“Twice have I thus visited Alexander of Russia, but with like results.  Fate has decreed it otherwise.  Freedom cannot come to mankind from a throne.  But, from what my friend Develour has told you already, you may be astonished that we should have engaged, and still engage, in fruitless efforts, when we have gained from nature powers by which the sage is able to glance at the decrees.  Alas! this earthly frame loads us with physical clogs that weigh us down, and throw frequently a film before the eyes which make even the clearest dim and short-sighted."’

Here they were interrupted by a few raps at the inner door, which M. Delevert seemed to count with great attention; and then rising from his seat, he continued, without any change in the tone of his voice—­

“The reporters are coming in.  If you will accompany me to my reception-room, you will have an opportunity, shared by no other foreigner, to become acquainted with the mainsprings of this revolution; for such I am determined it shall become.  Alas! would that it were of a nature to be the last one!  But their haste prevents that altogether.  Come, they are waiting for me.”

(To be continued.)

* * * * *

THE MOURNER’S LAMENT.

BY PARK BENJAMIN.

  The night-breeze fans my faded cheek,
    And lifts my damp and flowing hair—­
  And lo! methinks sweet voices speak,
    Like harp-strings to the viewless air;
  While in the sky’s unmeasured scroll,
  The burning stars forever roll,
  Changeless as heaven, and deeply bright—­
  Fair emblems of a world of light!

  Oh, bathe my temples with thy dew,
    Sweet Evening, dearest parent mild,
  And from thy curtained home of blue,
    Bend calmly o’er thy tearful child: 
  For, when I feel, so soft and bland,
  The pressure of thy tender hand,
  I dream I rest in peace the while,
  Cradled beneath my mother’s smile.

  That mother sleeps! the snow-white shroud
    Enfolds her stainless bosom now,
  And, like bright hues on some pale cloud,
    Rose-leaves were woven round her brow. 
  I wreathed them that to heaven’s pure bowers,
  Surrounded with the breath of flowers,
  Her soul might soar through mists divine,
  Like incense from a holy shrine.

  How changed my being! moments sweep
    Down, down the eternal gulf of Time;
  And we, like gilded bubbles, keep
    Our course amid their waves sublime,
  Till, mingled with the foam and spray,
  We flash our lives of joy away;
  Or, drifting on through Sorrow’s shades,
  Sink as a gleam of starlight fades.

  Alone! alone!  I’m left alone—­
    A creature born to grieve and die;
  But, while upon Night’s sapphire throne,
    In yonder broad and glorious sky,
  I gaze in sadness—­lo!  I feel
  A vision of the future steal
  Across my sight, like some faint ray
  That glimmers from the fount of day.