Stand on the shore of old Ocean, and see the clouds growing more dark, heavy and threatening, surging and rolling in majestic volumes; the sea-birds making for the shore and seeking a shelter, as the winds and the waves lift their voices on high; the surf heavily rolling on the worn rocks, and rushing round and among them, as if seeking a passage beyond the 'stern and rock-bound coast;' and the increasing gale shrieking a melancholy cadence through the stripped branches of a few leafless and lonely trees!

See, again, the variety, glory and beauty of sunset-clouds. As the sun sinks below the horizon, a marked period of human life has passed away. How many changes has taken place since we hailed his rising beams! To how many has it been the last day of earth! How many scenes of joy and sorrow has he witnessed in his course! How happy are they whose parting hour throws, like his, such a flood of glory over the mists and shadows that have darkened their path! But the sunset sky has been too often described to make description interesting.

But the varied movements of the clouds are not without a touch even of the ludicrous. Witness the progress of a 'squall.' Dark clouds begin rapidly to accumulate in the north or the east. There is evidently an excitement and commotion in the upper regions; something unusual has taken place, and 'the hue-and-cry' is raised. Crowds are leaving their every-day business, and rushing in promiscuous confusion to see what is going on. A few ragged, straggling streaks of vapor are driving on furiously, leading the van, the first to see and give the alarm. Then follow some very respectable leaders, but evidently in great agitation and excitement. Then comes the whole 'rabble route,' eagerly and confusedly hurrying forward, attended by a furious wind, pelting rain, peradventure hail-stones, clouds of dust and dried leaves, straw and shavings! Then come the slamming of blinds, shutters, doors and windows, and the rattling and tearing of every thing light and loose. The week's washing' on yonder clothes'-line, standing up straight in the air, whipping and snapping, is striving as eagerly to escape and join the 'meleé' as children to rush out of doors and follow the train-bands.' Wo to the unfortunate pedestrian whom it encounters: while he protects his eyes, his hat is off to swell the motley crowd! Wo to the quiet, unsuspecting student, who has unwittingly left open the window of his sanctum; letters, papers, manuscripts, are whirled hither and thither, in hopeless confusion!

But the hurry-skurry' passes by; a few sober, quiet, aristocraticlooking clouds, in a dignified manner, follow slowly after, bringing up the rear; the sun shines out clear and bright as before, and mortals proceed to the work of 'putting things to rights.'

But there are the most grand and touching associations connected with the cloud, wholly independent of its glorious beauty and endless variety. It was for centuries the sensible symbol of the presence of the ETERNAL. When the vengeance of the ALMIGHTY had taken man away from the face of the earth; when the deluge had subsided, and the first smile of sun-light beamed upon a purified and renovated world, He set his bow upon the cloud, the seal of the promise that seed-time and harvest should ever after supply the wants of the numberless de

VOL. XXXV.

pendants on His bounty and goodness, and that the changing seasons should recur with unerring regularity, until the things which are seen and temporal shall be lost in the things which are unseen and eternal. And so when it was designed to afford to the father of the faithful' a vision of the mysteries of the spiritual world, and to withdraw for a brief space the veil which conceals the events of coming years, the cloud which rested on the distant summit of Moriah guided him in his heart-trying journey through the wilderness, to the spot where, centuries after, the great atoning sacrifice, the crowning work of man's redemption, and of which the commanded sacrifice of the child of his old age was but a shadow and a type, was finally to be effected. And in the triumphant exodus of his chosen people from the land of bondage, the divine presence beamed bright and glorious from the cloud on the camp of the Israelites, but poured dark and gloomy upon the troubled hosts of Egypt. And in all their subsequent devious wanderings,

"By day along the astonished land
The cloudy pillar glided slow,'

marking the way prescribed by their divine guide. And after their settlement in the promised land, when Israel's monarch had completed his magnificent temple for the worship of JEHOVAH, amid the solemn and imposing ceremonies of its dedication, the mysterious cloud marks the divine acceptance of the offering. So too, the awe-struck multitude from the foot of Sinai beheld the dark cloud envelop its summit, and the prophet and law-giver with reverential fear ascend the mountain and disappear in the thick darkness where GoD was! And centuries afterward, when the blessed REDEEMER, leaving the cares and sufferings of his earthly humiliation, ascends to the summit of Tabor, to commune for a while with the spirits of the just made perfect, the bright cloud again announces the presence of divinity. And again, when he had conquered death and hell, and burst the prison of the grave, and brought life and immortality to man, and was ascending in triumph to the heaven he had left, a cloud received him from the gaze of his wondering disciples. And when time shall be no longer, and the last scene of probation shall be unrolled, the JUDGE of quick and dead, before whose face the earth and heavens shall flee away, shall appear in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory!

Rochester, (N. Y.)

TRUE FREEDOM: A SONNET.

OH! what is Freedom? Say, is that man free
Who wears no shackles on his outward frame,
And knows no lord his weary toil to claim,
Or force obeisance on the bended knee;
Who yet is bound with bosom slavery,

And dares not in the face of men to name

His thoughts and feelings lest they bring him shame ?

Call him not free! 't is hollow mockery!

Let him the name of 'freeman' only wear

Who heralds forth the truth with curbless tongue:

Who stands erect his fellow men among,

And scorns the coward's abject name to bear!
His name with that of heroes shall be sung,
And he, their equal, will their glory share!

RUFUS HENRY BACON.

то MRS. L. G. R... ON HER MARRIAGE.

LINE S.

TRANSLATED FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ.

BY DR. DICKSON, OF LONDON.

To me- to me, in Beauty's smile who live,
What boot the thousand blessings life can give,
If every hour the clock's complaining tone
Tell's me to put my camel's saddle on?
How can the careless wanderer by the shore,
Where no winds ruffle and no waters roar,
Know the condition of the tempest-tossed
When hope, and health, and all save life is lost;
Or thou, all cold and loveless as thou art,
Guess at the wretchedness of HAFIZ' heart,
When to his bosom Love and Zephyr bear
The musky odors of his Beauty's hair!

SKETCHES

OF THE EAST.

FROM OUR ORIENTAL CORRESPONDENT.

AMONG the twelve lunar months of the people of the East, there is one which is considered by Mussulmans as being holier than any other. This is the moon or month of Ramazan, and it is never written without the title of the Blessed' being attached to it. Their prophet, (a wonderful man he was,) commanded all his faithful followers to observe it as a fast; and from the earliest dawn, to the setting of the sun, no 'Mohammedan,' who has any respect for his religion, will disobey this command. Those only are excepted who are ill, or on a long journey which renders its observance a matter of impracticability, in which case however they must make amends for. the indulgence by fasting for the same length of time during one of the other months. When, by the changes of the lunar months, the fast occurs in the heats of summer, it falls heavily upon the laborer, who can neither smoke, eat nor drink during the whole length of a warm day. The first privation seems to be regarded as the greatest; for no fond lover ever looks oftener and more tenderly upon the face of his fair mistress than does the fasting Mussulman upon the silent and insensible charms presented to his eye by his forbidden Tchibook and tobacco-bag; and did there exist but a spark of that burning spirit of poetry in the breast of the Islamites which flames up so brightly in the bosoms of the people of the West, on less inspiring occasions, many an ode would certainly be entitled, The Mussulman in Ramazan to his Prophet-forbidden pipe.'

The Sultan anxiously tries to wile away the live-long day by incog

nito excursions to his various establishments, or to the many attractive parts of his immense capital, or its suburbs on the Bosphorus. The Pacha rises near noon, and after performing the Namaz, or prayer of that part of the day, unwillingly steps into his spacious barge, and is conducted to his bureau at the Sublime Porte. What business he performs is but half done: when pressed to have the most trifling service rendered, he is prone to reply that it is Ramazan,' and it must lie over until its close. The subordinate, the clerk, even the attendant about the great man, does not hesitate to dismiss the applicant on the same excuse. A couple of hours at the office, then back again to the cool and comfortable repose of the summer-house or yalee, on the Bosphorus, where, freed from irksome applications, every moment is counted, until the booming of the cannon of the neighboring fortress announces that the great enemy of his tastes and pleasures, the sun, has disappeared in the western horizon. By this time his invited guests have arrived, and the uncalled and unbidden to the feast (for Ramazan is the soul of Mussulman hospitality) have collected near the bountiful host; the Iftar or break-fast, is partaken of; the sun-set Namaz is performed; the evening feast is enjoyed; and, amid clouds of fragrant smoke, peace-offerings to avenged heaven, the light conversation, the tale, the anecdote, and the laughter of mirth, and forgotten discontent, replace the miseries of the past.

The same may be said, in a modified sense, of all the officers of the government, the wealthier merchants, and even of the shop-keepers of the capital. They all follow the pastimes of doing nothing; the farniente' without the 'dolce', and the month is a holiday to the man as well as to the youth. Daily laborers, the mechanic, the porter, and the boatman on the Bosphorus, are those who suffer most, both from the loss of water as well as of the pipe. Deep-seated respect for their religion sustains them, conscientiously, through the temptations which beset them at every fountain or in every coffee-shop; and no one can see the half-expiring caïkji toil at his heavy oar under a burning sun, with streams of perspiration flowing down his scorching features, without feelings of pity mingled with admiration.

In the latter part of the month, Turkish ladies flock to the bazaars to purchase new dresses for themselves, their husbands, and their children and slaves for the coming Festival of Baïram, which lasts during three merry days in the following month of Shâvâl. Carriages, horses and caïques are now in uncommon repute; and if the poor laborer has suffered during the fast, he now finds an abundant harvest in the succeeding feast.

In the latter part of the Fast of Ramazan a friend and myself went to dine with one of the Pachas of the highest rank in Constantinople. We were among the unbidden, but not for that the less welcome, of his guests. Leaving the quiet nook in the Bosphorus where I reside, Bebek, we stepped into a caïque with two pairs of oars, and a short time before sun-set were speeding our way up the stream toward the residence of the Pacha, the heights of Candillee, whence a view of almost the entire length and breadth of the noble stream on which we floated is seen to better advantage than from any other spot; the