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When Zara's friends had left her there alone, the bulbul came and sat on the branch of a cypress beside her. He looked upon the verdureless grave, and never were heard such ravishing tones as love and sorrow taught him. His melting strains penetrated the gloomy resting place; and as the moon poured a flood of radiance over the spot, he saw a small plant springing up; and as the wondrous witchery of his song increased, the plant grew into a bush, a tiny bud appeared, leaf after leaf unfolded, until a full blown rose bowed its blushing head among verdant foliage, and seemed to drink in those tones of more than earthly music. Then he knew it was Zara; and now, whenever evening comes, he resumes his strain, and sings all night long to the listening rose-the blushing Zara; and when morning dawns, her face is found covered with tears of joy.

the

XVII. THE POET PHILOSOPHER.

(1847.)

THE Hon. Richard Henry Wilde is numbered with the leaves of autumn. Well do I remember his noble gait, and his nobler form and features, with the unshorn locks that fell gracefully in silvery curls upon his shoulders, as he used daily to pass my window. But he is gone, one of the three

thousand that have fallen this season in the Crescent City before the march of the yellow fever.

Mr. Wilde's social qualities were of a very superior order. He was a man of great wit and humor, an elegant gentleman, and an ardent friend. With a heart attuned to the finest sympathies, he connected an intellect, originally noble by nature, and highly improved by culture.

He was an author of no mean pretensions. His Translations from the Italian Lyrics, with Biographical Sketches of their authors; and his review of Campbell's Life of Petrarch, blending most sweetly the spirit of Poesy with patient investigation and profound thought; justly entitle him to his favorite sobriquet of Poet Philosopher."

While in Italy he instituted an inquiry into the mysterious history of "Poor Tasso;" his love, madness, and imprisonment; the result of which he has since given to the world. It is a popular work, exhibiting great research, severe judgment, and elegant taste. His style is eminently chaste and classical; and the original and ingenious manner, so consonant with his legal character, in which he has conducted the examination, is admirably adapted to develop the truth in the case, to the entire conviction of the reader.

Of Mr. Wilde's poetry it is not necessary to speak. The productions of his muse have appeared from time to time in the different public journals. The paper that announces his death contains the following effusion:

My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground-to die! Yet on the rose's humble head The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept the waste to seeBut none shall weep a tear for me!

"My life is like the autumn leaf

That trembles in the moon's pale ray, Its hold as frail-its date as brief,

Restless and soon to pass away! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless tree, But none shall breathe a sigh for me!

"My life is like the prints which feet

Have left on Tampa's desert strand; Soon as the rising tide shall beat,

All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface

All vestige of the human race,

On that lone shore loud moans the sea, But none, alas! shall mourn for me!"

24

FRAGMENTARY PENCILINGS.

I. DISADVANTAGES OF HOME STUDY.

(January, 1841.)

THE New Year, endowed with the legacy of all past time, has just ascended his throne, and entered into brotherhood with eternity. The Old Year, with all its toil, and turmoil, and vicissitude, has fled "beyond the mountains;" and with it, "in hot haste," full many a busy hope. To me, its sojourn has been very brief; not because it has been spent so agreeably, or so frivolously; but because head, and heart, and hand, have been constantly occupied. I have endeavored to task myself, so that the hours might have a good account to render. That my efforts have not always been successful, is too lamentably evident. But not a pastime has been squandered in butterfly amusements, in which I have not heard a voice behind me, calling me back to reason and to duty.

But, to make progress in study at home, I find I must work by rule, must have my time properly divided, and must be firm to my purpose, persver

ing and uncompromising in my pursuits. A thousand things are ready to interrupt my effort, and subvert an elaborate and cherished plan. I am constantly battling with an enemy which no energy can destroy, which no sagacity can foil. He annoys me by night and by day, harrasses me by sally and by seige. No vigilance can escape his snares; no stealthiness elude his search.

Again in the pursuit of science and letters at home, there is nothing in one's associations to excite emulation and inflame desire. If you are inspired, your inspiration must come only from your books. If you are encouraged, your encouragement can spring only from the stimulus afforded by a generous future.

Such are the disadvantages of home study. I might mention others; the want of teachers, library, apparatus, etc. But enough. I must again to my books. Perseverentia vincet omnia.

II. EPISTOLARY STYLE.

(February, 1841.)

THE style of a letter should never be studied, should never bear marks of labor. That which gives pain in the production, can afford but little pleasure in the perusal. But while anxious elaboration is to be avoided, one must guard against an

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