write this on Christmas Day, and beg heartily
to wish yon a very happy one, and a
prosperous New Year.

TWO SONNETS.

THE first of the following Sonnets was
quoted some years ago in a newspaper (the
"Nation," if we remember rightly), with the
following editorial note .—

"Which of our readers can tell us the author of this
sonnet the noblest, we think, in the English language?
It has the deep philosophy of Wordsworth, in the direct
and nervous language of Milton. We heard it recited some
years ago as Coleridge's; but it does not appear in any
edition we have seen of his collected works; and though it
is unmistakeably of the Lake school, neither is it to be
found among Wordsworth's or Southey's:—

THE GOOD GREAT MAN.

How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits
Honour and wealth, with all his worth and pains!
It seems a story from the world of spirits
When any man obtains that which he merits,
Or any merits that which he obtains.
For shame, my friend, renounce this idle strain!
What would'st thou have a good great man obtain?
Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain,
Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain?
Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends.
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good great man? Three treasures—love, and
light,
And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath;
And three fast friends, more sure than day or
night—
Himself, his Maker, and the Angel Death.

The following Answer, (not as to who
wrote the Sonnet, for that is still unknown
to us,) was written in 1847, and is now printed
for the first time. Its applicability to the
principles of the newly-projected Guild of
Literature and Art, will be sufficiently
apparent.

ANSWER.

I WOULD not have a great good man defile
His hand with grasping, nor his soul with guile,
Nor sacrifice, to any outward things,
His inward splendour and his upward wings.
But also, would I not behold him blind
To the world's bitterness and pinching facts,—
Far less, if means of life with a free mind
Be his, while penury his friend distracts.

Oh, noble sage, forget not, when the hour
Of inspiration ends, that for its lamp
To burn with purity and constant power,
Oil, and four walls, that reek not with the damp,
Are needful, that the man with steady eye
May look in his wife's face, nor o'er his children sigh.

A PEEP AT THE "PERAHARRA."

OF the religious festivals of the Buddhists
of Ceylon, that known as the Peraharra is
the most important. It is observed at Kandy,
the capital of the ancient Kings of Ceylon,
and at Ratnapoora, the chief town of the
Saffragam district. Few good Buddhists will
be absent from these religious observances;
and whole families may be seen journeying on
foot for many miles, over mountains, through
dense jungles and unwholesome swamps,
across rapid and dangerous streams, along hot
sandy pathways, loaded with their pittance of
food and the more bulky presents of fruit,
rice, oil, and flowers, to lay at the foot of the
holy shrine of Buddha, to be eventually
devoured by the insatiable priests.

In the month of July, 1840, I had a peep at
the celebrated Peraharra of Ratnapoora, where
the shrine sacred to the memory of Saman
rivals in attraction the great Dalada Maligawa
of Kandy. Like its mountain competitor, it
has its relic of Buddha enshrined in a richly-
jewelled casket, which is made an object ot
especial veneration to the votaries of that
god. Saman was the brother of the famed
Rama, the Malabar conqueror who invaded
Ceylon in ages long past, and extirpated from
its flowery shores the race of mighty giants
who had held its people in subjection for
many centuries a—sort of Oriental King
Arthur. To Saman was given the district
of Saffragam; and the people of that country,
at his death, promoted him to the dignity of
a deity, as a slight token of their regard.

The Ratnapoora festival is the more attractive
by reason of its being made the occasion
of a large traific in precious stones, with
which the neighbourhood abounds. In this
way the great part of the Buddhists manage
to combine commerce with devotion.

The road to the Saffragam district was, in
the time at which I travelled it, a very
barbarous and dangerous affair, differing widely
from the excellent traces which existed
through most of the maritime provinces of
Ceylon. It was then, in fact, little more than
a mere bullock-track, or bridle-path, with no
bridges to aid in crossing the streams which
intersect it. The journey from Colombo to
Ratnapoora may now be easily performed in
one day: at that time it required a good
nag and careful diligence to accomplish it
in two.

Day dawned as I got clear of the Pettah,
or Black Town of Colombo, and crossed a
small stream which led me to the jungle, or
village road, I was to follow. In England,
we should call such a muddy lane; but here
one knows little between the good high roads
and the bullock-track. Strange as it may
sound to home travellers, one is often glad
to see the sun rise, and feel it warm the
heavy, damp air in the tropics. Before me
lay a long straggling line of low jungle,
indicating the road: far away in the distance rose
the high, bluff hill and rocks towering over
the once royal domain of Avishawella. Around,
on every side, was water, completely hiding
the fields from view, and only allowing a bush,
or a tree, or a hut-top, to be seen peeping up
through the aqueous veil, dotting the wide
expanse like daisies in a field. The rains had
flooded the whole of the low country, which ,
inundated by many mountain torrents, could
not discharge the mass of streams nearly so