In the hero, firm as steel, In the virgin, soft as snow, In the coward, citadel Where the recreant blood doth go Hiding from the sight of foe. In the mother’s anxious breast Who can picture thy unrest? When her babe lies low— With the fitful fever burning, No relief—still restless turning Ever to and fro! In the bride what mixed commotion When the words, “Be man and wife” Thrill her with that soft emotion Known but once in life. Priceless jewel! hidden treasure! All the world to thee is naught; Working loom of ceaseless pleasure, Weaving without stint or measure Woof and web of thought: Hive of Life! where drone and bee Struggle for the mastery, In the never-ceasing motion, Like a great star in the ocean, Shines the soul! thy heavenly part, Throbbing, life-assuring heart! * * * * * DOCTOR SIAN SENG OR THE CHINAMAN IN PARIS (FROM THE FRENCH OF MERY.) [Illustration] I, the Doctor Sian Seng to Tching-bit-ha-ki. On receipt of this letter forthwith go to Houang-xa, to the yellow temple of Fo, and burn upon the altar a stick of camphor for me, for I have arrived safely at Paris. I have sailed five thousand three hundred and twenty leagues since my embarkation at Hoang-Ho, with peril of life beneath my feet the whole voyage—and Providence has protected me. May my ancestors deign to watch over me more than ever at this moment! Paris is a field of battle, where bullets are represented by wheels and horses; those who have neither carriage nor horses, perish miserably in the flower of their age. There are seventeen hospitals for the wounded; I saw one yesterday with this inscription, in large letters, “Hospital for Incurables.” The wounded who are carried there, know when they enter that they will never come out alive—they know their fate! It is very charitable on the part of the doctors. You can now see that the Barbarians understand civilization! Notwithstanding the sage precepts of Li-ki, and the law of Menu, I have purchased a carriage on four wheels, drawn by horses, and have wept in anticipation of the unhappy fate of those I am about to send to the “Hospital for Incurables;” but there are but two modes of living in Paris—you must crush others, or be crushed yourself. I think it most prudent to do the first.