THE COLERAINE SALMON LEAP.

CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME, 1650.

"So numerous are the fish frequenting this river, that the average amount is estimated at £1,000 per annum; and on one occasion 1,500 salmon were taken at a single drag of the net."-I, however, have only celebrated the exploits of a single fisher.

I remember a curious exploit of a gentleman, who went out in the morning to shoot, and shot a salmon; in the afternoon to fish, and caught a hare. The fact was, there had been a flood, which had dashed a salmon on the banks, where a gun was the readiest means of despatching it. The same flood had swept away a hare, and the line furnished the means of its capture.

I was dreaming that I went
Through the ocean element,
Like a conqueror on my way,

Shark and sword-fish were the prey;
With a spear I smote the waves
Down amid the coral caves.
I have waken'd, let me go
Where the mountain torrents flow.

I will realize my dream In the dashing of the stream; Pouring 'mid the summer woods All the gather'd winter floods; When the ice and when the snow Melt into a sunny flow:

'Mid the bright waves leaping forth Comes the salmon from the north.

Let the meaner angler seek, In the willow-hidden creek, For the trout whose spotted side Crimsons like a star the tide; Let him 'mid dark waters search For the carp and for the perch; While the silver graylings shiver Like bright arrows in a quiver.

Mine a nobler prey shall be,
Guest from yonder sounding sea,
Comes the salmon proud and strong,
Darting like a ray along.

For his lure, the artful fly
Does the peacock's plume supply;
Royal bird, whose radiant wing
Suiteth with the river king.

See, he bears the line away, Round him flies the snowy spray. I have given him length and line, One last struggle, he is mine. Fling the green arbutus bough On the glowing ashes now; Let the cup with red wine foam,— I have brought the salmon home.

"AT Wycoller Hall the family usually kept open house the twelve days at Christmas. Their entertainment was a large hall of curious ashler work, a long table, plenty of furmenty, like new milk, in a morning, made of husked wheat, boiled and roasted beef, with a fat goose, and a pudding, with plenty of good beer for dinner. A round about fireplace, surrounded with stone benches, where the young folks sat and cracked nuts, and diverted themselves, and in this manner the sons and daughters got matching without going much from home."-Family MS. of the Cunliffes.

We shall gather every evening

Beside the ancient hearth,
But one vacant place beside it,
Would darken all its mirth.
At any time but Christmas

We give you leave to roam,

But now come back, my brother,
You are so miss'd at home.

Christmas is coming, my brother dear,

She comes with the midnight-meet not her cold eye,

It shines but on those who are fated to die.

She comes with the midnight, when spirits have

power

She comes with the midnight, and evil the hour.

She comes from the grave, with its secret and pain, The grave which recalleth its truant again.

air;

Then, stranger, I warn thee-O! slumber not there.

THE QUEEN'S ROOM:

SIZERGH HALL, WESTMORLAND.

Tradition has conferred on this apartment the name of the Queen's Room. Catherine Parr, the last queen of Henry VIII., is said to have occupied this apartment for several nights after the king's death.

Ar, regal the chamber, and stately the gloom
That the old oaken panels fling over the room;
The carving is gilded-the hangings are rare;
Yet, stranger, I warn thee-O! slumber not there.

For when the lamp dies in the dead of the night,
And when the wan moon has exhausted her light,
By that mirror of silver a pale lady stands,
And rends her long tresses and wrings her white

hands.

Years have pass'd since that lady smooth'd back her bright hair,

And ask'd of the glass if her image was fair:
It was not for her husband she braided its gold,
Or flung from its brightness the veil's silver fold.

HINDOO TEMPLES AND PALACE AT MADURA.*

LITTLE the present careth for the past,
Too little, 'tis not well!
For careless ones we dwell
Beneath the mighty shadow it has cast.

Its blessings are around our daily path,
We share its mighty spoil,
We live on its great toil,
And yet how little gratitude it hath.
Look on these temples, they were as a shrine

From whence to the far north

The human mind went forth,
The moral sunshine of a world divine—

The light that is of heaven shone there the first,
The elements of art,
Mankind's diviner part;

There was young science in its cradle nurst.

*MADURA was at one period the centre of "might, majesty, and dominion" in India. One of its ancient

rose

Was reddening in beauty, like sunshine on snows. He slew her the glass was yet warm with her breath

She turn'd to her lover-she turn'd to her death.

Less crimson the wine-cup that stood at her side, Than the red stream which gush'd with her life on its tide,

A groan and a gasp, and the struggle is o'erThe blood which he spilt is yet there on the floor.

splendid scale to Augustus Cæsar at Rome. It was also the spot, from the meridian of which the Hindoo astronomers made their calculations. The mode of calculating by the ten numerals, after having been invented and long prac tised here, was first introduced into Europe by the Arabs. Here, too, was the celebrated college whose influence was exercised so beneficially on the intellect of India; though at present much decayed, it is still in great repute for the magnificent ruins which surround it, and for the fine pagoda and choultry in its neighbourhood.

Among other anecdotes connected with the spirit of improvement now alive in India, Sir Alexander Johnstone, whose kindness in communicating information I cannot sufficiently acknowledge, told me one, of his relative, the late Mrs. Damer. The question of female education was much disputed, and popular opinion was certainly against it. Sir Alexander, however, brought this instance of a

soul

No bell on the depths of the midnight to toll;
Unshrouded, uncoffin'd they laid her to rest,
The grave was unholy-the ground was unblest.

(10)

advantages with the highest degree of cultivation. At his request, Mrs. Damer made a bust of Nelson, and sent it as a present to the king of Tanjore. It was received with great attention, and the skill with which it was executed made a strong impression in favour of female education. 2 d

THE

PALACE CALLED BEAUTIFUL.

"He lifted up his eyes, and behold there was a very stately palace before him, the name of which was 'Beautiful. Looking very narrowly before him as he went, he espied two lions in the way."-Pilgrim's Progress.

He wander'd on a weary way,
A weary way he wander'd on;
Till eagerness and fortitude-

Till all but hope were gone.

The night fell dark around his steps,
And terrible is falling night,
For cheerful thoughts of enterprise
Attend on morning's light.

And there were Lions in the wayThe lion mighty in his wrathNo marvel that the traveller shrank From such a dreary path.

Then spake the Porter of the house,

The house that was so fair,

The house whose name was BEAUTIFUL, And bade him not despair.

Chain'd were the Lions on his way,
And he could safely pass along,
If that he had a steadfast hope,
And if his faith were strong.

He enter'd in the lovely place:

Four maidens at the door,

With wine, and bread, and pleasant words,

His fainting soul restore.

Next morn they furnish'd him with arms,
That in the sunshine glow'd.
Who were the maidens setting forth
The Christian on his road?

Prudence and Piety, intent

On every work of Love,

And Charity, whose youthful heart Is tender as the dove.

VALLEY OF LINMOUTH:

NORTH DEVON.

"Tis a gloomy place, but I like it well; There would I choose, alone, to dwell; The rocks around should friends supply, Less cold, less hard than those I fly.

I do not care for the rosy flowers,
On them is the shadow of other hours.
I gather'd a rose beneath the sun,
In an hour its lovely life was done.

No! here I will find for myself a cave,
Half a home, and half a grave;
Dark in the noontide hour 'twill be-
Dark-and the darker the fitter for me.

The hills are rough, and the hills are bare,
More like the heart that harboureth there.
I shall hear the storm as it rolleth by,

I shall watch the clouds that shadow the sky.

All I ask is never to hear

Of human hope or of human fear;

I have had enough of both in my day,
And I know how their seeming passes away.

The wind may sometimes bear along
The distant sound of the shepherd's song;
I shall rejoice that no more I share
In fancies and follies that make his care.

The falling leaves will make my bed, The granite stone will pillow my head; The cave in the rock is a fitting shrine For heart so wither'd and worn as mine.

PULO PENANG.

THE sail from Penang to Singapore presents the loveliest succession of scenery which ocean can produce. The sea is studded with tracts of fairy land, glittering like emeralds in the golden sun, where the waving trees dip their long branches into the water; where the smooth sands are covered with shells, sparkling with all the hues of the prism. Birds, too, of Orient pluinage, skim over the surface of the silver sea, or glance in and out from groves laden with fruit and flowers. The ocean land, locked by these flowery labyrinths, retains its tranquillity even during the summer tempests.

NEVER-that fairy isle can be

No lengthen'd resting-place of mine;

I love it dearest when I see

Its shadow lengthen on the brine: And then my heart with softness fills; I think upon its palmy groves,

I hear the murmur of its rills,
I hear the singing of its doves.

I see the white catalpa bend,
As when beneath thy whiter hand,
The buds in snowy showers descend,
To wreath for thy dark hair a band:

And then I sigh to be on shore
To linger languid at thy side;
I think that I will part no more
From thee, my own, my idol bride.

O, only those who part can know
How dear the love that absence brings;
C'er wind and wave my fancies go,

As if my very heart had wings:
And yet, when listless on the land,
Impatient in my happiness,
I long again to grasp my brand,
Again I long the deck to press.

I love to see my red flag sweep;
I love to see my sabre shine;
Almost as much I love the deep

As I love those sweet eyes of thine.

I bring thee treasures from afar;

For thy dear sake I sweep the sea; But for the honour won in war,

I should be too unworthy thee.

SCENES IN LONDON:

OXFORD STREET.

LIFE in its many shapes was there,

The busy and the gay;

Faces that seemed too young and fair

To ever know decay.

Wealth, with its waste, its pomp, and pride,

Led forth its glittering train; And poverty's pale face beside

Ask'd aid, and ask'd in vain.

The shops were fill'd from many lands-
Toys, silks, and gems, and flowers;
The patient work of many hands,
The hope of many hours.

Yet 'mid life's myriad shapes around

There was a sigh of death;

There rose a melancholy sound,
The bugle's wailing breath.

They play'd a mournful Scottish air

That on its native hill

Had caught the notes the night winds bear From weeping leaf and rill.

"Twas strange to hear that sad wild strain
Its warning music shed,
Rising above life's busy train,
In memory of the dead.

There came a slow and silent band
In sad procession by :
Reversed the musket in each hand,
And downcast every eye.

They bore the soldier to his grave;
The sympathizing crowd
Divided like a parted wave

By some dark vessel plough'd.

A moment, and all sounds were mute, For awe was over all;

You heard the soldier's measured foot,
The bugle's wailing call.

The gloves were laid upon the bier,
The helmet and the sword;

The drooping war-horse followed near,
As he, too, mourn'd his lord.

Slowly-I follow'd too-they led
To where a church arose,

And flung a shadow o'er the dead
Deep as their own repose.

Green trees were there-beneath the shade

Of one was made a grave;

And there to his last rest was laid

The weary and the brave.

They fired a volley o'er the bed

Of an unconscious ear; The birds sprang fluttering overhead, Struck with a sudden fear.

All left the ground; the bugles died
Away upon the wind;
Only the tree's green branches sigh'd
O'er him they left behind.

Again, all fill'd with light and breath,
I pass'd the crowded street-
O, great extremes of life and death,
How strangely do ye meet!

ROBERT BLAKE,

ADMIRAL AND GENERAL OF THE PARLIAMENTARY FORCES

WHAT! Will they sweep the channels,
And brave us as they go!
There's no place in English annals

For the triumph of a foe.

Thus spoke the English admiral,
His hand was on his sword;
Hurrah! was the sole answer
From every man on board.