PUCK’S TALE; OR, THE LOVE OF A SPIRIT.

“Puck — Puck, where are you?”— “Here, most royal Oberon!”— “Here!” repeated the first voice, in a sharp key of irascibility. “How, in Mab’s name, can I tell where here is?”—” Ha — ha — ha!”— “Ho, laughest — thou loyal!” cried Oberon, in high wrath. “Come forth instantly, or I will shut thee up in an oak tree for seven ages; even as I would serve the reptile that mortals term a toad. (This threat accounts for one of the most singular facts In Natural History!)”—” If I come forth, shall I have pardon full and free?”—” The great are merciful!” answered Oberon. “I love not general observations,” replied the voice. “Somehow or other, they never apply to particular instances!”—” Well then, I promise thee, by my crown and sceptre, that thou shalt have full pardon.”

“Behold me, then,” was the answer; and suddenly the inverted acorn-cup, upon which his majesty of all the fairies was sitting, began to heave in so rebellious a manner, as to dislodge its royal occupier, with a greater abruptness than was at all agreeable to the dignity of that personage. “How now, thou naughty fay,” cried the king, in extreme displeasure, as a small figure crept out of the acorn-cup; “how now?” Puck saw he had proceeded too far. “Forgive me, mighty Oberon!” said he, kneeling, and settling his features into an air of repentant gravity. The good-natured monarch was easily appeased. “Rise!” said he. “But what work hast thou been employed in — see, thou hast a great rent in thy best bees’-wing jacket, and thy cobweb inexpressibles are all over dust?”—” I got these tokens of toil and labour,” answered Puck, rising, and throwing back his head with the air of a Talma, in defending your majesty from your enemies, the ants; it was for this, that I pursued them into the acorn-cup, where they were laying a snare to attack you!”—” Ants!” repeated the king, with a brave look. “Ants! what care we forants?” — and so saying, the monarch placed his hand upon his sword, made of a hornet’s sting, of the most approved metal, and turned his eye round with an air, in which, perhaps, caution was not altogether unmingled with defiance. At a short distance, he beheld, slowly approaching towards him, three ants of the largest dimensions. “Puck,” said the king, with a quick tone, “this is an untoward spot — catch me you May-fly, we will have a ride!” The May-fly was caught, and Oberon mounted. “Where shall I tell him to go?” said Puck, touching his hat, made out of a beetle’s wing. “To the fountain,” said the king; and to the fountain they went. It was a beautiful spot, in the midst of a wood. The fountain was small, but of the clearest and most glassy water; the banks were covered with wild thyme and harebells, and the sun-loving cowslip. Here and there, at the shallow edge of the water, were clusters of reeds and water lilies. A few fish, of the silver-scaled species of the roach, were basking in the sunniest parts of the fountain; and the wind, which came from the south, and was very faint, broke out through the undulating boughs which hung over the waters, and made the happy waves dance indolently to its music. Just over the spot on Which the fairy equipage rested, a large dragon fly had been wandering, and brushed out with his wings a thousand odours, too faint for mortal sense, but which were like breathings from a ruby to the fairies. They alighted front their steed, and gave him, in reward for his labour, a charm to preserve him from his great enemy, the trout, for the rest of his life. Nay, I have heard, that it extended even to a universal protection from the whole finny race; even from the lust of the salmon, to the volatile flippancy of the dace. “This is pleasant!” said Oberon, throwing himself under the shade of a young sweet-briar; while Puck seated himself, at the head of the king, upon a beautiful large daisy. “Fetch me,” said Oberon, “a cup of May-dew; by Mab’s under lip, I am exceeding thirsty.” Puck gathered a harebell, and carrying it into a cool brake, which the sun had not yet pierced, filled it With three drops of the most transparent dew. Oberon took a most hearty draught; and then, settling himself once more under his sweet-briar, said— “Thanks, good Puck; and now tell us a story.”—” A story?” said Puck. “Your majesty must really excuse me; I never had the least voice for reciting! and besides, I am so terribly hoarse, with a severe cold I got the other night, by falling into a damp tankard in a gudewife’s cupboard, I had not an opportunity of changing my clothes for three hours afterwards.”—” Pooh!” said Oberon. “Thou art more full of airs than Mab’s eldest and ugliest maid of honour; come, begin.”—” Well,” said Puck, hemming thrice, and using a violet leaf by way of a fan; “well, what sort of a story will your majesty have?”—” Not melancholy,” replied Oberon, “for I love not weeping; nor gay, for it is too warm for laughter: but something hum drum, and sober, and love-sick, as befits the day.”—” Your majesty shall be obeyed,” said the fairy, and accordingly, he thus began.

“Your majesty must know that, about fifty, years since, according to the chronology of mortals, there lived a youth, named Psychus. He was a strange, wild, solitary youth, that loved to wander alone till he came to some spot less familiar to him than those he had passed, and then he would throw himself, like your majesty, beside some tree, and look listlessly at the green boughs, playing with the young west winds and the idle sunbeams. But as he was approaching towards manhood, a singular change become visible in his appearance — his complexion softened into a more delicate and transparent hue — a golden light diffused itself over the rich chestnut locks which fell over his forehead — his form became more fragile, but more exquisitely proportioned, than that of any other mortal existing; and yet he possessed such strength, that he could fell the buffalo with a blow, and almost pluck up the young tree, which bore the acorn your majesty was sitting on when your servant vanquished your enemies the ants — and over the youth’s eyes and lips, and cheeks, there was spread a beauty so dazzling, and yet so indefinite and dissimilar from that of earth, that none could look upon it without love, mingled with wonder, not only at its excess, but its peculiarity. And whenever he lay down at noon-day, under the shade, a thousand flowers sprang up beneath him, and the boughs clung closer to each other, to thicken the shelter from the sun; and though the day to all else was utterly still and sultry, yet for him there was a light, undulating breeze, which “streaked his bosom with its gentle fan, and played the wanton with him through the leaves.”

“Where do those lines come from, Puck?” said the king, “I do not remember them, in my edition of the fairy poets.”—” They are somewhat altered from an old English poet, please, your majesty,” answered Puck. “I love the old English poets!” quoth King Oberon, “but proceed.”—” By degrees,” continued Puck, “these distinctions from the ordinary race of men increased. At length, a beautiful bird, of the most delicate sky-blue plumage, used to hover around him wherever he went, and sing such soft and low tunes, that the very gnomes would pause from their evil works, to listen to a melody that might have come from the rejoicing hymns of the distant stars. But there were times when Psychus felt a burning and mysterious spirit within him — an irresistible and mighty—”

“Nonsense,” said King Oberon, whose taste was formed in the fastidiousness of the old school, “tell us, in plain fairyism, what thou meanest — what was this burning spirit?”—” It was Poetry, please your majesty,” answered Puck; “this faculty, I need not inform you, is in no case natural to mortals, it is the gift and inspiration of the female spirits of the air; who borrow a human language to utter an Immortal’s feelings, and breathe the thoughts of the loftiest worlds over the sterility of that which is the meanest. But your majesty also knows, that there are many mortals who pretend to the gift of poetry, and pour forth curious imitations of the dictates of the æther spirits; now these are inspired by grotesque little imps, with hump backs, and blear eyes, and lame legs, that hobble about in fogs and damps, and, entering into the brains of young mortals, between the age of sixteen and thirty, produce all those deformed, obscure, limping productions, with which, in every age, the world has been inundated. But to proceed; the verses of Psychus were so exquisite — they breathed such a depth and purity of thought — such a glow of language, and elevation of fancy — that all his nation became enraptured with them; they were hymned in the churches, sang in the bower, and hurdy-gurdied about the streets: nothing but the Poetry of Psychus was endured. The maidens used to dream over them by night, and awake in the morning to wish the beautiful young poet would woo as glowingly with his lips as his lute; and to vow that, in that case, the feet in his verses should not be the only ones that would run Off so smoothly.

“One day, in our own bright month of June, Psychus wandered into a wood; he came at last to a spot more open than the rest; the winds were as still as night, scarcely a leaf stirred; the turf in this glade was as smooth as if a fairy had watched over it, and covered with flowers of a pale blue, and of a shape and odour that Psychus had never before seen or felt. Pleased With so beautiful a spot, and wearied by his rambles, and the heat of the day, he threw himself Upon a bank of the softest moss, and, lying With his face upwards, felt the sunbeams breaking through the green leaves to kiss the delicate beauty of his brow and cheek. By degrees, he fell into a light slumber. And then (though, as I told your majesty, not a single breath of air seemed awake) a violent agitation came over the trees and wild flowers around him; and exactly over him, the eye of a fairy might have discovered a pale faint star: from this orb, a blue column of denser air began to form, till it reached the turf upon which the boy’s head lay, and then the star and the column disappeared; the leaves and flowers resumed their stillness; and close beside the youth, stood one of those wonderful shapes, composed solely of the purest æther, and the most southern sun-beams — one of those all glorious, yet all tender spirits, who hold the moon as their palace, and the air as their illimitable realm; — she leant over him for an instant in silence, and then, putting aside the rich disordered curls that fell over his face, she kissed each of his eyes three times; as she did so, her wings, waving slightly to and fro, scattered around all the perfumes they had been gathering among the azure flowers, and the amaranthine allies of her home. The lips of the boy parted as he felt them, and he smiled, as if in the pleasure of a dream. ‘Alas,’ said the spirit, ‘for what purpose have I loved you so long — all the gifts I shower upon you, you can never know — all the passion which dictates them, you can never feel. — You imagine that Nature, not I, made you the being that you are — that it was she who robbed the midnight skies around the love-star, to deepen the azure of your eyes — who stole from, the waters of the west, the light the setting sun had bequeathed them, and mingled its gold with the darker luxuriance of your hair — who wandered from star to star, as they arose in the evening, to breathe over your soul, and lyre the melody of their rejoicing hymns! Oh! when the morning came, laughing through your lattice, it was I who stole upon its beams to print the earliest kiss upon your cheeks. It was I who hung their spells upon the mountain, the valley, and the river, that to me, through them, your first vague and indefinite idolatry might be given. Were the winds of the east too cold, my sighs warmed the atmosphere around you; — was the sun too enamoured of your cheek, my wings fanned it as cool as the pomegranates of Areron. I watched by you when you slept, as now, in the noon-day, forbade the viper and the hornet to approach you. But me — me you cannot thank — nor touch — nor see. I would give for one of your kisses all the bowers and the fountains of the moon, and my lips seem to wither away in pining after their food!’ With these words, the beautiful spirit threw herself beside the mortal, and wept bitterly. Presently, a slight rustling was heard in the moss-bank, upon which the boy’s head was laid, and a small quaint figure, in a parti-coloured vest, suddenly appeared before her. The expression of his countenance was kind, yet arch, as if impressed with the mingled love of doing mischief, and doing good,”—” Why, Puck,” murmured Oberon, who was little more awake than Psychus himself, “Why, Puck, the little figure resembles you! “Perhaps it was I!” answered the favourite, gravely; and then continued his tale. “‘Daughter of the air,’ said the figure, ‘console yourself with a less exalted nature than your’s; we have yet powers that can alleviate your distress; but there is a more effectual court than our’s, to which you can apply. The Spirit of Love, who resides in the evening star, can grant you all you desire. — Repair to her!’ So saying, the figure, entering into a small cavity among the moss, disappeared.

“The spirit slowly arose from the earth; she pressed one long last kiss upon the lips of the sleeper, and, looking up, as if in command, the star and column became again perceptible. She spread her wings along the supporting air which the column formed, and the star (which served as her guide, and felt her commands by volition) ascended rapidly. Towards the evening, the spirit found herself in a much finer air than any which surrounds the ordinary luminaries of our system. She paused for a moment, to inhale the exquisite transport which the purity of the atmosphere afforded her; below her eyes lay the wonderful gardens of the evening star; her hopes redoubled at the sight; she resumed her course till her guide stopped, and the column, descending slowly from it, placed her upon the ground of this new star. Immediately a delicious languor crept into every part of her soul — the air, of a deep rose colour, literally teemed with music — there was not a sound from the wind, the flowers, the trees — above, beneath, around, there was not a sound, not a breath — but all was the softest harmony. She felt herself glide involuntarily along, as if in a gentle current, till she came to a tent of rose leaves, the veins of which undulated softly to and fro, giving glimpses within of fountains, where the summer light seemed to have been caught, and charmed into sleep. Amidst these was an inner tent, that half developed a couch, formed of crimson flowers of inexpressible beauty. The spirit paused at the threshold of the outer tent, a faint trembling crept over her — he felt the thrill of the presence in which she stood. ‘Mightiest — Eternal — Universal Spirit’ (she said, as she sank upon the earth), ‘whose presence floats like an atmosphere around every world in the creation, listen to one whose whole frame has become a temple for your worship!’ The curtains of the inner tent moved faintly as the spirit spoke, and a voice came out, so soft, so drowned in its sweetness, you might have fancied it was dying for love of its own melody. ‘Daughter of the Air,’ it murmured, ‘I know your history, and your love. I can give you to Psychus, as his bride, if you can consent to put away your divinity, and become, for a while, a mortal; but, beware! there is, in the love of men, a dark and debasing essence — a contagion fatal to all the purer and nobler particles of your nature — his passion can degrade, and lower beneath himself, even the perfection of a spirit.’— ‘Alas!’ cried the beautiful air nymph, ‘you know not Psychus. He has not a fault that other mortals possess. His love would exalt, rather than debase — purify my nature, rather than pollute it.’ A bright, yet soft light flushed mellowly over the tent. The Spirit within smiled. ‘Daughter,’ said the voice, ‘you shall have your wish, as far as my authority can extend! Hear the limit of its power. He shall love you as man never loved before — through sorrow — sickness — change. Ye shall cling unalterably together. If your love can exalt his nature to your own, he shall never die — he shall enter into the rank of your order, and partake of your love to immortality. But if his star gain an ascendancy over your’s — if he lower you from your divinity, even below the standard of his race — in that instant, when the measure of your degradation is full, you shall separate from him for ever.— ‘Joy — joy,’ exclaimed the supplicant.— ‘I shall love — and I shall possess him to eternity.’ Again the rosy light of the Love Spirit’s smile broke over the tent. ‘Enter, my child and subject,” said the voice, ‘and I will teach you the method to have your will — enter.’ And as she spoke, ten thousand birds, whose plumage was made of rainbows, clapped their wings, and, lifting up their notes in one full chorus, repeated— ‘Enter.’

“Now, your majesty,” continued Puck, “I come to the second part of my story.

“To the city where Psychus dwelt, there came a family to reside. It consisted of an old man, who had apparently been a soldier, whose manner and way of life bespoke pride, rank, and poverty; his wife, a good, gentle, and affectionate woman, about the same age as himself; and an only daughter, in whom every affection, every soft and fond feeling in the nature of both, seemed absorbed and concentered; in truth, she deserved their love. She was as beautiful as a fairy — her eyes were as blue as violets; her complexion so clear and dazzling, not even our sight could have discovered a fault in it — her hair was of that hue which is like gold in the sun, but in the shade seems even of a dark chesnut — her step was so light, she might have trod on the wings of a butterfly without brushing off a plume — and withal, there was a youth, a joyousness, a freshness, a dawn about her face and form, that seemed as if the May morning had been her godfather, and given her his own attributes as a gift. All the city was in commotion. The new beauty attracted crowds wherever she went. Even Psychus and his poetry were forgotten. Perhaps the boy, who was vain enough of himself, was not a little piqued at his rival — at all events, though he had not yet seen her, he affected to decry, and even threatened to satirize her. One evening, there was a meeting in the gardens of the city, of all that was young, beautiful, and wealthy among the inhabitants. Thither went Ione, the fair stranger. The crowd assembled around her more numerous and more admiringly than ever — wherever she bent her ear, it caught a new accent of wonder and homage. She leant upon the arms of her parents, with downcast eyes, and a cheek blushing, like sunset, into fresh beauties every instant; they passed over a light bridge, that was the path across one of the softest and stillest streams that ever dept in the twilight; against one of the columns of the balustrade leant a youth attired in & dress of the richest dye; his locks perfumed the air with which they played. Had a fairy seen him, he would have resolved, at the first glance, to have played him a trick for his coxcombry; but he would have determined, on the second, to forego it; for, in spite of the pretension of his dress, there was a loftiness, an energy in his air, a kinglike pride upon his brow and tip, and the light but majestic symmetry of his figure, that made one forget every minor impression, in the respect and even awe which that high and glorious cast of beauty involuntarily commanded.

“Ione’s eye caught his — she started — she saw Psychus and her fate. But he — what words can express his admiration?” — M Stop,” said King Oberon; “stop, Mr. Puck, and just explain to me who this lone is; and how, if she be what I suspect her, she ever came into her present form?”

“Your majesty,” replied the fairy, “has, with your usual penetration, doubtless discovered that lone and the air spirit are one. All that I can explain to you, with respect to the metamorphosis, is this, — the real daughter of the old couple was thrown into a trance, and quietly deposited in one of the most beautiful bowers of the evening star; the spirit assumes her form, and only retains the sense of her past state, and the condition of her present, through a dim and dream-like recollection; — she supposes herself to be mortal — to be really the being she appears; she imagines she owes to her reputed parents the greatest gratitude and affection, and all that she derives from her divinity is a higher degree of beauty, intellect, gentleness, and purity.”—” Proceed,” said Oberon; “but first smooth down this blade of grass, crumpled under me, of a surety it has cut through my inexpressibles.” — Puck did as he was commanded, and continued.—” Prom the moment Psychus first saw lone, he lost no time in gaining, first, her acquaintance; and secondly, her love — to succeed in the first was to triumph over the latter. They loved each other with an idolatry and enthusiasm, of which your majesty can only form an idea by recalling your courtship with Titania.”—” Humph,” murmured his majesty, stretching his royal head with a discontented air.—” But the birth and fortune of Psychus,” resumed Puck, “ were among the loftiest of the land. Every obstacle was thrown in the lover’s way; the stern old father of lone, suspecting the purity of the youth’s motives, and irritated by the anger of his relatives, forbade lone to see him, or to converse with him. ‘Meet me once more, I implore you,’ wrote the lover, ‘or you condemn me to wretchedness and to death.’ How, after such an alternative, could lone refuse. In the first evening that she met him, there was one small dark cloud in the sky; as it passed over the evening star she heard a faint roll of thunder, which, to her ears, seemed to murmur ‘Beware!’ She met him at first in sorrow, in shame, and tears — she listened to his vows, and how could she keep a resolution of meeting him no more?

‘Where have you been?’ said her father, at her return in the evening. Her voice trembled.—’ To our neighbour, Glycera’s,’ she replied. It was the first falsehood she had ever told, and it was the necessary parent of a thousand others — from that time she lived in a perpetual system of deceit and duplicity. Psychus wooed her in the burning language which a love the most passionate and ardent dictated. Young and innocent as she was, she knew not his object, and she was terrified, rather than inflamed, by the eagerness with which it was urged; but nature among mortals, is a powerful enemy to the virtues we are taught only by art. By degrees she caught a portion of the warmth and the wishes of her lover — desires hitherto unknown, and still uncomprehended, entered into a spirit hitherto so pure. She became restless and disturbed; the duties and the occupations which had so long been her pleasure to perform, became irksome at first, and afterwards altogether neglected. All the day, but the one hour in which she saw Psychus, was wasted away in an idleness more bitter than labour, and more wearisome than its fatigue; — she ceased to watch the looks, and consult the comforts of her parents; — her steps went sorely to the temple — her heart was always too engrossed to mingle with its devotions. Thus passed weeks and months; at length she began to perceive a change in the appearance and manner of her lover. He was dejected, thoughtful, and melancholy — wept in gloomy reflection, where he once breathed only the rapture and passion, and often seeming to forget her presence in that of some haunting and oppressive recollection. One evening he was more than usually disturbed — his step was hurried — and as she saw him approach, she was struck by the livid paleness of his cheek, and the wild but determined expression which reigned over the lofty and eloquent character of his beauty. ‘lone,’ he said, ‘I see you for the last time; I am an outlaw from this country; I quit it to-night for ever.’ She threw herself into his arms and fainted. Wrapt in those arms, and warm with the pressure of his lips, she awoke once more to the wretchedness of life. It was then, as he knelt beside her, that he poured forth, in rapid accents, the history of his crime and its punishment. Proud, restless, discontented, and ambitious, he had entered into a league against the government of the city; that day his plots had been discovered, and his punishment was set — perpetual exile. ‘Shall I depart alone, lone?’ he said, as he pressed his lips to her cheek; and with these words the whole current of their thoughts was changed. Before the moon rose that night lone fled from her home, the companion and the dependent of an exile and a rebel. So far, your highness will perceive that the prediction of the Spirit of Love was fulfilled. From the purity of her first nature, lone had incalculably fallen; she had forgotten her duties — she had neglected her parents — she had offended against her religion — she had changed candour to deceit; and embraced falsehood for truth; to crown all, she had left, lonely and deserted, in age and poverty, those who had watched over and cherished her from her childhood, with all the providence and devotedness of love. It was to a scene of the utmost privacy and seclusion that Psychus and his companion fled. Here they lived for some time in a happiness which banished remorse from the mind of lone, and reflection from the working brain and feverish ambition of Psychus; and here insensibly but powerfully commenced the influence of lone. It was her presence, her gentleness, that soothed him — her self-devotion, her generosity, even sin, that exalted him. The meekness with which she bore the infirmities of his temper made him ashamed to allow them — he learnt to curb the impulses his education and loveliness had encouraged him to indulge, and in the beautiful solitude where he dwelt, the high nature of the musings which no earthly intrusion of passion or prejudice could pollute, and the society of the one being, whose whole existence was in the blessing and the ennobling of his own, he forgot for a while all the wayward aspirations which had hitherto led him to behold no vision that ended not in fame, and no guilt that was instrumental to its success. Time rolled on; but one day a stranger, who had lost his way in the forest where they dwelt, came for guidance to their cottage. He was struck with the beauty of lone, but more with the genius of Psychus; for he was an old man who had survived his love for the graces, and only lived for the utilities of life. He was the chief minister of the petty state to which they had flown. Before he left their cottage, he discovered his rank. He solicited Psychus to accompany him to court. The young enthusiast wanted but little pressing; and in three days, to the great grief of lone, he was presented to the sovereign of the country, and enrolled among the officers of his state.

“I beg your pardon, friend Puck, for interrupting you,” said Oberon, “but I am very impatient to know what became of those unhappy old people, whom the supposed lone deserted.” — w Grieve not your benevolent heart for them, my liege,” replied Puck, “the spirit of the evening star befriended them; immediately on the departure of the false lone, she restored the true, making her sensible to all that had passed (except the love affair) by a dream, in which she imagined herself to be the performer.”—” I understand!” quoth the king. “Continue thy tale.”

“The three great vices in Psychus,” proceeded Puck, “were his love of pleasure, his vindictiveness, and his ambition; it was for lone to save him from these, or to yield to them.”

“The new capital, where he now lived, was one of the most dissipated of the time. Psychus was invited every where. ‘Go,’ said lone to him — and the tears stood in her eyes, but she attempted to smile them away—’ Go, my beauty begins to fade; of its possession you must necessarily be tired. — You will be courted by all; I cannot expect that you will be faithful to me.’ She could say no more; she pressed her lips to his hand, and turned away. Two nights afterwards, Psychus went to the house of the most celebrated beauty of the town. By degrees the few people invited dropped off, and Psychus was left alone with his hostess. ‘Beautiful stranger,’ said she to him, as she pressed her faultless cheek towards his own, ‘I adore you — Shall it be in vain?’ At that moment the moon — that dangerous softener of human passions — looked through the open lattice, and shone upon the flushed cheek and trembling lips of the speaker. Psychus drew nearer to her — one instant more and he had been lost. But that instant sufficed; it brought back to him his lone — his own — his noble — his pure — his worshipping lone; she, whose devotion had made every sacrifice for him — whose generosity had demanded none in return — who never resented the harshest expression — who hoarded his least smile as a treasure — who was alone at that moment thinking, dreaming, of no earthly being but him. And he — was he — no, he was not — he could not be false to her image and her love. He left the house in safety. He had conquered, through lone, the most dangerous of his sins.

“Equally thoughtful and daring by nature, Psychus soon grew weary of the lighter amusements of the court; — he entered into the loftier occupations and visions of the state — the vast depth of his wisdom in conceiving, and the resolute energy with which he executed his plans, led him on, step by step, to the highest pinnacle of reputation, and almost of power. The old Chief Minister who had first brought him to the court was dead — a Prince of the blood royal had succeeded him — he held the only place next to the king higher than that occupied by Psychus. He was a man of ability and honesty, but arrogant, self-sufficient, and envious of all his rivals — especially of Psychus. It was the business of the latter, to frame laws respecting the people; he proposed one, of the most vital consequence to them, but prejudicial to some of the minor prerogatives of the nobles. It made a vast sensation throughout the country, but the whole aristocracy was in an uproar against the author. The Chief Minister, glad of so favourable an opportunity to vent his envy, and to destroy its object, repaired to the King, He exaggerated the law, he distorted its tendency; in a word, he so terrified the royal mind with the inflamed picture which he drew, that he obtained an immediate order for the imprisonment of Psychus; that very day it was fulfilled. Your Majesty may imagine the feelings with which my hero found himself in this reverse — conscious of high desert — impatient of affront — proud — vindictive — and susceptible. He was not however long in utter loneliness; lone collected from the seizure of his wealth some valuable jewels, with which she bribed the keeper of the prisons to admit her to her lover. It was then that all her powers, never yet exerted, were required, and tasked to the utmost; she had at once to listen to his complaints, and to soothe their bitterness, without affecting to undervalue their magnitude; she had to sit beside him in silence at one while, and at another, to strain a weary spirit and heavy heart into gaiety and cheerfulness. But this came to her without an effort — all things were easy that could soften one pang of his captivity; nay, there were times when she was almost selfish enough to rejoice at a state which made her more necessary to his wants, and more important to his happiness. As time passed on, the prisoner became calm and resigned; his nature could not be constantly in companionship with her’s, without partaking of its gentleness» and that diviner part of philosophy which men so rarely possess, and which in women has the name of meekness. But the period of his captivity was at a close; the people, who would have been so benefited by the law for which he suffered, were in despair at the imprisonment of their benefactor — harassed by their laws, their troubles, and their king — and exasperated to the last extreme, at the thought that every measure for their relief was to have punishment for its reward — they arose in a body, they besieged the capital, they put to death the king and his sons, they seized upon the nobles, they burst the prison, they released Psychus, proclaimed their benefactor as their King, and they threw into the dungeon he had occupied the minister who had accused and traduced him.

‘Now,’ said he, when the crowd had retired, and he was left alone with lone in the palace, ‘now can I feed both my ambition and my revenge — the crown is on my head, my accusers are at my feet;’ he smiled bitterly as he ceased lone summoned her courage — she threw herself at his feet — she was only alive to his real glory, and his permanent honour. At that time, or at least in that part of the world, the sanctity of legitimacy was undisputed; to seize the crown by no right of blood was considered among the greatest of crimes; the people were deemed the inheritance, and not the bequeathers of power. Hence lone only beheld in the ascent of Psychus to the throne, a crime which would be detested by the surrounding nations, and entail upon him long successions of harassment and bloodshed. All this she implored him to consider; she adduced all the arguments her affection could suggest; above all, she besought him, even if he yielded to his ambition, at least to stifle his revenge, and to pardon an accuser, whom, if he destroyed, the world would consider rather as a victim to his usurpation, than an offering to the justice of his resentment.

“At the conclusion of her prayers, the woman vanquished the reasoner, and the dread of his anger overcoming all other considerations, she threw herself, dissolved into tears, in his arms, and implored him to pardon her presumption. Pyschus kissed her cheek gently, and with a thoughtful air turned away from the apartment: that day she saw him no more. He walked out alone into the free air, from which he had been so long debarred; he thought much and deeply, and virtuously, if not well. He was of too strong and haughty a mind to be overcome by one conversation with lone, it was the habit of constant interchange of sentiment and opinion with her, which operated upon the bias and temper of his thoughts. Besides the view which she presented to him, I cannot deny he was influenced by many motives more immediately selfish, but still more connected with lone. His confinement with her had brought him closer to her than ever — her care, and vigilance, and affection, had cheered and comforted him more than the pursuit of his ambition had ever contented or recompensed his toils; perhaps it was not without satisfaction that he contemplated living with her once more in the solitude he had left. However that may be, his determination, after many and great struggles with himself, was made. The next morning, he summoned the chiefs of the people, ‘You have sinned greatly,’ said he, ‘when you destroyed your sovereign and his sons — you sinned more when you appointed me to their place. I am not, it is true, of that opinion, commonly received, that the people have not the right to depose their hereditary rulers, or to elect whomsoever they please in the stead — I do not question the original right, but the wisdom — whatever is unwise, becomes vicious. If you placed me on the throne, you would draw against me the resentment of all the neighbouring sovereigns, and upon yourselves the consequences of that resentment would fall — war, devastation, and massacre would ensue. And believe this as a most invariable truth, no evil you suffer in peace, no exaction from one ruler, no cruelty from another, is equal to the exhaustion and the barbarity of a single war. Moreover, if you placed me on your throne, I would not answer for myself, I know the grasping nature of my ambition; — at home, I might enslave you, in order to mould you to my will — abroad, I might lead you to conquests more pernicious to you than defeats. For these reasons I reject your offer — I do more, I venture to proclaim as your sovereign, the only prince of the blood you suffered to survive, in order for me to condemn; — he is my enemy, but he is your friend. But that you may not be left to his mercy and caprice — that you may no longer suffer from the tyranny of a king, or the worse oppressions of an aristocracy, I propose to you to remodel your laws — to curb the one, to humiliate the other, and to make all power not only emanate from the people, but to place the army at your own disposal, and thus, to leave that power no other protection but their ranks.’

“The speech of Psychus was received with acclamations, the laws he proposed were accepted, and his enemy and accuser was set upon the throne which he rejected for himself. ‘Come,’ said he to lone, when the whole city was in joy at the new system, which promised so much, ‘come,’ said he, ‘once more to our cottage in the desert; through your love, and your example, I have; conquered the vices of my nature; and the solitude to which we return shall reward me for the effort, by yielding a more constant opportunity to watch, to worship, and to imitate the virtues of your’s.” Puck paused. “Proceed,” said Oberon. “There ends any story, because, my: knowledge of the lovers,” answered the favourite — ; “all that I can add to the tale is, that about ten years afterwards, two beings of the most beautiful order of the Air Spirits were seen entering the empire of the Evening Star. They glided along to the tent of the presiding genius; they knelt down at the threshold, and from the inmost canopy murmured the voice of that spirit whose presence is felt every where, but whose wonderful beauty no created thing has beheld. ‘My children,’ it said, ‘welcome to the eternal happiness you have won; your history shall be written upon rose leaves, and preserved in the archives of my realm. It has taught us these axioms in love, that the passion which was lawless and forbidden, vitiated and degraded you — that that which was lawful, ennobled and exalted you — that, in mortal affection, the irregular and fitful passion of the man overcomes, by its violence, and infects with its errors, the purer but weaker characteristics of the woman; but, that in constant and daily intercourse, the subtler and holier essence of her nature refines and purifies the grosser attributes of his. That love therefore is not made for a wandering and transitory feeling, for then it lowers and deprave, but a constant and everlasting spirit, which purifies itself by its continuance, and triumphs, in proportion to the length of its existence, over the earthlier excesses of its birth.’”

“Thank you, good Puck,” said Oberon, rising, and stretching himself, when he perceived that the fairy had done, “your story interested me much during the time I was not dozing. And now to our banquet! Mab has the best temper in the world, but she loves not long tarrying for dinner. Catch us another May-fly.”

E. L. BULWER.