“Will you ?" said Slick, composedly. "Ay, I suppose you'd know the taste, too?" Well, I guess I would-pretty considerably certain," retorted Bishop. "Come," said Slick, cutting off the portion that had been in his mouth, and sending the rest down the table, I'll expose your ignorance. If you persist in calling that tobacco after trying it, I'm a Newfoundland codfish, that's all." Bishop's vanity was piqued, so he took the article, and applying it to his mouth, sent forth a long stream of thin smoke from his lips. "A genuine Havannah cigar, upon my reputation," he exclaimed. the judge." "Ay, to be sure it is. Who said it wasn't?" 66 Why, you did." "Fine "Not I, faith. So fine Bishop for smoking. I claim exemption, as the rule was not propounded to me till after the act. I didn't take a puff from the moment I was advertised of my offence." The laugh was now turned against Bishop, who, for the first time in his life, looked as if he was sold. "Jonathan," said Wilddrake, "I hear you were caught prowling about the Great Exhibition the other night, and taken up by the police. Is that so?" "Not exactly; but I'll give an account of myself, if it's your pleasure." By all means." "It was my good fortune, through the kindness of the Committee of the Great Industrial Exhibition, to gain admittance to the building in the night. One can scarce imagine the marvellous and most impressive contrast which the scene presented to that which but a few hours before I had witnessed on the same spot. Passing from beneath the brilliantly illuminated portico without, one suddenly stands in a spectral twilight, dreamy, shadowy, solemn, and still. For a moment the master-feeling is awe. Then you breathe more freely, and look around you. There is the great nave, with the taper pillars shooting up, as it were, skyward— for the summit of the arched roof is lost in shadow-so that you can almost fancy the dark glimmer of the glass is the deep blue of a moonless sky. The rows of gas-lights along the galleries and the aisles, emit an amount of light just sufficient to give softness and beauty to every object, while the eye wanders through the solitary passages, far, far away on every side; and the innumerable arches are multiplied indefinitely by the shadows which throng, and intersect, and interlace in every direction. What a silent, slumberous scene! as if Labour, and Art, and Science, and Poesy had ceased, for a season, their ministrations for mankind, and now slept even in the place where they had held their glorious congress. Now and then, when the sense of silence became almost painful, the tread of some vigilant policeman, or the subdued tones of speakers, relieved the heart. I passed up the Central Hall, pausing, at many a beautiful object-marble, or bronze, or plaster model-till at length I stopped before one of the loveliest creations of the sculptor's genius-the 'Eve' of M'Dowell. There she stood, no longer in the glare of the day, but draped in the soft light that wrapped her around as in a garment of gauze; and I thought that the Eve of to-night was to the Eve of the morning, even as our sweet mother, after her fall, was to the godlike, glorious being, ere serpent-tempted and sinning-the strong illumination of God's favour, that made her shine like the morning star, withdrawn, and a saddening, subdued, sin-clouded light, glimmering through the darkness, lent to guide her on her difficult way. The lovely face looked now pensive and troublous, and the shadow of the woman fell right athwart the snake-and lo! he too was changed, and his brightness was gone. I felt the moral, and turned away with a sigh. Suddenly some one turned round the great dioptric light, till a flood of rays traversed the hall obliquely, and rested on a colossal figure nearly opposite to that which I had been contemplating. The light played upon the broad manly forehead of DARGAN, and my musings lost all their sadness, for I felt how God has turned the curse into a blessing-how Labour, the child of sin, is the parent of Civilization. There was something highly suggestive in the calm serenity of repose that spread over that stalwart, stable figure. One would almost fancy that he, at whose generous bidding this fair structure had arisen, had sought the quiet hour of night, when the world had retired, to contemplate with unobtrusive modesty the wonders around the good, and precious, and lovely things which a true and a noble patriotism has drawn thus together. Then I strayed into the dais, and thought, as I looked on the ghost-like busts beneath the organ-gallery, of the mighty dead the great sons which our own land has given to fame-warriors, and statesmen, and orators; poets, and sculptors, and painters! As I so mused, a clang-deep, sudden, and sonorous struck upon my ear! Again and again the sound was repeated, till the tenth time, and then the last stroke of the clockbell floated away, away through nave, and aisle, and distant darkling cloister, till at last it died, and was swallowed up in silence. Then chimed out from the gallery the sweet, tinkling, lute-like tones of a pendule, as if laughing at the passing hour; and after that, a sharp-tongued clock took up the tale of old Time; and then a sweet, mellow gong, with wailing vibrations, seemed to mourn over the flight of life; and then all was silence once more. I had now time to look at a thousand things as yet unnoted. The jewellery glittered in their glass cases; the figures on the tapestry looked as if they were rounded and starting out; and as I peered down the dimlylighted Fine Arts Hall, it seemed as if a thousand strange mysterious forms of life were congregated within. The agony of martyrs the rapture of saints the penitence of beautiful sinners-the passion, the repose, the sorrow, the gaiety, the phrenzy, the folly of humanity-all were there, shadowed forth mistily-eloquent preachers in the silence of night. There, too, was the form of St. Cecilia, with her divine face upturned, in the rapture of heavenly enthusiasm, and her fingers touching the responsive keys. As I gazed, the fingers seemed to move, and I started, with a sensation of awe, as a volume of rich sound came rolling, and swelling on, on, till it filled the whole building with sound, as one sees a dark chamber filled with daylight, when the closed shutters are thrown open. Then the sounds shaped themselves into a solemn melody-a psalm, meet, indeed, for such a place, and such a time. At length the mellow notes soared up, flutteringly, as birds flutter upon the wing, fainter and fainter, farther and farther, till at last they seemed to have passed up into heaven! When I recovered from my surprise, I found that Dr. Stewart had been waking up the great organ. No wonder that I had, in my fancy, attributed to St. Cecilia the strains that his fingers had evoked." "Now, then," said the President, when I had concluded, "one song more. Who'll give it to us?" "That will I," said Heinrich, going to the pianoforte. "Here's a new song of Jonathan's for this occasion. Join in the chorus :". By the time that Heinrich's song was ended, the lights were burning low in their sockets; the wine was growing lower still in the flasks, which, notwithstanding the lightness of their burthen, performed their circuit much more slowly than at an earlier part of the evening; the sands of Time, too, were running low in the diurnal glass, or, to speak less metaphorically, it was now considerably past ten o'clock. Seeing this, the Hochmystiker filled his glass, stood up, and gave the parting toast "To our next merry meeting." I stept across to the window, that reached the ground, drew back the curtains, opened the shutters, and threw up the sash. A mass of soft, pearly light streamed in upon us; the fresh, cool air flowed around, dissipating the warm odour of the apartment, and making the candles flare and flicker, as though they trembled in the presence of the pure light from heaven, and struggled to flutter away, and expire. The sky was lustrous with stars, and cloudless in its blue depths, and everything told of the repose that was fast settling down on the world, save the sharp, distant barkings of a watchful dog, that, as it were, intensified the silence. We went forth into the lovely night-MYSTICS truly, for we associated with the mysticism of nature the mystery of beauty, and holiness, and love. READINGS FROM "THE COLLOQUIES OF ERASMUS." DIVERSORIA, OR THE 562 OUR PORTRAIT GALLERY.-No. LXX. THE BISHOP OF MEATH. With an Etching THE DREAM OF RAVAN.-A MYSTERY. PART II. 570 578 SIR JASPER CAREW, KNT. CHAPTER XXXIV. - SECRET SERVICE. RECENT NOVELS. VILLETTE-BROOMHILL-AGATHA'S HUSBAND-RUTH-ALDER- 611 628 DUBLIN JAMES MCGLASHAN, 50 UPPER SACKVILLE-STREET. WM. S. ORR AND CO., LONDON AND LIVERPOOL. SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. |