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THE SPIRIT BRIDE.
BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON.

IN the days of the glory of the great city of Bagdad, after the wisdom and goodness of the renowned Haroun al Raschid in the administration of the Caliphate had extended its boundaries, confirmed its dominions, enriched its inhabitants, and embellished its confines with every decoration that art and taste, incited and sustained by wealth, are able to bestow, a Caliph succeeded to the government by the name of Hafiz al Veshnib. He was in all things the contrary of Haroun, his illustrious predecessor. He was rapacious, selfish, unjust, and licentious; yet he was emulous of those habits of Haroun by which that prince had made himself acquainted with the wants of his people, and was thus enabled to deal justice more signally and effectually. Like him, he was accustomed, at sundry times, by night or by day, to assume a lowly garb, and with the Vizier or some other high officer, to perambulate the city, entering by plausible pretexts into whatever dwelling had excited his curiosity. But he went not, like Haroun, to seek out and protect oppressed virtue, to get the You. I

suffering, to strip the mask from hypocrisy, to overthrow injustice, to humble the proud, to elevate retiring humility; he sought rather to discover the oppressor, that he might share with him the spoils, and to gaze on the cheek of modest beauty, that he might sacrifice it to his passion.

There lived at a distance from the palace a wealthy citizen, whose life flowed calmly away. He was in early manhood, and his appearance was strikingly majestic. He was tall, and of remarkable symmetry of figure; his countenance was wonderfully expressive; his eye black and piercing, and his raven hair descended in flowing locks over his shoulders. Wherever he went the passers by stopped short in their progress to gaze upon him; yet he seldom appeared abroad.

"Selim," said the Caliph one evening to his Vizier, as, habited like Dervishes, they passed along the street in which the house of this youth was situated, "who is the occupant of this exquisite mansion? It is strange that it has never caught my eye. How tasteful are all its ornaments and ar rangements! Pray, answer; whose may it be?"

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"It is the home of Hamet, the son of Almarib, whose grandsire was an especial favourite of the great Haroun, and who was himself, as your highness knows, confided in by your uncle, of glorious memory. This Hamet, an only son, half secludes himself from the world; and in his paradise there, for indeed it seems a paradise within, he glides smoothly down the stream of time."

"Is it so, my Selim?" cried the Caliph; "I must converse with him, and fathom his motives for retirement. It had required little effort for him to maintain under me the rank that his ancestors enjoyed under my predecessors. This indifference to elevation is mysterious and unusual. I must see him." The Vizier hated Hamet. He had been chosen to fill the post he occupied, not for his wisdom in governing-his prudence in advice, but rather that he made little account of his conscience in his master's service. He could be blind or keen-eyed, as might be, and he was willing to bear on his shoulders the odium of many a foul deed commanded; by the Caliph. He hated Hamet, for he knew that he had shut himself up in seclu sion, because he was disgusted and vexed with the tyranny of Hafiz, his master. There fore the suggestion of the Caliph pleased him; and together they sought the abode of Hamet..

Hamet received them courteously, and tendered his hearty hospitalities. While they quaffed their sherbet out of golden cups, the Caliph surveyed with admiration and surprise the evidences of wealth and taste which were every-where about him. Not all the splendour of the palace could impart so pleasing a sensation to the soul, as the elegance yet simplicity of the home of Hamet. So the Caliph swelled with envy; and before scarce a word had been spoken, he was the foe of his noble host. The Vizier saw the workings of his master's countenance, and chuckled with delight.

The Caliph questioned his free-hearted host respecting his pursuits; and gathered, from his unguarded replies, that it was the conduct of the government that had induced him to resign the chances of preferment that were in his favour, and to seek for happiness in himself and the comforts which his vast wealth could procure.

"But I am well recompensed for my choice," he continued. "This dwelling was the dwelling of my sire, and of his sire before him. I love it for that it has thus been the home of my ancestors. The evidences of their taste are around me, and render it sacred in my eyes. Here will I pass my life; comforts are here, the gatherings of years, which a life could never replace. I am humble; I have no ambition to be great; I am happy." His smile betrayed that he spoke the truth.

The disguised rulers left him with protes tations of gratitude. But no sooner had they reached the street, than the spleen of the Caliph found vent; and, with his ebaracteris tic cruelty, he gave full licence to Selim to ruin the contented an unoffending Hamet. The commission was delightful to the Vizier, and he set about it. Before many days, a tyrannical edict was passed, that robbed Hamet of some of his dearest enjoyments. Then it was deelared to be necessary to cut a new street directly through his premises. He saw his cherished home ruthlessly levelled with the ground, and, with a sigh, was forced to bid adieu to his hopes of peaceful happi. ness. But his sorrows did not end here. Men that he had never seen nor heard of came forward with false titles to his wealth. His protestations and proofs were disregarded; and he was beggared. To crown his misery, allegations of dishonesty in the execution of the offices entrusted to them, were brought forward against his departed father and grandfather, and their memories were overwhelmed with infamy!

Hamet finally found a retreat from his sorrows and misfortunes in a miserable abode in the suburbs of the city, where his degradation sheltered him from further pursuit; for his powerful enemies, exulting in his utter prostration, dismissed him from their memories. There he lived, on the pittance that he had preserved from the wreck of all, and endeavoured to find calmness in philosophy.

One night, when three months had passed away, as he slept on his lowly pillow, visions that seemed to him but pleasant dreams flitted across his mind. A countenance too fair for earth, such as a Houri might wear in the regions of the blest, hovered over him, smiled sweetly upon him, and in silvery accents bidding him to hope, vanished away. When he awoke, he could not dismiss the blissful illusion from his thought. All day he dwelt upon it, and at night resigned himself to sleep, longing to sleep for ever, if but that face might gladden his repose. It came again-again it bade him hope, and then it whispered, "Hie to the fairy glen, on Tigris' band; I will be there." When inorning came and he arose, the tone, the words, yet lingered in his memory. How weary were the hours of sunlight! Darkness was day to Hamet, for darkness brought those charming features that beamed more brightly than the sun on him. It came at last, and again he slept. Once more, oh, Mahomet! once more, those dark and lustrous, yet gentle eyes, those ruby lips, that glowing cheek, that heavenly smile, were before him! Once more, too, that voice, like tinkling bells in its sweetness, whispered "Hie to the fairy glen on Tigris' bauks; I will be there!''

Were it but the vanity of a heated imagi

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nation, it would not harm him to seek the fairy glen; and he went. That glen was fair to the sight-a bright stream murmured through it, with sparkling waters-flowers in richest blazonry of hue, fringed its verdant banks; and the soft breathing of the breeze wafted perfumes to the senses. He paused by the side of the streamlet, and gazed around him. Oh, was that vision false ? No! no! There was it, in shadowy outline, hovering before him, and gracefully beckoning him to follow! Hamet clasped his hands in delight and obeyed. It led him up the glen, keeping ever by the bank of the rivulet, and turning at intervals to encourage him, until he had climbed a steep acclivity of rocks, down which the waters poured from ledge to ledge, lashing its tiny current into snowy foam; and stood beside a lake, by a scene of beauty too exquisite for sense. A thousand peaks, whose projecting crags gleamed with imbedded gems of richest lustre, lifted themselves upwards. The waters of the lake were clear as chrystal, and above its mirror-like surface, a radiant iris spanned from side to side. All was silence; but anon, low music stole softly upon him, pleasant yet mournful; a thin mist rose slowly from the bosom of the waters, aud shrouded by it as with a veil, appeared his charming vision. Flowers were wreathed in her flowing hair, and a light robe hung froin her shoulder, down her graceful form. Hamet stood entranced in extasy.

"Hamet," said the vision, "if thou wouldst have me stand beside thee palpable as well to touch as to sight, make thou this sign; and if there be no evil in thy soul, the charm will fail not."

As she spoke she extended her hands, and performed a mystic sign. Hamet eagerly gazed, and without one misgiving of fearfor why should the pure heart fear?-he repeated it after her. Upon the instant, that music swelled into bold and animated notes, a film came over the vision of Hamet-and when it passed away, there, kneeling at his side, clothed like a maiden of Bagdad, and looking up into his face with a tearful expression of ardent love, was the beautiful vision. Enraptured, he lifted her from her recumbent posture, clasped her to his heart; and while he did so, felt her's beating against his own-and he pressed a passionate kiss upon her lips.

"Hamet," said she, " I am a guardian spirit of the good. I have seen thy unbending virtue, and have loved thee. It is permitted to me to take this earthly frame, and dwell with thee and serve thee, so long as no evil stains thy soul. If thou prizest me, oh, remember this! When thou dost hesitate between the right and the wrong, then danger will assail me; and if thou failest, I am lost to thee for ever! Never again can I speak

of this to thee; but shouldst thou pause in thy dalliance with vice, and find me on the brink of ruin, let virtue illume thy soul once more; make thou the magic sign, and I shall be thine again!"

She ceased, and Hamet poured out his soul to her in gratitude and devotion. Together they returned to the city, to his lowly cottage. Hamet took immediate means for the solemnization of their marriage, and Selima was his wife!

The absorbing strength of her love for him, far transcending frail, earthly passion, may be easily imagined. A happy spirit, she had left her ethereal home and assumed a mortal frame, to be perplexed with mortal ills, and to weep in mortal sorrow. She had done this, too, not to dwell in the glittering palace, but the humble cottage; not to share the glory of a prince, which one so sweet, so beautiful, might have done, but to pillow her head upon the breast of poverty and disappointment. But she cared not for all this. Her devotion cheered the privations of poverty and dispelled disappointment's gloom-and Hamet was contented in his bliss with her.

Thus passed a year; and then the wicked Caliph desired to achieve an infamous design. A good man was to be ruined, as Hamet had been ruined. But this new victim was wary and watchful, and not to be easily overcome. The people too had begun to look with eyes askance upon their unjust ruler, and whenever he went abroad, he felt that the fires of hate were spreading, and he dared not persecute another now, so openly as he had persecuted the unfortunate Hamet. There was need of a cunning brain, a ready wit, to film injustice with sophistry, and deceive the argus eyes of prying foes. The Caliph consulted, in careful secrecy, with that pander to his wickedness, Selim, the Vizier. No one could be thought of for a long time. At length the Caliph called to mind the long forgotten Hamet. He started at the thought, and named him to Selim, as one to serve their purpose, could he be bribed to undertake the task.

"Hasten, Selim," said he; "hasten and inquire if he be yet alive; and if he can be found, let him be speedily conveyed thither that I may treat with him. Gold is potent with the poor, and my offer shall be unstinted. Go, at once!"

It needed but little inquiry among the thousand spies of the government, to discover the home of Hamet; and immediately the Grand Vizier sent his trustiest confidant to summon him to the palace. Hamet was reclining on an ottoman of the meanest materials, and Selima was sitting on a cushion at his feet, looking into his eyes, clasping his hand, and soothing him by words of love, when the messenger entered. Hamet received his communication in wonder; but professed

his readiness to obey-for, to hesitate at the Caliph's command, had been speedy death; and, imprinting a fervent kiss on Selima's lips, he followed his guide to the palace.

When the Caliph knew that they had come, he sent for the messenger first, that he might inquire in what condition he had found Hamet, in order that he might suit his offers to his fortunes.

"I found him, your Highness," said the messenger, “steeped in poverty; but there was with him a creature, more beautiful than ever before greeted and dazzled my sight! Her hair is like virgin gold, her skin of pearly whiteness, and oh, her eyes are softly bright, and her smile of sweetness, such as illumes no other face among Bagdad's fairest daughters."

These few words so fired the Caliph that he sprung up in an ecstacy, and commanding the Vizier to make to Hamet whatever proposition might be necessary, and to detain him until his return, he donned a disguise, and hurried with the messenger to Hamet's house.

He reached the door just as Selim, the Vizier, propounded to Hamet the work that was desired of him; and he gazed in rapture on Selima, and resolved that before the morrow she should be his, just as Hamet, bewildered by the munificence of the bribe that was offered to him, hesitated to reject it. Poor Selima! She felt that evil was impending; but when Hamet came, with abstracted air, and, wrapt in himself, did not respond as he had been wont to her fond endearments, she could not remind him of the fearful stake that would be the penalty of his lapse from virtue; her destiny and his forhade. But she more assiduously testified her love, and tried by tears, by smiles, by caresres, by protestations, to win him from his abstraction, beguile him to look upon her, and thus be recalled to himself again. It was in vain!

When evening came, Hamet left Selima, to walk abroad and meditate. A place to dwell in, coffers swelling with gold, honours unnumbered, office, dignity, and favour, all that could gratify ambition, taste, or desire, were within his grasp; would he but accomplish one end. And what was that? Το plunge another in misery as he had been plunged-and why not? After all, it was to swell but by one name alone, the huge catalogue of woe; it was but to heave a load from his own shoulders upon those of another. But the guilt! Alas, goodness, as he had learned from sad experience, was no guaranty against misfortune in this world; how was he sure that it would be smiled upon in the Thus he reasoned, and while he so reasoned, the minions of the Caliph, who had watched his absence, seized the shrieking Selia covered by the darkness, and bore

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her to the palace. Hamet returned to his home; no Selima was there; it was an unusual circumstance; but so wrapt was he in his mental struggle, that he scarcely noticed it. He sat down. The sight of his miserable furniture rendered more vivid the vision of greatness and wealth; and then, just then, theCaliph was proffering to Selima his hateful love; and she was calling in sweet, yet sorrowful tones of anguish on Hamet, her beloved, to save her! Alas! he was faltering in virtue, and she tottered on the brink of destruction.

Hamet rose, he clenched his hands, he beat his forehead. It was but an effort to resolve to do what the Caliph would have him do, and all would be over. That resolve was half made: he folded his robe about him, and crossed the threshold with hesitating step, to seek the Vizier; and then, even then, Selima, alone with the Caliph, and in his power, felt his grasp upon her to force her to his wishes, and her own strength wasting fast! But as he crossed his threshold to depart, and turned habitually to bid farewell, and smile upon his wife-for else he never parted from her-it rushed to Hamet's soul that it was the dead of night, and she away! Where was she? At once her warning flashed upon him. Cold drops came out upon his forehead. "Lost, lost!" he cried, and staggering back, fell at his length upon the floor. In the gush of horror, he forgot the magic sign that would restore her again; and as he lay there, fearfully sighing from his overburdened bosom, Selima, as if new strength had been given to her, tore herself from the Caliph's grasp, awed him by her lofty dignity and virtue, and he stood gazing in wonder upon her, not daring to molest her!

Hamet sprang after some moments, to his feet, resolved, in despair, on self-destructior. But as he did so, he remembered with a shriek of joy the magic spell; and he hastily made the sign! As he had sprung, so had the Caliph rushed upon Selima, inspired by her charms to renewed effort; but when he would have clasped her, there was nothingness in his embrace, and Selima, panting, was nestling, at home, in Hamet's bosom.

Hamet resolved that very night to revonge his injuries on the Caliph. He knew how the popu'ace hated him; and, assembling them together, he spoke to them of the oppression of their master. Maddened by his eloquence, they armed themselves snd fo lowed him to the palace. The guards were stricken down in a moment-the Caliph and the Vizier were seized as they fled, pale and trembling. Hamet was placed upon the throne ;-and, omnipotent in virtue, ruled long and happily, blessed in the love of his Spirit Bride.

ALBUMS AND THE ALPS.

BY BUCKMINSTER.

You find, in some of the rudest passes in the Alps, homely inus, which public beneficence has erected for the convenience of the weary and benighted traveller. In most of these inns albums are kept to record the names of those, whose curiosity has led them into these regions of barrenness, and the album is not unfrequently the only book in the house. In the album of the grand Chartreuse, Gray, on his way to Geneva, recorded his deathless name, and left that exquisite Latin ode, beginning, "O! tu severi re igio loci ;" an ode which is indeed "pure nectar." It is curious to observe in these books the difference of national character. The Englishman usually writes his name only, without explanation or comment. The Frenchman records something of his feelings, destination, or business; commonly adding a line of poetry, an epigram, or some exclamation of pleasure or disgust, The German leaves a long dissertation upon the state of the roads, the accommodations, &c., detai ing at full length whence he came and whither he is going, through long pages of crabbed writing

"Dans ces sauvages lieux t out orgueils'humanise;
Dieu s'y montre plus grand; l'homme s'y pulverise!
"Signed,
66 p. ed. trénir."

I wish I could preserve the elegance, as well
as the condensed sentiment, of the original:
Still are these rugged realms; e'en pride is hush'd;
God seems more grand; man crumbles into dust.

IMPORTANCE OF KNOWLEDGE TO THE

MECHANIC.

BY G. B. EMERSON.

He

LET us imagine for a moment the condition of an individual, who has not advanced beyond the merest elements of knowledge, who understands nothing of the principles even of his own art, and inquire what change will be wrought in his feelings, his hopes, and happiness, in all that makes up the character, by the gradual inpouring of knowledge. has now the capacity of thought, but it is a barren faculty, never nourished by the food of the mind, and never rising above the poor objects of sense. Labour and rest, the hope of mere animal enjoyment, or the fear of want, the care of providing covering and food, make up the whole sum of his existence. Such a man may be industrious, but In one of the highest regions of the Swiss he cannot love labour, for it is not relieved Alps, after a day of excessive labour in reach by the excitement of improving or changing ing the summit of our journey, near those the processes of his art, nor cheered by the thrones erected ages ago for the majesty of hope of a better condition. When released Nature, we stopped, fatigued and dispirited, from labour, he does not rejoice, for mere on a spot destined to eternal barrenness, idleness is not enjoyment; and he has no where we found one of these rude but hospi- book, no lesson of science, no play of the table inns open to receive us. There was mind, no interesting pursuit, to give a zest not another human habitation within many to the hour of leisure. Home has few charms miles. All the soil, which we could see, had for him; he has little taste for the quiet, the been brought thither, and placed carefully social converse, and exchange of feeling and round the cottage, to nourish a few cabbages thought, the innocent enjoyments that ought and lettuces. There were some goats, which to dwell there. Society has little to interest supplied the cottagers with milk; a few fowls him, for he has no sympathy for the pleasures lived in the house; and the greatest iuxu- or pursuits, the cares or troubles of others, ries of the place were new-made cheeses, and to whom he cannot feel nor perceive his bonds some wild Alpine mutton, the rare provision of relationship. All of life is but a poor of the traveller. Yet here Nature had thrown boon for such a man; and happy for himself off the veil, and appeared in all her subli- and for mankind, if the few ties that hold mity. Summits of bare granite rose all him to this negative existence be not broken. around us. The snow-clad tops of distant Happy for him if that best and surest friend Alps seemed to chill the moon-beams that of man, that messenger of good news from lighted on them; and we felt all the charms Heaven to the poorest wretch on earth, Reliof the picturesque, mingled with the awe gion, bringing the fear of God, appear to save inspired by unchangeable grandeur. We him. Without her to support, should teropseemed to have reached the original elevations tation assail him, what an easy victim would of the globe, o'ertopping for ever the tumults, he fall to vice or crime! How little would the vices, and the miseries of ordinary exis- be necessary to overturn his ill-balanced tence, far out of hearing of the murmurs of principles, and throw him grovelling in ina busy world, which discord ravages, and temperance, or send him abroad on the ocean luxury corrupts. We asked for the album, or the highway, an enemy to himself and and a large folio was brought to us, almost his kind! filled with the scrawls of every nation on earth that could write. Instantly our fatigue was forgotten, and the evening passed away pleasantly in the entertainment which this book afforded us. I copied the following French couplet:

But let the light of science fall upon that man; open to him the fountain of knowledge; a few principles of philosophy enter his mind, and awaken the dormant power of thought; he begins to look upon his art with an altered eye. It ceases to be a dark me

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