than turn their eyes languidly toward the impoverished little group. As I thus tarried, my heart grew somewhat sick, nor were my feelings any less affected, when I observed that the woman appeared to draw a long breath now and then, and seemed to be deeply sighing. At first, I thought I would go and purchase all the matches she had; but I did not need so many; besides they might be an inferior article, and not such as I would wish to use. In a moment I thought of the one dollar bill, which I had found in the street, and resolved for once at least to have the satisfaction of making a needy creature happy. So I thought of the words of the Lord Jesus, in which he said, "It is more blessed to give than to receive;" and without asking a question, I spread the money in the matchwoman's lap. "O, sir," said she, "I've got no change," supposing that I wished to buy of her. "Never mind the change, my good woman, you can get it changed when you go to the baker's to buy bread; and as for the matches, you can keep them till to-morrow. Perhaps somebody then will buy what is so dull of sale to-day.” gence such as but a moment before I had mote the present and eternal happiness of in no wise suspected to exist. By this time a little crowd of persons gathered around us. Though none were ready to encourage the poor woman in her humble efforts to live, yet some found time to stop and watch a well-dressed man in conversation with a miserably wretched looking woman. Feeling a little annoyed at the publicity which the affair began to assume, I became uneasy and anxious to leave. So, bidding the match-woman keep what I had given her, I turned to depart. "No," said she, "I cannot but upon one condition: I must know at least the name of my benefactor. If I never see you again, I cannot be denied the happiness of knowing your name." At this, I hastily put a card bearing my name into her hand and departed. Months transpired. Business led me to Europe. On my return, I was told by my family that a little boy had often called at the door and inquired for me. He seemed indisposed to state his business, and said that he particularly desired to see Mr. J. I had hardly recovered from the effect of a protracted voyage and close confinement, ere the child called again; and meeting me at the door, without ceremony he handed me a note, and immediately started off. The note read as follows: This note contained a card with Mrs. S's name thereon, and was without date. I afterward learned that the child who presented it always had it with him when he called at my house, but said nothing about it until he recognized me at the street door. I found Mrs. S- in the parlor of her beautiful and tastefully ornamented house. Neatness, order, and quiet seemed to preside here. She was habited in a plain but becoming manner, and as I entered, gave me a hearty and unaffected welcome. She remarked that she had been informed of a little act in my history; and being convinced of my attachment to the Church of Christ, and of my disposition to pro his disciples, she felt quite at liberty to speak of a matter in which she was sure I possessed an interest. I now felt an intense eagerness to hear, and after a brief reply on my part, Mrs. S- continued : "My husband," said she, "is a merchant doing business down town; and as we both are in sympathy with whatever has for its object the welfare of the suffering, I often go out with some female friend in the after part of the day to look after the destitute and afflicted, and to distribute in their behalf a portion of the substance with which God has honored us. "Some time ago, after a wearisome walk, and the performance of several calls, 1 was about to propose a return homeward, when, passing a door which stood ajar in the dilapidated and cheerless old building through which we were moving, I thought I discovered a bed with a person upon it. Surely there is sickness here, I thought, and we must make one more call. slight rap was answered with a feeble come in,' and we entered. A "We found the inmate a consumptive woman prostrate, and evidently near her end. Beside her sat a little boy-thin, pale, and sorrowful. In the course of our conversation I learned that she was of American parentage, and had enjoyed a favorable position in early life. Her husband had been unfortunate in business. Overwhelmed with grief and anxiety, he took to the bottle, and died a sot. His wife and child were left almost friendless and pennyless. Of a frail constitution, and of a retiring disposition, she suffered on in poverty and loneliness without making her condition known to others, and at length, from hunger, fatigue and sorrow, she wasted and sickened. When I first saw her, she was chiefly maintained by what her little son could gather by the sale of a few papers on the morning of each day. I learned that she was a Christian-that she daily read the Bible and knelt at the mercy-seat, and that she had diligently instructed her little boy to be honest and faithful to God and his fellowman. Putting her thin hand under the pillow, she withdrew a small piece of paper, and carefully unfolding it she said, 'There, take that dollar bill, and please be so kind as to give it to some one who may be suffering for food.' "I was astonished. What,' said I, 'have you money to give away? I thought you were needy.' 666 "No,' she replied, 'it is all the money I have; but I would not spend it on any account. I have kept it, for the sake of the giver. I never saw him but once, and then I was almost starved. I was trying to sell some matches in the street, but no one would buy them. At length a stranger came along, and after a little conversation, gave me that bill. Read what is on the back of it.' "I had intended to have made another visit on the next day to this scene of affliction, but illness among my own relatives together with my domestic duties prevented. After a few days had elapsed little Johnny called at my house and timidly inquired for me. He stated that his mother was very poorly, and that she would like to see me before she died. 1 lost no time in seeking her apartment, and found her extremely ill-so much so, that she spoke with great difficulty. "There, take this ring,' said she, "I turned the bill over, and saw that re-t was given me by my husband on the markable passage-'Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.' 666 'There,' said the sick woman, 'when I read those words, I thought of my Bible, and I thought of its blessed provisions for the poor, and I felt that God would not forsake me. When I got home, I found that Mr. Leonard, my landlord, had been there, and said to the other tenants, he would not distress me for the rent as I was sick; and the groceryman, near by, had sent me a bit of cheese and some bread; for he said I did not get drunk like some others, and was a worthy poor wom an. So you see, the Lord has provided. | I have had, and now have more than I deserve. I shall not stay long here, and Johnny says the bill must go as it came. I trust the Lord will help him in getting through the world. I am so thankful that he is honest and kind hearted,'-here the tears started,—' and '— "But,' said I, continued Mrs. S-, 'you can yet use this money to good advantage. You need some comforts which you are deprived of, and this will help you to purchase them.' 666 No, I can do without them. There, take the money, and give it to some person whose necessities are greater than mine. O, if I could but see the giver, how happy I should be. But I shall never see him until we meet in heaven. Here is his card, but where he lives I cannot tell.' “Copying your name into my memorandum-book and taking the one dollar note, I bade her and her little boy adieu, not, however, till I had left some change in my apology for a chair, and enjoined the sick woman to send for me in case she should need anything, or feel worse. day of our marriage. If you ever find the kind man who presented me with the one dollar bill, give it to him. Tell him he was a friend in need. Thank him for his generous act, and express to him my hope of meeting him in a world where tears are wiped away from all eyes, and where sorrow and distress are unknown.' "A few more sentences, rather broken, were uttered; a change came over her countenance, and the sufferer was no more. son. "The funeral over, Johnny, who seemed sad and dejected, was taken to our home. He is a child of much promise, and Mr. S- was so much pleased with him, that he said he would bring him up as his own He is now at school; and having, through a mother's prayers and counsels, escaped the vicious habits of most children who have been similarly exposed to peril, we entertain the hope of living to see him grow up a useful and respected man. I don't know that I need say more. Your name was readily found in the directory; and Johnny remembered your face so well that you were immediately recognized by him when he presented my billet at your door. His diffidence would not permit him to remain to be questioned by you, as he has been unaccustomed to the society of those in the comfortable walks of life. This ring you will keep as a remembrance of a poor, but worthy believer, whose burdened heart you so much relieved in time of deep trial. The one dollar bill I also return to you, trusting that as in your hands it has already accomplished much good, it will be so directed by an all-wise Providence in the future, that all who become its possessors will find in their own experience, by a practical remembrance of the words of the Lord Jesus, 'That it is more blessed to give than to receive.'” PERSIAN POETRY, WITH EXAMPLES. HAFIZ AND SADI T is a great mistake to fancy all the treasures of by-gone poetry confined to the haunts of Parnassus or the groves of Tibur. Sanscrit scholars may form a small fraternity, but the fields of Oriental literature are rich to all comers. We need not wander so far as the Ganges to discover this; the Hindoo epics will never lose their value as interesting narratives of important events, as storehouses of historical traditions and mythological legends, as records of the ancient, social, and political condition of India, and as pictures of national manners. But if we tarry in Persia, we find their rivals in fame. MOHAMMED SHEKH EDDYN HAFIZ was born at Schiraz, in the beginning of the fourteenth century. Like Homer, Shakspeare, Corneille-like most great poetsthe particulars of his life are not well known; and a few traditional anecdotes supply the place of facts respecting him. He appears to have resided principally in his native city, and died in the year of the Hegira 791, (A.D. 1340,) if the following inscription, found upon a tomb erected to his memory, is of any chronological value: In the year seven hundred ninety and one A world of excellence and genius departed to the regions of mercy. The incomparable, second Sadi, Mohammed Hafiz, Quitted this perishable region, and went to the gardens of paradise. Khojah Hafiz was the lamp of the learned; The letters in the two words, Khak and Mosella, added together according to the numerical value of Persian capitals, represent the number 791. No nation can boast of so many poets as Persia. The well-known line of Ovid may be applied with the utmost propriety to the pen and ink brethren of Hafiz : Quidquid tentabam scribere, versus erat. The Persians have had the immense advantage of possessing a national literature. They are not mere copyists; they draw from their own resources, and, judge as we will the merit of their compositions, we are obliged to acknowledge in them, at least, the distinctive characteristics of originality. Many peculiarities render his task very difficult who attempts to translate Hafiz, pieces from Persian into English. to name him only, is exceedingly fond of employing compound epithets for which a version can give no equivalent. Then, we constantly stumble over puns, quibbles, and other facetiæ, appreciable, of course, to the natives exclusively; and lastly, a great proportion of Persian poetry is of a religious character. But the mystical aspirations of the Soufees are vailed under images which render the help of commentaries absolutely necessary. The following ghazel or ode, of Hafiz himself, amply illustrates this : In roses vail'd the morn displays Her charms, and blushes as we gaze; See spangling dew-drops trickling chase Fresh from the garden scents exhale, While now beneath the bower full-blown Come, youths, perform the task assign'd: Ye love-sick youths, come, drain the bowl: Kisses more sweet than luscious wine, Bacchanalian strains, these, eh? No, if you believe scholiasts and glossographers, wine here means devotion; breezes-illapses of grace; perfume-the hope of divine favor; the tavern-a retired oratory; the tavern-keeper-a sage instructor; beauty- the perfections of the Divine Being; wantonness, mirth-religious ardor. Persian similes, as we see, are farfetched; and, arguing from the same principle, there is no reason why commentators to come should not make Burns's celebrated "Green grow the rushes, O" read like a hymn. |