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THE HISTORY OF A CELT.*

I AM composed of a mixture of seven parts of copper and one of tin. Swart Britons moulded me in the innermost recesses of the dark and mighty forest. Although, perhaps, I may not appear a very formidable weapon, yet I have sent many a huge-limbed, powerful savage to his dark home in the depths of the cold, damp clay; Ihave dealt the death-blow to many a fierce boar and savage bull in the fleetly fled years of the past. I have rung on the brazen helms of Cæsar's veteran troops; I have seen savage bands of warriors meet in the battle-shock, when the volleys of stones darkened the heavens, and the war-cries of the contending hosts filled the air with a music sweet to me; and I have seen the war-chariots meet in full career, a scene of which you can have no idea, when horses fell and chariots were overturned, and their riders cut to pieces by the sharp scythes of the victors' cars, or slain by the celts of their ruthless foemen.

I have been amidst the Druids when they met in the sacred circle of Stonehenge, and when Arch-Druid, Druids, and the princes and chieftains of the land have met in counsel. I have heard the Arch-Druid pronounce the dread anathema which doomed the accursed one on whom it fell to fly from his home and friends, to hide his head in the darkest and deepest recesses of the vast and gloomy forest, or cower in darksome caverns, whilst his cot was committed to the flames, and his herds confiscated to the Druids. I have seen the hunted wretch perish beneath the celts and spears of his foes. I have seen the Druids sacrifice to their gods; I have seen the victim bound to the altar; I have seen the sharp knife descend, and the mangled creature expire; I have seen scores of men, women, and children, captives taken in war, doomed to the stake and funeral pile. But those sights pleased me not-I am the

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celt of a warrior, not a slave. I love the keen fire of war, which maketh me tremble with joy in the grasp of my warrior master, when foemen meet and war-cries rend the air. Ah, those were the days! But they are long past, and even memory fails to bring before me all the tales of my triumphs, and, alas, some of my failures, when, beaten down by the celt of my foe, I have seen my master bleed and die. I will briefly relate the history of my last adventures, ere I was buried by the side of my dead lord in the gloomy tumulus, and languished for centuries in oblivion, my only visitor the creeping worm, my only office to guard the mouldering bones of my heroic master.

My last possessor, after witnessing the overthrow of his people, by the arms of the haughty and imperious Roman, in despair of ever driving them from our shores, repaired to the sacred isle of Anglesea, hoping to die in peace, and find a grave in the sacred soil of that holy isle. Galga was accompanied by his son and daughter. Cader was a Druid of the second rank, known as Eubates, or the priests of the sacrifice and divination; proud, ambitious, and stern, zealously devoted to the interests of the priesthood. Cader bade fair to rise to high rank and honour; and yet that stern and fearless disciple of a religion as bloody and ruthless as that of the crafty Thugs of Hindostan, loved, nay almost worshipped his fair and gentle sister, the lovely Biondu, and ever treated with respect and honour his aged sire.

Biondu was indeed a beauteous maid, Scarce seventeen summers had passed o'er her head. Of a graceful and magestic figure, of a fair and winning countenance, she was the joy of the aged Galga. A true daughter of Britain was Biondu: under that calm and contented exterior burned a soul of fire; when excited her eyes were lurid in their wrath, and her deep voice rang like a clarion through the halls of the temple; when carried away by her passion..

ate nature she called down the anathema of defence were concerted, and a call was made by the Druids for victims, with which to appease their angry gods, and insure the defeat of their foes.

of heaven upon the ruthless Roman; and her sister priestesses held their breath with awe while listening to her fierce declamations.

My hero master, the famed, Galga was contented, nay, almost happy. Beloved by his people, hated and feared by the fierce sons of Italy, renowned for his prowess in war, treated with respect and honour by the priesthood of the sacred isle, Galga desired to pass his short remaining span of life in peace, and to go down to his chiefin's tumulus full of years and honour. But a sullen storm-cloud was fated to obscure and shorten his existence. Well do I remember that fatal noon when the dark gloom of misfortune sank over his last days!

The chief was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, by the bank of a tiny brook, his eye wandering o'er the gleaming waters merrily dancing 'neath the bright sunbeams as the water-beetles chased their whirling circlets wide; the speckled fishes darting hither and hither, the glittering dragon-fly poising its gauzy wings o'er the silver stream, and the banks covered with the blue-eyed forget-me-not, tall flowing rush, and regal fleur de lis. The array of the stately forest tree, the emerald sward dotted here and there with clumps of bright-hued flowers, the sweet thrilling song of the mavis,—all whispered of calm and peace. E'en my fiery spirit was melted into soft serenity, and I was almost foolish enough to regret the warriors who had fallen beneath my blade.

As my master was about to depart he was joined by Cader. The features of the Eubate were fearful to behold in their stern wrath. Saluting his sire, and seating himself by his side, he commenced to pour into his ear a tale which thrilled the fierce soul of my master with stern rage; and even I, little though I heard, was all flame with zeal for my country's cause. I learned from their conversation that the fierce Italian warriors, commanded by the warlike Suetonius, were marching upon our sacred isle.

That night I accompanied Galga to the Druid temple, close by the grove of sacred oaks. Many a famed warrior and many a proud chieftain was there. Means

Many offered themselves for their country's weal. Youths of tender years, who had never known the fierce pleasures of war; aged warriors, no longer capable of carrying arms and mingling in the battle-shock, and-most valued by the Druids-a band of young and lovely maidens, amongst whom was the fair priestess Biondu, doomed themselves to a cruel and bloody death, in the vain hope of propitiating their gods.

The fated morrow came! Oh, fatal day for the rule of the proud Druid, and not less fatal to the family of the brave Galga! The chieftains of the British army were assembled around the Druid temple. It was, indeed, a scene I shall never forget-the victims clothed in white flowing robes, and crowned with wreaths of fairest flowers; the Druids in their sacrificial robes and all their barbaric insignia of office; the huge pillars of the temple, the majestic oaks; the bards, whose mournful song now wailed as in deepest grief, till the proudest and fiercest warriors were awed by the sad wild strains and now rose in lofty notes of triumph, till the eyes of the victims grew lurid with martial fire and the excited warriors rattled their spears together, and clashed their celts in fierce clangour on their brazen shields-trophies of many a hardfought field and conquered Latin.

But now the bloody work commences. The priestesses, clad in mournful garb, and chanting the death-song of their victims, take their place on the one side of the altar, whilst the Eubates occupy the other. The victims are bound to the altar and despatched one by one; the robes of priests and priestesses are dyed with the sanguinary tide. The blood-stained altar, the huge fires, the horrible odour of burning flesh, is sickening to all but the priest. And now Biondu is led forward and bound to the altar, and the ArchDruid calls upon Cader to sacrifice his sister. Then I felt the grasp of my master tighter round my haft, and I knew that the heart of my warrior-lord was breaking. The Eubate stepped forth, for

he dared not break his oath of obedience; would not desert my heroic chief. I shared but oh! I shall never forget that wild the tumulus of the renowned Galga, and and agonised countenance, the sternly guarded his slumbers till the ruthless compressed lips, the awful despairing Saxon tore me away from the dust of my glare of those fierce burning eyes as he dear master, and compelled me to become advanced to the altar, drew the broad an inmate of this museum. heavy knife, raised it high in air! Swiftly E. LAMPLOUGH. it descended and found a sheath in the bosom of the fair Biondu; again it flashed in the sunlight red with the gory drops; again it descended and pierced the heart of the hapless Eubate,-sister and brother, priest and priestess, slumbered together in death. All was consternation; warriors, druids, and priestesses looked on that fearful scene as if frozen into stone.

At this moment a messenger entered the grove, wildly shouting that the Romans were approaching the island in their flat-bottomed boats. In an instant every warrior, Druid, and priestess repaired to the beach. The Romans were approaching in their boats, their arms and armour shining in the bright sunbeams, and at this sight the Britons were transported with fury. They shouted their battle cry; the Druids with extended arms invoked the vengeance of heaven upon the foe, and poured their dreadest curses upon their heads; whilst the priestesses rushed hither and thither waving lighted torches on high, and uttering appalling yells of frenzied rage. The foe, struck with sudden horror, paused irresolute, but the standard-bearers, incited by the reproaches of their general, leapt into the water, disdaining to desert their colours; the whole army followed. Fierce was the conflict which ensued: the Britons poured volleys of darts and stone upon their hated foes, who, sheltering themselves with their huge shields, fell with irresistible fury upon the half-naked Britons. Now was I in my glory! I hurled myself with tremendous force upon all who opposed; all gave way before me, But alas; for my noble master! He fell on that fearful day, and with him died all hope of victory. Druids, warriors, and priestesses died on that bloody field-no quarter was asked or given; but one band of warriors escaped to the mainland bearing with then: the body of the hero Galga, I was ti htly grasped in his clenched fist; we had been fast allies in life, in death I

SEAWEED.

"Call us not weeds, we are flowers of the sea."
By the billows roughly torn
From thy rocky home;

Hurried through the troubled waters
By the wild sea-foam.

Drifted onwards by the ocean,

From some distant cave,
Borne along in ceaseless motion
Of the rippling wave.
Prostrate, left upon the shore
By the ebbing tide.

Part buried 'mong the yellow sand,
'Reft of half thy pride.

Oft despised as weeds so worthless,
Still ye speak of hours
On the sea-shore gaily culling,
Ye, sweet ocean-flowers!

DREAMS.

ZINGARA.

WHAT is a dream? A thing gone by!
Fleeting and frail as the breath of morn;
Bringing back mem'ries of other days,
With voices of dear ones, dead and gone:
Such is a dream-a visiou past;

Oh! would that some of them could but last
Boyhood's dreams are bright with hope;
Fame and ambition both look fair;
But he wakes to know 'tis but a dream,
And sighs to find it no longer there.

E'en like all dreams, 'tis gone, 'tis past,
Too light, too transient far to last.
The captive, dreaming of liberty,

For awhile forgets his prison-cells;
In fancy he sits by his cottage-door,
And lists to the chime of evening bells.

He smiles in his sleep-it may not last;
Dream on, poor heart! it will soon be past.
But fairer than all is the dream of love,

Which with the soul's existence blends,
Endearing and brightening life's rough paths,
And which over all things sunshine sends.
But like the rest-a dream of the past
On earth that may not even last.

Yet though they fade, I would still dream on:
Dreams tell my soul of something higher;
Better a fleeting joy like this

Than naught to calm the spirit's fire.

Welcome, then, dreams, though so soon past,
Ye temper the roughness of life's keen blast.
IMOGINE.

SUNSET: A FRAGMENT.

IT is sunset, and the sun is shedding its evening rays, with even unaccustomed brilliancy, as if it were unwilling to retire to rest without having cheered some more sad hearts, and imparted some of its brightness to the spirits of those who are cast down, or who lie upon a bed of sickness unable to breathe God's pure air under the blue vault of heaven, and to whom the bright sunbeams come as messengers of mercy, and reminders of the haven to which they are hastening, where they will for ever live in the presence of the Sun of Righteousness. And among the many whose few remaining hours are cheered by God's bright sunbeams is one to whose last words we will listen, as he utters them brokenly, and in a feeble, though clear, voice, to his beloved wife and children as they stand weeping at his bedside.

"My Nellie! my darling children! I am going soon to leave you,-before the sun has risen again I shall be with God. I thank Him, my darlings, that I can leave you in His hands-knowing that He order eth all things well. Nellie, will you draw aside the curtains a little ?-I should like to see the sunset once more before I die. I thank God that He has permitted me to live until now, that I may see it once more. The sunbeams come to me as God's messengers-messengers of love and mercy from Him who will comfort you when I am gone. Our Father has been very gracious to me all through my lifetime, and I thank Him for letting me see one more glorious sunset before I go where there is no more night. All is joy now and peace. Christ has been the light of life to me; and now that my earthly sun is setting, I thank God that I can say that the sunbeams of His light and love still hover around me; and I thank God, my darlings, that I can feel that the sunbeams will not desert you when I am gone. And when I have left you, and you see the sunset in all its glory, think of what your dying father said, and pray God that His light may follow you all through your

lives."

And so, peacefully and quietly, passed away the life of the Christian, and those who were left behind ever treasured up in their minds his dying words. And often in after life, as they gazed upon the sunset, they remembered those tender counsels, and prayed, that like their father, they too might be illuminated by rays of that light

"which shineth more and more, even unto the perfect day.”

Such, dear friends, is the work of God's sunbeams, carrying light, life, and joy with them wherever they go. May we not be something like the sunbeams! There are many lessons, I think, which we may learn from a sunbeam. May it not be possible for some of us to be messengers of light? In the home of the poor and the rich, of the ignorant and the learned, in cottage as in palaces, shines the sunbeam. May we not be as a sunbeam to some one? Is it not possible for every one of us to help to diffuse God's light and love among those by whom we are surrounded? Let us all strive to be more like the sunbeam.

As the rising sun is an apt emblem of the Christian beginning his godly race, so is the setting sun an emblem of the race run and of the victory won-of a life spent in the service of God, a life soon to be transplanted from earth to heaven, and, while lingering here, shedding around it rays of light, and helping, thereby, to cheer and light up the path of many a fainting spirit. IMPRIMO.

AN IRISH BULL.

DURING a morning call at the house of a friend in London, a young Irish lady was recently defending her country with characteristic warmth and eagerness against charges concerning its bull-making propensities made by a clever and witty English gentleman present. "Well, well!" he at last smilingly exclaimed, "if you won't admit you commit bulls, you must at all events confess you commit an outrageous number of murders!" "True," cried the Irish girl; "but even our Irish murders are not at all so bad as your English ones. It is seldom you hear of an Irishman staining his own hearthstone with blood! If his wife offend him, a few hard words, or at worst a few hard blows, is her punishment; but if your English boor's wife offend him, ten to one she will go to bed to-night to rise in the morning and find her throat cut!"-L. B— KY.

"A strange anomaly!-a man with a womanly heart; a heart which, despite all its world-scars, is, at the depth, tender and pure as any maiden's. There are such, thank God! but they are few indeed."— Miss Muloch.

GLEANINGS FROM MANY FIELDS.

ridge's rule on this head is a golden one:am resolved, by the grace of God, to speak of other men's sins only before their faces, and of their virtues only behind their backs.' Were this rule strictly adhered to, it would effectually prevent two crying evils of common discourse-detraction of the absent, and flattery of the present."M. A. Stodart.

"AN ALLEGORY.— A father and son were on a journey. It was late in the afternoon, but still clear day, when they came to a cottage by the road-side, and the father went in and borrowed a lighted lantern. The young man was exceedingly amused, and perhaps he was a little vexed. If anyone should meet them carrying a lamp in the sunshine, it would look so absurd; and what in the world was the

And

"CONVERSATION. -Could the sum of those persons were present. Bishop Beveknowledge among the French women be compared with that among the English,I the advantage, even by the acknowledgment of the French themselves, would be found on our side. But it seems strange, if the conversational powers be compared, the French have decidedly the advantage. English women talk too much about themselves that subject on which all are said to be so fluent, not to be eloquent-their personal concerns, their petty indispositions, forgetful of what Dr. Gregory, so famed for his conversational powers, used always to say-A lady should never speak of her health except to her physician.' French conversation is a war with blunted weapons, unless, indeed, we add that the high polish of the weapon sometimes prevents us from seeing that it really has an edge. Almost any draw-use of it? But the older traveller took the ing-room in Paris will exemplify this. Quick, rapid repartee-the lightning flash that shines and is gone, but another and another responds. The brilliant coruscations spring meteor-like from the moment, and vanish with the passing moment. Our conversation may perhaps move on with a more steady pace, but it is heavy and unvaried; it may be more substantial, but it is less exhilirating. It rolls on, a good solid waggon, well loaded, but rather rumbling; and we perceive more clearly the clumsiness of its movements as we compare it with the light and rapid cabriolet, moving swiftly and gracefully along, and perhaps the more swiftly and the more gracefully from being encumbered with less weight. Bishop Beveridge, it is said, resolved 'never to deliver his words out to the world by incubus, but by weight; not by quantity, but by quality. The practice of most of us is, it is to be feared, in exact contrast to the resolution of this excellent prelate. Avoid all exaggerated and hyperbolical expressions, all strong terms and unnecessary exclamations. They are used, it is presumed, under the idea of giving emphasis to a sentence; but they have a contrary effect as regards evil speaking.' Let your conversation be of things rather than of persons. If you are led to speak of persons, be careful not to say anything respecting the absent which you would not be equally willing to say if

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young man's jibes good-humouredly, and
only answered, The night cometh.'
it did come! They passed no more cot-
tages, but they got into a thick forest,
where the daylight faded so rapidly that
the lantern already shone a welcome com-
panion. Not only was the sun gone down,
but the last streak of twilight had vanished.
It was dreadfully dark, but the good little
lantern spread a cloth of gold before the
steps of the travellers, and did not let one
shadow or phantom come near them. At
last the road divided. Straight on l' cried
the youth. Not so fast,' said the elder;
for though the path to the right was less
trodden, perhaps it was the one they
should take, when fortunately they espied
a finger-post, and holding the lamp as high
as they could, they read the direction, and
found that they would have gone utterly
wrong had they not taken the narrow and
neglected footway. Rejoicing at their es-
cape, they pushed on merrily, and by-and-
bye, with his frisky spirits, the youngster
went ahead, and was far in advance of the
lantern, when the old man heard a plash
and a shout, and running up, was just in
time to help ashore his impetuous boy,
who had soused into a stagnant pool, and
who crawled up the bank pale and shiver-
ing, with the leeches and duckweed cling-
ing to his garments.
was not through the pool, but round it;
you should walk in the light.' And so they

You see the road

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