Urdda bensel, Llywelyn,
Arddel hwy, a'r ddeuliw hyn.
Galw gar bron, gwae Loegr o'r brâd,
Lu Bryttaen, a'i lwybr attad.
Dyred i'n gwlad, dûr iawn gledd,
Deyrnaswr, drwy Ynysedd;
Cynneu dân cyn oed unawr,
I oror Môn, Eryr mawr!
Cûr gestyll, caerau gystudd,
Cwncweria wal Cŵn Caer Ludd.
Cûr, a lladd, y wadd a'i wŷr,
Cyrn aur Môn, cûr Normanwyr.
Dir yw gwnai, darogan oedd,
Fyd teilwng, o fatteloedd;

Gwna frwydr, a gwaith grwydr yngrôch,
A'r Llew mwyn, Iôr, lle mynoch;
Gwaith dy law a ddaw yn ddig,

Gwyr meirw a geir ym Merwyg.
Gwna drwy'r haf, gwn droi'r rhod,
Gymmynu, brwydr, gwminod;
Gwna gâd, fal toriad deri,
Fochno a hŷn fŷch na hi.

Gwna daith, yn rhyd Glyn Iaithon.
Gwŷr lawer a maner Môn;
Gwna naw câd, yn daladwy,
Yn un modd, ag na wna mwy.
Deigr Cadwaladr Fendigaid,
Dyred, a dwg dir dy daid;
Dyga ran dy garennydd,

Dwg ni, onn rhwym, dygn yn rhŷdd.

When the life sun of Owain Glyndyfrdwy set in the night of death, the last faint glimmer of Royalty emanating from the ancient Blood Royal of Britain died out with him.-Sic transit gloria mundi.

"Cur mundus militat sub vana gloria,
Cujus prosperitas est transitoria?
Tam cito labitur ejus potentia,
Quam vasa figuli, qua sunt fragilia,
Plus crede litteris scriptis in glacie
Quam mundi fragilis vana fallaciæ.
Dic ubi Salomon, olim tam nobilis,
Vel ubi Sampson est, dux invincibilis,
Vel pulcher Absalon, vultu mirabilis,
Vel dulcis Ionatas, multum amabilis ?"

Quo Cæsar abiit, celsus imperio,
Vel Dives, splendidus totus in prandio?
Dic ubi Tullius, clarus eloquio?
Vel Aristoteles, summus ingenio?
Tot clari proceres, tot rerum spatia
Tot ora præsulum, tot regna fortia?
Tot mundi principes, tanta potentia?
In ictu oculi claudenter omnia.

Quam breve festum est, hac mundi gloria!
Ut umbra hominis, sic ejus gaudia.
Quæ semper subtrahunt æterna præmia,
Et ducunt hominem ad dura devia
O esca vermium, O massa pulveris,
O ros, O vanitas cur sic extolleris?
Ignoras penitus, utrum cras vixeris.
Fac bonum omnibus, quamdiu poteris,
Hæc mundi gloria, qua magni penditur,
Sacris in litteris flos fani dicitur.
Ut leve folium, quod vento vapitur,
Sic vita hominum hæc vita tollitur.
Nil tuum dixeris, quod potes perdere,
Quod mundus tribuit, intendit rapere,
Superna cogita, cor sit in æthere,

Felix qui potuit mundum contemnere."

Where, then, are the souls of the departed, and what is their state?

66 They are gone from us for ever,

Longer here they might not stay,
They have reached a fairer region,
Far away, far away."2

"Plato, in the Phado, represents Socrates as describing
the place to which souls repair after death. He imagines
a sort of ethereal earth above that in which we live, and
of which our earth is, as it were, the foundation on
which it rests, formed by the sediment of a much purer
matter, and resembling the bottom of a vast gulf, in
which water, darkness, and dense air are collected to-
gether. We crawl along on this, the surface of our earth,
on which the atmosphere rests; and it is only through
this dense atmosphere, in which we are able to breathe,
that, when we look up, we can see the purer atmosphere,
Jocoponus, of Todi, in Umbria.
2 Miss Lindsay.

which, gradually getting more rarefied, extends to the pure region of the ether into the realms of light, in which the stars are placed and the planets have their courses. Thus, we who exist and crawl along on the surface of this material earth are just like a man who should crawl along the bottom of the sea, and who, seeing the sun and stars through the water, should think that the sky is the surface of the sea. That which would happen to this man, if he had never been able to reach the surface, or raise his head above the water, to see how much more beautiful and luminous the region of the ether is, happens to us, who take the upper portion of the air for the sky, as though that were actually the heaven in which the stars move. If our weakness and the laws of gravity did not prevent us from rising to the summit of the air, or atmosphere, we should be enabled to enjoy the brilliant spectacle of that glorious region which the true sky conceals, and where the true light shines. Our earth contains nothing that can be compared to the wonders of this, from us, distant region. Colours are brighter and more brilliant there; vegetation is more luxuriant; trees, flowers, and fruits are infinitely more perfect than here below." "To watch, to feel, to think, is for us the greatest happiness. We possess it only by flashes, as it were, but God possesses it constantly. Enjoyment, for Him, is action. (Aristotle, Metaph. xii, 7.) How, then, can we look forward to an eternity of idleness? The Greeks gave the soul its best and truest name, Asthma,' aspiration. Ever aspiring, yet never satisfied, it is constantly progressing in its path towards that perfection which ultimately, after many trials, and having overcome its spiritual ememies, it hopes to attain."

The soul, when it leaves the body, possesses the same desires, affections, hatreds, antipathies, and propensities as it had when it occupied its earthly tenement of the flesh. This we see fully exemplified in nature with regard to the dragon-fly. A certain voracious grub inhabits the bottom of a stagnant pool. This grub, or

pupa, which is provided with legs, climbs some way up a flag, or other water plant, which it grasps tightly, and then stretches and strains itself in every direction; presently the head bursts, and the antennæ and head of the fly protrude, also its two front legs. The pupa holds on with its legs; the fly endeavours to extricate itself from the pupa with its own, and finally succeeds, leaving the lifeless husk on the plant which it ascended. But the sight of an apparent struggle between two animals possessing the same body is very unpleasant.' When free from its pupa, or corpse, the dragon-fly hovers over the pool of water with the same voracious propensities as it possessed when it occupied the body in the shape of a grub at the bottom of a pond.

That the dead retain the same affection and interest in those that they loved on earth, each one, or most of us, at least, particularly those who have attended deathbeds, must be well aware of, from the frequency of the spirits of the departed coming round the death-beds of those they loved or liked. The following stories are instances in point of the truth of this assertion. King Amenemhat I, of Egypt, represents himself as "now being one of the happy dead, he has already begun prayers for the welfare of his son".

Mr. Thomas Brevior relates the following story in the Psychological Review for April 1878.

There were two companies of the 74th Highlanders at Shorapoor with Colonel Hughes's force. After the place was taken, one company was located, as I have before stated, in my house on the hill, the other remaining in camp below the town, till they should return to Bellary. One afternoonI have forgotten the date--Captain, the senior officer, was sitting in his tent, writing letters to England, as the mail letters had to be forwarded by that evening's post, and had had the side wall of his tent opened for light and air, when a young man of his company appeared suddenly before him in his hospital dress, without his cap, and without saluting him, said, "I wish, Sir, you would have my arrears of pay sent to my mother, who lives at -, please take down the address". Captain took down the address mechanically, and said,

The Unseen World. Masters, New Bond Street.

"All right, my man, that will do"; and again making no salute, the man went away. A moment after, Captain remembered that the dress and appearance of the soldier, and his manner of coming in were highly irregular, and desired his orderly to send the sergeant to him directly.

allow you

"Why did to come to me in that irregular manner?" he asked, as soon as the sergeant came.

The man was thunderstruck. "Sir," he exclaimed, "do you not remember he died yesterday in hospital, and was buried this morning? Are you sure, Sir, you saw him?”

"Quite sure," was the reply; "and here is the memorandum I took down from him of his mother's address, to whom he wished his pay should be sent."

"That is strange, Sir," said the sergeant; "his things were sold by auction to-day, and I could not find where the money should be sent, in the company's registry; but it may be with the general registry with the regiment.'

The books were searched; the address taken down was proved to be correct, and the circumstance made a profound impression upon all who knew the facts.

The following occurrence is related in Burke's Tales of the Peerage. Gabriel Hamilton, of Westburn, in the county of Lanark, was the representative of an ancient and distinguished branch of the Duke of Hamilton's family, viz., Hamilton of Torrance, a cadet of the great house of Raploch, which was immediately sprung from the Lords of Cadzow, the ancestors of the Earls of Arran and Dukes of Hamilton. The grandmother of this Hamilton of Westburn was a daughter of Sir Walter Stuart of Allanton. And thus Westburn and Allanton were near kinsmen, at a time when relationship and intimacy were synonymous. The death of Westburn took place in 1757 or 1758, and Allanton had predeceased him several years. Their estates, moreover, were situated in the same county, and they were on the most affectionate and familiar terms with each other.

Westburn, who was an elderly man, and not in very strong health, was in the habit of reposing during an hour after dinner; and his wife, the beautiful and estimable Agnes Dundas, heiress of Duddingston, usually sat by the side of the couch, reading to him, or conversing till he fell asleep. One day he slept longer, and apparently more soundly than usual, and at length he suddenly awoke, and said that he had been roused by the fluttering of the wings of doves. He then addressed his wife, and related to her the following remarkable dream :

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