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which they neglect. He has learnt to feel that He who rules all events, has considered him also, in his Providence; and willing to put his trust in that being, without whose knowledge "not a sparrow falleth to the ground," he stands forth the most self-humbled, and yet the most elevated of God's creatures.

arrived at the same conclusion, viz: that he whose conduct was most strictly regulated by the rules of virtue, would enjoy the greatest degree of happiness. It was thus, according to Plato, that we were to restore the immaculate qualities of the pre-existent soul. The sterner Zeno maintained that nothing was pleasant but If knowledge hath these spiritual uses,--and what re- virtue, and nothing painful but vice; whilst the gentle flecting man can doubt the fact, how mortifying is it to and more persuasive Epicurus, reversing the rule, (and see many wasting their strength and throwing away the in a certain sense the doctrines were identical,) taught means by which they could attain these ends, for the sake that nothing was virtuous but what was pleasant, or of wealth and earthly honors. As the alchemist who, in his vicious if it were not painful-because virtue is at last eager search after the grand magisterium, neglects many but the rule which shall conduct us to happiness. At discoveries really useful which were within his reach, so that time the light of Christian revelation had not burst these men put their frail trust in the world and waste their upon the world; the flickering and uncertain rays of lives in the vain pursuit of its phantoms. But we do not human reason afforded the only light to guide them in expect these men to take this view of the subject unless the search for the path of truth, and "shadows, clouds, they have trained their minds to it, either through the and darkness rested on it." The bright hopes and the christian philosophy, or what is second to that system awful fears by which the Christian revelation would only, the school of the Platonist writers. It is for this prompt man to virtue, were then either unknown or but reason chiefly, that we have ventured to recommend little heeded. To tempt his disciples then to a virtuous the study of the writings of the genius so nearly divine, life, and to fortify them against the seductions of vicious of that author whose psychological system presaged the temptation, the ancient philosopher was forced to hold christian revelation, as the morning twilight betokens forth the rewards which virtue offers to us in this life. the coming sun. It was his, that beautiful conception The persuasions of oratory, the allurements of poetry, of the spirit of the universe, at once so poetical and the demonstrations of philosophy, were all used to sublime; an idea which Abraham Tucker only of entice the youthful mind to the pursuit of virtue; and modern English writers, seems to have fully compre-more, the masters practised their creed in the view of hended and explained. This sublime and philosophical their disciples. But so far as external appearances poet perceived that by an attentive study of nature, bear testimony on the subject, happiness does not the human mind was capable of entering into commu- always attend the practice of virtue in this world. It nion with the divine mind through its works; he felt was necessary, then, to refer the doubtful to some other that he was capable of conceiving more and more of source of enjoyment. The philosopher referred the the ideas which existed in the creative mind, as he pupil to a source which was within-the pleasant conunderstood more of the system of the universe; he sciousness of well-doing;-the enlargement of the spimeditated upon the harmony which extended through ritual capacity under a virtuous discipline, were the the greatest and the least of nature's operations; his exalted and noble inducements which they presented to soul took in forms of beauty and filled with lofty con- their view. Their theories of the universe, their social ceptions until it became enamored of its contemplations, customs, their daily habits, were all made subsidiary to and in the spirit of true poetry he endowed the universe the end of impressing these grand truths upon their diswith a soul which governed it and with which the mind ciples. These conceptions stood forth in severe and of man may commune. But to return to our original sublime simplicity, as they were formed by the cold proposition; we asserted that the writings of ancient and cautious inductions of philosophy; but the master philosophers afforded the best views of psychology to mind of antiquity, not content with their unspeaking which we have access. By psychology, we mean what beauty, seized fire from heaven, and breathing into relates to our spiritual being. To maintain this propo- them the warm spirit of his eloquence, sent them forth sition it will be necessary to recur, for a moment, to the to the world radiant and impressive forms, which apsubject of inquiry which engaged their attention, and to pealed not only to the reason, but to the sensibility of the spirit of those times. the beholder. Every argument was used which could The most important and natural inquiry which would exalt our spiritual being, and every illustration which present itself to a being of limited powers of knowledge could explain its nature, so far at least as they underand enjoyment, and whose existence at most is brief, is stood it. The pursuit of virtue became a matter of feelas to the best pursuit which can engage his time and ing-self-denial was an enthusiasm, and the world often energies. The vanity of human wishes, the transitory beheld the disciples of these great masters acting upon nature of earthly enjoyments, must have been as appa- the abstract maxims of mere human reason, and purrent to the first man as to us. The necessity of discri-suing virtue with that unfaltering trust in the hopes minating between the various ends of our actions, and which it excites, which would shame many disciples of a objects of our desires, in the brief space which is allot- more certain faith, and those who have the guidance of a ted us for action, must have impressed itself at an early clearer light. It is not surprising, then, that the nature period upon the human mind. And as happiness is the of our spiritual being, and the invigorating and regeneproposed end of all our actions, the most important rating influences of the pursuit of knowledge and virinquiry which can engage the human mind, is as to the tue, should be more often the theme of ancient than of best means of attaining it. Accordingly, we find the modern philosophers. And yet the moralist, the philo“TO KALON” engaging the attention of all ancient sopher and the poet, would each derive both assistance philosophers; and however differently they might con- and delight from the too much neglected works of these duct their reasoning, all of them who were respected | noble old masters. We have seen the wonderful revi

tion to these studies, that they may prepare themselves to do something worthy of their hopes and useful to their country. And of this at least we can safely assure them that the exercises which we recommend are those in which were trained all the best models in science and general literature, whom they most revere and admire.

A LOAN TO THE MESSENGER.

NO. I.

When I said I would die a bachelor,

I did not think I should live to be married.-Benedict.

val of letters in Germany in modern times ascribed to the study of the Platonists,—with what truth our knowledge of German literature will not permit us to say. But we do not doubt that the ascribed cause is adequate to that end. Certain it is, that Bulwer has derived from these sources much of that which is worth any thing in his writings. His views of our spiritual being, and of the spiritual uses of knowledge, are evidently clothed in light reflected from the Platonists. Indeed, the finest portion of all his writings, that in which he describes the change wrought on Devereux's mind by a course of solitary meditation, or, to use a shorter phrase, the metempsychosis of his hero, is but a paraphrase of the finest of all moral fables, the Asinus Aureus of Apuleius, and one which at last fails to do justice to the splendid original. Should any reader think it worth the time to examine into the truth of our remarks upon the spirit of ancient philosophy, we would crave his attention to this most beautiful allegory, as affording a complete and interesting illustration of their general correctness. The fable, founded upon a Milesian story, opens with the description of a young man who has debased his soul with debauchery until he is transformed to an ass; he falls gradually from one vice to another, and under the dominion of all he suffers under the degrading and debasing penalties appropriate to each. He was at last on the eve of perpetrating a crime so monstrous that nature suddenly revolted, and horrorstricken, he broke from his keeper and flies to the seashore. With solitude comes reflection, and reflection Dedicated to my friend on his Wedding Day, November 1, 18—.

brings remorse. Despair is the natural consequence; and feeling that without assistance he is lost, he turns to heaven for succor. The moon is in full splendor, just rising from the waves; the awful silence of the night deepens his sense of solitude;-" Video præ micantis lunæ candore nimis completum orbem, commodum marinis emergentem fluctibus, nactusque opaca noctis silentiosa secreta, certus etiam summatem Deam præcipua majestate pollere resque prorsus humanas ipsius regi providentia," &c. p. 375. Relief is vouchsafed to him, a change passes over his spirit, and nature wears towards him a different aspect-her countenance is clothed in smiles, and all things seem to rejoice with him. "Tanta hilaritudine præter peculiarem meam, gestire mihi cuncta videbantur; ut pecua etiam cujuscamodi et totas domos et ipsam diem serena facie gaudire sentirem." The entire conception is not only highly poetical, but eminently philosophical; the progress of the human mind in its transition through the range of vices, the sentiments of remorse and despair, that yearning after better things which ever and anon returns like a guardian angel to rescue man from his most fallen estate, the change of heart, and the influence of nature, are depicted in the spirit of truth and beauty.

But we fear that we are trespassing too far upon the patience of the reader, and especially when our subject is not one of general interest. And yet we are so deeply impressed with the fact that an attention to this study is the great want of American literature, that we could not forbear suggesting briefly the various points of view from which its importance may be seen-even at the risk of being tedious. Under the sanction, then, of past experience, and under the higher authority of reason, we would crave the attention of the rising genera

The day I was married, my dear Editor, I was greeted by a valued crony of mine with the following Jew desperate, as Mrs. Malaprop might call a jeu d'esprit. The occasion which gave this trifle birth having now been some years a matter of history, I am disposed to lend it to your good readers for a month, and beg them to be very careful of it, as it is really one of the neatest things of the kind I or they have ever seen. It is by a poet of no low order of genius, I can assure you, whose fault alone it is that his name, albeit not insignificant, is not yet higher on the rolls of poetic fame. It has never been in print.

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LIFE.

J. F. O.

A BRIEF HISTORY, IN THREE PARTS, WITH A SEQUEL:

Part I.-Love.

A glance, a thought,—a blow,—
It stings him to the core.
A question-will it lay him low?
Or will time heal it o'er ?
He kindles at the name,-

He sits, and thinks apart;
Time blows and blows it to a flame,-
Burning within his heart.

He loves it though it burns,

And nurses it with care:
He feeds the blissful pain, by turns,
With hope, and with despair!

Part II.-Courtship.
Sonnets and serenades,
Sighs, glances, tears and vows,
Gifts, tokens, souvenirs, parades,
And courtesies and bows.

A purpose, and a prayer:

The stars are in the sky,-
He wonders how e'en hope should dare
To let him aim so high!

Still hope allures and flatters,

And doubt just makes him bold:
And so, with passion all in tatters,
The trembling tale is told!

Apologies and blushes,

Soft looks, averted eyes,
Each heart into the other rushes,

Each yields, and wins, a prize.

P

Part III.-Marriage.

A gathering of fond friends,

Brief, solemn words, and prayer,—
A trembling to the fingers' ends,

As hand in hand they swear.

Sweet cake, sweet wine, sweet kisses,—
And so the deed is done :
Now for life's woes and blisses,—

The wedded two are one.

And down the shining stream

They launch their buoyant skiff,

Bless'd, if they may but trust Hope's dream,—
But ah! Truth echoes-If!

THE SEQUEL.—If.

If health be firm,-if friends be true,-
If self be well controlled,-

If tastes be pure,-if wants be few,-
And not too often told,—

If reason always rule the heart,—
And passions own its sway,—
If love for aye to life impart
The zest it does to day,-

If Providence with parent care

Mete out the varying lot,

While meek Contentment bows to share
The palace or the cot,-

And oh! if Faith, sublime and clear,
The spirit upward guide,-
Then bless'd indeed, and bless'd fore'er,
The Bridegroom, and the Bride!

-d.

WILLIAM CUTTER.

READINGS WITH MY PENCIL.

NO. II.

Legere sine calamo est dormire.- Quintilian.

8. "A drayman is probably born with as good organs as Milton, Locke, or Newton: but by culture they are as much above him, almost, as he is above his horse."-Chesterfield.

ment of women in this regard. Why should a woman's property, upon her marriage, become, ipso facto, another's? I take it that is a question which neither casuists nor gownsmen can answer. I knew an old woman who could give the true reply, and it was one that she gave as a reason for every query, puzzling or plain,-and that was "Cause!"

11. "A soul conversant with virtue resembles a fountain: for it is clear, and gentle, and sweet, and communicative, and rich, and harmless and innocent."-Epictetus.

Beautiful because true. Such a soul is clear; one can see deeply into its crystal purity: it is gentle, and no waves disturb the spectator as he gazes: it is sweet, and he who drinks of it is refreshed and renovated in mental and intellectual health. Communicative is it, and throws out its jets in affluent profusion, making the atmosphere delicious to those who come within its reach. Rich, too, abundantly, overflowingly rich, full of jewels beyond price, ready for those who will gather them up from the inexhaustible bed of that fountain. harmless, moreover, and innocent, diffusing influences of a healthful and inspiring force, which turns mere sense to soul, mere mortality to immortality!

12.

The suspicion of Dean Swift's irreligion proceeded, in a great measure, from his dread of hypocrisy instead of wishing to seem better, he delighted in seeming worse than he was."-Dr. Johnson.

That is a queer apology for a great Moralist to make for a Dean of the Church! It makes out Swift to be the worst of rascals: for it makes him more regardful of other men's opinions than of his own. It exhibits him as contravening conscience with seeming. Now, to my mind, the mere suspicion of hypocrisy is a far less evil than the positive conviction of it. He was, according to Johnson, afraid of being thought a hypocrite, and so he actually became one!

13. "As much company as I have kept, and as much as I love it, I love reading better; and would rather be employed in reading, than in the most agreeable company."-Pope.

It is but a choice of company after all. For my part I verily believe the poet loved both well enough, although the world of books he most affected. He never wrote the "Essay on Man" or the "Dunciad" from the experience of the study, however: men's hearts were

Chesterfield, it would seem, was a Phrenologist, in the books' he read from when he gave those splendid

fact.

9. In matters of consequence, have nothing to do with secondary people: deal always with principals."-Edgeworth.

Good advice. In matters of state, deal never with a clerk, he has no discretion. In matters of trade deal never with an agent, if you can come near the principal, for the same cause, he lacks the discretion that the latter has. But for a different cause than this, in matters of love, deal never with parents, but with the child: it is true, she has less discretion, but in this matter she is still the principal.

poems birth. The "world of books"-reminds me of
14. "Books are a real world, both pure and good,
Round which, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness may grow."

Wordsworth.

15. "Oh! who shall tell the glory of the good man's course, when, as his mortal organs are closing upon the world, he is looking forward to the opening brightness of that sun which never sets, shining from out the sapphire gates of Heaven! What earthly simile can your poet or your rhapsodist furnish, to carry to the spirit so rapturous a conception?"--Chalmers.

The simplest similes for such purposes are the best. And it is a beautiful order of our nature, that it furnishes

10. "Women may have their wills while they live, for they them abundantly for the improvement of the reflective may make none when they die."—Anon.

The author of that, whoever he be, was a kind soul: he found an apology for that which husbands, lovers, and fathers are apt to think a grievous fault in the sex. But the thought that strikes me most forcibly upon reading that passage is, the injustice of the law's treat

mind. And thus would I assimilate an earthly scene to the rapturous conception of the eloquent divine whom I have quoted. A most beautiful autumn day, free from clouds,-when the varied colored leaves seem willing to fade, with so bright, so warm, so cheerful a sun upon them,-is to me an emblem of the beaming of the sun of

righteousness, which, growing brighter as their bodies decay, makes the happiest and holiest spirits willing to die, under an influence so benign.

16. "I walked, I rode, I hunted, I played, I read, I wrote, I did every thing but think. I could not, or rather I would not think. Thinking kept me too long to one point. I could not bear that turning my face to a dead wall. In self defence, to keep me from my thoughts, I flitted from one occupation to ano. ther in which my mind could not, if it would, find the least employment or permanent satisfaction. But the world called me a very happy man!"-Bulwer, (I believe.)

Every man has those moments, I imagine, of struggling with his own mind, endeavoring, yet almost impossibly, to fix it upon a single object for any length of time: when it is like a bird in a storm, attempting to alight upon a waving, trembling spray.

17. "But Thomas Moore, albeit but an indifferent biographer, is one of the greatest masters of versification the world has ever known, while in song-writing he is perfectly unrivalled." Quarterly Review.

Perhaps in a peculiar, refined style of song-writing he may be but while his are the music of the fancy, Burns speaks the melodies of the soul.

18. "The Creator has so constituted the human intellect, that it can grow only by its own action, and by its own action it will most certainly and necessarily grow. Every man must, therefore, in an important sense, educate himself. His books and teachers are but aids, the work is his."-Daniel Webster.

The great statesman spoke this from the lessons of his own experience, and it is true. Yet how many moments there are in a scholar's life, when his progress seems so slow that he languishes over every task; and, because he cannot attain every thing at once, forgets, that every thing worth gaining is obtained after many struggles: and, if one foot slips back a little, yet, if he gain at all on his way, that it is better to persevere ! Besides, it is not only the ends of study which are delightful-for so also are its ways: and, if we are not advancing rapidly, there is yet a pleasure in exercise, even when much of it fails.

19. "The preacher, raising his withered hands as if imparting a benediction with the words, closed his discourse with the text he had been enforcing,-'It is good that a man bear the yoke in his youth."-Lights and Shadows.

I do believe that text most implicitly. I myself feel that it is true: for I am one of those who are best when most afflicted. While the weight hangs heavily, I keep time and measure, like a clock; but remove it, and all the springs and wheels move irregularly, and I am but a mere useless thing.

20. "Fair and bright to day, but windy and cold."

-like a satirical beauty!

My Old Journal. J. F. O.

HALLEY'S COMET.

And who art thou amid the starry host,
Shedding thy pale and misty light,
Like some lone pearl, unseen and lost,
Amid the diamonds of a gala night.

Thou comest from the measureless abyss,
Where God hath made his glory known;
Is it with mystic cord, to this

To bind some system yet unseen, unknown.

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Art thou the ship of heaven, laden with light, From the eternal glory sent,

To feed the glowing suns, that might
In ceaseless radiance but for thee be spent?

Or art thou rolling on thy way, a car,
Bearing from God some angel band,
Sent forth from world to world afar,
To regulate the fabric of his hand?

Oh! if thou art on some such errand sent,
Forth from the throne of Him we love,
May not thy homeward path be bent
By our poor earth, to bear our souls above?
Prince Edward.

EPIMANES.

BY E. A. POE.

Chacun a ses vertus.-Crebillon's Xerxes.

Antiochus Epiphanes is very generally looked upon as the Gog of the prophet Ezekiel. This honor is, however, more properly attributable to Cambyses, the son of Cyrus. And, indeed, the character of the Syrian monarch does by no means stand in need of any adventitious embellishment. His accession to the throne, or rather his usurpation of the sovereignty, a hundred and seventy-one years before the coming of Christ—his attempt to plunder the temple of Diana at Ephesus— his implacable hostility to the Jews-his pollution of the Holy of Holies, and his miserable death at Taba, after a tumultuous reign of eleven years, are circumstances of a prominent kind, and therefore more generally noticed by the historians of his time than the impious, dastardly, cruel, silly, and whimsical achievements which make up the sum total of his private life and reputation.

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Let us suppose, gentle reader, that it is now the year of the world three thousand eight hundred and thirty, and let us, for a few minutes, imagine ourselves at that most grotesque habitation of man, the remarkable city of Antioch. To be sure there were, in Syria and other countries, sixteen cities of that name besides the one to which I more particularly allude. But ours is that which went by the name of Antiochia Epidaphne, from its vicinity to the little village Daphne, where stood a temple to that divinity. It was built (although about this matter there is some dispute) by Seleucus Nicanor, the first king of the country after Alexander the Great, in memory of his father Antiochus, and became immediately the residence of the Syrian monarchy. In the flourishing times of the Roman empire, it was the ordinary station of the Prefect of the eastern provinces; and many of the emperors of the queen city, among whom may be mentioned, most especially, Verus and Valens, spent here the greater part of their time. But I perceive we have arrived at the city itself. Let us ascend this battlement, and throw our eyes around upon the town and neighboring country.

What broad and rapid river is that which forces its way with innumerable falls, through the mountainous wilderness, and finally through the wilderness of buildings?

"That is the Orontes, and the only water in sight,

Some few are mountebanks. Others more particularly belong to the race of philosophers. The greatest portion, however-those especially who belabor the populace with clubs, are the principal courtiers of the palace, executing, as in duty bound, some laudable comicality of the king's.

But what have we here? Heavens!-the town is swarming with wild beasts! What a terrible spectacle!-what a dangerous peculiarity!

with the exception of the Mediterranean, which stretch-be-half naked-with their faces painted-shouting es, like a broad mirror, about twelve miles off to the and gesticulating to the rabble? southward. Every one has beheld the Mediterranean; but, let me tell you, there are few who have had a peep at Antioch. By few, I mean few who, like you and I, have had, at the same time, the advantages of a modern education. Therefore cease to regard that sea, and give your whole attention to the mass of houses that lie beneath us. You will remember that it is now the year of the world three thousand eight hundred and thirty. Were it later-for example, were it unfortunately the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and Terrible, if you please; but pot in the least degree thirty-six, we should be deprived of this extraordinary dangerous. Each animal, if you will take the pains to spectacle. In the nineteenth century Antioch is—that is, observe, is following, very quietly, in the wake of its Antioch will be in a lamentable state of decay. It will master. Some few, to be sure, are led with a rope have been, by that time, totally destroyed, at three diffe- about the neck, but these are chiefly the lesser or more rent periods, by three successive earthquakes. Indeed, timid species. The lion, the tiger, and the leopard are to say the truth, what little of its former self may then entirely without restraint. They have been trained remain, will be found in so desolate and ruinous a state, without difficulty to their present profession, and attend that the patriarch will remove his residence to Damas-upon their respective owners in the capacity of valets-decus. This is well. I see you profit by my advice, and chambre. It is true, there are occasions when Nature are making the most of your time in inspecting the pre-asserts her violated dominion—but then the devouring mises-in

-satisfying your eyes

With the memorials and the things of fame
That most renown this city.

I beg pardon-I had forgotten that Shakspeare will
not flourish for nearly seventeen hundred and fifty
years to come. But does not the appearance of Epi-
daphne justify me in calling it grotesque?

of a man-at-arms, or the throtling of a consecrated bull, are circumstances of too little moment to be more than hinted at in Epidaphne.

But what extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely this is a loud noise even for Antioch! It argues some commotion of unusual interest.

Yes-undoubtedly. The king has ordered some novel spectacle-some gladiatorial exhibition at the

It is well fortified-and in this respect is as much Hippodrome-or perhaps the massacre of the Scythian indebted to nature as to art.

Very true.

There are a prodigious number of stately palaces.
There are.

And the numerous temples, sumptuous and magnificent, may bear comparison with the most lauded of antiquity.

All this I must acknowledge. Still there is an infinity of mud huts and abominable hovels. We cannot help perceiving abundance of filth in every kennel, and, were it not for the overpowering fumes of idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should find a most intolerable stench. Did you ever behold streets so insufferably narrow, or houses so miraculously tall? What a gloom their shadows cast upon the ground! It is well the swinging lamps in those endless collonades are kept burning throughout the day-we should otherwise have the darkness of Egypt in the time of her desolation.

It is certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yonder singular building? See!-it towers above all the others, and lies to the eastward of what I take to be the royal palace.

prisoners or the conflagration of his new palace—or the tearing down of a handsome temple-or, indeed, a bonfire of a few Jews. The uproar increases. Shouts of laughter ascend the skies. The air becomes dissonant with wind instruments, and horrible with the clamor of a million throats. Let us descend, for the love of fun, and see what is going on. This way-be careful. Here we are in the principal street, which is called the street of Timarchus. The sea of people is coming this way, and we shall find a difficulty in stemming the tide. They are pouring through the alley of Heraclides, which leads directly from the palacetherefore the king is most probably among the rioters. Yes-I hear the shouts of the herald proclaiming his approach in the pompous phraseology of the East. We shall have a glimpse of his person as he passes by the temple of Ashimah. Let us ensconce ourselves in the vestibule of the Sanctuary-he will be here anon. In the meantime let us survey this image. What is it? Oh, it is the God Ashimah in proper person. You perceive, however, that he is neither a lamb, nor a goat, nor a Satyr-neither has he much resemblance to the Pan of the Arcadians. Yet all these appearances have been given-I beg pardon-will be given by the learned of future ages to the Ashimah of the Syrians. Put on your spectacles, and tell me what it is. What is it? Bless me, it is an ape!

That is the new Temple of the Sun, who is adored in Syria under the title of Elah Gabalah. Hereafter a very notorious Roman Emperor will institute this worship in Rome, and thence derive a cognomen Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like a peep at the divinity of the temple. You need not look up at the Heavens, True-a baboon; but by no means the less a Deity. his Sunship is not there—at least not the Sunship adored His name is a derivation of the Greek Simia-what by the Syrians. That Deity will be found in the inte- great fools are antiquarians! But see!-see!-yonrior of yonder building. He is worshipped under the der scampers a ragged little urchin. Where is he gofigure of a large stone pillar terminating at the summit ing? What is he bawling about? What does he say? in a cone or pyramid, whereby is denoted Fire. Oh! he says the king is coming in triumph-that he Hark!-behold!-who can those ridiculous beings is dressed in state-and that he has just finished putting

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