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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29218-8.txt b/29218-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f92914 --- /dev/null +++ b/29218-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7052 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol. XXXII No. 2. +February 1848, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Graham's Magazine Vol. XXXII No. 2. February 1848 + +Author: Various + +Editor: George R. Graham + Robert T. Conrad + +Release Date: June 24, 2009 [EBook #29218] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, FEB 1848 *** + + + + +Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + + + + +GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE. + +VOL. XXXII. PHILADELPHIA, FEBRUARY, 1848. No. 2. + +STOKE CHURCH AND PARK. + +THE SCENE OF GRAY'S ELEGY, AND RESIDENCE OF THE PENNS OF PENNSYLVANIA + +BY R. BALMANNO. + + +[Illustration: Manor of Stoke] + +The Manor of Stoke, with its magnificent mansion and picturesque park, +is situate near the village of Stoke Pogeys, in the county of +Buckingham, four miles north-west of Windsor. + +About two miles distant from Stoke lies the village of Slough, +rendered famous by the residence of the celebrated astronomer, Sir +William Herschel, and a short way further, on a gentle slope continued +the whole way from Stoke, stand the venerable towers of time-honored +Eton, on the bank of the Thames, directly opposite, and looking up to +the proud castle of the kings of England, unmatched in its lofty, +commanding situation and rich scenery by that of any royal residence +in Europe. + +Stoke, anciently written Stoches, belonged, in the time of William the +Conqueror, A. D. 1086, to William, son of Ansculf, of whom it was held +by Walter de Stoke. Previous thereto, it was in part held by Siret, a +vassal of Harold, and at the same time, a certain Stokeman, the vassal +of Tubi, held another portion. Finally, in the year 1300, during the +reign of King Edward the First, it received its present appellation by +the intermarriage of Amicia de Stoke, the heiress, with Robert de +Pogeys. Under the sovereignty of Edward the Third, 1346, John de +Molines, originally of French extraction, and from the town of that +name in Bourbonnais, married Margaret de Pogeys; and, in consequence +of his eminent services, obtained license of the king to make a castle +of his manor-house of Stoke Pogeys, fortify with stone walls +embattled, and imparke the woods; also that it should be exempt from +the authority of the marshal of the king's household, or any of his +officers; and in further testimony of the king's favor, he had summons +to Parliament among the barons of the realm. + +During the wars of the rival Roses, the place was owned by Sir Robert +Hungerford, commonly called Lord Moleyns, by reason of his marriage +with Alianore, daughter of William, Lord Moleyns. + +This Lord Robert, siding with the Lancasterians, or the Red Roses, +upon the loss of the battle of Towton, fled to York, where King Henry +the Sixth then was, and afterward with him into Scotland. He was +attainted by the Parliament of Edward the Fourth; but the king took +compassion on Alianore, his wife, and her children, committing her and +them to the care of John, Lord Wenlock, to whom he had granted all her +husband's manors and lands, granting them a fitting support as long as +her said husband, Lord Robert, should live. But the Lancasterians +making head in the north, he "flew out" again, being the chief of +those who were in the castle of the Percys, at Alnwick, with five or +six hundred Frenchmen, and being taken prisoner at the battle of +Hexham, he was beheaded at Newcastle on Tyne, but buried in the north +aisle of the cathedral of Salisbury. + +Lady Alianore, his widow, lies buried in the church of Stoke Pogeys; +and her monument may still be seen, with an epitaph commencing thus: + + _Hic, hoc sub lapide sepelitur Corpus venerabilis + Dominĉ Alianorĉ Molins, Baronissiĉ, quam + prius desponsavit Dominus Robertus Hungerford, + miles et Baro. &c. &c._ + +Notwithstanding the grant to Lord Wenlock, Thomas, the son and heir of +Lord Robert Hungerford, succeeded to the estate. For a time he sided +with the famous Earl of Warwick, the king-maker, who took part with +Edward the Fourth, but afterward "falling off," and endeavoring for +the restoration of King Henry the Sixth, was seized on, and tried for +his life at Salisbury, before that diabolical tyrant, crook-back Duke +of Gloucester, afterward Richard the Third, where he had judgment of +the death of a traitor, and suffered accordingly the next day. + +But during the reign of Henry the Seventh, in 1485, when the Red Roses +became triumphant at the decisive battle of Bosworth, and these +unnatural and bloody wars which had devastated England for nearly +thirty years, being brought to a close, by the union of Henry with +Elizabeth of York, representative of the White Roses, the attainder of +Thomas, as well as that of his father, Lord Robert, being reversed in +Parliament, his only child and heir, called Mary, succeeded to the +estate. + +Lady Mary married Edward, Lord Hastings, from whom the present Earl of +Huntingdon is descended. She used the title of Lady Hungerford, +Botreux, Molines, and Peverell. To this marriage Shakspeare alludes in +the tragedy of King Henry the VI., Part 3, A. 4, Sc. 1, when he makes +the Duke of Clarence say ironically, + + For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves + To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford. + +Lord George Hungerford succeeding his father, was advanced to the +title of Earl of Huntingdon by King Henry the Eighth, in 1529. He died +the 24th of March, 1543, and lies buried in the chancel of Stoke +Pogeys. Edward, his second son, was a warrior with King Henry the +Eighth, and during the reign of Henry's daughter, Queen Mary, 1555, +declared his testament, appointing his body to be buried at Stoke +Pogeys, and directing his executors to build a chapel of stone, with +an altar therein, adjoining the church or chancel, where the late Earl +Huntingdon and his wife (his father and mother) lay buried; and that a +tomb should be made, with their images carved in stone, appointing +that a plate of copper, double gilt, should be made to represent his +own image, of the size of life, _in harness_, (armor,) and a memorial +in writing, with his arms, to be placed upright on the wall of the +chapel, without any other tomb for him. He died without issue. Earl +Henry was the last of the illustrious family of Huntingdon who +possessed the manor and manor-house of Stoke; and the embarrassed +state of his affairs compelled him to mortgage the estate to one +Branthwait, a sergeant at law, in 1580, during which period it was +occupied by Lord Chancellor Sir Christopher Hatton, the fine dancer, +one of the celebrated _favorites_ of Elizabeth, the lascivious +daughter of King Henry the Eighth--a woman as fickle as profligate, as +cruel and hard-hearted, so far as regarded her numerous paramours, as +her brutal father was in respect to his wives. + +This historical detail, gathered from Domesday Book, Dugdale, and +other authorities, is narrated in consequence of its bearing upon some +celebrated poems hereafter to be noticed, and is continued up to the +present period for a like reason. + +Sir Christopher Hatton died in 1591, and settled his estate on Sir +William Newport, whose daughter became the second wife of Sir Edward +Coke, Lord Chief Justice of the Court of King's Bench, who purchased +the estate of Stoke. After the dissolution of the Parliament by King +Charles the First, in March, 1628-9, Sir Edward Coke being then +greatly advanced in years, retired to his house at Stoke, where he +spent the remainder of his days in a quiet retirement, universally +respected and esteemed; and there, says his epitaph, crowned his pious +life with a pious and Christian departure, on Wednesday the 3d day of +September, A. D., 1634, and of his age 83; his last words, "THY +KINGDOM COME, THY WILL BE DONE!" + +Upon the death of Sir Edward Coke, the manor and estate of Stoke +devolved to his son-in-law, Viscount Purbeck, elder brother of +Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, who perished by the hand of the +assassin, Felton. + +Lord Purbeck, upon the death of his wife, daughter of Sir Edward Coke, +married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Slingsby, by whom he had a +son, Robert, which Robert, marrying the daughter and heir of Sir John +Danvers, one of the judges who sat on the trial of King Charles the +First, obtained a patent from Cromwell, Protector of the Commonwealth, +to change his name to Danvers, alledging as the reasons for his so +doing "the many disservices done to the commonwealth by the name of +the family of Villiers." + +In 1657, Viscount Purbeck granted a lease of the manor and house of +Stoke, to Sir Robert Gayer during his own life; and in the same year, +his son, Robert Villiers, or Danvers, sold his reversionary interest +in the estate to Sir R. Gayer for the sum of eight thousand five +hundred and sixty-four pounds. The family of Gayers continued in +possession until 1724, when the estate was sold for twelve thousand +pounds to Edmund Halsey, Esq., M.P., who died in 1729, his daughter +Anne married Sir Richard Temple, created Viscount Cobham, who survived +him; and she resided at Stoke until her death in the year 1760. + +The house and manor of Stoke were sold in the same year, by the +representatives of Edmund Halsey, to the Honorable Thomas Penn, Lord +Proprietary of the Province of Pennsylvania, the eldest surviving son +of the Honorable William Penn, the celebrated founder and original +proprietary of the province. + +Upon the death of Thomas Penn, in 1775, the manor of Stoke, together +with all his other estates, devolved upon his eldest surviving son, +John, by the Right Honorable Lady Juliana, his wife, fourth daughter +of the Earl of Pomfret. + +In 1789, the ancient mansion of Stoke, appearing to Mr. Penn, after +some years absence in America, to demand very extensive repairs, +(chiefly from the destructive consequences of damp in the principal +rooms,) it was judged advisable to take it down. + +The style of its architecture was not of a kind the most likely to +dissuade him from this undertaking. Most of the great buildings of +Queen Elizabeth's reign have a style peculiar to themselves, both in +form and finishing, where, though much of the old Gothic is retained, +and a great part of the new style is adopted, yet neither +predominates, while both, thus indiscriminately blended, compose a +fantastic species, hardly reducible to any class or name. One of its +characteristics is the affectation of _large_ and _lofty_ windows, +where, says Lord Bacon, "you shall have sometimes faire houses so full +of glass, that one cannot tell where to become to be out of the sun." +A perfect specimen of this fantastic style, in complete repair, may be +seen in Hardwick Hall, county of Derby, one of the many residences of +that princely and amiable nobleman, the Duke of Devonshire, and a +perfect _contrast_ to it, at his other noble residence not many miles +distant, in the same county, Chatsworth, "the Palace of the Peak." + +It is true that high antiquity alone gives, in the eye of taste, a +continually increasing value to specimens of all such kinds of +architecture; but beside that, the superiority of the new site chosen +by Mr. Penn was manifest, the principal rooms of the old mansion at +Stoke, where the windows admitted light from _both_ the opposite +sides, were instances, peculiarly exemplifying the remark of Lord +Bacon, and countenancing the design to lessen the number of bad, and +increase that of the good examples of architecture. But a wing of the +ancient plan was preserved, and is still kept in repair, as a relic, +harmonizing with the surrounding scenery, and forms with the rustic +offices, and fruit-gardens annexed, the _villa rustica_ and +_fructuaria_ of the place. + +The new buildings, or, more properly speaking, Palace of Stoke, was +begun by Mr. Penn immediately after his return from a long absence in +Pennsylvania, and was covered-in in December, 1790. It is scarcely +possible to conceive a finer site than that chosen by him for his new +mansion, being on a commanding eminence, the windows of the principal +front looking over a rich, variegated landscape toward the lofty +towers of Windsor Castle, at a distance of four miles, which +terminates the view in that direction; whilst about and around the +site are abundance of magnificent aged oaks, elms, and beeches. + + * * * * * + +The poems of Thomas Gray, who was educated at Eton, and resided at +Stoke, are perhaps better known, more read, more easily remembered, +and more frequently quoted, than those of any other English poet. +Where is the person who does not remember with feelings approaching to +enthusiasm, the impressions made on his youthful fancy by the +enchanting language of the "Elegy written in a Country Church-yard?" +Who can ever forget the impressions with which he first read the +narrative of the "hoary-headed swain," and the deep emotion felt on +perusing the pathetic epitaph, "graved on the stone, beneath yon aged +thorn," beginning-- + + Here rests his head upon the lap of earth. + A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: + Fair science frowned not on his humble birth. + And melancholy marked him for her own. + +That exquisite poem contains passages "grav'd" on the hearts of all +who ever read it in youth, until they themselves become +hoary-headed--and then, perhaps, remembered most. + +But it is not the Elegy alone which makes an indelible impression on +the youthful reader; equally imperishable are the lines on a distant +prospect of Eton College. + + Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, + That crown the wat'ry glade, + Where grateful science still adores + Her Henry's holy shade.[1] + +And who can ever forget the Bard-- + + Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! + Confusion on thy banners wait! + Though fann'd by conquests crimson wing, + They mock the air with idle state. + +Or the lovely Ode on the Spring. + + Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours + Fair Venus' train appear, + Disclose the long-expecting flowers, + And wake the purple year! + +Or those sublime Odes--On The Progress of Poesy. Awake, Ĉolian lyre, +awake; and the Descent of Odin: + + Uprose the king of men with speed, + And saddled strait his coal-black steed: + Down the yawning steep he rode, + That leads to Hela's drear abode. + +[Footnote 1: Eton was founded and endowed by King Henry the Sixth. A +marble bust of the poet Gray was presented by Lord Morpeth, in 1846, +and placed, amongst many others, in the upper school.] + +Who can ever forget the pleasure experienced on the first perusal, and +on every subsequent reading of these fascinating productions? They +are such as all, imbued with even a moderate degree of taste and +feeling, must respond to. But there is another poem of Gray's, less +read, perhaps, than these, but which, from its humor and arch playful +style, is apt to make a strong and lasting impression on an +enthusiastic juvenile mind. It opens so abruptly and oddly, that +attention is bespoke from the first line. It is entitled "A Long +Story." + + In Britain's isle--no matter where-- + An ancient pile of building stands: + The Huntingdons and Hattons there + Employed the power of fairy hands + To raise the ceilings fretted height, + Each panel in achievements clothing, + Rich windows, that exclude the light, + And passages, that lead to nothing. + +This poem, teeming with quaint humor, contains one hundred and +forty-four lines, beside, _as it says_, "two thousand which are lost!" + +Extreme admiration of the poems of Gray had been excited in the +writer's mind even when a schoolboy. In after years, whilst occupying +chambers in the Temple, he first became aware that the scenery so +exquisitely described in the Elegy, and the "ancient pile" of +building, so graphically delineated in the Long Story, were both +within a few hours' ride of London, and adjoining each other. + +Until about the year 1815 he had constantly supposed that the Country +Church-yard was altogether an imaginary conception, and that the +ancient mansion of the Huntingdons was far away, somewhere in the +midland counties; but when fully aware of the true localities, he was +almost mad with impatience, until, on a Saturday afternoon, _he_ could +get relieved from the turmoil of business, to fly to scenes hallowed +by recollections of the halcyon days of youthful aspirations of hope, +and love, and innocence--and sweetly and fresh do such reminiscences +still float in his memory. + +About the period in question, there was a club in London, formed of +about twenty or thirty of the most aristocratic of the young nobility, +possessed of more wealth than wisdom. They gave themselves the name of +the Whip Club, because each member drove his own team of four horses. +The chief tutor of these titled Jehu's in the art and mystery of +driving, was no less a personage than the celebrated Tom Moody, driver +of the Windsor Coach, and by that crack coach it was intended to +proceed as far as Slough, on the intended excursion to Stoke, and then +turn off to the left; but as the Whip Club, at the period in question, +attracted a large share of public attention in the metropolis, perhaps +a short notice of it may be here permitted, as it has been long since +defunct, and is never again likely to be revived, now that steam and +iron horses have taken the road. + +The vehicles, horses, trappings, and gearing, were the most elegant +and expensive that money could command; and it was a rare thing to see +upward of twenty such equipages, which, as well as the housings of the +horses, were emblazoned with heraldric devices, and glittering all +over with splendid silver and gold ornaments. + +The open carriages were all filled with the loveliest of England's +lovely women, who generally congregated together at an early +breakfast, or what with them was considered an early breakfast, +between ten and eleven o'clock! The meet took place at the house of +Lord Hawke, in Portman Square. His lordship was high admiral, or +president, Sir Bellingham Graham, whipper-in--and courteously and +cleverly did Sir Bellingham (or Bellinjim, as it is pronounced) +perform his delicate duty. When each driver mounted his box, after +handing in the ladies, it was wonderful to observe with what +dexterity, ease, and order, all wheeled into line, when the leader, +with a flourish of his long whip--being the signal for which all were +watching--led off the splendid array. + +It was a gay sight to witness the start, as they swept round the +square--for the horses were one and all of pure blood, and +unparalleled for beauty, symmetry, and speed. + +To one unaccustomed to such a sight, it might appear somewhat +dangerous. The fiery impatience of the horses--their pawing and +champing, the tossing of their beautiful heads, and the swan-like +curving of their glittering, sleek necks, until they were fairly +formed into order--at which time they knew just as well as their +owners that _the play_ was going to begin. But it was perfectly +delightful to observe the graceful manner in which each pair laid +their small heads and ears together when fairly under way, beating +time with their highly polished hoofs--pat, pat, pat, pat, as true as +the most disciplined regiment marching to a soul-stirring quick step, +or a troupe of well-trained ballet girls, bounding across the stage of +the Italian Opera. + +When fairly off and skimming along the road, it was, perhaps, as +animating a show as London ever witnessed since its palmiest days of +tilt and tournament. I say nothing of the ladies, their commingled +charms, or gorgeous attire; I only noticed that during the gayety in +the square, previous to starting, their recognition of each other, and +the beaux of their acquaintance, there were plenty of + + "Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, + Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, + And love to live in dimples sleek." + +This celebrated club congregated every fortnight, during the gay +season of May and June, and spent the day at the residence of one of +their number, within twenty or thirty miles of London, returning in +the evening, exactly in the order they had set out. + +Master Moody, the driver and proprietor of the fast Windsor Coach, +had, as said, been the tutor of these aristocratic charioteers, who +placed themselves under his guardianship, and had been taught to +handle "the ribbons" until declared perfect in the noble science. He +had consequently imbibed much and many of the _airs_ and _graces_, and +manners of his pupils. + +Being anxious to have a ride beside this great man, I was at +Piccadilly long before he started, and by a pretty handsome douceur to +his cad, had the supreme felicity of obtaining a seat on the box, and +certainly was well repaid for the extra expense of sitting by +Corinthian Tom. + +He was a tall fellow, and had a severely serious face; was dressed in +the extreme of driving fashion; wore delicate white kid gloves, and +the tops of his highly-polished boots were white as the lily. In +short, his whole "toggery" was faultless--a perfect out-and-outer. He +was truly a great man, or appeared to fancy himself such--for he +rarely condescended to exchange a word, except with an acquaintance, +and even then, it was with a condescending, patronizing air; and he +smiled as seldom as a Connecticut lawyer. Although sitting close by +his side for twenty miles, not one word passed between us during the +whole journey. + +The nags driven by this proud fellow were as splendid as himself; +finer cattle never flew over Epsom Downs, the Heath of Ascot, or +Doncaster Course--pure bloods, every one of them, and such as might +have served Guido as models for his famous fresco of the chariot of +Apollo; but Guido's steeds, although they are represented tearing away +furiously, are lubberly _drays_, compared with the slim, graceful, +fleet stags of Tom Moody. + +When the cad gave the word--"all right," Tom started them with his +short, shrill "t'chit, t'chit," and a crack of his two-fathom whip +right over the ears of the leaders, as loud as the report of a pistol. +They sprang forward with a maddening energy, almost terrifying; but +the coach was hung and balanced with such precision, and the Windsor +road kept in the finest order for royalty, there was no jumping or +jolting, it glided along as smoothly as if it had been running on +rails. A proud man was Master Moody; not so much of himself, perhaps, +or of his glossy, broad-brimmed beaver, and broadcloth "upper +Benjamin," or the dashing silk tie around his neck, but of his +beautiful nags--and he had reason, for there was not an equipage on +the road, from the ducal chariot to the dandy tandem, to which he did +not give the go-by like lightning. + +The rapidity of the movement, and the beauty of the animals, produced +an excitement sufficient to enable one to appreciate the rapture of +the Arab, as he flies over the desert on his beloved barb, enjoying, +feeling, exulting in liberty, sweet, intoxicating, unbounded liberty, +with the whole wilderness for a home. + +Some such feelings took possession of me, as the well-poised machine +shot along. Quick as thought we threaded Kensington High street, +skirted the wall of Lord Holland's park, just catching, like the +twinkle of a sunbeam, a glimpse of the antique turrets of that classic +fane peeping through the trees, as we passed the centre avenue. + +We speedily reached Hammersmith and Turnham Green, and then passed +Sion House and park, the princely residence of the Duke of +Northumberland, then dashed through the straggling old town of +Brentford. The intervening fields and openings into the landscape +affording enchanting prospects before entering on Hounslow Heath, when +the horses having got warm, the driver gave them full head, and the +vehicle attained a speed truly exhilarating. + +The increased momentum, and the extensive prairie-like expanse of +Hounslow Heath, would have realized in any enthusiastic mind, the +feelings of the children of the desert. + +This first excursion to Stoke was made during the month of May, when +all nature is fresh and fair; the guelder-roses and lilacs being in +full flower, and the hawthorn hedges were one sheet of milky +fragrance, the air was almost intoxicating, owing to the concentrated +perfumes arising from fruit orchards in full blossom, and the +interminable succession of flower gardens opposite every house +skirting that lovely road, the beauty of which few can conceive who +have not been in England; but the fresh, _pure_ air on the Heath, +infused a new feeling, a realization of unalloyed happiness; we were +rapidly hastening toward scenes for which the soul was yearning, and +hope, bright, young hope, lent wings and a charm to every object, +animate and inanimate. + +The usual relay of fresh horses were in waiting at Cranburn Bridge, +and the reeking bloods were instantly changed for others, not a whit +less spirited than their released compeers. Away went Moody, and away +went Moody's fiery steeds. In a very short time we passed, at a few +miles on the hither side of Slough, the "ivy-mantled tower" of Upton +Church, which, but for one or two small, square openings in it, may be +mistaken for a gigantic bush, or unshapely tree of evergreen ivy. + +Arriving at Slough, I bade adieu to Master Moody; the forty feet +telescope of Herschel, with its complicated frame-work and machinery, +attracting only a few minutes attention. The road leading up to Stoke +Green is one of those beautiful lanes so exquisitely described by +Gilbert White, in his History of Selborne, or still more graphically +portrayed by Miss Mitford, in her Tales of our Village. Stoke Green +lies to the right of this lane, and at the distance of one or two +fields further on, there is a stile in the corner of one of them, on +the left, where a foot-path crosses diagonally. In going through a gap +in the hedge, you catch the first peep of the spire of Stoke Church. +After passing the field, you come to a narrow lane, overhung with +hawthorns; it leads from Salt-Hill to the village of West-End Stoke. +Keeping along the lane a short way, and passing through a small gate +on the top of the bank, you at once enter the domain of Stoke Park, +and are admitted to a full view of the church, which stands at a short +distance, but almost immediately within the gate, are particularly +struck by the appearance of a grand sarcophagus, erected by Mr. Penn +to the memory of Gray, in the year 1779. It is a lofty structure, in +the purest style of architecture; and a tolerable idea of it, and the +surrounding scenery, may be obtained from the cut at the head of this +article, which has been executed from a drawing made on the spot. The +inscription and quotations following are on the several sides of the +pedestal. It is needless to say they are from the Elegy, and Ode to +Eton College--the latter poem being unquestionably written from this +very spot; and Mr. Penn has exhibited the finest taste in their +selection. + +On the end facing Mr. Penn's house-- + + THIS MONUMENT, + IN HONOR OF THOMAS GRAY, + WAS ERECTED, A. D. MDCCXCIX., AMONG + THE SCENES CELEBRATED BY THAT + GREAT LYRIC AND ELEGIAC POET. + HE DIED XXX JULY, MDCCLXXI, AND + LIES UNNOTICED IN THE CHURCH-YARD + ADJOINING, UNDER THE TOMB-STONE ON + WHICH HE PIOUSLY AND PATHETICALLY + RECORDED THE INTERMENT OF HIS + AUNT AND LAMENTED MOTHER. + +On the side looking toward Windsor-- + + Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, + Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; + Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, + Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. + + One morn I miss'd him on the 'custom'd hill, + Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree; + Another came; nor yet beside the rill, + Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. + +On the end facing Stoke Palace-- + + Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, + That crown the wat'ry glade, + Ah! happy hills! Ah, pleasing shade! + Ah! fields belov'd in vain! + Where once my careless childhood strayed, + A stranger yet to pain! + I feel the gales that from ye blow, + A momentary bliss bestow. + +On the west side, looking toward the church-yard-- + + Beneath these rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, + Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, + Each in his narrow cell forever laid, + The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. + + The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, + And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, + Await alike th' inevitable hour-- + The paths of glory lead but to the grave. + +This noble monument is erected on a beautiful green mound, and is +surrounded with flowers. It is protected by a deep trench, in the +bottom of which is a palisade; but the inclosure may be entered by +application at one of Mr. Penn's pretty entrance lodges, which is +close by. The prospects from this part of the park are surpassingly +beautiful, particularly looking toward the "distant spires and antique +towers" of Eton and Windsor. + +It may be worth while here to remark, that the church and church-yard +of Stoke is surrounded by Mr. Penn's property, or more properly +speaking his park. + +Coming upon the beautiful monument quite unexpectedly, was not likely +to diminish the enthusiasm previously entertained; and before +proceeding to the church-yard, it was impossible to resist the impulse +of making a rapid memorandum sketch of it. In after years, it was +carefully and correctly drawn in all its aspects. Proceeding along +"the churchway path" into the church-yard, where in reality "rests his +head upon the lap of earth," the tomb-stone of the admired and beloved +poet was soon found. It is at the east end of the church, nearly under +a window. + +Persons of a cold temperament, and not imbued with the love of poetry, +may perhaps smile when it is admitted, that the approach to that tomb +was made with steps as slow and reverential as those of any devout +Catholic approaching the shrine of his patron saint. + +Long was it gazed upon, and frequently was the inscription read, and +the following cut exhibits the coat of arms and inscriptions on the +blue marble tabular stone, as they were carefully drawn and copied, +that very evening: + +[Illustration: Coat of Arms and inscriptions] + + IN THE VAULT BENEATH ARE DEPOSITED + IN HOPE OF A JOYFUL RESURRECTION, + THE REMAINS OF + MARY ANTROBUS, + SHE DIED UNMARRIED, NOVEMBER 5TH, 1749, + AGED 66. + + * * * * * + + IN THE SAME PIOUS CONFIDENCE, + BESIDE HER FRIEND AND SISTER, + HERE SLEEP THE REMAINS OF + DOROTHY GRAY, + WIDOW, THE CAREFUL TENDER MOTHER + OF MANY CHILDREN, ONE OF WHOM ALONE + HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO SURVIVE HER. + SHE DIED MARCH 11TH, 1753, + AGED 67. + + +It was a soft, balmy evening; "every leaf was at rest;" the deer in +the park had betaken themselves to their favorite haunts, under the +wide-spreading boughs of ancient oaks and elms, and were reposing in +happy security. + +The long continued twilight of England was gathering in, and I still +lingered in the consecrated inclosure, fascinated with the +unmistakable antiquity of the church, which, although small as +compared with many others, is eminently romantic, and I cannot better +describe the scene, and the feelings impressed at the moment, than in +the words of one equally near as dear-- + + "A holy spell pervades thy gloom, + A silent charm breathes all around; + And the dread stillness of the tomb + Reigns o'er thy hallowed haunted ground." + +It may be proper to mention that the poem from which this is +extracted, is descriptive of Haddon Hall, one of the most ancient and +perfect specimens of the pure Gothic in England. The poem appeared in +one of the English Annuals. + +At peace with all the world, and filled with emotions of true and +sincere gratitude to the Giver of all good, for the pure happiness +then enjoyed, I sank down by the tomb-stone, overpowered with +veneration, and breathed fervent thanks to HIM who refuses not the +offering of a humble and contrite heart. + +This narrative is meant to be a faithful and honest representation of +_facts_ and _circumstances_ that actually occurred, and it is firmly +believed that none can stray into an ancient secluded country +church-yard, during the decline of day, without deeply meditating on +those who for ages have slept below, and where ALL must soon sleep, +without feeling true devotion, and forming resolves for future and +amended conduct. + +Slowly quitting the church-yard, and approaching the elevated +monument, now become almost sublime as the shades of evening rendered +dim its classic outline, it was impossible to avoid lingering some +time longer beside it, recalling various passages of the Elegy +appropriate to the occasion; the landscape was indeed "glimmering on +the sight," and there was a "solemn stillness in the air," well +befitting the occasion; more particularly appropriate was that fine +stanza, which, although written by Gray, is omitted in all editions of +the Elegy except the one hereafter noticed, in where it was +re-incorporated by the editor, [the present writer,] in consequence of +a suggestion kindly offered in a letter from Granville Penn, Esq., +then residing with his brother at Stoke Park. + + Hark! how the sacred calm that breathes around + Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease; + In still small accents whispering from the ground, + A grateful earnest of eternal peace. + +The Elegy is undoubtedly the most popular poem in the English +language; it was translated into that of every country in Europe, +besides Latin and Greek. It has been more frequently, elaborately and +expensively illustrated with pictorial embellishments. The autograph +copy of it, in the poet's small, neat hand, written on two small half +sheets of paper, was sold last year for no less than _one hundred +pounds sterling_; and the spirited purchaser was most appropriately +the proprietor of Stoke Park, Granville John Penn, Esq., who at the +same sale gave _forty-five pounds_ for the autograph copy of The Long +Story, and _one hundred and five pounds_ for the Odes; whilst another +gentleman gave forty pounds for two short poems and a letter from the +illustrious poet on the death of his father. + +The truthfulness of the pictures presented to the imagination in the +Elegy could not be denied, for there, on the very spot where, beyond +all question, it was composed, and after a lapse of nearly one hundred +years, the images which impressed the mind of the inspired poet came +fresh at every turn. It is true the curfew did not toll, but the +"lowing herd" were as distinctly audible as the beetle wheeling his +droning flight. The yew tree's shade--that identical tree, to which, +to a moral certainty, the poet had reference--is represented in the +cut, in the corner of the inclosure, as distinctly as the smallness of +the scale admitted, underneath its shade the "turf lies in many a +mouldering heap," and the "rugged elms" are outside the inclosure, but +their outstretched arms overspread many a "narrow cell and frail +memorial," where the "rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep," and +where also "their name and years are spelt by th' unlettered muse." A +singular error in spelling _the name_ of one of those humble persons, +was however committed by the poet himself in his "Long Story," very +pardonable in him, however, as the party was then alive; but that the +error should have been perpetuated in ALL EDITIONS save one, down to +that entitled "The Eton," being printed there, and edited by a +reverend clergyman resident in the college, is somewhat singular; +moreover the _second_ edition of the Eton Gray appeared this very +year, and the error remains, although the name is correctly given on +the grave-stone. The excepted edition, in which alone it is correctly +given, was published in 1821, and edited by the present writer for his +friend Mr. John Sharpe. The circumstance will be noticed presently. + +The Elegy of Gray was evidently written under the influence of strong +feeling, and vivid impressions of the beautiful in the scenery around +him, and when his sensitive mind was overspread with melancholy, in +consequence of the death of his young, amiable and accomplished friend +West, to whom, in June, 1742, he addressed his lovely Ode to Spring, +which was written at Stoke; but before it reached his friend he was +numbered with the dead! So true was the friendship subsisting between +them, that the poet of Stoke was overpowered with a melancholy which, +although subdued, lasted during a great part of his life. + +The scenes amid which the Elegy was composed were well adapted to +soothe and cherish that contemplative sadness which, when the wounds +of grief are healing, it is a luxury to indulge, and that the poet did +indulge them is self-evident in many a line. + +In returning to Stoke Green to spend the night, some of the rustic +peasantry were wending their way down the lane to the same place, but +none of these simple people, although questioned, could tell aught of +him whose fame and works had induced the pilgrimage to Stoke; neither +did better success attend any succeeding inquiry at the village. So +universally true is that scriptural saying, like ALL the sayings of +HIM who uttered it, that a prophet is not without honor, save in his +own country and in his own house. + +Retiring to rest early, with a full determination to do that which had +often been resolved but never accomplished, that is, to rise with the +dawn; the resolution had nearly defeated the purpose, inasmuch as the +mind being surcharged with the past and the expected, there was little +inclination to sleep until after midnight. But a full and fixed +determination of the will overcomes greater difficulties, and the +first streak of light at break of day found me up and dressed, and of +a truth + + Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, + To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. + +The dawn was most lovely, and the perfume from the hawthorns +delicious; every thing indicated a beautiful day. The sarcophagus +stands on the most elevated spot, and there, where probably in days +long past the poet had watched the rising of the sun, did I, a humble +pilgrim at his shrine, await the same sublime spectacle. + +As if to gratify a long cherished desire, the sun did rise with a +splendor impossible to be exceeded, and the following lines, by an +anonymous author, immediately recurred to memory: + + O who can paint the rapture of the soul, + As o'er the scene the sun first steals to sight, + And all the world of vapors as they roll, + And heaven's vast arch unveils in living light. + +To witness the break of day in the country is indeed a luxury to which +the inhabitants of cities are strangers. As the sun rose from the +horizon, his increasing light brought into view myriads of dew-drops +on every bud and blossom, which glittered and shone like diamonds. The +sky-larks began to rise from their grassy beds among the daisies, +ascending in circles to the clouds, and caroling a music which is +almost heavenly to hear. The deer also were getting up from their +shadowy lair under the trees, and the young fawns sprung away and took +to flight as I passed a herd, under a clump of beeches, in order to +obtain a view of the ancient mansion. In approaching it, a sound, +familiar indeed but far from musical, struck the ear, and added +another proof and a fresh charm to the fidelity of the picture drawn +by the poet. The swallows were merrily "twittering" about the +gable-ends, and it did the heart good to stand watching the probable +successors of those active little visiters, whose predecessors had +possibly attracted the notice of the bard. It is well known that these +birds, like the orchard oriole, return year after year to the same +house, and haunt where they had previously reared their young.[2] + +A strong and perhaps natural desire to inspect the interior of all +that remained of the ancient mansion of the Huntingdons and Hattons +was defeated, inasmuch as it was found barricaded. Imagination had +been busy for many a year, in respect to its great hall and gallery, +its rich windows "and passages that lead to nothing;" but as access to +the interior was denied, the sketch-book was put in requisition, and +an accurate view soon secured. + +Observing at some distance, through a vista among the trees, a lofty +pillar with a statue on its summit, and proceeding thither, it was +found to be another of those splendid ornaments with which the taste +and liberality of the proprietor had adorned his park, being erected +to the memory of Sir Edward Coke, whose statue it was which surmounted +the capital. Whilst engaged in sketching this truly classic object, a +gentleman approached, who introduced himself as Mr. Osborne, the +superintendent of the demesne. He expressed pleasure at seeing the +sketches, and politely offered every facility for making such, but +hinted that Mr. Penn had scruples, and very proper ones, about +strangers approaching too near the house on the Sabbath day, to make +sketches of objects in its vicinity. + +[Footnote 2: A pair of Baltimore birds (the orchard oriole) returned +summer after summer, and built their hanging nest, not only in the +same apple-tree, but on the same bough, which overhung a terrace, in a +garden belonging to the writer at Geneva, New York, until one season a +terrific storm, not of hail but ice, tore the nest from the tree, and +killed the young, and the parent birds never afterward returned.] + +Mr. Osborne's offer was courteously made, and the consequence was that +many visits to Stoke afterward took place, and the whole of the +interesting scenery carefully sketched. He kindly pointed out all that +was most worthy of attention about the estate and neighborhood, and +made tender of his company to visit West-End, and show the house which +Gray, and his mother and aunt had for many years occupied. The +proprietor he said was Captain Salter, in whose family it had remained +for a great many generations. Latterly the house has been purchased, +enlarged, and put into complete repair by Mr. Granville John Penn, the +present proprietor, nephew of John Penn, Esq., who died in June, 1834. +After "a hasty" breakfast at Stoke Green, the church-yard was again +visited, and there was not a grave-stone in it which was not examined +and read. The error formerly alluded to was immediately detected. The +passages in the Long Story, describing the mock trial at the "Great +House," before Lady Cobham, may be worth transcribing. + + Fame, in the shape of Mr. Purt,[3] + (By this time all the parish know it,) + Had told that thereabouts there lurked + A wicked imp they call a poet: + Who prowled the country far and near, + Bewitched the children of the peasants, + Dried up the cows and lamed the deer, + And sucked the eggs and killed the pheasants. + + * * * * * + + The court was sat, the culprit there, + Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, + The Lady Janes and Joans repair, + And from the gallery stand peeping: + Such in the silence of the night + Come (sweep) along some winding entry, + (Styack has often seen the sight,) + Or at the chapel-door stand sentry: + In peakèd hoods and mantles tarnished + Sour visages enough to scare ye, + High dames of honor once who garnished + The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary. + + * * * * * + + The bard with many an artful fib + Had in imagination fenced him, + Disproved the arguments of Squib + And all that Groom could urge against him. + +[Footnote 3: In all editions but that published by Mr. John Sharpe the +initial _only_ of this name has been given--"Mr. P."--even the Eton +edition of this year has it so. It seems folly to continue what may +have been very proper nearly a hundred years ago, when the individual +was alive; but the Rev. Robert Purt died in April, 1752!] + +Finding on the stone alluded to, that it was to the memory of Mrs. Ann +Tyacke, who died in 1753, it occurred that this was the Styack of the +poem, where a foot-note in a copy then and there consulted, stated her +to have been the housekeeper; and on inquiring of Mr. Osborne, he +confirmed the conjecture. Two other foot-notes state Squib to have +been _groom_ of the chamber, and that Groom was steward; but finding +another head-stone (both are represented in the large wood-cut, +although not exactly in the situations they occupy in the church-yard) +close to that of Mrs. Tyacke, to the memory of _William_ Groom, who +died 1751, it appears to offer evidence that Gray mistook the _name_ +of the one for the _office_ of the other. The Eton edition has not a +single foot-note from beginning to end of the volume. It is dedicated +to Mr. Granville John Penn, and his "kind assistance _during the +progress of the work_" acknowledged, both in its illustrations, and in +the biographical sketch, not withstanding which "assistance," the +error of the house-keeper's name is continued; and amongst the +wood-cut illustrations, there is one entitled (both _in_ the list and +_on_ the cut) "Stoke Church, east end, with tablet to Gray," when, in +fact, it represents the _tomb-stone_ at the end of the church, under +which Gray and his mother are interred. The _tablet_ to Gray is quite +another thing, _that_ was lately inserted in the wall of the church; +but by some extraordinary blunder it records his death as having taken +place on the 1st of August, while on the sarcophagus it is stated to +have occurred on the 30th of July. Neither the one nor the other is +correct. The Gentleman's Magazine for 1771, and the Annual Register +for the same year, as well as Mathias' Life, 2 vols. 4to., 1814, all +concur in giving it as having taken place on the 31st. The Etonian +edition has it the 30th. After a considerable time spent in the +church-yard, the hour of public worship drew near, the aged sexton +appeared, opened the doors, and began to toll the bell--that same +ancient bell which, century after century, had "rung in" generation +after generation, and tolled at their funerals. It is difficult to +realize the feelings excited on entering a sacred edifice of very +ancient date, particularly if it is in the country, secluded amongst +aged trees, looking as old as itself; and in walking over the stone +floor, which, although so seldom trodden, is worn away into something +like channels; in sitting in the same antique, and curiously carved, +black oaken pews, which had been sat on by races of men who had +occupied the same seats hundreds of years long past; but the effect is +greatly increased on viewing the effigies of the mighty dead, lying on +their marble beds, in long and low niches in the walls, some with the +palms of their hands pressed together and pointing upward, as if in +the act of supplication; and others grasping their swords, and having +their legs _crossed_, indicating that they had fought _for_ the cross +in the Holy Land. Such a church, and such objects around, fill the +mind with true devotion. The sublime words of Milton work out the +picture to perfection. + + There let the pealing organ blow + To the full-voiced quire below, + In service high, and anthems clear, + As may with sweetness through mine ear + Dissolve me into extasies, + And bring all heaven before mine eyes. + +It was gratifying and affecting to witness the piety, humility, and +devotion of the congregation as they entered and took their seats in +silence, long before the venerable clergyman entered the church; there +was something exceedingly touching in the profound silence that +reigned throughout the congregation, and induced one to think highly +of that rule amongst those excellent people, who with great propriety +are termed Friends. Public worship was attended both in the morning +and afternoon, and I returned to London, feeling myself a much better +man than when I left it, with a full determination to revisit a place +where so much pleasure had been received. It was nearly three months +before the resolve was carried into effect; but a second excursion was +made in August, and Mr. Osborne was kind enough to show the house at +West-End, together with the celebrated Burnham beeches, amongst which +were several "which wreathed their old fantastic roots so high," +evidently the originals alluded to in the Elegy. They are scarcely a +mile from West-End, and are approached through another of those sweet +green lanes with which the neighborhood abounds. They are part of the +original forest. The spot was one of Gray's favorite haunts; and it +would be difficult to find one better fitted for a lover of nature, +and a contemplative mind. Late in the autumn an invitation was +received from Mr. Osborne to spend a day or two with him; but it was +not until the beginning of November that advantage could be taken of +it. Arriving at his house late in the afternoon, his servant informed +me he had been suddenly called away to the Isle of Portland, in +Dorsetshire, where Mr. Penn was erecting a castle. She also apologized +for Mrs. Osborne's inability to receive company, in consequence of "a +particular circumstance," which circumstance she blushingly +acknowledged was the birth of a fine boy the night before. There was +no resource, therefore, but to walk down either to Stoke Green, or to +Salt-Hill, where there are two well-known taverns. Before proceeding, +however, the church-yard, almost of necessity, must be visited; and +although in a direct line, it was not far from Mr. Osborne's house, a +considerable circuit had to be made to get into the inclosure. The +evening was particularly still--you could have heard a leaf fall; the +twilight was just setting in, and a haze, or fog, coming on, but the +spot was soon reached; and whilst kneeling, engaged, like Old +Mortality, in plucking some weeds and long grass, which had sprung up +about _the_ tomb since the last visit, a slight sound--a very gentle +rustle--struck the ear. I supposed it to be the ivy on the +church-wall, but the next instant it was followed by a movement--something +very near was certainly approaching. On looking up, it is impossible +to describe with what mixed feelings of astonishment, apprehension, +and awe, I beheld coming from a corner of the church-yard, (where +there was no ingress through the brick wall,) and directly toward the +spot where I knelt, the figure of a tall, majestic lady, dressed in a +black velvet pelisse, black velvet hat, surmounted by a plume of black +ostrich feathers. She was stepping slowly toward me, over the graves. +It would be useless to deny that fear fixed me to the spot on +beholding the expression of her very serious face, and her eyes firmly +fixed on mine. + +Appalled by her sudden appearance, it seemed as if she had just risen +from the grave, dressed in a funeral pall; for I was facing toward +that corner of the enclosure from which she was coming, and feeling +certain no human being was there one minute before, I was breathless +with apprehension, and glad to rest one arm on the tomb-stone until +she came close up to me. + +[Illustration: In the Grave-yard--P. Balmanno] + +With a graceful inclination of the head, she addressed me. + +"Mr. B----, I believe?" + +"Yes, madam, that is my name." + +"And you came down to visit Mr. Osborne, who has been called away to +Portland." + +I breathed more freely as I admitted it. + +"It happens," she continued, "to be inconvenient for Mrs. Osborne to +receive you, and as you came by invitation from her husband, if you +will accept a night's lodging from me, I am enabled to offer it. I am +Mr. Penn's housekeeper, and none of the family are at home." + +Most joyfully was the invitation accepted; my mind was relieved from a +very unpleasant load of apprehension--but the end was not yet! She +began to lead the way over the graves, exactly toward the spot from +whence she had so suddenly and mysteriously appeared; after proceeding +a few steps, I ventured to say-- + +"Pray, madam, may I be allowed to inquire where you are leading to? I +can see no egress in that direction, unless it be into an open grave +or under a tomb-stone." + +"Oh, you will find that out presently," replied the lady, transfixing +me with a glance of her bright blue eyes, and I thought I could detect +a rather equivocal expression about the corners of her beautiful +mouth. This was not very encouraging, and not much liked, but she was +a woman, and a lovely one, too much so by half to be a Banshee--I was +on my guard, however, and ready, but the fog became so thick it was +impossible to see three steps before us; in fact, it rolled over the +church-yard wall in clouds. The lady linked her arm in mine, to +prevent herself from stumbling, holding up her dress with the other +hand, as the long dank grass was wetting it. At last we arrived in the +very corner of the church-yard, she still keeping a firm hold of my +arm. + +"In Heaven's name, madam, what do you mean by leading me into this +corner?" + +"Oh, you are afraid, I see; but wait a moment." + +On saying which, I observed her to take something bright from her +girdle, which apprehension converted into a stiletto or dirk, and such +is the force of self-preservation, that I was on the point of tripping +her up and throwing her on her back. But thrusting the supposed dirk +against the wall--presto--open sesame--the wall gave way, and she drew +me through a doorway. This was done so quickly it absolutely seemed +magic. For an instant I thought of dropping her arm--indeed I should +have done so, and retreated back through the door, but she held my arm +tight, and I almost quaked, for I thought she had dragged me into a +secret vault, the manoeuvre was performed so adroitly. The drifting +cold fog, however, soon made it plain we were in no vault, but the +open park. In short, it was a door in the wall, flush with the bricks, +and painted so exactly like them, it was impossible for a stranger to +discover it. It was Mr. Penn's private entrance, and saved the family +a walk of some distance. A narrow green walk, not previously remarked, +led from the door to the west end of the church. + +The housekeeper of a nobleman or gentleman of wealth, in England, +generally enjoys an enviable situation. Intrusted with much that is +valuable, she is generally a person of the highest consideration and +respect, and seldom fails to acquire the elevated manners and refined +address of her superiors. The lady in question was exactly one of this +description, well educated, and well read; a magnificent library was +at her command, and having much time, and what is better, fine taste, +she had profited by it. Never was an evening passed in greater +comfort, or with a more agreeable companion. After partaking of that +most exhilarating of all beverages, the pure hyson, we began to chat +with almost the same freedom as though we had been long acquainted. +During a pause in the conversation, after looking in my face a moment, +she said-- + +"Will you answer me one question?" + +"Most certainly, any thing, you choose to ask." + +"But will you answer it honestly and truly?" + +"Do not doubt it." + +"Well, then, tell me, were you not most horribly afraid when you saw +me coming toward you in the church-yard?" + +"I do frankly confess, madam, I _was horribly_ afraid, and further, I +firmly believe I should have taken to my heels, had you not been a +very beautiful woman!" + +Before the sentence was well finished her laughter was irrepressible. + +"I _knew_ it, I _saw_ it, I _intended_ it," said she, laughing so +heartily that the tears sprung out of her beautiful eyes, and she was +obliged to use her handkerchief to wipe them away. + +"And do you feel no compunction for scaring a poor fellow half out of +his wits?" + +"None whatever," replied she gayly. "What could you expect when +prowling amongst the graves in a church-yard so lone and solitary, +like a goule, on a damp November night? I saw you from Mr. Osborne's +going toward it, and determined to startle you--and I think I +succeeded pretty effectually." + +"You did, and had very nearly met with your reward, for when in the +corner of that church-yard you pulled the key from your girdle, fully +believing you to be the Evil One, I was on the point of strangling +you." + +Much laughter at my expense ensued, for the lady lacked neither wit +nor humor, and the evening flew faster than desired. On retiring, a +man servant conducted me to an apartment on the upper floor of the +mansion, and sleep soon came and soon went, for an innumerable number +of rats and mice were careering all over the bed! and I felt them +sniffing about my nose and mouth; I sprang bolt upright, striking +right and left like a madman. This sent them pattering all about the +room, and dreading that I might find myself minus a nose or an ear +before morning, I groped all around the room for a bell, but could +find none; proceeding into the corridor and standing on tip-toe, +bell-wires were soon found, and soon set a ringing; watching at the +top of the very long staircase, a light was at last seen ascending, +borne in the hand of a very fat man, who proved to be the butler; he +had nothing on but his shirt, and a huge pair of red plush, which +enveloped his nether bulk. Puffing with the exertion of ascending so +many stairs, he at last saw me, still more lightly clothed than +himself, and inquired what I wanted? + +"Have you got a cat about the house?" + +"No, sir, we have no cats, they destroy the young pheasants." + +"A dog, then?" + +"No dog, sir, on account of the deer." + +"Then tell the housekeeper there are ten thousand rats and twenty +thousand mice in the room I occupy!" + +As he descended the stair he was heard mumbling, +"cats!"--"dogs!"--"rats!"--"mice!" and chuckling ready to burst his +fat sides. + +After long waiting, the reflection of light on his red plush smalls +(_greats_ would better describe them) flashed up like a streak of +lightning, and puffing harder than before, told me if I would follow +him down stairs, he had orders to show me to another room. + +Gathering up the articles of my dress over my arm, we descended, and I +was shown into a room of almost regal splendor. The lofty bedstead had +a canopy, terminating in a gilded coronet, and the ample hangings were +of rich Venetian crimson velvet, trimmed and festooned "about, around +and underneath." The ascent to this unusually lofty bed was by a +flight of superb steps, covered with rich embossed velvet. Out of the +royal palaces I had never seen such a bed. + +In consequence of having stood so long undressed on the marble floor +at the top of the stairs, shivering with cold, the magnificent bed, on +getting into it, was found comfortable beyond expression. It felt as +if it would never cease yielding under the pressure; it sunk down, +down, down--there appeared no stop to its declension; and then its +delicious warmth--what a luxury to a shivering man! Hugging myself +under the idea of a glorious night's rest, and composing myself in the +easiest possible position, it was more desirable to lay awake in such +full enjoyment, than to sleep--sleep had lost all its charms. I was in +the bed of beds--the celestial! + +After thus laying about twenty minutes, enjoying perfect bliss, a +sensation of some uneasiness began slowly to manifest itself, which +induced a change of position; but the change did not relieve the +uncomfortable feeling. It would be difficult to describe it, but it +increased every moment, until at last it seemed as if the points of a +hundred thousand fine needles were puncturing every pore. This was +borne with great resignation and equanimity for some time, expecting +it would go off; but the stinging sensation increased, and finally +became intolerable; the celestial bed became one of infernal torture. +I tossed, and dashed, and threw about my limbs in all directions, and +almost bellowed like a mad bull. + +What to do to relieve the torment I knew not. To ask for another bed +was out of the question, and to attempt to sleep on thorns--thorns! +they would have been thought a luxury to this of lying enduring the +pains of the doomed. After long endurance of the pain, and in racking +my brains considering what was best to be done, the intolerable +sensations began by degrees to subside and grow less and less; but the +heat, although nearly insupportable, was more easily endured. That +horrible night was a long one--and long will it be before it is +forgotten. + +Coming down in the morning, expecting to find the lady all smiles and +graces, I was surprised and hurt to find she received me rather +coldly, and with averted head; but when she could no longer avoid +turning round, never, in the whole course of my life, was I more +astonished at the change she had undergone. It was a total, a radical +change--she was hardly to be recognized--and it was scarcely possible +to believe she was the lovely woman of the last night. Not that her +splendid figure was altered--in fact, an elegant morning-dress rather +tended to improve and set-off her full and almost voluptuous contour, +and her soft, sweet voice was equally musical; but her face--the +charms of her lovely face were vanished and gone! + +Every one will admit that the nose is a most important, nay, a very +prominent feature in female beauty. It is indispensible that a belle +should have a beautiful nose; in fact, it is a question whether a +woman without an eye would not be preferable to one with--but I +anticipate. + +"I see your surprise, sir," said she, with evident chagrin, "but it is +all owing to you." + +"To _me_, madam! I presume you allude to the altered appearance of +your face, but I cannot conceive what I can have had to do with the +change." + +In brief, her beautiful nose was all over as red as scarlet, +particularly the point of it, which exactly resembled a large red +cherry, or ripe Siberian crab-apple. Now just think of it--a very fair +woman with a blood-red nose! Faugh! it is enough to sicken the most +devoted admirer of the sex. Suppose any gentleman going to be married, +and full of love and admiration, should, on going to the house of his +beloved bride on the appointed morning, to take her to church, humming +to himself that sweet song, "She Wove a Wreath of Roses," finds her +beautiful nose become a big rosy nosegay--would he not be apt to +suppose she had over night been making pretty free sacrifices, not to +the little god of love, but to jolly Bacchus? I did not do _my_ belle +such an injustice--and yet what could I think? + +"How do you make out that I had any thing to do with such an important +alteration, madam." + +"O, as easy as it is true. Did not your wo-begone terrors in the +church-yard throw me into immoderate fits of laughter, as you well +know? And did not your adventures, after you retired, when reported to +me, throw me all but into convulsions--the more I thought, the more I +laughed, until it brought on a nervous headache so intense, it felt as +if my head would have split? To relieve so distressing a pain, I took +a bottle of eau de cologne to bed with me, and pulling out the +stopper, propped it up by the pillow, right under my nose. I quite +forgot it, and fell asleep with the bottle in that position." + +"Ah!" said I, "I suspected _the bottle_ had something to do with it." + +"Quite true, quite true--but not the bottle you wickedly insinuate. +How long I slept I know not, it must have been a long time; when I +awoke, I was surprised to find my shoulder cold and wet--and then I +recollected the bottle of cologne; but what was my horror, on getting +up, to behold my face in this frightful condition, you may easily +imagine." + +Poor, dear lady, if she laughed heartily at the scare she gave me in +the church-yard, I now had my revenge, full and ample--for I could not +refrain from laughing outright every time I looked in her face; and +laughter, when it is hearty and hilarious, is catching, almost as much +as yawning; and I fancy few will dispute how potent, how Mesmeric, or +magnetic the effect of an outstretched arm and wide gaping oscitation +is. I declare, I caught myself gaping the other night on seeing my +wife's white cat stretch herself on the rug, and yawn. + +"I really should feel obliged if you would be polite enough to keep +your eye off my face," said the lady. + +Now it need hardly be remarked, that when any thing is the matter with +a person's face, be it a wall-eye, a squint, a cancer, very bad teeth, +or any such disfigurement or malady, it is impossible to look at any +other spot--it is sure to fix your gaze, you can look at no other +part; you cannot keep your eye off it, unless you are more generous, +or better bred than most men. + +"I really should feel obliged if you would be polite enough to keep +your eye off my nose; it puts me out of countenance," said the fair +one. She said this half earnest, half jest; and I obliged her, by +directing my looks to her taper fingers and white hands--and the +conversation proceeded with the breakfast. + +"May I inquire how you rested, after your escape from the ten thousand +rats, and twenty thousand mice, which attacked you before you changed +your room?" + +"Do you ask the question seriously?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"Why, then, to use a homely but a very expressive phrase, it was out +of the frying-pan into the fire." + +"Mercy on us! how can that be; you had what is considered the best bed +in the house." + +"O, I dare say--no doubt, the softest I ever lay in; but instead of +ten thousand rats, and twenty thousand mice, I had not been in it +fifteen minutes ere a hundred and twenty thousand hornets, wasps, +scorpions, and centipedes, two or three thousand hedge-hogs, and as +many porcupines, seemed to be full drive at me; and had I not soon +been relieved by perspiration, I should assuredly have gone mad, and +been in bedlam. Nervous headache! Why, madam, it would have been +considered paradise, compared with the purgatory you inflicted on me." + +Her eyes sparkled with glee--and she began to laugh joyously; but soon +checking herself, and assuming a sort of mock sympathy, said, + +"I am very sorry--_very_ sorry, indeed, that you should have found +your bed so like the love of some men, rather hot to hold." + +On inquiring whether the grand coroneted bed, which had been as a hot +gridiron to me, was intended for any particular person, she informed +me it was for a Russian nobleman, Baron Nicholay, a much respected +friend of Mr. Penn's, who sometimes visited Stoke, and who, being used +to a bed of down in the cold climate of his own country, Mr. Penn, +with his characteristic kindness and attention, had it prepared for +the baron's especial comfort. She added that the reason why Mr. Penn +had all his life remained a bachelor, was in consequence of an early +attachment which he had formed for the baron's sister; that they were +to have been married, but in driving the lady in a _drouschky_, or +sledge, on the ice of the Neva, at St. Petersburg, by some fatality +the ice gave way, and notwithstanding the most strenuous exertions of +her lover, and the servant who stood behind the sled, the lady, by the +force of the current, was swept away under the ice, and never +afterward seen. That this shocking accident had such effect on Mr. +Penn's mind, as well it might, he never could think of any other +woman, but remained true and constant to his first love, mourning her +tragic end all his life. + +This was exactly the case with that most amiable and gifted man, the +late Sir Thomas Lawrence, who being engaged and about to be married to +a daughter of the celebrated Mrs. Siddons, the young lady was suddenly +snatched from him by a rapid consumption; and Sir Thomas remained +faithful to her beloved memory, wearing mourning during his life, and +ever after used black wax in sealing his letters, as the writer can +prove by many, many received from him during a series of years until +his lamented death. + +On asking my intelligent companion if she knew any particulars +respecting Gray, she replied she did know a great deal regarding him; +that Mr. Penn idolized his memory, and had made collections respecting +him and the personages mentioned in the Long Story. At my pressing +solicitation she was good enough to say she would write out all the +particulars--a promise which she faithfully kept; and they may +hereafter appear in some shape. + +The morning proving foggy and damp, the time (instead of going to +church) was passed in the library--a magnificent room, nearly two +hundred feet long, extending the whole length of the building, and +filled with books from floor to ceiling. + +In one of the principal rooms, mounted upon a pedestal, there is a +large piece of the identical tree under the shade of which Mr. Penn's +celebrated ancestor, William, signed his treaty with the Indians, +constituting him Lord Proprietary of what was afterward, and what will +ever be, Pennsylvania. The piece of wood is part of a large limb, +about five feet long. The tree was blown down in 1812, and the portion +in question was transmitted by Dr. Rush to Mr. Penn, who had it +varnished in its original state, and a brass plate affixed to it, with +an inscription. + +The sun broke through the fog about twelve o'clock, and had as +cheering an effect on the landscape, as it almost invariably has on +the mind. In the afternoon, after a most delightful day spent with the +fair housekeeper, it became time to think of returning to London, and +as the distance would be much lessened by proceeding through Mr. +Penn's grounds, and going down to Salt-Hill instead of Slough, the +lady offered to accompany me to the extent of the shrubberies, and +point out the way. These enchanting shrubberies are adorned with busts +of the Roman and English poets, placed on antique terms, along the +well-kept, smooth gravel-walks, which wind about in many a serpentine +direction through the grounds. There are appropriate quotations from +the works of the different bards, placed on the front of each +terminus. The bust of Gray, is placed under an ancient wide-spreading +oak, with this inscription: + + Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch + A broader, browner shade; + Where'er the rude moss-grown beech + O'er canopies the glade, + With me the muse shall sit and think, + At ease reclined in rustic state. + +There is an elegant small building, inscribed "The Temple of Fancy," +in which a bust of the immortal Shakspeare is the only ornament. It is +on a small knoll, commanding an extensive prospect through the trees, +which are opened like a fan. Windsor Castle terminates this lovely +view. Within the temple there is a long inscription from the Merry +Wives of Windsor, Act 5, sc. 5, beginning thus, + + Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out; + Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room; + That it may stand till the perpetual doom, + In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit, + Worthy the owner, and the owner it. + +The grounds, laid out with so much fine taste, terminate in a lovely +little dell, sheltered on every side. In the centre there is a circle +bordered with box, and growing within it, a collection of all the +known varieties of heath. The plants were then in full flower, and +innumerable honey-bees were feeding and buzzing. To one who, in early +life, had been accustomed to tread the heath-covered hills of +Scotland, the unexpected sight of these blooming plants of the +mountain was a treat; and the effect was heightened on seeing the bust +of Scotia's most admired bard, Thomson, adorning it. The inscription +was from that sublime, almost divine hymn, with which the Seasons +conclude, and eminently well applied to the heath, as some one or +other of the varieties blossom nearly all the year through. + + These, as they change, Almighty Father, these, + Are but the varied God. The rolling year + Is full of thee. + +In that secluded dell I bade a sorrowful and unwilling adieu to the +lady who had shown such extraordinary politeness. It may be worth the +while to mention that she was soon after married, much against the +wish of Mr. Penn, who had a great aversion to any changes in his +establishment; for a kinder, a better, a more pious, or more +accomplished gentleman than the late John Penn, of Stoke Park, England +could not boast. + + * * * * * + +In consequence of the extraordinary prices lately paid for the +autograph copies of Gray's poems, more particularly that of the Elegy, +it has been thought it would be acceptable to the readers of the +Magazine to be presented with a _fac simile_. The following have +therefore been traced, and engraved with great care and accuracy, from +the first and last stanzas of the Elegy, and the signature from a +letter. These will give an exact idea of the peculiarly neat and +elegant handwriting of the Poet of Stoke. + +[Illustration: handwritten poem by Gray + +The Curfew tolls the Knell of parting Day, +The lowing Herd wind slowly o'er the Lea, +The Plowman homeward plods his weary Way, +And leaves the World to Darkness & to me. + + No farther seek his merits to disclose, +Or draw his Frailties from their dread Abode, +(There they alike in trembling Hope repose) +The Bosom of his Father, & his God. + + Your humble Serv^t T. Gray] + + * * * * * + + + + +THE SAW-MILL. + +FROM THE GERMAN OF KORNER. + +BY WILLIAM C. BRYANT. + + + In yonder mill I rested, + And sat me down to look + Upon the wheel's quick glimmer. + And on the flowing brook. + + As in a dream, before me, + The saw, with restless play, + Was cleaving through a fir-tree + Its long and steady way. + + The tree through all its fibres + With living motion stirred, + And, in a dirge-like murmur, + These solemn words I heard-- + + Oh, thou, who wanderest hither, + A timely guest thou art! + For thee this cruel engine + Is passing through my heart. + + When soon, in earth's still bosom, + Thy hours of rest begin, + This wood shall form the chamber + Whose walls shall close thee in. + + Four planks--I saw and shuddered-- + Dropped in that busy mill; + Then, as I tried to answer, + At once the wheel was still. + + + + +EFFIE MORRIS. + +OR LOVE AND PRIDE. + +BY ENNA DUVAL. + + So changes mortal Life with fleeting years; + A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring + The timely insight that can temper fears, + And from vicissitude remove its sting; + While Faith aspires to seats in that domain + Where joys are perfect--neither wax nor wane. WORDSWORTH. + + +It was a warm, cloudy, sultry summer morning--scarcely a breath of air +stirred the clematis and woodbine blossoms that peeped in and +clustered around the breakfast-room window, greeting us with fresh +fragrance; but on this morning no pleasant air breathed sighingly over +them, and they looked drooping and faded. I was visiting my friend +Effie Morris, who resided in a pleasant country village, some twenty +or thirty miles from my city home. We were both young, and had been +school-girl friends from early childhood. The preceding winter had +been our closing session at school, and we were about entering our +little world as women. Effie was an only daughter of a widowed mother. +Possessing comfortable means, they lived most pleasantly in their +quiet romantic little village. Effie had stayed with me during the +winters of her school-days, while I had always returned the compliment +by spending the summer months at her pleasant home. Her mother was +lovely both in mind and disposition, and though she had suffered much +from affliction, she still retained youthful and sympathizing +feelings. Effie was gentle and beautiful, and the most innocent, +unsophisticated little enthusiast that ever breathed. She had arrived +at the age of seventeen, and to my certain knowledge had never felt +the first heart-throb; never had been in love. In vain had we attended +the dancing-school balls, and little parties. A host of boy-lovers +surrounded the little set to which we belonged, and yet Effie remained +entirely heart-whole. She never flirted, never sentimentalized with +gentlemen, and she was called cold and matter-of-fact, by those who +judged her alone by her manner; but one glance in her soft, dove-like +eyes, it seems to me, should have set them a doubting. I have seen +those expressive eyes well up with tears when together we would read +some old story or poem-- + + "Two shall be named preeminently dear-- + The gentle Lady married to the Moor, + And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb"-- + +or leaning from our bed-room window, at midnight, we would gaze on the +silvery moon in the heavens, listening to the rippling notes of the +water-spirits that to our fancy inhabited the sparkling stream that +ran near the house. How beautifully would she improvise at times--for +improvisations in truth were they, while she was quite unconscious of +her gift. She never wrote a line of poetry, but when in such moods, +every word she uttered was true, pure poetry. She had a most +remarkable memory, and seemed never to forget a line she read. To me +she would repeat page after page of our favorite authors, when we +would be wandering through the woods, our arms entwined around each +other. + +Effie Morris was an enthusiastic dreamer, and entertained certain +little romantic exaggerated opinions, out of which it was impossible +to argue her--sometimes her actions ran contrary to these opinions, +and we would fancy that surely now she would admit the fallacy of her +arguments in favor of them; but when taxed with it, she would in the +most earnest, sincere manner defend her original position, proving to +us that no matter how her actions appeared to others, they were in her +own mind entirely in keeping with these first expressed opinions, +which to us seemed entirely at variance. But she was so gentle in +argument, and proved so plainly that though her reasoning might be +false, her thoughts were so beautiful and pure, as to make us feel +perfectly willing to pardon her obstinacy. + +On the morning I speak of, we lounged languidly over the +breakfast-table, not caring to taste of the tempting crisp rolls, or +drink of the fragrant Mocha juice, the delicious fumes of which rose +up from the delicate China cups all unheeded by us. At first we talked +listlessly of various things, wandering from subject to subject, and +at last, to our surprise, we found ourselves engaged in a sprightly, +animated argument; each forgetting the close atmosphere that seemed at +first to weigh down all vivacity. The subject of this argument was the +possibility of pride overcoming love in a woman's heart. Mrs. Morris +and I contended that love weakened or quite died out if the object +proved unworthy or indifferent. Our romantic Effie of course took the +opposite side. True love to her mind was unalterable. Falsehood, +deceit, change--no matter what sorrow, she said, might afflict the +pure loving heart--its love would still remain. "I cannot," she +exclaimed enthusiastically, "imagine for an instant that true, genuine +love should--could have any affinity with pride. When I see a woman +giving evidence of what is called high spirit in love matters, I +straightway lose all sympathy for her heart-troubles. I say to +myself--she has never truly loved." + +We argued, but in vain; at length her mother laughingly cried +out--"Nonsense, Effie, no one would sooner resent neglect from a +lover than yourself. True love, as you call it, would never make such +a spiritless, meek creature out of the material of which you are +composed." + +"Yes, in truth," I added, as I saw our pretty enthusiast, half vexed, +shake her head obstinately at her mother's prophecy--"I can see those +soft eyes of yours, Effie, darling, flash most eloquent fire, should +your true love meet with unworthiness." + +During our conversation the clouds had broken, the wind changed, and a +delicious breeze came sweeping in at the windows as if to cool our +cheeks, flushed with the playful argument. + +"Will you ride or walk this morning, girls?" asked Mrs. Morris, as we +arose from the breakfast-table. + +"Oh, let us take our books, guitar and work up the mill-stream to the +old oak, dear mamma," exclaimed Effie, "and spend an hour or two +there." + +"But it will be mid-day when we return," replied her mother. + +"That's true," said Effie, laughing, "but Leven can drive up to the +old broken bridge for us at mid-day." + +"To be sure he can," said Mrs. Morris, and accordingly we sallied +forth, laden with books and netting, while a servant trudged on ahead, +with camp-stools and guitar. Nothing eventful occurred on that +particular morning, and yet though years have passed since then, I +never recall the undulating scenery of the narrow, dark, winding +mill-stream of Stamford, but it presents itself to my mind's eye as it +looked on that morning. In my waking or sleeping dreams, I see the old +oak at the morning hours, and whenever the happy moments I have spent +at Effie Morris' country home come to my memory, this morning is +always the brightest, most vivid picture presented before me by my +fancy. As Hans Christian Andersen says with such poetic eloquence in +his Improvisatore--"It was one of those moments which occur but once +in a person's life, which, without signalizing itself by any great +life-adventure, yet stamps itself in its whole coloring upon the +Psyche wings." + +We walked slowly along the narrow bank--tall trees towered around us, +whose waving branches, together with the floating clouds, were +mirrored with exquisite distinctness on the bosom of the dark, deep, +narrow stream--near at shore lay the dreaming, luxurious water-lilies, +and a thousand beautiful blossoms bent over the bank, and kissed +playfully the passing waters, or coquetted with the inconstant breeze. +Our favorite resting-place was about a mile's walk up the beautiful +stream, and to reach it we had to cross to the opposite shore, over a +rude, half-ruined bridge, which added to the picturesque beauty of the +scenery. The oak was a century old tree, and stood upon rising ground +a short distance from the shore. How calmly and happily passed that +morning. Effie sang wild ballads for us, and her rich full notes were +echoed from the distance by the spirit voices of the hills. We wove +garlands of water-lilies and wild flowers, and when I said we were +making Ophelias of ourselves, Effie, with shy earnestness most +bewitching, unloosened her beautiful hair, twining the long locks, and +banding her temples with the water-lily garlands and long grass--then +wrapping an India muslin mantle around her shoulders, she gathered up +the ends on her arms, filling them with sprigs of wild blossoms, and +acted poor Ophelia's mad scene most touchingly. Tears gathered in our +eyes as she concluded the wild, wailing melody + + "And will he not come again, + And will he not come again, + No, no, he is dead, + Go to thy death-bed, + He never will come again. + + "His beard was as white as snow, + All flaxen was his poll-- + He is gone, he is gone, + And we cast away moan-- + God a mercy on his soul." + +There was a deep, touching pathos in her voice as she uttered the +minor notes of this song, and her soft eyes beamed half vacantly, half +reverently, as looking up to heaven she uttered in low breathing +tones-- + + "And of all Christian souls! I pray God!" + +Then suddenly arousing herself, she looked toward us and murmured, as +she turned away with a sad, tearful smile, "God be wi' you." The +illusion was perfect, and we both sobbed outright. + +Effie Morris was one of the few true geniuses I have known in my life +time; and when I have said this to those who only met with her in +society, they have laughed and wondered what genius there could be in +my cold, quiet friend. + +The following winter Effie entered society. Her mother had many gay +and fashionable friends in the principal northern cities, and during +the winter season her letters to me were dated at one time from +Washington, then again from some other gay city; and in this free from +care pleasant manner did her days pass. Household duties kept me, +though a young girl, close at home. Possibly if Effie had been thrown +into the active domestic sphere which was my mission, her history +might have been different. She certainly would have been less of a +dreamer. Exquisite waking dreams, woven of the shining fairy threads +of fancy, meet with but poor encouragement in every-day life, and take +flight sometimes never to return, when one is rudely awakened from +them in order to attend to "the baked and the broiled." I remember, +when a girl, feeling at times a little restive under the duties +unavoidably imposed upon me, and often would indulge in a morbid +sentimental humor, dreaming over some "rare old poet" or blessed +romance, to the exceeding great detriment of my household affairs, +making my poor father sigh over a tough, badly cooked stake, and +cheerless, dusty house; but these moods, to my credit be it told, were +of rare occurrence; and I say now the best school for a dreaming, +enthusiastic girl, who sighs for the realization of her fancy visions, +is to place her in charge of some active duty--to make her feel it is +exacted from her--that she must see it performed. I mean not that a +delicate intellectual spirit should be borne to the earth disheartened +with care and hard labor--but a share of domestic cares, domestic +duties, is both wholesome and necessary for a woman. Cultivate if +possible in a girl a taste for reading and study first, then she will +soon find time for intellectual pursuits, which, from being in a +measure denied to her, will become dearer. In her attempts to secure +moments for the indulgence of her mental desires she will +unconsciously learn order, management and economy of time and labor, +thus will her mind be strengthened. But I am digressing, dear reader. +I am sadly talkative on this subject, and sometimes fancy I could +educate a girl most famously; and when "thinking aloud" of the perfect +woman my theory would certainly complete, I am often pitched rudely +from my self-satisfied position, by some married friend saying, in a +half vexed, impatient tone--"Ah, yes, this is all very fine in +theory--no doubt you would be successful--we all know the homely +adage--'old bachelors' wives and old maids' children,' &c." + +Effie was not what is called a belle in society. She was too cold and +spiritual. Her beauty was too delicate to make an impression in the +gay ball-room; and she cared little for what both men and women in the +world pine after--popularity. She danced and talked only with those +who pleased her, and sometimes not at all if it did not suit her +fancy. There was a great contrast between her mother and herself. Mrs. +Morris, though "forty rising," was still a fine-looking, _distingué_ +woman; and on her re-entrance into society with her daughter, she +produced a greater impression than did Effie. She had a merry, joyous +disposition, and without possessing half the mental superiority her +daughter was gifted with, she had a light, easy conversational +ability, playful repartee, an elegant style and manner, and a +sufficient knowledge of accomplishments to produce an effect in the +gay world, and make her the centre of attraction of every circle she +entered; and the world wondered so brilliant a mother should have so +indifferent a daughter. She doted on Effie; and, I am sure, loved her +all the more for her calm, quiet way. She often said to me, "Effie is +very superior to the women one meets with--she has a pure, elevated +spirit. So delicate a nature as hers is not properly appreciated in +this world." + +One summer there came a wooing of Effie a most excellent gentleman. He +had met with her the preceding winter in some gay circle, and had +discernment enough to discover the merits of our jewel. How anxiously +Mrs. Morris and I watched the wooing--for we were both anxious for Mr. +Grayson's success. He was in every way worthy of her--high-minded, +honorable, and well to do in the world--some years her senior, but +handsome and elegant in appearance. He must have had doubts of his +success, for he let the live-long summer pass ere he ventured on his +love speech. We were a pleasant party--Mrs. Morris, Effie, myself, Mr. +Grayson, and Lucien Decker, a cousin of Mrs. Morris--a college youth, +who only recently had become one of the family. Lucien Decker's family +lived in a distant state, and only until he came to a northern college +to finish his studies had he known his pleasant relatives. He was a +bright, interesting, graceful youth, and wondrous clever, we thought. +We would spend morning after morning wandering up the mill-stream, +resting under the old oak, where Mr. Grayson would discourse most +pleasantly, or read aloud to us; and sometimes, after Effie and I had +chanted simple melodies, we would prevail on Lucien to recite some of +his own poetry, at which he was, indeed, most clever--he recited well, +and wrote very delicately and beautifully. At last Mr. Grayson +ventured on a proposal; but, to our sorrow, he met with a calm, gentle +refusal; and to relieve his disappointment, he sailed in the fall for +Europe. + +Not long after his departure, to our surprise, Effie and Lucien +announced themselves as lovers. No objection, surely, could be made; +but such a thing had never entered our minds. Though of the same age +with Effie and myself, he had always seemed as a boy in comparison to +us, and I had always treated him with the playful familiarity of a +youth. He was more intelligent and interesting than young men of his +age generally are; indeed he gave promise of talent--and he was +likewise good-looking; but, in truth, when we compared him with the +elegant and finished Mr. Grayson, we felt a wee bit out of patience; +and if we did not give utterance aloud to our thoughts, I shrewdly +suspect if those thoughts had formed themselves into words, those +words would have sounded very much like, "Nonsensical sentimentality!" +"strange infatuation!" but nothing could be said with propriety, and +the engagement was fully entered into. Some time had necessarily to +elapse before its fulfillment, however, for the lover was but twenty; +but it was well understood, that when he had finished his studies, and +was settled in his profession, he was to wed our darling Effie. After +the acceptance of his suit, Lucien seemed perfectly happy, and, I must +confess, made himself particularly interesting. He walked and read +with us, and wrote such beautiful poetry in honor of Effie's charms, +that we were at last quite propitiated. He was, indeed, an ardent +lover; and his enthusiastic, earnest wooing, was very different from +Mr. Grayson's calm, dignified manner. He caused our quiet Effie a deal +of entertainment, however; for when he was an acknowledged lover, like +all such ardent dispositions, he showed himself to be an exacting one. +Her calm, cold manner would set him frantic at times; and he would vow +she could not love him; but these lovers' quarrels instead of wearying +Effie, seemed to produce a contrary effect. + +They had been engaged a year or so, when one summer a belle of the +first water made her appearance in the village-circle of Stamford. +Kate Barclay was her name. She was a Southerner, and a reputed +heiress. She had come rusticating, she said; and shrugging her pretty +shoulders, she would declare in a bewitching, languid tone, "truly a +face and figure needed rest after a brilliant winter campaign." Old +Mrs. Barclay, a dear, nice old lady in the village, was her aunt; and +as we were the only young ladies of a companionable age, Kate was, of +course, a great deal with us. She was, indeed, a delicious looking +creature. She had large, melting dark eyes, and rich curling masses of +hair, that fell in clusters over her neck and shoulders, giving her a +most romantic appearance. She understood fully all the little arts and +wiles of a belle; and she succeeded in securing admiration. +Superficial she was, but showy; and could put on at will all moods, +from the proud and dignified, to the bewitching and childlike. We had +no gentlemen visiters with us when she first came, not even Lucien; +for some engagement had taken him from Effie for a week or two, and +our pretty southern damsel almost expired with _ennui_. When we first +met with her, she talked so beautifully of the delights of a quiet +country life, seemed so enchanted with every thing and every body, and +so eloquent in praise of rambles in the forest, sunsets, moonlights, +rushing streamlets, &c., &c., that we decided she was an angel +forthwith. But one or two ramblings quite finished her--for she +complained terribly of dust, sun, and fatigue; moreover, we quite +neglected to notice or admire her picturesque rambling dress, which +inadvertency provoked her into telling us that the gentlemen at +Ballston, or some other fashionable watering-place, had declared she +looked in it quite like Robin Hood's maid Marian. The gorgeous summer +sunsets and clear moonlight nights, soon wearied her--for we were too +much occupied with the beauties of nature to notice her fine +attitudes, or beautiful eyes cast up imploringly to heaven, while she +recited, in a half theatrical manner, passages of poetry descriptive +of her imaginary feelings. I suspected she was meditating a flitting, +when one day Lucien, and two of his student friends, made their +appearance amongst us. How quickly her mood changed; the listless, +yawning, dissatisfied manner disappeared, and we heard her the first +night of their arrival delighting them, as she had us, with her +fascinating ecstasies over rural enjoyments. She sentimentalized, +flirted, romped, laughed, dressed in a picturesque manner, and "was +every thing by turns, but nothing long," evidently bent upon bringing +to her feet the three gentlemen. Lucien's friends soon struck their +flags, and were her humble cavaliers--but a right tyrannical mistress +she proved to them, making them scowl, and say sharp things to each +other in a most ferocious manner, very amusing to us; but Lucien was +impregnable. She played off all her arts in vain, he seemed +unconscious, and devoted himself entirely to Effie. At first she was +so occupied with securing the two other prizes she overlooked his +delinquency, but when certain of them, she was piqued into +accomplishing a conquest of him likewise. I did not think she would be +successful, and amused myself by quietly watching her manoeuvres. + +One bright moonlight evening the gentlemen rowed us up the +mill-stream, and as we returned we landed at our favorite oak. The +waters, swelled by recent rains, came dashing and tumbling along in +mimic billows; the moon beamed down a heavenly radiance, and as the +little wavelets broke against the shore, they glittered like molten +silver, covering the wild blossoms with dazzling fairy gems. Kate's +two lovers were talking and walking with Mrs. Morris and Effie along +the shore. Lucien, Kate, and I, remained on a little bank that rose +abruptly from the water. She did, indeed, look most bewitchingly +beautiful; her soft, white dress, bound at the waist by a flowing +ribbon, floated in graceful folds around her; her lovely neck, +shoulders and arms, were quite uncovered, and her rich, dark hair fell +in loose, long curls, making picturesque shadows in the moonlight. She +could act the inspired enthusiast to perfection; and what our Effie +really was, she could affect most admirably. She seemed unconscious of +our presence; indeed, I do not think she thought I was near her, and, +as if involuntarily, she burst out into one of her affected +rhapsodies, her eyes beamed brightly, and she expressed her feelings +most rapturously, concluding with repeating, in low, earnest, half +trembling tones, some lines of Lucien's she had taken from my Scrap +Book, descriptive of the very scene before her, written the preceding +summer for Effie, after a moonlight ramble together. The poetry was +quite impassioned; and I heard Kate murmur with a sigh, as she turned +away after concluding her quotation, as if sick at heart, "Ah! I would +give years of brilliant success for one hour of devotion from such a +lover." + +No one heard her but Lucien and myself--and I was one listener more +than she would have desired; for Lucien's ear alone was the +ejaculation intended, the good for nothing little flirt. It produced +the intended effect, for I saw Lucien watching her with admiring +interest. She noted the impression, and cunningly kept it up. There +was such a contrast between Effie and Kate, rather to Effie's +disadvantage, I had to confess, and Kate's affected expressions of +intense feeling, rather served to heighten Effie's natural coldness of +manner. Why waste words--the conclusion is already divined. The +coquette succeeded--and ere a week had passed Lucien was her +infatuated, devoted admirer; Effie was quite forgotten. Lucien's two +friends, wretched, and completely maddened by the cool, contemptuous +rejections they received from Kate, left Stamford, vowing eternal +hatred for womankind, and uttering deep, dire denunciations against +all coquettes, leaving the field open to Lucien, who seemed to have +perfectly lost all sense of propriety in his infatuation. Effie looked +on as calmly and quietly as though she were not particularly +interested. I fancied, for the credit of romance and sentiment, that +her cheek was paler; and I thought I could detect at times a trembling +of her delicate lips--but she said not a word. Mrs. Morris and I +displayed much more feeling; but what could we do--and half amused, +half vexed, we watched the conduct of the naughty little flirt. +Suddenly Kate received a summons home--and right glad I was to hear of +it. She announced it to us one evening, saying she expected her father +the next day. The following afternoon she came over to our cottage, +accompanied with two middle-aged gentlemen. The elder of the two was +Mr. Barclay, her father, who had known Mrs. Morris in early life; the +other she introduced as Col. Paulding, a friend. Col. Paulding's +manner struck us with surprise. He called her "Kate;" and though +dignified, was affectionate. She seemed painfully embarrassed, and +anxious to terminate the visit. She answered our questions hurriedly, +and appeared ill at ease. Lucien was not present, fortunately for her; +and I fancied she watched the door, as if anxiously fearing his +entrance; certain it was she started nervously at every distant sound. + +"Will you revisit Stamford next summer, Miss Barclay?" I asked. + +Kate replied that she was uncertain at present. + +"I suppose Kate has not told you," said her father, laughingly, "that +long before another summer she will cease to be mistress of her own +movements. She expects to be in Germany next summer, I believe, with +her husband," and he looked significantly at Col. Paulding, who was +standing out on the lawn with Mrs. Morris, admiring the beautiful +view, quite out of hearing distance. Effie was just stepping from the +French window of the drawing-room into the conservatory to gather some +of her pretty flowers for her visiters, as she heard Mr. Barclay say +this. She turned with a stern, cold look, and regarded Kate Barclay +quietly. Kate colored crimson, then grew deadly white, and trembled +from head to foot; but her father did not notice it, as he had +followed Col. Paulding and Mrs. Morris out on the lawn. There we three +stood, Effie, cold and pale as a statue, and Kate looking quite like a +criminal. She looked up, attempting to make some laughing remark, but +the words died in her throat as she met Effie's stern, cold glance; +she gasped, trembled, then rallied, and at last, with a proud look of +defiance, she swept out on the lawn, and taking Col. Paulding's arm, +proposed departure. She bade us good-bye most gracefully; but I saw +that she avoided offering her hand to Effie. As the gate closed, she +looked over her shoulder indifferently, and said, in a saucy, laughing +tone, + +"Oh, pray make my adieux to Mr. Decker. I regret that I shall not see +him to bid him good-bye. I depend upon the charity of you ladies to +keep me fresh in his remembrance;" and, as far as we could see her +down the road, we heard her forced laugh and unnaturally loud voice. + +Lucien came in a few minutes after they left, and Mrs. Morris +delivered Kate's message. He looked agitated, and after swallowing his +cup of tea hastily and quietly, he took up his hat and went out. He +went to see Kate, but she, anticipating his visit, had retired with a +violent headache immediately after her walk; but Lucien staid long +enough to discover, as we had, Col. Paulding's relation to the +fascinating coquette. This we learned long afterward. The next day +Lucien left Stamford without saying more than cold words of good-bye. +He did not go with Kate's party, we felt certain; and many weeks +passed without hearing from him. Effie never made a remark; and our +days passed quietly as they had before the appearance of Kate Barclay +in our quiet little village. It was not long, however, before we saw +in the newspapers, and read without comment, the marriage of Kate +Barclay with Col. Paulding. + +"See this," said Mrs. Morris to me one morning as I entered the +drawing-room, and she handed me a letter. We were alone, Effie was +attending to her plants in the conservatory. I took the letter and +read it. It was a wild, impassioned one from Lucien. Two months had +elapsed since his silent departure, and this first letter was written +to Mrs. Morris. It was filled with self-reproaches, and earnest +entreaties for her intercession and mine with Effie. He cursed his +infatuation, and the cause of it, and closed with the declaration that +he would be reckless of life if Effie remained unforgiving. As I +finished reading the letter I heard Effie's voice warbling in wild and +plaintive notes in the conservatory, + + "How should I your true love know, + From another one, + By his cockle hat and staff, + And his sandal shoon?" + +And the scene at the opening of this story rose before my +remembrance--the playful argument--the declaration made by her that +true, pure love could not have any affinity with pride--and I was lost +in reverie. + +"What would you do, Enna?" inquired Mrs. Morris. + +"Give the letter to Effie without remark," I replied. "We cannot +intercede for him--he does not deserve to be forgiven." + +The letter was given to Effie, who read it quietly; and if she evinced +emotion, it was not before us. She said she was sorry for Lucien, for +she had discovered a change in her own feelings. She did not love him +as she fancied she had, and she could not in justice to herself +fulfill their engagement--it was impossible. She wrote this to him, +and all his wild letters were laid calmly and quietly aside. Can this +be pride? I said to myself. But she seemed as though she suspected my +thoughts, for the night before I returned to my city home, as we were +leaning against the window-frame of our bed-room, listening the last +time for that season to the tumbling, dashing water-music, she said, + +"Enna, dear, it was not spirit and pride that made me act so unkindly +to Lucien--indeed, it was not. But I mistook my feelings for him from +the first. I fancied I loved him dearly, when I only loved him as a +sister. Believe me, if that love had existed once for him, his foolish +infatuation for Kate Barclay would not have been regarded by me one +moment." + +Two or three years passed, and Effie still remained unwedded, when, to +our delight, Mr. Grayson, who had returned from Europe, again +addressed her. She accepted him; and I was, indeed, happy when I +officiated as bridesmaid for her. One year after that joyous wedding +we stood over her bier, weeping bitter, bitter tears. We laid her in +the grave--and the heart-broken mother soon rested beside her. Among +her papers was a letter directed to me; it was written in expectation +of death, although we did not any of us anticipate such a calamity. + +"I am not long for this world, dear Enna," she wrote, "I feel I am +dying daily; and yet, young as I am, it grieves me not, except when I +think of the sorrow my death will occasion to others. When you read +this I shall be enveloped in the heavy grave-clothes; but then I shall +be at rest. Oh! how my aching, weary spirit pines for rest. Do not +fancy that sorrow or disappointment has brought me to this. I fancied +I loved Lucien Decker fondly, devotedly; and how happy was I when +under the influence of that fancy. That fatal summer, at the time of +his infatuation for that heartless girl, insensibly a chilling +hardness crept over my feelings. I struggled against my awakening; and +if Lucien had displayed any emotion before his departure, I might +still have kept up the happy delusion. But in vain, it disappeared, +and with it all the beauty of life, which increased in weariness from +that moment. I sought for some object of interest--I married; but, +though my husband has been devoted and kind, I weary of existence. +Life has no interest for me. I hail the approach of death. Farewell." + +I read these sad lines with eyes blinded with tears; and I could not +help thinking how Effie had deceived herself; unconsciously she had +become a victim of the very pride she had condemned. + + + + +EARLY ENGLISH POETS. + +BY ELIZABETH J. EAMES. + + + I.--CHAUCER. + + Yea! lovely are the hues still floating o'er + Thy rural visions, bard of olden time, + The form of purest Poesy flits before + My mental gaze, while bending o'er thy rhyme. + No lofty flight, bold, brilliant and sublime-- + But tender beauty, and endearing grace, + And touching pathos in these lines I trace, + Oh! gentle poet of the northern clime. + And oft when dazzled by the gorgeous glow + And gilded luxury of modern rhymes, + Grateful I turn to the clear, quiet flow + Of thy sweet thoughts, which fall like pleasant chimes + From the "pure wells of English undefiled." + Thou wert inspired, thou, Poetry's true child. + + + II.--SPENCER. + + What forms of grace and glory glided through + The royal palace of thy lofty mind! + Rare shapes of beauty thy sweet fancy drew, + In the brave knights, and peerless dames enshrined + Within thy magic book, The Faerie Queene, + Bright Gloriana robed in dazzling sheen-- + Hapless Irene--angelic Una--and + The noble Arthur all before me pass, + As summoned by the enchanter rod and glass. + And glorious still thy pure creations stand, + Leaving their golden footprints on the sand + Of Time indelible! All thanks to thee, + Oh! beauty-breathing bard of Poesy, + That thou hast charmed a weary hour for me. + + + III.--SHAKSPEARE. + + Oh! minstrel monarch! the most glorious throne + Of Intellect thy Genius doth inherit. + Compeer, or perfect rival thou hast none-- + O Soul of Song!--O mind of royal merit. + Is not this high, imperishable fame + The tribute of a grateful world to thee? + A recognizing glory in thy name + From a great nation to thy memory. + Lord of Dramatic Art--the splendid scenes + Of thy rich fancy are around us still; + All shapes of Thought to make the bosom thrill + Are thine supreme! Many long years have sped, + And dimmed in dust the crowned and laureled head, + But thou--_thou_ speakest still, though numbered with the dead. + + + + +THE PORTRAIT. + +[WITH AN ENGRAVING.] + +BY ROBT. T. CONRAD. + + + And he hath spoken! Knew I not he would? + Though flitting fears, like clouds o'er lakes, would cast + Shadows o'er true love's trust. The tear-drop stood + In his dark eye; he trembled. But 't is past, + And I am his, he mine. Why trembled he? + This fond heart knew he not; and that his eye + Governed its tides, as doth the moon the sea; + And that with him, for him, 't were bliss to die? + Yet said I naught. Shame on me, that my cheek + And eye my hoarded secret should betray! + Why wept I? And why was I sudden weak, + So weak his manly arm was stretched to stay? + How like a suppliant God he looked! His sweet, + Low voice, heart-shaken, spoke--and all was known; + Yet, from the first, I felt our souls must meet, + Like stars that rush together and shine on. + + +[Illustration: The Bridal Morning + +J. Hayter A. B. Ross + +Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine] + + + + +THE ISLETS OF THE GULF; + +OR, ROSE BUDD. + + + Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool + I; when I was at home I was in a better place; but + Travelers must be content. AS YOU LIKE IT. + + +BY THE AUTHOR Of "PILOT," "RED ROVER," "TWO ADMIRALS," +"WING-AND-WING," "MILES WALLINGFORD," ETC. + + +[Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by +J. Fenimore Cooper, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court +of the United States, for the Northern District of New York.] + + _(Continued from page 48.)_ + + +PART XV. + + Man hath a weary pilgrimage + As through the world he wends; + On every stage, from youth to age, + Still discontent attends; + With heaviness he casts his eye + Upon the road before, + And still remembers with a sigh + The days that are no more. SOUTHEY. + + +It has now become necessary to advance the time three entire days, and +to change the scene to Key West. As this latter place may not be known +to the world at large, it may be well to explain that it is a small +seaport, situate on one of the largest of the many low islands that +dot the Florida Reef, that has risen into notice, or indeed into +existence as a town, since the acquisition of the Floridas by the +American Republic. For many years it was the resort of few besides +wreckers, and those who live by the business dependent on the rescuing +and repairing of stranded vessels, not forgetting the salvages. When +it is remembered that the greater portion of the vessels that enter +the Gulf of Mexico stand close along this reef, before the trades, for +a distance varying from one to two hundred miles, and that nearly +every thing which quits it, is obliged to beat down its rocky coast in +the Gulf Stream for the same distance, one is not to be surprised that +the wrecks, which so constantly occur, can supply the wants of a +considerable population. To live at Key West is the next thing to +being at sea. The place has sea air, no other water than such as is +preserved in cisterns, and no soil, or so little as to render even a +head of lettuce a rarity. Turtle is abundant, and the business of +"turtling" forms an occupation additional to that of wrecking. As +might be expected in such circumstances, a potato is a far more +precious thing than a turtle's egg, and a sack of the tubers would +probably be deemed a sufficient remuneration for enough of the +materials of callipash and callipee to feed all the aldermen extant. + +Of late years, the government of the United States has turned its +attention to the capabilities of the Florida Reef, as an advanced +naval station; a sort of Downs, or St. Helen's Roads, for the West +Indian seas. As yet little has been done beyond making the preliminary +surveys, but the day is not probably very distant when fleets will +lie at anchor among the islets described in our earlier chapters, or +garnish the fine waters of Key West. For a long time it was thought +that even frigates would have a difficulty in entering and quitting +the port of the latter, but it is said that recent explorations have +discovered channels capable of admitting any thing that floats. Still +Key West is a town yet in its chrysalis state, possessing the promise +rather than the fruition of the prosperous days which are in reserve. +It may be well to add, that it lies a very little north of the 24th +degree of latitude, and in a longitude quite five degrees west from +Washington. Until the recent conquests in Mexico it was the most +southern possession of the American government, on the eastern side of +the continent; Cape St. Lucas, at the extremity of Lower California, +however, being two degrees farther south. + +It will give the foreign reader a more accurate notion of the +character of Key West, if we mention a fact of quite recent +occurrence. A very few weeks after the closing scenes of this tale, +the town in question was, in a great measure, washed away! A hurricane +brought in the sea upon all these islands and reefs, water running in +swift currents over places that within the memory of man were never +before submerged. The lower part of Key West was converted into a +raging sea, and every thing in that quarter of the place disappeared. +The foundation being of rock, however, when the ocean retired the +island came into view again, and industry and enterprise set to work +to repair the injuries. + +The government has established a small hospital for seamen at Key +West. Into one of the rooms of the building thus appropriated our +narrative must now conduct the reader. It contained but a single +patient, and that was Spike. He was on his narrow bed, which was to be +but the precursor of a still narrower tenement, the grave. In the room +with the dying man were two females, in one of whom our readers will +at once recognize the person of Rose Budd, dressed in deep mourning +for her aunt. At first sight, it is probable that a casual spectator +would mistake the second female for one of the ordinary nurses of the +place. Her attire was well enough, though worn awkwardly, and as if +its owner were not exactly at ease in it. She had the air of one in +her best attire, who was unaccustomed to be dressed above the most +common mode. What added to the singularity of her appearance, was the +fact, that while she wore no cap, her hair had been cut into short, +gray bristles, instead of being long, and turned up, as is usual with +females. To give a sort of climax to this uncouth appearance, this +strange-looking creature chewed tobacco. + +The woman in question, equivocal as might be her exterior, was +employed in one of the commonest avocations of her sex--that of +sewing. She held in her hand a coarse garment, one of Spike's, in +fact, which she seemed to be intently busy in mending; although the +work was of a quality that invited the use of the palm and +sail-needle, rather than that of the thimble and the smaller implement +known to seamstresses, the woman appeared awkward in her business, as +if her coarse-looking and dark hands refused to lend themselves to an +occupation so feminine. Nevertheless, there were touches of a purely +womanly character about this extraordinary person, and touches that +particularly attracted the attention, and awakened the sympathy of the +gentle Rose, her companion. Tears occasionally struggled out from +beneath her eyelids, crossed her dark, sun-burnt cheek, and fell on +the coarse canvas garment that lay in her lap. It was after one of +these sudden and strong exhibitions of feeling that Rose approached +her, laid her own little, fair hand, in a friendly way, though +unheeded, on the other's shoulder, and spoke to her in her kindest and +softest tones. + +"I do really think he is reviving, Jack," said Rose, "and that you may +yet hope to have an intelligent conversation with him." + +"They all agree he _must_ die," answered Jack Tier--for it was _he_, +appearing in the garb of his proper sex, after a disguise that had now +lasted fully twenty years--"and he will never know who I am, and that +I forgive him. He must think of me in another world, though he isn't +able to do it in this; but it would be a great relief to his soul to +know that I forgive him." + +"To be sure, a man must like to take a kind leave of his own wife +before he closes his eyes forever; and I dare say it would be a great +relief to you to tell him that you have forgotten his desertion of +you, and all the hardships it has brought upon you in searching for +him, and in earning your own livelihood as a common sailor." + +"I shall not tell him I've _forgotten_ it, Miss Rose; that would be +untrue--and there shall be no more deception between us; but I shall +tell him that I _forgive_ him, as I hope God will one day forgive me +all _my_ sins." + +"It is, certainly, not a light offence to desert a wife in a foreign +land, and then to seek to deceive another woman," quietly observed +Rose. + +"He's a willian!" muttered the wife--"but--but--" + +"You forgive him, Jack--yes, I'm sure you do. You are too good a +Christian to refuse to forgive him." + +"I'm a woman a'ter all, Miss Rose; and that, I believe, is the truth +of it. I suppose I ought to do as you say, for the reason you +mention; but I'm his wife--and once he loved me, though that has long +been over. When I first knew Stephen, I'd the sort of feelin's you +speak of, and was a very different creatur' from what you see me +to-day. Change comes over us all with years and sufferin'." + +Rose did not answer, but she stood looking intently at the speaker +more than a minute. Change had, indeed, come over her, if she had ever +possessed the power to please the fancy of any living man. Her +features had always seemed diminitive and mean for her assumed sex, as +her voice was small and cracked; but, making every allowance for the +probabilities, Rose found it difficult to imagine that Jack Tier had +ever possessed, even under the high advantages of youth and innocence, +the attractions so common to her sex. Her skin had acquired the +tanning of the sea; the expression of her face had become hard and +worldly; and her habits contributed to render those natural +consequences of exposure and toil even more than usually marked and +decided. By saying "habits," however, we do not mean that Jack had +ever drank to excess, as happens with so many seamen, for this would +have been doing her injustice, but she smoked and chewed--practices +that intoxicate in another form, and lead nearly as many to the grave +as excess in drinking. Thus all the accessories about this singular +being, partook of the character of her recent life and duties. Her +walk was between a waddle and a seaman's roll; her hands were +discolored with tar, and had got to be full of knuckles, and even her +feet had degenerated into that flat, broad-toed form that, perhaps, +sooner distinguishes caste, in connection with outward appearances, +than any one other physical peculiarity. Yet this being _had_ once +been young--had once been even _fair_; and had once possessed that +feminine air and lightness of form, that as often belongs to the +youthful American of her sex, perhaps, as to the girl of any other +nation on earth. Rose continued to gaze at her companion for some +time, when she walked musingly to a window that looked out upon the +port. + +"I am not certain whether it would do him good or not to see this +sight," she said, addressing the wife kindly, doubtful of the effect +of her words even on the latter. "But here are the sloop-of-war, and +several other vessels." + +"Ay, she is _there_; but never will his foot be put on board the Swash +ag'in. When he bought that brig I was still young, and agreeable to +him; and he gave her my maiden name, which was Mary, or Molly Swash. +But that is all changed; I wonder he did not change the name with his +change of feelin's." + +"Then you did really sail in the brig in former times, and knew the +seaman whose name you assumed?" + +"Many years. Tier, with whose name I made free, on account of his +size, and some resemblance to me in form, died under my care; and his +protection fell into my hands, which first put the notion into my head +of hailing as his representative. Yes, I knew Tier in the brig, and we +were left ashore at the same time--I, intentionally, I make no +question; he, because Stephen Spike was in a hurry, and did not choose +to wait for a man. The poor fellow caught the yellow fever the very +next day, and did not live eight-and-forty hours. So the world goes; +them that wish to live, die; and them that wants to die, live!" + +"You have had a hard time for one of your sex, poor Jack--quite twenty +years a sailor, did you not tell me?" + +"Every day of it, Miss Rose--and bitter years have they been; for the +whole of that time have I been in chase of my husband, keeping my own +secret, and slaving like a horse for a livelihood." + +"You could not have been old when he left--that is--when you parted." + +"Call it by its true name, and say at once, when he desarted me. I was +under thirty by two or three years, and was still like my own sex to +look at. All _that_ is changed since; but I _was_ comely _then_." + +"_Why_ did Capt. Spike abandon you, Jack; you have never told me +_that_." + +"Because he fancied another. And ever since that time he has been +fancying others, instead of remembering me. Had he got _you_, Miss +Rose, I think he would have been content for the rest of his days." + +"Be certain, Jack, I should never have consented to marry Capt. +Spike." + +"You're well out of his hands," answered Jack, sighing heavily, which +was much the most feminine thing she had done during the whole +conversation, "well out of his hands--and God be praised it is so. He +should have died, before I would let him carry you off the +island--husband or no husband." + +"It might have exceeded your power to prevent it under other +circumstances, Jack." + +Rose now continued looking out of the window in silence. Her thoughts +reverted to her aunt and Biddy, and tears rolled down her cheeks as +she remembered the love of one, and the fidelity of the other. Their +horrible fate had given her a shock that, at first, menaced her with a +severe fit of illness; but her strong, good sense, and excellent +constitution, both sustained by her piety and Harry's manly +tenderness, had brought her through the danger, and left her, as the +reader now sees her, struggling with her own griefs, in order to be of +use to the still more unhappy woman who had so singularly become her +friend and companion. + +The reader will readily have anticipated that Jack Tier had early made +the females on board the Swash her confidents. Rose had known the +outlines of her history from the first few days they were at sea +together, which is the explanation of the visible intimacy that had +caused Mulford so much surprise. Jack's motive in making his +revelations might possibly have been tinctured with jealousy, but a +desire to save one as young and innocent as Rose was at its bottom. +Few persons but a wife would have supposed our heroine could have been +in any danger from a lover like Spike; but Jack saw him with the eyes +of her own youth, and of past recollections, rather than with those of +truth. A movement of the wounded man first drew Rose from the window. +Drying her eyes hastily, she turned toward him, fancying that she +might prove the better nurse of the two, notwithstanding Jack's +greater interest in the patient. + +"What place is this--and why am I here?" demanded Spike, with more +strength of voice than could have been expected, after all that had +passed. "This is not a cabin--not the Swash--it looks like a +hospital." + +"It is a hospital, Capt. Spike," said Rose, gently drawing near the +bed; "you have been hurt, and have been brought to Key West, and +placed in the hospital. I hope you feel better, and that you suffer no +pain." + +"My head isn't right--I don't know--every thing seems turned round +with me--perhaps it will all come out as it should. I begin to +remember--where is my brig?" + +"She is lost on the rocks. The seas have broken her into fragments." + +"That's melancholy news, at any rate. Ah! Miss Rose! God bless +you--I've had terrible dreams. Well, it's pleasant to be among +friends--what creature is that--where does _she_ come from?" + +"That is Jack Tier," answered Rose, steadily. "She turns out to be a +woman, and has put on her proper dress, in order to attend on you +during your illness. Jack has never left your bed-side since we have +been here." + +A long silence succeeded this revelation. Jack's eyes twinkled, and +she hitched her body half aside, as if to conceal her features, where +emotions that were unusual were at work with the muscles. Rose thought +it might be well to leave the man and wife alone--and she managed to +get out of the room unobserved. + +Spike continued to gaze at the strange-looking female, who was now his +sole companion. Gradually his recollection returned, and with it the +full consciousness of his situation. He might not have been fully +aware of the absolute certainty of his approaching death, but he must +have known that his wound was of a very grave character, and that the +result might early prove fatal. Still that strange and unknown figure +haunted him; a figure that was so different from any he had ever seen +before, and which, in spite of its present dress, seemed to belong +quite as much to one sex as to the other. As for Jack--we call Molly, +or Mary Swash by her masculine appellation, not only because it is +more familiar, but because the other name seems really out of place, +as applied to such a person--as for Jack, then, she sat with her face +half averted, thumbing the canvas, and endeavoring to ply the needle, +but perfectly mute. She was conscious that Spike's eyes were on her; +and a lingering feeling of her sex told her how much time, exposure, +and circumstances, had changed her person--and she would gladly have +hidden the defects in her appearance. + +Mary Swash was the daughter as well as the wife of a ship-master. In +her youth, as has been said before, she had even been pretty, and down +to the day when her husband deserted her, she would have been thought +a female of a comely appearance rather than the reverse. Her hair in +particular, though slightly coarse, perhaps, had been rich and +abundant; and the change from the long, dark, shining, flowing locks +which she still possessed in her thirtieth year, to the short, gray +bristles that now stood exposed without a cap, or covering of any +sort, was one very likely to destroy all identity of appearance. Then +Jack had passed from what might be called youth to the verge of old +age, in the interval that she had been separated from her husband. Her +shape had changed entirely; her complexion was utterly gone; and her +features, always unmeaning, though feminine, and suitable to her sex, +had become hard and slightly coarse. Still there was something of her +former self about Jack that bewildered Spike; and his eyes continued +fastened on her for quite a quarter of an hour in profound silence. + +"Give me some water," said the wounded man, "I wish some water to +drink." + +Jack arose, filled a tumbler and brought it to the side of the bed. +Spike took the glass and drank, but the whole time his eyes were +riveted on his strange nurse. When his thirst was appeased, he asked-- + +"Who are you? How came you here?" + +"I am your nurse. It is common to place nurses at the bedsides of the +sick." + +"Are you man or woman?" + +"That is a question I hardly know how to answer. Sometimes I think +myself each; sometimes neither." + +"Did I ever see you before?" + +"Often, and quite lately. I sailed with you in your last voyage." + +"You! That cannot be. If so, what is your name?" + +"Jack Tier." + +A long pause succeeded this announcement, which induced Spike to muse +as intently as his condition would allow, though the truth did not yet +flash on his understanding. At length the bewildered man again spoke. + +"Are _you_ Jack Tier?" he said slowly, like one who doubted. "Yes--I +now see the resemblance, and it was _that_ which puzzled me. Are they +so rigid in this hospital that you have been obliged to put on woman's +clothes in order to lend me a helping hand?" + +"I am dressed as you see, and for good reasons." + +"But Jack Tier run, like that rascal Mulford--ay, I remember now; you +were in the boat when I over-hauled you all on the reef." + +"Very true; I was in the boat. But I never run, Stephen Spike. It was +_you_ who abandoned _me_, on the islet in the gulf, and that makes the +second time in your life that you have left me ashore, when it was +your duty to carry me to sea." + +"The first time I was in a hurry, and could not wait for you; this +last time you took sides with the women. But for your interference, I +should have got Rose, and married her, and all would now have been +well with me." + +This was an awkward announcement for a man to make to his legal wife. +But after all Jack had endured, and all Jack had seen during the late +voyage, she was not to be overcome by this avowal. Her self-command +extended so far as to prevent any open manifestation of emotion, +however much her feelings were excited. + +"I took sides with the women, because I am a woman myself," she +answered, speaking at length with decision, as if determined to bring +matters to a head at once. "It is natural for us all to take sides +with our kind." + +"You a woman, Jack! That is very remarkable. Since when have you +hailed for a woman? You have shipped with me twice, and each time as a +man--though I've never thought you able to do seaman's duty." + +"Nevertheless, I am what you see; a woman born and edicated; one that +never had on man's dress until I knew you. _You_ supposed me to be a +man, when I came off to you in the skiff to the eastward of Riker's +Island, but I was then what you now see." + +"I begin to understand matters," rejoined the invalid, musingly. "Ay, +ay, it opens on me; and I now see how it was you made such fair +weather with Madam Budd and pretty, pretty Rose. Rose _is_ pretty, +Jack; you _must_ admit _that_, though you be a woman." + +"Rose _is_ pretty--I do admit it; and what is better, Rose is _good_." +It required a heavy draft on Jack's justice and magnanimity, however, +to make this concession. + +"And you told Rose and Madam Budd about your sex; and that was the +reason they took to you so on the v'y'ge?" + +"I told them who I was, and why I went abroad as a man. They know my +whole story." + +"Did Rose approve of your sailing under false colors, Jack?" + +"You must ask that of Rose herself. My story made her my friend; but +she never said any thing for or against my disguise." + +"It was no great disguise a'ter all, Jack. Now you're fitted out in +your own clothes, you've a sort of half-rigged look; one would be as +likely to set you down for a man under jury-canvas, as for a woman." + +Jack made no answer to this, but she sighed very heavily. As for Spike +himself, he was silent for some little time, not only from exhaustion, +but because he suffered pain from his wound. The needle was diligently +but awkwardly plied in this pause. + +Spike's ideas were still a little confused; but a silence and rest of +a quarter of an hour cleared them materially. At the end of that time +he again asked for water. When he had drank, and Jack was once more +seated, with his side-face toward him, at work with the needle, the +captain gazed long and intently at this strange woman. It happened +that the profile of Jack preserved more of the resemblance to her +former self, than the full face; and it was this resemblance that now +attracted Spike's attention, though not the smallest suspicion of the +truth yet gleamed upon him. He saw something that was familiar, though +he could not even tell what that something was, much less to what or +whom it bore any resemblance. At length he spoke. + +"I was told that Jack Tier was dead," he said; "that he took the +fever, and was in his grave within eight-and-forty hours after we +sailed. That was what they told me of _him_." + +"And what did they tell you of your own wife, Stephen Spike. She that +you left ashore at the time Jack was left?" + +"They said she did not die for three years later. I heard of her death +at New Or_leens_, three years later." + +"And how could you leave her ashore--she, your true and lawful wife?" + +"It was a bad thing," answered Spike, who, like all other mortals, +regarded his own past career, now that he stood on the edge of the +grave, very differently from what he had regarded it in the hour of +his health and strength. "Yes, it _was_ a very bad thing; and I wish +it was ondone. But it is too late now. She died of the fever, +too--that's some comfort; had she died of a broken-heart, I could not +have forgiven myself. Molly was not without her faults--great faults, +I considered them; but, on the whole, Molly was a good creatur'." + +"You liked her, then, Stephen Spike?" + +"I can truly say that when I married Molly, and old Capt. Swash put +his da'ghter's hand into mine, that the woman wasn't living who was +better in my judgment, or handsomer in my eyes." + +"Ay, ay--when you _married_ her; but how was it a'terwards. When you +was tired of her, and saw another that was fairer in your eyes?" + +"I desarted her; and God has punished me for the sin! Do you know, +Jack, that luck has never been with me since that day. Often and often +have I bethought me of it; and sartain as you sit there, no great luck +has ever been with me, or my craft, since I went off, leaving my wife +ashore. What was made in one v'y'ge, was lost in the next. Up and +down, up and down the whole time, for so many, many long years, that +gray hairs set in, and old age was beginning to get close aboard--and +I as poor as ever. It has been rub and go with me ever since; and I +have had as much as I could do to keep the brig in motion, as the only +means that was left to make the two ends meet." + +"And did not all this make you think of your poor wife--she whom you +had so wronged?" + +"I thought of little else, until I heard of her death at New +Or_leens_--and then I gave it up as useless. Could I have fallen in +with Molly at any time a'ter the first six months of my desartion, she +and I would have come together again, and every thing would have been +forgotten. I knowed her very nature, which was all forgiveness to me +at the bottom, though seemingly so spiteful and hard." + +"Yet you wanted to have this Rose Budd, who is only too young, and +handsome, and good for you." + +"I was tired of being a widower, Jack; and Rose _is_ wonderful pretty. +She has money, too, and might make the evening of my days comfortable. +The brig was old, as you must know, and has long been off of all the +Insurance Offices' books; and she couldn't hold together much longer. +But for this sloop-of-war, I should have put her off on the Mexicans; +and they would have lost her to our people in a month." + +"And was it an honest thing to sell an old and worn-out craft to any +one, Stephen Spike?" + +Spike had a conscience that had become hard as iron by means of trade. +He who traffics much, most especially if his dealings be on so small a +scale as to render constant investigations of the minor qualities of +things necessary, must be a very fortunate man, if he preserve his +conscience in any better condition. When Jack made this allusion, +therefore, the dying man--for death was much nearer to Spike than even +he supposed, though he no longer hoped for his own recovery--when Jack +made this allusion, then, the dying man was a good deal at a loss to +comprehend it. He saw no particular harm in making the best bargain he +could; nor was it easy for him to understand why he might not dispose +of any thing he possessed for the highest price that was to be had. +Still he answered in an apologetic sort of way. + +"The brig was old, I acknowledge," he said, "but she was strong, and +_might_ have run a long time. I only spoke of her capture as a thing +likely to take place soon, if the Mexicans got her; so that her +qualities were of no great account, unless it might be her speed--and +that you know was excellent, Jack." + +"And you regret that brig, Stephen Spike, lying as you do on your +death-bed, more than any thing else." + +"Not as much as I do pretty Rose Budd, Jack; Rosy is so delightful to +look at!" + +The muscles of Jack's face twitched a little, and she looked deeply +mortified; for, to own the truth, she hoped that the conversation had +so far turned her delinquent husband's thoughts to the past, as to +have revived in him some of his former interest in herself. It is +true, he still believed her dead; but this was a circumstance Jack +overlooked--so hard is it to hear the praises of a rival, and be just. +She felt the necessity of being more explicit, and determined at once +to come to the point. + +"Stephen Spike," she said, steadily, drawing near to the bed-side, +"you should be told the truth, when you are heard thus extolling the +good looks of Rose Budd, with less than eight-and-forty hours of life +remaining. Mary Swash did not die, as you have supposed, three years +a'ter you desarted her, but is living at this moment. Had you read the +letter I gave you in the boat, just before you made me jump into the +sea, _that_ would have told you where she is to be found." + +Spike stared at the speaker intently; and when her cracked voice +ceased, his look was that of a man who was terrified as well as +bewildered. This did not arise still from any gleamings of the real +state of the case, but from the soreness with which his conscience +pricked him, when he heard that his much-wronged wife was alive. He +fancied, with a vivid and rapid glance at the probabilities, all that +a woman abandoned would be likely to endure in the course of so many +long and suffering years. + +"Are you sure of what you say, Jack? You wouldn't take advantage of my +situation to tell me an untruth?" + +"As certain of it as of my own existence. I have seen her quite +lately--talked with her of _you_--in short, she is now at Key West, +knows your state, and has a wife's feelin's to come to your bed-side." + +Notwithstanding all this, and the many gleamings he had had of the +facts during their late intercourse on board the brig, Spike did not +guess at the truth. He appeared astounded, and his terror seemed to +increase. + +"I have another thing to tell you," continued Jack, pausing but a +moment to collect her own thoughts. "Jack Tier--the real Jack Tier--he +who sailed with you of old, and whom you left ashore at the same time +you desarted your wife, _did_ die of the fever, as you was told, in +eight-and-forty hours a'ter the brig went to sea." + +"Then who, in the name of Heaven, are you? How came you to hail by +another's name as well as by another sex?" + +"What could a woman do, whose husband had desarted her in a strange +land?" + +"That is remarkable! So _you_'ve been married? I should not have +thought _that_ possible; and your husband desarted you, too. Well, +such things _do_ happen." Jack now felt a severe pang. She could not +but see that her ungainly--we had almost said her unearthly +appearance--prevented the captain from even yet suspecting the truth; +and the meaning of his language was not easily to be mistaken. That +any one should have married _her_, seemed to her husband as improbable +as it was probable he would run away from her as soon as it was in his +power after the ceremony. + +"Stephen Spike," resumed Jack, solemnly, "_I_ am Mary Swash--_I_ am +your wife!" + +Spike started in his bed; then he buried his face in the coverlet--and +he actually groaned. In bitterness of spirit the woman turned away and +wept. Her feelings had been blunted by misfortune and the collisions +of a selfish world; but enough of former self remained to make this +the hardest of all the blows she had ever received. Her husband, dying +as he was, as he must and did know himself to be, shrunk from one of +her appearance, unsexed as she had become by habits, and changed by +years and suffering. + + [_To be continued_. + + + + +AN HOUR. + +BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. + + + I've left the keen, cold winds to blow + Around the summits bare; + My sunny pathway to the sea + Winds downward, green and fair, + And bright-leaved branches toss and glow + Upon the buoyant air! + + The fern its fragrant plumage droops + O'er mosses, crisp and gray, + Where on the shaded crags I sit, + Beside the cataract's spray, + And watch the far-off, shining sails + Go down the sunny bay! + + I've left the wintry winds of life + On barren hearts to blow-- + The anguish and the gnawing care, + The silent, shuddering wo! + Across the balmy sea of dreams + My spirit-barque shall go. + + Learned not the breeze its fairy lore + Where sweetest measures throng? + A maiden sings, beside the stream, + Some chorus, wild and long, + Mingling and blending with its roar, + Like rainbows turned to song! + + I hear it, like a strain that sweeps + The confines of a dream; + Now fading into silent space, + Now with a flashing gleam + Of triumph, ringing through the deeps + Of forest, dell and stream! + + Away! away! I hear the horn + Among the hills of Spain: + The old, chivalric glory fires + Her warrior-hearts again! + Ho! how their banners light the morn, + Along Grenada's plain! + + I hear the hymns of holy faith + The red Crusaders sang, + And the silver horn of Ronçeval, + That o'er the tecbir rang + When prince and kaiser through the fray + To the paladin's rescue sprang! + + A beam of burning light I hold!-- + My good Damascus brand, + And the jet-black charger that I ride + Was foaled in the Arab land, + And a hundred horsemen, mailed in steel, + Follow my bold command! + + Through royal cities speeds our march-- + The minster-bells are rung; + The loud, rejoicing trumpets peal, + The battle-flags are swung, + And sweet, sweet lips of ladies praise + The chieftain, brave and young. + + And now, in bright Provençal bowers, + A minstrel-knight am I: + A gentle bosom on my own + Throbs back its ecstasy; + A cheek, as fair as the almond flowers, + Thrills to my lips' reply! + + I tread the fanes of wondrous Rome, + Crowned with immortal bay, + And myriads throng the Capitol + To hear my lofty lay, + While, sounding o'er the Tiber's foam, + Their shoutings peal away! + + Oh, triumph such as this were worth + The poet's doom of pain, + Whose hours are brazen on the earth, + But golden in the brain: + I close the starry gate of dreams, + And walk the dust again! + + + + +POWER OF BEAUTY, + +AND A PLAIN MAN'S LOVE. + +BY N. P. WILLIS. + + +That the truths arrived at by the unaccredited short road of +"magnetism" had better be stripped of their technical phraseology, and +set down as the gradual discoveries of science and experience, is a +policy upon which acts many a sagacious believer in "clairvoyance." +Doubtless, too, there is, here and there, a wise man, who is glad +enough to pierce, with the eyes of an incredible agent, the secrets +about him, and let the world give him credit, by whatever name they +please, for the superior knowledge of which he silently takes +advantage. I should be behind the time, if I had not sounded to the +utmost of my ability and opportunity the depth of this new medium. I +have tried it on grave things and trifles. If the unveiling which I am +about to record were of more use to myself than to others, perhaps I +should adopt the policy of which I have just spoken, and give the +result, simply as my own shrewd lesson learned in reading the female +heart. But the truths I unfold will instruct the few who need and can +appreciate them, while the whole subject is not of general importance +enough to bring down cavilers upon the credibility of their source. I +thus get rid of a very detestable though sometimes necessary evil, +("_qui nescit dissimulare nescit vivere_," says the Latin sage,) that +of shining by any light that is not absolutely my own. + +I am a very plain man in my personal appearance--_so_ plain that a +common observer, if informed that there was a woman who had a fancy +for my peculiar type, would wonder that I was not thankfully put to +rest for life as a seeker after love--a second miracle of the kind +being a very slender probability. It is not in beauty that the taste +for beauty alone resides, however. In early youth my soul, like the +mirror of Cydippe, retained, with enamored fidelity, the image of +female loveliness copied in the clear truth of its appreciation, and +the passion for it had become, insensibly, the thirst of my life, +before I thought of it as more than an intoxicating study. To be +loved--myself beloved--by a creature made in one of the diviner moulds +of woman, was, however, a dream that shaped itself into waking +distinctness at last, and from that hour I took up the clogging weight +of personal disadvantages, to which I had hitherto unconsciously been +chained, and bore it heavily in the race which the well-favored ran as +eagerly as I. + +I am not to recount, here, the varied experiences of my search, the +world over, after beauty and its smile. It is a search on which all +travelers are more than half bent, let them name as they please their +professed errand in far countries. The coldest scholar in art will +better remember a living face of a new cast of expression, met in the +gallery of Florence, than the best work of Michael Angelo, whose +genius he has crossed an ocean to study; and a fair shoulder crowded +against the musical pilgrim, in the Capella Sistiera, will be taken +surer into his soul's inner memory than the best outdoing of "the +sky-lark taken up into heaven," by the ravishing reach of the +_Miserere_. Is it not true? + +There can hardly be now, I think, a style of female beauty of which I +have not appreciated the meaning and comparative enchantment, nor a +degree of that sometimes more effective thing than beauty itself--its +expression breathing through features otherwise unlovely--that I have +not approached near enough to weigh and store truthfully in +remembrance. The taste forever refines in the study of woman. We +return to what, with immature eye, we at first rejected; we intensify, +immeasurably, our worship of the few who wear on their foreheads the +star of supreme loveliness, confessed pure and perfect by all +beholders alike; we detect it under surfaces which become transparent +only with tenderness or enthusiasm; we separate the work of Nature's +material chisel from the resistless and warm expansion of the soul +swelling its proportions to fill out the shape it is to tenant +hereafter. Led by the purest study of true beauty, the eager mind +passes on from the shrine where it lingered to the next of whose +greater brightness it becomes aware; and this is the secret of one +kind of "inconstancy in love," which should be named apart from the +variableness of those seekers of novelty, who, from unconscious +self-contempt, value nothing they have had the power to win. + +An unsuspected student of beauty, I passed years of loiterings in the +living galleries of Europe and Asia, and, like self-punishing misers +in all kinds of amassings, stored up boundlessly more than, with the +best trained senses, I could have found the life to enjoy. Of course I +had a first advantage, of dangerous facility, in my unhappy plainness +of person--the alarm-guard that surrounds every beautiful woman in +every country of the world--letting sleep at _my_ approach the +cautionary reserve which presents bayonet so promptly to the +good-looking. Even with my worship avowed, and the manifestation of +grateful regard which a woman of fine quality always returns for +elevated and unexacting admiration I was still left with such +privilege of access as is granted to the family-gossip, or to an +innocuous uncle, and it is of such a passion, rashly nurtured under +this protection of an improbability, that I propose to tell the +_inner_ story. + + + + +PART II. + + +I was at the Baths of Lucca during a season made gay by the presence +of a large proportion of the agreeable and accessible court of +Tuscany. The material for my untiring study was in abundance, yet it +was all of the worldly character which the attractions of the place +would naturally draw together, and my homage had but a choice between +differences of display, in the one pursuit of admiration. In my walks +through the romantic mountain-paths of the neighborhood, and along the +banks of the deep-down river that threads the ravine above the +village, I had often met, meantime, a lady accompanied by a well-bred +and scholar-like looking man; and though she invariably dropped her +veil at my approach, her admirable movement, as she walked, or stooped +to pick a flower, betrayed that conscious possession of beauty and +habitual confidence in her own grace and elegance, which assured me of +attractions worth taking trouble to know. By one of those "unavoidable +accidents" which any respectable guardian angel will contrive, to +oblige one, I was a visiter to the gentleman and lady--father and +daughter--soon after my curiosity had framed the desire; and in her I +found a marvel of beauty, from which I looked in vain for my usual +escape--that of placing the ladder of my heart against a loftier and +fairer. + +Mr. Wangrave was one of those English gentlemen who would not exchange +the name of an ancient and immemorially wealthy family for any title +that their country could give them, and he used this shield of modest +honor simply to protect himself in the enjoyment of habits, freed, as +far as refinement and culture could do it, from the burthens and +intrusions of life above and below him. He was ceaselessly educating +himself--like a man whose whole life was only too brief an +apprenticeship to a higher existence--and, with an invalid but +intellectual and lovely wife, and a daughter who seemed unconscious +that she could love, and who kept gay pace with her youthful-hearted +father in his lighter branches of knowledge, his family sufficed to +itself, and had determined so to continue while abroad. The society of +no Continental watering-place has a very good name, and they were +there for climate and seclusion. With two ladies, who seemed to occupy +the places and estimation of friends, (but who were probably the paid +nurse and companion to the invalid,) and a kind-hearted old secretary +to Mr. Wangrave, whose duties consisted in being as happy as he could +possibly be, their circle was large enough, and it contained elements +enough--except only, perhaps, the _réveille_ that was wanting for the +apparently slumbering heart of Stephania. + +A month after my first call upon the Wangraves, I joined them on their +journey to Vallambrosa, where they proposed to take refuge from the +sultry coming of the Italian autumn. My happiness would not have been +arranged after the manner of this world's happiness, if I had been the +only addition to their party up the mountain. They had received with +open arms, a few days before leaving Lucca, a young man from the +neighborhood of their own home, and who, I saw with half a glance, was +the very Eidolon and type of what Mr. Wangrave would desire as a +fitting match for his daughter. From the allusions to him that had +preceded his coming, I had learned that he was the heir to a brilliant +fortune, and was coming to his old friends to be congratulated on his +appointment to a captaincy in the Queen's Guards--as pretty a case of +an "irresistible" as could well have been compounded for expectation. +And when he came--the absolute model of a youth of noble beauty--all +frankness, good manners, joyousness, and confidence, I summoned +courage to look alternately at Stephania and him, and the hope, the +daring hope that I had never yet named to myself, but which was +already master of my heart, and its every pulse and capability, +dropped prostrate and lifeless in my bosom. If he did but offer her +the life-minute of love, of which I would give her, it seemed to me, +for the same price, an eternity of countless existences--if he should +but give her a careless word, where I could wring a passionate +utterance out of the aching blood of my very heart--she must needs be +his. She would be a star else that would resign an orbit in the fair +sky, to illumine a dim cave; a flower that would rather bloom on a +bleak moor, than in the garden of a king--for, with such crushing +comparisons, did I irresistibly see myself as I remembered my own +shape and features, and my far humbler fortunes than his, standing in +her presence beside him. + +Oh! how every thing contributed to enhance the beauty of that young +man. How the mellow and harmonizing tenderness of the light of the +Italian sky gave sentiment to his oval cheek, depth to his gray-blue +eye, meaning to their overfolding and thick-fringed lashes. Whatever +he said with his finely-cut lips, was _looked_ into twenty times its +meaning by the beauty of their motion in that languid atmosphere--an +atmosphere that seemed only breathed for his embellishment and +Stephania's. Every posture he took seemed a happy and rare accident, +which a painter should have been there to see. The sunsets, the +moonlight, the chance back-ground and fore-ground, of vines and +rocks--every thing seemed in conspiracy to heighten his effect, and +make of him a faultless picture of a lover. + +"Every thing," did I say? Yes, _even myself_--for my uncomely face and +form were such a foil to his beauty as a skillful artist would have +introduced to heighten it when all other art was exhausted, and every +one saw it except Stephania; and little they knew how, with +perceptions far quicker than theirs, I _felt_ their recognition of +this, in the degree of softer kindness in which they unconsciously +spoke to me. They pitied me, and without recognizing their own +thought--for it was a striking instance of the difference in the +gifts of nature--one man looking scarce possible to love, and beside +him, another, of the same age, to whose mere first-seen beauty, +without a word from his lips, any heart would seem unnatural not to +leap in passionate surrender. + +We were the best of sudden friends, Palgray and I. He, like the rest, +walked only the outer vestibule of the sympathies, viewlessly +deepening and extending, hour by hour, in that frank and joyous +circle. The interlinkings of soul, which need no language, and which +go on, whether we will or no, while we talk with friends, are so +strangely unthought of by the careless and happy. He saw in me no +counter-worker to his influence. I was to him but a well-bred and +extremely plain man, who tranquilly submitted to forego all the first +prizes of life, content if I could contribute to society in its +unexcited voids, and receive in return only the freedom of its outer +intercourse, and its friendly esteem. But, oh! it was not in the same +world that he and I knew Stephania. He approached her from the world +in whose most valued excellences, beauty and wealth, he was +pre-eminently gifted--I, from the viewless world, in which I had at +least more skill and knowledge. In the month that I had known her +before he came, I had sedulously addressed myself to a character +within her, of which Palgray had not even a conjecture; and there was +but one danger of his encroachment on the ground I had gained--her +imagination might supply in him the nobler temple of soul-worship, +which was still unbuilt, and which would never be builded except by +pangs such as he was little likely to feel in the undeepening channel +of happiness. He did not notice that _I_ never spoke to her in the +same key of voice to which the conversation of others was attuned. He +saw not that, while she turned to _him_ with a smile as a preparation +to listen, she heard _my_ voice as if her attention had been arrested +by distant music--with no change in her features except a look more +earnest. She would have called _him_ to look with her at a glowing +sunset, or to point out a new comer in the road from the village; but +if the moon had gone suddenly into a cloud and saddened the face of +the landscape, or if the wind had sounded mournfully through the +trees, as she looked out upon the night, she would have spoken of that +first to _me_. + + + + +PART III. + + +I am flying over the track, of what was to me a torrent--outlining its +course by alighting upon, here and there, a point where it turned or +lingered. + +The reader has been to Vallambrosa--if not once as a pilgrim, at least +often with writers of travels in Italy. The usages of the convent are +familiar to all memories--their lodging of the gentlemen of a party in +cells of their own monastic privilege, and giving to the ladies less +sacred hospitalities, in a secular building of meaner and +unconsecrated architecture. (So, oh, mortifying brotherhood, you shut +off your only chance of entertaining angels unaware!) + +Not permitted to eat with the ladies while on the holy mountain, Mr. +Wangrave and his secretary, and Palgray and I, fed at the table with +the aristocratic monks--(for they are the aristocrats of European +holiness, these monks of Vallambrosa.) It was somewhat a relief to me, +to be separated with my rival from the party in the feminine +refectory, even for the short space of a meal-time; for the all-day +suffering of presence with an unconscious trampler on my +heart-strings; and in circumstances where all the triumphs were his +own, were more than my intangible hold upon hope could well enable me +to bear. I was happiest, therefore, when I was out of the presence of +her to be near whom was all for which my life was worth having; and +when we sat down at the long and bare table, with the thoughtful and +ashen-cowled company, sad as I was, it was an opiate sadness--a +suspension from self-mastery, under torture which others took to be +pleasure. + +The temperature of the mountain-air was just such as to invite us to +never enter doors except to eat and sleep; and breakfasting at +convent-hours, we passed the long day in rambling up the ravines and +through the sombre forests, drawing, botanizing, and conversing in +group around some spot of exquisite natural beauty; and all of the +party, myself excepted, supposing it to be the un-dissenting, common +desire to contrive opportunity for the love-making of Palgray and +Stephania. And, bitter though it was, in each particular instance, to +accept a hint from one and another, and stroll off, leaving the +confessed lovers alone by some musical water-fall, or in the secluded +and twilight dimness of some curve in an overhanging ravine--places +where only to breathe is to love--I still felt an instinctive +prompting to rather anticipate than wait for these reminders, she +alone knowing what it cost me to be without her in that delicious +wilderness; and Palgray, as well as I could judge, having a mind out +of harmony with both the wilderness and her. + +He loved her--loved her as well as most women need to be, or know that +they can be loved. But he was too happy, too prosperous, too +universally beloved, to love well. He was a man, with all his beauty, +more likely to be fascinating to his own sex than to hers, for the +women who love best, do not love in the character they live in; and +his out-of-doors heart, whose joyfulness was so contagious, and whose +bold impulses were so manly and open, contented itself with gay +homage, and left unplummeted the sweetest as well as deepest wells of +the thoughtful tenderness of woman. + +To most observers, Stephania Wangrave would have seemed only born to +be gay--the mere habit of being happy having made its life-long +imprint upon her expression of countenance, and all of her nature, +that would be legible to a superficial reader, being brought out by +the warm translucence of her smiles. But while I had seen this, in the +first hour of my study of her, I was too advanced in my knowledge (of +such works of nature as encroach on the models of Heaven) not to know +this to be a light veil over a picture of melancholy meaning. Sadness +was the tone of her mind's inner coloring. Tears were the +subterranean river upon which her soul's bark floated with the most +loved freight of her thought's accumulation--the sunny waters of joy, +where alone she was thought to voyage, being the tide on which her +heart embarked no venture, and which seemed to her triflingly garish +and even profaning to the hallowed delicacy of the inner nature. + +It was so strange to me that Palgray did not see this through every +lineament of her marvelous beauty. There was a glow under her skin, +but no color--an effect of paleness--fair as the lotus-leaf, but +warmer and brighter, and which came through the alabaster fineness of +the grain, like something the eye cannot define, but which we know by +some spirit-perception to be the effluence of purer existence, the +breathing through, as it were, of the luminous tenanting of an angel. +To this glowing paleness, with golden hair, I never had seen united +any but a disposition of predominant melancholy; and it seemed to me +dull indeed otherwise to read it. But there were other betrayals of +the same inner nature of Stephania. Her lips, cut with the fine +tracery of the penciling upon a tulip-cup, were of a slender and +delicate fullness, expressive of a mind which took--(of the +senses)--only so much life as would hold down the spirit during its +probation; and when this spiritual mouth was at rest, no painter has +ever drawn lips on which lay more of the unutterable pensiveness of +beauty which we dream to have been Mary's, in the childhood of Jesus. +A tear in the heart was the instinctive answer to Stephania's every +look when she did not smile; and her large, soft, slowly-lifting eyes, +were to any elevated perception, it seemed to me, most eloquent of +tenderness as tearful as it was unfathomable and angelic. + +I shall have failed, however, in portraying truly the being of whom I +am thus privileged to hold the likeness in my memory, if the reader +fancies her to have nurtured her pensive disposition at the expense of +a just value for real life, or a full development of womanly feelings. +It was a peculiarity of her beauty, to my eye, that, with all her +earnest leaning toward a thoughtful existence, there did not seem to +be one vein beneath her pearly skin, not one wavy line in her +faultless person, that did not lend its proportionate consciousness to +her breathing sense of life. Her bust was of the slightest fullness +which the sculptor would choose for the embodying of his ideal of the +best blending of modesty with complete beauty; and her throat and +arms--oh, with what an inexpressible pathos of loveliness, so to +speak, was moulded, under an infantine dewiness of surface, their +delicate undulations. No one could be in her presence without +acknowledging the perfection of her form as a woman, and rendering the +passionate yet subdued homage which the purest beauty fulfills its +human errand by inspiring; but, while Palgray made the halo which +surrounded her outward beauty the whole orbit of his appreciation, and +made of it, too, the measure of the circle of topics he chose to talk +upon, there was still another and far wider ring of light about her, +which he lived in too dazzling a gayety of his own to see--a halo of +a mind more beautiful than the body which shut it in; and in this +intellectual orbit of guidance to interchange of mind, with manifold +deeper and higher reach than Palgray's, upon whatever topic chanced to +occur, revolved I, around her who was the loveliest and most gifted of +all the human beings I had been privileged to meet. + + + + +PART IV. + + +The month was expiring at Vallambrosa, but I had not mingled, for that +length of time, with a fraternity of thoughtful men, without +recognition of some of that working of spontaneous and elective +magnetism to which I have alluded in a previous part of this story. +Opposite me, at the table of the convent refectory, had sat a taciturn +monk, whose influence I felt from the first day--a stronger +consciousness of his presence, that is to say, than of any one of the +other monks--though he did not seem particularly to observe me, and +till recently had scarce spoken to me at all. He was a man of perhaps +fifty years of age, with the countenance of one who had suffered and +gained a victory of contemplation--a look as if no suffering could be +new to him, and before whom no riddle of human vicissitudes could stay +unread; but over all this penetration and sagacity was diffused a cast +of genial philanthropy and good-fellowship which told of his +forgiveness of the world for what he had suffered in it. With a +curiosity more at leisure, I should have sought him out, and joined +him in his walks to know more of him; but spiritually acquainted +though I felt we had become, I was far too busy with head and heart +for any intercourse, except it had a bearing on the struggle for love +that I was, to all appearance, so hopelessly making. + +Preparations were beginning for departure, and with the morrow, or the +day after, I was to take my way to Venice--my friends bound to +Switzerland and England, and propriety not permitting me to seek +another move in their company. The evening on which this was made +clear to me, was one of those continuations of day into night made by +the brightness of a full Italian moon; and Palgray, whose face, +troubled, for the first time, betrayed to me that he was at a crisis +of his fate with Stephania, evidently looked forward to this glowing +night as the favorable atmosphere in which he might urge his suit, +with nature pleading in his behalf. The reluctance and evident +irresolution of his daughter puzzled Mr. Wangrave--for he had no doubt +that she loved Palgray, and his education of her head and heart gave +him no clue to any principle of coquettishness, or willingness to give +pain, for the pleasure of an exercise of power. Her mother, and all +the members of the party, were aware of the mystery that hung over the +suit of the young guardsman, but they were all alike discreet, while +distressed, and confined their interference to the removal of +obstacles in the way of the lovers being together, and the avoidance +of any topics gay enough to change the key of her spirits from the +natural softness of the evening. + +Vespers were over, and the sad-colored figures of the monks were +gliding indolently here and there, and Stephania, with Palgray beside +her, stood a little apart from the group at the door of the secular +refectory, looking off at the fading purple of the sunset. I could not +join her without crossing rudely the obvious wishes of every person +present; yet for the last two days, I had scarce found the opportunity +to exchange a word with her, and my emotion now was scarce +controllable. The happier lover beside her, with his features +heightened in expression (as I thought they never could be) by his +embarrassment in wooing, was evidently and irresistibly the object of +her momentary admiration. He offered her his arm, and made a movement +toward the path off into the forest. There was an imploring deference +infinitely becoming in his manner, and see it she must, with pride and +pleasure. She hesitated--gave a look to where I stood, which explained +to me better than a world of language, that she had wished at least to +speak to me on this last evening--and, before the dimness over my eyes +had passed away, they were gone. Oh! pitying Heaven! give me never +again, while wrapt in mortal weakness, so harsh a pang to suffer. + + + + +PART V. + + +The convent-bell struck midnight, and there was a foot-fall in the +cloister. I was startled by it out of an entire forgetfulness of all +around me, for I was lying on my bed in the monastery cell, with my +hands clasped over my eyes, as I had thrown myself down on coming in; +and, with a strange contrariety, my mind, broken rudely from its hope, +had flown to my far away home, oblivious of the benumbed links that +lay between. A knock at my door completed the return to my despair, +for with a look at the walls of my little chamber, in the bright beam +of moonlight that streamed in at the narrow window, I was, by +recognition, again at Vallambrosa, and Stephania, with an accepted +lover's voice in her ear, was again near me, her moistened eyes +steeped with Palgray's in the same beam of the all-visiting and +unbetraying moon. + +Father Ludovic entered. The gentle tone of his _benedicite_, told me +that he had come on an errand of sympathy. There was little need of +preliminary between two who read the inner countenance as habitually +as did both of us; and as briefly as the knowledge and present feeling +of each could be re-expressed in words, we confirmed the +spirit-mingling that had brought him there, and were presently as one. +He had read truly the drama of love, enacting in the party of visiters +to his convent, but his judgment of the possible termination of it was +different from mine. + + * * * * * + +Palgray's dormitory was at the extremity of the cloister, and we +presently heard him pass. + +"She is alone, now," said Father Ludovic, "I will send you to her." + +My mind had strained to Stephania's presence with the first footsteps +that told me of their separation; and it needed but a wave of his hand +to unlink the spirit-wings from my weary frame. I was present with +her. + +I struggled for a moment, but in vain, to see her face. Its expression +was as visible as my hand in the sun, but no feature. The mind I had +read was close to me, in a presence of consciousness; and, in points, +here and there, brighter, bolder, and further-reaching than I had +altogether believed. She was unutterably pure--a spirit without a +spot--and I remained near her with a feeling as if my forehead were +pressed down to the palms of my hands, in homage mixed with sorrow, +for I should have more recognized this in my waking study of her +nature. + +A moment more--a trembling effort, as if to read what were written to +record my companionship for eternity--and a vague image of myself came +out in shadow--clearer now, and still clearer, enlarging to the +fullness of her mind. She thought wholly and only of that image I then +saw, yet with a faint coloring playing to and from it, as influences +came in from the outer world. Her eyes were turned in upon it in lost +contemplation. But suddenly a new thought broke upon me. I saw my +image, but it was not I, as I looked to myself. The type of my +countenance was there; but, oh, transformed to an ideal, such as I +now, for the first time, saw possible--ennobled in every defective +line--purified of its taint from worldliness--inspired with high +aspirations--cleared of what it had become cankered with, in its +transmission through countless generations since first sent into the +world, and restored to a likeness of the angel of whose illuminated +lineaments it was first a copy. So thought Stephania of me. Thus did +she believe I truly was. Oh! blessed, and yet humiliating, trust of +woman! Oh! comparison of true and ideal, at which spirits must look +out of heaven, and of which they must long, with aching pity, to make +us thus rebukingly aware! + + * * * * * + +I felt myself withdrawing from Stephania's presence. There were tears +between us, which I could not see. I strove to remain, but a stronger +power than my will was at work within me. I felt my heart swell with a +gasp, as if death were bearing out of it the principle of life; and my +head dropped on the pillow of my bed. + +"Good night, my son," said the low voice of Father Ludovic, "I have +willed that you should remember what you have seen. Be worthy of her +love, for there are few like her." + +He closed the door, and as the glide of his sandals died away in the +echoing cloisters, I leaned forth to spread my expanding heart in the +upward and boundless light of the moon--for I seemed to wish never +again to lose in the wasteful forgetfulness of sleep, the +consciousness that I was loved by Stephania. + + * * * * * + +I was journeying the next day, alone, toward Venice. I had left +written adieux for the party at Vallambrosa, pleading to my friends an +unwillingness to bear the pain of a formal separation. Betwixt +midnight and morning, however, I had written a parting letter for +Stephania, which I had committed to the kind envoying of Father +Ludovic, and thus it ran:-- + + "When you read this, Stephania, I shall be alone + with the thought of you, traveling a reluctant + road, but still with a burthen in my heart which + will bring me to you again, and which even now + envelopes my pang of separation in a veil of + happiness. I have been blessed by Heaven's mercy + with the power to know that you love me. Were you + not what you are, I could not venture to startle + you thus with a truth which, perhaps, you have + hardly confessed in waking reality to yourself; but + you are one of those who are coy of no truth that + could be found to have lain without alarm in your + own bosom, and, with those beloved hands pressed + together with the earnestness of the clasp of + prayer, you will say, 'yes! I love him!' + + "I leave you, now, not to put our love to trial, + and still less in the ordinary meaning of the + phrase, to prepare to wed you. The first is little + needed, angels in heaven well know. The second is a + thought which will be in time, when I have done the + work on which I am newly bent by the inspiration of + love--_the making myself what you think me to be_. + Oh, Stephania! to feel encouraged, as God has given + me strength to feel, that I may yet be this--that I + may yet bring you a soul brought up to the standard + you have raised, and achieve it by effort in + self-denial, and by the works of honor and goodness + that are as possible to a man in obscurity and + poverty as to his brother in wealth and + distinction--this is to me new life, boundless + enlargement of sphere, food for a love of which, + alas! I was not before worthy. + + "I have told you unreservedly what my station in + life is--what my hopes are, and what career I had + marked out for struggle. I shall go on with the + career, though the prizes I then mentally saw have + since faded in value almost as much as my purpose + is strengthened. Fame and wealth, my pure, + Stephania, are to you as they now can only be to + me, larger trusts of service and duty; and if I + hope they will come while other aims are sought, it + is because they will confer happiness on parents + and friends who mistakenly suppose them necessary + to the winner of your heart. I hope to bring them + to you. I know that I shall come as welcome without + them. + + "While I write--while my courage and hope throb + loud in the pulses of my bosom--I can think even + happily of separation. To leave you, the better to + return, is bearable--even pleasurable--to the + heart's noonday mood. But I have been steeped for a + summer, now, in a presence of visible and breathing + loveliness, (that you cannot forbid me to speak of, + since language is too poor to out-color truth,) and + there will come moments of depression--twilights of + deepening and undivided loneliness--hours of + illness, perhaps--and times of discouragement and + adverse cloudings over of Providence--when I shall + need to be remembered with sympathy, and to know + that I am so remembered. I do not ask you to write + to me. It would entail difficulties upon you, and + put between us an interchange of uncertainties and + possible misunderstandings. But I can communicate + with you by a surer medium, if you will grant a + request. The habits of your family are such that + you can, for the first hour after midnight, be + always alone. Waking or sleeping, there will then + be a thought of me occupying your heart, and--call + it a fancy if you will--I can come and read it on + the viewless wings of the soul. + + "I commend your inexpressible earthly beauty, dear + Stephania, and your still brighter loveliness of + soul, to God's angel, who has never left you. + Farewell! You will see me when I am worthy of + you--if it be necessary that it should be first in + heaven, made so by forgiveness there. + + * * * * * + +_Cell of St. Eusebius, Vallambrosa--day-breaking_." + + + + +A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY. + +BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. + + + Dear transient spirit of the fields, + Thou com'st, without distrust, + To fan the sunshine of our streets + Among the noise and dust. + + Thou leadest in thy wavering flight + My footsteps unaware, + Until I seem to walk the vales + And breathe thy native air. + + And thou hast fed upon the flowers, + And drained their honied springs, + Till every tender hue they wore + Is blooming on thy wings. + + I bless the fresh and flowery light + Thou bringest to the town, + But tremble lest the hot turmoil + Have power to weigh thee down; + + For thou art like the poet's song, + Arrayed in holiest dyes, + Though it hath drained the honied wells + Of flowers of Paradise; + + Though it hath brought celestial hues + To light the ways of life, + The dust shall weigh its pinions down + Amid the noisy strife. + + And yet, perchance, some kindred soul + Shall see its glory shine, + And feel its wings within his heart + As bright as I do thine. + + + + +THE RIVAL SISTERS. + +AN ENGLISH TRAGEDY OF REAL LIFE. + +BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR," +"MARMADUKE WYVIL," ETC. + +(_Concluded from page 22_.) + + +PART II. + + +A lovely summer's evening in the year 168-, was drawing toward its +close, when many a gay and brilliant cavalcade of both sexes, many of +the huge gilded coaches of that day, and many a train of liveried +attendants, winding through the green lane, as they arrived, some in +this direction from Eton, some in that, across Datchet-mead, from +Windsor, and its royal castle, came thronging toward Ditton-in-the-Dale. + +Lights were beginning to twinkle, as the shadows fell thick among the +arcades of the trim gardens, and the wilder forest-walks which +extended their circuitous course for many a mile along the stately +hall of the Fitz-Henries; loud bursts of festive or of martial music +came pealing down the wind, mixed with the hum of a gay and happy +concourse, causing the nightingales to hold their peace, not in +despair of rivaling the melody, but that the mirth jarred unpleasantly +on the souls of the melancholy birds. + +The gates of Ditton-in-the-Dale were flung wide open, for it was gala +night, and never had the old hall put on a gayer or more sumptuous +show than it had donned that evening. + +From far and near the gentry and the nobles of Buckingham and +Berkshire had gathered to the birth-day ball--for such was the occasion +of the festive meeting. + +Yes! it was Blanche Fitz-Henry's birth-day; and on this gay and glad +anniversary was the fair heiress of that noble house to be introduced +to the great world as the future owner of those beautiful demesnes. + +From the roof to the foundation the old manor-house--it was a stately +red brick mansion of the latter period of Elizabethan architecture, +with mullioned windows, and stacks of curiously wreathed chimneys--was +one blaze of light; and as group after group of gay and high-born +riders came caracoling up to the hospitable porch, and coach after +coach, with its running footmen, or mounted outriders lumbered slowly +in their train, the saloons and corridors began to fill up rapidly, +with a joyous and splendid company. + +The entrance-hall, a vast square apartment, wainscoted with old +English oak, brighter and richer in its dark hues than mahogany, +received the entering guests; and what with the profusion of +wax-lights, pendant in gorgeous chandeliers from the carved roof, or +fixed in silver sconces to the walls, the gay festoons of green +wreaths and fresh summer flowers, mixed quaintly with old armor, +blazoned shields, and rustling banners, some of which had waved over +the thirsty plains of Syria, and been fanned by the shouts of triumph +that pealed so high at Cressy and Poitiers, it presented a not unapt +picture of that midway period--that halting-place, as it were, between +the old world and the new--when chivalry and feudalism had ceased +already to exist among the nations, but before the rudeness of reform +had banished the last remnants of courtesy, and the reverence for all +things that were high and noble--for all things that were fair and +graceful--for all things, in one word, except the golden calf, the +mob-worshiped mammon. + +Within this stately hall was drawn up in glittering array, the +splendid band of the Life Guards, for royally himself was present, and +all the officers of that superb regiment, quartered at Windsor, had +followed in his train; and as an ordinary courtesy to their +well-proved and loyal host, the services of those chosen musicians had +been tendered and accepted. + +Through many a dazzling corridor, glittering with lights, and redolent +of choicest perfumes, through many a fair saloon the guests were +marshaled to the great drawing-room, where, beneath a canopy of state, +the ill-advised and imbecile monarch, soon to be deserted by the very +princes and princesses who now clustered round his throne, sat, with +his host and his lovely daughters at his right hand, accepting the +homage of the fickle crowd, who were within a little year to bow +obsequiously to the cold-blooded Hollander. + +That was a day of singular, and what would now be termed hideous +costumes--a day of hair-powder and patches, of hoops and trains, of +stiff brocades and tight-laced stomachers, and high-heeled shoes among +the ladies--of flowing periwigs, and coats with huge cuffs and no +collars, and voluminous skirts, of diamond-hilted rapiers, and diamond +buckles, ruffles of Valenciennes and Mecklin lace, among the ruder +sex. And though the individual might be metamorphosed strangely from +the fair form which nature gave him, it cannot be denied that the +concourse of highly-bred and graceful persons, when viewed as a whole, +was infinitely more picturesque, infinitely more like what the fancy +paints a meeting of the great and noble, than any assemblage +now-a-days, however courtly or refined, in which the stiff dress coats +and white neckcloths of the men are not to be redeemed by the Parisian +finery--how much more natural, let critics tell, than the hoop and +train--of the fair portion of the company. + +The rich materials, the gay colors, the glittering jewelry, and waving +plumes, all contributed their part to the splendor of the show; and in +those days a gentleman possessed at least this advantage, lost to him +in these practical utilitarian times, that he could not by any +possibility be mistaken for his own _valet de chambre_--a misfortune +which has befallen many a one, the most aristocratic not excepted, of +modern nobility. + +A truly graceful person will be graceful, and look well in every garb, +however strange or _outré_; and there is, moreover, undoubtedly +something, apart from any paltry love of finery, or mere vanity of +person, which elevates the thoughts, and stamps a statelier demeanor +on the man who is clad highly for some high occasion. The custom, too, +of wearing arms, peculiar to the gentleman of that day, had its +effect, and that not a slight one, as well on the character as on the +bearing of the individual so distinguished. + +As for the ladies, loveliness will still be loveliness, disguise it as +you may; and if the beauties of King James's court lost much by the +travesty of their natural ringlets, they gained, perhaps, yet more +from the increased lustre of their complexions and brilliancy of their +eyes. + +So that it is far from being the case, as is commonly supposed, that +it was owing to fashion alone, and the influence of all powerful +custom, that the costume of that day was not tolerated only, but +admired by its wearers. + +At this time, however, the use of hair-powder, though general, was by +no means universal; and many beauties, who fancied that it did not +suit their complexions, dispensed with it altogether, or wore it in +some modified shape, and tinged with some coloring matter, which +assimilated it more closely to the natural tints of the hair. + +At all events, it must have been a dull eye, and a cold heart, that +could have looked undelighted on the assemblage that night gathered in +the ball-room of Ditton-in-the-Dale. + +But now the reception was finished; the royal party moved into the +ball-room, from which they shortly afterward retired, leaving the +company at liberty from the restraint which their presence had imposed +upon them. The concourse broke up into little groups; the stately +minuet was performed, and livelier dances followed it; and gentlemen +sighed tender sighs, and looked unutterable things; and ladies +listened to soft nonsense, and smiled gentle approbation; and melting +glances were exchanged, and warm hands were pressed warmly; and fans +were flirted angrily, and flippant jokes were interchanged--for human +nature, whether in the seventeeth or the nineteenth century, whether +arrayed in brocade, or simply dressed in broadcloth, is human nature +still; and, perhaps, not one feeling, or one passion, that actuated +man's or woman's heart five hundred years ago, but dwells within it +now, and shall dwell unchanged forever. + +It needs not to say that, on such an occasion, in their own father's +mansion, and at the celebration of one sister's birth-day, Blanche and +Agnes, had their attractions been much smaller, their pretensions much +more lowly than they really were, would have received boundless +attention. But being as they were infinitely the finest girls in the +room, and being, moreover, new _debutantes_ on the stage of fashion, +there was no limit to the admiration, to the _furor_ which they +excited among the wits and lady-killers of the day. + +Many an antiquated Miss, proud of past conquests, and unable yet to +believe that her career of triumph was, indeed, ended, would turn up +an envious nose, and utter a sharp sneer at the forwardness and hoyden +mirth of that pert Mistress Agnes, or at the coldness and inanimate +smile of the fair heiress; but the sneer, even were it the sneer of a +duke's or a minister's daughter, fell harmless, or yet worse, drew +forth a prompt defence of the unjustly assailed beauty. + +No greater proof could be adduced, indeed, of the amazing success of +the sister beauties, than the unanimous decision of every lady in the +room numbering less than forty years, that they were by no means +uncommon; were pretty country hoppets, who, as soon as the novelty of +their first appearance should have worn out, would cease to be +admired, and sink back into their proper sphere of insignificance. + +So thought not the gentle cavaliers; and there were many present +there, well qualified to judge of ladies' minds as of ladies' persons; +and not a few were heard to swear aloud, that the Fitz-Henries were as +far above the rest of their sex in wit, and graceful accomplishment, +as in beauty of form and face, and elegance of motion. + +See! they are dancing now some gay, newly invented, Spanish dance, +each whirling through the voluptuous mazes of the courtly measure with +her own characteristic air and manner, each evidently pleased with her +partner, each evidently charming him in turn; and the two together +enchaining all eyes, and interesting all spectators, so that a gentle +hum of approbation is heard running through the crowd, as they pause, +blushing and panting from the exertion and excitement of the dance. + +"Fore Gad! she is exquisite, George! I have seen nothing like her in +my time," lisped a superb coxcomb, attired in a splendid civilian's +suit of Pompadour and silver, to a young cornet of the Life Guard who +stood beside him. + +"Which _she_, my lord?" inquired the standard-bearer, in reply. +"Methinks they both deserve your encomiums; but I would fain know +which of the two your lordship means, for fame speaks you a dangerous +rival against whom to enter the lists." + +"What, George!" cried the other, gayly, "are you about to have a throw +for the heiress? Pshaw! it wont do, man--never think of it! Why, +though you are an earl's second son, and date your creation from the +days of Hump-backed Dickon, old Allan would vote you a _novus homo_, +as we used to say at Christ Church. Pshaw! George, go hang yourself! +No one has a chance of winning that fair loveliness, much less of +wearing her, unless he can quarter Sir Japhet's bearings on his coat +armorial." + +"It _is_ the heiress, then, my lord," answered George Delawarr, +merrily. "I thought as much from the first. Well, I'll relieve your +lordship, as you have relieved me, from all fear of rivalry. I am +devoted to the dark beauty. Egad! there's life, there's fire for you! +Why, I should have thought the flash of that eye-glance would have +reduced Jack Greville to cinders in a moment, yet there he stands, as +calm and impassive a puppy as ever dangled a plumed hat, or played +with a sword-knot. Your fair beauty's cold, my lord. Give me that +Italian complexion, and that coal-black hair! Gad zooks! I honor the +girl's spirit for not disguising it with starch and pomatum. There's +more passion in her little finger, than in the whole soul of the +other." + +"You're out there, George Delawarr," returned the peer. "Trust me, it +is not always the quickest flame that burns the strongest; nor the +liveliest girl that feels the most deeply. There's an old saying, and +a true one, that still water aye runs deep. And, trust me, if I know +any thing of the dear, delicious, devilish sex, as methinks I am not +altogether a novice at the trade, if ever Blanche Fitz-Henry love at +all, she will love with her whole soul and heart and spirit. That gay, +laughing brunette will love you with her tongue, her eyes, her head, +and perhaps her fancy--the other, if, as I say, she ever love at all, +will love with her whole being." + +"The broad acres! my lord! all the broad acres!" replied the cornet, +laughing more merrily than before. "Fore Gad! I think it the very +thing for you. For the first Lord St. George was, I believe, in the +ark with Noah, so that you will pass current with the first gentleman +of England. I prithee, my lord, push your suit, and help me on a +little with my dark Dulcinea." + +"Faith! George, I've no objection; and see, this dance is over. Let us +go up and ask their fair hands. You'll have no trouble in ousting that +shallow-pated puppy Jack, and I think I can put the pass on Mr. +privy-counsellor there, although he is simpering so prettily. But, +hold a moment, have you been duly and in form presented to your +black-eyed beauty?" + +"Upon my soul! I hope so, my lord. It were very wrong else; for I have +danced with her three times to-night already." + +"The devil! Well, come along, quick. I see that they are going to +announce supper, so soon as this next dance shall be ended; and if we +can engage them now, we shall have their fair company for an hour at +least." + +"I am with you, my lord!" + +And away they sauntered through the crowd, and ere long were coupled +for a little space each to the lady of his choice. + +The dance was soon over, and then, as Lord St. George had surmised, +supper was announced, and the cavaliers led their ladies to the +sumptuous board, and there attended them with all that courtly and +respectful service, which, like many another good thing, has passed +away and been forgotten with the diamond-hilted sword, and the full +bottomed periwig. + +George Delawarr was full as ever of gay quips and merry repartees; his +wit was as sparkling as the champagne which in some degree inspired +it, and as innocent. There was no touch of bitterness or satire in his +polished and gentle humor; no envy or dislike pointed his quick, +epigrammatic speech; but all was clear, light, and transparent, as the +sunny air at noonday. Nor was his conversation altogether light and +mirthful. There were at times bursts of high enthusiasm, at which he +would himself laugh heartily a moment afterward--there were touches of +passing romance and poetry blending in an under-current with his +fluent mirth; and, above all, there was an evident strain of right +feeling, of appreciation of all that was great and generous and good, +predominant above romance and wit, perceptible in every word he +uttered. + +And Agnes listened, and laughed, and flung back skillfully and +cleverly the ball of conversation, as he tossed it to her. She was +pleased, it was evident, and amused. But she was pleased only as with +a clever actor, a brilliant performer on some new instrument now heard +for the first time. The gay, wild humor of the young man hit her +fancy; his mad wit struck a kindred chord in her mind; but the latent +poetry and romance passed unheeded, and the noblest point of all, the +good and gracious feelings, made no impression on the polished but +hard surface of the bright maiden's heart. + +Meantime, how fared the peer with the calmer and gentler sister? Less +brilliant than George Delawarr, he had traveled much, had seen more of +men and things, had a more cultivated mind, was more of a scholar, and +no less of a gentleman, scarce less perhaps of a soldier; for he had +served a campaign or two in his early youth in the Low Countries. + +He was a noble and honorable man, clever, and eloquent, and well +esteemed--a little, perhaps, spoiled by that good esteem, a little too +confident of himself, too conscious of his own good mien and good +parts, and a little hardened, if very much polished, by continual +contact with the world. + +He was, however, an easy and agreeable talker, accustomed to the +society of ladies, in which he was held to shine, and fond of shining. +He exerted himself also that night, partly because he was really +struck with Blanche's grace and beauty, partly because Delawarr's +liveliness and wit excited him to a sort of playful rivalry. + +Still, he was not successful; for though Blanche listened graciously, +and smiled in the right places, and spoke in answer pleasantly and +well, when she did speak, and evidently wished to appear and to be +amused; her mind was at times absent and distracted, and it could not +long escape the observation of so thorough a man of the world as Lord +St. George, that he had not made that impression on the young country +damsel which he was wont to make, with one half the effort, on what +might be supposed more difficult ladies. + +But though he saw this plainly, he was too much of a gentleman to be +either piqued or annoyed; and if any thing he exerted himself the more +to please, when he believed exertion useless; and by degrees his +gentle partner laid aside her abstraction, and entered into the spirit +of the hour with something of her sister's mirth, though with a +quieter and more chastened tone. + +It was a pleasant party, and a merry evening; but like all other +things, merry or sad, it had its end, and passed away, and by many was +forgotten; but there were two persons present there who never while +they lived forgot that evening--for there were other two, to whom it +was indeed the commencement of the end. + +But the hour for parting had arrived, and with the ceremonious +greetings of those days, deep bows and stately courtesies, and kissing +of fair hands, and humble requests to be permitted to pay their duty +on the following day, the cavaliers and ladies parted. + +When the two gallants stood together in the great hall, George +Delawarr turned suddenly to the peer-- + +"Where the deuce are you going to sleep to-night, St. George? You came +down hither all the way from London, did you not? You surely do not +mean to return to-night." + +"I surely do not _wish_ it, you mean, George. No, truly. But I do mean +it. For my fellows tell me that there is not a bed to be had for love, +which does not at all surprise me, or for money, which I confess does +somewhat, in Eton, Slough, or Windsor. And if I must go back to +Brentford or to Hounslow, as well at once to London." + +"Come with me! Come with me, St. George. I can give you quarters in +the barracks, and a good breakfast, and a game of tennis if you will; +and afterward, if you like, we'll ride over and see how these +bright-eyed beauties look by daylight, after all this night-work." + +"A good offer, George, and I'll take it as it is offered." + +"How are you here? In a great lumbering coach I suppose. Well, look +you, I have got two horses here; you shall take mine, and I'll ride on +my fellow's, who shall go with your people and pilot them on the road, +else they'll be getting that great gilded Noah's ark into +Datchet-ditch. Have you got any tools? Ay! ay! I see you travel well +equipped, if you do ride in your coach. Now your riding-cloak, the +nights are damp here, by the river-side, even in summer; oh! never +mind your pistols, you'll find a brace in my holsters, genuine +Kuchenreuters. I can hit a crown piece with them, for a hundred +guineas, at fifty paces." + +"Heaven send that you never shoot at me with them, if that's the case, +George." + +"Heaven send that I never shoot at any one, my lord, unless it be an +enemy of my king and country, and in open warfare; for so certainly as +I do shoot I shall kill." + +"I do not doubt you, George. But let's be off. The lights are burning +low in the sockets, and these good fellows are evidently tired out +with their share of our festivity. Fore Gad! I believe we are the +last of the guests." + +And with the word, the young men mounted joyously, and galloped away +at the top of their horses' speed to the quarters of the life-guard in +Windsor. + +Half an hour after their departure, the two sisters sat above stairs +in a pleasant chamber, disrobing themselves, with the assistance of +their maidens, of the cumbrous and stiff costumes of the ball-room, +and jesting merrily over the events of the evening. + +"Well, Blanche," said Agnes archly, "confess, siss, who is the lord +paramount, the beau _par excellence_, of the ball? I know, you demure +puss! After all, it is ever the quiet cat that licks the cream. But to +think that on your very first night you should have made such a +conquest. So difficult, too, to please, they say, and all the great +court ladies dying for him." + +"Hush! madcap. I don't know who you mean. At all events, I have not +danced four dances in one evening with one cavalier. Ah! have I caught +you, pretty mistress?" + +"Oh! that was only _poor_ George Delawarr. A paltry cornet in the +guards. He will do well enough to have dangling after one, to play +with, while he amuses one--but fancy, being proud of conquering poor +George! His namesake with the Saint before it were worth a score of +such." + +"Fie, sister!" said Blanche, gravely. "I do not love to hear you talk +so. I am sure he's a very pretty gentleman, and has twice as much head +as my lord, if I'm not mistaken; and three times as much heart." + +"Heart, indeed, siss! Much you know about hearts, I fancy. But, now +that you speak of it, I _will_ try if he has got a heart. If he has, +he will do well to pique some more eligible--" + +"Oh! Agnes, Agnes! I cannot hear you--" + +"Pshaw!" interrupted the younger sister, very bitterly, "this +affectation of sentiment and disinterestedness sits very prettily on +the heiress of Ditton-in-the-Dale, Long Netherby, and Waltham Ferrers, +three manors, and ten thousand pounds a year to buy a bridegroom! Poor +I, with my face for my fortune, must needs make my wit eke out my want +of dowry. And I'm not one, I promise you, siss, to choose love in a +cottage. No, no! Give me your Lord St. George, and I'll make over all +my right and title to poor George Delawarr this minute. Heigho! I +believe the fellow is smitten with me after all. Well, well! I'll have +some fun with him before I have done yet." + +"Agnes," said Blanche, gravely, but reproachfully, "I have long seen +that you are light, and careless whom you wound with your wild words, +but I never thought before that you were bad-hearted." + +"Bad-hearted, sister!" + +"Yes! bad-hearted! To speak to me of manors, or of money, as if for +fifty wills, or five hundred fathers, I would ever profit by a +parent's whim to rob my sister of her portion. As if I would not +rather lie in the cold grave, than that my sister should have a wish +ungratified, which I had power to gratify, much less that she should +narrow down the standard of her choice--the holiest and most sacred +thing on earth--to the miserable scale of wealth and title. Out upon +it! out upon it! Never, while you live, speak so to me again!" + +"Sister, I never will. I did not mean it, sister, dear," cried Agnes, +now much affected, as she saw how vehemently Blanche was moved. "You +should not heed me. You know my wild, rash way, and how I speak +whatever words come first." + +"Those were very meaning words, Agnes--and very bitter, too. They cut +me to the heart," cried the fair girl, bursting into a flood of +passionate tears. + +"Oh! do not--do not, Blanche. Forgive me, dearest! Indeed, indeed, I +meant nothing!" + +"Forgive you, Agnes! I have nothing to forgive. I was not even angry, +but pained, but sorry for you, sister; for sure I am, that if you give +way to this bitter, jealous spirit, you will work much anguish to +yourself, and to all those who love you." + +"Jealous, Blanche!" + +"Yes, Agnes, jealous! But let us say no more. Let this pass, and be +forgotten; but never, dear girl, if you love me, as I think you do, +never _so_ speak to me again." + +"I never, never will." And she fell upon her neck, and kissed her +fondly, as her heart relented, and she felt something of sincere +repentance for the harsh words which she had spoken, and the hard, +bitter feelings which suggested them. + +Another hour, and, clasped in each others' arms, they were sleeping as +sweetly as though no breath of this world's bitterness had ever blown +upon their hearts, or stirred them into momentary strife. + +Peace to their slumbers, and sweet dreams! + +It was, perhaps, an hour or two after noon, and the early dinner of +the time was already over, when the two sisters strolled out into the +gardens, unaccompanied, except by a tall old greyhound, Blanche's +peculiar friend and guardian, and some two or three beautiful +silky-haired King Charles spaniels. + +After loitering for a little while among the trim parterres, and +box-edged terraces, and gathering a few sweet summer flowers, they +turned to avoid the heat, which was excessive, into the dark elm +avenue, and wandered along between the tall black yew hedges, linked +arm-in-arm, indeed, but both silent and abstracted, and neither of +them conscious of the rich melancholy music of the nightingales, which +was ringing all around them in that pleasant solitude. + +Both, indeed, were buried in deep thought; and each, perhaps, for the +first time in her life, felt that her thought was such that she could +not, dared not, communicate it to her sister. + +For Blanche Fitz-Henry had, on the previous night, began, for the +first time in her life, to suspect that she was the owner, for the +time being, of a commodity called a heart, although it may be that the +very suspicion proved in some degree that the possession was about to +pass, if it were not already passing, from her. + +In sober seriousness, it must be confessed that the young cornet of +the Life Guards, although he had made so little impression on her to +whom he had devoted his attentions, had produced an effect different +from any thing which she had ever fell before on the mind of the elder +sister. It was not his good mien, nor his noble air that had struck +her; for though he was a well-made, fine-looking man, of graceful +manners, and high-born carriage, there were twenty men in the room +with whom he could not for five minutes have sustained a comparison in +point of personal appearance. + +His friend, the Viscount St. George, to whom she had lent but a cold +ear, was a far handsomer man. Nor was it his wit and gay humor, and +easy flow of conversation, that had captivated her fancy; although she +certainly did think him the most agreeable man she had ever listened +to. No, it was the under-current of delicate and poetical thought, the +glimpses of a high and noble spirit, which flashed out at times +through the light veil of reckless merriment, which, partly in +compliance with the spirit of the day, and partly because his was a +gay and mirthful nature, he had superinduced over the deeper and +grander points of his character. No; it was a certain originality of +mind, which assured her that, though he might talk lightly, he was one +to feel fervently and deeply--it was the impress of truth, and candor, +and high independence, which was stamped on his every word and action, +that first riveted her attention, and, in spite of her resistance, +half fascinated her imagination. + +This it was that had held her abstracted and apparently indifferent, +while Lord St. George was exerting all his powers of entertainment in +her behalf; this it was that had roused her indignation at hearing her +sister speak so slightingly, and, as it seemed to her, so ungenerously +of one whom she felt intuitively to be good and noble. + +This it was which now held her mute and thoughtful, and almost sad; +for she felt conscious that she was on the verge of loving--loving one +who, for aught that he had shown as yet, cared naught for her, perhaps +even preferred another--and that other her own sister. + +Thereupon her maiden modesty rallied tumultuous to the rescue, and +suggested the shame of giving love unasked, giving it, perchance, to +be scorned--and almost she resolved to stifle the infant feeling in +its birth, and rise superior to the weakness. But when was ever love +vanquished by cold argument, or bound at the chariot-wheels of reason. + +The thought would still rise up prominent, turn her mind to whatever +subject she would, coupled with something of pity at the treatment +which he was like to meet from Agnes, something of vague, unconfessed +pleasure that it was so, and something of secret hope that his eyes +would erelong be opened, and that she might prove, in the end, herself +his consoler. + +And what, meanwhile, were the dreams of Agnes? Bitter--bitter, and +black, and hateful. Oh! it is a terrible consideration, how swiftly +evil thoughts, once admitted to the heart, take root and flourish, and +grow up into a rank and poisonous crop, choking the good grain +utterly, and corrupting the very soil of which they have taken hold. +There is but one hope--but one! To tear them from the root forcibly, +though the heart-strings crack, and the soul trembles, as with a +spiritual earthquake. To nerve the mind firmly and resolutely, yet +humbly withal, and contritely, and with prayer against temptation, +prayer for support from on high--to resist the Evil One with the whole +force of the intellect, the whole truth of the heart, and to stop the +ears steadfastly against the voice of the charmer, charm he never so +wisely. + +But so did not Agnes Fitz-Henry. It is true that on the preceding +night her better feelings had been touched, her heart had relented, +and she had banished, as she thought, the evil counsellors, ambition, +envy, jealousy, and distrust, from her spirit. + +But with the night the better influence passed away, and ere the +morning had well come, the evil spirit had returned to his dwelling +place, and brought with him other spirits, worse and more wicked than +himself. + +The festive scene of the previous evening had, for the first time +opened her eyes fairly to her own position; she read it in the +demeanor of all present; she heard it in the whispers which +unintentionally reached her ears; she felt it intuitively in the +shade--it was not a shade, yet she observed it--of difference +perceptible in the degree of deference and courtesy paid to herself +and to her sister. + +She felt, for the first time, that Blanche was every thing, herself a +mere cipher--that Blanche was the lady of the manor, the cynosure of +all eyes, the queen of all hearts, herself but the lady's poor +relation, the dependent on her bounty, and at the best a creature to +be played with, and petted for her beauty and her wit, without regard +to her feelings, or sympathy for her heart. + +And prepared as she was at all times to resist even just authority +with insolent rebellion; ready as she was always to assume the +defensive, and from that the offensive against all whom she fancied +offenders, how angrily did her heart now boil up, how almost fiercely +did she muster her faculties to resist, to attack, to conquer, to +annihilate all whom she deemed her enemies--and that, for the moment, +was the world. + +Conscious of her own beauty, of her own wit, of her own high and +powerful intellect, perhaps over-confident in her resources, she +determined on that instant that she would devote them all, all to one +purpose, to which she would bend every energy, direct every thought of +her mind--to her own aggrandizement, by means of some great and +splendid marriage, which should set her as far above the heiress of +Ditton-in-the-Dale, as the rich heiress now stood in the world's eye +above the portionless and dependent sister. + +Nor was this all--there was a sterner, harder, and more wicked feeling +yet, springing up in her heart, and whispering the sweetness of +revenge--revenge on that amiable and gentle sister, who, so far from +wronging her, had loved her ever with the tenderest and most +affectionate love, who would have sacrificed her dearest wishes to her +welfare--but whom, in the hardness of her embittered spirit, she could +now see only as an intruder upon her own just rights, a rival on the +stage of fashion, perhaps in the interests of the heart--whom she +already envied, suspected, almost hated. + +And Blanche, at that self-same moment, had resolved to keep watch on +her own heart narrowly, and to observe her sister's bearing toward +George Delawarr, that in case she should perceive her favoring his +suit, she might at once crush down the germ of rising passion, and +sacrifice her own to her dear sister's happiness. + +Alas! Blanche! Alas! Agnes! + +Thus they strolled onward, silently and slowly, until they reached the +little green before the summer-house, which was then the gayest and +most lightsome place that can be imagined, with its rare paintings +glowing in their undimmed hues, its gilding bright and burnished, its +furniture all sumptuous and new, and instead of the dark funereal ivy, +covered with woodbine and rich clustered roses. The windows were all +thrown wide open to the perfumed summer air, and the warm light poured +in through the gaps in the tree-tops, and above the summits of the +then carefully trimmed hedgerows, blithe and golden. + +They entered and sat down, still pensive and abstracted; but erelong +the pleasant and happy influences of the time and place appeared to +operate in some degree on the feelings of both, but especially on the +tranquil and well-ordered mind of the elder sister. She raised her +head suddenly, and was about to speak, when the rapid sound of horses' +feet, unheard on the soft sand until they were hard by, turned her +attention to the window, and the next moment the two young cavaliers, +who were even then uppermost in her mind, came into view, cantering +along slowly on their well-managed chargers. + +Her eye was not quicker than those of the gallant riders, who, seeing +the ladies, whom they had ridden over to visit, sitting by the windows +of the summer-house, checked their horses on the instant, and doffed +their plumed hats. + +"Good faith, fair ladies, we are in fortune's graces to-day," said the +young peer, gracefully, "since having ridden thus far on our way to +pay you our humble devoirs, we meet you thus short of our journey's +end." + +"But how are we to win our way to you," cried Delawarr, "as you sit +there bright _chatelaines_ of your enchanted bower--for I see neither +fairy skiff, piloted by grim-visaged dwarfs, to waft us over, nor even +a stray dragon, by aid of whose broad wings to fly across this mimic +moat, which seems to be something of the deepest?" + +"Oh! gallop on, gay knights," said Agnes, smiling on Lord St. George, +but averting her face somewhat from the cornet, "gallop on to the +lodges, and leaving there your coursers, take the first path on the +left hand, and that will lead you to our presence; and should you +peradventure get entangled in the hornbeam maze, why, one of us two +will bring you the clue, like a second Ariadne. Ride on and we will +meet you. Come, sister, let us walk." + +Blanche had as yet scarcely found words to reply to the greeting of +the gallants, for the coincidence of their arrival with her own +thoughts had embarrassed her a little, and she had blushed crimson as +she caught the eye of George Delawarr fixed on her with a marked +expression, beneath which her own dropped timidly. But now she arose, +and bowing with an easy smile, and a few pleasant words, expressed her +willingness to abide by her sister's plan. + +In a few minutes the ladies met their gallants in the green labyrinth +of which Agnes had spoken, and falling into pairs, for the walk was +too narrow to allow them all four to walk abreast, they strolled in +company toward the Hall. + +What words they said, I am not about to relate--for such +conversations, though infinitely pleasant to the parties, are for the +most part infinitely dull to third persons--but it so fell out, not +without something of forwardness and marked management, which did not +escape the young soldier's rapid eye, on the part of Agnes, that the +order of things which had been on the previous evening was reversed; +the gay, rattling girl attaching herself perforce to the viscount, not +without a sharp and half-sarcastic jest at the expense of her former +partner, and the mild heiress falling to his charge. + +George Delawarr had been smitten, it is true, the night before by the +gayety and rapid intellect of Agnes, as well as by the wild and +peculiar style of her beauty; and it might well have been that the +temporary fascination might have ripened into love. But he was hurt, +and disgusted even more than hurt, by her manner, and observing her +with a watchful eye as she coquetted with his friend, he speedily came +to the conclusion that St. George was right in his estimate of _her_ +character at least, although he now seemed to be flattered and amused +by her evident prepossession in his favor. + +He had not, it is true, been deeply enough touched to feel either +pique or melancholy at this discovery, but was so far heart-whole as +to be rather inclined to laugh at the fickleness of the merry jilt, +than either to repine or to be angry. + +He was by no means the man, however, to cast away the occasion of +pleasure; and walking with so beautiful and soft a creature as +Blanche, he naturally abandoned himself to the tide of the hour, and +in a little while found himself engaged in a conversation, which, if +less sparkling and brilliant, was a thousand times more charming than +that which he had yesterday held with her sister. + +In a short time he had made the discovery that with regard to the +elder sister, too, his friend's penetration had exceeded his own; and +that beneath that calm and tranquil exterior there lay a deep and +powerful mind, stored with a treasury of the richest gems of thought +and feeling. He learned in that long woodland walk that she was, +indeed, a creature both to adore and to be adored; and he, too, like +St. George, was certain, that the happy man whom she should love, +would be loved for himself alone, with the whole fervor, the whole +truth, the whole concentrated passion of a heart, the flow of which +once unloosed, would be but the stronger for the restraint which had +hitherto confined it. + +Erelong, as they reached the wider avenue, the two parties united, and +then, more than ever, he perceived the immense superiority in all +lovable, all feminine points, of the elder to the younger sister; for +Agnes, though brilliant and seemingly thoughtless and spirit-free as +ever, let fall full many a bitter word, many a covert taunt and hidden +sneer, which, with his eyes now opened as they were, he readily +detected, and which Blanche, as he could discover, even through her +graceful quietude, felt, and felt painfully. + +They reached the Hall at length, and were duly welcomed by its master; +refreshments were offered and accepted--and the young men were invited +to return often, and a day was fixed on which they should partake the +hospitalities of Ditton, at least as temporary residents. + +The night was already closing in when they mounted their horses and +withdrew, both well pleased with their visit--for the young lord was +in pursuit of amusement only, and seeing at a glance the coyness of +the heiress, and the somewhat forward coquetry of her sister, he had +accommodated himself to circumstances, and determined that a passing +flirtation with so pretty a girl, and a short _sejour_ at a house so +well-appointed as Ditton, would be no unpleasant substitute for London +in the dog-days; and George Delawarr, like Romeo, had discarded the +imaginary love the moment he found the true Juliet. If not in love, he +certainly was fascinated, charmed; he certainly thought Blanche the +sweetest, and most lovely girl he had ever met, and was well inclined +to believe that she was the best and most admirable. He trembled on +the verge of his fate. + +And she--her destiny was fixed already, and forever! And when she saw +her sister delighted with the attentions of the youthful nobleman, she +smiled to herself, and dreamed a pleasant dream, and gave herself up +to the sweet delusion. She had already asked her own heart "does he +love me?" and though it fluttered sorely, and hesitated for a while, +it did not answer, "No!" + +But as the gentlemen rode homeward, St. George turned shortly on his +companion, and said, gravely, + +"You have changed your mind, Delawarr, and found out that I am right. +Nevertheless, beware! do not, for God's sake, fall in love with her, +or make her love you!" + +The blood flushed fiery-red to the ingenuous brow of George Delawarr, +and he was embarrassed for a moment. Then he tried to turn off his +confusion with a jest. + +"What, jealous, my lord! jealous of a poor cornet, with no other +fortune than an honorable name, and a bright sword! I thought you, +too, had changed your mind, when I saw you flirting so merrily with +that merry brunette." + +"You did see me _flirting_, George--nothing more; and I _have_ changed +my mind, since the beginning, if not since the end of last +evening--for I thought at first that fair Blanche Fitz-Henry would +make me a charming wife; and now I am sure that she would _not_--" + +"Why so, my lord? For God's sake! why say you so?" + +"Because she never would love _me_, George; and _I_ would never marry +any woman, unless I were sure that she both could and did. So you see +that I am not the least jealous; but still I say, don't fall in love +with her--" + +"Faith! St. George, but your admonition comes somewhat late--for I +believe I am half in love with her already." + +"Then stop where you are, and go no deeper--for if I err not, she is +more than half in love with you, too." + +"A strange reason, St. George, wherefore to bid me stop!" + +"A most excellent good one!" replied the other, gravely, and almost +sadly, "for mutual love between you two can only lead to mutual +misery. Her father never would consent to her marrying you more than +he would to her marrying a peasant--the man is perfectly insane on the +subject of title-deeds and heraldry, and will accept no one for his +son-in-law who cannot show as many quarterings as a Spanish grandee, +or a German noble. But, of course, it is of no use talking about it. +Love never yet listened to reason; and, moreover, I suppose what is to +be is to be--come what may." + +"And what will you do, St. George, about Agnes? I think you are +touched there a little!" + +"Not a whit I--honor bright! And for what I will do--amuse myself, +George--amuse myself, and that pretty coquette, too; and if I find her +less of a coquette, with more of a heart than I fancy she has--" he +stopped short, and laughed. + +"Well, what then--what then?" cried George Delawarr. + +"It will be time enough to decide _then_." + +"And so say I, St. George. Meanwhile, I too will amuse myself." + +"Ay! but observe this special difference--what is fun to _you_ may be +death to _her_, for she _has_ a heart, and a fine, and true, and deep +one; may be death to yourself--for you, too, are honorable, and true, +and noble; and that is why I love you, George, and why I speak to you +thus, at the risk of being held meddlesome or impertinent." + +"Oh, never, never!" exclaimed Delawarr, moving his horse closer up to +him, and grasping his hand warmly, "never! You meddlesome or +impertinent! Let me hear no man call you so. But I will think of this. +On my honor, I will think of this that you have said!" + +And he did think of it. Thought of it often, deeply--and the more he +thought, the more he loved Blanche Fitz-Henry. + +Days, weeks, and months rolled on, and still those two young cavaliers +were constant visiters, sometimes alone, sometimes with other gallants +in their company, at Ditton-in-the-Dale. And ever still, despite his +companion's warning, Delawarr lingered by the fair heiress' side, +until both were as deeply enamored as it is possible for two persons +to be, both single-hearted, both endowed with powerful intellect, and +powerful imagination; both of that strong and energetic temperament +which renders all impressions permanent, all strong passions immortal. +It was strange that there should have been two persons, and there were +but two, who discovered nothing of what was passing--suspected nothing +of the deep feelings which possessed the hearts of the young lovers; +while all else marked the growth of liking into love, of love into +that absolute and over-whelming idolatry, which but few souls can +comprehend, and which to those few is the mightiest of blessings or +the blackest of curses. + +And those two, as is oftentimes the case, were the very two whom it +most concerned to perceive, and who imagined themselves the quickest +and the clearest sighted--Allan Fitz-Henry, and the envious Agnes. + +But so true is it that the hope is oft parent to the thought, and the +thought again to security and conviction, that, having in the first +instance made up his mind that Lord St. George would be a most +suitable successor to the name of the family, and secondly, that he +was engaged in prosecuting his suit to the elder daughter, her father +gave himself no further trouble in the matter, but suffered things to +take their own course without interference. + +He saw, indeed, that in public the viscount was more frequently the +companion of Agnes than of Blanche; that there seemed to be a better +and more rapid intelligence between them; and that Blanche appeared +better pleased with George Delawarr's than with the viscount's +company. + +But, to a man blinded by his own wishes and prejudices, such evidences +went as nothing. He set it down at once to the score of timidity on +Blanche's part, and to the desire of avoiding unnecessary notoriety on +St. George's; and saw nothing but what was perfectly natural and +comprehensible, in the fact that the younger sister and the familiar +friend should be the mutual confidents, perhaps the go-betweens, of +the two acknowledged lovers. + +He was in high good-humor, therefore; and as he fancied himself on the +high-road to the full fruition of his schemes, nothing could exceed +his courtesy and kindness to the young cornet, whom he almost +overpowered with those tokens of affection and regard which he did +not choose to lavish on the peer, lest he should be thought to be +courting his alliance. + +Agnes, in the meantime, was so busy in the prosecution of her assault +on Lord St. George's heart, on which she began to believe that she had +made some permanent impression, that she was perfectly contented with +her own position, and was well-disposed to let other people enjoy +themselves, provided they did not interfere with her proceedings. It +is true that, at times, in the very spirit of coquetry, she would +resume her flirtation with George Delawarr, for the double purpose of +piquing the viscount, and playing with the cornet's affections, which, +blinded by self-love, she still believed to be devoted to her pretty +self. + +But Delawarr was so happy in himself, that, without any intention of +playing with Agnes, or deceiving her, he joked and rattled with her +as he would with a sister, and believing that she must understand +their mutual situation, at times treated her with a sort of quiet +fondness, as a man naturally does the sister of his betrothed or his +bride, which effectually completed her hallucination. + +The consequence of all this was, that, while they were unintentionally +deceiving others, they were fatally deceiving themselves likewise; and +of this, it is probable that no one was aware, with the exception of +St. George, who, seeing that his warnings were neglected, did not +choose to meddle further in the matter, although keeping himself ready +to aid the lovers to the utmost of his ability by any means that +should offer. + +In the innocence of their hearts, and the purity of their young love, +they fancied that what was so clear to themselves, must be apparent to +the eyes of others; and they flattered themselves that the lady's +father not only saw, but approved their affection, and that, when the +fitting time should arrive, there would be no obstacle to the +accomplishment of their happiness. + +It is true that Blanche spoke not of her love to her sister, for, +apart from the aversion which a refined and delicate girl must ever +feel to touching on that subject, unless the secret be teased or +coaxed out of her by some near and affectionate friend, there had +grown up a sort of distance, not coldness, nor dislike, nor distrust, +but simply distance, and lack of communication between the sisters +since the night of the birth-day ball. Still Blanche doubted not that +her sister saw and knew all that was passing in her mind, in the same +manner as she read her heart; and it was to her evident liking for +Lord St. George, and the engrossing claim of her own affections on all +her thoughts, and all her time, that she attributed her carelessness +of herself. + +Deeply, however, did she err, and cruelly was she destined to be +undeceived. + +The early days of autumn had arrived, and the woods had donned their +many-colored garments, when on a calm, sweet evening--one of those +quiet and delicious evenings peculiar to that season--Blanche and +George Delawarr had wandered away from the gay concourse which filled +the gardens, and unseen, as they believed, and unsuspected, had turned +into the old labyrinth where first they had begun to love, and were +wrapped in soft dreams of the near approach of more perfect happiness. + +But a quick, hard eye was upon them--the eye of Agnes; for, by chance, +Lord St. George was absent, having been summoned to attend the king at +Windsor; and being left to herself, her busy mind, too busy to rest +for a moment idle, plunged into mischief and malevolence. + +No sooner did she see them turn aside from the broad walk than the +cloud was withdrawn, as if by magic, from her eyes; and she saw almost +intuitively all that had previously escaped her. + +Not a second did she lose, but stealing after the unsuspecting pair +with a noiseless and treacherous step, she followed them, foot by +foot, through the mazes of the clipped hornbeam labyrinth, divided +from them only by the verdant screen, listening to every +half-breathed word of love, and drinking in with greedy ears every +passionate sigh. + +Delawarr's left arm was around Blanche's slender waist, and her right +hand rested on his shoulder; the fingers of their other hands were +entwined lovingly together, as they wandered onward, wrapped each in +the other, unconscious of wrong on their own part, and unsuspicious of +injury from any other. + +Meanwhile, with rage in her eyes, with hell in her heart, Agnes +followed and listened. + +So deadly was her hatred, at that moment, of her sister, so fierce and +overmastering her rage, that it was only by the utmost exertion of +self-control that she could refrain from rushing forward and loading +them with reproaches, with contumely, and with scorn. + +But biting her lips till the blood sprang beneath her pearly teeth, +and clinching her hands so hard that the nails wounded their tender +palms, she did refrain, did subdue the swelling fury of her rebellious +heart, and awaited the hour of more deadly vengeance. + +Vengeance for what? She had not loved George Delawarr--nay, she had +scorned him! Blanche had not robbed her of her lover--nay, in her own +thoughts, she had carried off the admirer, perhaps the future lover, +from the heiress. + +She was the wronger, not the wronged! Then wherefore vengeance? + +Even, _therefore_, reader, because she had wronged her, and knew it; +because her own conscience smote her, and she would fain avenge on the +innocent cause, the pangs which at times rent her own bosom. + +Envious and bitter, she could not endure that Blanche should be loved, +as she felt she was not loved herself, purely, devotedly, forever, and +for herself alone. + +Ambitious, and insatiate of admiration, she could not endure that +George Delawarr, once her captive, whom she still thought her slave, +should shake off his allegiance to herself, much less that he should +dare to love her sister. + +Even while she listened, she suddenly heard Blanche reply to some +words of her lover, which had escaped her watchful ears. + +"Never fear, dearest George; I am sure that he has seen and knows +all--he is the kindest and the best of fathers. I will tell him all +to-morrow, and will have good news for you when you come to see me in +the evening." + +"Never!" exclaimed the fury, stamping upon the ground violently--"by +all my hopes of heaven, never!" + +And with the words she darted away in the direction of the hall as +fast as her feet could carry her over the level greensward; rage +seeming literally to lend her wings, so rapidly did her fiery passions +spur her on the road to impotent revenge. + +Ten minutes afterward, with his face inflamed with fury, his periwig +awry, his dress disordered by the haste with which he had come up, +Allan Fitz-Henry broke upon the unsuspecting lovers. + +Snatching his daughter rudely from the young man's half embrace, he +broke out into a torrent of terrible and furious invective, far more +disgraceful to him who used it, than to those on whom it was vented. + +There was no check to his violence, no moderation on his tongue. +Traitor, and knave, and low-born beggar, were the mildest epithets +which he applied to the high-bred and gallant soldier; while on his +sweet and shrinking child he heaped terms the most opprobrious, the +most unworthy of himself, whether as a father or as a man. + +The blood rushed crimson to the brow of George Delawarr, and his hand +fell, as if by instinct, upon the hilt of his rapier; but the next +moment he withdrew it, and was cool by a mighty effort. + +"From you, sir, any thing! You will be sorry for this to-morrow!" + +"Never, sir! never! Get you gone! base domestic traitor! Get you gone, +lest I call my servants, and bid them spurn you from my premises!" + +"I go, sir--" he began calmly; but at this moment St. George came upon +the scene, having just returned from Windsor, eager, but, alas! too +late, to anticipate the shameful scene--and to him did George Delawarr +turn with unutterable anguish in his eyes. "Bid my men bring my horses +after me, St. George," said he, firmly, but mournfully; "for me, this +is no place any longer. Farewell, sir! you will repent of this. Adieu, +Blanche, we shall meet again, sweet one." + +"Never! dog, never! or with my own hands--" + +"Hush! hush! for shame. Peace, Mister Fitz-Henry, these words are not +such as may pass between gentlemen. Go, George, for God's sake! Go, +and prevent worse scandal," cried the viscount. + +And miserable beyond all comprehension, his dream of bliss thus +cruelly cut short, the young man went his way, leaving his mistress +hanging in a deep swoon, happy to be for a while unconscious of her +misery, upon her father's arm. + +Three days had passed--three dark, dismal, hopeless days. Delawarr did +his duty with his regiment, nay, did it well--but he was utterly +unconscious, his mind was afar off, as of a man walking in a dream. +Late on the third night a small note was put into his hands, blistered +and soiled with tears. A wan smile crossed his face, he ordered his +horses at daybreak, drained a deep draught of wine, sauntered away to +his own chamber, stopping at every two or three paces in deep +meditation; threw himself on his bed, for the first time in his life +without praying, and slept, or seemed to sleep, till daybreak. + +Three days had passed--three dark, dismal, hopeless days! Blanche was +half dead--for she now despaired. All methods had been tried with the +fierce and prejudiced old man, secretly prompted by that +demon-girl--and all tried in vain. Poor Blanche had implored him to +suffer her to resign her birthright in favor of her sister, who would +wed to suit his wishes, but in vain. The generous St. George had +offered to purchase for his friend, as speedily as possible, every +step to the very highest in the service; nay, he had obtained from the +easy monarch a promise to raise him to the peerage, but in vain. + +And Blanche despaired; and St. George left the Hall in sorrow and +disgust that he could effect nothing. + +That evening Blanche's maid, a true and honest girl, delivered to her +mistress a small note, brought by a peasant lad; and within an hour +the boy went thence, the bearer of a billet, blistered and wet with +tears. + +And Blanche crept away unheeded to her chamber, and threw herself upon +her knees, and prayed fervently and long; and casting herself upon her +painful bed, at last wept herself to sleep. + +The morning dawned, merry and clear, and lightsome; and all the face +of nature smiled gladly in the merry sunbeams. + +At the first peep of dawn Blanche started from her restless slumbers, +dressed herself hastily, and creeping down the stairs with a cautious +step, unbarred a postern door, darted out into the free air, without +casting a glance behind her, and fled, with all the speed of mingled +love and terror, down the green avenue toward the gay pavilion--scene +of so many happy hours. + +But again she was watched by an envious eye, and followed by a jealous +foot. + +For scarce ten minutes had elapsed from the time when she issued from +the postern, before Agnes appeared on the threshold, with her dark +face livid and convulsed with passion; and after pausing a moment, as +if in hesitation, followed rapidly in the footsteps of her sister. + +When Blanche reached the summer-house, it was closed and untenanted; +but scarcely had she entered and cast open the blinds of one window +toward the road, before a hard horse-tramp was heard coming up at full +gallop, and in an instant George Delawarr pulled up his panting +charger in the lane, leaped to the ground, swung himself up into the +branches of the great oak-tree, and climbing rapidly along its gnarled +limbs, sprang down on the other side, rushed into the building, and +cast himself at his mistress' feet. + +Agnes was entering the far end of the elm-tree walk as he sprang down +into the little coplanade, but he was too dreadfully preoccupied with +hope and anguish, and almost despair, to observe any thing around him. + +But she saw him, and fearful that she should be too late to arrest +what she supposed to be the lovers' flight, she ran like the wind. + +She neared the doorway--loud voices reached her ears, but whether in +anger, or in supplication, or in sorrow, she could not distinguish. + +Then came a sound that rooted her to the ground on which her flying +foot was planted, in mute terror. + +The round ringing report of a pistol-shot! and ere its echo had begun +to die away, another! + +No shriek, no wail, no word succeeded--all was as silent as the grave. + +Then terror gave her courage, and she rushed madly forward a few +steps, then stood on the threshold horror-stricken. + +Both those young souls, but a few days before so happy, so beloved, +and so loving, had taken their flight--whither? + +Both lay there dead, as they had fallen, but unconvulsed, and graceful +even in death. Neither had groaned or struggled, but as they had +fallen, so they lay, a few feet asunder--her heart and his brain +pierced by the deadly bullets, sped with the accuracy of his +never-erring aim. + +While she stood gazing, in the very stupor of dread, scarce conscious +yet of what had fallen out, a deep voice smote her ear. + +"Base, base girl, this is all your doing!" Then, as if wakening from a +trance, she uttered a long, piercing shriek, darted into the pavilion +between the gory corpses, and flung herself headlong out of the open +window into the pool beneath. + +But she was not fated so to die. A strong hand dragged her out--the +hand of St. George, who, learning that his friend had ridden forth +toward Ditton, had followed him, and arrived too late by scarce a +minute. + +From that day forth Agnes Fitz-Henry was a dull, melancholy maniac. +Never one gleam of momentary light dispersed the shadows of her insane +horror--never one smile crossed her lip, one pleasant thought relieved +her life-long sorrow. Thus lived she; and when death at length came to +restore her spirit's light, she died, and made no sign. + +Allan Fitz-Henry _lived_--a moody misanthropic man, shunning all men, +and shunned of all. In truth, the saddest and most wretched of the +sons of men. + +How that catastrophe fell out none ever knew, and it were useless to +conjecture. + +They were beautiful, they were young, they were happy. The evil days +arrived--and they were wretched, and lacked strength to bear their +wretchedness. They are gone where ONE alone must judge them--may HE +have pity on their weakness. REQUIESCANT! + + + + +THE LOST PLEIAD. + +BY HENRY B. HIRST. + + + Beautiful sisters! tell me, do you ever + Dream of the loved and lost one, she who fell + And faded, in love's turbid, crimson river-- + The sacred secret tell? + Calmly the purple heavens reposed around her, + And, chanting harmonies, she danced along; + Ere Eros in his silken meshes bound her, + Her being passed in song. + + Once on a day she lay in dreamy slumber; + Beside her slept her golden-tonguèd lyre; + And radiant visions--fancies without number-- + Filled breast and brain with fire. + She dreamed; and, in her dreams, saw, bending o'er her, + A form her fervid fancy deified; + And, waking, viewed the noble one before her, + Who wooed her as his bride. + + What words--what passionate words he breathed, beseeching, + Have long been lost in the descending years: + Nevertheless she listened to his teaching, + Smiling between her tears. + And ever since that hour the happy maiden + Wanders unknown of any one but Jove; + Regretting not the lost Olympian Aidenn + In the Elysium--Love! + + + + +SUNSET AFTER RAIN. + +BY ALFRED B. STREET. + + + All day, with humming and continuous sound, + Streaking the landscape, has the slant rain fall'n; + But now the mist is vanishing; in the west + The dull gray sheet, that shrouded from the sight + The sky, is rent in fragments, and rich streaks + Of tenderest blue are smiling through the clefts. + A dart of sunshine strikes upon the hills, + Then melts. The great clouds whiten, and roll off, + Until a steady blaze of golden light + Kindles the dripping scene. Within the east, + The delicate rainbow suddenly breaks out; + Soft air-breaths flutter round; each tree shakes down + A shower of glittering drops; the woodlands burst + Into a chorus of glad harmony; + And the rich landscape, full of loveliness, + Fades slowly, calmly, sweetly, into night. + Thus, sometimes, is the end of Human life. + In youth and manhood, sorrows may frown round; + But when the sun of Being lowly stoops, + The darkness breaks away--the tears are dried; + The Christian's hope--a rainbow--brightly glows, + And life glides sweet and tranquil to the tomb. + + + + +MONTEZUMA MOGGS. + +THAT WAS TO BE. + + +BY THE LATE JOSEPH C. NEAL. + + +"Now, Moggs--you Moggs--good Moggs--dear Moggs," said his wife, +running through the chromatic scale of matrimonial address, and +modulating her words and her tones from irritation into +tenderness--"yes, Moggs--that's a good soul--I do wish for once you +would try to be a little useful to your family. Stay at home to-day, +Moggs, can't you, while I do the washing? It would be so pleasant, +Moggs--so like old times, to hear you whistling at your work, while I +am busy at mine." + +And a smile of affection stole across the countenance of Mrs. Moggs, +like a stray sunbeam on a cloudy day, breaking up the sharp and fixed +lines of care into which her features had settled as a habitual +expression, and causing her also to look as she did in the "old +times," to which she now so kindly referred. + +"Wont you, Moggs?" added she, laying her hand upon his shoulder, "it +would be so pleasant, dear--wouldn't it? I should not mind hard work, +Moggs, if you were at work near me." + +There was a tear, perhaps, twinkling in the eye of the wife, giving +gentleness to the hard, stony look which she in general wore, caused +by those unceasing troubles of her existence that leave no time for +weeping. Perpetual struggle hardens the heart and dries up the source +of tears. + +"Wont you, Moggs?" + +The idea of combined effort was a pleasant family picture to Mrs. +Moggs, though it did involve not a little of toil. Still, to her +loneliness it was a pleasant picture, accustomed as she had been to +strive alone, and continually, to support existence. But it seems that +perceptions of the pleasant and of the picturesque in such matters, +differ essentially; and Moggs, glancing through the sentimental, and +beyond it, felt determined, as he always did, to avoid the trouble +which it threatened. + +"Can't be," responded Moggs, slightly shrugging his shoulder, as a +hint to his wife that the weight of her hand was oppressive. "Can't +be," continued he, as he set himself industriously--for in this Moggs +was industrious--to the consumption of the best part of the breakfast +that was before him--a breakfast that had been, as usual, provided by +his wife, and prepared by her, while Montezuma Moggs was fast +asleep--an amusement to which, next to eating, Montezuma Moggs was +greatly addicted when at home, as demanding the least possible effort +and exertion on his part. Montezuma Moggs, you see, was in some +respects not a little of an economist; and, as a rule, never made his +appearance in the morning until firmly assured that breakfast was +quite ready--"'most ready," was too indefinite and vague for Montezuma +Moggs--he had been too often tricked from comfort in that way +before--people will so impose on one in this respect--envious people, +who covet your slumbers--such as those who drag the covering off, or +sprinkle water on the unguarded physiognomy. But Moggs took care, in +the excess of his caution, that no time should be lost by him in a +tedious interval of hungry expectation. + +"Say ready--quite ready--and I'll come," muttered he, in that sleepy +debate between bed and breakfast which often consumes so much of time; +and his eyes remained shut and his mouth open until perfectly assured +that all the preliminary arrangements had been completed. "Because," +as Moggs wisely observed, "that half hour before breakfast, reflecting +on sausages and speculating on coffee, if there is sausages and +coffee, frets a man dreadful, and does him more harm than all the rest +of the day put together."--Sagacious Moggs! + +Besides, Moggs has a great respect for himself--much more, probably, +than he has for other people, being the respecter of a person, rather +than of persons, and that person being himself. Moggs, therefore, +disdains the kindling of fires, splitting wood, and all that, +especially of frosty mornings--and eschews the putting on of +kettles--well knowing that if an individual is in the way when the aid +of an individual is required, there is likely to be a requisition on +the individual's services. Montezuma Moggs understood how to "skulk;" +and we all comprehend the fact that to "skulk" judiciously is a fine +political feature, saving much of wear and tear to the body corporate. + +"Mend boots--mind shop--tend baby!--can't be," repeated Moggs, +draining the last drop from his cup--"boots, shops and babies must +mend, mind and tend themselves--I'm going to do something better than +that;" and so Moggs rose leisurely, took his hat, and departed, to +stroll the streets, to talk at the corners, and to read the +bulletin-boards at the newspaper offices, which, as Moggs often +remarks, not only encourages literature, but is also one of the +cheapest of all amusements--vastly more agreeable than if you paid for +it. + +It was a little shop, in one of the poorer sections of the city, where +Montezuma Moggs resided with his family--Mrs. Moggs and five juveniles +of that name and race--a shop of the miscellaneous order, in which was +offered for sale a little, but a very little, of any thing, and every +thing--one of those distressed looking shops which bring a sensation +of dreariness over the mind, and which cause a sinking of the heart +before you have time to ask why you are saddened--a frail and feeble +barrier it seems against penury and famine, to yield at the first +approach of the gaunt enemy--a shop that has no aspect of business +about it, but compels you to think of distraining for rent, of broken +hearts, of sickness, suffering and death. + +It was a shop, moreover--we have all seen the like--with a bell to it, +which rings out an announcement as we open the door, that, few and far +between, there has been an arrival in the way of a customer, though it +may be, as sometimes happens, that the bell, with all its untuned +sharpness, fails to triumph over the din of domestic affairs in the +little back-room, which serves for parlor, and kitchen, and hall, and +proves unavailing to spread the news against the turbulent clamor of +noisy children and a vociferous wife. + +But be patient to the last--even if the bell does prove insufficient +to attract due attention to your majestic presence, whether you come +to make purchases or to avail yourself of the additional proffer made +by the sign appertaining to Moggs exclusively, relative to "Boots and +shoes mended," collateral to which you observe a work-bench in the +corner; still, be patient, and cause the energies of your heel to hold +"wooden discourse" with the sanded floor, as emphatically you cry-- + +"Shop!" and beat with pennies on the counter. + +Be patient; for, look ye, Mrs. Moggs will soon appear, with a flushed +countenance and a soiled garb--her youngest hope, if a young Moggs is +to be called a hope, sobbing loudly on its mother's shoulder, while +the unawed pratlers within, carry on the war with increasing violence. + +"Shop!" + +"Comin'!--what's wanten?" is the sharp and somewhat discourteous +reply, as Mrs. Moggs gives a shake of admonition to her peevish little +charge, and turns half back to the riotous assemblage in the rear. + +Now, we ask it of you as a special favor, that you do not suffer any +shadow of offence to arise at the dash of acerbity that may manifest +itself in the tones of Mrs. Montezuma Moggs. According to our notion +of the world, as it goes, she, and such as she, deserve rather to be +honored than to provoke wrath by the defects of an unpolished and +unguarded manner. She has her troubles, poor woman--gnawing cares, to +which, in all likelihood, yours are but as the gossamer upon the wind, +or as the thistle-down floating upon the summer breeze; and if there +be cash in your pocket, do not, after having caused such a turmoil, +content yourself with simply asking where Jones resides, or Jenkins +lives. It would be cruel--indeed it would. True, Mrs. Moggs expects +little else from one of your dashing style and elegant appearance. +Such a call rarely comes to her but with some profitless query; yet +look around at the sparse candies, the withering apples, and the +forlorn groceries--specimens of which are affixed to the window-panes +in triangular patches of paste and paper--speak they not of poverty? +Purchase, then, if it be but a trifle. + +Mrs. Moggs, unluckily for herself, is possessed of a husband. +Husbands, they say, are often regarded as desirable; and some of them +are spoken of as if they were a blessing. But if the opinion of Mrs. +Moggs were obtained on that score, it would probably be somewhat +different; for be it known that the husband of Mrs. Moggs is of the +kind that is neither useful nor ornamental. He belongs to that +division which addicts itself mainly to laziness--a species of the +biped called husband, which unfortunately is not so rare that we seek +for the specimen only in museums. We know not whether Montezuma Moggs +was or was not born lazy; nor shall we undertake to decide that +laziness is an inherent quality; but as Mrs. Moggs was herself a +thrifty, painstaking woman, as women, to their credit be it spoken, +are apt to be, her lazy husband, as lazy husbands will, in all such +cases, continued to grow and to increase in laziness, shifting every +care from his own broad shoulders to any other shoulders, whether +broad or narrow, strong or wreak, that had no craven shrinkings from +the load, Moggs contenting himself in an indolence which must be seen +to be appreciated by those--husbands or wives--who perform their tasks +in this great work-shop of human effort with becoming zeal and with +conscientious assiduity, regarding laziness as a sin against the great +purposes of their being. If this assumption be true, as we suspect it +is, Montezuma Moggs has much to answer for; though it is a common +occurrence, this falling back into imbecility, if there be any one at +hand willing to ply the oar, as too often shown in the fact that the +children of the industrious are willing to let their parents work, +while the energetic wife has a drag upon her in the shape of a +lounging husband. + +Yes, Mrs. Moggs belongs to the numerous class of women who have what +is well called "a trying time of it." You may recognize them in the +street, by their look of premature age--anxious, hollow-eyed, and worn +to shadows. There is a whole history in every line of their faces, +which tells of unceasing trouble, and their hard, quick movement as +they press onward regardless of all that begirts the way, indicates +those who have no thought to spare from their own immediate +necessities, for comment upon the gay and flaunting world. Little does +ostentation know, as it flashes by in satined arrogance and jeweled +pride, of the sorrow it may jostle from its path; and perhaps it is +happy for us as we move along in smiles and pleasantness, not to +comprehend that the glance which meets our own comes from the +bleakness of a withered heart--withered by penury's unceasing +presence. + +Moggs is in fault--ay, Montezuma Moggs--what, he "mend boots, mind +shop, tend baby," bringing down his lofty aspirations for the future +to be cabined within the miserable confines of the present! + +"Hard work?" sneers Moggs--"yes, if a man sets himself down to hard +work, there he may set--nothing else but hard work will ever come to +him--but if he wont do hard work, then something easier will be sure to +come toddlin' along sooner or later. What can ever find you but hard +work if you are forever in the shop, a thumpin' and a hammerin'? Good +luck never ventures near lap-stones and straps. I never saw any of it +there in the whole course of my life; and I'm waitin' for good luck, +so as to be ready to catch it when it comes by." + +Montezuma Moggs had a turn for politics; and for many a year he +exhibited great activity in that respect, believing confidently that +good luck to himself might grow from town-meetings and elections; and +you may have observed him on the platform when oratory addressed the +"masses," or on the election ground with a placard to his button, and +a whole handfull of tickets. But his luck did not seem to wear that +shape; and politically, Montezuma Moggs at last took his place in the +"innumerable caravan" of the disappointed. And thus, in turn, has he +courted fortune in all her phases, without a smile of recognition from +the blinded goddess. The world never knows its noblest sons; and +Montezuma Moggs was left to sorrow and despair. + +Could he have been honored with a lofty commission, Montezuma Moggs +might have set forth to a revel in the halls of his namesake; but as +one of the rank and file, he could not think of it. And in private +conversation with his sneering friend Quiggens, to whose captiousness +and criticism Moggs submitted, on the score of the cigars occasionally +derivable from that source, he ventured the subjoined remarks relative +to his military dispositions: + +"What I want," said Moggs, "is a large amount of glory, and a bigger +share of pay--a man like me ought to have plenty of both--glory, to +swagger about with, while the people run into the street to stare at +Moggs, all whiskers and glory--and plenty of pay, to make the glory +shine, and to set it off. I wouldn't mind, besides, if I did have a +nice little wound or two, if they've got any that don't hurt much, so +that I might have my arm in a sling, or a black patch on my +countenance. But if I was only one of the rank and file, I'm very much +afraid I might have considerable more of knocks that would hurt a +great deal, than I should of either the pay or the glory--that's what +troubles me in the milentary way. But make me a gineral, and then, +I'll talk to you about the matter--make me a gineral ossifer, with the +commission, and the feathers, and the cocked-hat--plenty of pay, and a +large slice of rations--there's nothing like rations--and then I'll +talk to you like a book. Then I'll pledge you my lives, and my +fortunes, and my sacred honors--all of 'em--that I will furnish the +genus whenever it is wanted--genus in great big gloves, monstrous long +boots, and astride of a hoss that scatters the little boys like +Boston, whenever I touch the critter with my long spurs, to astonish +the ladies. Oh, get out!--do you think I couldn't play gineral and +look black as thunder, for such pay as ginerals get? I'd do it for +half the money, and I'd not only do it cheaper, but considerable +better than you ever see it done the best Fourth of July you ever met +with. At present, I know I've not much rations, and no money at +all--money's skurse--but as for genus--look at my eye--isn't genus +there?--observation my nose--isn't it a Boneyparte?--aint I sevagerous +about the mouth?--I tell you, Quiggens, there's whole lots of a hero +in this little gentleman. I've so much genus that I can't work. When a +man's genus is a workin' in his upper story, and mine always is, then +his hands has to be idle, so's not to interrupt his genus." + +"Yes," responded Quiggens, who is rather of the satirical turn, as one +is likely to be who has driven the "Black Maria," and has thus found +out that the world is all a fleeting show; "yes, you've got so much +genus in your upper story that it has made a hole in the crown of your +hat, so it can see what sort of weather is going on out of doors--and +it's your genus, I reckon, that's peeping out of your elbows. Why +don't you ask your genus to patch your knees, and to mend the holes in +your boots?" + +"Quiggens, go 'way, Quiggens--you're of the common natur', Quiggens--a +vulgar fraction, Quiggens; and you can't understand an indiwidooal who +has a mind inside of his hat, and a whole soul packed away under his +jacket. You'll never rise, a flutterin' and a ringin' like a +bald-headed eagle--men like you have got no wings, and can only go +about nibblin' the grass, while we fly up and peck cherries from the +trees. I'm always thinkin' on what I'm going to be, and a preparin' +myself for what natur' intended, though I don't know exactly what it +is yet. But I don't believe that sich a man as Montezuma Moggs was +brought into the world only to put patches on shoes and to heel-tap +people's boots. No, Quiggens--no--it can't be, Quiggens. But you don't +understand, and I'll have to talk to my genus. It's the only friend I +have." + +"Why don't you ask your genus to lend you a fip then, or see whether +it's got any cigars to give away," replied Quiggs contemptuously, as +he walked up the street, while Moggs, in offended majesty, stalked +sulkily off in another direction. + +"I would go somewheres, if I only knew where to go to," soliloquized +Moggs, as he strolled slowly along the deserted streets; "but when +there's nowheres to go to, then I suppose a person must go +home--specially of cold nights like this, when the thermometer is down +as far as Nero, and acts cruel on the countenance. It's always colder, +too, when there's nobody about but yourself--you get your own share +and every body else's besides; and it's lucky if you're not friz. Why +don't they have gloves for people's noses? I ought to have a +carriage--yes, and horses--ay, and a colored gemman to drive 'em, to +say nothing of a big house warmed all over, with curtains to the +windows. And why haven't I? Isn't Montezuma Moggs as good as +anybody--isn't he as big--as full of genus? It's cold now, a footin' +it round. But I'll wait--perhaps there's a good time comin', +boys--there must be a good time, for there isn't any sort of times in +the place where they keep time, which can be worse times than these +times. But here's home--here's where you must go when you don't know +what to do with yourself. Whenever a man tells you he has nowheres to +go to, or says he's goin' nowheres, that man's a crawlin' home, +because he can't help it. Well, well--there's nothin' else to be did, +and so somebody must turn out and let me in home." + +It appeared, however, that Montezuma Moggs erred in part in this +calculation. It is true enough that he knocked and knocked for +admission at the door of his domicile; but the muscular effort thus +employed seemed to serve no other purpose than that of exercise. Tired +with the employment of his hands in this regard, Moggs resorted to his +feet--then tried his knee, and anon his back, after the usual +desperate variety of such appeal resorted to by the "great locked +out," when they become a little savage or so at the delay to which +they are subjected. Sometimes, also, he would rap fiercely, and then +apply his eye to the key-hole, as if to watch for the effect of his +rapping. "I don't see 'em," groaned he. And then again, his ear would +be placed against the lock--"I don't hear 'em either." There were +moments when he would frantically kick the door, and then rush as +frantically to the middle of the street, to look at the windows; but +no sign of animation from within peered forth to cheer him. After full +an hour of toil and of hope deferred, Montezuma Moggs tossed his arms +aloft in despair--let them fall listlessly at his side, and then sat +down upon the curb-stone to weep, while the neighbors looked upon him +from their respective windows; a benevolent few, not afraid of +catching cold, coming down to him with their condolements. None, +however, offered a resting place to the homeless, unsheltered and +despairing Moggs. + +In the course of his musings and mournings, as he sat chattering with +cold, a loosened paving-stone arrested his attention; and, with the +instinct of genius, which catches comfort and assistance from means +apparently the most trivial, and unpromising in their aspect, the +paving-stone seemed to impart an idea to Montezuma Moggs, in this "his +last and fearfulest extremity." Grappling this new weapon in both his +hands, he raised it and poised it aloft. + +"I shall make a ten-strike now," exclaimed he, as he launched the +missile at the door with herculean force, and himself remained in +classic attitude watching the effect of the shot, as the door groaned, +and creaked, and splintered under the unwonted infliction. Still, +however, it did not give way before this application of force, though +the prospect was encouraging. The observers laughed--Moggs +chuckled--the dogs barked louder than before; and indeed it seemed all +round as if a new light had been cast upon the subject. + +"Hongcore!" cried somebody. + +"I will," said Moggs, preparing to demonstrate accordingly. + +"Stop there," said the voice of Mrs. Montezuma Moggs, as she raised +the window, "if you hongcore the door of this 'ere house again, I'll +call the watch, to see what he thinks of such doings, I will. And now, +once for all, you can't come in here to-night." + +"Can't, indeed!--why can't I?--not come into my own house! Do you +call this a free country, on the gineral average, if such rebellions +are to be tolerated?" + +"Your house, Mr. Moggs--yours?--who pays the rent, Moggs--who feeds +you and the children, Moggs--who finds the fire and every thing else? +Tell us that?" + +This was somewhat of the nature of a home-thrust, and Moggs, rather +conscience-stricken, was dumb-founded and appalled. Moggs was very +cold, and therefore, for the time being, deficient in his usual pride +and self-esteem, leaving himself more pervious to the assault of +reproach from without and within, than he would have been in a more +genial state of the atmosphere. No man is courageous when he is +thoroughly chilled; and it had become painfully evident that this was +not a momentary riot, but an enduring revolution, through the +intermedium of a civil war. + +"Ho, ho!" faintly responded Moggs, though once more preparing to carry +the citadel by storm, "I'll settle this business in a twinkling." + +Splash! + +Any thing but cold water in quantity at a crisis like this. Who could +endure a shower-bath under such ungenial circumstances? Not Priessnitz +himself. It is not, then, to be wondered at that Montezuma Moggs now +quailed, having nothing in him of the amphibious nature. + +"Water is cheap, Mr. Moggs; and you'd better take keer. There's +several buckets yet up here of unkommon cold water, all of which is at +your service without charge--wont ask you nothin', Moggs, for your +washin'; and if you're feverish, may be it will do you good." + +Everybody laughed, as you know everybody will, at any other body's +misfortune or disaster. Everybody laughed but Moggs, and he shivered. + +"I'll sattinly ketch my death," moaned he; "I'll be friz, standing +straight up, like a big icicle; or if I fall over when I'm friz, the +boys will slide on me as they go to school, and call it fun as they go +whizzing over my countenance with nails in their shoes, scratching my +physimohogany all to pieces. They tell me that being friz is an easy +death--that you go to sleep and don't know nothing about it. I wish +they'd get their wives to slouse 'em all over with a bucket of water, +on sich a night as this, and then try whether it is easy. Call being +friz hard an easy thing! I'd rather be biled any time. What shill I +do--what shill I do?" + +"Perhaps they'll put you in an ice-house, and kiver you up with tan +till summer comes--you'd be good for something then, which is more nor +you are now," observed Mrs. Moggs from the window. + +"Quit twitting a man with his misfortunes," whined Montezuma, of the +now broken-heart. + +"Why, my duck!" + +"Y-e-e-s--y-e-e-s! that's it--I am a duck, indeed! but by morning I'll +be only a snow-ball--the boys will take my head for a snow-ball. What +shill I do--I guvs up, and I guvs in." + +"Well, I'll tell you, Montezuma Moggs, what you must do to be thawed. +Promise me faithfully only to work half as hard as I do, and you may +come to the fire--the ten-plate stove is almost red-hot. Promise to +mend boots, mind shop, and tend baby; them's the terms--that's the +price of admission." + +Hard terms, certainly--the severest of terms--but then hard terms, and +severe terms, are good terms, if no other terms are to be had. One +must do the best he can in this world, if it be imperative upon him to +do something, as it evidently was in Moggs' case. + +"I promise," shivered Moggs. + +"Promise what?" + +"T-t-to tend baby, m-m-mind shop, and m-m-mend boots;" and the +vanquished Moggs sank down exhausted, proving, beyond the possibility +of doubt, that cold water, when skillfully applied of a cold night, is +the sovereignest thing on earth for the cure of "genus" in its lazier +branches. + +It is but justice, however, to state, that Moggs kept his word +faithfully, in which he contradicted the general expectation, which, +with reason enough in the main, places but little reliance on +promises; and he became, for him, quite an industrious person. His +wife's buckets served as a continual remembrancer. But Mrs. Moggs +never exulted over his defeat; and, though once compelled to +harshness, continued to be to Montezuma a most excellent wife. The +shop looks lively now--and the bell to the door is removed; for Moggs, +with his rat-tat-tat, is ever at his post, doing admired execution on +the dilapidated boots and shoes. The Moggses prosper, and all through +the efficacy of a bucket of cold water. We should not wonder if, in +the end, the Moggs family were to become rich, through the force of +industry, and without recourse to "genus." + +"Politics and me has shuck hands forever," said the repentant Moggs. +"I've been looking out and expecting loaves and fishes long enough. +Loaves, indeed! Why I never got even a cracker, unless it was aside of +the ear, when there was a row on the election ground; and as for +fishes, why, if I'd stopped any longer for them to come swimming up to +my mouth, all ready fried, with pepper on 'em, I wouldn't even have +been decent food for fishes myself. I never got a nibble, let alone a +bite; but somebody else always cotch'd the fish, and asked me to carry +'em home for them. Fact is, if people wont wote for me, I wont wote +for people. And as for the milentary line, I give up in a gineral way, +all idea of being a gineral ossifer. Bonyparte is dead, and if my +milentary genus was so great that I couldn't sleep for it, who'd hunt +me up and put me at the head of affairs? No, if I'm wanted for any +thing, they'll have to call me. I've dodged about winkin' and noddin' +as long as the country had any right to expect, and now--rat-tat-tat--I'm +going to work for myself." + +It was a wise conclusion on the part of Moggs, who may, perchance, in +this way, be a "gineral" yet. + + + + +THE BRIDE'S CONFESSION. + +BY ALICE G. LEE. + + + A sudden thrill passed through my heart, + Wild and intense--yet not of pain-- + I strove to quell quick, bounding throbs, + And scanned the sentence o'er again. + It might have been full idly penned + By one whose thoughts from love were free, + And yet as if entranced I read + "Thou art most beautiful to me." + + Thou didst not whisper I was loved-- + There were no gleams of tenderness, + Save those my trembling heart _would_ hope + That careless sentence might express. + But while the blinding tears fell fast, + Until the words I scarce could see, + There shone, as through a wreathing mist, + "Thou art most beautiful to me." + + To thee! I cared not for all eyes + So I was beautiful in thine! + A timid star, my faint, sad beams + Upon _thy_ path alone should shine. + Oh what was praise, save from thy lips-- + And love should all unheeded be + So I could hear thy blessed voice + Say--"Thou art beautiful to me." + + And I _have heard_ those very words-- + Blushing beneath thine earnest gaze-- + Though thou, perchance, hadst quite forgot + They had been said in by-gone days. + While claspèd hand, and circling arm, + Drew me nearer still to thee-- + Thy low voice breathed upon mine ear + "Thou, love, art beautiful to me." + + And, dearest, though thine eyes alone + May see in me a single grace-- + I care not so thou e'er canst find + A hidden sweetness in my face. + And if, as years and cares steal on, + Even that lingering light must flee, + What matter! if from thee I hear + "Thou art _still_ beautiful to me!" + + + + +SONNET TO NIGHT. + + + Oh! look, my love, as over seas and lands + Comes shadowy Night, with dew, and peace, and rest; + How every flower clasps its folded hands + And fondly leans apon her faithful breast. + How still, how calm, is all around us now, + From the high stars to these pale buds beneath-- + Calm, as the quiet on an infant's brow + Rocked to deep slumber in the lap of death. + Oh! hush--move not--it is a holy hour + And this soft nurse of nature, bending low, + Lists, like the sinless pair in Eden's bower, + For angels' pinions waving to and fro-- + Oh, sacred Night! what mysteries are thine + Graven in stars upon thy page divine. + GRETTA. + + + + +PAULINE DUMESNIL. + +OR A MARRIAGE DE CONVENANCE. + +BY ANGELE DE V. HULL. + + + The reason firm, the temperate will, + Endurance, foresight, strength and skill + A perfect woman, nobly planned. WORDSWORTH. + + +In a large but somewhat scantily furnished apartment sat two young +girls, in such earnest and apparently serious conversation that, but +for their youthful and blooming countenances, one might have fancied +them bending beneath the cares and sorrows of age. On the dark old +table between them rested a magnificent work-box, whose rich +implements they had been busily and skillfully using; but now the +scissors and thread lay at their feet, their needles were dropped, and +the younger of the two sat with clasped hands, while her companion's +low tones appeared to awaken every emotion of her heart. + +On the old-fashioned French bedstead were thrown dresses of various +hues and expensive stuffs, while one only, a robe of the most delicate +material, its graceful folds looped with orange flowers, seemed to +attract the attention of the fair, fragile being, whose attitude was +one of intense suffering. Her bright hopes had faded at sight of that +colorless garb, and the bridal wreath was to wither on her brow! What +to her sad soul were the costly things before her? The jewels that +sparkled on their snow-white satin case, the long fairy veil of +beautiful lace that lay side by side with the bridal dress? + +Her companion continued speaking, and she bowed her face upon those +clasped hands, while her slight frame shook with its contending +emotions. A few moments more and she raised her head. She was pale, +and her large, dark eyes dilated into fearful size. At length the big +drops came slowly down her cheek, and she was able to speak. + +"No more, Angela, no more! You love me, I know; but what you have done +to day was no act of friendship. You have troubled the dark waters of +my soul until they have become a torrent over which I have no +control." + +"And it is because I love you, Pauline, that I have made your future +life manifest to you. Do not seek to make a merit of obedience to your +proud mother's will. It is because you have been taught to fear her, +that you have consented to perjure yourself, and marry a man you +cannot love." + +"For the love of heaven, spare me!" cried the girl, shrinking from her +friend's words, "Is it to triumph over me that you thus seek to move +me?" + +Her friend gazed mournfully upon her, and rising from her seat, gently +put her arm around her. + +"My poor Pauline! my dear Pauline!" murmured she, "I have been +cruel--forgive me." + +Her answer was a fervent embrace--and throwing their arms round one +another, they wept in silence. + +At this moment the door opened, and a lady entered. She was tall and +majestic, but there was an expression of pride and extreme hauteur on +her countenance. She wore a handsome but faded dress, and the somewhat +high-crowned cap bespoke a love of former fashions. She had a foreign +air, and when she addressed her daughter, it was in French. + +"How is this!" cried she, angrily. "What scenes are these, Pauline? As +often as I enter your room I find you in tears. Is it to your advice, +Mademoiselle Percy, that my daughter owes her red eyes?" + +Angela was about to reply, but Pauline waved her back. + +"Is it, then, a crime to weep, mamma? If there were no tears, the +heart would break." + +"It is a crime, Pauline, to resist the will of your mother, when she +has provided for your happiness in a manner suitable to your rank and +birth. It is a crime to break the fifth commandment, which tells you +to honor and obey your mother." + +"And have I not done both," cried Pauline, indignantly. "Have you not +sold my happiness? Have you not bartered perhaps my eternal welfare, +that I might lay my aching head upon the downy pillows of the rich, +that you might see me a wretched slave, writhing under chains not the +less heavy because they are of gold?" + +"Have you been reading Racine this morning? Or have you been studying +for the stage?" said Madame Dumesnil, in a cold, scornful tone. "You +are a good actress, certainly." + +Pauline sank upon a chair, and her friend stood beside her, pressing +her trembling hand. Her mother advanced and stood before her. + +"We will have no more of this, Pauline. If I feel satisfied that my +duty is done, you should rejoice in obeying me. I alone am the judge +in this matter--children should ever be contented with allowing their +parents to act for them; and allow me to say, that any interference of +strangers upon an occasion like this, is exceedingly misplaced." + +This was aimed at Angela Percy; but she only replied by a wondering +and mournful gaze to the stern, cold woman before her. The old lady +proceeded. + +"Bathe your eyes, Pauline, and arrange your hair. Monsieur de +Vaissiere is below. Perhaps," added she, with a sneer, "perhaps that +Miss Percy will assist you in entertaining your lover." + +Pauline started and shuddered, but by this time she had again yielded +to her mother's influence. Going to the glass, she smoothed her dark +hair, and endeavored to abate the swelling of her eyes. Bidding +farewell to her friend, she descended to the parlor, where her +affianced husband awaited her. + +He was tall, and his appearance _distingué_; but he, too, looked stern +and cold as he rose to meet that young creature, whose nineteen +summers were more than doubled by his years. He was handsome also; but +where was the youthful ardor that should have been roused at the idea +of winning that fair girl's love? Where were the sunny hopes to meet +hers, the dreams of the future that _he_ wanted? His willingness to +accept the sacrifice was no proof of his gentleness; and the cheek of +his betrothed grew pale, and her hand was cold, as he led her to a +seat. + +Pauline had been bred to the hard forcing-school of the _ancien +régime_. Her mother had left France on the terrible death of her +beloved queen, Marie Antoinette, and had passed from the high post of +_dame d'honneur_, to poverty and exile in America. The sale of her +magnificent jewels and massive silver, had enabled her to lease an old +roomy mansion, deserted by its owners, and to live in peace and +retirement. Here, with the recollection of the horrors of the +revolution fresh within her memory, while her heart was still bleeding +with the wounds it had received; while she still had before her the +mangled remains of her sovereigns--the bleeding head of her husband, +torn from her in the days of their early love; in the midst of these +agonizing thoughts, she gave birth to a posthumous child--the heroine +of our story. Clasping her babe to her breast, Madame Dumesnil +bitterly recalled the many plans of happiness her murdered husband had +made in anticipation of its coming--his affection for _her_--his +anxiety for her safety--their parting, and the subsequent news of his +execution. Those lips were mute whose words of tenderness were to +soothe her in her hour of suffering; that hand was cold that would +have rested on her brow; that heart was still that would have bounded +with a father's love at sight of the tiny, helpless creature that lay +upon her arm. + +Madame Dumesnil, the young, the lovely, and the gentle, became silent, +reserved, and harsh. Nothing could swerve her from a determination +made, and with feelings of the deepest parental affection for her +daughter, she had crushed and broken her spirit in the sweet +spring-time of her childhood. + +From the time Pauline was old enough to form a desire, she learned to +hear it opposed. "_Une petite fille attend qu'on lui donne se qui lui +faut_," was the invariable reply to all her childish longings. +According to the old French system, every slight offence was followed +by her mother's "_Allez vous coucher, mademoiselle_;" so that half her +life was spent in bed, while she lay awake with the bright, broad +daylight around her, the hour when other children are strengthening +their little limbs in the active enjoyment of God's free, fresh air. + +As she grew older, she was taught that "_une demoiselle bien elevée +n'a pas d'opinions_," that her parents judged and decided for her; +and while she sat erect upon a high stool, accomplishing her daily +tasks in silence, her heart nearly burst with the pent-up feelings of +her young imagination. Wherever she went her mother's old +waiting-woman was behind her. "Miss Pauline, hold yourself straight; +Miss Pauline, turn out your feet--your head, mademoiselle--your arms!" +Poor girl! she was well-nigh distracted with these incessant +admonitions. + +In her walks she met Angela Percy and her father. They had lately +settled in the neighborhood, and having no acquaintances, gladly made +advances to the timid Pauline. Nothing daunted by her shyness and +reserve, Angela, some years her senior, persevered, and overcame it. +She was an enthusiastic, high-minded girl, and soon pointed out to her +companion new views and new ideas of the world from which she had been +excluded. The intimacy was formed ere Madame Dumesnil could prevent +it, and at the instances of old Jeannette, who begged that +Mademoiselle Pauline might have a friend of her own age--some one to +talk to, besides two old women, she consented to allow the friendship +to continue, provided Jeannette were present at every interview. This +was easily promised, but the nurse's stiff limbs were no match for the +agile supple ones of her young charges. Day by day she loitered +behind, while Pauline and Angela, with their arms entwined, continued +in eager and undisturbed enjoyment of one another's society. Jeannette +remarked a glow upon her young lady's cheek, and a light in her +eye--new charms in her hitherto pale, resigned countenance; and, wiser +than her mistress, concluded that the acquisition of a youthful friend +was fast pouring happiness into her lonely heart. + +Three years passed in this pleasant intercourse, when the monotony of +their lives was broken by the arrival of an old friend of Madame +Dumesnil--a Monsieur de Vaissiere. When they had last met, she was in +the morning of her beauty and bliss, he a handsome youth, for whom +many a fair one had sighed, and in vain--as he was still unmarried. +What a change! He could not recognize the lovely young countess, whose +marriage had been attended with so much éclat--so many rejoicings; nor +could she see one vestige of the blooming countenance, the delicate +profile, and the jet-black wavy locks that once shaded his fair, open +brow. But these works of time were soon forgotten, and the desire of +the proud, harsh mother was accomplished when, after a few weeks, M. +de Vaissiere proposed for the hapless Pauline. Unconsciously, but with +the thoughtlessness of selfishness, Madame Dumesnil sacrificed her +child to her prejudices. M. de Vaissiere's opinions and _hers_ were +the same; their admiration of _le vieux systeme_--their fond +recollection of the unfortunate monarch, whose weakness they had never +reproached him with, even in their secret souls--their abhorrence of +Bonaparte--their contempt for _la noblesse Napoleonne_--their upturned +noses at their adopted countrymen, _les Americains_--their want of +faith in hearts and love--the sinecure-ism of young people--their +presumption--their misfortune being that they _were_ young and not +born old--and finally, the coincidence of opinions wherein both looked +upon the white-headed suitor as a most eligible husband for the young, +the blooming, the beautiful Pauline. + +M. de Vaissiere settled a _dot_ upon his _fiancée_, and ordered a +_trousseau_ and a _corbeille_, not forgetting the _cachemire_. The +preliminaries were arranged, the day hinted at, and Pauline was +informed with a flourish of trumpets that her destiny was fixed. + +She listened to her mother's rhapsodies over the admirable _parti_ +Providence had enabled her to provide for her child in the wilderness +of America; she heard her enlarge upon her own excellence as a parent, +of the favor she had conferred upon her in bringing her into the +world; of her consequent obligations, and the gratitude she owed her +mother when she recollected that not content with giving her life, she +had clothed, fed, and supported her until now. All this Pauline +received in a silence that resembled stupor; but when M. de Vaissiere +was again mentioned, she fell, with a scream of terror, at her +mother's feet. + +In vain she wept and entreated; in vain she protested against the +disparity of age, the utter want of congeniality, the absence of all +affection, Madame Dumesnil was too much incensed to reply. With a +gesture that Pauline well understood, (for it was used to express +maledictions of every description,) she left the room, and locking the +door, kept her daughter prisoner for the rest of the day. + +She treated this resistance to her will as one of the unhappy +consequences of living in a republican country. She suspected Angela +of communicating American ideas of independence to her daughter, and +would have added to her wretchedness by forbidding further intercourse +between the two friends. But Jeannette again interfered; she knew that +Pauline's doom was sealed, and that it would be more than cruel to +deprive her of the companion she loved. She herself carried the note +that conveyed the intelligence of Pauline's coming fate to the +indignant Angela, and extended her walks that her poor young lady +might derive what consolation she could from her friend's willing +sympathy. Many were the tears she shed, many the sighs that burst from +her oppressed heart, as the poor old creature followed behind them. +Once she had summoned courage sufficient to expostulate with her +mistress upon the cruelty of her conduct to her daughter; but she was +haughtily dismissed. + +Every effort had been made, and at length Angela appealed to Pauline. +She entreated her to be more firm, and to declare her resolution never +to marry where she could not love. + +"Rouse yourself, Pauline--the misery of a lifetime is before you, and +it is not yet too late." + +"I have done every thing, Angela," said Pauline, despairingly. "My +doom is sealed, and I must bend to my bitter fate. I would fly, but +that I could not survive my mother's curse." + +"The curse of the unrighteous availeth naught," replied her friend, +solemnly. "Were you wrongfully opposing your mother's will, mine +would be the last voice to uphold you; but now your very soul is at +stake." + +Pauline cast up her eyes in mute appeal to heaven. Her companion +became excited as she proceeded, depicting the horrors of an unequal +marriage. Pale and exhausted, her listener at length entreated her to +forbear. She had been too long the slave of her mother's wishes to +oppose them now; she had been drilled into fear until it was a +weakness. This her bold-hearted, energetic friend could not +understand; and it was on her reproaching Pauline with moral cowardice +that she, for the first time, resented what had in fact been patiently +borne. + +We have seen how kindly Angela forgave the accusation, and how she +wept over the effect of her words. The sudden entrance of Madame +Dumesnil put an end to the conversation, and the friends separated. + +The next morning Angela was at Pauline's side again. Silently she +assisted in decorating the victim for the sacrifice. The bright jewels +clasped her arm and neck; the long veil hung around her slender form; +the orange wreath rested on the dark, dark tresses--and the dress was +beautiful. But the bride! she was pale and ghastly, and her lips blue +and quivering. Her eyes were void of all expression--those liquid, +lustrous eyes; and ever and anon the large drops rolled over her face, +oozing from the depths of her heart. + +Poor Jeannette turned away, sobbing convulsively as the finishing +touches were given to this sad bridal toilette. Angela remained firm +and collected, but she, too, was pale; her cherished companion was +gone from her forever--gone in such misery, too, that she almost +prayed to see her the corpse she at that moment resembled. + +Madame Dumesnil had remained below with the bridegroom and Mr. Percy, +the sole witness to this ill-omened marriage. At length the hour came, +Pauline was nearly carried down by Angela and Jeannette, and in a few +moments bound forever to a man she loathed. The ceremony was ended, +and the bride, with a convulsive sigh, fell back into the arms of her +mother. Restoratives were procured, and at last she opened her eyes. +They rested on the face of her friend, who hung over her in mute +agony. Forcing a smile, which was taken by M. de Vaissiere for +himself, Pauline arose, and hurried through her farewell. Her husband +handed her into his carriage--and thus Pauline Dumesnil left her +friends and her home. + + * * * * * + +Years had passed, and Pauline sat alone in her magnificent boudoir, +the presiding deity of one of the finest hotels in Paris. Fortune had +favored M. de Vaissiere. He had lived to rejoice over the downfall of +the mighty Napoleon, and his mournful exile. He had returned to his +beloved France, recovered his vast estates, and presented his young +wife at court. His vanity was flattered at her gracious reception, and +the admiration that followed her; his pride was roused, and, much +against her will, Pauline found herself the centre of a gay circle +that crowded her vast saloons as often as they were thrown open for +the reception of her now numerous acquaintances. + +It was on one of these evenings that Pauline sought the silence of her +private apartment ere she gave herself up to her femme de chambre. Her +loose _peignoir_ of white satin was gathered round her, with a crimson +cord tied negligently at the waist, and hanging, with its rich tassels +of silver mixed, to the ground. Her hair had fallen over her +shoulders, giving her a look of sadness that increased her beauty. Her +eyes wandered around the room, and her lips parted into a melancholy +smile, as she contemplated its delicate silk hangings, its heavy, +costly furniture, her magnificent toilette, crowded with perfumes of +every description, beautiful flacons, silver combs, and jewels that +sparkled in and out of their cases. Her thoughts went back to her +mother, whose pride had made her a childless, lonely widow; to Angela, +whom she had so loved; to the misery of the day upon which they +parted, perhaps forever--and her eyes were filled with tears that, +rolling at length over her cheek, startled her as they fell upon her +hand. + +"And it was for this that I was sacrificed," murmured she, bending her +head. "My poor mother! could you see me here, _you_ would feel that my +happiness is secure; but, alas! how little you know of the human +heart. This splendor lends weight to my chains, and makes me feel more +desolate than ever! Night after night mingling in gay crowds, +listening to honied words that fall unheeded on my ear; wearing smiles +that come not from the heart, but help to break it; exposed to +temptation, that makes me fear to mix with those of my own age; bound +forever to a man whose only sentiment for me is one of pride--what +part of happiness is mine?" + +A sudden step aroused her, and her husband entered unannounced. He +looked but little older. Time had dealt lightly with _him_, and with +the aid of cosmetics and a perfect toilette, M. de Vaissiere stood a +remarkable looking man--for his age. + +"How is this, madame--not dressed yet! Have you no anxiety to see +Mademoiselle Mars to night?" + +"I have, indeed," said Pauline, starting up and forcing a smile. "Is +it so late, that I see you ready?" + +"You must hasten Marie, or we shall be too late. How provoking! What +can you do with that dishevelled hair? You have a bad habit of +thinking--that is actually sinful. Why do you not take my example; I +never reflect--it makes one grow old!" + +She might have told him how her young life was embittered by the +memory of days that were gone never to return; how she had grown old +with thinking, and wore but the semblance of youth over a withered +heart. But she had schooled herself to serenity with an effort almost +superhuman--and seizing a silver bell at her side, she rang for her +waiting woman. + +"You must hasten, Marie--Monsieur de Vaissiere is already dressed. +Bind up this hair beneath some net-work, my good girl; I have no time +for embellishing this evening." + +"Madame is more beautiful without her usual coiffure," said the girl, +as she gathered up the dark tresses of her mistress. "I shall place +her diamond _aigrette_ in her hair, and she will turn all heads." + +"I have no such ambition, my good Marie," said Pauline, laughing. +"Give me my fan and gloves, and fasten this bracelet for me." + +"_Tenez, madame_," said Marie, handing them; and Pauline ran down +stairs, where her husband awaited her. He had just been fretted +sufficiently to find fault with her dress. + +"You never wear jewels enough. Do you think I bought them to ornament +your boudoir?" + +"I did not like to keep you waiting, _mon ami_. Shall I return and +tell Marie to give me my necklace?" + +"Yes, and your bracelet to match. Your white arm, madame, was made to +ornament," added M. de Vaissiere, assuming an air of gallantry. + +Pauline smiled, and ran back to her boudoir. In a few moments she +returned blazing with jewels, inwardly lamenting the display, but ever +ready to grant her husband's wish. He, too, smiled as she came +forward, and taking her hand, led her to her carriage. + +Shortly after they were seated, the door opened, and the young Vicomte +de H---- entered the box. He placed himself behind Pauline, and +remained there for the rest of the evening, in eager, animated +conversation. He was not only one of the most agreeable men of the +day, but added to wit and versatility of genius, a handsome face, +graceful bearing, and a noble heart; and while Pauline yielded to the +charms of so delightful a companion, full of the dreams and hopes of +youth, uttering sentiments that years ago had been hers, her husband +sat silent and moody beside her. A pang went through his heart as he +gazed upon her bright countenance, and remembered her youth, whose +sunshine was extinguished by her marriage with him. He looked at the +smooth, full cheek of her companion, the purple gloss of his raven +locks, the fire of his eye, and listening to his gay tones, his +brilliant repartees, and enthusiastic expressions, pictured him with a +shudder the husband of Pauline. What would have been her life compared +to the one she led with him. How different would have been the bridal! +He thought of her gentleness, her cheerful compliance with his wishes, +her calm, subdued look, her lonely hours, the void that must be in her +heart; and as all these things passed, for the first time, through his +mind, he clasped his hands in despair. + +He turned once more to look upon the wife he was but now beginning to +appreciate. She, too, had fallen in a revery. Her beautiful head was +bent, her long, dark lashes sweeping her cheek; and around her lips +played a smile so sweet, that though he know her thoughts were far +away in some pleasant wandering, he was sure he had no part in them. + +For the first time since their wedded life, M. de Vaissiere was +beginning to love his wife. He turned suddenly to look at the Vicomte +de H----. He, too, was gazing upon Pauline with a look of intense +admiration, but so full of pity and respect, that it made the jealous +pang that thrilled through the husband's frame less bitter--and with a +deep sigh he turned to the stage. The play was one that gave him a +lesson for the rest of his days. It represented a young girl like his +Pauline, forced to wed one, like him, old enough to be her father. For +a while all went smoothly; the giddy wife was dazzled by her jewels +and her importance. But time passed, and she was roughly treated, her +every wish thwarted, and her very servants taught to disobey her. Her +angelic behaviour had no effect upon her brutal husband; her patience +exasperated him. Wickedly he exposed her to temptation; and as he +watched her mingle with those of her own age, and share their plans +and pleasures, suspicion entered his mind. He removed her far from her +friends, and intercepted her letters, making himself master of their +contents, until by a series of persecutions he drove her to fly from +him, and perish in the attempt. + +Well for him was it that Monsieur de Vaissiere witnessed this play. +How different might have been the effect of his newly awakened +emotions, had they risen in the solitude of his apartment. The curtain +fell, and Pauline looked up. Tears were standing in her eyes--for the +fate of the heroine of the piece had affected her deeply, and her +husband's sympathy was with her when he remarked them. He waited until +he saw her give her arm to the vicomte, and walked behind them, +another creature. He had determined to win his wife's love or die; to +watch her, that he might warn her; to minister forever to her +comforts. + +The vicomte returned with them, and soon the splendid salon was +crowded with guests. Pauline passed from one to the other with +graceful, winning smiles; and her husband's heart filled with pride +and pleasure as he watched her, the object of admiration, glittering +with diamonds, radiant with beauty, and remembered that she was his. +Without a pang he saw the noble youth, whose coming had been to him +salvation, lead her to supper, and seat himself at her side. He knew +that she was pleased; he felt that she might have loved; but he knew, +too, that she was as pure as an angel. How was it that suddenly her +many virtues rose in array before him, and spoke to his heart? + +One evening Pauline stood at the window overlooking the garden that +was behind the Hotel de Vaissiere. The moonlight was glancing over the +tops of the orange trees, and the perfume of their white blossoms came +floating up like an incense of thanks to the Great Author of all, +while fountains played beneath their shade, falling musically on the +heart of the lonely watcher. + +A shade was upon her brow--a shade of discontent; and busy were the +thoughts that came creeping into her soul. She was judging her own +heart--and bitterly did she reproach it as the image of another filled +its space. Alas! she had feared this; and again she was roused into +indignation as her mother's stern will was recalled to her--and she +was carried back to the day whereon she had reproached her with +hazarding the eternal welfare of her child. Throwing herself upon her +knees, she prayed for strength--and her prayer was heard. Suddenly, as +if struck with some impulse, she hurried from the window, through the +hall, passed the long suite of apartments, and reached her husband's. +Entering, she closed the door behind her, and rushed forward to M. de +Vaissiere's chair with such passionate rapidity, that one might have +thought she feared to fail in her resolution. + +Her sobs and tears had nearly deprived her of utterance, but falling +at her husband's feet, she confessed the momentary infidelity of her +hitherto love-less heart, and besought him to take her from those +scenes of gayety and temptation to some distant, quiet region, that +she might expiate her fault in solitude. + +Trembling she raised her eyes to his face. Instead of the fury, the +reproaches she had expected, what was her surprise at seeing the tears +coursing down his cheeks, to feel herself raised and clasped to his +breast. + +"My poor child!" said he, tenderly--and it was the first time he had +ever so addressed her--"my poor child! I should have foreseen this; I +should have warned you ere now. It was your mother's fault to marry +you to me, and mine to have placed temptation in your way. But how +could I tear you from those whose years were suited to yours, to shut +you up with an old greybeard! Thus, while I watched over you, my pride +in your success made me forgetful of your safety. It is not yet too +late, my Pauline--all will be for the best. In time you will learn to +love your husband, and to know how devotedly he has loved you since +his stupid eyes were opened to your virtues." + +With a smothered cry of joy Pauline threw herself upon his bosom. The +poor stricken dove had at last found a shelter. + +The next day, while the whole world was lamenting and wondering over +the determination of the beautiful, brilliant, and courted Pauline de +Vaissiere, to leave the gay metropolis in the midst of its pleasure, +she sat once more in her boudoir. A holy calm had settled on her brow, +peace had entered her heart; and though a deep blush overspread her +features as she heard her husband's step approaching, she rose to meet +him with a grateful look. Putting his arm around her, he drew her +closer to him, and pressed a kiss upon her forehead. + +"How many days of packing will you require, Pauline?" said he, +smiling. "Poor Marie! she has nearly worn her arms out." + +"She will complete her task to-night; and if you like, we can be off +in the morning. But have you the carriages ready, _mon ami_? Are we +not before-hand with you?" asked Pauline, in the same cheerful strain. + +"We must summon François," said M. de Vaissiere, "and see if my orders +have been executed." + +François had been as prompt as usual; and three days after, +we found Pauline gazing out at the windows, mournful and +conscience-stricken--she was leaving Paris behind her as fast as four +horses and cracking whips could carry her. As they drove on, losing +sight of its towers and steeples, a sensation of freedom came over +her, and she placed her hand in her husband's, as if to thank him for +her safety. The wound upon her heart was not yet closed; but her firm +principle, her love of right, and gratitude for her deliverance, and +the indulgence of M. de Vaissiere were fast healing what she did not +for a moment allow to rest within her mind. + +Every thing delighted her; the ploughed fields, divided by green +hedges; the farm-houses scattered far and near; the picturesque +appearance of the peasantry and their groupings, as they gathered +together to watch the travelers' suite; and when they stopped at a +family estate of M. de Vassiere, her enthusiasm knew no bounds. + +Here they remained until the spring was past and summer came, +embellishing still more the beautiful woods around the little domain. +But they lingered yet in this pleasant place, loving it for the peace +it had given them, and the happiness they had learned to feel in being +together. + +Leaning on her husband's arm, Pauline wandered amid the bright scenes +with a light step, now stopping to admire some variety of foliage, and +now pausing by the crystal stream that ran at the foot of the tall +trees, murmuring like a hidden sprite, and mirroring the waving +boughs, and the blue sky of _la belle France_. She had forgotten the +misery of her bridal-day, or remembered it but to contrast her present +quiet enjoyment of life with her then wretchedness. She had forgotten +her youth of terror, her husband's years and his coldness, and now, +when she looked upon the silver hair that glittered beside her braids +of jet, a feeling of gratitude filled her heart, as she recalled the +hour when he might have cast her off with some show of justice, and +sent her forth upon the wide world to die. + +She had learned to love him, not with the heart-stirring love of youth +for youth, but with the deep, holy affection of a prodigal child. Not +all the temptations of the gay world could ever make her swerve from +her allegiance to him. Like a good and pious daughter did she cling to +him, providing for his comfort, and forseeing his every want. + +One day he called her to him as she returned from her visit of charity +to the surrounding peasantry. She had wept over their troubles and +relieved them, and rejoiced with the happy. Her heart was +over-flowing, and passing the little church, she entered, and offered +up a prayer of thankfulness for her own blessings, and those she was +able to confer on others. + +Her husband watched her graceful form as she came at his call, and +smilingly placed a letter in her hand. It was from her mother, and +part of it ran thus: + + "I am now very old, monsieur, and very infirm. I + have often thought, in my lonely hours, of the + unhappiness of my child on her marriage with you, + and have doubted the wisdom of that authority which + I exercised so severely over her. The vision of + that pale, agonized countenance, comes upon me like + a reproach; and although she has never hinted in + one of her letters of unkindness from you, I have + often thought that there was a mournful spirit + pervading them. Pray God she may not be unhappy + through my fault! I rely upon you, monsieur; be + kind to my poor Pauline. + MARIE THERESE CLEMENCE DUMESNIL. + (_Née de Villeneuve_.)" + +Pauline's tears fell fast over this letter; and as she finished +reading it, she cast herself upon her husband's bosom. + +"She does not deserve a reply, does she, Pauline?" asked he, with a +smile, and pressing her closer to him. "Think you there would be no +more marriages _de convenance_ if we were to give the benefit of our +experience to the world? Would your mother even be sensible of her +error, could she know how your suffering has ended--could she see how +happy you make an old man." + +"Let her think that we have been always so," cried the noble Pauline. +"Why disturb her last years with a narrative of what may embitter +them? Shall it not be so, my dear, kind husband?" + +"It shall, my child," said he, touched by the generosity of her +request. "And you, Pauline, shall write the answer--you, my patient, +enduring, and admirable wife! Why is it that I alone know what you +have suffered, forced thus to appreciate in silence your noble +forbearance." + +But there was another letter to be read--one from Angela. It contained +an account of Madame Dumesnil's failing strength, and her earnest +desire to embrace her child once more. Jeannette was long since +numbered with the dead; and Angela, whose devotion to her father had +made her refuse every offer of marriage, removed with him to the abode +of her friend's mother, passing her life in dividing her cares. + +But a short time elapsed and Pauline, with her husband, was sailing +once more upon the broad bosom of the Atlantic. It was a long and +tedious voyage; but she arrived in time to receive her mother's +blessing, and close her eyes--the reward her filial piety had merited. + +Mr. Percy soon followed his aged companion, and Angela returned with +Pauline to France. Here she witnessed, with wonder and delight, the +happiness that, through Pauline's virtue, was not incompatible with so +great a disparity of age, and rejoiced when a few months after their +arrival in Paris, Pauline gave birth to a son and heir. Nothing now +was wanting to complete the domestic enjoyment of the circle gathered +at the Hotel de Vaissiere; and while the same gay crowds graced its +walls, and courted its fair mistress, Pauline never forgot to turn to +her husband as the one whose smile was to her the brightest, whose +praise the most valued, and whose approbation alone she loved and +lived for. + + + + +THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA. + +BY MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. + + + It was the leafy month of June, + And joyous Nature, all in tune, + With wreathing buds was drest, + As toward the mighty cataract's side + A youthful stranger prest; + His ruddy cheek was blanched with awe, + And scarce he seemed his breath to draw, + While bending o'er its brim, + He marked its strong, unfathomed tide, + And heard its thunder-hymn. + + His measured week too quickly fled, + Another, and another sped, + And soon the summer-rose decayed, + The moon of autumn sank in shade, + And winter hurled its dart, + Years filled their circle, brief and fair, + Yet still the enthusiast lingered there, + While deeper round his soul was wove + A mystic chain of fearful love, + That would not let him part. + + When darkest midnight veiled the sky, + You'd hear his hasting step go by, + To gain the bridge beside the deep, + That where its wildest torrents leap + Hangs thread-like o'er the surge, + Just there, upon its awful verge, + His vigil-hour to keep. + + And when the moon, descending low, + Hung on the flood that gleaming bow, + Which it would seem some angel's hand, + With Heaven's own pencil, tinged and spanned, + Pure symbol of a better land, + He, kneeling, poured in utterance free + The eloquence of ecstasy; + Though to his words no answer came, + Save that One, Everlasting Name, + Which since Creation's morning broke + Niagara's lip alone hath spoke. + + When wintry tempests shook the sky, + And the rent pine-tree hurtled by, + Unblenching, 'mid the storm he stood, + And marked sublime the wrathful flood, + While wrought the frost-king, fierce and drear, + His palace 'mid those cliffs to rear, + And strike the massy buttress strong, + And pile his sleet the rocks among, + And wasteful deck the branches bare + With icy diamonds, rich and rare. + + Nor lacked the hermit's humble shed + Such comforts as our natures ask + To fit them for life's daily task. + The cheering fire, the peaceful bed, + The simple meal in season spread, + While by the lone lamp's trembling light, + As blazed the hearth-stone, clear and bright, + O'er Homer's page he hung, + Or Maro's martial numbers scanned-- + + For classic lore of many a land + Flowed smoothly o'er his tongue. + Oft with rapt eye, and skill profound, + He woke the entrancing viol's sound, + Or touched the sweet guitar. + For heavenly music deigned to dwell + An inmate in his cloistered cell, + As beams the solem star, + All night, with meditative eyes + Where some lone, rock-bound fountain lies. + + As through the groves, with quiet tread, + On his accustomed haunts he sped, + The mother-thrush, unstartled, sung + Her descant to her callow young, + And fearless o'er his threshold prest + The wanderer from the sparrow's nest, + The squirrel raised a sparkling eye + Nor from his kernel cared to fly + As passed that gentle hermit by. + No timid creature shrank to meet + His pensive glance, serenely sweet; + From his own kind, alone, he sought + The screen of solitary thought. + Whether the world too harshly prest + Its iron o'er a yielding breast, + Or forced his morbid youth to prove + The pang of unrequited love, + We know not, for he never said + Aught of the life he erst had led. + + On Iris isle, a summer-bower + He twined with branch and vine and flower, + And there he mused on rustic seat, + Unconscious of the noonday heat, + Or 'neath the crystal waters lay, + Luxuriant, in the swimmer's play. + + Yet once the whelming flood grew strong. + And bore him like a weed along, + Though with convulsive grasp of pain + And heaving breast, he strove in vain, + Then sinking 'neath the infuriate tide, + Lone, as he lived, the hermit died. + + On, by the rushing current swept, + The lifeless corse its voyage kept, + To where, in narrow gorge comprest, + The whirlpool-eddies never rest, + But boil with wild tumultuous sway, + The Maelstrom of Niagara. + And there, within that rocky bound, + In swift gyrations round and round, + Mysterious course it held, + Now springing from the torrent hoarse, + Now battling, as with maniac force, + To mortal strife compelled. + + Right fearful, 'neath the moonbeam bright, + It was to see that brow so white, + And mark the ghastly dead + Leap upward from his torture-bed, + As if in passion-gust, + And tossing wild with agony + Resist the omnipotent decree + Of dust to dust. + + At length, where smoother waters flow, + Emerging from the abyss below, + The hapless youth they gained, and bore + Sad to his own forsaken door. + There watched his dog, with straining eye, + And scarce would let the train pass by, + Save that with instinct's rushing spell, + Through the changed cheek's empurpled hue, + And stiff and stony form, he knew + The master he had loved so well. + The kitten fair, whose graceful wile + So oft had won his musing smile, + As round his slippered foot she played, + Stretched on his vacant pillow laid. + While strewed around, on board and chair, + The last-plucked flower, the book last read, + The ready pen, the page outspread, + The water cruse, the unbroken bread-- + Revealed how sudden was the snare + That swept him to the dead. + + And so, he rests in foreign earth, + Who drew 'mid Albion's vales his birth: + Yet let no cynic phrase unkind + Condemn that youth of gentle mind-- + Of shrinking nerve, and lonely heart, + And lettered lore, and tuneful art, + Who here his humble worship paid + In that most glorious temple-shrine, + Where to the Majesty Divine + Nature her noblest altar made. + + No, blame him not, but praise the Power + Who, in the dear domestic bower, + Hath given you firmer strength to rear + The plants of love--with toil and fear-- + The beam to meet, the blast to dare, + And like a faithful soldier bear; + Still with sad heart his requiem pour, + Amid the cataract's ceaseless roar, + And bid one tear of pitying gloom + Bedew that meek enthusiast's tomb. + + + + +BURIAL OF A VOLUNTEER. + +BY PARK BENJAMIN. + + + 'Tis eve! one brightly-beaming star + Shines from the eastern heavens afar, + To light the footsteps of the brave, + Slow marching to a comrade's grave. + + The Northern wind has sunk to sleep; + The sweet South breathes; as low and deep + The martial clang is heard, the tread + Of those who bear the silent dead. + + And whose the form, all stark and cold, + Thus ready for the loosened mould; + Thus stretched upon so rude a bier? + Thine, soldier, thine--the volunteer! + + Poor volunteer! the shot, the blow, + Or fell disease hath laid him low-- + And few his early loss deplore-- + His battle done, his journey o'er. + + Alas! no fond wife's arms caressed, + His cheeks no tender mother pressed, + No pitying soul was by his side, + As, lonely in his tent, he died. + + He died--the volunteer--at noon; + At evening came the small platoon; + And soon they'll leave him to his rest, + With sods upon his manly breast. + + Hark to their fire! his only knell, + More solemn than the passing bell; + For, ah! it tells a spirit flown + Without a prayer or sigh, alone! + + His name and fate shall fade away, + Forgotten since his dying day, + And never on the roll of fame + Shall be inscribed his humble name. + + Alas! like him how many more + Lie cold on Rio Grande's shore; + How many green, unnoted graves + Are bordered by those turbid waves! + + Sleep, soldier, sleep! from sorrow free + And sin and strife: 'tis well with thee! + 'Tis well, though not a single tear + Laments the buried volunteer. + + + + +THE BRIDAL MORNING. + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + + Morn of hopes that, quivering, glow + With a light ne'er known before; + Morn of fears, which cannot throw + Shadows its sweet glory o'er! + + Gentle thoughts of all the past; + Happy thoughts of all to come; + Loving thoughts, like rose-leaves, cast + Over all around her home. + + Oh, the light upon that brow; + Oh, the love within that eye! + Oh, the pleasant dreams that flow + Like fairy music sweetly by! + + Morn of Hope! Oh may its light + Melt but into brighter day! + Lady, all that's blest and bright + Be about thy path alway! + + + + +HOME. + +BY MRS. H. MARION WARD. + + +"_Home, sweet home!"_ How many holy and beautiful memories are crowded +into those three little words. How does the absent one, when weary +with the cold world's strife, return, like the dove of the deluge, to +that bright spot amid the troubled waters of life. "_Home, sweet +home!_" The one household plant that blooms on and on, amid the +withering heart-flowers, that brightens up amidst tempests and storms, +and gives its sweetest fragrance when all else is gloom and +desolation. We never know how deeply its roots are entwined with our +heart-strings, till bitter lessons of wasted affection have taught us +to appreciate that love which remains the same through years of +estrangement. What exile from the spot of his birth but remembers, +perhaps with bitterness, the time when falsehood and deceit first +broke up the beautiful dreams of his soul, when he learned to _see_ +the world in its true colors. How his heart ached for his father's +look of kindness--his mother's voice of sympathy--a sister's or +brother's hand to clasp in the warm embrace of kindred affection. +Poor, home-sick wanderer! I can feel for your loneliness; for my heart +often weeps tears of bitterness over the memories of a far-off home, +and in sympathy with a gray-haired father, who, when he calls his +little band around the hearth-stone, misses full many a link in the +chain of social affection. I can feel for your loneliness, for perhaps +you have a father, too, whose eyes have grown dim by long looking into +the tomb of love. Perhaps you, too, have a mother, sleeping in some +distant grave-yard, beneath the flowers your hands have planted; and +as life's path grows still more rugged before you, you wonder, as I +have done, when your time will come to lie down and sleep quietly with +_her_. An incident occurred on board of one of the western steamers, +some years since, which strongly impressed me with its truthfulness in +proving how wildly the heart clings to home reminiscences when absent +from that spot. A party of emigrants had taken passage, amongst whom +was a young Swiss girl, accompanied by a small brother. Not even the +_outré_ admixture of Swiss, German, and English costume, which +composed her dress, could conceal the fact that she was supremely +beautiful; and as the emigrants were separated from what is termed the +first-class passengers only by a slight railing, I had an opportunity +of inspecting her appearance without giving offence by marked +observation. Amongst the crowd there happened to be a set of German +musicians, who, by amusing the _ennuied_ passengers, reaped quite a +harvest of silver for their exertions. I have always heard that the +Germans were extremely fond of music, and was surprised that none of +the party, not even the beautiful Swiss girl, gave the slightest +indication of pleasure, or once removed from the position they had +occupied the whole way. Indeed, I was becoming quite indignant, that +the soul-stirring Marseilles Hymn of France, the God Save the Queen of +England, and last, not _least_ in its impressive melody, the Hail +Columbia of our own nation, should have pealed its music out upon the +great waters, almost hushing their mighty swell with its enchantment, +and yet not waken an echo in the hearts of those homeless wanderers. +The musicians paused to rest for a moment, and then suddenly, as if by +magic, the glorious _Rans des Vache_ of Switzerland stole over the +water, with its touching pathos swelling into grand sublimity, its +home-music melting away in love, and then bursting forth in the free, +glad strains of revelry, till every breath was hushed as by the +presence of visible beauty. Having never before heard this beautiful +melody, in my surprise and admiration I had quite forgotten my +emigrant friends, when a low sob attracted my attention, and turning +round, I saw the Swiss girl, with her head buried in the lap of an old +woman, trying to stifle the tears that _would_ force their way or +break the heart that held them. I had but a slight knowledge of the +Swiss dialect, and "my home, my beautiful home!" was the only words +intelligible to me. She wept long and bitterly after the cadence of +the song was lost amongst the waves, while the old woman, blessings on +her for the act, sought by every endearment within her power to soothe +and encourage the home-sick girl. There was little enow of refinement +in her rough sympathy, but it was a heart-tribute--and I could almost +love her for the unselfishness with which she drew the shrinking form +closer to her bosom. I would have given the world to have learned that +girl's previous history. I am sure _accident_ must have thrown her +amongst her present associates, as I have seen a lily broken from its +stem by a sudden gust of wind, and flung to wither and die amid rude +and hardy weeds. In a few hours the party left the boat, and I never +saw either her or them again; but, till this day, whenever any +incident of a domestic nature wakens old-time dreams, pleasant +memories of that beautiful exile, weeping over the music of her lost +Eden, and of the kind old woman caressing her, and kissing off the +falling tears, creep together, and form a lovely picture of _home and +heaven-born love_. + + + + +MARGINALIA. + +BY EDGAR A. POE. + + +That punctuation is important all agree; but how few comprehend the +extent of its importance! The writer who neglects punctuation, or +mis-punctuates, is liable to be misunderstood--this, according to the +popular idea, is the sum of the evils arising from heedlessness or +ignorance. It does not seem to be known that, even where the sense is +perfectly clear, a sentence may be deprived of half its force--its +spirit--its point--by improper punctuation. For the want of merely a +comma, it often occurs that an axiom appears a paradox, or that a +sarcasm is converted into a sermonoid. + +There is _no_ treatise on the topic--and there is no topic on which a +treatise is more needed. There seems to exist a vulgar notion that the +subject is one of pure conventionality, and cannot be brought within +the limits of intelligibly and consistent _rule_. And yet, if fairly +looked in the face, the whole matter is so plain that its _rationale_ +may be read as we run. If not anticipated, I shall, hereafter, make an +attempt at a magazine paper on "The Philosophy of Point." + +In the meantime let me say a word or two of _the dash_. Every writer +for the press, who has any sense of the accurate, must have been +frequently mortified and vexed at the distortion of his sentences by +the printer's now general substitution of a semicolon, or comma, for +the dash of the MS. The total or nearly total disuse of the latter +point, has been brought about by the revulsion consequent upon its +excessive employment about twenty years ago. The Byronic poets were +_all_ dash. John Neal, in his earlier novels, exaggerated its use into +the grossest abuse--although his very error arose from the +philosophical and self-dependent spirit which has always distinguished +him, and which will even yet lead him, if I am not greatly mistaken in +the man, to do something for the literature of the country which the +country "will not willingly," and cannot possibly, "let die." + +Without entering now into the _why_, let me observe that the printer +may always ascertain when the dash of the MS. is properly and when +improperly employed, by bearing in mind that this point represents _a +second thought--an emendation_. In using it just above I have +exemplified its use. The words "an emendation" are, speaking with +reference to grammatical construction, put in _ap_position with the +words "a second thought." Having written these latter words, I +reflected whether it would not be possible to render their meaning +more distinct by certain other words. Now, instead of erasing the +phrase "a second thought," which is of _some_ use--which _partially_ +conveys the idea intended--which advances me _a step toward_ my full +purpose--I suffer it to remain, and merely put a dash between it and +the phrase "an emendation." The dash gives the reader a choice between +two, or among three or more expressions, one of which may be more +forcible than another, but all of which help out the idea. It stands, +in general, for these words--"_or, to make my meaning more distinct_." +This force _it has_--and this force no other point can have; since all +other points have well-understood uses quite different from this. +Therefore, the dash _cannot_ be dispensed with. + +It has its phases--its variation of the force described; but the one +principle--that of second thought or emendation--will be found at the +bottom of all. + + * * * * * + +In a reply to a letter signed "Outis," and defending Mr. Longfellow +from certain charges supposed to have been made against him by myself, +I took occasion to assert that "of the class of willful plagiarists +nine out of ten are authors of established reputation who plunder +recondite, neglected, or forgotten books." I came to this conclusion +_à priori_; but experience has confirmed me in it. Here is a +plagiarism from Channing; and as it is perpetrated by an anonymous +writer in a Monthly Magazine, the theft seems at war with my +assertion--until it is seen that the Magazine in question is +Campbell's New Monthly for _August_, 1828. Channing, at that time, was +comparatively unknown; and, besides, the plagiarism appeared in a +foreign country, where there was little probability of detection. + +Channing, in his essay on Bonaparte, says: + + "We would observe that military talent, even of the + highest order, is far from holding the first place + among intellectual endowments. It is one of the + lower forms of genius, for it is not conversant + with the highest and richest objects of thought.... + Still the chief work of a general is to apply + physical force--to remove physical obstructions--to + avail himself of physical aids and advantages--to + act on matter--to overcome rivers, ramparts, + mountains, and human muscles; and these are not the + highest objects of mind, nor do they demand + intelligence of the highest order:--and accordingly + nothing is more common than to find men, eminent in + this department, who are almost wholly wanting in + the noblest energies of the soul--in imagination + and taste--in the capacity of enjoying works of + genius--in large views of human nature--in the + moral sciences--in the application of analysis and + generalization to the human mind and to society, + and in original conceptions on the great subjects + which have absorbed the most glorious + understandings." + +The thief in "The New Monthly," says: + + "Military talent, even of the highest _grade_, is + _very_ far from holding the first place among + intellectual endowments. It is one of the lower + forms of genius, for it is _never made_ conversant + with the _more delicate and abstruse of mental + operations_. + + It is used to apply physical force; to remove + physical force; to remove physical obstructions; to + avail itself of physical aids and advantages; and + all these are not the highest objects of mind, nor + do they demand intelligence of the highest _and + rarest_ order. Nothing is more common than to find + men, eminent in the science and practice of war, + _wholly_ wanting in the nobler energies of the + soul; in imagination, in taste, in _enlarged_ views + of human nature, in the moral sciences, in the + application of analysis and generalization to the + human mind and to society; or in original + conceptions on the great subjects which have + _occupied and_ absorbed the most glorious _of + human_ understandings." + +The article in "The New Monthly" is on "The State of Parties." The +italics are mine. + +Apparent plagiarisms frequently arise from an author's +self-repetition. He finds that something he has already published has +fallen dead--been overlooked--or that it is peculiarly _à propos_ to +another subject now under discussion. He therefore introduces the +passage; often without allusion to his having printed it before; and +sometimes he introduces it into an anonymous article. An anonymous +writer is thus, now and then, unjustly accused of plagiarism--when the +sin is merely that of self-repetition. + +In the present case, however, there has been a deliberate plagiarism +of the silliest as well as meanest species. Trusting to the obscurity +of his original, the plagiarist has fallen upon the idea of killing +two birds with one stone--of dispensing with all disguise but that of +_decoration_. + +Channing says "order"--the writer in the New Monthly says "grade." The +former says that this order is "far from holding," etc.--the latter +says it is "_very_ far from holding." The one says that military +talent is "_not_ conversant," and so on--the other says "it is _never +made_ conversant." The one speaks of "the highest and richest +objects"--the other of "the more delicate and abstruse." Channing +speaks of "thought"--the thief of "mental operations." Chaming +mentions "intelligence of the _highest_ order"--the thief will have it +of "the highest _and rarest_." Channing observes that military talent +is often "_almost_ wholly wanting," etc.--the thief maintains it to be +"_wholly_ wanting." Channing alludes to "_large_ views of human +nature"--the thief can be content with nothing less than "enlarged" +ones. Finally, the American having been satisfied with a reference to +"subjects which have absorbed the most glorious understandings," the +Cockney puts him to shame at once by discoursing about "subjects which +have _occupied and_ absorbed the most glorious _of human_ +understandings"--as if one could be absorbed, without being occupied, +by a subject--as if "_of_" were here any thing more than two +superfluous letters--and as if there were any chance of the reader's +supposing that the understandings in question were the understandings +of frogs, or jackasses, or Johnny Bulls. + +By the way, in a case of this kind, whenever there is a question as to +who is the original and who the plagiarist, the point may be +determined, almost invariably, by observing which passage is +amplified, or exaggerated, in tone. To disguise his stolen horse, the +uneducated thief cuts off the tail; but the educated thief prefers +tying on a new tail at the end of the old one, and painting them both +sky blue. + + * * * * * + +After reading all that has been written, and after thinking all that +can be thought, on the topics of God and the soul, the man who has a +right to say that he thinks at all, will find himself face to face +with the conclusion that, on these topics, the most profound thought +is that which can be the least easily distinguished from the most +superficial sentiment. + + + + +LOVE. + +BY R. H. STODDARD. + + + Oh Love! thou art a fallen child of light, + A ruined seraph in a world of care-- + Tortured and wrung by sorrow and despair, + And longings for the beautiful and bright: + Thy brow is deeply scarred, and bleeds beneath + A spiked coronet, a thorny wreath; + Thy rainbow wings are rent and torn with chains, + Sullied and drooping in extremest wo; + Thy dower, to those who love thee best below, + Is tears and torture, agony and pains, + Coldness and scorn and doubt which often parts;-- + "The course of true love never does run smooth," + Old histories show it, and a thousand hearts, + Breaking from day to day, attest the solemn truth. + + +[Illustration: Beauty's Bath + +Painted by E. Landseer Engraved by J. Sartain + +Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine] + + + + +BEAUTY'S BATH. + +[ILLUSTRATING AN ENGRAVING.] + + + The fair one stands beside the plashing brim, + Her pet, her Beauty, gathered to her breast; + A doubt hath crossed her: "can he surely swim?" + And in her sweet face is that fear exprest. + + Alas! how often, for thyself, in years + Fast coming, wilt thou pause and doubt and shrink + O'er some fair project! Then, be all thy fears + False as this first one by the water's brink! + + + + +REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. + + +_Poems of Early and After Years. By N. P. Willis. Illustrated by E. +Leutze. Philadelphia: Carey & Hart. 1 vol. 8vo._ + +This is a complete edition of one of America's most popular poets, +with the old poems carefully revised, and many new pieces added. It is +got up in a similar style with the editions of Longfellow and Bryant, +by the same publishers, and is one of the most splendid volumes of the +season. The portrait of the author, engraved by Cheney, is the most +accurate we have seen. The illustrations, from designs by Leutze, and +engraved by Humphrys, Tucker, and Pease, are sixteen in number, and in +their character and execution are honorable to American art. They are +truly embellishments. Fertile as has been the house of Carey & Hart in +beautiful books, they have published nothing more elegant and tasteful +than the present edition of Willis. + +We have written, in various critiques, at such length on the merits +and characteristics of Willis, that it would be but repetition to +dilate upon his genius now. In looking over the present volume, we +cannot see that the sparkle and fire of his poetry becomes dim, even +as read by eyes which have often performed that pleasant task before. +The old witchery still abides in them, and the old sweetness, +raciness, melody and power. That versatile mind, gliding with such +graceful ease over the whole ground of "occasional" pieces, serious +and mirthful, impassioned and tender, sacred and satirical, looks out +upon us with the same freshness from his present "pictured" page, as +when we hunted it, in the old time, through newspapers, magazines, and +incomplete collections. We cordially wish the author the same success +in his present rich dress, which he has always met in whatever style +of typography he has invaded the public heart. When the stereotype +plates of the present edition are worn out, it does not require the +gift of prophecy to predict that the poet's reputation will be as +unworn and us bright as ever. + + * * * * * + +_A Plea for Amusements. By Frederic W. Sawyer, New York: D. Appleton & +Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ + +This little volume, viewed in respect to the prejudices it so clearly +exposes and opposes, is quite an important publication, and we trust +it will find readers among those who need it most. That clumsy habit +of the public mind, by which the perversions are confounded with the +use of a thing, finds in Mr. Sawyer an acute analyst as well as +sensible opponent. He has done his work with much learning, ability +and taste, and has contrived to make his exposure of popular bigotries +as interesting as it is useful. + + * * * * * + +_Campaign Sketches of the War with Mexico. By Capt. W. S. Henry, U. S. +Army. With Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._ + +Here is a work by a brave and intelligent soldier, relating to the +battles of General Taylor in Mexico, of which he was an eye-witness. +It has the freshness which might be expected from a writer who mingled +in the scenes he describes; and the plates of the different +battle-grounds enable the reader intelligently to follow the +descriptions of the author. Spite of the numerous books relating to +the subject already before the public, Captain Henry's volume will be +found to contain much not generally known, and to describe what is +generally known better than most of his precursors in the task. + + * * * * * + +_The Consuelo. By George Sand. In Three Volumes. New York: W. H. +Graham, Tribune Buildings._ + +_The Countess of Rudolstadt. By George Sand. [Sequel to Consuelo.] 2 +vols. Same Publisher._ + +_The Journeyman Joiner, or the Companion of the Tour of France. By +George Sand. Same Publisher._ + +_The Devil's Pool. By George Sand. Same Publisher._ + +The above editions of the somewhat too celebrated George Sand are got +up, by our enterprising friend the publisher, in a style superior to +that generally used on this species of literature. The translation by +F. G. Shaw, Esq. has been generally, and we think justly, commended. +The works themselves, and their tendencies and results, have been made +the subject of various opinions both here and abroad. We are not among +those who are prepared to enter the lists as their champion. The +translator himself remarks in relation to Consuelo: "That it has not +found fit translation before, was doubtless owing to prevailing +impressions of something erratic and _bizarre_ in the author's way of +living, and to a certain undeniable tone of wild, defying freedom in +her earlier writings." The censure of the moral portion of the +community is thus softly and mercifully expressed: We will not at +present add to it. + + * * * * * + +_The Last Incarnation. Gospel Legends of the Nineteenth Century. By A. +Constant. Translated by F. G. Shaw, Esq. New York: Wm. H. Graham._ + +A well printed and cheap volume. + + * * * * * + +_The Scouting Expeditions of M'Culloch's Texas Rangers. By Samuel C. +Ried, jr. Zieber & Co. Philadelphia._ + +This work contains a spirited and vivid sketch of the Mexican war as +prosecuted under Taylor. It is full of incident and interest, is +written with spirit, and illustrated by a number of engravings. + + * * * * * + + + + +DESCRIPTION OF THE FASHION PLATE. + + +TOILETTE DE VILLE.--Dress of gray satin, with a plain skirt; corsage +plain, with a rounded point; sleeves above of violet-colored velvet, +closed on the top, and trimmed with very rich lace; small pelerine to +the waists, and terminated at the seam of the shoulder, trimmed with +lace. Hat of yellow satin, long at the cheeks, and rounded, ornamented +with a bouquet of white flowers resting on the side, arid a puff of +tulle on the inside. + +RICHE TOILETTE D'INTERIEUR.--Dress of blue cashmere, ornamented with a +row of silver buttons down the front of the skirts; corsage plain, +with buttons, and terminating in two small points; sleeves rather +short, and under ones of three rows of lace: neck-dress of lace. Cap +also of lace, resting flat upon the front of the head, and forming +folds behind, trimmed with bows of ribbon, of rose-colored taffeta, +below the lace to the depth of the strings. + + * * * * * + +ERRATUM.--In the article on Stoke Church and Church-yard, page 77, +12th line from bottom of 2d column, "1779" should read 1799. + +Transcriber's Note: + +Some likely incorrect spellings and probable dialect have been left as +printed, but the following corrections have been made: + +1. Page 83--'for the lady lacked neither wit not humor, and the ....' + changed to 'for the lady lacked neither wit nor humor...' + +2. Page 83--superfluous word 'his' removed from sentence '...he had + nothing on but his his shirt, and...' + +3. Page 85--typo 'centipeds' corrected to 'centipedes' + +4. Page 85--superfluous word 'his' removed from sentence '...constant + to his his first love, mourning...' + +5. A number of contracted forms, such as 't is, shortened to 'tis, in + order to preserve the scansion of poetry + +6. Page 106--typo in sentence '...up the mill-stream, und as we + returned...' replaced by 'and' + +7. Page 106--typo 'outrè' in sentence '...however strange or outrè; + and there is...' changed to 'outré' + +8. Page 106--typo 'evious' in sentence '...would turn up an evious + nose, and...' corrected to 'envious' + +9. Page 110--typo 'widows' in sentence '...sitting by the widows of + the summer-house,' changed to 'windows' + +10. Page 113--typo 'then' in sentence '...was upon then--the eye of + Agnes;...' changed to 'them' + +11. Page 121--typo 'claspéd' corrected to 'claspèd' + +12. Page 125--typo 'giver' in sentence '...until he saw her giver her + arm...' corrected to 'give' + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol. XXXII No. 2. +February 1848, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, FEB 1848 *** + +***** This file should be named 29218-8.txt or 29218-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/2/1/29218/ + +Produced by David T. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Graham's Magazine Vol. XXXII No. 2. February 1848 + +Author: Various + +Editor: George R. Graham + Robert T. Conrad + +Release Date: June 24, 2009 [EBook #29218] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, FEB 1848 *** + + + + +Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> + +<h1>GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.</h1> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<h4><span class="smcap">Vol.</span> XXXII. + PHILADELPHIA, FEBRUARY, +1848. No. 2.</h4> +<hr class="full" /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h3>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3><br /> +<table summary="TOC" width="80%"> +<tr> +<td><a href="#stoke">STOKE CHURCH AND PARK.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">73</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#saw">THE SAW-MILL.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">87</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#effie">EFFIE MORRIS.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">87</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#early">EARLY ENGLISH POETS.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">92</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#portrait">THE PORTRAIT.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">92</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#islets">THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">93</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#hour">AN HOUR.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">98</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#power">POWER OF BEAUTY.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">99</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#butterfly">A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">105</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#rival">THE RIVAL SISTERS.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">105</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#pleiad">THE LOST PLEIAD.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">115</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#sunset">SUNSET AFTER RAIN.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">115</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#montezuma">MONTEZUMA MOGGS.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">116</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#confession">THE BRIDE'S CONFESSION.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">120</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#night">SONNET TO NIGHT.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">120</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#pauline">PAULINE DUMESNIL.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">121</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#hermit">THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">127</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#burial">BURIAL OF A VOLUNTEER.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">128</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#morning">THE BRIDAL MORNING.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">128</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#home">HOME.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">129</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#marginalia">MARGINALIA.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">130</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#love">LOVE.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">132</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#bath">BEAUTY"S BATH.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">132</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#review">REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">132</td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr> +<td><a href="#plate">DESCRIPTION OF THE FASHION PLATE.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">132</td> +</tr> +</table> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> + +<span class="pagenum">73</span> + +<h3><a name="stoke" id="stoke">STOKE CHURCH AND PARK.</a></h3> + +<h4>THE SCENE OF GRAY'S ELEGY, AND RESIDENCE OF THE PENNS OF +PENNSYLVANIA</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY R. BALMANNO.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /><br /><br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus073.png" width="600" height="440" +alt="Stoke Manor" title="" /></div> + +<br /><br /><br /> +<p>The Manor of Stoke, with its magnificent mansion and picturesque park, +is situate near the village of Stoke Pogeys, in the county of +Buckingham, four miles north-west of Windsor.</p> + +<p>About two miles distant from Stoke lies the village of Slough, +rendered famous by the residence of the celebrated astronomer, Sir +William Herschel, and a short way further, on a gentle slope continued +the whole way from Stoke, stand the venerable towers of time-honored +Eton, on the bank of the Thames, directly opposite, and looking up to +the proud castle of the kings of England, unmatched in its lofty, +commanding situation and rich scenery by that of any royal residence +in Europe.</p> + +<p>Stoke, anciently written Stoches, belonged, in the time of William the +Conqueror, A. D. 1086, to William, son of Ansculf, of whom it was held +by Walter de Stoke. Previous thereto, it was in part held by Siret, a +vassal of Harold, and at the same time, a certain Stokeman, the vassal +of Tubi, held another portion. Finally, in the year 1300, during the +reign of King Edward the First, it received its present appellation by +the intermarriage of Amicia de Stoke, the heiress, with Robert de +Pogeys. Under the sovereignty of Edward the Third, 1346, John de +Molines, originally of French extraction, and from the town of that +name in Bourbonnais, married Margaret de Pogeys; and, in consequence +of his eminent services, obtained license of the king to make a castle +of his manor-house of Stoke Pogeys, fortify with stone walls +<span class="pagenum">74</span> +embattled, and imparke the woods; also that it should be exempt from +the authority of the marshal of the king's household, or any of his +officers; and in further testimony of the king's favor, he had summons +to Parliament among the barons of the realm.</p> + +<p>During the wars of the rival Roses, the place was owned by Sir Robert +Hungerford, commonly called Lord Moleyns, by reason of his marriage +with Alianore, daughter of William, Lord Moleyns.</p> + +<p>This Lord Robert, siding with the Lancasterians, or the Red Roses, +upon the loss of the battle of Towton, fled to York, where King Henry +the Sixth then was, and afterward with him into Scotland. He was +attainted by the Parliament of Edward the Fourth; but the king took +compassion on Alianore, his wife, and her children, committing her and +them to the care of John, Lord Wenlock, to whom he had granted all her +husband's manors and lands, granting them a fitting support as long as +her said husband, Lord Robert, should live. But the Lancasterians +making head in the north, he "flew out" again, being the chief of +those who were in the castle of the Percys, at Alnwick, with five or +six hundred Frenchmen, and being taken prisoner at the battle of +Hexham, he was beheaded at Newcastle on Tyne, but buried in the north +aisle of the cathedral of Salisbury.</p> + +<p>Lady Alianore, his widow, lies buried in the church of Stoke Pogeys; +and her monument may still be seen, with an epitaph commencing thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<i>Hic, hoc sub lapide sepelitur Corpus venerabilis<br /> +DominæAlianoræ Molins, Baronissiæ, quam<br /> +prius desponsavit Dominus Robertus Hungerford,<br /> +miles et Baro. &c. &c.</i><br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>Notwithstanding the grant to Lord Wenlock, Thomas, the son and heir of +Lord Robert Hungerford, succeeded to the estate. For a time he sided +with the famous Earl of Warwick, the king-maker, who took part with +Edward the Fourth, but afterward "falling off," and endeavoring for +the restoration of King Henry the Sixth, was seized on, and tried for +his life at Salisbury, before that diabolical tyrant, crook-back Duke +of Gloucester, afterward Richard the Third, where he had judgment of +the death of a traitor, and suffered accordingly the next day.</p> + +<p>But during the reign of Henry the Seventh, in 1485, when the Red Roses +became triumphant at the decisive battle of Bosworth, and these +unnatural and bloody wars which had devastated England for nearly +thirty years, being brought to a close, by the union of Henry with +Elizabeth of York, representative of the White Roses, the attainder of +Thomas, as well as that of his father, Lord Robert, being reversed in +Parliament, his only child and heir, called Mary, succeeded to the +estate.</p> + +<p>Lady Mary married Edward, Lord Hastings, from whom the present Earl of +Huntingdon is descended. She used the title of Lady Hungerford, +Botreux, Molines, and Peverell. To this marriage Shakspeare alludes in +the tragedy of King Henry the VI., Part 3, A. 4, Sc. 1, when he makes +the Duke of Clarence say ironically,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves<br /> +To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford.<br /> +</div> + +<p>Lord George Hungerford succeeding his father, was advanced to the +title of Earl of Huntingdon by King Henry the Eighth, in 1529. He died +the 24th of March, 1543, and lies buried in the chancel of Stoke +Pogeys. Edward, his second son, was a warrior with King Henry the +Eighth, and during the reign of Henry's daughter, Queen Mary, 1555, +declared his testament, appointing his body to be buried at Stoke +Pogeys, and directing his executors to build a chapel of stone, with +an altar therein, adjoining the church or chancel, where the late Earl +Huntingdon and his wife (his father and mother) lay buried; and that a +tomb should be made, with their images carved in stone, appointing +that a plate of copper, double gilt, should be made to represent his +own image, of the size of life, <i>in harness</i>, (armor,) and a memorial +in writing, with his arms, to be placed upright on the wall of the +chapel, without any other tomb for him. He died without issue. Earl +Henry was the last of the illustrious family of Huntingdon who +possessed the manor and manor-house of Stoke; and the embarrassed +state of his affairs compelled him to mortgage the estate to one +Branthwait, a sergeant at law, in 1580, during which period it was +occupied by Lord Chancellor Sir Christopher Hatton, the fine dancer, +one of the celebrated <i>favorites</i> of Elizabeth, the lascivious +daughter of King Henry the Eighth—a woman as fickle as +profligate, as cruel and hard-hearted, so far as regarded her numerous +paramours, as her brutal father was in respect to his wives.</p> + +<p>This historical detail, gathered from Domesday Book, Dugdale, and +other authorities, is narrated in consequence of its bearing upon some +celebrated poems hereafter to be noticed, and is continued up to the +present period for a like reason.</p> + +<p>Sir Christopher Hatton died in 1591, and settled his estate on Sir +William Newport, whose daughter became the second wife of Sir Edward +Coke, Lord Chief Justice of the Court of King's Bench, who purchased +the estate of Stoke. After the dissolution of the Parliament by King +Charles the First, in March, 1628-9, Sir Edward Coke being then +greatly advanced in years, retired to his house at Stoke, where he +spent the remainder of his days in a quiet retirement, universally +respected and esteemed; and there, says his epitaph, crowned his pious +life with a pious and Christian departure, on Wednesday the 3d day of +September, A. D., 1634, and of his age 83; his last words, <span class="smcap"> +"Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done!"</span></p> + +<p>Upon the death of Sir Edward Coke, the manor and estate of Stoke +devolved to his son-in-law, Viscount Purbeck, elder brother of +Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, who perished by the hand of the +assassin, Felton.</p> + +<p>Lord Purbeck, upon the death of his wife, daughter of Sir Edward Coke, +married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Slingsby, by whom he had a +son, Robert, which Robert, marrying the daughter and heir of Sir John +Danvers, one of the judges who sat on the trial of King Charles the +First, obtained a patent from Cromwell, Protector of the Commonwealth, +to change his name to Danvers, alledging as the reasons for his so +doing "the many disservices done to the commonwealth by the name of +the family of Villiers."</p><span class="pagenum">75</span> + +<p>In 1657, Viscount Purbeck granted a lease of the manor and house of +Stoke, to Sir Robert Gayer during his own life; and in the same year, +his son, Robert Villiers, or Danvers, sold his reversionary interest +in the estate to Sir R. Gayer for the sum of eight thousand five +hundred and sixty-four pounds. The family of Gayers continued in +possession until 1724, when the estate was sold for twelve thousand +pounds to Edmund Halsey, Esq., M.P., who died in 1729, his daughter +Anne married Sir Richard Temple, created Viscount Cobham, who survived +him; and she resided at Stoke until her death in the year 1760.</p> + +<p>The house and manor of Stoke were sold in the same year, by the +representatives of Edmund Halsey, to the Honorable Thomas Penn, Lord +Proprietary of the Province of Pennsylvania, the eldest surviving son +of the Honorable William Penn, the celebrated founder and original +proprietary of the province.</p> + +<p>Upon the death of Thomas Penn, in 1775, the manor of Stoke, together +with all his other estates, devolved upon his eldest surviving son, +John, by the Right Honorable Lady Juliana, his wife, fourth daughter +of the Earl of Pomfret.</p> + +<p>In 1789, the ancient mansion of Stoke, appearing to Mr. Penn, after +some years absence in America, to demand very extensive repairs, +(chiefly from the destructive consequences of damp in the principal +rooms,) it was judged advisable to take it down.</p> + +<p>The style of its architecture was not of a kind the most likely to +dissuade him from this undertaking. Most of the great buildings of +Queen Elizabeth's reign have a style peculiar to themselves, both in +form and finishing, where, though much of the old Gothic is retained, +and a great part of the new style is adopted, yet neither +predominates, while both, thus indiscriminately blended, compose a +fantastic species, hardly reducible to any class or name. One of its +characteristics is the affectation of <i>large</i> and <i>lofty</i> windows, +where, says Lord Bacon, "you shall have sometimes faire houses so full +of glass, that one cannot tell where to become to be out of the sun." +A perfect specimen of this fantastic style, in complete repair, may be +seen in Hardwick Hall, county of Derby, one of the many residences of +that princely and amiable nobleman, the Duke of Devonshire, and a +perfect <i>contrast</i> to it, at his other noble residence not many miles +distant, in the same county, Chatsworth, "the Palace of the Peak."</p> + +<p>It is true that high antiquity alone gives, in the eye of taste, a +continually increasing value to specimens of all such kinds of +architecture; but beside that, the superiority of the new site chosen +by Mr. Penn was manifest, the principal rooms of the old mansion at +Stoke, where the windows admitted light from <i>both</i> the opposite +sides, were instances, peculiarly exemplifying the remark of Lord +Bacon, and countenancing the design to lessen the number of bad, and +increase that of the good examples of architecture. But a wing of the +ancient plan was preserved, and is still kept in repair, as a relic, +harmonizing with the surrounding scenery, and forms with the rustic +offices, and fruit-gardens annexed, the <i>villa rustica</i> and +<i>fructuaria</i> of the place.</p> + +<p>The new buildings, or, more properly speaking, Palace of Stoke, was +begun by Mr. Penn immediately after his return from a long absence in +Pennsylvania, and was covered-in in December, 1790. It is scarcely +possible to conceive a finer site than that chosen by him for his new +mansion, being on a commanding eminence, the windows of the principal +front looking over a rich, variegated landscape toward the lofty +towers of Windsor Castle, at a distance of four miles, which +terminates the view in that direction; whilst about and around the +site are abundance of magnificent aged oaks, elms, and beeches.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The poems of Thomas Gray, who was educated at Eton, and resided at +Stoke, are perhaps better known, more read, more easily remembered, +and more frequently quoted, than those of any other English poet. +Where is the person who does not remember with feelings approaching to +enthusiasm, the impressions made on his youthful fancy by the +enchanting language of the "Elegy written in a Country Church-yard?" +Who can ever forget the impressions with which he first read the +narrative of the "hoary-headed swain," and the deep emotion felt on +perusing the pathetic epitaph, "graved on the stone, beneath yon aged +thorn," beginning—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Here rests his head upon the lap of earth.<br /> +A youth to fortune and to fame unknown:<br /> +Fair science frowned not on his humble birth.<br /> +And melancholy marked him for her own.<br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>That exquisite poem contains passages "grav'd" on the hearts of all +who ever read it in youth, until they themselves become +hoary-headed—and then, perhaps, remembered most.</p> + +<p>But it is not the Elegy alone which makes an indelible impression on +the youthful reader; equally imperishable are the lines on a distant +prospect of Eton College.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,<br /> +That crown the wat'ry glade,<br /> +Where grateful science still adores<br /> +Her Henry's holy shade.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>And who can ever forget the Bard—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Confusion on thy banners wait!</span><br /> +Though fann'd by conquests crimson wing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They mock the air with idle state.</span><br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>Or the lovely Ode on the Spring.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fair Venus' train appear,</span><br /> +Disclose the long-expecting flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And wake the purple year!</span><br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>Or those sublime Odes—On The Progress of Poesy. Awake, +Æolian lyre, awake: and the Descent of Odin:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Uprose the king of men with speed,<br /> +And saddled strait his coal-black steed:<br /> +Down the yawning steep he rode,<br /> +That leads to Hela's drear abode.<br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>Who can ever forget the pleasure experienced on the first perusal, and +<span class="pagenum">76</span> +on every subsequent reading of these fascinating productions? They +are such as all, imbued with even a moderate degree of taste and +feeling, must respond to. But there is another poem of Gray's, less +read, perhaps, than these, but which, from its humor and arch playful +style, is apt to make a strong and lasting impression on an +enthusiastic juvenile mind. It opens so abruptly and oddly, that +attention is bespoke from the first line. It is entitled "A Long +Story."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +In Britain's isle—no matter where—<br /> +An ancient pile of building stands:<br /> +The Huntingdons and Hattons there<br /> +Employed the power of fairy hands<br /> +To raise the ceilings fretted height,<br /> +Each panel in achievements clothing,<br /> +Rich windows, that exclude the light,<br /> +And passages, that lead to nothing.<br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>This poem, teeming with quaint humor, contains one hundred and +forty-four lines, beside, <i>as it says</i>, "two thousand which +are lost!"</p> + +<p>Extreme admiration of the poems of Gray had been excited in the +writer's mind even when a schoolboy. In after years, whilst occupying +chambers in the Temple, he first became aware that the scenery so +exquisitely described in the Elegy, and the "ancient pile" of +building, so graphically delineated in the Long Story, were both +within a few hours' ride of London, and adjoining each other.</p> + +<p>Until about the year 1815 he had constantly supposed that the Country +Church-yard was altogether an imaginary conception, and that the +ancient mansion of the Huntingdons was far away, somewhere in the +midland counties; but when fully aware of the true localities, he was +almost mad with impatience, until, on a Saturday afternoon, <i>he</i> +could get relieved from the turmoil of business, to fly to scenes +hallowed by recollections of the halcyon days of youthful aspirations +of hope, and love, and innocence—and sweetly and fresh do such +reminiscences still float in his memory.</p> + +<p>About the period in question, there was a club in London, formed of +about twenty or thirty of the most aristocratic of the young nobility, +possessed of more wealth than wisdom. They gave themselves the name of +the Whip Club, because each member drove his own team of four horses. +The chief tutor of these titled Jehu's in the art and mystery of +driving, was no less a personage than the celebrated Tom Moody, driver +of the Windsor Coach, and by that crack coach it was intended to +proceed as far as Slough, on the intended excursion to Stoke, and then +turn off to the left; but as the Whip Club, at the period in question, +attracted a large share of public attention in the metropolis, perhaps +a short notice of it may be here permitted, as it has been long since +defunct, and is never again likely to be revived, now that steam and +iron horses have taken the road.</p> + +<p>The vehicles, horses, trappings, and gearing, were the most elegant +and expensive that money could command; and it was a rare thing to see +upward of twenty such equipages, which, as well as the housings of the +horses, were emblazoned with heraldric devices, and glittering all +over with splendid silver and gold ornaments.</p> + +<p>The open carriages were all filled with the loveliest of England's +lovely women, who generally congregated together at an early +breakfast, or what with them was considered an early breakfast, +between ten and eleven o'clock! The meet took place at the house of +Lord Hawke, in Portman Square. His lordship was high admiral, or +president, Sir Bellingham Graham, whipper-in—and courteously and +cleverly did Sir Bellingham (or Bellinjim, as it is pronounced) +perform his delicate duty. When each driver mounted his box, after +handing in the ladies, it was wonderful to observe with what +dexterity, ease, and order, all wheeled into line, when the leader, +with a flourish of his long whip—being the signal for which all were +watching—led off the splendid array.</p> + +<p>It was a gay sight to witness the start, as they swept round the +square—for the horses were one and all of pure blood, and +unparalleled for beauty, symmetry, and speed.</p> + +<p>To one unaccustomed to such a sight, it might appear somewhat +dangerous. The fiery impatience of the horses—their pawing and +champing, the tossing of their beautiful heads, and the swan-like +curving of their glittering, sleek necks, until they were fairly +formed into order—at which time they knew just as well as their +owners that <i>the play</i> was going to begin. But it was perfectly +delightful to observe the graceful manner in which each pair laid +their small heads and ears together when fairly under way, beating +time with their highly polished hoofs—pat, pat, pat, pat, as true as +the most disciplined regiment marching to a soul-stirring quick step, +or a troupe of well-trained ballet girls, bounding across the stage of +the Italian Opera.</p> + +<p>When fairly off and skimming along the road, it was, perhaps, as +animating a show as London ever witnessed since its palmiest days of +tilt and tournament. I say nothing of the ladies, their commingled +charms, or gorgeous attire; I only noticed that during the gayety in +the square, previous to starting, their recognition of each other, and +the beaux of their acquaintance, there were plenty of</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +"Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,<br /> +Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,<br /> +And love to live in dimples sleek."<br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>This celebrated club congregated every fortnight, during the gay +season of May and June, and spent the day at the residence of one of +their number, within twenty or thirty miles of London, returning in +the evening, exactly in the order they had set out.</p> + +<p>Master Moody, the driver and proprietor of the fast Windsor Coach, +had, as said, been the tutor of these aristocratic charioteers, who +placed themselves under his guardianship, and had been taught to +handle "the ribbons" until declared perfect in the noble science. He +had consequently imbibed much and many of the <i>airs</i> and <i>graces</i>, +and manners of his pupils.</p> + +<p>Being anxious to have a ride beside this great man, I was at +Piccadilly long before he started, and by a pretty handsome douceur to +his cad, had the supreme felicity of obtaining a seat on the box, and +certainly was well repaid for the extra expense of sitting by +Corinthian Tom.</p> + +<p>He was a tall fellow, and had a severely serious face; was dressed in +<span class="pagenum">77</span> +the extreme of driving fashion; wore delicate white kid gloves, and +the tops of his highly-polished boots were white as the lily. In +short, his whole "toggery" was faultless—a perfect out-and-outer. He +was truly a great man, or appeared to fancy himself such—for he +rarely condescended to exchange a word, except with an acquaintance, +and even then, it was with a condescending, patronizing air; and he +smiled as seldom as a Connecticut lawyer. Although sitting close by +his side for twenty miles, not one word passed between us during the +whole journey.</p> + +<p>The nags driven by this proud fellow were as splendid as himself; +finer cattle never flew over Epsom Downs, the Heath of Ascot, or +Doncaster Course—pure bloods, every one of them, and such as might +have served Guido as models for his famous fresco of the chariot of +Apollo; but Guido's steeds, although they are represented tearing away +furiously, are lubberly <i>drays</i>, compared with the slim, graceful, +fleet stags of Tom Moody.</p> + +<p>When the cad gave the word—"all right," Tom started them with his +short, shrill "t'chit, t'chit," and a crack of his two-fathom whip +right over the ears of the leaders, as loud as the report of a pistol. +They sprang forward with a maddening energy, almost terrifying; but +the coach was hung and balanced with such precision, and the Windsor +road kept in the finest order for royalty, there was no jumping or +jolting, it glided along as smoothly as if it had been running on +rails. A proud man was Master Moody; not so much of himself, perhaps, +or of his glossy, broad-brimmed beaver, and broadcloth "upper +Benjamin," or the dashing silk tie around his neck, but of his +beautiful nags—and he had reason, for there was not an equipage on +the road, from the ducal chariot to the dandy tandem, to which he did +not give the go-by like lightning.</p> + +<p>The rapidity of the movement, and the beauty of the animals, produced +an excitement sufficient to enable one to appreciate the rapture of +the Arab, as he flies over the desert on his beloved barb, enjoying, +feeling, exulting in liberty, sweet, intoxicating, unbounded liberty, +with the whole wilderness for a home.</p> + +<p>Some such feelings took possession of me, as the well-poised machine +shot along. Quick as thought we threaded Kensington High street, +skirted the wall of Lord Holland's park, just catching, like the +twinkle of a sunbeam, a glimpse of the antique turrets of that classic +fane peeping through the trees, as we passed the centre avenue.</p> + +<p>We speedily reached Hammersmith and Turnham Green, and then passed +Sion House and park, the princely residence of the Duke of +Northumberland, then dashed through the straggling old town of +Brentford. The intervening fields and openings into the landscape +affording enchanting prospects before entering on Hounslow Heath, when +the horses having got warm, the driver gave them full head, and the +vehicle attained a speed truly exhilarating.</p> + +<p>The increased momentum, and the extensive prairie-like expanse of +Hounslow Heath, would have realized in any enthusiastic mind, the +feelings of the children of the desert.</p> + +<p>This first excursion to Stoke was made during the month of May, when +all nature is fresh and fair; the guelder-roses and lilacs being in +full flower, and the hawthorn hedges were one sheet of milky +fragrance, the air was almost intoxicating, owing to the concentrated +perfumes arising from fruit orchards in full blossom, and the +interminable succession of flower gardens opposite every house +skirting that lovely road, the beauty of which few can conceive who +have not been in England; but the fresh, <i>pure</i> air on the Heath, +infused a new feeling, a realization of unalloyed happiness; we were +rapidly hastening toward scenes for which the soul was yearning, and +hope, bright, young hope, lent wings and a charm to every object, +animate and inanimate.</p> + +<p>The usual relay of fresh horses were in waiting at Cranburn Bridge, +and the reeking bloods were instantly changed for others, not a whit +less spirited than their released compeers. Away went Moody, and away +went Moody's fiery steeds. In a very short time we passed, at a few +miles on the hither side of Slough, the "ivy-mantled tower" of Upton +Church, which, but for one or two small, square openings in it, may be +mistaken for a gigantic bush, or unshapely tree of evergreen ivy.</p> + +<p>Arriving at Slough, I bade adieu to Master Moody; the forty feet +telescope of Herschel, with its complicated frame-work and machinery, +attracting only a few minutes attention. The road leading up to Stoke +Green is one of those beautiful lanes so exquisitely described by +Gilbert White, in his History of Selborne, or still more graphically +portrayed by Miss Mitford, in her Tales of our Village. Stoke Green +lies to the right of this lane, and at the distance of one or two +fields further on, there is a stile in the corner of one of them, on +the left, where a foot-path crosses diagonally. In going through a gap +in the hedge, you catch the first peep of the spire of Stoke Church. +After passing the field, you come to a narrow lane, overhung with +hawthorns; it leads from Salt-Hill to the village of West-End Stoke. +Keeping along the lane a short way, and passing through a small gate +on the top of the bank, you at once enter the domain of Stoke Park, +and are admitted to a full view of the church, which stands at a short +distance, but almost immediately within the gate, are particularly +struck by the appearance of a grand sarcophagus, erected by Mr. Penn +to the memory of Gray, in the year 1779. It is a lofty structure, in +the purest style of architecture; and a tolerable idea of it, and the +surrounding scenery, may be obtained from the cut at the head of this +article, which has been executed from a drawing made on the spot. The +inscription and quotations following are on the several sides of the +pedestal. It is needless to say they are from the Elegy, and Ode to +Eton College—the latter poem being unquestionably written from this +very spot; and Mr. Penn has exhibited the finest taste in their +selection.</p> +<span class="pagenum">78</span> +<p>On the end facing Mr. Penn's house—</p> + +<div class="center"> +<span class="smcap">this monument,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">in honor of</span> THOMAS GRAY,<br /> +<span class="smcap">was erected</span>, A. D. MDCCXCIX., +<span class="smcap">among</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">the scenes celebrated by that</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">great lyric and elegiac poet.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">he died</span> XXX <span class="smcap">july</span>, +MDCCLXXI, <span class="smcap">and</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">lies unnoticed in the church-yard<br /> +adjoining, under the tomb-stone on<br /> +which he piously and pathetically<br /> +recorded the interment of his<br /> +aunt and lamented mother.</span></div><br /> +<br /> + +<p>On the side looking toward Windsor—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,<br /> +Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove;<br /> +Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn,<br /> +Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.<br /> +<br /> +One morn I miss'd him on the 'custom'd hill,<br /> +Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;<br /> +Another came; nor yet beside the rill,<br /> +Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.<br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>On the end facing Stoke Palace—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">That crown the wat'ry glade,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ah! happy hills! Ah, pleasing shade!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ah! fields belov'd in vain!</span><br /> +Where once my careless childhood strayed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A stranger yet to pain!</span><br /> +I feel the gales that from ye blow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A momentary bliss bestow.</span><br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>On the west side, looking toward the church-yard—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Beneath these rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,<br /> +Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,<br /> +Each in his narrow cell forever laid,<br /> +The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.<br /> +<br /> +The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,<br /> +And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,<br /> +Await alike th' inevitable hour—<br /> +The paths of glory lead but to the grave.<br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>This noble monument is erected on a beautiful green mound, and is +surrounded with flowers. It is protected by a deep trench, in the +bottom of which is a palisade; but the inclosure may be entered by +application at one of Mr. Penn's pretty entrance lodges, which is +close by. The prospects from this part of the park are surpassingly +beautiful, particularly looking toward the "distant spires and antique +towers" of Eton and Windsor.</p> + +<p>It may be worth while here to remark, that the church and church-yard +of Stoke is surrounded by Mr. Penn's property, or more properly +speaking his park.</p> + +<p>Coming upon the beautiful monument quite unexpectedly, was not likely +to diminish the enthusiasm previously entertained; and before +proceeding to the church-yard, it was impossible to resist the impulse +of making a rapid memorandum sketch of it. In after years, it was +carefully and correctly drawn in all its aspects. Proceeding along +"the churchway path" into the church-yard, where in reality "rests his +head upon the lap of earth," the tomb-stone of the admired and beloved +poet was soon found. It is at the east end of the church, nearly under +a window.</p> + +<p>Persons of a cold temperament, and not imbued with the love of poetry, +may perhaps smile when it is admitted, that the approach to that tomb +was made with steps as slow and reverential as those of any devout +Catholic approaching the shrine of his patron saint.</p> + +<p>Long was it gazed upon, and frequently was the inscription read, and +the following cut exhibits the coat of arms and inscriptions on the +blue marble tabular stone, as they were carefully drawn and copied, +that very evening:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus083.png" width="400" height="401" +alt="coat of arms" title="" /></div> + +<div class="blockquot2"> +<span class="smcap">in the vault beneath are deposited<br /> +in hope of a joyful resurrection,<br /> +the remains of</span><br /> +MARY ANTROBUS,<br /> +<span class="smcap">she died unmarried, november 5th, 1749,<br /> +aged 66.</span><br /> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<span class="smcap">in the same pious confidence,<br /> +beside her friend and sister,<br /> +here sleep the remains of</span><br /> +DOROTHY GRAY,<br /> +<span class="smcap">widow, the careful tender mother<br /> +of many children, one of whom alone<br /> +had the misfortune to survive her.<br /> +she died march 11th, 1753,<br /> +aged 67.</span></div><br /> + +<p>It was a soft, balmy evening; "every leaf was at rest;" the deer in +the park had betaken themselves to their favorite haunts, under the +wide-spreading boughs of ancient oaks and elms, and were reposing in +happy security.</p> + +<p>The long continued twilight of England was gathering in, and I still +lingered in the consecrated inclosure, fascinated with the +unmistakable antiquity of the church, which, although small as +compared with many others, is eminently romantic, and I cannot better +describe the scene, and the feelings impressed at the moment, than in +the words of one equally near as dear—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +"A holy spell pervades thy gloom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A silent charm breathes all around;</span><br /> +And the dread stillness of the tomb<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Reigns o'er thy hallowed haunted ground."</span><br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>It may be proper to mention that the poem from which this is +extracted, is descriptive of Haddon Hall, one of the most ancient and +perfect specimens of the pure Gothic in England. The poem appeared in +one of the English Annuals.</p> + +<p>At peace with all the world, and filled with emotions of true and +<span class="pagenum">79</span> +sincere gratitude to the Giver of all good, for the pure happiness +then enjoyed, I sank down by the tomb-stone, overpowered with +veneration, and breathed fervent thanks to <span class="smcap">Him</span> who +refuses not the offering of a humble and contrite heart.</p> + +<p>This narrative is meant to be a faithful and honest representation of +<i>facts</i> and <i>circumstances</i> that actually occurred, and it is +firmly believed that none can stray into an ancient secluded country +church-yard, during the decline of day, without deeply meditating on +those who for ages have slept below, and where <span class="smcap">all</span> must soon sleep, +without feeling true devotion, and forming resolves for future and +amended conduct.</p> + +<p>Slowly quitting the church-yard, and approaching the elevated +monument, now become almost sublime as the shades of evening rendered +dim its classic outline, it was impossible to avoid lingering some +time longer beside it, recalling various passages of the Elegy +appropriate to the occasion; the landscape was indeed "glimmering on +the sight," and there was a "solemn stillness in the air," well +befitting the occasion; more particularly appropriate was that fine +stanza, which, although written by Gray, is omitted in all editions of +the Elegy except the one hereafter noticed, in where it was +re-incorporated by the editor, [the present writer,] in consequence of +a suggestion kindly offered in a letter from Granville Penn, Esq., +then residing with his brother at Stoke Park.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Hark! how the sacred calm that breathes around<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease;</span><br /> +In still small accents whispering from the ground,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A grateful earnest of eternal peace.</span><br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>The Elegy is undoubtedly the most popular poem in the English +language; it was translated into that of every country in Europe, +besides Latin and Greek. It has been more frequently, elaborately and +expensively illustrated with pictorial embellishments. The autograph +copy of it, in the poet's small, neat hand, written on two small half +sheets of paper, was sold last year for no less than <i>one hundred +pounds sterling</i>; and the spirited purchaser was most appropriately +the proprietor of Stoke Park, Granville John Penn, Esq., who at the +same sale gave <i>forty-five pounds</i> for the autograph copy of The Long +Story, and <i>one hundred and five pounds</i> for the Odes; whilst another +gentleman gave forty pounds for two short poems and a letter from the +illustrious poet on the death of his father.</p> + +<p>The truthfulness of the pictures presented to the imagination in the +Elegy could not be denied, for there, on the very spot where, beyond +all question, it was composed, and after a lapse of nearly one hundred +years, the images which impressed the mind of the inspired poet came +fresh at every turn. It is true the curfew did not toll, but the +"lowing herd" were as distinctly audible as the beetle wheeling his +droning flight. The yew tree's shade—that identical tree, to which, +to a moral certainty, the poet had reference—is represented in the +cut, in the corner of the inclosure, as distinctly as the smallness of +the scale admitted, underneath its shade the "turf lies in many a +mouldering heap," and the "rugged elms" are outside the inclosure, but +their outstretched arms overspread many a "narrow cell and frail +memorial," where the "rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep," and +where also "their name and years are spelt by th' unlettered muse." A +singular error in spelling <i>the name</i> of one of those humble persons, +was however committed by the poet himself in his "Long Story," very +pardonable in him, however, as the party was then alive; but that the +error should have been perpetuated in <span class="smcap">all editions</span> save one, down to +that entitled "The Eton," being printed there, and edited by a +reverend clergyman resident in the college, is somewhat singular; +moreover the <i>second</i> edition of the Eton Gray appeared this very +year, and the error remains, although the name is correctly given on +the grave-stone. The excepted edition, in which alone it is correctly +given, was published in 1821, and edited by the present writer for his +friend Mr. John Sharpe. The circumstance will be noticed presently.</p> + +<p>The Elegy of Gray was evidently written under the influence of strong +feeling, and vivid impressions of the beautiful in the scenery around +him, and when his sensitive mind was overspread with melancholy, in +consequence of the death of his young, amiable and accomplished friend +West, to whom, in June, 1742, he addressed his lovely Ode to Spring, +which was written at Stoke; but before it reached his friend he was +numbered with the dead! So true was the friendship subsisting between +them, that the poet of Stoke was overpowered with a melancholy which, +although subdued, lasted during a great part of his life.</p> + +<p>The scenes amid which the Elegy was composed were well adapted to +soothe and cherish that contemplative sadness which, when the wounds +of grief are healing, it is a luxury to indulge, and that the poet did +indulge them is self-evident in many a line.</p> + +<p>In returning to Stoke Green to spend the night, some of the rustic +peasantry were wending their way down the lane to the same place, but +none of these simple people, although questioned, could tell aught of +him whose fame and works had induced the pilgrimage to Stoke; neither +did better success attend any succeeding inquiry at the village. So +universally true is that scriptural saying, like <span class="smcap">all</span> the sayings of +<span class="smcap">Him</span> who uttered it, that a prophet is not without honor, save in his +own country and in his own house.</p> + +<p>Retiring to rest early, with a full determination to do that which had +often been resolved but never accomplished, that is, to rise with the +dawn; the resolution had nearly defeated the purpose, inasmuch as the +mind being surcharged with the past and the expected, there was little +inclination to sleep until after midnight. But a full and fixed +determination of the will overcomes greater difficulties, and the +first streak of light at break of day found me up and dressed, and of +a truth</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,<br /> +To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.<br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>The dawn was most lovely, and the perfume from the hawthorns +delicious; every thing indicated a beautiful day. The sarcophagus +stands on the most elevated spot, and there, where probably in days +<span class="pagenum">80</span> +long past the poet had watched the rising of the sun, did I, a humble +pilgrim at his shrine, await the same sublime spectacle.</p> + +<p>As if to gratify a long cherished desire, the sun did rise with a +splendor impossible to be exceeded, and the following lines, by an +anonymous author, immediately recurred to memory:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +O who can paint the rapture of the soul,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As o'er the scene the sun first steals to sight,</span><br /> +And all the world of vapors as they roll,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And heaven's vast arch unveils in living light.</span><br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>To witness the break of day in the country is indeed a luxury to which +the inhabitants of cities are strangers. As the sun rose from the +horizon, his increasing light brought into view myriads of dew-drops +on every bud and blossom, which glittered and shone like diamonds. The +sky-larks began to rise from their grassy beds among the daisies, +ascending in circles to the clouds, and caroling a music which is +almost heavenly to hear. The deer also were getting up from their +shadowy lair under the trees, and the young fawns sprung away and took +to flight as I passed a herd, under a clump of beeches, in order to +obtain a view of the ancient mansion. In approaching it, a sound, +familiar indeed but far from musical, struck the ear, and added +another proof and a fresh charm to the fidelity of the picture drawn +by the poet. The swallows were merrily "twittering" about the +gable-ends, and it did the heart good to stand watching the probable +successors of those active little visiters, whose predecessors had +possibly attracted the notice of the bard. It is well known that these +birds, like the orchard oriole, return year after year to the same +house, and haunt where they had previously reared their young. +<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> + +<p>A strong and perhaps natural desire to inspect the interior of all +that remained of the ancient mansion of the Huntingdons and Hattons +was defeated, inasmuch as it was found barricaded. Imagination had +been busy for many a year, in respect to its great hall and gallery, +its rich windows "and passages that lead to nothing;" but as access to +the interior was denied, the sketch-book was put in requisition, and +an accurate view soon secured.</p> + +<p>Observing at some distance, through a vista among the trees, a lofty +pillar with a statue on its summit, and proceeding thither, it was +found to be another of those splendid ornaments with which the taste +and liberality of the proprietor had adorned his park, being erected +to the memory of Sir Edward Coke, whose statue it was which surmounted +the capital. Whilst engaged in sketching this truly classic object, a +gentleman approached, who introduced himself as Mr. Osborne, the +superintendent of the demesne. He expressed pleasure at seeing the +sketches, and politely offered every facility for making such, but +hinted that Mr. Penn had scruples, and very proper ones, about +strangers approaching too near the house on the Sabbath day, to make +sketches of objects in its vicinity.</p> + +<p>Mr. Osborne's offer was courteously made, and the consequence was that +many visits to Stoke afterward took place, and the whole of the +interesting scenery carefully sketched. He kindly pointed out all that +was most worthy of attention about the estate and neighborhood, and +made tender of his company to visit West-End, and show the house which +Gray, and his mother and aunt had for many years occupied. The +proprietor he said was Captain Salter, in whose family it had remained +for a great many generations. Latterly the house has been purchased, +enlarged, and put into complete repair by Mr. Granville John Penn, the +present proprietor, nephew of John Penn, Esq., who died in June, 1834. +After "a hasty" breakfast at Stoke Green, the church-yard was again +visited, and there was not a grave-stone in it which was not examined +and read. The error formerly alluded to was immediately detected. The +passages in the Long Story, describing the mock trial at the "Great +House," before Lady Cobham, may be worth transcribing.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Fame, in the shape of Mr. Purt,<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(By this time all the parish know it,)</span><br /> +Had told that thereabouts there lurked<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A wicked imp they call a poet:</span><br /> +Who prowled the country far and near,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bewitched the children of the peasants,</span><br /> +Dried up the cows and lamed the deer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sucked the eggs and killed the pheasants.</span><br /> +<br /> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +The court was sat, the culprit there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping,</span><br /> +The Lady Janes and Joans repair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And from the gallery stand peeping:</span><br /> +Such in the silence of the night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Come (sweep) along some winding entry,</span><br /> +(Styack has often seen the sight,)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or at the chapel-door stand sentry:</span><br /> +In peakèd hoods and mantles tarnished<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sour visages enough to scare ye,</span><br /> +High dames of honor once who garnished<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary.</span><br /> +<br /> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +The bard with many an artful fib<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had in imagination fenced him,</span><br /> +Disproved the arguments of Squib<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all that Groom could urge against him.</span><br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>Finding on the stone alluded to, that it was to the memory of Mrs. Ann +Tyacke, who died in 1753, it occurred that this was the Styack of the +poem, where a footnote in a copy then and there consulted, stated her +to have been the housekeeper; and on inquiring of Mr. Osborne, he +confirmed the conjecture. Two other footnotes state Squib to have +been <i>groom</i> of the chamber, and that Groom was steward; but finding +another head-stone (both are represented in the large wood-cut, +although not exactly in the situations they occupy in the church-yard) +close to that of Mrs. Tyacke, to the memory of <i>William</i> Groom, who +died 1751, it appears to offer evidence that Gray mistook the <i>name</i> +of the one for the <i>office</i> of the other. The Eton edition has not a +single footnote from beginning to end of the volume. It is dedicated +to Mr. Granville John Penn, and his "kind assistance <i>during the +progress of the work</i>" acknowledged, both in its illustrations, and in +<span class="pagenum">81</span> +the biographical sketch, not withstanding which "assistance," the +error of the house-keeper's name is continued; and amongst the +wood-cut illustrations, there is one entitled (both <i>in</i> the list and +<i>on</i> the cut) "Stoke Church, east end, with tablet to Gray," when, in +fact, it represents the <i>tomb-stone</i> at the end of the church, under +which Gray and his mother are interred. The <i>tablet</i> to Gray is quite +another thing, <i>that</i> was lately inserted in the wall of the church; +but by some extraordinary blunder it records his death as having taken +place on the 1st of August, while on the sarcophagus it is stated to +have occurred on the 30th of July. Neither the one nor the other is +correct. The Gentleman's Magazine for 1771, and the Annual Register +for the same year, as well as Mathias' Life, 2 vols. 4to., 1814, all +concur in giving it as having taken place on the 31st. The Etonian +edition has it the 30th. After a considerable time spent in the +church-yard, the hour of public worship drew near, the aged sexton +appeared, opened the doors, and began to toll the bell—that same +ancient bell which, century after century, had "rung in" generation +after generation, and tolled at their funerals. It is difficult to +realize the feelings excited on entering a sacred edifice of very +ancient date, particularly if it is in the country, secluded amongst +aged trees, looking as old as itself; and in walking over the stone +floor, which, although so seldom trodden, is worn away into something +like channels; in sitting in the same antique, and curiously carved, +black oaken pews, which had been sat on by races of men who had +occupied the same seats hundreds of years long past; but the effect is +greatly increased on viewing the effigies of the mighty dead, lying on +their marble beds, in long and low niches in the walls, some with the +palms of their hands pressed together and pointing upward, as if in +the act of supplication; and others grasping their swords, and having +their legs <i>crossed</i>, indicating that they had fought <i>for</i> the cross +in the Holy Land. Such a church, and such objects around, fill the +mind with true devotion. The sublime words of Milton work out the +picture to perfection.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +There let the pealing organ blow<br /> +To the full-voiced quire below,<br /> +In service high, and anthems clear,<br /> +As may with sweetness through mine ear<br /> +Dissolve me into extasies,<br /> +And bring all heaven before mine eyes.<br /> +</div> + +<p>It was gratifying and affecting to witness the piety, humility, and +devotion of the congregation as they entered and took their seats in +silence, long before the venerable clergyman entered the church; there +was something exceedingly touching in the profound silence that +reigned throughout the congregation, and induced one to think highly +of that rule amongst those excellent people, who with great propriety +are termed Friends. Public worship was attended both in the morning +and afternoon, and I returned to London, feeling myself a much better +man than when I left it, with a full determination to revisit a place +where so much pleasure had been received. It was nearly three months +before the resolve was carried into effect; but a second excursion was +made in August, and Mr. Osborne was kind enough to show the house at +West-End, together with the celebrated Burnham beeches, amongst which +were several "which wreathed their old fantastic roots so high," +evidently the originals alluded to in the Elegy. They are scarcely a +mile from West-End, and are approached through another of those sweet +green lanes with which the neighborhood abounds. They are part of the +original forest. The spot was one of Gray's favorite haunts; and it +would be difficult to find one better fitted for a lover of nature, +and a contemplative mind. Late in the autumn an invitation was +received from Mr. Osborne to spend a day or two with him; but it was +not until the beginning of November that advantage could be taken of +it. Arriving at his house late in the afternoon, his servant informed +me he had been suddenly called away to the Isle of Portland, in +Dorsetshire, where Mr. Penn was erecting a castle. She also apologized +for Mrs. Osborne's inability to receive company, in consequence of "a +particular circumstance," which circumstance she blushingly +acknowledged was the birth of a fine boy the night before. There was +no resource, therefore, but to walk down either to Stoke Green, or to +Salt-Hill, where there are two well-known taverns. Before proceeding, +however, the church-yard, almost of necessity, must be visited; and +although in a direct line, it was not far from Mr. Osborne's house, a +considerable circuit had to be made to get into the inclosure. The +evening was particularly still—you could have heard a leaf fall; the +twilight was just setting in, and a haze, or fog, coming on, but the +spot was soon reached; and whilst kneeling, engaged, like Old +Mortality, in plucking some weeds and long grass, which had sprung up +about <i>the</i> tomb since the last visit, a slight sound—a very gentle +rustle—struck the ear. I supposed it to be the ivy on the +church-wall, but the next instant it was followed by a +movement—something very near was certainly approaching. On looking +up, it is impossible to describe with what mixed feelings of +astonishment, apprehension, and awe, I beheld coming from a corner of +the church-yard, (where there was no ingress through the brick wall,) +and directly toward the spot where I knelt, the figure of a tall, +majestic lady, dressed in a black velvet pelisse, black velvet hat, +surmounted by a plume of black ostrich feathers. She was stepping +slowly toward me, over the graves. It would be useless to deny that +fear fixed me to the spot on beholding the expression of her very +serious face, and her eyes firmly fixed on mine.</p> + +<p>Appalled by her sudden appearance, it seemed as if she had just risen +from the grave, dressed in a funeral pall; for I was facing toward +that corner of the enclosure from which she was coming, and feeling +certain no human being was there one minute before, I was breathless +with apprehension, and glad to rest one arm on the tomb-stone until +she came close up to me.</p><span class="pagenum">82</span> +<br /><br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;"> +<img src="images/illus090.png" width="460" height="600" +alt="in the grave-yard" title="" /></div> +<br /><br /> + +<p>With a graceful inclination of the head, she addressed me.</p> + +<p>"Mr. B——, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam, that is my name."</p> + +<p>"And you came down to visit Mr. Osborne, who has been called away to +Portland."</p> + +<p>I breathed more freely as I admitted it.</p> + +<p>"It happens," she continued, "to be inconvenient for Mrs. Osborne to +receive you, and as you came by invitation from her husband, if you +will accept a night's lodging from me, I am enabled to offer it. I am +Mr. Penn's housekeeper, and none of the family are at home."</p> + +<p>Most joyfully was the invitation accepted; my mind was relieved from a +very unpleasant load of apprehension—but the end was not yet! She +began to lead the way over the graves, exactly toward the spot from +whence she had so suddenly and mysteriously appeared; after proceeding +a few steps, I ventured to say—</p> + +<p>"Pray, madam, may I be allowed to inquire where you are leading to? I +can see no egress in that direction, unless it be into an open grave +or under a tomb-stone."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you will find that out presently," replied the lady, transfixing +me with a glance of her bright blue eyes, and I thought I could detect +a rather equivocal expression about the corners of her beautiful +mouth. This was not very encouraging, and not much liked, but she was +<span class="pagenum">83</span> +a woman, and a lovely one, too much so by half to be a Banshee—I was +on my guard, however, and ready, but the fog became so thick it was +impossible to see three steps before us; in fact, it rolled over the +church-yard wall in clouds. The lady linked her arm in mine, to +prevent herself from stumbling, holding up her dress with the other +hand, as the long dank grass was wetting it. At last we arrived in the +very corner of the church-yard, she still keeping a firm hold of my +arm.</p> + +<p>"In Heaven's name, madam, what do you mean by leading me into this +corner?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are afraid, I see; but wait a moment."</p> + +<p>On saying which, I observed her to take something bright from her +girdle, which apprehension converted into a stiletto or dirk, and such +is the force of self-preservation, that I was on the point of tripping +her up and throwing her on her back. But thrusting the supposed dirk +against the wall—presto—open sesame—the wall gave way, and she drew +me through a doorway. This was done so quickly it absolutely seemed +magic. For an instant I thought of dropping her arm—indeed I should +have done so, and retreated back through the door, but she held my arm +tight, and I almost quaked, for I thought she had dragged me into a +secret vault, the manœuvre was performed so adroitly. The drifting +cold fog, however, soon made it plain we were in no vault, but the +open park. In short, it was a door in the wall, flush with the bricks, +and painted so exactly like them, it was impossible for a stranger to +discover it. It was Mr. Penn's private entrance, and saved the family +a walk of some distance. A narrow green walk, not previously remarked, +led from the door to the west end of the church.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper of a nobleman or gentleman of wealth, in England, +generally enjoys an enviable situation. Intrusted with much that is +valuable, she is generally a person of the highest consideration and +respect, and seldom fails to acquire the elevated manners and refined +address of her superiors. The lady in question was exactly one of this +description, well educated, and well read; a magnificent library was +at her command, and having much time, and what is better, fine taste, +she had profited by it. Never was an evening passed in greater +comfort, or with a more agreeable companion. After partaking of that +most exhilarating of all beverages, the pure hyson, we began to chat +with almost the same freedom as though we had been long acquainted. +During a pause in the conversation, after looking in my face a moment, +she said—</p> + +<p>"Will you answer me one question?"</p> + +<p>"Most certainly, any thing, you choose to ask."</p> + +<p>"But will you answer it honestly and truly?"</p> + +<p>"Do not doubt it."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, tell me, were you not most horribly afraid when you saw +me coming toward you in the church-yard?"</p> + +<p>"I do frankly confess, madam, I <i>was horribly</i> afraid, and further, I +firmly believe I should have taken to my heels, had you not been a +very beautiful woman!"</p> + +<p>Before the sentence was well finished her laughter was irrepressible.</p> + +<p>"I <i>knew</i> it, I <i>saw</i> it, I <i>intended</i> it," said she, laughing so +heartily that the tears sprung out of her beautiful eyes, and she was +obliged to use her handkerchief to wipe them away.</p> + +<p>"And do you feel no compunction for scaring a poor fellow half out of +his wits?"</p> + +<p>"None whatever," replied she gayly. "What could you expect when +prowling amongst the graves in a church-yard so lone and solitary, +like a goule, on a damp November night? I saw you from Mr. Osborne's +going toward it, and determined to startle you—and I think I +succeeded pretty effectually."</p> + +<p>"You did, and had very nearly met with your reward, for when in the +corner of that church-yard you pulled the key from your girdle, fully +believing you to be the Evil One, I was on the point of strangling +you."</p> + +<p>Much laughter at my expense ensued, for the lady lacked neither wit +nor humor, and the evening flew faster than desired. On retiring, a +man servant conducted me to an apartment on the upper floor of the +mansion, and sleep soon came and soon went, for an innumerable number +of rats and mice were careering all over the bed! and I felt them +sniffing about my nose and mouth; I sprang bolt upright, striking +right and left like a madman. This sent them pattering all about the +room, and dreading that I might find myself minus a nose or an ear +before morning, I groped all around the room for a bell, but could +find none; proceeding into the corridor and standing on tip-toe, +bell-wires were soon found, and soon set a ringing; watching at the +top of the very long staircase, a light was at last seen ascending, +borne in the hand of a very fat man, who proved to be the butler; he +had nothing on but his shirt, and a huge pair of red plush, which +enveloped his nether bulk. Puffing with the exertion of ascending so +many stairs, he at last saw me, still more lightly clothed than +himself, and inquired what I wanted?</p> + +<p>"Have you got a cat about the house?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, we have no cats, they destroy the young pheasants."</p> + +<p>"A dog, then?"</p> + +<p>"No dog, sir, on account of the deer."</p> + +<p>"Then tell the housekeeper there are ten thousand rats and twenty +thousand mice in the room I occupy!"</p> + +<p>As he descended the stair he was heard mumbling, +"cats!"—"dogs!"—"rats!"—"mice!" and chuckling ready to burst his +fat sides.</p> + +<p>After long waiting, the reflection of light on his red plush smalls +(<i>greats</i> would better describe them) flashed up like a streak of +lightning, and puffing harder than before, told me if I would follow +him down stairs, he had orders to show me to another room.</p> + +<p>Gathering up the articles of my dress over my arm, we descended, and I +was shown into a room of almost regal splendor. The lofty bedstead had +a canopy, terminating in a gilded coronet, and the ample hangings were +of rich Venetian crimson velvet, trimmed and festooned "about, around +<span class="pagenum">84</span> +and underneath." The ascent to this unusually lofty bed was by a +flight of superb steps, covered with rich embossed velvet. Out of the +royal palaces I had never seen such a bed.</p> + +<p>In consequence of having stood so long undressed on the marble floor +at the top of the stairs, shivering with cold, the magnificent bed, on +getting into it, was found comfortable beyond expression. It felt as +if it would never cease yielding under the pressure; it sunk down, +down, down—there appeared no stop to its declension; and then its +delicious warmth—what a luxury to a shivering man! Hugging myself +under the idea of a glorious night's rest, and composing myself in the +easiest possible position, it was more desirable to lay awake in such +full enjoyment, than to sleep—sleep had lost all its charms. I was in +the bed of beds—the celestial!</p> + +<p>After thus laying about twenty minutes, enjoying perfect bliss, a +sensation of some uneasiness began slowly to manifest itself, which +induced a change of position; but the change did not relieve the +uncomfortable feeling. It would be difficult to describe it, but it +increased every moment, until at last it seemed as if the points of a +hundred thousand fine needles were puncturing every pore. This was +borne with great resignation and equanimity for some time, expecting +it would go off; but the stinging sensation increased, and finally +became intolerable; the celestial bed became one of infernal torture. +I tossed, and dashed, and threw about my limbs in all directions, and +almost bellowed like a mad bull.</p> + +<p>What to do to relieve the torment I knew not. To ask for another bed +was out of the question, and to attempt to sleep on thorns—thorns! +they would have been thought a luxury to this of lying enduring the +pains of the doomed. After long endurance of the pain, and in racking +my brains considering what was best to be done, the intolerable +sensations began by degrees to subside and grow less and less; but the +heat, although nearly insupportable, was more easily endured. That +horrible night was a long one—and long will it be before it is +forgotten.</p> + +<p>Coming down in the morning, expecting to find the lady all smiles and +graces, I was surprised and hurt to find she received me rather +coldly, and with averted head; but when she could no longer avoid +turning round, never, in the whole course of my life, was I more +astonished at the change she had undergone. It was a total, a radical +change—she was hardly to be recognized—and it was scarcely possible +to believe she was the lovely woman of the last night. Not that her +splendid figure was altered—in fact, an elegant morning-dress rather +tended to improve and set-off her full and almost voluptuous contour, +and her soft, sweet voice was equally musical; but her face—the +charms of her lovely face were vanished and gone!</p> + +<p>Every one will admit that the nose is a most important, nay, a very +prominent feature in female beauty. It is indispensible that a belle +should have a beautiful nose; in fact, it is a question whether a +woman without an eye would not be preferable to one with—but I +anticipate.</p> + +<p>"I see your surprise, sir," said she, with evident chagrin, "but it is +all owing to you."</p> + +<p>"To <i>me</i>, madam! I presume you allude to the altered appearance of +your face, but I cannot conceive what I can have had to do with the +change."</p> + +<p>In brief, her beautiful nose was all over as red as scarlet, +particularly the point of it, which exactly resembled a large red +cherry, or ripe Siberian crab-apple. Now just think of it—a very fair +woman with a blood-red nose! Faugh! it is enough to sicken the most +devoted admirer of the sex. Suppose any gentleman going to be married, +and full of love and admiration, should, on going to the house of his +beloved bride on the appointed morning, to take her to church, humming +to himself that sweet song, "She Wove a Wreath of Roses," finds her +beautiful nose become a big rosy nosegay—would he not be apt to +suppose she had over night been making pretty free sacrifices, not to +the little god of love, but to jolly Bacchus? I did not do <i>my</i> belle +such an injustice—and yet what could I think?</p> + +<p>"How do you make out that I had any thing to do with such an important +alteration, madam."</p> + +<p>"O, as easy as it is true. Did not your wo-begone terrors in the +church-yard throw me into immoderate fits of laughter, as you well +know? And did not your adventures, after you retired, when reported to +me, throw me all but into convulsions—the more I thought, the more I +laughed, until it brought on a nervous headache so intense, it felt as +if my head would have split? To relieve so distressing a pain, I took +a bottle of eau de cologne to bed with me, and pulling out the +stopper, propped it up by the pillow, right under my nose. I quite +forgot it, and fell asleep with the bottle in that position."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said I, "I suspected <i>the bottle</i> had something to do with it."</p> + +<p>"Quite true, quite true—but not the bottle you wickedly insinuate. +How long I slept I know not, it must have been a long time; when I +awoke, I was surprised to find my shoulder cold and wet—and then I +recollected the bottle of cologne; but what was my horror, on getting +up, to behold my face in this frightful condition, you may easily +imagine."</p> + +<p>Poor, dear lady, if she laughed heartily at the scare she gave me in +the church-yard, I now had my revenge, full and ample—for I could not +refrain from laughing outright every time I looked in her face; and +laughter, when it is hearty and hilarious, is catching, almost as much +as yawning; and I fancy few will dispute how potent, how Mesmeric, or +magnetic the effect of an outstretched arm and wide gaping oscitation +is. I declare, I caught myself gaping the other night on seeing my +wife's white cat stretch herself on the rug, and yawn.</p> + +<p>"I really should feel obliged if you would be polite enough to keep +your eye off my face," said the lady.</p> + +<p>Now it need hardly be remarked, that when any thing is the matter with +a person's face, be it a wall-eye, a squint, a cancer, very bad teeth, +or any such disfigurement or malady, it is impossible to look at any +other spot—it is sure to fix your gaze, you can look at no other +<span class="pagenum">85</span> +part; you cannot keep your eye off it, unless you are more generous, +or better bred than most men.</p> + +<p>"I really should feel obliged if you would be polite enough to keep +your eye off my nose; it puts me out of countenance," said the fair +one. She said this half earnest, half jest; and I obliged her, by +directing my looks to her taper fingers and white hands—and the +conversation proceeded with the breakfast.</p> + +<p>"May I inquire how you rested, after your escape from the ten thousand +rats, and twenty thousand mice, which attacked you before you changed +your room?"</p> + +<p>"Do you ask the question seriously?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I do."</p> + +<p>"Why, then, to use a homely but a very expressive phrase, it was out +of the frying-pan into the fire."</p> + +<p>"Mercy on us! how can that be; you had what is considered the best bed +in the house."</p> + +<p>"O, I dare say—no doubt, the softest I ever lay in; but instead of +ten thousand rats, and twenty thousand mice, I had not been in it +fifteen minutes ere a hundred and twenty thousand hornets, wasps, +scorpions, and centipedes, two or three thousand hedge-hogs, and as +many porcupines, seemed to be full drive at me; and had I not soon +been relieved by perspiration, I should assuredly have gone mad, and +been in bedlam. Nervous headache! Why, madam, it would have been +considered paradise, compared with the purgatory you inflicted on me."</p> + +<p>Her eyes sparkled with glee—and she began to laugh joyously; but soon +checking herself, and assuming a sort of mock sympathy, said,</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry—<i>very</i> sorry, indeed, that you should have found +your bed so like the love of some men, rather hot to hold."</p> + +<p>On inquiring whether the grand coroneted bed, which had been as a hot +gridiron to me, was intended for any particular person, she informed +me it was for a Russian nobleman, Baron Nicholay, a much respected +friend of Mr. Penn's, who sometimes visited Stoke, and who, being used +to a bed of down in the cold climate of his own country, Mr. Penn, +with his characteristic kindness and attention, had it prepared for +the baron's especial comfort. She added that the reason why Mr. Penn +had all his life remained a bachelor, was in consequence of an early +attachment which he had formed for the baron's sister; that they were +to have been married, but in driving the lady in a <i>drouschky</i>, or +sledge, on the ice of the Neva, at St. Petersburg, by some fatality +the ice gave way, and notwithstanding the most strenuous exertions of +her lover, and the servant who stood behind the sled, the lady, by the +force of the current, was swept away under the ice, and never +afterward seen. That this shocking accident had such effect on Mr. +Penn's mind, as well it might, he never could think of any other +woman, but remained true and constant to his first love, mourning her +tragic end all his life."</p> + +<p>This was exactly the case with that most amiable and gifted man, the +late Sir Thomas Lawrence, who being engaged and about to be married to +a daughter of the celebrated Mrs. Siddons, the young lady was suddenly +snatched from him by a rapid consumption; and Sir Thomas remained +faithful to her beloved memory, wearing mourning during his life, and +ever after used black wax in sealing his letters, as the writer can +prove by many, many received from him during a series of years until +his lamented death.</p> + +<p>On asking my intelligent companion if she knew any particulars +respecting Gray, she replied she did know a great deal regarding him; +that Mr. Penn idolized his memory, and had made collections respecting +him and the personages mentioned in the Long Story. At my pressing +solicitation she was good enough to say she would write out all the +particulars—a promise which she faithfully kept; and they may +hereafter appear in some shape.</p> + +<p>The morning proving foggy and damp, the time (instead of going to +church) was passed in the library—a magnificent room, nearly two +hundred feet long, extending the whole length of the building, and +filled with books from floor to ceiling.</p> + +<p>In one of the principal rooms, mounted upon a pedestal, there is a +large piece of the identical tree under the shade of which Mr. Penn's +celebrated ancestor, William, signed his treaty with the Indians, +constituting him Lord Proprietary of what was afterward, and what will +ever be, Pennsylvania. The piece of wood is part of a large limb, +about five feet long. The tree was blown down in 1812, and the portion +in question was transmitted by Dr. Rush to Mr. Penn, who had it +varnished in its original state, and a brass plate affixed to it, with +an inscription.</p> + +<p>The sun broke through the fog about twelve o'clock, and had as +cheering an effect on the landscape, as it almost invariably has on +the mind. In the afternoon, after a most delightful day spent with the +fair housekeeper, it became time to think of returning to London, and +as the distance would be much lessened by proceeding through Mr. +Penn's grounds, and going down to Salt-Hill instead of Slough, the +lady offered to accompany me to the extent of the shrubberies, and +point out the way. These enchanting shrubberies are adorned with busts +of the Roman and English poets, placed on antique terms, along the +well-kept, smooth gravel-walks, which wind about in many a serpentine +direction through the grounds. There are appropriate quotations from +the works of the different bards, placed on the front of each +terminus. The bust of Gray, is placed under an ancient wide-spreading +oak, with this inscription:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch<br /> +A broader, browner shade;<br /> +Where'er the rude moss-grown beech<br /> +O'er canopies the glade,<br /> +With me the muse shall sit and think,<br /> +At ease reclined in rustic state.<br /> +</div> + +<p>There is an elegant small building, inscribed "The Temple of Fancy," +in which a bust of the immortal Shakspeare is the only ornament. It is +on a small knoll, commanding an extensive prospect through the trees, +which are opened like a fan. Windsor Castle terminates this lovely +view. Within the temple there is a long inscription from the Merry +Wives of Windsor, Act 5, sc. 5, beginning thus,</p><span class="pagenum">86</span> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out;<br /> +Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room;<br /> +That it may stand till the perpetual doom,<br /> +In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit,<br /> +Worthy the owner, and the owner it.<br /> +</div> + +<p>The grounds, laid out with so much fine taste, terminate in a lovely +little dell, sheltered on every side. In the centre there is a circle +bordered with box, and growing within it, a collection of all the +known varieties of heath. The plants were then in full flower, and +innumerable honey-bees were feeding and buzzing. To one who, in early +life, had been accustomed to tread the heath-covered hills of +Scotland, the unexpected sight of these blooming plants of the +mountain was a treat; and the effect was heightened on seeing the bust +of Scotia's most admired bard, Thomson, adorning it. The inscription +was from that sublime, almost divine hymn, with which the Seasons +conclude, and eminently well applied to the heath, as some one or +other of the varieties blossom nearly all the year through.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +These, as they change, Almighty Father, these,<br /> +Are but the varied God. The rolling year<br /> +Is full of thee.<br /> +</div> + +<p>In that secluded dell I bade a sorrowful and unwilling adieu to the +lady who had shown such extraordinary politeness. It may be worth the +while to mention that she was soon after married, much against the +wish of Mr. Penn, who had a great aversion to any changes in his +establishment; for a kinder, a better, a more pious, or more +accomplished gentleman than the late John Penn, of Stoke Park, England +could not boast.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>In consequence of the extraordinary prices lately paid for the +autograph copies of Gray's poems, more particularly that of the Elegy, +it has been thought it would be acceptable to the readers of the +Magazine to be presented with a <i>fac simile</i>. The following have +therefore been traced, and engraved with great care and accuracy, from +the first and last stanzas of the Elegy, and the signature from a +letter. These will give an exact idea of the peculiarly neat and +elegant handwriting of the Poet of Stoke.</p> +<br /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus097.png" width="400" height="197" +alt="handwritten poem by Gray" title="" /></div> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +The Curfew tolls the Knell of parting Day,<br /> +The lowing Herd wind slowly o'er the Lea,<br /> +The Plowman homeard plods his weary Way,<br /> +And leaves the World to Darkness & to me.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">No farther seek his merits to disclose,</span><br /> +Or draw his Frailties from their dread Abode,<br /> +(There they alike in trembling Hope repose)<br /> +The Bosom of his Father, & his God.<br /> +</div><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Your humble Serv<sup>t</sup></span><span style="margin-left: 6em;">T. Gray</span> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum">87</span> + + + +<h3><a name="saw" id="saw">THE SAW-MILL.</a></h3> + +<h4>FROM THE GERMAN OF KORNER.</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY WILLIAM C. BRYANT.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +In yonder mill I rested,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sat me down to look</span><br /> +Upon the wheel's quick glimmer.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And on the flowing brook.</span><br /> +<br /> +As in a dream, before me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The saw, with restless play,</span><br /> +Was cleaving through a fir-tree<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its long and steady way.</span><br /> +<br /> +The tree through all its fibres<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With living motion stirred,</span><br /> +And, in a dirge-like murmur,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These solemn words I heard—</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, thou, who wanderest hither,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A timely guest thou art!</span><br /> +For thee this cruel engine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is passing through my heart.</span><br /> +<br /> +When soon, in earth's still bosom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thy hours of rest begin,</span><br /> +This wood shall form the chamber<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whose walls shall close thee in.</span><br /> +<br /> +Four planks—I saw and shuddered—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dropped in that busy mill;</span><br /> +Then, as I tried to answer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At once the wheel was still.</span><br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="effie" id="effie">EFFIE MORRIS.</a></h3> + +<h4>OR LOVE AND PRIDE.</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY ENNA DUVAL.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +So changes mortal Life with fleeting years;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring</span><br /> +The timely insight that can temper fears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And from vicissitude remove its sting;</span><br /> +While Faith aspires to seats in that domain<br /> +Where joys are perfect—neither wax nor wane. <span class="smcap">Wordsworth</span>.<br /> +</div><br /> + +<p>It was a warm, cloudy, sultry summer morning—scarcely a breath of air +stirred the clematis and woodbine blossoms that peeped in and +clustered around the breakfast-room window, greeting us with fresh +fragrance; but on this morning no pleasant air breathed sighingly over +them, and they looked drooping and faded. I was visiting my friend +Effie Morris, who resided in a pleasant country village, some twenty +or thirty miles from my city home. We were both young, and had been +school-girl friends from early childhood. The preceding winter had +been our closing session at school, and we were about entering our +little world as women. Effie was an only daughter of a widowed mother. +Possessing comfortable means, they lived most pleasantly in their +quiet romantic little village. Effie had stayed with me during the +winters of her school-days, while I had always returned the compliment +by spending the summer months at her pleasant home. Her mother was +lovely both in mind and disposition, and though she had suffered much +from affliction, she still retained youthful and sympathizing +feelings. Effie was gentle and beautiful, and the most innocent, +unsophisticated little enthusiast that ever breathed. She had arrived +at the age of seventeen, and to my certain knowledge had never felt +the first heart-throb; never had been in love. In vain had we attended +the dancing-school balls, and little parties. A host of boy-lovers +surrounded the little set to which we belonged, and yet Effie remained +entirely heart-whole. She never flirted, never sentimentalized with +gentlemen, and she was called cold and matter-of-fact, by those who +judged her alone by her manner; but one glance in her soft, dove-like +eyes, it seems to me, should have set them a doubting. I have seen +those expressive eyes well up with tears when together we would read +some old story or poem—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +"Two shall be named pre-eminently dear—<br /> +The gentle Lady married to the Moor,<br /> +And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb"—<br /> +</div> + +<p>or leaning from our bed-room window, at midnight, we would gaze on the +silvery moon in the heavens, listening to the rippling notes of the +water-spirits that to our fancy inhabited the sparkling stream that +ran near the house. How beautifully would she improvise at times—for +improvisations in truth were they, while she was quite unconscious of +her gift. She never wrote a line of poetry, but when in such moods, +every word she uttered was true, pure poetry. She had a most +remarkable memory, and seemed never to forget a line she read. To me +she would repeat page after page of our favorite authors, when we +would be wandering through the woods, our arms entwined around each +other.</p> + +<p>Effie Morris was an enthusiastic dreamer, and entertained certain +little romantic exaggerated opinions, out of which it was impossible +to argue her—sometimes her actions ran contrary to these opinions, +and we would fancy that surely now she would admit the fallacy of her +arguments in favor of them; but when taxed with it, she would in the +most earnest, sincere manner defend her original position, proving to +us that no matter how her actions appeared to others, they were in her +own mind entirely in keeping with these first expressed opinions, +which to us seemed entirely at variance. But she was so gentle in +argument, and proved so plainly that though her reasoning might be +false, her thoughts were so beautiful and pure, as to make us feel +perfectly willing to pardon her obstinacy.</p> + +<p>On the morning I speak of, we lounged languidly over the +breakfast-table, not caring to taste of the tempting crisp rolls, or +drink of the fragrant Mocha juice, the delicious fumes of which rose +up from the delicate China cups all unheeded by us. At first we talked +listlessly of various things, wandering from subject to subject, and +at last, to our surprise, we found ourselves engaged in a sprightly, +animated argument; each forgetting the close atmosphere that seemed at +first to weigh down all vivacity. The subject of this argument was the +possibility of pride overcoming love in a woman's heart. Mrs. Morris +and I contended that love weakened or quite died out if the object +proved unworthy or indifferent. Our romantic Effie of course took the +opposite side. True love to her mind was unalterable. Falsehood, +deceit, change—no matter what sorrow, she said, might afflict the +pure loving heart—its love would still remain. "I cannot," she +exclaimed enthusiastically, "imagine for an instant that true, genuine +love should—could have any affinity with pride. When I see a woman +giving evidence of what is called high spirit in love matters, I +straightway lose all sympathy for her heart-troubles. I say to +myself—she has never truly loved."</p> + +<p>We argued, but in vain; at length her mother laughingly cried +<span class="pagenum">88</span> +out—"Nonsense, Effie, no one would sooner resent neglect from a +lover than yourself. True love, as you call it, would never make such +a spiritless, meek creature out of the material of which you are +composed."</p> + +<p>"Yes, in truth," I added, as I saw our pretty enthusiast, half vexed, +shake her head obstinately at her mother's prophecy—"I can see those +soft eyes of yours, Effie, darling, flash most eloquent fire, should +your true love meet with unworthiness."</p> + +<p>During our conversation the clouds had broken, the wind changed, and a +delicious breeze came sweeping in at the windows as if to cool our +cheeks, flushed with the playful argument.</p> + +<p>"Will you ride or walk this morning, girls?" asked Mrs. Morris, as we +arose from the breakfast-table.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let us take our books, guitar and work up the mill-stream to the +old oak, dear mamma," exclaimed Effie, "and spend an hour or two +there."</p> + +<p>"But it will be mid-day when we return," replied her mother.</p> + +<p>"That's true," said Effie, laughing, "but Leven can drive up to the +old broken bridge for us at mid-day."</p> + +<p>"To be sure he can," said Mrs. Morris, and accordingly we sallied +forth, laden with books and netting, while a servant trudged on ahead, +with camp-stools and guitar. Nothing eventful occurred on that +particular morning, and yet though years have passed since then, I +never recall the undulating scenery of the narrow, dark, winding +mill-stream of Stamford, but it presents itself to my mind's eye as it +looked on that morning. In my waking or sleeping dreams, I see the old +oak at the morning hours, and whenever the happy moments I have spent +at Effie Morris' country home come to my memory, this morning is +always the brightest, most vivid picture presented before me by my +fancy. As Hans Christian Andersen says with such poetic eloquence in +his Improvisatore—"It was one of those moments which occur but once +in a person's life, which, without signalizing itself by any great +life-adventure, yet stamps itself in its whole coloring upon the +Psyche wings."</p> + +<p>We walked slowly along the narrow bank—tall trees towered around us, +whose waving branches, together with the floating clouds, were +mirrored with exquisite distinctness on the bosom of the dark, deep, +narrow stream—near at shore lay the dreaming, luxurious water-lilies, +and a thousand beautiful blossoms bent over the bank, and kissed +playfully the passing waters, or coquetted with the inconstant breeze. +Our favorite resting-place was about a mile's walk up the beautiful +stream, and to reach it we had to cross to the opposite shore, over a +rude, half-ruined bridge, which added to the picturesque beauty of the +scenery. The oak was a century old tree, and stood upon rising ground +a short distance from the shore. How calmly and happily passed that +morning. Effie sang wild ballads for us, and her rich full notes were +echoed from the distance by the spirit voices of the hills. We wove +garlands of water-lilies and wild flowers, and when I said we were +making Ophelias of ourselves, Effie, with shy earnestness most +bewitching, unloosened her beautiful hair, twining the long locks, and +banding her temples with the water-lily garlands and long grass—then +wrapping an India muslin mantle around her shoulders, she gathered up +the ends on her arms, filling them with sprigs of wild blossoms, and +acted poor Ophelia's mad scene most touchingly. Tears gathered in our +eyes as she concluded the wild, wailing melody</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +"And will he not come again,<br /> +And will he not come again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">No, no, he is dead,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Go to thy death-bed,</span><br /> +He never will come again.<br /> +<br /> +"His beard was as white as snow,<br /> +All flaxen was his poll—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">He is gone, he is gone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And we cast away moan—</span><br /> +God a mercy on his soul."<br /> +</div> + +<p>There was a deep, touching pathos in her voice as she uttered the +minor notes of this song, and her soft eyes beamed half vacantly, half +reverently, as looking up to heaven she uttered in low breathing +tones—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +"And of all Christian souls! I pray God!"<br /> +</div> + +<p>Then suddenly arousing herself, she looked toward us and murmured, as +she turned away with a sad, tearful smile, "God be wi' you." The +illusion was perfect, and we both sobbed outright.</p> + +<p>Effie Morris was one of the few true geniuses I have known in my life +time; and when I have said this to those who only met with her in +society, they have laughed and wondered what genius there could be in +my cold, quiet friend.</p> + +<p>The following winter Effie entered society. Her mother had many gay +and fashionable friends in the principal northern cities, and during +the winter season her letters to me were dated at one time from +Washington, then again from some other gay city; and in this free from +care pleasant manner did her days pass. Household duties kept me, +though a young girl, close at home. Possibly if Effie had been thrown +into the active domestic sphere which was my mission, her history +might have been different. She certainly would have been less of a +dreamer. Exquisite waking dreams, woven of the shining fairy threads +of fancy, meet with but poor encouragement in every-day life, and take +flight sometimes never to return, when one is rudely awakened from +them in order to attend to "the baked and the broiled." I remember, +when a girl, feeling at times a little restive under the duties +unavoidably imposed upon me, and often would indulge in a morbid +sentimental humor, dreaming over some "rare old poet" or blessed +romance, to the exceeding great detriment of my household affairs, +making my poor father sigh over a tough, badly cooked stake, and +cheerless, dusty house; but these moods, to my credit be it told, were +of rare occurrence; and I say now the best school for a dreaming, +enthusiastic girl, who sighs for the realization of her fancy visions, +is to place her in charge of some active duty—to make her feel it is +exacted from her—that she must see it performed. I mean not that a +<span class="pagenum">89</span> +delicate intellectual spirit should be borne to the earth disheartened +with care and hard labor—but a share of domestic cares, domestic +duties, is both wholesome and necessary for a woman. Cultivate if +possible in a girl a taste for reading and study first, then she will +soon find time for intellectual pursuits, which, from being in a +measure denied to her, will become dearer. In her attempts to secure +moments for the indulgence of her mental desires she will +unconsciously learn order, management and economy of time and labor, +thus will her mind be strengthened. But I am digressing, dear reader. +I am sadly talkative on this subject, and sometimes fancy I could +educate a girl most famously; and when "thinking aloud" of the perfect +woman my theory would certainly complete, I am often pitched rudely +from my self-satisfied position, by some married friend saying, in a +half vexed, impatient tone—"Ah, yes, this is all very fine in +theory—no doubt you would be successful—we all know the homely +adage—'old bachelors' wives and old maids' children,' &c."</p> + +<p>Effie was not what is called a belle in society. She was too cold and +spiritual. Her beauty was too delicate to make an impression in the +gay ball-room; and she cared little for what both men and women in the +world pine after—popularity. She danced and talked only with those +who pleased her, and sometimes not at all if it did not suit her +fancy. There was a great contrast between her mother and herself. Mrs. +Morris, though "forty rising," was still a fine-looking, <i>distingué</i> +woman; and on her re-entrance into society with her daughter, she +produced a greater impression than did Effie. She had a merry, joyous +disposition, and without possessing half the mental superiority her +daughter was gifted with, she had a light, easy conversational +ability, playful repartee, an elegant style and manner, and a +sufficient knowledge of accomplishments to produce an effect in the +gay world, and make her the centre of attraction of every circle she +entered; and the world wondered so brilliant a mother should have so +indifferent a daughter. She doted on Effie; and, I am sure, loved her +all the more for her calm, quiet way. She often said to me, "Effie is +very superior to the women one meets with—she has a pure, elevated +spirit. So delicate a nature as hers is not properly appreciated in +this world."</p> + +<p>One summer there came a wooing of Effie a most excellent gentleman. He +had met with her the preceding winter in some gay circle, and had +discernment enough to discover the merits of our jewel. How anxiously +Mrs. Morris and I watched the wooing—for we were both anxious for Mr. +Grayson's success. He was in every way worthy of her—high-minded, +honorable, and well to do in the world—some years her senior, but +handsome and elegant in appearance. He must have had doubts of his +success, for he let the live-long summer pass ere he ventured on his +love speech. We were a pleasant party—Mrs. Morris, Effie, myself, Mr. +Grayson, and Lucien Decker, a cousin of Mrs. Morris—a college youth, +who only recently had become one of the family. Lucien Decker's family +lived in a distant state, and only until he came to a northern college +to finish his studies had he known his pleasant relatives. He was a +bright, interesting, graceful youth, and wondrous clever, we thought. +We would spend morning after morning wandering up the mill-stream, +resting under the old oak, where Mr. Grayson would discourse most +pleasantly, or read aloud to us; and sometimes, after Effie and I had +chanted simple melodies, we would prevail on Lucien to recite some of +his own poetry, at which he was, indeed, most clever—he recited well, +and wrote very delicately and beautifully. At last Mr. Grayson +ventured on a proposal; but, to our sorrow, he met with a calm, gentle +refusal; and to relieve his disappointment, he sailed in the fall for +Europe.</p> + +<p>Not long after his departure, to our surprise, Effie and Lucien +announced themselves as lovers. No objection, surely, could be made; +but such a thing had never entered our minds. Though of the same age +with Effie and myself, he had always seemed as a boy in comparison to +us, and I had always treated him with the playful familiarity of a +youth. He was more intelligent and interesting than young men of his +age generally are; indeed he gave promise of talent—and he was +likewise good-looking; but, in truth, when we compared him with the +elegant and finished Mr. Grayson, we felt a wee bit out of patience; +and if we did not give utterance aloud to our thoughts, I shrewdly +suspect if those thoughts had formed themselves into words, those +words would have sounded very much like, "Nonsensical sentimentality!" +"strange infatuation!" but nothing could be said with propriety, and +the engagement was fully entered into. Some time had necessarily to +elapse before its fulfillment, however, for the lover was but twenty; +but it was well understood, that when he had finished his studies, and +was settled in his profession, he was to wed our darling Effie. After +the acceptance of his suit, Lucien seemed perfectly happy, and, I must +confess, made himself particularly interesting. He walked and read +with us, and wrote such beautiful poetry in honor of Effie's charms, +that we were at last quite propitiated. He was, indeed, an ardent +lover; and his enthusiastic, earnest wooing, was very different from +Mr. Grayson's calm, dignified manner. He caused our quiet Effie a deal +of entertainment, however; for when he was an acknowledged lover, like +all such ardent dispositions, he showed himself to be an exacting one. +Her calm, cold manner would set him frantic at times; and he would vow +she could not love him; but these lovers' quarrels instead of wearying +Effie, seemed to produce a contrary effect.</p> + +<p>They had been engaged a year or so, when one summer a belle of the +first water made her appearance in the village-circle of Stamford. +Kate Barclay was her name. She was a Southerner, and a reputed +heiress. She had come rusticating, she said; and shrugging her pretty +shoulders, she would declare in a bewitching, languid tone, "truly a +face and figure needed rest after a brilliant winter campaign." Old +Mrs. Barclay, a dear, nice old lady in the village, was her aunt; and +as we were the only young ladies of a companionable age, Kate was, of +<span class="pagenum">90</span> +course, a great deal with us. She was, indeed, a delicious looking +creature. She had large, melting dark eyes, and rich curling masses of +hair, that fell in clusters over her neck and shoulders, giving her a +most romantic appearance. She understood fully all the little arts and +wiles of a belle; and she succeeded in securing admiration. +Superficial she was, but showy; and could put on at will all moods, +from the proud and dignified, to the bewitching and childlike. We had +no gentlemen visiters with us when she first came, not even Lucien; +for some engagement had taken him from Effie for a week or two, and +our pretty southern damsel almost expired with <i>ennui</i>. When we first +met with her, she talked so beautifully of the delights of a quiet +country life, seemed so enchanted with every thing and every body, and +so eloquent in praise of rambles in the forest, sunsets, moonlights, +rushing streamlets, &c., &c., that we decided she was an angel +forthwith. But one or two ramblings quite finished her—for she +complained terribly of dust, sun, and fatigue; moreover, we quite +neglected to notice or admire her picturesque rambling dress, which +inadvertency provoked her into telling us that the gentlemen at +Ballston, or some other fashionable watering-place, had declared she +looked in it quite like Robin Hood's maid Marian. The gorgeous summer +sunsets and clear moonlight nights, soon wearied her—for we were too +much occupied with the beauties of nature to notice her fine +attitudes, or beautiful eyes cast up imploringly to heaven, while she +recited, in a half theatrical manner, passages of poetry descriptive +of her imaginary feelings. I suspected she was meditating a flitting, +when one day Lucien, and two of his student friends, made their +appearance amongst us. How quickly her mood changed; the listless, +yawning, dissatisfied manner disappeared, and we heard her the first +night of their arrival delighting them, as she had us, with her +fascinating ecstasies over rural enjoyments. She sentimentalized, +flirted, romped, laughed, dressed in a picturesque manner, and "was +every thing by turns, but nothing long," evidently bent upon bringing +to her feet the three gentlemen. Lucien's friends soon struck their +flags, and were her humble cavaliers—but a right tyrannical mistress +she proved to them, making them scowl, and say sharp things to each +other in a most ferocious manner, very amusing to us; but Lucien was +impregnable. She played off all her arts in vain, he seemed +unconscious, and devoted himself entirely to Effie. At first she was +so occupied with securing the two other prizes she overlooked his +delinquency, but when certain of them, she was piqued into +accomplishing a conquest of him likewise. I did not think she would be +successful, and amused myself by quietly watching her manœuvres.</p> + +<p>One bright moonlight evening the gentlemen rowed us up the +mill-stream, and as we returned we landed at our favorite oak. The +waters, swelled by recent rains, came dashing and tumbling along in +mimic billows; the moon beamed down a heavenly radiance, and as the +little wavelets broke against the shore, they glittered like molten +silver, covering the wild blossoms with dazzling fairy gems. Kate's +two lovers were talking and walking with Mrs. Morris and Effie along +the shore. Lucien, Kate, and I, remained on a little bank that rose +abruptly from the water. She did, indeed, look most bewitchingly +beautiful; her soft, white dress, bound at the waist by a flowing +ribbon, floated in graceful folds around her; her lovely neck, +shoulders and arms, were quite uncovered, and her rich, dark hair fell +in loose, long curls, making picturesque shadows in the moonlight. She +could act the inspired enthusiast to perfection; and what our Effie +really was, she could affect most admirably. She seemed unconscious of +our presence; indeed, I do not think she thought I was near her, and, +as if involuntarily, she burst out into one of her affected +rhapsodies, her eyes beamed brightly, and she expressed her feelings +most rapturously, concluding with repeating, in low, earnest, half +trembling tones, some lines of Lucien's she had taken from my Scrap +Book, descriptive of the very scene before her, written the preceding +summer for Effie, after a moonlight ramble together. The poetry was +quite impassioned; and I heard Kate murmur with a sigh, as she turned +away after concluding her quotation, as if sick at heart, "Ah! I would +give years of brilliant success for one hour of devotion from such a +lover."</p> + +<p>No one heard her but Lucien and myself—and I was one listener more +than she would have desired; for Lucien's ear alone was the +ejaculation intended, the good for nothing little flirt. It produced +the intended effect, for I saw Lucien watching her with admiring +interest. She noted the impression, and cunningly kept it up. There +was such a contrast between Effie and Kate, rather to Effie's +disadvantage, I had to confess, and Kate's affected expressions of +intense feeling, rather served to heighten Effie's natural coldness of +manner. Why waste words—the conclusion is already divined. The +coquette succeeded—and ere a week had passed Lucien was her +infatuated, devoted admirer; Effie was quite forgotten. Lucien's two +friends, wretched, and completely maddened by the cool, contemptuous +rejections they received from Kate, left Stamford, vowing eternal +hatred for womankind, and uttering deep, dire denunciations against +all coquettes, leaving the field open to Lucien, who seemed to have +perfectly lost all sense of propriety in his infatuation. Effie looked +on as calmly and quietly as though she were not particularly +interested. I fancied, for the credit of romance and sentiment, that +her cheek was paler; and I thought I could detect at times a trembling +of her delicate lips—but she said not a word. Mrs. Morris and I +displayed much more feeling; but what could we do—and half amused, +half vexed, we watched the conduct of the naughty little flirt. +Suddenly Kate received a summons home—and right glad I was to hear of +it. She announced it to us one evening, saying she expected her father +the next day. The following afternoon she came over to our cottage, +accompanied with two middle-aged gentlemen. The elder of the two was +Mr. Barclay, her father, who had known Mrs. Morris in early life; the +<span class="pagenum">91</span> +other she introduced as Col. Paulding, a friend. Col. Paulding's +manner struck us with surprise. He called her "Kate;" and though +dignified, was affectionate. She seemed painfully embarrassed, and +anxious to terminate the visit. She answered our questions hurriedly, +and appeared ill at ease. Lucien was not present, fortunately for her; +and I fancied she watched the door, as if anxiously fearing his +entrance; certain it was she started nervously at every distant sound.</p> + +<p>"Will you revisit Stamford next summer, Miss Barclay?" I asked.</p> + +<p>Kate replied that she was uncertain at present.</p> + +<p>"I suppose Kate has not told you," said her father, laughingly, "that +long before another summer she will cease to be mistress of her own +movements. She expects to be in Germany next summer, I believe, with +her husband," and he looked significantly at Col. Paulding, who was +standing out on the lawn with Mrs. Morris, admiring the beautiful +view, quite out of hearing distance. Effie was just stepping from the +French window of the drawing-room into the conservatory to gather some +of her pretty flowers for her visiters, as she heard Mr. Barclay say +this. She turned with a stern, cold look, and regarded Kate Barclay +quietly. Kate colored crimson, then grew deadly white, and trembled +from head to foot; but her father did not notice it, as he had +followed Col. Paulding and Mrs. Morris out on the lawn. There we three +stood, Effie, cold and pale as a statue, and Kate looking quite like a +criminal. She looked up, attempting to make some laughing remark, but +the words died in her throat as she met Effie's stern, cold glance; +she gasped, trembled, then rallied, and at last, with a proud look of +defiance, she swept out on the lawn, and taking Col. Paulding's arm, +proposed departure. She bade us good-bye most gracefully; but I saw +that she avoided offering her hand to Effie. As the gate closed, she +looked over her shoulder indifferently, and said, in a saucy, laughing +tone,</p> + +<p>"Oh, pray make my adieux to Mr. Decker. I regret that I shall not see +him to bid him good-bye. I depend upon the charity of you ladies to +keep me fresh in his remembrance;" and, as far as we could see her +down the road, we heard her forced laugh and unnaturally loud voice.</p> + +<p>Lucien came in a few minutes after they left, and Mrs. Morris +delivered Kate's message. He looked agitated, and after swallowing his +cup of tea hastily and quietly, he took up his hat and went out. He +went to see Kate, but she, anticipating his visit, had retired with a +violent headache immediately after her walk; but Lucien staid long +enough to discover, as we had, Col. Paulding's relation to the +fascinating coquette. This we learned long afterward. The next day +Lucien left Stamford without saying more than cold words of good-bye. +He did not go with Kate's party, we felt certain; and many weeks +passed without hearing from him. Effie never made a remark; and our +days passed quietly as they had before the appearance of Kate Barclay +in our quiet little village. It was not long, however, before we saw +in the newspapers, and read without comment, the marriage of Kate +Barclay with Col. Paulding.</p> + +<p>"See this," said Mrs. Morris to me one morning as I entered the +drawing-room, and she handed me a letter. We were alone, Effie was +attending to her plants in the conservatory. I took the letter and +read it. It was a wild, impassioned one from Lucien. Two months had +elapsed since his silent departure, and this first letter was written +to Mrs. Morris. It was filled with self-reproaches, and earnest +entreaties for her intercession and mine with Effie. He cursed his +infatuation, and the cause of it, and closed with the declaration that +he would be reckless of life if Effie remained unforgiving. As I +finished reading the letter I heard Effie's voice warbling in wild and +plaintive notes in the conservatory,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +"How should I your true love know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">From another one,</span><br /> +By his cockle hat and staff,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And his sandal shoon?"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>And the scene at the opening of this story rose before my +remembrance—the playful argument—the declaration made by +her that true, pure love could not have any affinity with +pride—and I was lost in reverie.</p> + +<p>"What would you do, Enna?" inquired Mrs. Morris.</p> + +<p>"Give the letter to Effie without remark," I replied. "We cannot +intercede for him—he does not deserve to be forgiven."</p> + +<p>The letter was given to Effie, who read it quietly; and if she evinced +emotion, it was not before us. She said she was sorry for Lucien, for +she had discovered a change in her own feelings. She did not love him +as she fancied she had, and she could not in justice to herself +fulfill their engagement—it was impossible. She wrote this to +him, and all his wild letters were laid calmly and quietly aside. Can +this be pride? I said to myself. But she seemed as though she +suspected my thoughts, for the night before I returned to my city +home, as we were leaning against the window-frame of our bed-room, +listening the last time for that season to the tumbling, dashing +water-music, she said,</p> + +<p>"Enna, dear, it was not spirit and pride that made me act so unkindly +to Lucien—indeed, it was not. But I mistook my feelings for him +from the first. I fancied I loved him dearly, when I only loved him as +a sister. Believe me, if that love had existed once for him, his +foolish infatuation for Kate Barclay would not have been regarded by +me one moment."</p> + +<p>Two or three years passed, and Effie still remained unwedded, when, to +our delight, Mr. Grayson, who had returned from Europe, again +addressed her. She accepted him; and I was, indeed, happy when I +officiated as bridesmaid for her. One year after that joyous wedding +we stood over her bier, weeping bitter, bitter tears. We laid her in +the grave—and the heart-broken mother soon rested beside her. +Among her papers was a letter directed to me; it was written in +<span class="pagenum">92</span> +expectation of death, although we did not any of us anticipate such a +calamity.</p> + +<p>"I am not long for this world, dear Enna," she wrote, "I feel I am +dying daily; and yet, young as I am, it grieves me not, except when I +think of the sorrow my death will occasion to others. When you read +this I shall be enveloped in the heavy grave-clothes; but then I shall +be at rest. Oh! how my aching, weary spirit pines for rest. Do not +fancy that sorrow or disappointment has brought me to this. I fancied +I loved Lucien Decker fondly, devotedly; and how happy was I when +under the influence of that fancy. That fatal summer, at the time of +his infatuation for that heartless girl, insensibly a chilling +hardness crept over my feelings. I struggled against my awakening; and +if Lucien had displayed any emotion before his departure, I might +still have kept up the happy delusion. But in vain, it disappeared, +and with it all the beauty of life, which increased in weariness from +that moment. I sought for some object of interest—I married; +but, though my husband has been devoted and kind, I weary of +existence. Life has no interest for me. I hail the approach of death. +Farewell."</p> + +<p>I read these sad lines with eyes blinded with tears; and I could not +help thinking how Effie had deceived herself; unconsciously she had +become a victim of the very pride she had condemned.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="early" id="early">EARLY ENGLISH POETS.</a></h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY ELIZABETH J. EAMES.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<h4>I.—CHAUCER.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Yea! lovely are the hues still floating o'er<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thy rural visions, bard of olden time,</span><br /> +The form of purest Poesy flits before<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My mental gaze, while bending o'er thy rhyme.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No lofty flight, bold, brilliant and sublime—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But tender beauty, and endearing grace,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And touching pathos in these lines I trace,</span><br /> +Oh! gentle poet of the northern clime.<br /> +And oft when dazzled by the gorgeous glow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And gilded luxury of modern rhymes,</span><br /> +Grateful I turn to the clear, quiet flow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of thy sweet thoughts, which fall like pleasant chimes</span><br /> +From the "pure wells of English undefiled."<br /> +Thou wert inspired, thou, Poetry's true child.<br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + +<h4>II.—SPENCER.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"> +What forms of grace and glory glided through<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The royal palace of thy lofty mind!</span><br /> +Rare shapes of beauty thy sweet fancy drew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the brave knights, and peerless dames enshrined</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within thy magic book, The Faerie Queene,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bright Gloriana robed in dazzling sheen—</span><br /> +Hapless Irene—angelic Una—and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The noble Arthur all before me pass,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As summoned by the enchanter rod and glass.</span><br /> +And glorious still thy pure creations stand,<br /> +Leaving their golden footprints on the sand<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Time indelible! All thanks to thee,</span><br /> +Oh! beauty-breathing bard of Poesy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That thou hast charmed a weary hour for me.</span><br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + +<h4>III.—SHAKSPEARE.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Oh! minstrel monarch! the most glorious throne<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Intellect thy Genius doth inherit.</span><br /> +Compeer, or perfect rival thou hast none—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O Soul of Song!—O mind of royal merit.</span><br /> +Is not this high, imperishable fame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The tribute of a grateful world to thee?</span><br /> +A recognizing glory in thy name<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From a great nation to thy memory.</span><br /> +Lord of Dramatic Art—the splendid scenes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of thy rich fancy are around us still;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All shapes of Thought to make the bosom thrill</span><br /> +Are thine supreme! Many long years have sped,<br /> +And dimmed in dust the crowned and laureled head,<br /> +But thou—<i>thou</i> speakest still, though numbered with the dead.<br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="portrait" id="portrait">THE PORTRAIT.</a></h3> + +<h4>[WITH AN ENGRAVING.]</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY ROBT. T. CONRAD.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +And he hath spoken! Knew I not he would?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though flitting fears, like clouds o'er lakes, would cast</span><br /> +Shadows o'er true love's trust. The tear-drop stood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In his dark eye; he trembled. But 't is past,</span><br /> +And I am his, he mine. Why trembled he?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This fond heart knew he not; and that his eye</span><br /> +Governed its tides, as doth the moon the sea;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And that with him, for him, 't were bliss to die?</span><br /> +Yet said I naught. Shame on me, that my cheek<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And eye my hoarded secret should betray!</span><br /> +Why wept I? And why was I sudden weak,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So weak his manly arm was stretched to stay?</span><br /> +How like a suppliant God he looked! His sweet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Low voice, heart-shaken, spoke—and all was known;</span><br /> +Yet, from the first, I felt our souls must meet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like stars that rush together and shine on.</span><br /> +</div><br /><br /><br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;"> +<img src="images/illus114.png" width="387" height="600" +alt="The Bridal Morning" title="" /></div> + +<h4>THE BRIDAL MORNING</h4> + +<h5>J. Hayter <span style="margin-left: 10em;">A. B. Ross</span></h5> + +<h5>Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine</h5> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="islets" id="islets">THE ISLETS OF THE GULF.</a></h3> + +<h4>OR, ROSE BUDD.</h4> +<span class="pagenum">93</span> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot2"> +Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool<br /> +I; when I was at home I was in a better place; but<br /> +Travelers must be content. <span class="smcap">As You Like It.</span><br /> +</div><br /> + + +<h6>BY THE AUTHOR Of "PILOT," "RED ROVER," "TWO ADMIRALS," "WING-AND-WING," "MILES WALLINGFORD," ETC.</h6> + +<h6>[Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by J. Fenimore Cooper, in the Clerk's Office of the<br /> +District Court of the United States, for the Northern District of New York.]</h6> + +<h6><i>(Continued from page 48.)</i></h6> + + + +<h4>PART XV.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Man hath a weary pilgrimage<br /> +As through the world he wends;<br /> +On every stage, from youth to age,<br /> +Still discontent attends;<br /> +With heaviness he casts his eye<br /> +Upon the road before,<br /> +And still remembers with a sigh<br /> +The days that are no more. <span class="smcap">Southey</span>.<br /> +</div><br /> + + +<p>It has now become necessary to advance the time three entire days, and +to change the scene to Key West. As this latter place may not be known +to the world at large, it may be well to explain that it is a small +seaport, situate on one of the largest of the many low islands that +dot the Florida Reef, that has risen into notice, or indeed into +existence as a town, since the acquisition of the Floridas by the +American Republic. For many years it was the resort of few besides +wreckers, and those who live by the business dependent on the rescuing +and repairing of stranded vessels, not forgetting the salvages. When +it is remembered that the greater portion of the vessels that enter +the Gulf of Mexico stand close along this reef, before the trades, for +a distance varying from one to two hundred miles, and that nearly +every thing which quits it, is obliged to beat down its rocky coast in +the Gulf Stream for the same distance, one is not to be surprised that +the wrecks, which so constantly occur, can supply the wants of a +considerable population. To live at Key West is the next thing to +being at sea. The place has sea air, no other water than such as is +preserved in cisterns, and no soil, or so little as to render even a +head of lettuce a rarity. Turtle is abundant, and the business of +"turtling" forms an occupation additional to that of wrecking. As +might be expected in such circumstances, a potato is a far more +precious thing than a turtle's egg, and a sack of the tubers would +probably be deemed a sufficient remuneration for enough of the +materials of callipash and callipee to feed all the aldermen extant.</p> + +<p>Of late years, the government of the United States has turned its +attention to the capabilities of the Florida Reef, as an advanced +naval station; a sort of Downs, or St. Helen's Roads, for the West +Indian seas. As yet little has been done beyond making the preliminary +surveys, but the day is not probably very distant when fleets will +lie at anchor among the islets described in our earlier chapters, or +garnish the fine waters of Key West. For a long time it was thought +that even frigates would have a difficulty in entering and quitting +the port of the latter, but it is said that recent explorations have +discovered channels capable of admitting any thing that floats. Still +Key West is a town yet in its chrysalis state, possessing the promise +rather than the fruition of the prosperous days which are in reserve. +It may be well to add, that it lies a very little north of the 24th +degree of latitude, and in a longitude quite five degrees west from +Washington. Until the recent conquests in Mexico it was the most +southern possession of the American government, on the eastern side of +the continent; Cape St. Lucas, at the extremity of Lower California, +however, being two degrees farther south.</p> + +<p>It will give the foreign reader a more accurate notion of the +character of Key West, if we mention a fact of quite recent +occurrence. A very few weeks after the closing scenes of this tale, +the town in question was, in a great measure, washed away! A hurricane +brought in the sea upon all these islands and reefs, water running in +swift currents over places that within the memory of man were never +before submerged. The lower part of Key West was converted into a +raging sea, and every thing in that quarter of the place disappeared. +The foundation being of rock, however, when the ocean retired the +island came into view again, and industry and enterprise set to work +to repair the injuries.</p> + +<p>The government has established a small hospital for seamen at Key +West. Into one of the rooms of the building thus appropriated our +narrative must now conduct the reader. It contained but a single +patient, and that was Spike. He was on his narrow bed, which was to be +but the precursor of a still narrower tenement, the grave. In the room +with the dying man were two females, in one of whom our readers will +at once recognize the person of Rose Budd, dressed in deep mourning +for her aunt. At first sight, it is probable that a casual spectator +would mistake the second female for one of the ordinary nurses of the +place. Her attire was well enough, though worn awkwardly, and as if +<span class="pagenum">94</span> +its owner were not exactly at ease in it. She had the air of one in +her best attire, who was unaccustomed to be dressed above the most +common mode. What added to the singularity of her appearance, was the +fact, that while she wore no cap, her hair had been cut into short, +gray bristles, instead of being long, and turned up, as is usual with +females. To give a sort of climax to this uncouth appearance, this +strange-looking creature chewed tobacco.</p> + +<p>The woman in question, equivocal as might be her exterior, was +employed in one of the commonest avocations of her sex—that of +sewing. She held in her hand a coarse garment, one of Spike's, in +fact, which she seemed to be intently busy in mending; although the +work was of a quality that invited the use of the palm and +sail-needle, rather than that of the thimble and the smaller implement +known to seamstresses, the woman appeared awkward in her business, as +if her coarse-looking and dark hands refused to lend themselves to an +occupation so feminine. Nevertheless, there were touches of a purely +womanly character about this extraordinary person, and touches that +particularly attracted the attention, and awakened the sympathy of the +gentle Rose, her companion. Tears occasionally struggled out from +beneath her eyelids, crossed her dark, sun-burnt cheek, and fell on +the coarse canvas garment that lay in her lap. It was after one of +these sudden and strong exhibitions of feeling that Rose approached +her, laid her own little, fair hand, in a friendly way, though +unheeded, on the other's shoulder, and spoke to her in her kindest and +softest tones.</p> + +<p>"I do really think he is reviving, Jack," said Rose, "and that you may +yet hope to have an intelligent conversation with him."</p> + +<p>"They all agree he <i>must</i> die," answered Jack Tier—for it was +<i>he</i>, appearing in the garb of his proper sex, after a disguise that +had now lasted fully twenty years—"and he will never know who I +am, and that I forgive him. He must think of me in another world, +though he isn't able to do it in this; but it would be a great relief +to his soul to know that I forgive him."</p> + +<p>"To be sure, a man must like to take a kind leave of his own wife +before he closes his eyes forever; and I dare say it would be a great +relief to you to tell him that you have forgotten his desertion of +you, and all the hardships it has brought upon you in searching for +him, and in earning your own livelihood as a common sailor."</p> + +<p>"I shall not tell him I've <i>forgotten</i> it, Miss Rose; that would be +untrue—and there shall be no more deception between us; but I +shall tell him that I <i>forgive</i> him, as I hope God will one day +forgive me all <i>my</i> sins."</p> + +<p>"It is, certainly, not a light offence to desert a wife in a foreign +land, and then to seek to deceive another woman," quietly observed +Rose.</p> + +<p>"He's a willian!" muttered the wife—"but—but—"</p> + +<p>"You forgive him, Jack—yes, I'm sure you do. You are too good a +Christian to refuse to forgive him."</p> + +<p>"I'm a woman a'ter all, Miss Rose; and that, I believe, is the truth +of it. I suppose I ought to do as you say, for the reason you +mention; but I'm his wife—and once he loved me, though that has +long been over. When I first knew Stephen, I'd the sort of feelin's +you speak of, and was a very different creatur' from what you see me +to-day. Change comes over us all with years and sufferin'."</p> + +<p>Rose did not answer, but she stood looking intently at the speaker +more than a minute. Change had, indeed, come over her, if she had ever +possessed the power to please the fancy of any living man. Her +features had always seemed diminitive and mean for her assumed sex, as +her voice was small and cracked; but, making every allowance for the +probabilities, Rose found it difficult to imagine that Jack Tier had +ever possessed, even under the high advantages of youth and innocence, +the attractions so common to her sex. Her skin had acquired the +tanning of the sea; the expression of her face had become hard and +worldly; and her habits contributed to render those natural +consequences of exposure and toil even more than usually marked and +decided. By saying "habits," however, we do not mean that Jack had +ever drank to excess, as happens with so many seamen, for this would +have been doing her injustice, but she smoked and +chewed—practices that intoxicate in another form, and lead +nearly as many to the grave as excess in drinking. Thus all the +accessories about this singular being, partook of the character of her +recent life and duties. Her walk was between a waddle and a seaman's +roll; her hands were discolored with tar, and had got to be full of +knuckles, and even her feet had degenerated into that flat, broad-toed +form that, perhaps, sooner distinguishes caste, in connection with +outward appearances, than any one other physical peculiarity. Yet this +being <i>had</i> once been young—had once been even <i>fair</i>; and had +once possessed that feminine air and lightness of form, that as often +belongs to the youthful American of her sex, perhaps, as to the girl +of any other nation on earth. Rose continued to gaze at her companion +for some time, when she walked musingly to a window that looked out +upon the port.</p> + +<p>"I am not certain whether it would do him good or not to see this +sight," she said, addressing the wife kindly, doubtful of the effect +of her words even on the latter. "But here are the sloop-of-war, and +several other vessels."</p> + +<p>"Ay, she is <i>there</i>; but never will his foot be put on board the Swash +ag'in. When he bought that brig I was still young, and agreeable to +him; and he gave her my maiden name, which was Mary, or Molly Swash. +But that is all changed; I wonder he did not change the name with his +change of feelin's."</p> + +<p>"Then you did really sail in the brig in former times, and knew the +seaman whose name you assumed?"</p> + +<p>"Many years. Tier, with whose name I made free, on account of his +size, and some resemblance to me in form, died under my care; and his +protection fell into my hands, which first put the notion into my head +of hailing as his representative. Yes, I knew Tier in the brig, and we +<span class="pagenum">95</span> +were left ashore at the same time—I, intentionally, I make no +question; he, because Stephen Spike was in a hurry, and did not choose +to wait for a man. The poor fellow caught the yellow fever the very +next day, and did not live eight-and-forty hours. So the world goes; +them that wish to live, die; and them that wants to die, live!"</p> + +<p>"You have had a hard time for one of your sex, poor Jack—quite +twenty years a sailor, did you not tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Every day of it, Miss Rose—and bitter years have they been; for +the whole of that time have I been in chase of my husband, keeping my +own secret, and slaving like a horse for a livelihood."</p> + +<p>"You could not have been old when he left—that is—when you +parted."</p> + +<p>"Call it by its true name, and say at once, when he desarted me. I was +under thirty by two or three years, and was still like my own sex to +look at. All <i>that</i> is changed since; but I <i>was</i> comely <i>then</i>."</p> + +<p>"<i>Why</i> did Capt. Spike abandon you, Jack; you have never told me +<i>that</i>."</p> + +<p>"Because he fancied another. And ever since that time he has been +fancying others, instead of remembering me. Had he got <i>you</i>, Miss +Rose, I think he would have been content for the rest of his days."</p> + +<p>"Be certain, Jack, I should never have consented to marry Capt. +Spike."</p> + +<p>"You're well out of his hands," answered Jack, sighing heavily, which +was much the most feminine thing she had done during the whole +conversation, "well out of his hands—and God be praised it is +so. He should have died, before I would let him carry you off the +island—husband or no husband."</p> + +<p>"It might have exceeded your power to prevent it under other +circumstances, Jack."</p> + +<p>Rose now continued looking out of the window in silence. Her thoughts +reverted to her aunt and Biddy, and tears rolled down her cheeks as +she remembered the love of one, and the fidelity of the other. Their +horrible fate had given her a shock that, at first, menaced her with a +severe fit of illness; but her strong, good sense, and excellent +constitution, both sustained by her piety and Harry's manly +tenderness, had brought her through the danger, and left her, as the +reader now sees her, struggling with her own griefs, in order to be of +use to the still more unhappy woman who had so singularly become her +friend and companion.</p> + +<p>The reader will readily have anticipated that Jack Tier had early made +the females on board the Swash her confidents. Rose had known the +outlines of her history from the first few days they were at sea +together, which is the explanation of the visible intimacy that had +caused Mulford so much surprise. Jack's motive in making his +revelations might possibly have been tinctured with jealousy, but a +desire to save one as young and innocent as Rose was at its bottom. +Few persons but a wife would have supposed our heroine could have been +in any danger from a lover like Spike; but Jack saw him with the eyes +of her own youth, and of past recollections, rather than with those of +truth. A movement of the wounded man first drew Rose from the window. +Drying her eyes hastily, she turned toward him, fancying that she +might prove the better nurse of the two, notwithstanding Jack's +greater interest in the patient.</p> + +<p>"What place is this—and why am I here?" demanded Spike, with +more strength of voice than could have been expected, after all that +had passed. "This is not a cabin—not the Swash—it looks +like a hospital."</p> + +<p>"It is a hospital, Capt. Spike," said Rose, gently drawing near the +bed; "you have been hurt, and have been brought to Key West, and +placed in the hospital. I hope you feel better, and that you suffer no +pain."</p> + +<p>"My head isn't right—I don't know—every thing seems turned +round with me—perhaps it will all come out as it should. I begin +to remember—where is my brig?"</p> + +<p>"She is lost on the rocks. The seas have broken her into fragments."</p> + +<p>"That's melancholy news, at any rate. Ah! Miss Rose! God bless +you—I've had terrible dreams. Well, it's pleasant to be among +friends—what creature is that—where does <i>she</i> come from?"</p> + +<p>"That is Jack Tier," answered Rose, steadily. "She turns out to be a +woman, and has put on her proper dress, in order to attend on you +during your illness. Jack has never left your bedside since we have +been here."</p> + +<p>A long silence succeeded this revelation. Jack's eyes twinkled, and +she hitched her body half aside, as if to conceal her features, where +emotions that were unusual were at work with the muscles. Rose thought +it might be well to leave the man and wife alone—and she managed +to get out of the room unobserved.</p> + +<p>Spike continued to gaze at the strange-looking female, who was now his +sole companion. Gradually his recollection returned, and with it the +full consciousness of his situation. He might not have been fully +aware of the absolute certainty of his approaching death, but he must +have known that his wound was of a very grave character, and that the +result might early prove fatal. Still that strange and unknown figure +haunted him; a figure that was so different from any he had ever seen +before, and which, in spite of its present dress, seemed to belong +quite as much to one sex as to the other. As for Jack—we call +Molly, or Mary Swash by her masculine appellation, not only because it +is more familiar, but because the other name seems really out of +place, as applied to such a person—as for Jack, then, she sat +with her face half averted, thumbing the canvas, and endeavoring to +ply the needle, but perfectly mute. She was conscious that Spike's +eyes were on her; and a lingering feeling of her sex told her how much +time, exposure, and circumstances, had changed her person—and +she would gladly have hidden the defects in her appearance.</p> + +<p>Mary Swash was the daughter as well as the wife of a ship-master. In +her youth, as has been said before, she had even been pretty, and down +to the day when her husband deserted her, she would have been thought +<span class="pagenum">96</span> +a female of a comely appearance rather than the reverse. Her hair in +particular, though slightly coarse, perhaps, had been rich and +abundant; and the change from the long, dark, shining, flowing locks +which she still possessed in her thirtieth year, to the short, gray +bristles that now stood exposed without a cap, or covering of any +sort, was one very likely to destroy all identity of appearance. Then +Jack had passed from what might be called youth to the verge of old +age, in the interval that she had been separated from her husband. Her +shape had changed entirely; her complexion was utterly gone; and her +features, always unmeaning, though feminine, and suitable to her sex, +had become hard and slightly coarse. Still there was something of her +former self about Jack that bewildered Spike; and his eyes continued +fastened on her for quite a quarter of an hour in profound silence.</p> + +<p>"Give me some water," said the wounded man, "I wish some water to +drink."</p> + +<p>Jack arose, filled a tumbler and brought it to the side of the bed. +Spike took the glass and drank, but the whole time his eyes were +riveted on his strange nurse. When his thirst was appeased, he +asked—</p> + +<p>"Who are you? How came you here?"</p> + +<p>"I am your nurse. It is common to place nurses at the bedsides of the +sick."</p> + +<p>"Are you man or woman?"</p> + +<p>"That is a question I hardly know how to answer. Sometimes I think +myself each; sometimes neither."</p> + +<p>"Did I ever see you before?"</p> + +<p>"Often, and quite lately. I sailed with you in your last voyage."</p> + +<p>"You! That cannot be. If so, what is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Jack Tier."</p> + +<p>A long pause succeeded this announcement, which induced Spike to muse +as intently as his condition would allow, though the truth did not yet +flash on his understanding. At length the bewildered man again spoke.</p> + +<p>"Are <i>you</i> Jack Tier?" he said slowly, like one who doubted. +"Yes—I now see the resemblance, and it was <i>that</i> which puzzled +me. Are they so rigid in this hospital that you have been obliged to +put on woman's clothes in order to lend me a helping hand?"</p> + +<p>"I am dressed as you see, and for good reasons."</p> + +<p>"But Jack Tier run, like that rascal Mulford—ay, I remember now; +you were in the boat when I over-hauled you all on the reef."</p> + +<p>"Very true; I was in the boat. But I never run, Stephen Spike. It was +<i>you</i> who abandoned <i>me</i>, on the islet in the gulf, and that makes the +second time in your life that you have left me ashore, when it was +your duty to carry me to sea."</p> + +<p>"The first time I was in a hurry, and could not wait for you; this +last time you took sides with the women. But for your interference, I +should have got Rose, and married her, and all would now have been +well with me."</p> + +<p>This was an awkward announcement for a man to make to his legal wife. +But after all Jack had endured, and all Jack had seen during the late +voyage, she was not to be overcome by this avowal. Her self-command +extended so far as to prevent any open manifestation of emotion, +however much her feelings were excited.</p> + +<p>"I took sides with the women, because I am a woman myself," she +answered, speaking at length with decision, as if determined to bring +matters to a head at once. "It is natural for us all to take sides +with our kind."</p> + +<p>"You a woman, Jack! That is very remarkable. Since when have you +hailed for a woman? You have shipped with me twice, and each time as a +man—though I've never thought you able to do seaman's duty."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, I am what you see; a woman born and edicated; one that +never had on man's dress until I knew you. <i>You</i> supposed me to be a +man, when I came off to you in the skiff to the eastward of Riker's +Island, but I was then what you now see."</p> + +<p>"I begin to understand matters," rejoined the invalid, musingly. "Ay, +ay, it opens on me; and I now see how it was you made such fair +weather with Madam Budd and pretty, pretty Rose. Rose <i>is</i> pretty, +Jack; you <i>must</i> admit <i>that</i>, though you be a woman."</p> + +<p>"Rose <i>is</i> pretty—I do admit it; and what is better, Rose is +<i>good</i>." It required a heavy draft on Jack's justice and magnanimity, +however, to make this concession.</p> + +<p>"And you told Rose and Madam Budd about your sex; and that was the +reason they took to you so on the v'y'ge?"</p> + +<p>"I told them who I was, and why I went abroad as a man. They know my +whole story."</p> + +<p>"Did Rose approve of your sailing under false colors, Jack?"</p> + +<p>"You must ask that of Rose herself. My story made her my friend; but +she never said any thing for or against my disguise."</p> + +<p>"It was no great disguise a'ter all, Jack. Now you're fitted out in +your own clothes, you've a sort of half-rigged look; one would be as +likely to set you down for a man under jury-canvas, as for a woman."</p> + +<p>Jack made no answer to this, but she sighed very heavily. As for Spike +himself, he was silent for some little time, not only from exhaustion, +but because he suffered pain from his wound. The needle was diligently +but awkwardly plied in this pause.</p> + +<p>Spike's ideas were still a little confused; but a silence and rest of +a quarter of an hour cleared them materially. At the end of that time +he again asked for water. When he had drank, and Jack was once more +seated, with his side-face toward him, at work with the needle, the +captain gazed long and intently at this strange woman. It happened +that the profile of Jack preserved more of the resemblance to her +former self, than the full face; and it was this resemblance that now +attracted Spike's attention, though not the smallest suspicion of the +truth yet gleamed upon him. He saw something that was familiar, though +he could not even tell what that something was, much less to what or +whom it bore any resemblance. At length he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I was told that Jack Tier was dead," he said; "that he took the +<span class="pagenum">97</span> +fever, and was in his grave within eight-and-forty hours after we +sailed. That was what they told me of <i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>"And what did they tell you of your own wife, Stephen Spike. She that +you left ashore at the time Jack was left?"</p> + +<p>"They said she did not die for three years later. I heard of her death +at New Or<i>leens</i>, three years later."</p> + +<p>"And how could you leave her ashore—she, your true and lawful +wife?"</p> + +<p>"It was a bad thing," answered Spike, who, like all other mortals, +regarded his own past career, now that he stood on the edge of the +grave, very differently from what he had regarded it in the hour of +his health and strength. "Yes, it <i>was</i> a very bad thing; and I wish +it was ondone. But it is too late now. She died of the fever, +too—that's some comfort; had she died of a broken-heart, I could +not have forgiven myself. Molly was not without her faults—great +faults, I considered them; but, on the whole, Molly was a good +creatur'."</p> + +<p>"You liked her, then, Stephen Spike?"</p> + +<p>"I can truly say that when I married Molly, and old Capt. Swash put +his da'ghter's hand into mine, that the woman wasn't living who was +better in my judgment, or handsomer in my eyes."</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay—when you <i>married</i> her; but how was it a'terwards. When +you was tired of her, and saw another that was fairer in your eyes?"</p> + +<p>"I desarted her; and God has punished me for the sin! Do you know, +Jack, that luck has never been with me since that day. Often and often +have I bethought me of it; and sartain as you sit there, no great luck +has ever been with me, or my craft, since I went off, leaving my wife +ashore. What was made in one v'y'ge, was lost in the next. Up and +down, up and down the whole time, for so many, many long years, that +gray hairs set in, and old age was beginning to get close +aboard—and I as poor as ever. It has been rub and go with me +ever since; and I have had as much as I could do to keep the brig in +motion, as the only means that was left to make the two ends meet."</p> + +<p>"And did not all this make you think of your poor wife—she whom +you had so wronged?"</p> + +<p>"I thought of little else, until I heard of her death at New +Or<i>leens</i>—and then I gave it up as useless. Could I have fallen +in with Molly at any time a'ter the first six months of my desartion, +she and I would have come together again, and every thing would have +been forgotten. I knowed her very nature, which was all forgiveness to +me at the bottom, though seemingly so spiteful and hard."</p> + +<p>"Yet you wanted to have this Rose Budd, who is only too young, and +handsome, and good for you."</p> + +<p>"I was tired of being a widower, Jack; and Rose <i>is</i> wonderful pretty. +She has money, too, and might make the evening of my days comfortable. +The brig was old, as you must know, and has long been off of all the +Insurance Offices' books; and she couldn't hold together much longer. +But for this sloop-of-war, I should have put her off on the Mexicans; +and they would have lost her to our people in a month."</p> + +<p>"And was it an honest thing to sell an old and worn-out craft to any +one, Stephen Spike?"</p> + +<p>Spike had a conscience that had become hard as iron by means of trade. +He who traffics much, most especially if his dealings be on so small a +scale as to render constant investigations of the minor qualities of +things necessary, must be a very fortunate man, if he preserve his +conscience in any better condition. When Jack made this allusion, +therefore, the dying man—for death was much nearer to Spike than +even he supposed, though he no longer hoped for his own +recovery—when Jack made this allusion, then, the dying man was a +good deal at a loss to comprehend it. He saw no particular harm in +making the best bargain he could; nor was it easy for him to +understand why he might not dispose of any thing he possessed for the +highest price that was to be had. Still he answered in an apologetic +sort of way.</p> + +<p>"The brig was old, I acknowledge," he said, "but she was strong, and +<i>might</i> have run a long time. I only spoke of her capture as a thing +likely to take place soon, if the Mexicans got her; so that her +qualities were of no great account, unless it might be her +speed—and that you know was excellent, Jack."</p> + +<p>"And you regret that brig, Stephen Spike, lying as you do on your +death-bed, more than any thing else."</p> + +<p>"Not as much as I do pretty Rose Budd, Jack; Rosy is so delightful to +look at!"</p> + +<p>The muscles of Jack's face twitched a little, and she looked deeply +mortified; for, to own the truth, she hoped that the conversation had +so far turned her delinquent husband's thoughts to the past, as to +have revived in him some of his former interest in herself. It is +true, he still believed her dead; but this was a circumstance Jack +overlooked—so hard is it to hear the praises of a rival, and be +just. She felt the necessity of being more explicit, and determined at +once to come to the point.</p> + +<p>"Stephen Spike," she said, steadily, drawing near to the bedside, +"you should be told the truth, when you are heard thus extolling the +good looks of Rose Budd, with less than eight-and-forty hours of life +remaining. Mary Swash did not die, as you have supposed, three years +a'ter you desarted her, but is living at this moment. Had you read the +letter I gave you in the boat, just before you made me jump into the +sea, <i>that</i> would have told you where she is to be found."</p> + +<p>Spike stared at the speaker intently; and when her cracked voice +ceased, his look was that of a man who was terrified as well as +bewildered. This did not arise still from any gleamings of the real +state of the case, but from the soreness with which his conscience +pricked him, when he heard that his much-wronged wife was alive. He +fancied, with a vivid and rapid glance at the probabilities, all that +a woman abandoned would be likely to endure in the course of so many +long and suffering years.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure of what you say, Jack? You wouldn't take advantage of my +situation to tell me an untruth?"</p> + +<p>"As certain of it as of my own existence. I have seen her quite +<span class="pagenum">98</span> +lately—talked with her of <i>you</i>—in short, she is now at +Key West, knows your state, and has a wife's feelin's to come to your +bedside."</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding all this, and the many gleamings he had had of the +facts during their late intercourse on board the brig, Spike did not +guess at the truth. He appeared astounded, and his terror seemed to +increase.</p> + +<p>"I have another thing to tell you," continued Jack, pausing but a +moment to collect her own thoughts. "Jack Tier—the real Jack +Tier—he who sailed with you of old, and whom you left ashore at +the same time you desarted your wife, <i>did</i> die of the fever, as you +was told, in eight-and-forty hours a'ter the brig went to sea."</p> + +<p>"Then who, in the name of Heaven, are you? How came you to hail by +another's name as well as by another sex?"</p> + +<p>"What could a woman do, whose husband had desarted her in a strange +land?"</p> + +<p>"That is remarkable! So <i>you</i>'ve been married? I should not have +thought <i>that</i> possible; and your husband desarted you, too. Well, +such things <i>do</i> happen." Jack now felt a severe pang. She could not +but see that her ungainly—we had almost said her unearthly +appearance—prevented the captain from even yet suspecting the +truth; and the meaning of his language was not easily to be mistaken. +That any one should have married <i>her</i>, seemed to her husband as +improbable as it was probable he would run away from her as soon as it +was in his power after the ceremony.</p> + +<p>"Stephen Spike," resumed Jack, solemnly, "<i>I</i> am Mary Swash—<i>I</i> +am your wife!"</p> + +<p>Spike started in his bed; then he buried his face in the +coverlet—and he actually groaned. In bitterness of spirit the +woman turned away and wept. Her feelings had been blunted by +misfortune and the collisions of a selfish world; but enough of former +self remained to make this the hardest of all the blows she had ever +received. Her husband, dying as he was, as he must and did know +himself to be, shrunk from one of her appearance, unsexed as she had +become by habits, and changed by years and suffering.</p> + +<p>[<i>To be continued</i>.]</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h3><a name="hour" id="hour">AN HOUR.</a></h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +I've left the keen, cold winds to blow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Around the summits bare;</span><br /> +My sunny pathway to the sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Winds downward, green and fair,</span><br /> +And bright-leaved branches toss and glow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Upon the buoyant air!</span><br /> +<br /> +The fern its fragrant plumage droops<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O'er mosses, crisp and gray,</span><br /> +Where on the shaded crags I sit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beside the cataract's spray,</span><br /> +And watch the far-off, shining sails<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Go down the sunny bay!</span><br /> +<br /> +I've left the wintry winds of life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On barren hearts to blow—</span><br /> +The anguish and the gnawing care,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The silent, shuddering wo!</span><br /> +Across the balmy sea of dreams<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My spirit-barque shall go.</span><br /> +<br /> +Learned not the breeze its fairy lore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where sweetest measures throng?</span><br /> +A maiden sings, beside the stream,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Some chorus, wild and long,</span><br /> +Mingling and blending with its roar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like rainbows turned to song!</span><br /> +<br /> +I hear it, like a strain that sweeps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The confines of a dream;</span><br /> +Now fading into silent space,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now with a flashing gleam</span><br /> +Of triumph, ringing through the deeps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of forest, dell and stream!</span><br /> +<br /> +Away! away! I hear the horn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Among the hills of Spain:</span><br /> +The old, chivalric glory fires<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her warrior-hearts again!</span><br /> +Ho! how their banners light the morn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Along Grenada's plain!</span><br /> +<br /> +I hear the hymns of holy faith<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The red Crusaders sang,</span><br /> +And the silver horn of Ronçeval,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That o'er the tecbir rang</span><br /> +When prince and kaiser through the fray<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To the paladin's rescue sprang!</span><br /> +<br /> +A beam of burning light I hold!—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My good Damascus brand,</span><br /> +And the jet-black charger that I ride<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was foaled in the Arab land,</span><br /> +And a hundred horsemen, mailed in steel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Follow my bold command!</span><br /> +<br /> +Through royal cities speeds our march—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The minster-bells are rung;</span><br /> +The loud, rejoicing trumpets peal,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The battle-flags are swung,</span><br /> +And sweet, sweet lips of ladies praise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The chieftain, brave and young.</span><br /> +<br /> +And now, in bright Provençal bowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A minstrel-knight am I:</span><br /> +A gentle bosom on my own<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Throbs back its ecstasy;</span><br /> +A cheek, as fair as the almond flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thrills to my lips' reply!</span><br /> +<br /> +I tread the fanes of wondrous Rome,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Crowned with immortal bay,</span><br /> +And myriads throng the Capitol<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To hear my lofty lay,</span><br /> +While, sounding o'er the Tiber's foam,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their shoutings peal away!</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, triumph such as this were worth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The poet's doom of pain,</span><br /> +Whose hours are brazen on the earth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But golden in the brain:</span><br /> +I close the starry gate of dreams,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And walk the dust again!</span><br /> +</div><br /> + + +<h3><a name="power" id="power">POWER OF BEAUTY,</a></h3> +<h4>AND A PLAIN MAN'S LOVE.</h4> +<span class="pagenum">99</span> +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY N. P. WILLIS.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<p>That the truths arrived at by the unaccredited short road of +"magnetism" had better be stripped of their technical phraseology, and +set down as the gradual discoveries of science and experience, is a +policy upon which acts many a sagacious believer in "clairvoyance." +Doubtless, too, there is, here and there, a wise man, who is glad +enough to pierce, with the eyes of an incredible agent, the secrets +about him, and let the world give him credit, by whatever name they +please, for the superior knowledge of which he silently takes +advantage. I should be behind the time, if I had not sounded to the +utmost of my ability and opportunity the depth of this new medium. I +have tried it on grave things and trifles. If the unveiling which I am +about to record were of more use to myself than to others, perhaps I +should adopt the policy of which I have just spoken, and give the +result, simply as my own shrewd lesson learned in reading the female +heart. But the truths I unfold will instruct the few who need and can +appreciate them, while the whole subject is not of general importance +enough to bring down cavilers upon the credibility of their source. I +thus get rid of a very detestable though sometimes necessary evil, +("<i>qui nescit dissimulare nescit vivere</i>," says the Latin sage,) that +of shining by any light that is not absolutely my own.</p> + +<p>I am a very plain man in my personal appearance—<i>so</i> plain that +a common observer, if informed that there was a woman who had a fancy +for my peculiar type, would wonder that I was not thankfully put to +rest for life as a seeker after love—a second miracle of the +kind being a very slender probability. It is not in beauty that the +taste for beauty alone resides, however. In early youth my soul, like +the mirror of Cydippe, retained, with enamored fidelity, the image of +female loveliness copied in the clear truth of its appreciation, and +the passion for it had become, insensibly, the thirst of my life, +before I thought of it as more than an intoxicating study. To be +loved—myself beloved—by a creature made in one of the +diviner moulds of woman, was, however, a dream that shaped itself into +waking distinctness at last, and from that hour I took up the clogging +weight of personal disadvantages, to which I had hitherto +unconsciously been chained, and bore it heavily in the race which the +well-favored ran as eagerly as I.</p> + +<p>I am not to recount, here, the varied experiences of my search, the +world over, after beauty and its smile. It is a search on which all +travelers are more than half bent, let them name as they please their +professed errand in far countries. The coldest scholar in art will +better remember a living face of a new cast of expression, met in the +gallery of Florence, than the best work of Michael Angelo, whose +genius he has crossed an ocean to study; and a fair shoulder crowded +against the musical pilgrim, in the Capella Sistiera, will be taken +surer into his soul's inner memory than the best outdoing of "the +sky-lark taken up into heaven," by the ravishing reach of the +<i>Miserere</i>. Is it not true?</p> + +<p>There can hardly be now, I think, a style of female beauty of which I +have not appreciated the meaning and comparative enchantment, nor a +degree of that sometimes more effective thing than beauty +itself—its expression breathing through features otherwise +unlovely—that I have not approached near enough to weigh and +store truthfully in remembrance. The taste forever refines in the +study of woman. We return to what, with immature eye, we at first +rejected; we intensify, immeasurably, our worship of the few who wear +on their foreheads the star of supreme loveliness, confessed pure and +perfect by all beholders alike; we detect it under surfaces which +become transparent only with tenderness or enthusiasm; we separate the +work of Nature's material chisel from the resistless and warm +expansion of the soul swelling its proportions to fill out the shape +it is to tenant hereafter. Led by the purest study of true beauty, the +eager mind passes on from the shrine where it lingered to the next of +whose greater brightness it becomes aware; and this is the secret of +one kind of "inconstancy in love," which should be named apart from +the variableness of those seekers of novelty, who, from unconscious +self-contempt, value nothing they have had the power to win.</p> + +<p>An unsuspected student of beauty, I passed years of loiterings in the +living galleries of Europe and Asia, and, like self-punishing misers +in all kinds of amassings, stored up boundlessly more than, with the +best trained senses, I could have found the life to enjoy. Of course I +had a first advantage, of dangerous facility, in my unhappy plainness +of person—the alarm-guard that surrounds every beautiful woman +in every country of the world—letting sleep at <i>my</i> approach the +cautionary reserve which presents bayonet so promptly to the +good-looking. Even with my worship avowed, and the manifestation of +grateful regard which a woman of fine quality always returns for +elevated and unexacting admiration I was still left with such +privilege of access as is granted to the family-gossip, or to an +<span class="pagenum">100</span>innocuous uncle, and it is of such a passion, rashly nurtured under +this protection of an improbability, that I propose to tell the +<i>inner</i> story.</p> + + + + +<h4>PART II.</h4> + + +<p>I was at the Baths of Lucca during a season made gay by the presence +of a large proportion of the agreeable and accessible court of +Tuscany. The material for my untiring study was in abundance, yet it +was all of the worldly character which the attractions of the place +would naturally draw together, and my homage had but a choice between +differences of display, in the one pursuit of admiration. In my walks +through the romantic mountain-paths of the neighborhood, and along the +banks of the deep-down river that threads the ravine above the +village, I had often met, meantime, a lady accompanied by a well-bred +and scholar-like looking man; and though she invariably dropped her +veil at my approach, her admirable movement, as she walked, or stooped +to pick a flower, betrayed that conscious possession of beauty and +habitual confidence in her own grace and elegance, which assured me of +attractions worth taking trouble to know. By one of those "unavoidable +accidents" which any respectable guardian angel will contrive, to +oblige one, I was a visiter to the gentleman and lady—father and +daughter—soon after my curiosity had framed the desire; and in +her I found a marvel of beauty, from which I looked in vain for my +usual escape—that of placing the ladder of my heart against a +loftier and fairer.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wangrave was one of those English gentlemen who would not exchange +the name of an ancient and immemorially wealthy family for any title +that their country could give them, and he used this shield of modest +honor simply to protect himself in the enjoyment of habits, freed, as +far as refinement and culture could do it, from the burthens and +intrusions of life above and below him. He was ceaselessly educating +himself—like a man whose whole life was only too brief an +apprenticeship to a higher existence—and, with an invalid but +intellectual and lovely wife, and a daughter who seemed unconscious +that she could love, and who kept gay pace with her youthful-hearted +father in his lighter branches of knowledge, his family sufficed to +itself, and had determined so to continue while abroad. The society of +no Continental watering-place has a very good name, and they were +there for climate and seclusion. With two ladies, who seemed to occupy +the places and estimation of friends, (but who were probably the paid +nurse and companion to the invalid,) and a kind-hearted old secretary +to Mr. Wangrave, whose duties consisted in being as happy as he could +possibly be, their circle was large enough, and it contained elements +enough—except only, perhaps, the <i>réveille</i> that was wanting for +the apparently slumbering heart of Stephania.</p> + +<p>A month after my first call upon the Wangraves, I joined them on their +journey to Vallambrosa, where they proposed to take refuge from the +sultry coming of the Italian autumn. My happiness would not have been +arranged after the manner of this world's happiness, if I had been the +only addition to their party up the mountain. They had received with +open arms, a few days before leaving Lucca, a young man from the +neighborhood of their own home, and who, I saw with half a glance, was +the very Eidolon and type of what Mr. Wangrave would desire as a +fitting match for his daughter. From the allusions to him that had +preceded his coming, I had learned that he was the heir to a brilliant +fortune, and was coming to his old friends to be congratulated on his +appointment to a captaincy in the Queen's Guards—as pretty a +case of an "irresistible" as could well have been compounded for +expectation. And when he came—the absolute model of a youth of +noble beauty—all frankness, good manners, joyousness, and +confidence, I summoned courage to look alternately at Stephania and +him, and the hope, the daring hope that I had never yet named to +myself, but which was already master of my heart, and its every pulse +and capability, dropped prostrate and lifeless in my bosom. If he did +but offer her the life-minute of love, of which I would give her, it +seemed to me, for the same price, an eternity of countless +existences—if he should but give her a careless word, where I +could wring a passionate utterance out of the aching blood of my very +heart—she must needs be his. She would be a star else that would +resign an orbit in the fair sky, to illumine a dim cave; a flower that +would rather bloom on a bleak moor, than in the garden of a +king—for, with such crushing comparisons, did I irresistibly see +myself as I remembered my own shape and features, and my far humbler +fortunes than his, standing in her presence beside him.</p> + +<p>Oh! how every thing contributed to enhance the beauty of that young +man. How the mellow and harmonizing tenderness of the light of the +Italian sky gave sentiment to his oval cheek, depth to his gray-blue +eye, meaning to their overfolding and thick-fringed lashes. Whatever +he said with his finely-cut lips, was <i>looked</i> into twenty times its +meaning by the beauty of their motion in that languid +atmosphere—an atmosphere that seemed only breathed for his +embellishment and Stephania's. Every posture he took seemed a happy +and rare accident, which a painter should have been there to see. The +sunsets, the moonlight, the chance back-ground and fore-ground, of +vines and rocks—every thing seemed in conspiracy to heighten his +effect, and make of him a faultless picture of a lover.</p> + +<p>"Every thing," did I say? Yes, <i>even myself</i>—for my uncomely +face and form were such a foil to his beauty as a skillful artist +would have introduced to heighten it when all other art was exhausted, +and every one saw it except Stephania; and little they knew how, with +perceptions far quicker than theirs, I <i>felt</i> their recognition of +this, in the degree of softer kindness in which they unconsciously +spoke to me. They pitied me, and without recognizing their own +thought—for it was a striking instance of the difference in the +<span class="pagenum">101</span> +gifts of nature—one man looking scarce possible to love, and +beside him, another, of the same age, to whose mere first-seen beauty, +without a word from his lips, any heart would seem unnatural not to +leap in passionate surrender.</p> + +<p>We were the best of sudden friends, Palgray and I. He, like the rest, +walked only the outer vestibule of the sympathies, viewlessly +deepening and extending, hour by hour, in that frank and joyous +circle. The interlinkings of soul, which need no language, and which +go on, whether we will or no, while we talk with friends, are so +strangely unthought of by the careless and happy. He saw in me no +counter-worker to his influence. I was to him but a well-bred and +extremely plain man, who tranquilly submitted to forego all the first +prizes of life, content if I could contribute to society in its +unexcited voids, and receive in return only the freedom of its outer +intercourse, and its friendly esteem. But, oh! it was not in the same +world that he and I knew Stephania. He approached her from the world +in whose most valued excellences, beauty and wealth, he was +pre-eminently gifted—I, from the viewless world, in which I had +at least more skill and knowledge. In the month that I had known her +before he came, I had sedulously addressed myself to a character +within her, of which Palgray had not even a conjecture; and there was +but one danger of his encroachment on the ground I had +gained—her imagination might supply in him the nobler temple of +soul-worship, which was still unbuilt, and which would never be +builded except by pangs such as he was little likely to feel in the +undeepening channel of happiness. He did not notice that <i>I</i> never +spoke to her in the same key of voice to which the conversation of +others was attuned. He saw not that, while she turned to <i>him</i> with a +smile as a preparation to listen, she heard <i>my</i> voice as if her +attention had been arrested by distant music—with no change in +her features except a look more earnest. She would have called <i>him</i> +to look with her at a glowing sunset, or to point out a new comer in +the road from the village; but if the moon had gone suddenly into a +cloud and saddened the face of the landscape, or if the wind had +sounded mournfully through the trees, as she looked out upon the +night, she would have spoken of that first to <i>me</i>.</p> + +<h4>PART III.</h4> + + +<p>I am flying over the track, of what was to me a +torrent—outlining its course by alighting upon, here and there, +a point where it turned or lingered.</p> + +<p>The reader has been to Vallambrosa—if not once as a pilgrim, at +least often with writers of travels in Italy. The usages of the +convent are familiar to all memories—their lodging of the +gentlemen of a party in cells of their own monastic privilege, and +giving to the ladies less sacred hospitalities, in a secular building +of meaner and unconsecrated architecture. (So, oh, mortifying +brotherhood, you shut off your only chance of entertaining angels +unaware!)</p> + +<p>Not permitted to eat with the ladies while on the holy mountain, Mr. +Wangrave and his secretary, and Palgray and I, fed at the table with +the aristocratic monks—(for they are the aristocrats of European +holiness, these monks of Vallambrosa.) It was somewhat a relief to me, +to be separated with my rival from the party in the feminine +refectory, even for the short space of a meal-time; for the all-day +suffering of presence with an unconscious trampler on my +heart-strings; and in circumstances where all the triumphs were his +own, were more than my intangible hold upon hope could well enable me +to bear. I was happiest, therefore, when I was out of the presence of +her to be near whom was all for which my life was worth having; and +when we sat down at the long and bare table, with the thoughtful and +ashen-cowled company, sad as I was, it was an opiate sadness—a +suspension from self-mastery, under torture which others took to be +pleasure.</p> + +<p>The temperature of the mountain-air was just such as to invite us to +never enter doors except to eat and sleep; and breakfasting at +convent-hours, we passed the long day in rambling up the ravines and +through the sombre forests, drawing, botanizing, and conversing in +group around some spot of exquisite natural beauty; and all of the +party, myself excepted, supposing it to be the un-dissenting, common +desire to contrive opportunity for the love-making of Palgray and +Stephania. And, bitter though it was, in each particular instance, to +accept a hint from one and another, and stroll off, leaving the +confessed lovers alone by some musical water-fall, or in the secluded +and twilight dimness of some curve in an overhanging +ravine—places where only to breathe is to love—I still +felt an instinctive prompting to rather anticipate than wait for these +reminders, she alone knowing what it cost me to be without her in that +delicious wilderness; and Palgray, as well as I could judge, having a +mind out of harmony with both the wilderness and her.</p> + +<p>He loved her—loved her as well as most women need to be, or know +that they can be loved. But he was too happy, too prosperous, too +universally beloved, to love well. He was a man, with all his beauty, +more likely to be fascinating to his own sex than to hers, for the +women who love best, do not love in the character they live in; and +his out-of-doors heart, whose joyfulness was so contagious, and whose +bold impulses were so manly and open, contented itself with gay +homage, and left unplummeted the sweetest as well as deepest wells of +the thoughtful tenderness of woman.</p> + +<p>To most observers, Stephania Wangrave would have seemed only born to +be gay—the mere habit of being happy having made its life-long +imprint upon her expression of countenance, and all of her nature, +that would be legible to a superficial reader, being brought out by +the warm translucence of her smiles. But while I had seen this, in the +first hour of my study of her, I was too advanced in my knowledge (of +such works of nature as encroach on the models of Heaven) not to know +this to be a light veil over a picture of melancholy meaning. Sadness +was the tone of her mind's inner coloring. Tears were the +<span class="pagenum">102</span>subterranean river upon which her soul's bark floated with the most +loved freight of her thought's accumulation—the sunny waters of +joy, where alone she was thought to voyage, being the tide on which +her heart embarked no venture, and which seemed to her triflingly +garish and even profaning to the hallowed delicacy of the inner +nature.</p> + +<p>It was so strange to me that Palgray did not see this through every +lineament of her marvelous beauty. There was a glow under her skin, +but no color—an effect of paleness—fair as the lotus-leaf, +but warmer and brighter, and which came through the alabaster fineness +of the grain, like something the eye cannot define, but which we know +by some spirit-perception to be the effluence of purer existence, the +breathing through, as it were, of the luminous tenanting of an angel. +To this glowing paleness, with golden hair, I never had seen united +any but a disposition of predominant melancholy; and it seemed to me +dull indeed otherwise to read it. But there were other betrayals of +the same inner nature of Stephania. Her lips, cut with the fine +tracery of the penciling upon a tulip-cup, were of a slender and +delicate fullness, expressive of a mind which took—(of the +senses)—only so much life as would hold down the spirit during +its probation; and when this spiritual mouth was at rest, no painter +has ever drawn lips on which lay more of the unutterable pensiveness +of beauty which we dream to have been Mary's, in the childhood of +Jesus. A tear in the heart was the instinctive answer to Stephania's +every look when she did not smile; and her large, soft, slowly-lifting +eyes, were to any elevated perception, it seemed to me, most eloquent +of tenderness as tearful as it was unfathomable and angelic.</p> + +<p>I shall have failed, however, in portraying truly the being of whom I +am thus privileged to hold the likeness in my memory, if the reader +fancies her to have nurtured her pensive disposition at the expense of +a just value for real life, or a full development of womanly feelings. +It was a peculiarity of her beauty, to my eye, that, with all her +earnest leaning toward a thoughtful existence, there did not seem to +be one vein beneath her pearly skin, not one wavy line in her +faultless person, that did not lend its proportionate consciousness to +her breathing sense of life. Her bust was of the slightest fullness +which the sculptor would choose for the embodying of his ideal of the +best blending of modesty with complete beauty; and her throat and +arms—oh, with what an inexpressible pathos of loveliness, so to +speak, was moulded, under an infantine dewiness of surface, their +delicate undulations. No one could be in her presence without +acknowledging the perfection of her form as a woman, and rendering the +passionate yet subdued homage which the purest beauty fulfills its +human errand by inspiring; but, while Palgray made the halo which +surrounded her outward beauty the whole orbit of his appreciation, and +made of it, too, the measure of the circle of topics he chose to talk +upon, there was still another and far wider ring of light about her, +which he lived in too dazzling a gayety of his own to see—a +halo of a mind more beautiful than the body which shut it in; and in +this intellectual orbit of guidance to interchange of mind, with +manifold deeper and higher reach than Palgray's, upon whatever topic +chanced to occur, revolved I, around her who was the loveliest and +most gifted of all the human beings I had been privileged to meet.</p> + + + + +<h4>PART IV.</h4> + + +<p>The month was expiring at Vallambrosa, but I had not mingled, for that +length of time, with a fraternity of thoughtful men, without +recognition of some of that working of spontaneous and elective +magnetism to which I have alluded in a previous part of this story. +Opposite me, at the table of the convent refectory, had sat a taciturn +monk, whose influence I felt from the first day—a stronger +consciousness of his presence, that is to say, than of any one of the +other monks—though he did not seem particularly to observe me, +and till recently had scarce spoken to me at all. He was a man of +perhaps fifty years of age, with the countenance of one who had +suffered and gained a victory of contemplation—a look as if no +suffering could be new to him, and before whom no riddle of human +vicissitudes could stay unread; but over all this penetration and +sagacity was diffused a cast of genial philanthropy and +good-fellowship which told of his forgiveness of the world for what he +had suffered in it. With a curiosity more at leisure, I should have +sought him out, and joined him in his walks to know more of him; but +spiritually acquainted though I felt we had become, I was far too busy +with head and heart for any intercourse, except it had a bearing on +the struggle for love that I was, to all appearance, so hopelessly +making.</p> + +<p>Preparations were beginning for departure, and with the morrow, or the +day after, I was to take my way to Venice—my friends bound to +Switzerland and England, and propriety not permitting me to seek +another move in their company. The evening on which this was made +clear to me, was one of those continuations of day into night made by +the brightness of a full Italian moon; and Palgray, whose face, +troubled, for the first time, betrayed to me that he was at a crisis +of his fate with Stephania, evidently looked forward to this glowing +night as the favorable atmosphere in which he might urge his suit, +with nature pleading in his behalf. The reluctance and evident +irresolution of his daughter puzzled Mr. Wangrave—for he had no +doubt that she loved Palgray, and his education of her head and heart +gave him no clue to any principle of coquettishness, or willingness to +give pain, for the pleasure of an exercise of power. Her mother, and +all the members of the party, were aware of the mystery that hung over +the suit of the young guardsman, but they were all alike discreet, +while distressed, and confined their interference to the removal of +obstacles in the way of the lovers being together, and the avoidance +of any topics gay enough to change the key of her spirits from the +<span class="pagenum">103</span>natural softness of the evening.</p> + +<p>Vespers were over, and the sad-colored figures of the monks were +gliding indolently here and there, and Stephania, with Palgray beside +her, stood a little apart from the group at the door of the secular +refectory, looking off at the fading purple of the sunset. I could not +join her without crossing rudely the obvious wishes of every person +present; yet for the last two days, I had scarce found the opportunity +to exchange a word with her, and my emotion now was scarce +controllable. The happier lover beside her, with his features +heightened in expression (as I thought they never could be) by his +embarrassment in wooing, was evidently and irresistibly the object of +her momentary admiration. He offered her his arm, and made a movement +toward the path off into the forest. There was an imploring deference +infinitely becoming in his manner, and see it she must, with pride and +pleasure. She hesitated—gave a look to where I stood, which +explained to me better than a world of language, that she had wished +at least to speak to me on this last evening—and, before the +dimness over my eyes had passed away, they were gone. Oh! pitying +Heaven! give me never again, while wrapt in mortal weakness, so harsh +a pang to suffer.</p> + + +<h4>PART V.</h4> + +<p>The convent-bell struck midnight, and there was a foot-fall in the +cloister. I was startled by it out of an entire forgetfulness of all +around me, for I was lying on my bed in the monastery cell, with my +hands clasped over my eyes, as I had thrown myself down on coming in; +and, with a strange contrariety, my mind, broken rudely from its hope, +had flown to my far away home, oblivious of the benumbed links that +lay between. A knock at my door completed the return to my despair, +for with a look at the walls of my little chamber, in the bright beam +of moonlight that streamed in at the narrow window, I was, by +recognition, again at Vallambrosa, and Stephania, with an accepted +lover's voice in her ear, was again near me, her moistened eyes +steeped with Palgray's in the same beam of the all-visiting and +unbetraying moon.</p> + +<p>Father Ludovic entered. The gentle tone of his <i>benedicite</i>, told me +that he had come on an errand of sympathy. There was little need of +preliminary between two who read the inner countenance as habitually +as did both of us; and as briefly as the knowledge and present feeling +of each could be re-expressed in words, we confirmed the +spirit-mingling that had brought him there, and were presently as one. +He had read truly the drama of love, enacting in the party of visiters +to his convent, but his judgment of the possible termination of it was +different from mine.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Palgray's dormitory was at the extremity of the cloister, and we +presently heard him pass.</p> + +<p>"She is alone, now," said Father Ludovic, "I will send you to her."</p> + +<p>My mind had strained to Stephania's presence with the first footsteps +that told me of their separation; and it needed but a wave of his hand +to unlink the spirit-wings from my weary frame. I was present with +her.</p> + +<p>I struggled for a moment, but in vain, to see her face. Its expression +was as visible as my hand in the sun, but no feature. The mind I had +read was close to me, in a presence of consciousness; and, in points, +here and there, brighter, bolder, and further-reaching than I had +altogether believed. She was unutterably pure—a spirit without a +spot—and I remained near her with a feeling as if my forehead +were pressed down to the palms of my hands, in homage mixed with +sorrow, for I should have more recognized this in my waking study of +her nature.</p> + +<p>A moment more—a trembling effort, as if to read what were +written to record my companionship for eternity—and a vague +image of myself came out in shadow—clearer now, and still +clearer, enlarging to the fullness of her mind. She thought wholly +and only of that image I then saw, yet with a faint coloring playing +to and from it, as influences came in from the outer world. Her eyes +were turned in upon it in lost contemplation. But suddenly a new +thought broke upon me. I saw my image, but it was not I, as I looked +to myself. The type of my countenance was there; but, oh, transformed +to an ideal, such as I now, for the first time, saw +possible—ennobled in every defective line—purified of its +taint from worldliness—inspired with high +aspirations—cleared of what it had become cankered with, in its +transmission through countless generations since first sent into the +world, and restored to a likeness of the angel of whose illuminated +lineaments it was first a copy. So thought Stephania of me. Thus did +she believe I truly was. Oh! blessed, and yet humiliating, trust of +woman! Oh! comparison of true and ideal, at which spirits must look +out of heaven, and of which they must long, with aching pity, to make +us thus rebukingly aware!</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>I felt myself withdrawing from Stephania's presence. There were tears +between us, which I could not see. I strove to remain, but a stronger +power than my will was at work within me. I felt my heart swell with a +gasp, as if death were bearing out of it the principle of life; and my +head dropped on the pillow of my bed.</p> + +<p>"Good night, my son," said the low voice of Father Ludovic, "I have +willed that you should remember what you have seen. Be worthy of her +love, for there are few like her."</p> + +<p>He closed the door, and as the glide of his sandals died away in the +echoing cloisters, I leaned forth to spread my expanding heart in the +upward and boundless light of the moon—for I seemed to wish +never again to lose in the wasteful forgetfulness of sleep, the +consciousness that I was loved by Stephania.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<p>I was journeying the next day, alone, toward Venice. I had left +written adieux for the party at Vallambrosa, pleading to my friends an +unwillingness to bear the pain of a formal separation. Betwixt +<span class="pagenum">104</span>midnight and morning, however, I had written a parting letter for +Stephania, which I had committed to the kind envoying of Father +Ludovic, and thus it ran:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"When you read this, Stephania, I shall be alone with the thought of +you, traveling a reluctant road, but still with a burthen in my heart +which will bring me to you again, and which even now envelopes my pang +of separation in a veil of happiness. I have been blessed by Heaven's +mercy with the power to know that you love me. Were you not what you +are, I could not venture to startle you thus with a truth which, +perhaps, you have hardly confessed in waking reality to yourself; but +you are one of those who are coy of no truth that could be found to +have lain without alarm in your own bosom, and, with those beloved +hands pressed together with the earnestness of the clasp of prayer, +you will say, 'yes! I love him!'</p> + +<p>"I leave you, now, not to put our love to trial, and still less in the +ordinary meaning of the phrase, to prepare to wed you. The first is +little needed, angels in heaven well know. The second is a thought +which will be in time, when I have done the work on which I am newly +bent by the inspiration of love—<i>the making myself what you +think me to be</i>. Oh, Stephania! to feel encouraged, as God has given +me strength to feel, that I may yet be this—that I may yet bring +you a soul brought up to the standard you have raised, and achieve it +by effort in self-denial, and by the works of honor and goodness that +are as possible to a man in obscurity and poverty as to his brother in +wealth and distinction—this is to me new life, boundless +enlargement of sphere, food for a love of which, alas! I was not +before worthy.</p> + +<p>"I have told you unreservedly what my station in life is—what my +hopes are, and what career I had marked out for struggle. I shall go +on with the career, though the prizes I then mentally saw have since +faded in value almost as much as my purpose is strengthened. Fame and +wealth, my pure, Stephania, are to you as they now can only be to me, +larger trusts of service and duty; and if I hope they will come while +other aims are sought, it is because they will confer happiness on +parents and friends who mistakenly suppose them necessary to the +winner of your heart. I hope to bring them to you. I know that I shall +come as welcome without them.</p> + +<p>"While I write—while my courage and hope throb loud in the +pulses of my bosom—I can think even happily of separation. To +leave you, the better to return, is bearable—even +pleasurable—to the heart's noonday mood. But I have been steeped +for a summer, now, in a presence of visible and breathing loveliness, +(that you cannot forbid me to speak of, since language is too poor to +out-color truth,) and there will come moments of +depression—twilights of deepening and undivided +loneliness—hours of illness, perhaps—and times of +discouragement and adverse cloudings over of Providence—when I +shall need to be remembered with sympathy, and to know that I am so +remembered. I do not ask you to write to me. It would entail +difficulties upon you, and put between us an interchange of +uncertainties and possible misunderstandings. But I can communicate +with you by a surer medium, if you will grant a request. The habits of +your family are such that you can, for the first hour after midnight, +be always alone. Waking or sleeping, there will then be a thought of +me occupying your heart, and—call it a fancy if you will—I +can come and read it on the viewless wings of the soul.</p> + +<p>"I commend your inexpressible earthly beauty, dear Stephania, and your +still brighter loveliness of soul, to God's angel, who has never left +you. Farewell! You will see me when I am worthy of you—if it be +necessary that it should be first in heaven, made so by forgiveness +there.</p></div> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>Cell of St. Eusebius, Vallambrosa—day-breaking</i>."</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="butterfly" id="butterfly">A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY.</a></h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Dear transient spirit of the fields,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thou com'st, without distrust,</span><br /> +To fan the sunshine of our streets<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Among the noise and dust.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thou leadest in thy wavering flight<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My footsteps unaware,</span><br /> +Until I seem to walk the vales<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And breathe thy native air.</span><br /> +<br /> +And thou hast fed upon the flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And drained their honied springs,</span><br /> +Till every tender hue they wore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is blooming on thy wings.</span><br /> +<br /> +I bless the fresh and flowery light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thou bringest to the town,</span><br /> +But tremble lest the hot turmoil<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have power to weigh thee down;</span><br /> +<br /> +For thou art like the poet's song,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Arrayed in holiest dyes,</span><br /> +Though it hath drained the honied wells<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of flowers of Paradise;</span><br /> +<br /> +Though it hath brought celestial hues<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To light the ways of life,</span><br /> +The dust shall weigh its pinions down<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amid the noisy strife.</span><br /> +<br /> +And yet, perchance, some kindred soul<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shall see its glory shine,</span><br /> +And feel its wings within his heart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As bright as I do thine.</span><br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="rival" id="rival">THE RIVAL SISTERS.</a></h3> +<span class="pagenum">105</span> +<h4>AN ENGLISH TRAGEDY OF REAL LIFE.</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR," "MARMADUKE WYVIL," ETC.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h5>(<i>Concluded from page 22</i>.)</h5> + + +<h4>PART II.</h4> + +<p>A lovely summer's evening in the year 168-, was drawing toward its +close, when many a gay and brilliant cavalcade of both sexes, many of +the huge gilded coaches of that day, and many a train of liveried +attendants, winding through the green lane, as they arrived, some in +this direction from Eton, some in that, across Datchet-mead, from +Windsor, and its royal castle, came thronging toward +Ditton-in-the-Dale.</p> + +<p>Lights were beginning to twinkle, as the shadows fell thick among the +arcades of the trim gardens, and the wilder forest-walks which +extended their circuitous course for many a mile along the stately +hall of the Fitz-Henries; loud bursts of festive or of martial music +came pealing down the wind, mixed with the hum of a gay and happy +concourse, causing the nightingales to hold their peace, not in +despair of rivaling the melody, but that the mirth jarred unpleasantly +on the souls of the melancholy birds.</p> + +<p>The gates of Ditton-in-the-Dale were flung wide open, for it was gala +night, and never had the old hall put on a gayer or more sumptuous +show than it had donned that evening.</p> + +<p>From far and near the gentry and the nobles of Buckingham and +Berkshire had gathered to the birthday ball—for such was the +occasion of the festive meeting.</p> + +<p>Yes! it was Blanche Fitz-Henry's birthday; and on this gay and glad +anniversary was the fair heiress of that noble house to be introduced +to the great world as the future owner of those beautiful demesnes.</p> + +<p>From the roof to the foundation the old manor-house—it was a +stately red brick mansion of the latter period of Elizabethan +architecture, with mullioned windows, and stacks of curiously wreathed +chimneys—was one blaze of light; and as group after group of gay +and high-born riders came caracoling up to the hospitable porch, and +coach after coach, with its running footmen, or mounted outriders +lumbered slowly in their train, the saloons and corridors began to +fill up rapidly, with a joyous and splendid company.</p> + +<p>The entrance-hall, a vast square apartment, wainscoted with old +English oak, brighter and richer in its dark hues than mahogany, +received the entering guests; and what with the profusion of +wax-lights, pendant in gorgeous chandeliers from the carved roof, or +fixed in silver sconces to the walls, the gay festoons of green +wreaths and fresh summer flowers, mixed quaintly with old armor, +blazoned shields, and rustling banners, some of which had waved over +the thirsty plains of Syria, and been fanned by the shouts of triumph +that pealed so high at Cressy and Poitiers, it presented a not unapt +picture of that midway period—that halting-place, as it were, +between the old world and the new—when chivalry and feudalism +had ceased already to exist among the nations, but before the rudeness +of reform had banished the last remnants of courtesy, and the +reverence for all things that were high and noble—for all things +that were fair and graceful—for all things, in one word, except +the golden calf, the mob-worshiped mammon.</p> + +<p>Within this stately hall was drawn up in glittering array, the +splendid band of the Life Guards, for royally himself was present, and +all the officers of that superb regiment, quartered at Windsor, had +followed in his train; and as an ordinary courtesy to their +well-proved and loyal host, the services of those chosen musicians had +been tendered and accepted.</p> + +<p>Through many a dazzling corridor, glittering with lights, and redolent +of choicest perfumes, through many a fair saloon the guests were +marshaled to the great drawing-room, where, beneath a canopy of state, +the ill-advised and imbecile monarch, soon to be deserted by the very +princes and princesses who now clustered round his throne, sat, with +his host and his lovely daughters at his right hand, accepting the +homage of the fickle crowd, who were within a little year to bow +obsequiously to the cold-blooded Hollander.</p> + +<p>That was a day of singular, and what would now be termed hideous +costumes—a day of hair-powder and patches, of hoops and trains, +of stiff brocades and tight-laced stomachers, and high-heeled shoes +among the ladies—of flowing periwigs, and coats with huge cuffs +and no collars, and voluminous skirts, of diamond-hilted rapiers, and +diamond buckles, ruffles of Valenciennes and Mecklin lace, among the +ruder sex. And though the individual might be metamorphosed strangely +from the fair form which nature gave him, it cannot be denied that the +concourse of highly-bred and graceful persons, when viewed as a whole, +was infinitely more picturesque, infinitely more like what the fancy +paints a meeting of the great and noble, than any assemblage +now-a-days, however courtly or refined, in which the stiff dress coats +and white neckcloths of the men are not to be redeemed by the Parisian +finery—how much more natural, let critics tell, than the hoop +<span class="pagenum">106</span>and train—of the fair portion of the company.</p> + +<p>The rich materials, the gay colors, the glittering jewelry, and waving +plumes, all contributed their part to the splendor of the show; and in +those days a gentleman possessed at least this advantage, lost to him +in these practical utilitarian times, that he could not by any +possibility be mistaken for his own <i>valet de chambre</i>—a +misfortune which has befallen many a one, the most aristocratic not +excepted, of modern nobility.</p> + +<p>A truly graceful person will be graceful, and look well in every garb, +however strange or <i>outré</i>; and there is, moreover, undoubtedly +something, apart from any paltry love of finery, or mere vanity of +person, which elevates the thoughts, and stamps a statelier demeanor +on the man who is clad highly for some high occasion. The custom, too, +of wearing arms, peculiar to the gentleman of that day, had its +effect, and that not a slight one, as well on the character as on the +bearing of the individual so distinguished.</p> + +<p>As for the ladies, loveliness will still be loveliness, disguise it as +you may; and if the beauties of King James's court lost much by the +travesty of their natural ringlets, they gained, perhaps, yet more +from the increased lustre of their complexions and brilliancy of their +eyes.</p> + +<p>So that it is far from being the case, as is commonly supposed, that +it was owing to fashion alone, and the influence of all powerful +custom, that the costume of that day was not tolerated only, but +admired by its wearers.</p> + +<p>At this time, however, the use of hair-powder, though general, was by +no means universal; and many beauties, who fancied that it did not +suit their complexions, dispensed with it altogether, or wore it in +some modified shape, and tinged with some coloring matter, which +assimilated it more closely to the natural tints of the hair.</p> + +<p>At all events, it must have been a dull eye, and a cold heart, that +could have looked undelighted on the assemblage that night gathered in +the ball-room of Ditton-in-the-Dale.</p> + +<p>But now the reception was finished; the royal party moved into the +ball-room, from which they shortly afterward retired, leaving the +company at liberty from the restraint which their presence had imposed +upon them. The concourse broke up into little groups; the stately +minuet was performed, and livelier dances followed it; and gentlemen +sighed tender sighs, and looked unutterable things; and ladies +listened to soft nonsense, and smiled gentle approbation; and melting +glances were exchanged, and warm hands were pressed warmly; and fans +were flirted angrily, and flippant jokes were interchanged—for +human nature, whether in the seventeeth or the nineteenth century, +whether arrayed in brocade, or simply dressed in broadcloth, is human +nature still; and, perhaps, not one feeling, or one passion, that +actuated man's or woman's heart five hundred years ago, but dwells +within it now, and shall dwell unchanged forever.</p> + +<p>It needs not to say that, on such an occasion, in their own father's +mansion, and at the celebration of one sister's birthday, Blanche and +Agnes, had their attractions been much smaller, their pretensions much +more lowly than they really were, would have received boundless +attention. But being as they were infinitely the finest girls in the +room, and being, moreover, new <i>debutantes</i> on the stage of fashion, +there was no limit to the admiration, to the <i>furor</i> which they +excited among the wits and lady-killers of the day.</p> + +<p>Many an antiquated Miss, proud of past conquests, and unable yet to +believe that her career of triumph was, indeed, ended, would turn up +an envious nose, and utter a sharp sneer at the forwardness and hoyden +mirth of that pert Mistress Agnes, or at the coldness and inanimate +smile of the fair heiress; but the sneer, even were it the sneer of a +duke's or a minister's daughter, fell harmless, or yet worse, drew +forth a prompt defence of the unjustly assailed beauty.</p> + +<p>No greater proof could be adduced, indeed, of the amazing success of +the sister beauties, than the unanimous decision of every lady in the +room numbering less than forty years, that they were by no means +uncommon; were pretty country hoppets, who, as soon as the novelty of +their first appearance should have worn out, would cease to be +admired, and sink back into their proper sphere of insignificance.</p> + +<p>So thought not the gentle cavaliers; and there were many present +there, well qualified to judge of ladies' minds as of ladies' persons; +and not a few were heard to swear aloud, that the Fitz-Henries were as +far above the rest of their sex in wit, and graceful accomplishment, +as in beauty of form and face, and elegance of motion.</p> + +<p>See! they are dancing now some gay, newly invented, Spanish dance, +each whirling through the voluptuous mazes of the courtly measure with +her own characteristic air and manner, each evidently pleased with her +partner, each evidently charming him in turn; and the two together +enchaining all eyes, and interesting all spectators, so that a gentle +hum of approbation is heard running through the crowd, as they pause, +blushing and panting from the exertion and excitement of the dance.</p> + +<p>"Fore Gad! she is exquisite, George! I have seen nothing like her in +my time," lisped a superb coxcomb, attired in a splendid civilian's +suit of Pompadour and silver, to a young cornet of the Life Guard who +stood beside him.</p> + +<p>"Which <i>she</i>, my lord?" inquired the standard-bearer, in reply. +"Methinks they both deserve your encomiums; but I would fain know +which of the two your lordship means, for fame speaks you a dangerous +rival against whom to enter the lists."</p> + +<p>"What, George!" cried the other, gayly, "are you about to have a +throw for the heiress? Pshaw! it wont do, man—never think of it! +Why, though you are an earl's second son, and date your creation from +the days of Hump-backed Dickon, old Allan would vote you a <i>novus +homo</i>, as we used to say at Christ Church. Pshaw! George, go hang +yourself! No one has a chance of winning that fair loveliness, much +<span class="pagenum">107</span>less of wearing her, unless he can quarter Sir Japhet's bearings on +his coat armorial."</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> the heiress, then, my lord," answered George Delawarr, +merrily. "I thought as much from the first. Well, I'll relieve your +lordship, as you have relieved me, from all fear of rivalry. I am +devoted to the dark beauty. Egad! there's life, there's fire for you! +Why, I should have thought the flash of that eye-glance would have +reduced Jack Greville to cinders in a moment, yet there he stands, as +calm and impassive a puppy as ever dangled a plumed hat, or played +with a sword-knot. Your fair beauty's cold, my lord. Give me that +Italian complexion, and that coal-black hair! Gad zooks! I honor the +girl's spirit for not disguising it with starch and pomatum. There's +more passion in her little finger, than in the whole soul of the +other."</p> + +<p>"You're out there, George Delawarr," returned the peer. "Trust me, it +is not always the quickest flame that burns the strongest; nor the +liveliest girl that feels the most deeply. There's an old saying, and +a true one, that still water aye runs deep. And, trust me, if I know +any thing of the dear, delicious, devilish sex, as methinks I am not +altogether a novice at the trade, if ever Blanche Fitz-Henry love at +all, she will love with her whole soul and heart and spirit. That gay, +laughing brunette will love you with her tongue, her eyes, her head, +and perhaps her fancy—the other, if, as I say, she ever love at +all, will love with her whole being."</p> + +<p>"The broad acres! my lord! all the broad acres!" replied the cornet, +laughing more merrily than before. "Fore Gad! I think it the very +thing for you. For the first Lord St. George was, I believe, in the +ark with Noah, so that you will pass current with the first gentleman +of England. I prithee, my lord, push your suit, and help me on a +little with my dark Dulcinea."</p> + +<p>"Faith! George, I've no objection; and see, this dance is over. Let us +go up and ask their fair hands. You'll have no trouble in ousting that +shallow-pated puppy Jack, and I think I can put the pass on Mr. +privy-counsellor there, although he is simpering so prettily. But, +hold a moment, have you been duly and in form presented to your +black-eyed beauty?"</p> + +<p>"Upon my soul! I hope so, my lord. It were very wrong else; for I have +danced with her three times to-night already."</p> + +<p>"The devil! Well, come along, quick. I see that they are going to +announce supper, so soon as this next dance shall be ended; and if we +can engage them now, we shall have their fair company for an hour at +least."</p> + +<p>"I am with you, my lord!"</p> + +<p>And away they sauntered through the crowd, and ere long were coupled +for a little space each to the lady of his choice.</p> + +<p>The dance was soon over, and then, as Lord St. George had surmised, +supper was announced, and the cavaliers led their ladies to the +sumptuous board, and there attended them with all that courtly and +respectful service, which, like many another good thing, has passed +away and been forgotten with the diamond-hilted sword, and the full +bottomed periwig.</p> + +<p>George Delawarr was full as ever of gay quips and merry repartees; his +wit was as sparkling as the champagne which in some degree inspired +it, and as innocent. There was no touch of bitterness or satire in his +polished and gentle humor; no envy or dislike pointed his quick, +epigrammatic speech; but all was clear, light, and transparent, as the +sunny air at noonday. Nor was his conversation altogether light and +mirthful. There were at times bursts of high enthusiasm, at which he +would himself laugh heartily a moment afterward—there were +touches of passing romance and poetry blending in an under-current +with his fluent mirth; and, above all, there was an evident strain of +right feeling, of appreciation of all that was great and generous and +good, predominant above romance and wit, perceptible in every word he +uttered.</p> + +<p>And Agnes listened, and laughed, and flung back skillfully and +cleverly the ball of conversation, as he tossed it to her. She was +pleased, it was evident, and amused. But she was pleased only as with +a clever actor, a brilliant performer on some new instrument now heard +for the first time. The gay, wild humor of the young man hit her +fancy; his mad wit struck a kindred chord in her mind; but the latent +poetry and romance passed unheeded, and the noblest point of all, the +good and gracious feelings, made no impression on the polished but +hard surface of the bright maiden's heart.</p> + +<p>Meantime, how fared the peer with the calmer and gentler sister? Less +brilliant than George Delawarr, he had traveled much, had seen more of +men and things, had a more cultivated mind, was more of a scholar, and +no less of a gentleman, scarce less perhaps of a soldier; for he had +served a campaign or two in his early youth in the Low Countries.</p> + +<p>He was a noble and honorable man, clever, and eloquent, and well +esteemed—a little, perhaps, spoiled by that good esteem, a +little too confident of himself, too conscious of his own good mien +and good parts, and a little hardened, if very much polished, by +continual contact with the world.</p> + +<p>He was, however, an easy and agreeable talker, accustomed to the +society of ladies, in which he was held to shine, and fond of shining. +He exerted himself also that night, partly because he was really +struck with Blanche's grace and beauty, partly because Delawarr's +liveliness and wit excited him to a sort of playful rivalry.</p> + +<p>Still, he was not successful; for though Blanche listened graciously, +and smiled in the right places, and spoke in answer pleasantly and +well, when she did speak, and evidently wished to appear and to be +amused; her mind was at times absent and distracted, and it could not +long escape the observation of so thorough a man of the world as Lord +St. George, that he had not made that impression on the young country +damsel which he was wont to make, with one half the effort, on what +might be supposed more difficult ladies.</p> + +<p>But though he saw this plainly, he was too much of a gentleman to be +<span class="pagenum">108</span>either piqued or annoyed; and if any thing he exerted himself the more +to please, when he believed exertion useless; and by degrees his +gentle partner laid aside her abstraction, and entered into the spirit +of the hour with something of her sister's mirth, though with a +quieter and more chastened tone.</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant party, and a merry evening; but like all other +things, merry or sad, it had its end, and passed away, and by many was +forgotten; but there were two persons present there who never while +they lived forgot that evening—for there were other two, to whom +it was indeed the commencement of the end.</p> + +<p>But the hour for parting had arrived, and with the ceremonious +greetings of those days, deep bows and stately courtesies, and kissing +of fair hands, and humble requests to be permitted to pay their duty +on the following day, the cavaliers and ladies parted.</p> + +<p>When the two gallants stood together in the great hall, George +Delawarr turned suddenly to the peer—</p> + +<p>"Where the deuce are you going to sleep to-night, St. George? You came +down hither all the way from London, did you not? You surely do not +mean to return to-night."</p> + +<p>"I surely do not <i>wish</i> it, you mean, George. No, truly. But I do mean +it. For my fellows tell me that there is not a bed to be had for love, +which does not at all surprise me, or for money, which I confess does +somewhat, in Eton, Slough, or Windsor. And if I must go back to +Brentford or to Hounslow, as well at once to London."</p> + +<p>"Come with me! Come with me, St. George. I can give you quarters in +the barracks, and a good breakfast, and a game of tennis if you will; +and afterward, if you like, we'll ride over and see how these +bright-eyed beauties look by daylight, after all this night-work."</p> + +<p>"A good offer, George, and I'll take it as it is offered."</p> + +<p>"How are you here? In a great lumbering coach I suppose. Well, look +you, I have got two horses here; you shall take mine, and I'll ride on +my fellow's, who shall go with your people and pilot them on the road, +else they'll be getting that great gilded Noah's ark into +Datchet-ditch. Have you got any tools? Ay! ay! I see you travel well +equipped, if you do ride in your coach. Now your riding-cloak, the +nights are damp here, by the river-side, even in summer; oh! never +mind your pistols, you'll find a brace in my holsters, genuine +Kuchenreuters. I can hit a crown piece with them, for a hundred +guineas, at fifty paces."</p> + +<p>"Heaven send that you never shoot at me with them, if that's the case, +George."</p> + +<p>"Heaven send that I never shoot at any one, my lord, unless it be an +enemy of my king and country, and in open warfare; for so certainly as +I do shoot I shall kill."</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt you, George. But let's be off. The lights are burning +low in the sockets, and these good fellows are evidently tired out +with their share of our festivity. Fore Gad! I believe we are the last +of the guests."</p> + +<p>And with the word, the young men mounted joyously, and galloped away +at the top of their horses' speed to the quarters of the life-guard in +Windsor.</p> + +<p>Half an hour after their departure, the two sisters sat above stairs +in a pleasant chamber, disrobing themselves, with the assistance of +their maidens, of the cumbrous and stiff costumes of the ball-room, +and jesting merrily over the events of the evening.</p> + +<p>"Well, Blanche," said Agnes archly, "confess, siss, who is the lord +paramount, the beau <i>par excellence</i>, of the ball? I know, you demure +puss! After all, it is ever the quiet cat that licks the cream. But to +think that on your very first night you should have made such a +conquest. So difficult, too, to please, they say, and all the great +court ladies dying for him."</p> + +<p>"Hush! madcap. I don't know who you mean. At all events, I have not +danced four dances in one evening with one cavalier. Ah! have I caught +you, pretty mistress?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! that was only <i>poor</i> George Delawarr. A paltry cornet in the +guards. He will do well enough to have dangling after one, to play +with, while he amuses one—but fancy, being proud of conquering +poor George! His namesake with the Saint before it were worth a score +of such."</p> + +<p>"Fie, sister!" said Blanche, gravely. "I do not love to hear you talk +so. I am sure he's a very pretty gentleman, and has twice as much head +as my lord, if I'm not mistaken; and three times as much heart."</p> + +<p>"Heart, indeed, siss! Much you know about hearts, I fancy. But, now +that you speak of it, I <i>will</i> try if he has got a heart. If he has, +he will do well to pique some more eligible—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Agnes, Agnes! I cannot hear you—"</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" interrupted the younger sister, very bitterly, "this +affectation of sentiment and disinterestedness sits very prettily on +the heiress of Ditton-in-the-Dale, Long Netherby, and Waltham Ferrers, +three manors, and ten thousand pounds a year to buy a bridegroom! Poor +I, with my face for my fortune, must needs make my wit eke out my want +of dowry. And I'm not one, I promise you, siss, to choose love in a +cottage. No, no! Give me your Lord St. George, and I'll make over all +my right and title to poor George Delawarr this minute. Heigho! I +believe the fellow is smitten with me after all. Well, well! I'll have +some fun with him before I have done yet."</p> + +<p>"Agnes," said Blanche, gravely, but reproachfully, "I have long seen +that you are light, and careless whom you wound with your wild words, +but I never thought before that you were bad-hearted."</p> + +<p>"Bad-hearted, sister!"</p> + +<p>"Yes! bad-hearted! To speak to me of manors, or of money, as if for +fifty wills, or five hundred fathers, I would ever profit by a +parent's whim to rob my sister of her portion. As if I would not +rather lie in the cold grave, than that my sister should have a wish +ungratified, which I had power to gratify, much less that she should +<span class="pagenum">109</span>narrow down the standard of her choice—the holiest and most +sacred thing on earth—to the miserable scale of wealth and +title. Out upon it! out upon it! Never, while you live, speak so to me +again!"</p> + +<p>"Sister, I never will. I did not mean it, sister, dear," cried Agnes, +now much affected, as she saw how vehemently Blanche was moved. "You +should not heed me. You know my wild, rash way, and how I speak +whatever words come first."</p> + +<p>"Those were very meaning words, Agnes—and very bitter, too. They +cut me to the heart," cried the fair girl, bursting into a flood of +passionate tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh! do not—do not, Blanche. Forgive me, dearest! Indeed, +indeed, I meant nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Forgive you, Agnes! I have nothing to forgive. I was not even angry, +but pained, but sorry for you, sister; for sure I am, that if you give +way to this bitter, jealous spirit, you will work much anguish to +yourself, and to all those who love you."</p> + +<p>"Jealous, Blanche!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Agnes, jealous! But let us say no more. Let this pass, and be +forgotten; but never, dear girl, if you love me, as I think you do, +never <i>so</i> speak to me again."</p> + +<p>"I never, never will." And she fell upon her neck, and kissed her +fondly, as her heart relented, and she felt something of sincere +repentance for the harsh words which she had spoken, and the hard, +bitter feelings which suggested them.</p> + +<p>Another hour, and, clasped in each others' arms, they were sleeping as +sweetly as though no breath of this world's bitterness had ever blown +upon their hearts, or stirred them into momentary strife.</p> + +<p>Peace to their slumbers, and sweet dreams!</p> + +<p>It was, perhaps, an hour or two after noon, and the early dinner of +the time was already over, when the two sisters strolled out into the +gardens, unaccompanied, except by a tall old greyhound, Blanche's +peculiar friend and guardian, and some two or three beautiful +silky-haired King Charles spaniels.</p> + +<p>After loitering for a little while among the trim parterres, and +box-edged terraces, and gathering a few sweet summer flowers, they +turned to avoid the heat, which was excessive, into the dark elm +avenue, and wandered along between the tall black yew hedges, linked +arm-in-arm, indeed, but both silent and abstracted, and neither of +them conscious of the rich melancholy music of the nightingales, which +was ringing all around them in that pleasant solitude.</p> + +<p>Both, indeed, were buried in deep thought; and each, perhaps, for the +first time in her life, felt that her thought was such that she could +not, dared not, communicate it to her sister.</p> + +<p>For Blanche Fitz-Henry had, on the previous night, began, for the +first time in her life, to suspect that she was the owner, for the +time being, of a commodity called a heart, although it may be that the +very suspicion proved in some degree that the possession was about to +pass, if it were not already passing, from her.</p> + +<p>In sober seriousness, it must be confessed that the young cornet of +the Life Guards, although he had made so little impression on her to +whom he had devoted his attentions, had produced an effect different +from any thing which she had ever fell before on the mind of the elder +sister. It was not his good mien, nor his noble air that had struck +her; for though he was a well-made, fine-looking man, of graceful +manners, and high-born carriage, there were twenty men in the room +with whom he could not for five minutes have sustained a comparison in +point of personal appearance.</p> + +<p>His friend, the Viscount St. George, to whom she had lent but a cold +ear, was a far handsomer man. Nor was it his wit and gay humor, and +easy flow of conversation, that had captivated her fancy; although she +certainly did think him the most agreeable man she had ever listened +to. No, it was the under-current of delicate and poetical thought, the +glimpses of a high and noble spirit, which flashed out at times +through the light veil of reckless merriment, which, partly in +compliance with the spirit of the day, and partly because his was a +gay and mirthful nature, he had superinduced over the deeper and +grander points of his character. No; it was a certain originality of +mind, which assured her that, though he might talk lightly, he was one +to feel fervently and deeply—it was the impress of truth, and +candor, and high independence, which was stamped on his every word and +action, that first riveted her attention, and, in spite of her +resistance, half fascinated her imagination.</p> + +<p>This it was that had held her abstracted and apparently indifferent, +while Lord St. George was exerting all his powers of entertainment in +her behalf; this it was that had roused her indignation at hearing her +sister speak so slightingly, and, as it seemed to her, so ungenerously +of one whom she felt intuitively to be good and noble.</p> + +<p>This it was which now held her mute and thoughtful, and almost sad; +for she felt conscious that she was on the verge of +loving—loving one who, for aught that he had shown as yet, cared +naught for her, perhaps even preferred another—and that other +her own sister.</p> + +<p>Thereupon her maiden modesty rallied tumultuous to the rescue, and +suggested the shame of giving love unasked, giving it, perchance, to +be scorned—and almost she resolved to stifle the infant feeling +in its birth, and rise superior to the weakness. But when was ever +love vanquished by cold argument, or bound at the chariot-wheels of +reason.</p> + +<p>The thought would still rise up prominent, turn her mind to whatever +subject she would, coupled with something of pity at the treatment +which he was like to meet from Agnes, something of vague, unconfessed +pleasure that it was so, and something of secret hope that his eyes +would erelong be opened, and that she might prove, in the end, herself +his consoler.</p> + +<p>And what, meanwhile, were the dreams of Agnes? Bitter—bitter, +and black, and hateful. Oh! it is a terrible consideration, how +swiftly evil thoughts, once admitted to the heart, take root and +flourish, and grow up into a rank and poisonous crop, choking the good +grain utterly, and corrupting the very soil of which they have taken +hold. There is but one hope—but one! To tear them from the root +<span class="pagenum">110</span>forcibly, though the heart-strings crack, and the soul trembles, as +with a spiritual earthquake. To nerve the mind firmly and resolutely, +yet humbly withal, and contritely, and with prayer against temptation, +prayer for support from on high—to resist the Evil One with the +whole force of the intellect, the whole truth of the heart, and to +stop the ears steadfastly against the voice of the charmer, charm he +never so wisely.</p> + +<p>But so did not Agnes Fitz-Henry. It is true that on the preceding +night her better feelings had been touched, her heart had relented, +and she had banished, as she thought, the evil counsellors, ambition, +envy, jealousy, and distrust, from her spirit.</p> + +<p>But with the night the better influence passed away, and ere the +morning had well come, the evil spirit had returned to his dwelling +place, and brought with him other spirits, worse and more wicked than +himself.</p> + +<p>The festive scene of the previous evening had, for the first time +opened her eyes fairly to her own position; she read it in the +demeanor of all present; she heard it in the whispers which +unintentionally reached her ears; she felt it intuitively in the +shade—it was not a shade, yet she observed it—of +difference perceptible in the degree of deference and courtesy paid to +herself and to her sister.</p> + +<p>She felt, for the first time, that Blanche was every thing, herself a +mere cipher—that Blanche was the lady of the manor, the cynosure +of all eyes, the queen of all hearts, herself but the lady's poor +relation, the dependent on her bounty, and at the best a creature to +be played with, and petted for her beauty and her wit, without regard +to her feelings, or sympathy for her heart.</p> + +<p>And prepared as she was at all times to resist even just authority +with insolent rebellion; ready as she was always to assume the +defensive, and from that the offensive against all whom she fancied +offenders, how angrily did her heart now boil up, how almost fiercely +did she muster her faculties to resist, to attack, to conquer, to +annihilate all whom she deemed her enemies—and that, for the +moment, was the world.</p> + +<p>Conscious of her own beauty, of her own wit, of her own high and +powerful intellect, perhaps over-confident in her resources, she +determined on that instant that she would devote them all, all to one +purpose, to which she would bend every energy, direct every thought of +her mind—to her own aggrandizement, by means of some great and +splendid marriage, which should set her as far above the heiress of +Ditton-in-the-Dale, as the rich heiress now stood in the world's eye +above the portionless and dependent sister.</p> + +<p>Nor was this all—there was a sterner, harder, and more wicked +feeling yet, springing up in her heart, and whispering the sweetness +of revenge—revenge on that amiable and gentle sister, who, so +far from wronging her, had loved her ever with the tenderest and most +affectionate love, who would have sacrificed her dearest wishes to her +welfare—but whom, in the hardness of her embittered spirit, she +could now see only as an intruder upon her own just rights, a rival on +the stage of fashion, perhaps in the interests of the heart—whom +she already envied, suspected, almost hated.</p> + +<p>And Blanche, at that self-same moment, had resolved to keep watch on +her own heart narrowly, and to observe her sister's bearing toward +George Delawarr, that in case she should perceive her favoring his +suit, she might at once crush down the germ of rising passion, and +sacrifice her own to her dear sister's happiness.</p> + +<p>Alas! Blanche! Alas! Agnes!</p> + +<p>Thus they strolled onward, silently and slowly, until they reached the +little green before the summer-house, which was then the gayest and +most lightsome place that can be imagined, with its rare paintings +glowing in their undimmed hues, its gilding bright and burnished, its +furniture all sumptuous and new, and instead of the dark funereal ivy, +covered with woodbine and rich clustered roses. The windows were all +thrown wide open to the perfumed summer air, and the warm light poured +in through the gaps in the tree-tops, and above the summits of the +then carefully trimmed hedgerows, blithe and golden.</p> + +<p>They entered and sat down, still pensive and abstracted; but erelong +the pleasant and happy influences of the time and place appeared to +operate in some degree on the feelings of both, but especially on the +tranquil and well-ordered mind of the elder sister. She raised her +head suddenly, and was about to speak, when the rapid sound of horses' +feet, unheard on the soft sand until they were hard by, turned her +attention to the window, and the next moment the two young cavaliers, +who were even then uppermost in her mind, came into view, cantering +along slowly on their well-managed chargers.</p> + +<p>Her eye was not quicker than those of the gallant riders, who, seeing +the ladies, whom they had ridden over to visit, sitting by the windows +of the summer-house, checked their horses on the instant, and doffed +their plumed hats.</p> + +<p>"Good faith, fair ladies, we are in fortune's graces to-day," said the +young peer, gracefully, "since having ridden thus far on our way to +pay you our humble devoirs, we meet you thus short of our journey's +end."</p> + +<p>"But how are we to win our way to you," cried Delawarr, "as you sit +there bright <i>chatelaines</i> of your enchanted bower—for I see +neither fairy skiff, piloted by grim-visaged dwarfs, to waft us over, +nor even a stray dragon, by aid of whose broad wings to fly across +this mimic moat, which seems to be something of the deepest?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! gallop on, gay knights," said Agnes, smiling on Lord St. George, +but averting her face somewhat from the cornet, "gallop on to the +lodges, and leaving there your coursers, take the first path on the +left hand, and that will lead you to our presence; and should you +peradventure get entangled in the hornbeam maze, why, one of us two +will bring you the clue, like a second Ariadne. Ride on and we will +meet you. Come, sister, let us walk."</p> + +<p>Blanche had as yet scarcely found words to reply to the greeting of +the gallants, for the coincidence of their arrival with her own +<span class="pagenum">111</span>thoughts had embarrassed her a little, and she had blushed crimson as +she caught the eye of George Delawarr fixed on her with a marked +expression, beneath which her own dropped timidly. But now she arose, +and bowing with an easy smile, and a few pleasant words, expressed her +willingness to abide by her sister's plan.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the ladies met their gallants in the green labyrinth +of which Agnes had spoken, and falling into pairs, for the walk was +too narrow to allow them all four to walk abreast, they strolled in +company toward the Hall.</p> + +<p>What words they said, I am not about to relate—for such +conversations, though infinitely pleasant to the parties, are for the +most part infinitely dull to third persons—but it so fell out, +not without something of forwardness and marked management, which did +not escape the young soldier's rapid eye, on the part of Agnes, that +the order of things which had been on the previous evening was +reversed; the gay, rattling girl attaching herself perforce to the +viscount, not without a sharp and half-sarcastic jest at the expense +of her former partner, and the mild heiress falling to his charge.</p> + +<p>George Delawarr had been smitten, it is true, the night before by the +gayety and rapid intellect of Agnes, as well as by the wild and +peculiar style of her beauty; and it might well have been that the +temporary fascination might have ripened into love. But he was hurt, +and disgusted even more than hurt, by her manner, and observing her +with a watchful eye as she coquetted with his friend, he speedily came +to the conclusion that St. George was right in his estimate of <i>her</i> +character at least, although he now seemed to be flattered and amused +by her evident prepossession in his favor.</p> + +<p>He had not, it is true, been deeply enough touched to feel either +pique or melancholy at this discovery, but was so far heart-whole as +to be rather inclined to laugh at the fickleness of the merry jilt, +than either to repine or to be angry.</p> + +<p>He was by no means the man, however, to cast away the occasion of +pleasure; and walking with so beautiful and soft a creature as +Blanche, he naturally abandoned himself to the tide of the hour, and +in a little while found himself engaged in a conversation, which, if +less sparkling and brilliant, was a thousand times more charming than +that which he had yesterday held with her sister.</p> + +<p>In a short time he had made the discovery that with regard to the +elder sister, too, his friend's penetration had exceeded his own; and +that beneath that calm and tranquil exterior there lay a deep and +powerful mind, stored with a treasury of the richest gems of thought +and feeling. He learned in that long woodland walk that she was, +indeed, a creature both to adore and to be adored; and he, too, like +St. George, was certain, that the happy man whom she should love, +would be loved for himself alone, with the whole fervor, the whole +truth, the whole concentrated passion of a heart, the flow of which +once unloosed, would be but the stronger for the restraint which had +hitherto confined it.</p> + +<p>Erelong, as they reached the wider avenue, the two parties united, and +then, more than ever, he perceived the immense superiority in all +lovable, all feminine points, of the elder to the younger sister; for +Agnes, though brilliant and seemingly thoughtless and spirit-free as +ever, let fall full many a bitter word, many a covert taunt and hidden +sneer, which, with his eyes now opened as they were, he readily +detected, and which Blanche, as he could discover, even through her +graceful quietude, felt, and felt painfully.</p> + +<p>They reached the Hall at length, and were duly welcomed by its master; +refreshments were offered and accepted—and the young men were +invited to return often, and a day was fixed on which they should +partake the hospitalities of Ditton, at least as temporary residents.</p> + +<p>The night was already closing in when they mounted their horses and +withdrew, both well pleased with their visit—for the young lord +was in pursuit of amusement only, and seeing at a glance the coyness +of the heiress, and the somewhat forward coquetry of her sister, he +had accommodated himself to circumstances, and determined that a +passing flirtation with so pretty a girl, and a short <i>sejour</i> at a +house so well-appointed as Ditton, would be no unpleasant substitute +for London in the dog-days; and George Delawarr, like Romeo, had +discarded the imaginary love the moment he found the true Juliet. If +not in love, he certainly was fascinated, charmed; he certainly +thought Blanche the sweetest, and most lovely girl he had ever met, +and was well inclined to believe that she was the best and most +admirable. He trembled on the verge of his fate.</p> + +<p>And she—her destiny was fixed already, and forever! And when she +saw her sister delighted with the attentions of the youthful nobleman, +she smiled to herself, and dreamed a pleasant dream, and gave herself +up to the sweet delusion. She had already asked her own heart "does he +love me?" and though it fluttered sorely, and hesitated for a while, +it did not answer, "No!"</p> + +<p>But as the gentlemen rode homeward, St. George turned shortly on his +companion, and said, gravely,</p> + +<p>"You have changed your mind, Delawarr, and found out that I am right. +Nevertheless, beware! do not, for God's sake, fall in love with her, +or make her love you!"</p> + +<p>The blood flushed fiery-red to the ingenuous brow of George Delawarr, +and he was embarrassed for a moment. Then he tried to turn off his +confusion with a jest.</p> + +<p>"What, jealous, my lord! jealous of a poor cornet, with no other +fortune than an honorable name, and a bright sword! I thought you, +too, had changed your mind, when I saw you flirting so merrily with +that merry brunette."</p> + +<p>"You did see me <i>flirting</i>, George—nothing more; and I <i>have</i> +changed my mind, since the beginning, if not since the end of last +evening—for I thought at first that fair Blanche Fitz-Henry +would make me a charming wife; and now I am sure that she would +<i>not</i>—"</p><span class="pagenum">112</span> + +<p>"Why so, my lord? For God's sake! why say you so?"</p> + +<p>"Because she never would love <i>me</i>, George; and <i>I</i> would never marry +any woman, unless I were sure that she both could and did. So you see +that I am not the least jealous; but still I say, don't fall in love +with her—"</p> + +<p>"Faith! St. George, but your admonition comes somewhat late—for +I believe I am half in love with her already."</p> + +<p>"Then stop where you are, and go no deeper—for if I err not, she +is more than half in love with you, too."</p> + +<p>"A strange reason, St. George, wherefore to bid me stop!"</p> + +<p>"A most excellent good one!" replied the other, gravely, and almost +sadly, "for mutual love between you two can only lead to mutual +misery. Her father never would consent to her marrying you more than +he would to her marrying a peasant—the man is perfectly insane +on the subject of title-deeds and heraldry, and will accept no one for +his son-in-law who cannot show as many quarterings as a Spanish +grandee, or a German noble. But, of course, it is of no use talking +about it. Love never yet listened to reason; and, moreover, I suppose +what is to be is to be—come what may."</p> + +<p>"And what will you do, St. George, about Agnes? I think you are +touched there a little!"</p> + +<p>"Not a whit I—honor bright! And for what I will do—amuse +myself, George—amuse myself, and that pretty coquette, too; and +if I find her less of a coquette, with more of a heart than I fancy +she has—" he stopped short, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Well, what then—what then?" cried George Delawarr.</p> + +<p>"It will be time enough to decide <i>then</i>."</p> + +<p>"And so say I, St. George. Meanwhile, I too will amuse myself."</p> + +<p>"Ay! but observe this special difference—what is fun to <i>you</i> +may be death to <i>her</i>, for she <i>has</i> a heart, and a fine, and true, +and deep one; may be death to yourself—for you, too, are +honorable, and true, and noble; and that is why I love you, George, +and why I speak to you thus, at the risk of being held meddlesome or +impertinent."</p> + +<p>"Oh, never, never!" exclaimed Delawarr, moving his horse closer up to +him, and grasping his hand warmly, "never! You meddlesome or +impertinent! Let me hear no man call you so. But I will think of this. +On my honor, I will think of this that you have said!"</p> + +<p>And he did think of it. Thought of it often, deeply—and the more +he thought, the more he loved Blanche Fitz-Henry.</p> + +<p>Days, weeks, and months rolled on, and still those two young +cavaliers were constant visiters, sometimes alone, sometimes with +other gallants in their company, at Ditton-in-the-Dale. And ever +still, despite his companion's warning, Delawarr lingered by the fair +heiress' side, until both were as deeply enamored as it is possible +for two persons to be, both single-hearted, both endowed with powerful +intellect, and powerful imagination; both of that strong and energetic +temperament which renders all impressions permanent, all strong +passions immortal. It was strange that there should have been two +persons, and there were but two, who discovered nothing of what was +passing—suspected nothing of the deep feelings which possessed +the hearts of the young lovers; while all else marked the growth of +liking into love, of love into that absolute and over-whelming +idolatry, which but few souls can comprehend, and which to those few +is the mightiest of blessings or the blackest of curses.</p> + +<p>And those two, as is oftentimes the case, were the very two whom it +most concerned to perceive, and who imagined themselves the quickest +and the clearest sighted—Allan Fitz-Henry, and the envious +Agnes.</p> + +<p>But so true is it that the hope is oft parent to the thought, and the +thought again to security and conviction, that, having in the first +instance made up his mind that Lord St. George would be a most +suitable successor to the name of the family, and secondly, that he +was engaged in prosecuting his suit to the elder daughter, her father +gave himself no further trouble in the matter, but suffered things to +take their own course without interference.</p> + +<p>He saw, indeed, that in public the viscount was more frequently the +companion of Agnes than of Blanche; that there seemed to be a better +and more rapid intelligence between them; and that Blanche appeared +better pleased with George Delawarr's than with the viscount's +company.</p> + +<p>But, to a man blinded by his own wishes and prejudices, such evidences +went as nothing. He set it down at once to the score of timidity on +Blanche's part, and to the desire of avoiding unnecessary notoriety on +St. George's; and saw nothing but what was perfectly natural and +comprehensible, in the fact that the younger sister and the familiar +friend should be the mutual confidents, perhaps the go-betweens, of +the two acknowledged lovers.</p> + +<p>He was in high good-humor, therefore; and as he fancied himself on the +high-road to the full fruition of his schemes, nothing could exceed +his courtesy and kindness to the young cornet, whom he almost +overpowered with those tokens of affection and regard which he did +not choose to lavish on the peer, lest he should be thought to be +courting his alliance.</p> + +<p>Agnes, in the meantime, was so busy in the prosecution of her assault +on Lord St. George's heart, on which she began to believe that she had +made some permanent impression, that she was perfectly contented with +her own position, and was well-disposed to let other people enjoy +themselves, provided they did not interfere with her proceedings. It +is true that, at times, in the very spirit of coquetry, she would +resume her flirtation with George Delawarr, for the double purpose of +piquing the viscount, and playing with the cornet's affections, which, +blinded by self-love, she still believed to be devoted to her pretty +self.</p> + +<p>But Delawarr was so happy in himself, that, without any intention of +playing with Agnes, or deceiving her, he joked and rattled with her as +<span class="pagenum">113</span>he would with a sister, and believing that she must understand their +mutual situation, at times treated her with a sort of quiet fondness, +as a man naturally does the sister of his betrothed or his bride, +which effectually completed her hallucination.</p> + +<p>The consequence of all this was, that, while they were unintentionally +deceiving others, they were fatally deceiving themselves likewise; and +of this, it is probable that no one was aware, with the exception of +St. George, who, seeing that his warnings were neglected, did not +choose to meddle further in the matter, although keeping himself ready +to aid the lovers to the utmost of his ability by any means that +should offer.</p> + +<p>In the innocence of their hearts, and the purity of their young love, +they fancied that what was so clear to themselves, must be apparent to +the eyes of others; and they flattered themselves that the lady's +father not only saw, but approved their affection, and that, when the +fitting time should arrive, there would be no obstacle to the +accomplishment of their happiness.</p> + +<p>It is true that Blanche spoke not of her love to her sister, for, +apart from the aversion which a refined and delicate girl must ever +feel to touching on that subject, unless the secret be teased or +coaxed out of her by some near and affectionate friend, there had +grown up a sort of distance, not coldness, nor dislike, nor distrust, +but simply distance, and lack of communication between the sisters +since the night of the birthday ball. Still Blanche doubted not that +her sister saw and knew all that was passing in her mind, in the same +manner as she read her heart; and it was to her evident liking for +Lord St. George, and the engrossing claim of her own affections on all +her thoughts, and all her time, that she attributed her carelessness +of herself.</p> + +<p>Deeply, however, did she err, and cruelly was she destined to be +undeceived.</p> + +<p>The early days of autumn had arrived, and the woods had donned their +many-colored garments, when on a calm, sweet evening—one of +those quiet and delicious evenings peculiar to that +season—Blanche and George Delawarr had wandered away from the +gay concourse which filled the gardens, and unseen, as they believed, +and unsuspected, had turned into the old labyrinth where first they +had begun to love, and were wrapped in soft dreams of the near +approach of more perfect happiness.</p> + +<p>But a quick, hard eye was upon them—the eye of Agnes; for, by +chance, Lord St. George was absent, having been summoned to attend the +king at Windsor; and being left to herself, her busy mind, too busy to +rest for a moment idle, plunged into mischief and malevolence.</p> + +<p>No sooner did she see them turn aside from the broad walk than the +cloud was withdrawn, as if by magic, from her eyes; and she saw almost +intuitively all that had previously escaped her.</p> + +<p>Not a second did she lose, but stealing after the unsuspecting pair +with a noiseless and treacherous step, she followed them, foot by +foot, through the mazes of the clipped hornbeam labyrinth, divided +from them only by the verdant screen, listening to every half-breathed +word of love, and drinking in with greedy ears every passionate sigh.</p> + +<p>Delawarr's left arm was around Blanche's slender waist, and her right +hand rested on his shoulder; the fingers of their other hands were +entwined lovingly together, as they wandered onward, wrapped each in +the other, unconscious of wrong on their own part, and unsuspicious of +injury from any other.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, with rage in her eyes, with hell in her heart, Agnes +followed and listened.</p> + +<p>So deadly was her hatred, at that moment, of her sister, so fierce and +overmastering her rage, that it was only by the utmost exertion of +self-control that she could refrain from rushing forward and loading +them with reproaches, with contumely, and with scorn.</p> + +<p>But biting her lips till the blood sprang beneath her pearly teeth, +and clinching her hands so hard that the nails wounded their tender +palms, she did refrain, did subdue the swelling fury of her rebellious +heart, and awaited the hour of more deadly vengeance.</p> + +<p>Vengeance for what? She had not loved George Delawarr—nay, she +had scorned him! Blanche had not robbed her of her lover—nay, in +her own thoughts, she had carried off the admirer, perhaps the future +lover, from the heiress.</p> + +<p>She was the wronger, not the wronged! Then wherefore vengeance?</p> + +<p>Even, <i>therefore</i>, reader, because she had wronged her, and knew it; +because her own conscience smote her, and she would fain avenge on the +innocent cause, the pangs which at times rent her own bosom.</p> + +<p>Envious and bitter, she could not endure that Blanche should be loved, +as she felt she was not loved herself, purely, devotedly, forever, and +for herself alone.</p> + +<p>Ambitious, and insatiate of admiration, she could not endure that +George Delawarr, once her captive, whom she still thought her slave, +should shake off his allegiance to herself, much less that he should +dare to love her sister.</p> + +<p>Even while she listened, she suddenly heard Blanche reply to some +words of her lover, which had escaped her watchful ears.</p> + +<p>"Never fear, dearest George; I am sure that he has seen and knows +all—he is the kindest and the best of fathers. I will tell him +all to-morrow, and will have good news for you when you come to see me +in the evening."</p> + +<p>"Never!" exclaimed the fury, stamping upon the ground +violently—"by all my hopes of heaven, never!"</p> + +<p>And with the words she darted away in the direction of the hall as +fast as her feet could carry her over the level greensward; rage +seeming literally to lend her wings, so rapidly did her fiery passions +spur her on the road to impotent revenge.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes afterward, with his face inflamed with fury, his periwig +awry, his dress disordered by the haste with which he had come up, +Allan Fitz-Henry broke upon the unsuspecting lovers.</p> + +<p>Snatching his daughter rudely from the young man's half embrace, he +<span class="pagenum">114</span>broke out into a torrent of terrible and furious invective, far more +disgraceful to him who used it, than to those on whom it was vented.</p> + +<p>There was no check to his violence, no moderation on his tongue. +Traitor, and knave, and low-born beggar, were the mildest epithets +which he applied to the high-bred and gallant soldier; while on his +sweet and shrinking child he heaped terms the most opprobrious, the +most unworthy of himself, whether as a father or as a man.</p> + +<p>The blood rushed crimson to the brow of George Delawarr, and his hand +fell, as if by instinct, upon the hilt of his rapier; but the next +moment he withdrew it, and was cool by a mighty effort.</p> + +<p>"From you, sir, any thing! You will be sorry for this to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>"Never, sir! never! Get you gone! base domestic traitor! Get you gone, +lest I call my servants, and bid them spurn you from my premises!"</p> + +<p>"I go, sir—" he began calmly; but at this moment St. George came +upon the scene, having just returned from Windsor, eager, but, alas! +too late, to anticipate the shameful scene—and to him did George +Delawarr turn with unutterable anguish in his eyes. "Bid my men bring +my horses after me, St. George," said he, firmly, but mournfully; "for +me, this is no place any longer. Farewell, sir! you will repent of +this. Adieu, Blanche, we shall meet again, sweet one."</p> + +<p>"Never! dog, never! or with my own hands—"</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush! for shame. Peace, Mister Fitz-Henry, these words are not +such as may pass between gentlemen. Go, George, for God's sake! Go, +and prevent worse scandal," cried the viscount.</p> + +<p>And miserable beyond all comprehension, his dream of bliss thus +cruelly cut short, the young man went his way, leaving his mistress +hanging in a deep swoon, happy to be for a while unconscious of her +misery, upon her father's arm.</p> + +<p>Three days had passed—three dark, dismal, hopeless days. +Delawarr did his duty with his regiment, nay, did it well—but he +was utterly unconscious, his mind was afar off, as of a man walking in +a dream. Late on the third night a small note was put into his hands, +blistered and soiled with tears. A wan smile crossed his face, he +ordered his horses at daybreak, drained a deep draught of wine, +sauntered away to his own chamber, stopping at every two or three +paces in deep meditation; threw himself on his bed, for the first time +in his life without praying, and slept, or seemed to sleep, till +daybreak.</p> + +<p>Three days had passed—three dark, dismal, hopeless days! +Blanche was half dead—for she now despaired. All methods had +been tried with the fierce and prejudiced old man, secretly prompted +by that demon-girl—and all tried in vain. Poor Blanche had +implored him to suffer her to resign her birthright in favor of her +sister, who would wed to suit his wishes, but in vain. The generous +St. George had offered to purchase for his friend, as speedily as +possible, every step to the very highest in the service; nay, he had +obtained from the easy monarch a promise to raise him to the peerage, +but in vain.</p> + +<p>And Blanche despaired; and St. George left the Hall in sorrow and +disgust that he could effect nothing.</p> + +<p>That evening Blanche's maid, a true and honest girl, delivered to her +mistress a small note, brought by a peasant lad; and within an hour +the boy went thence, the bearer of a billet, blistered and wet with +tears.</p> + +<p>And Blanche crept away unheeded to her chamber, and threw herself upon +her knees, and prayed fervently and long; and casting herself upon her +painful bed, at last wept herself to sleep.</p> + +<p>The morning dawned, merry and clear, and lightsome; and all the face +of nature smiled gladly in the merry sunbeams.</p> + +<p>At the first peep of dawn Blanche started from her restless slumbers, +dressed herself hastily, and creeping down the stairs with a cautious +step, unbarred a postern door, darted out into the free air, without +casting a glance behind her, and fled, with all the speed of mingled +love and terror, down the green avenue toward the gay +pavilion—scene of so many happy hours.</p> + +<p>But again she was watched by an envious eye, and followed by a jealous +foot.</p> + +<p>For scarce ten minutes had elapsed from the time when she issued from +the postern, before Agnes appeared on the threshold, with her dark +face livid and convulsed with passion; and after pausing a moment, as +if in hesitation, followed rapidly in the footsteps of her sister.</p> + +<p>When Blanche reached the summer-house, it was closed and untenanted; +but scarcely had she entered and cast open the blinds of one window +toward the road, before a hard horse-tramp was heard coming up at full +gallop, and in an instant George Delawarr pulled up his panting +charger in the lane, leaped to the ground, swung himself up into the +branches of the great oak-tree, and climbing rapidly along its gnarled +limbs, sprang down on the other side, rushed into the building, and +cast himself at his mistress' feet.</p> + +<p>Agnes was entering the far end of the elm-tree walk as he sprang down +into the little coplanade, but he was too dreadfully preoccupied with +hope and anguish, and almost despair, to observe any thing around him.</p> + +<p>But she saw him, and fearful that she should be too late to arrest +what she supposed to be the lovers' flight, she ran like the wind.</p> + +<p>She neared the doorway—loud voices reached her ears, but whether +in anger, or in supplication, or in sorrow, she could not distinguish.</p> + +<p>Then came a sound that rooted her to the ground on which her flying +foot was planted, in mute terror.</p> + +<p>The round ringing report of a pistol-shot! and ere its echo had begun +to die away, another!</p> + +<p>No shriek, no wail, no word succeeded—all was as silent as the +grave.</p> + +<p>Then terror gave her courage, and she rushed madly forward a few +steps, then stood on the threshold horror-stricken.</p> + +<p>Both those young souls, but a few days before so happy, so beloved, +and so loving, had taken their flight—whither?</p> +<span class="pagenum">115</span> + +<p>Both lay there dead, as they had fallen, but unconvulsed, and graceful +even in death. Neither had groaned or struggled, but as they had +fallen, so they lay, a few feet asunder—her heart and his brain +pierced by the deadly bullets, sped with the accuracy of his +never-erring aim.</p> + +<p>While she stood gazing, in the very stupor of dread, scarce conscious +yet of what had fallen out, a deep voice smote her ear.</p> + +<p>"Base, base girl, this is all your doing!" Then, as if wakening from a +trance, she uttered a long, piercing shriek, darted into the pavilion +between the gory corpses, and flung herself headlong out of the open +window into the pool beneath.</p> + +<p>But she was not fated so to die. A strong hand dragged her +out—the hand of St. George, who, learning that his friend had +ridden forth toward Ditton, had followed him, and arrived too late by +scarce a minute.</p> + +<p>From that day forth Agnes Fitz-Henry was a dull, melancholy maniac. +Never one gleam of momentary light dispersed the shadows of her insane +horror—never one smile crossed her lip, one pleasant thought +relieved her life-long sorrow. Thus lived she; and when death at +length came to restore her spirit's light, she died, and made no sign.</p> + +<p>Allan Fitz-Henry <i>lived</i>—a moody misanthropic man, shunning all +men, and shunned of all. In truth, the saddest and most wretched of +the sons of men.</p> + +<p>How that catastrophe fell out none ever knew, and it were useless to +conjecture.</p> + +<p>They were beautiful, they were young, they were happy. The evil days +arrived—and they were wretched, and lacked strength to bear +their wretchedness. They are gone where ONE alone must judge +them—may <span class="smcap">He</span> have pity on their weakness. <span class="smcap">Requiescant</span>!</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="pleiad" id="pleiad">THE LOST PLEIAD.</a></h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY HENRY B. HIRST.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +Beautiful sisters! tell me, do you ever<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dream of the loved and lost one, she who fell</span><br /> +And faded, in love's turbid, crimson river—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">The sacred secret tell?</span><br /> +Calmly the purple heavens reposed around her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, chanting harmonies, she danced along;</span><br /> +Ere Eros in his silken meshes bound her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Her being passed in song.</span><br /> +<br /> +Once on a day she lay in dreamy slumber;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beside her slept her golden-tonguèd lyre;</span><br /> +And radiant visions—fancies without number—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Filled breast and brain with fire.</span><br /> +She dreamed; and, in her dreams, saw, bending o'er her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A form her fervid fancy deified;</span><br /> +And, waking, viewed the noble one before her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Who wooed her as his bride.</span><br /> +<br /> +What words—what passionate words he breathed, beseeching,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have long been lost in the descending years:</span><br /> +Nevertheless she listened to his teaching,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Smiling between her tears.</span><br /> +And ever since that hour the happy maiden<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wanders unknown of any one but Jove;</span><br /> +Regretting not the lost Olympian Aidenn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">In the Elysium—Love!</span><br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="sunset" id="sunset">SUNSET AFTER RAIN.</a></h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY ALFRED B. STREET.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +All day, with humming and continuous sound,<br /> +Streaking the landscape, has the slant rain fall'n;<br /> +But now the mist is vanishing; in the west<br /> +The dull gray sheet, that shrouded from the sight<br /> +The sky, is rent in fragments, and rich streaks<br /> +Of tenderest blue are smiling through the clefts.<br /> +A dart of sunshine strikes upon the hills,<br /> +Then melts. The great clouds whiten, and roll off,<br /> +Until a steady blaze of golden light<br /> +Kindles the dripping scene. Within the east,<br /> +The delicate rainbow suddenly breaks out;<br /> +Soft air-breaths flutter round; each tree shakes down<br /> +A shower of glittering drops; the woodlands burst<br /> +Into a chorus of glad harmony;<br /> +And the rich landscape, full of loveliness,<br /> +Fades slowly, calmly, sweetly, into night.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thus, sometimes, is the end of Human life.</span><br /> +In youth and manhood, sorrows may frown round;<br /> +But when the sun of Being lowly stoops,<br /> +The darkness breaks away—the tears are dried;<br /> +The Christian's hope—a rainbow—brightly glows,<br /> +And life glides sweet and tranquil to the tomb.<br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="montezuma" id="montezuma">MONTEZUMA MOGGS.</a></h3> +<span class="pagenum">116</span> +<h4>THAT WAS TO BE.</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY THE LATE JOSEPH C. NEAL.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> + +<p>"Now, Moggs—you Moggs—good Moggs—dear Moggs," said +his wife, running through the chromatic scale of matrimonial address, +and modulating her words and her tones from irritation into +tenderness—"yes, Moggs—that's a good soul—I do wish +for once you would try to be a little useful to your family. Stay at +home to-day, Moggs, can't you, while I do the washing? It would be so +pleasant, Moggs—so like old times, to hear you whistling at your +work, while I am busy at mine."</p> + +<p>And a smile of affection stole across the countenance of Mrs. Moggs, +like a stray sunbeam on a cloudy day, breaking up the sharp and fixed +lines of care into which her features had settled as a habitual +expression, and causing her also to look as she did in the "old +times," to which she now so kindly referred.</p> + +<p>"Wont you, Moggs?" added she, laying her hand upon his shoulder, "it +would be so pleasant, dear—wouldn't it? I should not mind hard +work, Moggs, if you were at work near me."</p> + +<p>There was a tear, perhaps, twinkling in the eye of the wife, giving +gentleness to the hard, stony look which she in general wore, caused +by those unceasing troubles of her existence that leave no time for +weeping. Perpetual struggle hardens the heart and dries up the source +of tears.</p> + +<p>"Wont you, Moggs?"</p> + +<p>The idea of combined effort was a pleasant family picture to Mrs. +Moggs, though it did involve not a little of toil. Still, to her +loneliness it was a pleasant picture, accustomed as she had been to +strive alone, and continually, to support existence. But it seems that +perceptions of the pleasant and of the picturesque in such matters, +differ essentially; and Moggs, glancing through the sentimental, and +beyond it, felt determined, as he always did, to avoid the trouble +which it threatened.</p> + +<p>"Can't be," responded Moggs, slightly shrugging his shoulder, as a +hint to his wife that the weight of her hand was oppressive. "Can't +be," continued he, as he set himself industriously—for in this +Moggs was industrious—to the consumption of the best part of the +breakfast that was before him—a breakfast that had been, as +usual, provided by his wife, and prepared by her, while Montezuma +Moggs was fast asleep—an amusement to which, next to eating, +Montezuma Moggs was greatly addicted when at home, as demanding the +least possible effort and exertion on his part. Montezuma Moggs, you +see, was in some respects not a little of an economist; and, as a +rule, never made his appearance in the morning until firmly assured +that breakfast was quite ready—"'most ready," was too indefinite +and vague for Montezuma Moggs—he had been too often tricked from +comfort in that way before—people will so impose on one in this +respect—envious people, who covet your slumbers—such as +those who drag the covering off, or sprinkle water on the unguarded +physiognomy. But Moggs took care, in the excess of his caution, that +no time should be lost by him in a tedious interval of hungry +expectation.</p> + +<p>"Say ready—quite ready—and I'll come," muttered he, in +that sleepy debate between bed and breakfast which often consumes so +much of time; and his eyes remained shut and his mouth open until +perfectly assured that all the preliminary arrangements had been +completed. "Because," as Moggs wisely observed, "that half hour before +breakfast, reflecting on sausages and speculating on coffee, if there +is sausages and coffee, frets a man dreadful, and does him more harm +than all the rest of the day put together."—Sagacious Moggs!</p> + +<p>Besides, Moggs has a great respect for himself—much more, +probably, than he has for other people, being the respecter of a +person, rather than of persons, and that person being himself. Moggs, +therefore, disdains the kindling of fires, splitting wood, and all +that, especially of frosty mornings—and eschews the putting on +of kettles—well knowing that if an individual is in the way when +the aid of an individual is required, there is likely to be a +requisition on the individual's services. Montezuma Moggs understood +how to "skulk;" and we all comprehend the fact that to "skulk" +judiciously is a fine political feature, saving much of wear and tear +to the body corporate.</p> + +<p>"Mend boots—mind shop—tend baby!—can't be," repeated +Moggs, draining the last drop from his cup—"boots, shops and +babies must mend, mind and tend themselves—I'm going to do +something better than that;" and so Moggs rose leisurely, took his +hat, and departed, to stroll the streets, to talk at the corners, and +to read the bulletin-boards at the newspaper offices, which, as Moggs +often remarks, not only encourages literature, but is also one of the +cheapest of all amusements—vastly more agreeable than if you +paid for it.</p> + +<p>It was a little shop, in one of the poorer sections of the city, where +Montezuma Moggs resided with his family—Mrs. Moggs and five +juveniles of that name and race—a shop of the miscellaneous +order, in which was offered for sale a little, but a very little, of +any thing, and every thing—one of those distressed looking +<span class="pagenum">117</span>shops which bring a sensation of dreariness over the mind, and which +cause a sinking of the heart before you have time to ask why you are +saddened—a frail and feeble barrier it seems against penury and +famine, to yield at the first approach of the gaunt enemy—a shop +that has no aspect of business about it, but compels you to think of +distraining for rent, of broken hearts, of sickness, suffering and +death.</p> + +<p>It was a shop, moreover—we have all seen the like—with a +bell to it, which rings out an announcement as we open the door, that, +few and far between, there has been an arrival in the way of a +customer, though it may be, as sometimes happens, that the bell, with +all its untuned sharpness, fails to triumph over the din of domestic +affairs in the little back-room, which serves for parlor, and kitchen, +and hall, and proves unavailing to spread the news against the +turbulent clamor of noisy children and a vociferous wife.</p> + +<p>But be patient to the last—even if the bell does prove +insufficient to attract due attention to your majestic presence, +whether you come to make purchases or to avail yourself of the +additional proffer made by the sign appertaining to Moggs exclusively, +relative to "Boots and shoes mended," collateral to which you observe +a work-bench in the corner; still, be patient, and cause the energies +of your heel to hold "wooden discourse" with the sanded floor, as +emphatically you cry—</p> + +<p>"Shop!" and beat with pennies on the counter.</p> + +<p>Be patient; for, look ye, Mrs. Moggs will soon appear, with a flushed +countenance and a soiled garb—her youngest hope, if a young +Moggs is to be called a hope, sobbing loudly on its mother's shoulder, +while the unawed pratlers within, carry on the war with increasing +violence.</p> + +<p>"Shop!"</p> + +<p>"Comin'!—what's wanten?" is the sharp and somewhat discourteous +reply, as Mrs. Moggs gives a shake of admonition to her peevish little +charge, and turns half back to the riotous assemblage in the rear.</p> + +<p>Now, we ask it of you as a special favor, that you do not suffer any +shadow of offence to arise at the dash of acerbity that may manifest +itself in the tones of Mrs. Montezuma Moggs. According to our notion +of the world, as it goes, she, and such as she, deserve rather to be +honored than to provoke wrath by the defects of an unpolished and +unguarded manner. She has her troubles, poor woman—gnawing +cares, to which, in all likelihood, yours are but as the gossamer upon +the wind, or as the thistle-down floating upon the summer breeze; and +if there be cash in your pocket, do not, after having caused such a +turmoil, content yourself with simply asking where Jones resides, or +Jenkins lives. It would be cruel—indeed it would. True, Mrs. +Moggs expects little else from one of your dashing style and elegant +appearance. Such a call rarely comes to her but with some profitless +query; yet look around at the sparse candies, the withering apples, +and the forlorn groceries—specimens of which are affixed to the +window-panes in triangular patches of paste and paper—speak they +not of poverty? Purchase, then, if it be but a trifle.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moggs, unluckily for herself, is possessed of a husband. +Husbands, they say, are often regarded as desirable; and some of them +are spoken of as if they were a blessing. But if the opinion of Mrs. +Moggs were obtained on that score, it would probably be somewhat +different; for be it known that the husband of Mrs. Moggs is of the +kind that is neither useful nor ornamental. He belongs to that +division which addicts itself mainly to laziness—a species of +the biped called husband, which unfortunately is not so rare that we +seek for the specimen only in museums. We know not whether Montezuma +Moggs was or was not born lazy; nor shall we undertake to decide that +laziness is an inherent quality; but as Mrs. Moggs was herself a +thrifty, painstaking woman, as women, to their credit be it spoken, +are apt to be, her lazy husband, as lazy husbands will, in all such +cases, continued to grow and to increase in laziness, shifting every +care from his own broad shoulders to any other shoulders, whether +broad or narrow, strong or wreak, that had no craven shrinkings from +the load, Moggs contenting himself in an indolence which must be seen +to be appreciated by those—husbands or wives—who perform +their tasks in this great work-shop of human effort with becoming zeal +and with conscientious assiduity, regarding laziness as a sin against +the great purposes of their being. If this assumption be true, as we +suspect it is, Montezuma Moggs has much to answer for; though it is a +common occurrence, this falling back into imbecility, if there be any +one at hand willing to ply the oar, as too often shown in the fact +that the children of the industrious are willing to let their parents +work, while the energetic wife has a drag upon her in the shape of a +lounging husband.</p> + +<p>Yes, Mrs. Moggs belongs to the numerous class of women who have what +is well called "a trying time of it." You may recognize them in the +street, by their look of premature age—anxious, hollow-eyed, and +worn to shadows. There is a whole history in every line of their +faces, which tells of unceasing trouble, and their hard, quick +movement as they press onward regardless of all that begirts the way, +indicates those who have no thought to spare from their own immediate +necessities, for comment upon the gay and flaunting world. Little does +ostentation know, as it flashes by in satined arrogance and jeweled +pride, of the sorrow it may jostle from its path; and perhaps it is +happy for us as we move along in smiles and pleasantness, not to +comprehend that the glance which meets our own comes from the +bleakness of a withered heart—withered by penury's unceasing +presence.</p> + +<p>Moggs is in fault—ay, Montezuma Moggs—what, he "mend +boots, mind shop, tend baby," bringing down his lofty aspirations for +the future to be cabined within the miserable confines of the present!</p> + +<p>"Hard work?" sneers Moggs—"yes, if a man sets himself down to +hard work, there he may set—nothing else but hard work will ever +<span class="pagenum">118</span>come to him—but if he wont do hard work, then something easier will be +sure to come toddlin' along sooner or later. What can ever find you +but hard work if you are forever in the shop, a thumpin' and a +hammerin'? Good luck never ventures near lap-stones and straps. I +never saw any of it there in the whole course of my life; and I'm +waitin' for good luck, so as to be ready to catch it when it comes +by."</p> + +<p>Montezuma Moggs had a turn for politics; and for many a year he +exhibited great activity in that respect, believing confidently that +good luck to himself might grow from town-meetings and elections; and +you may have observed him on the platform when oratory addressed the +"masses," or on the election ground with a placard to his button, and +a whole handfull of tickets. But his luck did not seem to wear that +shape; and politically, Montezuma Moggs at last took his place in the +"innumerable caravan" of the disappointed. And thus, in turn, has he +courted fortune in all her phases, without a smile of recognition from +the blinded goddess. The world never knows its noblest sons; and +Montezuma Moggs was left to sorrow and despair.</p> + +<p>Could he have been honored with a lofty commission, Montezuma Moggs +might have set forth to a revel in the halls of his namesake; but as +one of the rank and file, he could not think of it. And in private +conversation with his sneering friend Quiggens, to whose captiousness +and criticism Moggs submitted, on the score of the cigars occasionally +derivable from that source, he ventured the subjoined remarks relative +to his military dispositions:</p> + +<p>"What I want," said Moggs, "is a large amount of glory, and a bigger +share of pay—a man like me ought to have plenty of +both—glory, to swagger about with, while the people run into the +street to stare at Moggs, all whiskers and glory—and plenty of +pay, to make the glory shine, and to set it off. I wouldn't mind, +besides, if I did have a nice little wound or two, if they've got any +that don't hurt much, so that I might have my arm in a sling, or a +black patch on my countenance. But if I was only one of the rank and +file, I'm very much afraid I might have considerable more of knocks +that would hurt a great deal, than I should of either the pay or the +glory—that's what troubles me in the milentary way. But make me +a gineral, and then, I'll talk to you about the matter—make me a +gineral ossifer, with the commission, and the feathers, and the +cocked-hat—plenty of pay, and a large slice of +rations—there's nothing like rations—and then I'll talk to +you like a book. Then I'll pledge you my lives, and my fortunes, and +my sacred honors—all of 'em—that I will furnish the genus +whenever it is wanted—genus in great big gloves, monstrous long +boots, and astride of a hoss that scatters the little boys like +Boston, whenever I touch the critter with my long spurs, to astonish +the ladies. Oh, get out!—do you think I couldn't play gineral +and look black as thunder, for such pay as ginerals get? I'd do it for +half the money, and I'd not only do it cheaper, but considerable +better than you ever see it done the best Fourth of July you ever met +with. At present, I know I've not much rations, and no money at +all—money's skurse—but as for genus—look at my +eye—isn't genus there?—observation my nose—isn't it +a Boneyparte?—aint I sevagerous about the mouth?—I tell +you, Quiggens, there's whole lots of a hero in this little gentleman. +I've so much genus that I can't work. When a man's genus is a workin' +in his upper story, and mine always is, then his hands has to be idle, +so's not to interrupt his genus."</p> + +<p>"Yes," responded Quiggens, who is rather of the satirical turn, as one +is likely to be who has driven the "Black Maria," and has thus found +out that the world is all a fleeting show; "yes, you've got so much +genus in your upper story that it has made a hole in the crown of your +hat, so it can see what sort of weather is going on out of +doors—and it 's your genus, I reckon, that's peeping out of your +elbows. Why don't you ask your genus to patch your knees, and to mend +the holes in your boots?"</p> + +<p>"Quiggens, go 'way, Quiggens—you're of the common natur', +Quiggens—a vulgar fraction, Quiggens; and you can't understand +an indiwidooal who has a mind inside of his hat, and a whole soul +packed away under his jacket. You'll never rise, a flutterin' and a +ringin' like a bald-headed eagle—men like you have got no wings, +and can only go about nibblin' the grass, while we fly up and peck +cherries from the trees. I'm always thinkin' on what I'm going to be, +and a preparin' myself for what natur' intended, though I don't know +exactly what it is yet. But I don't believe that sich a man as +Montezuma Moggs was brought into the world only to put patches on +shoes and to heel-tap people's boots. No, Quiggens—no—it +can't be, Quiggens. But you don't understand, and I'll have to talk to +my genus. It's the only friend I have."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you ask your genus to lend you a fip then, or see whether +it's got any cigars to give away," replied Quiggs contemptuously, as +he walked up the street, while Moggs, in offended majesty, stalked +sulkily off in another direction.</p> + +<p>"I would go somewheres, if I only knew where to go to," soliloquized +Moggs, as he strolled slowly along the deserted streets; "but when +there's nowheres to go to, then I suppose a person must go +home—specially of cold nights like this, when the thermometer is +down as far as Nero, and acts cruel on the countenance. It's always +colder, too, when there's nobody about but yourself—you get your +own share and every body else's besides; and it's lucky if you're not +friz. Why don't they have gloves for people's noses? I ought to have a +carriage—yes, and horses—ay, and a colored gemman to drive +'em, to say nothing of a big house warmed all over, with curtains to +the windows. And why haven't I? Isn't Montezuma Moggs as good as +anybody—isn't he as big—as full of genus? It's cold now, a +footin' it round. But I'll wait—perhaps there's a good time +comin', boys—there must be a good time, for there isn't any sort +of times in the place where they keep time, which can be worse times +than these times. But here's home—here's where you must go when +<span class="pagenum">119</span>you don't know what to do with yourself. Whenever a man tells you he +has nowheres to go to, or says he's goin' nowheres, that man's a +crawlin' home, because he can't help it. Well, well—there's +nothin' else to be did, and so somebody must turn out and let me in +home."</p> + +<p>It appeared, however, that Montezuma Moggs erred in part in this +calculation. It is true enough that he knocked and knocked for +admission at the door of his domicile; but the muscular effort thus +employed seemed to serve no other purpose than that of exercise. Tired +with the employment of his hands in this regard, Moggs resorted to his +feet—then tried his knee, and anon his back, after the usual +desperate variety of such appeal resorted to by the "great locked +out," when they become a little savage or so at the delay to which +they are subjected. Sometimes, also, he would rap fiercely, and then +apply his eye to the key-hole, as if to watch for the effect of his +rapping. "I don't see 'em," groaned he. And then again, his ear would +be placed against the lock—"I don't hear 'em either." There were +moments when he would frantically kick the door, and then rush as +frantically to the middle of the street, to look at the windows; but +no sign of animation from within peered forth to cheer him. After full +an hour of toil and of hope deferred, Montezuma Moggs tossed his arms +aloft in despair—let them fall listlessly at his side, and then +sat down upon the curb-stone to weep, while the neighbors looked upon +him from their respective windows; a benevolent few, not afraid of +catching cold, coming down to him with their condolements. None, +however, offered a resting place to the homeless, unsheltered and +despairing Moggs.</p> + +<p>In the course of his musings and mournings, as he sat chattering with +cold, a loosened paving-stone arrested his attention; and, with the +instinct of genius, which catches comfort and assistance from means +apparently the most trivial, and unpromising in their aspect, the +paving-stone seemed to impart an idea to Montezuma Moggs, in this "his +last and fearfulest extremity." Grappling this new weapon in both his +hands, he raised it and poised it aloft.</p> + +<p>"I shall make a ten-strike now," exclaimed he, as he launched the +missile at the door with herculean force, and himself remained in +classic attitude watching the effect of the shot, as the door groaned, +and creaked, and splintered under the unwonted infliction. Still, +however, it did not give way before this application of force, though +the prospect was encouraging. The observers laughed—Moggs +chuckled—the dogs barked louder than before; and indeed it +seemed all round as if a new light had been cast upon the subject.</p> + +<p>"Hongcore!" cried somebody.</p> + +<p>"I will," said Moggs, preparing to demonstrate accordingly.</p> + +<p>"Stop there," said the voice of Mrs. Montezuma Moggs, as she raised +the window, "if you hongcore the door of this 'ere house again, I'll +call the watch, to see what he thinks of such doings, I will. And now, +once for all, you can't come in here to-night."</p> + +<p>"Can't, indeed!—why can't I?—not come into my own house! +Do you call this a free country, on the gineral average, if such +rebellions are to be tolerated?"</p> + +<p>"Your house, Mr. Moggs—yours?—who pays the rent, +Moggs—who feeds you and the children, Moggs—who finds the +fire and every thing else? Tell us that?"</p> + +<p>This was somewhat of the nature of a home-thrust, and Moggs, rather +conscience-stricken, was dumb-founded and appalled. Moggs was very +cold, and therefore, for the time being, deficient in his usual pride +and self-esteem, leaving himself more pervious to the assault of +reproach from without and within, than he would have been in a more +genial state of the atmosphere. No man is courageous when he is +thoroughly chilled; and it had become painfully evident that this was +not a momentary riot, but an enduring revolution, through the +intermedium of a civil war.</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho!" faintly responded Moggs, though once more preparing to carry +the citadel by storm, "I'll settle this business in a twinkling."</p> + +<p>Splash!</p> + +<p>Any thing but cold water in quantity at a crisis like this. Who could +endure a shower-bath under such ungenial circumstances? Not Priessnitz +himself. It is not, then, to be wondered at that Montezuma Moggs now +quailed, having nothing in him of the amphibious nature.</p> + +<p>"Water is cheap, Mr. Moggs; and you'd better take keer. There's +several buckets yet up here of unkommon cold water, all of which is at +your service without charge—wont ask you nothin', Moggs, for +your washin'; and if you're feverish, may be it will do you good."</p> + +<p>Everybody laughed, as you know everybody will, at any other body's +misfortune or disaster. Everybody laughed but Moggs, and he shivered.</p> + +<p>"I'll sattinly ketch my death," moaned he; "I'll be friz, standing +straight up, like a big icicle; or if I fall over when I'm friz, the +boys will slide on me as they go to school, and call it fun as they go +whizzing over my countenance with nails in their shoes, scratching my +physimohogany all to pieces. They tell me that being friz is an easy +death—that you go to sleep and don't know nothing about it. I +wish they'd get their wives to slouse 'em all over with a bucket of +water, on sich a night as this, and then try whether it is easy. Call +being friz hard an easy thing! I'd rather be biled any time. What +shill I do—what shill I do?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they'll put you in an ice-house, and kiver you up with tan +till summer comes—you'd be good for something then, which is +more nor you are now," observed Mrs. Moggs from the window.</p> + +<p>"Quit twitting a man with his misfortunes," whined Montezuma, of the +now broken-heart.</p> + +<p>"Why, my duck!"</p> + +<p>"Y-e-e-s—y-e-e-s! that's it—I am a duck, indeed! but by +morning I'll be only a snow-ball—the boys will take my head for +a snow-ball. What shill I do—I guvs up, and I guvs in."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you, Montezuma Moggs, what you must do to be thawed. +<span class="pagenum">120</span>Promise me faithfully only to work half as hard as I do, and you may +come to the fire—the ten-plate stove is almost red-hot. Promise +to mend boots, mind shop, and tend baby; them's the terms—that's +the price of admission."</p> + +<p>Hard terms, certainly—the severest of terms—but then hard +terms, and severe terms, are good terms, if no other terms are to be +had. One must do the best he can in this world, if it be imperative +upon him to do something, as it evidently was in Moggs' case.</p> + +<p>"I promise," shivered Moggs.</p> + +<p>"Promise what?"</p> + +<p>"T-t-to tend baby, m-m-mind shop, and m-m-mend boots;" and the +vanquished Moggs sank down exhausted, proving, beyond the possibility +of doubt, that cold water, when skillfully applied of a cold night, is +the sovereignest thing on earth for the cure of "genus" in its lazier +branches.</p> + +<p>It is but justice, however, to state, that Moggs kept his word +faithfully, in which he contradicted the general expectation, which, +with reason enough in the main, places but little reliance on +promises; and he became, for him, quite an industrious person. His +wife's buckets served as a continual remembrancer. But Mrs. Moggs +never exulted over his defeat; and, though once compelled to +harshness, continued to be to Montezuma a most excellent wife. The +shop looks lively now—and the bell to the door is removed; for +Moggs, with his rat-tat-tat, is ever at his post, doing admired +execution on the dilapidated boots and shoes. The Moggses prosper, and +all through the efficacy of a bucket of cold water. We should not +wonder if, in the end, the Moggs family were to become rich, through +the force of industry, and without recourse to "genus."</p> + +<p>"Politics and me has shuck hands forever," said the repentant Moggs. +"I've been looking out and expecting loaves and fishes long enough. +Loaves, indeed! Why I never got even a cracker, unless it was aside of +the ear, when there was a row on the election ground; and as for +fishes, why, if I'd stopped any longer for them to come swimming up to +my mouth, all ready fried, with pepper on 'em, I wouldn't even have +been decent food for fishes myself. I never got a nibble, let alone a +bite; but somebody else always cotch'd the fish, and asked me to carry +'em home for them. Fact is, if people wont wote for me, I wont wote +for people. And as for the milentary line, I give up in a gineral way, +all idea of being a gineral ossifer. Bonyparte is dead, and if my +milentary genus was so great that I couldn't sleep for it, who'd hunt +me up and put me at the head of affairs? No, if I'm wanted for any +thing, they'll have to call me. I've dodged about winkin' and noddin' +as long as the country had any right to expect, and +now—rat-tat-tat—I'm going to work for myself."</p> + +<p>It was a wise conclusion on the part of Moggs, who may, perchance, in +this way, be a "gineral" yet.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="confession" id="confession">THE BRIDE'S CONFESSION.</a></h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY ALICE G. LEE.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +A sudden thrill passed through my heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wild and intense—yet not of pain—</span><br /> +I strove to quell quick, bounding throbs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And scanned the sentence o'er again.</span><br /> +It might have been full idly penned<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By one whose thoughts from love were free,</span><br /> +And yet as if entranced I read<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Thou art most beautiful to me."</span><br /> +<br /> +Thou didst not whisper I was loved—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There were no gleams of tenderness,</span><br /> +Save those my trembling heart <i>would</i> hope<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That careless sentence might express.</span><br /> +But while the blinding tears fell fast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Until the words I scarce could see,</span><br /> +There shone, as through a wreathing mist,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Thou art most beautiful to me."</span><br /> +<br /> +To thee! I cared not for all eyes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So I was beautiful in thine!</span><br /> +A timid star, my faint, sad beams<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Upon <i>thy</i> path alone should shine.</span><br /> +Oh what was praise, save from thy lips—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And love should all unheeded be</span><br /> +So I could hear thy blessed voice<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Say—"Thou art beautiful to me."</span><br /> +<br /> +And I <i>have heard</i> those very words—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Blushing beneath thine earnest gaze—</span><br /> +Though thou, perchance, hadst quite forgot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They had been said in by-gone days.</span><br /> +While claspèd hand, and circling arm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Drew me nearer still to thee—</span><br /> +Thy low voice breathed upon mine ear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Thou, love, art beautiful to me."</span><br /> +<br /> +And, dearest, though thine eyes alone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">May see in me a single grace—</span><br /> +I care not so thou e'er canst find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A hidden sweetness in my face.</span><br /> +And if, as years and cares steal on,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Even that lingering light must flee,</span><br /> +What matter! if from thee I hear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Thou art <i>still</i> beautiful to me!"</span><br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="night" id="night">SONNET TO NIGHT.</a></h3> + +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh! look, my love, as over seas and lands</span><br /> +Comes shadowy Night, with dew, and peace, and rest;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">How every flower clasps its folded hands</span><br /> +And fondly leans apon her faithful breast.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">How still, how calm, is all around us now,</span><br /> +From the high stars to these pale buds beneath—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Calm, as the quiet on an infant's brow</span><br /> +Rocked to deep slumber in the lap of death.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh! hush—move not—it is a holy hour</span><br /> +And this soft nurse of nature, bending low,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lists, like the sinless pair in Eden's bower,</span><br /> +For angels' pinions waving to and fro—<br /> +Oh, sacred Night! what mysteries are thine<br /> +Graven in stars upon thy page divine. <span class="smcap">gretta</span>.<br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="pauline" id="pauline">PAULINE DUMESNIL.</a></h3> +<span class="pagenum">121</span> +<h4>OR A MARRIAGE DE CONVENANCE.</h4> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>BY ANGELE DE V. HULL.</h5> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +The reason firm, the temperate will,<br /> +Endurance, foresight, strength and skill<br /> +A perfect woman, nobly planned. <span class="smcap">Wordsworth</span>.<br /> +</div><br /> + + +<p>In a large but somewhat scantily furnished apartment sat two young +girls, in such earnest and apparently serious conversation that, but +for their youthful and blooming countenances, one might have fancied +them bending beneath the cares and sorrows of age. On the dark old +table between them rested a magnificent work-box, whose rich +implements they had been busily and skillfully using; but now the +scissors and thread lay at their feet, their needles were dropped, and +the younger of the two sat with clasped hands, while her companion's +low tones appeared to awaken every emotion of her heart.</p> + +<p>On the old-fashioned French bedstead were thrown dresses of various +hues and expensive stuffs, while one only, a robe of the most delicate +material, its graceful folds looped with orange flowers, seemed to +attract the attention of the fair, fragile being, whose attitude was +one of intense suffering. Her bright hopes had faded at sight of that +colorless garb, and the bridal wreath was to wither on her brow! What +to her sad soul were the costly things before her? The jewels that +sparkled on their snow-white satin case, the long fairy veil of +beautiful lace that lay side by side with the bridal dress?</p> + +<p>Her companion continued speaking, and she bowed her face upon those +clasped hands, while her slight frame shook with its contending +emotions. A few moments more and she raised her head. She was pale, +and her large, dark eyes dilated into fearful size. At length the big +drops came slowly down her cheek, and she was able to speak.</p> + +<p>"No more, Angela, no more! You love me, I know; but what you have done +to day was no act of friendship. You have troubled the dark waters of +my soul until they have become a torrent over which I have no +control."</p> + +<p>"And it is because I love you, Pauline, that I have made your future +life manifest to you. Do not seek to make a merit of obedience to your +proud mother's will. It is because you have been taught to fear her, +that you have consented to perjure yourself, and marry a man you +cannot love."</p> + +<p>"For the love of heaven, spare me!" cried the girl, shrinking from her +friend's words, "Is it to triumph over me that you thus seek to move +me?"</p> + +<p>Her friend gazed mournfully upon her, and rising from her seat, gently +put her arm around her.</p> + +<p>"My poor Pauline! my dear Pauline!" murmured she, "I have been +cruel—forgive me."</p> + +<p>Her answer was a fervent embrace—and throwing their arms round +one another, they wept in silence.</p> + +<p>At this moment the door opened, and a lady entered. She was tall and +majestic, but there was an expression of pride and extreme hauteur on +her countenance. She wore a handsome but faded dress, and the somewhat +high-crowned cap bespoke a love of former fashions. She had a foreign +air, and when she addressed her daughter, it was in French.</p> + +<p>"How is this!" cried she, angrily. "What scenes are these, Pauline? As +often as I enter your room I find you in tears. Is it to your advice, +Mademoiselle Percy, that my daughter owes her red eyes?"</p> + +<p>Angela was about to reply, but Pauline waved her back.</p> + +<p>"Is it, then, a crime to weep, mamma? If there were no tears, the +heart would break."</p> + +<p>"It is a crime, Pauline, to resist the will of your mother, when she +has provided for your happiness in a manner suitable to your rank and +birth. It is a crime to break the fifth commandment, which tells you +to honor and obey your mother."</p> + +<p>"And have I not done both," cried Pauline, indignantly. "Have you not +sold my happiness? Have you not bartered perhaps my eternal welfare, +that I might lay my aching head upon the downy pillows of the rich, +that you might see me a wretched slave, writhing under chains not the +less heavy because they are of gold?"</p> + +<p>"Have you been reading Racine this morning? Or have you been studying +for the stage?" said Madame Dumesnil, in a cold, scornful tone. "You +are a good actress, certainly."</p> + +<p>Pauline sank upon a chair, and her friend stood beside her, pressing +her trembling hand. Her mother advanced and stood before her.</p> + +<p>"We will have no more of this, Pauline. If I feel satisfied that my +duty is done, you should rejoice in obeying me. I alone am the judge +in this matter—children should ever be contented with allowing +their parents to act for them; and allow me to say, that any +interference of strangers upon an occasion like this, is exceedingly +misplaced."</p> + +<p>This was aimed at Angela Percy; but she only replied by a wondering +and mournful gaze to the stern, cold woman before her. The old lady +proceeded.</p> + +<p>"Bathe your eyes, Pauline, and arrange your hair. Monsieur de +Vaissiere is below. Perhaps," added she, with a sneer, "perhaps that +Miss Percy will assist you in entertaining your lover."</p> +<span class="pagenum">122</span> + +<p>Pauline started and shuddered, but by this time she had again yielded +to her mother's influence. Going to the glass, she smoothed her dark +hair, and endeavored to abate the swelling of her eyes. Bidding +farewell to her friend, she descended to the parlor, where her +affianced husband awaited her.</p> + +<p>He was tall, and his appearance <i>distingué</i>; but he, too, looked stern +and cold as he rose to meet that young creature, whose nineteen +summers were more than doubled by his years. He was handsome also; but +where was the youthful ardor that should have been roused at the idea +of winning that fair girl's love? Where were the sunny hopes to meet +hers, the dreams of the future that <i>he</i> wanted? His willingness to +accept the sacrifice was no proof of his gentleness; and the cheek of +his betrothed grew pale, and her hand was cold, as he led her to a +seat.</p> + +<p>Pauline had been bred to the hard forcing-school of the <i>ancien +régime</i>. Her mother had left France on the terrible death of her +beloved queen, Marie Antoinette, and had passed from the high post of +<i>dame d'honneur</i>, to poverty and exile in America. The sale of her +magnificent jewels and massive silver, had enabled her to lease an old +roomy mansion, deserted by its owners, and to live in peace and +retirement. Here, with the recollection of the horrors of the +revolution fresh within her memory, while her heart was still bleeding +with the wounds it had received; while she still had before her the +mangled remains of her sovereigns—the bleeding head of her +husband, torn from her in the days of their early love; in the midst +of these agonizing thoughts, she gave birth to a posthumous +child—the heroine of our story. Clasping her babe to her breast, +Madame Dumesnil bitterly recalled the many plans of happiness her +murdered husband had made in anticipation of its coming—his +affection for <i>her</i>—his anxiety for her safety—their +parting, and the subsequent news of his execution. Those lips were +mute whose words of tenderness were to soothe her in her hour of +suffering; that hand was cold that would have rested on her brow; that +heart was still that would have bounded with a father's love at sight +of the tiny, helpless creature that lay upon her arm.</p> + +<p>Madame Dumesnil, the young, the lovely, and the gentle, became silent, +reserved, and harsh. Nothing could swerve her from a determination +made, and with feelings of the deepest parental affection for her +daughter, she had crushed and broken her spirit in the sweet +spring-time of her childhood.</p> + +<p>From the time Pauline was old enough to form a desire, she learned to +hear it opposed. "<i>Une petite fille attend qu'on lui donne se qui lui +faut</i>," was the invariable reply to all her childish longings. +According to the old French system, every slight offence was followed +by her mother's "<i>Allez vous coucher, mademoiselle</i>;" so that half her +life was spent in bed, while she lay awake with the bright, broad +daylight around her, the hour when other children are strengthening +their little limbs in the active enjoyment of God's free, fresh air.</p> + +<p>As she grew older, she was taught that "<i>une demoiselle bien elevée +n'a pas d'opinions</i>," that her parents judged and decided for her; +and while she sat erect upon a high stool, accomplishing her daily +tasks in silence, her heart nearly burst with the pent-up feelings of +her young imagination. Wherever she went her mother's old +waiting-woman was behind her. "Miss Pauline, hold yourself straight; +Miss Pauline, turn out your feet—your head, +mademoiselle—your arms!" Poor girl! she was well-nigh distracted +with these incessant admonitions.</p> + +<p>In her walks she met Angela Percy and her father. They had lately +settled in the neighborhood, and having no acquaintances, gladly made +advances to the timid Pauline. Nothing daunted by her shyness and +reserve, Angela, some years her senior, persevered, and overcame it. +She was an enthusiastic, high-minded girl, and soon pointed out to her +companion new views and new ideas of the world from which she had been +excluded. The intimacy was formed ere Madame Dumesnil could prevent +it, and at the instances of old Jeannette, who begged that +Mademoiselle Pauline might have a friend of her own age—some one +to talk to, besides two old women, she consented to allow the +friendship to continue, provided Jeannette were present at every +interview. This was easily promised, but the nurse's stiff limbs were +no match for the agile supple ones of her young charges. Day by day +she loitered behind, while Pauline and Angela, with their arms +entwined, continued in eager and undisturbed enjoyment of one +another's society. Jeannette remarked a glow upon her young lady's +cheek, and a light in her eye—new charms in her hitherto pale, +resigned countenance; and, wiser than her mistress, concluded that the +acquisition of a youthful friend was fast pouring happiness into her +lonely heart.</p> + +<p>Three years passed in this pleasant intercourse, when the monotony of +their lives was broken by the arrival of an old friend of Madame +Dumesnil—a Monsieur de Vaissiere. When they had last met, she +was in the morning of her beauty and bliss, he a handsome youth, for +whom many a fair one had sighed, and in vain—as he was still +unmarried. What a change! He could not recognize the lovely young +countess, whose marriage had been attended with so much éclat—so +many rejoicings; nor could she see one vestige of the blooming +countenance, the delicate profile, and the jet-black wavy locks that +once shaded his fair, open brow. But these works of time were soon +forgotten, and the desire of the proud, harsh mother was accomplished +when, after a few weeks, M. de Vaissiere proposed for the hapless +Pauline. Unconsciously, but with the thoughtlessness of selfishness, +Madame Dumesnil sacrificed her child to her prejudices. M. de +Vaissiere's opinions and <i>hers</i> were the same; their admiration of <i>le +vieux systeme</i>—their fond recollection of the unfortunate +monarch, whose weakness they had never reproached him with, even in +their secret souls—their abhorrence of Bonaparte—their +contempt for <i>la noblesse Napoleonne</i>—their upturned noses at +their adopted countrymen, <i>les Americains</i>—their want of faith +in hearts and love—the sinecure-ism of young people—their +presumption—their misfortune being that they <i>were</i> young and +<span class="pagenum">123</span>not born old—and finally, the coincidence of opinions wherein +both looked upon the white-headed suitor as a most eligible husband +for the young, the blooming, the beautiful Pauline.</p> + +<p>M. de Vaissiere settled a <i>dot</i> upon his <i>fiancée</i>, and ordered a +<i>trousseau</i> and a <i>corbeille</i>, not forgetting the <i>cachemire</i>. The +preliminaries were arranged, the day hinted at, and Pauline was +informed with a flourish of trumpets that her destiny was fixed.</p> + +<p>She listened to her mother's rhapsodies over the admirable <i>parti</i> +Providence had enabled her to provide for her child in the wilderness +of America; she heard her enlarge upon her own excellence as a parent, +of the favor she had conferred upon her in bringing her into the +world; of her consequent obligations, and the gratitude she owed her +mother when she recollected that not content with giving her life, she +had clothed, fed, and supported her until now. All this Pauline +received in a silence that resembled stupor; but when M. de Vaissiere +was again mentioned, she fell, with a scream of terror, at her +mother's feet.</p> + +<p>In vain she wept and entreated; in vain she protested against the +disparity of age, the utter want of congeniality, the absence of all +affection, Madame Dumesnil was too much incensed to reply. With a +gesture that Pauline well understood, (for it was used to express +maledictions of every description,) she left the room, and locking the +door, kept her daughter prisoner for the rest of the day.</p> + +<p>She treated this resistance to her will as one of the unhappy +consequences of living in a republican country. She suspected Angela +of communicating American ideas of independence to her daughter, and +would have added to her wretchedness by forbidding further intercourse +between the two friends. But Jeannette again interfered; she knew that +Pauline's doom was sealed, and that it would be more than cruel to +deprive her of the companion she loved. She herself carried the note +that conveyed the intelligence of Pauline's coming fate to the +indignant Angela, and extended her walks that her poor young lady +might derive what consolation she could from her friend's willing +sympathy. Many were the tears she shed, many the sighs that burst from +her oppressed heart, as the poor old creature followed behind them. +Once she had summoned courage sufficient to expostulate with her +mistress upon the cruelty of her conduct to her daughter; but she was +haughtily dismissed.</p> + +<p>Every effort had been made, and at length Angela appealed to Pauline. +She entreated her to be more firm, and to declare her resolution never +to marry where she could not love.</p> + +<p>"Rouse yourself, Pauline—the misery of a lifetime is before you, +and it is not yet too late."</p> + +<p>"I have done every thing, Angela," said Pauline, despairingly. "My +doom is sealed, and I must bend to my bitter fate. I would fly, but +that I could not survive my mother's curse."</p> + +<p>"The curse of the unrighteous availeth naught," replied her friend, +solemnly. "Were you wrongfully opposing your mother's will, mine +would be the last voice to uphold you; but now your very soul is at +stake."</p> + +<p>Pauline cast up her eyes in mute appeal to heaven. Her companion +became excited as she proceeded, depicting the horrors of an unequal +marriage. Pale and exhausted, her listener at length entreated her to +forbear. She had been too long the slave of her mother's wishes to +oppose them now; she had been drilled into fear until it was a +weakness. This her bold-hearted, energetic friend could not +understand; and it was on her reproaching Pauline with moral cowardice +that she, for the first time, resented what had in fact been patiently +borne.</p> + +<p>We have seen how kindly Angela forgave the accusation, and how she +wept over the effect of her words. The sudden entrance of Madame +Dumesnil put an end to the conversation, and the friends separated.</p> + +<p>The next morning Angela was at Pauline's side again. Silently she +assisted in decorating the victim for the sacrifice. The bright jewels +clasped her arm and neck; the long veil hung around her slender form; +the orange wreath rested on the dark, dark tresses—and the dress +was beautiful. But the bride! she was pale and ghastly, and her lips +blue and quivering. Her eyes were void of all expression—those +liquid, lustrous eyes; and ever and anon the large drops rolled over +her face, oozing from the depths of her heart.</p> + +<p>Poor Jeannette turned away, sobbing convulsively as the finishing +touches were given to this sad bridal toilette. Angela remained firm +and collected, but she, too, was pale; her cherished companion was +gone from her forever—gone in such misery, too, that she almost +prayed to see her the corpse she at that moment resembled.</p> + +<p>Madame Dumesnil had remained below with the bridegroom and Mr. Percy, +the sole witness to this ill-omened marriage. At length the hour came, +Pauline was nearly carried down by Angela and Jeannette, and in a few +moments bound forever to a man she loathed. The ceremony was ended, +and the bride, with a convulsive sigh, fell back into the arms of her +mother. Restoratives were procured, and at last she opened her eyes. +They rested on the face of her friend, who hung over her in mute +agony. Forcing a smile, which was taken by M. de Vaissiere for +himself, Pauline arose, and hurried through her farewell. Her husband +handed her into his carriage—and thus Pauline Dumesnil left her +friends and her home.</p> + +<hr class="long" /> + +<p>Years had passed, and Pauline sat alone in her magnificent boudoir, +the presiding deity of one of the finest hotels in Paris. Fortune had +favored M. de Vaissiere. He had lived to rejoice over the downfall of +the mighty Napoleon, and his mournful exile. He had returned to his +beloved France, recovered his vast estates, and presented his young +wife at court. His vanity was flattered at her gracious reception, and +the admiration that followed her; his pride was roused, and, much +against her will, Pauline found herself the centre of a gay circle +<span class="pagenum">124</span>that crowded her vast saloons as often as they were thrown open for +the reception of her now numerous acquaintances.</p> + +<p>It was on one of these evenings that Pauline sought the silence of her +private apartment ere she gave herself up to her femme de chambre. Her +loose <i>peignoir</i> of white satin was gathered round her, with a crimson +cord tied negligently at the waist, and hanging, with its rich tassels +of silver mixed, to the ground. Her hair had fallen over her +shoulders, giving her a look of sadness that increased her beauty. Her +eyes wandered around the room, and her lips parted into a melancholy +smile, as she contemplated its delicate silk hangings, its heavy, +costly furniture, her magnificent toilette, crowded with perfumes of +every description, beautiful flacons, silver combs, and jewels that +sparkled in and out of their cases. Her thoughts went back to her +mother, whose pride had made her a childless, lonely widow; to Angela, +whom she had so loved; to the misery of the day upon which they +parted, perhaps forever—and her eyes were filled with tears +that, rolling at length over her cheek, startled her as they fell upon +her hand.</p> + +<p>"And it was for this that I was sacrificed," murmured she, bending her +head. "My poor mother! could you see me here, <i>you</i> would feel that my +happiness is secure; but, alas! how little you know of the human +heart. This splendor lends weight to my chains, and makes me feel more +desolate than ever! Night after night mingling in gay crowds, +listening to honied words that fall unheeded on my ear; wearing smiles +that come not from the heart, but help to break it; exposed to +temptation, that makes me fear to mix with those of my own age; bound +forever to a man whose only sentiment for me is one of +pride—what part of happiness is mine?"</p> + +<p>A sudden step aroused her, and her husband entered unannounced. He +looked but little older. Time had dealt lightly with <i>him</i>, and with +the aid of cosmetics and a perfect toilette, M. de Vaissiere stood a +remarkable looking man—for his age.</p> + +<p>"How is this, madame—not dressed yet! Have you no anxiety to see +Mademoiselle Mars to night?"</p> + +<p>"I have, indeed," said Pauline, starting up and forcing a smile. "Is +it so late, that I see you ready?"</p> + +<p>"You must hasten Marie, or we shall be too late. How provoking! What +can you do with that dishevelled hair? You have a bad habit of +thinking—that is actually sinful. Why do you not take my +example; I never reflect—it makes one grow old!"</p> + +<p>She might have told him how her young life was embittered by the +memory of days that were gone never to return; how she had grown old +with thinking, and wore but the semblance of youth over a withered +heart. But she had schooled herself to serenity with an effort almost +superhuman—and seizing a silver bell at her side, she rang for +her waiting woman.</p> + +<p>"You must hasten, Marie—Monsieur de Vaissiere is already +dressed. Bind up this hair beneath some net-work, my good girl; I have +no time for embellishing this evening."</p> + +<p>"Madame is more beautiful without her usual coiffure," said the girl, +as she gathered up the dark tresses of her mistress. "I shall place +her diamond <i>aigrette</i> in her hair, and she will turn all heads."</p> + +<p>"I have no such ambition, my good Marie," said Pauline, laughing. +"Give me my fan and gloves, and fasten this bracelet for me."</p> + +<p>"<i>Tenez, madame</i>," said Marie, handing them; and Pauline ran down +stairs, where her husband awaited her. He had just been fretted +sufficiently to find fault with her dress.</p> + +<p>"You never wear jewels enough. Do you think I bought them to ornament +your boudoir?"</p> + +<p>"I did not like to keep you waiting, <i>mon ami</i>. Shall I return and +tell Marie to give me my necklace?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and your bracelet to match. Your white arm, madame, was made to +ornament," added M. de Vaissiere, assuming an air of gallantry.</p> + +<p>Pauline smiled, and ran back to her boudoir. In a few moments she +returned blazing with jewels, inwardly lamenting the display, but ever +ready to grant her husband's wish. He, too, smiled as she came +forward, and taking her hand, led her to her carriage.</p> + +<p>Shortly after they were seated, the door opened, and the young Vicomte +de H—— entered the box. He placed himself behind Pauline, and +remained there for the rest of the evening, in eager, animated +conversation. He was not only one of the most agreeable men of the +day, but added to wit and versatility of genius, a handsome face, +graceful bearing, and a noble heart; and while Pauline yielded to the +charms of so delightful a companion, full of the dreams and hopes of +youth, uttering sentiments that years ago had been hers, her husband +sat silent and moody beside her. A pang went through his heart as he +gazed upon her bright countenance, and remembered her youth, whose +sunshine was extinguished by her marriage with him. He looked at the +smooth, full cheek of her companion, the purple gloss of his raven +locks, the fire of his eye, and listening to his gay tones, his +brilliant repartees, and enthusiastic expressions, pictured him with a +shudder the husband of Pauline. What would have been her life compared +to the one she led with him. How different would have been the bridal! +He thought of her gentleness, her cheerful compliance with his wishes, +her calm, subdued look, her lonely hours, the void that must be in her +heart; and as all these things passed, for the first time, through his +mind, he clasped his hands in despair.</p> + +<p>He turned once more to look upon the wife he was but now beginning to +appreciate. She, too, had fallen in a revery. Her beautiful head was +bent, her long, dark lashes sweeping her cheek; and around her lips +played a smile so sweet, that though he know her thoughts were far +away in some pleasant wandering, he was sure he had no part in them.</p> + +<p>For the first time since their wedded life, M. de Vaissiere was +beginning to love his wife. He turned suddenly to look at the Vicomte +de H——. He, too, was gazing upon Pauline with a look of +<span class="pagenum">125</span>intense admiration, but so full of pity and respect, that it made the +jealous pang that thrilled through the husband's frame less +bitter—and with a deep sigh he turned to the stage. The play was +one that gave him a lesson for the rest of his days. It represented a +young girl like his Pauline, forced to wed one, like him, old enough +to be her father. For a while all went smoothly; the giddy wife was +dazzled by her jewels and her importance. But time passed, and she was +roughly treated, her every wish thwarted, and her very servants taught +to disobey her. Her angelic behaviour had no effect upon her brutal +husband; her patience exasperated him. Wickedly he exposed her to +temptation; and as he watched her mingle with those of her own age, +and share their plans and pleasures, suspicion entered his mind. He +removed her far from her friends, and intercepted her letters, making +himself master of their contents, until by a series of persecutions he +drove her to fly from him, and perish in the attempt.</p> + +<p>Well for him was it that Monsieur de Vaissiere witnessed this play. +How different might have been the effect of his newly awakened +emotions, had they risen in the solitude of his apartment. The curtain +fell, and Pauline looked up. Tears were standing in her eyes—for +the fate of the heroine of the piece had affected her deeply, and her +husband's sympathy was with her when he remarked them. He waited until +he saw her give her arm to the vicomte, and walked behind them, +another creature. He had determined to win his wife's love or die; to +watch her, that he might warn her; to minister forever to her +comforts.</p> + +<p>The vicomte returned with them, and soon the splendid salon was +crowded with guests. Pauline passed from one to the other with +graceful, winning smiles; and her husband's heart filled with pride +and pleasure as he watched her, the object of admiration, glittering +with diamonds, radiant with beauty, and remembered that she was his. +Without a pang he saw the noble youth, whose coming had been to him +salvation, lead her to supper, and seat himself at her side. He knew +that she was pleased; he felt that she might have loved; but he knew, +too, that she was as pure as an angel. How was it that suddenly her +many virtues rose in array before him, and spoke to his heart?</p> + +<p>One evening Pauline stood at the window overlooking the garden that +was behind the Hotel de Vaissiere. The moonlight was glancing over the +tops of the orange trees, and the perfume of their white blossoms came +floating up like an incense of thanks to the Great Author of all, +while fountains played beneath their shade, falling musically on the +heart of the lonely watcher.</p> + +<p>A shade was upon her brow—a shade of discontent; and busy were +the thoughts that came creeping into her soul. She was judging her own +heart—and bitterly did she reproach it as the image of another +filled its space. Alas! she had feared this; and again she was roused +into indignation as her mother's stern will was recalled to +her—and she was carried back to the day whereon she had +reproached her with hazarding the eternal welfare of her child. +Throwing herself upon her knees, she prayed for strength—and her +prayer was heard. Suddenly, as if struck with some impulse, she +hurried from the window, through the hall, passed the long suite of +apartments, and reached her husband's. Entering, she closed the door +behind her, and rushed forward to M. de Vaissiere's chair with such +passionate rapidity, that one might have thought she feared to fail in +her resolution.</p> + +<p>Her sobs and tears had nearly deprived her of utterance, but falling +at her husband's feet, she confessed the momentary infidelity of her +hitherto love-less heart, and besought him to take her from those +scenes of gayety and temptation to some distant, quiet region, that +she might expiate her fault in solitude.</p> + +<p>Trembling she raised her eyes to his face. Instead of the fury, the +reproaches she had expected, what was her surprise at seeing the tears +coursing down his cheeks, to feel herself raised and clasped to his +breast.</p> + +<p>"My poor child!" said he, tenderly—and it was the first time he +had ever so addressed her—"my poor child! I should have foreseen +this; I should have warned you ere now. It was your mother's fault to +marry you to me, and mine to have placed temptation in your way. But +how could I tear you from those whose years were suited to yours, to +shut you up with an old greybeard! Thus, while I watched over you, my +pride in your success made me forgetful of your safety. It is not yet +too late, my Pauline—all will be for the best. In time you will +learn to love your husband, and to know how devotedly he has loved you +since his stupid eyes were opened to your virtues."</p> + +<p>With a smothered cry of joy Pauline threw herself upon his bosom. The +poor stricken dove had at last found a shelter.</p> + +<p>The next day, while the whole world was lamenting and wondering over +the determination of the beautiful, brilliant, and courted Pauline de +Vaissiere, to leave the gay metropolis in the midst of its pleasure, +she sat once more in her boudoir. A holy calm had settled on her brow, +peace had entered her heart; and though a deep blush overspread her +features as she heard her husband's step approaching, she rose to meet +him with a grateful look. Putting his arm around her, he drew her +closer to him, and pressed a kiss upon her forehead.</p> + +<p>"How many days of packing will you require, Pauline?" said he, +smiling. "Poor Marie! she has nearly worn her arms out."</p> + +<p>"She will complete her task to-night; and if you like, we can be off +in the morning. But have you the carriages ready, <i>mon ami</i>? Are we +not before-hand with you?" asked Pauline, in the same cheerful strain.</p> + +<p>"We must summon François," said M. de Vaissiere, "and see if my orders +have been executed."</p> + +<p>François had been as prompt as usual; and three days after, we found +<span class="pagenum">126</span>Pauline gazing out at the windows, mournful and +conscience-stricken—she was leaving Paris behind her as fast as +four horses and cracking whips could carry her. As they drove on, +losing sight of its towers and steeples, a sensation of freedom came +over her, and she placed her hand in her husband's, as if to thank him +for her safety. The wound upon her heart was not yet closed; but her +firm principle, her love of right, and gratitude for her deliverance, +and the indulgence of M. de Vaissiere were fast healing what she did +not for a moment allow to rest within her mind.</p> + +<p>Every thing delighted her; the ploughed fields, divided by green +hedges; the farm-houses scattered far and near; the picturesque +appearance of the peasantry and their groupings, as they gathered +together to watch the travelers' suite; and when they stopped at a +family estate of M. de Vassiere, her enthusiasm knew no bounds.</p> + +<p>Here they remained until the spring was past and summer came, +embellishing still more the beautiful woods around the little domain. +But they lingered yet in this pleasant place, loving it for the peace +it had given them, and the happiness they had learned to feel in being +together.</p> + +<p>Leaning on her husband's arm, Pauline wandered amid the bright scenes +with a light step, now stopping to admire some variety of foliage, and +now pausing by the crystal stream that ran at the foot of the tall +trees, murmuring like a hidden sprite, and mirroring the waving +boughs, and the blue sky of <i>la belle France</i>. She had forgotten the +misery of her bridal-day, or remembered it but to contrast her present +quiet enjoyment of life with her then wretchedness. She had forgotten +her youth of terror, her husband's years and his coldness, and now, +when she looked upon the silver hair that glittered beside her braids +of jet, a feeling of gratitude filled her heart, as she recalled the +hour when he might have cast her off with some show of justice, and +sent her forth upon the wide world to die.</p> + +<p>She had learned to love him, not with the heart-stirring love of youth +for youth, but with the deep, holy affection of a prodigal child. Not +all the temptations of the gay world could ever make her swerve from +her allegiance to him. Like a good and pious daughter did she cling to +him, providing for his comfort, and forseeing his every want.</p> + +<p>One day he called her to him as she returned from her visit of charity +to the surrounding peasantry. She had wept over their troubles and +relieved them, and rejoiced with the happy. Her heart was +over-flowing, and passing the little church, she entered, and offered +up a prayer of thankfulness for her own blessings, and those she was +able to confer on others.</p> + +<p>Her husband watched her graceful form as she came at his call, and +smilingly placed a letter in her hand. It was from her mother, and +part of it ran thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"I am now very old, monsieur, and very infirm. I +have often thought, in my lonely hours, of the unhappiness +of my child on her marriage with you, and +have doubted the wisdom of that authority which I +exercised so severely over her. The vision of that +pale, agonized countenance, comes upon me like a +reproach; and although she has never hinted in one +of her letters of unkindness from you, I have often +thought that there was a mournful spirit pervading +them. Pray God she may not be unhappy through +my fault! I rely upon you, monsieur; be kind to my +poor Pauline.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 8em;" class="smcap">Marie Therese Clemence Dumesnil</div>. + +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">(<i>Née de Villeneuve</i>.)</span> +<br /> + +<p>Pauline's tears fell fast over this letter; and as she finished +reading it, she cast herself upon her husband's bosom.</p> + +<p>"She does not deserve a reply, does she, Pauline?" asked he, with a +smile, and pressing her closer to him. "Think you there would be no +more marriages <i>de convenance</i> if we were to give the benefit of our +experience to the world? Would your mother even be sensible of her +error, could she know how your suffering has ended—could she see +how happy you make an old man."</p> + +<p>"Let her think that we have been always so," cried the noble Pauline. +"Why disturb her last years with a narrative of what may embitter +them? Shall it not be so, my dear, kind husband?"</p> + +<p>"It shall, my child," said he, touched by the generosity of her +request. "And you, Pauline, shall write the answer—you, my +patient, enduring, and admirable wife! Why is it that I alone know +what you have suffered, forced thus to appreciate in silence your +noble forbearance."</p> + +<p>But there was another letter to be read—one from Angela. It +contained an account of Madame Dumesnil's failing strength, and her +earnest desire to embrace her child once more. Jeannette was long +since numbered with the dead; and Angela, whose devotion to her father +had made her refuse every offer of marriage, removed with him to the +abode of her friend's mother, passing her life in dividing her cares.</p> + +<p>But a short time elapsed and Pauline, with her husband, was sailing +once more upon the broad bosom of the Atlantic. It was a long and +tedious voyage; but she arrived in time to receive her mother's +blessing, and close her eyes—the reward her filial piety had +merited.</p> + +<p>Mr. Percy soon followed his aged companion, and Angela returned with +Pauline to France. Here she witnessed, with wonder and delight, the +happiness that, through Pauline's virtue, was not incompatible with so +great a disparity of age, and rejoiced when a few months after their +arrival in Paris, Pauline gave birth to a son and heir. Nothing now +was wanting to complete the domestic enjoyment of the circle gathered +at the Hotel de Vaissiere; and while the same gay crowds graced its +walls, and courted its fair mistress, Pauline never forgot to turn to +her husband as the one whose smile was to her the brightest, whose +praise the most valued, and whose approbation alone she loved and +lived for.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + +<h3><a name="hermit" id="hermit">THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.</a></h3> +<span class="pagenum">127</span> +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +It was the leafy month of June,<br /> +And joyous Nature, all in tune,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With wreathing buds was drest,</span><br /> +As toward the mighty cataract's side<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A youthful stranger prest;</span><br /> +His ruddy cheek was blanched with awe,<br /> +And scarce he seemed his breath to draw,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While bending o'er its brim,</span><br /> +He marked its strong, unfathomed tide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And heard its thunder-hymn.</span><br /> +<br /> +His measured week too quickly fled,<br /> +Another, and another sped,<br /> +And soon the summer-rose decayed,<br /> +The moon of autumn sank in shade,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And winter hurled its dart,</span><br /> +Years filled their circle, brief and fair,<br /> +Yet still the enthusiast lingered there,<br /> +While deeper round his soul was wove<br /> +A mystic chain of fearful love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That would not let him part.</span><br /> +<br /> +When darkest midnight veiled the sky,<br /> +You'd hear his hasting step go by,<br /> +To gain the bridge beside the deep,<br /> +That where its wildest torrents leap<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hangs thread-like o'er the surge,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Just there, upon its awful verge,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">His vigil-hour to keep.</span><br /> +<br /> +And when the moon, descending low,<br /> +Hung on the flood that gleaming bow,<br /> +Which it would seem some angel's hand,<br /> +With Heaven's own pencil, tinged and spanned,<br /> +Pure symbol of a better land,<br /> +He, kneeling, poured in utterance free<br /> +The eloquence of ecstasy;<br /> +Though to his words no answer came,<br /> +Save that One, Everlasting Name,<br /> +Which since Creation's morning broke<br /> +Niagara's lip alone hath spoke.<br /> +<br /> +When wintry tempests shook the sky,<br /> +And the rent pine-tree hurtled by,<br /> +Unblenching, 'mid the storm he stood,<br /> +And marked sublime the wrathful flood,<br /> +While wrought the frost-king, fierce and drear,<br /> +His palace 'mid those cliffs to rear,<br /> +And strike the massy buttress strong,<br /> +And pile his sleet the rocks among,<br /> +And wasteful deck the branches bare<br /> +With icy diamonds, rich and rare.<br /> +<br /> +Nor lacked the hermit's humble shed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Such comforts as our natures ask</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To fit them for life's daily task.</span><br /> +The cheering fire, the peaceful bed,<br /> +The simple meal in season spread,<br /> +While by the lone lamp's trembling light,<br /> +As blazed the hearth-stone, clear and bright,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O'er Homer's page he hung,</span><br /> +Or Maro's martial numbers scanned—<br /> +<br /> +For classic lore of many a land<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Flowed smoothly o'er his tongue.</span><br /> +Oft with rapt eye, and skill profound,<br /> +He woke the entrancing viol's sound,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or touched the sweet guitar.</span><br /> +For heavenly music deigned to dwell<br /> +An inmate in his cloistered cell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As beams the solem star,</span><br /> +All night, with meditative eyes<br /> +Where some lone, rock-bound fountain lies.<br /> +<br /> +As through the groves, with quiet tread,<br /> +On his accustomed haunts he sped,<br /> +The mother-thrush, unstartled, sung<br /> +Her descant to her callow young,<br /> +And fearless o'er his threshold prest<br /> +The wanderer from the sparrow's nest,<br /> +The squirrel raised a sparkling eye<br /> +Nor from his kernel cared to fly<br /> +As passed that gentle hermit by.<br /> +No timid creature shrank to meet<br /> +His pensive glance, serenely sweet;<br /> +From his own kind, alone, he sought<br /> +The screen of solitary thought.<br /> +Whether the world too harshly prest<br /> +Its iron o'er a yielding breast,<br /> +Or forced his morbid youth to prove<br /> +The pang of unrequited love,<br /> +We know not, for he never said<br /> +Aught of the life he erst had led.<br /> +<br /> +On Iris isle, a summer-bower<br /> +He twined with branch and vine and flower,<br /> +And there he mused on rustic seat,<br /> +Unconscious of the noonday heat,<br /> +Or 'neath the crystal waters lay,<br /> +Luxuriant, in the swimmer's play.<br /> +<br /> +Yet once the whelming flood grew strong.<br /> +And bore him like a weed along,<br /> +Though with convulsive grasp of pain<br /> +And heaving breast, he strove in vain,<br /> +Then sinking 'neath the infuriate tide,<br /> +Lone, as he lived, the hermit died.<br /> +<br /> +On, by the rushing current swept,<br /> +The lifeless corse its voyage kept,<br /> +To where, in narrow gorge comprest,<br /> +The whirlpool-eddies never rest,<br /> +But boil with wild tumultuous sway,<br /> +The Maelstrom of Niagara.<br /> +And there, within that rocky bound,<br /> +In swift gyrations round and round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mysterious course it held,</span><br /> +Now springing from the torrent hoarse,<br /> +Now battling, as with maniac force,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To mortal strife compelled.</span><br /> +<br /> +Right fearful, 'neath the moonbeam bright,<br /> +It was to see that brow so white,<br /> +And mark the ghastly dead<br /> +Leap upward from his torture-bed,<br /> +<span class="pagenum">128</span> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As if in passion-gust,</span><br /> +And tossing wild with agony<br /> +Resist the omnipotent decree<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of dust to dust.</span><br /> +<br /> +At length, where smoother waters flow,<br /> +Emerging from the abyss below,<br /> +The hapless youth they gained, and bore<br /> +Sad to his own forsaken door.<br /> +There watched his dog, with straining eye,<br /> +And scarce would let the train pass by,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Save that with instinct's rushing spell,</span><br /> +Through the changed cheek's empurpled hue,<br /> +And stiff and stony form, he knew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The master he had loved so well.</span><br /> +The kitten fair, whose graceful wile<br /> +So oft had won his musing smile,<br /> +As round his slippered foot she played,<br /> +Stretched on his vacant pillow laid.<br /> +While strewed around, on board and chair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The last-plucked flower, the book last read,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The ready pen, the page outspread,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The water cruse, the unbroken bread—</span><br /> +Revealed how sudden was the snare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That swept him to the dead.</span><br /> +<br /> +And so, he rests in foreign earth,<br /> +Who drew 'mid Albion's vales his birth:<br /> +Yet let no cynic phrase unkind<br /> +Condemn that youth of gentle mind—<br /> +Of shrinking nerve, and lonely heart,<br /> +And lettered lore, and tuneful art,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who here his humble worship paid</span><br /> +In that most glorious temple-shrine,<br /> +Where to the Majesty Divine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nature her noblest altar made.</span><br /> +<br /> +No, blame him not, but praise the Power<br /> +Who, in the dear domestic bower,<br /> +Hath given you firmer strength to rear<br /> +The plants of love—with toil and fear—<br /> +The beam to meet, the blast to dare,<br /> +And like a faithful soldier bear;<br /> +Still with sad heart his requiem pour,<br /> +Amid the cataract's ceaseless roar,<br /> +And bid one tear of pitying gloom<br /> +Bedew that meek enthusiast's tomb.<br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="burial" id="burial">BURIAL OF A VOLUNTEER.</a></h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY PARK BENJAMIN.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +'Tis eve! one brightly-beaming star<br /> +Shines from the eastern heavens afar,<br /> +To light the footsteps of the brave,<br /> +Slow marching to a comrade's grave.<br /> +<br /> +The Northern wind has sunk to sleep;<br /> +The sweet South breathes; as low and deep<br /> +The martial clang is heard, the tread<br /> +Of those who bear the silent dead.<br /> +<br /> +And whose the form, all stark and cold,<br /> +Thus ready for the loosened mould;<br /> +Thus stretched upon so rude a bier?<br /> +Thine, soldier, thine—the volunteer!<br /> +<br /> +Poor volunteer! the shot, the blow,<br /> +Or fell disease hath laid him low—<br /> +And few his early loss deplore—<br /> +His battle done, his journey o'er.<br /> +<br /> +Alas! no fond wife's arms caressed,<br /> +His cheeks no tender mother pressed,<br /> +No pitying soul was by his side,<br /> +As, lonely in his tent, he died.<br /> +<br /> +He died—the volunteer—at noon;<br /> +At evening came the small platoon;<br /> +And soon they'll leave him to his rest,<br /> +With sods upon his manly breast.<br /> +<br /> +Hark to their fire! his only knell,<br /> +More solemn than the passing bell;<br /> +For, ah! it tells a spirit flown<br /> +Without a prayer or sigh, alone!<br /> +<br /> +His name and fate shall fade away,<br /> +Forgotten since his dying day,<br /> +And never on the roll of fame<br /> +Shall be inscribed his humble name.<br /> +<br /> +Alas! like him how many more<br /> +Lie cold on Rio Grande's shore;<br /> +How many green, unnoted graves<br /> +Are bordered by those turbid waves!<br /> +<br /> +Sleep, soldier, sleep! from sorrow free<br /> +And sin and strife: 'tis well with thee!<br /> +'Tis well, though not a single tear<br /> +Laments the buried volunteer.<br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="morning" id="morning">THE BRIDAL MORNING.</a></h3> + +<h5>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</h5> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +Morn of hopes that, quivering, glow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a light ne'er known before;</span><br /> +Morn of fears, which cannot throw<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shadows its sweet glory o'er!</span><br /> +<br /> +Gentle thoughts of all the past;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Happy thoughts of all to come;</span><br /> +Loving thoughts, like rose-leaves, cast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Over all around her home.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, the light upon that brow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, the love within that eye!</span><br /> +Oh, the pleasant dreams that flow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like fairy music sweetly by!</span><br /> +<br /> +Morn of Hope! Oh may its light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Melt but into brighter day!</span><br /> +Lady, all that's blest and bright<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be about thy path alway!</span><br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + + + +<h3><a name="home" id="home">HOME.</a></h3> +<span class="pagenum">129</span> +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY MRS. H. MARION WARD.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> + +<p>"<i>Home, sweet home!"</i> How many holy and beautiful memories are crowded +into those three little words. How does the absent one, when weary +with the cold world's strife, return, like the dove of the deluge, to +that bright spot amid the troubled waters of life. "<i>Home, sweet +home!</i>" The one household plant that blooms on and on, amid the +withering heart-flowers, that brightens up amidst tempests and storms, +and gives its sweetest fragrance when all else is gloom and +desolation. We never know how deeply its roots are entwined with our +heart-strings, till bitter lessons of wasted affection have taught us +to appreciate that love which remains the same through years of +estrangement. What exile from the spot of his birth but remembers, +perhaps with bitterness, the time when falsehood and deceit first +broke up the beautiful dreams of his soul, when he learned to <i>see</i> +the world in its true colors. How his heart ached for his father's +look of kindness—his mother's voice of sympathy—a sister's +or brother's hand to clasp in the warm embrace of kindred affection. +Poor, home-sick wanderer! I can feel for your loneliness; for my heart +often weeps tears of bitterness over the memories of a far-off home, +and in sympathy with a gray-haired father, who, when he calls his +little band around the hearth-stone, misses full many a link in the +chain of social affection. I can feel for your loneliness, for perhaps +you have a father, too, whose eyes have grown dim by long looking into +the tomb of love. Perhaps you, too, have a mother, sleeping in some +distant grave-yard, beneath the flowers your hands have planted; and +as life's path grows still more rugged before you, you wonder, as I +have done, when your time will come to lie down and sleep quietly with +<i>her</i>. An incident occurred on board of one of the western steamers, +some years since, which strongly impressed me with its truthfulness in +proving how wildly the heart clings to home reminiscences when absent +from that spot. A party of emigrants had taken passage, amongst whom +was a young Swiss girl, accompanied by a small brother. Not even the +<i>outre</i> admixture of Swiss, German, and English costume, which +composed her dress, could conceal the fact that she was supremely +beautiful; and as the emigrants were separated from what is termed the +first-class passengers only by a slight railing, I had an opportunity +of inspecting her appearance without giving offence by marked +observation. Amongst the crowd there happened to be a set of German +musicians, who, by amusing the <i>ennuied</i> passengers, reaped quite a +harvest of silver for their exertions. I have always heard that the +Germans were extremely fond of music, and was surprised that none of +the party, not even the beautiful Swiss girl, gave the slightest +indication of pleasure, or once removed from the position they had +occupied the whole way. Indeed, I was becoming quite indignant, that +the soul-stirring Marseilles Hymn of France, the God Save the Queen of +England, and last, not <i>least</i> in its impressive melody, the Hail +Columbia of our own nation, should have pealed its music out upon the +great waters, almost hushing their mighty swell with its enchantment, +and yet not waken an echo in the hearts of those homeless wanderers. +The musicians paused to rest for a moment, and then suddenly, as if by +magic, the glorious <i>Rans des Vache</i> of Switzerland stole over the +water, with its touching pathos swelling into grand sublimity, its +home-music melting away in love, and then bursting forth in the free, +glad strains of revelry, till every breath was hushed as by the +presence of visible beauty. Having never before heard this beautiful +melody, in my surprise and admiration I had quite forgotten my +emigrant friends, when a low sob attracted my attention, and turning +round, I saw the Swiss girl, with her head buried in the lap of an old +woman, trying to stifle the tears that <i>would</i> force their way or +break the heart that held them. I had but a slight knowledge of the +Swiss dialect, and "my home, my beautiful home!" was the only words +intelligible to me. She wept long and bitterly after the cadence of +the song was lost amongst the waves, while the old woman, blessings on +her for the act, sought by every endearment within her power to soothe +and encourage the home-sick girl. There was little enow of refinement +in her rough sympathy, but it was a heart-tribute—and I could +almost love her for the unselfishness with which she drew the +shrinking form closer to her bosom. I would have given the world to +have learned that girl's previous history. I am sure <i>accident</i> must +have thrown her amongst her present associates, as I have seen a lily +broken from its stem by a sudden gust of wind, and flung to wither and +die amid rude and hardy weeds. In a few hours the party left the boat, +and I never saw either her or them again; but, till this day, whenever +any incident of a domestic nature wakens old-time dreams, pleasant +memories of that beautiful exile, weeping over the music of her lost +Eden, and of the kind old woman caressing her, and kissing off the +falling tears, creep together, and form a lovely picture of <i>home and +heaven-born love</i>.</p> +<br /><br /> + +<h3><a name="marginalia" id="marginalia">MARGINALIA.</a></h3> +<span class="pagenum">130</span> +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY EDGAR A. POE.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<p>That punctuation is important all agree; but how few comprehend the +extent of its importance! The writer who neglects punctuation, or +mis-punctuates, is liable to be misunderstood—this, according to +the popular idea, is the sum of the evils arising from heedlessness or +ignorance. It does not seem to be known that, even where the sense is +perfectly clear, a sentence may be deprived of half its +force—its spirit—its point—by improper punctuation. +For the want of merely a comma, it often occurs that an axiom appears +a paradox, or that a sarcasm is converted into a sermonoid.</p> + +<p>There is <i>no</i> treatise on the topic—and there is no topic on +which a treatise is more needed. There seems to exist a vulgar notion +that the subject is one of pure conventionality, and cannot be brought +within the limits of intelligibly and consistent <i>rule</i>. And yet, if +fairly looked in the face, the whole matter is so plain that its +<i>rationale</i> may be read as we run. If not anticipated, I shall, +hereafter, make an attempt at a magazine paper on "The Philosophy of +Point."</p> + +<p>In the meantime let me say a word or two of <i>the dash</i>. Every writer +for the press, who has any sense of the accurate, must have been +frequently mortified and vexed at the distortion of his sentences by +the printer's now general substitution of a semicolon, or comma, for +the dash of the MS. The total or nearly total disuse of the latter +point, has been brought about by the revulsion consequent upon its +excessive employment about twenty years ago. The Byronic poets were +<i>all</i> dash. John Neal, in his earlier novels, exaggerated its use into +the grossest abuse—although his very error arose from the +philosophical and self-dependent spirit which has always distinguished +him, and which will even yet lead him, if I am not greatly mistaken in +the man, to do something for the literature of the country which the +country "will not willingly," and cannot possibly, "let die."</p> + +<p>Without entering now into the <i>why</i>, let me observe that the printer +may always ascertain when the dash of the MS. is properly and when +improperly employed, by bearing in mind that this point represents <i>a +second thought—an emendation</i>. In using it just above I have +exemplified its use. The words "an emendation" are, speaking with +reference to grammatical construction, put in <i>ap</i>position with the +words "a second thought." Having written these latter words, I +reflected whether it would not be possible to render their meaning +more distinct by certain other words. Now, instead of erasing the +phrase "a second thought," which is of <i>some</i> use—which +<i>partially</i> conveys the idea intended—which advances me <i>a step +toward</i> my full purpose—I suffer it to remain, and merely put a +dash between it and the phrase "an emendation." The dash gives the +reader a choice between two, or among three or more expressions, one +of which may be more forcible than another, but all of which help out +the idea. It stands, in general, for these words—"<i>or, to make +my meaning more distinct</i>." This force <i>it has</i>—and this force +no other point can have; since all other points have well-understood +uses quite different from this. Therefore, the dash <i>cannot</i> be +dispensed with.</p> + +<p>It has its phases—its variation of the force described; but the +one principle—that of second thought or emendation—will be +found at the bottom of all.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>In a reply to a letter signed "Outis," and defending Mr. Longfellow +from certain charges supposed to have been made against him by myself, +I took occasion to assert that "of the class of willful plagiarists +nine out of ten are authors of established reputation who plunder +recondite, neglected, or forgotten books." I came to this conclusion +<i>à priori</i>; but experience has confirmed me in it. Here is a +plagiarism from Channing; and as it is perpetrated by an anonymous +writer in a Monthly Magazine, the theft seems at war with my +assertion—until it is seen that the Magazine in question is +Campbell's New Monthly for <i>August</i>, 1828. Channing, at that time, was +comparatively unknown; and, besides, the plagiarism appeared in a +foreign country, where there was little probability of detection.</p> + +<p>Channing, in his essay on Bonaparte, says:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"We would observe that military talent, even of +the highest order, is far from holding the first place +among intellectual endowments. It is one of the lower +forms of genius, for it is not conversant with the +highest and richest objects of thought.... Still +the chief work of a general is to apply physical force—to +remove physical obstructions—to avail himself +of physical aids and advantages—to act on matter—to +overcome rivers, ramparts, mountains, and +human muscles; and these are not the highest objects +of mind, nor do they demand intelligence of the +highest order:—and accordingly nothing is more +common than to find men, eminent in this department, +who are almost wholly wanting in the noblest +energies of the soul—in imagination and taste—in the +capacity of enjoying works of genius—in large views +of human nature—in the moral sciences—in the application +of analysis and generalization to the human +mind and to society, and in original conceptions on +the great subjects which have absorbed the most +glorious understandings."</p> +</div> + +<p>The thief in "The New Monthly," says:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"Military talent, even of the highest <i>grade</i>, is +<i>very</i> far from holding the first place among intellectual +endowments. It is one of the lower forms +of genius, for it is <i>never made</i> conversant with the +<i>more delicate and abstruse of mental operations</i>.</p> +<span class="pagenum">131</span> +<p>It is used to apply physical force; to remove physical +force; to remove physical obstructions; to avail +itself of physical aids and advantages; and all these +are not the highest objects of mind, nor do they +demand intelligence of the highest <i>and rarest</i> order. +Nothing is more common than to find men, eminent +in the science and practice of war, <i>wholly</i> wanting +in the nobler energies of the soul; in imagination, +in taste, in <i>enlarged</i> views of human nature, in the +moral sciences, in the application of analysis and +generalization to the human mind and to society; +or in original conceptions on the great subjects +which have <i>occupied and</i> absorbed the most glorious +<i>of human</i> understandings."</p> +</div> + +<p>The article in "The New Monthly" is on "The State of Parties." The +italics are mine.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Apparent plagiarisms frequently arise from an author's +self-repetition. He finds that something he has already published has +fallen dead—been overlooked—or that it is peculiarly <i>à +propos</i> to another subject now under discussion. He therefore +introduces the passage; often without allusion to his having printed +it before; and sometimes he introduces it into an anonymous article. +An anonymous writer is thus, now and then, unjustly accused of +plagiarism—when the sin is merely that of self-repetition.</p> + +<p>In the present case, however, there has been a deliberate plagiarism +of the silliest as well as meanest species. Trusting to the obscurity +of his original, the plagiarist has fallen upon the idea of killing +two birds with one stone—of dispensing with all disguise but +that of <i>decoration</i>.</p> + +<p>Channing says "order"—the writer in the New Monthly says +"grade." The former says that this order is "far from holding," +etc.—the latter says it is "<i>very</i> far from holding." The one +says that military talent is "<i>not</i> conversant," and so on—the +other says "it is <i>never made</i> conversant." The one speaks of "the +highest and richest objects"—the other of "the more delicate and +abstruse." Channing speaks of "thought"—the thief of "mental +operations." Chaming mentions "intelligence of the <i>highest</i> +order"—the thief will have it of "the highest <i>and rarest</i>." +Channing observes that military talent is often "<i>almost</i> wholly +wanting," etc.—the thief maintains it to be "<i>wholly</i> wanting." +Channing alludes to "<i>large</i> views of human nature"—the thief +can be content with nothing less than "enlarged" ones. Finally, the +American having been satisfied with a reference to "subjects which +have absorbed the most glorious understandings," the Cockney puts him +to shame at once by discoursing about "subjects which have <i>occupied +and</i> absorbed the most glorious <i>of human</i> understandings"—as if +one could be absorbed, without being occupied, by a subject—as +if "<i>of</i>" were here any thing more than two superfluous +letters—and as if there were any chance of the reader's +supposing that the understandings in question were the understandings +of frogs, or jackasses, or Johnny Bulls.</p> + +<p>By the way, in a case of this kind, whenever there is a question as to +who is the original and who the plagiarist, the point may be +determined, almost invariably, by observing which passage is +amplified, or exaggerated, in tone. To disguise his stolen horse, the +uneducated thief cuts off the tail; but the educated thief prefers +tying on a new tail at the end of the old one, and painting them both +sky blue.</p></div> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>After reading all that has been written, and after thinking all that +can be thought, on the topics of God and the soul, the man who has a +right to say that he thinks at all, will find himself face to face +with the conclusion that, on these topics, the most profound thought +is that which can be the least easily distinguished from the most +superficial sentiment.</p> +<br /><br /> + + +<h3><a name="love" id="love">LOVE.</a></h3> +<span class="pagenum">132</span> +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY R. H. STODDARD.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<br /> +<div class="blockquot"> +Oh Love! thou art a fallen child of light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A ruined seraph in a world of care—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tortured and wrung by sorrow and despair,</span><br /> +And longings for the beautiful and bright:<br /> +Thy brow is deeply scarred, and bleeds beneath<br /> +A spiked coronet, a thorny wreath;<br /> +Thy rainbow wings are rent and torn with chains,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sullied and drooping in extremest wo;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thy dower, to those who love thee best below,</span><br /> +Is tears and torture, agony and pains,<br /> +Coldness and scorn and doubt which often parts;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"The course of true love never does run smooth,"</span><br /> +Old histories show it, and a thousand hearts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Breaking from day to day, attest the solemn truth.</span><br /> +</div><br /><br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 358px;"> +<img src="images/illus207.png" width="358" height="600" +alt="Beauty's Bath" title="" /></div> +<br /> +<h4>Beauty's Bath</h4> +<br /> +<h5>Painted by E. Landseer Engraved by J. Sartain<br /> +Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine</h5> +<br /><br /> + +<h3><a name="bath" id="bath">BEAUTY'S BATH.</a></h3> + +<h5>[ILLUSTRATING AN ENGRAVING.]</h5> +<br /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +The fair one stands beside the plashing brim,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her pet, her Beauty, gathered to her breast;</span><br /> +A doubt hath crossed her: "can he surely swim?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And in her sweet face is that fear exprest.</span><br /> +<br /> +Alas! how often, for thyself, in years<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fast coming, wilt thou pause and doubt and shrink</span><br /> +O'er some fair project! Then, be all thy fears<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">False as this first one by the water's brink!</span><br /> +</div><br /><br /> + + +<h3><a name="review" id="review">REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</a></h3> +<br /> + +<p><i>Poems of Early and After Years. By N. P. Willis. Illustrated by E. +Leutze. Philadelphia: Carey & Hart. 1 vol. 8vo.</i></p> + +<p>This is a complete edition of one of America's most popular poets, +with the old poems carefully revised, and many new pieces added. It is +got up in a similar style with the editions of Longfellow and Bryant, +by the same publishers, and is one of the most splendid volumes of the +season. The portrait of the author, engraved by Cheney, is the most +accurate we have seen. The illustrations, from designs by Leutze, and +engraved by Humphrys, Tucker, and Pease, are sixteen in number, and in +their character and execution are honorable to American art. They are +truly embellishments. Fertile as has been the house of Carey & +Hart in beautiful books, they have published nothing more elegant and +tasteful than the present edition of Willis.</p> + +<p>We have written, in various critiques, at such length on the merits +and characteristics of Willis, that it would be but repetition to +dilate upon his genius now. In looking over the present volume, we +cannot see that the sparkle and fire of his poetry becomes dim, even +as read by eyes which have often performed that pleasant task before. +The old witchery still abides in them, and the old sweetness, +raciness, melody and power. That versatile mind, gliding with such +graceful ease over the whole ground of "occasional" pieces, serious +and mirthful, impassioned and tender, sacred and satirical, looks out +upon us with the same freshness from his present "pictured" page, as +when we hunted it, in the old time, through newspapers, magazines, and +incomplete collections. We cordially wish the author the same success +in his present rich dress, which he has always met in whatever style +of typography he has invaded the public heart. When the stereotype +plates of the present edition are worn out, it does not require the +gift of prophecy to predict that the poet's reputation will be as +unworn and us bright as ever.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>A Plea for Amusements. By Frederic W. Sawyer, New York: D. Appleton +& Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</i></p> + +<p>This little volume, viewed in respect to the prejudices it so clearly +exposes and opposes, is quite an important publication, and we trust +it will find readers among those who need it most. That clumsy habit +of the public mind, by which the perversions are confounded with the +use of a thing, finds in Mr. Sawyer an acute analyst as well as +sensible opponent. He has done his work with much learning, ability +and taste, and has contrived to make his exposure of popular bigotries +as interesting as it is useful.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>Campaign Sketches of the War with Mexico. By Capt. W. S. Henry, U. S. +Army. With Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo.</i></p> + +<p>Here is a work by a brave and intelligent soldier, relating to the +battles of General Taylor in Mexico, of which he was an eye-witness. +It has the freshness which might be expected from a writer who mingled +in the scenes he describes; and the plates of the different +battle-grounds enable the reader intelligently to follow the +descriptions of the author. Spite of the numerous books relating to +the subject already before the public, Captain Henry's volume will be +found to contain much not generally known, and to describe what is +generally known better than most of his precursors in the task.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>The Consuelo. By George Sand. In Three Volumes. New York: W. H. +Graham, Tribune Buildings.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Countess of Rudolstadt. By George Sand. [Sequel to Consuelo.] 2 +vols. Same Publisher.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Journeyman Joiner, or the Companion of the Tour of France. By +George Sand. Same Publisher.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Devil's Pool. By George Sand. Same Publisher.</i></p> + +<p>The above editions of the somewhat too celebrated George Sand are got +up, by our enterprising friend the publisher, in a style superior to +that generally used on this species of literature. The translation by +F. G. Shaw, Esq. has been generally, and we think justly, commended. +The works themselves, and their tendencies and results, have been made +the subject of various opinions both here and abroad. We are not among +those who are prepared to enter the lists as their champion. The +translator himself remarks in relation to Consuelo: "That it has not +found fit translation before, was doubtless owing to prevailing +impressions of something erratic and <i>bizarre</i> in the author's way of +living, and to a certain undeniable tone of wild, defying freedom in +her earlier writings." The censure of the moral portion of the +community is thus softly and mercifully expressed: We will not at +present add to it.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>The Last Incarnation. Gospel Legends of the Nineteenth Century. By A. +Constant. Translated by F. G. Shaw, Esq. New York: Wm. H. Graham.</i></p> + +<p>A well printed and cheap volume.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><i>The Scouting Expeditions of M'Culloch's Texas Rangers. By Samuel C. +Ried, jr. Zieber & Co. Philadelphia.</i></p> + +<p>This work contains a spirited and vivid sketch of the Mexican war as +prosecuted under Taylor. It is full of incident and interest, is +written with spirit, and illustrated by a number of engravings.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<br /><br /> +<h3><a name="plate" id="plate">DESCRIPTION OF THE FASHION PLATE.</a></h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Toilette de Ville</span>.—Dress of gray satin, with a plain skirt; +corsage plain, with a rounded point; sleeves above of violet-colored +velvet, closed on the top, and trimmed with very rich lace; small +pelerine to the waists, and terminated at the seam of the shoulder, +trimmed with lace. Hat of yellow satin, long at the cheeks, and +rounded, ornamented with a bouquet of white flowers resting on the +side, arid a puff of tulle on the inside.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Riche Toilette d'Interieur</span>.—Dress of blue cashmere, ornamented +with a row of silver buttons down the front of the skirts; corsage +plain, with buttons, and terminating in two small points; sleeves +rather short, and under ones of three rows of lace: neck-dress of +lace. Cap also of lace, resting flat upon the front of the head, and +forming folds behind, trimmed with bows of ribbon, of rose-colored +taffeta, below the lace to the depth of the strings.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Erratum</span>.—In the article on Stoke Church and Church-yard, page +77, 12th line from bottom of 2d column, "1779" should read 1799.</p> +<br /><br /> +<div class="footnotes"> +<h4>FOOTNOTES:</h4> +<div class="footnote"> + +<a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>: Eton was founded and endowed by King Henry the Sixth. A +marble bust of the poet Gray was presented by Lord Morpeth, in 1846, +and placed, amongst many others, in the upper school. +<br /><br /> +<a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>: +A pair of Baltimore birds (the orchard oriole) returned +summer after summer, and built their hanging nest, not only in the +same apple-tree, but on the same bough, which overhung a terrace, in a +garden belonging to the writer at Geneva, New York, until one season a +terrific storm, not of hail but ice, tore the nest from the tree, and +killed the young, and the parent birds never afterward returned. +<br /><br /> +<a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>: +In all editions but that published by Mr. John Sharpe the initial +<i>only</i> of this name has been given—"Mr. P."—even the Eton edition of +this year has it so. It seems folly to continue what may have been +very proper nearly a hundred years ago, when the individual was alive; +but the Rev. Robert Purt died in April, 1752! + +</div> +</div> +<br /> +<p>Transcriber's Note:</p> + +<p>1. Page 83--'for the lady lacked neither the wit not humor, and the ....' +changed to 'for the lady lacked neither wit nor humor...'</p> + +<p>2. Page 83--superfluous word 'his' removed from sentence '...he had +nothing on but his his shirt, and...'</p> + +<p>3. Page 85--typo 'centipeds' corrected to 'centipedes'</p> + +<p>4. Page 85--superfluous word 'his' removed from sentence '...constant to +his his first love, mourning...'</p> + +<p>5. A number of contracted forms, such as 't is, shortened to 'tis, in +order to preserve the scansion of poetry</p> + +<p>6. Page 106--typo in sentence '...up the mill-stream, und as we +returned...' replaced by 'and'</p> + +<p>7. Page 106--typo 'outrè' in sentence '...however strange or outrè; and +there is...' changed to 'outré'</p> + +<p>8. Page 106--typo 'evious' in sentence '...would turn up an evious nose, +and...' corrected to 'envious'</p> + +<p>9. Page 110--typo 'widows' in sentence '...sitting by the widows of the +summer-house,' changed to 'windows'</p> + +<p>10. Page 113--typo 'then' in sentence '...was upon then--the eye of +Agnes;...' changed to 'them'</p> + +<p>11. Page 121--typo 'claspéd' corrected to 'claspèd'</p> + +<p>12. Page 125--typo 'giver' in sentence '...until he saw her giver her +arm...' corrected to 'give'</p> +<br/> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol. XXXII No. 2. +February 1848, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, FEB 1848 *** + +***** This file should be named 29218-h.htm or 29218-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/2/1/29218/ + +Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Graham's Magazine Vol. XXXII No. 2. February 1848 + +Author: Various + +Editor: George R. Graham + Robert T. Conrad + +Release Date: June 24, 2009 [EBook #29218] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, FEB 1848 *** + + + + +Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + + + + +GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE. + +VOL. XXXII. PHILADELPHIA, FEBRUARY, 1848. No. 2. + +STOKE CHURCH AND PARK. + +THE SCENE OF GRAY'S ELEGY, AND RESIDENCE OF THE PENNS OF PENNSYLVANIA + +BY R. BALMANNO. + + +[Illustration: Manor of Stoke] + +The Manor of Stoke, with its magnificent mansion and picturesque park, +is situate near the village of Stoke Pogeys, in the county of +Buckingham, four miles north-west of Windsor. + +About two miles distant from Stoke lies the village of Slough, +rendered famous by the residence of the celebrated astronomer, Sir +William Herschel, and a short way further, on a gentle slope continued +the whole way from Stoke, stand the venerable towers of time-honored +Eton, on the bank of the Thames, directly opposite, and looking up to +the proud castle of the kings of England, unmatched in its lofty, +commanding situation and rich scenery by that of any royal residence +in Europe. + +Stoke, anciently written Stoches, belonged, in the time of William the +Conqueror, A. D. 1086, to William, son of Ansculf, of whom it was held +by Walter de Stoke. Previous thereto, it was in part held by Siret, a +vassal of Harold, and at the same time, a certain Stokeman, the vassal +of Tubi, held another portion. Finally, in the year 1300, during the +reign of King Edward the First, it received its present appellation by +the intermarriage of Amicia de Stoke, the heiress, with Robert de +Pogeys. Under the sovereignty of Edward the Third, 1346, John de +Molines, originally of French extraction, and from the town of that +name in Bourbonnais, married Margaret de Pogeys; and, in consequence +of his eminent services, obtained license of the king to make a castle +of his manor-house of Stoke Pogeys, fortify with stone walls +embattled, and imparke the woods; also that it should be exempt from +the authority of the marshal of the king's household, or any of his +officers; and in further testimony of the king's favor, he had summons +to Parliament among the barons of the realm. + +During the wars of the rival Roses, the place was owned by Sir Robert +Hungerford, commonly called Lord Moleyns, by reason of his marriage +with Alianore, daughter of William, Lord Moleyns. + +This Lord Robert, siding with the Lancasterians, or the Red Roses, +upon the loss of the battle of Towton, fled to York, where King Henry +the Sixth then was, and afterward with him into Scotland. He was +attainted by the Parliament of Edward the Fourth; but the king took +compassion on Alianore, his wife, and her children, committing her and +them to the care of John, Lord Wenlock, to whom he had granted all her +husband's manors and lands, granting them a fitting support as long as +her said husband, Lord Robert, should live. But the Lancasterians +making head in the north, he "flew out" again, being the chief of +those who were in the castle of the Percys, at Alnwick, with five or +six hundred Frenchmen, and being taken prisoner at the battle of +Hexham, he was beheaded at Newcastle on Tyne, but buried in the north +aisle of the cathedral of Salisbury. + +Lady Alianore, his widow, lies buried in the church of Stoke Pogeys; +and her monument may still be seen, with an epitaph commencing thus: + + _Hic, hoc sub lapide sepelitur Corpus venerabilis + Dominae Alianorae Molins, Baronissiae, quam + prius desponsavit Dominus Robertus Hungerford, + miles et Baro. &c. &c._ + +Notwithstanding the grant to Lord Wenlock, Thomas, the son and heir of +Lord Robert Hungerford, succeeded to the estate. For a time he sided +with the famous Earl of Warwick, the king-maker, who took part with +Edward the Fourth, but afterward "falling off," and endeavoring for +the restoration of King Henry the Sixth, was seized on, and tried for +his life at Salisbury, before that diabolical tyrant, crook-back Duke +of Gloucester, afterward Richard the Third, where he had judgment of +the death of a traitor, and suffered accordingly the next day. + +But during the reign of Henry the Seventh, in 1485, when the Red Roses +became triumphant at the decisive battle of Bosworth, and these +unnatural and bloody wars which had devastated England for nearly +thirty years, being brought to a close, by the union of Henry with +Elizabeth of York, representative of the White Roses, the attainder of +Thomas, as well as that of his father, Lord Robert, being reversed in +Parliament, his only child and heir, called Mary, succeeded to the +estate. + +Lady Mary married Edward, Lord Hastings, from whom the present Earl of +Huntingdon is descended. She used the title of Lady Hungerford, +Botreux, Molines, and Peverell. To this marriage Shakspeare alludes in +the tragedy of King Henry the VI., Part 3, A. 4, Sc. 1, when he makes +the Duke of Clarence say ironically, + + For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves + To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford. + +Lord George Hungerford succeeding his father, was advanced to the +title of Earl of Huntingdon by King Henry the Eighth, in 1529. He died +the 24th of March, 1543, and lies buried in the chancel of Stoke +Pogeys. Edward, his second son, was a warrior with King Henry the +Eighth, and during the reign of Henry's daughter, Queen Mary, 1555, +declared his testament, appointing his body to be buried at Stoke +Pogeys, and directing his executors to build a chapel of stone, with +an altar therein, adjoining the church or chancel, where the late Earl +Huntingdon and his wife (his father and mother) lay buried; and that a +tomb should be made, with their images carved in stone, appointing +that a plate of copper, double gilt, should be made to represent his +own image, of the size of life, _in harness_, (armor,) and a memorial +in writing, with his arms, to be placed upright on the wall of the +chapel, without any other tomb for him. He died without issue. Earl +Henry was the last of the illustrious family of Huntingdon who +possessed the manor and manor-house of Stoke; and the embarrassed +state of his affairs compelled him to mortgage the estate to one +Branthwait, a sergeant at law, in 1580, during which period it was +occupied by Lord Chancellor Sir Christopher Hatton, the fine dancer, +one of the celebrated _favorites_ of Elizabeth, the lascivious +daughter of King Henry the Eighth--a woman as fickle as profligate, as +cruel and hard-hearted, so far as regarded her numerous paramours, as +her brutal father was in respect to his wives. + +This historical detail, gathered from Domesday Book, Dugdale, and +other authorities, is narrated in consequence of its bearing upon some +celebrated poems hereafter to be noticed, and is continued up to the +present period for a like reason. + +Sir Christopher Hatton died in 1591, and settled his estate on Sir +William Newport, whose daughter became the second wife of Sir Edward +Coke, Lord Chief Justice of the Court of King's Bench, who purchased +the estate of Stoke. After the dissolution of the Parliament by King +Charles the First, in March, 1628-9, Sir Edward Coke being then +greatly advanced in years, retired to his house at Stoke, where he +spent the remainder of his days in a quiet retirement, universally +respected and esteemed; and there, says his epitaph, crowned his pious +life with a pious and Christian departure, on Wednesday the 3d day of +September, A. D., 1634, and of his age 83; his last words, "THY +KINGDOM COME, THY WILL BE DONE!" + +Upon the death of Sir Edward Coke, the manor and estate of Stoke +devolved to his son-in-law, Viscount Purbeck, elder brother of +Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, who perished by the hand of the +assassin, Felton. + +Lord Purbeck, upon the death of his wife, daughter of Sir Edward Coke, +married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Slingsby, by whom he had a +son, Robert, which Robert, marrying the daughter and heir of Sir John +Danvers, one of the judges who sat on the trial of King Charles the +First, obtained a patent from Cromwell, Protector of the Commonwealth, +to change his name to Danvers, alledging as the reasons for his so +doing "the many disservices done to the commonwealth by the name of +the family of Villiers." + +In 1657, Viscount Purbeck granted a lease of the manor and house of +Stoke, to Sir Robert Gayer during his own life; and in the same year, +his son, Robert Villiers, or Danvers, sold his reversionary interest +in the estate to Sir R. Gayer for the sum of eight thousand five +hundred and sixty-four pounds. The family of Gayers continued in +possession until 1724, when the estate was sold for twelve thousand +pounds to Edmund Halsey, Esq., M.P., who died in 1729, his daughter +Anne married Sir Richard Temple, created Viscount Cobham, who survived +him; and she resided at Stoke until her death in the year 1760. + +The house and manor of Stoke were sold in the same year, by the +representatives of Edmund Halsey, to the Honorable Thomas Penn, Lord +Proprietary of the Province of Pennsylvania, the eldest surviving son +of the Honorable William Penn, the celebrated founder and original +proprietary of the province. + +Upon the death of Thomas Penn, in 1775, the manor of Stoke, together +with all his other estates, devolved upon his eldest surviving son, +John, by the Right Honorable Lady Juliana, his wife, fourth daughter +of the Earl of Pomfret. + +In 1789, the ancient mansion of Stoke, appearing to Mr. Penn, after +some years absence in America, to demand very extensive repairs, +(chiefly from the destructive consequences of damp in the principal +rooms,) it was judged advisable to take it down. + +The style of its architecture was not of a kind the most likely to +dissuade him from this undertaking. Most of the great buildings of +Queen Elizabeth's reign have a style peculiar to themselves, both in +form and finishing, where, though much of the old Gothic is retained, +and a great part of the new style is adopted, yet neither +predominates, while both, thus indiscriminately blended, compose a +fantastic species, hardly reducible to any class or name. One of its +characteristics is the affectation of _large_ and _lofty_ windows, +where, says Lord Bacon, "you shall have sometimes faire houses so full +of glass, that one cannot tell where to become to be out of the sun." +A perfect specimen of this fantastic style, in complete repair, may be +seen in Hardwick Hall, county of Derby, one of the many residences of +that princely and amiable nobleman, the Duke of Devonshire, and a +perfect _contrast_ to it, at his other noble residence not many miles +distant, in the same county, Chatsworth, "the Palace of the Peak." + +It is true that high antiquity alone gives, in the eye of taste, a +continually increasing value to specimens of all such kinds of +architecture; but beside that, the superiority of the new site chosen +by Mr. Penn was manifest, the principal rooms of the old mansion at +Stoke, where the windows admitted light from _both_ the opposite +sides, were instances, peculiarly exemplifying the remark of Lord +Bacon, and countenancing the design to lessen the number of bad, and +increase that of the good examples of architecture. But a wing of the +ancient plan was preserved, and is still kept in repair, as a relic, +harmonizing with the surrounding scenery, and forms with the rustic +offices, and fruit-gardens annexed, the _villa rustica_ and +_fructuaria_ of the place. + +The new buildings, or, more properly speaking, Palace of Stoke, was +begun by Mr. Penn immediately after his return from a long absence in +Pennsylvania, and was covered-in in December, 1790. It is scarcely +possible to conceive a finer site than that chosen by him for his new +mansion, being on a commanding eminence, the windows of the principal +front looking over a rich, variegated landscape toward the lofty +towers of Windsor Castle, at a distance of four miles, which +terminates the view in that direction; whilst about and around the +site are abundance of magnificent aged oaks, elms, and beeches. + + * * * * * + +The poems of Thomas Gray, who was educated at Eton, and resided at +Stoke, are perhaps better known, more read, more easily remembered, +and more frequently quoted, than those of any other English poet. +Where is the person who does not remember with feelings approaching to +enthusiasm, the impressions made on his youthful fancy by the +enchanting language of the "Elegy written in a Country Church-yard?" +Who can ever forget the impressions with which he first read the +narrative of the "hoary-headed swain," and the deep emotion felt on +perusing the pathetic epitaph, "graved on the stone, beneath yon aged +thorn," beginning-- + + Here rests his head upon the lap of earth. + A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: + Fair science frowned not on his humble birth. + And melancholy marked him for her own. + +That exquisite poem contains passages "grav'd" on the hearts of all +who ever read it in youth, until they themselves become +hoary-headed--and then, perhaps, remembered most. + +But it is not the Elegy alone which makes an indelible impression on +the youthful reader; equally imperishable are the lines on a distant +prospect of Eton College. + + Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, + That crown the wat'ry glade, + Where grateful science still adores + Her Henry's holy shade.[1] + +And who can ever forget the Bard-- + + Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! + Confusion on thy banners wait! + Though fann'd by conquests crimson wing, + They mock the air with idle state. + +Or the lovely Ode on the Spring. + + Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours + Fair Venus' train appear, + Disclose the long-expecting flowers, + And wake the purple year! + +Or those sublime Odes--On The Progress of Poesy. Awake, AEolian lyre, +awake; and the Descent of Odin: + + Uprose the king of men with speed, + And saddled strait his coal-black steed: + Down the yawning steep he rode, + That leads to Hela's drear abode. + +[Footnote 1: Eton was founded and endowed by King Henry the Sixth. A +marble bust of the poet Gray was presented by Lord Morpeth, in 1846, +and placed, amongst many others, in the upper school.] + +Who can ever forget the pleasure experienced on the first perusal, and +on every subsequent reading of these fascinating productions? They +are such as all, imbued with even a moderate degree of taste and +feeling, must respond to. But there is another poem of Gray's, less +read, perhaps, than these, but which, from its humor and arch playful +style, is apt to make a strong and lasting impression on an +enthusiastic juvenile mind. It opens so abruptly and oddly, that +attention is bespoke from the first line. It is entitled "A Long +Story." + + In Britain's isle--no matter where-- + An ancient pile of building stands: + The Huntingdons and Hattons there + Employed the power of fairy hands + To raise the ceilings fretted height, + Each panel in achievements clothing, + Rich windows, that exclude the light, + And passages, that lead to nothing. + +This poem, teeming with quaint humor, contains one hundred and +forty-four lines, beside, _as it says_, "two thousand which are lost!" + +Extreme admiration of the poems of Gray had been excited in the +writer's mind even when a schoolboy. In after years, whilst occupying +chambers in the Temple, he first became aware that the scenery so +exquisitely described in the Elegy, and the "ancient pile" of +building, so graphically delineated in the Long Story, were both +within a few hours' ride of London, and adjoining each other. + +Until about the year 1815 he had constantly supposed that the Country +Church-yard was altogether an imaginary conception, and that the +ancient mansion of the Huntingdons was far away, somewhere in the +midland counties; but when fully aware of the true localities, he was +almost mad with impatience, until, on a Saturday afternoon, _he_ could +get relieved from the turmoil of business, to fly to scenes hallowed +by recollections of the halcyon days of youthful aspirations of hope, +and love, and innocence--and sweetly and fresh do such reminiscences +still float in his memory. + +About the period in question, there was a club in London, formed of +about twenty or thirty of the most aristocratic of the young nobility, +possessed of more wealth than wisdom. They gave themselves the name of +the Whip Club, because each member drove his own team of four horses. +The chief tutor of these titled Jehu's in the art and mystery of +driving, was no less a personage than the celebrated Tom Moody, driver +of the Windsor Coach, and by that crack coach it was intended to +proceed as far as Slough, on the intended excursion to Stoke, and then +turn off to the left; but as the Whip Club, at the period in question, +attracted a large share of public attention in the metropolis, perhaps +a short notice of it may be here permitted, as it has been long since +defunct, and is never again likely to be revived, now that steam and +iron horses have taken the road. + +The vehicles, horses, trappings, and gearing, were the most elegant +and expensive that money could command; and it was a rare thing to see +upward of twenty such equipages, which, as well as the housings of the +horses, were emblazoned with heraldric devices, and glittering all +over with splendid silver and gold ornaments. + +The open carriages were all filled with the loveliest of England's +lovely women, who generally congregated together at an early +breakfast, or what with them was considered an early breakfast, +between ten and eleven o'clock! The meet took place at the house of +Lord Hawke, in Portman Square. His lordship was high admiral, or +president, Sir Bellingham Graham, whipper-in--and courteously and +cleverly did Sir Bellingham (or Bellinjim, as it is pronounced) +perform his delicate duty. When each driver mounted his box, after +handing in the ladies, it was wonderful to observe with what +dexterity, ease, and order, all wheeled into line, when the leader, +with a flourish of his long whip--being the signal for which all were +watching--led off the splendid array. + +It was a gay sight to witness the start, as they swept round the +square--for the horses were one and all of pure blood, and +unparalleled for beauty, symmetry, and speed. + +To one unaccustomed to such a sight, it might appear somewhat +dangerous. The fiery impatience of the horses--their pawing and +champing, the tossing of their beautiful heads, and the swan-like +curving of their glittering, sleek necks, until they were fairly +formed into order--at which time they knew just as well as their +owners that _the play_ was going to begin. But it was perfectly +delightful to observe the graceful manner in which each pair laid +their small heads and ears together when fairly under way, beating +time with their highly polished hoofs--pat, pat, pat, pat, as true as +the most disciplined regiment marching to a soul-stirring quick step, +or a troupe of well-trained ballet girls, bounding across the stage of +the Italian Opera. + +When fairly off and skimming along the road, it was, perhaps, as +animating a show as London ever witnessed since its palmiest days of +tilt and tournament. I say nothing of the ladies, their commingled +charms, or gorgeous attire; I only noticed that during the gayety in +the square, previous to starting, their recognition of each other, and +the beaux of their acquaintance, there were plenty of + + "Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, + Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, + And love to live in dimples sleek." + +This celebrated club congregated every fortnight, during the gay +season of May and June, and spent the day at the residence of one of +their number, within twenty or thirty miles of London, returning in +the evening, exactly in the order they had set out. + +Master Moody, the driver and proprietor of the fast Windsor Coach, +had, as said, been the tutor of these aristocratic charioteers, who +placed themselves under his guardianship, and had been taught to +handle "the ribbons" until declared perfect in the noble science. He +had consequently imbibed much and many of the _airs_ and _graces_, and +manners of his pupils. + +Being anxious to have a ride beside this great man, I was at +Piccadilly long before he started, and by a pretty handsome douceur to +his cad, had the supreme felicity of obtaining a seat on the box, and +certainly was well repaid for the extra expense of sitting by +Corinthian Tom. + +He was a tall fellow, and had a severely serious face; was dressed in +the extreme of driving fashion; wore delicate white kid gloves, and +the tops of his highly-polished boots were white as the lily. In +short, his whole "toggery" was faultless--a perfect out-and-outer. He +was truly a great man, or appeared to fancy himself such--for he +rarely condescended to exchange a word, except with an acquaintance, +and even then, it was with a condescending, patronizing air; and he +smiled as seldom as a Connecticut lawyer. Although sitting close by +his side for twenty miles, not one word passed between us during the +whole journey. + +The nags driven by this proud fellow were as splendid as himself; +finer cattle never flew over Epsom Downs, the Heath of Ascot, or +Doncaster Course--pure bloods, every one of them, and such as might +have served Guido as models for his famous fresco of the chariot of +Apollo; but Guido's steeds, although they are represented tearing away +furiously, are lubberly _drays_, compared with the slim, graceful, +fleet stags of Tom Moody. + +When the cad gave the word--"all right," Tom started them with his +short, shrill "t'chit, t'chit," and a crack of his two-fathom whip +right over the ears of the leaders, as loud as the report of a pistol. +They sprang forward with a maddening energy, almost terrifying; but +the coach was hung and balanced with such precision, and the Windsor +road kept in the finest order for royalty, there was no jumping or +jolting, it glided along as smoothly as if it had been running on +rails. A proud man was Master Moody; not so much of himself, perhaps, +or of his glossy, broad-brimmed beaver, and broadcloth "upper +Benjamin," or the dashing silk tie around his neck, but of his +beautiful nags--and he had reason, for there was not an equipage on +the road, from the ducal chariot to the dandy tandem, to which he did +not give the go-by like lightning. + +The rapidity of the movement, and the beauty of the animals, produced +an excitement sufficient to enable one to appreciate the rapture of +the Arab, as he flies over the desert on his beloved barb, enjoying, +feeling, exulting in liberty, sweet, intoxicating, unbounded liberty, +with the whole wilderness for a home. + +Some such feelings took possession of me, as the well-poised machine +shot along. Quick as thought we threaded Kensington High street, +skirted the wall of Lord Holland's park, just catching, like the +twinkle of a sunbeam, a glimpse of the antique turrets of that classic +fane peeping through the trees, as we passed the centre avenue. + +We speedily reached Hammersmith and Turnham Green, and then passed +Sion House and park, the princely residence of the Duke of +Northumberland, then dashed through the straggling old town of +Brentford. The intervening fields and openings into the landscape +affording enchanting prospects before entering on Hounslow Heath, when +the horses having got warm, the driver gave them full head, and the +vehicle attained a speed truly exhilarating. + +The increased momentum, and the extensive prairie-like expanse of +Hounslow Heath, would have realized in any enthusiastic mind, the +feelings of the children of the desert. + +This first excursion to Stoke was made during the month of May, when +all nature is fresh and fair; the guelder-roses and lilacs being in +full flower, and the hawthorn hedges were one sheet of milky +fragrance, the air was almost intoxicating, owing to the concentrated +perfumes arising from fruit orchards in full blossom, and the +interminable succession of flower gardens opposite every house +skirting that lovely road, the beauty of which few can conceive who +have not been in England; but the fresh, _pure_ air on the Heath, +infused a new feeling, a realization of unalloyed happiness; we were +rapidly hastening toward scenes for which the soul was yearning, and +hope, bright, young hope, lent wings and a charm to every object, +animate and inanimate. + +The usual relay of fresh horses were in waiting at Cranburn Bridge, +and the reeking bloods were instantly changed for others, not a whit +less spirited than their released compeers. Away went Moody, and away +went Moody's fiery steeds. In a very short time we passed, at a few +miles on the hither side of Slough, the "ivy-mantled tower" of Upton +Church, which, but for one or two small, square openings in it, may be +mistaken for a gigantic bush, or unshapely tree of evergreen ivy. + +Arriving at Slough, I bade adieu to Master Moody; the forty feet +telescope of Herschel, with its complicated frame-work and machinery, +attracting only a few minutes attention. The road leading up to Stoke +Green is one of those beautiful lanes so exquisitely described by +Gilbert White, in his History of Selborne, or still more graphically +portrayed by Miss Mitford, in her Tales of our Village. Stoke Green +lies to the right of this lane, and at the distance of one or two +fields further on, there is a stile in the corner of one of them, on +the left, where a foot-path crosses diagonally. In going through a gap +in the hedge, you catch the first peep of the spire of Stoke Church. +After passing the field, you come to a narrow lane, overhung with +hawthorns; it leads from Salt-Hill to the village of West-End Stoke. +Keeping along the lane a short way, and passing through a small gate +on the top of the bank, you at once enter the domain of Stoke Park, +and are admitted to a full view of the church, which stands at a short +distance, but almost immediately within the gate, are particularly +struck by the appearance of a grand sarcophagus, erected by Mr. Penn +to the memory of Gray, in the year 1779. It is a lofty structure, in +the purest style of architecture; and a tolerable idea of it, and the +surrounding scenery, may be obtained from the cut at the head of this +article, which has been executed from a drawing made on the spot. The +inscription and quotations following are on the several sides of the +pedestal. It is needless to say they are from the Elegy, and Ode to +Eton College--the latter poem being unquestionably written from this +very spot; and Mr. Penn has exhibited the finest taste in their +selection. + +On the end facing Mr. Penn's house-- + + THIS MONUMENT, + IN HONOR OF THOMAS GRAY, + WAS ERECTED, A. D. MDCCXCIX., AMONG + THE SCENES CELEBRATED BY THAT + GREAT LYRIC AND ELEGIAC POET. + HE DIED XXX JULY, MDCCLXXI, AND + LIES UNNOTICED IN THE CHURCH-YARD + ADJOINING, UNDER THE TOMB-STONE ON + WHICH HE PIOUSLY AND PATHETICALLY + RECORDED THE INTERMENT OF HIS + AUNT AND LAMENTED MOTHER. + +On the side looking toward Windsor-- + + Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, + Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; + Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, + Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. + + One morn I miss'd him on the 'custom'd hill, + Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree; + Another came; nor yet beside the rill, + Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. + +On the end facing Stoke Palace-- + + Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, + That crown the wat'ry glade, + Ah! happy hills! Ah, pleasing shade! + Ah! fields belov'd in vain! + Where once my careless childhood strayed, + A stranger yet to pain! + I feel the gales that from ye blow, + A momentary bliss bestow. + +On the west side, looking toward the church-yard-- + + Beneath these rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, + Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, + Each in his narrow cell forever laid, + The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. + + The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, + And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, + Await alike th' inevitable hour-- + The paths of glory lead but to the grave. + +This noble monument is erected on a beautiful green mound, and is +surrounded with flowers. It is protected by a deep trench, in the +bottom of which is a palisade; but the inclosure may be entered by +application at one of Mr. Penn's pretty entrance lodges, which is +close by. The prospects from this part of the park are surpassingly +beautiful, particularly looking toward the "distant spires and antique +towers" of Eton and Windsor. + +It may be worth while here to remark, that the church and church-yard +of Stoke is surrounded by Mr. Penn's property, or more properly +speaking his park. + +Coming upon the beautiful monument quite unexpectedly, was not likely +to diminish the enthusiasm previously entertained; and before +proceeding to the church-yard, it was impossible to resist the impulse +of making a rapid memorandum sketch of it. In after years, it was +carefully and correctly drawn in all its aspects. Proceeding along +"the churchway path" into the church-yard, where in reality "rests his +head upon the lap of earth," the tomb-stone of the admired and beloved +poet was soon found. It is at the east end of the church, nearly under +a window. + +Persons of a cold temperament, and not imbued with the love of poetry, +may perhaps smile when it is admitted, that the approach to that tomb +was made with steps as slow and reverential as those of any devout +Catholic approaching the shrine of his patron saint. + +Long was it gazed upon, and frequently was the inscription read, and +the following cut exhibits the coat of arms and inscriptions on the +blue marble tabular stone, as they were carefully drawn and copied, +that very evening: + +[Illustration: Coat of Arms and inscriptions] + + IN THE VAULT BENEATH ARE DEPOSITED + IN HOPE OF A JOYFUL RESURRECTION, + THE REMAINS OF + MARY ANTROBUS, + SHE DIED UNMARRIED, NOVEMBER 5TH, 1749, + AGED 66. + + * * * * * + + IN THE SAME PIOUS CONFIDENCE, + BESIDE HER FRIEND AND SISTER, + HERE SLEEP THE REMAINS OF + DOROTHY GRAY, + WIDOW, THE CAREFUL TENDER MOTHER + OF MANY CHILDREN, ONE OF WHOM ALONE + HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO SURVIVE HER. + SHE DIED MARCH 11TH, 1753, + AGED 67. + + +It was a soft, balmy evening; "every leaf was at rest;" the deer in +the park had betaken themselves to their favorite haunts, under the +wide-spreading boughs of ancient oaks and elms, and were reposing in +happy security. + +The long continued twilight of England was gathering in, and I still +lingered in the consecrated inclosure, fascinated with the +unmistakable antiquity of the church, which, although small as +compared with many others, is eminently romantic, and I cannot better +describe the scene, and the feelings impressed at the moment, than in +the words of one equally near as dear-- + + "A holy spell pervades thy gloom, + A silent charm breathes all around; + And the dread stillness of the tomb + Reigns o'er thy hallowed haunted ground." + +It may be proper to mention that the poem from which this is +extracted, is descriptive of Haddon Hall, one of the most ancient and +perfect specimens of the pure Gothic in England. The poem appeared in +one of the English Annuals. + +At peace with all the world, and filled with emotions of true and +sincere gratitude to the Giver of all good, for the pure happiness +then enjoyed, I sank down by the tomb-stone, overpowered with +veneration, and breathed fervent thanks to HIM who refuses not the +offering of a humble and contrite heart. + +This narrative is meant to be a faithful and honest representation of +_facts_ and _circumstances_ that actually occurred, and it is firmly +believed that none can stray into an ancient secluded country +church-yard, during the decline of day, without deeply meditating on +those who for ages have slept below, and where ALL must soon sleep, +without feeling true devotion, and forming resolves for future and +amended conduct. + +Slowly quitting the church-yard, and approaching the elevated +monument, now become almost sublime as the shades of evening rendered +dim its classic outline, it was impossible to avoid lingering some +time longer beside it, recalling various passages of the Elegy +appropriate to the occasion; the landscape was indeed "glimmering on +the sight," and there was a "solemn stillness in the air," well +befitting the occasion; more particularly appropriate was that fine +stanza, which, although written by Gray, is omitted in all editions of +the Elegy except the one hereafter noticed, in where it was +re-incorporated by the editor, [the present writer,] in consequence of +a suggestion kindly offered in a letter from Granville Penn, Esq., +then residing with his brother at Stoke Park. + + Hark! how the sacred calm that breathes around + Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease; + In still small accents whispering from the ground, + A grateful earnest of eternal peace. + +The Elegy is undoubtedly the most popular poem in the English +language; it was translated into that of every country in Europe, +besides Latin and Greek. It has been more frequently, elaborately and +expensively illustrated with pictorial embellishments. The autograph +copy of it, in the poet's small, neat hand, written on two small half +sheets of paper, was sold last year for no less than _one hundred +pounds sterling_; and the spirited purchaser was most appropriately +the proprietor of Stoke Park, Granville John Penn, Esq., who at the +same sale gave _forty-five pounds_ for the autograph copy of The Long +Story, and _one hundred and five pounds_ for the Odes; whilst another +gentleman gave forty pounds for two short poems and a letter from the +illustrious poet on the death of his father. + +The truthfulness of the pictures presented to the imagination in the +Elegy could not be denied, for there, on the very spot where, beyond +all question, it was composed, and after a lapse of nearly one hundred +years, the images which impressed the mind of the inspired poet came +fresh at every turn. It is true the curfew did not toll, but the +"lowing herd" were as distinctly audible as the beetle wheeling his +droning flight. The yew tree's shade--that identical tree, to which, +to a moral certainty, the poet had reference--is represented in the +cut, in the corner of the inclosure, as distinctly as the smallness of +the scale admitted, underneath its shade the "turf lies in many a +mouldering heap," and the "rugged elms" are outside the inclosure, but +their outstretched arms overspread many a "narrow cell and frail +memorial," where the "rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep," and +where also "their name and years are spelt by th' unlettered muse." A +singular error in spelling _the name_ of one of those humble persons, +was however committed by the poet himself in his "Long Story," very +pardonable in him, however, as the party was then alive; but that the +error should have been perpetuated in ALL EDITIONS save one, down to +that entitled "The Eton," being printed there, and edited by a +reverend clergyman resident in the college, is somewhat singular; +moreover the _second_ edition of the Eton Gray appeared this very +year, and the error remains, although the name is correctly given on +the grave-stone. The excepted edition, in which alone it is correctly +given, was published in 1821, and edited by the present writer for his +friend Mr. John Sharpe. The circumstance will be noticed presently. + +The Elegy of Gray was evidently written under the influence of strong +feeling, and vivid impressions of the beautiful in the scenery around +him, and when his sensitive mind was overspread with melancholy, in +consequence of the death of his young, amiable and accomplished friend +West, to whom, in June, 1742, he addressed his lovely Ode to Spring, +which was written at Stoke; but before it reached his friend he was +numbered with the dead! So true was the friendship subsisting between +them, that the poet of Stoke was overpowered with a melancholy which, +although subdued, lasted during a great part of his life. + +The scenes amid which the Elegy was composed were well adapted to +soothe and cherish that contemplative sadness which, when the wounds +of grief are healing, it is a luxury to indulge, and that the poet did +indulge them is self-evident in many a line. + +In returning to Stoke Green to spend the night, some of the rustic +peasantry were wending their way down the lane to the same place, but +none of these simple people, although questioned, could tell aught of +him whose fame and works had induced the pilgrimage to Stoke; neither +did better success attend any succeeding inquiry at the village. So +universally true is that scriptural saying, like ALL the sayings of +HIM who uttered it, that a prophet is not without honor, save in his +own country and in his own house. + +Retiring to rest early, with a full determination to do that which had +often been resolved but never accomplished, that is, to rise with the +dawn; the resolution had nearly defeated the purpose, inasmuch as the +mind being surcharged with the past and the expected, there was little +inclination to sleep until after midnight. But a full and fixed +determination of the will overcomes greater difficulties, and the +first streak of light at break of day found me up and dressed, and of +a truth + + Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, + To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. + +The dawn was most lovely, and the perfume from the hawthorns +delicious; every thing indicated a beautiful day. The sarcophagus +stands on the most elevated spot, and there, where probably in days +long past the poet had watched the rising of the sun, did I, a humble +pilgrim at his shrine, await the same sublime spectacle. + +As if to gratify a long cherished desire, the sun did rise with a +splendor impossible to be exceeded, and the following lines, by an +anonymous author, immediately recurred to memory: + + O who can paint the rapture of the soul, + As o'er the scene the sun first steals to sight, + And all the world of vapors as they roll, + And heaven's vast arch unveils in living light. + +To witness the break of day in the country is indeed a luxury to which +the inhabitants of cities are strangers. As the sun rose from the +horizon, his increasing light brought into view myriads of dew-drops +on every bud and blossom, which glittered and shone like diamonds. The +sky-larks began to rise from their grassy beds among the daisies, +ascending in circles to the clouds, and caroling a music which is +almost heavenly to hear. The deer also were getting up from their +shadowy lair under the trees, and the young fawns sprung away and took +to flight as I passed a herd, under a clump of beeches, in order to +obtain a view of the ancient mansion. In approaching it, a sound, +familiar indeed but far from musical, struck the ear, and added +another proof and a fresh charm to the fidelity of the picture drawn +by the poet. The swallows were merrily "twittering" about the +gable-ends, and it did the heart good to stand watching the probable +successors of those active little visiters, whose predecessors had +possibly attracted the notice of the bard. It is well known that these +birds, like the orchard oriole, return year after year to the same +house, and haunt where they had previously reared their young.[2] + +A strong and perhaps natural desire to inspect the interior of all +that remained of the ancient mansion of the Huntingdons and Hattons +was defeated, inasmuch as it was found barricaded. Imagination had +been busy for many a year, in respect to its great hall and gallery, +its rich windows "and passages that lead to nothing;" but as access to +the interior was denied, the sketch-book was put in requisition, and +an accurate view soon secured. + +Observing at some distance, through a vista among the trees, a lofty +pillar with a statue on its summit, and proceeding thither, it was +found to be another of those splendid ornaments with which the taste +and liberality of the proprietor had adorned his park, being erected +to the memory of Sir Edward Coke, whose statue it was which surmounted +the capital. Whilst engaged in sketching this truly classic object, a +gentleman approached, who introduced himself as Mr. Osborne, the +superintendent of the demesne. He expressed pleasure at seeing the +sketches, and politely offered every facility for making such, but +hinted that Mr. Penn had scruples, and very proper ones, about +strangers approaching too near the house on the Sabbath day, to make +sketches of objects in its vicinity. + +[Footnote 2: A pair of Baltimore birds (the orchard oriole) returned +summer after summer, and built their hanging nest, not only in the +same apple-tree, but on the same bough, which overhung a terrace, in a +garden belonging to the writer at Geneva, New York, until one season a +terrific storm, not of hail but ice, tore the nest from the tree, and +killed the young, and the parent birds never afterward returned.] + +Mr. Osborne's offer was courteously made, and the consequence was that +many visits to Stoke afterward took place, and the whole of the +interesting scenery carefully sketched. He kindly pointed out all that +was most worthy of attention about the estate and neighborhood, and +made tender of his company to visit West-End, and show the house which +Gray, and his mother and aunt had for many years occupied. The +proprietor he said was Captain Salter, in whose family it had remained +for a great many generations. Latterly the house has been purchased, +enlarged, and put into complete repair by Mr. Granville John Penn, the +present proprietor, nephew of John Penn, Esq., who died in June, 1834. +After "a hasty" breakfast at Stoke Green, the church-yard was again +visited, and there was not a grave-stone in it which was not examined +and read. The error formerly alluded to was immediately detected. The +passages in the Long Story, describing the mock trial at the "Great +House," before Lady Cobham, may be worth transcribing. + + Fame, in the shape of Mr. Purt,[3] + (By this time all the parish know it,) + Had told that thereabouts there lurked + A wicked imp they call a poet: + Who prowled the country far and near, + Bewitched the children of the peasants, + Dried up the cows and lamed the deer, + And sucked the eggs and killed the pheasants. + + * * * * * + + The court was sat, the culprit there, + Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, + The Lady Janes and Joans repair, + And from the gallery stand peeping: + Such in the silence of the night + Come (sweep) along some winding entry, + (Styack has often seen the sight,) + Or at the chapel-door stand sentry: + In peaked hoods and mantles tarnished + Sour visages enough to scare ye, + High dames of honor once who garnished + The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary. + + * * * * * + + The bard with many an artful fib + Had in imagination fenced him, + Disproved the arguments of Squib + And all that Groom could urge against him. + +[Footnote 3: In all editions but that published by Mr. John Sharpe the +initial _only_ of this name has been given--"Mr. P."--even the Eton +edition of this year has it so. It seems folly to continue what may +have been very proper nearly a hundred years ago, when the individual +was alive; but the Rev. Robert Purt died in April, 1752!] + +Finding on the stone alluded to, that it was to the memory of Mrs. Ann +Tyacke, who died in 1753, it occurred that this was the Styack of the +poem, where a foot-note in a copy then and there consulted, stated her +to have been the housekeeper; and on inquiring of Mr. Osborne, he +confirmed the conjecture. Two other foot-notes state Squib to have +been _groom_ of the chamber, and that Groom was steward; but finding +another head-stone (both are represented in the large wood-cut, +although not exactly in the situations they occupy in the church-yard) +close to that of Mrs. Tyacke, to the memory of _William_ Groom, who +died 1751, it appears to offer evidence that Gray mistook the _name_ +of the one for the _office_ of the other. The Eton edition has not a +single foot-note from beginning to end of the volume. It is dedicated +to Mr. Granville John Penn, and his "kind assistance _during the +progress of the work_" acknowledged, both in its illustrations, and in +the biographical sketch, not withstanding which "assistance," the +error of the house-keeper's name is continued; and amongst the +wood-cut illustrations, there is one entitled (both _in_ the list and +_on_ the cut) "Stoke Church, east end, with tablet to Gray," when, in +fact, it represents the _tomb-stone_ at the end of the church, under +which Gray and his mother are interred. The _tablet_ to Gray is quite +another thing, _that_ was lately inserted in the wall of the church; +but by some extraordinary blunder it records his death as having taken +place on the 1st of August, while on the sarcophagus it is stated to +have occurred on the 30th of July. Neither the one nor the other is +correct. The Gentleman's Magazine for 1771, and the Annual Register +for the same year, as well as Mathias' Life, 2 vols. 4to., 1814, all +concur in giving it as having taken place on the 31st. The Etonian +edition has it the 30th. After a considerable time spent in the +church-yard, the hour of public worship drew near, the aged sexton +appeared, opened the doors, and began to toll the bell--that same +ancient bell which, century after century, had "rung in" generation +after generation, and tolled at their funerals. It is difficult to +realize the feelings excited on entering a sacred edifice of very +ancient date, particularly if it is in the country, secluded amongst +aged trees, looking as old as itself; and in walking over the stone +floor, which, although so seldom trodden, is worn away into something +like channels; in sitting in the same antique, and curiously carved, +black oaken pews, which had been sat on by races of men who had +occupied the same seats hundreds of years long past; but the effect is +greatly increased on viewing the effigies of the mighty dead, lying on +their marble beds, in long and low niches in the walls, some with the +palms of their hands pressed together and pointing upward, as if in +the act of supplication; and others grasping their swords, and having +their legs _crossed_, indicating that they had fought _for_ the cross +in the Holy Land. Such a church, and such objects around, fill the +mind with true devotion. The sublime words of Milton work out the +picture to perfection. + + There let the pealing organ blow + To the full-voiced quire below, + In service high, and anthems clear, + As may with sweetness through mine ear + Dissolve me into extasies, + And bring all heaven before mine eyes. + +It was gratifying and affecting to witness the piety, humility, and +devotion of the congregation as they entered and took their seats in +silence, long before the venerable clergyman entered the church; there +was something exceedingly touching in the profound silence that +reigned throughout the congregation, and induced one to think highly +of that rule amongst those excellent people, who with great propriety +are termed Friends. Public worship was attended both in the morning +and afternoon, and I returned to London, feeling myself a much better +man than when I left it, with a full determination to revisit a place +where so much pleasure had been received. It was nearly three months +before the resolve was carried into effect; but a second excursion was +made in August, and Mr. Osborne was kind enough to show the house at +West-End, together with the celebrated Burnham beeches, amongst which +were several "which wreathed their old fantastic roots so high," +evidently the originals alluded to in the Elegy. They are scarcely a +mile from West-End, and are approached through another of those sweet +green lanes with which the neighborhood abounds. They are part of the +original forest. The spot was one of Gray's favorite haunts; and it +would be difficult to find one better fitted for a lover of nature, +and a contemplative mind. Late in the autumn an invitation was +received from Mr. Osborne to spend a day or two with him; but it was +not until the beginning of November that advantage could be taken of +it. Arriving at his house late in the afternoon, his servant informed +me he had been suddenly called away to the Isle of Portland, in +Dorsetshire, where Mr. Penn was erecting a castle. She also apologized +for Mrs. Osborne's inability to receive company, in consequence of "a +particular circumstance," which circumstance she blushingly +acknowledged was the birth of a fine boy the night before. There was +no resource, therefore, but to walk down either to Stoke Green, or to +Salt-Hill, where there are two well-known taverns. Before proceeding, +however, the church-yard, almost of necessity, must be visited; and +although in a direct line, it was not far from Mr. Osborne's house, a +considerable circuit had to be made to get into the inclosure. The +evening was particularly still--you could have heard a leaf fall; the +twilight was just setting in, and a haze, or fog, coming on, but the +spot was soon reached; and whilst kneeling, engaged, like Old +Mortality, in plucking some weeds and long grass, which had sprung up +about _the_ tomb since the last visit, a slight sound--a very gentle +rustle--struck the ear. I supposed it to be the ivy on the +church-wall, but the next instant it was followed by a movement--something +very near was certainly approaching. On looking up, it is impossible +to describe with what mixed feelings of astonishment, apprehension, +and awe, I beheld coming from a corner of the church-yard, (where +there was no ingress through the brick wall,) and directly toward the +spot where I knelt, the figure of a tall, majestic lady, dressed in a +black velvet pelisse, black velvet hat, surmounted by a plume of black +ostrich feathers. She was stepping slowly toward me, over the graves. +It would be useless to deny that fear fixed me to the spot on +beholding the expression of her very serious face, and her eyes firmly +fixed on mine. + +Appalled by her sudden appearance, it seemed as if she had just risen +from the grave, dressed in a funeral pall; for I was facing toward +that corner of the enclosure from which she was coming, and feeling +certain no human being was there one minute before, I was breathless +with apprehension, and glad to rest one arm on the tomb-stone until +she came close up to me. + +[Illustration: In the Grave-yard--P. Balmanno] + +With a graceful inclination of the head, she addressed me. + +"Mr. B----, I believe?" + +"Yes, madam, that is my name." + +"And you came down to visit Mr. Osborne, who has been called away to +Portland." + +I breathed more freely as I admitted it. + +"It happens," she continued, "to be inconvenient for Mrs. Osborne to +receive you, and as you came by invitation from her husband, if you +will accept a night's lodging from me, I am enabled to offer it. I am +Mr. Penn's housekeeper, and none of the family are at home." + +Most joyfully was the invitation accepted; my mind was relieved from a +very unpleasant load of apprehension--but the end was not yet! She +began to lead the way over the graves, exactly toward the spot from +whence she had so suddenly and mysteriously appeared; after proceeding +a few steps, I ventured to say-- + +"Pray, madam, may I be allowed to inquire where you are leading to? I +can see no egress in that direction, unless it be into an open grave +or under a tomb-stone." + +"Oh, you will find that out presently," replied the lady, transfixing +me with a glance of her bright blue eyes, and I thought I could detect +a rather equivocal expression about the corners of her beautiful +mouth. This was not very encouraging, and not much liked, but she was +a woman, and a lovely one, too much so by half to be a Banshee--I was +on my guard, however, and ready, but the fog became so thick it was +impossible to see three steps before us; in fact, it rolled over the +church-yard wall in clouds. The lady linked her arm in mine, to +prevent herself from stumbling, holding up her dress with the other +hand, as the long dank grass was wetting it. At last we arrived in the +very corner of the church-yard, she still keeping a firm hold of my +arm. + +"In Heaven's name, madam, what do you mean by leading me into this +corner?" + +"Oh, you are afraid, I see; but wait a moment." + +On saying which, I observed her to take something bright from her +girdle, which apprehension converted into a stiletto or dirk, and such +is the force of self-preservation, that I was on the point of tripping +her up and throwing her on her back. But thrusting the supposed dirk +against the wall--presto--open sesame--the wall gave way, and she drew +me through a doorway. This was done so quickly it absolutely seemed +magic. For an instant I thought of dropping her arm--indeed I should +have done so, and retreated back through the door, but she held my arm +tight, and I almost quaked, for I thought she had dragged me into a +secret vault, the manoeuvre was performed so adroitly. The drifting +cold fog, however, soon made it plain we were in no vault, but the +open park. In short, it was a door in the wall, flush with the bricks, +and painted so exactly like them, it was impossible for a stranger to +discover it. It was Mr. Penn's private entrance, and saved the family +a walk of some distance. A narrow green walk, not previously remarked, +led from the door to the west end of the church. + +The housekeeper of a nobleman or gentleman of wealth, in England, +generally enjoys an enviable situation. Intrusted with much that is +valuable, she is generally a person of the highest consideration and +respect, and seldom fails to acquire the elevated manners and refined +address of her superiors. The lady in question was exactly one of this +description, well educated, and well read; a magnificent library was +at her command, and having much time, and what is better, fine taste, +she had profited by it. Never was an evening passed in greater +comfort, or with a more agreeable companion. After partaking of that +most exhilarating of all beverages, the pure hyson, we began to chat +with almost the same freedom as though we had been long acquainted. +During a pause in the conversation, after looking in my face a moment, +she said-- + +"Will you answer me one question?" + +"Most certainly, any thing, you choose to ask." + +"But will you answer it honestly and truly?" + +"Do not doubt it." + +"Well, then, tell me, were you not most horribly afraid when you saw +me coming toward you in the church-yard?" + +"I do frankly confess, madam, I _was horribly_ afraid, and further, I +firmly believe I should have taken to my heels, had you not been a +very beautiful woman!" + +Before the sentence was well finished her laughter was irrepressible. + +"I _knew_ it, I _saw_ it, I _intended_ it," said she, laughing so +heartily that the tears sprung out of her beautiful eyes, and she was +obliged to use her handkerchief to wipe them away. + +"And do you feel no compunction for scaring a poor fellow half out of +his wits?" + +"None whatever," replied she gayly. "What could you expect when +prowling amongst the graves in a church-yard so lone and solitary, +like a goule, on a damp November night? I saw you from Mr. Osborne's +going toward it, and determined to startle you--and I think I +succeeded pretty effectually." + +"You did, and had very nearly met with your reward, for when in the +corner of that church-yard you pulled the key from your girdle, fully +believing you to be the Evil One, I was on the point of strangling +you." + +Much laughter at my expense ensued, for the lady lacked neither wit +nor humor, and the evening flew faster than desired. On retiring, a +man servant conducted me to an apartment on the upper floor of the +mansion, and sleep soon came and soon went, for an innumerable number +of rats and mice were careering all over the bed! and I felt them +sniffing about my nose and mouth; I sprang bolt upright, striking +right and left like a madman. This sent them pattering all about the +room, and dreading that I might find myself minus a nose or an ear +before morning, I groped all around the room for a bell, but could +find none; proceeding into the corridor and standing on tip-toe, +bell-wires were soon found, and soon set a ringing; watching at the +top of the very long staircase, a light was at last seen ascending, +borne in the hand of a very fat man, who proved to be the butler; he +had nothing on but his shirt, and a huge pair of red plush, which +enveloped his nether bulk. Puffing with the exertion of ascending so +many stairs, he at last saw me, still more lightly clothed than +himself, and inquired what I wanted? + +"Have you got a cat about the house?" + +"No, sir, we have no cats, they destroy the young pheasants." + +"A dog, then?" + +"No dog, sir, on account of the deer." + +"Then tell the housekeeper there are ten thousand rats and twenty +thousand mice in the room I occupy!" + +As he descended the stair he was heard mumbling, +"cats!"--"dogs!"--"rats!"--"mice!" and chuckling ready to burst his +fat sides. + +After long waiting, the reflection of light on his red plush smalls +(_greats_ would better describe them) flashed up like a streak of +lightning, and puffing harder than before, told me if I would follow +him down stairs, he had orders to show me to another room. + +Gathering up the articles of my dress over my arm, we descended, and I +was shown into a room of almost regal splendor. The lofty bedstead had +a canopy, terminating in a gilded coronet, and the ample hangings were +of rich Venetian crimson velvet, trimmed and festooned "about, around +and underneath." The ascent to this unusually lofty bed was by a +flight of superb steps, covered with rich embossed velvet. Out of the +royal palaces I had never seen such a bed. + +In consequence of having stood so long undressed on the marble floor +at the top of the stairs, shivering with cold, the magnificent bed, on +getting into it, was found comfortable beyond expression. It felt as +if it would never cease yielding under the pressure; it sunk down, +down, down--there appeared no stop to its declension; and then its +delicious warmth--what a luxury to a shivering man! Hugging myself +under the idea of a glorious night's rest, and composing myself in the +easiest possible position, it was more desirable to lay awake in such +full enjoyment, than to sleep--sleep had lost all its charms. I was in +the bed of beds--the celestial! + +After thus laying about twenty minutes, enjoying perfect bliss, a +sensation of some uneasiness began slowly to manifest itself, which +induced a change of position; but the change did not relieve the +uncomfortable feeling. It would be difficult to describe it, but it +increased every moment, until at last it seemed as if the points of a +hundred thousand fine needles were puncturing every pore. This was +borne with great resignation and equanimity for some time, expecting +it would go off; but the stinging sensation increased, and finally +became intolerable; the celestial bed became one of infernal torture. +I tossed, and dashed, and threw about my limbs in all directions, and +almost bellowed like a mad bull. + +What to do to relieve the torment I knew not. To ask for another bed +was out of the question, and to attempt to sleep on thorns--thorns! +they would have been thought a luxury to this of lying enduring the +pains of the doomed. After long endurance of the pain, and in racking +my brains considering what was best to be done, the intolerable +sensations began by degrees to subside and grow less and less; but the +heat, although nearly insupportable, was more easily endured. That +horrible night was a long one--and long will it be before it is +forgotten. + +Coming down in the morning, expecting to find the lady all smiles and +graces, I was surprised and hurt to find she received me rather +coldly, and with averted head; but when she could no longer avoid +turning round, never, in the whole course of my life, was I more +astonished at the change she had undergone. It was a total, a radical +change--she was hardly to be recognized--and it was scarcely possible +to believe she was the lovely woman of the last night. Not that her +splendid figure was altered--in fact, an elegant morning-dress rather +tended to improve and set-off her full and almost voluptuous contour, +and her soft, sweet voice was equally musical; but her face--the +charms of her lovely face were vanished and gone! + +Every one will admit that the nose is a most important, nay, a very +prominent feature in female beauty. It is indispensible that a belle +should have a beautiful nose; in fact, it is a question whether a +woman without an eye would not be preferable to one with--but I +anticipate. + +"I see your surprise, sir," said she, with evident chagrin, "but it is +all owing to you." + +"To _me_, madam! I presume you allude to the altered appearance of +your face, but I cannot conceive what I can have had to do with the +change." + +In brief, her beautiful nose was all over as red as scarlet, +particularly the point of it, which exactly resembled a large red +cherry, or ripe Siberian crab-apple. Now just think of it--a very fair +woman with a blood-red nose! Faugh! it is enough to sicken the most +devoted admirer of the sex. Suppose any gentleman going to be married, +and full of love and admiration, should, on going to the house of his +beloved bride on the appointed morning, to take her to church, humming +to himself that sweet song, "She Wove a Wreath of Roses," finds her +beautiful nose become a big rosy nosegay--would he not be apt to +suppose she had over night been making pretty free sacrifices, not to +the little god of love, but to jolly Bacchus? I did not do _my_ belle +such an injustice--and yet what could I think? + +"How do you make out that I had any thing to do with such an important +alteration, madam." + +"O, as easy as it is true. Did not your wo-begone terrors in the +church-yard throw me into immoderate fits of laughter, as you well +know? And did not your adventures, after you retired, when reported to +me, throw me all but into convulsions--the more I thought, the more I +laughed, until it brought on a nervous headache so intense, it felt as +if my head would have split? To relieve so distressing a pain, I took +a bottle of eau de cologne to bed with me, and pulling out the +stopper, propped it up by the pillow, right under my nose. I quite +forgot it, and fell asleep with the bottle in that position." + +"Ah!" said I, "I suspected _the bottle_ had something to do with it." + +"Quite true, quite true--but not the bottle you wickedly insinuate. +How long I slept I know not, it must have been a long time; when I +awoke, I was surprised to find my shoulder cold and wet--and then I +recollected the bottle of cologne; but what was my horror, on getting +up, to behold my face in this frightful condition, you may easily +imagine." + +Poor, dear lady, if she laughed heartily at the scare she gave me in +the church-yard, I now had my revenge, full and ample--for I could not +refrain from laughing outright every time I looked in her face; and +laughter, when it is hearty and hilarious, is catching, almost as much +as yawning; and I fancy few will dispute how potent, how Mesmeric, or +magnetic the effect of an outstretched arm and wide gaping oscitation +is. I declare, I caught myself gaping the other night on seeing my +wife's white cat stretch herself on the rug, and yawn. + +"I really should feel obliged if you would be polite enough to keep +your eye off my face," said the lady. + +Now it need hardly be remarked, that when any thing is the matter with +a person's face, be it a wall-eye, a squint, a cancer, very bad teeth, +or any such disfigurement or malady, it is impossible to look at any +other spot--it is sure to fix your gaze, you can look at no other +part; you cannot keep your eye off it, unless you are more generous, +or better bred than most men. + +"I really should feel obliged if you would be polite enough to keep +your eye off my nose; it puts me out of countenance," said the fair +one. She said this half earnest, half jest; and I obliged her, by +directing my looks to her taper fingers and white hands--and the +conversation proceeded with the breakfast. + +"May I inquire how you rested, after your escape from the ten thousand +rats, and twenty thousand mice, which attacked you before you changed +your room?" + +"Do you ask the question seriously?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"Why, then, to use a homely but a very expressive phrase, it was out +of the frying-pan into the fire." + +"Mercy on us! how can that be; you had what is considered the best bed +in the house." + +"O, I dare say--no doubt, the softest I ever lay in; but instead of +ten thousand rats, and twenty thousand mice, I had not been in it +fifteen minutes ere a hundred and twenty thousand hornets, wasps, +scorpions, and centipedes, two or three thousand hedge-hogs, and as +many porcupines, seemed to be full drive at me; and had I not soon +been relieved by perspiration, I should assuredly have gone mad, and +been in bedlam. Nervous headache! Why, madam, it would have been +considered paradise, compared with the purgatory you inflicted on me." + +Her eyes sparkled with glee--and she began to laugh joyously; but soon +checking herself, and assuming a sort of mock sympathy, said, + +"I am very sorry--_very_ sorry, indeed, that you should have found +your bed so like the love of some men, rather hot to hold." + +On inquiring whether the grand coroneted bed, which had been as a hot +gridiron to me, was intended for any particular person, she informed +me it was for a Russian nobleman, Baron Nicholay, a much respected +friend of Mr. Penn's, who sometimes visited Stoke, and who, being used +to a bed of down in the cold climate of his own country, Mr. Penn, +with his characteristic kindness and attention, had it prepared for +the baron's especial comfort. She added that the reason why Mr. Penn +had all his life remained a bachelor, was in consequence of an early +attachment which he had formed for the baron's sister; that they were +to have been married, but in driving the lady in a _drouschky_, or +sledge, on the ice of the Neva, at St. Petersburg, by some fatality +the ice gave way, and notwithstanding the most strenuous exertions of +her lover, and the servant who stood behind the sled, the lady, by the +force of the current, was swept away under the ice, and never +afterward seen. That this shocking accident had such effect on Mr. +Penn's mind, as well it might, he never could think of any other +woman, but remained true and constant to his first love, mourning her +tragic end all his life. + +This was exactly the case with that most amiable and gifted man, the +late Sir Thomas Lawrence, who being engaged and about to be married to +a daughter of the celebrated Mrs. Siddons, the young lady was suddenly +snatched from him by a rapid consumption; and Sir Thomas remained +faithful to her beloved memory, wearing mourning during his life, and +ever after used black wax in sealing his letters, as the writer can +prove by many, many received from him during a series of years until +his lamented death. + +On asking my intelligent companion if she knew any particulars +respecting Gray, she replied she did know a great deal regarding him; +that Mr. Penn idolized his memory, and had made collections respecting +him and the personages mentioned in the Long Story. At my pressing +solicitation she was good enough to say she would write out all the +particulars--a promise which she faithfully kept; and they may +hereafter appear in some shape. + +The morning proving foggy and damp, the time (instead of going to +church) was passed in the library--a magnificent room, nearly two +hundred feet long, extending the whole length of the building, and +filled with books from floor to ceiling. + +In one of the principal rooms, mounted upon a pedestal, there is a +large piece of the identical tree under the shade of which Mr. Penn's +celebrated ancestor, William, signed his treaty with the Indians, +constituting him Lord Proprietary of what was afterward, and what will +ever be, Pennsylvania. The piece of wood is part of a large limb, +about five feet long. The tree was blown down in 1812, and the portion +in question was transmitted by Dr. Rush to Mr. Penn, who had it +varnished in its original state, and a brass plate affixed to it, with +an inscription. + +The sun broke through the fog about twelve o'clock, and had as +cheering an effect on the landscape, as it almost invariably has on +the mind. In the afternoon, after a most delightful day spent with the +fair housekeeper, it became time to think of returning to London, and +as the distance would be much lessened by proceeding through Mr. +Penn's grounds, and going down to Salt-Hill instead of Slough, the +lady offered to accompany me to the extent of the shrubberies, and +point out the way. These enchanting shrubberies are adorned with busts +of the Roman and English poets, placed on antique terms, along the +well-kept, smooth gravel-walks, which wind about in many a serpentine +direction through the grounds. There are appropriate quotations from +the works of the different bards, placed on the front of each +terminus. The bust of Gray, is placed under an ancient wide-spreading +oak, with this inscription: + + Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch + A broader, browner shade; + Where'er the rude moss-grown beech + O'er canopies the glade, + With me the muse shall sit and think, + At ease reclined in rustic state. + +There is an elegant small building, inscribed "The Temple of Fancy," +in which a bust of the immortal Shakspeare is the only ornament. It is +on a small knoll, commanding an extensive prospect through the trees, +which are opened like a fan. Windsor Castle terminates this lovely +view. Within the temple there is a long inscription from the Merry +Wives of Windsor, Act 5, sc. 5, beginning thus, + + Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out; + Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room; + That it may stand till the perpetual doom, + In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit, + Worthy the owner, and the owner it. + +The grounds, laid out with so much fine taste, terminate in a lovely +little dell, sheltered on every side. In the centre there is a circle +bordered with box, and growing within it, a collection of all the +known varieties of heath. The plants were then in full flower, and +innumerable honey-bees were feeding and buzzing. To one who, in early +life, had been accustomed to tread the heath-covered hills of +Scotland, the unexpected sight of these blooming plants of the +mountain was a treat; and the effect was heightened on seeing the bust +of Scotia's most admired bard, Thomson, adorning it. The inscription +was from that sublime, almost divine hymn, with which the Seasons +conclude, and eminently well applied to the heath, as some one or +other of the varieties blossom nearly all the year through. + + These, as they change, Almighty Father, these, + Are but the varied God. The rolling year + Is full of thee. + +In that secluded dell I bade a sorrowful and unwilling adieu to the +lady who had shown such extraordinary politeness. It may be worth the +while to mention that she was soon after married, much against the +wish of Mr. Penn, who had a great aversion to any changes in his +establishment; for a kinder, a better, a more pious, or more +accomplished gentleman than the late John Penn, of Stoke Park, England +could not boast. + + * * * * * + +In consequence of the extraordinary prices lately paid for the +autograph copies of Gray's poems, more particularly that of the Elegy, +it has been thought it would be acceptable to the readers of the +Magazine to be presented with a _fac simile_. The following have +therefore been traced, and engraved with great care and accuracy, from +the first and last stanzas of the Elegy, and the signature from a +letter. These will give an exact idea of the peculiarly neat and +elegant handwriting of the Poet of Stoke. + +[Illustration: handwritten poem by Gray + +The Curfew tolls the Knell of parting Day, +The lowing Herd wind slowly o'er the Lea, +The Plowman homeward plods his weary Way, +And leaves the World to Darkness & to me. + + No farther seek his merits to disclose, +Or draw his Frailties from their dread Abode, +(There they alike in trembling Hope repose) +The Bosom of his Father, & his God. + + Your humble Serv^t T. Gray] + + * * * * * + + + + +THE SAW-MILL. + +FROM THE GERMAN OF KORNER. + +BY WILLIAM C. BRYANT. + + + In yonder mill I rested, + And sat me down to look + Upon the wheel's quick glimmer. + And on the flowing brook. + + As in a dream, before me, + The saw, with restless play, + Was cleaving through a fir-tree + Its long and steady way. + + The tree through all its fibres + With living motion stirred, + And, in a dirge-like murmur, + These solemn words I heard-- + + Oh, thou, who wanderest hither, + A timely guest thou art! + For thee this cruel engine + Is passing through my heart. + + When soon, in earth's still bosom, + Thy hours of rest begin, + This wood shall form the chamber + Whose walls shall close thee in. + + Four planks--I saw and shuddered-- + Dropped in that busy mill; + Then, as I tried to answer, + At once the wheel was still. + + + + +EFFIE MORRIS. + +OR LOVE AND PRIDE. + +BY ENNA DUVAL. + + So changes mortal Life with fleeting years; + A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring + The timely insight that can temper fears, + And from vicissitude remove its sting; + While Faith aspires to seats in that domain + Where joys are perfect--neither wax nor wane. WORDSWORTH. + + +It was a warm, cloudy, sultry summer morning--scarcely a breath of air +stirred the clematis and woodbine blossoms that peeped in and +clustered around the breakfast-room window, greeting us with fresh +fragrance; but on this morning no pleasant air breathed sighingly over +them, and they looked drooping and faded. I was visiting my friend +Effie Morris, who resided in a pleasant country village, some twenty +or thirty miles from my city home. We were both young, and had been +school-girl friends from early childhood. The preceding winter had +been our closing session at school, and we were about entering our +little world as women. Effie was an only daughter of a widowed mother. +Possessing comfortable means, they lived most pleasantly in their +quiet romantic little village. Effie had stayed with me during the +winters of her school-days, while I had always returned the compliment +by spending the summer months at her pleasant home. Her mother was +lovely both in mind and disposition, and though she had suffered much +from affliction, she still retained youthful and sympathizing +feelings. Effie was gentle and beautiful, and the most innocent, +unsophisticated little enthusiast that ever breathed. She had arrived +at the age of seventeen, and to my certain knowledge had never felt +the first heart-throb; never had been in love. In vain had we attended +the dancing-school balls, and little parties. A host of boy-lovers +surrounded the little set to which we belonged, and yet Effie remained +entirely heart-whole. She never flirted, never sentimentalized with +gentlemen, and she was called cold and matter-of-fact, by those who +judged her alone by her manner; but one glance in her soft, dove-like +eyes, it seems to me, should have set them a doubting. I have seen +those expressive eyes well up with tears when together we would read +some old story or poem-- + + "Two shall be named preeminently dear-- + The gentle Lady married to the Moor, + And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb"-- + +or leaning from our bed-room window, at midnight, we would gaze on the +silvery moon in the heavens, listening to the rippling notes of the +water-spirits that to our fancy inhabited the sparkling stream that +ran near the house. How beautifully would she improvise at times--for +improvisations in truth were they, while she was quite unconscious of +her gift. She never wrote a line of poetry, but when in such moods, +every word she uttered was true, pure poetry. She had a most +remarkable memory, and seemed never to forget a line she read. To me +she would repeat page after page of our favorite authors, when we +would be wandering through the woods, our arms entwined around each +other. + +Effie Morris was an enthusiastic dreamer, and entertained certain +little romantic exaggerated opinions, out of which it was impossible +to argue her--sometimes her actions ran contrary to these opinions, +and we would fancy that surely now she would admit the fallacy of her +arguments in favor of them; but when taxed with it, she would in the +most earnest, sincere manner defend her original position, proving to +us that no matter how her actions appeared to others, they were in her +own mind entirely in keeping with these first expressed opinions, +which to us seemed entirely at variance. But she was so gentle in +argument, and proved so plainly that though her reasoning might be +false, her thoughts were so beautiful and pure, as to make us feel +perfectly willing to pardon her obstinacy. + +On the morning I speak of, we lounged languidly over the +breakfast-table, not caring to taste of the tempting crisp rolls, or +drink of the fragrant Mocha juice, the delicious fumes of which rose +up from the delicate China cups all unheeded by us. At first we talked +listlessly of various things, wandering from subject to subject, and +at last, to our surprise, we found ourselves engaged in a sprightly, +animated argument; each forgetting the close atmosphere that seemed at +first to weigh down all vivacity. The subject of this argument was the +possibility of pride overcoming love in a woman's heart. Mrs. Morris +and I contended that love weakened or quite died out if the object +proved unworthy or indifferent. Our romantic Effie of course took the +opposite side. True love to her mind was unalterable. Falsehood, +deceit, change--no matter what sorrow, she said, might afflict the +pure loving heart--its love would still remain. "I cannot," she +exclaimed enthusiastically, "imagine for an instant that true, genuine +love should--could have any affinity with pride. When I see a woman +giving evidence of what is called high spirit in love matters, I +straightway lose all sympathy for her heart-troubles. I say to +myself--she has never truly loved." + +We argued, but in vain; at length her mother laughingly cried +out--"Nonsense, Effie, no one would sooner resent neglect from a +lover than yourself. True love, as you call it, would never make such +a spiritless, meek creature out of the material of which you are +composed." + +"Yes, in truth," I added, as I saw our pretty enthusiast, half vexed, +shake her head obstinately at her mother's prophecy--"I can see those +soft eyes of yours, Effie, darling, flash most eloquent fire, should +your true love meet with unworthiness." + +During our conversation the clouds had broken, the wind changed, and a +delicious breeze came sweeping in at the windows as if to cool our +cheeks, flushed with the playful argument. + +"Will you ride or walk this morning, girls?" asked Mrs. Morris, as we +arose from the breakfast-table. + +"Oh, let us take our books, guitar and work up the mill-stream to the +old oak, dear mamma," exclaimed Effie, "and spend an hour or two +there." + +"But it will be mid-day when we return," replied her mother. + +"That's true," said Effie, laughing, "but Leven can drive up to the +old broken bridge for us at mid-day." + +"To be sure he can," said Mrs. Morris, and accordingly we sallied +forth, laden with books and netting, while a servant trudged on ahead, +with camp-stools and guitar. Nothing eventful occurred on that +particular morning, and yet though years have passed since then, I +never recall the undulating scenery of the narrow, dark, winding +mill-stream of Stamford, but it presents itself to my mind's eye as it +looked on that morning. In my waking or sleeping dreams, I see the old +oak at the morning hours, and whenever the happy moments I have spent +at Effie Morris' country home come to my memory, this morning is +always the brightest, most vivid picture presented before me by my +fancy. As Hans Christian Andersen says with such poetic eloquence in +his Improvisatore--"It was one of those moments which occur but once +in a person's life, which, without signalizing itself by any great +life-adventure, yet stamps itself in its whole coloring upon the +Psyche wings." + +We walked slowly along the narrow bank--tall trees towered around us, +whose waving branches, together with the floating clouds, were +mirrored with exquisite distinctness on the bosom of the dark, deep, +narrow stream--near at shore lay the dreaming, luxurious water-lilies, +and a thousand beautiful blossoms bent over the bank, and kissed +playfully the passing waters, or coquetted with the inconstant breeze. +Our favorite resting-place was about a mile's walk up the beautiful +stream, and to reach it we had to cross to the opposite shore, over a +rude, half-ruined bridge, which added to the picturesque beauty of the +scenery. The oak was a century old tree, and stood upon rising ground +a short distance from the shore. How calmly and happily passed that +morning. Effie sang wild ballads for us, and her rich full notes were +echoed from the distance by the spirit voices of the hills. We wove +garlands of water-lilies and wild flowers, and when I said we were +making Ophelias of ourselves, Effie, with shy earnestness most +bewitching, unloosened her beautiful hair, twining the long locks, and +banding her temples with the water-lily garlands and long grass--then +wrapping an India muslin mantle around her shoulders, she gathered up +the ends on her arms, filling them with sprigs of wild blossoms, and +acted poor Ophelia's mad scene most touchingly. Tears gathered in our +eyes as she concluded the wild, wailing melody + + "And will he not come again, + And will he not come again, + No, no, he is dead, + Go to thy death-bed, + He never will come again. + + "His beard was as white as snow, + All flaxen was his poll-- + He is gone, he is gone, + And we cast away moan-- + God a mercy on his soul." + +There was a deep, touching pathos in her voice as she uttered the +minor notes of this song, and her soft eyes beamed half vacantly, half +reverently, as looking up to heaven she uttered in low breathing +tones-- + + "And of all Christian souls! I pray God!" + +Then suddenly arousing herself, she looked toward us and murmured, as +she turned away with a sad, tearful smile, "God be wi' you." The +illusion was perfect, and we both sobbed outright. + +Effie Morris was one of the few true geniuses I have known in my life +time; and when I have said this to those who only met with her in +society, they have laughed and wondered what genius there could be in +my cold, quiet friend. + +The following winter Effie entered society. Her mother had many gay +and fashionable friends in the principal northern cities, and during +the winter season her letters to me were dated at one time from +Washington, then again from some other gay city; and in this free from +care pleasant manner did her days pass. Household duties kept me, +though a young girl, close at home. Possibly if Effie had been thrown +into the active domestic sphere which was my mission, her history +might have been different. She certainly would have been less of a +dreamer. Exquisite waking dreams, woven of the shining fairy threads +of fancy, meet with but poor encouragement in every-day life, and take +flight sometimes never to return, when one is rudely awakened from +them in order to attend to "the baked and the broiled." I remember, +when a girl, feeling at times a little restive under the duties +unavoidably imposed upon me, and often would indulge in a morbid +sentimental humor, dreaming over some "rare old poet" or blessed +romance, to the exceeding great detriment of my household affairs, +making my poor father sigh over a tough, badly cooked stake, and +cheerless, dusty house; but these moods, to my credit be it told, were +of rare occurrence; and I say now the best school for a dreaming, +enthusiastic girl, who sighs for the realization of her fancy visions, +is to place her in charge of some active duty--to make her feel it is +exacted from her--that she must see it performed. I mean not that a +delicate intellectual spirit should be borne to the earth disheartened +with care and hard labor--but a share of domestic cares, domestic +duties, is both wholesome and necessary for a woman. Cultivate if +possible in a girl a taste for reading and study first, then she will +soon find time for intellectual pursuits, which, from being in a +measure denied to her, will become dearer. In her attempts to secure +moments for the indulgence of her mental desires she will +unconsciously learn order, management and economy of time and labor, +thus will her mind be strengthened. But I am digressing, dear reader. +I am sadly talkative on this subject, and sometimes fancy I could +educate a girl most famously; and when "thinking aloud" of the perfect +woman my theory would certainly complete, I am often pitched rudely +from my self-satisfied position, by some married friend saying, in a +half vexed, impatient tone--"Ah, yes, this is all very fine in +theory--no doubt you would be successful--we all know the homely +adage--'old bachelors' wives and old maids' children,' &c." + +Effie was not what is called a belle in society. She was too cold and +spiritual. Her beauty was too delicate to make an impression in the +gay ball-room; and she cared little for what both men and women in the +world pine after--popularity. She danced and talked only with those +who pleased her, and sometimes not at all if it did not suit her +fancy. There was a great contrast between her mother and herself. Mrs. +Morris, though "forty rising," was still a fine-looking, _distingue_ +woman; and on her re-entrance into society with her daughter, she +produced a greater impression than did Effie. She had a merry, joyous +disposition, and without possessing half the mental superiority her +daughter was gifted with, she had a light, easy conversational +ability, playful repartee, an elegant style and manner, and a +sufficient knowledge of accomplishments to produce an effect in the +gay world, and make her the centre of attraction of every circle she +entered; and the world wondered so brilliant a mother should have so +indifferent a daughter. She doted on Effie; and, I am sure, loved her +all the more for her calm, quiet way. She often said to me, "Effie is +very superior to the women one meets with--she has a pure, elevated +spirit. So delicate a nature as hers is not properly appreciated in +this world." + +One summer there came a wooing of Effie a most excellent gentleman. He +had met with her the preceding winter in some gay circle, and had +discernment enough to discover the merits of our jewel. How anxiously +Mrs. Morris and I watched the wooing--for we were both anxious for Mr. +Grayson's success. He was in every way worthy of her--high-minded, +honorable, and well to do in the world--some years her senior, but +handsome and elegant in appearance. He must have had doubts of his +success, for he let the live-long summer pass ere he ventured on his +love speech. We were a pleasant party--Mrs. Morris, Effie, myself, Mr. +Grayson, and Lucien Decker, a cousin of Mrs. Morris--a college youth, +who only recently had become one of the family. Lucien Decker's family +lived in a distant state, and only until he came to a northern college +to finish his studies had he known his pleasant relatives. He was a +bright, interesting, graceful youth, and wondrous clever, we thought. +We would spend morning after morning wandering up the mill-stream, +resting under the old oak, where Mr. Grayson would discourse most +pleasantly, or read aloud to us; and sometimes, after Effie and I had +chanted simple melodies, we would prevail on Lucien to recite some of +his own poetry, at which he was, indeed, most clever--he recited well, +and wrote very delicately and beautifully. At last Mr. Grayson +ventured on a proposal; but, to our sorrow, he met with a calm, gentle +refusal; and to relieve his disappointment, he sailed in the fall for +Europe. + +Not long after his departure, to our surprise, Effie and Lucien +announced themselves as lovers. No objection, surely, could be made; +but such a thing had never entered our minds. Though of the same age +with Effie and myself, he had always seemed as a boy in comparison to +us, and I had always treated him with the playful familiarity of a +youth. He was more intelligent and interesting than young men of his +age generally are; indeed he gave promise of talent--and he was +likewise good-looking; but, in truth, when we compared him with the +elegant and finished Mr. Grayson, we felt a wee bit out of patience; +and if we did not give utterance aloud to our thoughts, I shrewdly +suspect if those thoughts had formed themselves into words, those +words would have sounded very much like, "Nonsensical sentimentality!" +"strange infatuation!" but nothing could be said with propriety, and +the engagement was fully entered into. Some time had necessarily to +elapse before its fulfillment, however, for the lover was but twenty; +but it was well understood, that when he had finished his studies, and +was settled in his profession, he was to wed our darling Effie. After +the acceptance of his suit, Lucien seemed perfectly happy, and, I must +confess, made himself particularly interesting. He walked and read +with us, and wrote such beautiful poetry in honor of Effie's charms, +that we were at last quite propitiated. He was, indeed, an ardent +lover; and his enthusiastic, earnest wooing, was very different from +Mr. Grayson's calm, dignified manner. He caused our quiet Effie a deal +of entertainment, however; for when he was an acknowledged lover, like +all such ardent dispositions, he showed himself to be an exacting one. +Her calm, cold manner would set him frantic at times; and he would vow +she could not love him; but these lovers' quarrels instead of wearying +Effie, seemed to produce a contrary effect. + +They had been engaged a year or so, when one summer a belle of the +first water made her appearance in the village-circle of Stamford. +Kate Barclay was her name. She was a Southerner, and a reputed +heiress. She had come rusticating, she said; and shrugging her pretty +shoulders, she would declare in a bewitching, languid tone, "truly a +face and figure needed rest after a brilliant winter campaign." Old +Mrs. Barclay, a dear, nice old lady in the village, was her aunt; and +as we were the only young ladies of a companionable age, Kate was, of +course, a great deal with us. She was, indeed, a delicious looking +creature. She had large, melting dark eyes, and rich curling masses of +hair, that fell in clusters over her neck and shoulders, giving her a +most romantic appearance. She understood fully all the little arts and +wiles of a belle; and she succeeded in securing admiration. +Superficial she was, but showy; and could put on at will all moods, +from the proud and dignified, to the bewitching and childlike. We had +no gentlemen visiters with us when she first came, not even Lucien; +for some engagement had taken him from Effie for a week or two, and +our pretty southern damsel almost expired with _ennui_. When we first +met with her, she talked so beautifully of the delights of a quiet +country life, seemed so enchanted with every thing and every body, and +so eloquent in praise of rambles in the forest, sunsets, moonlights, +rushing streamlets, &c., &c., that we decided she was an angel +forthwith. But one or two ramblings quite finished her--for she +complained terribly of dust, sun, and fatigue; moreover, we quite +neglected to notice or admire her picturesque rambling dress, which +inadvertency provoked her into telling us that the gentlemen at +Ballston, or some other fashionable watering-place, had declared she +looked in it quite like Robin Hood's maid Marian. The gorgeous summer +sunsets and clear moonlight nights, soon wearied her--for we were too +much occupied with the beauties of nature to notice her fine +attitudes, or beautiful eyes cast up imploringly to heaven, while she +recited, in a half theatrical manner, passages of poetry descriptive +of her imaginary feelings. I suspected she was meditating a flitting, +when one day Lucien, and two of his student friends, made their +appearance amongst us. How quickly her mood changed; the listless, +yawning, dissatisfied manner disappeared, and we heard her the first +night of their arrival delighting them, as she had us, with her +fascinating ecstasies over rural enjoyments. She sentimentalized, +flirted, romped, laughed, dressed in a picturesque manner, and "was +every thing by turns, but nothing long," evidently bent upon bringing +to her feet the three gentlemen. Lucien's friends soon struck their +flags, and were her humble cavaliers--but a right tyrannical mistress +she proved to them, making them scowl, and say sharp things to each +other in a most ferocious manner, very amusing to us; but Lucien was +impregnable. She played off all her arts in vain, he seemed +unconscious, and devoted himself entirely to Effie. At first she was +so occupied with securing the two other prizes she overlooked his +delinquency, but when certain of them, she was piqued into +accomplishing a conquest of him likewise. I did not think she would be +successful, and amused myself by quietly watching her manoeuvres. + +One bright moonlight evening the gentlemen rowed us up the +mill-stream, and as we returned we landed at our favorite oak. The +waters, swelled by recent rains, came dashing and tumbling along in +mimic billows; the moon beamed down a heavenly radiance, and as the +little wavelets broke against the shore, they glittered like molten +silver, covering the wild blossoms with dazzling fairy gems. Kate's +two lovers were talking and walking with Mrs. Morris and Effie along +the shore. Lucien, Kate, and I, remained on a little bank that rose +abruptly from the water. She did, indeed, look most bewitchingly +beautiful; her soft, white dress, bound at the waist by a flowing +ribbon, floated in graceful folds around her; her lovely neck, +shoulders and arms, were quite uncovered, and her rich, dark hair fell +in loose, long curls, making picturesque shadows in the moonlight. She +could act the inspired enthusiast to perfection; and what our Effie +really was, she could affect most admirably. She seemed unconscious of +our presence; indeed, I do not think she thought I was near her, and, +as if involuntarily, she burst out into one of her affected +rhapsodies, her eyes beamed brightly, and she expressed her feelings +most rapturously, concluding with repeating, in low, earnest, half +trembling tones, some lines of Lucien's she had taken from my Scrap +Book, descriptive of the very scene before her, written the preceding +summer for Effie, after a moonlight ramble together. The poetry was +quite impassioned; and I heard Kate murmur with a sigh, as she turned +away after concluding her quotation, as if sick at heart, "Ah! I would +give years of brilliant success for one hour of devotion from such a +lover." + +No one heard her but Lucien and myself--and I was one listener more +than she would have desired; for Lucien's ear alone was the +ejaculation intended, the good for nothing little flirt. It produced +the intended effect, for I saw Lucien watching her with admiring +interest. She noted the impression, and cunningly kept it up. There +was such a contrast between Effie and Kate, rather to Effie's +disadvantage, I had to confess, and Kate's affected expressions of +intense feeling, rather served to heighten Effie's natural coldness of +manner. Why waste words--the conclusion is already divined. The +coquette succeeded--and ere a week had passed Lucien was her +infatuated, devoted admirer; Effie was quite forgotten. Lucien's two +friends, wretched, and completely maddened by the cool, contemptuous +rejections they received from Kate, left Stamford, vowing eternal +hatred for womankind, and uttering deep, dire denunciations against +all coquettes, leaving the field open to Lucien, who seemed to have +perfectly lost all sense of propriety in his infatuation. Effie looked +on as calmly and quietly as though she were not particularly +interested. I fancied, for the credit of romance and sentiment, that +her cheek was paler; and I thought I could detect at times a trembling +of her delicate lips--but she said not a word. Mrs. Morris and I +displayed much more feeling; but what could we do--and half amused, +half vexed, we watched the conduct of the naughty little flirt. +Suddenly Kate received a summons home--and right glad I was to hear of +it. She announced it to us one evening, saying she expected her father +the next day. The following afternoon she came over to our cottage, +accompanied with two middle-aged gentlemen. The elder of the two was +Mr. Barclay, her father, who had known Mrs. Morris in early life; the +other she introduced as Col. Paulding, a friend. Col. Paulding's +manner struck us with surprise. He called her "Kate;" and though +dignified, was affectionate. She seemed painfully embarrassed, and +anxious to terminate the visit. She answered our questions hurriedly, +and appeared ill at ease. Lucien was not present, fortunately for her; +and I fancied she watched the door, as if anxiously fearing his +entrance; certain it was she started nervously at every distant sound. + +"Will you revisit Stamford next summer, Miss Barclay?" I asked. + +Kate replied that she was uncertain at present. + +"I suppose Kate has not told you," said her father, laughingly, "that +long before another summer she will cease to be mistress of her own +movements. She expects to be in Germany next summer, I believe, with +her husband," and he looked significantly at Col. Paulding, who was +standing out on the lawn with Mrs. Morris, admiring the beautiful +view, quite out of hearing distance. Effie was just stepping from the +French window of the drawing-room into the conservatory to gather some +of her pretty flowers for her visiters, as she heard Mr. Barclay say +this. She turned with a stern, cold look, and regarded Kate Barclay +quietly. Kate colored crimson, then grew deadly white, and trembled +from head to foot; but her father did not notice it, as he had +followed Col. Paulding and Mrs. Morris out on the lawn. There we three +stood, Effie, cold and pale as a statue, and Kate looking quite like a +criminal. She looked up, attempting to make some laughing remark, but +the words died in her throat as she met Effie's stern, cold glance; +she gasped, trembled, then rallied, and at last, with a proud look of +defiance, she swept out on the lawn, and taking Col. Paulding's arm, +proposed departure. She bade us good-bye most gracefully; but I saw +that she avoided offering her hand to Effie. As the gate closed, she +looked over her shoulder indifferently, and said, in a saucy, laughing +tone, + +"Oh, pray make my adieux to Mr. Decker. I regret that I shall not see +him to bid him good-bye. I depend upon the charity of you ladies to +keep me fresh in his remembrance;" and, as far as we could see her +down the road, we heard her forced laugh and unnaturally loud voice. + +Lucien came in a few minutes after they left, and Mrs. Morris +delivered Kate's message. He looked agitated, and after swallowing his +cup of tea hastily and quietly, he took up his hat and went out. He +went to see Kate, but she, anticipating his visit, had retired with a +violent headache immediately after her walk; but Lucien staid long +enough to discover, as we had, Col. Paulding's relation to the +fascinating coquette. This we learned long afterward. The next day +Lucien left Stamford without saying more than cold words of good-bye. +He did not go with Kate's party, we felt certain; and many weeks +passed without hearing from him. Effie never made a remark; and our +days passed quietly as they had before the appearance of Kate Barclay +in our quiet little village. It was not long, however, before we saw +in the newspapers, and read without comment, the marriage of Kate +Barclay with Col. Paulding. + +"See this," said Mrs. Morris to me one morning as I entered the +drawing-room, and she handed me a letter. We were alone, Effie was +attending to her plants in the conservatory. I took the letter and +read it. It was a wild, impassioned one from Lucien. Two months had +elapsed since his silent departure, and this first letter was written +to Mrs. Morris. It was filled with self-reproaches, and earnest +entreaties for her intercession and mine with Effie. He cursed his +infatuation, and the cause of it, and closed with the declaration that +he would be reckless of life if Effie remained unforgiving. As I +finished reading the letter I heard Effie's voice warbling in wild and +plaintive notes in the conservatory, + + "How should I your true love know, + From another one, + By his cockle hat and staff, + And his sandal shoon?" + +And the scene at the opening of this story rose before my +remembrance--the playful argument--the declaration made by her that +true, pure love could not have any affinity with pride--and I was lost +in reverie. + +"What would you do, Enna?" inquired Mrs. Morris. + +"Give the letter to Effie without remark," I replied. "We cannot +intercede for him--he does not deserve to be forgiven." + +The letter was given to Effie, who read it quietly; and if she evinced +emotion, it was not before us. She said she was sorry for Lucien, for +she had discovered a change in her own feelings. She did not love him +as she fancied she had, and she could not in justice to herself +fulfill their engagement--it was impossible. She wrote this to him, +and all his wild letters were laid calmly and quietly aside. Can this +be pride? I said to myself. But she seemed as though she suspected my +thoughts, for the night before I returned to my city home, as we were +leaning against the window-frame of our bed-room, listening the last +time for that season to the tumbling, dashing water-music, she said, + +"Enna, dear, it was not spirit and pride that made me act so unkindly +to Lucien--indeed, it was not. But I mistook my feelings for him from +the first. I fancied I loved him dearly, when I only loved him as a +sister. Believe me, if that love had existed once for him, his foolish +infatuation for Kate Barclay would not have been regarded by me one +moment." + +Two or three years passed, and Effie still remained unwedded, when, to +our delight, Mr. Grayson, who had returned from Europe, again +addressed her. She accepted him; and I was, indeed, happy when I +officiated as bridesmaid for her. One year after that joyous wedding +we stood over her bier, weeping bitter, bitter tears. We laid her in +the grave--and the heart-broken mother soon rested beside her. Among +her papers was a letter directed to me; it was written in expectation +of death, although we did not any of us anticipate such a calamity. + +"I am not long for this world, dear Enna," she wrote, "I feel I am +dying daily; and yet, young as I am, it grieves me not, except when I +think of the sorrow my death will occasion to others. When you read +this I shall be enveloped in the heavy grave-clothes; but then I shall +be at rest. Oh! how my aching, weary spirit pines for rest. Do not +fancy that sorrow or disappointment has brought me to this. I fancied +I loved Lucien Decker fondly, devotedly; and how happy was I when +under the influence of that fancy. That fatal summer, at the time of +his infatuation for that heartless girl, insensibly a chilling +hardness crept over my feelings. I struggled against my awakening; and +if Lucien had displayed any emotion before his departure, I might +still have kept up the happy delusion. But in vain, it disappeared, +and with it all the beauty of life, which increased in weariness from +that moment. I sought for some object of interest--I married; but, +though my husband has been devoted and kind, I weary of existence. +Life has no interest for me. I hail the approach of death. Farewell." + +I read these sad lines with eyes blinded with tears; and I could not +help thinking how Effie had deceived herself; unconsciously she had +become a victim of the very pride she had condemned. + + + + +EARLY ENGLISH POETS. + +BY ELIZABETH J. EAMES. + + + I.--CHAUCER. + + Yea! lovely are the hues still floating o'er + Thy rural visions, bard of olden time, + The form of purest Poesy flits before + My mental gaze, while bending o'er thy rhyme. + No lofty flight, bold, brilliant and sublime-- + But tender beauty, and endearing grace, + And touching pathos in these lines I trace, + Oh! gentle poet of the northern clime. + And oft when dazzled by the gorgeous glow + And gilded luxury of modern rhymes, + Grateful I turn to the clear, quiet flow + Of thy sweet thoughts, which fall like pleasant chimes + From the "pure wells of English undefiled." + Thou wert inspired, thou, Poetry's true child. + + + II.--SPENCER. + + What forms of grace and glory glided through + The royal palace of thy lofty mind! + Rare shapes of beauty thy sweet fancy drew, + In the brave knights, and peerless dames enshrined + Within thy magic book, The Faerie Queene, + Bright Gloriana robed in dazzling sheen-- + Hapless Irene--angelic Una--and + The noble Arthur all before me pass, + As summoned by the enchanter rod and glass. + And glorious still thy pure creations stand, + Leaving their golden footprints on the sand + Of Time indelible! All thanks to thee, + Oh! beauty-breathing bard of Poesy, + That thou hast charmed a weary hour for me. + + + III.--SHAKSPEARE. + + Oh! minstrel monarch! the most glorious throne + Of Intellect thy Genius doth inherit. + Compeer, or perfect rival thou hast none-- + O Soul of Song!--O mind of royal merit. + Is not this high, imperishable fame + The tribute of a grateful world to thee? + A recognizing glory in thy name + From a great nation to thy memory. + Lord of Dramatic Art--the splendid scenes + Of thy rich fancy are around us still; + All shapes of Thought to make the bosom thrill + Are thine supreme! Many long years have sped, + And dimmed in dust the crowned and laureled head, + But thou--_thou_ speakest still, though numbered with the dead. + + + + +THE PORTRAIT. + +[WITH AN ENGRAVING.] + +BY ROBT. T. CONRAD. + + + And he hath spoken! Knew I not he would? + Though flitting fears, like clouds o'er lakes, would cast + Shadows o'er true love's trust. The tear-drop stood + In his dark eye; he trembled. But 't is past, + And I am his, he mine. Why trembled he? + This fond heart knew he not; and that his eye + Governed its tides, as doth the moon the sea; + And that with him, for him, 't were bliss to die? + Yet said I naught. Shame on me, that my cheek + And eye my hoarded secret should betray! + Why wept I? And why was I sudden weak, + So weak his manly arm was stretched to stay? + How like a suppliant God he looked! His sweet, + Low voice, heart-shaken, spoke--and all was known; + Yet, from the first, I felt our souls must meet, + Like stars that rush together and shine on. + + +[Illustration: The Bridal Morning + +J. Hayter A. B. Ross + +Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine] + + + + +THE ISLETS OF THE GULF; + +OR, ROSE BUDD. + + + Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool + I; when I was at home I was in a better place; but + Travelers must be content. AS YOU LIKE IT. + + +BY THE AUTHOR Of "PILOT," "RED ROVER," "TWO ADMIRALS," +"WING-AND-WING," "MILES WALLINGFORD," ETC. + + +[Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by +J. Fenimore Cooper, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court +of the United States, for the Northern District of New York.] + + _(Continued from page 48.)_ + + +PART XV. + + Man hath a weary pilgrimage + As through the world he wends; + On every stage, from youth to age, + Still discontent attends; + With heaviness he casts his eye + Upon the road before, + And still remembers with a sigh + The days that are no more. SOUTHEY. + + +It has now become necessary to advance the time three entire days, and +to change the scene to Key West. As this latter place may not be known +to the world at large, it may be well to explain that it is a small +seaport, situate on one of the largest of the many low islands that +dot the Florida Reef, that has risen into notice, or indeed into +existence as a town, since the acquisition of the Floridas by the +American Republic. For many years it was the resort of few besides +wreckers, and those who live by the business dependent on the rescuing +and repairing of stranded vessels, not forgetting the salvages. When +it is remembered that the greater portion of the vessels that enter +the Gulf of Mexico stand close along this reef, before the trades, for +a distance varying from one to two hundred miles, and that nearly +every thing which quits it, is obliged to beat down its rocky coast in +the Gulf Stream for the same distance, one is not to be surprised that +the wrecks, which so constantly occur, can supply the wants of a +considerable population. To live at Key West is the next thing to +being at sea. The place has sea air, no other water than such as is +preserved in cisterns, and no soil, or so little as to render even a +head of lettuce a rarity. Turtle is abundant, and the business of +"turtling" forms an occupation additional to that of wrecking. As +might be expected in such circumstances, a potato is a far more +precious thing than a turtle's egg, and a sack of the tubers would +probably be deemed a sufficient remuneration for enough of the +materials of callipash and callipee to feed all the aldermen extant. + +Of late years, the government of the United States has turned its +attention to the capabilities of the Florida Reef, as an advanced +naval station; a sort of Downs, or St. Helen's Roads, for the West +Indian seas. As yet little has been done beyond making the preliminary +surveys, but the day is not probably very distant when fleets will +lie at anchor among the islets described in our earlier chapters, or +garnish the fine waters of Key West. For a long time it was thought +that even frigates would have a difficulty in entering and quitting +the port of the latter, but it is said that recent explorations have +discovered channels capable of admitting any thing that floats. Still +Key West is a town yet in its chrysalis state, possessing the promise +rather than the fruition of the prosperous days which are in reserve. +It may be well to add, that it lies a very little north of the 24th +degree of latitude, and in a longitude quite five degrees west from +Washington. Until the recent conquests in Mexico it was the most +southern possession of the American government, on the eastern side of +the continent; Cape St. Lucas, at the extremity of Lower California, +however, being two degrees farther south. + +It will give the foreign reader a more accurate notion of the +character of Key West, if we mention a fact of quite recent +occurrence. A very few weeks after the closing scenes of this tale, +the town in question was, in a great measure, washed away! A hurricane +brought in the sea upon all these islands and reefs, water running in +swift currents over places that within the memory of man were never +before submerged. The lower part of Key West was converted into a +raging sea, and every thing in that quarter of the place disappeared. +The foundation being of rock, however, when the ocean retired the +island came into view again, and industry and enterprise set to work +to repair the injuries. + +The government has established a small hospital for seamen at Key +West. Into one of the rooms of the building thus appropriated our +narrative must now conduct the reader. It contained but a single +patient, and that was Spike. He was on his narrow bed, which was to be +but the precursor of a still narrower tenement, the grave. In the room +with the dying man were two females, in one of whom our readers will +at once recognize the person of Rose Budd, dressed in deep mourning +for her aunt. At first sight, it is probable that a casual spectator +would mistake the second female for one of the ordinary nurses of the +place. Her attire was well enough, though worn awkwardly, and as if +its owner were not exactly at ease in it. She had the air of one in +her best attire, who was unaccustomed to be dressed above the most +common mode. What added to the singularity of her appearance, was the +fact, that while she wore no cap, her hair had been cut into short, +gray bristles, instead of being long, and turned up, as is usual with +females. To give a sort of climax to this uncouth appearance, this +strange-looking creature chewed tobacco. + +The woman in question, equivocal as might be her exterior, was +employed in one of the commonest avocations of her sex--that of +sewing. She held in her hand a coarse garment, one of Spike's, in +fact, which she seemed to be intently busy in mending; although the +work was of a quality that invited the use of the palm and +sail-needle, rather than that of the thimble and the smaller implement +known to seamstresses, the woman appeared awkward in her business, as +if her coarse-looking and dark hands refused to lend themselves to an +occupation so feminine. Nevertheless, there were touches of a purely +womanly character about this extraordinary person, and touches that +particularly attracted the attention, and awakened the sympathy of the +gentle Rose, her companion. Tears occasionally struggled out from +beneath her eyelids, crossed her dark, sun-burnt cheek, and fell on +the coarse canvas garment that lay in her lap. It was after one of +these sudden and strong exhibitions of feeling that Rose approached +her, laid her own little, fair hand, in a friendly way, though +unheeded, on the other's shoulder, and spoke to her in her kindest and +softest tones. + +"I do really think he is reviving, Jack," said Rose, "and that you may +yet hope to have an intelligent conversation with him." + +"They all agree he _must_ die," answered Jack Tier--for it was _he_, +appearing in the garb of his proper sex, after a disguise that had now +lasted fully twenty years--"and he will never know who I am, and that +I forgive him. He must think of me in another world, though he isn't +able to do it in this; but it would be a great relief to his soul to +know that I forgive him." + +"To be sure, a man must like to take a kind leave of his own wife +before he closes his eyes forever; and I dare say it would be a great +relief to you to tell him that you have forgotten his desertion of +you, and all the hardships it has brought upon you in searching for +him, and in earning your own livelihood as a common sailor." + +"I shall not tell him I've _forgotten_ it, Miss Rose; that would be +untrue--and there shall be no more deception between us; but I shall +tell him that I _forgive_ him, as I hope God will one day forgive me +all _my_ sins." + +"It is, certainly, not a light offence to desert a wife in a foreign +land, and then to seek to deceive another woman," quietly observed +Rose. + +"He's a willian!" muttered the wife--"but--but--" + +"You forgive him, Jack--yes, I'm sure you do. You are too good a +Christian to refuse to forgive him." + +"I'm a woman a'ter all, Miss Rose; and that, I believe, is the truth +of it. I suppose I ought to do as you say, for the reason you +mention; but I'm his wife--and once he loved me, though that has long +been over. When I first knew Stephen, I'd the sort of feelin's you +speak of, and was a very different creatur' from what you see me +to-day. Change comes over us all with years and sufferin'." + +Rose did not answer, but she stood looking intently at the speaker +more than a minute. Change had, indeed, come over her, if she had ever +possessed the power to please the fancy of any living man. Her +features had always seemed diminitive and mean for her assumed sex, as +her voice was small and cracked; but, making every allowance for the +probabilities, Rose found it difficult to imagine that Jack Tier had +ever possessed, even under the high advantages of youth and innocence, +the attractions so common to her sex. Her skin had acquired the +tanning of the sea; the expression of her face had become hard and +worldly; and her habits contributed to render those natural +consequences of exposure and toil even more than usually marked and +decided. By saying "habits," however, we do not mean that Jack had +ever drank to excess, as happens with so many seamen, for this would +have been doing her injustice, but she smoked and chewed--practices +that intoxicate in another form, and lead nearly as many to the grave +as excess in drinking. Thus all the accessories about this singular +being, partook of the character of her recent life and duties. Her +walk was between a waddle and a seaman's roll; her hands were +discolored with tar, and had got to be full of knuckles, and even her +feet had degenerated into that flat, broad-toed form that, perhaps, +sooner distinguishes caste, in connection with outward appearances, +than any one other physical peculiarity. Yet this being _had_ once +been young--had once been even _fair_; and had once possessed that +feminine air and lightness of form, that as often belongs to the +youthful American of her sex, perhaps, as to the girl of any other +nation on earth. Rose continued to gaze at her companion for some +time, when she walked musingly to a window that looked out upon the +port. + +"I am not certain whether it would do him good or not to see this +sight," she said, addressing the wife kindly, doubtful of the effect +of her words even on the latter. "But here are the sloop-of-war, and +several other vessels." + +"Ay, she is _there_; but never will his foot be put on board the Swash +ag'in. When he bought that brig I was still young, and agreeable to +him; and he gave her my maiden name, which was Mary, or Molly Swash. +But that is all changed; I wonder he did not change the name with his +change of feelin's." + +"Then you did really sail in the brig in former times, and knew the +seaman whose name you assumed?" + +"Many years. Tier, with whose name I made free, on account of his +size, and some resemblance to me in form, died under my care; and his +protection fell into my hands, which first put the notion into my head +of hailing as his representative. Yes, I knew Tier in the brig, and we +were left ashore at the same time--I, intentionally, I make no +question; he, because Stephen Spike was in a hurry, and did not choose +to wait for a man. The poor fellow caught the yellow fever the very +next day, and did not live eight-and-forty hours. So the world goes; +them that wish to live, die; and them that wants to die, live!" + +"You have had a hard time for one of your sex, poor Jack--quite twenty +years a sailor, did you not tell me?" + +"Every day of it, Miss Rose--and bitter years have they been; for the +whole of that time have I been in chase of my husband, keeping my own +secret, and slaving like a horse for a livelihood." + +"You could not have been old when he left--that is--when you parted." + +"Call it by its true name, and say at once, when he desarted me. I was +under thirty by two or three years, and was still like my own sex to +look at. All _that_ is changed since; but I _was_ comely _then_." + +"_Why_ did Capt. Spike abandon you, Jack; you have never told me +_that_." + +"Because he fancied another. And ever since that time he has been +fancying others, instead of remembering me. Had he got _you_, Miss +Rose, I think he would have been content for the rest of his days." + +"Be certain, Jack, I should never have consented to marry Capt. +Spike." + +"You're well out of his hands," answered Jack, sighing heavily, which +was much the most feminine thing she had done during the whole +conversation, "well out of his hands--and God be praised it is so. He +should have died, before I would let him carry you off the +island--husband or no husband." + +"It might have exceeded your power to prevent it under other +circumstances, Jack." + +Rose now continued looking out of the window in silence. Her thoughts +reverted to her aunt and Biddy, and tears rolled down her cheeks as +she remembered the love of one, and the fidelity of the other. Their +horrible fate had given her a shock that, at first, menaced her with a +severe fit of illness; but her strong, good sense, and excellent +constitution, both sustained by her piety and Harry's manly +tenderness, had brought her through the danger, and left her, as the +reader now sees her, struggling with her own griefs, in order to be of +use to the still more unhappy woman who had so singularly become her +friend and companion. + +The reader will readily have anticipated that Jack Tier had early made +the females on board the Swash her confidents. Rose had known the +outlines of her history from the first few days they were at sea +together, which is the explanation of the visible intimacy that had +caused Mulford so much surprise. Jack's motive in making his +revelations might possibly have been tinctured with jealousy, but a +desire to save one as young and innocent as Rose was at its bottom. +Few persons but a wife would have supposed our heroine could have been +in any danger from a lover like Spike; but Jack saw him with the eyes +of her own youth, and of past recollections, rather than with those of +truth. A movement of the wounded man first drew Rose from the window. +Drying her eyes hastily, she turned toward him, fancying that she +might prove the better nurse of the two, notwithstanding Jack's +greater interest in the patient. + +"What place is this--and why am I here?" demanded Spike, with more +strength of voice than could have been expected, after all that had +passed. "This is not a cabin--not the Swash--it looks like a +hospital." + +"It is a hospital, Capt. Spike," said Rose, gently drawing near the +bed; "you have been hurt, and have been brought to Key West, and +placed in the hospital. I hope you feel better, and that you suffer no +pain." + +"My head isn't right--I don't know--every thing seems turned round +with me--perhaps it will all come out as it should. I begin to +remember--where is my brig?" + +"She is lost on the rocks. The seas have broken her into fragments." + +"That's melancholy news, at any rate. Ah! Miss Rose! God bless +you--I've had terrible dreams. Well, it's pleasant to be among +friends--what creature is that--where does _she_ come from?" + +"That is Jack Tier," answered Rose, steadily. "She turns out to be a +woman, and has put on her proper dress, in order to attend on you +during your illness. Jack has never left your bed-side since we have +been here." + +A long silence succeeded this revelation. Jack's eyes twinkled, and +she hitched her body half aside, as if to conceal her features, where +emotions that were unusual were at work with the muscles. Rose thought +it might be well to leave the man and wife alone--and she managed to +get out of the room unobserved. + +Spike continued to gaze at the strange-looking female, who was now his +sole companion. Gradually his recollection returned, and with it the +full consciousness of his situation. He might not have been fully +aware of the absolute certainty of his approaching death, but he must +have known that his wound was of a very grave character, and that the +result might early prove fatal. Still that strange and unknown figure +haunted him; a figure that was so different from any he had ever seen +before, and which, in spite of its present dress, seemed to belong +quite as much to one sex as to the other. As for Jack--we call Molly, +or Mary Swash by her masculine appellation, not only because it is +more familiar, but because the other name seems really out of place, +as applied to such a person--as for Jack, then, she sat with her face +half averted, thumbing the canvas, and endeavoring to ply the needle, +but perfectly mute. She was conscious that Spike's eyes were on her; +and a lingering feeling of her sex told her how much time, exposure, +and circumstances, had changed her person--and she would gladly have +hidden the defects in her appearance. + +Mary Swash was the daughter as well as the wife of a ship-master. In +her youth, as has been said before, she had even been pretty, and down +to the day when her husband deserted her, she would have been thought +a female of a comely appearance rather than the reverse. Her hair in +particular, though slightly coarse, perhaps, had been rich and +abundant; and the change from the long, dark, shining, flowing locks +which she still possessed in her thirtieth year, to the short, gray +bristles that now stood exposed without a cap, or covering of any +sort, was one very likely to destroy all identity of appearance. Then +Jack had passed from what might be called youth to the verge of old +age, in the interval that she had been separated from her husband. Her +shape had changed entirely; her complexion was utterly gone; and her +features, always unmeaning, though feminine, and suitable to her sex, +had become hard and slightly coarse. Still there was something of her +former self about Jack that bewildered Spike; and his eyes continued +fastened on her for quite a quarter of an hour in profound silence. + +"Give me some water," said the wounded man, "I wish some water to +drink." + +Jack arose, filled a tumbler and brought it to the side of the bed. +Spike took the glass and drank, but the whole time his eyes were +riveted on his strange nurse. When his thirst was appeased, he asked-- + +"Who are you? How came you here?" + +"I am your nurse. It is common to place nurses at the bedsides of the +sick." + +"Are you man or woman?" + +"That is a question I hardly know how to answer. Sometimes I think +myself each; sometimes neither." + +"Did I ever see you before?" + +"Often, and quite lately. I sailed with you in your last voyage." + +"You! That cannot be. If so, what is your name?" + +"Jack Tier." + +A long pause succeeded this announcement, which induced Spike to muse +as intently as his condition would allow, though the truth did not yet +flash on his understanding. At length the bewildered man again spoke. + +"Are _you_ Jack Tier?" he said slowly, like one who doubted. "Yes--I +now see the resemblance, and it was _that_ which puzzled me. Are they +so rigid in this hospital that you have been obliged to put on woman's +clothes in order to lend me a helping hand?" + +"I am dressed as you see, and for good reasons." + +"But Jack Tier run, like that rascal Mulford--ay, I remember now; you +were in the boat when I over-hauled you all on the reef." + +"Very true; I was in the boat. But I never run, Stephen Spike. It was +_you_ who abandoned _me_, on the islet in the gulf, and that makes the +second time in your life that you have left me ashore, when it was +your duty to carry me to sea." + +"The first time I was in a hurry, and could not wait for you; this +last time you took sides with the women. But for your interference, I +should have got Rose, and married her, and all would now have been +well with me." + +This was an awkward announcement for a man to make to his legal wife. +But after all Jack had endured, and all Jack had seen during the late +voyage, she was not to be overcome by this avowal. Her self-command +extended so far as to prevent any open manifestation of emotion, +however much her feelings were excited. + +"I took sides with the women, because I am a woman myself," she +answered, speaking at length with decision, as if determined to bring +matters to a head at once. "It is natural for us all to take sides +with our kind." + +"You a woman, Jack! That is very remarkable. Since when have you +hailed for a woman? You have shipped with me twice, and each time as a +man--though I've never thought you able to do seaman's duty." + +"Nevertheless, I am what you see; a woman born and edicated; one that +never had on man's dress until I knew you. _You_ supposed me to be a +man, when I came off to you in the skiff to the eastward of Riker's +Island, but I was then what you now see." + +"I begin to understand matters," rejoined the invalid, musingly. "Ay, +ay, it opens on me; and I now see how it was you made such fair +weather with Madam Budd and pretty, pretty Rose. Rose _is_ pretty, +Jack; you _must_ admit _that_, though you be a woman." + +"Rose _is_ pretty--I do admit it; and what is better, Rose is _good_." +It required a heavy draft on Jack's justice and magnanimity, however, +to make this concession. + +"And you told Rose and Madam Budd about your sex; and that was the +reason they took to you so on the v'y'ge?" + +"I told them who I was, and why I went abroad as a man. They know my +whole story." + +"Did Rose approve of your sailing under false colors, Jack?" + +"You must ask that of Rose herself. My story made her my friend; but +she never said any thing for or against my disguise." + +"It was no great disguise a'ter all, Jack. Now you're fitted out in +your own clothes, you've a sort of half-rigged look; one would be as +likely to set you down for a man under jury-canvas, as for a woman." + +Jack made no answer to this, but she sighed very heavily. As for Spike +himself, he was silent for some little time, not only from exhaustion, +but because he suffered pain from his wound. The needle was diligently +but awkwardly plied in this pause. + +Spike's ideas were still a little confused; but a silence and rest of +a quarter of an hour cleared them materially. At the end of that time +he again asked for water. When he had drank, and Jack was once more +seated, with his side-face toward him, at work with the needle, the +captain gazed long and intently at this strange woman. It happened +that the profile of Jack preserved more of the resemblance to her +former self, than the full face; and it was this resemblance that now +attracted Spike's attention, though not the smallest suspicion of the +truth yet gleamed upon him. He saw something that was familiar, though +he could not even tell what that something was, much less to what or +whom it bore any resemblance. At length he spoke. + +"I was told that Jack Tier was dead," he said; "that he took the +fever, and was in his grave within eight-and-forty hours after we +sailed. That was what they told me of _him_." + +"And what did they tell you of your own wife, Stephen Spike. She that +you left ashore at the time Jack was left?" + +"They said she did not die for three years later. I heard of her death +at New Or_leens_, three years later." + +"And how could you leave her ashore--she, your true and lawful wife?" + +"It was a bad thing," answered Spike, who, like all other mortals, +regarded his own past career, now that he stood on the edge of the +grave, very differently from what he had regarded it in the hour of +his health and strength. "Yes, it _was_ a very bad thing; and I wish +it was ondone. But it is too late now. She died of the fever, +too--that's some comfort; had she died of a broken-heart, I could not +have forgiven myself. Molly was not without her faults--great faults, +I considered them; but, on the whole, Molly was a good creatur'." + +"You liked her, then, Stephen Spike?" + +"I can truly say that when I married Molly, and old Capt. Swash put +his da'ghter's hand into mine, that the woman wasn't living who was +better in my judgment, or handsomer in my eyes." + +"Ay, ay--when you _married_ her; but how was it a'terwards. When you +was tired of her, and saw another that was fairer in your eyes?" + +"I desarted her; and God has punished me for the sin! Do you know, +Jack, that luck has never been with me since that day. Often and often +have I bethought me of it; and sartain as you sit there, no great luck +has ever been with me, or my craft, since I went off, leaving my wife +ashore. What was made in one v'y'ge, was lost in the next. Up and +down, up and down the whole time, for so many, many long years, that +gray hairs set in, and old age was beginning to get close aboard--and +I as poor as ever. It has been rub and go with me ever since; and I +have had as much as I could do to keep the brig in motion, as the only +means that was left to make the two ends meet." + +"And did not all this make you think of your poor wife--she whom you +had so wronged?" + +"I thought of little else, until I heard of her death at New +Or_leens_--and then I gave it up as useless. Could I have fallen in +with Molly at any time a'ter the first six months of my desartion, she +and I would have come together again, and every thing would have been +forgotten. I knowed her very nature, which was all forgiveness to me +at the bottom, though seemingly so spiteful and hard." + +"Yet you wanted to have this Rose Budd, who is only too young, and +handsome, and good for you." + +"I was tired of being a widower, Jack; and Rose _is_ wonderful pretty. +She has money, too, and might make the evening of my days comfortable. +The brig was old, as you must know, and has long been off of all the +Insurance Offices' books; and she couldn't hold together much longer. +But for this sloop-of-war, I should have put her off on the Mexicans; +and they would have lost her to our people in a month." + +"And was it an honest thing to sell an old and worn-out craft to any +one, Stephen Spike?" + +Spike had a conscience that had become hard as iron by means of trade. +He who traffics much, most especially if his dealings be on so small a +scale as to render constant investigations of the minor qualities of +things necessary, must be a very fortunate man, if he preserve his +conscience in any better condition. When Jack made this allusion, +therefore, the dying man--for death was much nearer to Spike than even +he supposed, though he no longer hoped for his own recovery--when Jack +made this allusion, then, the dying man was a good deal at a loss to +comprehend it. He saw no particular harm in making the best bargain he +could; nor was it easy for him to understand why he might not dispose +of any thing he possessed for the highest price that was to be had. +Still he answered in an apologetic sort of way. + +"The brig was old, I acknowledge," he said, "but she was strong, and +_might_ have run a long time. I only spoke of her capture as a thing +likely to take place soon, if the Mexicans got her; so that her +qualities were of no great account, unless it might be her speed--and +that you know was excellent, Jack." + +"And you regret that brig, Stephen Spike, lying as you do on your +death-bed, more than any thing else." + +"Not as much as I do pretty Rose Budd, Jack; Rosy is so delightful to +look at!" + +The muscles of Jack's face twitched a little, and she looked deeply +mortified; for, to own the truth, she hoped that the conversation had +so far turned her delinquent husband's thoughts to the past, as to +have revived in him some of his former interest in herself. It is +true, he still believed her dead; but this was a circumstance Jack +overlooked--so hard is it to hear the praises of a rival, and be just. +She felt the necessity of being more explicit, and determined at once +to come to the point. + +"Stephen Spike," she said, steadily, drawing near to the bed-side, +"you should be told the truth, when you are heard thus extolling the +good looks of Rose Budd, with less than eight-and-forty hours of life +remaining. Mary Swash did not die, as you have supposed, three years +a'ter you desarted her, but is living at this moment. Had you read the +letter I gave you in the boat, just before you made me jump into the +sea, _that_ would have told you where she is to be found." + +Spike stared at the speaker intently; and when her cracked voice +ceased, his look was that of a man who was terrified as well as +bewildered. This did not arise still from any gleamings of the real +state of the case, but from the soreness with which his conscience +pricked him, when he heard that his much-wronged wife was alive. He +fancied, with a vivid and rapid glance at the probabilities, all that +a woman abandoned would be likely to endure in the course of so many +long and suffering years. + +"Are you sure of what you say, Jack? You wouldn't take advantage of my +situation to tell me an untruth?" + +"As certain of it as of my own existence. I have seen her quite +lately--talked with her of _you_--in short, she is now at Key West, +knows your state, and has a wife's feelin's to come to your bed-side." + +Notwithstanding all this, and the many gleamings he had had of the +facts during their late intercourse on board the brig, Spike did not +guess at the truth. He appeared astounded, and his terror seemed to +increase. + +"I have another thing to tell you," continued Jack, pausing but a +moment to collect her own thoughts. "Jack Tier--the real Jack Tier--he +who sailed with you of old, and whom you left ashore at the same time +you desarted your wife, _did_ die of the fever, as you was told, in +eight-and-forty hours a'ter the brig went to sea." + +"Then who, in the name of Heaven, are you? How came you to hail by +another's name as well as by another sex?" + +"What could a woman do, whose husband had desarted her in a strange +land?" + +"That is remarkable! So _you_'ve been married? I should not have +thought _that_ possible; and your husband desarted you, too. Well, +such things _do_ happen." Jack now felt a severe pang. She could not +but see that her ungainly--we had almost said her unearthly +appearance--prevented the captain from even yet suspecting the truth; +and the meaning of his language was not easily to be mistaken. That +any one should have married _her_, seemed to her husband as improbable +as it was probable he would run away from her as soon as it was in his +power after the ceremony. + +"Stephen Spike," resumed Jack, solemnly, "_I_ am Mary Swash--_I_ am +your wife!" + +Spike started in his bed; then he buried his face in the coverlet--and +he actually groaned. In bitterness of spirit the woman turned away and +wept. Her feelings had been blunted by misfortune and the collisions +of a selfish world; but enough of former self remained to make this +the hardest of all the blows she had ever received. Her husband, dying +as he was, as he must and did know himself to be, shrunk from one of +her appearance, unsexed as she had become by habits, and changed by +years and suffering. + + [_To be continued_. + + + + +AN HOUR. + +BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. + + + I've left the keen, cold winds to blow + Around the summits bare; + My sunny pathway to the sea + Winds downward, green and fair, + And bright-leaved branches toss and glow + Upon the buoyant air! + + The fern its fragrant plumage droops + O'er mosses, crisp and gray, + Where on the shaded crags I sit, + Beside the cataract's spray, + And watch the far-off, shining sails + Go down the sunny bay! + + I've left the wintry winds of life + On barren hearts to blow-- + The anguish and the gnawing care, + The silent, shuddering wo! + Across the balmy sea of dreams + My spirit-barque shall go. + + Learned not the breeze its fairy lore + Where sweetest measures throng? + A maiden sings, beside the stream, + Some chorus, wild and long, + Mingling and blending with its roar, + Like rainbows turned to song! + + I hear it, like a strain that sweeps + The confines of a dream; + Now fading into silent space, + Now with a flashing gleam + Of triumph, ringing through the deeps + Of forest, dell and stream! + + Away! away! I hear the horn + Among the hills of Spain: + The old, chivalric glory fires + Her warrior-hearts again! + Ho! how their banners light the morn, + Along Grenada's plain! + + I hear the hymns of holy faith + The red Crusaders sang, + And the silver horn of Ronceval, + That o'er the tecbir rang + When prince and kaiser through the fray + To the paladin's rescue sprang! + + A beam of burning light I hold!-- + My good Damascus brand, + And the jet-black charger that I ride + Was foaled in the Arab land, + And a hundred horsemen, mailed in steel, + Follow my bold command! + + Through royal cities speeds our march-- + The minster-bells are rung; + The loud, rejoicing trumpets peal, + The battle-flags are swung, + And sweet, sweet lips of ladies praise + The chieftain, brave and young. + + And now, in bright Provencal bowers, + A minstrel-knight am I: + A gentle bosom on my own + Throbs back its ecstasy; + A cheek, as fair as the almond flowers, + Thrills to my lips' reply! + + I tread the fanes of wondrous Rome, + Crowned with immortal bay, + And myriads throng the Capitol + To hear my lofty lay, + While, sounding o'er the Tiber's foam, + Their shoutings peal away! + + Oh, triumph such as this were worth + The poet's doom of pain, + Whose hours are brazen on the earth, + But golden in the brain: + I close the starry gate of dreams, + And walk the dust again! + + + + +POWER OF BEAUTY, + +AND A PLAIN MAN'S LOVE. + +BY N. P. WILLIS. + + +That the truths arrived at by the unaccredited short road of +"magnetism" had better be stripped of their technical phraseology, and +set down as the gradual discoveries of science and experience, is a +policy upon which acts many a sagacious believer in "clairvoyance." +Doubtless, too, there is, here and there, a wise man, who is glad +enough to pierce, with the eyes of an incredible agent, the secrets +about him, and let the world give him credit, by whatever name they +please, for the superior knowledge of which he silently takes +advantage. I should be behind the time, if I had not sounded to the +utmost of my ability and opportunity the depth of this new medium. I +have tried it on grave things and trifles. If the unveiling which I am +about to record were of more use to myself than to others, perhaps I +should adopt the policy of which I have just spoken, and give the +result, simply as my own shrewd lesson learned in reading the female +heart. But the truths I unfold will instruct the few who need and can +appreciate them, while the whole subject is not of general importance +enough to bring down cavilers upon the credibility of their source. I +thus get rid of a very detestable though sometimes necessary evil, +("_qui nescit dissimulare nescit vivere_," says the Latin sage,) that +of shining by any light that is not absolutely my own. + +I am a very plain man in my personal appearance--_so_ plain that a +common observer, if informed that there was a woman who had a fancy +for my peculiar type, would wonder that I was not thankfully put to +rest for life as a seeker after love--a second miracle of the kind +being a very slender probability. It is not in beauty that the taste +for beauty alone resides, however. In early youth my soul, like the +mirror of Cydippe, retained, with enamored fidelity, the image of +female loveliness copied in the clear truth of its appreciation, and +the passion for it had become, insensibly, the thirst of my life, +before I thought of it as more than an intoxicating study. To be +loved--myself beloved--by a creature made in one of the diviner moulds +of woman, was, however, a dream that shaped itself into waking +distinctness at last, and from that hour I took up the clogging weight +of personal disadvantages, to which I had hitherto unconsciously been +chained, and bore it heavily in the race which the well-favored ran as +eagerly as I. + +I am not to recount, here, the varied experiences of my search, the +world over, after beauty and its smile. It is a search on which all +travelers are more than half bent, let them name as they please their +professed errand in far countries. The coldest scholar in art will +better remember a living face of a new cast of expression, met in the +gallery of Florence, than the best work of Michael Angelo, whose +genius he has crossed an ocean to study; and a fair shoulder crowded +against the musical pilgrim, in the Capella Sistiera, will be taken +surer into his soul's inner memory than the best outdoing of "the +sky-lark taken up into heaven," by the ravishing reach of the +_Miserere_. Is it not true? + +There can hardly be now, I think, a style of female beauty of which I +have not appreciated the meaning and comparative enchantment, nor a +degree of that sometimes more effective thing than beauty itself--its +expression breathing through features otherwise unlovely--that I have +not approached near enough to weigh and store truthfully in +remembrance. The taste forever refines in the study of woman. We +return to what, with immature eye, we at first rejected; we intensify, +immeasurably, our worship of the few who wear on their foreheads the +star of supreme loveliness, confessed pure and perfect by all +beholders alike; we detect it under surfaces which become transparent +only with tenderness or enthusiasm; we separate the work of Nature's +material chisel from the resistless and warm expansion of the soul +swelling its proportions to fill out the shape it is to tenant +hereafter. Led by the purest study of true beauty, the eager mind +passes on from the shrine where it lingered to the next of whose +greater brightness it becomes aware; and this is the secret of one +kind of "inconstancy in love," which should be named apart from the +variableness of those seekers of novelty, who, from unconscious +self-contempt, value nothing they have had the power to win. + +An unsuspected student of beauty, I passed years of loiterings in the +living galleries of Europe and Asia, and, like self-punishing misers +in all kinds of amassings, stored up boundlessly more than, with the +best trained senses, I could have found the life to enjoy. Of course I +had a first advantage, of dangerous facility, in my unhappy plainness +of person--the alarm-guard that surrounds every beautiful woman in +every country of the world--letting sleep at _my_ approach the +cautionary reserve which presents bayonet so promptly to the +good-looking. Even with my worship avowed, and the manifestation of +grateful regard which a woman of fine quality always returns for +elevated and unexacting admiration I was still left with such +privilege of access as is granted to the family-gossip, or to an +innocuous uncle, and it is of such a passion, rashly nurtured under +this protection of an improbability, that I propose to tell the +_inner_ story. + + + + +PART II. + + +I was at the Baths of Lucca during a season made gay by the presence +of a large proportion of the agreeable and accessible court of +Tuscany. The material for my untiring study was in abundance, yet it +was all of the worldly character which the attractions of the place +would naturally draw together, and my homage had but a choice between +differences of display, in the one pursuit of admiration. In my walks +through the romantic mountain-paths of the neighborhood, and along the +banks of the deep-down river that threads the ravine above the +village, I had often met, meantime, a lady accompanied by a well-bred +and scholar-like looking man; and though she invariably dropped her +veil at my approach, her admirable movement, as she walked, or stooped +to pick a flower, betrayed that conscious possession of beauty and +habitual confidence in her own grace and elegance, which assured me of +attractions worth taking trouble to know. By one of those "unavoidable +accidents" which any respectable guardian angel will contrive, to +oblige one, I was a visiter to the gentleman and lady--father and +daughter--soon after my curiosity had framed the desire; and in her I +found a marvel of beauty, from which I looked in vain for my usual +escape--that of placing the ladder of my heart against a loftier and +fairer. + +Mr. Wangrave was one of those English gentlemen who would not exchange +the name of an ancient and immemorially wealthy family for any title +that their country could give them, and he used this shield of modest +honor simply to protect himself in the enjoyment of habits, freed, as +far as refinement and culture could do it, from the burthens and +intrusions of life above and below him. He was ceaselessly educating +himself--like a man whose whole life was only too brief an +apprenticeship to a higher existence--and, with an invalid but +intellectual and lovely wife, and a daughter who seemed unconscious +that she could love, and who kept gay pace with her youthful-hearted +father in his lighter branches of knowledge, his family sufficed to +itself, and had determined so to continue while abroad. The society of +no Continental watering-place has a very good name, and they were +there for climate and seclusion. With two ladies, who seemed to occupy +the places and estimation of friends, (but who were probably the paid +nurse and companion to the invalid,) and a kind-hearted old secretary +to Mr. Wangrave, whose duties consisted in being as happy as he could +possibly be, their circle was large enough, and it contained elements +enough--except only, perhaps, the _reveille_ that was wanting for the +apparently slumbering heart of Stephania. + +A month after my first call upon the Wangraves, I joined them on their +journey to Vallambrosa, where they proposed to take refuge from the +sultry coming of the Italian autumn. My happiness would not have been +arranged after the manner of this world's happiness, if I had been the +only addition to their party up the mountain. They had received with +open arms, a few days before leaving Lucca, a young man from the +neighborhood of their own home, and who, I saw with half a glance, was +the very Eidolon and type of what Mr. Wangrave would desire as a +fitting match for his daughter. From the allusions to him that had +preceded his coming, I had learned that he was the heir to a brilliant +fortune, and was coming to his old friends to be congratulated on his +appointment to a captaincy in the Queen's Guards--as pretty a case of +an "irresistible" as could well have been compounded for expectation. +And when he came--the absolute model of a youth of noble beauty--all +frankness, good manners, joyousness, and confidence, I summoned +courage to look alternately at Stephania and him, and the hope, the +daring hope that I had never yet named to myself, but which was +already master of my heart, and its every pulse and capability, +dropped prostrate and lifeless in my bosom. If he did but offer her +the life-minute of love, of which I would give her, it seemed to me, +for the same price, an eternity of countless existences--if he should +but give her a careless word, where I could wring a passionate +utterance out of the aching blood of my very heart--she must needs be +his. She would be a star else that would resign an orbit in the fair +sky, to illumine a dim cave; a flower that would rather bloom on a +bleak moor, than in the garden of a king--for, with such crushing +comparisons, did I irresistibly see myself as I remembered my own +shape and features, and my far humbler fortunes than his, standing in +her presence beside him. + +Oh! how every thing contributed to enhance the beauty of that young +man. How the mellow and harmonizing tenderness of the light of the +Italian sky gave sentiment to his oval cheek, depth to his gray-blue +eye, meaning to their overfolding and thick-fringed lashes. Whatever +he said with his finely-cut lips, was _looked_ into twenty times its +meaning by the beauty of their motion in that languid atmosphere--an +atmosphere that seemed only breathed for his embellishment and +Stephania's. Every posture he took seemed a happy and rare accident, +which a painter should have been there to see. The sunsets, the +moonlight, the chance back-ground and fore-ground, of vines and +rocks--every thing seemed in conspiracy to heighten his effect, and +make of him a faultless picture of a lover. + +"Every thing," did I say? Yes, _even myself_--for my uncomely face and +form were such a foil to his beauty as a skillful artist would have +introduced to heighten it when all other art was exhausted, and every +one saw it except Stephania; and little they knew how, with +perceptions far quicker than theirs, I _felt_ their recognition of +this, in the degree of softer kindness in which they unconsciously +spoke to me. They pitied me, and without recognizing their own +thought--for it was a striking instance of the difference in the +gifts of nature--one man looking scarce possible to love, and beside +him, another, of the same age, to whose mere first-seen beauty, +without a word from his lips, any heart would seem unnatural not to +leap in passionate surrender. + +We were the best of sudden friends, Palgray and I. He, like the rest, +walked only the outer vestibule of the sympathies, viewlessly +deepening and extending, hour by hour, in that frank and joyous +circle. The interlinkings of soul, which need no language, and which +go on, whether we will or no, while we talk with friends, are so +strangely unthought of by the careless and happy. He saw in me no +counter-worker to his influence. I was to him but a well-bred and +extremely plain man, who tranquilly submitted to forego all the first +prizes of life, content if I could contribute to society in its +unexcited voids, and receive in return only the freedom of its outer +intercourse, and its friendly esteem. But, oh! it was not in the same +world that he and I knew Stephania. He approached her from the world +in whose most valued excellences, beauty and wealth, he was +pre-eminently gifted--I, from the viewless world, in which I had at +least more skill and knowledge. In the month that I had known her +before he came, I had sedulously addressed myself to a character +within her, of which Palgray had not even a conjecture; and there was +but one danger of his encroachment on the ground I had gained--her +imagination might supply in him the nobler temple of soul-worship, +which was still unbuilt, and which would never be builded except by +pangs such as he was little likely to feel in the undeepening channel +of happiness. He did not notice that _I_ never spoke to her in the +same key of voice to which the conversation of others was attuned. He +saw not that, while she turned to _him_ with a smile as a preparation +to listen, she heard _my_ voice as if her attention had been arrested +by distant music--with no change in her features except a look more +earnest. She would have called _him_ to look with her at a glowing +sunset, or to point out a new comer in the road from the village; but +if the moon had gone suddenly into a cloud and saddened the face of +the landscape, or if the wind had sounded mournfully through the +trees, as she looked out upon the night, she would have spoken of that +first to _me_. + + + + +PART III. + + +I am flying over the track, of what was to me a torrent--outlining its +course by alighting upon, here and there, a point where it turned or +lingered. + +The reader has been to Vallambrosa--if not once as a pilgrim, at least +often with writers of travels in Italy. The usages of the convent are +familiar to all memories--their lodging of the gentlemen of a party in +cells of their own monastic privilege, and giving to the ladies less +sacred hospitalities, in a secular building of meaner and +unconsecrated architecture. (So, oh, mortifying brotherhood, you shut +off your only chance of entertaining angels unaware!) + +Not permitted to eat with the ladies while on the holy mountain, Mr. +Wangrave and his secretary, and Palgray and I, fed at the table with +the aristocratic monks--(for they are the aristocrats of European +holiness, these monks of Vallambrosa.) It was somewhat a relief to me, +to be separated with my rival from the party in the feminine +refectory, even for the short space of a meal-time; for the all-day +suffering of presence with an unconscious trampler on my +heart-strings; and in circumstances where all the triumphs were his +own, were more than my intangible hold upon hope could well enable me +to bear. I was happiest, therefore, when I was out of the presence of +her to be near whom was all for which my life was worth having; and +when we sat down at the long and bare table, with the thoughtful and +ashen-cowled company, sad as I was, it was an opiate sadness--a +suspension from self-mastery, under torture which others took to be +pleasure. + +The temperature of the mountain-air was just such as to invite us to +never enter doors except to eat and sleep; and breakfasting at +convent-hours, we passed the long day in rambling up the ravines and +through the sombre forests, drawing, botanizing, and conversing in +group around some spot of exquisite natural beauty; and all of the +party, myself excepted, supposing it to be the un-dissenting, common +desire to contrive opportunity for the love-making of Palgray and +Stephania. And, bitter though it was, in each particular instance, to +accept a hint from one and another, and stroll off, leaving the +confessed lovers alone by some musical water-fall, or in the secluded +and twilight dimness of some curve in an overhanging ravine--places +where only to breathe is to love--I still felt an instinctive +prompting to rather anticipate than wait for these reminders, she +alone knowing what it cost me to be without her in that delicious +wilderness; and Palgray, as well as I could judge, having a mind out +of harmony with both the wilderness and her. + +He loved her--loved her as well as most women need to be, or know that +they can be loved. But he was too happy, too prosperous, too +universally beloved, to love well. He was a man, with all his beauty, +more likely to be fascinating to his own sex than to hers, for the +women who love best, do not love in the character they live in; and +his out-of-doors heart, whose joyfulness was so contagious, and whose +bold impulses were so manly and open, contented itself with gay +homage, and left unplummeted the sweetest as well as deepest wells of +the thoughtful tenderness of woman. + +To most observers, Stephania Wangrave would have seemed only born to +be gay--the mere habit of being happy having made its life-long +imprint upon her expression of countenance, and all of her nature, +that would be legible to a superficial reader, being brought out by +the warm translucence of her smiles. But while I had seen this, in the +first hour of my study of her, I was too advanced in my knowledge (of +such works of nature as encroach on the models of Heaven) not to know +this to be a light veil over a picture of melancholy meaning. Sadness +was the tone of her mind's inner coloring. Tears were the +subterranean river upon which her soul's bark floated with the most +loved freight of her thought's accumulation--the sunny waters of joy, +where alone she was thought to voyage, being the tide on which her +heart embarked no venture, and which seemed to her triflingly garish +and even profaning to the hallowed delicacy of the inner nature. + +It was so strange to me that Palgray did not see this through every +lineament of her marvelous beauty. There was a glow under her skin, +but no color--an effect of paleness--fair as the lotus-leaf, but +warmer and brighter, and which came through the alabaster fineness of +the grain, like something the eye cannot define, but which we know by +some spirit-perception to be the effluence of purer existence, the +breathing through, as it were, of the luminous tenanting of an angel. +To this glowing paleness, with golden hair, I never had seen united +any but a disposition of predominant melancholy; and it seemed to me +dull indeed otherwise to read it. But there were other betrayals of +the same inner nature of Stephania. Her lips, cut with the fine +tracery of the penciling upon a tulip-cup, were of a slender and +delicate fullness, expressive of a mind which took--(of the +senses)--only so much life as would hold down the spirit during its +probation; and when this spiritual mouth was at rest, no painter has +ever drawn lips on which lay more of the unutterable pensiveness of +beauty which we dream to have been Mary's, in the childhood of Jesus. +A tear in the heart was the instinctive answer to Stephania's every +look when she did not smile; and her large, soft, slowly-lifting eyes, +were to any elevated perception, it seemed to me, most eloquent of +tenderness as tearful as it was unfathomable and angelic. + +I shall have failed, however, in portraying truly the being of whom I +am thus privileged to hold the likeness in my memory, if the reader +fancies her to have nurtured her pensive disposition at the expense of +a just value for real life, or a full development of womanly feelings. +It was a peculiarity of her beauty, to my eye, that, with all her +earnest leaning toward a thoughtful existence, there did not seem to +be one vein beneath her pearly skin, not one wavy line in her +faultless person, that did not lend its proportionate consciousness to +her breathing sense of life. Her bust was of the slightest fullness +which the sculptor would choose for the embodying of his ideal of the +best blending of modesty with complete beauty; and her throat and +arms--oh, with what an inexpressible pathos of loveliness, so to +speak, was moulded, under an infantine dewiness of surface, their +delicate undulations. No one could be in her presence without +acknowledging the perfection of her form as a woman, and rendering the +passionate yet subdued homage which the purest beauty fulfills its +human errand by inspiring; but, while Palgray made the halo which +surrounded her outward beauty the whole orbit of his appreciation, and +made of it, too, the measure of the circle of topics he chose to talk +upon, there was still another and far wider ring of light about her, +which he lived in too dazzling a gayety of his own to see--a halo of +a mind more beautiful than the body which shut it in; and in this +intellectual orbit of guidance to interchange of mind, with manifold +deeper and higher reach than Palgray's, upon whatever topic chanced to +occur, revolved I, around her who was the loveliest and most gifted of +all the human beings I had been privileged to meet. + + + + +PART IV. + + +The month was expiring at Vallambrosa, but I had not mingled, for that +length of time, with a fraternity of thoughtful men, without +recognition of some of that working of spontaneous and elective +magnetism to which I have alluded in a previous part of this story. +Opposite me, at the table of the convent refectory, had sat a taciturn +monk, whose influence I felt from the first day--a stronger +consciousness of his presence, that is to say, than of any one of the +other monks--though he did not seem particularly to observe me, and +till recently had scarce spoken to me at all. He was a man of perhaps +fifty years of age, with the countenance of one who had suffered and +gained a victory of contemplation--a look as if no suffering could be +new to him, and before whom no riddle of human vicissitudes could stay +unread; but over all this penetration and sagacity was diffused a cast +of genial philanthropy and good-fellowship which told of his +forgiveness of the world for what he had suffered in it. With a +curiosity more at leisure, I should have sought him out, and joined +him in his walks to know more of him; but spiritually acquainted +though I felt we had become, I was far too busy with head and heart +for any intercourse, except it had a bearing on the struggle for love +that I was, to all appearance, so hopelessly making. + +Preparations were beginning for departure, and with the morrow, or the +day after, I was to take my way to Venice--my friends bound to +Switzerland and England, and propriety not permitting me to seek +another move in their company. The evening on which this was made +clear to me, was one of those continuations of day into night made by +the brightness of a full Italian moon; and Palgray, whose face, +troubled, for the first time, betrayed to me that he was at a crisis +of his fate with Stephania, evidently looked forward to this glowing +night as the favorable atmosphere in which he might urge his suit, +with nature pleading in his behalf. The reluctance and evident +irresolution of his daughter puzzled Mr. Wangrave--for he had no doubt +that she loved Palgray, and his education of her head and heart gave +him no clue to any principle of coquettishness, or willingness to give +pain, for the pleasure of an exercise of power. Her mother, and all +the members of the party, were aware of the mystery that hung over the +suit of the young guardsman, but they were all alike discreet, while +distressed, and confined their interference to the removal of +obstacles in the way of the lovers being together, and the avoidance +of any topics gay enough to change the key of her spirits from the +natural softness of the evening. + +Vespers were over, and the sad-colored figures of the monks were +gliding indolently here and there, and Stephania, with Palgray beside +her, stood a little apart from the group at the door of the secular +refectory, looking off at the fading purple of the sunset. I could not +join her without crossing rudely the obvious wishes of every person +present; yet for the last two days, I had scarce found the opportunity +to exchange a word with her, and my emotion now was scarce +controllable. The happier lover beside her, with his features +heightened in expression (as I thought they never could be) by his +embarrassment in wooing, was evidently and irresistibly the object of +her momentary admiration. He offered her his arm, and made a movement +toward the path off into the forest. There was an imploring deference +infinitely becoming in his manner, and see it she must, with pride and +pleasure. She hesitated--gave a look to where I stood, which explained +to me better than a world of language, that she had wished at least to +speak to me on this last evening--and, before the dimness over my eyes +had passed away, they were gone. Oh! pitying Heaven! give me never +again, while wrapt in mortal weakness, so harsh a pang to suffer. + + + + +PART V. + + +The convent-bell struck midnight, and there was a foot-fall in the +cloister. I was startled by it out of an entire forgetfulness of all +around me, for I was lying on my bed in the monastery cell, with my +hands clasped over my eyes, as I had thrown myself down on coming in; +and, with a strange contrariety, my mind, broken rudely from its hope, +had flown to my far away home, oblivious of the benumbed links that +lay between. A knock at my door completed the return to my despair, +for with a look at the walls of my little chamber, in the bright beam +of moonlight that streamed in at the narrow window, I was, by +recognition, again at Vallambrosa, and Stephania, with an accepted +lover's voice in her ear, was again near me, her moistened eyes +steeped with Palgray's in the same beam of the all-visiting and +unbetraying moon. + +Father Ludovic entered. The gentle tone of his _benedicite_, told me +that he had come on an errand of sympathy. There was little need of +preliminary between two who read the inner countenance as habitually +as did both of us; and as briefly as the knowledge and present feeling +of each could be re-expressed in words, we confirmed the +spirit-mingling that had brought him there, and were presently as one. +He had read truly the drama of love, enacting in the party of visiters +to his convent, but his judgment of the possible termination of it was +different from mine. + + * * * * * + +Palgray's dormitory was at the extremity of the cloister, and we +presently heard him pass. + +"She is alone, now," said Father Ludovic, "I will send you to her." + +My mind had strained to Stephania's presence with the first footsteps +that told me of their separation; and it needed but a wave of his hand +to unlink the spirit-wings from my weary frame. I was present with +her. + +I struggled for a moment, but in vain, to see her face. Its expression +was as visible as my hand in the sun, but no feature. The mind I had +read was close to me, in a presence of consciousness; and, in points, +here and there, brighter, bolder, and further-reaching than I had +altogether believed. She was unutterably pure--a spirit without a +spot--and I remained near her with a feeling as if my forehead were +pressed down to the palms of my hands, in homage mixed with sorrow, +for I should have more recognized this in my waking study of her +nature. + +A moment more--a trembling effort, as if to read what were written to +record my companionship for eternity--and a vague image of myself came +out in shadow--clearer now, and still clearer, enlarging to the +fullness of her mind. She thought wholly and only of that image I then +saw, yet with a faint coloring playing to and from it, as influences +came in from the outer world. Her eyes were turned in upon it in lost +contemplation. But suddenly a new thought broke upon me. I saw my +image, but it was not I, as I looked to myself. The type of my +countenance was there; but, oh, transformed to an ideal, such as I +now, for the first time, saw possible--ennobled in every defective +line--purified of its taint from worldliness--inspired with high +aspirations--cleared of what it had become cankered with, in its +transmission through countless generations since first sent into the +world, and restored to a likeness of the angel of whose illuminated +lineaments it was first a copy. So thought Stephania of me. Thus did +she believe I truly was. Oh! blessed, and yet humiliating, trust of +woman! Oh! comparison of true and ideal, at which spirits must look +out of heaven, and of which they must long, with aching pity, to make +us thus rebukingly aware! + + * * * * * + +I felt myself withdrawing from Stephania's presence. There were tears +between us, which I could not see. I strove to remain, but a stronger +power than my will was at work within me. I felt my heart swell with a +gasp, as if death were bearing out of it the principle of life; and my +head dropped on the pillow of my bed. + +"Good night, my son," said the low voice of Father Ludovic, "I have +willed that you should remember what you have seen. Be worthy of her +love, for there are few like her." + +He closed the door, and as the glide of his sandals died away in the +echoing cloisters, I leaned forth to spread my expanding heart in the +upward and boundless light of the moon--for I seemed to wish never +again to lose in the wasteful forgetfulness of sleep, the +consciousness that I was loved by Stephania. + + * * * * * + +I was journeying the next day, alone, toward Venice. I had left +written adieux for the party at Vallambrosa, pleading to my friends an +unwillingness to bear the pain of a formal separation. Betwixt +midnight and morning, however, I had written a parting letter for +Stephania, which I had committed to the kind envoying of Father +Ludovic, and thus it ran:-- + + "When you read this, Stephania, I shall be alone + with the thought of you, traveling a reluctant + road, but still with a burthen in my heart which + will bring me to you again, and which even now + envelopes my pang of separation in a veil of + happiness. I have been blessed by Heaven's mercy + with the power to know that you love me. Were you + not what you are, I could not venture to startle + you thus with a truth which, perhaps, you have + hardly confessed in waking reality to yourself; but + you are one of those who are coy of no truth that + could be found to have lain without alarm in your + own bosom, and, with those beloved hands pressed + together with the earnestness of the clasp of + prayer, you will say, 'yes! I love him!' + + "I leave you, now, not to put our love to trial, + and still less in the ordinary meaning of the + phrase, to prepare to wed you. The first is little + needed, angels in heaven well know. The second is a + thought which will be in time, when I have done the + work on which I am newly bent by the inspiration of + love--_the making myself what you think me to be_. + Oh, Stephania! to feel encouraged, as God has given + me strength to feel, that I may yet be this--that I + may yet bring you a soul brought up to the standard + you have raised, and achieve it by effort in + self-denial, and by the works of honor and goodness + that are as possible to a man in obscurity and + poverty as to his brother in wealth and + distinction--this is to me new life, boundless + enlargement of sphere, food for a love of which, + alas! I was not before worthy. + + "I have told you unreservedly what my station in + life is--what my hopes are, and what career I had + marked out for struggle. I shall go on with the + career, though the prizes I then mentally saw have + since faded in value almost as much as my purpose + is strengthened. Fame and wealth, my pure, + Stephania, are to you as they now can only be to + me, larger trusts of service and duty; and if I + hope they will come while other aims are sought, it + is because they will confer happiness on parents + and friends who mistakenly suppose them necessary + to the winner of your heart. I hope to bring them + to you. I know that I shall come as welcome without + them. + + "While I write--while my courage and hope throb + loud in the pulses of my bosom--I can think even + happily of separation. To leave you, the better to + return, is bearable--even pleasurable--to the + heart's noonday mood. But I have been steeped for a + summer, now, in a presence of visible and breathing + loveliness, (that you cannot forbid me to speak of, + since language is too poor to out-color truth,) and + there will come moments of depression--twilights of + deepening and undivided loneliness--hours of + illness, perhaps--and times of discouragement and + adverse cloudings over of Providence--when I shall + need to be remembered with sympathy, and to know + that I am so remembered. I do not ask you to write + to me. It would entail difficulties upon you, and + put between us an interchange of uncertainties and + possible misunderstandings. But I can communicate + with you by a surer medium, if you will grant a + request. The habits of your family are such that + you can, for the first hour after midnight, be + always alone. Waking or sleeping, there will then + be a thought of me occupying your heart, and--call + it a fancy if you will--I can come and read it on + the viewless wings of the soul. + + "I commend your inexpressible earthly beauty, dear + Stephania, and your still brighter loveliness of + soul, to God's angel, who has never left you. + Farewell! You will see me when I am worthy of + you--if it be necessary that it should be first in + heaven, made so by forgiveness there. + + * * * * * + +_Cell of St. Eusebius, Vallambrosa--day-breaking_." + + + + +A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY. + +BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. + + + Dear transient spirit of the fields, + Thou com'st, without distrust, + To fan the sunshine of our streets + Among the noise and dust. + + Thou leadest in thy wavering flight + My footsteps unaware, + Until I seem to walk the vales + And breathe thy native air. + + And thou hast fed upon the flowers, + And drained their honied springs, + Till every tender hue they wore + Is blooming on thy wings. + + I bless the fresh and flowery light + Thou bringest to the town, + But tremble lest the hot turmoil + Have power to weigh thee down; + + For thou art like the poet's song, + Arrayed in holiest dyes, + Though it hath drained the honied wells + Of flowers of Paradise; + + Though it hath brought celestial hues + To light the ways of life, + The dust shall weigh its pinions down + Amid the noisy strife. + + And yet, perchance, some kindred soul + Shall see its glory shine, + And feel its wings within his heart + As bright as I do thine. + + + + +THE RIVAL SISTERS. + +AN ENGLISH TRAGEDY OF REAL LIFE. + +BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR," +"MARMADUKE WYVIL," ETC. + +(_Concluded from page 22_.) + + +PART II. + + +A lovely summer's evening in the year 168-, was drawing toward its +close, when many a gay and brilliant cavalcade of both sexes, many of +the huge gilded coaches of that day, and many a train of liveried +attendants, winding through the green lane, as they arrived, some in +this direction from Eton, some in that, across Datchet-mead, from +Windsor, and its royal castle, came thronging toward Ditton-in-the-Dale. + +Lights were beginning to twinkle, as the shadows fell thick among the +arcades of the trim gardens, and the wilder forest-walks which +extended their circuitous course for many a mile along the stately +hall of the Fitz-Henries; loud bursts of festive or of martial music +came pealing down the wind, mixed with the hum of a gay and happy +concourse, causing the nightingales to hold their peace, not in +despair of rivaling the melody, but that the mirth jarred unpleasantly +on the souls of the melancholy birds. + +The gates of Ditton-in-the-Dale were flung wide open, for it was gala +night, and never had the old hall put on a gayer or more sumptuous +show than it had donned that evening. + +From far and near the gentry and the nobles of Buckingham and +Berkshire had gathered to the birth-day ball--for such was the occasion +of the festive meeting. + +Yes! it was Blanche Fitz-Henry's birth-day; and on this gay and glad +anniversary was the fair heiress of that noble house to be introduced +to the great world as the future owner of those beautiful demesnes. + +From the roof to the foundation the old manor-house--it was a stately +red brick mansion of the latter period of Elizabethan architecture, +with mullioned windows, and stacks of curiously wreathed chimneys--was +one blaze of light; and as group after group of gay and high-born +riders came caracoling up to the hospitable porch, and coach after +coach, with its running footmen, or mounted outriders lumbered slowly +in their train, the saloons and corridors began to fill up rapidly, +with a joyous and splendid company. + +The entrance-hall, a vast square apartment, wainscoted with old +English oak, brighter and richer in its dark hues than mahogany, +received the entering guests; and what with the profusion of +wax-lights, pendant in gorgeous chandeliers from the carved roof, or +fixed in silver sconces to the walls, the gay festoons of green +wreaths and fresh summer flowers, mixed quaintly with old armor, +blazoned shields, and rustling banners, some of which had waved over +the thirsty plains of Syria, and been fanned by the shouts of triumph +that pealed so high at Cressy and Poitiers, it presented a not unapt +picture of that midway period--that halting-place, as it were, between +the old world and the new--when chivalry and feudalism had ceased +already to exist among the nations, but before the rudeness of reform +had banished the last remnants of courtesy, and the reverence for all +things that were high and noble--for all things that were fair and +graceful--for all things, in one word, except the golden calf, the +mob-worshiped mammon. + +Within this stately hall was drawn up in glittering array, the +splendid band of the Life Guards, for royally himself was present, and +all the officers of that superb regiment, quartered at Windsor, had +followed in his train; and as an ordinary courtesy to their +well-proved and loyal host, the services of those chosen musicians had +been tendered and accepted. + +Through many a dazzling corridor, glittering with lights, and redolent +of choicest perfumes, through many a fair saloon the guests were +marshaled to the great drawing-room, where, beneath a canopy of state, +the ill-advised and imbecile monarch, soon to be deserted by the very +princes and princesses who now clustered round his throne, sat, with +his host and his lovely daughters at his right hand, accepting the +homage of the fickle crowd, who were within a little year to bow +obsequiously to the cold-blooded Hollander. + +That was a day of singular, and what would now be termed hideous +costumes--a day of hair-powder and patches, of hoops and trains, of +stiff brocades and tight-laced stomachers, and high-heeled shoes among +the ladies--of flowing periwigs, and coats with huge cuffs and no +collars, and voluminous skirts, of diamond-hilted rapiers, and diamond +buckles, ruffles of Valenciennes and Mecklin lace, among the ruder +sex. And though the individual might be metamorphosed strangely from +the fair form which nature gave him, it cannot be denied that the +concourse of highly-bred and graceful persons, when viewed as a whole, +was infinitely more picturesque, infinitely more like what the fancy +paints a meeting of the great and noble, than any assemblage +now-a-days, however courtly or refined, in which the stiff dress coats +and white neckcloths of the men are not to be redeemed by the Parisian +finery--how much more natural, let critics tell, than the hoop and +train--of the fair portion of the company. + +The rich materials, the gay colors, the glittering jewelry, and waving +plumes, all contributed their part to the splendor of the show; and in +those days a gentleman possessed at least this advantage, lost to him +in these practical utilitarian times, that he could not by any +possibility be mistaken for his own _valet de chambre_--a misfortune +which has befallen many a one, the most aristocratic not excepted, of +modern nobility. + +A truly graceful person will be graceful, and look well in every garb, +however strange or _outre_; and there is, moreover, undoubtedly +something, apart from any paltry love of finery, or mere vanity of +person, which elevates the thoughts, and stamps a statelier demeanor +on the man who is clad highly for some high occasion. The custom, too, +of wearing arms, peculiar to the gentleman of that day, had its +effect, and that not a slight one, as well on the character as on the +bearing of the individual so distinguished. + +As for the ladies, loveliness will still be loveliness, disguise it as +you may; and if the beauties of King James's court lost much by the +travesty of their natural ringlets, they gained, perhaps, yet more +from the increased lustre of their complexions and brilliancy of their +eyes. + +So that it is far from being the case, as is commonly supposed, that +it was owing to fashion alone, and the influence of all powerful +custom, that the costume of that day was not tolerated only, but +admired by its wearers. + +At this time, however, the use of hair-powder, though general, was by +no means universal; and many beauties, who fancied that it did not +suit their complexions, dispensed with it altogether, or wore it in +some modified shape, and tinged with some coloring matter, which +assimilated it more closely to the natural tints of the hair. + +At all events, it must have been a dull eye, and a cold heart, that +could have looked undelighted on the assemblage that night gathered in +the ball-room of Ditton-in-the-Dale. + +But now the reception was finished; the royal party moved into the +ball-room, from which they shortly afterward retired, leaving the +company at liberty from the restraint which their presence had imposed +upon them. The concourse broke up into little groups; the stately +minuet was performed, and livelier dances followed it; and gentlemen +sighed tender sighs, and looked unutterable things; and ladies +listened to soft nonsense, and smiled gentle approbation; and melting +glances were exchanged, and warm hands were pressed warmly; and fans +were flirted angrily, and flippant jokes were interchanged--for human +nature, whether in the seventeeth or the nineteenth century, whether +arrayed in brocade, or simply dressed in broadcloth, is human nature +still; and, perhaps, not one feeling, or one passion, that actuated +man's or woman's heart five hundred years ago, but dwells within it +now, and shall dwell unchanged forever. + +It needs not to say that, on such an occasion, in their own father's +mansion, and at the celebration of one sister's birth-day, Blanche and +Agnes, had their attractions been much smaller, their pretensions much +more lowly than they really were, would have received boundless +attention. But being as they were infinitely the finest girls in the +room, and being, moreover, new _debutantes_ on the stage of fashion, +there was no limit to the admiration, to the _furor_ which they +excited among the wits and lady-killers of the day. + +Many an antiquated Miss, proud of past conquests, and unable yet to +believe that her career of triumph was, indeed, ended, would turn up +an envious nose, and utter a sharp sneer at the forwardness and hoyden +mirth of that pert Mistress Agnes, or at the coldness and inanimate +smile of the fair heiress; but the sneer, even were it the sneer of a +duke's or a minister's daughter, fell harmless, or yet worse, drew +forth a prompt defence of the unjustly assailed beauty. + +No greater proof could be adduced, indeed, of the amazing success of +the sister beauties, than the unanimous decision of every lady in the +room numbering less than forty years, that they were by no means +uncommon; were pretty country hoppets, who, as soon as the novelty of +their first appearance should have worn out, would cease to be +admired, and sink back into their proper sphere of insignificance. + +So thought not the gentle cavaliers; and there were many present +there, well qualified to judge of ladies' minds as of ladies' persons; +and not a few were heard to swear aloud, that the Fitz-Henries were as +far above the rest of their sex in wit, and graceful accomplishment, +as in beauty of form and face, and elegance of motion. + +See! they are dancing now some gay, newly invented, Spanish dance, +each whirling through the voluptuous mazes of the courtly measure with +her own characteristic air and manner, each evidently pleased with her +partner, each evidently charming him in turn; and the two together +enchaining all eyes, and interesting all spectators, so that a gentle +hum of approbation is heard running through the crowd, as they pause, +blushing and panting from the exertion and excitement of the dance. + +"Fore Gad! she is exquisite, George! I have seen nothing like her in +my time," lisped a superb coxcomb, attired in a splendid civilian's +suit of Pompadour and silver, to a young cornet of the Life Guard who +stood beside him. + +"Which _she_, my lord?" inquired the standard-bearer, in reply. +"Methinks they both deserve your encomiums; but I would fain know +which of the two your lordship means, for fame speaks you a dangerous +rival against whom to enter the lists." + +"What, George!" cried the other, gayly, "are you about to have a throw +for the heiress? Pshaw! it wont do, man--never think of it! Why, +though you are an earl's second son, and date your creation from the +days of Hump-backed Dickon, old Allan would vote you a _novus homo_, +as we used to say at Christ Church. Pshaw! George, go hang yourself! +No one has a chance of winning that fair loveliness, much less of +wearing her, unless he can quarter Sir Japhet's bearings on his coat +armorial." + +"It _is_ the heiress, then, my lord," answered George Delawarr, +merrily. "I thought as much from the first. Well, I'll relieve your +lordship, as you have relieved me, from all fear of rivalry. I am +devoted to the dark beauty. Egad! there's life, there's fire for you! +Why, I should have thought the flash of that eye-glance would have +reduced Jack Greville to cinders in a moment, yet there he stands, as +calm and impassive a puppy as ever dangled a plumed hat, or played +with a sword-knot. Your fair beauty's cold, my lord. Give me that +Italian complexion, and that coal-black hair! Gad zooks! I honor the +girl's spirit for not disguising it with starch and pomatum. There's +more passion in her little finger, than in the whole soul of the +other." + +"You're out there, George Delawarr," returned the peer. "Trust me, it +is not always the quickest flame that burns the strongest; nor the +liveliest girl that feels the most deeply. There's an old saying, and +a true one, that still water aye runs deep. And, trust me, if I know +any thing of the dear, delicious, devilish sex, as methinks I am not +altogether a novice at the trade, if ever Blanche Fitz-Henry love at +all, she will love with her whole soul and heart and spirit. That gay, +laughing brunette will love you with her tongue, her eyes, her head, +and perhaps her fancy--the other, if, as I say, she ever love at all, +will love with her whole being." + +"The broad acres! my lord! all the broad acres!" replied the cornet, +laughing more merrily than before. "Fore Gad! I think it the very +thing for you. For the first Lord St. George was, I believe, in the +ark with Noah, so that you will pass current with the first gentleman +of England. I prithee, my lord, push your suit, and help me on a +little with my dark Dulcinea." + +"Faith! George, I've no objection; and see, this dance is over. Let us +go up and ask their fair hands. You'll have no trouble in ousting that +shallow-pated puppy Jack, and I think I can put the pass on Mr. +privy-counsellor there, although he is simpering so prettily. But, +hold a moment, have you been duly and in form presented to your +black-eyed beauty?" + +"Upon my soul! I hope so, my lord. It were very wrong else; for I have +danced with her three times to-night already." + +"The devil! Well, come along, quick. I see that they are going to +announce supper, so soon as this next dance shall be ended; and if we +can engage them now, we shall have their fair company for an hour at +least." + +"I am with you, my lord!" + +And away they sauntered through the crowd, and ere long were coupled +for a little space each to the lady of his choice. + +The dance was soon over, and then, as Lord St. George had surmised, +supper was announced, and the cavaliers led their ladies to the +sumptuous board, and there attended them with all that courtly and +respectful service, which, like many another good thing, has passed +away and been forgotten with the diamond-hilted sword, and the full +bottomed periwig. + +George Delawarr was full as ever of gay quips and merry repartees; his +wit was as sparkling as the champagne which in some degree inspired +it, and as innocent. There was no touch of bitterness or satire in his +polished and gentle humor; no envy or dislike pointed his quick, +epigrammatic speech; but all was clear, light, and transparent, as the +sunny air at noonday. Nor was his conversation altogether light and +mirthful. There were at times bursts of high enthusiasm, at which he +would himself laugh heartily a moment afterward--there were touches of +passing romance and poetry blending in an under-current with his +fluent mirth; and, above all, there was an evident strain of right +feeling, of appreciation of all that was great and generous and good, +predominant above romance and wit, perceptible in every word he +uttered. + +And Agnes listened, and laughed, and flung back skillfully and +cleverly the ball of conversation, as he tossed it to her. She was +pleased, it was evident, and amused. But she was pleased only as with +a clever actor, a brilliant performer on some new instrument now heard +for the first time. The gay, wild humor of the young man hit her +fancy; his mad wit struck a kindred chord in her mind; but the latent +poetry and romance passed unheeded, and the noblest point of all, the +good and gracious feelings, made no impression on the polished but +hard surface of the bright maiden's heart. + +Meantime, how fared the peer with the calmer and gentler sister? Less +brilliant than George Delawarr, he had traveled much, had seen more of +men and things, had a more cultivated mind, was more of a scholar, and +no less of a gentleman, scarce less perhaps of a soldier; for he had +served a campaign or two in his early youth in the Low Countries. + +He was a noble and honorable man, clever, and eloquent, and well +esteemed--a little, perhaps, spoiled by that good esteem, a little too +confident of himself, too conscious of his own good mien and good +parts, and a little hardened, if very much polished, by continual +contact with the world. + +He was, however, an easy and agreeable talker, accustomed to the +society of ladies, in which he was held to shine, and fond of shining. +He exerted himself also that night, partly because he was really +struck with Blanche's grace and beauty, partly because Delawarr's +liveliness and wit excited him to a sort of playful rivalry. + +Still, he was not successful; for though Blanche listened graciously, +and smiled in the right places, and spoke in answer pleasantly and +well, when she did speak, and evidently wished to appear and to be +amused; her mind was at times absent and distracted, and it could not +long escape the observation of so thorough a man of the world as Lord +St. George, that he had not made that impression on the young country +damsel which he was wont to make, with one half the effort, on what +might be supposed more difficult ladies. + +But though he saw this plainly, he was too much of a gentleman to be +either piqued or annoyed; and if any thing he exerted himself the more +to please, when he believed exertion useless; and by degrees his +gentle partner laid aside her abstraction, and entered into the spirit +of the hour with something of her sister's mirth, though with a +quieter and more chastened tone. + +It was a pleasant party, and a merry evening; but like all other +things, merry or sad, it had its end, and passed away, and by many was +forgotten; but there were two persons present there who never while +they lived forgot that evening--for there were other two, to whom it +was indeed the commencement of the end. + +But the hour for parting had arrived, and with the ceremonious +greetings of those days, deep bows and stately courtesies, and kissing +of fair hands, and humble requests to be permitted to pay their duty +on the following day, the cavaliers and ladies parted. + +When the two gallants stood together in the great hall, George +Delawarr turned suddenly to the peer-- + +"Where the deuce are you going to sleep to-night, St. George? You came +down hither all the way from London, did you not? You surely do not +mean to return to-night." + +"I surely do not _wish_ it, you mean, George. No, truly. But I do mean +it. For my fellows tell me that there is not a bed to be had for love, +which does not at all surprise me, or for money, which I confess does +somewhat, in Eton, Slough, or Windsor. And if I must go back to +Brentford or to Hounslow, as well at once to London." + +"Come with me! Come with me, St. George. I can give you quarters in +the barracks, and a good breakfast, and a game of tennis if you will; +and afterward, if you like, we'll ride over and see how these +bright-eyed beauties look by daylight, after all this night-work." + +"A good offer, George, and I'll take it as it is offered." + +"How are you here? In a great lumbering coach I suppose. Well, look +you, I have got two horses here; you shall take mine, and I'll ride on +my fellow's, who shall go with your people and pilot them on the road, +else they'll be getting that great gilded Noah's ark into +Datchet-ditch. Have you got any tools? Ay! ay! I see you travel well +equipped, if you do ride in your coach. Now your riding-cloak, the +nights are damp here, by the river-side, even in summer; oh! never +mind your pistols, you'll find a brace in my holsters, genuine +Kuchenreuters. I can hit a crown piece with them, for a hundred +guineas, at fifty paces." + +"Heaven send that you never shoot at me with them, if that's the case, +George." + +"Heaven send that I never shoot at any one, my lord, unless it be an +enemy of my king and country, and in open warfare; for so certainly as +I do shoot I shall kill." + +"I do not doubt you, George. But let's be off. The lights are burning +low in the sockets, and these good fellows are evidently tired out +with their share of our festivity. Fore Gad! I believe we are the +last of the guests." + +And with the word, the young men mounted joyously, and galloped away +at the top of their horses' speed to the quarters of the life-guard in +Windsor. + +Half an hour after their departure, the two sisters sat above stairs +in a pleasant chamber, disrobing themselves, with the assistance of +their maidens, of the cumbrous and stiff costumes of the ball-room, +and jesting merrily over the events of the evening. + +"Well, Blanche," said Agnes archly, "confess, siss, who is the lord +paramount, the beau _par excellence_, of the ball? I know, you demure +puss! After all, it is ever the quiet cat that licks the cream. But to +think that on your very first night you should have made such a +conquest. So difficult, too, to please, they say, and all the great +court ladies dying for him." + +"Hush! madcap. I don't know who you mean. At all events, I have not +danced four dances in one evening with one cavalier. Ah! have I caught +you, pretty mistress?" + +"Oh! that was only _poor_ George Delawarr. A paltry cornet in the +guards. He will do well enough to have dangling after one, to play +with, while he amuses one--but fancy, being proud of conquering poor +George! His namesake with the Saint before it were worth a score of +such." + +"Fie, sister!" said Blanche, gravely. "I do not love to hear you talk +so. I am sure he's a very pretty gentleman, and has twice as much head +as my lord, if I'm not mistaken; and three times as much heart." + +"Heart, indeed, siss! Much you know about hearts, I fancy. But, now +that you speak of it, I _will_ try if he has got a heart. If he has, +he will do well to pique some more eligible--" + +"Oh! Agnes, Agnes! I cannot hear you--" + +"Pshaw!" interrupted the younger sister, very bitterly, "this +affectation of sentiment and disinterestedness sits very prettily on +the heiress of Ditton-in-the-Dale, Long Netherby, and Waltham Ferrers, +three manors, and ten thousand pounds a year to buy a bridegroom! Poor +I, with my face for my fortune, must needs make my wit eke out my want +of dowry. And I'm not one, I promise you, siss, to choose love in a +cottage. No, no! Give me your Lord St. George, and I'll make over all +my right and title to poor George Delawarr this minute. Heigho! I +believe the fellow is smitten with me after all. Well, well! I'll have +some fun with him before I have done yet." + +"Agnes," said Blanche, gravely, but reproachfully, "I have long seen +that you are light, and careless whom you wound with your wild words, +but I never thought before that you were bad-hearted." + +"Bad-hearted, sister!" + +"Yes! bad-hearted! To speak to me of manors, or of money, as if for +fifty wills, or five hundred fathers, I would ever profit by a +parent's whim to rob my sister of her portion. As if I would not +rather lie in the cold grave, than that my sister should have a wish +ungratified, which I had power to gratify, much less that she should +narrow down the standard of her choice--the holiest and most sacred +thing on earth--to the miserable scale of wealth and title. Out upon +it! out upon it! Never, while you live, speak so to me again!" + +"Sister, I never will. I did not mean it, sister, dear," cried Agnes, +now much affected, as she saw how vehemently Blanche was moved. "You +should not heed me. You know my wild, rash way, and how I speak +whatever words come first." + +"Those were very meaning words, Agnes--and very bitter, too. They cut +me to the heart," cried the fair girl, bursting into a flood of +passionate tears. + +"Oh! do not--do not, Blanche. Forgive me, dearest! Indeed, indeed, I +meant nothing!" + +"Forgive you, Agnes! I have nothing to forgive. I was not even angry, +but pained, but sorry for you, sister; for sure I am, that if you give +way to this bitter, jealous spirit, you will work much anguish to +yourself, and to all those who love you." + +"Jealous, Blanche!" + +"Yes, Agnes, jealous! But let us say no more. Let this pass, and be +forgotten; but never, dear girl, if you love me, as I think you do, +never _so_ speak to me again." + +"I never, never will." And she fell upon her neck, and kissed her +fondly, as her heart relented, and she felt something of sincere +repentance for the harsh words which she had spoken, and the hard, +bitter feelings which suggested them. + +Another hour, and, clasped in each others' arms, they were sleeping as +sweetly as though no breath of this world's bitterness had ever blown +upon their hearts, or stirred them into momentary strife. + +Peace to their slumbers, and sweet dreams! + +It was, perhaps, an hour or two after noon, and the early dinner of +the time was already over, when the two sisters strolled out into the +gardens, unaccompanied, except by a tall old greyhound, Blanche's +peculiar friend and guardian, and some two or three beautiful +silky-haired King Charles spaniels. + +After loitering for a little while among the trim parterres, and +box-edged terraces, and gathering a few sweet summer flowers, they +turned to avoid the heat, which was excessive, into the dark elm +avenue, and wandered along between the tall black yew hedges, linked +arm-in-arm, indeed, but both silent and abstracted, and neither of +them conscious of the rich melancholy music of the nightingales, which +was ringing all around them in that pleasant solitude. + +Both, indeed, were buried in deep thought; and each, perhaps, for the +first time in her life, felt that her thought was such that she could +not, dared not, communicate it to her sister. + +For Blanche Fitz-Henry had, on the previous night, began, for the +first time in her life, to suspect that she was the owner, for the +time being, of a commodity called a heart, although it may be that the +very suspicion proved in some degree that the possession was about to +pass, if it were not already passing, from her. + +In sober seriousness, it must be confessed that the young cornet of +the Life Guards, although he had made so little impression on her to +whom he had devoted his attentions, had produced an effect different +from any thing which she had ever fell before on the mind of the elder +sister. It was not his good mien, nor his noble air that had struck +her; for though he was a well-made, fine-looking man, of graceful +manners, and high-born carriage, there were twenty men in the room +with whom he could not for five minutes have sustained a comparison in +point of personal appearance. + +His friend, the Viscount St. George, to whom she had lent but a cold +ear, was a far handsomer man. Nor was it his wit and gay humor, and +easy flow of conversation, that had captivated her fancy; although she +certainly did think him the most agreeable man she had ever listened +to. No, it was the under-current of delicate and poetical thought, the +glimpses of a high and noble spirit, which flashed out at times +through the light veil of reckless merriment, which, partly in +compliance with the spirit of the day, and partly because his was a +gay and mirthful nature, he had superinduced over the deeper and +grander points of his character. No; it was a certain originality of +mind, which assured her that, though he might talk lightly, he was one +to feel fervently and deeply--it was the impress of truth, and candor, +and high independence, which was stamped on his every word and action, +that first riveted her attention, and, in spite of her resistance, +half fascinated her imagination. + +This it was that had held her abstracted and apparently indifferent, +while Lord St. George was exerting all his powers of entertainment in +her behalf; this it was that had roused her indignation at hearing her +sister speak so slightingly, and, as it seemed to her, so ungenerously +of one whom she felt intuitively to be good and noble. + +This it was which now held her mute and thoughtful, and almost sad; +for she felt conscious that she was on the verge of loving--loving one +who, for aught that he had shown as yet, cared naught for her, perhaps +even preferred another--and that other her own sister. + +Thereupon her maiden modesty rallied tumultuous to the rescue, and +suggested the shame of giving love unasked, giving it, perchance, to +be scorned--and almost she resolved to stifle the infant feeling in +its birth, and rise superior to the weakness. But when was ever love +vanquished by cold argument, or bound at the chariot-wheels of reason. + +The thought would still rise up prominent, turn her mind to whatever +subject she would, coupled with something of pity at the treatment +which he was like to meet from Agnes, something of vague, unconfessed +pleasure that it was so, and something of secret hope that his eyes +would erelong be opened, and that she might prove, in the end, herself +his consoler. + +And what, meanwhile, were the dreams of Agnes? Bitter--bitter, and +black, and hateful. Oh! it is a terrible consideration, how swiftly +evil thoughts, once admitted to the heart, take root and flourish, and +grow up into a rank and poisonous crop, choking the good grain +utterly, and corrupting the very soil of which they have taken hold. +There is but one hope--but one! To tear them from the root forcibly, +though the heart-strings crack, and the soul trembles, as with a +spiritual earthquake. To nerve the mind firmly and resolutely, yet +humbly withal, and contritely, and with prayer against temptation, +prayer for support from on high--to resist the Evil One with the whole +force of the intellect, the whole truth of the heart, and to stop the +ears steadfastly against the voice of the charmer, charm he never so +wisely. + +But so did not Agnes Fitz-Henry. It is true that on the preceding +night her better feelings had been touched, her heart had relented, +and she had banished, as she thought, the evil counsellors, ambition, +envy, jealousy, and distrust, from her spirit. + +But with the night the better influence passed away, and ere the +morning had well come, the evil spirit had returned to his dwelling +place, and brought with him other spirits, worse and more wicked than +himself. + +The festive scene of the previous evening had, for the first time +opened her eyes fairly to her own position; she read it in the +demeanor of all present; she heard it in the whispers which +unintentionally reached her ears; she felt it intuitively in the +shade--it was not a shade, yet she observed it--of difference +perceptible in the degree of deference and courtesy paid to herself +and to her sister. + +She felt, for the first time, that Blanche was every thing, herself a +mere cipher--that Blanche was the lady of the manor, the cynosure of +all eyes, the queen of all hearts, herself but the lady's poor +relation, the dependent on her bounty, and at the best a creature to +be played with, and petted for her beauty and her wit, without regard +to her feelings, or sympathy for her heart. + +And prepared as she was at all times to resist even just authority +with insolent rebellion; ready as she was always to assume the +defensive, and from that the offensive against all whom she fancied +offenders, how angrily did her heart now boil up, how almost fiercely +did she muster her faculties to resist, to attack, to conquer, to +annihilate all whom she deemed her enemies--and that, for the moment, +was the world. + +Conscious of her own beauty, of her own wit, of her own high and +powerful intellect, perhaps over-confident in her resources, she +determined on that instant that she would devote them all, all to one +purpose, to which she would bend every energy, direct every thought of +her mind--to her own aggrandizement, by means of some great and +splendid marriage, which should set her as far above the heiress of +Ditton-in-the-Dale, as the rich heiress now stood in the world's eye +above the portionless and dependent sister. + +Nor was this all--there was a sterner, harder, and more wicked feeling +yet, springing up in her heart, and whispering the sweetness of +revenge--revenge on that amiable and gentle sister, who, so far from +wronging her, had loved her ever with the tenderest and most +affectionate love, who would have sacrificed her dearest wishes to her +welfare--but whom, in the hardness of her embittered spirit, she could +now see only as an intruder upon her own just rights, a rival on the +stage of fashion, perhaps in the interests of the heart--whom she +already envied, suspected, almost hated. + +And Blanche, at that self-same moment, had resolved to keep watch on +her own heart narrowly, and to observe her sister's bearing toward +George Delawarr, that in case she should perceive her favoring his +suit, she might at once crush down the germ of rising passion, and +sacrifice her own to her dear sister's happiness. + +Alas! Blanche! Alas! Agnes! + +Thus they strolled onward, silently and slowly, until they reached the +little green before the summer-house, which was then the gayest and +most lightsome place that can be imagined, with its rare paintings +glowing in their undimmed hues, its gilding bright and burnished, its +furniture all sumptuous and new, and instead of the dark funereal ivy, +covered with woodbine and rich clustered roses. The windows were all +thrown wide open to the perfumed summer air, and the warm light poured +in through the gaps in the tree-tops, and above the summits of the +then carefully trimmed hedgerows, blithe and golden. + +They entered and sat down, still pensive and abstracted; but erelong +the pleasant and happy influences of the time and place appeared to +operate in some degree on the feelings of both, but especially on the +tranquil and well-ordered mind of the elder sister. She raised her +head suddenly, and was about to speak, when the rapid sound of horses' +feet, unheard on the soft sand until they were hard by, turned her +attention to the window, and the next moment the two young cavaliers, +who were even then uppermost in her mind, came into view, cantering +along slowly on their well-managed chargers. + +Her eye was not quicker than those of the gallant riders, who, seeing +the ladies, whom they had ridden over to visit, sitting by the windows +of the summer-house, checked their horses on the instant, and doffed +their plumed hats. + +"Good faith, fair ladies, we are in fortune's graces to-day," said the +young peer, gracefully, "since having ridden thus far on our way to +pay you our humble devoirs, we meet you thus short of our journey's +end." + +"But how are we to win our way to you," cried Delawarr, "as you sit +there bright _chatelaines_ of your enchanted bower--for I see neither +fairy skiff, piloted by grim-visaged dwarfs, to waft us over, nor even +a stray dragon, by aid of whose broad wings to fly across this mimic +moat, which seems to be something of the deepest?" + +"Oh! gallop on, gay knights," said Agnes, smiling on Lord St. George, +but averting her face somewhat from the cornet, "gallop on to the +lodges, and leaving there your coursers, take the first path on the +left hand, and that will lead you to our presence; and should you +peradventure get entangled in the hornbeam maze, why, one of us two +will bring you the clue, like a second Ariadne. Ride on and we will +meet you. Come, sister, let us walk." + +Blanche had as yet scarcely found words to reply to the greeting of +the gallants, for the coincidence of their arrival with her own +thoughts had embarrassed her a little, and she had blushed crimson as +she caught the eye of George Delawarr fixed on her with a marked +expression, beneath which her own dropped timidly. But now she arose, +and bowing with an easy smile, and a few pleasant words, expressed her +willingness to abide by her sister's plan. + +In a few minutes the ladies met their gallants in the green labyrinth +of which Agnes had spoken, and falling into pairs, for the walk was +too narrow to allow them all four to walk abreast, they strolled in +company toward the Hall. + +What words they said, I am not about to relate--for such +conversations, though infinitely pleasant to the parties, are for the +most part infinitely dull to third persons--but it so fell out, not +without something of forwardness and marked management, which did not +escape the young soldier's rapid eye, on the part of Agnes, that the +order of things which had been on the previous evening was reversed; +the gay, rattling girl attaching herself perforce to the viscount, not +without a sharp and half-sarcastic jest at the expense of her former +partner, and the mild heiress falling to his charge. + +George Delawarr had been smitten, it is true, the night before by the +gayety and rapid intellect of Agnes, as well as by the wild and +peculiar style of her beauty; and it might well have been that the +temporary fascination might have ripened into love. But he was hurt, +and disgusted even more than hurt, by her manner, and observing her +with a watchful eye as she coquetted with his friend, he speedily came +to the conclusion that St. George was right in his estimate of _her_ +character at least, although he now seemed to be flattered and amused +by her evident prepossession in his favor. + +He had not, it is true, been deeply enough touched to feel either +pique or melancholy at this discovery, but was so far heart-whole as +to be rather inclined to laugh at the fickleness of the merry jilt, +than either to repine or to be angry. + +He was by no means the man, however, to cast away the occasion of +pleasure; and walking with so beautiful and soft a creature as +Blanche, he naturally abandoned himself to the tide of the hour, and +in a little while found himself engaged in a conversation, which, if +less sparkling and brilliant, was a thousand times more charming than +that which he had yesterday held with her sister. + +In a short time he had made the discovery that with regard to the +elder sister, too, his friend's penetration had exceeded his own; and +that beneath that calm and tranquil exterior there lay a deep and +powerful mind, stored with a treasury of the richest gems of thought +and feeling. He learned in that long woodland walk that she was, +indeed, a creature both to adore and to be adored; and he, too, like +St. George, was certain, that the happy man whom she should love, +would be loved for himself alone, with the whole fervor, the whole +truth, the whole concentrated passion of a heart, the flow of which +once unloosed, would be but the stronger for the restraint which had +hitherto confined it. + +Erelong, as they reached the wider avenue, the two parties united, and +then, more than ever, he perceived the immense superiority in all +lovable, all feminine points, of the elder to the younger sister; for +Agnes, though brilliant and seemingly thoughtless and spirit-free as +ever, let fall full many a bitter word, many a covert taunt and hidden +sneer, which, with his eyes now opened as they were, he readily +detected, and which Blanche, as he could discover, even through her +graceful quietude, felt, and felt painfully. + +They reached the Hall at length, and were duly welcomed by its master; +refreshments were offered and accepted--and the young men were invited +to return often, and a day was fixed on which they should partake the +hospitalities of Ditton, at least as temporary residents. + +The night was already closing in when they mounted their horses and +withdrew, both well pleased with their visit--for the young lord was +in pursuit of amusement only, and seeing at a glance the coyness of +the heiress, and the somewhat forward coquetry of her sister, he had +accommodated himself to circumstances, and determined that a passing +flirtation with so pretty a girl, and a short _sejour_ at a house so +well-appointed as Ditton, would be no unpleasant substitute for London +in the dog-days; and George Delawarr, like Romeo, had discarded the +imaginary love the moment he found the true Juliet. If not in love, he +certainly was fascinated, charmed; he certainly thought Blanche the +sweetest, and most lovely girl he had ever met, and was well inclined +to believe that she was the best and most admirable. He trembled on +the verge of his fate. + +And she--her destiny was fixed already, and forever! And when she saw +her sister delighted with the attentions of the youthful nobleman, she +smiled to herself, and dreamed a pleasant dream, and gave herself up +to the sweet delusion. She had already asked her own heart "does he +love me?" and though it fluttered sorely, and hesitated for a while, +it did not answer, "No!" + +But as the gentlemen rode homeward, St. George turned shortly on his +companion, and said, gravely, + +"You have changed your mind, Delawarr, and found out that I am right. +Nevertheless, beware! do not, for God's sake, fall in love with her, +or make her love you!" + +The blood flushed fiery-red to the ingenuous brow of George Delawarr, +and he was embarrassed for a moment. Then he tried to turn off his +confusion with a jest. + +"What, jealous, my lord! jealous of a poor cornet, with no other +fortune than an honorable name, and a bright sword! I thought you, +too, had changed your mind, when I saw you flirting so merrily with +that merry brunette." + +"You did see me _flirting_, George--nothing more; and I _have_ changed +my mind, since the beginning, if not since the end of last +evening--for I thought at first that fair Blanche Fitz-Henry would +make me a charming wife; and now I am sure that she would _not_--" + +"Why so, my lord? For God's sake! why say you so?" + +"Because she never would love _me_, George; and _I_ would never marry +any woman, unless I were sure that she both could and did. So you see +that I am not the least jealous; but still I say, don't fall in love +with her--" + +"Faith! St. George, but your admonition comes somewhat late--for I +believe I am half in love with her already." + +"Then stop where you are, and go no deeper--for if I err not, she is +more than half in love with you, too." + +"A strange reason, St. George, wherefore to bid me stop!" + +"A most excellent good one!" replied the other, gravely, and almost +sadly, "for mutual love between you two can only lead to mutual +misery. Her father never would consent to her marrying you more than +he would to her marrying a peasant--the man is perfectly insane on the +subject of title-deeds and heraldry, and will accept no one for his +son-in-law who cannot show as many quarterings as a Spanish grandee, +or a German noble. But, of course, it is of no use talking about it. +Love never yet listened to reason; and, moreover, I suppose what is to +be is to be--come what may." + +"And what will you do, St. George, about Agnes? I think you are +touched there a little!" + +"Not a whit I--honor bright! And for what I will do--amuse myself, +George--amuse myself, and that pretty coquette, too; and if I find her +less of a coquette, with more of a heart than I fancy she has--" he +stopped short, and laughed. + +"Well, what then--what then?" cried George Delawarr. + +"It will be time enough to decide _then_." + +"And so say I, St. George. Meanwhile, I too will amuse myself." + +"Ay! but observe this special difference--what is fun to _you_ may be +death to _her_, for she _has_ a heart, and a fine, and true, and deep +one; may be death to yourself--for you, too, are honorable, and true, +and noble; and that is why I love you, George, and why I speak to you +thus, at the risk of being held meddlesome or impertinent." + +"Oh, never, never!" exclaimed Delawarr, moving his horse closer up to +him, and grasping his hand warmly, "never! You meddlesome or +impertinent! Let me hear no man call you so. But I will think of this. +On my honor, I will think of this that you have said!" + +And he did think of it. Thought of it often, deeply--and the more he +thought, the more he loved Blanche Fitz-Henry. + +Days, weeks, and months rolled on, and still those two young cavaliers +were constant visiters, sometimes alone, sometimes with other gallants +in their company, at Ditton-in-the-Dale. And ever still, despite his +companion's warning, Delawarr lingered by the fair heiress' side, +until both were as deeply enamored as it is possible for two persons +to be, both single-hearted, both endowed with powerful intellect, and +powerful imagination; both of that strong and energetic temperament +which renders all impressions permanent, all strong passions immortal. +It was strange that there should have been two persons, and there were +but two, who discovered nothing of what was passing--suspected nothing +of the deep feelings which possessed the hearts of the young lovers; +while all else marked the growth of liking into love, of love into +that absolute and over-whelming idolatry, which but few souls can +comprehend, and which to those few is the mightiest of blessings or +the blackest of curses. + +And those two, as is oftentimes the case, were the very two whom it +most concerned to perceive, and who imagined themselves the quickest +and the clearest sighted--Allan Fitz-Henry, and the envious Agnes. + +But so true is it that the hope is oft parent to the thought, and the +thought again to security and conviction, that, having in the first +instance made up his mind that Lord St. George would be a most +suitable successor to the name of the family, and secondly, that he +was engaged in prosecuting his suit to the elder daughter, her father +gave himself no further trouble in the matter, but suffered things to +take their own course without interference. + +He saw, indeed, that in public the viscount was more frequently the +companion of Agnes than of Blanche; that there seemed to be a better +and more rapid intelligence between them; and that Blanche appeared +better pleased with George Delawarr's than with the viscount's +company. + +But, to a man blinded by his own wishes and prejudices, such evidences +went as nothing. He set it down at once to the score of timidity on +Blanche's part, and to the desire of avoiding unnecessary notoriety on +St. George's; and saw nothing but what was perfectly natural and +comprehensible, in the fact that the younger sister and the familiar +friend should be the mutual confidents, perhaps the go-betweens, of +the two acknowledged lovers. + +He was in high good-humor, therefore; and as he fancied himself on the +high-road to the full fruition of his schemes, nothing could exceed +his courtesy and kindness to the young cornet, whom he almost +overpowered with those tokens of affection and regard which he did +not choose to lavish on the peer, lest he should be thought to be +courting his alliance. + +Agnes, in the meantime, was so busy in the prosecution of her assault +on Lord St. George's heart, on which she began to believe that she had +made some permanent impression, that she was perfectly contented with +her own position, and was well-disposed to let other people enjoy +themselves, provided they did not interfere with her proceedings. It +is true that, at times, in the very spirit of coquetry, she would +resume her flirtation with George Delawarr, for the double purpose of +piquing the viscount, and playing with the cornet's affections, which, +blinded by self-love, she still believed to be devoted to her pretty +self. + +But Delawarr was so happy in himself, that, without any intention of +playing with Agnes, or deceiving her, he joked and rattled with her +as he would with a sister, and believing that she must understand +their mutual situation, at times treated her with a sort of quiet +fondness, as a man naturally does the sister of his betrothed or his +bride, which effectually completed her hallucination. + +The consequence of all this was, that, while they were unintentionally +deceiving others, they were fatally deceiving themselves likewise; and +of this, it is probable that no one was aware, with the exception of +St. George, who, seeing that his warnings were neglected, did not +choose to meddle further in the matter, although keeping himself ready +to aid the lovers to the utmost of his ability by any means that +should offer. + +In the innocence of their hearts, and the purity of their young love, +they fancied that what was so clear to themselves, must be apparent to +the eyes of others; and they flattered themselves that the lady's +father not only saw, but approved their affection, and that, when the +fitting time should arrive, there would be no obstacle to the +accomplishment of their happiness. + +It is true that Blanche spoke not of her love to her sister, for, +apart from the aversion which a refined and delicate girl must ever +feel to touching on that subject, unless the secret be teased or +coaxed out of her by some near and affectionate friend, there had +grown up a sort of distance, not coldness, nor dislike, nor distrust, +but simply distance, and lack of communication between the sisters +since the night of the birth-day ball. Still Blanche doubted not that +her sister saw and knew all that was passing in her mind, in the same +manner as she read her heart; and it was to her evident liking for +Lord St. George, and the engrossing claim of her own affections on all +her thoughts, and all her time, that she attributed her carelessness +of herself. + +Deeply, however, did she err, and cruelly was she destined to be +undeceived. + +The early days of autumn had arrived, and the woods had donned their +many-colored garments, when on a calm, sweet evening--one of those +quiet and delicious evenings peculiar to that season--Blanche and +George Delawarr had wandered away from the gay concourse which filled +the gardens, and unseen, as they believed, and unsuspected, had turned +into the old labyrinth where first they had begun to love, and were +wrapped in soft dreams of the near approach of more perfect happiness. + +But a quick, hard eye was upon them--the eye of Agnes; for, by chance, +Lord St. George was absent, having been summoned to attend the king at +Windsor; and being left to herself, her busy mind, too busy to rest +for a moment idle, plunged into mischief and malevolence. + +No sooner did she see them turn aside from the broad walk than the +cloud was withdrawn, as if by magic, from her eyes; and she saw almost +intuitively all that had previously escaped her. + +Not a second did she lose, but stealing after the unsuspecting pair +with a noiseless and treacherous step, she followed them, foot by +foot, through the mazes of the clipped hornbeam labyrinth, divided +from them only by the verdant screen, listening to every +half-breathed word of love, and drinking in with greedy ears every +passionate sigh. + +Delawarr's left arm was around Blanche's slender waist, and her right +hand rested on his shoulder; the fingers of their other hands were +entwined lovingly together, as they wandered onward, wrapped each in +the other, unconscious of wrong on their own part, and unsuspicious of +injury from any other. + +Meanwhile, with rage in her eyes, with hell in her heart, Agnes +followed and listened. + +So deadly was her hatred, at that moment, of her sister, so fierce and +overmastering her rage, that it was only by the utmost exertion of +self-control that she could refrain from rushing forward and loading +them with reproaches, with contumely, and with scorn. + +But biting her lips till the blood sprang beneath her pearly teeth, +and clinching her hands so hard that the nails wounded their tender +palms, she did refrain, did subdue the swelling fury of her rebellious +heart, and awaited the hour of more deadly vengeance. + +Vengeance for what? She had not loved George Delawarr--nay, she had +scorned him! Blanche had not robbed her of her lover--nay, in her own +thoughts, she had carried off the admirer, perhaps the future lover, +from the heiress. + +She was the wronger, not the wronged! Then wherefore vengeance? + +Even, _therefore_, reader, because she had wronged her, and knew it; +because her own conscience smote her, and she would fain avenge on the +innocent cause, the pangs which at times rent her own bosom. + +Envious and bitter, she could not endure that Blanche should be loved, +as she felt she was not loved herself, purely, devotedly, forever, and +for herself alone. + +Ambitious, and insatiate of admiration, she could not endure that +George Delawarr, once her captive, whom she still thought her slave, +should shake off his allegiance to herself, much less that he should +dare to love her sister. + +Even while she listened, she suddenly heard Blanche reply to some +words of her lover, which had escaped her watchful ears. + +"Never fear, dearest George; I am sure that he has seen and knows +all--he is the kindest and the best of fathers. I will tell him all +to-morrow, and will have good news for you when you come to see me in +the evening." + +"Never!" exclaimed the fury, stamping upon the ground violently--"by +all my hopes of heaven, never!" + +And with the words she darted away in the direction of the hall as +fast as her feet could carry her over the level greensward; rage +seeming literally to lend her wings, so rapidly did her fiery passions +spur her on the road to impotent revenge. + +Ten minutes afterward, with his face inflamed with fury, his periwig +awry, his dress disordered by the haste with which he had come up, +Allan Fitz-Henry broke upon the unsuspecting lovers. + +Snatching his daughter rudely from the young man's half embrace, he +broke out into a torrent of terrible and furious invective, far more +disgraceful to him who used it, than to those on whom it was vented. + +There was no check to his violence, no moderation on his tongue. +Traitor, and knave, and low-born beggar, were the mildest epithets +which he applied to the high-bred and gallant soldier; while on his +sweet and shrinking child he heaped terms the most opprobrious, the +most unworthy of himself, whether as a father or as a man. + +The blood rushed crimson to the brow of George Delawarr, and his hand +fell, as if by instinct, upon the hilt of his rapier; but the next +moment he withdrew it, and was cool by a mighty effort. + +"From you, sir, any thing! You will be sorry for this to-morrow!" + +"Never, sir! never! Get you gone! base domestic traitor! Get you gone, +lest I call my servants, and bid them spurn you from my premises!" + +"I go, sir--" he began calmly; but at this moment St. George came upon +the scene, having just returned from Windsor, eager, but, alas! too +late, to anticipate the shameful scene--and to him did George Delawarr +turn with unutterable anguish in his eyes. "Bid my men bring my horses +after me, St. George," said he, firmly, but mournfully; "for me, this +is no place any longer. Farewell, sir! you will repent of this. Adieu, +Blanche, we shall meet again, sweet one." + +"Never! dog, never! or with my own hands--" + +"Hush! hush! for shame. Peace, Mister Fitz-Henry, these words are not +such as may pass between gentlemen. Go, George, for God's sake! Go, +and prevent worse scandal," cried the viscount. + +And miserable beyond all comprehension, his dream of bliss thus +cruelly cut short, the young man went his way, leaving his mistress +hanging in a deep swoon, happy to be for a while unconscious of her +misery, upon her father's arm. + +Three days had passed--three dark, dismal, hopeless days. Delawarr did +his duty with his regiment, nay, did it well--but he was utterly +unconscious, his mind was afar off, as of a man walking in a dream. +Late on the third night a small note was put into his hands, blistered +and soiled with tears. A wan smile crossed his face, he ordered his +horses at daybreak, drained a deep draught of wine, sauntered away to +his own chamber, stopping at every two or three paces in deep +meditation; threw himself on his bed, for the first time in his life +without praying, and slept, or seemed to sleep, till daybreak. + +Three days had passed--three dark, dismal, hopeless days! Blanche was +half dead--for she now despaired. All methods had been tried with the +fierce and prejudiced old man, secretly prompted by that +demon-girl--and all tried in vain. Poor Blanche had implored him to +suffer her to resign her birthright in favor of her sister, who would +wed to suit his wishes, but in vain. The generous St. George had +offered to purchase for his friend, as speedily as possible, every +step to the very highest in the service; nay, he had obtained from the +easy monarch a promise to raise him to the peerage, but in vain. + +And Blanche despaired; and St. George left the Hall in sorrow and +disgust that he could effect nothing. + +That evening Blanche's maid, a true and honest girl, delivered to her +mistress a small note, brought by a peasant lad; and within an hour +the boy went thence, the bearer of a billet, blistered and wet with +tears. + +And Blanche crept away unheeded to her chamber, and threw herself upon +her knees, and prayed fervently and long; and casting herself upon her +painful bed, at last wept herself to sleep. + +The morning dawned, merry and clear, and lightsome; and all the face +of nature smiled gladly in the merry sunbeams. + +At the first peep of dawn Blanche started from her restless slumbers, +dressed herself hastily, and creeping down the stairs with a cautious +step, unbarred a postern door, darted out into the free air, without +casting a glance behind her, and fled, with all the speed of mingled +love and terror, down the green avenue toward the gay pavilion--scene +of so many happy hours. + +But again she was watched by an envious eye, and followed by a jealous +foot. + +For scarce ten minutes had elapsed from the time when she issued from +the postern, before Agnes appeared on the threshold, with her dark +face livid and convulsed with passion; and after pausing a moment, as +if in hesitation, followed rapidly in the footsteps of her sister. + +When Blanche reached the summer-house, it was closed and untenanted; +but scarcely had she entered and cast open the blinds of one window +toward the road, before a hard horse-tramp was heard coming up at full +gallop, and in an instant George Delawarr pulled up his panting +charger in the lane, leaped to the ground, swung himself up into the +branches of the great oak-tree, and climbing rapidly along its gnarled +limbs, sprang down on the other side, rushed into the building, and +cast himself at his mistress' feet. + +Agnes was entering the far end of the elm-tree walk as he sprang down +into the little coplanade, but he was too dreadfully preoccupied with +hope and anguish, and almost despair, to observe any thing around him. + +But she saw him, and fearful that she should be too late to arrest +what she supposed to be the lovers' flight, she ran like the wind. + +She neared the doorway--loud voices reached her ears, but whether in +anger, or in supplication, or in sorrow, she could not distinguish. + +Then came a sound that rooted her to the ground on which her flying +foot was planted, in mute terror. + +The round ringing report of a pistol-shot! and ere its echo had begun +to die away, another! + +No shriek, no wail, no word succeeded--all was as silent as the grave. + +Then terror gave her courage, and she rushed madly forward a few +steps, then stood on the threshold horror-stricken. + +Both those young souls, but a few days before so happy, so beloved, +and so loving, had taken their flight--whither? + +Both lay there dead, as they had fallen, but unconvulsed, and graceful +even in death. Neither had groaned or struggled, but as they had +fallen, so they lay, a few feet asunder--her heart and his brain +pierced by the deadly bullets, sped with the accuracy of his +never-erring aim. + +While she stood gazing, in the very stupor of dread, scarce conscious +yet of what had fallen out, a deep voice smote her ear. + +"Base, base girl, this is all your doing!" Then, as if wakening from a +trance, she uttered a long, piercing shriek, darted into the pavilion +between the gory corpses, and flung herself headlong out of the open +window into the pool beneath. + +But she was not fated so to die. A strong hand dragged her out--the +hand of St. George, who, learning that his friend had ridden forth +toward Ditton, had followed him, and arrived too late by scarce a +minute. + +From that day forth Agnes Fitz-Henry was a dull, melancholy maniac. +Never one gleam of momentary light dispersed the shadows of her insane +horror--never one smile crossed her lip, one pleasant thought relieved +her life-long sorrow. Thus lived she; and when death at length came to +restore her spirit's light, she died, and made no sign. + +Allan Fitz-Henry _lived_--a moody misanthropic man, shunning all men, +and shunned of all. In truth, the saddest and most wretched of the +sons of men. + +How that catastrophe fell out none ever knew, and it were useless to +conjecture. + +They were beautiful, they were young, they were happy. The evil days +arrived--and they were wretched, and lacked strength to bear their +wretchedness. They are gone where ONE alone must judge them--may HE +have pity on their weakness. REQUIESCANT! + + + + +THE LOST PLEIAD. + +BY HENRY B. HIRST. + + + Beautiful sisters! tell me, do you ever + Dream of the loved and lost one, she who fell + And faded, in love's turbid, crimson river-- + The sacred secret tell? + Calmly the purple heavens reposed around her, + And, chanting harmonies, she danced along; + Ere Eros in his silken meshes bound her, + Her being passed in song. + + Once on a day she lay in dreamy slumber; + Beside her slept her golden-tongued lyre; + And radiant visions--fancies without number-- + Filled breast and brain with fire. + She dreamed; and, in her dreams, saw, bending o'er her, + A form her fervid fancy deified; + And, waking, viewed the noble one before her, + Who wooed her as his bride. + + What words--what passionate words he breathed, beseeching, + Have long been lost in the descending years: + Nevertheless she listened to his teaching, + Smiling between her tears. + And ever since that hour the happy maiden + Wanders unknown of any one but Jove; + Regretting not the lost Olympian Aidenn + In the Elysium--Love! + + + + +SUNSET AFTER RAIN. + +BY ALFRED B. STREET. + + + All day, with humming and continuous sound, + Streaking the landscape, has the slant rain fall'n; + But now the mist is vanishing; in the west + The dull gray sheet, that shrouded from the sight + The sky, is rent in fragments, and rich streaks + Of tenderest blue are smiling through the clefts. + A dart of sunshine strikes upon the hills, + Then melts. The great clouds whiten, and roll off, + Until a steady blaze of golden light + Kindles the dripping scene. Within the east, + The delicate rainbow suddenly breaks out; + Soft air-breaths flutter round; each tree shakes down + A shower of glittering drops; the woodlands burst + Into a chorus of glad harmony; + And the rich landscape, full of loveliness, + Fades slowly, calmly, sweetly, into night. + Thus, sometimes, is the end of Human life. + In youth and manhood, sorrows may frown round; + But when the sun of Being lowly stoops, + The darkness breaks away--the tears are dried; + The Christian's hope--a rainbow--brightly glows, + And life glides sweet and tranquil to the tomb. + + + + +MONTEZUMA MOGGS. + +THAT WAS TO BE. + + +BY THE LATE JOSEPH C. NEAL. + + +"Now, Moggs--you Moggs--good Moggs--dear Moggs," said his wife, +running through the chromatic scale of matrimonial address, and +modulating her words and her tones from irritation into +tenderness--"yes, Moggs--that's a good soul--I do wish for once you +would try to be a little useful to your family. Stay at home to-day, +Moggs, can't you, while I do the washing? It would be so pleasant, +Moggs--so like old times, to hear you whistling at your work, while I +am busy at mine." + +And a smile of affection stole across the countenance of Mrs. Moggs, +like a stray sunbeam on a cloudy day, breaking up the sharp and fixed +lines of care into which her features had settled as a habitual +expression, and causing her also to look as she did in the "old +times," to which she now so kindly referred. + +"Wont you, Moggs?" added she, laying her hand upon his shoulder, "it +would be so pleasant, dear--wouldn't it? I should not mind hard work, +Moggs, if you were at work near me." + +There was a tear, perhaps, twinkling in the eye of the wife, giving +gentleness to the hard, stony look which she in general wore, caused +by those unceasing troubles of her existence that leave no time for +weeping. Perpetual struggle hardens the heart and dries up the source +of tears. + +"Wont you, Moggs?" + +The idea of combined effort was a pleasant family picture to Mrs. +Moggs, though it did involve not a little of toil. Still, to her +loneliness it was a pleasant picture, accustomed as she had been to +strive alone, and continually, to support existence. But it seems that +perceptions of the pleasant and of the picturesque in such matters, +differ essentially; and Moggs, glancing through the sentimental, and +beyond it, felt determined, as he always did, to avoid the trouble +which it threatened. + +"Can't be," responded Moggs, slightly shrugging his shoulder, as a +hint to his wife that the weight of her hand was oppressive. "Can't +be," continued he, as he set himself industriously--for in this Moggs +was industrious--to the consumption of the best part of the breakfast +that was before him--a breakfast that had been, as usual, provided by +his wife, and prepared by her, while Montezuma Moggs was fast +asleep--an amusement to which, next to eating, Montezuma Moggs was +greatly addicted when at home, as demanding the least possible effort +and exertion on his part. Montezuma Moggs, you see, was in some +respects not a little of an economist; and, as a rule, never made his +appearance in the morning until firmly assured that breakfast was +quite ready--"'most ready," was too indefinite and vague for Montezuma +Moggs--he had been too often tricked from comfort in that way +before--people will so impose on one in this respect--envious people, +who covet your slumbers--such as those who drag the covering off, or +sprinkle water on the unguarded physiognomy. But Moggs took care, in +the excess of his caution, that no time should be lost by him in a +tedious interval of hungry expectation. + +"Say ready--quite ready--and I'll come," muttered he, in that sleepy +debate between bed and breakfast which often consumes so much of time; +and his eyes remained shut and his mouth open until perfectly assured +that all the preliminary arrangements had been completed. "Because," +as Moggs wisely observed, "that half hour before breakfast, reflecting +on sausages and speculating on coffee, if there is sausages and +coffee, frets a man dreadful, and does him more harm than all the rest +of the day put together."--Sagacious Moggs! + +Besides, Moggs has a great respect for himself--much more, probably, +than he has for other people, being the respecter of a person, rather +than of persons, and that person being himself. Moggs, therefore, +disdains the kindling of fires, splitting wood, and all that, +especially of frosty mornings--and eschews the putting on of +kettles--well knowing that if an individual is in the way when the aid +of an individual is required, there is likely to be a requisition on +the individual's services. Montezuma Moggs understood how to "skulk;" +and we all comprehend the fact that to "skulk" judiciously is a fine +political feature, saving much of wear and tear to the body corporate. + +"Mend boots--mind shop--tend baby!--can't be," repeated Moggs, +draining the last drop from his cup--"boots, shops and babies must +mend, mind and tend themselves--I'm going to do something better than +that;" and so Moggs rose leisurely, took his hat, and departed, to +stroll the streets, to talk at the corners, and to read the +bulletin-boards at the newspaper offices, which, as Moggs often +remarks, not only encourages literature, but is also one of the +cheapest of all amusements--vastly more agreeable than if you paid for +it. + +It was a little shop, in one of the poorer sections of the city, where +Montezuma Moggs resided with his family--Mrs. Moggs and five juveniles +of that name and race--a shop of the miscellaneous order, in which was +offered for sale a little, but a very little, of any thing, and every +thing--one of those distressed looking shops which bring a sensation +of dreariness over the mind, and which cause a sinking of the heart +before you have time to ask why you are saddened--a frail and feeble +barrier it seems against penury and famine, to yield at the first +approach of the gaunt enemy--a shop that has no aspect of business +about it, but compels you to think of distraining for rent, of broken +hearts, of sickness, suffering and death. + +It was a shop, moreover--we have all seen the like--with a bell to it, +which rings out an announcement as we open the door, that, few and far +between, there has been an arrival in the way of a customer, though it +may be, as sometimes happens, that the bell, with all its untuned +sharpness, fails to triumph over the din of domestic affairs in the +little back-room, which serves for parlor, and kitchen, and hall, and +proves unavailing to spread the news against the turbulent clamor of +noisy children and a vociferous wife. + +But be patient to the last--even if the bell does prove insufficient +to attract due attention to your majestic presence, whether you come +to make purchases or to avail yourself of the additional proffer made +by the sign appertaining to Moggs exclusively, relative to "Boots and +shoes mended," collateral to which you observe a work-bench in the +corner; still, be patient, and cause the energies of your heel to hold +"wooden discourse" with the sanded floor, as emphatically you cry-- + +"Shop!" and beat with pennies on the counter. + +Be patient; for, look ye, Mrs. Moggs will soon appear, with a flushed +countenance and a soiled garb--her youngest hope, if a young Moggs is +to be called a hope, sobbing loudly on its mother's shoulder, while +the unawed pratlers within, carry on the war with increasing violence. + +"Shop!" + +"Comin'!--what's wanten?" is the sharp and somewhat discourteous +reply, as Mrs. Moggs gives a shake of admonition to her peevish little +charge, and turns half back to the riotous assemblage in the rear. + +Now, we ask it of you as a special favor, that you do not suffer any +shadow of offence to arise at the dash of acerbity that may manifest +itself in the tones of Mrs. Montezuma Moggs. According to our notion +of the world, as it goes, she, and such as she, deserve rather to be +honored than to provoke wrath by the defects of an unpolished and +unguarded manner. She has her troubles, poor woman--gnawing cares, to +which, in all likelihood, yours are but as the gossamer upon the wind, +or as the thistle-down floating upon the summer breeze; and if there +be cash in your pocket, do not, after having caused such a turmoil, +content yourself with simply asking where Jones resides, or Jenkins +lives. It would be cruel--indeed it would. True, Mrs. Moggs expects +little else from one of your dashing style and elegant appearance. +Such a call rarely comes to her but with some profitless query; yet +look around at the sparse candies, the withering apples, and the +forlorn groceries--specimens of which are affixed to the window-panes +in triangular patches of paste and paper--speak they not of poverty? +Purchase, then, if it be but a trifle. + +Mrs. Moggs, unluckily for herself, is possessed of a husband. +Husbands, they say, are often regarded as desirable; and some of them +are spoken of as if they were a blessing. But if the opinion of Mrs. +Moggs were obtained on that score, it would probably be somewhat +different; for be it known that the husband of Mrs. Moggs is of the +kind that is neither useful nor ornamental. He belongs to that +division which addicts itself mainly to laziness--a species of the +biped called husband, which unfortunately is not so rare that we seek +for the specimen only in museums. We know not whether Montezuma Moggs +was or was not born lazy; nor shall we undertake to decide that +laziness is an inherent quality; but as Mrs. Moggs was herself a +thrifty, painstaking woman, as women, to their credit be it spoken, +are apt to be, her lazy husband, as lazy husbands will, in all such +cases, continued to grow and to increase in laziness, shifting every +care from his own broad shoulders to any other shoulders, whether +broad or narrow, strong or wreak, that had no craven shrinkings from +the load, Moggs contenting himself in an indolence which must be seen +to be appreciated by those--husbands or wives--who perform their tasks +in this great work-shop of human effort with becoming zeal and with +conscientious assiduity, regarding laziness as a sin against the great +purposes of their being. If this assumption be true, as we suspect it +is, Montezuma Moggs has much to answer for; though it is a common +occurrence, this falling back into imbecility, if there be any one at +hand willing to ply the oar, as too often shown in the fact that the +children of the industrious are willing to let their parents work, +while the energetic wife has a drag upon her in the shape of a +lounging husband. + +Yes, Mrs. Moggs belongs to the numerous class of women who have what +is well called "a trying time of it." You may recognize them in the +street, by their look of premature age--anxious, hollow-eyed, and worn +to shadows. There is a whole history in every line of their faces, +which tells of unceasing trouble, and their hard, quick movement as +they press onward regardless of all that begirts the way, indicates +those who have no thought to spare from their own immediate +necessities, for comment upon the gay and flaunting world. Little does +ostentation know, as it flashes by in satined arrogance and jeweled +pride, of the sorrow it may jostle from its path; and perhaps it is +happy for us as we move along in smiles and pleasantness, not to +comprehend that the glance which meets our own comes from the +bleakness of a withered heart--withered by penury's unceasing +presence. + +Moggs is in fault--ay, Montezuma Moggs--what, he "mend boots, mind +shop, tend baby," bringing down his lofty aspirations for the future +to be cabined within the miserable confines of the present! + +"Hard work?" sneers Moggs--"yes, if a man sets himself down to hard +work, there he may set--nothing else but hard work will ever come to +him--but if he wont do hard work, then something easier will be sure to +come toddlin' along sooner or later. What can ever find you but hard +work if you are forever in the shop, a thumpin' and a hammerin'? Good +luck never ventures near lap-stones and straps. I never saw any of it +there in the whole course of my life; and I'm waitin' for good luck, +so as to be ready to catch it when it comes by." + +Montezuma Moggs had a turn for politics; and for many a year he +exhibited great activity in that respect, believing confidently that +good luck to himself might grow from town-meetings and elections; and +you may have observed him on the platform when oratory addressed the +"masses," or on the election ground with a placard to his button, and +a whole handfull of tickets. But his luck did not seem to wear that +shape; and politically, Montezuma Moggs at last took his place in the +"innumerable caravan" of the disappointed. And thus, in turn, has he +courted fortune in all her phases, without a smile of recognition from +the blinded goddess. The world never knows its noblest sons; and +Montezuma Moggs was left to sorrow and despair. + +Could he have been honored with a lofty commission, Montezuma Moggs +might have set forth to a revel in the halls of his namesake; but as +one of the rank and file, he could not think of it. And in private +conversation with his sneering friend Quiggens, to whose captiousness +and criticism Moggs submitted, on the score of the cigars occasionally +derivable from that source, he ventured the subjoined remarks relative +to his military dispositions: + +"What I want," said Moggs, "is a large amount of glory, and a bigger +share of pay--a man like me ought to have plenty of both--glory, to +swagger about with, while the people run into the street to stare at +Moggs, all whiskers and glory--and plenty of pay, to make the glory +shine, and to set it off. I wouldn't mind, besides, if I did have a +nice little wound or two, if they've got any that don't hurt much, so +that I might have my arm in a sling, or a black patch on my +countenance. But if I was only one of the rank and file, I'm very much +afraid I might have considerable more of knocks that would hurt a +great deal, than I should of either the pay or the glory--that's what +troubles me in the milentary way. But make me a gineral, and then, +I'll talk to you about the matter--make me a gineral ossifer, with the +commission, and the feathers, and the cocked-hat--plenty of pay, and a +large slice of rations--there's nothing like rations--and then I'll +talk to you like a book. Then I'll pledge you my lives, and my +fortunes, and my sacred honors--all of 'em--that I will furnish the +genus whenever it is wanted--genus in great big gloves, monstrous long +boots, and astride of a hoss that scatters the little boys like +Boston, whenever I touch the critter with my long spurs, to astonish +the ladies. Oh, get out!--do you think I couldn't play gineral and +look black as thunder, for such pay as ginerals get? I'd do it for +half the money, and I'd not only do it cheaper, but considerable +better than you ever see it done the best Fourth of July you ever met +with. At present, I know I've not much rations, and no money at +all--money's skurse--but as for genus--look at my eye--isn't genus +there?--observation my nose--isn't it a Boneyparte?--aint I sevagerous +about the mouth?--I tell you, Quiggens, there's whole lots of a hero +in this little gentleman. I've so much genus that I can't work. When a +man's genus is a workin' in his upper story, and mine always is, then +his hands has to be idle, so's not to interrupt his genus." + +"Yes," responded Quiggens, who is rather of the satirical turn, as one +is likely to be who has driven the "Black Maria," and has thus found +out that the world is all a fleeting show; "yes, you've got so much +genus in your upper story that it has made a hole in the crown of your +hat, so it can see what sort of weather is going on out of doors--and +it's your genus, I reckon, that's peeping out of your elbows. Why +don't you ask your genus to patch your knees, and to mend the holes in +your boots?" + +"Quiggens, go 'way, Quiggens--you're of the common natur', Quiggens--a +vulgar fraction, Quiggens; and you can't understand an indiwidooal who +has a mind inside of his hat, and a whole soul packed away under his +jacket. You'll never rise, a flutterin' and a ringin' like a +bald-headed eagle--men like you have got no wings, and can only go +about nibblin' the grass, while we fly up and peck cherries from the +trees. I'm always thinkin' on what I'm going to be, and a preparin' +myself for what natur' intended, though I don't know exactly what it +is yet. But I don't believe that sich a man as Montezuma Moggs was +brought into the world only to put patches on shoes and to heel-tap +people's boots. No, Quiggens--no--it can't be, Quiggens. But you don't +understand, and I'll have to talk to my genus. It's the only friend I +have." + +"Why don't you ask your genus to lend you a fip then, or see whether +it's got any cigars to give away," replied Quiggs contemptuously, as +he walked up the street, while Moggs, in offended majesty, stalked +sulkily off in another direction. + +"I would go somewheres, if I only knew where to go to," soliloquized +Moggs, as he strolled slowly along the deserted streets; "but when +there's nowheres to go to, then I suppose a person must go +home--specially of cold nights like this, when the thermometer is down +as far as Nero, and acts cruel on the countenance. It's always colder, +too, when there's nobody about but yourself--you get your own share +and every body else's besides; and it's lucky if you're not friz. Why +don't they have gloves for people's noses? I ought to have a +carriage--yes, and horses--ay, and a colored gemman to drive 'em, to +say nothing of a big house warmed all over, with curtains to the +windows. And why haven't I? Isn't Montezuma Moggs as good as +anybody--isn't he as big--as full of genus? It's cold now, a footin' +it round. But I'll wait--perhaps there's a good time comin', +boys--there must be a good time, for there isn't any sort of times in +the place where they keep time, which can be worse times than these +times. But here's home--here's where you must go when you don't know +what to do with yourself. Whenever a man tells you he has nowheres to +go to, or says he's goin' nowheres, that man's a crawlin' home, +because he can't help it. Well, well--there's nothin' else to be did, +and so somebody must turn out and let me in home." + +It appeared, however, that Montezuma Moggs erred in part in this +calculation. It is true enough that he knocked and knocked for +admission at the door of his domicile; but the muscular effort thus +employed seemed to serve no other purpose than that of exercise. Tired +with the employment of his hands in this regard, Moggs resorted to his +feet--then tried his knee, and anon his back, after the usual +desperate variety of such appeal resorted to by the "great locked +out," when they become a little savage or so at the delay to which +they are subjected. Sometimes, also, he would rap fiercely, and then +apply his eye to the key-hole, as if to watch for the effect of his +rapping. "I don't see 'em," groaned he. And then again, his ear would +be placed against the lock--"I don't hear 'em either." There were +moments when he would frantically kick the door, and then rush as +frantically to the middle of the street, to look at the windows; but +no sign of animation from within peered forth to cheer him. After full +an hour of toil and of hope deferred, Montezuma Moggs tossed his arms +aloft in despair--let them fall listlessly at his side, and then sat +down upon the curb-stone to weep, while the neighbors looked upon him +from their respective windows; a benevolent few, not afraid of +catching cold, coming down to him with their condolements. None, +however, offered a resting place to the homeless, unsheltered and +despairing Moggs. + +In the course of his musings and mournings, as he sat chattering with +cold, a loosened paving-stone arrested his attention; and, with the +instinct of genius, which catches comfort and assistance from means +apparently the most trivial, and unpromising in their aspect, the +paving-stone seemed to impart an idea to Montezuma Moggs, in this "his +last and fearfulest extremity." Grappling this new weapon in both his +hands, he raised it and poised it aloft. + +"I shall make a ten-strike now," exclaimed he, as he launched the +missile at the door with herculean force, and himself remained in +classic attitude watching the effect of the shot, as the door groaned, +and creaked, and splintered under the unwonted infliction. Still, +however, it did not give way before this application of force, though +the prospect was encouraging. The observers laughed--Moggs +chuckled--the dogs barked louder than before; and indeed it seemed all +round as if a new light had been cast upon the subject. + +"Hongcore!" cried somebody. + +"I will," said Moggs, preparing to demonstrate accordingly. + +"Stop there," said the voice of Mrs. Montezuma Moggs, as she raised +the window, "if you hongcore the door of this 'ere house again, I'll +call the watch, to see what he thinks of such doings, I will. And now, +once for all, you can't come in here to-night." + +"Can't, indeed!--why can't I?--not come into my own house! Do you +call this a free country, on the gineral average, if such rebellions +are to be tolerated?" + +"Your house, Mr. Moggs--yours?--who pays the rent, Moggs--who feeds +you and the children, Moggs--who finds the fire and every thing else? +Tell us that?" + +This was somewhat of the nature of a home-thrust, and Moggs, rather +conscience-stricken, was dumb-founded and appalled. Moggs was very +cold, and therefore, for the time being, deficient in his usual pride +and self-esteem, leaving himself more pervious to the assault of +reproach from without and within, than he would have been in a more +genial state of the atmosphere. No man is courageous when he is +thoroughly chilled; and it had become painfully evident that this was +not a momentary riot, but an enduring revolution, through the +intermedium of a civil war. + +"Ho, ho!" faintly responded Moggs, though once more preparing to carry +the citadel by storm, "I'll settle this business in a twinkling." + +Splash! + +Any thing but cold water in quantity at a crisis like this. Who could +endure a shower-bath under such ungenial circumstances? Not Priessnitz +himself. It is not, then, to be wondered at that Montezuma Moggs now +quailed, having nothing in him of the amphibious nature. + +"Water is cheap, Mr. Moggs; and you'd better take keer. There's +several buckets yet up here of unkommon cold water, all of which is at +your service without charge--wont ask you nothin', Moggs, for your +washin'; and if you're feverish, may be it will do you good." + +Everybody laughed, as you know everybody will, at any other body's +misfortune or disaster. Everybody laughed but Moggs, and he shivered. + +"I'll sattinly ketch my death," moaned he; "I'll be friz, standing +straight up, like a big icicle; or if I fall over when I'm friz, the +boys will slide on me as they go to school, and call it fun as they go +whizzing over my countenance with nails in their shoes, scratching my +physimohogany all to pieces. They tell me that being friz is an easy +death--that you go to sleep and don't know nothing about it. I wish +they'd get their wives to slouse 'em all over with a bucket of water, +on sich a night as this, and then try whether it is easy. Call being +friz hard an easy thing! I'd rather be biled any time. What shill I +do--what shill I do?" + +"Perhaps they'll put you in an ice-house, and kiver you up with tan +till summer comes--you'd be good for something then, which is more nor +you are now," observed Mrs. Moggs from the window. + +"Quit twitting a man with his misfortunes," whined Montezuma, of the +now broken-heart. + +"Why, my duck!" + +"Y-e-e-s--y-e-e-s! that's it--I am a duck, indeed! but by morning I'll +be only a snow-ball--the boys will take my head for a snow-ball. What +shill I do--I guvs up, and I guvs in." + +"Well, I'll tell you, Montezuma Moggs, what you must do to be thawed. +Promise me faithfully only to work half as hard as I do, and you may +come to the fire--the ten-plate stove is almost red-hot. Promise to +mend boots, mind shop, and tend baby; them's the terms--that's the +price of admission." + +Hard terms, certainly--the severest of terms--but then hard terms, and +severe terms, are good terms, if no other terms are to be had. One +must do the best he can in this world, if it be imperative upon him to +do something, as it evidently was in Moggs' case. + +"I promise," shivered Moggs. + +"Promise what?" + +"T-t-to tend baby, m-m-mind shop, and m-m-mend boots;" and the +vanquished Moggs sank down exhausted, proving, beyond the possibility +of doubt, that cold water, when skillfully applied of a cold night, is +the sovereignest thing on earth for the cure of "genus" in its lazier +branches. + +It is but justice, however, to state, that Moggs kept his word +faithfully, in which he contradicted the general expectation, which, +with reason enough in the main, places but little reliance on +promises; and he became, for him, quite an industrious person. His +wife's buckets served as a continual remembrancer. But Mrs. Moggs +never exulted over his defeat; and, though once compelled to +harshness, continued to be to Montezuma a most excellent wife. The +shop looks lively now--and the bell to the door is removed; for Moggs, +with his rat-tat-tat, is ever at his post, doing admired execution on +the dilapidated boots and shoes. The Moggses prosper, and all through +the efficacy of a bucket of cold water. We should not wonder if, in +the end, the Moggs family were to become rich, through the force of +industry, and without recourse to "genus." + +"Politics and me has shuck hands forever," said the repentant Moggs. +"I've been looking out and expecting loaves and fishes long enough. +Loaves, indeed! Why I never got even a cracker, unless it was aside of +the ear, when there was a row on the election ground; and as for +fishes, why, if I'd stopped any longer for them to come swimming up to +my mouth, all ready fried, with pepper on 'em, I wouldn't even have +been decent food for fishes myself. I never got a nibble, let alone a +bite; but somebody else always cotch'd the fish, and asked me to carry +'em home for them. Fact is, if people wont wote for me, I wont wote +for people. And as for the milentary line, I give up in a gineral way, +all idea of being a gineral ossifer. Bonyparte is dead, and if my +milentary genus was so great that I couldn't sleep for it, who'd hunt +me up and put me at the head of affairs? No, if I'm wanted for any +thing, they'll have to call me. I've dodged about winkin' and noddin' +as long as the country had any right to expect, and now--rat-tat-tat--I'm +going to work for myself." + +It was a wise conclusion on the part of Moggs, who may, perchance, in +this way, be a "gineral" yet. + + + + +THE BRIDE'S CONFESSION. + +BY ALICE G. LEE. + + + A sudden thrill passed through my heart, + Wild and intense--yet not of pain-- + I strove to quell quick, bounding throbs, + And scanned the sentence o'er again. + It might have been full idly penned + By one whose thoughts from love were free, + And yet as if entranced I read + "Thou art most beautiful to me." + + Thou didst not whisper I was loved-- + There were no gleams of tenderness, + Save those my trembling heart _would_ hope + That careless sentence might express. + But while the blinding tears fell fast, + Until the words I scarce could see, + There shone, as through a wreathing mist, + "Thou art most beautiful to me." + + To thee! I cared not for all eyes + So I was beautiful in thine! + A timid star, my faint, sad beams + Upon _thy_ path alone should shine. + Oh what was praise, save from thy lips-- + And love should all unheeded be + So I could hear thy blessed voice + Say--"Thou art beautiful to me." + + And I _have heard_ those very words-- + Blushing beneath thine earnest gaze-- + Though thou, perchance, hadst quite forgot + They had been said in by-gone days. + While clasped hand, and circling arm, + Drew me nearer still to thee-- + Thy low voice breathed upon mine ear + "Thou, love, art beautiful to me." + + And, dearest, though thine eyes alone + May see in me a single grace-- + I care not so thou e'er canst find + A hidden sweetness in my face. + And if, as years and cares steal on, + Even that lingering light must flee, + What matter! if from thee I hear + "Thou art _still_ beautiful to me!" + + + + +SONNET TO NIGHT. + + + Oh! look, my love, as over seas and lands + Comes shadowy Night, with dew, and peace, and rest; + How every flower clasps its folded hands + And fondly leans apon her faithful breast. + How still, how calm, is all around us now, + From the high stars to these pale buds beneath-- + Calm, as the quiet on an infant's brow + Rocked to deep slumber in the lap of death. + Oh! hush--move not--it is a holy hour + And this soft nurse of nature, bending low, + Lists, like the sinless pair in Eden's bower, + For angels' pinions waving to and fro-- + Oh, sacred Night! what mysteries are thine + Graven in stars upon thy page divine. + GRETTA. + + + + +PAULINE DUMESNIL. + +OR A MARRIAGE DE CONVENANCE. + +BY ANGELE DE V. HULL. + + + The reason firm, the temperate will, + Endurance, foresight, strength and skill + A perfect woman, nobly planned. WORDSWORTH. + + +In a large but somewhat scantily furnished apartment sat two young +girls, in such earnest and apparently serious conversation that, but +for their youthful and blooming countenances, one might have fancied +them bending beneath the cares and sorrows of age. On the dark old +table between them rested a magnificent work-box, whose rich +implements they had been busily and skillfully using; but now the +scissors and thread lay at their feet, their needles were dropped, and +the younger of the two sat with clasped hands, while her companion's +low tones appeared to awaken every emotion of her heart. + +On the old-fashioned French bedstead were thrown dresses of various +hues and expensive stuffs, while one only, a robe of the most delicate +material, its graceful folds looped with orange flowers, seemed to +attract the attention of the fair, fragile being, whose attitude was +one of intense suffering. Her bright hopes had faded at sight of that +colorless garb, and the bridal wreath was to wither on her brow! What +to her sad soul were the costly things before her? The jewels that +sparkled on their snow-white satin case, the long fairy veil of +beautiful lace that lay side by side with the bridal dress? + +Her companion continued speaking, and she bowed her face upon those +clasped hands, while her slight frame shook with its contending +emotions. A few moments more and she raised her head. She was pale, +and her large, dark eyes dilated into fearful size. At length the big +drops came slowly down her cheek, and she was able to speak. + +"No more, Angela, no more! You love me, I know; but what you have done +to day was no act of friendship. You have troubled the dark waters of +my soul until they have become a torrent over which I have no +control." + +"And it is because I love you, Pauline, that I have made your future +life manifest to you. Do not seek to make a merit of obedience to your +proud mother's will. It is because you have been taught to fear her, +that you have consented to perjure yourself, and marry a man you +cannot love." + +"For the love of heaven, spare me!" cried the girl, shrinking from her +friend's words, "Is it to triumph over me that you thus seek to move +me?" + +Her friend gazed mournfully upon her, and rising from her seat, gently +put her arm around her. + +"My poor Pauline! my dear Pauline!" murmured she, "I have been +cruel--forgive me." + +Her answer was a fervent embrace--and throwing their arms round one +another, they wept in silence. + +At this moment the door opened, and a lady entered. She was tall and +majestic, but there was an expression of pride and extreme hauteur on +her countenance. She wore a handsome but faded dress, and the somewhat +high-crowned cap bespoke a love of former fashions. She had a foreign +air, and when she addressed her daughter, it was in French. + +"How is this!" cried she, angrily. "What scenes are these, Pauline? As +often as I enter your room I find you in tears. Is it to your advice, +Mademoiselle Percy, that my daughter owes her red eyes?" + +Angela was about to reply, but Pauline waved her back. + +"Is it, then, a crime to weep, mamma? If there were no tears, the +heart would break." + +"It is a crime, Pauline, to resist the will of your mother, when she +has provided for your happiness in a manner suitable to your rank and +birth. It is a crime to break the fifth commandment, which tells you +to honor and obey your mother." + +"And have I not done both," cried Pauline, indignantly. "Have you not +sold my happiness? Have you not bartered perhaps my eternal welfare, +that I might lay my aching head upon the downy pillows of the rich, +that you might see me a wretched slave, writhing under chains not the +less heavy because they are of gold?" + +"Have you been reading Racine this morning? Or have you been studying +for the stage?" said Madame Dumesnil, in a cold, scornful tone. "You +are a good actress, certainly." + +Pauline sank upon a chair, and her friend stood beside her, pressing +her trembling hand. Her mother advanced and stood before her. + +"We will have no more of this, Pauline. If I feel satisfied that my +duty is done, you should rejoice in obeying me. I alone am the judge +in this matter--children should ever be contented with allowing their +parents to act for them; and allow me to say, that any interference of +strangers upon an occasion like this, is exceedingly misplaced." + +This was aimed at Angela Percy; but she only replied by a wondering +and mournful gaze to the stern, cold woman before her. The old lady +proceeded. + +"Bathe your eyes, Pauline, and arrange your hair. Monsieur de +Vaissiere is below. Perhaps," added she, with a sneer, "perhaps that +Miss Percy will assist you in entertaining your lover." + +Pauline started and shuddered, but by this time she had again yielded +to her mother's influence. Going to the glass, she smoothed her dark +hair, and endeavored to abate the swelling of her eyes. Bidding +farewell to her friend, she descended to the parlor, where her +affianced husband awaited her. + +He was tall, and his appearance _distingue_; but he, too, looked stern +and cold as he rose to meet that young creature, whose nineteen +summers were more than doubled by his years. He was handsome also; but +where was the youthful ardor that should have been roused at the idea +of winning that fair girl's love? Where were the sunny hopes to meet +hers, the dreams of the future that _he_ wanted? His willingness to +accept the sacrifice was no proof of his gentleness; and the cheek of +his betrothed grew pale, and her hand was cold, as he led her to a +seat. + +Pauline had been bred to the hard forcing-school of the _ancien +regime_. Her mother had left France on the terrible death of her +beloved queen, Marie Antoinette, and had passed from the high post of +_dame d'honneur_, to poverty and exile in America. The sale of her +magnificent jewels and massive silver, had enabled her to lease an old +roomy mansion, deserted by its owners, and to live in peace and +retirement. Here, with the recollection of the horrors of the +revolution fresh within her memory, while her heart was still bleeding +with the wounds it had received; while she still had before her the +mangled remains of her sovereigns--the bleeding head of her husband, +torn from her in the days of their early love; in the midst of these +agonizing thoughts, she gave birth to a posthumous child--the heroine +of our story. Clasping her babe to her breast, Madame Dumesnil +bitterly recalled the many plans of happiness her murdered husband had +made in anticipation of its coming--his affection for _her_--his +anxiety for her safety--their parting, and the subsequent news of his +execution. Those lips were mute whose words of tenderness were to +soothe her in her hour of suffering; that hand was cold that would +have rested on her brow; that heart was still that would have bounded +with a father's love at sight of the tiny, helpless creature that lay +upon her arm. + +Madame Dumesnil, the young, the lovely, and the gentle, became silent, +reserved, and harsh. Nothing could swerve her from a determination +made, and with feelings of the deepest parental affection for her +daughter, she had crushed and broken her spirit in the sweet +spring-time of her childhood. + +From the time Pauline was old enough to form a desire, she learned to +hear it opposed. "_Une petite fille attend qu'on lui donne se qui lui +faut_," was the invariable reply to all her childish longings. +According to the old French system, every slight offence was followed +by her mother's "_Allez vous coucher, mademoiselle_;" so that half her +life was spent in bed, while she lay awake with the bright, broad +daylight around her, the hour when other children are strengthening +their little limbs in the active enjoyment of God's free, fresh air. + +As she grew older, she was taught that "_une demoiselle bien elevee +n'a pas d'opinions_," that her parents judged and decided for her; +and while she sat erect upon a high stool, accomplishing her daily +tasks in silence, her heart nearly burst with the pent-up feelings of +her young imagination. Wherever she went her mother's old +waiting-woman was behind her. "Miss Pauline, hold yourself straight; +Miss Pauline, turn out your feet--your head, mademoiselle--your arms!" +Poor girl! she was well-nigh distracted with these incessant +admonitions. + +In her walks she met Angela Percy and her father. They had lately +settled in the neighborhood, and having no acquaintances, gladly made +advances to the timid Pauline. Nothing daunted by her shyness and +reserve, Angela, some years her senior, persevered, and overcame it. +She was an enthusiastic, high-minded girl, and soon pointed out to her +companion new views and new ideas of the world from which she had been +excluded. The intimacy was formed ere Madame Dumesnil could prevent +it, and at the instances of old Jeannette, who begged that +Mademoiselle Pauline might have a friend of her own age--some one to +talk to, besides two old women, she consented to allow the friendship +to continue, provided Jeannette were present at every interview. This +was easily promised, but the nurse's stiff limbs were no match for the +agile supple ones of her young charges. Day by day she loitered +behind, while Pauline and Angela, with their arms entwined, continued +in eager and undisturbed enjoyment of one another's society. Jeannette +remarked a glow upon her young lady's cheek, and a light in her +eye--new charms in her hitherto pale, resigned countenance; and, wiser +than her mistress, concluded that the acquisition of a youthful friend +was fast pouring happiness into her lonely heart. + +Three years passed in this pleasant intercourse, when the monotony of +their lives was broken by the arrival of an old friend of Madame +Dumesnil--a Monsieur de Vaissiere. When they had last met, she was in +the morning of her beauty and bliss, he a handsome youth, for whom +many a fair one had sighed, and in vain--as he was still unmarried. +What a change! He could not recognize the lovely young countess, whose +marriage had been attended with so much eclat--so many rejoicings; nor +could she see one vestige of the blooming countenance, the delicate +profile, and the jet-black wavy locks that once shaded his fair, open +brow. But these works of time were soon forgotten, and the desire of +the proud, harsh mother was accomplished when, after a few weeks, M. +de Vaissiere proposed for the hapless Pauline. Unconsciously, but with +the thoughtlessness of selfishness, Madame Dumesnil sacrificed her +child to her prejudices. M. de Vaissiere's opinions and _hers_ were +the same; their admiration of _le vieux systeme_--their fond +recollection of the unfortunate monarch, whose weakness they had never +reproached him with, even in their secret souls--their abhorrence of +Bonaparte--their contempt for _la noblesse Napoleonne_--their upturned +noses at their adopted countrymen, _les Americains_--their want of +faith in hearts and love--the sinecure-ism of young people--their +presumption--their misfortune being that they _were_ young and not +born old--and finally, the coincidence of opinions wherein both looked +upon the white-headed suitor as a most eligible husband for the young, +the blooming, the beautiful Pauline. + +M. de Vaissiere settled a _dot_ upon his _fiancee_, and ordered a +_trousseau_ and a _corbeille_, not forgetting the _cachemire_. The +preliminaries were arranged, the day hinted at, and Pauline was +informed with a flourish of trumpets that her destiny was fixed. + +She listened to her mother's rhapsodies over the admirable _parti_ +Providence had enabled her to provide for her child in the wilderness +of America; she heard her enlarge upon her own excellence as a parent, +of the favor she had conferred upon her in bringing her into the +world; of her consequent obligations, and the gratitude she owed her +mother when she recollected that not content with giving her life, she +had clothed, fed, and supported her until now. All this Pauline +received in a silence that resembled stupor; but when M. de Vaissiere +was again mentioned, she fell, with a scream of terror, at her +mother's feet. + +In vain she wept and entreated; in vain she protested against the +disparity of age, the utter want of congeniality, the absence of all +affection, Madame Dumesnil was too much incensed to reply. With a +gesture that Pauline well understood, (for it was used to express +maledictions of every description,) she left the room, and locking the +door, kept her daughter prisoner for the rest of the day. + +She treated this resistance to her will as one of the unhappy +consequences of living in a republican country. She suspected Angela +of communicating American ideas of independence to her daughter, and +would have added to her wretchedness by forbidding further intercourse +between the two friends. But Jeannette again interfered; she knew that +Pauline's doom was sealed, and that it would be more than cruel to +deprive her of the companion she loved. She herself carried the note +that conveyed the intelligence of Pauline's coming fate to the +indignant Angela, and extended her walks that her poor young lady +might derive what consolation she could from her friend's willing +sympathy. Many were the tears she shed, many the sighs that burst from +her oppressed heart, as the poor old creature followed behind them. +Once she had summoned courage sufficient to expostulate with her +mistress upon the cruelty of her conduct to her daughter; but she was +haughtily dismissed. + +Every effort had been made, and at length Angela appealed to Pauline. +She entreated her to be more firm, and to declare her resolution never +to marry where she could not love. + +"Rouse yourself, Pauline--the misery of a lifetime is before you, and +it is not yet too late." + +"I have done every thing, Angela," said Pauline, despairingly. "My +doom is sealed, and I must bend to my bitter fate. I would fly, but +that I could not survive my mother's curse." + +"The curse of the unrighteous availeth naught," replied her friend, +solemnly. "Were you wrongfully opposing your mother's will, mine +would be the last voice to uphold you; but now your very soul is at +stake." + +Pauline cast up her eyes in mute appeal to heaven. Her companion +became excited as she proceeded, depicting the horrors of an unequal +marriage. Pale and exhausted, her listener at length entreated her to +forbear. She had been too long the slave of her mother's wishes to +oppose them now; she had been drilled into fear until it was a +weakness. This her bold-hearted, energetic friend could not +understand; and it was on her reproaching Pauline with moral cowardice +that she, for the first time, resented what had in fact been patiently +borne. + +We have seen how kindly Angela forgave the accusation, and how she +wept over the effect of her words. The sudden entrance of Madame +Dumesnil put an end to the conversation, and the friends separated. + +The next morning Angela was at Pauline's side again. Silently she +assisted in decorating the victim for the sacrifice. The bright jewels +clasped her arm and neck; the long veil hung around her slender form; +the orange wreath rested on the dark, dark tresses--and the dress was +beautiful. But the bride! she was pale and ghastly, and her lips blue +and quivering. Her eyes were void of all expression--those liquid, +lustrous eyes; and ever and anon the large drops rolled over her face, +oozing from the depths of her heart. + +Poor Jeannette turned away, sobbing convulsively as the finishing +touches were given to this sad bridal toilette. Angela remained firm +and collected, but she, too, was pale; her cherished companion was +gone from her forever--gone in such misery, too, that she almost +prayed to see her the corpse she at that moment resembled. + +Madame Dumesnil had remained below with the bridegroom and Mr. Percy, +the sole witness to this ill-omened marriage. At length the hour came, +Pauline was nearly carried down by Angela and Jeannette, and in a few +moments bound forever to a man she loathed. The ceremony was ended, +and the bride, with a convulsive sigh, fell back into the arms of her +mother. Restoratives were procured, and at last she opened her eyes. +They rested on the face of her friend, who hung over her in mute +agony. Forcing a smile, which was taken by M. de Vaissiere for +himself, Pauline arose, and hurried through her farewell. Her husband +handed her into his carriage--and thus Pauline Dumesnil left her +friends and her home. + + * * * * * + +Years had passed, and Pauline sat alone in her magnificent boudoir, +the presiding deity of one of the finest hotels in Paris. Fortune had +favored M. de Vaissiere. He had lived to rejoice over the downfall of +the mighty Napoleon, and his mournful exile. He had returned to his +beloved France, recovered his vast estates, and presented his young +wife at court. His vanity was flattered at her gracious reception, and +the admiration that followed her; his pride was roused, and, much +against her will, Pauline found herself the centre of a gay circle +that crowded her vast saloons as often as they were thrown open for +the reception of her now numerous acquaintances. + +It was on one of these evenings that Pauline sought the silence of her +private apartment ere she gave herself up to her femme de chambre. Her +loose _peignoir_ of white satin was gathered round her, with a crimson +cord tied negligently at the waist, and hanging, with its rich tassels +of silver mixed, to the ground. Her hair had fallen over her +shoulders, giving her a look of sadness that increased her beauty. Her +eyes wandered around the room, and her lips parted into a melancholy +smile, as she contemplated its delicate silk hangings, its heavy, +costly furniture, her magnificent toilette, crowded with perfumes of +every description, beautiful flacons, silver combs, and jewels that +sparkled in and out of their cases. Her thoughts went back to her +mother, whose pride had made her a childless, lonely widow; to Angela, +whom she had so loved; to the misery of the day upon which they +parted, perhaps forever--and her eyes were filled with tears that, +rolling at length over her cheek, startled her as they fell upon her +hand. + +"And it was for this that I was sacrificed," murmured she, bending her +head. "My poor mother! could you see me here, _you_ would feel that my +happiness is secure; but, alas! how little you know of the human +heart. This splendor lends weight to my chains, and makes me feel more +desolate than ever! Night after night mingling in gay crowds, +listening to honied words that fall unheeded on my ear; wearing smiles +that come not from the heart, but help to break it; exposed to +temptation, that makes me fear to mix with those of my own age; bound +forever to a man whose only sentiment for me is one of pride--what +part of happiness is mine?" + +A sudden step aroused her, and her husband entered unannounced. He +looked but little older. Time had dealt lightly with _him_, and with +the aid of cosmetics and a perfect toilette, M. de Vaissiere stood a +remarkable looking man--for his age. + +"How is this, madame--not dressed yet! Have you no anxiety to see +Mademoiselle Mars to night?" + +"I have, indeed," said Pauline, starting up and forcing a smile. "Is +it so late, that I see you ready?" + +"You must hasten Marie, or we shall be too late. How provoking! What +can you do with that dishevelled hair? You have a bad habit of +thinking--that is actually sinful. Why do you not take my example; I +never reflect--it makes one grow old!" + +She might have told him how her young life was embittered by the +memory of days that were gone never to return; how she had grown old +with thinking, and wore but the semblance of youth over a withered +heart. But she had schooled herself to serenity with an effort almost +superhuman--and seizing a silver bell at her side, she rang for her +waiting woman. + +"You must hasten, Marie--Monsieur de Vaissiere is already dressed. +Bind up this hair beneath some net-work, my good girl; I have no time +for embellishing this evening." + +"Madame is more beautiful without her usual coiffure," said the girl, +as she gathered up the dark tresses of her mistress. "I shall place +her diamond _aigrette_ in her hair, and she will turn all heads." + +"I have no such ambition, my good Marie," said Pauline, laughing. +"Give me my fan and gloves, and fasten this bracelet for me." + +"_Tenez, madame_," said Marie, handing them; and Pauline ran down +stairs, where her husband awaited her. He had just been fretted +sufficiently to find fault with her dress. + +"You never wear jewels enough. Do you think I bought them to ornament +your boudoir?" + +"I did not like to keep you waiting, _mon ami_. Shall I return and +tell Marie to give me my necklace?" + +"Yes, and your bracelet to match. Your white arm, madame, was made to +ornament," added M. de Vaissiere, assuming an air of gallantry. + +Pauline smiled, and ran back to her boudoir. In a few moments she +returned blazing with jewels, inwardly lamenting the display, but ever +ready to grant her husband's wish. He, too, smiled as she came +forward, and taking her hand, led her to her carriage. + +Shortly after they were seated, the door opened, and the young Vicomte +de H---- entered the box. He placed himself behind Pauline, and +remained there for the rest of the evening, in eager, animated +conversation. He was not only one of the most agreeable men of the +day, but added to wit and versatility of genius, a handsome face, +graceful bearing, and a noble heart; and while Pauline yielded to the +charms of so delightful a companion, full of the dreams and hopes of +youth, uttering sentiments that years ago had been hers, her husband +sat silent and moody beside her. A pang went through his heart as he +gazed upon her bright countenance, and remembered her youth, whose +sunshine was extinguished by her marriage with him. He looked at the +smooth, full cheek of her companion, the purple gloss of his raven +locks, the fire of his eye, and listening to his gay tones, his +brilliant repartees, and enthusiastic expressions, pictured him with a +shudder the husband of Pauline. What would have been her life compared +to the one she led with him. How different would have been the bridal! +He thought of her gentleness, her cheerful compliance with his wishes, +her calm, subdued look, her lonely hours, the void that must be in her +heart; and as all these things passed, for the first time, through his +mind, he clasped his hands in despair. + +He turned once more to look upon the wife he was but now beginning to +appreciate. She, too, had fallen in a revery. Her beautiful head was +bent, her long, dark lashes sweeping her cheek; and around her lips +played a smile so sweet, that though he know her thoughts were far +away in some pleasant wandering, he was sure he had no part in them. + +For the first time since their wedded life, M. de Vaissiere was +beginning to love his wife. He turned suddenly to look at the Vicomte +de H----. He, too, was gazing upon Pauline with a look of intense +admiration, but so full of pity and respect, that it made the jealous +pang that thrilled through the husband's frame less bitter--and with a +deep sigh he turned to the stage. The play was one that gave him a +lesson for the rest of his days. It represented a young girl like his +Pauline, forced to wed one, like him, old enough to be her father. For +a while all went smoothly; the giddy wife was dazzled by her jewels +and her importance. But time passed, and she was roughly treated, her +every wish thwarted, and her very servants taught to disobey her. Her +angelic behaviour had no effect upon her brutal husband; her patience +exasperated him. Wickedly he exposed her to temptation; and as he +watched her mingle with those of her own age, and share their plans +and pleasures, suspicion entered his mind. He removed her far from her +friends, and intercepted her letters, making himself master of their +contents, until by a series of persecutions he drove her to fly from +him, and perish in the attempt. + +Well for him was it that Monsieur de Vaissiere witnessed this play. +How different might have been the effect of his newly awakened +emotions, had they risen in the solitude of his apartment. The curtain +fell, and Pauline looked up. Tears were standing in her eyes--for the +fate of the heroine of the piece had affected her deeply, and her +husband's sympathy was with her when he remarked them. He waited until +he saw her give her arm to the vicomte, and walked behind them, +another creature. He had determined to win his wife's love or die; to +watch her, that he might warn her; to minister forever to her +comforts. + +The vicomte returned with them, and soon the splendid salon was +crowded with guests. Pauline passed from one to the other with +graceful, winning smiles; and her husband's heart filled with pride +and pleasure as he watched her, the object of admiration, glittering +with diamonds, radiant with beauty, and remembered that she was his. +Without a pang he saw the noble youth, whose coming had been to him +salvation, lead her to supper, and seat himself at her side. He knew +that she was pleased; he felt that she might have loved; but he knew, +too, that she was as pure as an angel. How was it that suddenly her +many virtues rose in array before him, and spoke to his heart? + +One evening Pauline stood at the window overlooking the garden that +was behind the Hotel de Vaissiere. The moonlight was glancing over the +tops of the orange trees, and the perfume of their white blossoms came +floating up like an incense of thanks to the Great Author of all, +while fountains played beneath their shade, falling musically on the +heart of the lonely watcher. + +A shade was upon her brow--a shade of discontent; and busy were the +thoughts that came creeping into her soul. She was judging her own +heart--and bitterly did she reproach it as the image of another filled +its space. Alas! she had feared this; and again she was roused into +indignation as her mother's stern will was recalled to her--and she +was carried back to the day whereon she had reproached her with +hazarding the eternal welfare of her child. Throwing herself upon her +knees, she prayed for strength--and her prayer was heard. Suddenly, as +if struck with some impulse, she hurried from the window, through the +hall, passed the long suite of apartments, and reached her husband's. +Entering, she closed the door behind her, and rushed forward to M. de +Vaissiere's chair with such passionate rapidity, that one might have +thought she feared to fail in her resolution. + +Her sobs and tears had nearly deprived her of utterance, but falling +at her husband's feet, she confessed the momentary infidelity of her +hitherto love-less heart, and besought him to take her from those +scenes of gayety and temptation to some distant, quiet region, that +she might expiate her fault in solitude. + +Trembling she raised her eyes to his face. Instead of the fury, the +reproaches she had expected, what was her surprise at seeing the tears +coursing down his cheeks, to feel herself raised and clasped to his +breast. + +"My poor child!" said he, tenderly--and it was the first time he had +ever so addressed her--"my poor child! I should have foreseen this; I +should have warned you ere now. It was your mother's fault to marry +you to me, and mine to have placed temptation in your way. But how +could I tear you from those whose years were suited to yours, to shut +you up with an old greybeard! Thus, while I watched over you, my pride +in your success made me forgetful of your safety. It is not yet too +late, my Pauline--all will be for the best. In time you will learn to +love your husband, and to know how devotedly he has loved you since +his stupid eyes were opened to your virtues." + +With a smothered cry of joy Pauline threw herself upon his bosom. The +poor stricken dove had at last found a shelter. + +The next day, while the whole world was lamenting and wondering over +the determination of the beautiful, brilliant, and courted Pauline de +Vaissiere, to leave the gay metropolis in the midst of its pleasure, +she sat once more in her boudoir. A holy calm had settled on her brow, +peace had entered her heart; and though a deep blush overspread her +features as she heard her husband's step approaching, she rose to meet +him with a grateful look. Putting his arm around her, he drew her +closer to him, and pressed a kiss upon her forehead. + +"How many days of packing will you require, Pauline?" said he, +smiling. "Poor Marie! she has nearly worn her arms out." + +"She will complete her task to-night; and if you like, we can be off +in the morning. But have you the carriages ready, _mon ami_? Are we +not before-hand with you?" asked Pauline, in the same cheerful strain. + +"We must summon Francois," said M. de Vaissiere, "and see if my orders +have been executed." + +Francois had been as prompt as usual; and three days after, +we found Pauline gazing out at the windows, mournful and +conscience-stricken--she was leaving Paris behind her as fast as four +horses and cracking whips could carry her. As they drove on, losing +sight of its towers and steeples, a sensation of freedom came over +her, and she placed her hand in her husband's, as if to thank him for +her safety. The wound upon her heart was not yet closed; but her firm +principle, her love of right, and gratitude for her deliverance, and +the indulgence of M. de Vaissiere were fast healing what she did not +for a moment allow to rest within her mind. + +Every thing delighted her; the ploughed fields, divided by green +hedges; the farm-houses scattered far and near; the picturesque +appearance of the peasantry and their groupings, as they gathered +together to watch the travelers' suite; and when they stopped at a +family estate of M. de Vassiere, her enthusiasm knew no bounds. + +Here they remained until the spring was past and summer came, +embellishing still more the beautiful woods around the little domain. +But they lingered yet in this pleasant place, loving it for the peace +it had given them, and the happiness they had learned to feel in being +together. + +Leaning on her husband's arm, Pauline wandered amid the bright scenes +with a light step, now stopping to admire some variety of foliage, and +now pausing by the crystal stream that ran at the foot of the tall +trees, murmuring like a hidden sprite, and mirroring the waving +boughs, and the blue sky of _la belle France_. She had forgotten the +misery of her bridal-day, or remembered it but to contrast her present +quiet enjoyment of life with her then wretchedness. She had forgotten +her youth of terror, her husband's years and his coldness, and now, +when she looked upon the silver hair that glittered beside her braids +of jet, a feeling of gratitude filled her heart, as she recalled the +hour when he might have cast her off with some show of justice, and +sent her forth upon the wide world to die. + +She had learned to love him, not with the heart-stirring love of youth +for youth, but with the deep, holy affection of a prodigal child. Not +all the temptations of the gay world could ever make her swerve from +her allegiance to him. Like a good and pious daughter did she cling to +him, providing for his comfort, and forseeing his every want. + +One day he called her to him as she returned from her visit of charity +to the surrounding peasantry. She had wept over their troubles and +relieved them, and rejoiced with the happy. Her heart was +over-flowing, and passing the little church, she entered, and offered +up a prayer of thankfulness for her own blessings, and those she was +able to confer on others. + +Her husband watched her graceful form as she came at his call, and +smilingly placed a letter in her hand. It was from her mother, and +part of it ran thus: + + "I am now very old, monsieur, and very infirm. I + have often thought, in my lonely hours, of the + unhappiness of my child on her marriage with you, + and have doubted the wisdom of that authority which + I exercised so severely over her. The vision of + that pale, agonized countenance, comes upon me like + a reproach; and although she has never hinted in + one of her letters of unkindness from you, I have + often thought that there was a mournful spirit + pervading them. Pray God she may not be unhappy + through my fault! I rely upon you, monsieur; be + kind to my poor Pauline. + MARIE THERESE CLEMENCE DUMESNIL. + (_Nee de Villeneuve_.)" + +Pauline's tears fell fast over this letter; and as she finished +reading it, she cast herself upon her husband's bosom. + +"She does not deserve a reply, does she, Pauline?" asked he, with a +smile, and pressing her closer to him. "Think you there would be no +more marriages _de convenance_ if we were to give the benefit of our +experience to the world? Would your mother even be sensible of her +error, could she know how your suffering has ended--could she see how +happy you make an old man." + +"Let her think that we have been always so," cried the noble Pauline. +"Why disturb her last years with a narrative of what may embitter +them? Shall it not be so, my dear, kind husband?" + +"It shall, my child," said he, touched by the generosity of her +request. "And you, Pauline, shall write the answer--you, my patient, +enduring, and admirable wife! Why is it that I alone know what you +have suffered, forced thus to appreciate in silence your noble +forbearance." + +But there was another letter to be read--one from Angela. It contained +an account of Madame Dumesnil's failing strength, and her earnest +desire to embrace her child once more. Jeannette was long since +numbered with the dead; and Angela, whose devotion to her father had +made her refuse every offer of marriage, removed with him to the abode +of her friend's mother, passing her life in dividing her cares. + +But a short time elapsed and Pauline, with her husband, was sailing +once more upon the broad bosom of the Atlantic. It was a long and +tedious voyage; but she arrived in time to receive her mother's +blessing, and close her eyes--the reward her filial piety had merited. + +Mr. Percy soon followed his aged companion, and Angela returned with +Pauline to France. Here she witnessed, with wonder and delight, the +happiness that, through Pauline's virtue, was not incompatible with so +great a disparity of age, and rejoiced when a few months after their +arrival in Paris, Pauline gave birth to a son and heir. Nothing now +was wanting to complete the domestic enjoyment of the circle gathered +at the Hotel de Vaissiere; and while the same gay crowds graced its +walls, and courted its fair mistress, Pauline never forgot to turn to +her husband as the one whose smile was to her the brightest, whose +praise the most valued, and whose approbation alone she loved and +lived for. + + + + +THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA. + +BY MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. + + + It was the leafy month of June, + And joyous Nature, all in tune, + With wreathing buds was drest, + As toward the mighty cataract's side + A youthful stranger prest; + His ruddy cheek was blanched with awe, + And scarce he seemed his breath to draw, + While bending o'er its brim, + He marked its strong, unfathomed tide, + And heard its thunder-hymn. + + His measured week too quickly fled, + Another, and another sped, + And soon the summer-rose decayed, + The moon of autumn sank in shade, + And winter hurled its dart, + Years filled their circle, brief and fair, + Yet still the enthusiast lingered there, + While deeper round his soul was wove + A mystic chain of fearful love, + That would not let him part. + + When darkest midnight veiled the sky, + You'd hear his hasting step go by, + To gain the bridge beside the deep, + That where its wildest torrents leap + Hangs thread-like o'er the surge, + Just there, upon its awful verge, + His vigil-hour to keep. + + And when the moon, descending low, + Hung on the flood that gleaming bow, + Which it would seem some angel's hand, + With Heaven's own pencil, tinged and spanned, + Pure symbol of a better land, + He, kneeling, poured in utterance free + The eloquence of ecstasy; + Though to his words no answer came, + Save that One, Everlasting Name, + Which since Creation's morning broke + Niagara's lip alone hath spoke. + + When wintry tempests shook the sky, + And the rent pine-tree hurtled by, + Unblenching, 'mid the storm he stood, + And marked sublime the wrathful flood, + While wrought the frost-king, fierce and drear, + His palace 'mid those cliffs to rear, + And strike the massy buttress strong, + And pile his sleet the rocks among, + And wasteful deck the branches bare + With icy diamonds, rich and rare. + + Nor lacked the hermit's humble shed + Such comforts as our natures ask + To fit them for life's daily task. + The cheering fire, the peaceful bed, + The simple meal in season spread, + While by the lone lamp's trembling light, + As blazed the hearth-stone, clear and bright, + O'er Homer's page he hung, + Or Maro's martial numbers scanned-- + + For classic lore of many a land + Flowed smoothly o'er his tongue. + Oft with rapt eye, and skill profound, + He woke the entrancing viol's sound, + Or touched the sweet guitar. + For heavenly music deigned to dwell + An inmate in his cloistered cell, + As beams the solem star, + All night, with meditative eyes + Where some lone, rock-bound fountain lies. + + As through the groves, with quiet tread, + On his accustomed haunts he sped, + The mother-thrush, unstartled, sung + Her descant to her callow young, + And fearless o'er his threshold prest + The wanderer from the sparrow's nest, + The squirrel raised a sparkling eye + Nor from his kernel cared to fly + As passed that gentle hermit by. + No timid creature shrank to meet + His pensive glance, serenely sweet; + From his own kind, alone, he sought + The screen of solitary thought. + Whether the world too harshly prest + Its iron o'er a yielding breast, + Or forced his morbid youth to prove + The pang of unrequited love, + We know not, for he never said + Aught of the life he erst had led. + + On Iris isle, a summer-bower + He twined with branch and vine and flower, + And there he mused on rustic seat, + Unconscious of the noonday heat, + Or 'neath the crystal waters lay, + Luxuriant, in the swimmer's play. + + Yet once the whelming flood grew strong. + And bore him like a weed along, + Though with convulsive grasp of pain + And heaving breast, he strove in vain, + Then sinking 'neath the infuriate tide, + Lone, as he lived, the hermit died. + + On, by the rushing current swept, + The lifeless corse its voyage kept, + To where, in narrow gorge comprest, + The whirlpool-eddies never rest, + But boil with wild tumultuous sway, + The Maelstrom of Niagara. + And there, within that rocky bound, + In swift gyrations round and round, + Mysterious course it held, + Now springing from the torrent hoarse, + Now battling, as with maniac force, + To mortal strife compelled. + + Right fearful, 'neath the moonbeam bright, + It was to see that brow so white, + And mark the ghastly dead + Leap upward from his torture-bed, + As if in passion-gust, + And tossing wild with agony + Resist the omnipotent decree + Of dust to dust. + + At length, where smoother waters flow, + Emerging from the abyss below, + The hapless youth they gained, and bore + Sad to his own forsaken door. + There watched his dog, with straining eye, + And scarce would let the train pass by, + Save that with instinct's rushing spell, + Through the changed cheek's empurpled hue, + And stiff and stony form, he knew + The master he had loved so well. + The kitten fair, whose graceful wile + So oft had won his musing smile, + As round his slippered foot she played, + Stretched on his vacant pillow laid. + While strewed around, on board and chair, + The last-plucked flower, the book last read, + The ready pen, the page outspread, + The water cruse, the unbroken bread-- + Revealed how sudden was the snare + That swept him to the dead. + + And so, he rests in foreign earth, + Who drew 'mid Albion's vales his birth: + Yet let no cynic phrase unkind + Condemn that youth of gentle mind-- + Of shrinking nerve, and lonely heart, + And lettered lore, and tuneful art, + Who here his humble worship paid + In that most glorious temple-shrine, + Where to the Majesty Divine + Nature her noblest altar made. + + No, blame him not, but praise the Power + Who, in the dear domestic bower, + Hath given you firmer strength to rear + The plants of love--with toil and fear-- + The beam to meet, the blast to dare, + And like a faithful soldier bear; + Still with sad heart his requiem pour, + Amid the cataract's ceaseless roar, + And bid one tear of pitying gloom + Bedew that meek enthusiast's tomb. + + + + +BURIAL OF A VOLUNTEER. + +BY PARK BENJAMIN. + + + 'Tis eve! one brightly-beaming star + Shines from the eastern heavens afar, + To light the footsteps of the brave, + Slow marching to a comrade's grave. + + The Northern wind has sunk to sleep; + The sweet South breathes; as low and deep + The martial clang is heard, the tread + Of those who bear the silent dead. + + And whose the form, all stark and cold, + Thus ready for the loosened mould; + Thus stretched upon so rude a bier? + Thine, soldier, thine--the volunteer! + + Poor volunteer! the shot, the blow, + Or fell disease hath laid him low-- + And few his early loss deplore-- + His battle done, his journey o'er. + + Alas! no fond wife's arms caressed, + His cheeks no tender mother pressed, + No pitying soul was by his side, + As, lonely in his tent, he died. + + He died--the volunteer--at noon; + At evening came the small platoon; + And soon they'll leave him to his rest, + With sods upon his manly breast. + + Hark to their fire! his only knell, + More solemn than the passing bell; + For, ah! it tells a spirit flown + Without a prayer or sigh, alone! + + His name and fate shall fade away, + Forgotten since his dying day, + And never on the roll of fame + Shall be inscribed his humble name. + + Alas! like him how many more + Lie cold on Rio Grande's shore; + How many green, unnoted graves + Are bordered by those turbid waves! + + Sleep, soldier, sleep! from sorrow free + And sin and strife: 'tis well with thee! + 'Tis well, though not a single tear + Laments the buried volunteer. + + + + +THE BRIDAL MORNING. + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + + Morn of hopes that, quivering, glow + With a light ne'er known before; + Morn of fears, which cannot throw + Shadows its sweet glory o'er! + + Gentle thoughts of all the past; + Happy thoughts of all to come; + Loving thoughts, like rose-leaves, cast + Over all around her home. + + Oh, the light upon that brow; + Oh, the love within that eye! + Oh, the pleasant dreams that flow + Like fairy music sweetly by! + + Morn of Hope! Oh may its light + Melt but into brighter day! + Lady, all that's blest and bright + Be about thy path alway! + + + + +HOME. + +BY MRS. H. MARION WARD. + + +"_Home, sweet home!"_ How many holy and beautiful memories are crowded +into those three little words. How does the absent one, when weary +with the cold world's strife, return, like the dove of the deluge, to +that bright spot amid the troubled waters of life. "_Home, sweet +home!_" The one household plant that blooms on and on, amid the +withering heart-flowers, that brightens up amidst tempests and storms, +and gives its sweetest fragrance when all else is gloom and +desolation. We never know how deeply its roots are entwined with our +heart-strings, till bitter lessons of wasted affection have taught us +to appreciate that love which remains the same through years of +estrangement. What exile from the spot of his birth but remembers, +perhaps with bitterness, the time when falsehood and deceit first +broke up the beautiful dreams of his soul, when he learned to _see_ +the world in its true colors. How his heart ached for his father's +look of kindness--his mother's voice of sympathy--a sister's or +brother's hand to clasp in the warm embrace of kindred affection. +Poor, home-sick wanderer! I can feel for your loneliness; for my heart +often weeps tears of bitterness over the memories of a far-off home, +and in sympathy with a gray-haired father, who, when he calls his +little band around the hearth-stone, misses full many a link in the +chain of social affection. I can feel for your loneliness, for perhaps +you have a father, too, whose eyes have grown dim by long looking into +the tomb of love. Perhaps you, too, have a mother, sleeping in some +distant grave-yard, beneath the flowers your hands have planted; and +as life's path grows still more rugged before you, you wonder, as I +have done, when your time will come to lie down and sleep quietly with +_her_. An incident occurred on board of one of the western steamers, +some years since, which strongly impressed me with its truthfulness in +proving how wildly the heart clings to home reminiscences when absent +from that spot. A party of emigrants had taken passage, amongst whom +was a young Swiss girl, accompanied by a small brother. Not even the +_outre_ admixture of Swiss, German, and English costume, which +composed her dress, could conceal the fact that she was supremely +beautiful; and as the emigrants were separated from what is termed the +first-class passengers only by a slight railing, I had an opportunity +of inspecting her appearance without giving offence by marked +observation. Amongst the crowd there happened to be a set of German +musicians, who, by amusing the _ennuied_ passengers, reaped quite a +harvest of silver for their exertions. I have always heard that the +Germans were extremely fond of music, and was surprised that none of +the party, not even the beautiful Swiss girl, gave the slightest +indication of pleasure, or once removed from the position they had +occupied the whole way. Indeed, I was becoming quite indignant, that +the soul-stirring Marseilles Hymn of France, the God Save the Queen of +England, and last, not _least_ in its impressive melody, the Hail +Columbia of our own nation, should have pealed its music out upon the +great waters, almost hushing their mighty swell with its enchantment, +and yet not waken an echo in the hearts of those homeless wanderers. +The musicians paused to rest for a moment, and then suddenly, as if by +magic, the glorious _Rans des Vache_ of Switzerland stole over the +water, with its touching pathos swelling into grand sublimity, its +home-music melting away in love, and then bursting forth in the free, +glad strains of revelry, till every breath was hushed as by the +presence of visible beauty. Having never before heard this beautiful +melody, in my surprise and admiration I had quite forgotten my +emigrant friends, when a low sob attracted my attention, and turning +round, I saw the Swiss girl, with her head buried in the lap of an old +woman, trying to stifle the tears that _would_ force their way or +break the heart that held them. I had but a slight knowledge of the +Swiss dialect, and "my home, my beautiful home!" was the only words +intelligible to me. She wept long and bitterly after the cadence of +the song was lost amongst the waves, while the old woman, blessings on +her for the act, sought by every endearment within her power to soothe +and encourage the home-sick girl. There was little enow of refinement +in her rough sympathy, but it was a heart-tribute--and I could almost +love her for the unselfishness with which she drew the shrinking form +closer to her bosom. I would have given the world to have learned that +girl's previous history. I am sure _accident_ must have thrown her +amongst her present associates, as I have seen a lily broken from its +stem by a sudden gust of wind, and flung to wither and die amid rude +and hardy weeds. In a few hours the party left the boat, and I never +saw either her or them again; but, till this day, whenever any +incident of a domestic nature wakens old-time dreams, pleasant +memories of that beautiful exile, weeping over the music of her lost +Eden, and of the kind old woman caressing her, and kissing off the +falling tears, creep together, and form a lovely picture of _home and +heaven-born love_. + + + + +MARGINALIA. + +BY EDGAR A. POE. + + +That punctuation is important all agree; but how few comprehend the +extent of its importance! The writer who neglects punctuation, or +mis-punctuates, is liable to be misunderstood--this, according to the +popular idea, is the sum of the evils arising from heedlessness or +ignorance. It does not seem to be known that, even where the sense is +perfectly clear, a sentence may be deprived of half its force--its +spirit--its point--by improper punctuation. For the want of merely a +comma, it often occurs that an axiom appears a paradox, or that a +sarcasm is converted into a sermonoid. + +There is _no_ treatise on the topic--and there is no topic on which a +treatise is more needed. There seems to exist a vulgar notion that the +subject is one of pure conventionality, and cannot be brought within +the limits of intelligibly and consistent _rule_. And yet, if fairly +looked in the face, the whole matter is so plain that its _rationale_ +may be read as we run. If not anticipated, I shall, hereafter, make an +attempt at a magazine paper on "The Philosophy of Point." + +In the meantime let me say a word or two of _the dash_. Every writer +for the press, who has any sense of the accurate, must have been +frequently mortified and vexed at the distortion of his sentences by +the printer's now general substitution of a semicolon, or comma, for +the dash of the MS. The total or nearly total disuse of the latter +point, has been brought about by the revulsion consequent upon its +excessive employment about twenty years ago. The Byronic poets were +_all_ dash. John Neal, in his earlier novels, exaggerated its use into +the grossest abuse--although his very error arose from the +philosophical and self-dependent spirit which has always distinguished +him, and which will even yet lead him, if I am not greatly mistaken in +the man, to do something for the literature of the country which the +country "will not willingly," and cannot possibly, "let die." + +Without entering now into the _why_, let me observe that the printer +may always ascertain when the dash of the MS. is properly and when +improperly employed, by bearing in mind that this point represents _a +second thought--an emendation_. In using it just above I have +exemplified its use. The words "an emendation" are, speaking with +reference to grammatical construction, put in _ap_position with the +words "a second thought." Having written these latter words, I +reflected whether it would not be possible to render their meaning +more distinct by certain other words. Now, instead of erasing the +phrase "a second thought," which is of _some_ use--which _partially_ +conveys the idea intended--which advances me _a step toward_ my full +purpose--I suffer it to remain, and merely put a dash between it and +the phrase "an emendation." The dash gives the reader a choice between +two, or among three or more expressions, one of which may be more +forcible than another, but all of which help out the idea. It stands, +in general, for these words--"_or, to make my meaning more distinct_." +This force _it has_--and this force no other point can have; since all +other points have well-understood uses quite different from this. +Therefore, the dash _cannot_ be dispensed with. + +It has its phases--its variation of the force described; but the one +principle--that of second thought or emendation--will be found at the +bottom of all. + + * * * * * + +In a reply to a letter signed "Outis," and defending Mr. Longfellow +from certain charges supposed to have been made against him by myself, +I took occasion to assert that "of the class of willful plagiarists +nine out of ten are authors of established reputation who plunder +recondite, neglected, or forgotten books." I came to this conclusion +_a priori_; but experience has confirmed me in it. Here is a +plagiarism from Channing; and as it is perpetrated by an anonymous +writer in a Monthly Magazine, the theft seems at war with my +assertion--until it is seen that the Magazine in question is +Campbell's New Monthly for _August_, 1828. Channing, at that time, was +comparatively unknown; and, besides, the plagiarism appeared in a +foreign country, where there was little probability of detection. + +Channing, in his essay on Bonaparte, says: + + "We would observe that military talent, even of the + highest order, is far from holding the first place + among intellectual endowments. It is one of the + lower forms of genius, for it is not conversant + with the highest and richest objects of thought.... + Still the chief work of a general is to apply + physical force--to remove physical obstructions--to + avail himself of physical aids and advantages--to + act on matter--to overcome rivers, ramparts, + mountains, and human muscles; and these are not the + highest objects of mind, nor do they demand + intelligence of the highest order:--and accordingly + nothing is more common than to find men, eminent in + this department, who are almost wholly wanting in + the noblest energies of the soul--in imagination + and taste--in the capacity of enjoying works of + genius--in large views of human nature--in the + moral sciences--in the application of analysis and + generalization to the human mind and to society, + and in original conceptions on the great subjects + which have absorbed the most glorious + understandings." + +The thief in "The New Monthly," says: + + "Military talent, even of the highest _grade_, is + _very_ far from holding the first place among + intellectual endowments. It is one of the lower + forms of genius, for it is _never made_ conversant + with the _more delicate and abstruse of mental + operations_. + + It is used to apply physical force; to remove + physical force; to remove physical obstructions; to + avail itself of physical aids and advantages; and + all these are not the highest objects of mind, nor + do they demand intelligence of the highest _and + rarest_ order. Nothing is more common than to find + men, eminent in the science and practice of war, + _wholly_ wanting in the nobler energies of the + soul; in imagination, in taste, in _enlarged_ views + of human nature, in the moral sciences, in the + application of analysis and generalization to the + human mind and to society; or in original + conceptions on the great subjects which have + _occupied and_ absorbed the most glorious _of + human_ understandings." + +The article in "The New Monthly" is on "The State of Parties." The +italics are mine. + +Apparent plagiarisms frequently arise from an author's +self-repetition. He finds that something he has already published has +fallen dead--been overlooked--or that it is peculiarly _a propos_ to +another subject now under discussion. He therefore introduces the +passage; often without allusion to his having printed it before; and +sometimes he introduces it into an anonymous article. An anonymous +writer is thus, now and then, unjustly accused of plagiarism--when the +sin is merely that of self-repetition. + +In the present case, however, there has been a deliberate plagiarism +of the silliest as well as meanest species. Trusting to the obscurity +of his original, the plagiarist has fallen upon the idea of killing +two birds with one stone--of dispensing with all disguise but that of +_decoration_. + +Channing says "order"--the writer in the New Monthly says "grade." The +former says that this order is "far from holding," etc.--the latter +says it is "_very_ far from holding." The one says that military +talent is "_not_ conversant," and so on--the other says "it is _never +made_ conversant." The one speaks of "the highest and richest +objects"--the other of "the more delicate and abstruse." Channing +speaks of "thought"--the thief of "mental operations." Chaming +mentions "intelligence of the _highest_ order"--the thief will have it +of "the highest _and rarest_." Channing observes that military talent +is often "_almost_ wholly wanting," etc.--the thief maintains it to be +"_wholly_ wanting." Channing alludes to "_large_ views of human +nature"--the thief can be content with nothing less than "enlarged" +ones. Finally, the American having been satisfied with a reference to +"subjects which have absorbed the most glorious understandings," the +Cockney puts him to shame at once by discoursing about "subjects which +have _occupied and_ absorbed the most glorious _of human_ +understandings"--as if one could be absorbed, without being occupied, +by a subject--as if "_of_" were here any thing more than two +superfluous letters--and as if there were any chance of the reader's +supposing that the understandings in question were the understandings +of frogs, or jackasses, or Johnny Bulls. + +By the way, in a case of this kind, whenever there is a question as to +who is the original and who the plagiarist, the point may be +determined, almost invariably, by observing which passage is +amplified, or exaggerated, in tone. To disguise his stolen horse, the +uneducated thief cuts off the tail; but the educated thief prefers +tying on a new tail at the end of the old one, and painting them both +sky blue. + + * * * * * + +After reading all that has been written, and after thinking all that +can be thought, on the topics of God and the soul, the man who has a +right to say that he thinks at all, will find himself face to face +with the conclusion that, on these topics, the most profound thought +is that which can be the least easily distinguished from the most +superficial sentiment. + + + + +LOVE. + +BY R. H. STODDARD. + + + Oh Love! thou art a fallen child of light, + A ruined seraph in a world of care-- + Tortured and wrung by sorrow and despair, + And longings for the beautiful and bright: + Thy brow is deeply scarred, and bleeds beneath + A spiked coronet, a thorny wreath; + Thy rainbow wings are rent and torn with chains, + Sullied and drooping in extremest wo; + Thy dower, to those who love thee best below, + Is tears and torture, agony and pains, + Coldness and scorn and doubt which often parts;-- + "The course of true love never does run smooth," + Old histories show it, and a thousand hearts, + Breaking from day to day, attest the solemn truth. + + +[Illustration: Beauty's Bath + +Painted by E. Landseer Engraved by J. Sartain + +Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine] + + + + +BEAUTY'S BATH. + +[ILLUSTRATING AN ENGRAVING.] + + + The fair one stands beside the plashing brim, + Her pet, her Beauty, gathered to her breast; + A doubt hath crossed her: "can he surely swim?" + And in her sweet face is that fear exprest. + + Alas! how often, for thyself, in years + Fast coming, wilt thou pause and doubt and shrink + O'er some fair project! Then, be all thy fears + False as this first one by the water's brink! + + + + +REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. + + +_Poems of Early and After Years. By N. P. Willis. Illustrated by E. +Leutze. Philadelphia: Carey & Hart. 1 vol. 8vo._ + +This is a complete edition of one of America's most popular poets, +with the old poems carefully revised, and many new pieces added. It is +got up in a similar style with the editions of Longfellow and Bryant, +by the same publishers, and is one of the most splendid volumes of the +season. The portrait of the author, engraved by Cheney, is the most +accurate we have seen. The illustrations, from designs by Leutze, and +engraved by Humphrys, Tucker, and Pease, are sixteen in number, and in +their character and execution are honorable to American art. They are +truly embellishments. Fertile as has been the house of Carey & Hart in +beautiful books, they have published nothing more elegant and tasteful +than the present edition of Willis. + +We have written, in various critiques, at such length on the merits +and characteristics of Willis, that it would be but repetition to +dilate upon his genius now. In looking over the present volume, we +cannot see that the sparkle and fire of his poetry becomes dim, even +as read by eyes which have often performed that pleasant task before. +The old witchery still abides in them, and the old sweetness, +raciness, melody and power. That versatile mind, gliding with such +graceful ease over the whole ground of "occasional" pieces, serious +and mirthful, impassioned and tender, sacred and satirical, looks out +upon us with the same freshness from his present "pictured" page, as +when we hunted it, in the old time, through newspapers, magazines, and +incomplete collections. We cordially wish the author the same success +in his present rich dress, which he has always met in whatever style +of typography he has invaded the public heart. When the stereotype +plates of the present edition are worn out, it does not require the +gift of prophecy to predict that the poet's reputation will be as +unworn and us bright as ever. + + * * * * * + +_A Plea for Amusements. By Frederic W. Sawyer, New York: D. Appleton & +Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ + +This little volume, viewed in respect to the prejudices it so clearly +exposes and opposes, is quite an important publication, and we trust +it will find readers among those who need it most. That clumsy habit +of the public mind, by which the perversions are confounded with the +use of a thing, finds in Mr. Sawyer an acute analyst as well as +sensible opponent. He has done his work with much learning, ability +and taste, and has contrived to make his exposure of popular bigotries +as interesting as it is useful. + + * * * * * + +_Campaign Sketches of the War with Mexico. By Capt. W. S. Henry, U. S. +Army. With Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._ + +Here is a work by a brave and intelligent soldier, relating to the +battles of General Taylor in Mexico, of which he was an eye-witness. +It has the freshness which might be expected from a writer who mingled +in the scenes he describes; and the plates of the different +battle-grounds enable the reader intelligently to follow the +descriptions of the author. Spite of the numerous books relating to +the subject already before the public, Captain Henry's volume will be +found to contain much not generally known, and to describe what is +generally known better than most of his precursors in the task. + + * * * * * + +_The Consuelo. By George Sand. In Three Volumes. New York: W. H. +Graham, Tribune Buildings._ + +_The Countess of Rudolstadt. By George Sand. [Sequel to Consuelo.] 2 +vols. Same Publisher._ + +_The Journeyman Joiner, or the Companion of the Tour of France. By +George Sand. Same Publisher._ + +_The Devil's Pool. By George Sand. Same Publisher._ + +The above editions of the somewhat too celebrated George Sand are got +up, by our enterprising friend the publisher, in a style superior to +that generally used on this species of literature. The translation by +F. G. Shaw, Esq. has been generally, and we think justly, commended. +The works themselves, and their tendencies and results, have been made +the subject of various opinions both here and abroad. We are not among +those who are prepared to enter the lists as their champion. The +translator himself remarks in relation to Consuelo: "That it has not +found fit translation before, was doubtless owing to prevailing +impressions of something erratic and _bizarre_ in the author's way of +living, and to a certain undeniable tone of wild, defying freedom in +her earlier writings." The censure of the moral portion of the +community is thus softly and mercifully expressed: We will not at +present add to it. + + * * * * * + +_The Last Incarnation. Gospel Legends of the Nineteenth Century. By A. +Constant. Translated by F. G. Shaw, Esq. New York: Wm. H. Graham._ + +A well printed and cheap volume. + + * * * * * + +_The Scouting Expeditions of M'Culloch's Texas Rangers. By Samuel C. +Ried, jr. Zieber & Co. Philadelphia._ + +This work contains a spirited and vivid sketch of the Mexican war as +prosecuted under Taylor. It is full of incident and interest, is +written with spirit, and illustrated by a number of engravings. + + * * * * * + + + + +DESCRIPTION OF THE FASHION PLATE. + + +TOILETTE DE VILLE.--Dress of gray satin, with a plain skirt; corsage +plain, with a rounded point; sleeves above of violet-colored velvet, +closed on the top, and trimmed with very rich lace; small pelerine to +the waists, and terminated at the seam of the shoulder, trimmed with +lace. Hat of yellow satin, long at the cheeks, and rounded, ornamented +with a bouquet of white flowers resting on the side, arid a puff of +tulle on the inside. + +RICHE TOILETTE D'INTERIEUR.--Dress of blue cashmere, ornamented with a +row of silver buttons down the front of the skirts; corsage plain, +with buttons, and terminating in two small points; sleeves rather +short, and under ones of three rows of lace: neck-dress of lace. Cap +also of lace, resting flat upon the front of the head, and forming +folds behind, trimmed with bows of ribbon, of rose-colored taffeta, +below the lace to the depth of the strings. + + * * * * * + +ERRATUM.--In the article on Stoke Church and Church-yard, page 77, +12th line from bottom of 2d column, "1779" should read 1799. + +Transcriber's Note: + +Some likely incorrect spellings and probable dialect have been left as +printed, but the following corrections have been made: + +1. Page 83--'for the lady lacked neither wit not humor, and the ....' + changed to 'for the lady lacked neither wit nor humor...' + +2. Page 83--superfluous word 'his' removed from sentence '...he had + nothing on but his his shirt, and...' + +3. Page 85--typo 'centipeds' corrected to 'centipedes' + +4. Page 85--superfluous word 'his' removed from sentence '...constant + to his his first love, mourning...' + +5. A number of contracted forms, such as 't is, shortened to 'tis, in + order to preserve the scansion of poetry + +6. Page 106--typo in sentence '...up the mill-stream, und as we + returned...' replaced by 'and' + +7. Page 106--typo 'outre' in sentence '...however strange or outre; + and there is...' changed to 'outre' + +8. Page 106--typo 'evious' in sentence '...would turn up an evious + nose, and...' corrected to 'envious' + +9. Page 110--typo 'widows' in sentence '...sitting by the widows of + the summer-house,' changed to 'windows' + +10. Page 113--typo 'then' in sentence '...was upon then--the eye of + Agnes;...' changed to 'them' + +11. Page 121--typo 'clasped' corrected to 'clasped' + +12. Page 125--typo 'giver' in sentence '...until he saw her giver her + arm...' corrected to 'give' + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol. XXXII No. 2. +February 1848, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, FEB 1848 *** + +***** This file should be named 29218.txt or 29218.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/2/1/29218/ + +Produced by David T. 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