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LYSIMACHUS; an Historical Fragment.

From the French.

AFTER the destruction of the Persian empire, Alexander gave out that he was the son of Jupiter Ammon; at which the Macedonians were not a little indignant, and their discontent increased, when they saw him adopt the customs, the dress, and the manners, of the Persians. They regretted that they had done so much for a prince who despised them, but they murmured in secret.

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A philosopher, named Callisthenes, who had followed the king in his expedition, one day saluted him in the Grecian manner. Why," said Alexander," dost thou not adore me?"-" Sire," answered Callisthenes, you are the chief of two nations; the one enslaved before your conquest, is no less so now; the other was free before it assisted you to gain so many victories, and is equally so since you have gained them. I am a Greek, sire, and that name you have raised so high, that henceforth no one can degrade it without offending you."

The vices of Alexander were extraordinary, like his virtues: he was terrible and cruel in his anger. He caused Callisthenes' nose, ears, and feet to be cut off, ordered him to be shut up in an iron cage, and carried in the rear of the army.

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"I loved Callisthenes," said Lysimachus, "and at all times when I had leisure, employed it in listening to him; and if I have any love of virtue I owe it to his instructions. I went therefore to see him. I salute you,' said I, illustrious and unfortunate, whom I find enclosed in a cage like a savage animal, for having been the only MAN of the army.' Lysimachus," he answered, "when in a situation that demands fortitude and courage, methinks I am in my proper place. In truth, had the gods designed me for a life of pleasure only, they would vainly have bestowed on me a great and immortal soul. All men are capable of enjoying sensual pleasures: and if the gods created man for that purpose only, they have made their work too perfect, and executed more than they intended. It is not," added he, " that I am insensible, you make me feel I am not so. When you came to me, I was pleased at seeing you perform a courageous action; but let it be the last time; leave me to support my own misfortunes, and do not add yours to them."

"I will see you every day," rejoined Lysimachus, "for if the king were to see you abandoned by the virtuous, he would no longer feel remorse, but would begin to believe you guilty; he shall not have the pleasure of knowing that his displeasure made me abandon a friend.”

One day Callisthenes said to the same constant friend, "The immortal gods have consoled me, I no longer feel any grief. I saw in a dream the great Jupiter. You were near him, a sceptre was in your hand, and a regal crown upon your head. Pointing at you, the deity addressed me in these words: He will render you happier. My emotion awakened me. My hands were raised to heaven, and I was endeavouring to say, Great Jupiter, if Lysimachus is to reign, let him reign with justice.' Lysimachus, you will reign; believe one who must be a favourite of the gods, since he suffers for virtue's sake."

In the mean time, Alexander was incensed to find that Lysimachus respected the misfortunes of Callisthenes, that he went to visit the captive,

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and dared to pity him. Having summoned Lysimachus into his presence, Begone, ," said Alexander, "combat with lions, you who like to live with wild beasts." The execution of this sentence was however deferred, that it might be witnessed by the multitude. The day preceding, the intended victim wrote thus to Callisthenes: "I am going to die. All the hopes with which you inspired me of future greatness, are vanished. I could have wished to alleviate the misfortunes of a man like you."

Prexapus, who was their mutual friend, was commissioned with this answer: "Lysimachus, if the gods have destined you to reign, Alexander cannot put you to death; for men cannot over-rule the will of the gods."

"This reply," says Lysimachus, "encouraged me; and, reflecting that the happiest and the most unfortunate of men are equally in the hand of providence, I resolved to be guided by my hopes, rather than my courage, and to defend to the last, a life which was promised so much. "I was led into the arena.

Around me was an immense assemblage of persons, who came to be witnesses of my fortitude, or of my fears. A lion was let loose. I had folded my mantle round one of my arms, which I presented to the animal, and as he endeavoured to devour it, I seized his tongue, tore it from his jaws, and threw it at my feet.

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"Alexander loved courageous actions; he therefore admired my resolution, and from that moment his natural generosity resumed its sway. He called me to him, and stretching out his hand, Lysimachus,' said he, 'I restore you my friendship, restore me yours. My anger has but served to make you perform an action which is wanting to the life of Alexander.'

"I was received into the king's favour; I adored the decrees of the gods, and waited the fulfilment of their promises without impatience or anxiety. Alexander died, and the world was without a master. The king's sons were yet in infancy; his brother Aridæus, though old in years, had never outgrown puerility; Olympias had but the boldness of a weak mind, and cruelty passed with her for courage; Roxana, Eurydice, and Statira were drowned in grief. Alexander's captains, therefore, aspired to his throne. We divided the empire, and in so doing, thought we only divided the reward of our labours.

"Fate made me King of Asia; and now that I am all powerful, I now more than ever revere the lessons of Callisthenes. His joy tells me when I have performed a good action, and his sighs inform me when I have ill to repair.

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I am the sovereign of a people who love me. The fathers pray that my life may be of equal duration with that of their children. The children fear to lose me, as they fear the loss of their parents. In the prosperity and comfort of my subjects my happiness consists."

PHILIP THE SECOND.

A SPANIARD once offered for sale, to Philip the Second, a diamond, worth seventy thousand crowns. The king, astonished that a private person should possess so valuable a jewel, asked him why he had bought it? 66 Sire," answered the Spaniard, "I knew that there was a Philip." The king, flattered by this answer, ordered him one hundred thousand

crowns.

HUMAN LIFE.

HAIL seraph hours, that form the circling chain
Of bright eternity! ye magic links

Binding together life and death and man!
Why do ye fly so swift? why wend away
Rapid as thought to dark Oblivion's realms,
Like insects fluttering with their silver forms,
On the full bosom of some blushing rose,

Then through the golden air winging away to higher worlds?
And must it then be so? Is there no bliss

With morning rays enduring through life's day?
Ah no! in infancy and manhood, youth and age,
'Tis but a brilliant hue cast on a dew-drop,-
A chance reflection of some flitting sunbeam,-
Our all of bliss endures but for a while,
That while no longer than a maiden's blush.
In Infancy we rest our fragile forms

On a maternal bosom,-nest of love!

Whilst our fond parent, scarcely drawing breath,
Watches with care our peaceful slumberings,
And when we wake, her glist'ning eye
And tender kiss seal our first bond to earth.
But short th' ephemeral joys of infancy;

While yet we scarcely lisp th' endearing names
Of those we love, there comes a separation,
Which e'en we feel in more advanced age
With poignancy.

How throb our tender hearts-
Unwedded yet to grief, untutor'd of the world,-
When for maternal smiles, we meet the frowns,
The ruthless frowns, of the cross Pedagogue?
Let's pass the bickerings of the youthful mob;
The pale strict watching at the shrine of Learning;
When Youth its halcyon hours begins to ope,
And sports and loves encompass round the soul,
Which owns the empire of a kindred heart!
How fare we then? We find it but a dream.
Oh! happier far not to have dreamt at all!
Some meddling relative of sage advice,
Dashes the cup from our just-tasting lips,
And fills our tortured hearts with fell despair.
But say the draught is sipp'd, that it is sipp'd
In all the sweetness of confiding love,
Are there no cares i' the matrimonial hive?
'Stead of its honeyed sweets, may it not bring
A hopeless toil-a perjured friend-a broken heart?
And can we give to Age what infancy,
What youth, what love can ne'er obtain ?
No! To this truth we all must come at last,
That all that human isis vanity.

GIACOMO.

HOSPITAL AND CHURCH OF ST. KATHARINE.

(A Letter!)

MR. EDITOR,

THE destruction of the ancient and venerable hospital and church of St. Katharine being required to make room for the new Docks about to be constructed in that parish, a few brief descriptive remarks on the history, antiquities, and present state, of that place, and its buildings, whose inmates have retained undisturbed possession of their rights, privileges, and possessions, from their establishment in the thirteenth century, to the present time, may not be altogether unacceptable to your readers.

The first hospital of St. Katharine, founded and richly endowed by Queen Matilda, A. D. 1148, existed only one hundred and twenty-five years, namely, till A. D. 1273, when it was dissolved and refounded by Queen Eleanor, wife to King Henry the Third, for the maintenance of a master, three brothers chaplains, and three sisters, ten poor women called bedes-women, and six poor scholars. By her foundation-charter, the Queen appointed Thomas de Lechlade, clerk, to be master of this hospital, and reserved to herself, and the Queens of England her successors, full power to nominate a master, three brothers priests, and three sisters, whenever vacancies should happen. Although many valuable grants were made to this hospital by its founder, and others added at different periods by succeeding patronesses, as well as by King Edward the Third, King Richard the Second, and many other noble personages, yet soon after the appointment of Thomas de Beckington to the mastership, a complaint was made to King Henry the Sixth, that its revenues were not sufficient to maintain its members: whereupon the King granted the hospital many privileges, such as leave to hold a fair upon Tower Hill for twenty-one days yearly, the chattels of felons and fugitives, all manner of stray cattle, all fines for trespass, the assize of bread, wine, and beer, exonerated them of all aids, subsidies, and contributions, and discharged this hospital from the payment of any tenth, subsidy, or imposition, laid on the clergy of the realm, or of the province of Canterbury. Beckington, afterward elevated to the dignity of the mitre, was a great benefactor to this hospital. His munificent example was followed by the Duke of Exeter, who made many valuable presents to the church, and founded a chantry chapel, which stood on the north side of the chancel. King Edward the Fourth granted to this hospital the manors of Chesingbury, co. Wilts, and of Quarley, co. Southampton; and the fraternity of St. Barbara was founded here by King Henry the Eighth and Queen Katharine, his first wife, A. D. 1518. This King confirmed all the liberties and franchises of this house in the year 1526, and in 1534 an account of its revenues was taken, preparatory, no doubt, to its dissolution, which however it escaped, at the request of Queen Anne Boleyn, whom the King had then lately married.

Having thus far pursued the history of St. Katharine's hospital, I will now describe the situation and extent of its buildings, and then proceed to a description of the church, which is the only remaining monument of antiquity, all the habitations having been rebuilt in modern times, and in a manner which confers more credit on the economy, than on the taste or liberality, of those who sanctioned these alterations.

The church stands nearly in the middle of the hospital. On its south side are the houses occupied by the sisters and beadswomen, about one

hundred feet in extent; and on its north side, a quadrangle, or cloister, nearly eighty feet square; on the east side of which are the brothers' houses, and on the north side, the master's house. The church is a noble edifice, upwards of one hundred and ninety feet in length, and composed of a spacious body, and three aisles, and an extensive chancel, whose sides are flanked by lofty buttresses, and whose eastern angles terminate in octagonal turrets. There is a porch, now the only entrance, at the west end, but this feature of the church has been deformed and defaced by a tower instead of a bell turret, the original appendage, and which was elevated on the gable of the roof.

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We are perfectly unacquainted with the fabric of the original church, but history informs us, that it was begun to be rebuilt by William de Eridesby, master of the hospital, in the year 1340; and that by a charter in 1351, Queen Philippa directs, that "all the savings made out of the revenues of the hospital, and such benefactions as may hereafter be obtained, shall be laid out towards the finishing of the church;" to which she had liberally contributed, but died before the building was completed. If any part of the present structure is the work of the fourteenth century, it is no other than the chancel, which, however, has been so excessively altered and mutilated, that it would be difficult to determine its age. the side windows have been walled up, and the exterior entirely coated with brick-work. The altar window is of ample dimensions, but its tracery is coarse and inelegant, and doubtless intended to be a representation of the grand design which formerly filled the same space. The body, as the most serviceable part of the church, has always been kept in good repair; it is plastered on the outside, and white-washed within, and all the windows in each story are handsome in their proportions, and in the pattern of their tracery. The style of this architecture bespeaks the age of the fifteenth century, and there is little doubt of its having been the work of Bishop Beckington. The aisles are lofty, and the arches and clustered pillars by which they are separated, very finely proportioned. There are five arches on each side, plain and uniform; they are surmounted by the clere story, which supports the roof, composed of strong beams and arches of timber.

The screen and stalls in the chancel are the most beautiful remains of their kind in the county, and are not surpassed by many specimens of the same age in the kingdom. The roof, over the entrance in particular, is elegant; and the carvings under the seats, or as many of them as remain, are very curious. The head of a king on one side, and of a queen on the other, above the seats, are said, but upon no very good authority, to represent Edward III. and Queen Philippa.

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The monument of John Holland, duke of Exeter, who died in 1448, is truly magnificent. The arch of its canopy once opened to a chantry which was attached to the north side of the chancel; but this elegant appendage has long since been desecrated. The base, summit, and sides of the tomb and adjoining door-way, are superbly adorned with niches, and a variety of minute ornaments, and the spandrels of the arch are occupied by angels blowing trumpets. Beneath the canopy rest the recumbent effigies of the duke, his first wife Anne, and his sister Constance. He is clad in a long, loose, and plain robe, and wore his coronet, which is nearly destroyed. The dresses of the females are alike, and are distinguished for their elegance and plainness; which latter character, however, cannot be applied to the head-dresses. This part of the costume evidently

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