to mankind as to ourselves, that there are myriads of angels 'who kept not their first estate;' and, Alva, my crime was scepticism; that in which the unfortunate youths, with whom you have lately associated, under the fair pretext of 'searching the Scriptures,' to know what is truth,' so liberally indulge, and the occasion of it was this; at the dreadful hour of the crucifixion of the Redeemer of man, I with countless bands of divine intelligences, powers, and spirits (for, whilst man beheld the awful scene unmoved, the hosts of heaven and hell were assembled with anxious interest, to view it)-I was one of the witnesses of that stupendous event. Deply affected by the humiliation and agonies of the Divine Sufferer, and indignant at the callous indifference of those for whom so great a sacrifice was offered, I ventured to question the necessity of this inconceivable admixture of Almighty wrath and compassion; the one wreaked on the head of Jehovah's divinely innocent Son; the other, extended towards ungrateful, guilty man. Why,' sinfully said I, 'should mankind need a Redeemer? why, with the revealed will of the Lord before them, should they not so live as to assure their own salvation? Or why must their Redeemer be their God? Could not one of our own order-one of the holy spirits, who, in the Metropolis of the Universe stand before the throne of Elohim, suffer for, and save them?' These and other thoughts, equally foolish and blasphemous, were the immediate cause of my ruin?

"When the last sigh of the Divine Sufferer had been breathed, and I was preparing to return to the land whence I came, until the glorious morning of the Resurrection, I found, to my utter dismay, that I no longer possessed the power of soaring through the ethereal demesnes. I had become like, and one with, man; garbed in flesh, tangible, visible, and locomotive indeed, but powerless to quit the earth, upon which mortals creep. Then, amidst the thick darkness which covered the land of Judæa, came a voice unto the ear of my spirit, like the murmur of many winds when forests answer their call, thrilling me with unspeakable terrors and apprehension, so that I felt as if my new frame must melt away, like metal in the refiner's furnace, at that breath of mild reproof:

"Why, O Melchios,' said the Voice, art thou troubled with many thoughts? Shall the creature presume to question the Creator? Shall the finite charge the Infinite with folly? Save thyself, thou foolish angel, ere thou darest venture to impugn the wisdom and goodness of Him whose schemes are to his creatures incomprehensible, yet all based upon consummate wisdom. Save thyself, Ó Melchios; created, as thou art, more pure and perfect than was ever man; though, as now thou knowest, not infallible. This do, ere thou mayst hope to regain the holy heaven thy presumption has lost thee. Find me one perfect, unsinning man amongst the myriads who now inhabit earth, and who shall do so until the grand and complete revolution of its sun round the centre of the universe be once accomplished, and which is, as thou knowest the time, to it, of the end; find me one man

only meet to be an inhabitant of the Metropolis of the Universe; or, failing in this, find me one of the angelic host sufficiently perfect and infallible to redeem himself alone. Then bring with thee such man, or such angel, to the centre, and with acclamations never yet heard throughout the blessed regions, shall ye both be welcomed home!' "Alva," resumed the angelic youth, after a pause, " I need not say that hitherto my search for a man whose innate holiness should redeem himself, has been worse than vain; sin is unhappily as inherent in the human race as is the germ in fruit and flowers. The most guileless man approaches not in purity the most inferior of superior spirits; whilst the magnates of the Metropolis of the Universe may, as you perceive, be charged by their Maker with folly, and become blighted by guilt. Oh, Alva, to warn thee against the evil heart of unbelief, and the false spirit of inquiry touching matters which thou shouldst accept as certainties, am I, by the permission and instigation of Heaven, come hither. My dreary task I must still pursue; aware that it is hopeless, but not knowing whether Almighty mercy contemplates any plan for the restoration (on his bitter repentance and unwearied toils) of the outcast angel to his home. Man has an all-sufficient Redeemer ; and in this, is he happier than those who, originally created purer than himself, are yet not infallible! Father Alva, again I repeat, beware of infidelity.

I was about to reply, when I perceived that Melchios had departed as suddenly as he came, and I never beheld him more; but the unearthly beauty of his countenance and form, the ravishing melody of his voice, and his faint transcript of the indescribable glories and beatitudes of the Metropolis of the Universe, remain indelibly impressed on my memory; and, in bequeathing to posterity that unhappy wanderer's remarkable history, I humbly hope I have rendered unto them good service.

THE BROKEN HEART.

SHE wept herself to sleep; yet not a trace
Of anguish rested on that pallid face,

So still, so calm, so passionless, serene,

low,

Like moonlight resting where the sun hath been.
Angel of Death! it is not always so
That thou dost lay the broken-hearted
Too oft thy finger on the lip of youth
Closes, with icy hand, its joy, its truth;
While infancy and mirth, and happiness,
Are oft the first to meet thy cold caress,

But here thou art a friend; how good, how kind,

For thou with soft allurements now dost bind

With thy firm chains, those hands, those small white hands.

Her last sighs borne along, her last prayer said,

That prayer for happiness, and she lies dead.

How could she brave this world, its strife, its storm.
With heart and soul so tender, fond, and warm?
How could she bear its heartlessness, its change,
Whilst her own faithful heart would never range?
But firm in friendship and unchanged in depth,
She knew not, guessed not, how the chilling breath
Of cold neglect could blight her joyous heart,
Rush to her soul, and make the tear-drops start.
But now 'tis o'er, the suffering spirit flown,
To realms of bliss where coldness is unknown;
To that bright spirit-land of peace and love.

OH, TRIFLE NOT WITH WOMAN'S HEART.

Set to music and published by Messrs. Duff and Hodgson, 65, Oxford

street.

"Get over what?" said Gertrude, "her love for you? perhaps so; I know not how deep it is. But to think of her happy trusting nature, and how it was betrayed! Think how she believed your flattering words, and how hollow they were all the while. Think how her confidence has been abused-how that fatherless and motherless girl, who has a claim to the sympathy of all the world, has been taught a lesson of distrust. To my mind, unversed in the ways of society, it is a dreadful thing to trifle thus with a human heart * Do not think so meanly of my sex as to believe that one woman's heart can be won to love and reverence by the author of another's betrayal."

*

*

Lamplighter, Chap. XXIII.

OH! trifle not with woman's heart,

Nor deem you can be mine,
Because you tell me you can part

From her whose heart is thine.

If thus you'd lightly break the link
That binds her still to thee,

My woman's pride would blush to think,

That I your bride could be.

The heart that's pure the path must shun
That's lit by falsehood's ray,

Then go I would not trust to one
Who others could betray.

Oh! teach her not to know deceit,

Now so devoid of guile,

That those fond vows she deemed so sweet,

Were hollow all the while;

Think of the sunshine you have made,

Upon her sinless way,

And then upon the years of shade,

For her you would betray.

Think of her love who hoped to make,
Thro' life thy heart her shrine:

But though thou mayst that love forsake,
I never can be thine!

230

Literature.

The Dream of Pythagoras.-By Miss Emma Tatham.-Many of our friends are constantly urging us into the belief that poets have long since ceased to exist; but we have always been of a different opinion, and this is fully confirmed by the elegant little volume before us, which, puts forth some of the most perfect poems we have read for a long time and should these not be considered so by the generality of readers and remaining lovers of poetry, we shall consider that the taste for poettical reading is passed away for a time. There was a time when poetry was a sort of fashion of the day, and at this epoch poets gained a name. The poems of this inspired young lady, Miss Emma Tatham, who we believe is very young, are even more beautiful and recherché than poems written by those who are known by the appellation of great authors. We shall give an extract in our next.

Puss in Boots.-By Miss Corner.-Dean and Co.-The old story of "Puss in Boots" has been very cleverly dramatized by our favourite authoress, Miss Corner. The whole is admirably managed, and may be easily performed by a party of young people, for the Christmas holidays; this little brochure will prove interesting.

Pawsey's Lady's Fashionable Repository for 1855.-Longman and Co.-Among the numerous little annuals for the new year which are as pleasing as they are useful, "Pawsey's Pocket-book" ranks high. Some of the plates are elegantly printed in colours, whilst others are neat engravings of new views, interspersed with poetry of more than ordinary merit, and all the useful and important information so necessary during the forthcoming new year.

New Music.

Vocal Beauties of the Opera. Around the Magic Tree.-Williams, 123, Cheapside.-Some very pretty poetry from the pen of Mrs. J. Boucher, has been well handled by Rossini, and a first-class piece is the result. We can highly recommend it to the notice of the lovers of musical novelty.

Slowly and Softly Music should Flow.-Duet.-Composed by S. Glover.-Brewer and Co.-This duet possesses a melody both clear and open, and when sung by two sweet voices, it must be enchanting.

Two Merry Alpine Maids.-Duet.-Brewer and Co.-Another duet, a sort of companion to "Slowly and Softly Music should Flow," by the same author and composer, lays claim to the honours of the day. This is the sort of duet that may be sung by two young ladies of ordinary voices, the piece being easy of execution.

Kalozdy's Polka, "La Coquette."-Ewer and Co., 390, Oxfordstreet. The continued stream of polkas has long since ceased to flow, and therefore one so distingue as "La Coquette" will make a deeper impression, as it fully deserves to do. The whole composition is bold and spirited, whilst some of the passages abound with an elegance at present unequalled.

Merrylegs. By M. Gerald Stanley. New Schottische.--Addison and Hollier, 219, Regent-street.-Not only a very appropriate title, but a very appropriate schottische for the Christmas festivities. " Merrylegs" will win its way into the presence of good round parties, and from its fascinating passages really brilliant, as they are, will excite every hearer to procure a copy for their own music folio. Mr. Gerald Stanley has been fortunate in this production.

The Drummond Waltzes.-Jewell and Letchford, 17, Soho-square. -We have been much struck with these waltzes, they will add fresh brilliancy to Christmas cheer, and from their exceeding dance-like time must become the favoured ones of the evening.

Bright Harvest Moon.-Jewell and Letchford, 17, Soho-square.This very unique morceau is from the celebrated aria in Rigoletto, as sung by Signor Mario; it is full of pathos, and we think will become favourite.

Fairy Lake Polka.-By W. F. Greenwell.-A very danceable and spirited polka, full of that material which contributes so largely to the success of music generally,

The Beacon Star.-Jewell and Letchford, 17, Soho-square. This is a very charming morceau, and the popularity is sure from its intrinsic worth as a stock piece.

The Mother's Dream.-Jewell and Letchford, 17, Soho-square.The "Mother's Dream" displays the true inspiration of the author, set to a composition at once exciting, and if we mistake not the song will have a long run.

Polka de Guides.--Jewell and Letchford, 17, Soho-square.-A truly magnificent polka, some of the passages of which possess much brilliancy, and we may say will add fresh bloom to the very numerous family.

Sunrise.-Song of Praise.-Jewell and Letchford, 17, Soho-square, -The poetry by J. H. Jewell is spirited and pleasing, with a good sprinkling of the old English style of writing, possessing much merit; the music by Birch is admirably suited to the pastoral effusion which is at once sacred.

La Fragoletta Arietta.-Jewell and Letchford, 17, Soho-square.This very beautiful composition cannot be mistaken for other than the pleasing result of true inspiration. The melody is delightful; we can recommend this piece as a novel morceau.

Pleasures of Melody; consisting of the most popular Airs, Waltzes, Marches, &c., of all countries; arranged in a familiar style for the pianoforte by T. B. Phipps.-This popular serial, the last numbers of which are "Annie Laurie,' ," "Bonnie Dundee," and "Partant pour la