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One trial more. 1 softened down all my obnoxious beauties, combed my hair straight, clipped my mustachios, muffled the face as much as possible, corrected every thing that I thought was prominent in my manners, exercised myself in all awkward attitudes; in short, defaced and vulgarized myself as much as possible, to make myself as much like ordinary humanity as lay in my power, and then tried if society would look upon me in my altered shape. The trial partially succeeded, and I was permitted to pay my addresses to a beautiful girl. But here my pen fails me —never shall I have the courage to describe—how I was obliged to hold my handkerchief beforemyfacewhenherconfounded relations were about (she herself was not so particular)—how I was obliged to vary my position, so as to show myself in the worst light in their presence; how it was at last discovered in spite of my attempts at concealment; how my beauty clung to meinspiteofall the abominably libellous insinuations from all quarters, that a handsome man admires nothing but himself; how the difficulties were at last got over—ring bought, house furnished, when every thing was overturned by myself. I unfortunately was discovered by my beauty gazing in a looking-glass; and here I solemnly declare, that I was not admiring myself, but merely endeavouring to discover the cause of a violent titillation at the extremity of my nose. I was perceived, I say, by her, and there the affair ended. "She never would marry a man who looked at a looking-glass while she was in the room; her friends had told her it would come to that."

Think of that!—So now it is all over with me. I see that I am a marked man, and nothing that I can do will ever alter the current of my fate. I have had serious thoughts lately of disfiguring my face with a razor, or some such device, to bring myself-down to the standard of ordinary perfection which these despots have established; but after all it might be of little avail; fate is against me. I have calmed myself down to something like content, and am waiting for the period when time will have whitened my hair, pulled out my teeth, bent my body, and made me fit to be seen.

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So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!—
Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last.
Five hundred souls in one instant of dread
Are hurried o'er the deck;
And fast the miserable ship
Becomes a lifeless wreck.
Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,
Her planks are torn asunder,
And down come her masts with a reeling shock,
And a hideous crash like thunder.
Her sails are draggled in the brine
That gladdened late the skies,
And her pendant that kissed the fair moonshine
Down many a fathom lies.
Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues
Gleamed softly from below,
And flung a warm and sunny flash
O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral rocks are hurrying down
To sleep amid colours as bright as their own.
Oh! many a dream was in the ship An hour before her death;
And sights of home with sighs disturbed
The sleepers' long-drawn breath.
Instead of the murmur of the sea
The sailor heard the humming tree
Alive through all its leaves,
The hum of the spreading sycamore
That grows before his cottage-door,
And the swallow's song in the eaves.
His arms enclosed a blooming boy,
Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy
To the dangers his father had passed;
And his wife,—by turns she wept and smiled,
As she looked on the father of her child
Returned to her at last,—
He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll,
And the rush of waters is in his soul.

Unbroken as the floating air;

The ship hath melted quite away,

Like a struggling dream at break of day.

No image meets my wandering eye

But the new-risen sun, and the sunny sky.

Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour dull

Bedims the waves so beautiful!

While a low and melancholy moan

Mourns for the glory that hath flown.

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There was once upon a time a poor mason, or bricklayer, in Granada, who kept all the saints' days and holidays, and Saint Monday into the bargain, and yet, with all his devotion, he grew poorer and poorer, and could scarcely earn bread for his numerous family. One night he was roused from his first sleep by a knocking at his door. He opened it, and beheld before him a tall, meagre, cadaverous-looking priest.

'' Hark ye, honest friend I" said the stranger; " I have observed that you are a good Christian, and one to be trusted; will you undertake a job this very night?"

"With all my heart, Senor Padre, on conditions that I am paid accordingly."

"That you shall be; but you must suffer yourself to be blindfolded."

To this the mason made no objection; so, being hoodwinked, he was led by the priest through various rough lanes and winding passages, until they stopped before the portal of a house. The priest then applied a key, turned a creaking lock, and opened what sounded like a ponderous door. They entered, the door was closed and bolted, and the mason was conducted through an echoing corridor, and a spacious hall, to an interior part of the building. Here the bandage was removed from his eyes, and he found himself in a patio, or court, dimly lighted by a single lamp. In the centre was the dry basin of an old Moorish fountain, under which the priest requested him to form a small vault, bricks and mortar being at hand for the purpose. He accordingly worked all night, but without finishing the job. Just before day-break, the priest put a piece of gold into his hand, and having again blindfolded him, conducted him back to his dwelling.

"Are you willing,"said he, " to return and complete your work?" "Gladly, Senor Padre, provided I am so well paid."—" Well, then, to-morrow at midnight I will call again." He did so, and the vault was completed. "Now," said the priest, " you must help me to bring forth the bodies that are to be buried in this vault."

The poor mason's hair rose on his head at these words: he followed the priest, with trembling steps, into a retired chamber of the mansion, expecting to behold some ghastly spectacle of death, but was relieved on perceiving three or four portly jars standing in one corner. They were evidently full of money, and it was with

* From " The Alhambra. By Geoffery Crayon." [Washington Irving'.] Londun 1S3V.

great labour that he and the priest carried them forth and consigned them to their tomb. The vault was then closed, the pavement replaced, and all traces of the work obliterated. The mason was again hoodwinked and led forth by a route different from that by which he had come. After they had wandered for a long time through a perplexed maze of lanes and alleys, they halted. The priest then put two pieces of gold into his hand: " Wait here," said he, "until you hear the cathedral bell toll for matins. If you presume to uncover your eyes before that time, evil will befall you:" so saying, he departed. The mason waited faithfully, amusing himself by weighing the gold pieces in his hand, and clinking them against each other. The moment the cathedral bell rang its matin peal, he uncovered his eyes, and found himself on the banks of the Xenil, from whence he made the best of his way home, and revelled with his family for a whole fortnight on the profits of his two nights' work; after which, he was as poor as ever.

He continued to work a little, and pray a good deal, and keep Saints'-days and holidays, from year to year, while his family grew up as gaunt and ragged as a crew of gypsies. As he was seated one evening at the door of his hovel, he was accosted by a rich old curmudgeon, who was noted for owning many houses, and being a griping landlord. The man of money eyed him for a moment from beneath a pair of anxious shagged eyebrows.

"I am told, friend, that you are very poor."—" There is no denying the fact, Senor,—it speaks for itself."—" I presume then, that you will be glad of a job, and will work cheap."—" As cheap, my master, as any mason in Granada."—" That's what I want. I have an old house fallen into decay, that costs me more money than it is worth to keep it in repair, for nobody will live in it; so I must contrive to patch it up and keep it together at as small expense as possible."

The mason was accordingly conducted to a large deserted house that seemed going to ruin. Passing through several empty Italia and chambers, he entered an inner court, where his eye was caught by an old Moorish fountain. He paused for a moment, for a dreaming recollection of the place came over him.

"Pray," said he, "who occupied this house formerly?"

"A pest upon him!"cried the landlord, "it was an old miserly priest, who cared for nobody but himself. He was said to beimmensely1' rich, and, having no relations, it was thought he would leave all his treasures to the church. He died suddenly, and the priests and friars thronged to take possession of his wealth; but nothing could they find but a few ducats in a leathern purse. The worst luck has fallen on me, for, since his death, the old fellow continues to occupy my house without paying rent, and there's no taking the law of a dead man. The people pretend to hear the clinking of gold all night in the chamber where the old priest slept, as if he were counting over his money, and sometimes a groaning and moaning about the court Whether true or false, these stories have brought a bad name on my house, and not a tenant will remain in it."

"Enough," said the mason, sturdily: "let me live in your house rent-free until some better tenant present, and I will engage to put it in repair, and to quiet the troubled spirit that disturbs it. I am a good christian and a poor man, and am not to be daunted by the devil himself, even though he should come in the shape of a big bag of money!"

The offer of the honest mason was gladly accepted ; he moved with his family into the house, and fulfilled all his engagements. By little and little he restored it to its former state; the clinking of gold was no more heard at night in the chamber of the defunct priest, but began to be heard by day in the pocket of the living mason. In a word, he increased rapidly in wealth, to the admiration of all his neighbours, and became one of the richest men in Granada: he gave large sums to the church, by way, no doubt, of satisfying his conscience, and never revealed the secret of the vault until on his death-bed to his son and heir.


Year after year unto her feet,

The while she slambereth alone,
Over the purpled coverlet

The maiden's jet-black hair hath grown,
On either side her tranced form

Forth streaming from a braid of pearl;
The slumbVous light is rich and warm,

And moves not on the rounded curl.

The silk star-braided coverlid

Unto her limbs itself doth mould
Languidly ever, and, amid

Her full black ringlets downward roll'd,
Glows forth each softly shadow'd arm

With bracelets- of the diamond bright;
Her constant beauty doth inform

Stillness with love and day with light.

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