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stranger through the silent streets of the city, and passed the garden of graves. Their way was not long, but it was one Hamed had never travelled before in all his goings. At last it led him to a solitary plain, on which the stars were shining. Behind, the spires of the city were seen faintly, as if far away; and before them rose a vast barrier, like a wall of granite, whose summit w.is lost in the sky. In the midst of it was a door, wide as the gates of the Seraglio. “This,” said his guide, “is the door which I open to all livingmen call it by many names, yet it has but one. Stand thou on the threshold, and mark those that pass, for thy time is near, but not yet come.”

He plied the key, the ponderous door swung back without sound of bolt or hinge, and Hamed stood beside him on the threshold. The prospect beyond seemed boundless, but of what character he could not tell, for the light there was like the earliest grey of morning, yet Hamed could see companies of people trooping across the plain, and in at that open door. Of all ages, nations, and ranks, they seemed when approaching the threshold, but their differences of costume and appearance were wonderfully softened in the grey light beyond. Stranger still it appeared to Hamed, that they all carried burdens in one shape or other: every man, woman, and child was laden, and though the magnitude of their burdens was unaccountably various, etery one moved as if his strength was tasked to the utmost. As Hamed's eye became accustomed to that strange light, he also perceived that just beyond the threshold ran a deep and narrow stream ; its waters made no sound, though they passed with the swiftness of an arrow, and all comers, as they stepped over, dropped their burdens in or carried them onward, according to the command of the guide. “Sheik of the door,” said Hamed, “tell me, are these all porters ? whose goods do they carry ? and why are so many cast into the stream?"

“ They carry no goods but their own," replied the guide. “ Listen, and be instructed.” While he spoke, there approached a peasant man, bowed with a heavy burden, which seemed of iron ware.

“What weight hast thou brought to the threshold ?” demanded Hamed's guide ; and he answered, “ Mine age and poverty."

“Cast it into the stream of oblivion,” said the guide, touching him with his sickle ; and as the man stepped over, the burden dropped from his shoulders, the deep waters closed over it, and he went forward, free and unencumbered, to those regions of morning. Hamed was about to express his wonder, when another appeared, habited like a vizier, with a burden almost as great, but it had a broidered covering, and he seemed more fearful to enter.

“Of what consists thy burden?” said the guide; and he replied, “The honours of my high estate, and the cares of my riches.” But the guide touched him with his sickle, and said “Let fall.” And as he crossed, the greater part of his burden fell; but a small portion remained, which grew and enlarged at every step, till it seemed greater than all the rest had been. Then said Hamed, “ Oh, Sheik, what is this that remains, and how is the increase ?" ! And his guide answered him, “ This is the luxury of his wealth, and the injustice of his power; for such burdens cannot fall, and their true magnitude appears in this place, because the coverings that dazzled men's sight are removed.”

Thus there passed men of all climes and conditions, various as ever Hamed had seen at the harbour or the slave market. Franks, Nubians, Greeks, and Jews, with many of the true believers ; yet his guide paused not for their professions, but spake to all in the same language, touching their burdens. Still more various were the contents of these, and the chances of their bearers in crossing that soundless stream. One came laden with his pride ; and it was

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with him as had happened to the vizier, for the sins of his arrogance remained when the pride was gone. Another carried the evil fortunes of his life. He said, “I was lame, and my people despised me, though I taught them to recite the Koran." But when the guide touched him with his sickle, saying, “ Lay down," there remained a small weight, which seemed of solid iron, and he said, “It is the hardness of heart and despite of his fellow-men, which gathered round him in the course of luckless years.". Yet, as the man receded in that land of dawn, his burden appeared to grow lighter, and whether or not it fell from him in the distance, Hamed could not tell. Children came there, who laid down the burdens of sickly constitutions, and the remembrance of harsh nurses ; women, who dropped into the stream of oblivion large weights of family care and domestic disquiet ; but there were two that retained their burdens : one was attired like a Sultana, her load was large and cumbrous, and she said—“It is my vanity and my fear. I was Zeline, the eldest daughter of the Sultan. Men called me the star of the Seraglio, and I glorified myself, but feared all things—the sun, and the plague, the power of time, fairer faces, and thee, Oh reaper of the tireless sickle." And he said, “Let fall,” but only the silken covering fell, and she went onward, laden with a mass of rags and rubbish. The other was clad in poor Christian garments, but her face resembled the faithful, though furrows and weariness were on it: her burden was heavier, but more tightly bound; and when she was asked what it contained, the woman spake of much penury and long sickness, of a household who had forsaken her, of three children who were ashamed of their Moslem mother, and the love of a Greek who had proved inconstant and unkind.

“ Then,” said he of the sickle, “Would'st thou cast off the whole ?” but the woman replied so low that Hamed could not hear whether she said, I cannot, or I would not. “Let fall the sorrow of it, then,” said his guide, and he saw the outward part of it drop away as she crossed the stream, while the rest fell round her like a mantle, and Hamed exclaimed in amazement, “God is great!”

Scarce had he spoken, when the woman turned, and he knew it was his sister, for she looked as in her youth, and Hamed cried, “Let me go to salute her," but his guide said, “In three months thou wilt come to rejoin her, and lay down thy burden also.”

“ Great Sheik of the door," said Hamed, "tell me what shall I let fall, and what must cling to me when that silent stream is passed ;” but the answer of his guide was lost in a shout of " Hamed, Hamed, arise, and help to carry away the goods of Ali Deen, the silversmith, for he hath become a Nazarene dog, and they are confiscated.”

The porter started at the noise, and saw the morning shining into his hut, and the Servian shouting to him through the window-for it was a dream. But in that night there was wailing in the seraglio for the death of Zeline, the Sultan's eldest daughter, and a Greek priest had chaunted hymns for the soul of the dead in an old caravansery, where Hamed's sister had lived with a Greek in Pera. All this the porter learned, when the confiscated goods of Ali Deen had been safely lodged in the Cadi's store-house ; but many a Dervise, and many an Imaun did he consult in vain, to discover the meaning of the vision, and whether or not it was sent him by the Prophet. Most of them promised him an answer in twelve monts,--but one to whom ho mentioned that there had been a Dervise among the burden-bearers, who cast off a bundle of doubts and cares, yet retained a much larger one of deceit and uncharitableness—publicly declared he was mad, and advised that he should be immediately secured. "Doubtless, the worthy man's advice would have been taken, but Hamed stole quietly home to his hut, and from that day avoided either repeating his dream or asking questions. It was observed, also, that he

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never again over-exerted his strength, nor scowled upon the more successful porters ; that he shared his earnings with his sister's children, and something like a friendship grew up between him and the Servian—but its trial was not long, for the latter made recitations of the Koran beside his grave, just three months after the day of the Armenian's bale, which all the porters in Constantinople affirmed to have broken the heart of Hamed, and given him that inexplicable Vision of Burdens.



WHEN fortune's ever-smiling sun

Our pathway doth pervade,
How soon, alas ! we then forget

Those dwelling in the shade!
We seek the smooth, unbroken road,

And shun the sight of sorrow :
Forgetting that the self-same sun

May shine on them to-morrow!

But if she on an after day

Untimely should depart,
What bitter anguish then will cause

The burning tear to start !
We meet a look of cold reserve

From those on whom she smiles,
And the long-forsaken friend,

He turns him and reviles !

It is while dwelling in the shade

We learn to sympathise ;
And sorrow's blighted form becomes

Familiar to our eyes.
Oh! through life's weary pilgrimage,

Our joy and grief's surveyed
By Him who doth predestinate

The sunshine and the shade!


THB completion of our second volume gives me opportunity and fair reason for addressing a few lines, more or less personal, to my good friends, the thirty or forty thousand readers of this Magazine.

Three years since the Directors elected me from among some thirty literary applicants, to fill the editorial chair of the Odd-fellows' Quarterly Magazine. I was not at that time an Odd-fellow, and I came, necessarily, with some degree of diffidence to the work. Of course I met with some discouragements and coldnesses—as what new man in a new post does not? Of course there were not wanting those who knew exactly how a magazine, addressed to Odd. fellows, should be conducted ; though, as in many like cases, they persistently, and somewhat strangely, kept the important knowledge to themselves. Of course there were grumblers : who has failed to encounter numerous members of the great fraternity? some desiring " light literature" (which is generally rather heavy reading, by the way); others, disquisitions on “poli. tical economy and vital statistics;" some being all in favour of Odd-fellowship and the discussion of what may be termed the “politics of the Order ;" others, not daring to approach such subjects, except by very circuitous and rugged bye-paths. Like the old man in the fable, I was encumbered with good advice. But I listened with courtesy and frankness to all; took ad. vantage of what I considered useful, and respectfully declined to adopt the rest. Sidney Smith tells us that there are men who consider themselves capable of editing a newspaper, guiding the helm of the State, or performing the operation for the stone: what wonder, then, that every correspondent who had a theory to advance, should believe his particular theory the safest and the best for the sustentation and popularity of the Magazine. But I did not blindly rely on my own strength. I took advice, from those who were capable of giving it; and acted on it. Contrary, however, to the wishes of some gentlemen, who claimed to possess a thorough knowledge of the Order, I was initiated a member of the great Manchester Unity, so that I might see and judge for myself. I passed—I hope I may be allowed to say creditably-through the several offices in my Lodge; and, in a few months, I conquered the alphabet of Odd-fellowship. There is much yet for me to learn; but I am learning it every day.

On the other hand, I am very happy to say that I have received kind and considerate attention from some of the most prominent members of the Unity, and, indeed, from the Directors, and my correspondents generally. I cannot, in this place, refrain from mentioning the names of some of those to whose warm and ungrudging sympathy and assistance I am especially indebted. Past Grand Masters Charles Hardwick, Samuel Daynes, James Roe, John Schofield, William Alexander, Benjamin Street, and William Hickton; Grand Master Henry Buck, Deputy Grand Master John Gale, Corresponding Secretary Henry Ratcliffe, Past Provincial Grand Master William Aitken ; Vincent R. Burgess, C.S. of South London ; and John Harris, Deputy Grand Master of North London-all these I am proud to number among the many dear and valued friends I have acquired in the Order. Indeed, I ought considerably to extend the list; but to these gentlemen I beg to tender my sincere thanks for many important hints and much ex. cellent, because disinterested, counsel.

On the whole, therefore, I have great reason to be thankful. All with



whom I have conversed or corresponded since I have had the honour of conducting this Magazine, have expressed themselves favourably towards me and it. There have certainly been differences of opinion, sometimes, on certain points--it would have been very strange if there had not--and I have had, occasionally, to submit to adverse criticism and misrepresentation, as a sort of counter-irritant to over-much flattery and praise. But it has always been, and I trust always will be, my earnest endeavour to do my duty with manfulness and integrity; striving continually to render this Magazine worthy, the flourishing association of which it is the literary organ, and creditable to my own reputation.

With this view, I early sought the co-operation of my literary friends and acquaintance, and frankly invited my readers to give me their cordial assistance. Among those well-known writers, whose names I announced, the following have contributed papers especially written for the Magazine :Eliza Cook, both in prose and verse; Caroline A. White, the excellent editor of the Ladies' Companion ; Mrs. De Morgan, wife to the celebrated Professor; and Miss Isabella Munro. Among the gentleman writers, it will be sufficient to name Messrs. Charles Hardwick, Dudley Costello, Dr. Edward Smith (Professor of Botany at King's College), Cuthbert Bede, W. C. Bennett, E. F. Roberts, J. Hain Friswell, Andrew Halliday, John Leaf, William Dalton, James Ewing Ritchie (editor and proprietor of the National Magazine), W. F. Peacock, Alfred Alaric Watts, William J. Ostell, George Augustus Sala--all of whom, except the last, have written original articles, which have appeared only in these pages. But, in addition to these, our Magazine has been honoured by contributions from the pens of Dr. Anna Blackwell, the talented and amiable Y. S. N., Dr. Henry Owgan, Stephen Leigh Hunt, William Aitken, J. A. Wyndham, Edward Mogridge (son of “old Humphrey" of the Tract Society), J. Critchley Prince, E. L. Blanchard, Edwin Goadby, and the clever and practical author of " Leaves from the Diary of a Relieving Officer ; ” to say nothing of many selections useful to my readers, and such memoranda as was deemed necessary to a proper understanding of the progress of our association.

Much, however, remains to be done. It is difficult to please all tastes, and equally difficult to say in what direction improvement is needful. It will be my endeavour, in the forthcoming volume, to render the Magazine Btill more worthy the acceptance of my brother Odd-fellows. Arrangements are in progress with writers who have not yet addressed themselves to our special audience, and it will be my endeavour to include in each number one or more papers of undeniable interest to the members of Friendly Societies.

In conclusion, I cordially invite the co-operation of all well-wishers to this Magazine. Quoting a former address, I have only to say that what has been done may be taken as an earnest of the future, and that I trust our united endeavours may secure for this periodical the widest possible recognition and usefulness. Let every member who wishes well to the Magazine procure one other subscriber, and success is at once assured and certain.

Beaumont Square, London, E.,

Sept., 1860.

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