Avenger. Think what would be the world's condition, were men
without any Yearning after the Ideal to attempt to reorganize Society,
to redistribute Property, to avenge Wrong."

"A rabble of pigmies scaling Heaven," said the noble though misguided
young Prisoner. "Prometheus was a Giant, and he fell."

"Yes, indeed, my brave youth!" the benevolent Dr. Fuzwig exclaimed,
clasping the Prisoner's marble and manacled hand; "and the Tragedy of
To-morrow will teach the World that Homicide is not to be permitted
even to the most amiable Genius, and that the lover of the Ideal and the
Beautiful, as thou art, my son, must respect the Real likewise."

"Look! here is supper!" cried Barnwell gayly. "This is the Real, Doctor;
let us respect it and fall to." He partook of the meal as joyously as
if it had been one of his early festals; but the worthy chaplain could
scarcely eat it for tears.

* This is a gross plagiarism: the above sentiment is
expressed much more eloquently in the ingenious romance of
Eugene Aram:--"The burning desires I have known--the
resplendent visions I have nursed--the sublime aspirings
that have lifted me so often from sense and clay: these tell
me, that whether for good or ill, I am the thing of an
immortality and the creature of a God. . . . I have
destroyed a man noxious to the world! with the wealth by
which he afflicted society, I have been the means of
blessing many."

CODLINGSBY.

BY D. SHREWSBERRY, ESQ.

I.

"The whole world is bound by one chain. In every city in the globe
there is one quarter that certain travellers know and recognize from
its likeness to its brother district in all other places where are
congregated the habitations of men. In Tehran, or Pekin, or Stamboul, or
New York, or Timbuctoo, or London, there is a certain district where a
certain man is not a stranger. Where the idols are fed with incense by
the streams of Ching-wang-foo; where the minarets soar sparkling above
the cypresses, their reflections quivering in the lucid waters of the
Golden Horn; where the yellow Tiber flows under broken bridges and over
imperial glories; where the huts are squatted by the Niger, under the
palm-trees; where the Northern Babel lies, with its warehouses, and its
bridges, its graceful factory-chimneys, and its clumsy fanes--hidden in
fog and smoke by the dirtiest river in the world--in all the cities of
mankind there is One Home