dead prey, the wild pursuer, chafing and foaming from the chase, shall cast a shapeless log ashore.

5. "Such," said I, "shall be the fate of the European Kings." It is now summer with them. The sunbeams gild the domes of their palaces. The helmets, with the crimson

manes, burn along those white lines, within which legions countless as those of Xerxes are encamped. Prayers are going on in a pavilion on the field. It is the camp near Olmütz.* The golden lamps and cross and vases of the votive altar, fill the air, like the branch of Avernus, with a yellow luster; and the silver trumpets, sounding the thanksgiving, flash their shadows on the purple curtains of the chapel.

6. Elsewhere, I believe in Paris, bridal feasts † are going on; old cathedrals shake from vault to belfry with swelling organs and surging choirs and rolling drums and clanging chimes; and the sun, streaming through the painted windows, mingles its rays with the perfumed smoke of thuribles, and the colored haze of embroidered copes and chasubles, and pennons of silk, and flowers fresh with luscious fragrance. Beauty is clustered there in snowy vesture; and there are princes and warriors of the cities, plumed, and harnessed for the field; and there are senators, and counselors of state, and grand almoners, and doctors of the law, and ministers of police, and other functionaries, assembled likewise, in holiday costume.

7. The market places, and the public squares, and all the public offices, are decked out with floral wreaths, and painted shields, and pendent flags. And there are gay processions through the streets, and market choruses; and barges with carved and gilded prows and silken awnings fringed and tasseled richly, all laden with revelry, are gliding up and down the river. The sun goes down, yet the sky is bright, brighter than at noon. There is a broad avenue, walled on either side, and arched with fire.

8. There are fountains of fire, pillars of fire, temples of fire ("temples of immortality" they call them), arches of fire, pyramids of fire. The fable of the phoenix is more than realized. Above that mass and maze of flames an eagle,

* Convention for the pacification of Germany.

↑ Celebration of Louis Napoleon's marriage.

feathered with flames, spreads his gigantic wings, and mounts and expands, until tower and dome and obelisk are spanned. Visions of Arabian Nights visit the earth again. The wealth and wonders of Nineveh are disentombed. The festival costs one million six hundred thousand francs; all done to order.

9. It is summer with the kings, ay, summer with the kings. Bright leaves are upon the tree, and life and song are among them; but death is at the root. The next flood, and the proud lord shall be uprooted, and the waters shall bear him away, and when they have stripped him of his finery they shall fling him in upon the swamp to rot. Such shall be the fate of the European kings, European aristocracies, European despotisms. Who will lament it? Who would avert it?

LXII.-NAPOLEON AT REST.

JOHN PIERPONT.

1. His falchion flashed along the Nile;

His hosts he led through Alpine snows;
O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while,
His eagle flag unrolled,-and froze.

2. Here sleeps he now, alone! Not one,
Of all the kings whose crown he gave,
Bends o'er his dust ;-nor wife nor son
Has ever seen or sought his grave.

3. Behind this sea-girt rock, the star
That led him on from crown to crown
Has sunk; and nations from afar
Gazed as it faded and went down.

4. High is his couch;-the ocean-flood,
Far, far below, by storms is curled;
So round him heaved, while high he stood,
A stormy and unstable world.

5. Alone he sleeps! The mountain-cloud,
That night hangs round him, and the breath
Of morning scatters, is the shroud

That wraps the conqueror's clay in death.

6. Pause here! The far-off world, at last,

Breathes free; the hand that shook its thrones,
And to the earth its miters cast,

Lies powerless now beneath these stones.

7. Hark! comes there, from the pyramids,
And from Siberian wastes of snow,

And Europe's hills, a voice that bids

The world he awed to mourn him ?—No:

8. The only, the perpetual dirge

That's heard there, is the sea-bird's cry,
The mournful murmur of the surge,

The cloud's deep voice, the wind's low sigh.

LXIII. MY PROPERTY.

HENRY W. BEECHER.

1. I know few men as rich as I am. I scarcely know where I amassed all my treasures. I have but a few things at home, and they are very precious, animate and inanimate. But, dear me, if you suppose that that is all I own, you never were more mistaken in your life!

2. I have every ship that comes into New York Harbor, but without any of the gross trouble which those deluded men have who think they own them. I never concern myself about the crews or officers, about freight or voyage, about expenses or losses. All this would be wearisome. I have certain men who look after these things, while I am left to the pure enjoyment of their beauty, their coming and going, the singing of the anchor-hoisting crew.

3. I go about the wharves, watch the packages going in or coming out of ships. The outlandish inscriptions, the ceroons of indigo piled up, the stacks of tea-chests, the bales and boxes, the wine and spices, all pass under my inspection. I say inwardly to the men: Let these things be taken care of without troubling me," and I am obeyed. I have also many ship-yards, where they are building all kinds of craft.

Other men pay the money; I take the pleasure, and they the anxious care!

4. The Yacht Club have been very obliging to me. At great expense they have equipped unequaled boats, that suit me to a nicety. I ask nothing better. They are graceful as swans, beautiful as butterflies. If I had them all to care for, my pleasure would cost me rather dear. But, with extreme delicacy, the gentlemen of the Club relieve me of all that gross and material part of it, and leave me the boats, the pleasure, the poetry of the thing; and once or twice in a season I go down the bay, on a breezy morning, and see these fine fellows sail their craft, and I do believe that if they were doing it for their own selves, instead of for my enjoyment, they would not exert themselves more.

5. Then, how much have I to thank the enterprising shop-keepers, who dress out their windows with such beautiful things, changing them every few days lest I should tire. It is a question of duty and delicacy with me whether I ought not to go in often as thus: "Good morning, Mr. Stewart-good morning, Mr. Lord, or Mr. Taylor. I am greatly obliged to you for those fine goods in the window. I have enjoyed them amazingly, as I did the other patterns of last week. Pray, sirs, do not put yourselves to all this trouble on my account. Yet, if your kindness insists upon it, I shall be but too happy to come and look every day at such rare productions of the loom."

6. In the same way I am put under very great obligations to Messrs. Appleton & Co. It is affecting to see such kindness as they have shown, in going to great expense to procure fine stereoscopic views for the entertainment of their friends. It must be a great expense to them. But there they are displayed, free as grass in meadow or dandelions by the roadside, and any one can look for nothing, and without any other risk than that of purchasing!

7. On the same side of Broadway is a firm so benevolent that some Dickens ought to embalm them as a "Cheeryble Brothers," of course I mean Messrs. Williams and Stevens, who pay out great sums every year, in order to fill their windows with pleasant sights for passers-by. Some surly old rich men there are in New York who hoard and hide their

pictorial treasures.

Not so these benevolent gentlemen.

They let their light shine; and, with rare delicacy, lest the eye should tire of repetition, they change their pictures every week.

8. Then here is Mr. Seitz, who has ransacked all Europe for brilliant impressions of the rarest classical engravings, and has brought together a collection which can not probably be equaled or approached by any similar concern in the world. Only to think of such pains-taking kindness! And then if one loves books, how many are there besides Messrs. Appleton or Mr. Scribner who will rejoice in seeing you before their shelves, warming in kindred feeling to these children dressed in calf. I am sometimes overwhelmed with the sense of my riches in crockery and china, in sewing-machines, in jewelry, in furniture, in fine wall-paper, in new inventions.

9. And then how many men build handsome houses for me to look at, and fill their yards with flowers for me to nod to, and place the most beautiful faces of the family in the window to cheer me as I pass! Surely this is a kind-hearted world! And then how many fine country-seats are built, and grounds laid out, for my enjoyment. The fee-simple may be in some other man, but I own them. For he owns a thing who understands it best, and gets the most enjoyment from it!

10. This world was made for poor men, and therefore the greatest part of it was left out of doors, where every body could enjoy it. And though men have been building and fencing for six thousand years, they have succeeded in getting very little of the universal treasure sequestered and out of sight. Suppose you can not plow that fertile field, or own the crops, or reap the harvests, is there no pleasure to you in a fine field, a growing crop, a good harvest? In fact, I sometimes fancy that I enjoy plowing and mowing more when other people are engaged in them than if I were working myself. Sweat away, my hearties, I say; I am in the shade of this tree watching you, and enjoying the scene amazingly.

11. I love to go into the pasture and look over those sleek Devonshires. The owner is very kind. He has paid thousands of dollars for them; he has spent I know not how