If you do not believe what I tell you, read the wonderful story of Count ----- which is told by Dumas in his "Corriccolo," and at least you will be amused, if not convinced. Listen, however, to this one historical incident, and believe it or not, as you please. Ferdinand of Naples died on the night of the 3d of January, 1825, and was found dead in the morning. The physicians attributed his death to a stroke of apoplexy; but that was in consequence of their pretended science and real ignorance. The actual cause of his death was this,--and if you do not believe it, ask any true Neapolitan, or Alexander Dumas, if you put more faith in him.--A certain _canonico,_ named Don Ojori, had for many years desired an audience of Ferdinand, to present him a certain book, of which Don Ojori was the author. The King had his good reasons for refusing, for Don Ojori was well known to be the greatest _jettatore_ in Naples. Finally, on the 2d of January, the King was persuaded to grant him the desired favor the next day, much against his will. The _canonico_ came, and after a long audience left his book and many prayers for the King's prosperity. But Ferdinand did not survive the interview a whole day; and if this be not proof that Don Ojori bewitched him to his destruction, what is? * * * * * PYTHAGORAS. Above the petty passions of the crowd I stand in frozen marble like a god, Inviolate, and ancient as the moon. The thing I am, and not the thing Man is, Fills these blank sockets. Let him moan and die; For he is dust that shall be laid again: I know my own creation was divine. Strewn on the breezy continents I see The veined shells and glistening scales which once Enwrapt my being,--husks that had their use; I brood on all the shapes I must attain Before I reach the Perfect, which is God, And dream my dream, and let the rabble go: For I am of the mountains and the sea, The deserts, and the caverns in the earth, The catacombs and fragments of old worlds. I was a spirit on the mountain-tops,-- A perfume in the valleys,--a simoom On arid deserts,--a nomadic wind Roaming the universe,--a tireless Voice. I was ere Romulus and Remus were; I was ere Nineveh and Babylon; I was, and am, and evermore shall be,-- Progressing, never reaching to the end.