"It means, sir," replied Pump, "it means, the name of the novel."

"Flippant Flagstone,-for example, does a flagstone figure in your novel? and do you find it flippant?'"

"I conclude the work," replied Walter Pump, "with FLIPPANT FLAGSTONE in small caps.,-bring it in at the end of a sentence :—that makes it right."

"Mysterious still!" said Tom.

"Better so," said the literary man; "I will tell you a secret,—but it must go no farther.-A friend of mine, a little while since, made a great stir in the world, I'll tell you how he did it. He wrote a play; put into it everything he could think of,-angels, devils, dogs, horses, witches, and a man that talked so deeply no one could understand him; he gave out to the world, that in this play, he had developed a philosophical system of the most profound kind; and here and there, in his play, he put speeches and so on, that looked like philosophical stages. Well! no one could make head or tail of it;-every one's head was puzzled ;-it was translated, sir, into foreign languages, over and over again! so often, that people laughed at the idea of translating it any more;-every review admired its deepness, and made a pretty theory of its own, as to its meaning; every word was weighed and scraped, to see what it was made of;-my friend knew they would find no meaning, for he had taken good care to put none in it. He laughed in his sleeve. A good spec. that, sir, wasn't it? That's what I want to do with The Flippant Flagstone. Gentlemen, these are secrets of the prison-house: you will not betray them, I hope. Now let me read this chapter to you?"

"You say Miss Tabitha has turned you off?" said Tom, suddenly. "A-hem!" Walter Pump erected his shirt collar; "a strong phrase that!-as I say in my poem on Antibilious Pills."

"I understand," interrupted Tom Briton; "you would like still to win her?"

66

Like, dost thou say?-Alas, how weak are words!-Dote!— love!-delight!-enjoy !—

as I

'O who can bid the raptured heart
Express,-all on a sudden start,-
Its burning thought in words!'"

say in my poem of The Dead Take-in,'-an imitation of 'Paradise Lost!'"

The quotation coming this time without its usual preliminary notice, took us fairly by surprise.

"If then you would win her," said Tom," be earnest. Give her no peace! Call, write, speak, drown her with poetry; and, if all this fails, as a last resource go mad!"

Walter Pump rose from the table, and grasped Tom's hand."Noble adviser! Thanks! I will comply. If all else fail,—ay, if all fail,-madness itself shall stare with open eyes, to see how mad I'll be. Noble-hearted friend, how shall I reward thee? Ay, you must hear this chapter!" Hereupon Mr. Pump caught up a large sheet of coarse brown paper, and I noticed, for the first time, that his scrawls were now all executed upon material of the same quality.

"Surely, Mr. Pump," said Tom Briton, "you must find it very inconvenient to write your compositions on such stuff as this."

"Genius is negligent," replied the literary character; "I find every literary man has a peculiarity;-some can write only in their best clothes, that is expensive;-others cannot compose in slippers;some can put their thoughts alone on gilt edged satin paper,-I on whitey brown. These, sir, are the little peculiarities that distinguish men of genius. I will now read you

"We must really take leave," said Tom; "this gentleman,”— pointing to Mr. Snibs, "would be delighted

"I say, though--" began poor Snibs, in a tone of expostulation. "For myself and my friend," continued Tom, deaf to interruption, we have urgent business; this gentleman is at leisure, and would be proud to hear you. You will meet us at the hotel, Mr. Snibs, by four o'clock."

Thus speaking, Tom Briton made a hasty bow and disappeared, while I followed, leaving Mr. Snibs to enjoy the opening of "The Flippant Flagstone," a task which I heard commenced before we reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Now," said Tom, "let us go in search of the legatee."

My father but stay!-of what am I thinking ?-Bob Pike, Esq is now a man of importance in the world: let him have, therefore, a chapter to himself.

(To be continued.)

THE PYRAMIDS.

Cairo, August 16, 1841.

Of all man's works, resembling God's the most!
Simple! sublime! stupendous piles! the sight
In ranging o'er your vast proportions lost,

Of all their length, and breadth, and depth, and height,
Fails to conceive at once the mass aright-
Man's boast, yet humbling record of his doom!
Standing alone through years of trackless night!
Ah! what of man's survives beyond the gloom?
His palaces? his fortresses? alas! 'tis but his tomb.

Yet such a tomb that seems both from and for
Another world than this, and only seen
In crossing like an arch from shore to shore :
These joints so closely fitting, sharp, and clean,
Time hath not sown a seed of his between :
His siege hath been these forty centuries,
And waves not o'er it yet his flag of green.
While his hot breath in many a bitter breeze,

Hath melted all things human. All? ay-all but these.

3

Unchanged, nay more, unchanging though ye stand,
Changed is indeed the scene ye look upon :

Who now can point upon the drifted sand
Where stood vast Memphis? where illustrious On?
Where Zoan's mighty field? for record none
Is left their doom to tell, their site to trace,
Save where the plain bestrewn with many a stone,
And many a ruined-heap points, out the place

Where Nile has left his course to give proud Memphis space.
Art's infant home, and learning's earliest school!
The world's great college, mystic wisdom's shrine,
Blest seat of Joseph's wise and gentle rule,
Fair city of the sun! and what of thine
Remains to tell how glorious, how divine
Thy temples rose of old? how overthrown ?-
I saw upon the field of thy decline,

Thy last, forsaken, solitary stone,

Still pointing to the god for whom thy temples shone.
Even like the finger of unchanging hope,
That looks for better things beyond the sky,
Extending only wider in her scope,

The more the wish'd-for prospect seems to fly.
Tyrants have rear'd as mighty piles on high,
No trace is left of theirs, while this hath stood.
Was there a charm, that time hath passed it by?
Its founder wisest of Egyptian blood,

The gen'rous Osirtasen, Pharaoh great and good.
Here in his cell the Hebrew captive pined;
Here rode the second ruler of the land;
Here-where the corn is waving in the wind,
Here-where this lonely relic stone doth stand,
See the sharp tracings in an unknown hand!
Could we but read the story that it tells,
But though a tale we may not understand;
Yet many a vision through the fancy swells,

And vibrates many a chord where deeper feeling dwells.
More too than wonted changes, nature round

The desert only shifts to shift again,

And Nile's green valleys are no longer found,
When, swollen by the Aux of Libyan rain,

His rich and welcome flood o'erspreads the plain.
Unworn, unshaken, ye from year to year
Majestically standing, while in vain

Time rolls and tempests beat,-it would appear
As if indeed 'twere art that is eternal here.

Ye, who on many a bright and classic shore,
Perchance of Greece or Italy, have seen,
E'en where departed glory shines no more,
Nature as lovely still as she has been;

And if man tread not with as proud a mien,
Still woman's eye as bright, her cheek as fair,
Her voice as sweet, her forehead as serene,
On Misraim's land,-'tis not the same, for there
Time has e'en wasted that which he is wont to spare.

The change is not in Nile; upon his breast
The lotus cradles still as pure and white,
And still the date-palm is as gaily drest,
And the gold-flower'd acacia still as bright;
But where the garden and the waste unite,
Is not the place where they were wont to meet:
O'er Goshen's pleasant land has pass'd a blight;
The desert has encroach'd with stealthy feet,
And cover'd o'er the vale as though its winding-sheet.

And what her children now?-the trav'ler meets
Slave in the land where once his sires held sway;
The cringing Copt in Cairo's narrow streets
Condemn'd to serve the stranger of to-day,
And lick the dust for tyrant's petty pay,
Nor less his mind degraded. How has all
The splendour of his genius pass'd away!
He stands within his fathers' mightiest hall,
No pride inspires his eye-no glory gilds his fall.

In Memphis' halls the tones of sweetness flow'd,
Where mingle now harsh voices o'er the plain;
On Memphis' halls the form of beauty glow'd,
Such as her land shall never see again;
The cerements of the tomb alone contain
The form like hers of symmetry sublime :*
Athor, whose fair face shines on Dendra's fane,

The brighter Venus of a brighter clime,

These locks were raven once-the rust is that of time.

Yet time hath spared that which he doth destroy;
Spared-even as the caged lion spares

One victim-one to serve him for a toy.

With him his daily board and bed he shares,
And grown at last familiar, no more cares

A hungry eye towards him to allow

It is so here; and time no longer dares

To crumble down one fragment from that brow;

For he hath spared so long, he may not touch it now.

* The proportions of the mummy of a female being taken, were found to correspond closely with those of the Venus de' Medici, whence it is supposed that the ancient inhabitants of Egypt were of Caucasian descent. Athor, according to Wilkinson, was the Egyptian Venus.

Eternal rocks, that in the torrent stand!
The flood of ages howling at your feet;

What though the tide heave forth his boundless sand,
In vain attempt to conquer by deceit;
Serene ye stand, and smile at his defeat,
And man would place his image on this throne,
And thought to make it his abiding seat,*
Thereon surviving from the wreck alone,

To be, perhaps, a god to nations then unknown.

But time would not permit that man should ford
The stream of ages thus, and from its seat
Dash'd down the image of earth's haughty lord,
And trampled it to dust beneath his feet,
But left the noble pedestal complete.

Enough, vain man-enough-the mountain bears
Thy chisel on its brow-the storms that beat

Will soften, not efface, the scars it wears,

And men shall know for ever that the mighty work is theirs.

THE JANIZARY'S BRIDE.

BY J. ROSS.

AMURATH, the first of his name who wielded the Turkish scimetar, was a bold and vindictive prince, firm in his resolves, and devotedly attached to his country. Under him, the laws were respected, his dominions increased; and by him was formed the invincible body of the janizaries, who, by his successors, have been termed the "nerve and sinew" of the Ottoman Empire. By the sacred laws of Mohammed, the reigning prince, amongst other advantages, was entitled to the fifth part of the spoils and captives. This the prince perceived, and it was this which first directed his attention to the troops, and which afterwards tended to such beneficial results. In 1389, an edict was proclaimed throughout the empire, demanding that the stoutest and most beautiful Christian youths should be selected for his use. The natives, accustomed to obey their sultan and their laws, resigned without a murmur their hard-earned prize; and in a few days, thousands of the European captives were submitted to his care, to be educated in the Mohammedan religion and arms. This new militia was shortly after consecrated, and named by a celebrated dervish, who, whilst standing in the front of their ranks, stretched the sleeve of his gown over the head of the foremost soldier, and delivered his blessing in these swords:" Let them be called 'janizaries;' may their countenance be ever bright—their hand victorious; their swords

According to Herodotus, each of the principal pyramids was originally sur. mounted by a statue of its founder.