In the year of grace 1594, Marcus Knox, a merchant of Glasgow, zealous for the interests of the reformed religion, caused me to be fabricated in Holland for the use of his fellow citizens in Glasgow, and placed me with solemnity in the tower of their cathedral. My function was to announce, by the impress on my bosom, (Me audito venias doctrinam sanctam ut discas;[2]) and I was taught to proclaim the hours of unheeded time. 195 years had I sounded these awful warnings, when I was broken by the hands of inconsiderate and unskilful men. In the year 1790, I was cast into the furnace, refounded at London, and returned to my sacred vocation. Reader, thou also shall know a resurrection, may it be to eternal life. MALVINA. [2] Come, that ye may learn holy doctrine. * * * * * FANCY. (_For the Mirror_.) _Me_, oft hath Fancy, in her fitful dream, Seated within a far sequestered dell, What time upon the noiseless waters fell, Mingled with length'ning leafy shade, a gleam Of the departing sun's environ'd beam; While all was hush'd, save that the lone death-bell Would seem to beat, and pensive smite mine ear Like spirit's wail, now distant far, now near: Then the night-breeze would seem to chill my cheek, And viewless beings flitting round, to _speak!_ And then, a throng of mournful thoughts would press On this, my wild-ideal loneliness. Me, oft hath Fancy too, in musing hour Seated (what time the blithesome summer-day Was burning 'neath the fierce meridian ray) Within that self-same lonely woodland bow'r So sultry and still; but _then_, the tower, The hamlet tow'r, sent forth a roundelay; I seem'd to hear, till feelings o'er me stole Faintly and sweet, enwrapping all my soul, Joy, grief, were strangely blended in the sound. The light, warm sigh of summer, was around, But ne'er may speech, _such_ thoughts, _such_ visions tell, Then, perfect most, when _indescribable!_ M.L.B. * * * * * FINE ARTS * * * * * THE PROGRESS OF PAINTING IN FRANCE. (_For the Mirror_.)