So runs the internal outcry of each, clasping each: it is their recurring refrain to the harmonies. How it illumined the

years gone by and suffused the living Future!

"You for me: I for you!"

"We are born for each other!"

They believe that the angels have been busy about them from their cradles. The celestial hosts have worthily striven. to bring them together. And, O victory! O wonder! after toil and pain, and difficulties exceeding, the celestial hosts have succeeded!

"Here we two sit who are written above as one!"

Pipe, happy Love! pipe on to these dear innocents!

The tide of color has ebbed from the upper sky. In the west the sea of sunken fire draws back; and the stars leap forth, and tremble, and retire before the advancing moon, who slips the silver train of cloud from her shoulders, and, with her foot upon the pine-tops, surveys heaven..

"Lucy, did you never dream of meeting me?"
"O Richard! yes; for I remembered you."
"Lucy! and did you pray that we might meet?"
"I did!"

Young as when she looked upon the lovers in Paradise, the fair Immortal journeys onward. Fronting her, it is not night but veiled day. Full half the sky is flushed. Not darkness, not day, but the nuptials of the two.

"My own!

Whisper!"

my own forever! You are pledged to me?

He hears the delicious music.

“And you are mine?"

A soft beam travels to the fern-covert under the pinewood where they sit, and for answer he has her eyes: turned to him an instant, timidly fluttering over the depths of his, and then downcast; for through her eyes her soul is naked to him. "Lucy! my bride! my life!"

The night-jar spins his dark monotony on the branch of the pine. The soft beam travels round them, and listens to their hearts. Their lips are locked.

Pipe no more, Love, for a time! Pipe as you will you cannot express their first kiss; nothing of its sweetness, and of the sacredness of it nothing. St. Cecilia up aloft, before the silver organ-pipes of Paradise, pressing fingers upon all the notes of which Love is but one, from her you may hear it.

So Love is silent. Out in the world there, on the skirts of the woodland, the self-satisfied sheep-boy delivers a last complacent squint down the length of his penny-whistle, and, with a flourish correspondingly awry, he also marches into silence, hailed by supper. The woods are still. There is heard but the night-jar spinning on the pine-branch, circled by moonlight.

82

REGENERATING THE WORLD

A SYMPOSIUM1

Thomas Love Peacock

Boswell. "So, sir, you laugh at schemes of political improvement."

Johnson. "Why, sir, most schemes of political improvement are very laughable things."

A DINNER is in progress at Crotchet Castle. The

host, who sits at the head of the table, is Mr. Crotchet the elder, a retired citizen extremely fond of argument and very liberal in his invitations. About him are gathered "a detachment from the advanced guard of the march of mind." Their names, we learn, are indicative of their mental dispositions, even when the connection is not immediately obvious. Mr. Mac Quedy, for example, is Mr. Mac Q. E. D., the son of a demonstration; Mr. Skionar derives from Greek words signifying "the dream of a shadow"; and Mr. Philpot, also of Greek ancestry, is a “lover of rivers." The characters of the group are about to be sketched by Lady Clarinda: to her descriptions it is only necessary to add that Mr. Mac Quedy is a Scotchman who has stirred the wrath of the Reverend Dr. Folliott by claiming for himself and his countrymen the title of "the modern Athenians." Lady Clarinda is being sought in marriage by Mr. Crotchet the younger, who has made himself rich by the "blow

1 From Crotchet Castle. For the epigraph the present editors are responsible.

The

ing of bubbles," that is to say, by promoting invest-
ment schemes of a worthless kind. A second suitor
for her hand is Captain Fitzchrome (named in allu-
sion to his avocation as painter), a half-pay officer who
in point of fortune is no match for his rival.
captain has no more depth of learning than is proper
to his profession and rank, though the Lady Clarinda
has mischievously recommended him to Mr. Mac
Quedy as interested in political economy, to Mr.
Skionar as curious regarding the question of subjective
reality, and to the Reverend Dr. Folliott as an en-
thusiastic lover of Greek poetry. The "rigmarole"
referred to in the first sentence is a spirited dispute
on what may be done for a man by education.

I

CHARACTERS

Lady Clarinda. [To the captain.] I declare the creature has been listening to all this rigmarole, instead of attending to me. Do you ever expect forgiveness? But now that they are all talking together, and you cannot make out a word they say, nor they hear a word that we say, I will describe the company to you. First, there is the old gentleman on my left hand, at the head of the table, who is now leaning the other way to talk to my brother. He is a good-tempered, half-informed person, very unreasonably fond of reasoning, and of reasoning people; people that talk nonsense logically: he is fond of disputation himself, when there are only one or two, but seldom does more than listen in a large company of illuminés.1 He made a great fortune in the city, and has the comfort of a good conscience. He is very hospitable, and is generous in dinners; though nothing would induce him to give

1 Intellectuals.

sixpence to the poor, because he holds that all misfortune is from imprudence, that none but the rich ought to marry, and that all ought to thrive by honest industry, as he did. He is ambitious of founding a family, and of allying himself with nobility; and is thus as willing as other grown children to throw away thousands for a gewgaw, though he would not part with a penny for charity. Next to him is my brother, whom you know as well as I do.

He has finished his education with

credit, and as he never ventures to oppose me in anything, I have no doubt he is very sensible.

He has good manners, is

a model of dress, and is reckoned ornamental in all societies. Next to him is Miss Crotchet, my sister-in-law that is to be. You see she is rather pretty, and very genteel. She is tolerably accomplished, has her table always covered with new novels, thinks Mr. Mac Quedy an oracle, and is extremely desirous to be called "my lady." Next to her is Mr. Firedamp, a very absurd person, who thinks that water is the evil principle. Next to him is Mr. Eavesdrop, a man who, by dint of a certain something like smartness, has got into good society. He is a sort of bookseller's tool, and coins all his acquaintance in reminiscences and sketches of character. I am very shy of him, for fear he should print me. Captain Fitzchrome. If he print you in your own likeness, which is that of an angel, you need not fear him. If he print you in any other, I will cut his throat. But proceed

Lady Clarinda. Next to him is Mr. Henbane, the toxicologist, I think he calls himself. He has passed half his life in studying poisons and antidotes. The first thing he did on hist arrival here, was to kill the cat; and while Miss Crotchet was crying over her, he brought her to life again. I am more shy of him than the other.

Captain Fitzchrome. They are two very dangerous fellows, and I shall take care to keep them both at a respectful dis