all that which depends on the structure of society, and on the civil and social vicissitudes it has undergone. Tales are more fitted to exhibit the innate propensities of the race, modified by the forms of society established among them: clear the tales of the effects of this modification, and of partialities; and what remains will tend to show in what degree these innate propensities of the animal called man are different in different races. A judicious combination of the impressions from all species of light writing among a literary people, might serve very well as a basis for forming a distinct idea of their character, and one far more accurate than can be traced out from the reveries of superficial travellers.

In the following translations, great pains have been taken to preserve the substance and spirit of the jests, without deviating from the letter of the originals farther than was necessary to preserve an unrestrained and natural diction. The extreme difficulty of this must serve in some measure as an apology for the little blemishes, which, after all, will perhaps offend the eye of the too critical reader.

Jests from the Chinese.

1. A man sent a note to a rich neighbour he was on friendly terms with, to borrow an ox for a few hours. The worthy old man was no scholar, and happened to have a guest sitting with him at the time, that he did not wish to expose his ignorance to. Opening the note, and pretending to read it; after reflecting a moment, turning to the servant, "Very good," says he, "tell your master I'll come myself presently."

2. Ming Vang, one of the judges in the shades below, sent up an Imp to this world of light, to fetch him a doctor of repute and skill. "When," says he, "you come to doctors before whose door there are no complaining ghosts, that's the man." The imp takes the charge, and up he ascends to the regions of light. Every doctor's house he passed had lots of angry injured ghosts thronging about, wailing and complaining of their wrongs. At last he comes to a house where he sees only one single ghost flitting backwards and forwards before the door. "This is my man," says he. "This must be a successful practitioner, and have a great name, no doubt." In return to his inquiry, the answer was, "Sir, this gentleman set up business but yesterday."

3. A young student could not fill his sheet of Theme. The examiner put him in a low class, and ordered him a correction. Showing his papers afterwards to a friend, ""Twas that half-sheet vacant that ruined me," says he: "I had committed no other fault."-"Oh no, no," says his friend, after looking at the papers, "tis all very well as it is; if you had gone on as you began, and filled the sheet, and shown it up, you would have been beaten to death."

4. A vintner drenched his customers with sour wine. Every one made faces at it, and could hardly gulp it down. A sarcastic wag gravely remarked, "I know an excellent method of treating such wine as this, so as to take off all its sourness. The vintner eagerly asked how. 'Why," says he, "you must take the jars, and place them up

66

A profound knowledge of the state of feelings of a people, and of its causes, cannot be had without consulting their highest species of literature, and particu larly their sacred writings. The profoundest of all probably requires a personal intercourse with them.

side down with their bottom upwards. To these bottoms you must apply burning moxa seven times. On the morrow raise them up. There will be no sourness remaining."-" But," says the master, "how can you prevent the wine from all leaking out, so," "Well," replies the customer, " what then? What is the use of keeping such stuff as this?"

5. A portrait-painter, utterly without business, was advised by somebody to paint a likeness of himself and wife, sitting under the shade of a tree, and hang it up, that people might see and judge of his skill. He does so. One day his father-in-law came into the shop, and casting his eyes about, spies this new picture. "Pray, son-in-law," says he, "who is this woman you have painted here ?""Why, Sir, that's your own dear daughter."—" What!" says the father with some indignation, "do you paint my daughter sitting abroad with a stranger?”*

THE FUNERAL BRIDE.

An Italian Legend.

IT is but daybreak-yet Count Leon's halls
Are crowded with the young, the fair, the gay;
And there is music, and all sign of mirth-
The board that shines with silver, and with wine
Sparkling like liquid ruby in bright cups;
Flowers are strewn over the white marble floor;
And every beauty wears a snowy robe,
Blushing most consciously at the soft words
That dark-eyed cavaliers are whispering.
It is a bridal-but where is the bride?
Enter yon lofty room-the bride is there.

Jewels are by her that a king might give,

His favourite daughter's dower; and her bright hair
Has pearls that Cleopatra might have worn,
Pure as just from the ocean treasure-cave ;-
They are the lover's gifts, and he is one
Of Genoa's richest nobles; and the bride,
Genoa has no loveliness like hers.

The orange buds were placed upon her breast,'
Yet Isabel moved not: paused she to take
One last look on the sweet face in her mirror-
To watch the rainbow-light her coronet
Threw o'er her forehead from its many gems?
Oh, no! where is the conscious smile, the flush,
That should light lady's cheek at such a time?

Her mother saw-albeit she would not seem
To mark the absence of the maiden's mind,
But led her forth where friends and kinsmen stay'd
Her entrance in the gay and gorgeous hall:
Pity was mix'd with wonder as she came-
Wonder at her exceeding loveliness-
And pity-there were many knew her heart
And hand went not together. There she stood,
Like the sweet rising of the summer moon,-
Beautiful, but so very, very wan,

The crimson even from her lip was gone.

* Such an action would be inconsistent with the Chinese ideas of propriety,

She stood a statue which has every charm
Of woman's perfect beauty-but her blush.
The silver veil that o'er her forehead hung
Half hid its paleness, and the downcast eye
That droop'd with tears, seem'd only modest fear.
On they went to the temple, and they paused
Before the altar, where for the first time
The bridegroom leant close beside Isabel,-
And the next moment she lay on the steps,
White as the marble which her cold cheek press'd.
-The feast was turn'd to mourning, and the flowers,
The bridal flowers, bestrew'd her winding-sheet:
The instruments broke off in a dead pause,
And the rich festive board was spread in vain.—

Next night, by torchlight, did they bear the bride
Into the vault where slept her ancestors.
Wail'd the wild dirge, and waved the sable plume,
Spread the dark pall—and childless they went home.

But there was one whose misery was madness-
One to whom Isabel had been the hope
Which had made life endurable, who lived
For her, and in her-who, in childhood's days,
Had been the comrade of her summer walk.
They had grown up together, and had loved,
Uncheck'd, until Cesario's father died,
And the proud fortunes of his ancient house
Seem'd falling, and the orphan youth had left
But little, save his honourable name.

Then came the greeting cold, the careless look,
All that adversity must ever know;-
They parted, he and Isabel; but still
There is a hope in love, unquenchable,-

A flame, to which all things are oil, while safe
In the affection which it knows return'd.
And the young lover had some gallant dreams
Of wooing fame and fortune with his sword,
And by these winning his own Isabel.

At that time Genoa battled with the Turk,

And all her young nobility went forth

To earn their country and themselves renown:

Then home they came again, and with them brought Tidings of victory o'er the infidel.

Cesario was the first that sprung to land,

While his name rose in triumph from the crowd,
For his fame was before him; yet he made
No pause to listen, though his breast beat high
With honourable joy; but praise was not
Worth love to the young hero, and he sought
Tidings, sweet tidings of his Isabel.

He drew his cloak around his martial garb,
Look'd on the evening sky, which was to him
Like morning to the traveller, and found

The garden nook, where one small hidden bower

Was the green altar Memory raised to Love.

How much the heart, in its young hours of passion,

Delights to link itself with lovely things,

With moonlight, stars, and songs, fountains and flowers; As if foreboding made its sympathy,

Alike so very fair, so very frail!

It was within this bower they wont to meet,
And one amid their many parting vows
Was, that the twilight should be consecrate
Still to each other; and, though far away,

Their thoughts, at least, should blend. And Isabel
Vow'd to the pale Madonna that one hour;
And said that every setting sun should hear
Her orisons, within that lonely bower,
Rise for Cesario. It was twilight now,

And the young warrior deem'd that he should meet
In her green temple his beloved one.

'Twas a sweet solitude, and mingled well
Present and past together; myrtle stems

Shook silver flowers from their blossom'd boughs,
And in the shelter of a cypress tree

Stood the Madonna's image, the white arms

Cross'd in the deep humility of love.

Heavenward the sweet and solemn brow was raised,

And lips, whose earthly loveliness yet seem'd
To feel for earthly misery, had prayers
Upon their parted beauty; and around
Roses swung perfume from their purple urns.
He waited there until the laurel leaves,

With silver touched, grew mirrors for the moon ;
But yet she came not near-at length he saw
Her lute flung careless on the ground, with rust
Upon its silver strings, and by its side

A wreath of wither'd flowers. He gazed no more-
His heart was as if frozen-it had sunk

At once from its high pitch of happiness.

He sought her father's palace, for his fear

Was more than he could suffer :-there he learnt
His own, his beautiful, was in the grave;
And, it was told, laid there by love of him.

He stay'd no question, but rush'd to the church,
Where gold soon won his entrance to her tomb.

Scarce the lamp show'd the dim vault where he stood
Before the visible presence of the dead.

And down the warrior bow'd his face, and wept
For very agony, or ere he nerved

His eye to gaze on that once worshipp'd brow.
At last he look'd-'twas beautiful as life,-
The blue vein lighted up the drooping lid,-
The hair like sunshine lay upon the cheek,
Whose rose was yet like summer, and the lip,
He could not choose but kiss it, 'twas so red :-
He started from its touch, for it was warm,
And there was breath upon it,-and the heart,
As if it only lived to beat for him,

Now answer'd to his own. No more, no more!—
Why lengthen out the tale ?-words were not made
For happiness so much as sorrowing.

The legend of the Buried Bride is yet

A household history in Genoa,

Told by young lovers, in their day of hope,
Encouraging themselves: such is the fate
That waits fidelity.

L. E. L.

NICHOLAS, EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.

Nikolai Pavlovitch I. Emperor of all the Russias, was born on the 7th July, 1796. His infantile and juvenile days were passed in the same manner as those of Alexander and Constantine,* and which have been already sufficiently explained. The Empress-Mother may be reckoned to have been the chief director of the education of most of the members of the Imperial family, and it was lucky for them, as well as for Russia, that a person of such rank, knowledge, integrity, and virtue, gave herself up to so noble and important an Occupation. In this task, in so far as relates to the younger branches, she was greatly assisted by the advice and care of the Emperor Alexander, who was extremely anxious that Nicholas and Michael should become princes of distinction, and that either of them might be adequate for ably replacing him on the throne of the Tsars.

Nicholas was always of a mild, docile, and benevolent disposition, tinctured at times with caprice, obstinacy, and severity, more especially after he began to remark the influence of rank and power among the soldiery. Of late, however, while he has retained all his good qualities, we are informed that he has got rid of his bad passions, and now possesses the same calmness, placidness, and deliberation, as his predecessor on the throne. Indeed, it has long been a favourite idea in Russia, that he would, with time, become a second Alexander, and appearances seem to justify the prediction. The life, and especially the early life, of a good and tranquil prince, presents fewer materials for history, than that of an unprincipled and profligate one. Therefore, in the present case, we do not find many incidents worthy of remark, between the infancy and the manhood of the Emperor Nicholas the First.

:

Under the guardianship of General Lamsdorf, the education of Nicholas and his brother Michael was committed to able teachers, among whom two Germans, Mr. Henry Storch and Mr. Von Adelung, were the most distinguished the former is well known by his Picture of Petersburgh, his History of Russia, and his works on Polítical Economy; and the latter is celebrated as one of the first linguists of the age. From their long residence in Russia, as well as their acknowledged talents, these gentlemen were well fitted for the task imposed upon them, and both acquitted themselves with credit and with honour, and were well recompensed by Alexander. Storch's particular duty was to become what La Harpe had been to Alexander and Constantine; viz. to teach the Grand Dukes Nicholas and Michael geography, statistics, political economy, and the science of government; and more especially to give his pupils a complete knowledge of the people, the constitution, the administration, the laws, and the religion of the Russian empire. This was essential, as both princes had the probable, or at least the possible, chance of becoming monarch of Russia. Von Adelung instructed the Grand Dukes in languages and foreign literature.

Without any superior powers of mind, both the Grand Dukes evinced considerable aptitude for the acquisition of knowledge; they were diligent scholars, and their progress and acquirements pleased the Emperor Alexander and the Empress-Mother. They have received an education befitting their high rank in life, and, as many of the states of Europe had an opportunity of witnessing during their travels, few princes are more polished; they would be ornaments to any court.

Nicholas was always reckoned a young man of good principles, and is said to have shown much self-denial in respect of sensual gratifications; a circum

It ought to have been remarked in the sketches of the lives of Alexander and Constantine, that Catharine the Second took immense pains herself in their early education. She wrote tales for their amusement, and composed several historical and moral essays, which were afterwards collected, under the title "Bibliothèque des Grands-Ducs Alexandre et Constantine." Vide Tooke's Catharine II.