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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII.  No. 5.  May
+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. 5.  May 1848
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: George R. Graham
+        Robert T. Conrad
+
+Release Date: June 28, 2009 [EBook #29262]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 1848 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
+http://www.pgdpcanada.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: J. Addison]
+
+CLARA HARLAND
+
+Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine
+
+
+GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.
+
+VOL. XXXII. PHILADELPHIA, MAY, 1848.    NO. 5.
+
+CLARA HARLAND.
+
+BY G. G. FOSTER.
+
+[SEE ENGRAVING.]
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+I am no visionary--no dreamer; and yet my life has been a ceaseless
+struggle between the realities of everyday care, and a myriad of
+shadowy phantoms which ever haunt me. In the crowded and thronged
+city; in the green walks and sunny forests of my native hills; on the
+broad and boundless prairie, carpeted with velvet flowers; on the blue
+and dreamy sea--it is the same. I look around, and perceive men and
+women moving mechanically about me; I even take part in their
+proceedings, and seem to float along the tardy current upon which they
+swim, and become a part--an insignificant portion--of the dull and
+stagnant scene; and yet, often and often, in the busiest moment, when
+commonplace has its strongest hold upon me, and I feel actually
+interested in the ordinary pursuits of my fellow-beings, of a sudden,
+a great curtain seems to fall around, and enclose me on every side;
+and, instead of the staid and sober visages of the throng, vague and
+shadowy faces gleam around me, and magnificent eyes, bright and
+dreamy, glance and flash before me like the figures on a
+phantasmagoria. In such moments, there comes over me a happy
+consciousness that _this_ is the reality and all else a dull and
+painful dream, from which I have escaped as by a great effort. The
+dreamy faces are familiar to me, and their large, spiritual eyes
+encounter mine with glances of pleasant recognition. My heart is glad
+within me that it has found again its friends and old companions, and
+the mental outline of the common world, faintly drawn by memory,
+becomes more and more dim and indistinct, like the surface of the
+earth to one who soars upward in a balloon, and is at length blended
+with the gray shadows of forgotten thought, which disturb me no more.
+But anon some rude and jarring discord, from the world below, pierces
+upward to my ear, and the air becomes suddenly dark and dreary, and
+dusty, and I fall heavily to earth again.
+
+As years steal by, these fits of delightful abstraction become rarer
+and rarer. My visions seem to have lost their substantiality; and even
+when they do revisit me, they are thin and transparent, and no longer
+hide the real world from my sight--yet they hold strange power over
+me; and when they come upon my soul, although they do not all conceal
+the real, yet they concentrate upon some casual object there, and
+impart to it a spirituality of aspect and quality which straightway
+embalms it in my heart. Thus do I invest the faces of friends with a
+holiness and fervor of devotion which belongs not to them; and when I
+have wreaked the treasures of my soul upon objects thus elevated above
+their real quality, I find what a false vision I have been
+worshiping--its higher qualities mingle again with my own thoughts,
+whence they emanated, and the real object stands before me, low, dull,
+and insipid as the thousands of similar ones by which it is
+surrounded. Thus do I, enamored of qualities and perfections which
+exist only in my own thought, continually cheat and delude myself into
+the belief that a congenial spirit has been found, when some trivial
+incident breaks the spell--the charms I loved glide back to my own
+soul, and the charmer, unconscious of change in himself, wonders what
+has wrought so sudden an alteration in me. Then come heart-burnings
+and self-reproaches against those I have foolishly loved, of
+treachery, hypocrisy, and ingratitude, which they cannot understand,
+and over which I mourn and weep.
+
+I had a friend once--not long ago, for the turf is still fresh over
+his gentle breast--whose soul was fashioned like my own, save that he
+was all softness, and wanted the hardness and commonplace which events
+and years have given to me. For a long and delightful season we held
+sweet converse together; and, although he was much younger than I, yet
+was there no restraint or concealment between us. Every throb of his
+heart, almost every evolution of his brain, found an echo in me. I was
+his mirror--a fountain in which he contemplated himself. From _him_ I
+never dreamed of treachery, or selfishness, or ingratitude--and he
+alone did not deceive me. He never gave me pain but once--and who
+shall tell the agony of that hour, when his hand ceased to return the
+pressure of my eager fingers, and the dark curtain of death shut out
+the light of his dear eyes from my soul! Yet, after the anguish was
+over, and I had laid him in the fragrant earth, amongst the roots of
+happy flowers, where the limpid brook murmurs its soft and
+never-ending requiem, and the birds come every night to dream and
+sleep amid the overhanging branches, although my mortal sense was all
+too dull to realize his presence, yet in my _soul_ I felt that he was
+still with me. No midnight breeze came sighing through the dewy
+moonlight, or brought the exhalations of the stars upon its wings,
+that did not speak to me of him; and ever when I prayed, I knew that
+he was near me, mingling, as of old, his soul with mine.
+
+Poets may sing of love, and romantic youths may dream they realize the
+soft delusion; strong hearts may swear they break and wither away with
+unrequited passion, and keen brains may be turned by the maddening
+glances of woman's eyes; but all these to me seem weak and common
+emotions when compared with the intenseness of man's friendship--that
+pure, devoted identification with each other which two congenial souls
+experience when the alloy of no sexual or animal passion mingles with
+the devotion of the spirit. I could go through fiery ordeals, or
+submit with patience to the keenest tortures, both of mind or body, so
+that I felt the sustaining presence of one real friend; while, if
+alone, my heart shrinks from the contest, and retires dismayed upon
+itself.
+
+But my poor friend was in love, and _his_ love was as pervading and
+absorbing as the fragrance of a flower, or the light of a star. The
+woman he had chosen for his idol--the shrine at which his pure
+devotions of heart and soul were offered--was a gay and beautiful
+Creole from New Orleans, who, with her mother, and a young gentleman
+who appeared in the capacity of friend, spent the summer months in the
+North. They stopped at the Carlton, where my friend was boarding, and
+the acquaintance had been formed quite accidentally. The lady was
+beautiful, bewitching, and very tender; and, without stopping to
+inquire as to the consequences, or to assure himself that he had the
+least chance of success, Medwin fell desperately and hopelessly in
+love in a few days. I was soon made aware of the state of the case,
+for he had no secrets from me; and, foreseeing that he might very
+easily have deceived himself entirely in taking for granted that the
+young lady's affections were not pre-engaged, I begged him to be
+cautious, and not throw away his regards upon an object, perhaps,
+unattainable--perhaps even unworthy of them. I represented to him that
+ladies in the South were usually not very long in falling in love; and
+it was altogether probable that Clara Harland was already engaged to
+the gentleman who had accompanied her and her mother, and who was
+evidently a favored acquaintance. Charles, however, infatuated with
+his passion, was deaf to my remonstrances, and the very next day
+sought and obtained an interview, in which he declared his passion,
+and was made happy by the beautiful Creole. She, however, cautioned
+him to be on his guard, as her companion had for some time been a
+suitor for her hand, and was a great favorite with her mother, who had
+frequently and earnestly urged her to accept his attentions. The fair
+girl avowed, with flashing eyes, that she loved him not, and had never
+loved before she met with Medwin. "How," she exclaimed with unwonted
+energy, "can dear mamma suppose that I shall ever become enamored of
+that coarse, ferocious, unintellectual man? He has not a generous or
+delicate sympathy in his nature, and is as rude in heart and feeling
+as in manner. Beware, however, my dear Charles," continued she, with
+earnestness, "of Mr. Allington. He is a bold, bad man, whom habits and
+associations have made haughty, imperious, cold-blooded, and cruel;
+and I tremble for you when he shall learn what has this day passed
+between us. Beware of him, for _my_ sake; and, oh! promise me, dearest
+Charles, that, whatever may be the consequence of what we now have
+done, you will never fight with him."
+
+Charles smiled, and pressed her hand. "Do not alarm yourself,
+dearest," said he, "I love you too well to rashly expose myself to
+danger. I have ever entertained a just horror of the inhuman and
+barbarous practice at which you hint; and beside," continued he,
+earnestly, fixing his eyes upon her face with such tenderness that the
+blood rushed unconsciously to her temples beneath that dear gaze,
+"since your words of hope and love to me to-day, existence possesses
+new value in my eyes. Be assured I shall not rashly peril it."
+
+They parted with kind looks and a timid pressure of the hands. Medwin
+firmly resolved, let what would happen, to keep his promise to his
+beautiful Creole; and Clara, convinced that, although she had been
+bred and educated in the midst of a community where not to fight was
+of itself dishonorable, she should be _entirely_ satisfied with what
+the world, or even her own mother should say, about his cowardice and
+want of honor. Poor girl! she had sadly miscalculated both the effects
+of the act she had advised, and the strength of her own resolution.
+
+In a few days Mrs. Harland suddenly announced her determination of
+returning to New Orleans, and Clara sadly and tremblingly prepared
+herself to take leave of her lover. He came--was told by her of her
+mother's resolution to depart, which she was at no loss in tracing to
+the advice of Allington--and was made alive and happy again by Charles
+assuring her that he himself should start for New Orleans, although by
+another route, on the very day she departed.
+
+"Oh, now I know that you do love me, indeed!" said the beautiful girl,
+while she pressed her lover's head to her dainty bosom, and, kissing
+his forehead, ran out of the room.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+"Well, these d----d Yankees _are_ all a pack of cowards, after all,
+and I will never defend them again," said a young Creole, as he met
+Mr. Allington one morning, at the Merchants' Exchange in New Orleans.
+"Not fight, and after being challenged on account of as lovely a woman
+as Clara Harland! Why, what the devil did he take the trouble of
+following you all the way from New York for, if he didn't mean to
+_fight_ you?"
+
+"Oh, nonsense! my dear St. Maur," replied Allington, "you don't
+understand the laws of honor, as they are construed at the North.
+There, my dear fellow, every thing is regulated by law; and if a
+fellow treads on your corns, slanders you behind your back, or steals
+your mistress, the only remedy is 'an action for damages,' and,
+perhaps, a paragraph in a newspaper."
+
+"But what says she herself to the cowardly fellow's refusal to fight
+you? I suppose that now, of course, she will think no more of the
+puppy, and return to Allington and first love."
+
+"I know not--for I have not seen her these four days. But if this
+beggarly attorney's clerk document is to be believed," continued
+Allington, pulling a letter from his pocket, "she herself expressly
+commanded him not to fight."
+
+"Oh, do let us hear it!" cried St. Maur, and half a dozen young bloods
+without vests, and with shirt-bosoms falling over their waistbands
+nearly to the knee. "Do let us hear, by all means, what the
+white-livered fellow has to say for himself."
+
+"No," replied Allington, hesitatingly; "that I think would be
+dishonorable; although--I--don't know--the d----d fellow wouldn't
+fight, and so I am not certain that I am not released--there, St.
+Maur, what the devil are you at?"
+
+But St. Maur had snatched the missile from Allington's half-extended
+hand, and mounting one of the little marble julep-tables, and
+supporting himself against a massive granite pillar that ran from the
+ground-floor to the base of the dome, he began reading, while the
+company, now increased to half a hundred morning loungers, pressed
+eagerly round to hear. As my poor friend is dead, and there are none
+whose feelings can now be wounded by its publication, here is the
+letter.
+
+     "SIR,--Hours of an agonized struggle, in comparison
+     with which mere _death_ would have been an infinite
+     relief, have nerved me for the task of telling you,
+     calmly and deliberately, that I take back my acceptance
+     of your challenge. When I received it, I was forgetful
+     of my sacred promise, and acted only from the impulse
+     of the moment. Had your friend staid an instant, the
+     matter should then have been explained. As it is, I am
+     positively compelled, much as my heart revolts at it,
+     to drag a lady into my explanation. _She_, (I need not
+     write her name,) bound me by a solemn and most sacred
+     promise--to violate which would be dishonor--that I
+     _would not_ fight you. I must and will keep my word,
+     although I have seen enough of public opinion, during
+     the few days of my sojourn here, to know that by doing
+     so I am covering myself with a load of infamy which I
+     may find it impossible to bear.
+
+     "But enough; my course is taken, and I must abide the
+     consequences, whatever they may be. I, therefore, sir,
+     have to beg pardon, both of yourself and your friend,
+     for the trouble this affair has already occasioned you.
+
+     "This letter is directed to you without the knowledge
+     or consent of the gentleman who was to have acted as my
+     friend on the occasion; and he must, therefore, be held
+     responsible for nothing.
+
+     "Yours respectfully."
+
+"A very pretty piece of argument and logic, eloquently urged, withal!"
+said St. Maur, as he coolly folded the letter, and leaping upon the
+floor, restored it to its owner.
+
+"Hush!" said Allington, as he hastily deposited the letter in his
+pocket, "there he is. Can he have been a witness to St. Maur's folly,
+in reading the letter?"
+
+All eyes turned instinctively to the further pillar in the large room,
+against which was leaning my poor friend, his face perfectly livid,
+and in an attitude as if he had fallen against the granite column for
+support. Several of the young Creoles approached the place where he
+stood; but there was something terrible in his aspect which made them
+start back, and quietly turn into the great passage leading to the
+street.
+
+Medwin had recovered, if he had fainted, (which seemed probable,) and
+his eye now glared like fire.
+
+St. Maur, however, approached him.
+
+"So, my good Yankee friend," said he, bowing in affected politeness,
+"you did not like to risk Allington here with a pistol at twelve paces
+from your body, eh? You are very right, Mr. Wooden Nutmeg; it would
+not be safe!"
+
+"Beware!" uttered Medwin, in such a deep and thrilling voice, that the
+Creole nearly jumped off the floor; but, before he could make a step
+backward, Medwin's open hand struck him a smart blow on the cheek.
+
+"Ten thousand hell-fires exclaimed the astonished Frenchman, leaping
+back and almost tumbling over Allington, in his amazement. "What does
+he mean? I will have your heart's blood, sir, for this."
+
+Medwin said nothing, but quietly handed the discomfited bully his
+card, which, however, Allington snatched away.
+
+"What, St. Maur," cried he, would you fight a coward--a published
+poltroon? You know you dare not do it."
+
+"Let me alone," cried the infuriated Frenchman. He has struck me, and
+I will have his heart's blood. _Sacre nomme de Dieu!_" screamed he,
+forgetting his usual polished manner along with his English, and
+leaping about like a madman. "_Donnez moi son gage!_"
+
+"Not now, I tell you, not now. Come along and I will satisfy you in
+ten minutes that you cannot fight that _coward_," emphasizing the last
+word, so that Medwin could not fail to hear.
+
+"Mr. Allington," said Medwin, coming forward into the middle of the
+group, now reduced to some dozen persons--for an altercation is not of
+such rarity as to create any particular excitement there--"after the
+base and dishonorable use you have this day permitted to be made of a
+private letter, I am sincerely glad that circumstances rendered it
+impossible for me to treat you as a gentleman; but as to this person,
+(pointing to St. Maur,) I can easily satisfy him that he will run no
+risk of losing his reputation by honoring me with his notice. I have
+the honor to refer Monsieur St. Maur to Mr. ----, now at the St.
+Charles, whose character for honor is too well known throughout the
+country to be disputed." And, bowing low, Medwin left the room.
+
+"Well, now this is a pretty scrape," said St. Maur, subsiding at once;
+"and I don't see how I can avoid fighting him. He is not such a
+cockroach!" and the Frenchman turned a little pale, despite his yellow
+skin.
+
+"Nonsense," replied Allington, "you shall do no such thing. In the
+first place, I can't spare you; and in the next, if we can
+irretrievably disgrace Medwin, so that he may be shunned by everybody,
+I do not think the weak head of my Clara can withstand the storm; and
+she will gradually learn to despise him, too. So take no further
+notice of this matter; for a blow from a published coward carries no
+more disgrace with it than a bite from a dog, or a kick from an ass.
+You must help me out with my plans, too, in behalf of my charming
+heiress, and I'll be sure to remember you in my will. Let's take a
+julep."
+
+For three days Medwin waited in an agony of impatience to hear from
+St. Maur, but not a word came--and he began to despair. Everywhere he
+went he was regarded with significant glances, and pointed at, while a
+disdainful whisper ran round the room, in which he could always
+distinguish the words, "white-livered Yankee," "coward," or some
+equally obnoxious epithet. He saw the cruel game that was playing
+against him. He had forgotten that, in refusing to fight with
+Allington, he had rendered it perfectly safe for every whipster in the
+community to insult him; and he now became suddenly aware that he had
+involved himself in a dilemma from which it was impossible for him to
+escape.
+
+In the midst of these reflections--while life had become intolerable,
+and infamy and disgrace dogged his steps like a shadow--he never
+entertained a doubt of Clara's love and constancy, and looked forward
+to the time when he might claim her as his bride, and, amid the milder
+and manlier associations of his youth, regain that calmness and
+self-respect which he had here so strangely lost. His position was, in
+truth, a most wretched one. Opposed to the barbarous practice of
+dueling, circumstances and his own loss of self-control had forced him
+to _accept_ a challenge, and then recall that acceptance, and to offer
+an insult to a stranger, for the express purpose of drawing out
+another.
+
+Upon the day after his refusal to fight with Allington, he had called
+at Mr. Harland's, but was told that Clara had been taken suddenly
+ill, and could not be seen. This was a new and deeper anxiety, added
+to his already overburdened spirit; and he really had begun to be
+deserted of hope, and to contemplate a speedy relief from the pains of
+existence. Nothing but the confidence which he reposed upon Clara's
+love, rendered the bright sunshine an endurable blessing to the sadly
+distempered youth. But he could not see her. Day after day he called,
+and always the same cold, formal reply--"Miss Harland was yet very
+ill, but in no danger, and could not be spoken with." Could he but see
+her for an instant--could he touch her hand, or meet her smile, or
+drink in the sweet music of her voice, he would feel his heart nerved
+against every disaster, and would wait in patience; but all, all
+alone, amid lowering brows, or sneering faces, which ever glowered
+like phantoms about him--whether in reality, as he walked the streets,
+or in dreams, as he tossed upon his pillow--it was too much. His heart
+seemed to be on fire.
+
+It was in this frame of mind, with reason tortured to her utmost power
+of endurance, and insanity peeping into that soul which might so soon
+become her own, that Medwin, while walking up the Shell-Road, and
+looking wistfully at the muddy canal, which swam away sluggishly on
+one hand, while the green and stagnant swamp stretched interminably
+upon the other, that he was startled by the rapid approach of a
+carriage, and the sound of gay and noisy mirth. He looked up. The
+brilliant equipage of Mrs. Harland was hurrying by, and he had barely
+time to distinguish Clara, looking as fresh and blooming as a newly
+flowered rose, and laughing and chatting in a lively and even
+boisterous manner with--Mr. Allington!
+
+She leaned over the carriage-side as they whirled along, and, for an
+instant, her eyes met those of her bewildered lover.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+Alas! poor, silly Clara! How dared you thus rudely tamper with a soul
+of such exquisite and refined fire, that it constantly trembled and
+fluttered around its earthly shrine, like the flame of burning
+essence, as if doubtful whether to blaze or go out forever! Oh!
+shallow-hearted woman! what a wide and glorious world of bright hopes
+and angel aspirations--of beautiful thoughts and unutterable
+dreamings--in all of which thou wert a part--hast thou crushed even as
+the foolish child grinds the gay butterfly to powder between his
+fingers. And art thou, indeed, so heartless a _coward_, that, because
+men's tongues have dared to wag against the beloved of thy soul, thou
+durst not own him thenceforth, and hast cast him off forever! Murmur
+not, oh, woman! that thou art made the sport and plaything for rakes
+and libertines to beguile a weary hour withal. Search thine own heart;
+and, in that deep and dark recess, where lurk the demons of thy
+destiny--pride, vanity, frowardness--behold reflected the blackness
+and the _justice_ of thy fate! Who setteth his whole soul upon a
+flower, and findeth its fragrance at last to be a deadly poison, if
+he escape from its contact, placeth no more flowers in his bosom. In
+vain they woo him with their beauteous eyes and breath of perfume. He
+heeds them not, or, at best, plucks them disdainfully, to gaze upon in
+listless indifference for a moment, and then cast them behind him, to
+be crushed beneath the stranger's heel.
+
+Clara's heart smote her to the quick as she caught that wild glance of
+her lover, and saw the haggard ghost that looked out from those hollow
+eyes. She screamed slightly, and sunk back in the carriage as pale as
+marble. Allington and her mother exchanged glances, and were silent,
+while the young man made a motion, as if he would support her in his
+arms, and the carriage was turned homeward, and the horses urged to
+their utmost speed. Clara made no resistance to the attentions of
+Allington, and it was doubtful whether she was conscious--so pale, and
+cold, and pulseless were her beautiful cheeks and temples; but a
+tremulous quivering of the upper lip told of a storm that raged
+within.
+
+By the time she arrived at home Clara had recovered herself
+completely, and, pushing aside the arm of Allington, almost rudely,
+she sprang upon the _banquette_ and into the house; and, turning upon
+him a look of lively indignation, darted up stairs to her chamber.
+Here she was quickly rejoined by her mother, whose obtuse apprehension
+had at length discovered that something was wrong, and who now came to
+offer her maternal consolations.
+
+"Mother!" exclaimed Clara, the moment she entered the room, "I am a
+wretch. It was I who compelled Medwin to promise me, upon his honor as
+a man, that he would not fight Allington; and now that all the world
+has frowned upon him, _I_, too, have turned recreant, and cast him
+off. Mother, speak to me no word of command or remonstrance. I will
+never see Mr. Allington again; and I will this very hour go to Medwin,
+and throw myself on my knees before him. Yes, we shall be happy!"
+
+"My child, you are excited just now, and I beg you to wait until
+morning. We will then talk the matter over calmly; and if you cannot
+really be happy without Mr. Medwin, why, my child, I will not urge you
+further. Come, dear girl, go to bed now, and to-morrow you will be
+yourself again."
+
+With gentle and soothing care--for the _mother_ was now all aroused in
+the callous heart of this worldly woman, and bent every accent and
+every motion into grace and kindness--Mrs. Harland at length succeeded
+in calming the excitement of her child, and inducing her to consent to
+wait until the next morning, when, if she wished, her mother said,
+Medwin should be sent for. "I am sure, my child," she said, as she
+kissed her and bid her good-night, "I have acted for the best, and
+have nothing but your happiness in view."
+
+And now she was alone; and leaving her bed, she leaned against the
+window, while the shadowy curtain of evening, which falls in that
+climate suddenly down from the sky, shut out the day, and seemed, at
+the same moment, to shut the light from her heart. Then, with rapid
+steps, her little feet paced the luxurious carpet of her apartment,
+while her heart beat loudly and still more rapidly in her bosom. Again
+she tried to rest, but the taper which she had lighted threw such
+ghastly shadows upon the walls, which seemed to wave and beckon her,
+that she leaped from the bed in agony, and almost screamed outright.
+Hours passed slowly and sadly, and the short, sharp ringing of the
+watchman's club upon the pavement beneath her window, mingled with the
+chimes of the old cathedral clock as it struck midnight--and still the
+poor frightened girl could neither sleep nor compose herself. Once,
+indeed, she had fallen into a kind of slumber, curtained with such
+horrid dreams as made it torture instead of rest. She saw her lover
+with his bright eye turned sweetly upon her, as of old, and his
+beautiful locks resting upon her shoulder, while she held his hand
+upon her throbbing heart, and he whispered dear words and precious
+sighs into her willing ear. But anon the paleness of death stole over
+that manly brow--the lips fell apart, white and ghastly, and the noble
+form fell down at her feet, a stiffened corse. She shrieked aloud in
+her agony, and awoke. The moon had risen, and was throwing a broad and
+brilliant stream of light into the apartment, and the busy breeze,
+fresh from the fragrant sea, whispered its musical noises through the
+waving curtains of her couch.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+At length the white blaze of the moon went out, and the misty morn
+looked dim and sad over the sleeping city. Throwing a cloak about her,
+Clara hurried down the stairs, and, opening the door softly, found
+herself in the street, at an hour she had never before been there.
+What a strange and dreary aspect every thing seemed to wear! The
+windows of the houses, as she passed, were all closed, and no one
+could be seen but dozens of loitering negroes returning from market,
+or here and there some industrious landlady with a small basket of
+vegetables on her arm, and closely veiled, hurrying along as if to
+escape observation, followed by a servant with the day's provisions in
+a large basket, which she carried steadily upon her head. Every one
+who met her turned and stared curiously; and as she hurried over the
+long crossing of Canal street, and threaded her way between the hacks
+that had already taken their station, she felt that rude eyes, and
+ruder sneers were upon her. She paused not for an instant, however,
+but redoubled her speed until she reached the private entrance to the
+St. Charles, where, leaning for a moment against a column, she
+beckoned a woman from the saloon of the baths into the vestibule, and,
+putting a piece of money into her hand, whispered, "Find out the
+chamber of Mr. Medwin. He is very sick, and a dear friend of mine--I
+must see him immediately."
+
+The woman disappeared up the stairs leading to the "office" of the
+hotel, and, returning in a moment, made a sign for Clara to follow.
+
+As they approached, a noise and bustle were apparent at the further
+end of the corridor, and several servants were hurrying in and out, as
+if some sudden accident had occurred. Clara's guide pointed out
+Medwin's room, and she rushed in--feeling certain in her heart that
+her lover was dying.
+
+He lay stiff and stark upon the sofa, with a few white froth bubbles
+gathered upon his lips, and a letter clasped tightly in his hand. It
+seemed that he was not yet dead, for a physician, who had been hastily
+summoned, was attempting to force open his mouth, as if to administer
+a restorative to the dying man. As Clara approached, he stared in
+astonishment, but she heeded him not, and exclaiming, "Oh, Charles,
+what frightful dream is this!" threw herself on her knees before him.
+
+Life rallied for an instant, and he opened those wild, fearful eyes.
+Oh! what a world of wretchedness and despair was in that glance! He
+knew her; and conquering, with a convulsive effort, the agony which
+was withering up the last drops of life, caught her to his heart,
+exclaiming,
+
+"Clara, thou art forgiven! I am _not_ a coward; for I can even die and
+leave thee thus. Farewell! be happy!"
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+All was over. My poor friend had fought his last battle, and his
+antagonist and conqueror was Death. That pure and noble spirit, with
+all its wild and restless fever-dreams, "sleeps well" amid the
+beautiful solitudes of Cypress Grove Cemetery--the _home of the
+stranger_--where so many proud and buoyant hearts crumble beneath the
+golden air, new filled with odorous dew. And I wait patiently, yet
+sadly, for the hour which is to restore me to the friend of my bosom.
+
+
+
+
+THE ANCIENT AND THE MODERN MUSE.
+
+BY LYMAN LONG.
+
+    The Muse, in times more ancient, made
+      The grove's thick gloom her dwelling-place,
+    And, queen-like, her proud sceptre swayed
+      O'er a submiss and trembling race.
+
+    When stirred her breath the sleeping trees,
+      Awe-struck, with fearful feet they trod,
+    And when her voice swelled on the breeze,
+      Adoring bowed, as to a God!
+
+    Her wildly murmured strains they caught,
+      As echoes from the spirit-world,
+    Till reeled the brain, to frenzy wrought,
+      With mixt amaze and rapture whirled!
+
+    Thus stern, retired, she swayed the earth,
+      Till, as new dawned an age of gold,
+    A happier era led her forth
+      To dwell with men, like gods of old.
+
+    To dwell with us--to roam no more!
+      _Ours_ is this golden age of bliss!
+    She comes with blessings rich in store;
+      And, like a sister, whispers peace.
+
+    Not now with awe-inspiring air,
+      But gentle as the meek-eyed dove,
+    And clad in smiles that angels wear,
+      And with an aspect full of love.
+
+    She greets us at our fire-sides, when
+      Sweet looks to accents sweet respond,
+    And breathing soft her tender strain,
+      More closely knits the silken bond.
+
+    Unmingled joy her smiles afford,
+      Where meet the mirthful, social throng,
+    As, gathered round the festive board,
+      Our healths she pledges in a song.
+
+    She meets us in our private walks,
+      'Mid groves that fairy glens embower,
+    When Morning gems her purple locks,
+      Or Vesper rules the silent hour.
+
+    Her hand, upon the beech's rind,
+      Marks well, for fair Belinda's eyes,
+    (Else vainly murmured to the wind,)
+      Thy flame, young Damon, and thy sighs.
+
+    Stern Toil, beneath her gentle sway,
+      Well pleased, unbends his rugged brow--
+    With Bloomfield chants the rustic lay,
+      Or guides with Burns the daisied plough.
+
+    Her form appears the bow of peace,
+      Upon the clouds that darken life,
+    Now bidding Sorrow's tears to cease,
+      And staying now the hand of Strife.
+
+    She smiles on me, no bard inspired,
+      But wand'rer o'er life's arid waste,
+    Who, fainting, halting, parched and tired,
+      One cordial, nectared drop would taste.
+
+    Companion of the pure in heart,
+      She tunes the lyre to David's flame,
+    And rapt, as mortal scenes depart,
+      She hymns the heaven from whence she came!
+
+
+
+
+THERESA, OR GENIUS AND WOMANHOOD.
+
+A TALE OF DOMESTIC LIFE.
+
+BY MRS. JANE TAYLOR WORTHINGTON.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+    What sad experience may be thine to bear
+          Through coming years;
+    For womanhood hath weariness and care,
+          And anxious tears;
+    And they may all be thine, to brand the brow
+    That in its childish beauty sleepeth now.
+
+Theresa Germaine was a child some six years of age when I saw her
+first, nearly twenty-five years ago. It is a long time to look back
+on; but I well remember the bright, winning face, and cordial manners
+of the little lady, when she would come to the parsonage and enliven
+our tranquil hearts by her gay, spontaneous glee. She was full of life
+and buoyancy; there was even then a sort of sparkling rapture about
+her existence, a keen susceptibility of enjoyment, and an intense
+sympathy with those she loved, which bespoke her, from the first, no
+ordinary being. Ah, me! I have lived to see all that fade away, and to
+feel grateful when the dust was laid on the brow I had kissed so often
+in an old man's fondness--but let that pass. I must write calmly, or
+tears will blind me; and I have undertaken the task of recording
+Theresa's experience, not to tell how well we loved her, but to
+strive, however feebly and imperfectly, to lay bare some of the
+peculiarities of genius, when found in sad combination with a woman's
+lot.
+
+There was little marked or unusual in Theresa's outward life; her
+visible griefs were such as come to all, but the history of her inner
+being--the true and unseen life--was one of extremes. It was her fate
+to feel every thing vividly; and her joys and troubles were fully
+realized by the impassioned depth of her nature; and if, in my loving
+remembrances, I dwell somewhat bitterly on the portion society gave
+one who richly deserved its homage, and singularly needed its
+indulgences; if I portray too warmly the censure and neglect that made
+her path so full of trial, let me not be misunderstood. I would give
+no sanction to the hasty disregard of appearances which is the
+besetting sin of exalted and independent intellect. Under all
+circumstances it is an unwise experiment to transgress established
+rules; and in a woman, however rarely she may be gifted, it is a rash
+and hazardous thing to defy public opinion. Wearying and frivolous as
+many of society's conventionalities are, there is much wisdom in them;
+they are indispensible links in the chain binding together "all sorts
+of people," and she who breaks them knowingly, sins against one of her
+greatest safeguards.
+
+Theresa's father, a man of good birth and great acquirements, but
+ruined fortunes, had come to reside in our village about five years
+before the commencement of this story. She was then his only child,
+his elder treasures having been laid, one after another, in distant
+graves. Her mother was a tranquil, quiet woman, and still retained the
+traces of a beauty which must once have been remarkable. She was a
+person of placid temper and mediocre mind, but wavering in judgment,
+and not in the least calculated to control the impetuosity, or guide
+the enthusiasm of her ardent and reckless child. This Mr. Germaine
+seemed acutely to feel; and I could read his fears in the fixed gaze
+of prophetic anxiety which he would often rivet on the varying
+countenance of his happy and unconscious daughter. His health was
+already gradually declining, and he evidently dreaded the future, when
+his favorite should be left in many respects guardianless amid the
+world's temptations. In my capacity as pastor, I was a frequent
+visiter at the little cottage, where, in subdued resignation he was
+patiently wearing out his life; and we at length acquired that mental
+intimacy which men are apt to feel when they have spoken together of
+life's highest aims and holiest hopes. I was many years his
+senior--for it is with the tremulous hand of old age that I write
+these lines, and I felt sincere and admiring sympathy for one who,
+through various perplexities and misfortunes, still retained serenity
+and peace.
+
+We were sitting together one starlight evening, in the small
+vine-draperied porch of his simple dwelling. Mrs. Germaine was
+occupied with household duties, and Theresa, after having asked us
+both a thousand unanswerable questions, had reluctantly obeyed her
+mother's summons to retire to rest.
+
+"I cannot describe to you," said my companion, "the fear with which I
+anticipate the hereafter for that child; she is one whose blended
+characteristics are rare, and her fate can have no medium. Were she a
+boy, and possessed of those traits, I should have no dread, for with
+such energies as are even now visible in her temperament,
+circumstances can be almost controlled, but it is a dangerous thing
+for her own happiness, for a woman to be thus endowed."
+
+"I think you are too desponding," was my reply; "it appears to me that
+talent is necessarily in a great degree its own reward; and though it
+is the fashion to talk and write much of the griefs of intellect, I
+believe human sorrow is more equally divided than we acknowledge, and
+that the joys resulting from high gifts far overbalance their trials."
+
+"It may be so generally," Mr. Germaine answered, "but my experience
+and observation have impressed me differently. I never knew,
+personally, but one woman of genius, and she was a mournful instance
+of the truth of my convictions, and of the fatal folly of striving to
+pass beyond the brazen walls with which prejudice has encompassed
+womanhood. She was young, fair, and flattered, and fascinating above
+any comparison I can think of. Of course, she was aware of her
+capabilities--for ignorance in such cases is not possible, and
+naturally self-confident, she grew impatient for praise and power. Her
+affections, unfortunately, were warm and enduring; but she sacrificed
+them, to promote her desire for distinction, and unable, though so
+superior, to escape the heart-thraldom, which is the destiny of her
+sex, she died at last, more of disappointment than disease, with her
+boundless aspirations all unfulfilled. I fancy I can trace in Theresa
+many points of resemblance to her I have mentioned--for I knew her in
+early childhood. Solicitude on this subject is the only anxiety I
+cannot patiently conquer, and which makes the prospect of parting
+painful." He paused for a moment, and then, as if to turn his
+reflections from their depressing course, he said, "I have been
+reading to-day some extracts from Mrs. Hemans' works. As I grow older
+and more thoughtful, such things touch me deeply, and I experience a
+constantly increasing interest in the products of female talent. There
+is an intensity of sentiment, a pure tenderness of heart about such
+writings generally, which, in my present tranquil state of mind, are
+in harmony with my heavenward reflections, and the ideal spirit
+pervading them, soothes my imagination. In my restless and hopeful
+years I sought literary recreation from far different sources, but now
+that I feel myself a pilgrim, and stand surrounded by shadows on the
+verge of an unknown hereafter, I prize inexpressibly these glimpses of
+paradise which are God's precious gift to every true and intellectual
+woman."
+
+It was thus my friend often spoke, for it was a theme on which he
+always delighted to dwell. I have never seen any one whose reverence
+for woman's gifts was so strong, and who appreciated with such
+sincerity the moral loveliness of her perfected nature. It was about
+this time that the birth of a second daughter added a new tie to Mr.
+Germaine's life; and the event saddened him more than I believed any
+earthly event could have done. The feeling was probably a natural one,
+but it grieved me to see how he strove to crush every impulse of
+tenderness toward the little one he must leave so soon.
+
+It would have been well for Theresa had her father lived to view the
+ripening of the faculties whose blossoming he already traced with the
+prophetic gaze of parental affection; but she was destined to tread
+her path alone, and to know in their wide extent both the triumphs and
+the penalties of superiority. She was seven years of age when her
+father died, leaving herself and her sister to their mother's care. I
+need not relate here the many interesting interviews between Mr.
+Germaine and myself, which were more and more touching as his
+departure drew near. With an earnestness unutterably impressive, he
+implored my watchful solicitude for his eldest daughter, entreating me
+to afford her that guidance from experience, which she must inevitably
+need.
+
+"Be gentle with her," he said, "but not too indulgent; she will
+require strictness of management, for with such impetuosity of nature
+her judgment must often err. She is too young as yet for me to be able
+to foresee the particular bent her character will assume, but I
+entreat you to be her candid friend and firm adviser when she will
+assuredly want both."
+
+On the trying scenes of that period I will not longer linger; for
+there is something unutterably solemn in the tranquil passing away of
+a good man's soul, something that hallows to our thoughts even the
+fear-fraught moment of dissolution from which mere mortality
+instinctively shrinks. Yet it is a sad thing when so much worth and
+wisdom leaves the earth forever; and to those who realize the
+inestimable advantages and useful influences of a high example, it is
+a mournful sight to look on the closing sunset of one who evidenced
+the beautiful union between holiness and humanity.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+    Spirit-like fair forms are pressing
+          'Round her now,
+    With their angel hands caressing
+          Her pale brow.
+
+    Words of solace they are chanting,
+          Sweet and clear,
+    That evermore will now be haunting
+          Her life here.
+
+I visited the cottage frequently, and for several months after Mr.
+Germaine's death, it was the scene of no ordinary grief. Mrs. Germaine
+bore her bereavement patiently--for it was an event she had long
+anticipated with womanly meekness and resignation; but she mourned
+most deeply--for it is a great mistake to think commonplace persons
+deficient in vividness of feeling. I believe their emotions are as
+keen, and generally more enduring, than those of more decided minds,
+from the very fact of their possessing few self-resources to divert
+the course of affliction. Be this as it may, Mrs. Germaine was soon,
+in all that was apparent, the quiet and anxious mother she had always
+been; and if she suffered still, it was in the silence of a heart that
+had no language for its sorrows. Far wilder and more vehement was the
+passionate and unresisted tide of Theresa's suffering; and for many
+weeks she refused all the consolation that could be offered to a child
+of her age. She would sit by my side and converse of her father, with
+an admiration for his virtues, and an appreciation of his character
+far beyond what I had supposed she could comprehend.
+
+This violent emotion necessarily exhausted itself, as a heavy cloud
+weeps itself away; but for a long time she was painfully dejected, and
+her face lost its childishness of expression, and wore a look of
+appealing, unspeakable melancholy I never remarked on any other
+countenance. It was the "settled shadow of an inward strife," the
+outward impress of a mind suddenly aroused to a knowledge of trial,
+and never again to sleep in unconsciousnes; and often in after years,
+the same inexpressible look darkened her brow through the tumult of
+conflicting impulses, and amid the war of triumph and pain.
+
+I have said that Mr. Germaine's pecuniary circumstances were limited;
+but for some time previous to his illness, he had, at the expense of
+many a personal comfort, laid by a sum sufficient to procure for
+Theresa all the advantages of an accomplished education. His wife had
+frequently remonstrated against the innumerable little privations he
+voluntarily endured for this favorite purpose, for she attached more
+value to physical than mental gratifications, and could scarcely
+sympathize with his disinterested solicitude for his daughter's
+intellectual culture. It had been a great happiness to him to trace
+the gradual development of her intelligence, and to direct her simple
+studies; and it had been one of his last requests that I would in this
+respect occupy his place until she should be old enough to require
+other superintendence. His love was one of hope and trust, and he had
+diligently sown the seed, though he knew he never might behold its
+ripening.
+
+For two months I made no attempt to alter the current of her thoughts,
+believing it better to allow her sensibilities to exhaust themselves
+without interruption. When she grew calmer, I proposed that she should
+come every morning to the parsonage to resume her daily studies; and,
+as I had hoped and anticipated, she eagerly acceded to the
+arrangement. And thus commenced the cultivation of a mind, whose early
+maturity bore a rich harvest of recompense; and thus dawned that
+loving anxiety for my pupil's welfare which realized many of my life's
+younger wishes, and lent so sunny and living an interest to my
+solitary and remembering years.
+
+It was with some difficulty and after much remonstrance that I induced
+Theresa's application to the graver branches of acquirement, which,
+with my old-fashioned ideas of education, I considered indispensable
+even to a woman. At last, I believe, it was only through affection for
+me that she yielded her taste, and consented to devote her mind to
+such acquisitions. Her inclinations were all for what was beautiful or
+imaginative; she early loved whatever touched her feelings or awoke
+the vivid impressions of her young fancy; and I found some trouble in
+curbing within rational limits her natural and fascinating
+prepossessions. As she grew older, and passed what she deemed the
+drudgery of learning, and drew nearer, with rapid steps, to Thought's
+promised land of compensation, we constantly read and conversed
+together. We dwelt on the inspired pages of the poets, I, with old
+age's returning love for the romantic, and increasing reverence for
+the true, and she, with the intense, bewildered delight of a spirit
+that hoped all things, and a simple faith that trusted the future
+would brightly fulfill all the fairest prospects which poetry could
+portray.
+
+Her disposition was sanguine to an extreme, with the happy faculty of
+believing what she hoped; and she possessed in a remarkable degree the
+power of expressing and defining her ideas and emotions, and rendering
+them visible by words. She never paused for an expression, or selected
+an injudicious one; and her fluency was the result of a mingled
+vividness and clearness of intellect, blended with artist-skill, and
+all the fervor of dawning and dreaming womanhood.
+
+Her affections were spontaneous and impassioned, at once impulsive and
+enduring, and, like all enthusiasts, she was frequently governed by
+prejudice. Her little sister was a child of rare beauty and
+gentleness, and was Theresa's perfect idol. She was perpetually
+contriving pleasant surprises for her favorite; and it was her delight
+to wreath flowers around Amy's golden curls, and to add a thousand
+fantastic decorations to her delicate and seraphic loveliness. They
+would have made an exquisite picture, those two sisters, so different
+in age and character; the one so fair, with childhood's silent and
+fragile beauty, the other glowing with life and premature thought,
+already testing the "rapture of the strife," and revealing in the
+intense gaze of her dark, restless eyes, the world of gleaming visions
+within whose enchantment she lived.
+
+It was when my pupil had reached her fourteenth year, that, in
+obedience to her father's written directions, she prepared to leave
+our tranquil home, to enter the school of the convent, near the city
+of ----. I know not why Mr. Germaine wished her placed there, for he
+was himself a Protestant, but the advantages of instruction were at
+that time tempting. Probably, in dwelling on them, he overlooked the
+risk of placing his daughter where the unnumbered graces of mind and
+manner veil another creed, and make it alluring, and where the
+imaginative and gorgeous pomp of a different faith were to be placed
+in their most attractive colors before her unsuspecting eyes. It was
+with many a misgiving, many a secret fear, that I anticipated
+Theresa's removal from my watchfulness; and I warned her with the most
+sincere affection, against the temptations of various kinds which she
+would probably encounter in her new abode. Early in the autumn we were
+to part with her, and the sweet summer, with its wealth of fruit and
+flowers was now around us, and our village, in its garlands of
+blossoms, looked its loveliest.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+    O! were it thus! had we, indeed, the gift,
+    Though human, our humanity to chain;
+    Could we in truth our restless spirits lift,
+    And never feel the weight of earth again,
+    Then would I leave the sorrows I bewail,
+    To clasp the cross, the cloister, and the veil.
+
+Some weeks previous to the time at which my last chapter terminates, I
+had received a letter from an old friend, requesting me to inform him
+if any dwelling in our vicinity was for sale, as he was anxious to
+leave the city, and bring his family to a quieter home. I answered his
+inquiries satisfactorily, and now daily expected him to arrive, and
+make final arrangements for his removal.
+
+He came at last, bringing with him his only son, a boy somewhat older
+than Theresa. Gerald Brandon was pale and feeble from recent illness,
+and I persuaded his father to leave him with me, until his new
+residence was prepared to receive its inmates. He gladly assented, and
+accordingly returned to town, while Gerald remained at the parsonage.
+The next two months were among the happiest my memory recalls; and
+they were the last untroubled ones Theresa passed in her secluded
+home. From their threshold she glided to a new life--to that conflict
+of will and purpose, that tempest of impulse and disappointment which
+finally subdued her spirit and wearied out her existence. But as yet
+all was serene and full of promise; and the golden hues of her sunny
+dreams invested our simple pleasures with varied and poetic interest.
+My young guest was a gentle, reflective boy of more than ordinary
+capabilities, but enfeebled by ill-health, and a victim to the
+lassitude which frequently follows protracted bodily suffering. He was
+too placid and pensive for his age, and his mind, though refined and
+harmonious, had nothing of that restless, energetic brilliancy which
+sparkled through Theresa's thoughts. He, however, eagerly participated
+in her accustomed studies, and contributed his share to our literary
+recreations. I sometimes looked on the two with that involuntary wish
+for the power of prophecy which so often rises upon us, and which in
+great mercy we are denied, and would frequently strive to shadow forth
+the destiny of beings who were now reveling in the brief, bright
+interval between childhood and the world. Beautiful era! time of star
+and flower, when the "young moon is on the horizon's verge," and the
+young heart, lovelier still, seems on the brink of rapture, and
+hallows existence with its own unshadowed and seraphic light. We have
+cause to be grateful that this episode is transient, that reality
+contradicts its hopes, for could its illusions last, who would pause
+to think of heaven, with so much of enchanting fulfillment around us
+here.
+
+It was with instinctive pride that I felt my favorite's mental
+superiority to her companion, and noticed the genuine admiration with
+which Gerald acknowledged it. He was astonished at her variety of
+acquirement, her daring originality of opinion, and her unstudied
+readiness of expression. He was gratified, and it may be, flattered,
+by the disinterested solicitude she evinced for his enjoyment, and the
+readiness with which she discarded any scheme of amusement in which
+his health prevented his participation. There is a period in youth
+when the affections feel as a strong necessity, the desire for
+sympathy, when love is yet a stranger, and friendship is as intense as
+passion. Dearer than any after friend, is the one who first fills this
+yearning vacancy; and though as time wears on, and separation follows,
+that tie may be broken never to be re-knit, there is a halo around it
+still, and it is made almost holy by the blended tints of hope and
+trust, and tenderness, that, with reflected light, shine back upon its
+memory.
+
+It was the evening before Theresa's departure, and we were all
+assembled at the cottage. It was impossible to feel very sad, where
+the majority were so eager and fraught with hope, and yet the mother's
+countenance was full of anxiety for her child. Little Amy sat on her
+sister's knee, and Theresa, in her graphic language, was relating some
+romantic history of her own invention, while Mrs. Germaine and myself
+spoke of her. The parent's solicitude was altogether physical; she
+feared only that Theresa would be sick, or that she would encounter
+some of the thousand accidents and evils, whose spectres haunt us upon
+the eve of a first separation. I thought it kinder to be silent as to
+my own very different misgivings, and to dwell only on the encouraging
+part of the prospect. There might be nothing to dread, after all, and
+it was possibly only our unwillingness to part with Theresa, that thus
+assumed to itself the tormenting shape of inquietude.
+
+During our conversation, which was carried on in an under tone, little
+Amy had fallen asleep, and after carefully placing her on the couch,
+and kissing the fair face of the slumberer, that shone like a
+faultless picture from its frame of golden curls, Theresa adjourned
+with Gerald to the porch. It was a perfect evening, and the rays of
+the full moon illumined the little portico, throwing on its floor, in
+fanciful mosaic, the fantastic shadows of the vines which draperied
+the pillars, and lighting up with its spiritual radiance, the earnest
+countenances of the youthful friends. Gerald looked more than usually
+pale in the blanching beams, and Theresa's gaze was sad and tearful.
+
+"You will forget us all, Theresa," said the boy; "you will find
+elsewhere gayer and dearer companions; you will be praised and
+flattered, and it will be several years before you will be stationary
+here again."
+
+"Do you remember the book we read together but a few days since?" she
+answered, "and which says there is no such thing as forgetting
+possible to the mind?"
+
+"Well, but at least you may grow indifferent," persisted Gerald,
+already betraying manhood's perverseness in suspicion, "at least you
+may grow indifferent, and that is even worse than forgetfulness."
+
+"Far worse," answered Theresa, "I would rather a thousand times be
+wholly forgotten, than know that the heart which loved me had grown
+cold and careless. But, Gerald, you are my first friend, the only one
+of my own age I have ever known, and how can I lose the recollection
+of all we have thought and hoped together? And then I shall be too
+constantly occupied to form other ties, for I intend to study
+incessantly, and to return here all, mentally, that my friends can
+wish me."
+
+"Are you not that already; I, for one, do not desire you to change."
+
+"You will alter your flattering opinion, _mon ami_, if I can by
+application realize the bright pictures my ambition paints. I shall be
+so much happier when I have tested myself; for now, all is untried,
+the present is restless, and the future perplexing. It is so difficult
+for me to curb my impatience, to remember that our progressive path
+must be trodden step by step, it may be, through thorns and
+temptations. Patience is the golden rule of talent, the indispensable
+companion of success; for the 'worm may patiently creep to the height
+where the mountain-eagle has rested.' The hardest task for genius to
+learn is, through toiling, to hope on, and though baffled, never to
+despond."
+
+Her face flushed with her own eagerness as she spoke, and Gerald
+looked on her with mingled admiration and want of comprehension, and
+something of that pity with which boyhood is prone to regard the
+wildness of girlish aspirations. It was with hopes and tears united,
+that Theresa bade me farewell; and as I turned away to seek my quiet
+home, the old feeling of desolation and loneliness, which interest in
+my favorite had long dissipated, returned upon me with its depressing
+weight. Our walk to the parsonage was taken in unbroken silence, for
+Gerald, like myself, was busy with the future--to him a smiling world
+of compensation and promise, to me, the silent land of fears and
+shadows. A whole year was to elapse before Theresa's return to us, and
+in the interval she engaged to write every week, either to her mother
+or myself.
+
+For more than an hour that evening I sat beside my window, looking on
+the serene prospect around me, and endeavoring to lay something of
+that external stillness to the restlessness of my disturbing fancies.
+All around was spiritualized by the moonlight; the trees on the lawn
+threw long shadows on the grass, and far away, in their mysterious and
+majestic silence, stood the eternal mountains; like gigantic watchers,
+they kept their vigil over the placid scene beneath--the vigil of
+untold centuries. Cloudless, unsympathizing, changeless, they had no
+part in the busy drama of human experience their loftiness overlooked,
+and now they loomed with shadowy outline, through the sanctifying
+light, habitants alike of earth and sky.
+
+I anticipated tidings from Theresa with that interest which slight
+occurrences lend a life whose stirring events are few.
+
+To me, she engaged to record her thoughts and impressions as they
+came, and to be to me what, under similar circumstances _she_ would
+have been, whose sweet face for a few years brightened my life, and
+who now sleeps, in her childish beauty, by her mother's side.
+
+THERESA'S FIRST LETTER.
+
+     "You will have learned from my letter to my mother, my
+     kind friend, all the little details of my journey and
+     safe arrival at my destination. I felt as if some of my
+     visions of romance were realized, when this beautifully
+     adorned place, in its strange and solemn stillness,
+     stood before me. All the grounds surrounding the
+     convent-buildings are highly cultivated and tastefully
+     improved, presenting a vivid contrast between the wild
+     luxuriance of nature, and the formal, artificial life
+     within these cold, stern walls. Several of the nuns,
+     with downcast eyes and thoughtful steps, were taking
+     their monotonous exercise in the paths through the
+     shrubbery; and shall I confess that I looked with
+     mingled doubt and envy upon those dark-robed
+     figures--doubt, if the restlessness of humanity _can_
+     thus be curbed into repose, and envy of that
+     uninterrupted peace, if, indeed, it may be gained.
+     Strange seem this existence of sacrifice, this
+     voluntary abandonment of life's aims and more extended
+     duties, this repelling, crushing routine of penance and
+     ceremony, with which, in the very midst of activity,
+     and in the bloom of energy, vain mortals strive to put
+     off the inevitable fetters of mortality. Doubtless,
+     many, from long habit, have grown familiar with this
+     vegetative, unbroken seclusion, and accustomed to
+     struggle with tenderness, and conquer impulse, have
+     ceased to feel affection, and rarely recall the friends
+     of their busier days--sad consummation of womanhood's
+     least enviable lot.
+
+     "But I believe it is, in all sincerity, from
+     self-delusion, not from deception, that these women,
+     many of them in the freshness of youth, separate
+     themselves from the wide privileges of their sex, and
+     contract their hearts into the exclusive and narrow
+     bounds of a convent's charities. What mental conflicts
+     must have been theirs, before, from the alluring gloss
+     of expectation, they could turn to embrace a career
+     like this. Some, perhaps, believed the possibility of
+     winning tranquillity by shutting out the temptation of
+     the world, believed that dust might be spiritualized,
+     and the mind, debarred from its natural tendencies,
+     taught to dream only of heaven. Others have sought the
+     cloister as a refuge for hearts that loved too well,
+     and memories all too faithful. God help such!--for this
+     is no place to forget. And it may be, that after years
+     of painful self-control and depressing experience, some
+     here have gradually attained the conviction that their
+     efforts are vain, their yearnings not here to be
+     fulfilled--what, then, must solitude be to them but an
+     enduring sorrow? It is too late to retrieve the
+     past--the fatal vows have been spoken--those frowning
+     walls are impassable--and the dark folds of that solemn
+     veil are evermore between the penitents and human
+     sympathy. Never may their footsteps tread the free
+     earth again, save within those still and mocking
+     limits; never will the bright, rewarding world of
+     social ties dawn upon their languid gaze, though, alas!
+     its beauty will flash upon their thoughts, through the
+     loneliness of the silent cell, perhaps even amid
+     penance and prayer. I look with profound, inexpressible
+     interest on these sisters, in their ungraceful, but
+     romance-hallowed costume, and wish, as I watch them,
+     that I could read something of what the past has been
+     to each, and trace the various motives that led to this
+     irrevocable fate. This monotonous life has all the glow
+     of novelty for me; and I ponder with inexhaustible
+     interest, and blended reverence and pity on the hidden
+     moral conflict, continually occurring among beings who
+     strive to taste angels' pleasures while escaping human
+     duties, and are reminded of the folly of such attempts,
+     by the perpetual presence of temptation, and all the
+     self-reproach, regret, and disappointment which, Heaven
+     be thanked! the angels never feel. I can scarcely tell,
+     as yet, how I shall like learning here. My studies have
+     always been such a pleasure to me, with you, that it
+     appears strange to associate them with strangers. I am
+     resolved to devote much time to drawing and miniature
+     painting, for which you know I had always a _penchant_,
+     and in the course of a month or two I shall commence
+     the study of German. What a world of pleasure is before
+     me. Will you not love me better, if I return to you an
+     artist, brim full of German legends? All that I hope
+     and aspire to, leads to that question--will these
+     acquisitions render me more beloved?"
+
+"Theresa is too ambitious, too restless," said Gerald, as he finished
+the perusal of this letter, "she will only render herself discontented
+and conspicuous by this wild, idle desire for superiority."
+
+I felt somewhat provoked at his querulous words, for in my partial
+eyes Theresa seldom erred, and I knew this solicitude for mental
+progress, though as yet vague and undirected, was inseparable from her
+active and energetic intellect. But Gerald's opinions were common ones
+with his sex, and he coldly censured when away from their attractions,
+the very traits of character which, when present, involuntarily
+fascinated his imagination. And this is an ingratitude which almost
+inevitably falls to the share of a gifted woman. Unfortunately, genius
+does not shield its possessor from defects of character; and her very
+superiority in raising her above the level of the many, renders her
+failings more evident, and those who are forced mentally to admire,
+are frequently the first morally to condemn. The following are
+extracts from Theresa's letters, written at various intervals during
+the first year of her residence at the convent; and they will perhaps
+serve to reveal something of the rapid development of her mind, with
+the self-forgetfulness and ambition so peculiarly blended in her
+nature. She is the only one I have ever seen who possessed extreme
+enthusiasm without selfishness, and the strong desire to excel,
+without envy. There was a harmony in her being as rare as it was
+winning; and while many instances of her childish generosity and
+spontaneous disinterestedness rise on my memory, I feel almost
+bitterness at the recollection of how unworthily her pure heart was
+appreciated, and how sad was the recompense of all she suffered.
+
+"I am happy, my kind friend, happier than I believed it possible for
+me to be, when away from those I love. But I study incessantly, and in
+acquiring and hoping, I have no time left for regret. When I recall
+you, it is not repiningly, but with a thousand desires for your
+approval, and increased anxiety to become all you can wish. You will,
+perhaps, consider this vanity; but, indeed, that would be unjust, for
+it is in all humility, with a painful consciousness of my own
+deficiencies that I strive so eagerly to grow wiser and better. Surely
+it is not vanity, to yearn to merit tenderness! . . . . . You ask if I
+have made any new friends. No; and I can scarcely tell why. There are
+several here whose appearance has interested me--and you know how
+rapturously I admire personal attractions; but I feel a reserve I can
+neither conquer nor explain. Friendship seems to me too holy and
+enduring to be lightly bestowed, and yet I desire with inexpressible
+earnestness, to find some one of my own age who would love and
+comprehend me--some mind in whose mirror I could trace an image of my
+own. I have gained something like a fulfillment of this wish in
+Gerald; but he is naturally less enthusiastic than I am, and of course
+cannot enter into the fervor of my expectations. He thinks them vain
+an idle--and so, in truth, they may be; but only their irrevocable
+disappointment will ever convince _me_ of their folly. . . . . . I
+have been painting a great deal, beside my regular exercises, for my
+own amusement; I take such delight in testing my power to reflect the
+visible charm of beauty, and in endeavoring, however faintly, to
+idealize humanity. Among other efforts, I have finished a miniature of
+one of the young sisters here, whose sad, placid face, seemed to
+sketch itself upon my memory. Of course, the likeness was drawn
+without her knowledge--she has put away from her thoughts all such
+vanities. I often look on the picture, which is scarcely more tranquil
+than the original; and I wish I could speak a word of welcome sympathy
+to one who is so young, and yet so sorrowful. I was much touched, a
+few days since, by accidentally witnessing an interview between this
+nun, whose convent name is Cecelia, and her sister. It seems that she
+had taken the vows in opposition to the wishes and counsel of all her
+friends, having forsaken a widowed mother and an only sister for
+spiritual solitude and the cloister. I was copying an exquisite
+engraving of the Madonna, which adorns the apartment allotted to
+visiters, when a young lady entered, and desired to see her sister.
+The nun came, but not beyond the grating which bounds one side of the
+room. Those bars--signs of the heart's prison--were between beings who
+from infancy had been undivided, whose pleasures and pains through
+life had been inseparable, and who were now severed by a barrier
+impassable as the grave. They contrasted strongly, these two sisters,
+so nearly the same age, so different in their hopes for the future.
+The guest wept constantly, and her words, spoken in a loud tone, were
+broken by bursts of grief; but the other was composed, almost to
+coldness--there was no evidence of distress on her marble cheek, and
+her large, gray eyes, were quiet in their gaze. She had evidently
+learned to curb emotion and regret--the past for her was a sealed
+book, with all its remembrances; she was a woman without her sex's
+loveliest impulses--a sister without tenderness, a daughter without
+gratitude. They parted, as they had met, each unconvinced, each
+grieving for the other--the visiter returned to her holy filial
+duties, the devotee to her loneliness. My friend, on which of these
+sisters do the angels in heaven look down most rejoicingly? This scene
+made me sorrowful, as every thing does which destroys an illusion. I
+had entertained such romantic ideas of life in the cloister, it seemed
+so tempting to me in its rest, its spirituality; and now I realize
+that we have no right to such rest, that it is not ours to shrink from
+the duties, to shun the penalties, to crush the affections of
+humanity--and my visions of lonely happiness have passed away _pour
+toujours_. If ever I could be induced to forsake a world that now
+appears to me so rich in promise; if ever I am numbered among the
+tried in spirit, and broken in heart, some active solace must be mine,
+not this fearful leisure for thought and remembrance. My lot is to be
+a restless one; and whatever else the future may hold for me, I know,
+in the spirit of prophecy, it will bestow nothing of repose. . . . .
+You tell me my little sister grows every day more lovely. I can
+readily believe it. There is something very fascinating in the style
+of her childish beauty, something that appeals to tenderness and seeks
+for love--and she is always the reality that prompts my dreams of
+angels. Is it not unwise, my friend, to hold the gift of personal
+beauty of little value, when it thus involuntarily commands affection,
+and can win the world's charity for many faults?"
+
+I know not if these disjointed scraps have interest for others, but I
+have recorded them, because to me they recall the young writer's
+glowing enthusiasm, and evince the confident hopefulness which is one
+of the most common traits of mental excellence. Without being vain,
+she had yet no fears for herself, no doubt of the successful exercise
+of the powers whose stirring presence she felt. All that seemed
+necessary to her was opportunity; and she possessed the faith our good
+God gives to youth, and whose passing away is one of the sorrows of
+age.
+
+The time appointed for her return home had now arrived, and her
+mother's anxiety to see her was scarcely greater than my own. In the
+meanwhile, Mr. Brandon's new residence--the handsomest in our
+vicinity--had been completed, and his family was permanently located
+among us. His domestic circle consisted of Gerald, a daughter, about
+Theresa's age, and a maiden lady, the sister of his wife, who, since
+Mrs. Brandon's death, had done the household honors. Gerald had been,
+from the first, a constant visiter at the parsonage, and he now
+participated in our solicitude to welcome our darling back. About
+sunset, on the day of Theresa's return, I directed my steps toward the
+cottage, and I was but halfway to my destination, when I saw her
+coming to meet me. I could never be mistaken in her light, rapid walk,
+whose movements were full of grace. Not for many a long, sad year, had
+a reception so affectionate as hers been given me; and her greeting
+brought tears to my old eyes, and called up painful memories to my
+heart. In appearance she had greatly improved; her slight figure had
+rounded into more womanly proportions, and her motions were full of
+the wild, unstudied gracefulness that had always characterized her.
+There was about her a fascination I cannot explain, a something
+independent of externals--a witchery to be felt but not defined.
+Perhaps it was the visible influence of mental gifts, the reflection
+of that purity of heart and mind which impressed itself on all her
+words and actions.
+
+Let it not, however, be imagined, that because in my fond remembrance
+I have lingered long upon Theresa's many virtues, I was ignorant of
+her faults. They were those inseparable from her temperament; an
+impetuosity which frequently misled her judgment, and a confidence in
+her own beliefs, a reliance on her own will, that nothing but an
+appeal to her affections could ever subdue. She was an instance of
+that sad truth, that our defects shape our destinies; that one failing
+may exert over our lot a more potent influence than many excellencies,
+and may mar the brilliancy of our moral picture by a single shadow,
+that shall darken it all. In after life, when trial and suffering
+pressed wearily upon her, all her griefs might have been traced back
+to the influence of faults, which in her childhood were not
+sufficiently developed to seem of consequence, or to merit rebuke. To
+us she was so loving and complying, that the less favorable traits of
+her nature were lost to our eyes in the brightness of her better
+endowments. Like all poetic persons, she had various fancies and
+caprices; but hers were all pure in purpose, and imparted a charm to
+her restless being. Even her tenderness had its fantasies, and
+lavished itself wastefully without thought or reason. Her attachment
+to her sister was remarkable in its tone, blending anxiety with its
+profound and impassioned tide. She would speak to me of Amy, of her
+childish loveliness, her gentle disposition, her appealing
+trustfulness, until tears would start to her eyes, and the future
+seemed painfully distant to one whose onward gaze had painted it with
+fulfillments. There was nothing sweet and lovable in life that she did
+not connect with Amy's hereafter. Alas! it was well for her she could
+not foresee that future happiness was to be won by the sacrifice of
+her own.
+
+During Theresa's stay in our village, the young Brandons and herself
+were often together--and Gerald's admiration had evidently lost
+nothing from separation. His health had improved, though he still
+looked pale and delicate; but this physical languor lent refinement to
+his appearance, and excited Theresa's warmest sympathy. It would have
+been strange, were not the occurrence so common, that we should not
+have anticipated the probable consequences of such intercourse between
+Gerald and Theresa, but always accustomed to consider them in contrast
+with ourselves, as mere children, we forgot theirs was the very age
+for enduring impressions, the era in existence whose memories live
+longest. It was not until long afterward that I realized our error,
+and then, alas! it was too late to save the repose of a heart which
+possessed in fatal strength, woman's sad faculty of loving. The period
+soon came round for Theresa to return to her studies; and, to my
+surprise, her grief at the second separation was much more violent
+than at the first. I did not note, in my simplicity, the cause of this
+vehemence; I never suspected that a new tie, undefined, but powerful,
+was binding her being, that in the depths of a spirit whose
+earnestness I have never seen equaled, there had sprung up an
+affection never to pass away, and one dangerously enhanced by the
+imaginative tendency of her nature. That she had won over Gerald a
+profound and fascinating influence, was evident; she was to him a
+dream of intellectual beauty, and her presence idealized his life. He
+connected her instinctively with all his high hopes, his visionary
+schemes; but I feel, in recalling his admiration, that, from its very
+character, it was not likely to be permanent. There was too little in
+it of the actual world, too much of the mental; it was more the homage
+of mind, than the tribute of affection; rather the irrepressible
+appreciation of genius, than the spontaneous effusion of love. His
+expressions of regret at separation were warm and tender; but it is
+probable the young friends were both ignorant of the nature of their
+feelings. They parted tearfully, as a brother and sister would have
+said farewell; and the next few months, with their throng of sweet
+remembrances, fostered the growth of emotions very unlike, in truth,
+but equally kind and hopeful. And now there came a long interval of
+melancholy tranquillity in my life, for it was not until two years
+afterward that our darling returned. Her letters during the interval
+were frequent, and her ambition to excel deepened daily in intensity.
+
+"One year more," she wrote, "and this routine of application will be
+over, I shall come to you no longer a child, but fitted, I trust, for
+a congenial companion. What bright pictures my fancy draws for that
+time! Surely the future is a land of surpassing beauty, if but one
+half its radiant hopes be realized."
+
+"I have no patience with Theresa's visionary fancies," said Gerald,
+petulently, as he glanced over this letter, "I really believe she
+prizes books and pictures, and her idle dreams, more than the hearts
+that love her."
+
+I have lingered long over this recording of a childhood that lent my
+loneliness many pleasures; and I must trace more rapidly and briefly
+the sadder portion of my recollections. Over the next two years let us
+pass in silence; they saw the last shining of pleasure upon Theresa's
+experience; they were the resting-place between her young hopefulness
+and the perplexing cares and disappointments of her energetic and
+unsatisfied womanhood. Never afterward did life appear to her so
+rapturous a gift, and intellectual superiority so enchanting, but the
+hereafter grew silent with its promises, and her spirit weary with its
+cares.
+
+It was not until some months afterward that the journal I am about to
+quote fell into my hands; but I copy some of its fragments, to portray
+its writer's feelings. Ah, me! such trustful hearts as hers are those
+experience depresses soonest.
+
+"How happy I have been this summer! I believe those who have spent
+their childhood in seclusion, and formed their first associations from
+the lovely creations of nature, love home better than persons _can_
+do, who have been always encompassed by the excitements and artificial
+enjoyments of society. These lose individual consciousness amid the
+throng of recollections; they cannot trace the progress of their
+being, nor retain the self-portraying vividness of memory. I am sure
+that no dweller in cities can feel as I do, when I return to this
+tranquil village; I can almost imagine I have stepped back into my
+childhood. Yet, loving this place as I do, I am still anxious to leave
+it; home, and especially a quiet one, is no place for great successes.
+Too much of the childish past hangs over it, and discourages exertion,
+and those who have loved us best and earliest, know least of what we
+are capable. Every day intercourse fetters judgment, and thought lives
+in the domestic circle with sealed lips. My kind friends do not
+comprehend my wishes or emotions; my mother deems them folly, and
+Gerald, instead of sympathy, tenders me only doubts and fears. But I
+repel silently such depressing influence; surely the motto of youth
+should be, _aide-toi_, _et Dieu t'aidera_. . . . . I have been reading
+that tearful book, the Diary of an Ennuyé. What a vivid picture it
+presents of mental and physical suffering, too intense to be wholly
+conquered, yet half subdued by the strong power of a thoughtful will.
+Such depictings of sorrow must be exaggerated, there cannot be so much
+of grief in a world where hope still liveth. . . . . I have been
+amusing myself this morning by scribbling verses, and as I gradually
+became absorbed in my employment, I felt I would willingly relinquish
+half the future in store for me, could I win a poet's fame. I have
+been endeavoring to determine which is the most desirable, the
+celebrity of a poet or a painter. Perhaps the distinction an artist
+obtains satisfies the mind more wholly, and it must be a more
+universal thing, than that of a writer. He appeals to the senses; his
+work is the visible presence of what is immaterial, the palpable
+creation of a thought. He gazes on his production, until his being
+revels in the witchery of his own reality; and the ideal that had
+haunted his spirit so long, smiles and blesses him from that glowing
+canvas. But the poet, he who from the well of thought hath drawn forth
+such golden truths; who heareth within his heart the echo of whatever
+is beautiful around him; he who is the interpreter of nature, and
+translateth into burning words whatsoever things are pure and lovely,
+ah! he liveth alone with his glorious images, and from his brilliant
+world of dream and vision, he walks abroad uncomprehended, a solitary
+being. Yet he, too, has his reward, though seldom the present one of
+popular approval; time is requisite for the appreciation of his
+imaginings; he would not, if he could, profane them by the breath of
+popular criticism. _His_ place is far away from common sight--a
+dwelling in pleasant thoughts; he is enthroned amid happy memories and
+early hopes; he is associated in our minds with forms of grace, and
+faces of beauty--with the light of stars, and the fragrance of
+flowers; with the pale hours of gloom his enchantments have chased
+away, and the green graves his heavenward words have hallowed. Which
+fame would I choose? Alas! for my craving nature, neither--but both!"
+
+Two years had glided by, and Theresa had returned to us. Her studies
+were completed, and she seemed to our fond hearts more than we ever
+hoped for, or dared to anticipate. She had certainly improved to the
+utmost the period of her absence; she was an admirable linguist, a
+good musician, and her talent for painting was pronounced by
+_connoisseurs_ to be extraordinary. She possessed in a rare degree
+perfect consciousness of her powers, without a tinge of vanity; and
+she spoke of her acquirements and performances simply and candidly, as
+she would have dwelt on those of a stranger. Gerald was evidently
+surprised at her mental progress, and perhaps he felt it almost
+painfully, for he certainly was not in her presence as natural and
+familiar as of yore. He would gaze on her long and fixedly, as if in
+being forced to admire, he hesitated how to love. I do not know
+whether Theresa perceived this change, and allowed it to influence her
+manner, or whether the natural timidity of one "on the eve of
+womanhood," rendered her also gentler and quieter than of old, but
+certain it is, that while to others they were the same as ever, for
+each other, they felt something they knew was not friendship, yet
+dared not think was love.
+
+In the meantime Amy had grown into girlhood, and was, in truth, as
+beautiful as a poet's dream. She was timid, gentle, and silent; no
+strength of mind was enshrined in that faultless casket; and her
+transparent, maidenly brow, was never shadowed by the conflict of
+thought. Her words were few and commonplace, but they were spoken by a
+voice exquisitely musical, and her surpassing personal loveliness
+disarmed mental criticism. Theresa would regard her in unutterable
+admiration, blending a sister's tenderness with all an artist's
+ecstasy. There was no repaying enthusiasm; Amy's affections were not
+impulsive, and she shared nothing of her sister's spontaneous,
+effervescing warmth. She was, however, kind and graceful, with that
+charm of manner common even in childhood to those on whom the gods
+have smiled, and who, from the consciousness of beauty, possess the
+certainty of pleasing. Like all visionaries, Theresa had many fancies,
+and strongest among them was her boundless admiration for loveliness.
+Living as she did in perpetual study of the beautiful, it appealed to
+her with that enchantment it only wears for the painter and the poet;
+and for her, who, in her dangerously endowed being, blended both,
+there was inexpressible fascination in all that reflected externally
+her radiant ideal. Gerald was a constant visiter at the cottage, and
+his undisguised admiration for Theresa's gifts deepened into lasting
+sentiment, what had hitherto been vague emotion. He sought her
+approval, solicited her opinions, and there was a tone of romantic
+reverence in his conduct toward her, which could not fail to interest
+one so young and sensitive. In many respects his character was far
+from equaling hers; ill-health had given peculiar fastidiousness to
+his tastes, and selfishness to his temper; but he was invested with
+the charms of pleasant memories, and that drapery which ever surrounds
+with grace those the heart loves first. I believe he never for an
+instant reflected on the effect his devoted attentions might produce,
+and, absorbed in the magic of his own rapturous thoughts, he had no
+time for calmer reasoning. Love is proverbially credulous; and
+although neither promise nor protestation had been spoken, Theresa
+never doubled what she hoped, and, perhaps, in her girlish faith,
+believed his feelings the deeper from their silence.
+
+Thus the days wended on, and I had woven in my lonely simplicity many
+a bright tissue for future years to wear, when already the "cloud no
+bigger than a man's hand" had gathered on my favorite's horizon.
+Gerald and herself had walked one evening to the parsonage, and were
+seated on one of the shaded seats in the old-fashioned garden attached
+to my home.
+
+"Theresa, you have always been to me a sympathizing listener, and I
+have something to tell you now of more than ordinary interest--will
+you hear me patiently?" and as Gerald spoke, he looked up smilingly
+into his companion's face.
+
+Why did Theresa's cheek flush at these simple words? I know not; I
+only know that it grew pale and ashy as Gerald proceeded to relate the
+story whose hearing he had solicited, and in the impassioned words of
+love to paint his devotion--not to her who sat beside him, but to the
+sister whose outward beauty had won more than all _her_ gifts. He
+spoke of time to come, of being to her as a brother, of a home in
+common, and then he dwelt with a lover's rapture on the attractions of
+his promised bride, those charms she had often extolled to him with a
+poet's appreciation, and now heard praised in breathless agony. The
+bitterness, not of jealousy, but of despair, was in her soul--a pang
+for which there was no expression and no relief. Never more might she
+return to the hope his words had shattered, the trust she had indulged
+too long. All that had scattered her path with flowers, and thrown
+around her life's sweetest illusions was lost to her now; the
+confessions she had heard, raised a barrier not to be passed between
+herself and those she held dearest, and the sister for whom she would
+have laid down her life, claimed a sadder sacrifice, and glided a
+rival between her heart and its reliance. But to all his confidings
+she listened silently, and when he ceased to speak, she answered him
+kindly and gently. Love is selfish, and in the egotism of his own
+feelings, Gerald heeded not that his companion's voice faltered; and
+they parted without a suspicion in his mind of the suffering he had
+occasioned. Alas! such brief tragedies are acting every day in our
+household circles, and we note them not; bright eyes become tranquil,
+glowing cheeks look pale, and young hearts, once high with hope and
+energy, grow weary and listless; and we talk of illness, and call in
+science to name the disease, which is nothing but sorrow. There are,
+without doubt, solitary hours in human experience which do the work of
+years, forcing suspicion to dawn, and tempting despondency to deepen.
+Life should be measured by such hours, and they who feel most keenly
+are the ones who, in truth, live longest.
+
+Certain it is that Theresa passed in those few moments to a new
+existence--to a being wholly different from her former self. The
+rainbow tints had faded from her sky, and the stars in her futurity
+had ceased to shine. What to her were all her mental gifts, when they
+had failed to win the love she valued? And now the nature so impulsive
+and ingenuous was impelled by the instinct of woman's pride to assume
+the mantle of concealment, to learn its task of suffering and silence.
+She could not, without betraying her true feelings, seem depressed,
+when all about her was happier than ever, and not a shadow rested on
+the hearts around her. Her mother was constitutionally tranquil; and
+Amy, in the relying gladness of her early youth, saw nothing to fear,
+and all things to hope. It was a trying effort for Theresa to bury the
+conflict of her impetuous emotions in the stillness of her own
+bosom--the more trying because she had never before known cause for
+reserve; but the power of endurance in womanhood is mighty, and she
+did conceal even from my watchful eyes, the triumph of certainty over
+hope. I knew not then that the silver chord was already severed, and
+the veil lifted from the pale face of grief, never again in mercy to
+lend its secrecy.
+
+The extreme youth of Amy alone delayed her marriage, and the following
+year was appointed as the time of its celebration. In the meanwhile
+the lovers would meet almost daily, and there seemed nothing but
+happiness before them. And she, the highly endowed, the richly gifted,
+what was to be her lot? Even now the mists were gathering around her;
+her faith in the hereafter was lessened; disappointment haunted her
+onward steps, and memory darkened to regret. Poor Theresa! there was
+many a pang in her experience then proudly hidden from all human gaze;
+and her suffering was not the less because she felt that it arose in
+part from self-deception, and from its very character was beyond the
+solace of sympathy.
+
+A few evenings afterward, I was sitting alone, when, with her light
+and eager step, Theresa entered my little study at the parsonage. Her
+cheek was flushed by her rapid walk, and her eyes sparkled as she laid
+before me a letter she had just received. I did not then comprehend
+the eagerness with which she grasped the refuge of excitement and
+change, but my heart sunk within me as I read the lines before me, for
+too well I foresaw the endless links of perplexity and misconstruction
+which would drag themselves, a dreary chain through the years to come.
+The letter was from the painter with whom she had studied his art, and
+was written with the kind feeling of one who, from the memory of his
+own aspirations, could sympathize with hers. He reminded her of a wish
+she had often expressed to practice her powers as a painter, and he
+said if that desire still continued, he could offer her a home in his
+household, and promise her success. His own professional attainments
+were great and popular, but his health was failing; and he declared it
+would be a pleasure and pride to him to direct her talents if she
+still wished to brave the perplexities of an artist's life. He dwelt
+on the subject with the fervor of a mind whose best faculties had been
+spent in the service of his art; but while he extolled its attractions
+and rewards, he concealed nothing of its cares and penalties. He
+concluded thus: "For me, the exercise of my glorious profession has
+been in all respects singularly fortunate; and in addition to the
+inexpressible gratifications attending its pursuit, it has won for me
+both popularity and wealth. But I would not mislead you, Theresa, nor
+conceal the difficulties which must inevitably, in such an attempt,
+harass a young and an enthusiastic woman. It is an unusual thing for
+womanhood to worship art; you will have ignorance and prejudice
+against you, and I need not remind you that these are the most
+perplexing of obstacles. But still there are rewards they cannot
+touch, pleasures beyond their influence--and these I proffer you. The
+artist bears within his own soul the recompense for many sorrows; and
+if you can summon the moral fortitude to wait in patience, and toil in
+hope, I candidly believe that, with your endowments, success will be a
+certainty. You will be to us as a daughter; and our childless old age
+will be gladdened by the presence in our home of your bright young
+face." Theresa had scanned my countenance eagerly while I perused this
+letter, as if to gather my impressions of the scheme; and she looked
+not a little disappointed when I gravely and silently refolded and
+returned the paper.
+
+"I can divine your opinion," she said at last; "you disapprove of my
+plan."
+
+"I do," was my reply. "I can discern no reason for your forsaking a
+tranquil home to brave so many certain annoyances."
+
+"But, my friend," she answered, "you forget now the lesson you have
+often taught me, that we have no right to bury our talents, nor to
+shrink from the exercise of powers which were doubtless bestowed to be
+improved and employed. You will, perhaps, deem that my duty to my
+mother demands my presence here; but she has grown accustomed to my
+absence, and depends on me for none of her social comforts. Amy is far
+better fitted to be her companion, and I am sure that if I were to
+remain here, with the desponding conviction that my resources were
+useless, my acquirements thrown away; that knowledge would render me
+unhappy and throw a shadow over my home. Let me try this experiment
+for one year; if I fail, I will return satisfied that I have done my
+utmost; if I succeed, I can win for myself fame, and it may be peace."
+
+She had spoken rapidly and earnestly, though I now know that her most
+powerful reasons for wishing to leave us, were left unuttered, and as
+she concluded her voice was tremulous. She impatiently awaited my
+answer; and I, with the folly of a fond old man, could not bear to
+dash away the cup that foamed so temptingly to her lips. Though
+fearful and unconvinced, I ceased to remonstrate. Many times since
+have I marveled at my own weakness, and lamented that I did not more
+decidedly condemn the young enthusiast's views; and yet what could I
+do? Had I more strenuously and successfully opposed the scheme, could
+I have borne to see my darling pine in the weariness of powers buried,
+and endowments wasted? Could I have recklessly sullied in their purple
+light the day-dreams of her yearning youth, have watched her,
+dispirited and dejected, ever turning from the gloom of the present to
+ponder on the radiant, haunting mystery of what she might have been?
+
+To my surprise, Mrs. Germaine evinced none of the repugnance to the
+removal which I had anticipated; and, won over by Theresa's eagerness,
+and accustomed to be separated from her, she exerted no parental
+authority in the case. Her acquiescence, of course, silenced my
+objections, and I could only grieve where I would have counseled.
+Gerald alone violently opposed her departure; but she replied to him
+with a firmness I did not expect, and which surprised me not a little.
+But the decision was made, and even while tenderly and anxiously
+beloved, the wayward and gifted one went forth alone into the world.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+    Pale Disappointment! on whose anxious brow
+    Expectancy has deepened into pain;
+    Thou who hast pressed upon so many hearts
+    The burning anguish of those words--_in vain_;
+    Thy gloom is here; thy shadowy presence lies
+    Within the glory-light of those sad eyes!
+
+Two years more had gone by since we glanced at Theresa last--years
+fraught to her with the fulfillment of ambition, and golden with the
+gifts of praise. Her name had become a familiar one to the lovers of
+art, and her society was eagerly sought for by the most intellectual
+men in one of our most refined cities. In the home of her artist
+friend she had been as a daughter, and cordially welcomed into the
+circles of talent and acquirement. It would have been well with her
+had that measure of success satisfied her, could she have returned
+then, without one hope turned into bitterness, to her early and
+tranquil home--but it was not so to be; and on the death of her
+friend, a year previous to this time, Theresa decided still to remain
+in the city, and follow alone the exciting glories of her art. In the
+meantime Amy's marriage had taken place; the cottage was deserted, and
+Mrs. Germaine found a home with her younger daughter. It was Gerald's
+wish that Theresa also should reside with them; but she had declined,
+affectionately, though positively; and she was now an exile from those
+who loved her best. Her engagements had proved profitable, she had
+acquired much more than was necessary for her simple wants; and all
+her surplus gainings were scrupulously sent to her mother. I, too, was
+frequently remembered in her generous deeds, and many a valuable book,
+far beyond my power to purchase, came with sweet words from the
+cheerer of my old age.
+
+But this state of things was too prosperous to last always--the crowd
+does not permit without a struggle the continuance of such prosperity.
+Gradually the tide of public approval changed; rivals spoke
+slightingly of one who surpassed them; her impetuous words--and she
+was frank almost to a fault--were misrepresented, and envying lips
+whispered of the impropriety of her independent mode of life.
+Flatterers grew more cautious, professing friends looked coldly, and,
+one by one, her female acquaintances found various pretexts for
+withdrawing their attentions. Theresa was not suspicious; it was long
+before these changes were apparent to her, and even then she
+attributed them to accident. Confident in her own purity of motive,
+and occupied with her own engrossing pursuits, she had neither time
+nor inclination for disagreeable speculations. She felt her refuge was
+incessant employment; she dared not even yet allow herself leisure for
+contemplation and memory. A volume of her poems had just been
+published--its destiny filled her thoughts--for who cannot imagine the
+trembling, fearing solicitude with which the young poet would send
+forth her visions to the world? Her engagements in her profession,
+too, were ceaseless, and her health began to fail under the effects of
+a mode of life so constant in its labors, and so apart from the
+refreshing influences usually surrounding girlhood. And was she happy?
+Alas! she had often asked herself that question, and answered it with
+tears; ambition has no recompense for tenderness, womanhood may not
+lay aside its yearnings. Her letters to us contained no word of
+despondency; she spoke more of what she thought than of what she felt.
+Her heart had learned to veil itself; and yet, as I read her notes to
+me, the suspicion would sometimes involuntarily come over me that she
+was not tranquil, that her future looked to her more shadowy; and I
+longed to clasp her once more to the bosom that had pillowed her head
+in childhood, and bid her bring there her hoard of trial and care. She
+was, by her own peculiar feelings banished from our midst; how could
+she return, to dwell in Gerald's home, she who for years had striven
+in solitude and silence to still memories of which _he_ made the
+grief? But she was no pining, love-sick girl; the high and rare tone
+of her nature gave her many resources, and imparted strength to battle
+with gentler impulses. But it was a painful and unnatural conflict
+between an ingenuous character and a taunting pride--a war between
+thought and tenderness. Wo to the heart that dares such a struggle!
+Aspiration may bring a temporary solace, excitement a momentary balm;
+but never yet, in all the tear-chronicled records of genius, has woman
+found peace in praise, or compensation in applause. It is enough for
+her to obtain, in the dangerous arena of competition, a brief refuge,
+a transient forgetfulness; love once branded with those words--_in
+vain_, may win nothing more enduring this side of heaven.
+
+It was the twilight of a whiter evening; the lamps were just beginning
+to brighten the city streets, and the fire burned cheerfully in
+Theresa's apartment. Various paintings, sketches, and books, were
+scattered around, and on the table lay a miniature of Amy, painted
+from memory. It depicted her, not in the flush of her early womanhood,
+not in the gladness of her hope-tinted love, but as she was, years
+ago, in her idolized infancy. The lamp-light shone full upon that
+young, faultless face, brightening almost like life those smiling
+lips, and the white brow gleaming beneath childhood's coronet of
+golden hair.
+
+The young artist was seated now in silent and profound
+abstraction--for twilight is the time the past claims from the
+present, and memory is summoned by silence. Theresa's feet rested on a
+low footstool, her hands were clasped lightly together on her lap, and
+she leaned back in the cushioned chair, in an attitude of perfect and
+unstudied grace she would have delightedly sketched in another. Have
+ever I described my favorite's appearance? I believe not; and yet
+there was much in her face and figure to arrest and enchant younger
+eyes than mine. I could not, if I would, delineate her features, for
+I only recall their charm of emotion, their attractive variety of
+sentiment. Her eyes were gray, with dark lashes, and their expression
+was at once brilliant and melancholy, and the most spiritual I have
+ever seen. Her hair was long and fair, with a tinge of gold glancing
+through its pale-brown masses, as if sunbeams were woven in its
+tresses. She was not above the average height, but the proportions of
+her figure were peculiarly beautiful, and her movements and attitudes
+had the indescribable gracefulness whose harmony was a portion of her
+being. She looked even younger than she really was, and her dress,
+though simple, was always tasteful and attractive, for her reverence
+for the beautiful extended even to common trifles, and all about her
+bespoke the elevating presence of intellectual ascendency. The glance
+that once dwelt on her returned to her face instinctively--so much of
+thought and feeling, of womanhood in its faculty to love and hope, of
+affection in its power to endure and triumph, so much of genius in the
+glory of its untested youth, lay written in lines of light on that
+pale, maidenly brow. Ah, me! that I should remember her thus! As
+Theresa sat there, she idly took a newspaper from the table to refold
+it, and as she did so, her own name attracted her attention. It headed
+a brief notice of her poems, which was doubtless written by some one
+her success had offended--there are minds that cannot forgive a
+fortunate rival. It was a cold, sarcastic, sneering review of her
+book, penned in that tone of contemptuous irony, the most profaning to
+talent, the most desecrating to beauty. There was neither justice nor
+gentleness in the paragraph, but it briefly condemned the work, and
+promised at some future period, a more detailed notice of its defects.
+It was the first time that Theresa had felt the fickleness of popular
+favor; and who does not know the morbid sensitiveness with which the
+poet shrinks from censure? To have her fair imaginings thus degraded,
+her glowing theories prostrated, the golden pinions of her fancy
+dragged to the dust--were these things the compensation for thought,
+and toil, and sacrifice? It was a dark wisdom to learn, one that would
+cast a shade over all future effort--and disappointed and mortified,
+Theresa threw down the paper, and wept those bitter tears which
+failure teaches youth to shed.
+
+An hour of painful reverie had passed, when the door of the apartment
+was noiselessly opened, and with silent steps, the dark-robed figure
+of a woman entered and approached Theresa.
+
+"I have intruded on you most unceremoniously," said the stranger, in a
+voice singularly soft and melodious, "and I have no apology to plead
+but the interest I feel in youth and genius, and this privileged
+garb;" and as Theresa glanced at her dress, she saw it was that of a
+Sister of Charity. It was an attire she had grown familiar with,
+during her abode at the convent, and the winning kindness usually
+distinguishing its wearers, had invested it in her mind with pleasant
+associations.
+
+"You are welcome, nevertheless," replied Theresa, "for I know that in
+admitting your sisterhood we often entertain angels unawares."
+
+The new comer seated herself, and the young artist strove in vain to
+recall her features; they were those of a stranger.
+
+"You are personally unknown to me, Theresa," said the lady, after a
+brief silence, "but your father was one of my earliest friends.
+Nay--it matters not to ask my name; the one I then bore, is parted
+with now, and I would not willingly speak it again; under a different
+appellation I have been lowlier and happier."
+
+"You knew my father, then," rejoined Theresa, eagerly, "in his younger
+and more prosperous days. His loss I feel more keenly as my experience
+increases; for I was too young at his death to appreciate in reality,
+as I now do in memory, all his character's high, and generous, and
+spiritual beauty."
+
+"We met often in the gay world," replied the guest--and her words were
+uttered less to Theresa than to herself--"and our acquaintance was
+formed under circumstances which ripened into intimacy what might
+otherwise have proved only one of those commonplace associations that
+lightly link society together; but it is of yourself I would speak. I
+have opportunities in the fulfillment of my duties of hearing and
+seeing much that passes in the busy world about me; and I have been
+prompted by the old memories still clinging around me, to proffer you
+the counsel of a friend. Will you forgive me, if I address you
+candidly and unreservedly?"
+
+And then, as Theresa wonderingly granted the desired permission, she
+proceeded gently to detail some of the efforts of malice, and to utter
+words of kind warning to one who, enfolded within her own illusions,
+saw nothing of the shadows gathering about her path.
+
+"You are not happy, Theresa!" continued the sister; "I know too much
+of woman's life to believe you are. I am aware of the motives from
+which you act; and while I reverence your purity of heart, and the
+pride which has tempted you to work out your own destiny, I easily
+trace the weariness your spirit feels. I, too, have had my visions;
+they are God's gift to youth, but I have lived sadly and patiently to
+watch dream after dream fade away. I see you have forgotten me,
+although I saw you frequently at the convent of ----; but I am not
+surprised at your forgetfulness, for the nun's sombre veil shuts her
+out alike from hearts and memories."
+
+"Are you, too, then unhappy?" asked Theresa, as the low and musical
+voice beside her trembled in its tone; "you, whose footsteps are
+followed by blessings, whose life is hallowed by doing good? I have
+long ago learned to doubt the peace of the cloister, but I have ever
+loved to believe there was recompense in your more active career, and
+that if happiness exists on earth, the Sisters of Charity deserve and
+win it."
+
+"In part, you are right," answered the nun, "but you have yet to
+realize that the penalties of humanity are beyond mortal control; that
+we cannot, by any mode of life, pass beyond their influence. All we
+_can_ do, is prayerfully to acquire patient forbearance and upward
+hope; many a heavy heart beats beneath a veil like this, and carries
+its own woes silently within, while it whispers to others of promise
+and rest." The visiter paused, and Theresa interrupted a silence that
+began to be painful to both.
+
+"I feel," she said, "that I have acted injudiciously in braving
+remark, and in proudly dreaming I could shape out my own course. But
+you, who seem to have divined my thoughts so truly, doubtless read
+also the _one_ reason which renders my return home most depressing."
+
+"I know it well," was the reply; and the speaker pressed Theresa's
+trembling hand within her own, "but your prolonged stay here will be
+fraught with continually increasing evils; and if you expect repose,
+it cannot be here, where envy and detraction are rising against you.
+We cannot sway the prejudices of society, Theresa; and in some
+respects even the most gifted must submit to their decrees. And now,"
+she said, as she rose to take leave, "I must bid you farewell. I have
+followed an impulse of kindness in undertaking the dangerous task to
+warn and counsel. If you will listen to one fatally versed in the
+world's ways, you will cease to defy public opinion, and amid the more
+tranquil scenes of your home, you will acquire a truer repose than
+ever fame bestowed. In all probability we shall meet no more, yet I
+would fain carry with me the consolation of having rescued from
+confirmed bitterness of spirit, the child of a faithful friend, and
+pointed a yearning heart to its only rest." And before Theresa could
+reply, the door had closed, and the visiter was gone.
+
+
+THERESA'S LETTER.
+
+     "My friend! the credulity is ended, the illusion is
+     over, and I shall return to you again. There are
+     reasons I need not mention now, which would render a
+     residence with my sister painful, and with my old
+     waywardness I would come to you, the kind sharer of my
+     young impulses, and to your home, the quiet scene of
+     my happiest days. I am listless and sick at heart; and
+     the hopes that once made my future radiant, appear
+     false and idle to my gaze. Success has bestowed but
+     momentary satisfaction, while failure has produced
+     permanent pain; and I would fain cease my restless
+     strivings, and be tranquil once more. This is no hasty
+     resolve; several weeks have elapsed since I was
+     prompted to it first; and I believe it is wiser to
+     submit than to struggle--to learn endurance, than to
+     strive for reward. In a few days more I shall be with
+     you, saddened and disheartened, and changed in all
+     things but in love and gratitude."
+
+She had, indeed, changed since I saw her last, nearly three years
+before. The world had wrought its work, hope had been crushed by
+reality. Her health was evidently fatally affected, and her voice,
+once so gay and joyous, was low and subdued. It was mournful to my
+loving eyes to mark the contrast between the sisters now; Amy, in the
+noiseless routine of domestic duties, found all her wishes satisfied;
+she was rendered happy by trifles, and her nature demanded nothing
+they could not offer. Without one rare mental endowment, or a single
+lofty trait, she had followed her appointed path, a serene and
+contented woman. A glance at the household circles around us, will
+prove this contrast a common one; the most gifted are not the most
+blessed--and the earth has no fulfillment for the aspirations that
+rise above it.
+
+And what of Theresa, the richly and fatally endowed, she who, with all
+the faculties for feeling and bestowing gladness, yet wasted her youth
+away; she who sadly tested the beautiful combination of genius with
+womanhood, yet lavished her powers in vain--why need I trace the
+passing away of one beloved so well? My task is finished; and I
+willingly lay aside a record, written through tears. Wouldst thou know
+more? There is a grave in yonder church-yard that can tell thee all!
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS.
+
+BY JAMES LAWSON.
+
+
+I.--HOPE.
+
+        I mark, as April days serenely smile,
+      Clouds heaped on clouds in mountain-like array,
+      While radiant sunbeams with their summits play,
+        Gilding with gorgeous tints the mighty pile;
+        And earth partakes of every hue the while!
+      Oft have I felt on such a day as this,
+        The sudden shower down-pouring on my head,
+      Though in the distance all is loveliness.
+        Thither, in vain, with rapid step I've sped.
+      I liken this to Hope: although with sorrow
+        The heart is overcast, and dim the eye;
+        Delusive Hope--not present, ever nigh,
+      Presages gladness on a coming morrow,
+    And lures us onward, till our latest sigh.
+
+
+II.--A PREDICTION.
+
+      The day approaches, when a mystic power,
+        Shall summon mute Antiquity, to tell
+      The buried glories of the long lost hour;
+        And she will answer the enchanter's spell--
+        Then shall we hear what wondrous things befell
+      When the young world existed in its prime.
+        The truths revealed will turn the wisest pale,
+      That ignorance so long abused their time.
+        Vainly may Error blessed Truth assail
+      With specious argument, and looking wise
+        Exult, as millions worship at her shrine;
+      Yet, in the time ordained, shall Truth arise
+      And walk in beauty over earth and skies,
+    While man in reverence bows before her power divine!
+
+
+
+
+PHANTASMAGORIA.
+
+BY JOHN NEAL.
+
+
+I don't believe in night-caps. That is, I don't believe in stopping
+the ears, in shutting the eyes, in sealing up the senses, nor in going
+to sleep in the midst of God's everyday wonders. We are put here to
+look about us. We are apprentices to Him whose workshop is the
+universe. And if we mean to be useful, or happy, or to make others
+happy, which, after all, is the only way of being happy ourselves, we
+must do nothing blindfold. Our eyes and our ears must be always open.
+We must be always up and doing, or, in the language of the day, _wide
+awake_. We must have our wits about us. We must learn to use, not our
+eyes and our ears only, but our understandings--our _thinkers_.
+
+There is a diviner alchemy wanted, and there is room for a bolder and
+a more patient spirit of investigation, amid the drudgery and bustle
+of common life, than was ever yet employed, or ever needed, in
+ransacking the earth for gems and gold, or the deep sea for pearls.
+Would you shovel diamonds and rubies, or turn up "as it were fire,"
+you have but to dig into and sift the rubbish that lies heaped up in
+your very streets--or to drive the ploughshare through the busiest
+places ever trodden by the multitude. You need not blast the
+mountains, nor turn up the foundations of the sea, nor smelt the
+constellations. You have but to open your eyes, and to look about you
+with a thankful heart; and you will find no such thing as worthless
+ore--no baseness unallied with something precious; with hidden virtue,
+or with unchangeable splendor.
+
+The golden air you breathe toward evening, after a bright, rattling
+summer-shower--the golden motes you may see playing in the sunshine
+with clouds of common dust, if you but take the trouble to lift your
+eyes, when you are lying half asleep in your easy-chair, just after
+dinner--are part and parcel of the atmosphere and the earth; and yet
+have they fellowship with the stars, and with the light that trembleth
+forever upon the wing of the cherubim. Be ye of the towering and the
+steadfast upon earth, and these will be to you in the darkness of
+midnight as revelations from the sky; as unforetold glimpses of the
+Imperishable and the Pure that inhabit the Empyrean.
+
+But, being one of those who go about the world for three score years
+and ten, with their night-caps pulled over their eyes--and ears--you
+don't believe a word of this. And when you are told with all
+seriousness that there is room for more wonderful and comforting
+transmutations, of the baser earth just under your window, or just
+round the corner, than was ever dreamed of by the wisest of those who
+have grown old among furnaces and crucibles and retorts; wearing their
+lives away in a search after perpetual youth, and their substance in
+that which sooner and more surely than "riotous living" impoverisheth
+a man--the transmutation of the baser metals into gold--you fall a
+whistling maybe--or beg leave to suggest the word _fudge_. If so, take
+my word for it, like a pretty woman with the small-pox, the
+probability is, you are very much to be _pitted_.
+
+All stuff and nonsense! you say--downright rigmarole--can't for the
+life of you understand what the fellow's driving at.
+
+Indeed.
+
+As sure as you are sitting there.
+
+Well, then, we must try to convince you. One of the pleasantest things
+for a man who _does_ believe in night-caps, you will grant me, though,
+at the best, he may be nothing more than a bachelor, is to lie out in
+the open air, on a smooth sloping hill-side, when the earth is
+fragrant, and the wind south, on a long drowsy summer afternoon--with
+his great-coat under him if the earth is damp--and with the long rich
+grass bending over him, and the blossoming clover swinging between him
+and a clear blue sky, starred all over with golden dandelions,
+buttercups and white-weed--
+
+Faugh!
+
+One moment if you please--with golden dandelions, buttercups and
+white-weed--
+
+Poh!--pish!--Why don't you say with the dent-de-lion, the ranunculus
+and the crysanthimum?
+
+Simply because I prefer bumble-bees to humble-bees, and even to
+honey-bees, notwithstanding the dictionaries, and never lie down in
+the long rich grass, with a great-coat under me; and am not afraid of
+catching cold though I may sit upon damp roses, or tread upon the
+sweet-scented earth, or tumble about in the newly-mown hay----with my
+children about me.
+
+Children!----oh!----ah!--might have known you were not one of us--only
+half a man therefore.
+
+How so?
+
+That you had a better-half somewhere, to which you belong when you are
+at home.
+
+In other words you might have known that I was no bachelor.
+
+Precisely.
+
+Sir! you are very obliging. And now, perhaps, I may be allowed to
+finish the demonstration. I undertook to convince you, if you
+remember, that every human being, with his eyes about him, has, under
+all circumstances, and at all times, within his reach, and subject to
+his order, a heap of amusement, a whole treasury of unappropriated
+wisdom. And all I have asked of you thus far is to admit, that if a
+man will but go forth into the solitary place and lie down, and
+stretch himself out, and look up into the sky, and watch the flowers
+and leaves pictured and playing there--provided he be not more than
+half asleep, and has a duffel great-coat under him, water-proof shoes
+and a snug umbrella within reach, and no fear of the rheumatism; he
+may find it one of the pleasantest things in the world; though it may
+happen that he has no idea of poetry, and cares for nothing on earth
+beyond a pair of embroidered slippers, a warm, padded, comfortable
+dressing-gown, or a snuff-colored cigar if at home; or a fishing-rod,
+a doubtful sky, and a bit of a brook, all to himself, when he is out
+in the open air. And in short, for I love to come to the point, (in
+these matters,) all I ask of you, being a bachelor, is to admit--
+
+I'll admit any thing, if you'll stop there.
+
+Agreed. You admit, then, that an old bachelor, wedded to trout-fishing
+and tobacco-smoke; familiar with nothing but whist, yarn stockings,
+flannels and shooting-jackets; without the least possible relish for
+landscape or color, for the twittering of birds, or the swarming of
+bumble-bees and forest-leaves; with no sense of poetry, and a mortal
+hatred of rigmarole, may nevertheless and notwithstanding--
+
+Better take breath, sir.
+
+May notwithstanding and nevertheless, I say, find something worth
+looking at, on a warm summer afternoon, though he be lying half asleep
+on his back, with the clover-blossoms and buttercups nodding over him;
+to say nothing of thistle-tops, dandelions or white-weed--
+
+I do--I do!--I'll admit any thing, as I told you before.
+
+Well, then--in that case--I do not see what difficulty there would be
+in supposing that _any_ man might find something to be good-natured
+with _anywhere_.
+
+Not so fast, if you please. Would you have it inferred, because an old
+bachelor, whose comforts are few--and _far_ between!--and whose
+habits--and opinions--are fixed forever, could put up with Nature for
+a short summer afternoon, under the circumstances you mention--with a
+great-coat under him, and a reasonable share of other comforts within
+reach, that, _therefore_, anybody on earth, a married man, for
+example, should find it a very easy thing to be happy _any_ where,
+under _any_ circumstances?--even at home now, for instance, with his
+wife and children about him?
+
+Precisely. And now, sir, to convince you. If you will but place
+yourself at an open window in the "leafy month of June," and watch the
+play of her green leaves upon the busy countenances of men, as you may
+in some of our eastern cities, and in most of our villages all over
+the country, where the trees and the houses, and the boys and the
+girls have grown up together, playfellows from the
+beginning--playfellows with every thing that lives and breathes in the
+neighborhood; or if you will but stand where you are, and look up into
+the blue sky, and watch the clouds that are _now_ drifting, as before
+a strong wind, over the driest and busiest thoroughfares of your
+crowded city; changing from shadow to sunshine, and from sunshine to
+shadow, every uplifted countenance over which they pass, you will
+find yourself at the very next breath a wiser, a better, and a happier
+man. You will undergo a transfiguration upon the spot? You will see a
+mighty angel sitting in the sun. You will hear the rush of wings
+overshadowing the whole firmament. And, take my word for it, you will
+be _so_ much better satisfied with yourself! But mind though--never do
+this in company.
+
+Beware lest you are caught in the fact. They will set you down for a
+lunatic, a contributor to the magazines, or a star-gazer--if you
+permit them to believe that you can see a single hairsbreadth beyond
+your nose, or a single inch further by lifting your eyes to Heaven
+than by fixing them steadfastly upon the earth. One might as well be
+overheard talking to himself; or be caught peeping into a letter just
+handed him by a sweet girl he has been dying to flirt with; but, for
+reasons best known to himself--and his wife--durst not, although
+perfectly satisfied in his own mind, from her way of looking at him,
+when she handed him the letter, that she would give the world to have
+him see it without her knowledge; and that either she did not know he
+was a married man--or was willing to overlook that objection.
+
+Tut, tut! my boy--you will never coax me into the trap, though I admit
+your cleverness, by contriving to let me understand, as it were by
+chance, what are regarded everywhere as the privileges of the married.
+
+Permit me to finish, will you?
+
+With all my heart!
+
+But pleasant as all these things are--the green fields and the blue
+sky, the ripple of bright water, and the changeable glories of a
+landscape in mid-summer; or the upturned countenances of men, looking
+for signs in the heavens, when they have ships at sea--or wives and
+children getting ready for a drive--or new hats and no umbrellas--or
+houses afire, which may not happen to be over-insured--a pleasanter
+thing by far it is to sit by the same window, when the summer is over,
+and the clouds have lost their transparency, and go wandering heavily
+athwart the sky, and the green leaves are no more, and the songs of
+the water are changed, and the very birds have departed, and watch by
+the hour together whatever may happen to be overlooked by all the rest
+of the world; the bushels of dry leaves that eddy and whirl about your
+large empty squares, or huddle together in heaps at every sheltered
+corner, as if to get away from the wind; the changed livery of the
+shops--the golden tissues of summer, the delicately-tinted shawls, and
+gossamer ribbons, and flaunting muslins, woven of nobody knows
+what--whether of "mist and moonlight mingling fitfully," or of sunset
+shadows overshot with gold, giving way to gorgeous velvet, and fur,
+and sumptuous drapery glowing and burning with the tints of autumn,
+and, like distant fires seen through a fall of snow in mid-winter,
+full of comfort and warmth; and all the other preparations of
+double-windows and heavy curtains, and newly invented stoves, that
+find their own fuel for the season and leave something for next year;
+and porticoes that come and go with the cold weather, blocking up
+your path and besetting your eyes at every turn, with signs and hints
+of "dreadful preparation."
+
+Go to the window, if you are troubled in spirit; if the wind is the
+wrong way; if you have been jilted or hen-pecked--no matter which--or
+if you find yourself growing poorer every hour, and all your wisest
+plans, and best-considered projects for getting rich in a hurry turned
+topsy-turvy by a change in the market-value of bubbles warranted never
+to burst; or if you have a note to pay for a man you never saw but
+once in your life, and hope never to see again--to the window with
+you! and lean back in your chair with a disposition to be pleased, and
+watch the different systems of progression--or, in plain English, the
+_walk_ of the people going by. A single quarter of an hour so spent
+will put you in spirits for the day, and furnish you with materials
+for thought, which, well-husbanded, may last you for a twelvemonth;
+yea, abide with you for life, like that wisdom which is better than
+fine gold, and more precious than rubies.
+
+Well, you have taken my advice; you are at the window. Now catch up
+your pen and describe what you see, _as you see it;_ or take your
+pencil if you are good for any thing in that way, and let us see what
+you can do. A free, bold, happy and _faithful_ sketch of that which in
+itself would be worthless, or even loathsome, shall make your fortune.
+Morland's pigs and pig-styes, on paper or canvas, were always worth
+half a hundred of the originals. One of Tenier's inside-out pictures
+of a village feast, with drunken boors--not worth a groat apiece when
+alive--would now fetch its weight in gold three times over.
+
+Look you now. There goes a man with a large bundle under his arm, tied
+up in a yellow bandanna handkerchief, faded and weather-worn, and
+looking as if ready to burst--the bundle I mean. What would you give
+to know the history of that bundle and what there is in it? Observe
+the man's eye, the swing of his right arm--the carriage of his
+body--the dip of his hat. You would swear, or might if your
+conscience, or your habits as a gentleman, would let you, that he was
+a proud and a happy fellow, though you never saw his face before in
+all your life. The tread of his foot is enough--the very swing of his
+coat-tail as he clears the corner. It is Saturday night, and he is
+carrying the bundle home to his own house--of that you may be sure.
+And you may be equally sure that whatever else there may be in it,
+there is nothing for him to be ashamed of, and _therefore_ nothing for
+the man himself. My notion is, that he has bought a ready-made cloak
+for his wife, without her knowledge, or got a friend to choose the
+cloth and be measured for it, who will be found at his fire-side when
+he gets home, holding forth upon the comfort of such an outside
+garment in our dreadful winters, with a perseverance which leads the
+good woman of the house to suspect her neighbor of being better off
+than herself, in one particular at least, for the coming Sabbath. But
+just now the door opens--the gossiping neighbor springs up with a
+laugh--the bundle is untied--the children scream, and the wife jumps
+about her husband's neck as if he had been absent a twelvemonth.
+
+Where!--where!
+
+Can't you see them for yourself! Can't you see the fire-light flash
+over the newly-papered walls! can't you hear the children laugh as
+mother swings round with her new cloak--scattering the ashes, and
+almost puffing out their only lamp, which she has set upon the floor
+to see how the garment hangs! and now she drops into a chair. Take my
+word for it, sir, that is a very worthy woman--and the man himself is
+a Washingtonian.
+
+What man?
+
+What man! Why the man that just turned the corner, with a great yellow
+bundle under his arm.
+
+Indeed! you know him then?
+
+Never saw his face in all my life. But stay--what have we here? Get
+your paper ready! Here comes a thick-set fellow, in a blue
+round-about, with his hat pulled over his eyes, and one hand in his
+trowsers' pocket--poor fellow! There he goes! But why one hand? He had
+his reasons for it, I'll warrant ye, if the truth were known. He
+walked by with bent knees, you observed, and with a most unpromising
+stoop. He was feeling for his last four-pence; and found a hole in his
+pocket. Can't you read the whole story in the man's gait?--in the
+slow, sullen footfall--in the clutch of his fingers--in the stiffened
+elbow, and the bent knees?
+
+Another Washingtonian, perhaps?
+
+No indeed! nothing of the sort. Had he been a Washingtonian, he would
+have found something more than a hole in his pocket when he had got
+through his week's work, and was beginning to find his way back to his
+little ones.
+
+Well, well, have it so, if you like; but what say you to the couple
+you see there?
+
+Stop!--that large woman, leading a child with a green veil--and the
+other passing her in a hurry without lifting her eyes, and the moment
+she has got by turning and looking after her, as if there were
+something monstrous in the cast of that bonnet--a very proper bonnet
+of itself--or in the color of that shawl--of gold and purple and
+scarlet and green--both were but just entering upon the field of
+vision as you spoke, and now both have vanished forever! And lo! a
+tall man of a majestic presence, with a little black dog at his
+heels--the veriest cur you ever saw! What must be the nature of such
+companionship? Look! look! there goes another--a fashionably dressed
+young man--followed by two or three more--intermixed with women and
+children--and now they go trooping past by dozens! leaving you as
+little time to note their peculiarities as you would have before the
+table of a camera obscura, set up in the middle of Broadway at the
+busiest season of the year. Let us breathe a little. And now the
+current changes--the groups are smaller--the intervals longer--and if
+we can do nothing else, we may watch their step and carriage, the play
+of colors, and the whimsical motion of their arms and legs while they
+go hurrying by, these phantoms of the hour. And then, what a world of
+enjoyment just for the mere trouble of looking out of a window! Can
+it be a matter of surprise that, in countries where it is not
+permitted to women to look at the show in this way, or even to appear
+at the window, a substitute should be found by so arranging mirrors as
+to represent within their very bed-chambers whatever happens in the
+street below?
+
+But the business of the day is nearly over. The chief thoroughfare is
+well nigh deserted and we may now begin to dwell upon the
+peculiarities of here and there one, as the laggards go loitering by,
+some nearer and some further off, but all with a look of independence
+and leisure not to be mistaken. And why? They have money in their
+purses--the happy dogs--or what is better than money, character and
+credit, or experience, or health and strength, and a willingness to
+oblige.
+
+Not so fast, if you please. What say you to that man with the pale
+face and coal-black hair?
+
+Let me see. What do I say of that man? Do you observe that slouched
+hat, and old coat buttoned up to the chin?--the dangling of that old
+beaver glove, and the huge twisted club--the slow and stately pace,
+and the close fitting trowsers carefully strapped down over a pair of
+well blacked shoes without heels, and therefore incapable of being
+mistaken for boots.
+
+There is no mistaking that man. He has seen better days; the world has
+gone hard with him of late, and he is a--Ah! that lifting of the head
+as he turns the corner! that gleam of sunshine, as he recovers and
+touches his hat, after bowing to that fine woman who just brushed him
+in passing, shows that he is still a gentleman; and, of course, can
+have nothing to fear, whatever may happen to the rest of the world.
+Fifty to one, if you dare, that he has just bethought himself of the
+bankrupt law, of a bad debt which he begins to have some hope of, or
+of the possibility of making up by his knowledge of the world for what
+he wants in youth, should he think it worth his while to follow up the
+acquaintance. Ah!--gone! He disappeared, adjusting his neckcloth, and
+smiling and looking after the handsome widow, as if debating within
+himself whether the advantage he had obtained by that one look were
+really worth pursuing.
+
+What ho! another! A vulgar phantom this--a fellow that has nothing to
+do. After hurrying past a couple of women, hideously wrapped up, and
+beyond all doubt, therefore, uglier than the witches of Macbeth, he
+stops and leers after them--not stopping altogether, but just enough
+to keep his head turned over his right shoulder--and then walks away,
+muttering to himself so as to be heard by that ragged boy there, who
+stands staring after him with both hands grasping his knees, and with
+_such_ a look!
+
+Another yet--and yet another shape! and both walking with their legs
+bent; both taking long strides, and both finding their way, with the
+instinct of a blood-hound, never looking up, nor turning to the right
+or left in their course. Are they partners in trade, or rivals? Do
+they follow the same business, or were they school-fellows together,
+some fifty years ago; and are they still running against each other
+for a purse they will never find till they have reached the grave
+together. See! they have cleared that corner, side by side; and now
+they are stretching away at the same killing pace, neck and neck,
+toward the Exchange. Of course, they live in the same neighborhood;
+they are fellow-craftsmen, they have reputations at stake, and are
+determined never to yield an inch--whatever may happen. But why
+wouldn't they look up? Was there nothing above worth minding--nothing
+on the right hand nor on the left of their course, worthy a passing
+thought? _Whither are they going?_ And what will they have learnt or
+enjoyed, and what will they have to say for themselves when they reach
+the end of their course?
+
+And that other man, with arms akimbo, a dollar's worth of flour in a
+bag, flung over his shoulder--why need he strut so--and why doesn't he
+walk faster? Has he no sympathy for the rest of the world, not he; or
+does he only mean to say, in so many words, _that_ for such weather!
+and _that_ for every fellow I see, who isn't able to carry home a
+dollar's worth of flour to his family every Saturday night! Does he
+believe that nobody else understands the worth and sweetness of a
+home-baked loaf?
+
+And that strange looking woman there, with her muff and parasol, her
+claret-colored cloak, with a huge cape, and that everlasting green
+veil! What business, now, has such a woman above ground--at this
+season of the year? Would she set your teeth chattering before the
+winter sets in? And what on earth does she carry that sun-shade for,
+toward nightfall, about the last of October--is the woman beside
+herself?
+
+But she is gone; and in her stead appear three boys, who, but for the
+season of the year, might be suspected of birdnesting. They are all of
+a size--all of an age, or thereabouts--and all dressed alike, save
+that one wears a cloth cap, and the others fur. Yet, like as they are
+in age and size, and general appearance, anybody may see at a glance
+that one is a well-educated boy, and a bit of a gentleman--perhaps
+with spending money for the holydays, while the other two are clumsy
+scapegraces. Watch them. Observe how the two always keep together, and
+how, as they go by the windows of that confectionary-shop, first one
+lags a little in the rear, and then the other, till they have stopped
+and wheedled their companion into a brief display of his pocket-money.
+The rogues!--how well they understand his character! See! he has
+determined to have it his own way, in spite of their well-managed
+remonstrances and suggestions; and now they all enter the shop
+together--he foremost, of course, with a swagger not to be
+misunderstood for a moment. And now they have sprung the trap! and the
+poor boy is a beggar!
+
+But who are they? Judge for yourself? Do they not belong, of course,
+to the same neighborhood? Have they not an air of good-fellowship,
+which cannot be counterfeited--a something which explains why they are
+always together, and why they are all dressed alike? How they loiter
+along, now that they have squeezed him as dry as an orange, as if
+they were just returning from a long summer-day's tramp in the
+wilderness after flowers and birds-nests--the flowers to tear to
+pieces, and the birds-nests to set up in the school for other boys to
+have a _shy_ at. By to-morrow, they will be asunder for months--he at
+school afar off, and they at leap-frog or marbles. And after a few
+years, they will be forgotten by him, and he remembered by them--such
+being the difference in their early education--as the boy they were
+allowed to associate with, and to fleece at pleasure when he was
+nobody but Tom, Dick, or Harry, and thought himself no better than
+other folks.
+
+But enough--let us leave the window. It is growing dark; and if you
+are not already satisfied, nothing ever will satisfy you, that the
+great mass of mankind have ears, but they hear not; and eyes, but
+they see not--and go through the world with their night-caps pulled
+over both. Poor simpletons!--what would they think of a man who should
+run for a wager with both feet in one shoe. Are you satisfied?
+
+I am--of one thing.
+
+And what is that?
+
+Why, that a magazine-writer may coin gold out of any thing--out of the
+golden atmosphere of a summer-evening--or the golden motes he sees
+playing in the sunshine, on the best possible terms, with the common
+dust of the trampled highway--or the golden blossoms that fill the
+hedges--in a word, that with him it should be mere child's play to
+"extract sunshine from cucumbers."
+
+
+
+
+THE OAK-TREE.
+
+BY PARK BENJAMIN.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Beautiful oak-tree! near my father's dwelling,
+      Alone thou standest on the sloping green;
+    In size, in strength, all other trees excelling--
+      The noblest feature of the rural scene.
+
+    Whether with foliage crowned in Summer's glory,
+      Or stripped of leaves in winter's icy reign,
+    Grandly thou speakest an unchanging story
+      Of power and beauty, not bestowed in vain.
+
+    I looked upon thee with deep veneration,
+      When first my soul acknowledged the sublime,
+    And felt the might and grandeur of creation,
+      In all that longest braves the shock of Time.
+
+    Centuries ago, an acorn, chance-directed,
+      Fell on the spot, and then a sapling sprung,
+    From driving winds and beating storms protected
+      By that kind Heaven which guards the frail and young.
+
+    And prouder height with greater age acquiring,
+      Fair as when suns on thy first verdure smiled,
+    Thou standest now, a forest lord, aspiring
+      O'er all thy peers from whom thou art exiled.
+
+    Beautiful oak-tree! my most pleasant gambols
+      Were, with my dear companions, always played
+    Beneath thy branches, and from farthest rambles
+      Wearied, we came and rested in thy shade.
+
+    Morning and evening, Falls, and Springs, and Summers,
+      Here was our Freedom, here we romped and sported;
+    And here by moonlight, happiest of all comers,
+      In thy dark shadow lovers sat and courted.
+
+    And here, when snow in frozen billows bound thee,
+      Like a white ocean deluging the land,
+    And smaller trunks, or near or far, were round thee
+      Like masts of vessels sunken on the strand,
+
+    We climbed high up thy naked boughs, enchanted,
+      Shaking whole sheets of spotless canvas down,
+    And, by keen frosts and breezes nothing daunted,
+      Hailed the slow sledges from the neighboring town.
+
+    Ah! flown delights! ah! happiness departed!
+      What have I known like you, since, light and free,
+    And undefiled, and bold and merry-hearted,
+      I used to frolic by the old oak-tree!
+
+
+II.
+
+    Long years ago I left my father's mansion,
+      Through many realms, in various climates roamed,
+    Speeding away o'er all Earth's wide expansion,
+      Where icebergs glittered, and where torrents foamed.
+
+    From pole to pole, across the hot Equator,
+      Restless as sea-gulls whirling o'er the deep;
+    From Snowden's crown to Ætna's fiery crater,
+      From Indian valley to Caucasian steep;
+
+    From Chimborazo, loftiest of all mountains
+      Trod by man's foot, to Nova Zembla's shore;
+    From Iceland Hecla's ever-boiling fountains,
+      To where Cape Horn's incessant surges roar;
+
+    From France's vineyards to Antarctic regions,
+      From England's pastures to Arabia's sands,
+    From the rude North, with her unnumbered legions,
+      To the sweet South's depopulated lands;
+
+    O'er all those scenes, or beautiful or splendid,
+      Which man risks wealth, and peace, and life to see,
+    I roved at will--but all my journeys ended,
+      Returned to gaze upon the old oak-tree.
+
+    But, ah! beneath those broad, outreaching branches,
+      What other forms, what different feet had strayed,
+    Since I, a youth, went forth to dare the chances
+      Which adverse Fortune in my path had laid.
+
+    Past my meridian, sinking toward the season
+      When Hope's horizon is with clouds o'ercast,
+    When sportive Fancy yields to sober Reason,
+      I came and questioned the remembered Past.
+
+    I came and stood by that oak-tree so hoary,
+      Forgetting all the intervening years,
+    Stood on that turf, so blent with childhood's story,
+      And poured my heart out in one gush of tears.
+
+    I had returned to claim my father's dwelling,
+      Borne like a waif on Time's returning tide--
+    Summoned I came, by one brief missive telling
+      That all I left behind and loved had died.
+
+    Wiser and sadder than in life's bright morning,
+      As softly fall the sun's last rays on me,
+    As when I saw their early glow adorning
+      The emerald foliage of this old oak-tree.
+
+
+
+
+PAULINE GREY.
+
+OR THE ONLY DAUGHTER.
+
+BY F. E. F., AUTHOR OF "AARON'S ROD," "TELLING SECRETS," ETC.
+
+(_Concluded from page_ 233.)
+
+
+The result of Mr. Grey's investigations _was_ decidedly unfavorable.
+He had much difficulty, in the first place, in obtaining any distinct
+information at all, most people hating to commit themselves in such a
+matter. He was generally answered evasively, and one or two merely
+said, "they knew no good of him."
+
+A friend, however, undertook to make the inquiries, and with much
+better success than Mr. Grey could do; and he learnt "that young
+Wentworth was wild, very wild--much in debt, with no business habits;
+and, in short, that there was not a father in town who would be
+willing to give his daughter to him."
+
+Mr. Grey, of course, considered this information as decisive, and
+communicated it to his wife. She received it with mingled feelings of
+relief and apprehension. There was no danger now of Pauline's having
+him, but she dreaded telling her so; not that she for a moment doubted
+Pauline's acquiescence in the decision, about which she herself
+supposed there could be no two opinions, but only the burst of grief
+with which she would receive it.
+
+But never was Mrs. Grey more mistaken. Pauline saw nothing in the
+information that her father had received to change her opinions or
+feelings at all; "that he was wild--she knew that--he had told her so
+himself. He had been very wild before he knew her--and in debt--yes,
+he had told her that too. He had never had any motive to apply himself
+to business before," and Pauline seemed to think his not having done
+so as a matter of choice or taste, only showed his superior
+refinement. In short, she adhered as resolutely to her determination
+as ever.
+
+What ideas did she, poor girl, attach to the word "wild;" something
+very vague, and not disgraceful at all. Perhaps a few supper parties,
+and a little more champagne than was quite proper. She did not know,
+could not know, the bearing of the term; and as to being in debt, that
+conveyed little more to her mind. If he owed money it could easily be
+paid. She knew no more of the petty meanness of small sums borrowed,
+and little debts contracted every where, than she knew of the low
+tastes involved in the word "wild."
+
+Mrs. Grey was in despair. But here Mr. Grey interposed. He had never
+exerted his authority before, but never doubted he had the power when
+he had the will. He forbade Pauline to think of him.
+
+He might as well have forbade the winds to blow. Pauline vehemently
+declared she would marry him, and wept passionately; and finally
+exhausted by the violence of her emotions, went to bed sick.
+
+She kept her room for the next week, wept incessantly, refused to eat,
+except when absolutely forced to, and gave way to such uncontrolled
+passion, as soon told upon her slight frame, always delicate.
+
+Mrs. Grey was alarmed; but Mr. Grey, not having seen Pauline since his
+decision had been communicated to her, was very firm.
+
+"After the first burst was over, Pauline," he said, "would return to
+her senses."
+
+"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Grey, "go up stairs and see her yourself;
+perhaps you can induce her to listen to reason."
+
+And Mr. Grey went to Pauline. He had been prepared to see her looking
+pale and sad, but he was not prepared for the change that a week's
+strong excitement had wrought in Pauline's appearance. Her large,
+black eyes looked larger, and her face smaller from the deadly
+paleness of her fair skin. Mr. Grey was, indeed, shocked; and either a
+slight cold, or the nervousness induced by weakness, had brought on
+the little hacking cough they always so dreaded to hear.
+
+He was much moved. He could not see his child die before his eyes; and
+it ended in Pauline's tears prevailing, and bringing him to listen to
+her views, instead of his inducing her to listen to reason. He
+promised he would do what he could--and once having been brought to
+hesitate, the natural impatience and decision of his character led him
+to the very point Pauline desired, of settling the matter as fast as
+possible; for "if it was to be, let it be done at once," he said.
+
+Mr. Wentworth was recalled. He was all protestations and promises; and
+Mr. Grey, with a heavy heart, "hoped it might turn out better than
+they anticipated."
+
+Pauline, at any rate, was restored to present happiness, and her
+doating parents had the immediate satisfaction of seeing her once
+again her radiant self, full of joy and gratitude, and confident of
+the future as secure of the present.
+
+The gay world in which they lived were very much surprised at the
+announcement of the engagement; at Mr. and Mrs. Grey's consenting to
+it; and even confounded at hearing that a day--and an early day,
+too--was actually named for the marriage.
+
+"Is not that extraordinary?" said Mrs. Livingston. "One would really
+think they were afraid the young man would slip through their fingers.
+How anxious some people are to marry their daughters!"
+
+"How absurd!" said another; "for I am told they don't like it, as, of
+course, they cannot. And she is so young, that if they delayed it a
+little while, another season, with the admirers she is sure to have,
+would put it out of her head."
+
+Lookers on are very wise; and it's a pity actors cannot be equally so.
+No doubt this would have been the right, and probably the successful
+course. But Mrs. Grey had no longer any spirit to oppose Pauline, and
+Mr. Grey, in his impatient agony, seemed to think the sooner it was
+over the better.
+
+Foolish, unhappy father. He was only riveting his own misery.
+
+But Pauline was radiant. Deep in the excitement of wedding
+preparations and invitations--for her parents listlessly acquiesced in
+every thing she asked; and she meant to be married "in pomp, in
+triumph, and in revelry."
+
+The mornings were spent in shopping, and one could scarcely go into a
+store where they did not meet Mrs. Grey and Pauline looking over
+delicate laces, exquisite embroidery, and expensive silks, Pauline's
+bright face looking brighter than ever, and her youthful voice musical
+in its gay happiness; and Mrs. Grey looking so dejected, and speaking
+in the lifeless tones of one who has a heavy sorrow settled on her
+heart.
+
+Two short months were rapidly consumed in all the arrangements usually
+made on such occasions--and the wedding day arrived.
+
+Never had Pauline looked so beautiful. The emotions called up by the
+occasion softened without dimming the brilliancy of her usual beauty.
+The veil of finest lace, the wreath of fresh and rare exotics, the
+jeweled arms, all lent their aid to render her surpassingly lovely.
+
+"Pray God it turn out better than we can hope!" was all Mr. Grey could
+say, to which his wife replied by a sigh, which seemed the fitting
+response to a prayer uttered with so little hope.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Grey had made it a condition with Mr. Wentworth that they
+were not to lose Pauline, and consequently it was arranged that the
+young couple were to live at home.
+
+Scarcely were the wedding festivities over before Mrs. Grey remarked
+that Pauline was nervous when her husband was alone with her father
+and herself; and that when he entered into conversation, she always
+joined in hastily, and contrived to engross the greater part of it
+herself. She evidently did not want him to talk more than could be
+helped. But much as she shielded him, the truth could not be
+concealed. Little as Mr. and Mrs. Grey had expected from Wentworth, he
+fell painfully below their expectations. He was both weak and
+ignorant--ignorant to a remarkable degree, for one occupying his
+position in society. It only showed how he had turned from every
+advantage offered him by education. His sentiments, too, were common;
+every thing stamped him as a low-minded, coarse-feeling young man--at
+least they feared so. He might improve. Pauline's influence might do
+something.
+
+But was Pauline beginning to be at all alive to the truth as it was?
+
+Mrs. Grey feared so; but she could not ascertain. Pauline was
+affectionate and tender, but not frank with her mother. Mrs. Grey,
+like most mothers, who, to tell the truth, are not very judicious on
+this point, would have led Pauline to talk of her husband; but here,
+she knew not how, Pauline baffled her. She always spoke, and spoke
+cheerfully and respectfully, of Mr. Wentworth, but in such a general
+manner, that Mrs. Grey could come to no satisfactory conclusion either
+way.
+
+The truth was that though Pauline was very young, her character was
+developing fast. Her heart and her mind were now speaking to her
+trumpet-tongued--and their voice was appalling.
+
+Her husband was daily revealing himself in his true character to her;
+and the idol of her imagination was fast coming forth as an idol of
+clay. But though Pauline was willful, she had other and great and
+noble qualities. An instinct told her at once that no complaint of her
+husband must pass her lips. Pride whispered that she had chosen her
+own lot, and must bear it, and love still murmured, "Hope on--all is
+not yet lost." But she grew pale and thin, and though she was
+animated, and talked, perhaps, more than ever, Mrs. Grey imagined, for
+she could not tell to a certainty, that her animation was forced, and
+her conversation nervous.
+
+Mr. Wentworth seemed soon to weary of the calm quiet of the domestic
+circle, for of an evening he was beginning to take his hat and go to
+the club, staying at first but for an hour or so, and gradually later
+and later.
+
+"I am not going up stairs yet, mamma," said Pauline, "I will sit up
+for Mr. Wentworth."
+
+"Robert will let him in, Pauline," replied Mrs. Grey, anxiously. "You
+are looking pale, my child--you had better go up."
+
+"Very well," answered Pauline, quietly; and her mother satisfied,
+retired to her own room, supposing Pauline had done the same. But
+Pauline had let the man sit up for her husband the night before; and
+she had heard her mother, as she happened to be passing in the hall
+when Mrs. Grey did not see her, finding fault with him for being late
+in the morning; to which the servant answered, in extenuation, that he
+had been up so late for Mr. Wentworth that he had over-slept himself.
+
+"How late was it, Robert?" asked Mrs. Grey, in a low voice.
+
+"Near two, ma'am," replied the man.
+
+"Near two!" repeated Mrs. Grey, as if to herself--and a heavy sigh
+told Pauline better than any comments could have done what was passing
+in her mother's mind. She determined that henceforth no servant should
+have her husband in his power again. So when she had heard her
+mother's door close for the night, she rang for the man and said,
+
+"Robert, you can go to bed now, I will sit up for Mr. Wentworth."
+
+"My child, how thin and pale you grow," Mrs. Grey would say,
+anxiously; "and that little cough of yours, too, Pauline--how it
+distresses me. What is the matter with you?"
+
+"Nothing, mother," Pauline would reply, cheerfully; "I always cough a
+little, you know, if I am not well. And if I am looking paler and
+thinner than usual, that is to be expected--is it not?"
+
+"I suppose so," Mrs. Grey would reply, half satisfied for the present
+that perhaps Pauline had truly accounted for her wan looks.
+
+Ah! little did she know of the late hours of harassing watching that,
+night after night, Pauline spent waiting the coming in of her truant
+husband; and less did she know of the agonized feelings of the young
+wife, as she read in the glassy eye and flushed brow of her husband,
+the meaning of that once insignificant word "wild," which now she was
+beginning to apprehend in all its disgusting reality.
+
+Pauline's spirit sometimes rose, and she remonstrated with Wentworth;
+but his loud tones subdued her at once. Not that she yet feared him,
+but dreaded lest those tones should reach her mother's ear. The one
+absorbing feeling, next to bitter disappointment, was concealment.
+
+"Mother," she said, one day, "I want you to listen to what I have to
+say--and do not reject my proposition until you have fully considered
+it. Mr. Wentworth wants to go to housekeeping."
+
+"To housekeeping, Pauline!" exclaimed Mrs. Grey. "Why, Pauline, Mr.
+Wentworth promised to remain with us--"
+
+"Yes, mother," interrupted Pauline, "and will keep his promise if you
+say so. But what I wish is, that you should not oppose it."
+
+"What is there, my child," said Mrs. Grey, "that he has not, or that
+you have not here, that you can have in your own house. Only say it,
+Pauline, and any thing, every thing either you or he wish, shall be
+done."
+
+Pauline was affected to tears by her mother's tone and manner, and she
+said,
+
+"Dearest mother, there is nothing that love and tenderness can do,
+that you and my father have not done. Do not think that I am
+insensible or ungrateful. Oh, no! never was your love so important to
+me as now--" she here checked herself. "But, mother, what I would
+say--what I think, is, that Mr. Wentworth, that no man can feel
+perfectly at ease in another's house; and that a young man, perhaps,
+hardly feels his responsibility as the head of a family, while living
+at home; that his respectability before the world--in short, I think,
+I _feel_, that it would be better for Mr. Wentworth if he were in his
+own house."
+
+And beyond this last intimation Pauline could not be drawn, although
+Mrs. Grey did her best to pursue the theme and draw her out. She only
+said, "Well, mother, think it over, and talk to father about it."
+
+And Mrs. Grey did talk to her husband, and found, to her surprise,
+that he agreed with Pauline.
+
+"I believe she is right," he said. "Wentworth and ourselves cannot
+live much longer together. I believe it will be for our mutual
+happiness that we be partially separated."
+
+"If I were only satisfied that she is satisfied," urged Mrs. Grey.
+"But Pauline is so reserved about her husband."
+
+"And Pauline is right, my dear," replied Mr. Grey, with deep emotion.
+"I honor her for it. My poor child has drawn a sad lot, and nobly is
+she bearing it. We must aid her and comfort her as we can, Alice; and
+if she wills that we be deaf and blind, deaf and blind we must be. God
+bless her!" he added, fervently. "My angel daughter."
+
+And so arrangements on the most liberal scale were made for Pauline's
+separate establishment; for, to tell the truth, it was rather
+Pauline's wish than her husband's. She thought that if they were
+alone, she could exert some influence over him, which now she was
+afraid of attempting lest it might bring exposure with it. Pauline had
+borne much, but not from fear. She had a brave, high spirit. She did
+not tremble before Wentworth; but both pride and love--yes, love even
+for him, and deep, surpassing love for her parents, led her to adopt
+her present course.
+
+Poor child! she did not know she was only withdrawing herself from
+their protection.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+Pauline had not been long at housekeeping before she found it involved
+with it a source of domestic unhappiness she had not anticipated; and
+that was in the character and manners of the associates who her
+husband now brought home with him, and who at her father's house she
+had been protected from seeing.
+
+Wentworth had the outward appearance and manner of a gentleman,
+whatever he might be in point of fact; but there were those among his
+friends, and one in particular, a Mr. Strickland, from whom Pauline
+instinctively shrank, as being neither a gentleman nor a man of
+principle. She looked upon him, too, as leading Wentworth astray; and
+at any rate felt he was a person her husband had no right to bring
+into her presence. She remonstrated with him more than once on the
+subject, and he warmly defended his friend, and said her suspicions
+were as unfounded as unwarrantable, and finally got in a passion, and
+declared he would bring whom he chose to his own house. Pauline firmly
+declared that he might do that, but that _she_ was equally mistress of
+her own actions, and would _not_ receive Mr. Strickland as an
+acquaintance. If he chose to ask him there, she would retire as he
+entered.
+
+Wentworth was very angry--quite violent in fact; but Pauline remained
+unshaken--and he left the house in great displeasure.
+
+He did not return until late. Pauline had given him up, and just
+ordered dinner when he entered. As he came in he said loudly, "Walk
+in, Strickland;" and there was something in the eye of both, as they
+entered, that told Pauline that their quarrel had been communicated by
+her husband to his friend, for Strickland's expression was both
+foolish and insolent; and Wentworth evidently had been put up to brave
+it out.
+
+Pauline colored deeply, and rose to leave the room just as the
+folding-doors of the dining-room were thrown open. Wentworth hastily
+stepped forward, and taking her arm with a grasp, the firmness of
+which he himself was unaware at the time, said,
+
+"Take your place at the table."
+
+The print of his fingers was left on her delicate wrist as he withdrew
+his hand; but Pauline was too proud to subject herself to further
+indignity in the presence of a stranger; and though she read triumph
+in his insolent eye, she took her place silently at the head of the
+table.
+
+Wentworth drank freely of wine, for he was evidently laboring under
+both embarrassment and excitement. The conversation was such as to
+cause the blood to mount to Pauline's temples more than once, but she
+firmly kept her seat until the cloth was removed and the servants
+withdrew, and then she rose.
+
+Wentworth said, "You are not going yet!" but there was a look in her
+eye, as she turned it on him, that silenced all further remonstrance
+on his part. A coarse laugh she heard as she closed the door, whether
+of derision or triumph she could not tell; but she went to her own
+room, and double-locked the doors, and paced the floor in great
+excitement until she heard the offending stranger leave.
+
+Then she descended to the parlor, looking pale, but her bright eye
+clear, and resolve in every lineament. Wentworth was alone, standing
+on the rug, with his back to the fire as she entered.
+
+He evidently quailed as he encountered her full glance, but instantly
+made an effort, and attempted to bluster it out.
+
+She approached close up to him before she spoke, and then said in a
+clear, low voice.
+
+"I am not come to reproach or to listen to recriminations, but to tell
+you I never will submit to such insult again." And baring her delicate
+wrist where the mark of his fingers was now turning black, said,
+"Should my father see that, you well know the consequence. I have
+nothing more to say, but remember it," and passing through the room,
+she left him speechless with contending feelings, shame predominating
+perhaps over the others, and retired once more to her room.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Grey dined with Pauline the next day, and Wentworth did
+his best to behave himself well. He was attentive and respectful to
+them, affectionate to Pauline.
+
+She looked very pale, however, though she made an effort to be
+cheerful and animated. At dinner the loose sleeve of her dress falling
+back as she raised her hand, her mother exclaimed, "Oh, Pauline, what
+is the matter with your wrist?"
+
+Glancing slightly at her husband, who obviously changed color and
+looked uneasy, she said quietly, as she drew her bracelet over the
+dark stains, "I struck it and bruised it." Wentworth's brow cleared,
+and there was a look of grateful affection in his eye which Pauline
+had not seen for many a day.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Grey returned home better satisfied with their son-in-law
+than they had been almost since his marriage. So little often do the
+nearest friends know of what is going on in the hearts of those
+dearest to them.
+
+We will not trace Mr. Wentworth's career more closely. It is a common
+one--that of a "wild" young man settling into a dissipated one. Mr.
+Grey heard occasionally who his associates were; and he knew them to
+be men without character, a kind of gentlemen "blacklegs." He heard
+intimations, too, of his habits, and intemperance was leaving its
+traces in his once rather handsome countenance.
+
+But from Pauline came no murmur. And soon the birth of a daughter
+seemed to absorb all her feelings, and opened, they trusted, an
+independent source of happiness for their unhappy child.
+
+Pauline had hoped that the birth of her infant might effect some
+favorable change in her husband's conduct. But here again she was open
+to a new disappointment. "He hated girls," he said. "If it had been a
+fine boy, it would not have been so bad."
+
+Pauline sighed, and as she pressed her darling to her heart, thanked
+God in silence that it was not a son, who might by a possibility
+resemble his father.
+
+The child was a delicate infant from its birth; and whether it was the
+constant sound of its little wailing cries, or that Wentworth was
+jealous of the mother's passionate devotion to the little creature, or
+perhaps something of both, but he fairly seemed to hate it as the
+months went on. But rude and even brutal though he might be, he could
+not rob Pauline of the happiness of her deep love. She turned
+resolutely from her husband to her child. What comfort earth had left
+for her, she would take there.
+
+The long summer months and the infant pined away, and the beautiful
+mother seemed wasting with it. Mr. and Mrs. Grey were out of town for
+a few weeks, during which the child became alarmingly low. The
+physician gave Pauline little hope. It was too weak to be removed for
+change of air. Nature might rally, but nothing more could be done for
+it. Pauline attempted to detain her husband by her side, but he shook
+her rudely off, saying, "Nonsense, you are always fancying the brat
+ill!" and the young mother was left desolate by the little bed of her
+dying baby.
+
+We will pass over those hours of agony, for there are no words that
+can describe them; but by midnight its young spirit had winged its
+flight to Heaven, and the heart-broken mother wept over it in an
+anguish few even of parents ever knew.
+
+"That's Mr. Wentworth's step," said the nurse in a low voice to her,
+as he passed the nursery door. "Shall I go to him, ma'am?"
+
+"No," said Pauline, "I will go. Do you stay here." And rising firmly,
+she went to her husband's room.
+
+He was lying dressed on the bed as she approached. She laid her hand
+on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked stupidly at her. She
+told him their child was dead--and he laughed a stupid, brutal
+laugh--the laugh of intoxication.
+
+Pauline shuddered from head to foot, and returned to the bed of her
+dead child; and when Mr. and Mrs. Grey, who had been sent for, arrived
+in the morning; they found her as she had lain all night, her arms
+clasped round the infant, and moaning wildly, as one who has no hope
+on earth.
+
+"Take me--take me home!" she said, as she threw herself into her
+mother's arms.
+
+"Never, my child, to be parted from us again," said her father, as he
+pressed her passionately to his heart.
+
+They understood each other, and when the funeral was over, without one
+word to "Wentworth--for Pauline could bear nothing more--Mr. Grey took
+Pauline home.
+
+That night she was in a high fever, and for two or three days she
+continued alarmingly ill--but at the end of that time she was enabled
+to sit up.
+
+Mr. Grey had, meanwhile, seen Wentworth; but the nature of their
+conversation he did not repeat to his daughter.
+
+One afternoon, however, he came into her sick room, and said,
+
+"Pauline, are you strong enough to see your husband. He entreats to
+see you, if but for a few minutes." Pauline murmured an acquiescence.
+
+"My dear," said Mr. Grey, "you must leave them--I have promised it;
+but Mrs. Granger (the nurse) will remain."
+
+Wentworth presently entered. He seemed calm, for the nurse's eye was
+upon him; asked her how she was, and talked for a few minutes, and
+then getting up, as if to take Pauline's hand for farewell, he
+approached his lips close to her ear, said some low muttered words,
+and left the room.
+
+Pauline did not speak for some time after he had withdrawn, and the
+nurse receiving no answer to some question she had asked her, went up
+to her, and found she had fainted.
+
+Shivering succeeded to fainting fits--faintings to shivering; they
+thought that night that she was dying.
+
+A few days after she said, in a quick, low, frightened voice to her
+mother,
+
+"Lock the doors mother, quick!"
+
+Much startled, Mrs. Grey did instantly as Pauline requested, and then
+her ear, less fine than the sensitive organ of her unhappy daughter,
+caught the sound of Wentworth's voice in the hall below.
+
+"Fear not, my Pauline," she said, as she took her in her arms, "your
+father will protect you;" but no sound escaped Pauline's lips. She was
+evidently intently listening. Soon loud voices were heard, doors
+shutting--and then the street door with a bang. Presently Mr. Grey's
+measured tread was heard coming up stairs, and next his hand was on
+the lock.
+
+"Is he alone?" were the first words Pauline had uttered since she had
+heard her husband's voice.
+
+"He is, my child."
+
+"Pauline, fear not, you shall never see him again," were the words of
+her father, uttered in a calm but deep voice.
+
+That night Pauline slept tranquilly, for the first time almost since
+she had known Wentworth.
+
+She seemed revived in the morning, and Mrs. Grey's hopes rose again,
+but only to be dashed once more forever.
+
+The iron had eaten too deeply in her soul. Pauline's slight frame had
+no power of renovation. The spirit seemed to grow brighter and
+brighter as she wasted away. Unutterable love and gratitude looked out
+from her eyes, as she turned them from her father and mother,
+alternately; but she was too weak to say much, and gently thus she
+faded away to fall asleep upon earth, awakening a purified and
+regenerated spirit in heaven.
+
+Her's was "a broken and a contrite heart," and of such is the kingdom
+of heaven.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+Could mortal agony such as Mr. Grey's be added to, as he followed his
+idolized child to the grave?
+
+Yes--even there something was to be added--for Wentworth, as chief
+mourner, stepped forward and offered his arm to the unhappy father,
+which, even at that moment, and in that presence, Mr. Grey could not
+help shaking off.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+And what have this childless, broken-hearted couple left of their
+beautiful daughter?
+
+A picture--delicate and lovely in its lineaments, but
+
+    "To those who see thee not, my words are weak,
+     To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak."
+
+The canvas must fail in the life-speaking eye; and exquisite though
+the pictured image be, oh! how cold to those who knew and idolized the
+beautiful original.
+
+Heaven help you, unhappy parents! Your all was wrecked in that one
+frail bark. Though friends may sympathize at first, yet they will grow
+weary of your grief--for such is human nature. God comfort you! for
+there is no earthly hope for those who have lost their only child.
+
+
+
+
+SONNET.--TO A MINIATURE.
+
+    Image of loveliness! in thee I view
+      The bright, the fair, the perfect counterpart,
+      Of that which love hath graven on my heart.
+    In every lineament, to nature true,
+    Methinks I can discern _her_ spirit through
+      Each feature gleaming; soft, serene and mild,
+      And gentle as when on me first she smiled,
+    Stirring my heart with passions strange and new.
+    Would that my tongue could celebrate the praise
+      Of thy divine original, or swell
+    The general chorus, or in lofty lays
+      Of her celestial grace and beauty tell,
+    But fancy flutters on her unplumed wing,
+    None but an angel's harp, an angel's praise should sing.
+
+                                                    C. E. T.
+
+
+
+
+WHORTLEBERRYING.
+
+BY ALFRED B. STREET.
+
+
+About the middle of August, the village was honored by repeated visits
+from the little ragged population of "Barlow's Settlement," on the
+"Barrens," with quantities of whortleberries for sale. "Want any
+huckleberries to-day?" was heard all over. You couldn't stir abroad
+without some urchin with a smirched face--a tattered coat, whose
+skirts swept the dust, showing, evidently, its paternal descent, and
+pantaloons patched in the most conspicuous places, more picturesque
+than decent--thrusting a basket of the rich fruit into your very face,
+with an impudent yell of "huckleberries, sir?" or some little girl,
+the edges of whose scanty frock were irregularly scalloped, making a
+timid courtesy, saying meekly, "Don't you want some berries to-day,
+sir? nice berries, sir, just picked!"
+
+At length Bill Brattle, who is a resident of the settlement, came into
+the village, and said in Wilson's bar-room, "that he'd lived on the
+Barrens nigh on six years, and he'd _never_ in all that 'ere time seed
+sich an allfired grist of huckleberries. Why there was acres on acres
+on 'em, and he didn't tell no lie when he said that the airth was
+parfectly blue with 'em."
+
+This soon got about, and the consequence was a whortleberry party the
+very next day. A number of the young people, of both sexes, started in
+several conveyances, and about noon found themselves, after rumbling
+through the covered bridge on the Neversink River, climbing slowly up
+the steep winding hill that ascends from the east bank of the stream,
+and whence was a beautiful view of the valley below.
+
+Now there are many fine views in Sullivan. It is an exceedingly
+picturesque county. It has all the charms of precipitous hills,
+winding valleys, dark wooded gorges, lovely river-flats, and
+meandering streams. It is sufficiently cultivated to have the beauty
+of rural landscape softening the forest scenery, without disturbing to
+any great degree its wildness and grandeur.
+
+This Neversink valley river, although not among the finest, is
+nevertheless a very lovely one--
+
+Beneath--the clear placid stream comes coursing from the north,
+through narrow but beautiful flats, in all the pomp of rural wealth,
+wrinkled with corn-fields, bearded with rye, and whitened with
+buckwheat, imaging old age rejoicing amongst its blessings. Opposite,
+rise steep hills in all the stages of cultivation--the black
+logging--the grain waving amidst stumps--and the smooth grassy
+meadow--whilst at the south, where the little river makes a bold turn,
+the sweet landscape is lost in the deep mantle of the aboriginal
+forest.
+
+Mastering the hill, the whole cavalcade was soon turning into a stony,
+root-tangled, miry road, leading from the turnpike into the heart of
+the "Barrens," the territory of the desired fruit. After sinking and
+jolting for some little distance, we came to a part of the track which
+had been laid over with small parallel logs, close to each other, and
+forming what is called in country parlance "a corduroy road". We
+"bumped along" (as Jim Stokes, one of our party, a plain young farmer,
+expressed it) over this railway of the woods, until our bones seemed
+so loose we thought we could hear them rattle at every jolt; and at
+last stopped at a large log cabin which had been fitted up as a
+tavern.
+
+A fierce eagle, with his head nearly all eye, one striped claw
+grasping a bundle of arrows, and the other the American flag, served
+for the sign, and was elevated upon a tall hickory sapling, with the
+ambitious legend of "Eagle Hotel; by A. Pritchard," flaunting in a
+scroll from the ferocious bird's mouth.
+
+A smaller log structure, with one large door, and a square opening
+over it, through which a haymow seemed thrusting its brown head, as if
+to look abroad, with a warm glow of sunshine upon it, told plainly
+that our horses at all events would not suffer.
+
+In a short time we scattered ourselves over the ground in the
+vicinity, in search of our fruit. The appearance of things around was
+quite characteristic of the region generally. The principal growth
+were a dwarf species of oak, called in the language of the country
+"scrub-oak"--low shaggy spruces--stunted gnarled pines, and here and
+there, particularly in low places, tall hemlocks. The earth was
+perfectly bestrewed with loose stones, between which, however, the
+moss showed itself, thick and green, with immense quantities of that
+beautiful creeping plant called the "ground pine," winding and twining
+its rich emerald branching fingers in every direction. Scores of
+cattle-paths were twisting and interlacing all around us, giving, in
+fact, to the scene, notwithstanding its barrenness, a picturesque
+appearance. There were stone-fences also intersecting each other every
+where, erected for no earthly purpose, as I could perceive, but to
+make way with some part of the vast quantities of stone scattered
+about; for as to cultivating the lots, that was entirely out of the
+question.
+
+There was some little pasturage, however, and the bells of the
+browsing cows were heard tinkling in a pleasing manner, and giving
+somewhat of a social character to the desolate landscape.
+
+We were all soon immersed in our search. The bushes were crouching all
+around us, bearing their rich clusters of misty blue berries, covered
+with the soft beautiful down that vanished at the touch leaving the
+berry dark and glittering as the eye of a squirrel. How like is the
+down of the fruit to the first gossamer down of the heart--and ah! how
+soon the latter also vanishes at the rude touch of the world. The
+pure virgin innocence with which God robes the creature when fresh
+from His holy hand! why cannot it stay! why, oh why, does it so soon
+depart and leave the soul disrobed of its charm and loveliness. Harsh
+world, bad world! it destroys all it touches.
+
+Ahem! we'll return.
+
+Merry laughter breaks out from the girls, and playful scrambles occur
+amongst them as to who should secure the most fruit. The berries pour
+in handfuls in the baskets, which show in some cases signs of
+plethora. I tell you what it is, reader, there is sport in picking
+whortleberries. Strawberries pout their rich mouths so low that it
+gives a sore temptation to the blood to make an assault upon the head,
+causing you, when you lift it, to look darkly upon various green spots
+dancing about your eyes. Raspberries again, and blackberries, sting
+like the dev--I beg pardon, making your hands twitch up like a fit of
+St. Vitus' dance. But picking whortleberries is all plain sailing.
+Here are the berries and there are your baskets; no getting on your
+knees, (although it must be confessed the bushes are somewhat low,)
+and no pricking your fingers to the verge of swearing.
+
+We all hunt in couples--a lover and his sweet-heart--and take
+different paths. My companion was a tall black-eyed girl, the sight of
+whom always made my heart beat quicker, in those unsophisticated days.
+Rare sport we had, and so, doubtless, had the rest. Pick, pick, pick
+went the fingers--and ruttle, ruttle, ruttle in the baskets ran the
+berries. Glorious sport! glorious times! We talked, too, as we
+picked--indeed why should we not--we had the whole English language to
+ourselves, and no one to disturb us in it--and I tell you what it
+is--if people can't talk they had better sell their tongue to the
+surgeons and live only through their eyes. What's the use of existing
+without talk--ay, and small talk too. Small talk is (as somebody I
+believe says, although I am not certain, but no matter) the small
+change of society, and who hasn't the small change, ten chances to one
+hasn't the large. However, we'll change the theme.
+
+We hear in the distance the hum of male voices, and the light silvery
+tones of female, broken in upon by frequent laughter and the music of
+the cow-bells, tingle lingle, tink clink--here--there--far off and
+near.
+
+All of a sudden, as I part a large thick cluster of whortleberry
+bushes, I hear an indescribably quick rattle, amounting to a hum as it
+were--fearful and thrilling in the extreme. I start back, but as I do
+so I see in the gloom of the bushes two keen blazing orbs, and a long
+scarlet tongue quivering and dancing like a curl of fire. "A
+rattlesnake--a rattlesnake," I cry involuntarily--my companion gives a
+little shriek, and in a moment several of our company, of both sexes,
+are hastening toward us. It is a peculiarity or want of ability in the
+reptile to dart only its length, and my first recoil had placed me, I
+knew, beyond its reach. But there stood the leafy den, studded all
+over with a profusion of beautiful gems, and although the rattle had
+ceased, there to a certainty was the enraged monster, swelling
+doubtless in his yellow venom; for it is another trait of the
+crawling, poisonous demons never to desert their post, (rather a good
+trait, by the way, not always possessed by those erect rattlesnakes,
+men,) and we must get rid of the dragon before we could come at the
+fruit. Well! what was to be done! We couldn't think of leaving the
+field--that would be too bad--to be driven off by a snake, and before
+the eyes of our Dulcineas too--it couldn't be thought of! So one of us
+cuts a pole with a crotch at the end--the rest of us arm ourselves
+with stones and sticks, and then the poleman commences his attack upon
+the bush. Ha! that was a thrust, well aimed! hear him rattle,
+hum-m-m--how the bush flutters! he sprang then! That was a good
+thrust! Jupiter, how he rattles! see, see, see, there are his eyes!
+ugh! there's his tongue! now he darts out his head and neck! Heavens!
+what malignant rage and ferocity. Keep back, girls! don't be too
+curious to see! Thrust him again! How he makes the bush flutter! how
+his eyes shoot around! how his tongue darts in and out--and
+whir-r-r-r-r-r--how his rattles shake. Now he comes out, head up,
+tongue out, eyes like coals of fire--give him the stones now--a full
+battery of them! Halloo! what's Sloan about there with his crotched
+pole. Well planted, by Jupiter! right around his neck. Ha! ha! ha! how
+he twists and turns and writhes about--how he would like to bite! how
+he would like to strike some of that tawny poison of his into our
+veins! Yes, yes, your snake-ship! but it wont do! "you can't come it,"
+as Loafing Jim says, "no how you can fix it."
+
+He's a tremendous snake though--full four feet! u-g-h! only think of
+his crawling around and catching hold of the calf of your leg! Not so
+pleasant as picking whortleberries, to say the least of it. See his
+gray mottled skin! though it looks beautiful, flashing in the rays of
+the sun--and then the ribbed white of his undershape! However, what
+shall we do with him! Sloan, hold him tight now, and I'll aim at his
+head. Good sharp stone this--whew--well aimed, although I say it--I
+think he must have felt it this time. Halloo! another stone--from
+Wescott. I fancy that made his head ache! And that one has crushed it
+as flat as a--griddle-cake.
+
+We again, after this terrific battle, (a dozen against one though I
+must confess,) scatter among the bushes. Awful onslaughts are again
+made amongst the berries, and our baskets (those at all events in
+sight) are plumping up with the delicious, ripe, azure balls. I have
+forgotten to mention, though, that it is a very warm day. The sky is
+of a pale tint, as if the bright, pure, deep blue had been blanched
+out by the heat; and all around the horizon are wan thunder-caps
+thrusting up their peaks and summits. It looks decidedly thunderish.
+
+What's that again! another alarm? How that girl does scream out there!
+What on earth is the matter! We rush around a sand-bank, looking warm
+and yellow in the sun, and we see the cause of the outbreak. There is
+Caroline G. shrinking back as if she would like to evaporate into thin
+air, and executing a series of shrieks, with her open mouth, of the
+most thrilling character. Young Mason is a little in front, with a
+knotted stick, doubtless just picked up, whilst some ten or twelve
+rods in advance is a great shaggy black bear, very coolly helping
+himself to the contents of the two baskets hitherto borne by the
+couple, giving himself time, however, every now and then to look out
+of his little black eyes at the rightful owners, with rather a
+spiteful expression, but protruding at the same time his red tongue,
+like a clown at the circus, as if enjoying the joke of their picking
+and he eating. Afterward I learned that they had deposited their
+baskets on the ground under a loaded bush, for greater facility in
+securing the fruit, when suddenly they heard a blow and a snort, and
+looking where the queer sounds came from, they saw his Bruinship's
+white teeth and black phiz within a foot or two of them, directly over
+the bush. Abandoning their baskets, they retreated in double quick
+time, and while Mason sought and found a club for defence, Caroline
+made haste to clear her voice for the most piercing efforts, and
+succeeded in performing a succession of sustained vocal flights, that
+a steam whistle couldn't much more than match. The sight as we came up
+was in truth somewhat alarming, but Bruin didn't seem disposed to be
+hostile except against the whortleberries, which he certainly made
+disappear in the most summary manner; so we, after hushing with
+difficulty Caroline's steam whistle, (I beg her pardon,) stood and
+watched him. After he had discussed the contents of the baskets, he
+again looked at us, and, rearing himself upon his hind legs, with his
+fore paws hanging down like a dancing Shaker, made two or three
+awkward movements, as if dancing an extempore hornpipe, either in
+triumph or to thank us for his dinner; he next opened his great jaws
+in resemblance to a laugh, again thrust out his tongue, saying plainly
+by it, "hadn't you better pick some more whortleberries," then
+deliberately fell upon his fore feet and stalked gravely and solemnly
+away. As for ourselves, we went where he didn't.
+
+It wanted now about an hour to sundown, and this was the time agreed
+upon by all of us to reunite at Pritchard's and start for home. The
+beautiful charm of light and shade cast by the slanting rays already
+began to rest upon the scene. The small oaks were glowing through and
+through--the thick spruces were kindled up in their outer edges--the
+patches of moss looked like carpets of gold spread by the little genii
+of the woods--the whortleberry bushes were drenched in rich radiance,
+the fruit seeming like the concentrated radiance in the act of
+dropping--whilst the straggling, tall, surly grenadiers of hemlocks
+had put on high-pointed yellow caps, with rays streaking through their
+branches like muskets. The cow-bells were now tinkling everywhere,
+striking in an odd jumble of tones--tingle ling, tingle ling ting
+tingle--as their owners collected together to eat their way to their
+respective milking places--and all told us that the day was drawing to
+a close. Independently of this, a dark crag of cloud was lifting
+itself in the southwest, with a pale glance of lightning shooting out
+of it occasionally, hinting very strongly of an approaching
+thunder-storm.
+
+In about half an hour we were all re-assembled at Pritchard's. I
+believe I have not described the scenery around this little log
+tavern. There was a ravine at some little distance from it, densely
+clothed with forest. Through it a stream found its way. Directly
+opposite the side porch, the ravine spread widely on each side,
+shaping a broad basin of water, and then, contracting again, left a
+narrow throat across which a dam had been thrown. Over this dam the
+stream poured in a fall of glittering silver, of about ten feet, and
+then, pursuing its way through the "Barrens," fell into the Sheldrake
+Brook several miles below. Here, at the fall, Pritchard had erected a
+saw-mill.
+
+Now people don't generally think there is any thing very picturesque
+about saw-mills, but I do. The weather-beaten boards of the low
+structure, some hanging awry, some with great knot-holes, as if they
+were gifted with orbs of vision, or were placed there for the mill to
+breathe through, some fractured, as if the saw had at times become
+outrageous at being always shut up and made to work there for other
+people, and had dashed against them, determined to gain its
+liberty--whilst some seem as if they had become so tantalized by the
+continual jar of the machinery, that they had loosened their nails,
+and had set up a clatter and shake themselves in opposition--these are
+quite picturesque. Then the broad opening in front, exposing the
+glittering saw bobbing up and down, and pushing its sharp teeth right
+through the bowels of the great peeled log fastened with iron claws to
+the sliding platform beneath--the gallows-like frame in which the saw
+works--the great strap belonging to the machinery issuing out of one
+corner and gliding into another--the sawyer himself, in a red shirt,
+now wheeling the log into its place with his handspike and fastening
+it--and now lifting the gate by the handle protruding near him--the
+axe leaning at one side and the rifle at the other--the loose floor
+covered with saw-dust--the stained rafters above with boards laid
+across for a loft--the dark sloping slab-roof--the great black wheel
+continually at war with the water, which, dashing bravely against it,
+finds itself carried off its feet into the buckets, and whirled half
+around, and then coolly dismissed into the stream below--the long
+flume through which the water rushes to the unequal fray, and--what
+next!
+
+Then the pond, too, is not to be overlooked. There are generally some
+twenty or thirty logs floating in one corner, close to each other, and
+breaking out into great commotion every time the gate is hoisted--the
+otter is now and then seen gliding in the farther nooks--and a quick
+eye may catch, particularly about the dam, where he generally burrows,
+a glimpse of the musk-rat as he dives down. Now and then too the wild
+duck will push his beautiful shape with his bright feet through
+it--the snipe will alight and "teter," as the children say, along the
+banks--the woodcock will show his brownish red bosom amongst the reeds
+as he comes to stick his long bill into the black ooze for sucking, as
+dock-boys stick straws into molasses hogsheads--and once in a great
+while, the sawyer, if he's wide awake, will see, in the Spring or
+Fall, the wild goose leaving his migrating wedge overhead, and diving
+and fluttering about in it, as a momentary bathing place, and to rest
+for a time his throat, hoarse with uttering his laughably wise and
+solemn "honk, honk." Nor must the ragged and smirched-faced boys be
+forgotten, eternally on the logs, or the banks, or in the leaky scow,
+with their twine and pin-hooks catching "spawney-cooks," and
+"bull-heads" as worthless as themselves, and as if that were their
+only business in life. And then the streak of saw-dust running along
+in the midst of the brook below, and forming yellow nooks to imprison
+bubbles and sticks and leaves and what not, every now and then making
+a jet outward and joining the main body--and lastly the saw-mill yard,
+with its boards, white, dark and golden, piled up in great masses,
+with narrow lanes running through--and gray glistening logs, with
+their bark coats off, waiting their turn to be "boarded."
+
+The cloud had now risen higher, with its ragged pointed edges, and
+murky bosom--sharper lightning flashed athwart it, sometimes in
+trickling streaks, and sometimes in broad glances, whilst low growls
+of thunder were every now and then heard. The sun was already
+swallowed up--and a strange, unnatural, ghastly glare was upon every
+object. The atmosphere was motionless--not a stir in the thickets
+around, not a movement in the forest at the ravine. Through the solemn
+silence the crash of the falling water came upon the ear, and its
+gleam was caught against the black background of the cloud. It really
+seemed as if Nature held her breath in anticipating terror. Higher and
+higher rose the cloud--fiercer and fiercer flashed the lightning,
+sterner and sterner came the peals of the solemn thunder. Still Nature
+held her breath, still fear deep and brooding reigned. The wild tint
+still was spread over all things--the pines and hemlocks near at hand
+seeming blanched with affright beneath it. Suddenly a darkness smote
+the air--a mighty rush was heard--the trees seemed falling upon their
+faces in convulsions, and with a shock as if the atmosphere had been
+turned into a precipitated mountain, amidst a blinding flash and
+tearing, splitting roar, onward swept the blast. Another
+flash--another roar--then tumbled the great sheeted rain. Like blows
+of the hammer on the anvil beat it on the water--like the smitings of
+a mounted host trampled it upon the roof--like the spray flying from
+the cataract smoked it upon the earth. The fierce elements of fire
+and air and water were now at the climax of their strife--the dark
+blended shadow of the banners under which they fought almost blotting
+out the view. Occasionally glimpses of writhing branches could be
+seen, but only for a moment--all again was dim and obscure, with the
+tremendous sights and sounds of the storm dazzling the eye and
+stunning the ear. The lightning would flash with intolerable
+brilliancy, and immediately would follow the thunder with a rattling
+leap as if springing from its lair, and then with a deafening, awful
+weight, as if it had fallen and been splintered into pieces in the
+sky. Then would re-open the steady deep boom of the rain, and the
+stern rushing of the chainless wind. At length the air became
+clearer--the lightning glared at less frequent intervals--the thunder
+became more rolling and distant, and the tramp of the rain upon the
+roof less violent. The watery streaks in the atmosphere waxed
+finer--outlines of objects began to be defined--till suddenly, as a
+growl of thunder died away in the east, a rich thread of light ran
+along the landscape, that looked out smiling through its tears; and
+thronging out into the damp fresh, sweet air, where the delicate
+gauze-like rain was glittering and trembling, we saw on one hand the
+great sun looking from a space of glowing sky upon the scene, and
+dashing upon the parting clouds the most superb and gorgeous
+hues--whilst on the other smiled the lovely rainbow, the Ariel of the
+tempest, spanning the black cloud and soaring over the illuminated
+earth, like Hope spreading her brilliant halo over the Christian's
+brow, and brightening with her beautiful presence his impending death.
+
+We all concluded to wait for the moon to rise before we started for
+home, and in the meanwhile another cloud arose and made demonstration.
+This storm, however, was neither so long nor so violent as the first,
+and we found attraction in viewing the lightning striking into ghastly
+convulsions the landscape--so that the falling rain--the bowed
+trees--the drenched earth--the streaked mill, and the gleaming
+water-fall were opened to our view for an instant, and then dropped as
+it were again into the blackness. But after a while the sky cleared
+its forehead of all its frowns--the broad moon wheeled up--and in her
+rich glory we again moved slowly along the rough road, until we came
+to the smooth turnpike, where we dashed along homeward, with the cool,
+scented air in our faces, and the sweet smile of the sun's gentle and
+lovely sister resting all about us, making the magnificent Night
+appear like Day with a veil of softening silver over his dazzling
+brow.
+
+
+
+
+STANZAS.
+
+    Be firm, and be cheerful. The creature who lightens
+      The natural burdens of life when he may,
+    Who smiles at small evils, enhances and brightens
+      The pleasures which Heaven has spread in his way.
+
+    Then why yield your spirits to care and to sorrow?
+      Rejoice in the present, and smile while you may;
+    Nor, by thinking of woes which _may_ spring up to-morrow,
+      Lose the blessings which Heaven _has_ granted to-day.
+
+
+
+
+EURYDICE.
+
+BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.
+
+      With heart that thrilled to every earnest line,
+        I had been reading o'er that antique story,
+      Wherein the youth half human, half divine,
+        Of all love-lore the Eidolon and glory,
+      Child of the Sun, with music's pleading spell,
+    In Pluto's palace swept, for love, his golden shell!
+
+      And in the wild, sweet legend, dimly traced,
+        My own heart's history unfolded seemed:--
+      Ah! lost one! by thy lover-minstrel graced
+        With homage pure as ever woman dreamed,
+      Too fondly worshiped, since such fate befell,
+    Was it not sweet to die--because beloved too well?
+
+      The scene is round me!--Throned amid the gloom,
+        As a flower smiles on Ætna's fatal breast,
+      Young Proserpine beside her lord doth bloom;
+        And near--of Orpheus' soul, oh! idol blest!--
+      While low for thee he tunes his lyre of light,
+    I see _thy_ meek, fair form dawn through that lurid night!
+
+      I see the glorious boy--his dark locks wreathing
+        Wildly the wan and spiritual brow,
+      His sweet, curved lip the soul of music breathing;
+        His blue Greek eyes, that speak Love's loyal vow;
+      I see him bend on _thee_ that eloquent glance,
+    The while those wondrous notes the realm of terror trance!
+
+      I see his face, with more than mortal beauty
+        Kindling, as armed with that sweet lyre alone,
+      Pledged to a holy and heroic duty,
+        He stands serene before the awful throne,
+      And looks on Hades' horrors with clear eyes,
+    Since thou, his own adored Eurydice, art nigh!
+
+      Now soft and low a prelude sweet uprings,
+        As if a prisoned angel--pleading there
+      For life and love--were fettered 'neath the strings,
+        And poured his passionate soul upon the air!
+      Anon, it clangs with wild, exultant swell,
+    Till the full pæan peals triumphantly through Hell!
+
+      And thou--thy pale hands meekly locked before thee--
+        Thy sad eyes drinking _life_ from _his_ dear gaze--
+      Thy lips apart--thy hair a halo o'er thee,
+        Trailing around thy throat its golden maze--
+      Thus--with all words in passionate silence dying--
+    Within thy _soul_ I hear Love's eager voice replying--
+
+        "Play on, mine Orpheus! Lo! while these are gazing,
+        Charmed into statues by thy God-taught strain,
+      I--I alone, to thy dear face upraising
+        My tearful glance, the life of life regain!
+      For every tone that steals into my heart
+    Doth to its worn, weak pulse a mighty power impart.
+
+      Play on, mine Orpheus! while thy music floats
+        Through the dread realm, divine with truth and grace,
+      See, dear one! how the chain of linked notes
+        Has fettered every spirit in its place!
+      Even Death, beside me, still and helpless lies;
+    And strives in vain to chill my frame with his cold eyes.
+
+      Still, mine own Orpheus, sweep the golden lyre!
+        Ah! dost thou mark how gentle Proserpine,
+      With claspèd hands, and eyes whose azore fire
+        Gleams through quick tears, thrilled by thy lay, doth lean
+      Her graceful head upon her stern lord's breast,
+    Like an o'erwearied child, whom music lulls to rest?
+
+      Play my proud minstrel! strike the chords again!
+        Lo! Victory crowns at last thy heavenly skill!
+      For Pluto turns relenting to the strain--
+        He waves his hand--he speaks his awful will!
+      My glorious Greek! lead on; but ah! _still_ lend
+    Thy soul to thy sweet lyre, lest yet thou lose thy friend!
+
+      Think not of me! Think rather of the time,
+        When moved by thy resistless melody,
+      To the strange magic of a song sublime,
+        Thy argo grandly glided to the sea!
+      And in the majesty Minerva gave,
+    The graceful galley swept, with joy, the sounding wave!
+
+      Or see, in Fancy's dream, thy Thracian trees,
+        Their proud heads bent submissive to the sound,
+      Swayed by a tuneful and enchanted breeze,
+        March to slow music o'er th' astonished ground--
+      Grove after grove descending from the hills,
+    While round thee weave their dance the glad, harmonious rills.
+
+      Think not of me! Ha! by thy mighty sire,
+        My lord, my king! recall the dread behest!
+      Turn not--ah! turn not back those eyes of fire!
+        Oh! lost, forever lost! undone! unblest!
+      I faint, I die!--the serpent's fang once more
+    Is here!--nay, grieve not thus! Life but _not Love_ is o'er!
+
+
+
+
+THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT WIND.
+
+BY E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N.
+
+    When the day-king is descending
+      On the blue hill's breast to lie,
+    And some spirit-artist blending
+      On the flushed and bending sky
+    All the rainbow's hues, I listen
+      To the breeze, while in my eye
+    Tears of bitter anguish glisten,
+      As I think of days gone by.
+
+    Change, relentless change is lighting
+      On the brow of young and fair,
+    And with iron hand is writing
+      Tales of grief and sorrow there.
+    On life's journey friends have faltered,
+      And beside its pathway lie,
+    But that breeze, with voice unaltered,
+      Sings as in the days gone by.
+
+    Sings old songs to soothe the anguish
+      Of a heart whose hopes are flown;
+    Cheering one condemned to languish
+      In this weary world alone;
+    Tells old tales of loved ones o'er me,
+      Dearest ones, remembered well,
+    That have passed away before me,
+      In a brighter land to dwell.
+
+
+
+
+MAJOR-GENERAL WORTH.
+
+BY FAYETTE ROBINSON, AUTHOR OF "THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES," ETC.
+
+
+All persons naturally exhibit a great desire to become acquainted with
+the events of the lives of those individuals who have made themselves
+or their country illustrious. It is very pleasant to inquire into the
+nature of the studies which matured their minds, to examine the
+incidents of their early career, and follow them through the obscurer
+portions of their lives for the purpose of ascertaining if the man
+corresponds with the idea we have formed of him.
+
+Gen. Worth has recently attracted so much attention, and the events of
+his whole life have been so stirring, that this is peculiarly the case
+with him. No one can think without interest of one who, while a boy
+almost, opposed the British veterans at Chippewa and Lundy's Lane, and
+in his manhood won a yet higher reputation amid the hamacs of Florida,
+and in front of the batteries of Molino del Rey and Monterey. It is,
+however, a matter of much regret that of Worth's early history and
+family annals but little is known. It is true, no man in the army has
+been the theme of so much camp-fire gossip, or the hero of so many
+gratuitous fabrications; but we are able to learn nothing of him
+previous to his entry into the service. A thousand anecdotes without
+any basis in truth have been told of him, altogether to no purpose;
+for one who has so many real claims to distinction need never appeal
+to factitious honors.
+
+Gen. Worth, at the commencement of the last war with Great Britain, is
+said to have been a resident of Albany, N. Y., and to have been
+engaged in commercial pursuits. Animated by the feeling of patriotism
+which pervaded the whole people, he left the desk and ledger, and is
+said to have enlisted in the 2nd regiment of artillery, then commanded
+by Col. Izard, afterward a general officer of distinction. The lieut.
+colonel of one of the battalions of this regiment was Winfield Scott,
+the attention of whom Worth is said soon to have attracted. Col. Scott
+is said to have exerted himself to procure him a commission, and to
+have taken care of his advancement. This may or may not be true; it is
+sure, however, that Worth first appears in a prominent position in the
+military annals of the United States as the aid-de-camp and protegé of
+General Scott, at the battle of Chippewa, where Scott was a brigadier.
+Worth was his aid, having in the interim become a first lieutenant.
+
+No man in America is ignorant of the events of that day, which
+retrieved the disgrace of Hull's surrender, and reflected the greatest
+honor on all the participants in its events. For his gallantry and
+good conduct, Mr. Madison bestowed on Lieut. Worth the brevet of
+captain; and he was mentioned in the highest terms in the general
+orders of the officers under whom he served. The brevet of Worth was
+announced to the army and nation in the same order which told of the
+promotion of McNeil, Jessup, Towson, and Leavenworth. Strangely
+enough, though death has been busy with the officers of the last war,
+all who were breveted for their services on that occasion, with one
+or two exceptions, are now alive. The battle of Chippewa occurred on
+the 5th of July, 1814, and was the dale of Worth's first brevet.
+
+Though a brevet captain, Worth continued with Scott in the important
+position of aid-de-camp, and served in that capacity at Lundy's Lane,
+in the battle of July 25th, 1814. On that occasion he distinguished
+himself in the highest degree, and won the reputation his whole
+subsequent career has confirmed, of coolness, decision, and activity.
+During this engagement the whole British force was thrown on the 9th
+foot, commanded by the veteran Lieut. Col. Leavenworth. This officer
+sent for aid to Gen. Scott, who on that occasion gave Gen. Taylor the
+example after which that gallant general acted at Buena Vesta. He
+repaired to the menaced point with the strong reinforcement of his own
+person and aid, and had the proud satisfaction of seeing the attacking
+column beaten back, and the general who led it made prisoner. At the
+moment of success, however, both Scott and Capt. Worth fell wounded
+severely. The country appreciated their services, and each received
+from Mr. Madison the brevet of another grade, with date from the day
+of the battle. Major Worth soon recovered, but, attached to Gen.
+Scott's person, accompanied him southward, as soon as the wound of the
+latter enabled him to bear the fatigue of travel.
+
+When peace came Worth was a captain in the line and a major by brevet,
+with which rank he was assigned to the military command of the corps
+of Cadets at West Point. This appointment, ever conferred on men of
+talent, is the highest compliment an officer of the service of the
+United States can receive in time of peace. To Worth it was doubly
+grateful, because he was not an _elevé_ of the institution. Ten years
+after the battle of Niagara, Major Worth was breveted a lieutenant
+colonel, and when in 1832 the ordnance corps was established, he
+became one of its majors. In July, 1832, on the organization of the
+8th infantry, Lieut. Col. Worth was appointed to its colonelcy.
+
+Hitherto we have seen Worth in a subordinate position, where he was
+unable to exhibit the highest qualification of a soldier, that of
+command. Since his entry into the service he had been either an
+officer of the staff, or separated from troops. He was now called on
+to participate in far more stirring scenes. The war against the
+Seminoles in Florida had long been a subject of great anxiety to both
+the government and the people, and thither Worth was ordered, after a
+brief but effective tour of service on the northern frontier, then
+infested by the Canadian insurgents. At first he acted subordinately
+to the late Gen. Armistead, but, on the retirement of that officer,
+assumed command. The war was prosecuted by him with new vigor, and the
+Indians defeated ultimately at Pilaklakaha, near the St. John, April
+17, 1842. This fight was virtually the termination of the war, the
+enemy never again having shown himself in force. Gen. Worth was highly
+complimented for his services on this occasion, and received the
+brevet of brigadier general.
+
+During the season of peace which followed Gen. Worth remained almost
+constantly with his regiment, which more than once changed its
+station; and when the contest with Mexico began, reported to Gen.
+Taylor at Corpus Christi. His situation here was peculiar, and he
+became involved in a dispute in relation to precedence and command
+with the then Col. Twiggs, of the 2nd dragoons. The latter officer was
+by several years Worth's senior in the line, and, according to the
+usual opinion in the army, entitled to command, though many of the
+most accomplished soldiers of the service thought the brevet of Worth,
+on this occasion at least, where the _corps d'armée_ was made up of
+detachments, valid as a commission. This dispute became so serious
+that Gen. Taylor interfered, and having sustained Col. Twiggs, Gen.
+Worth immediately tendered his resignation to the President.
+
+There is no doubt but that the decision in favor of Gen. Twiggs was
+correct, and that Worth was radically wrong in his conception of the
+effect of his brevet. He, however, had been brought up under the eye
+of Gen. Scott, who entertained the same ideas on this subject, and
+who, years before, under precisely similar circumstances, had resigned
+his commission. Gen. Worth having proceeded from the Rio Grande to
+Washington, the President refused to accept his resignation, and he
+returned at once to the army.
+
+The resignation of Worth was a most untoward circumstance, for during
+his absence from the army hostilities commenced, and he lost all
+participation in the battles of Palo Alto and La Resaca.
+
+When, after the capture of Matamoras, the army again advanced, Worth
+had resumed his post, and acquiesced cheerfully in the decision which
+had been given against him. The laurels he had not grasped on the Rio
+Grande were won in front of the batteries of _La Loma de la
+Independencia_, and in the streets of Monterey. Amid the countless
+feats of daring recorded by military history, none will be found to
+surpass his achievements in the slow, painful, but bold entry he
+effected through a city swarming with defenders, to the very _plaza_.
+For his gallantry on this occasion he received the brevet of major
+general, and, with the exception of Generals Scott and Taylor, is
+believed to be the only officer in the service who has received three
+war-brevets. Gen. Worth from this time became one of the national
+idols.
+
+When Gen. Scott assumed command of the expedition against Vera Cruz
+and the capital, one of his first acts was to order Gen. Worth and the
+remnant of his division to join him. The general-in-chief remembered
+the events, on the northern frontier, of 1814, and anticipated much in
+Mexico. He was not disappointed in this expectation, for at Vera Cruz
+and in the valley of Mexico, his old aid did not disappoint him, and
+proved that service had but matured the judgment of the soldier of
+Chippewa and Niagara.
+
+It was at _Molino del Rey_ that Worth displayed his powers with most
+brilliancy. When it became evident that the city of Mexico must be
+taken by force, a prominent position was assigned to Gen. Worth, who,
+with his division and Cadwallader's brigade, was ordered to carry the
+strong position of Molino del Rey, and destroy its defences. This spot
+is famous in Mexican history as _Casas Matas_, and and is the scene of
+the famous _plan_, or revolution, of Feb. 2, 1823, by virtue of which
+a republican form of government may be said to exist in Mexico. It
+lies westward of Chapultepec, the old palace of the Aztec kings, and
+from the nature of its position, and the careful manner in which it
+was fortified, was a position of great strength. It lay at the foot of
+a rapid declivity, enfiladed by the fire of Chapultepec, and so
+situated, that not a shot could be discharged but must fall into an
+assailing column.
+
+Under these great difficulties the works were carried, Worth all the
+while marching with the column, and directing the operations of the
+horse artillery and infantry of which it was composed. In respect to
+this part of the operations in front of Mexico Gen. Scott adopted,
+without comment, the report of Gen. Worth. This is a rare compliment,
+and proceeding from such a person as Scott should be highly estimated.
+
+After the capture of the city of Mexico, difficulties occurred between
+Gen. Worth and the general-in-chief, and a friendship of thirty-five
+years was apparently terminated. The matter is now the subject of
+consideration before a competent tribunal, and _non nobis tantas
+componerelites_.
+
+Gen. Worth is yet in Mexico. His age is about fifty-six or eight, and
+in his personal appearance are mingled the bearing of the soldier and
+of the gentleman. The excellent portrait given of him is from a
+Daguerreotype by Mr. Clarke, of New York.
+
+
+
+
+ENCOURAGEMENT.
+
+    When first peeps out from earth the modest vine,
+      Asking but little space to live and grow,
+    How easily some step, without design,
+      May crush the being from a thing so low!
+      But let the hand that doth delight to show
+    Support to feebleness, the tendril twine
+      Around some lattice-work, and 'twill bestow
+    Its thanks in fragrance, and with blossoms shine.
+      And thus, when Genius first puts forth its shoot--
+    So timid, that it scarce dare ask to live--
+      The tender germ, if trodden under foot,
+      Shrinks back again to its undying root;
+    While kindly training bids it upward strive,
+    And to the future flowers immortal give.    E. C. KINNEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHANGED AND THE UNCHANGED.
+
+BY PROFESSOR ALDEN.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+"Report says that my queenly cousin is to lay aside her absolute
+sceptre, and submit to a lord and master," said George Mason, to his
+cousin, Emily Earl, as she took his arm for an evening walk.
+
+"If you mean that I am to be married, that is a report which truth
+does not require me to contradict," said the young lady, in a tone
+adapted to repress the familiar manner of her companion. He had just
+returned from a long absence in a foreign land. His early youth had
+been passed in his uncle's family. He left his cousin a beautiful
+girl. He found her on his return a still more beautiful woman.
+
+"I am very anxious," said he, with a slight change of manner, "to see
+the man who has drawn so splendid a prize. Is he like the picture you
+drew of the man you would marry, as we sat by the willow brook from
+the rising of the moon to its meridian? You remember that most
+beautiful night?"
+
+"It is not desirable to remember all the follies of childhood," said
+Emily, coldly. Mason was silent. It was plain that they were no longer
+what they had been, brother and sister.
+
+After walking for some distance in silence, Emily remarked, in a tone
+inviting conversation, "You must have seen a great deal of the world."
+
+"I have had some means of observation," he replied, "but I have seen
+nothing to wean me from this spot, and from my friends here."
+
+"Your friends are obliged to you for the compliment."
+
+"I did not intend the remark as a compliment." Again there was an
+interval of silence. "I have been absent four years," said Mason, as
+though speaking to himself, "and I am not conscious of any change, so
+far as my feelings are concerned. The same persons and things which I
+then loved, I love now. The same views of life which I then cherished
+I cherish now."
+
+"Experience and knowledge of the world," said Emily, "ought to give
+wisdom."
+
+"I am so perverse as to regard it as wisdom to hold on to the dreams
+of our early days."
+
+"Our views ought, it seems to me, to change as we grow older."
+
+"I am not sure that we ought to grow old, so far as our feelings are
+concerned."
+
+"You would engage in the vain effort to retain the dews and freshness
+of morning, after the sun has arisen with a burning heat."
+
+"I believe the dew of our youth may be preserved even until old age."
+
+"I am surprised that acquaintance with the world has not corrected
+your views of life. One would think that you had lived in entire
+seclusion."
+
+"I am surprised that the romantic, warm-hearted Emily Earl should
+become the worldly-wise lecturer of her cousin."
+
+"We had better speak upon some other subject. Had you a pleasant
+voyage homeward?"
+
+"Yes. It could not be otherwise, when my face was toward 'my own, my
+native land,' and the friends so fresh in my remembrance."
+
+A slight shade of displeasure flitted across Emily's features. She
+made no remark.
+
+"Where is Susan Grey?" said Mason.
+
+"She is dead."
+
+"Indeed! She was just my own age. She was a single-hearted girl."
+
+"She often inquired for you. You never fancied yourself in love with
+her?"
+
+"No. Why that question?"
+
+"She was under the impression that we were engaged, and seemed quite
+relieved when I informed her that she was mistaken."
+
+"What has become of Mary Carver?"
+
+"She is married, and lives in that house," pointing to a miserable hut
+near at hand.
+
+"Is it possible?"
+
+"Her husband is intemperate. It was a clandestine marriage--a love
+match, you know."
+
+"Was her husband intemperate when she married him?"
+
+"Not habitually so. He was so very romantic and devoted to her; so
+that, I suppose, she thought she could reform him."
+
+"What has become of Mr. Ralston, your old friend?" admirer, he would
+have said, but he deemed it unwise.
+
+"He is a lawyer here, in a small way. I believe they think of sending
+him to Congress."
+
+"Is he married?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I thought he seemed to be attached to you; at least I hoped that he
+would become my cousin."
+
+"I will answer your questions in regard to others--my own affairs do
+not require remark."
+
+This rebuke, so unlike any thing he had ever received from his cousin,
+led him to fix his gaze upon her countenance, as if to make sure of
+her identity. There could be no mistake. There was the same brilliant
+eye, the same faultless features on which he had gazed in former
+years. A conciliating smile led him to resume his inquiries.
+
+"Is Eliza Austin married?" His voice, as he asked this question, was
+far from natural, perhaps in consequence of the agitation which the
+rebuke just spoken of had occasioned.
+
+"No; she lives somewhere in the village, I don't know exactly where."
+
+"Do you ever see her?"
+
+"Yes; she lives with her aunt, who sometimes washes for us, so that I
+see her niece occasionally."
+
+"Why does she live with her aunt?"
+
+"Her mother died soon after you went away."
+
+"Eliza still lives in the village, then?" To this very unnecessary
+question his cousin bowed in reply. Few words more passed between them
+during the remainder of their walk.
+
+"You do not stay out as late as you used to do," said Mrs. Earl, as
+they entered the parlor.
+
+"We are no longer children," said Emily. Mason could scarcely repress
+an audible sigh, as those words fell from her lips. At an early hour,
+he repaired to his chamber.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+George Mason was left an orphan in his early youth. He then became a
+member of his uncle's family, and the constant companion of his cousin
+Emily. He desired no society but hers. Her slightly imperious temper
+did not interfere with the growth of his affection. She had a sister's
+place in his glowing heart. He was in some sense her teacher, and she
+caught something of his romantic nature. Of the little circle of her
+associates, he was the idol.
+
+At the age of fourteen he left home to pursue his studies for two
+years at a public institution. At the end of that period he became a
+clerk in a large commercial establishment in the city. At the close of
+the first year he accompanied one of the principals abroad, and
+remained there in charge of the business for nearly four years. He was
+now on the high road to wealth.
+
+Soon after George Mason had gone abroad, Emily Earl went to the city
+to complete her education. She was in due time initiated into the
+mysteries of fashionable life. Introduced to _society_ by a relative
+of unquestionable rank, her face and form presented attractions
+sufficient to make her the object of attention and flattery. Four
+successive winters were passed in the city. She was the foremost
+object of all "who flattered, sought, and sued." Is it strange that
+her judgment was perverted, and her heart eaten out? Is it strange
+that her cousin found her a changed being?
+
+She had engaged to marry one whose claim to her regard was the
+thousands he possessed, and the eagerness with which he was sought by
+those whose chief end was an establishment in life. She had taught
+herself to believe that the yearnings of the heart were to be classed
+with the follies of childhood.
+
+Henry Ralston was the son of a small farmer, or rather of a man who
+was the possessor of a small farm, and of a large soul. Henry was
+modest, yet aspiring; gentle, yet intense in his affections. The
+patient toil and rigid self-denial of his father gave him the
+advantage of an excellent education. In childhood he was the frequent
+companion of George and Emily. Even then an attachment sprung up in
+his heart for his fair playmate. This was quietly cherished; and when
+he entered upon the practice of the law in his native village, he
+offered Emily his hand. It was, without hesitation or apparent pain,
+rejected. Thus she cast away the only true heart which was ever laid
+upon the altar of her beauty. He bore the disappointment with outward
+calmness, though the iron entered his soul. He gave all his energies
+to the labors of his profession. Such was the impression of his
+ability and worth, that he was about to be supported, apparently
+without opposition, for a seat in the national councils.
+
+Eliza Austin was the daughter of a deceased minister, who had worn
+himself out in the cause of benevolence, and died, leaving his wife
+and daughter penniless. She was several years younger than George and
+Emily; but early trials seemed to give an early maturity to her mind.
+She was seldom their companion, for her young days were spent in toil,
+aiding her mother in her efforts to obtain a scanty subsistence. Her
+intelligence, her perception of the beautiful, and her devotion to her
+mother made a deep impression upon George, and led him to regard her
+as he regarded no other earthly being. Long before the idea of love
+was associated with her name, he felt for her a respect approaching to
+veneration. He had often desired to write to her during his absence,
+but his entire ignorance of her situation rendered it unwise.
+
+The waters of affliction had been wrung out to her in a full cup. The
+long and distressing sickness of her mother was ended only by the
+grave. She was then invited to take up her abode with her father's
+sister, whose intemperate husband had broken her spirit, but had not
+exhausted her heart. It was sad for Eliza to exchange the quiet home,
+the voice of affection, of prayer, and of praise, for the harsh
+criminations of the drunkard's abode. She would have left that abode
+for service, but for the distress it would have given her aunt.
+
+Death at length removed the tormentor, and those who had ministered to
+his appetite swept away all his property.
+
+The mind of Aunt Mary, now more than half a wreck, utterly revolted at
+the idea of separation from her niece. Eliza could not leave her.
+Declining an eligible situation as a teacher in a distant village, she
+rendered her aunt all the assistance in her power in her lowly
+employment--believing that the path dictated by affection and duty,
+though it might meet with the neglect and the scorn of men, would not
+fail to secure the approbation of God.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+"Well, George," said Mr. Earl, as they were seated at the
+breakfast-table, "how do you intend to dispose of yourself to-day?"
+
+"I have a great many old friends to visit, sir."
+
+"It may not be convenient for some of them to see you early in the
+morning."
+
+"Some of them, I think, will not be at all particular respecting the
+time of my visits. There is the white rock by the falls which I must
+give an hour to; and I must see if the old trout who lived under it
+has taken as good care of himself during my absence as he did before I
+went away. And there is the willow grove, too, which I wish very much
+to see."
+
+"It has been cut down."
+
+"Cut down!--what for?"
+
+"Mr. Bullard thought it interfered with his prospect."
+
+"Why did you not interfere, cousin?" turning to Emily.
+
+"It was nothing to me what he did with his grove," said Emily.
+
+"Oh, I had forgotten--" George did not finish the sentence. He turned
+the conversation to some of the ordinary topics of the day.
+
+After breakfast, he set out for Willow Brook, and seated himself upon
+the white rock. The years that had passed since in childhood he sat
+upon that rock, were reviewed by him. Though he had met with trials
+and temptations, yet he was thankful that he could return to that rock
+with so many of the feelings of childhood; that his heart's best
+emotions had not been polluted by the world, but were as yet pure as
+the crystal stream before him.
+
+When he rose from that rock, instead of visiting the other haunts of
+his early days, he found himself moving toward the village. Now and
+then a familiar face was seen. By those who recognized him, he was
+warmly greeted. It was not until he met a stranger that he inquired
+for the residence of the widow and her niece. He was directed to a
+small dwelling in a narrow lane. He knocked at the open door. The
+widow, who was busily employed in smoothing the white linen before
+her, bade him enter, but paused not from her work.
+
+"Is Eliza at home?" said Mason.
+
+"Who can you be that want to see Eliza?" said the poor woman, still
+not lifting her eyes from her work.
+
+"I am an old friend of hers," said Mason.
+
+"A friend! a friend!" said she, pausing and looking upward, as if
+striving to recall the idea belonging to the word. "Yes, she had
+friends once--where have they gone?"
+
+Again she plied her task, as if unconscious of his presence. He seated
+himself and watched her countenance, which revealed so sad a history.
+Her lips kept moving, and now and then she spoke aloud. "Poor girl! a
+hard life has she had--it may all be right, but I can't see how; and
+now she might be a lady if she would leave her poor, half-crazy aunt."
+Her whispers were then inaudible. Soon she turned to Mason and said,
+as if in reply to a question, "No, I never heard her complain. When
+those she used to visit don't know her, and look the other way when
+they meet her, she never complains. What will become of her when her
+poor old aunt is gone? Who will take care of her?"
+
+"I will," said Mason.
+
+"Who may you be?" said she, scanning his countenance as if she had now
+seen him for the first time.
+
+"A friend of her childhood."
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"George Mason."
+
+"George Mason! George Mason!--I have heard that name before. It was
+the name she had over so often when she had the fever, poor thing! I
+did not know what she said, though she did not say a word during the
+whole time that would not look well printed in a book. Did you use to
+live in the big white house?"
+
+"Yes, I used to live with my Uncle Earl."
+
+"And with that _lady_," laying a fierce emphasis upon the word, "who
+never speaks to Eliza now, though Eliza watched night after night with
+her when she was on the borders of the grave. Are you like her?"
+observing him to hesitate, she asked in a more excited manner, "are
+you like Emily Earl?" Fearing that her clouded mind might receive an
+impression difficult to remove, he promptly answered "No."
+
+"I am glad of it," said the widow, resuming her work.
+
+The last question and its answer was overheard by Eliza, as she was
+coming in from the garden where she had been attending to a few
+flowers. She turned deadly pale as she saw Mason, and remained
+standing in the door. He arose and took her hand in both of his, and
+was scarcely able to pronounce her name. The good aunt stood with
+uplifted hands, gazing with ludicrous amazement at the scene. Eliza
+was the first to recover her self-possession. She introduced Mason to
+her aunt as an old friend.
+
+"Friend!--are you sure he is a friend?"
+
+"He is a friend," said Mason, "who is very grateful to you for the
+love you have borne her, and the care you have taken of her."
+
+"There," said she, opening a door which led to a parlor, perhaps ten
+feet square, motioning to them to enter. Mason, still retaining her
+trembling hand, led Eliza into the room, and seated her on the sofa,
+the chief article of furniture it contained. Her eyes met his earnest
+gaze. They were immediately filled with tears. His own overflowed. He
+threw his arm around her, and they mingled their tears in silence. It
+was long ere the first word was spoken. Eliza at length seemed to wake
+as from a dream.
+
+"What am I doing?" said she, attempting to remove his arm, "we are
+almost strangers."
+
+"Eliza," said he, solemnly, "do you say what you feel?"
+
+"No, but I know not--" she could not finish the sentence.
+
+"Eliza, you are dearer to me than any one upon earth." She made no
+efforts to resist the pressure of his arm. There were moments of
+eloquent silence.
+
+"Eliza, will you become my wife?"
+
+"Do you know how utterly destitute I am?"
+
+"That has no connection with my question."
+
+"If you are the same George Mason you used to be, you wish for a
+direct answer. I will." It was not till this word was spoken that he
+ventured to impress a kiss upon her cheek.
+
+"I have not done right," said Eliza; "you can never know how much I
+owe to that dear aunt. I ought not to engage myself without her
+consent--I can never be separated from her."
+
+"You cannot suppose that I would wish you to be separated."
+
+"You are the same--" she was about to add some epithets of praise, but
+checked herself. "How is it that you have remained unchanged?"
+
+"By keeping bright an image in my heart of hearts."
+
+With some difficulty Eliza rose, and opening the door, spoke to her
+aunt. She came and stood in the door.
+
+"Well, ma'am," said Mason, "I have gained Eliza's consent to change
+her name, if you will give your consent." She stood as one bewildered.
+The cloud which rested on her countenance was painful to behold. It
+was necessary to repeat his remark before she could apprehend it.
+
+"Ah, is it so? It has come at last. He doeth all things well. I hadn't
+faith to trust Him. He doeth all things well."
+
+"We have your consent?"
+
+"If she is half as loving to you as she has been to me, you will never
+be sorry. But what will become of me?"
+
+"We have no idea of parting with you. She has given her consent only
+on condition that you go with us." The old lady fixed her gaze upon
+her niece. It was strange that features so plain, so wrinkled by age
+and sorrow, could beam with such affection. She could find no words to
+express her feelings. She closed the door, and was heard sobbing like
+a child.
+
+Hour after hour stole away unnoted by the lovers. They were summoned
+to partake of the frugal meal spread by Aunt Mary's hands, and no
+apologies were made for its lack of store. Again they retired to the
+little parlor, and it was not till the sun was low in the west, that
+he set out on his return to the "white house."
+
+"We conclude that you have passed a happy day," said Mrs. Earl, "at
+least your countenance says so. We began to feel anxious about you."
+
+"I went to the brook first, and then to the village."
+
+"Have you seen many of your old friends?"
+
+"Several of them."
+
+Mason was released from the necessity of answering further questions
+by the arrival of a carriage at the door. Mr. Earl rose and went to
+the window. "Mr. Benfield has come," said he. Emily arose and left the
+room to return in another dress, and with flowers in her hair.
+
+Mr. Benfield was shown to his room, and in a few moments joined the
+family at the tea-table. Emily received him with a smile, which,
+however beautiful it may have been, was not like the smile of Eliza
+Austin. Mason saw that Mr. Benfield belonged to a class with which he
+was perfectly well acquainted. "It is well," thought he, "that she has
+filed down her mind, if she must spend her days with a man like him."
+Mason passed the evening with his uncle, though he was sadly
+inattentive to his uncle's remarks. Emily and Mr. Benfield took a
+walk, and on their return did not join the family. Benfield's object
+in visiting the country at this time was to fix a day for his
+marriage. The evening was spent by them in discussing matters
+pertaining to that event.
+
+It was necessary for Mr. Benfield to return to the city on the
+afternoon of the following day. Mason, for various reasons, determined
+to accompany him. Part of the morning was spent with Eliza, and
+arrangements for their union were easily fixed upon. No costly
+preparations for a wedding were thought to be necessary.
+
+Emily devoted herself so entirely to Mr. Benfield, that Mason had no
+opportunity of informing her respecting the state of his affairs.
+
+He sought his uncle, expressed to him his gratitude for his kindness,
+informed him of the state of his pecuniary affairs, and of his
+affections, and asked his approbation of his intended marriage.
+
+"I can't say, George," said the old gentleman, "but that you have done
+the wisest thing you could do. Emily may not like it. I have nothing
+to say against it. I didn't do very differently myself, though it
+would hardly do to say so aloud now. Emily is to be married in three
+weeks. You must be with us then."
+
+"Suppose I wish to be married myself on the same evening?"
+
+"Well, I don't know. I think you had better be with us, then make such
+arrangements as you please, and say nothing to us about it. It may
+make a little breeze at first, but it will soon blow over. Nobody will
+like you the worse for it in the end." Heartily thanking his uncle for
+his frankness and affection, and taking a courteous leave of Emily, he
+took his departure, with Mr. Benfield, for the city.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+The white house was a scene of great activity as the wedding-day drew
+near. Aunt Mary's services were put in requisition to a much greater
+extent than usual. When she protested that she could do no more, Mrs.
+Earl suggested that her niece would help her. Aunt Mary could not help
+remarking that Eliza might have something else to do as well as Miss
+Emily.
+
+It was understood that a large number of guests were to be invited.
+
+Many dresses were ordered in anticipation of an invitation. The
+services of the village dress-maker were in great demand. Eliza
+ordered a plain white dress--a very unnecessary expenditure, it was
+thought, since it was certain that she would not receive an
+invitation. It was a pity that she should thus prepare disappointment
+for herself, poor thing!
+
+Benfield and Mason arrived together on the appointed day. All things
+were in order. The preparations were complete. The guests
+assembled--the "big white house" was filled as it never had been
+filled before. Suddenly there is a _hush_ in the crowd--the
+folding-doors are thrown open--the bride and bride-groom are seen,
+prepared for the ceremony that is to make them one--in law. The words
+are spoken, the ceremony is performed, the oppressive silence is
+removed--the noise and gayety common to such occasions take place.
+
+After a time, it was noticed by some that the pastor, and Mason, and
+Esq. Ralston had disappeared.
+
+They repaired to Aunt Mary's, where a few tried friends had been
+invited to pass the evening. These friends were sorry that Eliza had
+not been invited to the wedding, but were pleased to find that she did
+not seem to be disappointed--she was in such fine spirits. She wore
+her new white dress, and a few roses in her hair.
+
+The entrance of the pastor, Mr. Mason, and Mr. Ralston, seemed to
+cause no surprise to Aunt Mary, though it astonished the assembled
+guests. After a kind word from the pastor to each one present, for
+they were all members of his flock, Mason arose, and taking Eliza by
+the hand, said to him, "We are ready." Prayer was offered, the
+wedding-vows were spoken, and George Mason and Eliza Austin were
+pronounced husband and wife.
+
+Joy seemed to have brushed away the clouds from Aunt Mary's mind. She
+conversed with the intelligence of her better days. The guests
+departed, and ere the lights were extinguished in the parlors of the
+white house, it was known throughout the village that there had been
+two weddings instead of one.
+
+Early in the morning, before the news had reached them, Mr. and Mrs.
+Benfield set out upon their wedding tour. Emily learned her cousin's
+marriage from the same paper which informed the public of her own.
+
+George Mason had no time for a wedding tour. He removed his wife and
+her aunt immediately to the city, and at once resumed the labors of
+his calling.
+
+Emily did not become acquainted with Mrs. Mason, until Mr. Benfield
+had failed in business, and was enabled to commence again, with
+capital furnished by her cousin, who had become the leading member of
+his firm.
+
+
+
+
+THE DAYSPRING.
+
+BY SAMUEL D. PATTERSON.
+
+    Mourner, bending o'er the tomb
+      Where thy heart's dear treasure lies,
+    Dark and dreary is thy gloom,
+      Deep and burdened are thy sighs:
+    From thy path the light, whose rays
+      Cheered and guided thee, is gone,
+    And the future's desert waste
+      Thou must sadly tread alone.
+
+    'Neath the drooping willow's shade,
+      Where the mourning cypress grows,
+    The beloved and lost is laid
+     In a quiet, calm repose.
+    Silent now the voice whose tones
+      Wakened rapture in thy breast--
+    Dull the ear--thy anguished groans
+      Break not on the sleeper's rest.
+
+    Grace and loveliness are fled,
+      Broken is the "golden bowl,"
+    Loosed the "silver chord," whose thread
+      Bound to earth th' immortal soul.
+    Closed the eyes whose glance so dear
+      Once love's language fond could speak,
+    And the worm, foul banqueter,
+      Riots on that matchless cheek.
+
+    And the night winds, as they sweep
+      In their solemn grandeur by,
+    With a cadence wild and deep,
+      Mournfully their requiem sigh.
+    And each plant and leaf and flower
+      Bows responsive to the wail,
+    Chanted, at the midnight hour,
+      By the spirits of the gale.
+
+    Truly has thy sun gone down
+      In the deepest, darkest gloom,
+    And the fondest joys thou'st known
+      Buried are within that tomb.
+    Earth no solace e'er can bring
+      To thy torn and bleeding heart--
+    Time nor art extract the sting
+      From the conqueror's poisoned dart.
+
+    But, amid thy load of wo,
+      Turn, thou stricken one, thine eyes
+    Upward, and behold that glow
+      Spreading brightly o'er the skies!
+    'Tis the day-star, beaming fair
+      In the blue expanse above;
+    Look on high, and know that there
+      Dwells the object of thy love,
+
+    Life's bright harp of thousand strings
+      By the spoiler's hand was riven,
+    But the realm seraphic rings
+      With the victor notes of heaven.
+    Over death triumphant--lo!
+      See thy cherished one appear!
+    Mourner, dry thy tears of wo,
+      Trust, believe, and meet her there!
+
+
+
+
+SONNET.--CULTIVATION.
+
+BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.
+
+    Weeds grow unasked, and even some sweet flowers
+      Spontaneous give their fragrance to the air,
+      And bloom on hills, in vales and everywhere--
+    As shines the sun, or fall the summer showers--
+      But wither while our lips pronounce them fair!
+      Flowers of more worth repay alone the care,
+    The nurture, and the hopes of watchful hours;
+    While plants most cultured have most lasting powers.
+      So, flowers of Genius that will longest live
+    Spring not in Mind's uncultivated soil,
+    But are the birth of time, and mental toil,
+      And all the culture Learning's hand can give:
+    Fancies, like wild flowers, in a night may grow;
+    But thoughts are plants whose stately growth is slow.
+
+
+
+
+FIRST LOVE.
+
+OR LILLIE MASON'S DEBUT.
+
+BY ENNA DUVAL.
+
+    Maybe without a further thought,
+      It only pleased you thus to please,
+    And thus to kindly feelings wrought
+      You measured not the sweet degrees;
+    Yet though you hardly understood
+      Where I was following at your call,
+    You might--I dare to say you should--
+      Have thought how far I had to fall.
+    And even now in calm review
+      Of all I lost and all I won,
+    I cannot deem you wholly true,
+      Nor wholly just what you have done. MILNES.
+
+          There is none
+    In all this cold and hollow world, no fount
+    Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within
+    A mother's heart. HEMANS.
+
+On paying a visit to my friend Agnes Mason one morning, the servant
+told me his mistress would be pleased to see me in her dressing-room.
+Thither I repaired, and found her, to my surprise, surrounded by all
+sorts of gay, costly articles, appertaining to the costume of a woman
+of the world. To my surprise, I say, for Agnes has always been one of
+the greatest home-bodies in the whole circle of my acquaintances. A
+party, or a ball she has scarcely visited since the first years of her
+marriage, although possessing ample means to enjoy every gayety of
+fashionable life.
+
+Over the Psyche glass was thrown a spotless _crêpe_ dress, almost
+trembling with its rich embroidery; and near it, as if in contrast, on
+a dress-stand, was a velvet robe, falling in soft, luxurious folds.
+Flowers, caps, _coiffures_ of various descriptions, peeped out of
+sundry boxes, and on a commode table was an open _écrin_ whose
+sparkling, costly contents dazzled the eyes.
+
+"Hey-day!" I exclaimed to my friend, as she advanced to meet me,
+"what's the meaning of all this splendor?"
+
+"I was just on the point of sending for you," she replied
+laughingly--"Madame M---- has sent home these lovely things for Lillie
+and I--and I want your opinion upon them."
+
+"And you are really going to re-enter society?" I asked.
+
+"Lillie is eighteen this winter, you know," was my gentle friend's
+reply. "Who would have thought time could have flown around so
+quickly. Mr. Mason is very anxious she should make her _entrée_ this
+season. You can scarcely fancy how disagreeable it is to me, but I
+must not be selfish. I cannot always have her with me."
+
+"And you, like a good mother," I said, "will throw aside your love for
+retirement and accompany her?"
+
+"Certainly," replied Agnes eagerly, and she added with a slight
+expression of feeling which I well understood--"I will watch over her,
+for she will need my careful love now even more than in childhood."
+
+"Where is the pretty cause of all this anxiety and attention?" I
+inquired.
+
+"Charlie would not dress for his morning walk," answered the mother,
+"unless sister Lillie assisted in the robing of the young tyrant, so
+she is in the nursery."
+
+We inspected the different robes and gay things spread out so
+temptingly before us, and grew femininely eloquent over these
+beautiful trifles, and were most earnestly engaged in admiring the
+_parure_ of brilliant diamonds, and the spotless pearls, with which
+the fond, proud father and husband had presented them that morning,
+when a slight tap was heard at the door, and our pet Lillie entered. A
+bright-eyed, light-hearted creature is Lillie Mason--a sunbeam to her
+home. She ran up to me with affectionate greetings, and united in our
+raptures over the glittering _bijouterie_.
+
+"How will you like this new life, Lillie?" I asked, as the lovely girl
+threw herself on a low _marchepied_ at our feet, as if wearied of the
+pretty things.
+
+"I can scarcely tell," she replied, and she rested her head on her
+mother's lap, whose hand parted the clustering ringlets on the fair,
+smooth brow, while Lillie's eyes looked up most lovingly to that
+beloved mother, as she added--"How we shall miss the quiet reading
+hours, mother, darling. What time shall we have during our robing and
+unrobing for 'the _gentle Una and her milk-white lamb_,' and '_those
+bright children of the bard, Imogen, the fair Fidele and lovely
+Desdemona_?' What use is there in all this decking and adorning? Life
+is far happier spent in one's own home."
+
+"I fear," said Agnes, as she fondly caressed her daughter, "that I
+have made my Lillie too much of a household darling; but I have done
+it to avoid a greater evil. We women must love something--such a
+wealth of affection is stored within our hearts, that we are rendered
+miserable if it is poured out upon one human being, after being pent
+up within bounds, during childhood and girlhood up to womanhood.
+Should my Lillie be unfortunate in her love--I mean her wedded
+love--the misery will not be half so intense, for her heart belongs,
+at least two-thirds, to her family and mother, and no faithless lover
+can ever boast the possession of the whole of it."
+
+"No, indeed," exclaimed the dear girl, drawing her mother's face down
+to hers--"my whole heart is yours, _chère maman_, and yours it shall
+always be."
+
+With what rapture gleamed the mother's eyes, as she returned the
+daughter's fond caresses. Some day, dear reader, I may tell you what
+happened to Lillie Mason's heart, but now my thoughts are o'er-hung
+with the dark mantle of the past, and I can only think of the mother's
+former life.
+
+Agnes Howell was a beautiful girl--there was so much purity in her
+appearance. The gentle beam of her blue eye was angelic, and her
+auburn ringlets hung over her clear fair brow and soft cheek as if
+caressing that lovely face. Then she was such a contrast to her
+family--an only daughter among a troop of strong, stout clever
+brothers--merry healthy-minded boys were they, but the gentle Madonna
+sister in their midst seemed an "angel unawares." Agnes' mother was an
+excellent woman, strong-minded, pains-taking, but a little hard and
+obtuse in feeling. She no more understood the gentle spirit and deep
+heart-yearnings of the daughter God had given her than she did the
+mystery of life. She loved her with all the strength of her nature,
+but she made no companion of the quiet girl, and thought if she kept
+her wardrobe in good order, watched her general health, and directed
+her serious reading, she did all that was required of her. Agnes grew
+up a dreamer, an enthusiast; quiet and self-possessed her home
+training had made her, and a stranger would have wondered at the tide
+of deep feeling that ebbed and flowed within the breast of that
+gentle, placid girl. She shrunk from the rude _badinage_ of her
+boisterous brothers, and finding that little was required of her in
+the _heart-way_ from her matter-of-fact mother and good-natured, easy
+father, she lavished the wealth of her love upon an ideal. A woman
+soon finds, or fancies she finds, the realization of her ideal. Chance
+threw in Agnes' path one who was superior enough in mind and person to
+realize any image of a romantic girl's fancy.
+
+I remember well the time Agnes first met Mr. Preston. We were on a
+visit one summer to some friends together, and while there we met with
+this accomplished gentleman. How delighted were we both with him, and
+how enthusiastically did we chant to each other his praises, when in
+our own room we assisted each other in undressing for the night, or
+decking ourselves for the gay dinner or evening party. We met with
+many other gentlemen, and agreeable ones too, on this eventful visit,
+but Mr. Preston was a star of the first magnitude. I was a few years
+Agnes' junior, and well satisfied with the attentions I received from
+the other gentlemen, who deigned to notice so tiny a body as I was;
+but Mr. Preston soon singled out Agnes. He walked, rode and drove with
+her: hung over her enraptured when she sung, and listened with
+earnestness to every word that fell from her lips. She was "many
+fathom deep in love" ere she knew it--poor girl--and how exquisitely
+beautiful did this soul's dawning cause her lovely face to appear. The
+wind surely was not answerable for those burning cheeks and bright,
+dancing eyes, which she bore after returning from long rides, during
+which Mr. Preston was her constant companion--and the treasured sprigs
+of jessamine and verveine which she stored away in the leaves of her
+journal, after a moonlight ramble in the conservatory, with the same
+fascinating attendant--did not love cause all this? Naughty love, can
+the moments of rapture, exquisite though they be, which thou givest,
+atone for the months and years of deep heart-rending wretchedness
+which so often ensues?
+
+During the six weeks of that happy visit, Agnes Howell lived out the
+whole of her heart's existence. Blissful and rapturous were the
+moments, sleeping or waking, for Hope and Love danced merrily before
+her. But, alas! while it was the turning point--the event of her
+life--"it was but an episode" in the existence of the one who
+entranced her--"but a piping between the scenes." I do not think Mr.
+Preston ever realized the mischief he did. He was pleased with her
+appearance. Her purity and _naïveté_ were delightful to him. Her ready
+appreciation of the true and beautiful in nature and art, interested
+him; and he sought her as a companion, because she was the most
+congenial amongst those who surrounded him. He was a man of society,
+and never stopped to think that the glowing, enthusiastic creature,
+whose eyes gazed up so confidingly to him, as he conversed of
+literature and poesy, or whose lips overflowed with earnest, eloquent
+words, was an innocent, guileless child, into whose Undine nature he
+had summoned the soul. He had been many years engaged, heart and hand,
+to another; and circumstances alone had delayed the fulfillment of
+that engagement. This Agnes knew nothing of, and surrendered herself
+up, heart and soul, to him, unasked, poor girl! He regarded her as an
+interesting, lovely girl, but he attributed the enthusiasm and feeling
+which he unconsciously had called into birth, to the exquisite
+formation of her spirit, and thought her a most superior creature. No
+one marked the _affaire_ as I did, for we were surrounded by those who
+knew of Mr. Preston's situation in life, and his engagement, and who,
+moreover, regarded Agnes as a child in comparison to him--an unformed
+woman, quite beneath the choice of one so _distingué_ as was Mr.
+Preston.
+
+Our visit drew near to a close; the evening before our departure I was
+looking over some rare and beautiful engravings in the library. A gay
+party were assembled in the adjoining apartments, and Mr. Preston had
+been Agnes' partner during the quadrilles and voluptuous waltz. I had
+lingered in the library, partly from shyness, partly from a desire to
+take a farewell of my favorite haunt, and look over my pet books and
+pictures, while the rich waves of melody floated around my ears. At
+the close of a brilliant waltz, Mr. Preston and Agnes joined me, and I
+found myself listening with as much earnestness as Agnes to the mellow
+tones of his voice, while he pointed out to us beauties and defects in
+the pictures, and heightened the interest we already took in them by
+classical allusion or thrilling recital. If the subject of a picture
+was unknown, he would throw around it the web of some fancied story,
+improvised on the instant. I listened to him with delight; every thing
+surrounding us tended to increase the effect of the spell. Music
+swelled in voluptuous cadences, merry voices, and the gushing sound of
+heart-felt laughter greeted our ears. Opposite the table over which we
+were leaning was a door, which opened into a conservatory, through
+whose glasses streamed the cold, pure moonlight, beaming on the
+exotics that in silence breathed an almost over-powering odor; and my
+eyes dwelt upon that quiet, cool spot, while the soft, harmonious
+conversation of my companions, and the merry, joyous sounds of the
+ball-room, blended half dreamily in my ears.
+
+"You are wishing to escape into that conservatory, Miss Duval," said
+Mr. Preston to me suddenly.
+
+A warm blush mantled my face, for I fancied he thought I was weary of
+his conversation. I stammered out some reply, I scarce knew what,
+which was not listened to, however, for Agnes, catching sight of an
+Ethiop gypsey flower at the far end of the conservatory, expressed a
+wish to see it. Mr. Preston with earnestness opposed the change--the
+atmosphere there, he feared, was too chilling; but as she rested her
+hand on his, with childish confidence, to prove to him the excitement
+and flush of the gay waltz had passed, and looked up with such beaming
+joyfulness out of her dark, violet eyes, he smilingly yielded; but
+first wrapped around her shoulders, with affectionate solicitude, an
+Indian _crêpe_ shawl, that hung near him on a chair. "_Poor little
+me_" was not thought of; I might take cold if I could, he would not
+have noted it; but I ejaculated to myself, "If I am too young for Mr.
+Preston to feel any interest in, a few years will make a vast
+difference, and maybe in the future I shall be an object of care to
+some one."
+
+We reached the beautiful flower, over which Agnes hung; and as she
+inhaled its fragrance, she murmured in low words, which Mr. Preston
+bent his tall, graceful form to hear,
+
+      "Thou dusky flower, I stoop to inhale
+      Thy fragrance--thou art one
+    That wooeth not the vulgar eye,
+      Nor the broad-staring sun.
+
+      "Therefore I love thee! (selfish love
+      Such preference may be,)
+    That thou reservest all thy sweets,
+      Coy thing, for night and me."
+
+"This flower must be mine, Miss Agnes," said Mr. Preston, with
+gallantry; "and when I look on it, it will tell me of the delicate
+taste and pure spirit of one who has rendered six weeks of my
+cheerless life bright."
+
+The chill moonlight shone down on Agnes, and its rays nestled between
+the ringlets and her downy cheek, but its cold beams could not blench
+the rosy hue, that mounted to her blue veined temples, as Mr. Preston
+severed the fragrant exotic from its stem, and carefully pressed it
+between the leaves of his tablets. Many such words followed, and I
+walked unheeded beside them, as they lingered in this lovely place.
+Pity that such blessed hours should ever be ended--that life's lights
+should need dark shadows. Midnight swept over us ere good-night was
+said; and in a half-dreamy state of rapture, Agnes rested her head on
+her pillow. Nothing had been said; no love had been actually
+expressed, in the vulgar sense of the word, and according to the
+world's view of such matters, Mr. Preston was entirely guiltless of
+the dark, heavy cloud that hung over the pathway of that young
+creature from that night.
+
+We returned to our homes; I benefited by my visit, for my mind had
+been improved by the association with older and superior persons--and
+I returned with renewed zeal to my studies and reading, that I might
+understand that which had appeared but "darkly to my mind's eye." But
+Agnes found her companionless home still more cheerless. The bustling,
+thrifty mother, and hearty, noisy brothers, greeted her with earnest
+kindness; but after a few weeks had passed, her spirit flagged. She
+lived for awhile upon the recollection of the past, and that buoyed
+her up; but, as day after day went noiselessly and uneventfully by,
+her heart grew aweary of the dear "hope deferred," and a listlessness
+took possession of her. Poor girl! the rosy hue of her cheek faded,
+and the bright light of her eye grew dim. Her bustling, active family
+did not take notice of the change in her appearance and spirits; but
+I, thrown daily with her, noted it with anxiety. I sought to interest
+her in my studies, and asked her assistance in my music. With labor
+she would exert herself to aid me; and at times her old enthusiasm
+would burst forth, but only as the gleams of an expiring taper; every
+thing seemed wearisome to her.
+
+One morning I heard that she had been seized with a dangerous illness,
+and I hastily obeyed the summons which I had received from her mother.
+What a commotion was that bustling family thrown into. The physicians
+pronounced her sickness a brain fever. When I reached her bedside, she
+was raving, and her beautiful eyes gazed vacantly on the nearest and
+dearest of her friends; even the mother that bore her hung over her
+unrecognized. She had retired as usual the night before, her mother
+said, apparently well; but at midnight the family had been awakened by
+her shrieks and cries. I watched beside her bed weepingly, for I never
+hoped to see her again in health. The dark wing of Death I felt
+already drooping over her; and with anguish I listened to the snatches
+of poetry and song that fell in fragments from her lips. As I was
+placing a cup on a table in her room, during the day, my eye caught
+sight of two cards tied with white satin ribbon, and on them I read
+the names of Mr. Ralph Preston and his bride, with these words hastily
+written in pencil in Mr. Preston's handwriting on the larger of the
+two cards,
+
+"You will, my lovely friend, rejoice in my happiness, I am sure. Short
+was our acquaintance, but with the hope that I am not forgotten, I
+hasten to inform you that the cheerless life-path you deigned to
+brighten for a few short hours by your kind smiles, is now rendered
+calm and joyous. I am at last married to the one I have secretly
+worshiped for years. We both pray you may know happiness exquisite as
+ours."
+
+How quickly I divined the cause of my friend's illness; no longer was
+it a mystery to me as it was to her family. Those silent cards had
+been the messengers of evil, and had been mute witnesses of the bitter
+anguish that had wrung her young heart. There, in the silent night,
+had she struggled with her agony; and I fancied I heard her calling on
+Heaven for strength--that Heaven to which we only appeal when
+overwhelmed by the sad whirldwind caused by our errors or passions.
+But strength had been denied, and her spirit sank fainting.
+
+For weeks we watched the fluttering life within her, at times giving
+up all hope; but youth and careful nursing aided the struggle of
+Nature with Death, and at last Agnes opened her languid eyes upon us,
+and was pronounced out of immediate danger. The sickening pallor that
+overspread her face an instant after her returning consciousness, I
+well understood; the thought of her heart's desolation came to her
+memory, and I fear life was any thing but a blessing to her then. Her
+health continued delicate; and at last it was deemed advisable to take
+her to a more genial climate--that change of scene and air might
+strengthen her constitution, and raise her spirits, depressed, the
+physician said, by sickness. I knew better than the wise Esculapius;
+but my knowledge could not restore her. Her father was a man of
+considerable wealth, therefore no expense was spared for her benefit.
+They resided some years in Europe, and the letters I received from
+Agnes proved that the change had, indeed, been of benefit. New
+associations surrounded her, and dissipated the sad foreboding
+thoughts, bringing her to a more healthy state of mind. I was a little
+surprised, however, when I heard of her approaching marriage with Mr.
+Mason. Had I been as old as I am now, I would not have felt that
+wonder; but I was still young and sentimental enough to fancy the
+possibility of cherishing an "unrequited, luckless love, even unto
+death." Agnes had never spoken openly to me of her unfortunate
+attachment, but there was always a tacit understanding between us. She
+was too delicate and refined, too sensitive to indulge in the eager
+confidence which a coarser mind would have luxuriated in; but in
+writing to, or talking with me, she many times expressed herself in
+earnest, feeling words, that to a stranger would have seemed only as
+"fine sentiments," while to me, who knew her sad history, they bore a
+deeper meaning; therefore, the letter I received from her, on her
+marriage, was well understood, and quietly appreciated by me.
+
+"I wonder if you will be surprised, my dear Enna," she wrote, "when
+you hear that I am married? A few years ago it would have surprised
+me, and I should have thought it impossible. Moreover, I am marrying a
+man for whom I do not entertain that 'rapturous, soul-engrossing,
+enthusiastic love' which we have always deemed so necessary in
+marrying, and which, Heaven knows, I was once capable of bestowing on
+a husband. Mr. Mason, whom I am about to marry, is not a man who
+requires such love. The calm, quiet respect and friendship I entertain
+for him, suits him far better. He is matter-of-fact--think of that,
+Enna--not at all like the imaginary heroes of love we have talked of
+together. But he is high-minded, and possesses much intelligence and
+cultivation. We have been friends a long while, and I am confident
+that, if life and health are spared, happiness will result to both
+from our union."
+
+She did not return to her country for many years after her marriage;
+and when I again saw her, she presented a strong contrast, in
+appearance, to the pale, heart-broken creature I had parted with ten
+years before. She was more beautiful even than in her youth--still
+delicate and spiritual in appearance; and the calm, matronly dignity
+that pervaded her manner rendered her very lovely. Several children
+she had--for our Lillie can boast a Neapolitan birth; but in her whole
+troop she has but this one darling girl. Calm and quiet is Agnes Mason
+in her general deportment; but her intercourse with her children
+presents a strong contrast--then it is her "old enthusiasm" bursts
+forth. She has been a devoted mother; and her children think her the
+most perfect creature on earth. The intercourse between Agnes and
+Lillie is, indeed, interesting. On the mother's part there is intense
+devotion, which is fully returned by the daughter, blended with
+reverential feelings. She has superintended her education, and
+rendered what would have been wearisome tasks, "labors of love." How
+often have I found them in the library with heads bent over the same
+page, and eyes expressive of the same enthusiasm; or at the piano,
+with voices and hands uniting to produce what was to my ears exquisite
+harmony. Agnes' love-requiring heart, "like the Deluge wanderer," has
+at last found a resting-place, and on her daughter, and on her noble,
+beautiful boys, the whole rich tide of her love has been poured.
+
+Lillie Mason, with all her beauty and wealth, will never be a belle,
+as her mother says she has been made too much of "a household
+darling." I watched her one evening, not a long while since, at a gay
+ball, where her mother and I sat as spectatresses. She had been
+persuaded from our side by a dashing _distingué_ youth, and was moving
+most gracefully with him through a quadrille. In the pauses of the
+dance he seemed most anxious to interest her, and I saw his fine, dark
+eyes bend on her very tender glances. Her _bouquet_ seemed to him an
+object of especial attention, and though a graceful dancer himself, he
+seemed so wrapt up in his notice of these fragrant flowers as to
+derange the quadrille more than once. I drew Agnes' attention to this.
+
+"But see," said Agnes, "how coolly and calmly Lillie draws his
+attention to the forgotten figures. I'll answer for it, she spoils
+many of that youth's fine sentiments."
+
+"I wonder," said Lillie, with a half-vexed air, after her partner had
+placed her beside her mother, while he hastened to procure some
+refreshments for us, "I wonder what Mr. Carlton dances for. I would
+not take the trouble to stand up in a quadrille, if I were in his
+place. He always talks so much as to quite forget the movements of the
+dance. He renders me more nervous than any partner I ever have, for I
+dislike to see my _vis-a-vis_ so bored. Just now he went through the
+whole "language of flowers" in my bouquet, which would have been
+interesting elsewhere, for he quotes poetry right cleverly; but it was
+a little out of place where the bang of the instruments, and the
+_chazzez_ and the _balancez_ made me lose one half of his pretty
+eloquence. Quadrilles are senseless things any how;" and our pretty
+Lillie actually yawned as she begged to know if it was not time to
+go. "You know, dear mamma," she said, "that I have to arise very early
+to-morrow morning, to help Tom in that hard lesson he groaned so
+pitifully over to-night."
+
+As we left the ball-room, and were making our adieux to the fair
+hostess, I overheard young Carlton say reproachfully to Lillie,
+
+"And so you are going to leave without dancing that next quadrille
+with me. I know my name is on your tablets. This is too unkind, Miss
+Mason."
+
+Young Carleton is very devoted; but if his devotion is only a passing
+caprice, our Lillie will not be injured by it. There is no danger of
+her "falling in love" hastily, even if the lover be as handsome and
+interesting as the one in question. Luckily for her happiness, her
+mother, profiting by her own sad experience, has cultivated the sweet
+blossoms of domestic love, and, as she says, "My Lillie's heart will
+always belong, at least two-thirds, to her mother and family."
+
+
+
+
+MIDNIGHT.
+
+BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
+
+    The moon looks down on a world of snow,
+    And the midnight lamp is burning low,
+    And the fading embers mildly glow
+      In their bed of ashes soft and deep;
+    All, all is still as the hour of death--
+    I only hear what the old clock saith,
+    And the mother and infant's easy breath,
+      That flows from the holy land of Sleep.
+
+    Or the watchman who solemnly wakes the dark,
+    With a voice like a prophet's when few will hark,
+    And the answering hounds that bay and bark
+      To the red cock's clarion horn--
+    The world goes on--the restless world,
+    With its freight of sleep through darkness hurled,
+    Like a mighty ship, when her sails are furled,
+      On a rapid but noiseless river borne.
+
+    Say on old clock--I love you well,
+    For your silver chime, and the truths you tell--
+    Your every stroke is but the knell
+      Of Hope, or Sorrow buried deep;
+    Say on--but only let me hear
+    The sound most sweet to my listening ear,
+    The child and the mother breathing clear
+      Within the harvest-fields of Sleep.
+
+    Thou watchman, on thy lonely round,
+    I thank thee for that warning sound--
+    The clarion cock and the baying hound
+      Not less their dreary vigils keep;
+    Still hearkening, I will love you all,
+    While in each silent interval
+    I can hear those dear breasts rise and fall
+      Upon the airy tide of Sleep.
+
+    Old world, on Time's benighted stream
+    Sweep down till the stars of morning beam
+    From orient shores--nor break the dream
+      That calms my love to pleasures deep;
+    Roll on and give my Bud and Rose
+    The fullness of thy best repose,
+    The blessedness which only flows
+      Along the silent realms of Sleep.
+
+
+
+
+A VISION.
+
+BY R. H. STODDARD.
+
+    I saw the Past, in heaven a mighty train,
+      A countless multitude of solemn years,
+      Standing like souls of martyred saints, and tears
+    Ran down their pallid cheeks like summer rain;
+    They clasped and wrung their white hands evermore,
+      Wailing, demanding vengeance on the world:
+    And Judgment, with his garments sprinkled o'er
+      With guilty blood, and dusky wings unfurled,
+    And sword unsheathed, expectant of His nod,
+    Stood waiting by the burning throne, and God
+    Rose up in heaven in ire--but Mercy fair,
+      A piteous damsel clad in spotless white,
+    In supplication sweet and earnest prayer
+    Knelt at his feet and clung around his robe of light.
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW ENGLAND FACTORY GIRL.
+
+A SKETCH OF EVERYDAY LIFE.
+
+BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.
+
+    For naught its power to STRENGTH can teach
+    Like EMULATION--and ENDEAVOR. SCHILLER.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+HOPING AND PLANNING.
+
+The family of Deacon Gordon were gathered in the large kitchen, at the
+commencement of the first snow-storm of the season. With what delight
+the children watched the driving clouds--and shouted with exultation
+as they tried to count the fleecy flakes floating gently to the
+earth--nestling upon its bleak, bare surface as if they would fain
+shield it with a pure and beautiful mantle. Faster and faster came the
+storm, even the deacon concluded that it would amount to something,
+after all; perhaps there might be sleighing on Thanksgiving-day;
+though he thought it rather uncertain. His wife did not reply, she was
+bidding the children be a little less noisy in their mirth.
+
+"We can get out our sleds in the morning, can't we, Mary?" said Master
+Ned. "I'm so glad you finished my mittens last Saturday. I told Tom
+Kelly I hoped it would snow soon, for I wanted to see how warm they
+were. Wont I make the ice-balls fly!"
+
+Ned had grown energetic with the thought, and seizing his mother's
+ball of worsted aimed it at poor puss, who was sleeping quietly before
+the blazing fire. Alas! for Neddy--puss but winked her great sleepy
+eyes as the ball whizzed past, and was buried in the pile of ashes
+that had gathered around the huge "back-log." His mother did not
+scold; she had never been known to disturb the serenity of the good
+deacon by an ebullition of angry words. Indeed, the neighbors often
+said she was _too_ quiet, letting the children have their own way.
+'Mrs. Gordon chose to rule by the law of love, a mode of government
+little understood by those around her. Could they have witnessed Ned's
+penitent look, when his mother simply said--"Do you see how much
+trouble you have given me, my son?" they would not have doubted its
+efficacy.
+
+The deacon said nothing, but opened the almanac he had just taken down
+from its allotted corner, and thought, as he searched for "Nov. 25th,"
+that he had the best wife in the world, and if his children were not
+good it was their own fault. The great maxim of the deacon's life had
+been "let well enough alone"--but not always seeing clearly what was
+"well enough," he was often surprised when he found matters did not
+turn out as he had expected. This had made him comparatively a poor
+man, though the fine farm he had inherited from his father should
+have rendered him perfectly independent of the world. Little by little
+had been sold, until it was not more than half its original size, and
+the remainder, far less fertile than of old, scarce yielded a
+sufficient support for his now numerous family. He had a holy horror
+of debt, however--and with his wife's rigid and careful economy, he
+managed to balance accounts at the end of the year. But this was
+all--there was nothing in reserve--should illness or misfortune
+overtake him, life's struggle would be hard indeed for his youthful
+family.
+
+The deacon was satisfied--he had found the day of the month, and in a
+spirit of prophecy quite remarkable, the context added, "Snow to be
+expected about this time."
+
+"It's late enough for snow, that's true," said he, as he carefully
+replaced his "farmer's library," then remarking it was near time for
+tea, he took up his blue homespun frock, and went out in the face of
+the storm to see that the cattle were properly cared for. The deacon
+daily exemplified the motto--"A merciful man is merciful to his
+beast."
+
+"Father is right," said Mrs. Gordon, using the familiar title so
+commonly bestowed upon the head of the family in that section of
+country. "Mary, it is quite time you were busy, and you, James, had
+better get in the wood."
+
+The young people to whom she spoke had been conversing apart at the
+furthest window of the room. Mary, a girl of fifteen, James, scarce
+more than a year her senior. They started at their mother's voice, as
+if they had quite forgotten where they were, but in an instant
+good-humoredly said she was right, and without delay commenced their
+several tasks. James was assisted by Ned, who, since he had come into
+possession of his first pair of boots--an era in the life of every
+boy--had been promoted to the office of chip-gatherer; and Sue, a rosy
+little girl of eight or nine, spread the table, while her sister
+prepared the tea, cutting the snowy loaves made by her own hand; and
+bringing a roll of golden butter she herself had moulded, Mrs. Gordon
+gave a look of general supervision, and finished the preparations for
+the evening meal by the addition of cheese--such as city people never
+see--just as Mr. Gordon and James returned, stamping the snow from
+their heavy boots, and sending a shower of drops from the already
+melting mass which clung to them.
+
+Never was there a happier group gathered about a farmer's table, and
+when, with bowed head and solemn voice, the father had begged the
+blessing of Heaven upon their simple fare, the children did ample
+justice to the plain but substantial viands. Mrs. Gordon wondered how
+they found time to eat, there was so much to be said on all sides; but
+talk as they would--and it is an established fact that the
+conversational powers of children are developed with greater
+brilliancy at table than elsewhere--when the repast was finished there
+was very little reason to complain on the score of bad appetites.
+
+Then commenced the not unpleasant task of brightening and putting away
+the oft used dishes. Mary and Sue were no loiterers, and by the time
+their mother had swept the hearth, and arranged the displaced
+furniture, cups and plates were shining on the dresser, as the red
+fire-light gleamed upon them. The deacon sat gazing intently upon the
+glowing embers--apparently in deep meditation, though it is to be
+questioned whether he thought at all. Mrs. Gordon had resumed her
+knitting, while Sue and Ned, after disputing some time whose turn it
+was to hold the yarn, were busily employed in winding a skein of
+worsted into birds-nest balls.
+
+"Seven o'clock comes very soon, don't it Eddy?" said Sue, as their
+heads came in contact at the unraveling of a terrible "tangle"--"I
+wish it would be always daylight, and then wouldn't we sit up a great
+many hours? I'd go to school at night instead of the daytime, and do
+all my errands, and go to meeting too--then we should have all day
+long to play in, and if we got tired we could lie down on the grass in
+the orchard and take a little nap, or here before the fire if it was
+winter. Oh, dear! I'm sure I can't see why there's any dark at all!"
+
+"You girls don't know any thing," answered Master Ned, with the
+inherent air of superiority which alike animates the boy and the man,
+where women are concerned--"If there was no night what would become of
+the chickens? They can't go to sleep in the daylight, can they, I'd
+like to know? And if they didn't go to sleep how would they ever get
+fat, or large; and maybe they wouldn't have feathers; then what would
+we do for bolsters, and beds, and pillows? You didn't think of that, I
+guess, Susy."
+
+Ned's patronizing air quite offended his sister, but she did not stop
+to show it, for she had, as she thought, found an admirable plan for
+the chickens.
+
+"Well," said she slowly, not perceiving in her abstraction that the
+skein was nearly wound, "we could make a dark room in the barn for the
+biddies, and they could go in there when it ought to be sundown. I
+guess they'd know--" but here there came an end to the skein and their
+speculations, for seven o'clock rung clearly and loudly from the
+wooden time-piece in the corner, and the children obeyed the signal
+for bed, not without many "oh, dears," and wishes that the clock could
+not strike.
+
+"James," said his elder sister, as their mother left the room with the
+little ones, "let us tell father and mother all about it to-night.
+They might as well know now as any time; and Stephen will be back in
+the morning."
+
+"Don't speak so loud," whispered the boy, "father will hear you. I
+suppose we might as well; but I do so dread it, I'm sure it would kill
+me if they were to say no, and now I can hope at least."
+
+"I know it all," said his stronger minded adviser, "but I shall feel
+better when they are told. I know mother wonders what we are always
+whispering about; and it does not seem right to hide any thing from
+her. Here she is, and when we've got father's cider and the apples, I
+shall tell them if you don't."
+
+Poor James! it was evident that he had a cherished project at stake.
+Never before had he been so long in drawing the cider. Mary had heaped
+her basket with rosy-cheeked apples before he had finished; and when
+at length he came from the cellar, his hand trembled, so that the
+brown beverage was spilled upon the neat hearth.
+
+"You are a little careless," said his mother; but the boy offered no
+excuse; he cast an imploring glance at his sister, and walked to the
+window, though the night was dark as Erebus, and the sleet struck
+sharply against the glass.
+
+"James and I want to talk with you a little while, father and mother,
+if you can listen now," said Mary, boldly; and then there was a
+pause--for she had dropped a whole row of stitches in her knitting,
+and numberless were the loops which were left, as she took them up
+again.
+
+Her father looked at her with a stare of astonishment, or else he was
+getting sleepy, and was obliged to open his eyes very widely, lest
+they should close without his knowledge.
+
+"Well, my child," said Mrs. Gordon, in a gentle tone of
+encouragement--for she thought, from Mary's manner, that the
+development of the confidential communications of the brother and
+sister was at hand.
+
+"We have been making a plan, mother--" but James could go no further,
+and left the sentence unfinished. "Mary will tell you all," he added,
+in a choking voice, as he turned once more to the window.
+
+Mary did tell all, clearly, and without hesitation; while her mother's
+pride, and her father's astonishment increased as the narrative
+progressed. James, young as he was, had fixed his heart upon gaining a
+classical education--a thing not so rare in the New England States as
+with us, for there the false idea still prevails, that a man is unfit
+to enter upon a profession until he has served the four years'
+laborious apprenticeship imposed upon all "candidates for college
+prizes." With us, the feeling has almost entirely passed away; a man
+is not judged by the number of years he is supposed to have devoted to
+the literature of past ages--the question is, what does he know? not,
+how was that knowledge gained? But in the rigid and formal atmosphere
+by which it was the fortune of our little hero to be surrounded, the
+prejudice was strong as ever; and the ambitious boy, in dreaming out
+for himself a life of fame and honor, saw before him, as an obstacle
+hardly possible of being surmounted, a collegiate education.
+
+For months he had kept the project a secret in his own heart, and had
+daily, and almost hourly, gone over and over again, every difficulty
+which presented itself. He saw at once that he could expect no aid
+from his father, for he knew the constant struggle going on in the
+household to narrow increasing expenses to their humble means. His
+elder brother, Stephen, would even oppose the plan--for, he being very
+like their father, was plodding and industrious, content with the
+present hour, and heartily despised books and schools, as being
+entirely beneath his notice. His mother would, he hoped, aid him by
+her approval and encouragement--this was all _she_ could bestow; and
+Mary, however willing, had not more to offer. At length he resolved to
+tell his sister, who had ever been his counsellor, the project which
+he had so long cherished.
+
+"I am not selfish about it," said he, as he dilated upon the success
+which he felt sure would be his, could this first stumbling-block but
+be removed. "Think how much I could do for you all. Father would be
+relieved from the burden of supporting me, for he does not need my
+assistance now, the farm is so small, and Ed is growing old enough to
+do all my work. Then you should have a capital education, for you
+ought to have it; and you could teach a school that would be more to
+the purpose than the district school. After I had helped you all, then
+I could work for myself; and mother would be so proud of her son. But,
+oh! Mary," and the boy's heart sank within him, "I know it can never
+be."
+
+The two, brother and sister, as they sat there together, were a fair
+illustration of the "dreamer and the worker." Mary was scarce fifteen,
+but she was thoughtful beyond her years, yet as hopeful as the child.
+"Yes, I could keep school," thought she, as she looked into her
+brother's earnest eyes. "What can hinder my keeping school now; and
+the money I can earn, with James having his vacations to work in,
+might support him."
+
+But with this thought came another. She knew that the pay given to
+district schoolteachers--women especially--was at best a bare
+pittance, scarce more than sufficient for herself--for she could not
+think of burdening her parents with her maintenance when her time and
+labor was not theirs; and she knew that her education was too limited
+to seek a larger sphere of action. So she covered her bright young
+face with her hands, and it was clouded for a time with deep thought;
+then looking suddenly up, the boy wondered at the change which had
+passed over it, there was so much joy, even exultation in every
+feature.
+
+"I have it," said she, throwing her arms fondly about his neck. "I
+know how I can earn a deal of money, more than I want. If mother will
+let me, I can go to Lowell and work in a factory. Susan Hunt paid the
+mortgage on her father's farm in three years; and I'm sure it would
+not take any more for you than she earned."
+
+At first the boy's heart beat wildly; for the moment it seemed as if
+his dearest wishes were about to be accomplished. Then came a feeling
+of reproach at his own selfishness, in gaining independence by dooming
+his fair young sister to a life of constant labor and self-denial;
+wasting, or at least passing the bright hours of her girlhood in the
+midst of noise and heat, with rude associations for her refined and
+gentle nature.
+
+"Oh! no, Mary," said he, passionately--"never, never! You are too
+good, too generous!" yet the wish of his life was too strong to be
+checked at once; and when Mary pleaded, and urged him to consent to
+it, and gave a thousand "woman's reasons" why it was best, and how
+easy the task would be to her, when lightened by the consciousness
+that she was aiding him to take a lofty place among his fellow-men, he
+gave a reluctant consent to the plan, ashamed of himself the while,
+and dreading lest his parents should oppose what would seem to their
+calmer judgment an almost impossible scheme.
+
+Day after day he had begged Mary to delay asking their consent, though
+the suspense was an agony to the enthusiastic boy. Mary knew the
+disappointment would be terrible; yet she thought if it was to come,
+it had best be over with at once; and, beside, she was more hopeful
+than her brother, for she had not so much at stake. Was it any wonder,
+then, that James could scarce breathe while his sister calmly told
+their plans, and that he dared not look into his mother's face when
+the recital was ended.
+
+There was no word spoken for some moments--the deacon looked into his
+wife's face, as if he did not fully understand what he had been
+listening to, and sought the explanation from her; but she gazed
+intently at the fire, revealing nothing by the expression of her
+features until she said, "Your father and I will talk the matter over,
+children, and to-morrow you shall hear what we think of it." Without
+the least idea of the decision which would be made, James was obliged
+to subdue his impatience; and the evening passed wearily enough in
+listening to his father's plans for repairing the barn, and making a
+new ox-sled. Little did the boy hear, though he seemed to give
+undivided attention.
+
+"Have you well considered all this, my child," said Mrs. Gordon, as
+she put her hand tenderly upon her daughter's forehead, and looked
+earnestly into her sweet blue eyes. "James is in his own room, so do
+not fear to speak openly. Are you not misled by your love for him, and
+your wish that he should succeed."
+
+"No, mother, I have thought again and again, and I know I could work
+from morning till night without complaining, if I thought he was
+happy. Then it will be but three or four years at the farthest, and I
+shall be hardly nineteen then. I can study, too, in the evenings and
+mornings, and sometimes I can get away for whole weeks, and come up
+here to see you all; Lowell is not very far, you know."
+
+"But there is another thing, Mary. Do you not know that there are many
+people who consider it as a disgrace to toil thus--who would ridicule
+you for publicly acknowledging labor was necessary for you; they would
+perhaps shun your society, and you would be wounded by seeing them
+neglect, and perhaps openly avoid you."
+
+"I should not care at ail for that, mother. Why is it any worse to
+work at Lowell than at home; and you tell me very often that I support
+myself now. People that love me would go on loving me just as well as
+ever; and those who don't love me, I'm sure I'm willing they should
+act as they like."
+
+"I think myself," replied her mother, pleased at the true spirit of
+independence that she saw filled her daughter's heart, "that the
+opinion of those who despise honest labor, is not worth caring for.
+But you are young, and sneers will have their effect. You must
+remember this--it is but natural. There is one thing else--we may both
+be mistaken about James' ability; he may be himself--and you could not
+bear to see him fail, after all. Think, it may be so; and then all
+your time and your earnings will be lost."
+
+"Not lost, mother," said the young girl, her eyes sparkling with love
+and hope, "I should have done all I could to help James, you know."
+
+Mrs. Gordon kissed her good-night with a full heart. She was proud of
+her children; and few mothers have more reason for the natural
+feeling. "I cannot bear to disappoint her," thought she, yet the
+scheme seemed every moment more childish and impracticable.
+
+James rose, not with the sun, but long before it; and when his father
+came down, he was already busily employed in clearing a path to the
+well and the barn--for the snow had fallen so heavily, that the drifts
+gathered by the night wind, in its rude sport, were piled to the very
+windows, obscuring the misty light of the winter's morn. How beautiful
+were those snow-wreaths in their perfect purity! The brown and knotted
+fences, the dingy out-buildings, were all covered with dazzling
+drapery; and the leafless trees were bowed beneath the weight of a
+fantastic foliage that glittered in the clear beams of the rising sun
+with a splendor that was almost painful to behold.
+
+"It wont last long with this sun," said the deacon, as he tied a
+'comforter' about his throat; "but perhaps you'll have time to give
+Mary and the children a ride before the roads are bare again. Mary
+must do all her sleighing this winter, for she won't have much time if
+she goes to the factory, poor child!"
+
+The deacon passed on with heavy strides to the barn-yard, and left
+James to hope that their petition was not rejected. It was not many
+minutes after that Mary came bounding down the stone-steps, heedless
+of the snow in which she trod; and the instant he looked upon her face
+he was no longer in doubt.
+
+"_Isn't_ mother good, James! She just called me into her room, and
+told me that father and she have concluded we can try it at least; and
+Stephen is not to know any thing about it until next April, when I am
+to go. We must both of us study very hard this winter, and I shall
+have such a deal of sewing to do."
+
+Mary spoke with delighted eagerness. One would have thought, beholding
+her joy, that it was a pleasant journey which she anticipated, or that
+a fortune had unexpectedly been left to her; and yet the spring so
+longed for, would find her among strangers, working in a close and
+crowded room through the bright days. But a contented spirit hath its
+own sunshine; and the dearest pleasure that mankind may know, is
+contributing to the happiness of those we love. The less selfish our
+devotion to friends, the more sacrificing our self-denial in their
+behalf, the greater is the reward; so Mary's step was more elastic
+than ever, and her bright eyes shone with a steady, cheerful light, as
+she went about her daily tasks.
+
+As she said, it was necessary that they should both be very busy
+through the winter, for James hoped to be able to enter college in
+August; and Mary, who had heretofore kept pace with him in most of his
+studies, though she did stumble at "tupto, tupso, tetupha," and vow
+that Greek was not intended for girls, did not wish to give up her
+Latin and Geometry. They had such a kind instructor in Mr. Lane, the
+village lawyer, that an ambition to please him made them at first
+forget the difficulties of the dry rudiments; and then it was that
+James first began to dream of one day being able to plead causes
+himself--of studying a profession. Mr. Lane, unconsciously, had
+encouraged this, by telling his little pupils, to whom he was much
+attached, the difficulties that had beset his youthful career, and how
+he had gained an honest independence, when he had at first been
+without friends or means. Then he would look up at his pretty young
+wife, or put out his arms to their little one, as if he thought, and
+is not this a sufficient reward for those years of toil and
+despondence. James remembered, when he was a student, teaching in
+vacations to aid in supporting himself through term time. He had
+boarded at Mr. Gordon's, and when he came to settle in the village,
+years after, he had offered to teach James and Mary, as a slight
+recompense for Mrs. Gordon's early kindness to the poor student. Two
+hours each afternoon were passed in Mr. Lane's pleasant little study;
+and though Stephen thought it was time wasted, he did not complain
+much, for James was doubly active in the morning. Mary, too,
+accomplished twice as much as ever before; and after the day's routine
+of household labor and study were over, her needle flew quickly, as
+she prepared her little wardrobe for leaving home. March was nearly
+through before they felt that spring had come; and though Mary's eyes
+were sometimes filled with tears at the thought of the coming
+separation, they were quickly dried, and the first of April found her
+unshaken in her resolution.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+LEAVING HOME--FACTORY LIFE.
+
+"To-morrow will be the last day at home," thought Mary, as she bade
+her mother good-night, and turned quickly to her own room to conceal
+the tears that would start; and, though they fringed the lashes of the
+drooping lid when at last she slept, the repose was gentle and
+undisturbed--and she awoke at early dawn content, almost happy. The
+morning air came freshly to her face as she leaned out of the window
+to gaze once more on the extended landscape. Far away upon the
+swelling hill-side, patches of snow yet lingered, while near them the
+fresh grass was springing; and the old wood, at the back of the
+house, was clothed anew in emerald verdure. The sombre pines were
+lighted by the glittering sunlight, as it lingered lovingly among
+their dim branches ere bursting away to illumine the very depths of
+the solitude with smiles. A pleasant perfume was wafted from the
+Arbutus, just putting forth its delicate blossoms from their
+sheltering covert of dark-green leaves, mingled with the breath of the
+snowy-petaled dogwood, and the blue violets that were bedded in the
+rich moss on the banks of the little stream. The brook itself went
+singing on its way as it wound through the darksome forest, and fell
+with a plash, and a murmur, over the huge stones that would have
+turned it aside from its course.
+
+It was the first bright day of spring; and it seemed as if nature had
+assumed its loveliest dress to tempt the young girl to forego her
+resolve. "Home never looked so beautiful," thought she, turning from
+the window; and her step was not light as usual when she joined the
+family. Mrs. Gordon was serene as ever; no one could have told from
+her manner that she was about to part with her daughter for the first
+time; but the children were sobbing bitterly--for they had just been
+told that the day had come when their sister was to leave them. They
+clung to her dress as she entered, and begged her not to go.
+
+"What shall we do without _you_, Mary?" said they; "the house will be
+so lonesome."
+
+Even Stephen, although when the plan was first revealed to him had
+opposed it obstinately, was melted to something like forgiveness when
+he saw that nothing could change her firm determination.
+
+"I suppose we must _learn_ to live without you, Molly," said he; "take
+good care of yourself, child--but let's have breakfast now."
+
+The odd combination, spite of her sadness, brought the old smile to
+Mary's lip; and when breakfast was over, and the deacon took the large
+family Bible from its appointed resting-place, and gathered his little
+flock about him, they listened quietly and earnestly to the truths of
+holy writ. That family Bible! It was almost the first thing that Mary
+could recollect. She remembered sitting on her father's knee, in the
+long, bright Sabbath afternoons, and looking with profound awe and
+astonishment into the baize-covered volume, at the quaint unartistic
+prints that were scattered through it. She recalled the shiver of
+horror with which she looked on "_Daniel in the den of lions_," the
+curiosity which the picture of the Garden of Eden called forth, and
+the undefined, yet calm and placid feeling which stole over her as she
+dwelt longest upon the "Baptism of our Savior." Then there was the
+family record--her own birth, and that of her brothers and sisters,
+were chronicled underneath that of generations now sleeping in the
+shadow of the village church. But this train of thought was broken, as
+they reverentially knelt when the volume was closed, and listened to
+their father's humble and fervent petition, that God would watch and
+guard them all, especially commending to the protection of Heaven,
+"the lamb now going out from their midst."
+
+There were tears even upon Mrs. Gordon's face when the prayer was
+ended, but there was no time to indulge in a long and sorrowful
+parting. The trunks were standing already corded in the hall; the
+little traveling-basket was filled with home-baked luxuries for the
+way-side lunch; and Mary was soon arrayed in her plain merino dress
+and little straw bonnet. There are some persons who receive whatever
+air of fashion and refinement they may have from their dress; others
+who impart to the coarsest material a grace that the most _recherché_
+costume fails to give. Our heroine was one of the last--and never was
+Chestnut street belle more beautiful than our simple country lassie,
+as she stood with her mother's arm twined about her waist, receiving
+her parting counsel.
+
+The last words were said--James, in an agony of grief, had kissed her
+again and again, reproaching himself constantly for his selfishness in
+consenting that she should go. The children, forgetting their tears in
+the excitement of the moment, ran with haste to announce that the
+stage was just coming over the hill. Yes, it was standing before the
+garden-gate--the trunks were lifted from the door-stone--the
+clattering steps fell at her feet--a moment more and Mary was whirled
+away from her quiet home, with her father's counsel, and her mother's
+earnest "God bless you, and keep you, my child!" ringing in her ears.
+
+It was quite dark ere the second day's weary journey was at an end.
+Mary could scarce believe it possible that she had, indeed, arrived in
+the great city, until the confused tumult that rose everywhere
+around--the endless lines of glittering lamps that stretched far away
+in the darkness, and the rough jolting of the coach over the hard
+pavements, told too plainly that she was in a new world, surrounded by
+a new order of things. As they drove rapidly through the crowded
+streets, she caught a glance at the brilliantly lighted stores, and
+the many gayly-dressed people that thronged them. Again the scene
+changed, and she looked upon the dark-brick walls that loomed up
+before her, and knew that in one of those buildings she was destined
+to pass many sad and solitary days. How prison-like they seemed! Her
+heart sunk within her as she gazed; the lights--the confusion
+bewildered her already wearied brain; and as she sunk back into the
+corner of the coach, and buried her face in her hands, she would have
+given worlds to have been once more in her still, pleasant home. The
+feeling of utter desolation and loneliness overcame completely, for
+the time, her firm and buoyant spirit.
+
+She was roused from her gloomy reverie as the stage stopped before the
+door of a small but very comfortable dwelling, at some distance from
+the principal thoroughfares. This was the residence of a sister of
+Mrs. Jones, to whom she had a letter, and who was expecting her
+arrival. She met Mary upon the step with a pleasant smile of welcome,
+not at all as if she had been a stranger; and her husband assisted the
+coachman to remove the various packages to a neat little room into
+which Mary was ushered by her kind hostess, Mrs. Hall. She was very
+like her sister, but older and graver. Mary's heart yearned toward her
+from the moment of kindly greeting; and when they entered the cheerful
+parlor together, the young guest was almost happy once more. The
+children of the family, two noisy little rogues, who were very proud
+of a baby sister, came for a kiss, ere they left the room for the
+night; and then, with Mrs. Hall's piano, and her husband's pleasant
+conversation, Mary forgot her timidity and her sadness as the evening
+wore away.
+
+"Mr. Hall will go with you to-morrow to the scene of your new life,"
+said her hostess, as she bade her young charge good-night. "We have
+arranged every thing, and I trust you may be happy, even though away
+from your friends. We must try to make a new home for you."
+
+Mary "blessed her unaware" for her kindness to a stranger; and though
+nearly a hundred miles from those she loved, felt contented and
+cheerful, and soon fell asleep to dream that she was once more by her
+mother's side.
+
+Again that feeling of desolation returned, when, upon the morrow,
+leaning upon the arm of Mr. Hall, she passed through the crowded
+streets, and shrank back as the passing multitude jostled against each
+other. It seemed as if every one gazed curiously at her, yet,
+perchance, not one amid the throng heeded the timid little stranger.
+She was first conducted to the house they had chosen for her
+boarding-place, and though the lady at its head received her kindly,
+she felt more lonely than ever, as she passed through the long halls,
+and was regarded with looks of curiosity by the groups of young girls
+who were just leaving the house to enter upon their daily tasks. They
+were laughing and chatting gayly with each other; and poor Mary
+wondered if she should ever feel as careless and happy as they seemed
+to be.
+
+Then they turned toward the "corporation," or factory, in which a
+place had been engaged for her. Oh, how endless seemed those long,
+noisy rooms; how weary she grew of new faces, and the strange din that
+rose up from the city. "I never shall endure this," thought the poor
+girl. "I shall never be able to learn my work. How can they go about
+so careless and unconcerned, performing their duties, as it were,
+mechanically, without thought or annoyance. But for poor Jamie I would
+return to-morrow;" and with the thought of her brother came new hope,
+new energy--and she resolved to enter upon her task boldly, and
+without regret.
+
+Yet for many days, even weeks, much of her time was spent in sadness,
+struggle as she would against the feeling. The girls with whom she was
+called daily to associate, were, most of them, kind and good tempered:
+and though her instructors did laugh a little at her awkwardness at
+first, she had entered so resolutely upon her new tasks that they
+soon became comparatively easy to her; and she was so indefatigable
+and industrious, that her earnings, after a time, became more even
+than she had hoped for.
+
+Still she was often weary, and almost tempted to despond. The
+confinement and the noise was so new to her, that at first her health
+partially gave way, and for several weeks she feared that after all
+she would be obliged to return to the free mountain-air of her country
+home. At such times she went wearily to her labors, and often might
+have uttered Miss Barret's "Moan of the Children," as she pressed her
+hands upon her throbbing temples.
+
+      "All day long the wheels are droning, turning,
+      Their wind comes in our faces,
+    Till our hearts turn, and our heads with pulses burning;
+      And the walls turn in their places!
+    Turns the sky in the high window, blank and reeling;
+      Turns the long light that droopeth down the wall;
+    Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling--
+      All are turning all the day, and we with all.
+    All day long the iron wheels are droning,
+      And sometimes we could pray,
+    'Oh, ye wheels,' (breaking off in a mad moaning)
+      Stop! be silent for to-day!'"
+
+Then, when despondency was fast crushing her spirit, there would,
+perhaps, come a long hopeful letter from her brother, who was studying
+almost night and day, and a new ambition would rise in her heart, a
+fresh strength animate her, until at last, in the daily performance of
+her duties, in the knowledge of the happiness she was thus enabled to
+confer upon others, her mind became calm and contented, and her health
+fully restored.
+
+Thus passed the first year of her absence from home. She had become
+accustomed to the habits and manners of those around her; and though
+some of the girls called her a little Methodist, and sneered at her
+plain economical dress, even declaring she was parsimonious, because
+they knew that she rigidly limited her expenses to a very small
+portion of her earnings, there were others among her associates who
+fully appreciated the generous self-sacrificing spirit which animated
+her, and loved her for the gentleness and purity, which all noticed,
+pervaded her every thought and act.
+
+Then, too, Mrs. Hall was ever her steadfast friend. One evening in
+every week was spent in that happy family circle; and there she often
+met refined and agreeable society, from which she insensibly look a
+tone of mind and manner, that was far superior to that of her
+companions. Mrs. Hall directed her reading, and furnished many books
+Mary herself was unable to procure. Thus month after month slipped by,
+and our heroine had almost forgotten she was among strangers, until
+she began to look forward to a coming meeting with those she loved in
+her own dear home.
+
+
+[_To be concluded in our next._
+
+
+
+
+REVOLUTION.
+
+      "Anger is madness," said the sage of old;
+      And 'tis with nations as it is with man,
+    Their storms of passion scatter ills untold--
+      Thus 'tis, and has been, since the world began.
+
+    Change, to be blessed, must be calm and clear,
+      Thoughtful and pure, sinless, and sound of mind;
+    Else power unchained and change are things of fear--
+      Let not the struggling to this truth be blind.--ARIAN.
+
+
+
+
+FAIR MARGARET.
+
+A LEGEND OF THOMAS THE RHYMER.
+
+BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.
+
+    Old yews in the church-yard are crumbled to dust
+      Deep shade on her grave-mound once flinging;
+    But oral tradition, still true to its trust,
+      Her name by the hearth-stone is singing;
+    For never enshrined by the bard in his lay
+    Was a being more lovely than Margaret Gray.
+
+    Her father, a faithful old tenant, had died
+      On lands of Sir Thomas the Seer--
+    And the child who had sprung like a flower by his side,
+      Sole mourner, had followed his bier;
+    But Ereildoun's knight to the orphan was kind,
+    And watched like a parent the growth of her mind.
+
+    The wizard knew well that her eye was endowed
+      With sight mortal vision surpassing--
+    _Now_ piercing the heart of Oblivion's cloud,
+      The _Past_, in its depths, clearly glassing;
+    _Anon_ sending glance through that curtain of dread
+    Behind which the realm of the Future lies spread.
+
+    He gave her a key to decipher dim scrolls,
+      With characters wild, scribbled over;
+    And taught her dark words that would summon back souls
+      Of the dead round the living to hover;
+    Or oped, high discourse with his pupil to hold,
+    Old books of enchantment with clasps of bright gold.
+
+    The elf queen had met her in green, haunted dells
+      When stars in the zenith were twinkling,
+    And time kept the tramp of her palfry to bells,
+      At her bridle rein merrily tinkling:
+    By Huntley Burn oft, in the gloaming, she strolled
+    Weird shapes, that were not of this earth, to behold.
+
+    One eve came true Thomas to Margaret's bower,
+      In this wise the maiden addressing--
+    "No more will I visible be from this hour,
+      Save to those sight unearthly possessing;
+    But when I am seen at feast, funeral or fair
+    Let the mortal who makes revelation beware!"
+
+    Long years came and passed, and the Rhymer's dread seat
+      Was vacant the Eildon Tree under,
+    And oft would old friends by the ingle-side meet,
+      And talk of his absence in wonder:
+    Some thought that, afar from the dwellings of men,
+    He had died in some lone Highland forest or glen:
+
+    But others believed that in bright fairy land
+      The mighty magician was living--
+    That newness of life to worn heart and weak hand,
+      Soft winds and pure waters were giving;
+    That back to the region of heather and pine
+    Would he come unimpaired by old age or decline.
+
+    Astir was all Scotland! from mountain and moor,
+      With banner folds streaming in air,
+    Proud lord and retainer, the wealthy and poor,
+      Thronged forth in their plaids to the fair;
+    Steeds, pricked by their riders, loud clattering made,
+    And, cheered by his clansmen, the bag-piper played.
+
+    Gay lassies with snoods from the border and hills
+      In holyday garb hurried thither,
+    With eyes like the crystal of rock-shaded rills,
+      And cheeks like the bells of the heather;
+    But fairest of all, in that goodly array,
+    Was the Lily of Bemerside, Margaret Gray.
+
+    While Ayr with a gathering host overflowed,
+      She marked with a look of delight
+    A white-bearded horseman who gallantly rode
+      On a mettlesome steed black as night,
+    And cried, forcing wildly her way through the throng,
+      "_Oh! master, thy pupil hath mourned for thee long!_"
+
+    Then, checking his courser, the brow of the seer
+      Grew dark, through its locks long and frosted,
+    And making a sign with his hand to draw near,
+      Thus the lovely offender accosted--
+    "By which of thine eyes was thy master descried?"
+    "With my _left_ I behold thee!" the damsel replied.
+
+    One moment he gazed on the beautiful face,
+      In fondness upturned to his own,
+    As if anger at length to relenting gave place,
+      Then fixed grew his visage like stone:--
+    On the violet lid his cold finger he laid,
+    And extinguished forever the sight of the maid.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+NOTE.
+
+I am indebted to Hugh Cameron, Esquire, of Buffalo, N. Y., for this
+strange and strikingly beautiful legend. Mr. C. informs me that it has
+long formed a part of the fire-side lore of his own clan; and, from a
+remote period, has lived in the memory of Scotland's peasantry.
+
+He expressed surprise that men of antiquarian taste, in compiling
+border ballads, and tales of enchantment, had not given "Fair
+Margaret" a conspicuous place in their pages; and at his suggestion I
+have attempted to clothe the fanciful outlines of the original in the
+drapery of English verse.
+
+The Eildon tree referred to in the poem was the favorite seat of
+Thomas the Rhymer, and there he gave utterance to his prophecies.
+
+
+
+
+STANZAS.
+
+    The rain-bird shakes her dusty wings
+      And leaves the sunny strand,
+    For mossy springs, and sweetly sings,
+      To greet her native land.
+
+    The camel in the desert heeds
+      Where distant waters lay,
+    And onward speeds, to flowery meads,
+      And fountains far away.
+
+    The freshest drops will Beauty choose
+      To keep her floweret wet,
+    The purest dews, to save its hues--
+      Her gentle violet.
+
+    So--may sweet Grace our hearts renew
+      With waters from above,
+    So--keep in view what Mercy drew
+      From this deep well of love.   W. H. DENNY.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE BUFFALO.
+
+BY CHARLES LANMAN, AUTHOR OF "A SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS," ETC.
+
+
+Among the many legends which the traveler frequently hears, while
+crossing the prairies of the Far West, I remember one, which accounts
+in a most romantic manner for the origin of thunder. A summer-storm
+was sweeping over the land, and I had sought a temporary shelter in
+the lodge of a Sioux Indian on the banks of the St. Peters. Vividly
+flashed the lightning, and an occasional peal of thunder echoed
+through the firmament. While the storm continued my host and his
+family paid but little attention to my comfort, for they were all
+evidently stricken with terror. I endeavored to quell their fears, and
+for that purpose asked them a variety of questions respecting their
+people, but they only replied by repeating, in a dismal tone, the name
+of the Lone Buffalo. My curiosity was of course excited, and it may be
+readily imagined that I did not resume my journey without obtaining an
+explanation of the mystic words; and from him who first uttered them
+in the Sioux lodge I subsequently obtained the following legend:
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+There was a chief of the Sioux nation whose name was the Master Bear.
+He was famous as a prophet and hunter, and was a particular favorite
+with the Master of Life. In an evil hour he partook of the white-man's
+fire-water, and in a fighting broil unfortunately took the life of a
+brother chief. According to ancient custom blood was demanded for
+blood, and when next the Master Bear went forth to hunt, he was
+waylaid, shot through the heart with an arrow, and his body deposited
+in front of his widow's lodge. Bitterly did the woman bewail her
+misfortune, now mutilating her body in the most heroic manner, and
+anon narrating to her only son, a mere infant, the prominent events of
+her husband's life. Night came, and with her child lashed upon her
+back, the woman erected a scaffold on the margin of a neighboring
+stream, and with none to lend her a helping hand, enveloped the corpse
+in her more valuable robes, and fastened it upon the scaffold. She
+completed her task just as the day was breaking, when she returned to
+her lodge, and shutting herself therein, spent the three following
+days without tasting food.
+
+During her retirement the widow had a dream, in which she was visited
+by the Master of Life. He endeavored to console her in her sorrow, and
+for the reason that he had loved her husband, promised to make her son
+a more famous warrior and medicine man than his father had been. And
+what was more remarkable, this prophecy was to be realized within the
+period of a few weeks. She told her story in the village, and was
+laughed at for her credulity.
+
+On the following day, when the village boys were throwing the ball
+upon the plain, a noble youth suddenly made his appearance among the
+players, and eclipsed them all in the bounds he made and the wildness
+of his shouts. He was a stranger to all, but when the widow's dream
+was remembered, he was recognized as her son, and treated with
+respect. But the youth was yet without a name, for his mother had told
+him that he should win one for himself by his individual prowess.
+
+Only a few days had elapsed, when it was rumored that a party of
+Pawnees had overtaken and destroyed a Sioux hunter, when it was
+immediately determined in council that a party of one hundred warriors
+should start upon the war-path and revenge the injury. Another council
+was held for the purpose of appointing a leader, when a young man
+suddenly entered the ring and claimed the privilege of leading the
+way. His authority was angrily questioned, but the stranger only
+replied by pointing to the brilliant eagle's feathers on his head, and
+by shaking from his belt a large number of fresh Pawnee scalps. They
+remembered the stranger boy, and acknowledged the supremacy of the
+stranger man.
+
+Night settled upon the prairie world, and the Sioux warriors started
+upon the war-path. Morning dawned, and a Pawnee village was in ashes,
+and the bodies of many hundred men, women, and children were left upon
+the ground as food for the wolf and vulture. The Sioux warriors
+returned to their own encampment, when it was ascertained that the
+nameless leader had taken more than twice as many scalps as his
+brother warriors. Then it was that a feeling of jealousy arose, which
+was soon quieted, however, by the news that the Crow Indians had
+stolen a number of horses and many valuable furs from a Sioux hunter
+as he was returning from the mountains. Another warlike expedition was
+planned, and as before, the nameless warrior took the lead.
+
+The sun was near his setting, and as the Sioux party looked down upon
+a Crow village, which occupied the centre of a charming valley, the
+Sioux chief commanded the attention of his braves and addressed them
+in the following language:
+
+"I am about to die, my brothers, and must speak my mind. To be
+fortunate in war is your chief ambition, and because I have been
+successful you are unhappy. Is this right? Have you acted like men? I
+despise you for your meanness, and I intend to prove to you this night
+that I am the bravest man in the nation. The task will cost me my
+life, but I am anxious that my nature should be changed and I shall be
+satisfied. I intend to enter the Crow village alone, but before
+departing, I have one favor to command. If I succeed in destroying
+that village, and lose my life, I want you, when I am dead, to cut off
+my head and protect it with care. You must then kill one of the
+largest buffaloes in the country and cut off his head. You must then
+bring his body and my head together, and breathe upon them, when I
+shall be free to roam in the Spirit-land at all times, and over our
+great Prairie-land wherever I please. And when your hearts are
+troubled with wickedness remember the Lone Buffalo."
+
+The attack upon the Crow village was successful, but according to his
+prophecy the Lone Buffalo received his death wound, and his brother
+warriors remembered his parting request. The fate of the hero's mother
+is unknown, but the Indians believe that it is she who annually sends
+from the Spirit-land the warm winds of spring, which cover the
+prairies with grass for the sustenance of the Buffalo race. As to the
+Lone Buffalo, he is never seen even by the most cunning hunter,
+excepting when the moon is at its full. At such times he is invariably
+alone, cropping his food in some remote part of the prairies; and
+whenever the heavens resound with the moanings of the thunder, the
+red-man banishes from his breast every feeling of jealousy, for he
+believes it to be the warning voice of the Lone Buffalo.
+
+
+
+
+THE ADOPTED CHILD.
+
+BY MRS. FRANCES B. M. BROTHERSON.
+
+    "And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted,
+    Will it not seem as if the sunny day
+                Turned from its door away?
+    While through its chambers wandering, weary hearted,
+    I languish for thy voice which passed me still,
+                Even as a singing rill."
+
+
+    My gentle child--my own sweet May--
+      Come sit thee by my side,
+    Thy wonted place in by-gone years,
+      Whatever might betide.
+    Come--I would press that cloudless brow,
+      And gaze into those eyes,
+    Whose azure hue and brilliancy
+      Seemed borrowed from the skies.
+
+    Thou ne'er hast known a mother's love,
+      Save what my heart hath given;
+    Thy fair young mother--long years since--
+      Found rest in yonder Heaven.
+    Where waves and dashing spray ran high
+      We took thee from her grasp;
+    All vainly had the Tyrant striven
+      To rend that loving clasp.
+
+    We strove in vain life to recall,
+      And 'neath the old oak's shade
+    We laid her calmly down to rest,
+      In our own woodland glade.
+    Gently--the turf by stranger hands
+      Was o'er her bright head pressed;
+    And burning tears from stranger hearts
+      Fell o'er that place of rest.
+
+    We took thee to our hearts and home,
+      With blessings on thy head;
+    We looked on thy blue eye--and wept--
+      _Remembered was our dead_.
+    For parted from our lonely hearth
+      Was childhood's sunny smile;
+    And hushed the household melody
+      That could each care beguile.
+
+    Thy name--we knew it not--and then
+      For many a livelong day
+    We sought for one, all beautiful--
+      And, sweetest, called thee May.
+    With thee--came Spring-lime to our home,
+      Love's wealth of buds and flowers,
+    Lingering--till in its fairy train
+      Shone Summer's golden hours.
+
+    How will I miss thine own dear voice
+      In Summer's soft, bright eve;
+    A blight will rest on tree and flower--
+      The hue of things that grieve;
+    And when the wintry hour hath come,
+      And 'round the blazing hearth
+    Shall cluster faces we have loved--
+      Lost--lost thy joyous mirth.
+
+    Another hand will twine those curls
+      That gleam so brightly now;
+    Another heart will thrill to hear
+      From _thee_ affection's vow;
+    For I have marked the rosy blush
+      Steal o'er thy brow and cheek,
+    When gentle words fell on thy ear,
+      Which only love can speak.
+
+    Tears--tears!--a shadow should not rest
+      Upon thy bridal day;
+    My spirit's murmurings shall cease
+      And joy be thine, sweet May.
+    They come with flowers--pure orange flowers--
+      To deck thy shining hair;
+    Young bride--go forth--and bear with thee,
+      My blessing and my prayer.
+
+
+
+
+WHEN SHALL I SEE THE OBJECT THAT I LOVE.
+
+A FAVORITE SWISS AIR.
+
+ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE
+BY
+JOHN B. MÜLLER.
+
+COPYRIGHTED BY GEORGE WILLIG, NO. 171 CHESNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA.
+
+
+[Illustration:]
+
+_Not too slow_.
+
+PIANO.
+
+
+Wann wer-de oh wan wer-de ich, Die fer-nen blau-en Hoeh'n, Von
+
+When shall I see, when shall I see, The ob-ject that I love? The
+
+mei-nem Vat-er-land wenn dich, Hel-ve-lien wie-der seh'n? Denk'
+
+friends, the home of in-fan-cy, The mai-den and the grove. The
+
+
+
+[Illustration:]
+
+ich da-ran, Schlaegt, selbst als Mann, Mir meine Brust mil Schmerz und lust', Denn
+
+Val-leys fair, The wa-ter clear, The low-ing herds, The sing-ing birds, When
+
+al-len Freu-den noch be-wust Moecht ich's noch ein-mal seh'n.
+
+shall I see, when shall I see, The things I love so dear?
+
+2.
+
+    When shall I see, when shall I see,
+      As I have seen before,
+    The gathering crowd beneath the tree,
+      With her that I adore?
+        And happy hear
+        Her voice so clear,
+        Blend with my own,
+        In liquid tone.
+    When shall I see, when shall I see,
+      The things I hold so dear?
+
+2.
+
+
+    Zwar glaenzt die Sonne ueberall
+      Dem Menschen in der Welt;
+    Doch we zuerst ihr goldner Strahl
+      Ihm in das Auge faellt?
+        Wo er als Kind,
+        Sanft und gelind,
+        An mütter Hand,
+        Sprach und empfand,
+    Da ist allein sein Vaterland
+  Koennt' ich's noch einmal seh'n?
+
+
+
+
+REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.
+
+     _Edith Kinnaird, By the Author of "The Maiden Aunt."
+     Boston: E. Littell & Co._
+
+Fiction has exercised an important influence over the public from the
+earliest ages of the world. Nor is the reason difficult to determine.
+Where one man takes delight in the subtleties of logic, ten derive
+pleasure from the indulgence of the fancy. The love of fiction is
+common to the unlettered savage as well as to the civilized European,
+and has marked alike the ancient and the modern world. The oldest
+surviving book, if we except the narrative of Moses, is, perhaps, a
+fiction--we mean the book of Job. To reach its date we must go back
+beyond the twilight of authentic history, far into the gloom of the
+antique past, to the very earliest periods of the earth's existence.
+We must ascend to the time when the Assyrian empire was yet in its
+youth, when the patriarchs still fed their flocks on the hills of
+Palestine, when the memory of the visible presence of the Almighty
+among men remained fresh in the traditions of the East. The beautiful
+story of Ruth comes next, but ages later than its predecessor. Then
+follows the sonorous tale of Homer, clanging with a martial spirit
+that will echo to all time. Descending to more modern eras, we reach
+the legends of Haroun El Reschid; the tales of the Provençal
+troubadours; the romances of chivalry; and finally the novels of this
+and the past century. For nearly four thousand years fiction has
+delighted and moulded mankind. It has survived, too, when all else has
+died. The Chaldean books of astrology are lost to the moderns; but the
+story of the Idumean has reached us unimpaired. The lawgivers of Judah
+are no more, and the race of Abraham wanders over the earth; but the
+simple tale of Ruth preserves the memory of their customs, and keeps
+alive the glory of the past.
+
+It will not do to despise that which is so indestructible, and which
+everywhere exercises such powerful influence. Pedants may scorn
+fiction as beneath them, and waste their lives in composing dry
+treatises that will never be read; but the wise man, instead of
+deriding this tremendous engine, will endeavor to bend it to his
+purposes; and whether he seeks to shape the tale that is to be
+rehearsed on the dreamy banks of the Orontes, or to write the novel
+that will be read by thousands in England and America, will labor so
+to mix instruction with amusement, that his audience shall insensibly
+become moulded to his views. The moral teachers of both ancient and
+modern times have chosen the vehicle of fiction to inculcate truth;
+and even inspiration has not scorned to employ it in the service of
+religion. The most beautiful fictions ever written were the parables
+of the Savior. But it is also true that some of the most deleterious
+books we have are romances. This, however, is no reason why fiction
+should be abandoned to bad men, or proscribed as it is by many
+well-meaning moralists. Wesley said, with his strong Saxon sense, that
+he did not see why the devil should have all the good tunes.
+
+Hence, in criticising a novel, it becomes important to examine the
+tendency of the work. We utterly repudiate the idea that a reviewer
+has nothing to do with the morality of a book. We reject the specious
+jargon to the contrary urged by the George Sand school. A novel
+should be something more than a mere piece of intellectual mechanism,
+because if not, it is injurious. There can be no medium. A fiction
+which does not do good does harm. There never was a romance written
+which had not its purpose, either open or concealed, from that of
+Waverley, which inculcated loyalty, to that of Oliver Twist, which
+teaches the brotherhood of man. Some novels are avowedly and
+insolently vicious; such are the Adventures of Faublas and the Memoirs
+of a Woman of Quality. Others, under the guise of philanthropy, sap
+every notion of right and duty: such are Martin the Foundling,
+Consuelo, _et id omne genus_. It is the novels of this last class
+which are the most deleterious; for, with much truth, they contain
+just enough poison to vitiate the whole mass. Chemists tell us that
+the smallest atom of putrid matter, if applied to the most gigantic
+body, will, in time, infect the whole: just so the grain of sophistry
+in Consuelo, admitting there is no more, in the end destroys all that
+the book contains of the beautiful and true. Said a lady in conversing
+on this subject: "I always find that people who read such books
+remember only what is bad in them." Her plain common sense hit the
+nail on the head, while transcendental folly hammered all around it in
+vain. We have spoken of Consuelo thus particularly because it is the
+best of its class: and of that enervating fiction we here record our
+deliberate opinion, that it will turn more than one foolish Miss into
+a strolling actress, under the insane and preposterous notion that it
+is her mission.
+
+We do not say that art should be despised by the novelist; we only
+contend that it should not be polluted. We would have every novel a
+work of art, but the art should be employed on noble subjects, not on
+indifferent or disgraceful ones. If authors plead a mission to write,
+it must be to write that which will do good. A Raphael may boast of
+inspiration when he paints a Madonna, but not when his brush stoops to
+a Cyprian or a Satyr. The Pharisees of old prayed unctuously in the
+market-places: so the George Sands of our day boast of their superior
+insight into the beautiful and true. We doubt whether both are not
+impudent hypocrites.
+
+The novel, which has proved the text to these remarks, belongs to a
+different, and, we hold, a better school. It originally appeared in
+Sharpe's London Magazine, and has just been republished by E. Littell
+& Co. Edith Kinnaird is a fiction which the most artistic mind will
+feel delight in perusing, yet one which the humblest will understand,
+and from which both may derive improvement. The heroine is neither a
+saint nor a fool, but a living woman; her sufferings spring from her
+errors, and are redeemed by her repentance: all is natural, beautiful,
+refreshing and noble. We rise from the perusal of such a fiction
+chastened and improved.
+
+Instead of rendering its readers dissatisfied with themselves, with
+their lot in life, with society, with every thing, this novel makes
+them feel that life is a battle, yet that victory is sure to reward
+all who combat aright--that after the dust and heat of the struggle
+comes the repose of satisfied duty. Yet there is nothing didactic in
+the volume. Its influence upon the heart is like that of the dew of
+heaven, silent, gradual, imperceptible. Is not this a proof of its
+intrinsic merit?
+
+Consuelo herself, as an ideal, is not more lovely than Edith Kinnaird,
+while the latter, in the eyes of truth, is infinitely the nobler
+woman. We hope to hear from the author again. Let us have more of such
+novels: there cannot be too many of them. How can noble and talented
+souls do more good than by furnishing the right kind of novels. Just
+as the old religious painters used to limn saints and Madonnas, let us
+now write works of artistic and moral fiction.
+
+     _Jane Eyre. An Autobiography. Boston: William D.
+     Ticknor & Co._ 1 _vol._ 12_mo._
+
+Few novels published within the last ten years have made so great a
+stir among readers of all classes as this. The Harpers have sold a
+vast number of their cheap reprint, and we have here to notice its
+appearance in the old duodecimo shape, with large type and white
+paper. That the work bears unmistakable marks of power and originality
+cannot be questioned, and in a limited range of characterization and
+description evinces sagacity and skill. The early portions of the
+novel are especially truthful and vivid. The description of the
+heroine's youthful life--the exact impression which is conveyed of the
+child's mind--the influences which went to modify her character--the
+scenes at the boarding-school--all have a distinctness of delineation
+which approaches reality itself. But when the authoress comes to deal
+with great passions, and represent morbid characters, we find that she
+is out of her element. The character of Rochester is the character of
+a mechanical monster. The authoress has no living idea of the kind of
+person she attempts to describe. She desires to represent a reckless
+man, made bad by circumstances, but retaining many marks of a noble
+character, and she fills his conversation with slang, makes him
+impudent and lustful, a rascal in every sense of the word, without the
+remotest idea of what true chivalric love for a woman means; and this
+mechanical automaton, whose every motion reveals that he moves not by
+vital powers but by springs and machinery, she makes her pure-minded
+heroine love and marry.
+
+There has been a great deal of discussion about the morality of this
+part of the novel. The question resolves itself into a question of
+art, for we hold that truth of representation and morality of effect
+are identical. Immoral characters may be introduced into a book, and
+the effect be moral on the reader's mind, but a character which is
+both immoral and unnatural ever produces a pernicious effect. Now the
+authoress of Jane Eyre has drawn in Rochester an unnatural character,
+and she has done it from an ignorance of the inward condition of mind
+which immorality such as his either springs from or produces. The
+ruffian, with his fierce appetites and Satanic pride, his mistresses
+and his perjuries, his hard impudence and insulting sarcasms, she
+knows only verbally, so to speak. The words which describe such a
+character she interprets with her fancy, enlightened by a reminiscence
+of Childe Harold and the Corsair. The result is a compound of vulgar
+rascalities and impotent Byronics. Every person who interprets her
+description by a knowledge of what profligacy is, cannot fail to see
+that she is absurdly connecting certain virtues, of which she knows a
+good deal, with certain vices, of which she knows nothing. The
+coarseness of portions of the novel, consisting not so much in the
+vulgarity of Rochester's conversation as the _naive_ description of
+some of his acts--his conduct for three weeks before his intended
+marriage, for instance, is also to be laid partly to the ignorance of
+the authoress of what ruffianism is, and partly to her ignorance of
+what love is. No woman who had ever truly loved could have mistaken so
+completely the Rochester type, or could have made her heroine love a
+man of proud, selfish, ungovernable appetites, which no sophistry can
+lift out of lust.
+
+We accordingly think that if the innocent young ladies of our land lay
+a premium on profligacy, by marrying dissolute rakes for the honor of
+reforming them, _à la_ Jane Eyre, their benevolence will be of
+questionable utility to the world. There is something romantic to
+every inexperienced female mind in the idea of pirates and debauchees,
+who have sentiment as well as slang, miseries as well as vices. Such
+gentlemen their imaginations are apt to survey under the light of the
+picturesque instead of under the light of conscience. Every poet and
+novelist who addresses them on this weak side is sure of getting a
+favorable hearing. Byron's popularity, as distinguished from his fame,
+was mainly owing to the felicity with which he supplied the current
+demand for romantic wickedness. The authoress of Jane Eyre is not a
+Byron, but a talented woman, who, in her own sphere of thought and
+observation, is eminently trustworthy and true, but out of it hardly
+rises above the conceptions of a boarding-school Miss in her teens.
+She appears to us a kind of strong-minded old maid, but with her
+strong-mindedness greatly modified by the presumption as well as the
+sentimentality of romantic humbug.
+
+     _Novum Testamentum Domini Nostri Jesu Christi.
+     Interpetre Theodora Beza. Philadelphia: Geo. S.
+     Appleton._
+
+In relation to the character of this version it is scarcely necessary
+for us to speak. It has for centuries received the approbation of the
+wisest and the best; and the copy before us seems to us, upon a brief
+examination, to be accurate. The work is admirably printed, and does
+credit to the publishers. We confess that we believe that the use of
+this sacred work, in our seminaries and colleges, in the Latin, is
+desirable in reference to every interest of religion and morality.
+While we hesitate to affirm that Theodore de Beza's version of the New
+Testament Scriptures is a study of the classic Latin, we still believe
+that, stamped as it has been with the approbation of centuries, it is,
+in relation to all the moral considerations which should control our
+direction of the study of youth, worthy of all acceptance. The preface
+informs us that several editions were published during the lifetime of
+Beza, to which he made such improvements as his attention was directed
+to, or as were prompted by his familiarity, as Greek Professor, with
+the original. Since 1556, when it first appeared at Geneva, this work
+has kept its place in the general esteem.
+
+The propriety of the use of this sacred volume in schools has been
+regarded as a question by some persons; but we cannot consider it a
+subject of doubt. After a careful consideration of every objection, we
+cannot see a reason why its gentle and holy truths should not be given
+to the mind and heart at the earliest period. There is nothing so
+likely to mark out the destiny of man and woman for goodness and
+honor, and prosperity, as the early and earnest study of the New
+Testament. Its Divine Inspirer said, "Suffer little children to come
+unto me;" and one of the great evidences of its heavenly origin, is
+the fact, that while its sublimity bows the haughtiest intellect to
+humility and devotion, its simplicity renders its most important
+teachings as intelligible to the child as the man, to the unlettered
+as to the philosopher. The work is worthy the attention of all who
+desire to unite education with religion.
+
+     _The Princess. A Medley. By Alfred Tennyson. Boston:
+     Wm. D. Ticknor & Co._ 1 _vol._ 12_mo_.
+
+The success of this poem is indicated not only by the discussion it
+has provoked, but its swift passage through three editions. Taken
+altogether we deem it the most promising of Tennyson's productions,
+evincing a growth in his fine powers, and a growth in the right
+direction. It has his customary intellectual intensity, and more than
+his usual heartiness and sweetness. As a poem it is properly called by
+its author a medley, the plan being to bring the manners and ideas of
+the chivalric period into connection with those of the present day;
+the hero being a knight who adores his mistress, his mistress being a
+lady who spurns his suit, and carries to its loftiest absurdities the
+chimera of woman's rights. There is no less fascination in the general
+conduct of the story, than truth in the result. The whole poem is
+bathed in beauty, and invites perusal after perusal. In Tennyson's
+other poems the general idea is lost sight of in the grandeur or
+beauty of particular passages. In the present we read the poem through
+as a whole, eager to follow out the development of the characters and
+plot, and afterward return to admire the excellence of single images
+and descriptions. In characterization the Princess evinces an
+improvement on Tennyson's manner, but still we observe the manner. He
+does not so much paint as engrave; the lines are so fine that they
+seem to melt into each other, but the result is still not a portrait
+on canvas, but an engraving on steel. His poetic power is not
+sufficiently great to fuse the elements of a character indissolubly
+together.
+
+     _The Origin, Progress and Conclusion of the Florida
+     War. By John T. Sprague, Brevet Captain Eighth Regiment
+     U. S. Infantry. New York: D. Appleton & Co._ 1 _vol._
+     8_vo._
+
+This large volume seems to have been a labor of love with its author.
+It is full of interesting and valuable matter regarding a very
+peculiar contest in which our government was engaged; and to the
+future historian Captain Sprague has spared a great deal of trouble
+and research. The work is well got up, is illustrated with numerous
+engravings, and contains full accounts of the origin and progress of
+the war, the Indian chiefs engaged in it, and a record of all the
+officers and privates of the army, navy, and marine corps, who were
+killed in battle or died of disease. Captain Sprague says, "the causes
+of the difficulties in Florida must be apparent to the minds of
+careful and intelligent readers; causes not springing up in a day, but
+nourished for years, aggravated as opportunities offered to enrich
+adventurers, who had the temerity to hazard the scalping-knife and
+rifle, and were regardless of individual rights or of law. It must be
+remembered that Florida, at the period referred to, was an Indian
+border, the resort of a large number of persons, more properly
+_temporary inhabitants_ of the territory than citizens, who sought the
+outskirts of civilization to perpetrate deeds which would have been
+promptly and severely punished if committed within the limits of a
+well regulated community. . . . They provoked the Indians to
+aggressions; and upon the breaking out of the war, ignominiously fled,
+or sought employment in the service of the general government, and
+clandestinely contributed to its continuance." In these few sentences
+we have the philosophy of almost all our Indian border wars. The
+criminals of a community are ever its most expensive curses.
+
+     _The Poetical Works of John Milton. A New Edition. With
+     Notes, and a Life of the Author. By John Mitford.
+     Lowell: D. Bixby & Co._ 2 _vols_. _8vo._
+
+Lowell is a manufacturing city of Massachusetts, the Manchester of
+America, and a place where we might expect every thing in the shape of
+manufactures except classical books. Yet it rejoices in a publisher
+who has really done much for good literature. If our readers will look
+at their American editions of Faust, of Goethe's Correspondence with a
+Child, of Southey's Chronicle of the Cid, they will find Mr. Bixby on
+the title page, and Lowell as the city whence their treasures came. We
+have now to chronicle another feat of the same enterprising
+publisher--an edition of Milton, in two splendid octavos, printed in
+large type on the finest paper, after the best and most complete
+London edition, illustrated with foot notes of parallel passages from
+other poets, and constituting altogether the best American edition
+extant of the sublimest of poets, and having few rivals even among the
+finest English editions. The life of the poet by Mitford, extending to
+about a hundred pages, embodies in a clear style all the facts which
+have been gathered by previous biographers, without reproducing any of
+their bigotries. All the lies regarding Milton's character are
+disposed of with summary justice; and the man stands out in all the
+grandeur of his genius and his purity. We hope that Mr. Bixby will be
+adequately remunerated for his enterprise in getting out this splendid
+edition. It is an honor to the American press.
+
+     _Eleventh Annual Report of the Secretary of the Board
+     of Education of Massachusetts. Boston: Dutton &
+     Wentworth._ 1 _vol._
+
+We strongly advise our readers to procure this document, and not be
+frightened from its perusal by the idea of its being a legislative
+paper. It is written by Horace Mann, one of the ablest champions of
+the cause of education now living, a man as distinguished for
+industry, energy, and practical skill, as for eloquence and loftiness
+of purpose. His report, considered simply as a composition, is written
+with such splendid ability, glows throughout with so much genuine
+philanthropy, and evinces so wide a command of the resources of
+expression and argument, that, apart from its importance as a
+contribution to the cause of education, it has general merits of mind
+and style which will recommend it to every reader of taste and
+feeling. The leading characteristic of Mr. Mann's writings on
+education, which lifts them altogether out of the sphere of pedants
+and pedagogues, is soul--a true, earnest, aspiring spirit, on fire
+with a love of rectitude and truth. This gives inspiration even to his
+narrative of details, and hurries the reader's mind on with his own,
+through all necessary facts and figures, directly to the object. The
+present report cannot but shame a mean spirit out of any person with a
+spark of manliness in him. We wish its accomplished author all success
+in his great and noble work.
+
+     _Aurelian, or Rome in the Third Century. By Wm. Ware,
+     Author of Zenobia and Julian. New York: C. S. Francis &
+     Co._
+
+This work has been known to the public for ten years as "_Probus_,"
+and has now a reputation that promises to be as enduring as it is
+brilliant. It manifests an intimate knowledge of the manners, customs
+and character of the Romans; and conveys the most sacred truths
+through the medium of the most elevated fiction. It is for sale at the
+store of the Appletons, in Philadelphia.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII.  No. 5. 
+May 1848, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 1848 ***
+
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+
+
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+
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII.  No. 5.  May
+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. 5.  May 1848
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: George R. Graham
+        Robert T. Conrad
+
+Release Date: June 28, 2009 [EBook #29262]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 1848 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
+http://www.pgdpcanada.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<a name="ENGRAVING" id="ENGRAVING"></a>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;">
+<img src="images/illus240.png" width="387" height="600"
+alt="Clara Harland" title="" /></div>
+<h5>J. Addison</h5>
+<h3>CLARA HARLAND</h3>
+
+<h4>Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine</h4>
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+
+<h1>GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.</h1>
+<br />
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h4><span class="smcap">Vol.</span> XXXII.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; PHILADELPHIA,&nbsp;&nbsp;MAY,&nbsp;&nbsp;1848.&nbsp;
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;No. 5.</h4>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
+<br />
+<br />
+
+<h3>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3><br />
+<table summary="TOC" width="80%">
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#CLARA_HARLAND"><b>CLARA HARLAND</b>.</a></td>
+<td class="tdr">241</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#THE_ANCIENT_AND_THE_MODERN_MUSE"><b>THE ANCIENT AND THE MODERN MUSE.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">246</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#THERESA_OR_GENIUS_AND_WOMANHOOD"><b>THERESA, OR GENIUS AND WOMANHOOD.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">247</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#SONNETS"><b>SONNETS.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">259</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#PHANTASMAGORIA"><b>PHANTASMAGORIA.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">260</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#THE_OAK-TREE"><b>THE OAK-TREE.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">264</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#PAULINE_GREY"><b>PAULINE GREY.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">265</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#SONNET_TO_A_MINIATURE"><b>SONNET.&mdash;TO A MINIATURE.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">269</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#WHORTLEBERRYING"><b>WHORTLEBERRYING.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">270</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#STANZAS"><b>STANZAS.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">273</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#EURYDICE"><b>EURYDICE.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">274</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#THE_VOICE_OF_THE_NIGHT_WIND"><b>THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT WIND.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">274</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#MAJOR-GENERAL_WORTH"><b>MAJOR-GENERAL WORTH.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">275</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#ENCOURAGEMENT"><b>ENCOURAGEMENT.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">276</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#THE_CHANGED_AND_THE_UNCHANGED"><b>THE CHANGED AND THE UNCHANGED.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">277</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#THE_DAYSPRING"><b>THE DAYSPRING.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">281</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#SONNET_CULTIVATION"><b>SONNET.&mdash;CULTIVATION.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">281</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#FIRST_LOVE"><b>FIRST LOVE.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">282</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#MIDNIGHT"><b>MIDNIGHT.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">286</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#A_VISION"><b>A VISION.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">286</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#THE_NEW_ENGLAND_FACTORY_GIRL"><b>THE NEW ENGLAND FACTORY GIRL.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">287</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#REVOLUTION"><b>REVOLUTION.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">292</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#FAIR_MARGARET"><b>FAIR MARGARET.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">293</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#STANZAS2"><b>STANZAS.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">293</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#THE_LONE_BUFFALO"><b>THE LONE BUFFALO.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">294</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#THE_ADOPTED_CHILD"><b>THE ADOPTED CHILD.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">295</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#WHEN_SHALL_I_SEE_THE_OBJECT_THAT_I_LOVE">
+<b>WHEN SHALL I SEE THE OBJECT THAT I LOVE.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">296</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><a href="#REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS"><b>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</b></a></td>
+<td class="tdr">298</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+
+
+<h3><a name="CLARA_HARLAND" id="CLARA_HARLAND"></a>CLARA HARLAND.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY G. G. FOSTER.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h5>[SEE <a href="#ENGRAVING">ENGRAVING.</a>]</h5>
+
+
+<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4>
+
+<p>I am no visionary&mdash;no dreamer; and yet my life has been a ceaseless
+struggle between the realities of everyday care, and a myriad of
+shadowy phantoms which ever haunt me. In the crowded and thronged
+city; in the green walks and sunny forests of my native hills; on the
+broad and boundless prairie, carpeted with velvet flowers; on the blue
+and dreamy sea&mdash;it is the same. I look around, and perceive men and
+women moving mechanically about me; I even take part in their
+proceedings, and seem to float along the tardy current upon which they
+swim, and become a part&mdash;an insignificant portion&mdash;of the dull and
+stagnant scene; and yet, often and often, in the busiest moment, when
+commonplace has its strongest hold upon me, and I feel actually
+interested in the ordinary pursuits of my fellow-beings, of a sudden,
+a great curtain seems to fall around, and enclose me on every side;
+and, instead of the staid and sober visages of the throng, vague and
+shadowy faces gleam around me, and magnificent eyes, bright and
+dreamy, glance and flash before me like the figures on a
+phantasmagoria. In such moments, there comes over me a happy
+consciousness that <i>this</i> is the reality and all else a dull and
+painful dream, from which I have escaped as by a great effort. The
+dreamy faces are familiar to me, and their large, spiritual eyes
+encounter mine with glances of pleasant recognition. My heart is glad
+within me that it has found again its friends and old companions, and
+the mental outline of the common world, faintly drawn by memory,
+becomes more and more dim and indistinct, like the surface of the
+earth to one who soars upward in a balloon, and is at length blended
+with the gray shadows of forgotten thought, which disturb me no more.
+But anon some rude and jarring discord, from the world below, pierces
+upward to my ear, and the air becomes suddenly dark and dreary, and
+dusty, and I fall heavily to earth again.</p>
+
+<p>As years steal by, these fits of delightful abstraction become rarer
+and rarer. My visions seem to have lost their substantiality; and even
+when they do revisit me, they are thin and transparent, and no longer
+hide the real world from my sight&mdash;yet they hold strange power over
+me; and when they come upon my soul, although they do not all conceal
+the real, yet they concentrate upon some casual object there, and
+impart to it a spirituality of aspect and quality which straightway
+embalms it in my heart. Thus do I invest the faces of friends with a
+holiness and fervor of devotion which belongs not to them; and when I
+have wreaked the treasures of my soul upon objects thus elevated above
+their real quality, I find what a false vision I have been
+worshiping&mdash;its higher qualities mingle again with my own thoughts,
+whence they emanated, and the real object stands before me, low, dull,
+and insipid as the thousands of similar ones by which it is
+surrounded. Thus do I, enamored of qualities and perfections which
+exist only in my own thought, continually cheat and delude myself into
+the belief that a congenial spirit has been found, when some trivial
+incident breaks the spell&mdash;the charms I loved glide back to my own
+soul, and the charmer, unconscious of change in himself, wonders what
+has wrought so sudden an alteration in me. Then come heart-burnings
+and self-reproaches against those I have foolishly loved, of
+treachery, hypocrisy, and ingratitude, which they cannot understand,
+and over which I mourn and weep.</p>
+
+<p>I had a friend once&mdash;not long ago, for the turf is still fresh over
+his gentle breast&mdash;whose soul was fashioned like my own, save that he
+was all softness, and wanted the hardness and commonplace which events
+and years have given to me. For a long and delightful season we held
+sweet converse together; and, although he was much younger than I, yet
+was there no restraint or concealment between us. Every throb of his
+heart, almost every evolution of his brain, found an echo in me. I was
+his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> mirror&mdash;a fountain in which he contemplated himself. From <i>him</i> I
+never dreamed of treachery, or selfishness, or ingratitude&mdash;and he
+alone did not deceive me. He never gave me pain but once&mdash;and who
+shall tell the agony of that hour, when his hand ceased to return the
+pressure of my eager fingers, and the dark curtain of death shut out
+the light of his dear eyes from my soul! Yet, after the anguish was
+over, and I had laid him in the fragrant earth, amongst the roots of
+happy flowers, where the limpid brook murmurs its soft and
+never-ending requiem, and the birds come every night to dream and
+sleep amid the overhanging branches, although my mortal sense was all
+too dull to realize his presence, yet in my <i>soul</i> I felt that he was
+still with me. No midnight breeze came sighing through the dewy
+moonlight, or brought the exhalations of the stars upon its wings,
+that did not speak to me of him; and ever when I prayed, I knew that
+he was near me, mingling, as of old, his soul with mine.</p>
+
+<p>Poets may sing of love, and romantic youths may dream they realize the
+soft delusion; strong hearts may swear they break and wither away with
+unrequited passion, and keen brains may be turned by the maddening
+glances of woman's eyes; but all these to me seem weak and common
+emotions when compared with the intenseness of man's friendship&mdash;that
+pure, devoted identification with each other which two congenial souls
+experience when the alloy of no sexual or animal passion mingles with
+the devotion of the spirit. I could go through fiery ordeals, or
+submit with patience to the keenest tortures, both of mind or body, so
+that I felt the sustaining presence of one real friend; while, if
+alone, my heart shrinks from the contest, and retires dismayed upon
+itself.</p>
+
+<p>But my poor friend was in love, and <i>his</i> love was as pervading and
+absorbing as the fragrance of a flower, or the light of a star. The
+woman he had chosen for his idol&mdash;the shrine at which his pure
+devotions of heart and soul were offered&mdash;was a gay and beautiful
+Creole from New Orleans, who, with her mother, and a young gentleman
+who appeared in the capacity of friend, spent the summer months in the
+North. They stopped at the Carlton, where my friend was boarding, and
+the acquaintance had been formed quite accidentally. The lady was
+beautiful, bewitching, and very tender; and, without stopping to
+inquire as to the consequences, or to assure himself that he had the
+least chance of success, Medwin fell desperately and hopelessly in
+love in a few days. I was soon made aware of the state of the case,
+for he had no secrets from me; and, foreseeing that he might very
+easily have deceived himself entirely in taking for granted that the
+young lady's affections were not pre-engaged, I begged him to be
+cautious, and not throw away his regards upon an object, perhaps,
+unattainable&mdash;perhaps even unworthy of them. I represented to him that
+ladies in the South were usually not very long in falling in love; and
+it was altogether probable that Clara Harland was already engaged to
+the gentleman who had accompanied her and her mother, and who was
+evidently a favored acquaintance. Charles, however, infatuated with
+his passion, was deaf to my remonstrances, and the very next day
+sought and obtained an interview, in which he declared his passion,
+and was made happy by the beautiful Creole. She, however, cautioned
+him to be on his guard, as her companion had for some time been a
+suitor for her hand, and was a great favorite with her mother, who had
+frequently and earnestly urged her to accept his attentions. The fair
+girl avowed, with flashing eyes, that she loved him not, and had never
+loved before she met with Medwin. "How," she exclaimed with unwonted
+energy, "can dear mamma suppose that I shall ever become enamored of
+that coarse, ferocious, unintellectual man? He has not a generous or
+delicate sympathy in his nature, and is as rude in heart and feeling
+as in manner. Beware, however, my dear Charles," continued she, with
+earnestness, "of Mr. Allington. He is a bold, bad man, whom habits and
+associations have made haughty, imperious, cold-blooded, and cruel;
+and I tremble for you when he shall learn what has this day passed
+between us. Beware of him, for <i>my</i> sake; and, oh! promise me, dearest
+Charles, that, whatever may be the consequence of what we now have
+done, you will never fight with him."</p>
+
+<p>Charles smiled, and pressed her hand. "Do not alarm yourself,
+dearest," said he, "I love you too well to rashly expose myself to
+danger. I have ever entertained a just horror of the inhuman and
+barbarous practice at which you hint; and beside," continued he,
+earnestly, fixing his eyes upon her face with such tenderness that the
+blood rushed unconsciously to her temples beneath that dear gaze,
+"since your words of hope and love to me to-day, existence possesses
+new value in my eyes. Be assured I shall not rashly peril it."</p>
+
+<p>They parted with kind looks and a timid pressure of the hands. Medwin
+firmly resolved, let what would happen, to keep his promise to his
+beautiful Creole; and Clara, convinced that, although she had been
+bred and educated in the midst of a community where not to fight was
+of itself dishonorable, she should be <i>entirely</i> satisfied with what
+the world, or even her own mother should say, about his cowardice and
+want of honor. Poor girl! she had sadly miscalculated both the effects
+of the act she had advised, and the strength of her own resolution.</p>
+
+<p>In a few days Mrs. Harland suddenly announced her determination of
+returning to New Orleans, and Clara sadly and tremblingly prepared
+herself to take leave of her lover. He came&mdash;was told by her of her
+mother's resolution to depart, which she was at no loss in tracing to
+the advice of Allington&mdash;and was made alive and happy again by Charles
+assuring her that he himself should start for New Orleans, although by
+another route, on the very day she departed.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, now I know that you do love me, indeed!" said the beautiful girl,
+while she pressed her lover's head to her dainty bosom, and, kissing
+his forehead, ran out of the room.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
+
+<p>"Well, these d&mdash;&mdash;d Yankees <i>are</i> all a pack of cowards, after all,
+and I will never defend them again," said a young Creole, as he met
+Mr. Allington one morning, at the Merchants' Exchange in New Orleans.
+"Not fight, and after being challenged on account of as lovely a woman
+as Clara Harland! Why, what the devil did he take the trouble of
+following you all the way from New York for, if he didn't mean to
+<i>fight</i> you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, nonsense! my dear St. Maur," replied Allington, "you don't
+understand the laws of honor, as they are construed at the North.
+There, my dear fellow, every thing is regulated by law; and if a
+fellow treads on your corns, slanders you behind your back, or steals
+your mistress, the only remedy is 'an action for damages,' and,
+perhaps, a paragraph in a newspaper."</p>
+
+<p>"But what says she herself to the cowardly fellow's refusal to fight
+you? I suppose that now, of course, she will think no more of the
+puppy, and return to Allington and first love."</p>
+
+<p>"I know not&mdash;for I have not seen her these four days. But if this
+beggarly attorney's clerk document is to be believed," continued
+Allington, pulling a letter from his pocket, "she herself expressly
+commanded him not to fight."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, do let us hear it!" cried St. Maur, and half a dozen young bloods
+without vests, and with shirt-bosoms falling over their waistbands
+nearly to the knee. "Do let us hear, by all means, what the
+white-livered fellow has to say for himself."</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied Allington, hesitatingly; "that I think would be
+dishonorable; although&mdash;I&mdash;don't know&mdash;the d&mdash;&mdash;d fellow wouldn't
+fight, and so I am not certain that I am not released&mdash;there, St.
+Maur, what the devil are you at?"</p>
+
+<p>But St. Maur had snatched the missile from Allington's half-extended
+hand, and mounting one of the little marble julep-tables, and
+supporting himself against a massive granite pillar that ran from the
+ground-floor to the base of the dome, he began reading, while the
+company, now increased to half a hundred morning loungers, pressed
+eagerly round to hear. As my poor friend is dead, and there are none
+whose feelings can now be wounded by its publication, here is the
+letter.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,&mdash;Hours of an agonized struggle, in comparison
+with which mere <i>death</i> would have been an
+infinite relief, have nerved me for the task of telling
+you, calmly and deliberately, that I take back my
+acceptance of your challenge. When I received it,
+I was forgetful of my sacred promise, and acted only
+from the impulse of the moment. Had your friend
+staid an instant, the matter should then have been explained.
+As it is, I am positively compelled, much as
+my heart revolts at it, to drag a lady into my explanation.
+<i>She</i>, (I need not write her name,) bound me by a
+solemn and most sacred promise&mdash;to violate which
+would be dishonor&mdash;that I <i>would not</i> fight you. I must
+and will keep my word, although I have seen enough
+of public opinion, during the few days of my sojourn
+here, to know that by doing so I am covering myself
+with a load of infamy which I may find it impossible
+to bear.</p>
+
+<p>"But enough; my course is taken, and I must
+abide the consequences, whatever they may be. I,
+therefore, sir, have to beg pardon, both of yourself
+and your friend, for the trouble this affair has already
+occasioned you.</p>
+
+<p>"This letter is directed to you without the knowledge
+or consent of the gentleman who was to have
+acted as my friend on the occasion; and he must,
+therefore, be held responsible for nothing.</p></div>
+
+<p>"Yours respectfully."</p>
+
+<p>"A very pretty piece of argument and logic, eloquently urged, withal!"
+said St. Maur, as he coolly folded the letter, and leaping upon the
+floor, restored it to its owner.</p>
+
+<p>"Hush!" said Allington, as he hastily deposited the letter in his
+pocket, "there he is. Can he have been a witness to St. Maur's folly,
+in reading the letter?"</p>
+
+<p>All eyes turned instinctively to the further pillar in the large room,
+against which was leaning my poor friend, his face perfectly livid,
+and in an attitude as if he had fallen against the granite column for
+support. Several of the young Creoles approached the place where he
+stood; but there was something terrible in his aspect which made them
+start back, and quietly turn into the great passage leading to the
+street.</p>
+
+<p>Medwin had recovered, if he had fainted, (which seemed probable,) and
+his eye now glared like fire.</p>
+
+<p>St. Maur, however, approached him.</p>
+
+<p>"So, my good Yankee friend," said he, bowing in affected politeness,
+"you did not like to risk Allington here with a pistol at twelve paces
+from your body, eh? You are very right, Mr. Wooden Nutmeg; it would
+not be safe!"</p>
+
+<p>"Beware!" uttered Medwin, in such a deep and thrilling voice, that the
+Creole nearly jumped off the floor; but, before he could make a step
+backward, Medwin's open hand struck him a smart blow on the cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"Ten thousand hell-fires," exclaimed the astonished Frenchman, leaping
+back and almost tumbling over Allington, in his amazement. "What does
+he mean? I will have your heart's blood, sir, for this."</p>
+
+<p>Medwin said nothing, but quietly handed the discomfited bully his
+card, which, however, Allington snatched away.</p>
+
+<p>"What, St. Maur," cried he, would you fight a coward&mdash;a published
+poltroon? You know you dare not do it."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me alone," cried the infuriated Frenchman. "He has struck me, and
+I will have his heart's blood. <i>Sacre nomme de Dieu!</i>" screamed he,
+forgetting his usual polished manner along with his English, and
+leaping about like a madman. "<i>Donnez moi son gage!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Not now, I tell you, not now. Come along and I will satisfy you in
+ten minutes that you cannot fight that <i>coward</i>," emphasizing the last
+word, so that Medwin could not fail to hear.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Allington," said Medwin, coming forward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> into the middle of the
+group, now reduced to some dozen persons&mdash;for an altercation is not of
+such rarity as to create any particular excitement there&mdash;"after the
+base and dishonorable use you have this day permitted to be made of a
+private letter, I am sincerely glad that circumstances rendered it
+impossible for me to treat you as a gentleman; but as to this person,
+(pointing to St. Maur,) I can easily satisfy him that he will run no
+risk of losing his reputation by honoring me with his notice. I have
+the honor to refer Monsieur St. Maur to Mr. &mdash;&mdash;, now at the St.
+Charles, whose character for honor is too well known throughout the
+country to be disputed." And, bowing low, Medwin left the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now this is a pretty scrape," said St. Maur, subsiding at once;
+"and I don't see how I can avoid fighting him. He is not such a
+cockroach!" and the Frenchman turned a little pale, despite his yellow
+skin.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," replied Allington, "you shall do no such thing. In the
+first place, I can't spare you; and in the next, if we can
+irretrievably disgrace Medwin, so that he may be shunned by everybody,
+I do not think the weak head of my Clara can withstand the storm; and
+she will gradually learn to despise him, too. So take no further
+notice of this matter; for a blow from a published coward carries no
+more disgrace with it than a bite from a dog, or a kick from an ass.
+You must help me out with my plans, too, in behalf of my charming
+heiress, and I'll be sure to remember you in my will. Let's take a
+julep."</p>
+
+<p>For three days Medwin waited in an agony of impatience to hear from
+St. Maur, but not a word came&mdash;and he began to despair. Everywhere he
+went he was regarded with significant glances, and pointed at, while a
+disdainful whisper ran round the room, in which he could always
+distinguish the words, "white-livered Yankee," "coward," or some
+equally obnoxious epithet. He saw the cruel game that was playing
+against him. He had forgotten that, in refusing to fight with
+Allington, he had rendered it perfectly safe for every whipster in the
+community to insult him; and he now became suddenly aware that he had
+involved himself in a dilemma from which it was impossible for him to
+escape.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of these reflections&mdash;while life had become intolerable,
+and infamy and disgrace dogged his steps like a shadow&mdash;he never
+entertained a doubt of Clara's love and constancy, and looked forward
+to the time when he might claim her as his bride, and, amid the milder
+and manlier associations of his youth, regain that calmness and
+self-respect which he had here so strangely lost. His position was, in
+truth, a most wretched one. Opposed to the barbarous practice of
+dueling, circumstances and his own loss of self-control had forced him
+to <i>accept</i> a challenge, and then recall that acceptance, and to offer
+an insult to a stranger, for the express purpose of drawing out
+another.</p>
+
+<p>Upon the day after his refusal to fight with Allington, he had called
+at Mr. Harland's, but was told that Clara had been taken suddenly
+ill, and could not be seen. This was a new and deeper anxiety, added
+to his already overburdened spirit; and he really had begun to be
+deserted of hope, and to contemplate a speedy relief from the pains of
+existence. Nothing but the confidence which he reposed upon Clara's
+love, rendered the bright sunshine an endurable blessing to the sadly
+distempered youth. But he could not see her. Day after day he called,
+and always the same cold, formal reply&mdash;"Miss Harland was yet very
+ill, but in no danger, and could not be spoken with." Could he but see
+her for an instant&mdash;could he touch her hand, or meet her smile, or
+drink in the sweet music of her voice, he would feel his heart nerved
+against every disaster, and would wait in patience; but all, all
+alone, amid lowering brows, or sneering faces, which ever glowered
+like phantoms about him&mdash;whether in reality, as he walked the streets,
+or in dreams, as he tossed upon his pillow&mdash;it was too much. His heart
+seemed to be on fire.</p>
+
+<p>It was in this frame of mind, with reason tortured to her utmost power
+of endurance, and insanity peeping into that soul which might so soon
+become her own, that Medwin, while walking up the Shell-Road, and
+looking wistfully at the muddy canal, which swam away sluggishly on
+one hand, while the green and stagnant swamp stretched interminably
+upon the other, that he was startled by the rapid approach of a
+carriage, and the sound of gay and noisy mirth. He looked up. The
+brilliant equipage of Mrs. Harland was hurrying by, and he had barely
+time to distinguish Clara, looking as fresh and blooming as a newly
+flowered rose, and laughing and chatting in a lively and even
+boisterous manner with&mdash;Mr. Allington!</p>
+
+<p>She leaned over the carriage-side as they whirled along, and, for an
+instant, her eyes met those of her bewildered lover.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4>
+
+<p>Alas! poor, silly Clara! How dared you thus rudely tamper with a soul
+of such exquisite and refined fire, that it constantly trembled and
+fluttered around its earthly shrine, like the flame of burning
+essence, as if doubtful whether to blaze or go out forever! Oh!
+shallow-hearted woman! what a wide and glorious world of bright hopes
+and angel aspirations&mdash;of beautiful thoughts and unutterable
+dreamings&mdash;in all of which thou wert a part&mdash;hast thou crushed even as
+the foolish child grinds the gay butterfly to powder between his
+fingers. And art thou, indeed, so heartless a <i>coward</i>, that, because
+men's tongues have dared to wag against the beloved of thy soul, thou
+durst not own him thenceforth, and hast cast him off forever! Murmur
+not, oh, woman! that thou art made the sport and plaything for rakes
+and libertines to beguile a weary hour withal. Search thine own heart;
+and, in that deep and dark recess, where lurk the demons of thy
+destiny&mdash;pride, vanity, frowardness&mdash;behold reflected the blackness
+and the <i>justice</i> of thy fate! Who setteth his whole soul upon a
+flower, and findeth its fragrance at last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> to be a deadly poison, if
+he escape from its contact, placeth no more flowers in his bosom. In
+vain they woo him with their beauteous eyes and breath of perfume. He
+heeds them not, or, at best, plucks them disdainfully, to gaze upon in
+listless indifference for a moment, and then cast them behind him, to
+be crushed beneath the stranger's heel.</p>
+
+<p>Clara's heart smote her to the quick as she caught that wild glance of
+her lover, and saw the haggard ghost that looked out from those hollow
+eyes. She screamed slightly, and sunk back in the carriage as pale as
+marble. Allington and her mother exchanged glances, and were silent,
+while the young man made a motion, as if he would support her in his
+arms, and the carriage was turned homeward, and the horses urged to
+their utmost speed. Clara made no resistance to the attentions of
+Allington, and it was doubtful whether she was conscious&mdash;so pale, and
+cold, and pulseless were her beautiful cheeks and temples; but a
+tremulous quivering of the upper lip told of a storm that raged
+within.</p>
+
+<p>By the time she arrived at home Clara had recovered herself
+completely, and, pushing aside the arm of Allington, almost rudely,
+she sprang upon the <i>banquette</i> and into the house; and, turning upon
+him a look of lively indignation, darted up stairs to her chamber.
+Here she was quickly rejoined by her mother, whose obtuse apprehension
+had at length discovered that something was wrong, and who now came to
+offer her maternal consolations.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother!" exclaimed Clara, the moment she entered the room, "I am a
+wretch. It was I who compelled Medwin to promise me, upon his honor as
+a man, that he would not fight Allington; and now that all the world
+has frowned upon him, <i>I</i>, too, have turned recreant, and cast him
+off. Mother, speak to me no word of command or remonstrance. I will
+never see Mr. Allington again; and I will this very hour go to Medwin,
+and throw myself on my knees before him. Yes, we shall be happy!"</p>
+
+<p>"My child, you are excited just now, and I beg you to wait until
+morning. We will then talk the matter over calmly; and if you cannot
+really be happy without Mr. Medwin, why, my child, I will not urge you
+further. Come, dear girl, go to bed now, and to-morrow you will be
+yourself again."</p>
+
+<p>With gentle and soothing care&mdash;for the <i>mother</i> was now all aroused in
+the callous heart of this worldly woman, and bent every accent and
+every motion into grace and kindness&mdash;Mrs. Harland at length succeeded
+in calming the excitement of her child, and inducing her to consent to
+wait until the next morning, when, if she wished, her mother said,
+Medwin should be sent for. "I am sure, my child," she said, as she
+kissed her and bid her good-night, "I have acted for the best, and
+have nothing but your happiness in view."</p>
+
+<p>And now she was alone; and leaving her bed, she leaned against the
+window, while the shadowy curtain of evening, which falls in that
+climate suddenly down from the sky, shut out the day, and seemed, at
+the same moment, to shut the light from her heart. Then, with rapid
+steps, her little feet paced the luxurious carpet of her apartment,
+while her heart beat loudly and still more rapidly in her bosom. Again
+she tried to rest, but the taper which she had lighted threw such
+ghastly shadows upon the walls, which seemed to wave and beckon her,
+that she leaped from the bed in agony, and almost screamed outright.
+Hours passed slowly and sadly, and the short, sharp ringing of the
+watchman's club upon the pavement beneath her window, mingled with the
+chimes of the old cathedral clock as it struck midnight&mdash;and still the
+poor frightened girl could neither sleep nor compose herself. Once,
+indeed, she had fallen into a kind of slumber, curtained with such
+horrid dreams as made it torture instead of rest. She saw her lover
+with his bright eye turned sweetly upon her, as of old, and his
+beautiful locks resting upon her shoulder, while she held his hand
+upon her throbbing heart, and he whispered dear words and precious
+sighs into her willing ear. But anon the paleness of death stole over
+that manly brow&mdash;the lips fell apart, white and ghastly, and the noble
+form fell down at her feet, a stiffened corse. She shrieked aloud in
+her agony, and awoke. The moon had risen, and was throwing a broad and
+brilliant stream of light into the apartment, and the busy breeze,
+fresh from the fragrant sea, whispered its musical noises through the
+waving curtains of her couch.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>At length the white blaze of the moon went out, and the misty morn
+looked dim and sad over the sleeping city. Throwing a cloak about her,
+Clara hurried down the stairs, and, opening the door softly, found
+herself in the street, at an hour she had never before been there.
+What a strange and dreary aspect every thing seemed to wear! The
+windows of the houses, as she passed, were all closed, and no one
+could be seen but dozens of loitering negroes returning from market,
+or here and there some industrious landlady with a small basket of
+vegetables on her arm, and closely veiled, hurrying along as if to
+escape observation, followed by a servant with the day's provisions in
+a large basket, which she carried steadily upon her head. Every one
+who met her turned and stared curiously; and as she hurried over the
+long crossing of Canal street, and threaded her way between the hacks
+that had already taken their station, she felt that rude eyes, and
+ruder sneers were upon her. She paused not for an instant, however,
+but redoubled her speed until she reached the private entrance to the
+St. Charles, where, leaning for a moment against a column, she
+beckoned a woman from the saloon of the baths into the vestibule, and,
+putting a piece of money into her hand, whispered, "Find out the
+chamber of Mr. Medwin. He is very sick, and a dear friend of mine&mdash;I
+must see him immediately."</p>
+
+<p>The woman disappeared up the stairs leading to the "office" of the
+hotel, and, returning in a moment, made a sign for Clara to follow.</p>
+
+<p>As they approached, a noise and bustle were apparent at the further
+end of the corridor, and several servants were hurrying in and out, as
+if some sudden accident had occurred. Clara's guide pointed out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
+Medwin's room, and she rushed in&mdash;feeling certain in her heart that
+her lover was dying.</p>
+
+<p>He lay stiff and stark upon the sofa, with a few white froth bubbles
+gathered upon his lips, and a letter clasped tightly in his hand. It
+seemed that he was not yet dead, for a physician, who had been hastily
+summoned, was attempting to force open his mouth, as if to administer
+a restorative to the dying man. As Clara approached, he stared in
+astonishment, but she heeded him not, and exclaiming, "Oh, Charles,
+what frightful dream is this!" threw herself on her knees before him.</p>
+
+<p>Life rallied for an instant, and he opened those wild, fearful eyes.
+Oh! what a world of wretchedness and despair was in that glance! He
+knew her; and conquering, with a convulsive effort, the agony which
+was withering up the last drops of life, caught her to his heart,
+exclaiming,</p>
+
+<p>"Clara, thou art forgiven! I am <i>not</i> a coward; for I can even die and
+leave thee thus. Farewell! be happy!"</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>All was over. My poor friend had fought his last battle, and his
+antagonist and conqueror was Death. That pure and noble spirit, with
+all its wild and restless fever-dreams, "sleeps well" amid the
+beautiful solitudes of Cypress Grove Cemetery&mdash;the <i>home of the
+stranger</i>&mdash;where so many proud and buoyant hearts crumble beneath the
+golden air, new filled with odorous dew. And I wait patiently, yet
+sadly, for the hour which is to restore me to the friend of my bosom.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="THE_ANCIENT_AND_THE_MODERN_MUSE" id="THE_ANCIENT_AND_THE_MODERN_MUSE"></a>THE ANCIENT AND THE MODERN MUSE.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY LYMAN LONG.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Muse, in times more ancient, made<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The grove's thick gloom her dwelling-place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, queen-like, her proud sceptre swayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O'er a submiss and trembling race.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When stirred her breath the sleeping trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Awe-struck, with fearful feet they trod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when her voice swelled on the breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Adoring bowed, as to a God!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her wildly murmured strains they caught,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As echoes from the spirit-world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till reeled the brain, to frenzy wrought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With mixt amaze and rapture whirled!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus stern, retired, she swayed the earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till, as new dawned an age of gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A happier era led her forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To dwell with men, like gods of old.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To dwell with us&mdash;to roam no more!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Ours</i> is this golden age of bliss!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She comes with blessings rich in store;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And, like a sister, whispers peace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not now with awe-inspiring air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But gentle as the meek-eyed dove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clad in smiles that angels wear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And with an aspect full of love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She greets us at our fire-sides, when<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sweet looks to accents sweet respond,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And breathing soft her tender strain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More closely knits the silken bond.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Unmingled joy her smiles afford,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where meet the mirthful, social throng,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As, gathered round the festive board,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Our healths she pledges in a song.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She meets us in our private walks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Mid groves that fairy glens embower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Morning gems her purple locks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or Vesper rules the silent hour.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her hand, upon the beech's rind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Marks well, for fair Belinda's eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Else vainly murmured to the wind,)<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy flame, young Damon, and thy sighs.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stern Toil, beneath her gentle sway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Well pleased, unbends his rugged brow&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Bloomfield chants the rustic lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or guides with Burns the daisied plough.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her form appears the bow of peace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the clouds that darken life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now bidding Sorrow's tears to cease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And staying now the hand of Strife.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She smiles on me, no bard inspired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But wand'rer o'er life's arid waste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, fainting, halting, parched and tired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One cordial, nectared drop would taste.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Companion of the pure in heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She tunes the lyre to David's flame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And rapt, as mortal scenes depart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She hymns the heaven from whence she came!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="THERESA_OR_GENIUS_AND_WOMANHOOD" id="THERESA_OR_GENIUS_AND_WOMANHOOD"></a>THERESA, OR GENIUS AND WOMANHOOD.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
+<h4>A TALE OF DOMESTIC LIFE.</h4>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY MRS. JANE TAYLOR WORTHINGTON.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What sad experience may be thine to bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Through coming years;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For womanhood hath weariness and care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And anxious tears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they may all be thine, to brand the brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in its childish beauty sleepeth now.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Theresa Germaine was a child some six years of age when I saw her
+first, nearly twenty-five years ago. It is a long time to look back
+on; but I well remember the bright, winning face, and cordial manners
+of the little lady, when she would come to the parsonage and enliven
+our tranquil hearts by her gay, spontaneous glee. She was full of life
+and buoyancy; there was even then a sort of sparkling rapture about
+her existence, a keen susceptibility of enjoyment, and an intense
+sympathy with those she loved, which bespoke her, from the first, no
+ordinary being. Ah, me! I have lived to see all that fade away, and to
+feel grateful when the dust was laid on the brow I had kissed so often
+in an old man's fondness&mdash;but let that pass. I must write calmly, or
+tears will blind me; and I have undertaken the task of recording
+Theresa's experience, not to tell how well we loved her, but to
+strive, however feebly and imperfectly, to lay bare some of the
+peculiarities of genius, when found in sad combination with a woman's
+lot.</p>
+
+<p>There was little marked or unusual in Theresa's outward life; her
+visible griefs were such as come to all, but the history of her inner
+being&mdash;the true and unseen life&mdash;was one of extremes. It was her fate
+to feel every thing vividly; and her joys and troubles were fully
+realized by the impassioned depth of her nature; and if, in my loving
+remembrances, I dwell somewhat bitterly on the portion society gave
+one who richly deserved its homage, and singularly needed its
+indulgences; if I portray too warmly the censure and neglect that made
+her path so full of trial, let me not be misunderstood. I would give
+no sanction to the hasty disregard of appearances which is the
+besetting sin of exalted and independent intellect. Under all
+circumstances it is an unwise experiment to transgress established
+rules; and in a woman, however rarely she may be gifted, it is a rash
+and hazardous thing to defy public opinion. Wearying and frivolous as
+many of society's conventionalities are, there is much wisdom in them;
+they are indispensible links in the chain binding together "all sorts
+of people," and she who breaks them knowingly, sins against one of her
+greatest safeguards.</p>
+
+<p>Theresa's father, a man of good birth and great acquirements, but
+ruined fortunes, had come to reside in our village about five years
+before the commencement of this story. She was then his only child,
+his elder treasures having been laid, one after another, in distant
+graves. Her mother was a tranquil, quiet woman, and still retained the
+traces of a beauty which must once have been remarkable. She was a
+person of placid temper and mediocre mind, but wavering in judgment,
+and not in the least calculated to control the impetuosity, or guide
+the enthusiasm of her ardent and reckless child. This Mr. Germaine
+seemed acutely to feel; and I could read his fears in the fixed gaze
+of prophetic anxiety which he would often rivet on the varying
+countenance of his happy and unconscious daughter. His health was
+already gradually declining, and he evidently dreaded the future, when
+his favorite should be left in many respects guardianless amid the
+world's temptations. In my capacity as pastor, I was a frequent
+visiter at the little cottage, where, in subdued resignation he was
+patiently wearing out his life; and we at length acquired that mental
+intimacy which men are apt to feel when they have spoken together of
+life's highest aims and holiest hopes. I was many years his
+senior&mdash;for it is with the tremulous hand of old age that I write
+these lines, and I felt sincere and admiring sympathy for one who,
+through various perplexities and misfortunes, still retained serenity
+and peace.</p>
+
+<p>We were sitting together one starlight evening, in the small
+vine-draperied porch of his simple dwelling. Mrs. Germaine was
+occupied with household duties, and Theresa, after having asked us
+both a thousand unanswerable questions, had reluctantly obeyed her
+mother's summons to retire to rest.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot describe to you," said my companion, "the fear with which I
+anticipate the hereafter for that child; she is one whose blended
+characteristics are rare, and her fate can have no medium. Were she a
+boy, and possessed of those traits, I should have no dread, for with
+such energies as are even now visible in her temperament,
+circumstances can be almost controlled, but it is a dangerous thing
+for her own happiness, for a woman to be thus endowed."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are too desponding," was my reply; "it appears to me that
+talent is necessarily in a great degree its own reward; and though it
+is the fashion to talk and write much of the griefs of intellect, I
+believe human sorrow is more equally divided than we acknowledge, and
+that the joys resulting from high gifts far overbalance their trials."</p>
+
+<p>"It may be so generally," Mr. Germaine answered, "but my experience
+and observation have impressed me differently. I never knew,
+personally, but one woman of genius, and she was a mournful instance
+of the truth of my convictions, and of the fatal folly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> of striving to
+pass beyond the brazen walls with which prejudice has encompassed
+womanhood. She was young, fair, and flattered, and fascinating above
+any comparison I can think of. Of course, she was aware of her
+capabilities&mdash;for ignorance in such cases is not possible, and
+naturally self-confident, she grew impatient for praise and power. Her
+affections, unfortunately, were warm and enduring; but she sacrificed
+them, to promote her desire for distinction, and unable, though so
+superior, to escape the heart-thraldom, which is the destiny of her
+sex, she died at last, more of disappointment than disease, with her
+boundless aspirations all unfulfilled. I fancy I can trace in Theresa
+many points of resemblance to her I have mentioned&mdash;for I knew her in
+early childhood. Solicitude on this subject is the only anxiety I
+cannot patiently conquer, and which makes the prospect of parting
+painful." He paused for a moment, and then, as if to turn his
+reflections from their depressing course, he said, "I have been
+reading to-day some extracts from Mrs. Hemans' works. As I grow older
+and more thoughtful, such things touch me deeply, and I experience a
+constantly increasing interest in the products of female talent. There
+is an intensity of sentiment, a pure tenderness of heart about such
+writings generally, which, in my present tranquil state of mind, are
+in harmony with my heavenward reflections, and the ideal spirit
+pervading them, soothes my imagination. In my restless and hopeful
+years I sought literary recreation from far different sources, but now
+that I feel myself a pilgrim, and stand surrounded by shadows on the
+verge of an unknown hereafter, I prize inexpressibly these glimpses of
+paradise which are God's precious gift to every true and intellectual
+woman."</p>
+
+<p>It was thus my friend often spoke, for it was a theme on which he
+always delighted to dwell. I have never seen any one whose reverence
+for woman's gifts was so strong, and who appreciated with such
+sincerity the moral loveliness of her perfected nature. It was about
+this time that the birth of a second daughter added a new tie to Mr.
+Germaine's life; and the event saddened him more than I believed any
+earthly event could have done. The feeling was probably a natural one,
+but it grieved me to see how he strove to crush every impulse of
+tenderness toward the little one he must leave so soon.</p>
+
+<p>It would have been well for Theresa had her father lived to view the
+ripening of the faculties whose blossoming he already traced with the
+prophetic gaze of parental affection; but she was destined to tread
+her path alone, and to know in their wide extent both the triumphs and
+the penalties of superiority. She was seven years of age when her
+father died, leaving herself and her sister to their mother's care. I
+need not relate here the many interesting interviews between Mr.
+Germaine and myself, which were more and more touching as his
+departure drew near. With an earnestness unutterably impressive, he
+implored my watchful solicitude for his eldest daughter, entreating me
+to afford her that guidance from experience, which she must inevitably
+need.</p>
+
+<p>"Be gentle with her," he said, "but not too indulgent; she will
+require strictness of management, for with such impetuosity of nature
+her judgment must often err. She is too young as yet for me to be able
+to foresee the particular bent her character will assume, but I
+entreat you to be her candid friend and firm adviser when she will
+assuredly want both."</p>
+
+<p>On the trying scenes of that period I will not longer linger; for
+there is something unutterably solemn in the tranquil passing away of
+a good man's soul, something that hallows to our thoughts even the
+fear-fraught moment of dissolution from which mere mortality
+instinctively shrinks. Yet it is a sad thing when so much worth and
+wisdom leaves the earth forever; and to those who realize the
+inestimable advantages and useful influences of a high example, it is
+a mournful sight to look on the closing sunset of one who evidenced
+the beautiful union between holiness and humanity.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Spirit-like fair forms are pressing<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">'Round her now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With their angel hands caressing<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Her pale brow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Words of solace they are chanting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Sweet and clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That evermore will now be haunting<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Her life here.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>I visited the cottage frequently, and for several months after Mr.
+Germaine's death, it was the scene of no ordinary grief. Mrs. Germaine
+bore her bereavement patiently&mdash;for it was an event she had long
+anticipated with womanly meekness and resignation; but she mourned
+most deeply&mdash;for it is a great mistake to think commonplace persons
+deficient in vividness of feeling. I believe their emotions are as
+keen, and generally more enduring, than those of more decided minds,
+from the very fact of their possessing few self-resources to divert
+the course of affliction. Be this as it may, Mrs. Germaine was soon,
+in all that was apparent, the quiet and anxious mother she had always
+been; and if she suffered still, it was in the silence of a heart that
+had no language for its sorrows. Far wilder and more vehement was the
+passionate and unresisted tide of Theresa's suffering; and for many
+weeks she refused all the consolation that could be offered to a child
+of her age. She would sit by my side and converse of her father, with
+an admiration for his virtues, and an appreciation of his character
+far beyond what I had supposed she could comprehend.</p>
+
+<p>This violent emotion necessarily exhausted itself, as a heavy cloud
+weeps itself away; but for a long time she was painfully dejected, and
+her face lost its childishness of expression, and wore a look of
+appealing, unspeakable melancholy I never remarked on any other
+countenance. It was the "settled shadow of an inward strife," the
+outward impress of a mind suddenly aroused to a knowledge of trial,
+and never again to sleep in unconsciousnes; and often in after years,
+the same inexpressible look darkened her brow through the tumult of
+conflicting impulses, and amid the war of triumph and pain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I have said that Mr. Germaine's pecuniary circumstances were limited;
+but for some time previous to his illness, he had, at the expense of
+many a personal comfort, laid by a sum sufficient to procure for
+Theresa all the advantages of an accomplished education. His wife had
+frequently remonstrated against the innumerable little privations he
+voluntarily endured for this favorite purpose, for she attached more
+value to physical than mental gratifications, and could scarcely
+sympathize with his disinterested solicitude for his daughter's
+intellectual culture. It had been a great happiness to him to trace
+the gradual development of her intelligence, and to direct her simple
+studies; and it had been one of his last requests that I would in this
+respect occupy his place until she should be old enough to require
+other superintendence. His love was one of hope and trust, and he had
+diligently sown the seed, though he knew he never might behold its
+ripening.</p>
+
+<p>For two months I made no attempt to alter the current of her thoughts,
+believing it better to allow her sensibilities to exhaust themselves
+without interruption. When she grew calmer, I proposed that she should
+come every morning to the parsonage to resume her daily studies; and,
+as I had hoped and anticipated, she eagerly acceded to the
+arrangement. And thus commenced the cultivation of a mind, whose early
+maturity bore a rich harvest of recompense; and thus dawned that
+loving anxiety for my pupil's welfare which realized many of my life's
+younger wishes, and lent so sunny and living an interest to my
+solitary and remembering years.</p>
+
+<p>It was with some difficulty and after much remonstrance that I induced
+Theresa's application to the graver branches of acquirement, which,
+with my old-fashioned ideas of education, I considered indispensable
+even to a woman. At last, I believe, it was only through affection for
+me that she yielded her taste, and consented to devote her mind to
+such acquisitions. Her inclinations were all for what was beautiful or
+imaginative; she early loved whatever touched her feelings or awoke
+the vivid impressions of her young fancy; and I found some trouble in
+curbing within rational limits her natural and fascinating
+prepossessions. As she grew older, and passed what she deemed the
+drudgery of learning, and drew nearer, with rapid steps, to Thought's
+promised land of compensation, we constantly read and conversed
+together. We dwelt on the inspired pages of the poets, I, with old
+age's returning love for the romantic, and increasing reverence for
+the true, and she, with the intense, bewildered delight of a spirit
+that hoped all things, and a simple faith that trusted the future
+would brightly fulfill all the fairest prospects which poetry could
+portray.</p>
+
+<p>Her disposition was sanguine to an extreme, with the happy faculty of
+believing what she hoped; and she possessed in a remarkable degree the
+power of expressing and defining her ideas and emotions, and rendering
+them visible by words. She never paused for an expression, or selected
+an injudicious one; and her fluency was the result of a mingled
+vividness and clearness of intellect, blended with artist-skill, and
+all the fervor of dawning and dreaming womanhood.</p>
+
+<p>Her affections were spontaneous and impassioned, at once impulsive and
+enduring, and, like all enthusiasts, she was frequently governed by
+prejudice. Her little sister was a child of rare beauty and
+gentleness, and was Theresa's perfect idol. She was perpetually
+contriving pleasant surprises for her favorite; and it was her delight
+to wreath flowers around Amy's golden curls, and to add a thousand
+fantastic decorations to her delicate and seraphic loveliness. They
+would have made an exquisite picture, those two sisters, so different
+in age and character; the one so fair, with childhood's silent and
+fragile beauty, the other glowing with life and premature thought,
+already testing the "rapture of the strife," and revealing in the
+intense gaze of her dark, restless eyes, the world of gleaming visions
+within whose enchantment she lived.</p>
+
+<p>It was when my pupil had reached her fourteenth year, that, in
+obedience to her father's written directions, she prepared to leave
+our tranquil home, to enter the school of the convent, near the city
+of &mdash;&mdash;. I know not why Mr. Germaine wished her placed there, for he
+was himself a Protestant, but the advantages of instruction were at
+that time tempting. Probably, in dwelling on them, he overlooked the
+risk of placing his daughter where the unnumbered graces of mind and
+manner veil another creed, and make it alluring, and where the
+imaginative and gorgeous pomp of a different faith were to be placed
+in their most attractive colors before her unsuspecting eyes. It was
+with many a misgiving, many a secret fear, that I anticipated
+Theresa's removal from my watchfulness; and I warned her with the most
+sincere affection, against the temptations of various kinds which she
+would probably encounter in her new abode. Early in the autumn we were
+to part with her, and the sweet summer, with its wealth of fruit and
+flowers was now around us, and our village, in its garlands of
+blossoms, looked its loveliest.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O! were it thus! had we, indeed, the gift,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though human, our humanity to chain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could we in truth our restless spirits lift,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And never feel the weight of earth again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then would I leave the sorrows I bewail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To clasp the cross, the cloister, and the veil.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Some weeks previous to the time at which my last chapter terminates, I
+had received a letter from an old friend, requesting me to inform him
+if any dwelling in our vicinity was for sale, as he was anxious to
+leave the city, and bring his family to a quieter home. I answered his
+inquiries satisfactorily, and now daily expected him to arrive, and
+make final arrangements for his removal.</p>
+
+<p>He came at last, bringing with him his only son, a boy somewhat older
+than Theresa. Gerald Brandon was pale and feeble from recent illness,
+and I persuaded his father to leave him with me, until his new
+residence was prepared to receive its inmates. He gladly assented, and
+accordingly returned to town, while Gerald remained at the parsonage.
+The next<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> two months were among the happiest my memory recalls; and
+they were the last untroubled ones Theresa passed in her secluded
+home. From their threshold she glided to a new life&mdash;to that conflict
+of will and purpose, that tempest of impulse and disappointment which
+finally subdued her spirit and wearied out her existence. But as yet
+all was serene and full of promise; and the golden hues of her sunny
+dreams invested our simple pleasures with varied and poetic interest.
+My young guest was a gentle, reflective boy of more than ordinary
+capabilities, but enfeebled by ill-health, and a victim to the
+lassitude which frequently follows protracted bodily suffering. He was
+too placid and pensive for his age, and his mind, though refined and
+harmonious, had nothing of that restless, energetic brilliancy which
+sparkled through Theresa's thoughts. He, however, eagerly participated
+in her accustomed studies, and contributed his share to our literary
+recreations. I sometimes looked on the two with that involuntary wish
+for the power of prophecy which so often rises upon us, and which in
+great mercy we are denied, and would frequently strive to shadow forth
+the destiny of beings who were now reveling in the brief, bright
+interval between childhood and the world. Beautiful era! time of star
+and flower, when the "young moon is on the horizon's verge," and the
+young heart, lovelier still, seems on the brink of rapture, and
+hallows existence with its own unshadowed and seraphic light. We have
+cause to be grateful that this episode is transient, that reality
+contradicts its hopes, for could its illusions last, who would pause
+to think of heaven, with so much of enchanting fulfillment around us
+here.</p>
+
+<p>It was with instinctive pride that I felt my favorite's mental
+superiority to her companion, and noticed the genuine admiration with
+which Gerald acknowledged it. He was astonished at her variety of
+acquirement, her daring originality of opinion, and her unstudied
+readiness of expression. He was gratified, and it may be, flattered,
+by the disinterested solicitude she evinced for his enjoyment, and the
+readiness with which she discarded any scheme of amusement in which
+his health prevented his participation. There is a period in youth
+when the affections feel as a strong necessity, the desire for
+sympathy, when love is yet a stranger, and friendship is as intense as
+passion. Dearer than any after friend, is the one who first fills this
+yearning vacancy; and though as time wears on, and separation follows,
+that tie may be broken never to be re-knit, there is a halo around it
+still, and it is made almost holy by the blended tints of hope and
+trust, and tenderness, that, with reflected light, shine back upon its
+memory.</p>
+
+<p>It was the evening before Theresa's departure, and we were all
+assembled at the cottage. It was impossible to feel very sad, where
+the majority were so eager and fraught with hope, and yet the mother's
+countenance was full of anxiety for her child. Little Amy sat on her
+sister's knee, and Theresa, in her graphic language, was relating some
+romantic history of her own invention, while Mrs. Germaine and myself
+spoke of her. The parent's solicitude was altogether physical; she
+feared only that Theresa would be sick, or that she would encounter
+some of the thousand accidents and evils, whose spectres haunt us upon
+the eve of a first separation. I thought it kinder to be silent as to
+my own very different misgivings, and to dwell only on the encouraging
+part of the prospect. There might be nothing to dread, after all, and
+it was possibly only our unwillingness to part with Theresa, that thus
+assumed to itself the tormenting shape of inquietude.</p>
+
+<p>During our conversation, which was carried on in an under tone, little
+Amy had fallen asleep, and after carefully placing her on the couch,
+and kissing the fair face of the slumberer, that shone like a
+faultless picture from its frame of golden curls, Theresa adjourned
+with Gerald to the porch. It was a perfect evening, and the rays of
+the full moon illumined the little portico, throwing on its floor, in
+fanciful mosaic, the fantastic shadows of the vines which draperied
+the pillars, and lighting up with its spiritual radiance, the earnest
+countenances of the youthful friends. Gerald looked more than usually
+pale in the blanching beams, and Theresa's gaze was sad and tearful.</p>
+
+<p>"You will forget us all, Theresa," said the boy; "you will find
+elsewhere gayer and dearer companions; you will be praised and
+flattered, and it will be several years before you will be stationary
+here again."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember the book we read together but a few days since?" she
+answered, "and which says there is no such thing as forgetting
+possible to the mind?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but at least you may grow indifferent," persisted Gerald,
+already betraying manhood's perverseness in suspicion, "at least you
+may grow indifferent, and that is even worse than forgetfulness."</p>
+
+<p>"Far worse," answered Theresa, "I would rather a thousand times be
+wholly forgotten, than know that the heart which loved me had grown
+cold and careless. But, Gerald, you are my first friend, the only one
+of my own age I have ever known, and how can I lose the recollection
+of all we have thought and hoped together? And then I shall be too
+constantly occupied to form other ties, for I intend to study
+incessantly, and to return here all, mentally, that my friends can
+wish me."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you not that already; I, for one, do not desire you to change."</p>
+
+<p>"You will alter your flattering opinion, <i>mon ami</i>, if I can by
+application realize the bright pictures my ambition paints. I shall be
+so much happier when I have tested myself; for now, all is untried,
+the present is restless, and the future perplexing. It is so difficult
+for me to curb my impatience, to remember that our progressive path
+must be trodden step by step, it may be, through thorns and
+temptations. Patience is the golden rule of talent, the indispensable
+companion of success; for the 'worm may patiently creep to the height
+where the mountain-eagle has rested.' The hardest task for genius to
+learn is, through toiling, to hope on, and though baffled, never to
+despond."</p>
+
+<p>Her face flushed with her own eagerness as she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> spoke, and Gerald
+looked on her with mingled admiration and want of comprehension, and
+something of that pity with which boyhood is prone to regard the
+wildness of girlish aspirations. It was with hopes and tears united,
+that Theresa bade me farewell; and as I turned away to seek my quiet
+home, the old feeling of desolation and loneliness, which interest in
+my favorite had long dissipated, returned upon me with its depressing
+weight. Our walk to the parsonage was taken in unbroken silence, for
+Gerald, like myself, was busy with the future&mdash;to him a smiling world
+of compensation and promise, to me, the silent land of fears and
+shadows. A whole year was to elapse before Theresa's return to us, and
+in the interval she engaged to write every week, either to her mother
+or myself.</p>
+
+<p>For more than an hour that evening I sat beside my window, looking on
+the serene prospect around me, and endeavoring to lay something of
+that external stillness to the restlessness of my disturbing fancies.
+All around was spiritualized by the moonlight; the trees on the lawn
+threw long shadows on the grass, and far away, in their mysterious and
+majestic silence, stood the eternal mountains; like gigantic watchers,
+they kept their vigil over the placid scene beneath&mdash;the vigil of
+untold centuries. Cloudless, unsympathizing, changeless, they had no
+part in the busy drama of human experience their loftiness overlooked,
+and now they loomed with shadowy outline, through the sanctifying
+light, habitants alike of earth and sky.</p>
+
+<p>I anticipated tidings from Theresa with that interest which slight
+occurrences lend a life whose stirring events are few.</p>
+
+<p>To me, she engaged to record her thoughts and impressions as they
+came, and to be to me what, under similar circumstances <i>she</i> would
+have been, whose sweet face for a few years brightened my life, and
+who now sleeps, in her childish beauty, by her mother's side.</p>
+
+<h5>THERESA'S FIRST LETTER.</h5>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"You will have learned from my letter to my
+mother, my kind friend, all the little details of my
+journey and safe arrival at my destination. I felt as
+if some of my visions of romance were realized,
+when this beautifully adorned place, in its strange
+and solemn stillness, stood before me. All the
+grounds surrounding the convent-buildings are highly
+cultivated and tastefully improved, presenting a vivid
+contrast between the wild luxuriance of nature, and
+the formal, artificial life within these cold, stern
+walls. Several of the nuns, with downcast eyes and
+thoughtful steps, were taking their monotonous exercise
+in the paths through the shrubbery; and shall I
+confess that I looked with mingled doubt and envy
+upon those dark-robed figures&mdash;doubt, if the restlessness
+of humanity <i>can</i> thus be curbed into repose,
+and envy of that uninterrupted peace, if, indeed, it
+may be gained. Strange seem this existence of
+sacrifice, this voluntary abandonment of life's aims
+and more extended duties, this repelling, crushing
+routine of penance and ceremony, with which, in
+the very midst of activity, and in the bloom of energy,
+vain mortals strive to put off the inevitable fetters of
+mortality. Doubtless, many, from long habit, have
+grown familiar with this vegetative, unbroken seclusion,
+and accustomed to struggle with tenderness,
+and conquer impulse, have ceased to feel affection,
+and rarely recall the friends of their busier days&mdash;sad
+consummation of womanhood's least enviable lot.</p>
+
+<p>"But I believe it is, in all sincerity, from self-delusion,
+not from deception, that these women, many
+of them in the freshness of youth, separate themselves
+from the wide privileges of their sex, and contract
+their hearts into the exclusive and narrow
+bounds of a convent's charities. What mental conflicts
+must have been theirs, before, from the alluring
+gloss of expectation, they could turn to embrace a
+career like this. Some, perhaps, believed the possibility
+of winning tranquillity by shutting out the
+temptation of the world, believed that dust might be
+spiritualized, and the mind, debarred from its natural
+tendencies, taught to dream only of heaven. Others
+have sought the cloister as a refuge for hearts that
+loved too well, and memories all too faithful. God
+help such!&mdash;for this is no place to forget. And it
+may be, that after years of painful self-control and
+depressing experience, some here have gradually
+attained the conviction that their efforts are vain,
+their yearnings not here to be fulfilled&mdash;what, then,
+must solitude be to them but an enduring sorrow?
+It is too late to retrieve the past&mdash;the fatal vows have
+been spoken&mdash;those frowning walls are impassable&mdash;and
+the dark folds of that solemn veil are evermore
+between the penitents and human sympathy. Never
+may their footsteps tread the free earth again, save
+within those still and mocking limits; never will the
+bright, rewarding world of social ties dawn upon
+their languid gaze, though, alas! its beauty will flash
+upon their thoughts, through the loneliness of the
+silent cell, perhaps even amid penance and prayer.
+I look with profound, inexpressible interest on these
+sisters, in their ungraceful, but romance-hallowed
+costume, and wish, as I watch them, that I could
+read something of what the past has been to each,
+and trace the various motives that led to this irrevocable
+fate. This monotonous life has all the glow of
+novelty for me; and I ponder with inexhaustible
+interest, and blended reverence and pity on the
+hidden moral conflict, continually occurring among
+beings who strive to taste angels' pleasures while
+escaping human duties, and are reminded of the
+folly of such attempts, by the perpetual presence of
+temptation, and all the self-reproach, regret, and disappointment
+which, Heaven be thanked! the angels
+never feel. I can scarcely tell, as yet, how I shall
+like learning here. My studies have always been
+such a pleasure to me, with you, that it appears
+strange to associate them with strangers. I am resolved
+to devote much time to drawing and miniature
+painting, for which you know I had always a <i>penchant</i>,
+and in the course of a month or two I shall
+commence the study of German. What a world of
+pleasure is before me. Will you not love me better,
+if I return to you an artist, brim full of German<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
+legends? All that I hope and aspire to, leads to that
+question&mdash;will these acquisitions render me more
+beloved?"</p></div>
+
+<p>"Theresa is too ambitious, too restless," said Gerald, as he finished
+the perusal of this letter, "she will only render herself discontented
+and conspicuous by this wild, idle desire for superiority."</p>
+
+<p>I felt somewhat provoked at his querulous words, for in my partial
+eyes Theresa seldom erred, and I knew this solicitude for mental
+progress, though as yet vague and undirected, was inseparable from her
+active and energetic intellect. But Gerald's opinions were common ones
+with his sex, and he coldly censured when away from their attractions,
+the very traits of character which, when present, involuntarily
+fascinated his imagination. And this is an ingratitude which almost
+inevitably falls to the share of a gifted woman. Unfortunately, genius
+does not shield its possessor from defects of character; and her very
+superiority in raising her above the level of the many, renders her
+failings more evident, and those who are forced mentally to admire,
+are frequently the first morally to condemn. The following are
+extracts from Theresa's letters, written at various intervals during
+the first year of her residence at the convent; and they will perhaps
+serve to reveal something of the rapid development of her mind, with
+the self-forgetfulness and ambition so peculiarly blended in her
+nature. She is the only one I have ever seen who possessed extreme
+enthusiasm without selfishness, and the strong desire to excel,
+without envy. There was a harmony in her being as rare as it was
+winning; and while many instances of her childish generosity and
+spontaneous disinterestedness rise on my memory, I feel almost
+bitterness at the recollection of how unworthily her pure heart was
+appreciated, and how sad was the recompense of all she suffered.</p>
+
+<p>"I am happy, my kind friend, happier than I believed it possible for
+me to be, when away from those I love. But I study incessantly, and in
+acquiring and hoping, I have no time left for regret. When I recall
+you, it is not repiningly, but with a thousand desires for your
+approval, and increased anxiety to become all you can wish. You will,
+perhaps, consider this vanity; but, indeed, that would be unjust, for
+it is in all humility, with a painful consciousness of my own
+deficiencies that I strive so eagerly to grow wiser and better. Surely
+it is not vanity, to yearn to merit tenderness! . . . . . You ask if I
+have made any new friends. No; and I can scarcely tell why. There are
+several here whose appearance has interested me&mdash;and you know how
+rapturously I admire personal attractions; but I feel a reserve I can
+neither conquer nor explain. Friendship seems to me too holy and
+enduring to be lightly bestowed, and yet I desire with inexpressible
+earnestness, to find some one of my own age who would love and
+comprehend me&mdash;some mind in whose mirror I could trace an image of my
+own. I have gained something like a fulfillment of this wish in
+Gerald; but he is naturally less enthusiastic than I am, and of course
+cannot enter into the fervor of my expectations. He thinks them vain
+an idle&mdash;and so, in truth, they may be; but only their irrevocable
+disappointment will ever convince <i>me</i> of their folly. . . . . . I
+have been painting a great deal, beside my regular exercises, for my
+own amusement; I take such delight in testing my power to reflect the
+visible charm of beauty, and in endeavoring, however faintly, to
+idealize humanity. Among other efforts, I have finished a miniature of
+one of the young sisters here, whose sad, placid face, seemed to
+sketch itself upon my memory. Of course, the likeness was drawn
+without her knowledge&mdash;she has put away from her thoughts all such
+vanities. I often look on the picture, which is scarcely more tranquil
+than the original; and I wish I could speak a word of welcome sympathy
+to one who is so young, and yet so sorrowful. I was much touched, a
+few days since, by accidentally witnessing an interview between this
+nun, whose convent name is Cecelia, and her sister. It seems that she
+had taken the vows in opposition to the wishes and counsel of all her
+friends, having forsaken a widowed mother and an only sister for
+spiritual solitude and the cloister. I was copying an exquisite
+engraving of the Madonna, which adorns the apartment allotted to
+visiters, when a young lady entered, and desired to see her sister.
+The nun came, but not beyond the grating which bounds one side of the
+room. Those bars&mdash;signs of the heart's prison&mdash;were between beings who
+from infancy had been undivided, whose pleasures and pains through
+life had been inseparable, and who were now severed by a barrier
+impassable as the grave. They contrasted strongly, these two sisters,
+so nearly the same age, so different in their hopes for the future.
+The guest wept constantly, and her words, spoken in a loud tone, were
+broken by bursts of grief; but the other was composed, almost to
+coldness&mdash;there was no evidence of distress on her marble cheek, and
+her large, gray eyes, were quiet in their gaze. She had evidently
+learned to curb emotion and regret&mdash;the past for her was a sealed
+book, with all its remembrances; she was a woman without her sex's
+loveliest impulses&mdash;a sister without tenderness, a daughter without
+gratitude. They parted, as they had met, each unconvinced, each
+grieving for the other&mdash;the visiter returned to her holy filial
+duties, the devotee to her loneliness. My friend, on which of these
+sisters do the angels in heaven look down most rejoicingly? This scene
+made me sorrowful, as every thing does which destroys an illusion. I
+had entertained such romantic ideas of life in the cloister, it seemed
+so tempting to me in its rest, its spirituality; and now I realize
+that we have no right to such rest, that it is not ours to shrink from
+the duties, to shun the penalties, to crush the affections of
+humanity&mdash;and my visions of lonely happiness have passed away <i>pour
+toujours</i>. If ever I could be induced to forsake a world that now
+appears to me so rich in promise; if ever I am numbered among the
+tried in spirit, and broken in heart, some active solace must be mine,
+not this fearful leisure for thought and remembrance. My lot is to be
+a restless one; and whatever else the future may hold for me, I know,
+in the spirit of prophecy, it will bestow nothing of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> repose. . . . .
+You tell me my little sister grows every day more lovely. I can
+readily believe it. There is something very fascinating in the style
+of her childish beauty, something that appeals to tenderness and seeks
+for love&mdash;and she is always the reality that prompts my dreams of
+angels. Is it not unwise, my friend, to hold the gift of personal
+beauty of little value, when it thus involuntarily commands affection,
+and can win the world's charity for many faults?"</p>
+
+<p>I know not if these disjointed scraps have interest for others, but I
+have recorded them, because to me they recall the young writer's
+glowing enthusiasm, and evince the confident hopefulness which is one
+of the most common traits of mental excellence. Without being vain,
+she had yet no fears for herself, no doubt of the successful exercise
+of the powers whose stirring presence she felt. All that seemed
+necessary to her was opportunity; and she possessed the faith our good
+God gives to youth, and whose passing away is one of the sorrows of
+age.</p>
+
+<p>The time appointed for her return home had now arrived, and her
+mother's anxiety to see her was scarcely greater than my own. In the
+meanwhile, Mr. Brandon's new residence&mdash;the handsomest in our
+vicinity&mdash;had been completed, and his family was permanently located
+among us. His domestic circle consisted of Gerald, a daughter, about
+Theresa's age, and a maiden lady, the sister of his wife, who, since
+Mrs. Brandon's death, had done the household honors. Gerald had been,
+from the first, a constant visiter at the parsonage, and he now
+participated in our solicitude to welcome our darling back. About
+sunset, on the day of Theresa's return, I directed my steps toward the
+cottage, and I was but halfway to my destination, when I saw her
+coming to meet me. I could never be mistaken in her light, rapid walk,
+whose movements were full of grace. Not for many a long, sad year, had
+a reception so affectionate as hers been given me; and her greeting
+brought tears to my old eyes, and called up painful memories to my
+heart. In appearance she had greatly improved; her slight figure had
+rounded into more womanly proportions, and her motions were full of
+the wild, unstudied gracefulness that had always characterized her.
+There was about her a fascination I cannot explain, a something
+independent of externals&mdash;a witchery to be felt but not defined.
+Perhaps it was the visible influence of mental gifts, the reflection
+of that purity of heart and mind which impressed itself on all her
+words and actions.</p>
+
+<p>Let it not, however, be imagined, that because in my fond remembrance
+I have lingered long upon Theresa's many virtues, I was ignorant of
+her faults. They were those inseparable from her temperament; an
+impetuosity which frequently misled her judgment, and a confidence in
+her own beliefs, a reliance on her own will, that nothing but an
+appeal to her affections could ever subdue. She was an instance of
+that sad truth, that our defects shape our destinies; that one failing
+may exert over our lot a more potent influence than many excellencies,
+and may mar the brilliancy of our moral picture by a single shadow,
+that shall darken it all. In after life, when trial and suffering
+pressed wearily upon her, all her griefs might have been traced back
+to the influence of faults, which in her childhood were not
+sufficiently developed to seem of consequence, or to merit rebuke. To
+us she was so loving and complying, that the less favorable traits of
+her nature were lost to our eyes in the brightness of her better
+endowments. Like all poetic persons, she had various fancies and
+caprices; but hers were all pure in purpose, and imparted a charm to
+her restless being. Even her tenderness had its fantasies, and
+lavished itself wastefully without thought or reason. Her attachment
+to her sister was remarkable in its tone, blending anxiety with its
+profound and impassioned tide. She would speak to me of Amy, of her
+childish loveliness, her gentle disposition, her appealing
+trustfulness, until tears would start to her eyes, and the future
+seemed painfully distant to one whose onward gaze had painted it with
+fulfillments. There was nothing sweet and lovable in life that she did
+not connect with Amy's hereafter. Alas! it was well for her she could
+not foresee that future happiness was to be won by the sacrifice of
+her own.</p>
+
+<p>During Theresa's stay in our village, the young Brandons and herself
+were often together&mdash;and Gerald's admiration had evidently lost
+nothing from separation. His health had improved, though he still
+looked pale and delicate; but this physical languor lent refinement to
+his appearance, and excited Theresa's warmest sympathy. It would have
+been strange, were not the occurrence so common, that we should not
+have anticipated the probable consequences of such intercourse between
+Gerald and Theresa, but always accustomed to consider them in contrast
+with ourselves, as mere children, we forgot theirs was the very age
+for enduring impressions, the era in existence whose memories live
+longest. It was not until long afterward that I realized our error,
+and then, alas! it was too late to save the repose of a heart which
+possessed in fatal strength, woman's sad faculty of loving. The period
+soon came round for Theresa to return to her studies; and, to my
+surprise, her grief at the second separation was much more violent
+than at the first. I did not note, in my simplicity, the cause of this
+vehemence; I never suspected that a new tie, undefined, but powerful,
+was binding her being, that in the depths of a spirit whose
+earnestness I have never seen equaled, there had sprung up an
+affection never to pass away, and one dangerously enhanced by the
+imaginative tendency of her nature. That she had won over Gerald a
+profound and fascinating influence, was evident; she was to him a
+dream of intellectual beauty, and her presence idealized his life. He
+connected her instinctively with all his high hopes, his visionary
+schemes; but I feel, in recalling his admiration, that, from its very
+character, it was not likely to be permanent. There was too little in
+it of the actual world, too much of the mental; it was more the homage
+of mind, than the tribute of affection; rather the irrepressible
+appreciation of genius,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> than the spontaneous effusion of love. His
+expressions of regret at separation were warm and tender; but it is
+probable the young friends were both ignorant of the nature of their
+feelings. They parted tearfully, as a brother and sister would have
+said farewell; and the next few months, with their throng of sweet
+remembrances, fostered the growth of emotions very unlike, in truth,
+but equally kind and hopeful. And now there came a long interval of
+melancholy tranquillity in my life, for it was not until two years
+afterward that our darling returned. Her letters during the interval
+were frequent, and her ambition to excel deepened daily in intensity.</p>
+
+<p>"One year more," she wrote, "and this routine of application will be
+over, I shall come to you no longer a child, but fitted, I trust, for
+a congenial companion. What bright pictures my fancy draws for that
+time! Surely the future is a land of surpassing beauty, if but one
+half its radiant hopes be realized."</p>
+
+<p>"I have no patience with Theresa's visionary fancies," said Gerald,
+petulently, as he glanced over this letter, "I really believe she
+prizes books and pictures, and her idle dreams, more than the hearts
+that love her."</p>
+
+<p>I have lingered long over this recording of a childhood that lent my
+loneliness many pleasures; and I must trace more rapidly and briefly
+the sadder portion of my recollections. Over the next two years let us
+pass in silence; they saw the last shining of pleasure upon Theresa's
+experience; they were the resting-place between her young hopefulness
+and the perplexing cares and disappointments of her energetic and
+unsatisfied womanhood. Never afterward did life appear to her so
+rapturous a gift, and intellectual superiority so enchanting, but the
+hereafter grew silent with its promises, and her spirit weary with its
+cares.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until some months afterward that the journal I am about to
+quote fell into my hands; but I copy some of its fragments, to portray
+its writer's feelings. Ah, me! such trustful hearts as hers are those
+experience depresses soonest.</p>
+
+<p>"How happy I have been this summer! I believe those who have spent
+their childhood in seclusion, and formed their first associations from
+the lovely creations of nature, love home better than persons <i>can</i>
+do, who have been always encompassed by the excitements and artificial
+enjoyments of society. These lose individual consciousness amid the
+throng of recollections; they cannot trace the progress of their
+being, nor retain the self-portraying vividness of memory. I am sure
+that no dweller in cities can feel as I do, when I return to this
+tranquil village; I can almost imagine I have stepped back into my
+childhood. Yet, loving this place as I do, I am still anxious to leave
+it; home, and especially a quiet one, is no place for great successes.
+Too much of the childish past hangs over it, and discourages exertion,
+and those who have loved us best and earliest, know least of what we
+are capable. Every day intercourse fetters judgment, and thought lives
+in the domestic circle with sealed lips. My kind friends do not
+comprehend my wishes or emotions; my mother deems them folly, and
+Gerald, instead of sympathy, tenders me only doubts and fears. But I
+repel silently such depressing influence; surely the motto of youth
+should be, <i>aide-toi</i>, <i>et Dieu t'aidera</i>. . . . . I have been reading
+that tearful book, the Diary of an Ennuy&eacute;. What a vivid picture it
+presents of mental and physical suffering, too intense to be wholly
+conquered, yet half subdued by the strong power of a thoughtful will.
+Such depictings of sorrow must be exaggerated, there cannot be so much
+of grief in a world where hope still liveth. . . . . I have been
+amusing myself this morning by scribbling verses, and as I gradually
+became absorbed in my employment, I felt I would willingly relinquish
+half the future in store for me, could I win a poet's fame. I have
+been endeavoring to determine which is the most desirable, the
+celebrity of a poet or a painter. Perhaps the distinction an artist
+obtains satisfies the mind more wholly, and it must be a more
+universal thing, than that of a writer. He appeals to the senses; his
+work is the visible presence of what is immaterial, the palpable
+creation of a thought. He gazes on his production, until his being
+revels in the witchery of his own reality; and the ideal that had
+haunted his spirit so long, smiles and blesses him from that glowing
+canvas. But the poet, he who from the well of thought hath drawn forth
+such golden truths; who heareth within his heart the echo of whatever
+is beautiful around him; he who is the interpreter of nature, and
+translateth into burning words whatsoever things are pure and lovely,
+ah! he liveth alone with his glorious images, and from his brilliant
+world of dream and vision, he walks abroad uncomprehended, a solitary
+being. Yet he, too, has his reward, though seldom the present one of
+popular approval; time is requisite for the appreciation of his
+imaginings; he would not, if he could, profane them by the breath of
+popular criticism. <i>His</i> place is far away from common sight&mdash;a
+dwelling in pleasant thoughts; he is enthroned amid happy memories and
+early hopes; he is associated in our minds with forms of grace, and
+faces of beauty&mdash;with the light of stars, and the fragrance of
+flowers; with the pale hours of gloom his enchantments have chased
+away, and the green graves his heavenward words have hallowed. Which
+fame would I choose? Alas! for my craving nature, neither&mdash;but both!"</p>
+
+<p>Two years had glided by, and Theresa had returned to us. Her studies
+were completed, and she seemed to our fond hearts more than we ever
+hoped for, or dared to anticipate. She had certainly improved to the
+utmost the period of her absence; she was an admirable linguist, a
+good musician, and her talent for painting was pronounced by
+<i>connoisseurs</i> to be extraordinary. She possessed in a rare degree
+perfect consciousness of her powers, without a tinge of vanity; and
+she spoke of her acquirements and performances simply and candidly, as
+she would have dwelt on those of a stranger. Gerald was evidently
+surprised at her mental progress, and perhaps he felt it almost
+painfully, for he certainly was not in her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> presence as natural and
+familiar as of yore. He would gaze on her long and fixedly, as if in
+being forced to admire, he hesitated how to love. I do not know
+whether Theresa perceived this change, and allowed it to influence her
+manner, or whether the natural timidity of one "on the eve of
+womanhood," rendered her also gentler and quieter than of old, but
+certain it is, that while to others they were the same as ever, for
+each other, they felt something they knew was not friendship, yet
+dared not think was love.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime Amy had grown into girlhood, and was, in truth, as
+beautiful as a poet's dream. She was timid, gentle, and silent; no
+strength of mind was enshrined in that faultless casket; and her
+transparent, maidenly brow, was never shadowed by the conflict of
+thought. Her words were few and commonplace, but they were spoken by a
+voice exquisitely musical, and her surpassing personal loveliness
+disarmed mental criticism. Theresa would regard her in unutterable
+admiration, blending a sister's tenderness with all an artist's
+ecstasy. There was no repaying enthusiasm; Amy's affections were not
+impulsive, and she shared nothing of her sister's spontaneous,
+effervescing warmth. She was, however, kind and graceful, with that
+charm of manner common even in childhood to those on whom the gods
+have smiled, and who, from the consciousness of beauty, possess the
+certainty of pleasing. Like all visionaries, Theresa had many fancies,
+and strongest among them was her boundless admiration for loveliness.
+Living as she did in perpetual study of the beautiful, it appealed to
+her with that enchantment it only wears for the painter and the poet;
+and for her, who, in her dangerously endowed being, blended both,
+there was inexpressible fascination in all that reflected externally
+her radiant ideal. Gerald was a constant visiter at the cottage, and
+his undisguised admiration for Theresa's gifts deepened into lasting
+sentiment, what had hitherto been vague emotion. He sought her
+approval, solicited her opinions, and there was a tone of romantic
+reverence in his conduct toward her, which could not fail to interest
+one so young and sensitive. In many respects his character was far
+from equaling hers; ill-health had given peculiar fastidiousness to
+his tastes, and selfishness to his temper; but he was invested with
+the charms of pleasant memories, and that drapery which ever surrounds
+with grace those the heart loves first. I believe he never for an
+instant reflected on the effect his devoted attentions might produce,
+and, absorbed in the magic of his own rapturous thoughts, he had no
+time for calmer reasoning. Love is proverbially credulous; and
+although neither promise nor protestation had been spoken, Theresa
+never doubled what she hoped, and, perhaps, in her girlish faith,
+believed his feelings the deeper from their silence.</p>
+
+<p>Thus the days wended on, and I had woven in my lonely simplicity many
+a bright tissue for future years to wear, when already the "cloud no
+bigger than a man's hand" had gathered on my favorite's horizon.
+Gerald and herself had walked one evening to the parsonage, and were
+seated on one of the shaded seats in the old-fashioned garden attached
+to my home.</p>
+
+<p>"Theresa, you have always been to me a sympathizing listener, and I
+have something to tell you now of more than ordinary interest&mdash;will
+you hear me patiently?" and as Gerald spoke, he looked up smilingly
+into his companion's face.</p>
+
+<p>Why did Theresa's cheek flush at these simple words? I know not; I
+only know that it grew pale and ashy as Gerald proceeded to relate the
+story whose hearing he had solicited, and in the impassioned words of
+love to paint his devotion&mdash;not to her who sat beside him, but to the
+sister whose outward beauty had won more than all <i>her</i> gifts. He
+spoke of time to come, of being to her as a brother, of a home in
+common, and then he dwelt with a lover's rapture on the attractions of
+his promised bride, those charms she had often extolled to him with a
+poet's appreciation, and now heard praised in breathless agony. The
+bitterness, not of jealousy, but of despair, was in her soul&mdash;a pang
+for which there was no expression and no relief. Never more might she
+return to the hope his words had shattered, the trust she had indulged
+too long. All that had scattered her path with flowers, and thrown
+around her life's sweetest illusions was lost to her now; the
+confessions she had heard, raised a barrier not to be passed between
+herself and those she held dearest, and the sister for whom she would
+have laid down her life, claimed a sadder sacrifice, and glided a
+rival between her heart and its reliance. But to all his confidings
+she listened silently, and when he ceased to speak, she answered him
+kindly and gently. Love is selfish, and in the egotism of his own
+feelings, Gerald heeded not that his companion's voice faltered; and
+they parted without a suspicion in his mind of the suffering he had
+occasioned. Alas! such brief tragedies are acting every day in our
+household circles, and we note them not; bright eyes become tranquil,
+glowing cheeks look pale, and young hearts, once high with hope and
+energy, grow weary and listless; and we talk of illness, and call in
+science to name the disease, which is nothing but sorrow. There are,
+without doubt, solitary hours in human experience which do the work of
+years, forcing suspicion to dawn, and tempting despondency to deepen.
+Life should be measured by such hours, and they who feel most keenly
+are the ones who, in truth, live longest.</p>
+
+<p>Certain it is that Theresa passed in those few moments to a new
+existence&mdash;to a being wholly different from her former self. The
+rainbow tints had faded from her sky, and the stars in her futurity
+had ceased to shine. What to her were all her mental gifts, when they
+had failed to win the love she valued? And now the nature so impulsive
+and ingenuous was impelled by the instinct of woman's pride to assume
+the mantle of concealment, to learn its task of suffering and silence.
+She could not, without betraying her true feelings, seem depressed,
+when all about her was happier than ever, and not a shadow rested on
+the hearts around her. Her mother was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> constitutionally tranquil; and
+Amy, in the relying gladness of her early youth, saw nothing to fear,
+and all things to hope. It was a trying effort for Theresa to bury the
+conflict of her impetuous emotions in the stillness of her own
+bosom&mdash;the more trying because she had never before known cause for
+reserve; but the power of endurance in womanhood is mighty, and she
+did conceal even from my watchful eyes, the triumph of certainty over
+hope. I knew not then that the silver chord was already severed, and
+the veil lifted from the pale face of grief, never again in mercy to
+lend its secrecy.</p>
+
+<p>The extreme youth of Amy alone delayed her marriage, and the following
+year was appointed as the time of its celebration. In the meanwhile
+the lovers would meet almost daily, and there seemed nothing but
+happiness before them. And she, the highly endowed, the richly gifted,
+what was to be her lot? Even now the mists were gathering around her;
+her faith in the hereafter was lessened; disappointment haunted her
+onward steps, and memory darkened to regret. Poor Theresa! there was
+many a pang in her experience then proudly hidden from all human gaze;
+and her suffering was not the less because she felt that it arose in
+part from self-deception, and from its very character was beyond the
+solace of sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>A few evenings afterward, I was sitting alone, when, with her light
+and eager step, Theresa entered my little study at the parsonage. Her
+cheek was flushed by her rapid walk, and her eyes sparkled as she laid
+before me a letter she had just received. I did not then comprehend
+the eagerness with which she grasped the refuge of excitement and
+change, but my heart sunk within me as I read the lines before me, for
+too well I foresaw the endless links of perplexity and misconstruction
+which would drag themselves, a dreary chain through the years to come.
+The letter was from the painter with whom she had studied his art, and
+was written with the kind feeling of one who, from the memory of his
+own aspirations, could sympathize with hers. He reminded her of a wish
+she had often expressed to practice her powers as a painter, and he
+said if that desire still continued, he could offer her a home in his
+household, and promise her success. His own professional attainments
+were great and popular, but his health was failing; and he declared it
+would be a pleasure and pride to him to direct her talents if she
+still wished to brave the perplexities of an artist's life. He dwelt
+on the subject with the fervor of a mind whose best faculties had been
+spent in the service of his art; but while he extolled its attractions
+and rewards, he concealed nothing of its cares and penalties. He
+concluded thus: "For me, the exercise of my glorious profession has
+been in all respects singularly fortunate; and in addition to the
+inexpressible gratifications attending its pursuit, it has won for me
+both popularity and wealth. But I would not mislead you, Theresa, nor
+conceal the difficulties which must inevitably, in such an attempt,
+harass a young and an enthusiastic woman. It is an unusual thing for
+womanhood to worship art; you will have ignorance and prejudice
+against you, and I need not remind you that these are the most
+perplexing of obstacles. But still there are rewards they cannot
+touch, pleasures beyond their influence&mdash;and these I proffer you. The
+artist bears within his own soul the recompense for many sorrows; and
+if you can summon the moral fortitude to wait in patience, and toil in
+hope, I candidly believe that, with your endowments, success will be a
+certainty. You will be to us as a daughter; and our childless old age
+will be gladdened by the presence in our home of your bright young
+face." Theresa had scanned my countenance eagerly while I perused this
+letter, as if to gather my impressions of the scheme; and she looked
+not a little disappointed when I gravely and silently refolded and
+returned the paper.</p>
+
+<p>"I can divine your opinion," she said at last; "you disapprove of my
+plan."</p>
+
+<p>"I do," was my reply. "I can discern no reason for your forsaking a
+tranquil home to brave so many certain annoyances."</p>
+
+<p>"But, my friend," she answered, "you forget now the lesson you have
+often taught me, that we have no right to bury our talents, nor to
+shrink from the exercise of powers which were doubtless bestowed to be
+improved and employed. You will, perhaps, deem that my duty to my
+mother demands my presence here; but she has grown accustomed to my
+absence, and depends on me for none of her social comforts. Amy is far
+better fitted to be her companion, and I am sure that if I were to
+remain here, with the desponding conviction that my resources were
+useless, my acquirements thrown away; that knowledge would render me
+unhappy and throw a shadow over my home. Let me try this experiment
+for one year; if I fail, I will return satisfied that I have done my
+utmost; if I succeed, I can win for myself fame, and it may be peace."</p>
+
+<p>She had spoken rapidly and earnestly, though I now know that her most
+powerful reasons for wishing to leave us, were left unuttered, and as
+she concluded her voice was tremulous. She impatiently awaited my
+answer; and I, with the folly of a fond old man, could not bear to
+dash away the cup that foamed so temptingly to her lips. Though
+fearful and unconvinced, I ceased to remonstrate. Many times since
+have I marveled at my own weakness, and lamented that I did not more
+decidedly condemn the young enthusiast's views; and yet what could I
+do? Had I more strenuously and successfully opposed the scheme, could
+I have borne to see my darling pine in the weariness of powers buried,
+and endowments wasted? Could I have recklessly sullied in their purple
+light the day-dreams of her yearning youth, have watched her,
+dispirited and dejected, ever turning from the gloom of the present to
+ponder on the radiant, haunting mystery of what she might have been?</p>
+
+<p>To my surprise, Mrs. Germaine evinced none of the repugnance to the
+removal which I had anticipated; and, won over by Theresa's eagerness,
+and accustomed to be separated from her, she exerted no parental
+authority in the case. Her acquiescence, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> course, silenced my
+objections, and I could only grieve where I would have counseled.
+Gerald alone violently opposed her departure; but she replied to him
+with a firmness I did not expect, and which surprised me not a little.
+But the decision was made, and even while tenderly and anxiously
+beloved, the wayward and gifted one went forth alone into the world.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Pale Disappointment! on whose anxious brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Expectancy has deepened into pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou who hast pressed upon so many hearts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The burning anguish of those words&mdash;<i>in vain</i>;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy gloom is here; thy shadowy presence lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within the glory-light of those sad eyes!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Two years more had gone by since we glanced at Theresa last&mdash;years
+fraught to her with the fulfillment of ambition, and golden with the
+gifts of praise. Her name had become a familiar one to the lovers of
+art, and her society was eagerly sought for by the most intellectual
+men in one of our most refined cities. In the home of her artist
+friend she had been as a daughter, and cordially welcomed into the
+circles of talent and acquirement. It would have been well with her
+had that measure of success satisfied her, could she have returned
+then, without one hope turned into bitterness, to her early and
+tranquil home&mdash;but it was not so to be; and on the death of her
+friend, a year previous to this time, Theresa decided still to remain
+in the city, and follow alone the exciting glories of her art. In the
+meantime Amy's marriage had taken place; the cottage was deserted, and
+Mrs. Germaine found a home with her younger daughter. It was Gerald's
+wish that Theresa also should reside with them; but she had declined,
+affectionately, though positively; and she was now an exile from those
+who loved her best. Her engagements had proved profitable, she had
+acquired much more than was necessary for her simple wants; and all
+her surplus gainings were scrupulously sent to her mother. I, too, was
+frequently remembered in her generous deeds, and many a valuable book,
+far beyond my power to purchase, came with sweet words from the
+cheerer of my old age.</p>
+
+<p>But this state of things was too prosperous to last always&mdash;the crowd
+does not permit without a struggle the continuance of such prosperity.
+Gradually the tide of public approval changed; rivals spoke
+slightingly of one who surpassed them; her impetuous words&mdash;and she
+was frank almost to a fault&mdash;were misrepresented, and envying lips
+whispered of the impropriety of her independent mode of life.
+Flatterers grew more cautious, professing friends looked coldly, and,
+one by one, her female acquaintances found various pretexts for
+withdrawing their attentions. Theresa was not suspicious; it was long
+before these changes were apparent to her, and even then she
+attributed them to accident. Confident in her own purity of motive,
+and occupied with her own engrossing pursuits, she had neither time
+nor inclination for disagreeable speculations. She felt her refuge was
+incessant employment; she dared not even yet allow herself leisure for
+contemplation and memory. A volume of her poems had just been
+published&mdash;its destiny filled her thoughts&mdash;for who cannot imagine the
+trembling, fearing solicitude with which the young poet would send
+forth her visions to the world? Her engagements in her profession,
+too, were ceaseless, and her health began to fail under the effects of
+a mode of life so constant in its labors, and so apart from the
+refreshing influences usually surrounding girlhood. And was she happy?
+Alas! she had often asked herself that question, and answered it with
+tears; ambition has no recompense for tenderness, womanhood may not
+lay aside its yearnings. Her letters to us contained no word of
+despondency; she spoke more of what she thought than of what she felt.
+Her heart had learned to veil itself; and yet, as I read her notes to
+me, the suspicion would sometimes involuntarily come over me that she
+was not tranquil, that her future looked to her more shadowy; and I
+longed to clasp her once more to the bosom that had pillowed her head
+in childhood, and bid her bring there her hoard of trial and care. She
+was, by her own peculiar feelings banished from our midst; how could
+she return, to dwell in Gerald's home, she who for years had striven
+in solitude and silence to still memories of which <i>he</i> made the
+grief? But she was no pining, love-sick girl; the high and rare tone
+of her nature gave her many resources, and imparted strength to battle
+with gentler impulses. But it was a painful and unnatural conflict
+between an ingenuous character and a taunting pride&mdash;a war between
+thought and tenderness. Wo to the heart that dares such a struggle!
+Aspiration may bring a temporary solace, excitement a momentary balm;
+but never yet, in all the tear-chronicled records of genius, has woman
+found peace in praise, or compensation in applause. It is enough for
+her to obtain, in the dangerous arena of competition, a brief refuge,
+a transient forgetfulness; love once branded with those words&mdash;<i>in
+vain</i>, may win nothing more enduring this side of heaven.</p>
+
+<p>It was the twilight of a whiter evening; the lamps were just beginning
+to brighten the city streets, and the fire burned cheerfully in
+Theresa's apartment. Various paintings, sketches, and books, were
+scattered around, and on the table lay a miniature of Amy, painted
+from memory. It depicted her, not in the flush of her early womanhood,
+not in the gladness of her hope-tinted love, but as she was, years
+ago, in her idolized infancy. The lamp-light shone full upon that
+young, faultless face, brightening almost like life those smiling
+lips, and the white brow gleaming beneath childhood's coronet of
+golden hair.</p>
+
+<p>The young artist was seated now in silent and profound
+abstraction&mdash;for twilight is the time the past claims from the
+present, and memory is summoned by silence. Theresa's feet rested on a
+low footstool, her hands were clasped lightly together on her lap, and
+she leaned back in the cushioned chair, in an attitude of perfect and
+unstudied grace she would have delightedly sketched in another. Have
+ever I described my favorite's appearance? I believe not; and yet
+there was much in her face and figure to arrest and enchant younger
+eyes than mine. I could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> not, if I would, delineate her features, for
+I only recall their charm of emotion, their attractive variety of
+sentiment. Her eyes were gray, with dark lashes, and their expression
+was at once brilliant and melancholy, and the most spiritual I have
+ever seen. Her hair was long and fair, with a tinge of gold glancing
+through its pale-brown masses, as if sunbeams were woven in its
+tresses. She was not above the average height, but the proportions of
+her figure were peculiarly beautiful, and her movements and attitudes
+had the indescribable gracefulness whose harmony was a portion of her
+being. She looked even younger than she really was, and her dress,
+though simple, was always tasteful and attractive, for her reverence
+for the beautiful extended even to common trifles, and all about her
+bespoke the elevating presence of intellectual ascendency. The glance
+that once dwelt on her returned to her face instinctively&mdash;so much of
+thought and feeling, of womanhood in its faculty to love and hope, of
+affection in its power to endure and triumph, so much of genius in the
+glory of its untested youth, lay written in lines of light on that
+pale, maidenly brow. Ah, me! that I should remember her thus! As
+Theresa sat there, she idly took a newspaper from the table to refold
+it, and as she did so, her own name attracted her attention. It headed
+a brief notice of her poems, which was doubtless written by some one
+her success had offended&mdash;there are minds that cannot forgive a
+fortunate rival. It was a cold, sarcastic, sneering review of her
+book, penned in that tone of contemptuous irony, the most profaning to
+talent, the most desecrating to beauty. There was neither justice nor
+gentleness in the paragraph, but it briefly condemned the work, and
+promised at some future period, a more detailed notice of its defects.
+It was the first time that Theresa had felt the fickleness of popular
+favor; and who does not know the morbid sensitiveness with which the
+poet shrinks from censure? To have her fair imaginings thus degraded,
+her glowing theories prostrated, the golden pinions of her fancy
+dragged to the dust&mdash;were these things the compensation for thought,
+and toil, and sacrifice? It was a dark wisdom to learn, one that would
+cast a shade over all future effort&mdash;and disappointed and mortified,
+Theresa threw down the paper, and wept those bitter tears which
+failure teaches youth to shed.</p>
+
+<p>An hour of painful reverie had passed, when the door of the apartment
+was noiselessly opened, and with silent steps, the dark-robed figure
+of a woman entered and approached Theresa.</p>
+
+<p>"I have intruded on you most unceremoniously," said the stranger, in a
+voice singularly soft and melodious, "and I have no apology to plead
+but the interest I feel in youth and genius, and this privileged
+garb;" and as Theresa glanced at her dress, she saw it was that of a
+Sister of Charity. It was an attire she had grown familiar with,
+during her abode at the convent, and the winning kindness usually
+distinguishing its wearers, had invested it in her mind with pleasant
+associations.</p>
+
+<p>"You are welcome, nevertheless," replied Theresa, "for I know that in
+admitting your sisterhood we often entertain angels unawares."</p>
+
+<p>The new comer seated herself, and the young artist strove in vain to
+recall her features; they were those of a stranger.</p>
+
+<p>"You are personally unknown to me, Theresa," said the lady, after a
+brief silence, "but your father was one of my earliest friends.
+Nay&mdash;it matters not to ask my name; the one I then bore, is parted
+with now, and I would not willingly speak it again; under a different
+appellation I have been lowlier and happier."</p>
+
+<p>"You knew my father, then," rejoined Theresa, eagerly, "in his younger
+and more prosperous days. His loss I feel more keenly as my experience
+increases; for I was too young at his death to appreciate in reality,
+as I now do in memory, all his character's high, and generous, and
+spiritual beauty."</p>
+
+<p>"We met often in the gay world," replied the guest&mdash;and her words were
+uttered less to Theresa than to herself&mdash;"and our acquaintance was
+formed under circumstances which ripened into intimacy what might
+otherwise have proved only one of those commonplace associations that
+lightly link society together; but it is of yourself I would speak. I
+have opportunities in the fulfillment of my duties of hearing and
+seeing much that passes in the busy world about me; and I have been
+prompted by the old memories still clinging around me, to proffer you
+the counsel of a friend. Will you forgive me, if I address you
+candidly and unreservedly?"</p>
+
+<p>And then, as Theresa wonderingly granted the desired permission, she
+proceeded gently to detail some of the efforts of malice, and to utter
+words of kind warning to one who, enfolded within her own illusions,
+saw nothing of the shadows gathering about her path.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not happy, Theresa!" continued the sister; "I know too much
+of woman's life to believe you are. I am aware of the motives from
+which you act; and while I reverence your purity of heart, and the
+pride which has tempted you to work out your own destiny, I easily
+trace the weariness your spirit feels. I, too, have had my visions;
+they are God's gift to youth, but I have lived sadly and patiently to
+watch dream after dream fade away. I see you have forgotten me,
+although I saw you frequently at the convent of &mdash;&mdash;; but I am not
+surprised at your forgetfulness, for the nun's sombre veil shuts her
+out alike from hearts and memories."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you, too, then unhappy?" asked Theresa, as the low and musical
+voice beside her trembled in its tone; "you, whose footsteps are
+followed by blessings, whose life is hallowed by doing good? I have
+long ago learned to doubt the peace of the cloister, but I have ever
+loved to believe there was recompense in your more active career, and
+that if happiness exists on earth, the Sisters of Charity deserve and
+win it."</p>
+
+<p>"In part, you are right," answered the nun, "but you have yet to
+realize that the penalties of humanity are beyond mortal control; that
+we cannot, by any mode of life, pass beyond their influence. All we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
+<i>can</i> do, is prayerfully to acquire patient forbearance and upward
+hope; many a heavy heart beats beneath a veil like this, and carries
+its own woes silently within, while it whispers to others of promise
+and rest." The visiter paused, and Theresa interrupted a silence that
+began to be painful to both.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel," she said, "that I have acted injudiciously in braving
+remark, and in proudly dreaming I could shape out my own course. But
+you, who seem to have divined my thoughts so truly, doubtless read
+also the <i>one</i> reason which renders my return home most depressing."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it well," was the reply; and the speaker pressed Theresa's
+trembling hand within her own, "but your prolonged stay here will be
+fraught with continually increasing evils; and if you expect repose,
+it cannot be here, where envy and detraction are rising against you.
+We cannot sway the prejudices of society, Theresa; and in some
+respects even the most gifted must submit to their decrees. And now,"
+she said, as she rose to take leave, "I must bid you farewell. I have
+followed an impulse of kindness in undertaking the dangerous task to
+warn and counsel. If you will listen to one fatally versed in the
+world's ways, you will cease to defy public opinion, and amid the more
+tranquil scenes of your home, you will acquire a truer repose than
+ever fame bestowed. In all probability we shall meet no more, yet I
+would fain carry with me the consolation of having rescued from
+confirmed bitterness of spirit, the child of a faithful friend, and
+pointed a yearning heart to its only rest." And before Theresa could
+reply, the door had closed, and the visiter was gone.</p>
+<br />
+
+<h5>THERESA'S LETTER.</h5>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"My friend! the credulity is ended, the illusion is
+over, and I shall return to you again. There are
+reasons I need not mention now, which would render
+a residence with my sister painful, and with my old
+waywardness I would come to you, the kind sharer
+of my young impulses, and to your home, the quiet
+scene of my happiest days. I am listless and sick at
+heart; and the hopes that once made my future
+radiant, appear false and idle to my gaze. Success
+has bestowed but momentary satisfaction, while
+failure has produced permanent pain; and I would
+fain cease my restless strivings, and be tranquil once
+more. This is no hasty resolve; several weeks
+have elapsed since I was prompted to it first; and
+I believe it is wiser to submit than to struggle&mdash;to
+learn endurance, than to strive for reward. In a
+few days more I shall be with you, saddened and
+disheartened, and changed in all things but in love
+and gratitude."</p></div>
+
+<p>She had, indeed, changed since I saw her last, nearly three years
+before. The world had wrought its work, hope had been crushed by
+reality. Her health was evidently fatally affected, and her voice,
+once so gay and joyous, was low and subdued. It was mournful to my
+loving eyes to mark the contrast between the sisters now; Amy, in the
+noiseless routine of domestic duties, found all her wishes satisfied;
+she was rendered happy by trifles, and her nature demanded nothing
+they could not offer. Without one rare mental endowment, or a single
+lofty trait, she had followed her appointed path, a serene and
+contented woman. A glance at the household circles around us, will
+prove this contrast a common one; the most gifted are not the most
+blessed&mdash;and the earth has no fulfillment for the aspirations that
+rise above it.</p>
+
+<p>And what of Theresa, the richly and fatally endowed, she who, with all
+the faculties for feeling and bestowing gladness, yet wasted her youth
+away; she who sadly tested the beautiful combination of genius with
+womanhood, yet lavished her powers in vain&mdash;why need I trace the
+passing away of one beloved so well? My task is finished; and I
+willingly lay aside a record, written through tears. Wouldst thou know
+more? There is a grave in yonder church-yard that can tell thee all!</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="SONNETS" id="SONNETS"></a>SONNETS.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY JAMES LAWSON.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h4>I.&mdash;HOPE.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">I mark, as April days serenely smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Clouds heaped on clouds in mountain-like array,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While radiant sunbeams with their summits play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Gilding with gorgeous tints the mighty pile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And earth partakes of every hue the while!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Oft have I felt on such a day as this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The sudden shower down-pouring on my head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though in the distance all is loveliness.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Thither, in vain, with rapid step I've sped.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I liken this to Hope: although with sorrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The heart is overcast, and dim the eye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Delusive Hope&mdash;not present, ever nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Presages gladness on a coming morrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lures us onward, till our latest sigh.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>II.&mdash;A PREDICTION.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">The day approaches, when a mystic power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Shall summon mute Antiquity, to tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The buried glories of the long lost hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And she will answer the enchanter's spell&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Then shall we hear what wondrous things befell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When the young world existed in its prime.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The truths revealed will turn the wisest pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That ignorance so long abused their time.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Vainly may Error blessed Truth assail<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With specious argument, and looking wise<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Exult, as millions worship at her shrine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet, in the time ordained, shall Truth arise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And walk in beauty over earth and skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While man in reverence bows before her power divine!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="PHANTASMAGORIA" id="PHANTASMAGORIA"></a>PHANTASMAGORIA.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY JOHN NEAL.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<p>I don't believe in night-caps. That is, I don't believe in stopping
+the ears, in shutting the eyes, in sealing up the senses, nor in going
+to sleep in the midst of God's everyday wonders. We are put here to
+look about us. We are apprentices to Him whose workshop is the
+universe. And if we mean to be useful, or happy, or to make others
+happy, which, after all, is the only way of being happy ourselves, we
+must do nothing blindfold. Our eyes and our ears must be always open.
+We must be always up and doing, or, in the language of the day, <i>wide
+awake</i>. We must have our wits about us. We must learn to use, not our
+eyes and our ears only, but our understandings&mdash;our <i>thinkers</i>.</p>
+
+<p>There is a diviner alchemy wanted, and there is room for a bolder and
+a more patient spirit of investigation, amid the drudgery and bustle
+of common life, than was ever yet employed, or ever needed, in
+ransacking the earth for gems and gold, or the deep sea for pearls.
+Would you shovel diamonds and rubies, or turn up "as it were fire,"
+you have but to dig into and sift the rubbish that lies heaped up in
+your very streets&mdash;or to drive the ploughshare through the busiest
+places ever trodden by the multitude. You need not blast the
+mountains, nor turn up the foundations of the sea, nor smelt the
+constellations. You have but to open your eyes, and to look about you
+with a thankful heart; and you will find no such thing as worthless
+ore&mdash;no baseness unallied with something precious; with hidden virtue,
+or with unchangeable splendor.</p>
+
+<p>The golden air you breathe toward evening, after a bright, rattling
+summer-shower&mdash;the golden motes you may see playing in the sunshine
+with clouds of common dust, if you but take the trouble to lift your
+eyes, when you are lying half asleep in your easy-chair, just after
+dinner&mdash;are part and parcel of the atmosphere and the earth; and yet
+have they fellowship with the stars, and with the light that trembleth
+forever upon the wing of the cherubim. Be ye of the towering and the
+steadfast upon earth, and these will be to you in the darkness of
+midnight as revelations from the sky; as unforetold glimpses of the
+Imperishable and the Pure that inhabit the Empyrean.</p>
+
+<p>But, being one of those who go about the world for three score years
+and ten, with their night-caps pulled over their eyes&mdash;and ears&mdash;you
+don't believe a word of this. And when you are told with all
+seriousness that there is room for more wonderful and comforting
+transmutations, of the baser earth just under your window, or just
+round the corner, than was ever dreamed of by the wisest of those who
+have grown old among furnaces and crucibles and retorts; wearing their
+lives away in a search after perpetual youth, and their substance in
+that which sooner and more surely than "riotous living" impoverisheth
+a man&mdash;the transmutation of the baser metals into gold&mdash;you fall a
+whistling maybe&mdash;or beg leave to suggest the word <i>fudge</i>. If so, take
+my word for it, like a pretty woman with the small-pox, the
+probability is, you are very much to be <i>pitted</i>.</p>
+
+<p>All stuff and nonsense! you say&mdash;downright rigmarole&mdash;can't for the
+life of you understand what the fellow's driving at.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed.</p>
+
+<p>As sure as you are sitting there.</p>
+
+<p>Well, then, we must try to convince you. One of the pleasantest things
+for a man who <i>does</i> believe in night-caps, you will grant me, though,
+at the best, he may be nothing more than a bachelor, is to lie out in
+the open air, on a smooth sloping hill-side, when the earth is
+fragrant, and the wind south, on a long drowsy summer afternoon&mdash;with
+his great-coat under him if the earth is damp&mdash;and with the long rich
+grass bending over him, and the blossoming clover swinging between him
+and a clear blue sky, starred all over with golden dandelions,
+buttercups and white-weed&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Faugh!</p>
+
+<p>One moment if you please&mdash;with golden dandelions, buttercups and
+white-weed&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Poh!&mdash;pish!&mdash;Why don't you say with the dent-de-lion, the ranunculus
+and the crysanthimum?</p>
+
+<p>Simply because I prefer bumble-bees to humble-bees, and even to
+honey-bees, notwithstanding the dictionaries, and never lie down in
+the long rich grass, with a great-coat under me; and am not afraid of
+catching cold though I may sit upon damp roses, or tread upon the
+sweet-scented earth, or tumble about in the newly-mown hay&mdash;&mdash;with my
+children about me.</p>
+
+<p>Children!&mdash;--oh!&mdash;--ah!&mdash;might have known you were not one of us&mdash;only
+half a man therefore.</p>
+
+<p>How so?</p>
+
+<p>That you had a better-half somewhere, to which you belong when you are
+at home.</p>
+
+<p>In other words you might have known that I was no bachelor.</p>
+
+<p>Precisely.</p>
+
+<p>Sir! you are very obliging. And now, perhaps, I may be allowed to
+finish the demonstration. I undertook to convince you, if you
+remember, that every human being, with his eyes about him, has, under
+all circumstances, and at all times, within his reach, and subject to
+his order, a heap of amusement, a whole treasury of unappropriated
+wisdom. And all I have asked of you thus far is to admit, that if a
+man will but go forth into the solitary place and lie down, and
+stretch himself out, and look up into the sky, and watch the flowers
+and leaves pictured and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> playing there&mdash;provided he be not more than
+half asleep, and has a duffel great-coat under him, water-proof shoes
+and a snug umbrella within reach, and no fear of the rheumatism; he
+may find it one of the pleasantest things in the world; though it may
+happen that he has no idea of poetry, and cares for nothing on earth
+beyond a pair of embroidered slippers, a warm, padded, comfortable
+dressing-gown, or a snuff-colored cigar if at home; or a fishing-rod,
+a doubtful sky, and a bit of a brook, all to himself, when he is out
+in the open air. And in short, for I love to come to the point, (in
+these matters,) all I ask of you, being a bachelor, is to admit&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>I'll admit any thing, if you'll stop there.</p>
+
+<p>Agreed. You admit, then, that an old bachelor, wedded to trout-fishing
+and tobacco-smoke; familiar with nothing but whist, yarn stockings,
+flannels and shooting-jackets; without the least possible relish for
+landscape or color, for the twittering of birds, or the swarming of
+bumble-bees and forest-leaves; with no sense of poetry, and a mortal
+hatred of rigmarole, may nevertheless and notwithstanding&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Better take breath, sir.</p>
+
+<p>May notwithstanding and nevertheless, I say, find something worth
+looking at, on a warm summer afternoon, though he be lying half asleep
+on his back, with the clover-blossoms and buttercups nodding over him;
+to say nothing of thistle-tops, dandelions or white-weed&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>I do&mdash;I do!&mdash;I'll admit any thing, as I told you before.</p>
+
+<p>Well, then&mdash;in that case&mdash;I do not see what difficulty there would be
+in supposing that <i>any</i> man might find something to be good-natured
+with <i>anywhere</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Not so fast, if you please. Would you have it inferred, because an old
+bachelor, whose comforts are few&mdash;and <i>far</i> between!&mdash;and whose
+habits&mdash;and opinions&mdash;are fixed forever, could put up with Nature for
+a short summer afternoon, under the circumstances you mention&mdash;with a
+great-coat under him, and a reasonable share of other comforts within
+reach, that, <i>therefore</i>, anybody on earth, a married man, for
+example, should find it a very easy thing to be happy <i>any</i> where,
+under <i>any</i> circumstances?&mdash;even at home now, for instance, with his
+wife and children about him?</p>
+
+<p>Precisely. And now, sir, to convince you. If you will but place
+yourself at an open window in the "leafy month of June," and watch the
+play of her green leaves upon the busy countenances of men, as you may
+in some of our eastern cities, and in most of our villages all over
+the country, where the trees and the houses, and the boys and the
+girls have grown up together, playfellows from the
+beginning&mdash;playfellows with every thing that lives and breathes in the
+neighborhood; or if you will but stand where you are, and look up into
+the blue sky, and watch the clouds that are <i>now</i> drifting, as before
+a strong wind, over the driest and busiest thoroughfares of your
+crowded city; changing from shadow to sunshine, and from sunshine to
+shadow, every uplifted countenance over which they pass, you will
+find yourself at the very next breath a wiser, a better, and a happier
+man. You will undergo a transfiguration upon the spot? You will see a
+mighty angel sitting in the sun. You will hear the rush of wings
+overshadowing the whole firmament. And, take my word for it, you will
+be <i>so</i> much better satisfied with yourself! But mind though&mdash;never do
+this in company.</p>
+
+<p>Beware lest you are caught in the fact. They will set you down for a
+lunatic, a contributor to the magazines, or a star-gazer&mdash;if you
+permit them to believe that you can see a single hairsbreadth beyond
+your nose, or a single inch further by lifting your eyes to Heaven
+than by fixing them steadfastly upon the earth. One might as well be
+overheard talking to himself; or be caught peeping into a letter just
+handed him by a sweet girl he has been dying to flirt with; but, for
+reasons best known to himself&mdash;and his wife&mdash;durst not, although
+perfectly satisfied in his own mind, from her way of looking at him,
+when she handed him the letter, that she would give the world to have
+him see it without her knowledge; and that either she did not know he
+was a married man&mdash;or was willing to overlook that objection.</p>
+
+<p>Tut, tut! my boy&mdash;you will never coax me into the trap, though I admit
+your cleverness, by contriving to let me understand, as it were by
+chance, what are regarded everywhere as the privileges of the married.</p>
+
+<p>Permit me to finish, will you?</p>
+
+<p>With all my heart!</p>
+
+<p>But pleasant as all these things are&mdash;the green fields and the blue
+sky, the ripple of bright water, and the changeable glories of a
+landscape in mid-summer; or the upturned countenances of men, looking
+for signs in the heavens, when they have ships at sea&mdash;or wives and
+children getting ready for a drive&mdash;or new hats and no umbrellas&mdash;or
+houses afire, which may not happen to be over-insured&mdash;a pleasanter
+thing by far it is to sit by the same window, when the summer is over,
+and the clouds have lost their transparency, and go wandering heavily
+athwart the sky, and the green leaves are no more, and the songs of
+the water are changed, and the very birds have departed, and watch by
+the hour together whatever may happen to be overlooked by all the rest
+of the world; the bushels of dry leaves that eddy and whirl about your
+large empty squares, or huddle together in heaps at every sheltered
+corner, as if to get away from the wind; the changed livery of the
+shops&mdash;the golden tissues of summer, the delicately-tinted shawls, and
+gossamer ribbons, and flaunting muslins, woven of nobody knows
+what&mdash;whether of "mist and moonlight mingling fitfully," or of sunset
+shadows overshot with gold, giving way to gorgeous velvet, and fur,
+and sumptuous drapery glowing and burning with the tints of autumn,
+and, like distant fires seen through a fall of snow in mid-winter,
+full of comfort and warmth; and all the other preparations of
+double-windows and heavy curtains, and newly invented stoves, that
+find their own fuel for the season and leave something for next year;
+and porticoes that come and go with the cold weather,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> blocking up
+your path and besetting your eyes at every turn, with signs and hints
+of "dreadful preparation."</p>
+
+<p>Go to the window, if you are troubled in spirit; if the wind is the
+wrong way; if you have been jilted or hen-pecked&mdash;no matter which&mdash;or
+if you find yourself growing poorer every hour, and all your wisest
+plans, and best-considered projects for getting rich in a hurry turned
+topsy-turvy by a change in the market-value of bubbles warranted never
+to burst; or if you have a note to pay for a man you never saw but
+once in your life, and hope never to see again&mdash;to the window with
+you! and lean back in your chair with a disposition to be pleased, and
+watch the different systems of progression&mdash;or, in plain English, the
+<i>walk</i> of the people going by. A single quarter of an hour so spent
+will put you in spirits for the day, and furnish you with materials
+for thought, which, well-husbanded, may last you for a twelvemonth;
+yea, abide with you for life, like that wisdom which is better than
+fine gold, and more precious than rubies.</p>
+
+<p>Well, you have taken my advice; you are at the window. Now catch up
+your pen and describe what you see, <i>as you see it;</i> or take your
+pencil if you are good for any thing in that way, and let us see what
+you can do. A free, bold, happy and <i>faithful</i> sketch of that which in
+itself would be worthless, or even loathsome, shall make your fortune.
+Morland's pigs and pig-styes, on paper or canvas, were always worth
+half a hundred of the originals. One of Tenier's inside-out pictures
+of a village feast, with drunken boors&mdash;not worth a groat apiece when
+alive&mdash;would now fetch its weight in gold three times over.</p>
+
+<p>Look you now. There goes a man with a large bundle under his arm, tied
+up in a yellow bandanna handkerchief, faded and weather-worn, and
+looking as if ready to burst&mdash;the bundle I mean. What would you give
+to know the history of that bundle and what there is in it? Observe
+the man's eye, the swing of his right arm&mdash;the carriage of his
+body&mdash;the dip of his hat. You would swear, or might if your
+conscience, or your habits as a gentleman, would let you, that he was
+a proud and a happy fellow, though you never saw his face before in
+all your life. The tread of his foot is enough&mdash;the very swing of his
+coat-tail as he clears the corner. It is Saturday night, and he is
+carrying the bundle home to his own house&mdash;of that you may be sure.
+And you may be equally sure that whatever else there may be in it,
+there is nothing for him to be ashamed of, and <i>therefore</i> nothing for
+the man himself. My notion is, that he has bought a ready-made cloak
+for his wife, without her knowledge, or got a friend to choose the
+cloth and be measured for it, who will be found at his fire-side when
+he gets home, holding forth upon the comfort of such an outside
+garment in our dreadful winters, with a perseverance which leads the
+good woman of the house to suspect her neighbor of being better off
+than herself, in one particular at least, for the coming Sabbath. But
+just now the door opens&mdash;the gossiping neighbor springs up with a
+laugh&mdash;the bundle is untied&mdash;the children scream, and the wife jumps
+about her husband's neck as if he had been absent a twelvemonth.</p>
+
+<p>Where!&mdash;where!</p>
+
+<p>Can't you see them for yourself! Can't you see the fire-light flash
+over the newly-papered walls! can't you hear the children laugh as
+mother swings round with her new cloak&mdash;scattering the ashes, and
+almost puffing out their only lamp, which she has set upon the floor
+to see how the garment hangs! and now she drops into a chair. Take my
+word for it, sir, that is a very worthy woman&mdash;and the man himself is
+a Washingtonian.</p>
+
+<p>What man?</p>
+
+<p>What man! Why the man that just turned the corner, with a great yellow
+bundle under his arm.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed! you know him then?</p>
+
+<p>Never saw his face in all my life. But stay&mdash;what have we here? Get
+your paper ready! Here comes a thick-set fellow, in a blue
+round-about, with his hat pulled over his eyes, and one hand in his
+trowsers' pocket&mdash;poor fellow! There he goes! But why one hand? He had
+his reasons for it, I'll warrant ye, if the truth were known. He
+walked by with bent knees, you observed, and with a most unpromising
+stoop. He was feeling for his last four-pence; and found a hole in his
+pocket. Can't you read the whole story in the man's gait?&mdash;in the
+slow, sullen footfall&mdash;in the clutch of his fingers&mdash;in the stiffened
+elbow, and the bent knees?</p>
+
+<p>Another Washingtonian, perhaps?</p>
+
+<p>No indeed! nothing of the sort. Had he been a Washingtonian, he would
+have found something more than a hole in his pocket when he had got
+through his week's work, and was beginning to find his way back to his
+little ones.</p>
+
+<p>Well, well, have it so, if you like; but what say you to the couple
+you see there?</p>
+
+<p>Stop!&mdash;that large woman, leading a child with a green veil&mdash;and the
+other passing her in a hurry without lifting her eyes, and the moment
+she has got by turning and looking after her, as if there were
+something monstrous in the cast of that bonnet&mdash;a very proper bonnet
+of itself&mdash;or in the color of that shawl&mdash;of gold and purple and
+scarlet and green&mdash;both were but just entering upon the field of
+vision as you spoke, and now both have vanished forever! And lo! a
+tall man of a majestic presence, with a little black dog at his
+heels&mdash;the veriest cur you ever saw! What must be the nature of such
+companionship? Look! look! there goes another&mdash;a fashionably dressed
+young man&mdash;followed by two or three more&mdash;intermixed with women and
+children&mdash;and now they go trooping past by dozens! leaving you as
+little time to note their peculiarities as you would have before the
+table of a camera obscura, set up in the middle of Broadway at the
+busiest season of the year. Let us breathe a little. And now the
+current changes&mdash;the groups are smaller&mdash;the intervals longer&mdash;and if
+we can do nothing else, we may watch their step and carriage, the play
+of colors, and the whimsical motion of their arms and legs while they
+go hurrying by, these phantoms of the hour. And then, what a world of
+enjoyment just for the mere<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> trouble of looking out of a window! Can
+it be a matter of surprise that, in countries where it is not
+permitted to women to look at the show in this way, or even to appear
+at the window, a substitute should be found by so arranging mirrors as
+to represent within their very bed-chambers whatever happens in the
+street below?</p>
+
+<p>But the business of the day is nearly over. The chief thoroughfare is
+well nigh deserted and we may now begin to dwell upon the
+peculiarities of here and there one, as the laggards go loitering by,
+some nearer and some further off, but all with a look of independence
+and leisure not to be mistaken. And why? They have money in their
+purses&mdash;the happy dogs&mdash;or what is better than money, character and
+credit, or experience, or health and strength, and a willingness to
+oblige.</p>
+
+<p>Not so fast, if you please. What say you to that man with the pale
+face and coal-black hair?</p>
+
+<p>Let me see. What do I say of that man? Do you observe that slouched
+hat, and old coat buttoned up to the chin?&mdash;the dangling of that old
+beaver glove, and the huge twisted club&mdash;the slow and stately pace,
+and the close fitting trowsers carefully strapped down over a pair of
+well blacked shoes without heels, and therefore incapable of being
+mistaken for boots.</p>
+
+<p>There is no mistaking that man. He has seen better days; the world has
+gone hard with him of late, and he is a&mdash;Ah! that lifting of the head
+as he turns the corner! that gleam of sunshine, as he recovers and
+touches his hat, after bowing to that fine woman who just brushed him
+in passing, shows that he is still a gentleman; and, of course, can
+have nothing to fear, whatever may happen to the rest of the world.
+Fifty to one, if you dare, that he has just bethought himself of the
+bankrupt law, of a bad debt which he begins to have some hope of, or
+of the possibility of making up by his knowledge of the world for what
+he wants in youth, should he think it worth his while to follow up the
+acquaintance. Ah!&mdash;gone! He disappeared, adjusting his neckcloth, and
+smiling and looking after the handsome widow, as if debating within
+himself whether the advantage he had obtained by that one look were
+really worth pursuing.</p>
+
+<p>What ho! another! A vulgar phantom this&mdash;a fellow that has nothing to
+do. After hurrying past a couple of women, hideously wrapped up, and
+beyond all doubt, therefore, uglier than the witches of Macbeth, he
+stops and leers after them&mdash;not stopping altogether, but just enough
+to keep his head turned over his right shoulder&mdash;and then walks away,
+muttering to himself so as to be heard by that ragged boy there, who
+stands staring after him with both hands grasping his knees, and with
+<i>such</i> a look!</p>
+
+<p>Another yet&mdash;and yet another shape! and both walking with their legs
+bent; both taking long strides, and both finding their way, with the
+instinct of a blood-hound, never looking up, nor turning to the right
+or left in their course. Are they partners in trade, or rivals? Do
+they follow the same business, or were they school-fellows together,
+some fifty years ago; and are they still running against each other
+for a purse they will never find till they have reached the grave
+together. See! they have cleared that corner, side by side; and now
+they are stretching away at the same killing pace, neck and neck,
+toward the Exchange. Of course, they live in the same neighborhood;
+they are fellow-craftsmen, they have reputations at stake, and are
+determined never to yield an inch&mdash;whatever may happen. But why
+wouldn't they look up? Was there nothing above worth minding&mdash;nothing
+on the right hand nor on the left of their course, worthy a passing
+thought? <i>Whither are they going?</i> And what will they have learnt or
+enjoyed, and what will they have to say for themselves when they reach
+the end of their course?</p>
+
+<p>And that other man, with arms akimbo, a dollar's worth of flour in a
+bag, flung over his shoulder&mdash;why need he strut so&mdash;and why doesn't he
+walk faster? Has he no sympathy for the rest of the world, not he; or
+does he only mean to say, in so many words, <i>that</i> for such weather!
+and <i>that</i> for every fellow I see, who isn't able to carry home a
+dollar's worth of flour to his family every Saturday night! Does he
+believe that nobody else understands the worth and sweetness of a
+home-baked loaf?</p>
+
+<p>And that strange looking woman there, with her muff and parasol, her
+claret-colored cloak, with a huge cape, and that everlasting green
+veil! What business, now, has such a woman above ground&mdash;at this
+season of the year? Would she set your teeth chattering before the
+winter sets in? And what on earth does she carry that sun-shade for,
+toward nightfall, about the last of October&mdash;is the woman beside
+herself?</p>
+
+<p>But she is gone; and in her stead appear three boys, who, but for the
+season of the year, might be suspected of birdnesting. They are all of
+a size&mdash;all of an age, or thereabouts&mdash;and all dressed alike, save
+that one wears a cloth cap, and the others fur. Yet, like as they are
+in age and size, and general appearance, anybody may see at a glance
+that one is a well-educated boy, and a bit of a gentleman&mdash;perhaps
+with spending money for the holydays, while the other two are clumsy
+scapegraces. Watch them. Observe how the two always keep together, and
+how, as they go by the windows of that confectionary-shop, first one
+lags a little in the rear, and then the other, till they have stopped
+and wheedled their companion into a brief display of his pocket-money.
+The rogues!&mdash;how well they understand his character! See! he has
+determined to have it his own way, in spite of their well-managed
+remonstrances and suggestions; and now they all enter the shop
+together&mdash;he foremost, of course, with a swagger not to be
+misunderstood for a moment. And now they have sprung the trap! and the
+poor boy is a beggar!</p>
+
+<p>But who are they? Judge for yourself? Do they not belong, of course,
+to the same neighborhood? Have they not an air of good-fellowship,
+which cannot be counterfeited&mdash;a something which explains why they are
+always together, and why they are all dressed alike? How they loiter
+along, now that they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> have squeezed him as dry as an orange, as if
+they were just returning from a long summer-day's tramp in the
+wilderness after flowers and birds-nests&mdash;the flowers to tear to
+pieces, and the birds-nests to set up in the school for other boys to
+have a <i>shy</i> at. By to-morrow, they will be asunder for months&mdash;he at
+school afar off, and they at leap-frog or marbles. And after a few
+years, they will be forgotten by him, and he remembered by them&mdash;such
+being the difference in their early education&mdash;as the boy they were
+allowed to associate with, and to fleece at pleasure when he was
+nobody but Tom, Dick, or Harry, and thought himself no better than
+other folks.</p>
+
+<p>But enough&mdash;let us leave the window. It is growing dark; and if you
+are not already satisfied, nothing ever will satisfy you, that the
+great mass of mankind have ears, but they hear not; and eyes, but
+they see not&mdash;and go through the world with their night-caps pulled
+over both. Poor simpletons!&mdash;what would they think of a man who should
+run for a wager with both feet in one shoe. Are you satisfied?</p>
+
+<p>I am&mdash;of one thing.</p>
+
+<p>And what is that?</p>
+
+<p>Why, that a magazine-writer may coin gold out of any thing&mdash;out of the
+golden atmosphere of a summer-evening&mdash;or the golden motes he sees
+playing in the sunshine, on the best possible terms, with the common
+dust of the trampled highway&mdash;or the golden blossoms that fill the
+hedges&mdash;in a word, that with him it should be mere child's play to
+"extract sunshine from cucumbers."</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="THE_OAK-TREE" id="THE_OAK-TREE"></a>THE OAK-TREE.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY PARK BENJAMIN.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h4>I.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beautiful oak-tree! near my father's dwelling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alone thou standest on the sloping green;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In size, in strength, all other trees excelling&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The noblest feature of the rural scene.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whether with foliage crowned in Summer's glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or stripped of leaves in winter's icy reign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grandly thou speakest an unchanging story<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of power and beauty, not bestowed in vain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I looked upon thee with deep veneration,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When first my soul acknowledged the sublime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And felt the might and grandeur of creation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In all that longest braves the shock of Time.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Centuries ago, an acorn, chance-directed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fell on the spot, and then a sapling sprung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From driving winds and beating storms protected<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By that kind Heaven which guards the frail and young.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And prouder height with greater age acquiring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair as when suns on thy first verdure smiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou standest now, a forest lord, aspiring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O'er all thy peers from whom thou art exiled.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beautiful oak-tree! my most pleasant gambols<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were, with my dear companions, always played<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath thy branches, and from farthest rambles<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wearied, we came and rested in thy shade.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Morning and evening, Falls, and Springs, and Summers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Here was our Freedom, here we romped and sported;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And here by moonlight, happiest of all comers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In thy dark shadow lovers sat and courted.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And here, when snow in frozen billows bound thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like a white ocean deluging the land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And smaller trunks, or near or far, were round thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like masts of vessels sunken on the strand,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We climbed high up thy naked boughs, enchanted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shaking whole sheets of spotless canvas down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, by keen frosts and breezes nothing daunted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hailed the slow sledges from the neighboring town.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah! flown delights! ah! happiness departed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What have I known like you, since, light and free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And undefiled, and bold and merry-hearted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I used to frolic by the old oak-tree!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>II.</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long years ago I left my father's mansion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through many realms, in various climates roamed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Speeding away o'er all Earth's wide expansion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where icebergs glittered, and where torrents foamed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From pole to pole, across the hot Equator,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Restless as sea-gulls whirling o'er the deep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Snowden's crown to &AElig;tna's fiery crater,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From Indian valley to Caucasian steep;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From Chimborazo, loftiest of all mountains<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Trod by man's foot, to Nova Zembla's shore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Iceland Hecla's ever-boiling fountains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To where Cape Horn's incessant surges roar;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From France's vineyards to Antarctic regions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From England's pastures to Arabia's sands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the rude North, with her unnumbered legions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To the sweet South's depopulated lands;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O'er all those scenes, or beautiful or splendid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which man risks wealth, and peace, and life to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I roved at will&mdash;but all my journeys ended,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Returned to gaze upon the old oak-tree.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, ah! beneath those broad, outreaching branches,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What other forms, what different feet had strayed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since I, a youth, went forth to dare the chances<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which adverse Fortune in my path had laid.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Past my meridian, sinking toward the season<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When Hope's horizon is with clouds o'ercast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When sportive Fancy yields to sober Reason,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I came and questioned the remembered Past.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I came and stood by that oak-tree so hoary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forgetting all the intervening years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood on that turf, so blent with childhood's story,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And poured my heart out in one gush of tears.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I had returned to claim my father's dwelling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Borne like a waif on Time's returning tide&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Summoned I came, by one brief missive telling<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That all I left behind and loved had died.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wiser and sadder than in life's bright morning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As softly fall the sun's last rays on me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As when I saw their early glow adorning<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The emerald foliage of this old oak-tree.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="PAULINE_GREY" id="PAULINE_GREY"></a>PAULINE GREY.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
+
+<h4>OR THE ONLY DAUGHTER.</h4>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY F. E. F., AUTHOR OF "AARON'S ROD," "TELLING SECRETS," ETC.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h5>(<i>Concluded from page</i> 233.)</h5>
+
+
+<p>The result of Mr. Grey's investigations <i>was</i> decidedly unfavorable.
+He had much difficulty, in the first place, in obtaining any distinct
+information at all, most people hating to commit themselves in such a
+matter. He was generally answered evasively, and one or two merely
+said, "they knew no good of him."</p>
+
+<p>A friend, however, undertook to make the inquiries, and with much
+better success than Mr. Grey could do; and he learnt "that young
+Wentworth was wild, very wild&mdash;much in debt, with no business habits;
+and, in short, that there was not a father in town who would be
+willing to give his daughter to him."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Grey, of course, considered this information as decisive, and
+communicated it to his wife. She received it with mingled feelings of
+relief and apprehension. There was no danger now of Pauline's having
+him, but she dreaded telling her so; not that she for a moment doubted
+Pauline's acquiescence in the decision, about which she herself
+supposed there could be no two opinions, but only the burst of grief
+with which she would receive it.</p>
+
+<p>But never was Mrs. Grey more mistaken. Pauline saw nothing in the
+information that her father had received to change her opinions or
+feelings at all; "that he was wild&mdash;she knew that&mdash;he had told her so
+himself. He had been very wild before he knew her&mdash;and in debt&mdash;yes,
+he had told her that too. He had never had any motive to apply himself
+to business before," and Pauline seemed to think his not having done
+so as a matter of choice or taste, only showed his superior
+refinement. In short, she adhered as resolutely to her determination
+as ever.</p>
+
+<p>What ideas did she, poor girl, attach to the word "wild;" something
+very vague, and not disgraceful at all. Perhaps a few supper parties,
+and a little more champagne than was quite proper. She did not know,
+could not know, the bearing of the term; and as to being in debt, that
+conveyed little more to her mind. If he owed money it could easily be
+paid. She knew no more of the petty meanness of small sums borrowed,
+and little debts contracted every where, than she knew of the low
+tastes involved in the word "wild."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Grey was in despair. But here Mr. Grey interposed. He had never
+exerted his authority before, but never doubted he had the power when
+he had the will. He forbade Pauline to think of him.</p>
+
+<p>He might as well have forbade the winds to blow. Pauline vehemently
+declared she would marry him, and wept passionately; and finally
+exhausted by the violence of her emotions, went to bed sick.</p>
+
+<p>She kept her room for the next week, wept incessantly, refused to eat,
+except when absolutely forced to, and gave way to such uncontrolled
+passion, as soon told upon her slight frame, always delicate.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Grey was alarmed; but Mr. Grey, not having seen Pauline since his
+decision had been communicated to her, was very firm.</p>
+
+<p>"After the first burst was over, Pauline," he said, "would return to
+her senses."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Grey, "go up stairs and see her yourself;
+perhaps you can induce her to listen to reason."</p>
+
+<p>And Mr. Grey went to Pauline. He had been prepared to see her looking
+pale and sad, but he was not prepared for the change that a week's
+strong excitement had wrought in Pauline's appearance. Her large,
+black eyes looked larger, and her face smaller from the deadly
+paleness of her fair skin. Mr. Grey was, indeed, shocked; and either a
+slight cold, or the nervousness induced by weakness, had brought on
+the little hacking cough they always so dreaded to hear.</p>
+
+<p>He was much moved. He could not see his child die before his eyes; and
+it ended in Pauline's tears prevailing, and bringing him to listen to
+her views, instead of his inducing her to listen to reason. He
+promised he would do what he could&mdash;and once having been brought to
+hesitate, the natural impatience and decision of his character led him
+to the very point Pauline desired, of settling the matter as fast as
+possible; for "if it was to be, let it be done at once," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Wentworth was recalled. He was all protestations and promises; and
+Mr. Grey, with a heavy heart, "hoped it might turn out better than
+they anticipated."</p>
+
+<p>Pauline, at any rate, was restored to present happiness, and her
+doating parents had the immediate satisfaction of seeing her once
+again her radiant self, full of joy and gratitude, and confident of
+the future as secure of the present.</p>
+
+<p>The gay world in which they lived were very much surprised at the
+announcement of the engagement; at Mr. and Mrs. Grey's consenting to
+it; and even confounded at hearing that a day&mdash;and an early day,
+too&mdash;was actually named for the marriage.</p>
+
+<p>"Is not that extraordinary?" said Mrs. Livingston. "One would really
+think they were afraid the young man would slip through their fingers.
+How anxious some people are to marry their daughters!"</p>
+
+<p>"How absurd!" said another; "for I am told they don't like it, as, of
+course, they cannot. And she is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> so young, that if they delayed it a
+little while, another season, with the admirers she is sure to have,
+would put it out of her head."</p>
+
+<p>Lookers on are very wise; and it's a pity actors cannot be equally so.
+No doubt this would have been the right, and probably the successful
+course. But Mrs. Grey had no longer any spirit to oppose Pauline, and
+Mr. Grey, in his impatient agony, seemed to think the sooner it was
+over the better.</p>
+
+<p>Foolish, unhappy father. He was only riveting his own misery.</p>
+
+<p>But Pauline was radiant. Deep in the excitement of wedding
+preparations and invitations&mdash;for her parents listlessly acquiesced in
+every thing she asked; and she meant to be married "in pomp, in
+triumph, and in revelry."</p>
+
+<p>The mornings were spent in shopping, and one could scarcely go into a
+store where they did not meet Mrs. Grey and Pauline looking over
+delicate laces, exquisite embroidery, and expensive silks, Pauline's
+bright face looking brighter than ever, and her youthful voice musical
+in its gay happiness; and Mrs. Grey looking so dejected, and speaking
+in the lifeless tones of one who has a heavy sorrow settled on her
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>Two short months were rapidly consumed in all the arrangements usually
+made on such occasions&mdash;and the wedding day arrived.</p>
+
+<p>Never had Pauline looked so beautiful. The emotions called up by the
+occasion softened without dimming the brilliancy of her usual beauty.
+The veil of finest lace, the wreath of fresh and rare exotics, the
+jeweled arms, all lent their aid to render her surpassingly lovely.</p>
+
+<p>"Pray God it turn out better than we can hope!" was all Mr. Grey could
+say, to which his wife replied by a sigh, which seemed the fitting
+response to a prayer uttered with so little hope.</p>
+<br />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4>
+
+<p>Mr. and Mrs. Grey had made it a condition with Mr. Wentworth that they
+were not to lose Pauline, and consequently it was arranged that the
+young couple were to live at home.</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely were the wedding festivities over before Mrs. Grey remarked
+that Pauline was nervous when her husband was alone with her father
+and herself; and that when he entered into conversation, she always
+joined in hastily, and contrived to engross the greater part of it
+herself. She evidently did not want him to talk more than could be
+helped. But much as she shielded him, the truth could not be
+concealed. Little as Mr. and Mrs. Grey had expected from Wentworth, he
+fell painfully below their expectations. He was both weak and
+ignorant&mdash;ignorant to a remarkable degree, for one occupying his
+position in society. It only showed how he had turned from every
+advantage offered him by education. His sentiments, too, were common;
+every thing stamped him as a low-minded, coarse-feeling young man&mdash;at
+least they feared so. He might improve. Pauline's influence might do
+something.</p>
+
+<p>But was Pauline beginning to be at all alive to the truth as it was?</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Grey feared so; but she could not ascertain. Pauline was
+affectionate and tender, but not frank with her mother. Mrs. Grey,
+like most mothers, who, to tell the truth, are not very judicious on
+this point, would have led Pauline to talk of her husband; but here,
+she knew not how, Pauline baffled her. She always spoke, and spoke
+cheerfully and respectfully, of Mr. Wentworth, but in such a general
+manner, that Mrs. Grey could come to no satisfactory conclusion either
+way.</p>
+
+<p>The truth was that though Pauline was very young, her character was
+developing fast. Her heart and her mind were now speaking to her
+trumpet-tongued&mdash;and their voice was appalling.</p>
+
+<p>Her husband was daily revealing himself in his true character to her;
+and the idol of her imagination was fast coming forth as an idol of
+clay. But though Pauline was willful, she had other and great and
+noble qualities. An instinct told her at once that no complaint of her
+husband must pass her lips. Pride whispered that she had chosen her
+own lot, and must bear it, and love still murmured, "Hope on&mdash;all is
+not yet lost." But she grew pale and thin, and though she was
+animated, and talked, perhaps, more than ever, Mrs. Grey imagined, for
+she could not tell to a certainty, that her animation was forced, and
+her conversation nervous.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Wentworth seemed soon to weary of the calm quiet of the domestic
+circle, for of an evening he was beginning to take his hat and go to
+the club, staying at first but for an hour or so, and gradually later
+and later.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not going up stairs yet, mamma," said Pauline, "I will sit up
+for Mr. Wentworth."</p>
+
+<p>"Robert will let him in, Pauline," replied Mrs. Grey, anxiously. "You
+are looking pale, my child&mdash;you had better go up."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," answered Pauline, quietly; and her mother satisfied,
+retired to her own room, supposing Pauline had done the same. But
+Pauline had let the man sit up for her husband the night before; and
+she had heard her mother, as she happened to be passing in the hall
+when Mrs. Grey did not see her, finding fault with him for being late
+in the morning; to which the servant answered, in extenuation, that he
+had been up so late for Mr. Wentworth that he had over-slept himself.</p>
+
+<p>"How late was it, Robert?" asked Mrs. Grey, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Near two, ma'am," replied the man.</p>
+
+<p>"Near two!" repeated Mrs. Grey, as if to herself&mdash;and a heavy sigh
+told Pauline better than any comments could have done what was passing
+in her mother's mind. She determined that henceforth no servant should
+have her husband in his power again. So when she had heard her
+mother's door close for the night, she rang for the man and said,</p>
+
+<p>"Robert, you can go to bed now, I will sit up for Mr. Wentworth."</p>
+
+<p>"My child, how thin and pale you grow," Mrs. Grey would say,
+anxiously; "and that little cough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> of yours, too, Pauline&mdash;how it
+distresses me. What is the matter with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, mother," Pauline would reply, cheerfully; "I always cough a
+little, you know, if I am not well. And if I am looking paler and
+thinner than usual, that is to be expected&mdash;is it not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so," Mrs. Grey would reply, half satisfied for the present
+that perhaps Pauline had truly accounted for her wan looks.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! little did she know of the late hours of harassing watching that,
+night after night, Pauline spent waiting the coming in of her truant
+husband; and less did she know of the agonized feelings of the young
+wife, as she read in the glassy eye and flushed brow of her husband,
+the meaning of that once insignificant word "wild," which now she was
+beginning to apprehend in all its disgusting reality.</p>
+
+<p>Pauline's spirit sometimes rose, and she remonstrated with Wentworth;
+but his loud tones subdued her at once. Not that she yet feared him,
+but dreaded lest those tones should reach her mother's ear. The one
+absorbing feeling, next to bitter disappointment, was concealment.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother," she said, one day, "I want you to listen to what I have to
+say&mdash;and do not reject my proposition until you have fully considered
+it. Mr. Wentworth wants to go to housekeeping."</p>
+
+<p>"To housekeeping, Pauline!" exclaimed Mrs. Grey. "Why, Pauline, Mr.
+Wentworth promised to remain with us&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mother," interrupted Pauline, "and will keep his promise if you
+say so. But what I wish is, that you should not oppose it."</p>
+
+<p>"What is there, my child," said Mrs. Grey, "that he has not, or that
+you have not here, that you can have in your own house. Only say it,
+Pauline, and any thing, every thing either you or he wish, shall be
+done."</p>
+
+<p>Pauline was affected to tears by her mother's tone and manner, and she
+said,</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest mother, there is nothing that love and tenderness can do,
+that you and my father have not done. Do not think that I am
+insensible or ungrateful. Oh, no! never was your love so important to
+me as now&mdash;" she here checked herself. "But, mother, what I would
+say&mdash;what I think, is, that Mr. Wentworth, that no man can feel
+perfectly at ease in another's house; and that a young man, perhaps,
+hardly feels his responsibility as the head of a family, while living
+at home; that his respectability before the world&mdash;in short, I think,
+I <i>feel</i>, that it would be better for Mr. Wentworth if he were in his
+own house."</p>
+
+<p>And beyond this last intimation Pauline could not be drawn, although
+Mrs. Grey did her best to pursue the theme and draw her out. She only
+said, "Well, mother, think it over, and talk to father about it."</p>
+
+<p>And Mrs. Grey did talk to her husband, and found, to her surprise,
+that he agreed with Pauline.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe she is right," he said. "Wentworth and ourselves cannot
+live much longer together. I believe it will be for our mutual
+happiness that we be partially separated."</p>
+
+<p>"If I were only satisfied that she is satisfied," urged Mrs. Grey.
+"But Pauline is so reserved about her husband."</p>
+
+<p>"And Pauline is right, my dear," replied Mr. Grey, with deep emotion.
+"I honor her for it. My poor child has drawn a sad lot, and nobly is
+she bearing it. We must aid her and comfort her as we can, Alice; and
+if she wills that we be deaf and blind, deaf and blind we must be. God
+bless her!" he added, fervently. "My angel daughter."</p>
+
+<p>And so arrangements on the most liberal scale were made for Pauline's
+separate establishment; for, to tell the truth, it was rather
+Pauline's wish than her husband's. She thought that if they were
+alone, she could exert some influence over him, which now she was
+afraid of attempting lest it might bring exposure with it. Pauline had
+borne much, but not from fear. She had a brave, high spirit. She did
+not tremble before Wentworth; but both pride and love&mdash;yes, love even
+for him, and deep, surpassing love for her parents, led her to adopt
+her present course.</p>
+
+<p>Poor child! she did not know she was only withdrawing herself from
+their protection.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Pauline had not been long at housekeeping before she found it involved
+with it a source of domestic unhappiness she had not anticipated; and
+that was in the character and manners of the associates who her
+husband now brought home with him, and who at her father's house she
+had been protected from seeing.</p>
+
+<p>Wentworth had the outward appearance and manner of a gentleman,
+whatever he might be in point of fact; but there were those among his
+friends, and one in particular, a Mr. Strickland, from whom Pauline
+instinctively shrank, as being neither a gentleman nor a man of
+principle. She looked upon him, too, as leading Wentworth astray; and
+at any rate felt he was a person her husband had no right to bring
+into her presence. She remonstrated with him more than once on the
+subject, and he warmly defended his friend, and said her suspicions
+were as unfounded as unwarrantable, and finally got in a passion, and
+declared he would bring whom he chose to his own house. Pauline firmly
+declared that he might do that, but that <i>she</i> was equally mistress of
+her own actions, and would <i>not</i> receive Mr. Strickland as an
+acquaintance. If he chose to ask him there, she would retire as he
+entered.</p>
+
+<p>Wentworth was very angry&mdash;quite violent in fact; but Pauline remained
+unshaken&mdash;and he left the house in great displeasure.</p>
+
+<p>He did not return until late. Pauline had given him up, and just
+ordered dinner when he entered. As he came in he said loudly, "Walk
+in, Strickland;" and there was something in the eye of both, as they
+entered, that told Pauline that their quarrel had been communicated by
+her husband to his friend, for Strickland's expression was both
+foolish and insolent; and Wentworth evidently had been put up to brave
+it out.</p>
+
+<p>Pauline colored deeply, and rose to leave the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> room just as the
+folding-doors of the dining-room were thrown open. Wentworth hastily
+stepped forward, and taking her arm with a grasp, the firmness of
+which he himself was unaware at the time, said,</p>
+
+<p>"Take your place at the table."</p>
+
+<p>The print of his fingers was left on her delicate wrist as he withdrew
+his hand; but Pauline was too proud to subject herself to further
+indignity in the presence of a stranger; and though she read triumph
+in his insolent eye, she took her place silently at the head of the
+table.</p>
+
+<p>Wentworth drank freely of wine, for he was evidently laboring under
+both embarrassment and excitement. The conversation was such as to
+cause the blood to mount to Pauline's temples more than once, but she
+firmly kept her seat until the cloth was removed and the servants
+withdrew, and then she rose.</p>
+
+<p>Wentworth said, "You are not going yet!" but there was a look in her
+eye, as she turned it on him, that silenced all further remonstrance
+on his part. A coarse laugh she heard as she closed the door, whether
+of derision or triumph she could not tell; but she went to her own
+room, and double-locked the doors, and paced the floor in great
+excitement until she heard the offending stranger leave.</p>
+
+<p>Then she descended to the parlor, looking pale, but her bright eye
+clear, and resolve in every lineament. Wentworth was alone, standing
+on the rug, with his back to the fire as she entered.</p>
+
+<p>He evidently quailed as he encountered her full glance, but instantly
+made an effort, and attempted to bluster it out.</p>
+
+<p>She approached close up to him before she spoke, and then said in a
+clear, low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not come to reproach or to listen to recriminations, but to tell
+you I never will submit to such insult again." And baring her delicate
+wrist where the mark of his fingers was now turning black, said,
+"Should my father see that, you well know the consequence. I have
+nothing more to say, but remember it," and passing through the room,
+she left him speechless with contending feelings, shame predominating
+perhaps over the others, and retired once more to her room.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. and Mrs. Grey dined with Pauline the next day, and Wentworth did
+his best to behave himself well. He was attentive and respectful to
+them, affectionate to Pauline.</p>
+
+<p>She looked very pale, however, though she made an effort to be
+cheerful and animated. At dinner the loose sleeve of her dress falling
+back as she raised her hand, her mother exclaimed, "Oh, Pauline, what
+is the matter with your wrist?"</p>
+
+<p>Glancing slightly at her husband, who obviously changed color and
+looked uneasy, she said quietly, as she drew her bracelet over the
+dark stains, "I struck it and bruised it." Wentworth's brow cleared,
+and there was a look of grateful affection in his eye which Pauline
+had not seen for many a day.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. and Mrs. Grey returned home better satisfied with their son-in-law
+than they had been almost since his marriage. So little often do the
+nearest friends know of what is going on in the hearts of those
+dearest to them.</p>
+
+<p>We will not trace Mr. Wentworth's career more closely. It is a common
+one&mdash;that of a "wild" young man settling into a dissipated one. Mr.
+Grey heard occasionally who his associates were; and he knew them to
+be men without character, a kind of gentlemen "blacklegs." He heard
+intimations, too, of his habits, and intemperance was leaving its
+traces in his once rather handsome countenance.</p>
+
+<p>But from Pauline came no murmur. And soon the birth of a daughter
+seemed to absorb all her feelings, and opened, they trusted, an
+independent source of happiness for their unhappy child.</p>
+
+<p>Pauline had hoped that the birth of her infant might effect some
+favorable change in her husband's conduct. But here again she was open
+to a new disappointment. "He hated girls," he said. "If it had been a
+fine boy, it would not have been so bad."</p>
+
+<p>Pauline sighed, and as she pressed her darling to her heart, thanked
+God in silence that it was not a son, who might by a possibility
+resemble his father.</p>
+
+<p>The child was a delicate infant from its birth; and whether it was the
+constant sound of its little wailing cries, or that Wentworth was
+jealous of the mother's passionate devotion to the little creature, or
+perhaps something of both, but he fairly seemed to hate it as the
+months went on. But rude and even brutal though he might be, he could
+not rob Pauline of the happiness of her deep love. She turned
+resolutely from her husband to her child. What comfort earth had left
+for her, she would take there.</p>
+
+<p>The long summer months and the infant pined away, and the beautiful
+mother seemed wasting with it. Mr. and Mrs. Grey were out of town for
+a few weeks, during which the child became alarmingly low. The
+physician gave Pauline little hope. It was too weak to be removed for
+change of air. Nature might rally, but nothing more could be done for
+it. Pauline attempted to detain her husband by her side, but he shook
+her rudely off, saying, "Nonsense, you are always fancying the brat
+ill!" and the young mother was left desolate by the little bed of her
+dying baby.</p>
+
+<p>We will pass over those hours of agony, for there are no words that
+can describe them; but by midnight its young spirit had winged its
+flight to Heaven, and the heart-broken mother wept over it in an
+anguish few even of parents ever knew.</p>
+
+<p>"That's Mr. Wentworth's step," said the nurse in a low voice to her,
+as he passed the nursery door. "Shall I go to him, ma'am?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Pauline, "I will go. Do you stay here." And rising firmly,
+she went to her husband's room.</p>
+
+<p>He was lying dressed on the bed as she approached. She laid her hand
+on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked stupidly at her. She
+told him their child was dead&mdash;and he laughed a stupid, brutal
+laugh&mdash;the laugh of intoxication.</p>
+
+<p>Pauline shuddered from head to foot, and returned to the bed of her
+dead child; and when Mr. and Mrs. Grey, who had been sent for, arrived
+in the morning;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> they found her as she had lain all night, her arms
+clasped round the infant, and moaning wildly, as one who has no hope
+on earth.</p>
+
+<p>"Take me&mdash;take me home!" she said, as she threw herself into her
+mother's arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Never, my child, to be parted from us again," said her father, as he
+pressed her passionately to his heart.</p>
+
+<p>They understood each other, and when the funeral was over, without one
+word to "Wentworth&mdash;for Pauline could bear nothing more&mdash;Mr. Grey took
+Pauline home.</p>
+
+<p>That night she was in a high fever, and for two or three days she
+continued alarmingly ill&mdash;but at the end of that time she was enabled
+to sit up.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Grey had, meanwhile, seen Wentworth; but the nature of their
+conversation he did not repeat to his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>One afternoon, however, he came into her sick room, and said,</p>
+
+<p>"Pauline, are you strong enough to see your husband. He entreats to
+see you, if but for a few minutes." Pauline murmured an acquiescence.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear," said Mr. Grey, "you must leave them&mdash;I have promised it;
+but Mrs. Granger (the nurse) will remain."</p>
+
+<p>Wentworth presently entered. He seemed calm, for the nurse's eye was
+upon him; asked her how she was, and talked for a few minutes, and
+then getting up, as if to take Pauline's hand for farewell, he
+approached his lips close to her ear, said some low muttered words,
+and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>Pauline did not speak for some time after he had withdrawn, and the
+nurse receiving no answer to some question she had asked her, went up
+to her, and found she had fainted.</p>
+
+<p>Shivering succeeded to fainting fits&mdash;faintings to shivering; they
+thought that night that she was dying.</p>
+
+<p>A few days after she said, in a quick, low, frightened voice to her
+mother,</p>
+
+<p>"Lock the doors mother, quick!"</p>
+
+<p>Much startled, Mrs. Grey did instantly as Pauline requested, and then
+her ear, less fine than the sensitive organ of her unhappy daughter,
+caught the sound of Wentworth's voice in the hall below.</p>
+
+<p>"Fear not, my Pauline," she said, as she took her in her arms, "your
+father will protect you;" but no sound escaped Pauline's lips. She was
+evidently intently listening. Soon loud voices were heard, doors
+shutting&mdash;and then the street door with a bang. Presently Mr. Grey's
+measured tread was heard coming up stairs, and next his hand was on
+the lock.</p>
+
+<p>"Is he alone?" were the first words Pauline had uttered since she had
+heard her husband's voice.</p>
+
+<p>"He is, my child."</p>
+
+<p>"Pauline, fear not, you shall never see him again," were the words of
+her father, uttered in a calm but deep voice.</p>
+
+<p>That night Pauline slept tranquilly, for the first time almost since
+she had known Wentworth.</p>
+
+<p>She seemed revived in the morning, and Mrs. Grey's hopes rose again,
+but only to be dashed once more forever.</p>
+
+<p>The iron had eaten too deeply in her soul. Pauline's slight frame had
+no power of renovation. The spirit seemed to grow brighter and
+brighter as she wasted away. Unutterable love and gratitude looked out
+from her eyes, as she turned them from her father and mother,
+alternately; but she was too weak to say much, and gently thus she
+faded away to fall asleep upon earth, awakening a purified and
+regenerated spirit in heaven.</p>
+
+<p>Her's was "a broken and a contrite heart," and of such is the kingdom
+of heaven.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Could mortal agony such as Mr. Grey's be added to, as he followed his
+idolized child to the grave?</p>
+
+<p>Yes&mdash;even there something was to be added&mdash;for Wentworth, as chief
+mourner, stepped forward and offered his arm to the unhappy father,
+which, even at that moment, and in that presence, Mr. Grey could not
+help shaking off.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>And what have this childless, broken-hearted couple left of their
+beautiful daughter?</p>
+
+<p>A picture&mdash;delicate and lovely in its lineaments, but</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"To those who see thee not, my words are weak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The canvas must fail in the life-speaking eye; and exquisite though
+the pictured image be, oh! how cold to those who knew and idolized the
+beautiful original.</p>
+
+<p>Heaven help you, unhappy parents! Your all was wrecked in that one
+frail bark. Though friends may sympathize at first, yet they will grow
+weary of your grief&mdash;for such is human nature. God comfort you! for
+there is no earthly hope for those who have lost their only child.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="SONNET_TO_A_MINIATURE" id="SONNET_TO_A_MINIATURE"></a>SONNET.&mdash;TO A MINIATURE.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Image of loveliness! in thee I view<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The bright, the fair, the perfect counterpart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of that which love hath graven on my heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In every lineament, to nature true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Methinks I can discern <i>her</i> spirit through<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each feature gleaming; soft, serene and mild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gentle as when on me first she smiled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stirring my heart with passions strange and new.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would that my tongue could celebrate the praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of thy divine original, or swell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The general chorus, or in lofty lays<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of her celestial grace and beauty tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fancy flutters on her unplumed wing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None but an angel's harp, an angel's praise should sing.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">C. E. T.</span></p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="WHORTLEBERRYING" id="WHORTLEBERRYING"></a>WHORTLEBERRYING.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY ALFRED B. STREET.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+
+<p>About the middle of August, the village was honored by repeated visits
+from the little ragged population of "Barlow's Settlement," on the
+"Barrens," with quantities of whortleberries for sale. "Want any
+huckleberries to-day?" was heard all over. You couldn't stir abroad
+without some urchin with a smirched face&mdash;a tattered coat, whose
+skirts swept the dust, showing, evidently, its paternal descent, and
+pantaloons patched in the most conspicuous places, more picturesque
+than decent&mdash;thrusting a basket of the rich fruit into your very face,
+with an impudent yell of "huckleberries, sir?" or some little girl,
+the edges of whose scanty frock were irregularly scalloped, making a
+timid courtesy, saying meekly, "Don't you want some berries to-day,
+sir? nice berries, sir, just picked!"</p>
+
+<p>At length Bill Brattle, who is a resident of the settlement, came into
+the village, and said in Wilson's bar-room, "that he'd lived on the
+Barrens nigh on six years, and he'd <i>never</i> in all that 'ere time seed
+sich an allfired grist of huckleberries. Why there was acres on acres
+on 'em, and he didn't tell no lie when he said that the airth was
+parfectly blue with 'em."</p>
+
+<p>This soon got about, and the consequence was a whortleberry party the
+very next day. A number of the young people, of both sexes, started in
+several conveyances, and about noon found themselves, after rumbling
+through the covered bridge on the Neversink River, climbing slowly up
+the steep winding hill that ascends from the east bank of the stream,
+and whence was a beautiful view of the valley below.</p>
+
+<p>Now there are many fine views in Sullivan. It is an exceedingly
+picturesque county. It has all the charms of precipitous hills,
+winding valleys, dark wooded gorges, lovely river-flats, and
+meandering streams. It is sufficiently cultivated to have the beauty
+of rural landscape softening the forest scenery, without disturbing to
+any great degree its wildness and grandeur.</p>
+
+<p>This Neversink valley river, although not among the finest, is
+nevertheless a very lovely one&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Beneath&mdash;the clear placid stream comes coursing from the north,
+through narrow but beautiful flats, in all the pomp of rural wealth,
+wrinkled with corn-fields, bearded with rye, and whitened with
+buckwheat, imaging old age rejoicing amongst its blessings. Opposite,
+rise steep hills in all the stages of cultivation&mdash;the black
+logging&mdash;the grain waving amidst stumps&mdash;and the smooth grassy
+meadow&mdash;whilst at the south, where the little river makes a bold turn,
+the sweet landscape is lost in the deep mantle of the aboriginal
+forest.</p>
+
+<p>Mastering the hill, the whole cavalcade was soon turning into a stony,
+root-tangled, miry road, leading from the turnpike into the heart of
+the "Barrens," the territory of the desired fruit. After sinking and
+jolting for some little distance, we came to a part of the track which
+had been laid over with small parallel logs, close to each other, and
+forming what is called in country parlance "a corduroy road". We
+"bumped along" (as Jim Stokes, one of our party, a plain young farmer,
+expressed it) over this railway of the woods, until our bones seemed
+so loose we thought we could hear them rattle at every jolt; and at
+last stopped at a large log cabin which had been fitted up as a
+tavern.</p>
+
+<p>A fierce eagle, with his head nearly all eye, one striped claw
+grasping a bundle of arrows, and the other the American flag, served
+for the sign, and was elevated upon a tall hickory sapling, with the
+ambitious legend of "Eagle Hotel; by A. Pritchard," flaunting in a
+scroll from the ferocious bird's mouth.</p>
+
+<p>A smaller log structure, with one large door, and a square opening
+over it, through which a haymow seemed thrusting its brown head, as if
+to look abroad, with a warm glow of sunshine upon it, told plainly
+that our horses at all events would not suffer.</p>
+
+<p>In a short time we scattered ourselves over the ground in the
+vicinity, in search of our fruit. The appearance of things around was
+quite characteristic of the region generally. The principal growth
+were a dwarf species of oak, called in the language of the country
+"scrub-oak"&mdash;low shaggy spruces&mdash;stunted gnarled pines, and here and
+there, particularly in low places, tall hemlocks. The earth was
+perfectly bestrewed with loose stones, between which, however, the
+moss showed itself, thick and green, with immense quantities of that
+beautiful creeping plant called the "ground pine," winding and twining
+its rich emerald branching fingers in every direction. Scores of
+cattle-paths were twisting and interlacing all around us, giving, in
+fact, to the scene, notwithstanding its barrenness, a picturesque
+appearance. There were stone-fences also intersecting each other every
+where, erected for no earthly purpose, as I could perceive, but to
+make way with some part of the vast quantities of stone scattered
+about; for as to cultivating the lots, that was entirely out of the
+question.</p>
+
+<p>There was some little pasturage, however, and the bells of the
+browsing cows were heard tinkling in a pleasing manner, and giving
+somewhat of a social character to the desolate landscape.</p>
+
+<p>We were all soon immersed in our search. The bushes were crouching all
+around us, bearing their rich clusters of misty blue berries, covered
+with the soft beautiful down that vanished at the touch leaving the
+berry dark and glittering as the eye of a squirrel. How like is the
+down of the fruit to the first gossamer down of the heart&mdash;and ah! how
+soon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> the latter also vanishes at the rude touch of the world. The
+pure virgin innocence with which God robes the creature when fresh
+from His holy hand! why cannot it stay! why, oh why, does it so soon
+depart and leave the soul disrobed of its charm and loveliness. Harsh
+world, bad world! it destroys all it touches.</p>
+
+<p>Ahem! we'll return.</p>
+
+<p>Merry laughter breaks out from the girls, and playful scrambles occur
+amongst them as to who should secure the most fruit. The berries pour
+in handfuls in the baskets, which show in some cases signs of
+plethora. I tell you what it is, reader, there is sport in picking
+whortleberries. Strawberries pout their rich mouths so low that it
+gives a sore temptation to the blood to make an assault upon the head,
+causing you, when you lift it, to look darkly upon various green spots
+dancing about your eyes. Raspberries again, and blackberries, sting
+like the dev&mdash;I beg pardon, making your hands twitch up like a fit of
+St. Vitus' dance. But picking whortleberries is all plain sailing.
+Here are the berries and there are your baskets; no getting on your
+knees, (although it must be confessed the bushes are somewhat low,)
+and no pricking your fingers to the verge of swearing.</p>
+
+<p>We all hunt in couples&mdash;a lover and his sweet-heart&mdash;and take
+different paths. My companion was a tall black-eyed girl, the sight of
+whom always made my heart beat quicker, in those unsophisticated days.
+Rare sport we had, and so, doubtless, had the rest. Pick, pick, pick
+went the fingers&mdash;and ruttle, ruttle, ruttle in the baskets ran the
+berries. Glorious sport! glorious times! We talked, too, as we
+picked&mdash;indeed why should we not&mdash;we had the whole English language to
+ourselves, and no one to disturb us in it&mdash;and I tell you what it
+is&mdash;if people can't talk they had better sell their tongue to the
+surgeons and live only through their eyes. What's the use of existing
+without talk&mdash;ay, and small talk too. Small talk is (as somebody I
+believe says, although I am not certain, but no matter) the small
+change of society, and who hasn't the small change, ten chances to one
+hasn't the large. However, we'll change the theme.</p>
+
+<p>We hear in the distance the hum of male voices, and the light silvery
+tones of female, broken in upon by frequent laughter and the music of
+the cow-bells, tingle lingle, tink clink&mdash;here&mdash;there&mdash;far off and
+near.</p>
+
+<p>All of a sudden, as I part a large thick cluster of whortleberry
+bushes, I hear an indescribably quick rattle, amounting to a hum as it
+were&mdash;fearful and thrilling in the extreme. I start back, but as I do
+so I see in the gloom of the bushes two keen blazing orbs, and a long
+scarlet tongue quivering and dancing like a curl of fire. "A
+rattlesnake&mdash;a rattlesnake," I cry involuntarily&mdash;my companion gives a
+little shriek, and in a moment several of our company, of both sexes,
+are hastening toward us. It is a peculiarity or want of ability in the
+reptile to dart only its length, and my first recoil had placed me, I
+knew, beyond its reach. But there stood the leafy den, studded all
+over with a profusion of beautiful gems, and although the rattle had
+ceased, there to a certainty was the enraged monster, swelling
+doubtless in his yellow venom; for it is another trait of the
+crawling, poisonous demons never to desert their post, (rather a good
+trait, by the way, not always possessed by those erect rattlesnakes,
+men,) and we must get rid of the dragon before we could come at the
+fruit. Well! what was to be done! We couldn't think of leaving the
+field&mdash;that would be too bad&mdash;to be driven off by a snake, and before
+the eyes of our Dulcineas too&mdash;it couldn't be thought of! So one of us
+cuts a pole with a crotch at the end&mdash;the rest of us arm ourselves
+with stones and sticks, and then the poleman commences his attack upon
+the bush. Ha! that was a thrust, well aimed! hear him rattle,
+hum-m-m&mdash;how the bush flutters! he sprang then! That was a good
+thrust! Jupiter, how he rattles! see, see, see, there are his eyes!
+ugh! there's his tongue! now he darts out his head and neck! Heavens!
+what malignant rage and ferocity. Keep back, girls! don't be too
+curious to see! Thrust him again! How he makes the bush flutter! how
+his eyes shoot around! how his tongue darts in and out&mdash;and
+whir-r-r-r-r-r&mdash;how his rattles shake. Now he comes out, head up,
+tongue out, eyes like coals of fire&mdash;give him the stones now&mdash;a full
+battery of them! Halloo! what's Sloan about there with his crotched
+pole. Well planted, by Jupiter! right around his neck. Ha! ha! ha! how
+he twists and turns and writhes about&mdash;how he would like to bite! how
+he would like to strike some of that tawny poison of his into our
+veins! Yes, yes, your snake-ship! but it wont do! "you can't come it,"
+as Loafing Jim says, "no how you can fix it."</p>
+
+<p>He's a tremendous snake though&mdash;full four feet! u-g-h! only think of
+his crawling around and catching hold of the calf of your leg! Not so
+pleasant as picking whortleberries, to say the least of it. See his
+gray mottled skin! though it looks beautiful, flashing in the rays of
+the sun&mdash;and then the ribbed white of his undershape! However, what
+shall we do with him! Sloan, hold him tight now, and I'll aim at his
+head. Good sharp stone this&mdash;whew&mdash;well aimed, although I say it&mdash;I
+think he must have felt it this time. Halloo! another stone&mdash;from
+Wescott. I fancy that made his head ache! And that one has crushed it
+as flat as a&mdash;griddle-cake.</p>
+
+<p>We again, after this terrific battle, (a dozen against one though I
+must confess,) scatter among the bushes. Awful onslaughts are again
+made amongst the berries, and our baskets (those at all events in
+sight) are plumping up with the delicious, ripe, azure balls. I have
+forgotten to mention, though, that it is a very warm day. The sky is
+of a pale tint, as if the bright, pure, deep blue had been blanched
+out by the heat; and all around the horizon are wan thunder-caps
+thrusting up their peaks and summits. It looks decidedly thunderish.</p>
+
+<p>What's that again! another alarm? How that girl does scream out there!
+What on earth is the matter! We rush around a sand-bank, looking warm
+and yellow in the sun, and we see the cause of the out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>break. There is
+Caroline G. shrinking back as if she would like to evaporate into thin
+air, and executing a series of shrieks, with her open mouth, of the
+most thrilling character. Young Mason is a little in front, with a
+knotted stick, doubtless just picked up, whilst some ten or twelve
+rods in advance is a great shaggy black bear, very coolly helping
+himself to the contents of the two baskets hitherto borne by the
+couple, giving himself time, however, every now and then to look out
+of his little black eyes at the rightful owners, with rather a
+spiteful expression, but protruding at the same time his red tongue,
+like a clown at the circus, as if enjoying the joke of their picking
+and he eating. Afterward I learned that they had deposited their
+baskets on the ground under a loaded bush, for greater facility in
+securing the fruit, when suddenly they heard a blow and a snort, and
+looking where the queer sounds came from, they saw his Bruinship's
+white teeth and black phiz within a foot or two of them, directly over
+the bush. Abandoning their baskets, they retreated in double quick
+time, and while Mason sought and found a club for defence, Caroline
+made haste to clear her voice for the most piercing efforts, and
+succeeded in performing a succession of sustained vocal flights, that
+a steam whistle couldn't much more than match. The sight as we came up
+was in truth somewhat alarming, but Bruin didn't seem disposed to be
+hostile except against the whortleberries, which he certainly made
+disappear in the most summary manner; so we, after hushing with
+difficulty Caroline's steam whistle, (I beg her pardon,) stood and
+watched him. After he had discussed the contents of the baskets, he
+again looked at us, and, rearing himself upon his hind legs, with his
+fore paws hanging down like a dancing Shaker, made two or three
+awkward movements, as if dancing an extempore hornpipe, either in
+triumph or to thank us for his dinner; he next opened his great jaws
+in resemblance to a laugh, again thrust out his tongue, saying plainly
+by it, "hadn't you better pick some more whortleberries," then
+deliberately fell upon his fore feet and stalked gravely and solemnly
+away. As for ourselves, we went where he didn't.</p>
+
+<p>It wanted now about an hour to sundown, and this was the time agreed
+upon by all of us to reunite at Pritchard's and start for home. The
+beautiful charm of light and shade cast by the slanting rays already
+began to rest upon the scene. The small oaks were glowing through and
+through&mdash;the thick spruces were kindled up in their outer edges&mdash;the
+patches of moss looked like carpets of gold spread by the little genii
+of the woods&mdash;the whortleberry bushes were drenched in rich radiance,
+the fruit seeming like the concentrated radiance in the act of
+dropping&mdash;whilst the straggling, tall, surly grenadiers of hemlocks
+had put on high-pointed yellow caps, with rays streaking through their
+branches like muskets. The cow-bells were now tinkling everywhere,
+striking in an odd jumble of tones&mdash;tingle ling, tingle ling ting
+tingle&mdash;as their owners collected together to eat their way to their
+respective milking places&mdash;and all told us that the day was drawing to
+a close. Independently of this, a dark crag of cloud was lifting
+itself in the southwest, with a pale glance of lightning shooting out
+of it occasionally, hinting very strongly of an approaching
+thunder-storm.</p>
+
+<p>In about half an hour we were all re-assembled at Pritchard's. I
+believe I have not described the scenery around this little log
+tavern. There was a ravine at some little distance from it, densely
+clothed with forest. Through it a stream found its way. Directly
+opposite the side porch, the ravine spread widely on each side,
+shaping a broad basin of water, and then, contracting again, left a
+narrow throat across which a dam had been thrown. Over this dam the
+stream poured in a fall of glittering silver, of about ten feet, and
+then, pursuing its way through the "Barrens," fell into the Sheldrake
+Brook several miles below. Here, at the fall, Pritchard had erected a
+saw-mill.</p>
+
+<p>Now people don't generally think there is any thing very picturesque
+about saw-mills, but I do. The weather-beaten boards of the low
+structure, some hanging awry, some with great knot-holes, as if they
+were gifted with orbs of vision, or were placed there for the mill to
+breathe through, some fractured, as if the saw had at times become
+outrageous at being always shut up and made to work there for other
+people, and had dashed against them, determined to gain its
+liberty&mdash;whilst some seem as if they had become so tantalized by the
+continual jar of the machinery, that they had loosened their nails,
+and had set up a clatter and shake themselves in opposition&mdash;these are
+quite picturesque. Then the broad opening in front, exposing the
+glittering saw bobbing up and down, and pushing its sharp teeth right
+through the bowels of the great peeled log fastened with iron claws to
+the sliding platform beneath&mdash;the gallows-like frame in which the saw
+works&mdash;the great strap belonging to the machinery issuing out of one
+corner and gliding into another&mdash;the sawyer himself, in a red shirt,
+now wheeling the log into its place with his handspike and fastening
+it&mdash;and now lifting the gate by the handle protruding near him&mdash;the
+axe leaning at one side and the rifle at the other&mdash;the loose floor
+covered with saw-dust&mdash;the stained rafters above with boards laid
+across for a loft&mdash;the dark sloping slab-roof&mdash;the great black wheel
+continually at war with the water, which, dashing bravely against it,
+finds itself carried off its feet into the buckets, and whirled half
+around, and then coolly dismissed into the stream below&mdash;the long
+flume through which the water rushes to the unequal fray, and&mdash;what
+next!</p>
+
+<p>Then the pond, too, is not to be overlooked. There are generally some
+twenty or thirty logs floating in one corner, close to each other, and
+breaking out into great commotion every time the gate is hoisted&mdash;the
+otter is now and then seen gliding in the farther nooks&mdash;and a quick
+eye may catch, particularly about the dam, where he generally burrows,
+a glimpse of the musk-rat as he dives down. Now and then too the wild
+duck will push his beautiful shape with his bright feet through
+it&mdash;the snipe will alight and "teter," as the children say, along the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
+banks&mdash;the woodcock will show his brownish red bosom amongst the reeds
+as he comes to stick his long bill into the black ooze for sucking, as
+dock-boys stick straws into molasses hogsheads&mdash;and once in a great
+while, the sawyer, if he's wide awake, will see, in the Spring or
+Fall, the wild goose leaving his migrating wedge overhead, and diving
+and fluttering about in it, as a momentary bathing place, and to rest
+for a time his throat, hoarse with uttering his laughably wise and
+solemn "honk, honk." Nor must the ragged and smirched-faced boys be
+forgotten, eternally on the logs, or the banks, or in the leaky scow,
+with their twine and pin-hooks catching "spawney-cooks," and
+"bull-heads" as worthless as themselves, and as if that were their
+only business in life. And then the streak of saw-dust running along
+in the midst of the brook below, and forming yellow nooks to imprison
+bubbles and sticks and leaves and what not, every now and then making
+a jet outward and joining the main body&mdash;and lastly the saw-mill yard,
+with its boards, white, dark and golden, piled up in great masses,
+with narrow lanes running through&mdash;and gray glistening logs, with
+their bark coats off, waiting their turn to be "boarded."</p>
+
+<p>The cloud had now risen higher, with its ragged pointed edges, and
+murky bosom&mdash;sharper lightning flashed athwart it, sometimes in
+trickling streaks, and sometimes in broad glances, whilst low growls
+of thunder were every now and then heard. The sun was already
+swallowed up&mdash;and a strange, unnatural, ghastly glare was upon every
+object. The atmosphere was motionless&mdash;not a stir in the thickets
+around, not a movement in the forest at the ravine. Through the solemn
+silence the crash of the falling water came upon the ear, and its
+gleam was caught against the black background of the cloud. It really
+seemed as if Nature held her breath in anticipating terror. Higher and
+higher rose the cloud&mdash;fiercer and fiercer flashed the lightning,
+sterner and sterner came the peals of the solemn thunder. Still Nature
+held her breath, still fear deep and brooding reigned. The wild tint
+still was spread over all things&mdash;the pines and hemlocks near at hand
+seeming blanched with affright beneath it. Suddenly a darkness smote
+the air&mdash;a mighty rush was heard&mdash;the trees seemed falling upon their
+faces in convulsions, and with a shock as if the atmosphere had been
+turned into a precipitated mountain, amidst a blinding flash and
+tearing, splitting roar, onward swept the blast. Another
+flash&mdash;another roar&mdash;then tumbled the great sheeted rain. Like blows
+of the hammer on the anvil beat it on the water&mdash;like the smitings of
+a mounted host trampled it upon the roof&mdash;like the spray flying from
+the cataract smoked it upon the earth. The fierce elements of fire
+and air and water were now at the climax of their strife&mdash;the dark
+blended shadow of the banners under which they fought almost blotting
+out the view. Occasionally glimpses of writhing branches could be
+seen, but only for a moment&mdash;all again was dim and obscure, with the
+tremendous sights and sounds of the storm dazzling the eye and
+stunning the ear. The lightning would flash with intolerable
+brilliancy, and immediately would follow the thunder with a rattling
+leap as if springing from its lair, and then with a deafening, awful
+weight, as if it had fallen and been splintered into pieces in the
+sky. Then would re-open the steady deep boom of the rain, and the
+stern rushing of the chainless wind. At length the air became
+clearer&mdash;the lightning glared at less frequent intervals&mdash;the thunder
+became more rolling and distant, and the tramp of the rain upon the
+roof less violent. The watery streaks in the atmosphere waxed
+finer&mdash;outlines of objects began to be defined&mdash;till suddenly, as a
+growl of thunder died away in the east, a rich thread of light ran
+along the landscape, that looked out smiling through its tears; and
+thronging out into the damp fresh, sweet air, where the delicate
+gauze-like rain was glittering and trembling, we saw on one hand the
+great sun looking from a space of glowing sky upon the scene, and
+dashing upon the parting clouds the most superb and gorgeous
+hues&mdash;whilst on the other smiled the lovely rainbow, the Ariel of the
+tempest, spanning the black cloud and soaring over the illuminated
+earth, like Hope spreading her brilliant halo over the Christian's
+brow, and brightening with her beautiful presence his impending death.</p>
+
+<p>We all concluded to wait for the moon to rise before we started for
+home, and in the meanwhile another cloud arose and made demonstration.
+This storm, however, was neither so long nor so violent as the first,
+and we found attraction in viewing the lightning striking into ghastly
+convulsions the landscape&mdash;so that the falling rain&mdash;the bowed
+trees&mdash;the drenched earth&mdash;the streaked mill, and the gleaming
+water-fall were opened to our view for an instant, and then dropped as
+it were again into the blackness. But after a while the sky cleared
+its forehead of all its frowns&mdash;the broad moon wheeled up&mdash;and in her
+rich glory we again moved slowly along the rough road, until we came
+to the smooth turnpike, where we dashed along homeward, with the cool,
+scented air in our faces, and the sweet smile of the sun's gentle and
+lovely sister resting all about us, making the magnificent Night
+appear like Day with a veil of softening silver over his dazzling
+brow.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="STANZAS" id="STANZAS"></a>STANZAS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Be firm, and be cheerful. The creature who lightens<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The natural burdens of life when he may,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who smiles at small evils, enhances and brightens<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pleasures which Heaven has spread in his way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then why yield your spirits to care and to sorrow?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rejoice in the present, and smile while you may;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor, by thinking of woes which <i>may</i> spring up to-morrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lose the blessings which Heaven <i>has</i> granted to-day.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="EURYDICE" id="EURYDICE"></a>EURYDICE.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">With heart that thrilled to every earnest line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I had been reading o'er that antique story,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherein the youth half human, half divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of all love-lore the Eidolon and glory,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Child of the Sun, with music's pleading spell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Pluto's palace swept, for love, his golden shell!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">And in the wild, sweet legend, dimly traced,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My own heart's history unfolded seemed:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ah! lost one! by thy lover-minstrel graced<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">With homage pure as ever woman dreamed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Too fondly worshiped, since such fate befell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was it not sweet to die&mdash;because beloved too well?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">The scene is round me!&mdash;Throned amid the gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As a flower smiles on &AElig;tna's fatal breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Young Proserpine beside her lord doth bloom;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And near&mdash;of Orpheus' soul, oh! idol blest!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While low for thee he tunes his lyre of light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see <i>thy</i> meek, fair form dawn through that lurid night!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">I see the glorious boy&mdash;his dark locks wreathing<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Wildly the wan and spiritual brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His sweet, curved lip the soul of music breathing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">His blue Greek eyes, that speak Love's loyal vow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I see him bend on <i>thee</i> that eloquent glance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The while those wondrous notes the realm of terror trance!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">I see his face, with more than mortal beauty<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Kindling, as armed with that sweet lyre alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pledged to a holy and heroic duty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">He stands serene before the awful throne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And looks on Hades' horrors with clear eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since thou, his own adored Eurydice, art nigh!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Now soft and low a prelude sweet uprings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As if a prisoned angel&mdash;pleading there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For life and love&mdash;were fettered 'neath the strings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And poured his passionate soul upon the air!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Anon, it clangs with wild, exultant swell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the full p&aelig;an peals triumphantly through Hell!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">And thou&mdash;thy pale hands meekly locked before thee&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Thy sad eyes drinking <i>life</i> from <i>his</i> dear gaze&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy lips apart&mdash;thy hair a halo o'er thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Trailing around thy throat its golden maze&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus&mdash;with all words in passionate silence dying&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within thy <i>soul</i> I hear Love's eager voice replying&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">"Play on, mine Orpheus! Lo! while these are gazing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Charmed into statues by thy God-taught strain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I&mdash;I alone, to thy dear face upraising<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My tearful glance, the life of life regain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For every tone that steals into my heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth to its worn, weak pulse a mighty power impart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Play on, mine Orpheus! while thy music floats<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Through the dread realm, divine with truth and grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">See, dear one! how the chain of linked notes<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Has fettered every spirit in its place!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Even Death, beside me, still and helpless lies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strives in vain to chill my frame with his cold eyes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Still, mine own Orpheus, sweep the golden lyre!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Ah! dost thou mark how gentle Proserpine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With clasp&egrave;d hands, and eyes whose azore fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Gleams through quick tears, thrilled by thy lay, doth lean<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her graceful head upon her stern lord's breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like an o'erwearied child, whom music lulls to rest?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Play my proud minstrel! strike the chords again!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Lo! Victory crowns at last thy heavenly skill!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For Pluto turns relenting to the strain&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">He waves his hand&mdash;he speaks his awful will!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My glorious Greek! lead on; but ah! <i>still</i> lend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy soul to thy sweet lyre, lest yet thou lose thy friend!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Think not of me! Think rather of the time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">When moved by thy resistless melody,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To the strange magic of a song sublime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Thy argo grandly glided to the sea!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And in the majesty Minerva gave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The graceful galley swept, with joy, the sounding wave!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Or see, in Fancy's dream, thy Thracian trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Their proud heads bent submissive to the sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Swayed by a tuneful and enchanted breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">March to slow music o'er th' astonished ground&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grove after grove descending from the hills,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While round thee weave their dance the glad, harmonious rills.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Think not of me! Ha! by thy mighty sire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My lord, my king! recall the dread behest!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Turn not&mdash;ah! turn not back those eyes of fire!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Oh! lost, forever lost! undone! unblest!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I faint, I die!&mdash;the serpent's fang once more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is here!&mdash;nay, grieve not thus! Life but <i>not Love</i> is o'er!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="THE_VOICE_OF_THE_NIGHT_WIND" id="THE_VOICE_OF_THE_NIGHT_WIND"></a>THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT WIND.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When the day-king is descending<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On the blue hill's breast to lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some spirit-artist blending<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On the flushed and bending sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the rainbow's hues, I listen<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To the breeze, while in my eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tears of bitter anguish glisten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I think of days gone by.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Change, relentless change is lighting<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On the brow of young and fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with iron hand is writing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tales of grief and sorrow there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On life's journey friends have faltered,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And beside its pathway lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that breeze, with voice unaltered,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sings as in the days gone by.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sings old songs to soothe the anguish<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of a heart whose hopes are flown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cheering one condemned to languish<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In this weary world alone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tells old tales of loved ones o'er me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dearest ones, remembered well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That have passed away before me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a brighter land to dwell.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="MAJOR-GENERAL_WORTH" id="MAJOR-GENERAL_WORTH"></a>MAJOR-GENERAL WORTH.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY FAYETTE ROBINSON, AUTHOR OF "THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES," ETC.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+
+<p>All persons naturally exhibit a great desire to become acquainted with
+the events of the lives of those individuals who have made themselves
+or their country illustrious. It is very pleasant to inquire into the
+nature of the studies which matured their minds, to examine the
+incidents of their early career, and follow them through the obscurer
+portions of their lives for the purpose of ascertaining if the man
+corresponds with the idea we have formed of him.</p>
+
+<p>Gen. Worth has recently attracted so much attention, and the events of
+his whole life have been so stirring, that this is peculiarly the case
+with him. No one can think without interest of one who, while a boy
+almost, opposed the British veterans at Chippewa and Lundy's Lane, and
+in his manhood won a yet higher reputation amid the hamacs of Florida,
+and in front of the batteries of Molino del Rey and Monterey. It is,
+however, a matter of much regret that of Worth's early history and
+family annals but little is known. It is true, no man in the army has
+been the theme of so much camp-fire gossip, or the hero of so many
+gratuitous fabrications; but we are able to learn nothing of him
+previous to his entry into the service. A thousand anecdotes without
+any basis in truth have been told of him, altogether to no purpose;
+for one who has so many real claims to distinction need never appeal
+to factitious honors.</p>
+
+<p>Gen. Worth, at the commencement of the last war with Great Britain, is
+said to have been a resident of Albany, N. Y., and to have been
+engaged in commercial pursuits. Animated by the feeling of patriotism
+which pervaded the whole people, he left the desk and ledger, and is
+said to have enlisted in the 2nd regiment of artillery, then commanded
+by Col. Izard, afterward a general officer of distinction. The lieut.
+colonel of one of the battalions of this regiment was Winfield Scott,
+the attention of whom Worth is said soon to have attracted. Col. Scott
+is said to have exerted himself to procure him a commission, and to
+have taken care of his advancement. This may or may not be true; it is
+sure, however, that Worth first appears in a prominent position in the
+military annals of the United States as the aid-de-camp and proteg&eacute; of
+General Scott, at the battle of Chippewa, where Scott was a brigadier.
+Worth was his aid, having in the interim become a first lieutenant.</p>
+
+<p>No man in America is ignorant of the events of that day, which
+retrieved the disgrace of Hull's surrender, and reflected the greatest
+honor on all the participants in its events. For his gallantry and
+good conduct, Mr. Madison bestowed on Lieut. Worth the brevet of
+captain; and he was mentioned in the highest terms in the general
+orders of the officers under whom he served. The brevet of Worth was
+announced to the army and nation in the same order which told of the
+promotion of McNeil, Jessup, Towson, and Leavenworth. Strangely
+enough, though death has been busy with the officers of the last war,
+all who were breveted for their services on that occasion, with one
+or two exceptions, are now alive. The battle of Chippewa occurred on
+the 5th of July, 1814, and was the dale of Worth's first brevet.</p>
+
+<p>Though a brevet captain, Worth continued with Scott in the important
+position of aid-de-camp, and served in that capacity at Lundy's Lane,
+in the battle of July 25th, 1814. On that occasion he distinguished
+himself in the highest degree, and won the reputation his whole
+subsequent career has confirmed, of coolness, decision, and activity.
+During this engagement the whole British force was thrown on the 9th
+foot, commanded by the veteran Lieut. Col. Leavenworth. This officer
+sent for aid to Gen. Scott, who on that occasion gave Gen. Taylor the
+example after which that gallant general acted at Buena Vesta. He
+repaired to the menaced point with the strong reinforcement of his own
+person and aid, and had the proud satisfaction of seeing the attacking
+column beaten back, and the general who led it made prisoner. At the
+moment of success, however, both Scott and Capt. Worth fell wounded
+severely. The country appreciated their services, and each received
+from Mr. Madison the brevet of another grade, with date from the day
+of the battle. Major Worth soon recovered, but, attached to Gen.
+Scott's person, accompanied him southward, as soon as the wound of the
+latter enabled him to bear the fatigue of travel.</p>
+
+<p>When peace came Worth was a captain in the line and a major by brevet,
+with which rank he was assigned to the military command of the corps
+of Cadets at West Point. This appointment, ever conferred on men of
+talent, is the highest compliment an officer of the service of the
+United States can receive in time of peace. To Worth it was doubly
+grateful, because he was not an <i>elev&eacute;</i> of the institution. Ten years
+after the battle of Niagara, Major Worth was breveted a lieutenant
+colonel, and when in 1832 the ordnance corps was established, he
+became one of its majors. In July, 1832, on the organization of the
+8th infantry, Lieut. Col. Worth was appointed to its colonelcy.</p>
+
+<p>Hitherto we have seen Worth in a subordinate position, where he was
+unable to exhibit the highest qualification of a soldier, that of
+command. Since his entry into the service he had been either an
+officer of the staff, or separated from troops. He was now called on
+to participate in far more stirring scenes. The war against the
+Seminoles in Florida had long been a subject of great anxiety to both
+the government and the people, and thither Worth was ordered, after a
+brief but effective tour of service on the northern frontier, then
+infested by the Canadian insurgents. At first he acted subordinately
+to the late Gen. Armistead, but, on the retirement of that officer,
+assumed command. The war was prosecuted by him with new vigor, and the
+Indians defeated ultimately at Pilaklakaha, near the St. John, April
+17,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> 1842. This fight was virtually the termination of the war, the
+enemy never again having shown himself in force. Gen. Worth was highly
+complimented for his services on this occasion, and received the
+brevet of brigadier general.</p>
+
+<p>During the season of peace which followed Gen. Worth remained almost
+constantly with his regiment, which more than once changed its
+station; and when the contest with Mexico began, reported to Gen.
+Taylor at Corpus Christi. His situation here was peculiar, and he
+became involved in a dispute in relation to precedence and command
+with the then Col. Twiggs, of the 2nd dragoons. The latter officer was
+by several years Worth's senior in the line, and, according to the
+usual opinion in the army, entitled to command, though many of the
+most accomplished soldiers of the service thought the brevet of Worth,
+on this occasion at least, where the <i>corps d'arm&eacute;e</i> was made up of
+detachments, valid as a commission. This dispute became so serious
+that Gen. Taylor interfered, and having sustained Col. Twiggs, Gen.
+Worth immediately tendered his resignation to the President.</p>
+
+<p>There is no doubt but that the decision in favor of Gen. Twiggs was
+correct, and that Worth was radically wrong in his conception of the
+effect of his brevet. He, however, had been brought up under the eye
+of Gen. Scott, who entertained the same ideas on this subject, and
+who, years before, under precisely similar circumstances, had resigned
+his commission. Gen. Worth having proceeded from the Rio Grande to
+Washington, the President refused to accept his resignation, and he
+returned at once to the army.</p>
+
+<p>The resignation of Worth was a most untoward circumstance, for during
+his absence from the army hostilities commenced, and he lost all
+participation in the battles of Palo Alto and La Resaca.</p>
+
+<p>When, after the capture of Matamoras, the army again advanced, Worth
+had resumed his post, and acquiesced cheerfully in the decision which
+had been given against him. The laurels he had not grasped on the Rio
+Grande were won in front of the batteries of <i>La Loma de la
+Independencia</i>, and in the streets of Monterey. Amid the countless
+feats of daring recorded by military history, none will be found to
+surpass his achievements in the slow, painful, but bold entry he
+effected through a city swarming with defenders, to the very <i>plaza</i>.
+For his gallantry on this occasion he received the brevet of major
+general, and, with the exception of Generals Scott and Taylor, is
+believed to be the only officer in the service who has received three
+war-brevets. Gen. Worth from this time became one of the national
+idols.</p>
+
+<p>When Gen. Scott assumed command of the expedition against Vera Cruz
+and the capital, one of his first acts was to order Gen. Worth and the
+remnant of his division to join him. The general-in-chief remembered
+the events, on the northern frontier, of 1814, and anticipated much in
+Mexico. He was not disappointed in this expectation, for at Vera Cruz
+and in the valley of Mexico, his old aid did not disappoint him, and
+proved that service had but matured the judgment of the soldier of
+Chippewa and Niagara.</p>
+
+<p>It was at <i>Molino del Rey</i> that Worth displayed his powers with most
+brilliancy. When it became evident that the city of Mexico must be
+taken by force, a prominent position was assigned to Gen. Worth, who,
+with his division and Cadwallader's brigade, was ordered to carry the
+strong position of Molino del Rey, and destroy its defences. This spot
+is famous in Mexican history as <i>Casas Matas</i>, and and is the scene of
+the famous <i>plan</i>, or revolution, of Feb. 2, 1823, by virtue of which
+a republican form of government may be said to exist in Mexico. It
+lies westward of Chapultepec, the old palace of the Aztec kings, and
+from the nature of its position, and the careful manner in which it
+was fortified, was a position of great strength. It lay at the foot of
+a rapid declivity, enfiladed by the fire of Chapultepec, and so
+situated, that not a shot could be discharged but must fall into an
+assailing column.</p>
+
+<p>Under these great difficulties the works were carried, Worth all the
+while marching with the column, and directing the operations of the
+horse artillery and infantry of which it was composed. In respect to
+this part of the operations in front of Mexico Gen. Scott adopted,
+without comment, the report of Gen. Worth. This is a rare compliment,
+and proceeding from such a person as Scott should be highly estimated.</p>
+
+<p>After the capture of the city of Mexico, difficulties occurred between
+Gen. Worth and the general-in-chief, and a friendship of thirty-five
+years was apparently terminated. The matter is now the subject of
+consideration before a competent tribunal, and <i>non nobis tantas
+componerelite</i>s.</p>
+
+<p>Gen. Worth is yet in Mexico. His age is about fifty-six or eight, and
+in his personal appearance are mingled the bearing of the soldier and
+of the gentleman. The excellent portrait given of him is from a
+Daguerreotype by Mr. Clarke, of New York.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="ENCOURAGEMENT" id="ENCOURAGEMENT"></a>ENCOURAGEMENT.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When first peeps out from earth the modest vine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Asking but little space to live and grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How easily some step, without design,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May crush the being from a thing so low!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But let the hand that doth delight to show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Support to feebleness, the tendril twine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Around some lattice-work, and 'twill bestow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its thanks in fragrance, and with blossoms shine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And thus, when Genius first puts forth its shoot&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So timid, that it scarce dare ask to live&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The tender germ, if trodden under foot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shrinks back again to its undying root;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While kindly training bids it upward strive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to the future flowers immortal give.  E. C. KINNEY.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="THE_CHANGED_AND_THE_UNCHANGED" id="THE_CHANGED_AND_THE_UNCHANGED"></a>THE CHANGED AND THE UNCHANGED.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5><span class="smcap">BY PROFESSOR ALDEN.</span></h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4>
+
+<p>"Report says that my queenly cousin is to lay aside her absolute
+sceptre, and submit to a lord and master," said George Mason, to his
+cousin, Emily Earl, as she took his arm for an evening walk.</p>
+
+<p>"If you mean that I am to be married, that is a report which truth
+does not require me to contradict," said the young lady, in a tone
+adapted to repress the familiar manner of her companion. He had just
+returned from a long absence in a foreign land. His early youth had
+been passed in his uncle's family. He left his cousin a beautiful
+girl. He found her on his return a still more beautiful woman.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very anxious," said he, with a slight change of manner, "to see
+the man who has drawn so splendid a prize. Is he like the picture you
+drew of the man you would marry, as we sat by the willow brook from
+the rising of the moon to its meridian? You remember that most
+beautiful night?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is not desirable to remember all the follies of childhood," said
+Emily, coldly. Mason was silent. It was plain that they were no longer
+what they had been, brother and sister.</p>
+
+<p>After walking for some distance in silence, Emily remarked, in a tone
+inviting conversation, "You must have seen a great deal of the world."</p>
+
+<p>"I have had some means of observation," he replied, "but I have seen
+nothing to wean me from this spot, and from my friends here."</p>
+
+<p>"Your friends are obliged to you for the compliment."</p>
+
+<p>"I did not intend the remark as a compliment." Again there was an
+interval of silence. "I have been absent four years," said Mason, as
+though speaking to himself, "and I am not conscious of any change, so
+far as my feelings are concerned. The same persons and things which I
+then loved, I love now. The same views of life which I then cherished
+I cherish now."</p>
+
+<p>"Experience and knowledge of the world," said Emily, "ought to give
+wisdom."</p>
+
+<p>"I am so perverse as to regard it as wisdom to hold on to the dreams
+of our early days."</p>
+
+<p>"Our views ought, it seems to me, to change as we grow older."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not sure that we ought to grow old, so far as our feelings are
+concerned."</p>
+
+<p>"You would engage in the vain effort to retain the dews and freshness
+of morning, after the sun has arisen with a burning heat."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe the dew of our youth may be preserved even until old age."</p>
+
+<p>"I am surprised that acquaintance with the world has not corrected
+your views of life. One would think that you had lived in entire
+seclusion."</p>
+
+<p>"I am surprised that the romantic, warm-hearted Emily Earl should
+become the worldly-wise lecturer of her cousin."</p>
+
+<p>"We had better speak upon some other subject. Had you a pleasant
+voyage homeward?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. It could not be otherwise, when my face was toward 'my own, my
+native land,' and the friends so fresh in my remembrance."</p>
+
+<p>A slight shade of displeasure flitted across Emily's features. She
+made no remark.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Susan Grey?" said Mason.</p>
+
+<p>"She is dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed! She was just my own age. She was a single-hearted girl."</p>
+
+<p>"She often inquired for you. You never fancied yourself in love with
+her?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Why that question?"</p>
+
+<p>"She was under the impression that we were engaged, and seemed quite
+relieved when I informed her that she was mistaken."</p>
+
+<p>"What has become of Mary Carver?"</p>
+
+<p>"She is married, and lives in that house," pointing to a miserable hut
+near at hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it possible?"</p>
+
+<p>"Her husband is intemperate. It was a clandestine marriage&mdash;a love
+match, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Was her husband intemperate when she married him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not habitually so. He was so very romantic and devoted to her; so
+that, I suppose, she thought she could reform him."</p>
+
+<p>"What has become of Mr. Ralston, your old friend?" admirer, he would
+have said, but he deemed it unwise.</p>
+
+<p>"He is a lawyer here, in a small way. I believe they think of sending
+him to Congress."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he married?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought he seemed to be attached to you; at least I hoped that he
+would become my cousin."</p>
+
+<p>"I will answer your questions in regard to others&mdash;my own affairs do
+not require remark."</p>
+
+<p>This rebuke, so unlike any thing he had ever received from his cousin,
+led him to fix his gaze upon her countenance, as if to make sure of
+her identity. There could be no mistake. There was the same brilliant
+eye, the same faultless features on which he had gazed in former
+years. A conciliating smile led him to resume his inquiries.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Eliza Austin married?" His voice, as he asked this question, was
+far from natural, perhaps in consequence of the agitation which the
+rebuke just spoken of had occasioned.</p>
+
+<p>"No; she lives somewhere in the village, I don't know exactly where."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Do you ever see her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; she lives with her aunt, who sometimes washes for us, so that I
+see her niece occasionally."</p>
+
+<p>"Why does she live with her aunt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Her mother died soon after you went away."</p>
+
+<p>"Eliza still lives in the village, then?" To this very unnecessary
+question his cousin bowed in reply. Few words more passed between them
+during the remainder of their walk.</p>
+
+<p>"You do not stay out as late as you used to do," said Mrs. Earl, as
+they entered the parlor.</p>
+
+<p>"We are no longer children," said Emily. Mason could scarcely repress
+an audible sigh, as those words fell from her lips. At an early hour,
+he repaired to his chamber.</p>
+<br />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4>
+
+<p>George Mason was left an orphan in his early youth. He then became a
+member of his uncle's family, and the constant companion of his cousin
+Emily. He desired no society but hers. Her slightly imperious temper
+did not interfere with the growth of his affection. She had a sister's
+place in his glowing heart. He was in some sense her teacher, and she
+caught something of his romantic nature. Of the little circle of her
+associates, he was the idol.</p>
+
+<p>At the age of fourteen he left home to pursue his studies for two
+years at a public institution. At the end of that period he became a
+clerk in a large commercial establishment in the city. At the close of
+the first year he accompanied one of the principals abroad, and
+remained there in charge of the business for nearly four years. He was
+now on the high road to wealth.</p>
+
+<p>Soon after George Mason had gone abroad, Emily Earl went to the city
+to complete her education. She was in due time initiated into the
+mysteries of fashionable life. Introduced to <i>society</i> by a relative
+of unquestionable rank, her face and form presented attractions
+sufficient to make her the object of attention and flattery. Four
+successive winters were passed in the city. She was the foremost
+object of all "who flattered, sought, and sued." Is it strange that
+her judgment was perverted, and her heart eaten out? Is it strange
+that her cousin found her a changed being?</p>
+
+<p>She had engaged to marry one whose claim to her regard was the
+thousands he possessed, and the eagerness with which he was sought by
+those whose chief end was an establishment in life. She had taught
+herself to believe that the yearnings of the heart were to be classed
+with the follies of childhood.</p>
+
+<p>Henry Ralston was the son of a small farmer, or rather of a man who
+was the possessor of a small farm, and of a large soul. Henry was
+modest, yet aspiring; gentle, yet intense in his affections. The
+patient toil and rigid self-denial of his father gave him the
+advantage of an excellent education. In childhood he was the frequent
+companion of George and Emily. Even then an attachment sprung up in
+his heart for his fair playmate. This was quietly cherished; and when
+he entered upon the practice of the law in his native village, he
+offered Emily his hand. It was, without hesitation or apparent pain,
+rejected. Thus she cast away the only true heart which was ever laid
+upon the altar of her beauty. He bore the disappointment with outward
+calmness, though the iron entered his soul. He gave all his energies
+to the labors of his profession. Such was the impression of his
+ability and worth, that he was about to be supported, apparently
+without opposition, for a seat in the national councils.</p>
+
+<p>Eliza Austin was the daughter of a deceased minister, who had worn
+himself out in the cause of benevolence, and died, leaving his wife
+and daughter penniless. She was several years younger than George and
+Emily; but early trials seemed to give an early maturity to her mind.
+She was seldom their companion, for her young days were spent in toil,
+aiding her mother in her efforts to obtain a scanty subsistence. Her
+intelligence, her perception of the beautiful, and her devotion to her
+mother made a deep impression upon George, and led him to regard her
+as he regarded no other earthly being. Long before the idea of love
+was associated with her name, he felt for her a respect approaching to
+veneration. He had often desired to write to her during his absence,
+but his entire ignorance of her situation rendered it unwise.</p>
+
+<p>The waters of affliction had been wrung out to her in a full cup. The
+long and distressing sickness of her mother was ended only by the
+grave. She was then invited to take up her abode with her father's
+sister, whose intemperate husband had broken her spirit, but had not
+exhausted her heart. It was sad for Eliza to exchange the quiet home,
+the voice of affection, of prayer, and of praise, for the harsh
+criminations of the drunkard's abode. She would have left that abode
+for service, but for the distress it would have given her aunt.</p>
+
+<p>Death at length removed the tormentor, and those who had ministered to
+his appetite swept away all his property.</p>
+
+<p>The mind of Aunt Mary, now more than half a wreck, utterly revolted at
+the idea of separation from her niece. Eliza could not leave her.
+Declining an eligible situation as a teacher in a distant village, she
+rendered her aunt all the assistance in her power in her lowly
+employment&mdash;believing that the path dictated by affection and duty,
+though it might meet with the neglect and the scorn of men, would not
+fail to secure the approbation of God.</p>
+<br />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4>
+
+<p>"Well, George," said Mr. Earl, as they were seated at the
+breakfast-table, "how do you intend to dispose of yourself to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have a great many old friends to visit, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"It may not be convenient for some of them to see you early in the
+morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Some of them, I think, will not be at all particular respecting the
+time of my visits. There is the white rock by the falls which I must
+give an hour to; and I must see if the old trout who lived under it
+has taken as good care of himself during my absence as he did before I
+went away. And there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> is the willow grove, too, which I wish very much
+to see."</p>
+
+<p>"It has been cut down."</p>
+
+<p>"Cut down!&mdash;what for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Bullard thought it interfered with his prospect."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you not interfere, cousin?" turning to Emily.</p>
+
+<p>"It was nothing to me what he did with his grove," said Emily.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I had forgotten&mdash;" George did not finish the sentence. He turned
+the conversation to some of the ordinary topics of the day.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast, he set out for Willow Brook, and seated himself upon
+the white rock. The years that had passed since in childhood he sat
+upon that rock, were reviewed by him. Though he had met with trials
+and temptations, yet he was thankful that he could return to that rock
+with so many of the feelings of childhood; that his heart's best
+emotions had not been polluted by the world, but were as yet pure as
+the crystal stream before him.</p>
+
+<p>When he rose from that rock, instead of visiting the other haunts of
+his early days, he found himself moving toward the village. Now and
+then a familiar face was seen. By those who recognized him, he was
+warmly greeted. It was not until he met a stranger that he inquired
+for the residence of the widow and her niece. He was directed to a
+small dwelling in a narrow lane. He knocked at the open door. The
+widow, who was busily employed in smoothing the white linen before
+her, bade him enter, but paused not from her work.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Eliza at home?" said Mason.</p>
+
+<p>"Who can you be that want to see Eliza?" said the poor woman, still
+not lifting her eyes from her work.</p>
+
+<p>"I am an old friend of hers," said Mason.</p>
+
+<p>"A friend! a friend!" said she, pausing and looking upward, as if
+striving to recall the idea belonging to the word. "Yes, she had
+friends once&mdash;where have they gone?"</p>
+
+<p>Again she plied her task, as if unconscious of his presence. He seated
+himself and watched her countenance, which revealed so sad a history.
+Her lips kept moving, and now and then she spoke aloud. "Poor girl! a
+hard life has she had&mdash;it may all be right, but I can't see how; and
+now she might be a lady if she would leave her poor, half-crazy aunt."
+Her whispers were then inaudible. Soon she turned to Mason and said,
+as if in reply to a question, "No, I never heard her complain. When
+those she used to visit don't know her, and look the other way when
+they meet her, she never complains. What will become of her when her
+poor old aunt is gone? Who will take care of her?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will," said Mason.</p>
+
+<p>"Who may you be?" said she, scanning his countenance as if she had now
+seen him for the first time.</p>
+
+<p>"A friend of her childhood."</p>
+
+<p>"What is your name?"</p>
+
+<p>"George Mason."</p>
+
+<p>"George Mason! George Mason!&mdash;I have heard that name before. It was
+the name she had over so often when she had the fever, poor thing! I
+did not know what she said, though she did not say a word during the
+whole time that would not look well printed in a book. Did you use to
+live in the big white house?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I used to live with my Uncle Earl."</p>
+
+<p>"And with that <i>lady</i>," laying a fierce emphasis upon the word, "who
+never speaks to Eliza now, though Eliza watched night after night with
+her when she was on the borders of the grave. Are you like her?"
+observing him to hesitate, she asked in a more excited manner, "are
+you like Emily Earl?" Fearing that her clouded mind might receive an
+impression difficult to remove, he promptly answered "No."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad of it," said the widow, resuming her work.</p>
+
+<p>The last question and its answer was overheard by Eliza, as she was
+coming in from the garden where she had been attending to a few
+flowers. She turned deadly pale as she saw Mason, and remained
+standing in the door. He arose and took her hand in both of his, and
+was scarcely able to pronounce her name. The good aunt stood with
+uplifted hands, gazing with ludicrous amazement at the scene. Eliza
+was the first to recover her self-possession. She introduced Mason to
+her aunt as an old friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Friend!&mdash;are you sure he is a friend?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is a friend," said Mason, "who is very grateful to you for the
+love you have borne her, and the care you have taken of her."</p>
+
+<p>"There," said she, opening a door which led to a parlor, perhaps ten
+feet square, motioning to them to enter. Mason, still retaining her
+trembling hand, led Eliza into the room, and seated her on the sofa,
+the chief article of furniture it contained. Her eyes met his earnest
+gaze. They were immediately filled with tears. His own overflowed. He
+threw his arm around her, and they mingled their tears in silence. It
+was long ere the first word was spoken. Eliza at length seemed to wake
+as from a dream.</p>
+
+<p>"What am I doing?" said she, attempting to remove his arm, "we are
+almost strangers."</p>
+
+<p>"Eliza," said he, solemnly, "do you say what you feel?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, but I know not&mdash;" she could not finish the sentence.</p>
+
+<p>"Eliza, you are dearer to me than any one upon earth." She made no
+efforts to resist the pressure of his arm. There were moments of
+eloquent silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Eliza, will you become my wife?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know how utterly destitute I am?"</p>
+
+<p>"That has no connection with my question."</p>
+
+<p>"If you are the same George Mason you used to be, you wish for a
+direct answer. I will." It was not till this word was spoken that he
+ventured to impress a kiss upon her cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not done right," said Eliza; "you can never know how much I
+owe to that dear aunt. I ought not to engage myself without her
+consent&mdash;I can never be separated from her."</p>
+
+<p>"You cannot suppose that I would wish you to be separated."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You are the same&mdash;" she was about to add some epithets of praise, but
+checked herself. "How is it that you have remained unchanged?"</p>
+
+<p>"By keeping bright an image in my heart of hearts."</p>
+
+<p>With some difficulty Eliza rose, and opening the door, spoke to her
+aunt. She came and stood in the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, ma'am," said Mason, "I have gained Eliza's consent to change
+her name, if you will give your consent." She stood as one bewildered.
+The cloud which rested on her countenance was painful to behold. It
+was necessary to repeat his remark before she could apprehend it.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, is it so? It has come at last. He doeth all things well. I hadn't
+faith to trust Him. He doeth all things well."</p>
+
+<p>"We have your consent?"</p>
+
+<p>"If she is half as loving to you as she has been to me, you will never
+be sorry. But what will become of me?"</p>
+
+<p>"We have no idea of parting with you. She has given her consent only
+on condition that you go with us." The old lady fixed her gaze upon
+her niece. It was strange that features so plain, so wrinkled by age
+and sorrow, could beam with such affection. She could find no words to
+express her feelings. She closed the door, and was heard sobbing like
+a child.</p>
+
+<p>Hour after hour stole away unnoted by the lovers. They were summoned
+to partake of the frugal meal spread by Aunt Mary's hands, and no
+apologies were made for its lack of store. Again they retired to the
+little parlor, and it was not till the sun was low in the west, that
+he set out on his return to the "white house."</p>
+
+<p>"We conclude that you have passed a happy day," said Mrs. Earl, "at
+least your countenance says so. We began to feel anxious about you."</p>
+
+<p>"I went to the brook first, and then to the village."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen many of your old friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"Several of them."</p>
+
+<p>Mason was released from the necessity of answering further questions
+by the arrival of a carriage at the door. Mr. Earl rose and went to
+the window. "Mr. Benfield has come," said he. Emily arose and left the
+room to return in another dress, and with flowers in her hair.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Benfield was shown to his room, and in a few moments joined the
+family at the tea-table. Emily received him with a smile, which,
+however beautiful it may have been, was not like the smile of Eliza
+Austin. Mason saw that Mr. Benfield belonged to a class with which he
+was perfectly well acquainted. "It is well," thought he, "that she has
+filed down her mind, if she must spend her days with a man like him."
+Mason passed the evening with his uncle, though he was sadly
+inattentive to his uncle's remarks. Emily and Mr. Benfield took a
+walk, and on their return did not join the family. Benfield's object
+in visiting the country at this time was to fix a day for his
+marriage. The evening was spent by them in discussing matters
+pertaining to that event.</p>
+
+<p>It was necessary for Mr. Benfield to return to the city on the
+afternoon of the following day. Mason, for various reasons, determined
+to accompany him. Part of the morning was spent with Eliza, and
+arrangements for their union were easily fixed upon. No costly
+preparations for a wedding were thought to be necessary.</p>
+
+<p>Emily devoted herself so entirely to Mr. Benfield, that Mason had no
+opportunity of informing her respecting the state of his affairs.</p>
+
+<p>He sought his uncle, expressed to him his gratitude for his kindness,
+informed him of the state of his pecuniary affairs, and of his
+affections, and asked his approbation of his intended marriage.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't say, George," said the old gentleman, "but that you have done
+the wisest thing you could do. Emily may not like it. I have nothing
+to say against it. I didn't do very differently myself, though it
+would hardly do to say so aloud now. Emily is to be married in three
+weeks. You must be with us then."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose I wish to be married myself on the same evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't know. I think you had better be with us, then make such
+arrangements as you please, and say nothing to us about it. It may
+make a little breeze at first, but it will soon blow over. Nobody will
+like you the worse for it in the end." Heartily thanking his uncle for
+his frankness and affection, and taking a courteous leave of Emily, he
+took his departure, with Mr. Benfield, for the city.</p>
+<br />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4>
+
+<p>The white house was a scene of great activity as the wedding-day drew
+near. Aunt Mary's services were put in requisition to a much greater
+extent than usual. When she protested that she could do no more, Mrs.
+Earl suggested that her niece would help her. Aunt Mary could not help
+remarking that Eliza might have something else to do as well as Miss
+Emily.</p>
+
+<p>It was understood that a large number of guests were to be invited.</p>
+
+<p>Many dresses were ordered in anticipation of an invitation. The
+services of the village dress-maker were in great demand. Eliza
+ordered a plain white dress&mdash;a very unnecessary expenditure, it was
+thought, since it was certain that she would not receive an
+invitation. It was a pity that she should thus prepare disappointment
+for herself, poor thing!</p>
+
+<p>Benfield and Mason arrived together on the appointed day. All things
+were in order. The preparations were complete. The guests
+assembled&mdash;the "big white house" was filled as it never had been
+filled before. Suddenly there is a <i>hush</i> in the crowd&mdash;the
+folding-doors are thrown open&mdash;the bride and bride-groom are seen,
+prepared for the ceremony that is to make them one&mdash;in law. The words
+are spoken, the ceremony is performed, the oppressive silence is
+removed&mdash;the noise and gayety common to such occasions take place.</p>
+
+<p>After a time, it was noticed by some that the pastor, and Mason, and
+Esq. Ralston had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>They repaired to Aunt Mary's, where a few tried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> friends had been
+invited to pass the evening. These friends were sorry that Eliza had
+not been invited to the wedding, but were pleased to find that she did
+not seem to be disappointed&mdash;she was in such fine spirits. She wore
+her new white dress, and a few roses in her hair.</p>
+
+<p>The entrance of the pastor, Mr. Mason, and Mr. Ralston, seemed to
+cause no surprise to Aunt Mary, though it astonished the assembled
+guests. After a kind word from the pastor to each one present, for
+they were all members of his flock, Mason arose, and taking Eliza by
+the hand, said to him, "We are ready." Prayer was offered, the
+wedding-vows were spoken, and George Mason and Eliza Austin were
+pronounced husband and wife.</p>
+
+<p>Joy seemed to have brushed away the clouds from Aunt Mary's mind. She
+conversed with the intelligence of her better days. The guests
+departed, and ere the lights were extinguished in the parlors of the
+white house, it was known throughout the village that there had been
+two weddings instead of one.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the morning, before the news had reached them, Mr. and Mrs.
+Benfield set out upon their wedding tour. Emily learned her cousin's
+marriage from the same paper which informed the public of her own.</p>
+
+<p>George Mason had no time for a wedding tour. He removed his wife and
+her aunt immediately to the city, and at once resumed the labors of
+his calling.</p>
+
+<p>Emily did not become acquainted with Mrs. Mason, until Mr. Benfield
+had failed in business, and was enabled to commence again, with
+capital furnished by her cousin, who had become the leading member of
+his firm.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="THE_DAYSPRING" id="THE_DAYSPRING"></a>THE DAYSPRING.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY SAMUEL D. PATTERSON.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mourner, bending o'er the tomb<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where thy heart's dear treasure lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dark and dreary is thy gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deep and burdened are thy sighs:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From thy path the light, whose rays<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cheered and guided thee, is gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the future's desert waste<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thou must sadly tread alone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Neath the drooping willow's shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where the mourning cypress grows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The beloved and lost is laid<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a quiet, calm repose.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Silent now the voice whose tones<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wakened rapture in thy breast&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dull the ear&mdash;thy anguished groans<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Break not on the sleeper's rest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Grace and loveliness are fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Broken is the "golden bowl,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loosed the "silver chord," whose thread<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bound to earth th' immortal soul.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Closed the eyes whose glance so dear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Once love's language fond could speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the worm, foul banqueter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Riots on that matchless cheek.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the night winds, as they sweep<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In their solemn grandeur by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a cadence wild and deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mournfully their requiem sigh.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And each plant and leaf and flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bows responsive to the wail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chanted, at the midnight hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By the spirits of the gale.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Truly has thy sun gone down<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the deepest, darkest gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the fondest joys thou'st known<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Buried are within that tomb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Earth no solace e'er can bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To thy torn and bleeding heart&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Time nor art extract the sting<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the conqueror's poisoned dart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, amid thy load of wo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Turn, thou stricken one, thine eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upward, and behold that glow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Spreading brightly o'er the skies!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis the day-star, beaming fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the blue expanse above;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look on high, and know that there<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dwells the object of thy love,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Life's bright harp of thousand strings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By the spoiler's hand was riven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the realm seraphic rings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With the victor notes of heaven.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over death triumphant&mdash;lo!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">See thy cherished one appear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mourner, dry thy tears of wo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Trust, believe, and meet her there!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="SONNET_CULTIVATION" id="SONNET_CULTIVATION"></a>SONNET.&mdash;CULTIVATION.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Weeds grow unasked, and even some sweet flowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Spontaneous give their fragrance to the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And bloom on hills, in vales and everywhere&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As shines the sun, or fall the summer showers&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But wither while our lips pronounce them fair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flowers of more worth repay alone the care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The nurture, and the hopes of watchful hours;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While plants most cultured have most lasting powers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So, flowers of Genius that will longest live<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spring not in Mind's uncultivated soil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But are the birth of time, and mental toil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And all the culture Learning's hand can give:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fancies, like wild flowers, in a night may grow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thoughts are plants whose stately growth is slow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="FIRST_LOVE" id="FIRST_LOVE"></a>FIRST LOVE.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
+
+<h4>OR LILLIE MASON'S DEBUT.</h4>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY ENNA DUVAL.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Maybe without a further thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It only pleased you thus to please,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus to kindly feelings wrought<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You measured not the sweet degrees;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet though you hardly understood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where I was following at your call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You might&mdash;I dare to say you should&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have thought how far I had to fall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And even now in calm review<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of all I lost and all I won,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot deem you wholly true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor wholly just what you have done. MILNES.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">There is none<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In all this cold and hollow world, no fount<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mother's heart. HEMANS.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br />
+
+<p>On paying a visit to my friend Agnes Mason one morning, the servant
+told me his mistress would be pleased to see me in her dressing-room.
+Thither I repaired, and found her, to my surprise, surrounded by all
+sorts of gay, costly articles, appertaining to the costume of a woman
+of the world. To my surprise, I say, for Agnes has always been one of
+the greatest home-bodies in the whole circle of my acquaintances. A
+party, or a ball she has scarcely visited since the first years of her
+marriage, although possessing ample means to enjoy every gayety of
+fashionable life.</p>
+
+<p>Over the Psyche glass was thrown a spotless <i>cr&ecirc;pe</i> dress, almost
+trembling with its rich embroidery; and near it, as if in contrast, on
+a dress-stand, was a velvet robe, falling in soft, luxurious folds.
+Flowers, caps, <i>coiffures</i> of various descriptions, peeped out of
+sundry boxes, and on a commode table was an open <i>&eacute;crin</i> whose
+sparkling, costly contents dazzled the eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey-day!" I exclaimed to my friend, as she advanced to meet me,
+"what's the meaning of all this splendor?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was just on the point of sending for you," she replied
+laughingly&mdash;"Madame M&mdash;&mdash; has sent home these lovely things for Lillie
+and I&mdash;and I want your opinion upon them."</p>
+
+<p>"And you are really going to re-enter society?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Lillie is eighteen this winter, you know," was my gentle friend's
+reply. "Who would have thought time could have flown around so
+quickly. Mr. Mason is very anxious she should make her <i>entr&eacute;e</i> this
+season. You can scarcely fancy how disagreeable it is to me, but I
+must not be selfish. I cannot always have her with me."</p>
+
+<p>"And you, like a good mother," I said, "will throw aside your love for
+retirement and accompany her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," replied Agnes eagerly, and she added with a slight
+expression of feeling which I well understood&mdash;"I will watch over her,
+for she will need my careful love now even more than in childhood."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is the pretty cause of all this anxiety and attention?" I
+inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Charlie would not dress for his morning walk," answered the mother,
+"unless sister Lillie assisted in the robing of the young tyrant, so
+she is in the nursery."</p>
+
+<p>We inspected the different robes and gay things spread out so
+temptingly before us, and grew femininely eloquent over these
+beautiful trifles, and were most earnestly engaged in admiring the
+<i>parure</i> of brilliant diamonds, and the spotless pearls, with which
+the fond, proud father and husband had presented them that morning,
+when a slight tap was heard at the door, and our pet Lillie entered. A
+bright-eyed, light-hearted creature is Lillie Mason&mdash;a sunbeam to her
+home. She ran up to me with affectionate greetings, and united in our
+raptures over the glittering <i>bijouterie</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"How will you like this new life, Lillie?" I asked, as the lovely girl
+threw herself on a low <i>marchepied</i> at our feet, as if wearied of the
+pretty things.</p>
+
+<p>"I can scarcely tell," she replied, and she rested her head on her
+mother's lap, whose hand parted the clustering ringlets on the fair,
+smooth brow, while Lillie's eyes looked up most lovingly to that
+beloved mother, as she added&mdash;"How we shall miss the quiet reading
+hours, mother, darling. What time shall we have during our robing and
+unrobing for 'the <i>gentle Una and her milk-white lamb</i>,' and '<i>those
+bright children of the bard, Imogen, the fair Fidele and lovely
+Desdemona</i>?' What use is there in all this decking and adorning? Life
+is far happier spent in one's own home."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear," said Agnes, as she fondly caressed her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> daughter, "that I
+have made my Lillie too much of a household darling; but I have done
+it to avoid a greater evil. We women must love something&mdash;such a
+wealth of affection is stored within our hearts, that we are rendered
+miserable if it is poured out upon one human being, after being pent
+up within bounds, during childhood and girlhood up to womanhood.
+Should my Lillie be unfortunate in her love&mdash;I mean her wedded
+love&mdash;the misery will not be half so intense, for her heart belongs,
+at least two-thirds, to her family and mother, and no faithless lover
+can ever boast the possession of the whole of it."</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed," exclaimed the dear girl, drawing her mother's face down
+to hers&mdash;"my whole heart is yours, <i>ch&egrave;re maman</i>, and yours it shall
+always be."</p>
+
+<p>With what rapture gleamed the mother's eyes, as she returned the
+daughter's fond caresses. Some day, dear reader, I may tell you what
+happened to Lillie Mason's heart, but now my thoughts are o'er-hung
+with the dark mantle of the past, and I can only think of the mother's
+former life.</p>
+
+<p>Agnes Howell was a beautiful girl&mdash;there was so much purity in her
+appearance. The gentle beam of her blue eye was angelic, and her
+auburn ringlets hung over her clear fair brow and soft cheek as if
+caressing that lovely face. Then she was such a contrast to her
+family&mdash;an only daughter among a troop of strong, stout clever
+brothers&mdash;merry healthy-minded boys were they, but the gentle Madonna
+sister in their midst seemed an "angel unawares." Agnes' mother was an
+excellent woman, strong-minded, pains-taking, but a little hard and
+obtuse in feeling. She no more understood the gentle spirit and deep
+heart-yearnings of the daughter God had given her than she did the
+mystery of life. She loved her with all the strength of her nature,
+but she made no companion of the quiet girl, and thought if she kept
+her wardrobe in good order, watched her general health, and directed
+her serious reading, she did all that was required of her. Agnes grew
+up a dreamer, an enthusiast; quiet and self-possessed her home
+training had made her, and a stranger would have wondered at the tide
+of deep feeling that ebbed and flowed within the breast of that
+gentle, placid girl. She shrunk from the rude <i>badinage</i> of her
+boisterous brothers, and finding that little was required of her in
+the <i>heart-way</i> from her matter-of-fact mother and good-natured, easy
+father, she lavished the wealth of her love upon an ideal. A woman
+soon finds, or fancies she finds, the realization of her ideal. Chance
+threw in Agnes' path one who was superior enough in mind and person to
+realize any image of a romantic girl's fancy.</p>
+
+<p>I remember well the time Agnes first met Mr. Preston. We were on a
+visit one summer to some friends together, and while there we met with
+this accomplished gentleman. How delighted were we both with him, and
+how enthusiastically did we chant to each other his praises, when in
+our own room we assisted each other in undressing for the night, or
+decking ourselves for the gay dinner or evening party. We met with
+many other gentlemen, and agreeable ones too, on this eventful visit,
+but Mr. Preston was a star of the first magnitude. I was a few years
+Agnes' junior, and well satisfied with the attentions I received from
+the other gentlemen, who deigned to notice so tiny a body as I was;
+but Mr. Preston soon singled out Agnes. He walked, rode and drove with
+her: hung over her enraptured when she sung, and listened with
+earnestness to every word that fell from her lips. She was "many
+fathom deep in love" ere she knew it&mdash;poor girl&mdash;and how exquisitely
+beautiful did this soul's dawning cause her lovely face to appear. The
+wind surely was not answerable for those burning cheeks and bright,
+dancing eyes, which she bore after returning from long rides, during
+which Mr. Preston was her constant companion&mdash;and the treasured sprigs
+of jessamine and verveine which she stored away in the leaves of her
+journal, after a moonlight ramble in the conservatory, with the same
+fascinating attendant&mdash;did not love cause all this? Naughty love, can
+the moments of rapture, exquisite though they be, which thou givest,
+atone for the months and years of deep heart-rending wretchedness
+which so often ensues?</p>
+
+<p>During the six weeks of that happy visit, Agnes Howell lived out the
+whole of her heart's existence. Blissful and rapturous were the
+moments, sleeping or waking, for Hope and Love danced merrily before
+her. But, alas! while it was the turning point&mdash;the event of her
+life&mdash;"it was but an episode" in the existence of the one who
+entranced her&mdash;"but a piping between the scenes." I do not think Mr.
+Preston ever realized the mischief he did. He was pleased with her
+appearance. Her purity and <i>na&iuml;vet&eacute;</i> were delightful to him. Her ready
+appreciation of the true and beautiful in nature and art, interested
+him; and he sought her as a companion, because she was the most
+congenial amongst those who surrounded him. He was a man of society,
+and never stopped to think that the glowing, enthusiastic creature,
+whose eyes gazed up so confidingly to him, as he conversed of
+literature and poesy, or whose lips overflowed with earnest, eloquent
+words, was an innocent, guileless child, into whose Undine nature he
+had summoned the soul. He had been many years engaged, heart and hand,
+to another; and circumstances alone had delayed the fulfillment of
+that engagement. This Agnes knew nothing of, and surrendered herself
+up, heart and soul, to him, unasked, poor girl! He regarded her as an
+interesting, lovely girl, but he attributed the enthusiasm and feeling
+which he unconsciously had called into birth, to the exquisite
+formation of her spirit, and thought her a most superior creature. No
+one marked the <i>affaire</i> as I did, for we were surrounded by those who
+knew of Mr. Preston's situation in life, and his engagement, and who,
+moreover, regarded Agnes as a child in comparison to him&mdash;an unformed
+woman, quite beneath the choice of one so <i>distingu&eacute;</i> as was Mr.
+Preston.</p>
+
+<p>Our visit drew near to a close; the evening before our departure I was
+looking over some rare and beautiful engravings in the library. A gay
+party were assembled in the adjoining apartments, and Mr. Preston had
+been Agnes' partner during the quad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>rilles and voluptuous waltz. I had
+lingered in the library, partly from shyness, partly from a desire to
+take a farewell of my favorite haunt, and look over my pet books and
+pictures, while the rich waves of melody floated around my ears. At
+the close of a brilliant waltz, Mr. Preston and Agnes joined me, and I
+found myself listening with as much earnestness as Agnes to the mellow
+tones of his voice, while he pointed out to us beauties and defects in
+the pictures, and heightened the interest we already took in them by
+classical allusion or thrilling recital. If the subject of a picture
+was unknown, he would throw around it the web of some fancied story,
+improvised on the instant. I listened to him with delight; every thing
+surrounding us tended to increase the effect of the spell. Music
+swelled in voluptuous cadences, merry voices, and the gushing sound of
+heart-felt laughter greeted our ears. Opposite the table over which we
+were leaning was a door, which opened into a conservatory, through
+whose glasses streamed the cold, pure moonlight, beaming on the
+exotics that in silence breathed an almost over-powering odor; and my
+eyes dwelt upon that quiet, cool spot, while the soft, harmonious
+conversation of my companions, and the merry, joyous sounds of the
+ball-room, blended half dreamily in my ears.</p>
+
+<p>"You are wishing to escape into that conservatory, Miss Duval," said
+Mr. Preston to me suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>A warm blush mantled my face, for I fancied he thought I was weary of
+his conversation. I stammered out some reply, I scarce knew what,
+which was not listened to, however, for Agnes, catching sight of an
+Ethiop gypsey flower at the far end of the conservatory, expressed a
+wish to see it. Mr. Preston with earnestness opposed the change&mdash;the
+atmosphere there, he feared, was too chilling; but as she rested her
+hand on his, with childish confidence, to prove to him the excitement
+and flush of the gay waltz had passed, and looked up with such beaming
+joyfulness out of her dark, violet eyes, he smilingly yielded; but
+first wrapped around her shoulders, with affectionate solicitude, an
+Indian <i>cr&ecirc;pe</i> shawl, that hung near him on a chair. "<i>Poor little
+me</i>" was not thought of; I might take cold if I could, he would not
+have noted it; but I ejaculated to myself, "If I am too young for Mr.
+Preston to feel any interest in, a few years will make a vast
+difference, and maybe in the future I shall be an object of care to
+some one."</p>
+
+<p>We reached the beautiful flower, over which Agnes hung; and as she
+inhaled its fragrance, she murmured in low words, which Mr. Preston
+bent his tall, graceful form to hear,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Thou dusky flower, I stoop to inhale<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy fragrance&mdash;thou art one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wooeth not the vulgar eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor the broad-staring sun.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Therefore I love thee! (selfish love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such preference may be,)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thou reservest all thy sweets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Coy thing, for night and me."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"This flower must be mine, Miss Agnes," said Mr. Preston, with
+gallantry; "and when I look on it, it will tell me of the delicate
+taste and pure spirit of one who has rendered six weeks of my
+cheerless life bright."</p>
+
+<p>The chill moonlight shone down on Agnes, and its rays nestled between
+the ringlets and her downy cheek, but its cold beams could not blench
+the rosy hue, that mounted to her blue veined temples, as Mr. Preston
+severed the fragrant exotic from its stem, and carefully pressed it
+between the leaves of his tablets. Many such words followed, and I
+walked unheeded beside them, as they lingered in this lovely place.
+Pity that such blessed hours should ever be ended&mdash;that life's lights
+should need dark shadows. Midnight swept over us ere good-night was
+said; and in a half-dreamy state of rapture, Agnes rested her head on
+her pillow. Nothing had been said; no love had been actually
+expressed, in the vulgar sense of the word, and according to the
+world's view of such matters, Mr. Preston was entirely guiltless of
+the dark, heavy cloud that hung over the pathway of that young
+creature from that night.</p>
+
+<p>We returned to our homes; I benefited by my visit, for my mind had
+been improved by the association with older and superior persons&mdash;and
+I returned with renewed zeal to my studies and reading, that I might
+understand that which had appeared but "darkly to my mind's eye." But
+Agnes found her companionless home still more cheerless. The bustling,
+thrifty mother, and hearty, noisy brothers, greeted her with earnest
+kindness; but after a few weeks had passed, her spirit flagged. She
+lived for awhile upon the recollection of the past, and that buoyed
+her up; but, as day after day went noiselessly and uneventfully by,
+her heart grew aweary of the dear "hope deferred," and a listlessness
+took possession of her. Poor girl! the rosy hue of her cheek faded,
+and the bright light of her eye grew dim. Her bustling, active family
+did not take notice of the change in her appearance and spirits; but
+I, thrown daily with her, noted it with anxiety. I sought to interest
+her in my studies, and asked her assistance in my music. With labor
+she would exert herself to aid me; and at times her old enthusiasm
+would burst forth, but only as the gleams of an expiring taper; every
+thing seemed wearisome to her.</p>
+
+<p>One morning I heard that she had been seized with a dangerous illness,
+and I hastily obeyed the summons which I had received from her mother.
+What a commotion was that bustling family thrown into. The physicians
+pronounced her sickness a brain fever. When I reached her bedside, she
+was raving, and her beautiful eyes gazed vacantly on the nearest and
+dearest of her friends; even the mother that bore her hung over her
+unrecognized. She had retired as usual the night before, her mother
+said, apparently well; but at midnight the family had been awakened by
+her shrieks and cries. I watched beside her bed weepingly, for I never
+hoped to see her again in health. The dark wing of Death I felt
+already drooping over her; and with anguish I listened to the snatches
+of poetry and song that fell in fragments from her lips. As I was
+placing a cup on a table in her room, during the day, my eye caught
+sight of two cards tied with white satin ribbon, and on them I read
+the names of Mr. Ralph Preston and his bride, with these words hastily
+written in pencil in Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> Preston's handwriting on the larger of the
+two cards,</p>
+
+<p>"You will, my lovely friend, rejoice in my happiness, I am sure. Short
+was our acquaintance, but with the hope that I am not forgotten, I
+hasten to inform you that the cheerless life-path you deigned to
+brighten for a few short hours by your kind smiles, is now rendered
+calm and joyous. I am at last married to the one I have secretly
+worshiped for years. We both pray you may know happiness exquisite as
+ours."</p>
+
+<p>How quickly I divined the cause of my friend's illness; no longer was
+it a mystery to me as it was to her family. Those silent cards had
+been the messengers of evil, and had been mute witnesses of the bitter
+anguish that had wrung her young heart. There, in the silent night,
+had she struggled with her agony; and I fancied I heard her calling on
+Heaven for strength&mdash;that Heaven to which we only appeal when
+overwhelmed by the sad whirldwind caused by our errors or passions.
+But strength had been denied, and her spirit sank fainting.</p>
+
+<p>For weeks we watched the fluttering life within her, at times giving
+up all hope; but youth and careful nursing aided the struggle of
+Nature with Death, and at last Agnes opened her languid eyes upon us,
+and was pronounced out of immediate danger. The sickening pallor that
+overspread her face an instant after her returning consciousness, I
+well understood; the thought of her heart's desolation came to her
+memory, and I fear life was any thing but a blessing to her then. Her
+health continued delicate; and at last it was deemed advisable to take
+her to a more genial climate&mdash;that change of scene and air might
+strengthen her constitution, and raise her spirits, depressed, the
+physician said, by sickness. I knew better than the wise Esculapius;
+but my knowledge could not restore her. Her father was a man of
+considerable wealth, therefore no expense was spared for her benefit.
+They resided some years in Europe, and the letters I received from
+Agnes proved that the change had, indeed, been of benefit. New
+associations surrounded her, and dissipated the sad foreboding
+thoughts, bringing her to a more healthy state of mind. I was a little
+surprised, however, when I heard of her approaching marriage with Mr.
+Mason. Had I been as old as I am now, I would not have felt that
+wonder; but I was still young and sentimental enough to fancy the
+possibility of cherishing an "unrequited, luckless love, even unto
+death." Agnes had never spoken openly to me of her unfortunate
+attachment, but there was always a tacit understanding between us. She
+was too delicate and refined, too sensitive to indulge in the eager
+confidence which a coarser mind would have luxuriated in; but in
+writing to, or talking with me, she many times expressed herself in
+earnest, feeling words, that to a stranger would have seemed only as
+"fine sentiments," while to me, who knew her sad history, they bore a
+deeper meaning; therefore, the letter I received from her, on her
+marriage, was well understood, and quietly appreciated by me.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if you will be surprised, my dear Enna," she wrote, "when
+you hear that I am married? A few years ago it would have surprised
+me, and I should have thought it impossible. Moreover, I am marrying a
+man for whom I do not entertain that 'rapturous, soul-engrossing,
+enthusiastic love' which we have always deemed so necessary in
+marrying, and which, Heaven knows, I was once capable of bestowing on
+a husband. Mr. Mason, whom I am about to marry, is not a man who
+requires such love. The calm, quiet respect and friendship I entertain
+for him, suits him far better. He is matter-of-fact&mdash;think of that,
+Enna&mdash;not at all like the imaginary heroes of love we have talked of
+together. But he is high-minded, and possesses much intelligence and
+cultivation. We have been friends a long while, and I am confident
+that, if life and health are spared, happiness will result to both
+from our union."</p>
+
+<p>She did not return to her country for many years after her marriage;
+and when I again saw her, she presented a strong contrast, in
+appearance, to the pale, heart-broken creature I had parted with ten
+years before. She was more beautiful even than in her youth&mdash;still
+delicate and spiritual in appearance; and the calm, matronly dignity
+that pervaded her manner rendered her very lovely. Several children
+she had&mdash;for our Lillie can boast a Neapolitan birth; but in her whole
+troop she has but this one darling girl. Calm and quiet is Agnes Mason
+in her general deportment; but her intercourse with her children
+presents a strong contrast&mdash;then it is her "old enthusiasm" bursts
+forth. She has been a devoted mother; and her children think her the
+most perfect creature on earth. The intercourse between Agnes and
+Lillie is, indeed, interesting. On the mother's part there is intense
+devotion, which is fully returned by the daughter, blended with
+reverential feelings. She has superintended her education, and
+rendered what would have been wearisome tasks, "labors of love." How
+often have I found them in the library with heads bent over the same
+page, and eyes expressive of the same enthusiasm; or at the piano,
+with voices and hands uniting to produce what was to my ears exquisite
+harmony. Agnes' love-requiring heart, "like the Deluge wanderer," has
+at last found a resting-place, and on her daughter, and on her noble,
+beautiful boys, the whole rich tide of her love has been poured.</p>
+
+<p>Lillie Mason, with all her beauty and wealth, will never be a belle,
+as her mother says she has been made too much of "a household
+darling." I watched her one evening, not a long while since, at a gay
+ball, where her mother and I sat as spectatresses. She had been
+persuaded from our side by a dashing <i>distingu&eacute;</i> youth, and was moving
+most gracefully with him through a quadrille. In the pauses of the
+dance he seemed most anxious to interest her, and I saw his fine, dark
+eyes bend on her very tender glances. Her <i>bouquet</i> seemed to him an
+object of especial attention, and though a graceful dancer himself, he
+seemed so wrapt up in his notice of these fragrant flowers as to
+derange the quadrille more than once. I drew Agnes' attention to this.</p>
+
+<p>"But see," said Agnes, "how coolly and calmly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> Lillie draws his
+attention to the forgotten figures. I'll answer for it, she spoils
+many of that youth's fine sentiments."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," said Lillie, with a half-vexed air, after her partner had
+placed her beside her mother, while he hastened to procure some
+refreshments for us, "I wonder what Mr. Carlton dances for. I would
+not take the trouble to stand up in a quadrille, if I were in his
+place. He always talks so much as to quite forget the movements of the
+dance. He renders me more nervous than any partner I ever have, for I
+dislike to see my <i>vis-a-vis</i> so bored. Just now he went through the
+whole "language of flowers" in my bouquet, which would have been
+interesting elsewhere, for he quotes poetry right cleverly; but it was
+a little out of place where the bang of the instruments, and the
+<i>chazzez</i> and the <i>balancez</i> made me lose one half of his pretty
+eloquence. Quadrilles are senseless things any how;" and our pretty
+Lillie actually yawned as she begged to know if it was not time to
+go. "You know, dear mamma," she said, "that I have to arise very early
+to-morrow morning, to help Tom in that hard lesson he groaned so
+pitifully over to-night."</p>
+
+<p>As we left the ball-room, and were making our adieux to the fair
+hostess, I overheard young Carlton say reproachfully to Lillie,</p>
+
+<p>"And so you are going to leave without dancing that next quadrille
+with me. I know my name is on your tablets. This is too unkind, Miss
+Mason."</p>
+
+<p>Young Carleton is very devoted; but if his devotion is only a passing
+caprice, our Lillie will not be injured by it. There is no danger of
+her "falling in love" hastily, even if the lover be as handsome and
+interesting as the one in question. Luckily for her happiness, her
+mother, profiting by her own sad experience, has cultivated the sweet
+blossoms of domestic love, and, as she says, "My Lillie's heart will
+always belong, at least two-thirds, to her mother and family."</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="MIDNIGHT" id="MIDNIGHT"></a>MIDNIGHT.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The moon looks down on a world of snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the midnight lamp is burning low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the fading embers mildly glow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In their bed of ashes soft and deep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All, all is still as the hour of death&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I only hear what the old clock saith,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the mother and infant's easy breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That flows from the holy land of Sleep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Or the watchman who solemnly wakes the dark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a voice like a prophet's when few will hark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the answering hounds that bay and bark<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To the red cock's clarion horn&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world goes on&mdash;the restless world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With its freight of sleep through darkness hurled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a mighty ship, when her sails are furled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On a rapid but noiseless river borne.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Say on old clock&mdash;I love you well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For your silver chime, and the truths you tell&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your every stroke is but the knell<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Hope, or Sorrow buried deep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say on&mdash;but only let me hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sound most sweet to my listening ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The child and the mother breathing clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Within the harvest-fields of Sleep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou watchman, on thy lonely round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thank thee for that warning sound&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The clarion cock and the baying hound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not less their dreary vigils keep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still hearkening, I will love you all,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While in each silent interval<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can hear those dear breasts rise and fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the airy tide of Sleep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Old world, on Time's benighted stream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweep down till the stars of morning beam<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From orient shores&mdash;nor break the dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That calms my love to pleasures deep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Roll on and give my Bud and Rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fullness of thy best repose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blessedness which only flows<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Along the silent realms of Sleep.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br />,br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="A_VISION" id="A_VISION"></a>A VISION.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY R. H. STODDARD.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw the Past, in heaven a mighty train,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A countless multitude of solemn years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Standing like souls of martyred saints, and tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ran down their pallid cheeks like summer rain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They clasped and wrung their white hands evermore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wailing, demanding vengeance on the world:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Judgment, with his garments sprinkled o'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With guilty blood, and dusky wings unfurled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sword unsheathed, expectant of His nod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood waiting by the burning throne, and God<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rose up in heaven in ire&mdash;but Mercy fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A piteous damsel clad in spotless white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In supplication sweet and earnest prayer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Knelt at his feet and clung around his robe of light.</span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="THE_NEW_ENGLAND_FACTORY_GIRL" id="THE_NEW_ENGLAND_FACTORY_GIRL"></a>THE NEW ENGLAND FACTORY GIRL.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
+
+<h4>A SKETCH OF EVERYDAY LIFE.</h4>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For naught its power to STRENGTH can teach<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like EMULATION&mdash;and ENDEAVOR. &nbsp;&nbsp;SCHILLER.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4>
+
+<h5>HOPING AND PLANNING.</h5>
+
+<p>The family of Deacon Gordon were gathered in the large kitchen, at the
+commencement of the first snow-storm of the season. With what delight
+the children watched the driving clouds&mdash;and shouted with exultation
+as they tried to count the fleecy flakes floating gently to the
+earth&mdash;nestling upon its bleak, bare surface as if they would fain
+shield it with a pure and beautiful mantle. Faster and faster came the
+storm, even the deacon concluded that it would amount to something,
+after all; perhaps there might be sleighing on Thanksgiving-day;
+though he thought it rather uncertain. His wife did not reply, she was
+bidding the children be a little less noisy in their mirth.</p>
+
+<p>"We can get out our sleds in the morning, can't we, Mary?" said Master
+Ned. "I'm so glad you finished my mittens last Saturday. I told Tom
+Kelly I hoped it would snow soon, for I wanted to see how warm they
+were. Wont I make the ice-balls fly!"</p>
+
+<p>Ned had grown energetic with the thought, and seizing his mother's
+ball of worsted aimed it at poor puss, who was sleeping quietly before
+the blazing fire. Alas! for Neddy&mdash;puss but winked her great sleepy
+eyes as the ball whizzed past, and was buried in the pile of ashes
+that had gathered around the huge "back-log." His mother did not
+scold; she had never been known to disturb the serenity of the good
+deacon by an ebullition of angry words. Indeed, the neighbors often
+said she was <i>too</i> quiet, letting the children have their own way.
+'Mrs. Gordon chose to rule by the law of love, a mode of government
+little understood by those around her. Could they have witnessed Ned's
+penitent look, when his mother simply said&mdash;"Do you see how much
+trouble you have given me, my son?" they would not have doubted its
+efficacy.</p>
+
+<p>The deacon said nothing, but opened the almanac he had just taken down
+from its allotted corner, and thought, as he searched for "Nov. 25th,"
+that he had the best wife in the world, and if his children were not
+good it was their own fault. The great maxim of the deacon's life had
+been "let well enough alone"&mdash;but not always seeing clearly what was
+"well enough," he was often surprised when he found matters did not
+turn out as he had expected. This had made him comparatively a poor
+man, though the fine farm he had inherited from his father should
+have rendered him perfectly independent of the world. Little by little
+had been sold, until it was not more than half its original size, and
+the remainder, far less fertile than of old, scarce yielded a
+sufficient support for his now numerous family. He had a holy horror
+of debt, however&mdash;and with his wife's rigid and careful economy, he
+managed to balance accounts at the end of the year. But this was
+all&mdash;there was nothing in reserve&mdash;should illness or misfortune
+overtake him, life's struggle would be hard indeed for his youthful
+family.</p>
+
+<p>The deacon was satisfied&mdash;he had found the day of the month, and in a
+spirit of prophecy quite remarkable, the context added, "Snow to be
+expected about this time."</p>
+
+<p>"It's late enough for snow, that's true," said he, as he carefully
+replaced his "farmer's library," then remarking it was near time for
+tea, he took up his blue homespun frock, and went out in the face of
+the storm to see that the cattle were properly cared for. The deacon
+daily exemplified the motto&mdash;"A merciful man is merciful to his
+beast."</p>
+
+<p>"Father is right," said Mrs. Gordon, using the familiar title so
+commonly bestowed upon the head of the family in that section of
+country. "Mary, it is quite time you were busy, and you, James, had
+better get in the wood."</p>
+
+<p>The young people to whom she spoke had been conversing apart at the
+furthest window of the room. Mary, a girl of fifteen, James, scarce
+more than a year her senior. They started at their mother's voice, as
+if they had quite forgotten where they were, but in an instant
+good-humoredly said she was right, and without delay commenced their
+several tasks. James was assisted by Ned, who, since he had come into
+possession of his first pair of boots&mdash;an era in the life of every
+boy&mdash;had been promoted to the office of chip-gatherer; and Sue, a rosy
+little girl of eight or nine, spread the table, while her sister
+prepared the tea, cutting the snowy loaves made by her own hand; and
+bringing a roll of golden butter she herself had moulded, Mrs. Gordon
+gave a look of general supervision, and finished the preparations for
+the evening meal by the addition of cheese&mdash;such as city people never
+see&mdash;just as Mr. Gordon and James returned, stamping the snow from
+their heavy boots, and sending a shower of drops from the already
+melting mass which clung to them.</p>
+
+<p>Never was there a happier group gathered about a farmer's table, and
+when, with bowed head and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> solemn voice, the father had begged the
+blessing of Heaven upon their simple fare, the children did ample
+justice to the plain but substantial viands. Mrs. Gordon wondered how
+they found time to eat, there was so much to be said on all sides; but
+talk as they would&mdash;and it is an established fact that the
+conversational powers of children are developed with greater
+brilliancy at table than elsewhere&mdash;when the repast was finished there
+was very little reason to complain on the score of bad appetites.</p>
+
+<p>Then commenced the not unpleasant task of brightening and putting away
+the oft used dishes. Mary and Sue were no loiterers, and by the time
+their mother had swept the hearth, and arranged the displaced
+furniture, cups and plates were shining on the dresser, as the red
+fire-light gleamed upon them. The deacon sat gazing intently upon the
+glowing embers&mdash;apparently in deep meditation, though it is to be
+questioned whether he thought at all. Mrs. Gordon had resumed her
+knitting, while Sue and Ned, after disputing some time whose turn it
+was to hold the yarn, were busily employed in winding a skein of
+worsted into birds-nest balls.</p>
+
+<p>"Seven o'clock comes very soon, don't it Eddy?" said Sue, as their
+heads came in contact at the unraveling of a terrible "tangle"&mdash;"I
+wish it would be always daylight, and then wouldn't we sit up a great
+many hours? I'd go to school at night instead of the daytime, and do
+all my errands, and go to meeting too&mdash;then we should have all day
+long to play in, and if we got tired we could lie down on the grass in
+the orchard and take a little nap, or here before the fire if it was
+winter. Oh, dear! I'm sure I can't see why there's any dark at all!"</p>
+
+<p>"You girls don't know any thing," answered Master Ned, with the
+inherent air of superiority which alike animates the boy and the man,
+where women are concerned&mdash;"If there was no night what would become of
+the chickens? They can't go to sleep in the daylight, can they, I'd
+like to know? And if they didn't go to sleep how would they ever get
+fat, or large; and maybe they wouldn't have feathers; then what would
+we do for bolsters, and beds, and pillows? You didn't think of that, I
+guess, Susy."</p>
+
+<p>Ned's patronizing air quite offended his sister, but she did not stop
+to show it, for she had, as she thought, found an admirable plan for
+the chickens.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said she slowly, not perceiving in her abstraction that the
+skein was nearly wound, "we could make a dark room in the barn for the
+biddies, and they could go in there when it ought to be sundown. I
+guess they'd know&mdash;" but here there came an end to the skein and their
+speculations, for seven o'clock rung clearly and loudly from the
+wooden time-piece in the corner, and the children obeyed the signal
+for bed, not without many "oh, dears," and wishes that the clock could
+not strike.</p>
+
+<p>"James," said his elder sister, as their mother left the room with the
+little ones, "let us tell father and mother all about it to-night.
+They might as well know now as any time; and Stephen will be back in
+the morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't speak so loud," whispered the boy, "father will hear you. I
+suppose we might as well; but I do so dread it, I'm sure it would kill
+me if they were to say no, and now I can hope at least."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it all," said his stronger minded adviser, "but I shall feel
+better when they are told. I know mother wonders what we are always
+whispering about; and it does not seem right to hide any thing from
+her. Here she is, and when we've got father's cider and the apples, I
+shall tell them if you don't."</p>
+
+<p>Poor James! it was evident that he had a cherished project at stake.
+Never before had he been so long in drawing the cider. Mary had heaped
+her basket with rosy-cheeked apples before he had finished; and when
+at length he came from the cellar, his hand trembled, so that the
+brown beverage was spilled upon the neat hearth.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a little careless," said his mother; but the boy offered no
+excuse; he cast an imploring glance at his sister, and walked to the
+window, though the night was dark as Erebus, and the sleet struck
+sharply against the glass.</p>
+
+<p>"James and I want to talk with you a little while, father and mother,
+if you can listen now," said Mary, boldly; and then there was a
+pause&mdash;for she had dropped a whole row of stitches in her knitting,
+and numberless were the loops which were left, as she took them up
+again.</p>
+
+<p>Her father looked at her with a stare of astonishment, or else he was
+getting sleepy, and was obliged to open his eyes very widely, lest
+they should close without his knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my child," said Mrs. Gordon, in a gentle tone of
+encouragement&mdash;for she thought, from Mary's manner, that the
+development of the confidential communications of the brother and
+sister was at hand.</p>
+
+<p>"We have been making a plan, mother&mdash;" but James could go no further,
+and left the sentence unfinished. "Mary will tell you all," he added,
+in a choking voice, as he turned once more to the window.</p>
+
+<p>Mary did tell all, clearly, and without hesitation; while her mother's
+pride, and her father's astonishment increased as the narrative
+progressed. James, young as he was, had fixed his heart upon gaining a
+classical education&mdash;a thing not so rare in the New England States as
+with us, for there the false idea still prevails, that a man is unfit
+to enter upon a profession until he has served the four years'
+laborious apprenticeship imposed upon all "candidates for college
+prizes." With us, the feeling has almost entirely passed away; a man
+is not judged by the number of years he is supposed to have devoted to
+the literature of past ages&mdash;the question is, what does he know? not,
+how was that knowledge gained? But in the rigid and formal atmosphere
+by which it was the fortune of our little hero to be surrounded, the
+prejudice was strong as ever; and the ambitious boy, in dreaming out
+for himself a life of fame and honor, saw before him, as an obstacle
+hardly possible of being surmounted, a collegiate education.</p>
+
+<p>For months he had kept the project a secret in his own heart, and had
+daily, and almost hourly, gone over and over again, every difficulty
+which presented itself. He saw at once that he could expect no aid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
+from his father, for he knew the constant struggle going on in the
+household to narrow increasing expenses to their humble means. His
+elder brother, Stephen, would even oppose the plan&mdash;for, he being very
+like their father, was plodding and industrious, content with the
+present hour, and heartily despised books and schools, as being
+entirely beneath his notice. His mother would, he hoped, aid him by
+her approval and encouragement&mdash;this was all <i>she</i> could bestow; and
+Mary, however willing, had not more to offer. At length he resolved to
+tell his sister, who had ever been his counsellor, the project which
+he had so long cherished.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not selfish about it," said he, as he dilated upon the success
+which he felt sure would be his, could this first stumbling-block but
+be removed. "Think how much I could do for you all. Father would be
+relieved from the burden of supporting me, for he does not need my
+assistance now, the farm is so small, and Ed is growing old enough to
+do all my work. Then you should have a capital education, for you
+ought to have it; and you could teach a school that would be more to
+the purpose than the district school. After I had helped you all, then
+I could work for myself; and mother would be so proud of her son. But,
+oh! Mary," and the boy's heart sank within him, "I know it can never
+be."</p>
+
+<p>The two, brother and sister, as they sat there together, were a fair
+illustration of the "dreamer and the worker." Mary was scarce fifteen,
+but she was thoughtful beyond her years, yet as hopeful as the child.
+"Yes, I could keep school," thought she, as she looked into her
+brother's earnest eyes. "What can hinder my keeping school now; and
+the money I can earn, with James having his vacations to work in,
+might support him."</p>
+
+<p>But with this thought came another. She knew that the pay given to
+district schoolteachers&mdash;women especially&mdash;was at best a bare
+pittance, scarce more than sufficient for herself&mdash;for she could not
+think of burdening her parents with her maintenance when her time and
+labor was not theirs; and she knew that her education was too limited
+to seek a larger sphere of action. So she covered her bright young
+face with her hands, and it was clouded for a time with deep thought;
+then looking suddenly up, the boy wondered at the change which had
+passed over it, there was so much joy, even exultation in every
+feature.</p>
+
+<p>"I have it," said she, throwing her arms fondly about his neck. "I
+know how I can earn a deal of money, more than I want. If mother will
+let me, I can go to Lowell and work in a factory. Susan Hunt paid the
+mortgage on her father's farm in three years; and I'm sure it would
+not take any more for you than she earned."</p>
+
+<p>At first the boy's heart beat wildly; for the moment it seemed as if
+his dearest wishes were about to be accomplished. Then came a feeling
+of reproach at his own selfishness, in gaining independence by dooming
+his fair young sister to a life of constant labor and self-denial;
+wasting, or at least passing the bright hours of her girlhood in the
+midst of noise and heat, with rude associations for her refined and
+gentle nature.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no, Mary," said he, passionately&mdash;"never, never! You are too
+good, too generous!" yet the wish of his life was too strong to be
+checked at once; and when Mary pleaded, and urged him to consent to
+it, and gave a thousand "woman's reasons" why it was best, and how
+easy the task would be to her, when lightened by the consciousness
+that she was aiding him to take a lofty place among his fellow-men, he
+gave a reluctant consent to the plan, ashamed of himself the while,
+and dreading lest his parents should oppose what would seem to their
+calmer judgment an almost impossible scheme.</p>
+
+<p>Day after day he had begged Mary to delay asking their consent, though
+the suspense was an agony to the enthusiastic boy. Mary knew the
+disappointment would be terrible; yet she thought if it was to come,
+it had best be over with at once; and, beside, she was more hopeful
+than her brother, for she had not so much at stake. Was it any wonder,
+then, that James could scarce breathe while his sister calmly told
+their plans, and that he dared not look into his mother's face when
+the recital was ended.</p>
+
+<p>There was no word spoken for some moments&mdash;the deacon looked into his
+wife's face, as if he did not fully understand what he had been
+listening to, and sought the explanation from her; but she gazed
+intently at the fire, revealing nothing by the expression of her
+features until she said, "Your father and I will talk the matter over,
+children, and to-morrow you shall hear what we think of it." Without
+the least idea of the decision which would be made, James was obliged
+to subdue his impatience; and the evening passed wearily enough in
+listening to his father's plans for repairing the barn, and making a
+new ox-sled. Little did the boy hear, though he seemed to give
+undivided attention.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you well considered all this, my child," said Mrs. Gordon, as
+she put her hand tenderly upon her daughter's forehead, and looked
+earnestly into her sweet blue eyes. "James is in his own room, so do
+not fear to speak openly. Are you not misled by your love for him, and
+your wish that he should succeed."</p>
+
+<p>"No, mother, I have thought again and again, and I know I could work
+from morning till night without complaining, if I thought he was
+happy. Then it will be but three or four years at the farthest, and I
+shall be hardly nineteen then. I can study, too, in the evenings and
+mornings, and sometimes I can get away for whole weeks, and come up
+here to see you all; Lowell is not very far, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"But there is another thing, Mary. Do you not know that there are many
+people who consider it as a disgrace to toil thus&mdash;who would ridicule
+you for publicly acknowledging labor was necessary for you; they would
+perhaps shun your society, and you would be wounded by seeing them
+neglect, and perhaps openly avoid you."</p>
+
+<p>"I should not care at ail for that, mother. Why is it any worse to
+work at Lowell than at home; and you tell me very often that I support
+myself now.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> People that love me would go on loving me just as well as
+ever; and those who don't love me, I'm sure I'm willing they should
+act as they like."</p>
+
+<p>"I think myself," replied her mother, pleased at the true spirit of
+independence that she saw filled her daughter's heart, "that the
+opinion of those who despise honest labor, is not worth caring for.
+But you are young, and sneers will have their effect. You must
+remember this&mdash;it is but natural. There is one thing else&mdash;we may both
+be mistaken about James' ability; he may be himself&mdash;and you could not
+bear to see him fail, after all. Think, it may be so; and then all
+your time and your earnings will be lost."</p>
+
+<p>"Not lost, mother," said the young girl, her eyes sparkling with love
+and hope, "I should have done all I could to help James, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Gordon kissed her good-night with a full heart. She was proud of
+her children; and few mothers have more reason for the natural
+feeling. "I cannot bear to disappoint her," thought she, yet the
+scheme seemed every moment more childish and impracticable.</p>
+
+<p>James rose, not with the sun, but long before it; and when his father
+came down, he was already busily employed in clearing a path to the
+well and the barn&mdash;for the snow had fallen so heavily, that the drifts
+gathered by the night wind, in its rude sport, were piled to the very
+windows, obscuring the misty light of the winter's morn. How beautiful
+were those snow-wreaths in their perfect purity! The brown and knotted
+fences, the dingy out-buildings, were all covered with dazzling
+drapery; and the leafless trees were bowed beneath the weight of a
+fantastic foliage that glittered in the clear beams of the rising sun
+with a splendor that was almost painful to behold.</p>
+
+<p>"It wont last long with this sun," said the deacon, as he tied a
+'comforter' about his throat; "but perhaps you'll have time to give
+Mary and the children a ride before the roads are bare again. Mary
+must do all her sleighing this winter, for she won't have much time if
+she goes to the factory, poor child!"</p>
+
+<p>The deacon passed on with heavy strides to the barn-yard, and left
+James to hope that their petition was not rejected. It was not many
+minutes after that Mary came bounding down the stone-steps, heedless
+of the snow in which she trod; and the instant he looked upon her face
+he was no longer in doubt.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Isn't</i> mother good, James! She just called me into her room, and
+told me that father and she have concluded we can try it at least; and
+Stephen is not to know any thing about it until next April, when I am
+to go. We must both of us study very hard this winter, and I shall
+have such a deal of sewing to do."</p>
+
+<p>Mary spoke with delighted eagerness. One would have thought, beholding
+her joy, that it was a pleasant journey which she anticipated, or that
+a fortune had unexpectedly been left to her; and yet the spring so
+longed for, would find her among strangers, working in a close and
+crowded room through the bright days. But a contented spirit hath its
+own sunshine; and the dearest pleasure that mankind may know, is
+contributing to the happiness of those we love. The less selfish our
+devotion to friends, the more sacrificing our self-denial in their
+behalf, the greater is the reward; so Mary's step was more elastic
+than ever, and her bright eyes shone with a steady, cheerful light, as
+she went about her daily tasks.</p>
+
+<p>As she said, it was necessary that they should both be very busy
+through the winter, for James hoped to be able to enter college in
+August; and Mary, who had heretofore kept pace with him in most of his
+studies, though she did stumble at "tupto, tupso, tetupha," and vow
+that Greek was not intended for girls, did not wish to give up her
+Latin and Geometry. They had such a kind instructor in Mr. Lane, the
+village lawyer, that an ambition to please him made them at first
+forget the difficulties of the dry rudiments; and then it was that
+James first began to dream of one day being able to plead causes
+himself&mdash;of studying a profession. Mr. Lane, unconsciously, had
+encouraged this, by telling his little pupils, to whom he was much
+attached, the difficulties that had beset his youthful career, and how
+he had gained an honest independence, when he had at first been
+without friends or means. Then he would look up at his pretty young
+wife, or put out his arms to their little one, as if he thought, and
+is not this a sufficient reward for those years of toil and
+despondence. James remembered, when he was a student, teaching in
+vacations to aid in supporting himself through term time. He had
+boarded at Mr. Gordon's, and when he came to settle in the village,
+years after, he had offered to teach James and Mary, as a slight
+recompense for Mrs. Gordon's early kindness to the poor student. Two
+hours each afternoon were passed in Mr. Lane's pleasant little study;
+and though Stephen thought it was time wasted, he did not complain
+much, for James was doubly active in the morning. Mary, too,
+accomplished twice as much as ever before; and after the day's routine
+of household labor and study were over, her needle flew quickly, as
+she prepared her little wardrobe for leaving home. March was nearly
+through before they felt that spring had come; and though Mary's eyes
+were sometimes filled with tears at the thought of the coming
+separation, they were quickly dried, and the first of April found her
+unshaken in her resolution.</p>
+<br />
+
+<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4>
+
+<h5>LEAVING HOME&mdash;FACTORY LIFE.</h5>
+
+<p>"To-morrow will be the last day at home," thought Mary, as she bade
+her mother good-night, and turned quickly to her own room to conceal
+the tears that would start; and, though they fringed the lashes of the
+drooping lid when at last she slept, the repose was gentle and
+undisturbed&mdash;and she awoke at early dawn content, almost happy. The
+morning air came freshly to her face as she leaned out of the window
+to gaze once more on the extended landscape. Far away upon the
+swelling hill-side, patches of snow yet lingered, while near them the
+fresh grass was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> springing; and the old wood, at the back of the
+house, was clothed anew in emerald verdure. The sombre pines were
+lighted by the glittering sunlight, as it lingered lovingly among
+their dim branches ere bursting away to illumine the very depths of
+the solitude with smiles. A pleasant perfume was wafted from the
+Arbutus, just putting forth its delicate blossoms from their
+sheltering covert of dark-green leaves, mingled with the breath of the
+snowy-petaled dogwood, and the blue violets that were bedded in the
+rich moss on the banks of the little stream. The brook itself went
+singing on its way as it wound through the darksome forest, and fell
+with a plash, and a murmur, over the huge stones that would have
+turned it aside from its course.</p>
+
+<p>It was the first bright day of spring; and it seemed as if nature had
+assumed its loveliest dress to tempt the young girl to forego her
+resolve. "Home never looked so beautiful," thought she, turning from
+the window; and her step was not light as usual when she joined the
+family. Mrs. Gordon was serene as ever; no one could have told from
+her manner that she was about to part with her daughter for the first
+time; but the children were sobbing bitterly&mdash;for they had just been
+told that the day had come when their sister was to leave them. They
+clung to her dress as she entered, and begged her not to go.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall we do without <i>you</i>, Mary?" said they; "the house will be
+so lonesome."</p>
+
+<p>Even Stephen, although when the plan was first revealed to him had
+opposed it obstinately, was melted to something like forgiveness when
+he saw that nothing could change her firm determination.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose we must <i>learn</i> to live without you, Molly," said he; "take
+good care of yourself, child&mdash;but let's have breakfast now."</p>
+
+<p>The odd combination, spite of her sadness, brought the old smile to
+Mary's lip; and when breakfast was over, and the deacon took the large
+family Bible from its appointed resting-place, and gathered his little
+flock about him, they listened quietly and earnestly to the truths of
+holy writ. That family Bible! It was almost the first thing that Mary
+could recollect. She remembered sitting on her father's knee, in the
+long, bright Sabbath afternoons, and looking with profound awe and
+astonishment into the baize-covered volume, at the quaint unartistic
+prints that were scattered through it. She recalled the shiver of
+horror with which she looked on "<i>Daniel in the den of lions</i>," the
+curiosity which the picture of the Garden of Eden called forth, and
+the undefined, yet calm and placid feeling which stole over her as she
+dwelt longest upon the "Baptism of our Savior." Then there was the
+family record&mdash;her own birth, and that of her brothers and sisters,
+were chronicled underneath that of generations now sleeping in the
+shadow of the village church. But this train of thought was broken, as
+they reverentially knelt when the volume was closed, and listened to
+their father's humble and fervent petition, that God would watch and
+guard them all, especially commending to the protection of Heaven,
+"the lamb now going out from their midst."</p>
+
+<p>There were tears even upon Mrs. Gordon's face when the prayer was
+ended, but there was no time to indulge in a long and sorrowful
+parting. The trunks were standing already corded in the hall; the
+little traveling-basket was filled with home-baked luxuries for the
+way-side lunch; and Mary was soon arrayed in her plain merino dress
+and little straw bonnet. There are some persons who receive whatever
+air of fashion and refinement they may have from their dress; others
+who impart to the coarsest material a grace that the most <i>recherch&eacute;</i>
+costume fails to give. Our heroine was one of the last&mdash;and never was
+Chestnut street belle more beautiful than our simple country lassie,
+as she stood with her mother's arm twined about her waist, receiving
+her parting counsel.</p>
+
+<p>The last words were said&mdash;James, in an agony of grief, had kissed her
+again and again, reproaching himself constantly for his selfishness in
+consenting that she should go. The children, forgetting their tears in
+the excitement of the moment, ran with haste to announce that the
+stage was just coming over the hill. Yes, it was standing before the
+garden-gate&mdash;the trunks were lifted from the door-stone&mdash;the
+clattering steps fell at her feet&mdash;a moment more and Mary was whirled
+away from her quiet home, with her father's counsel, and her mother's
+earnest "God bless you, and keep you, my child!" ringing in her ears.</p>
+
+<p>It was quite dark ere the second day's weary journey was at an end.
+Mary could scarce believe it possible that she had, indeed, arrived in
+the great city, until the confused tumult that rose everywhere
+around&mdash;the endless lines of glittering lamps that stretched far away
+in the darkness, and the rough jolting of the coach over the hard
+pavements, told too plainly that she was in a new world, surrounded by
+a new order of things. As they drove rapidly through the crowded
+streets, she caught a glance at the brilliantly lighted stores, and
+the many gayly-dressed people that thronged them. Again the scene
+changed, and she looked upon the dark-brick walls that loomed up
+before her, and knew that in one of those buildings she was destined
+to pass many sad and solitary days. How prison-like they seemed! Her
+heart sunk within her as she gazed; the lights&mdash;the confusion
+bewildered her already wearied brain; and as she sunk back into the
+corner of the coach, and buried her face in her hands, she would have
+given worlds to have been once more in her still, pleasant home. The
+feeling of utter desolation and loneliness overcame completely, for
+the time, her firm and buoyant spirit.</p>
+
+<p>She was roused from her gloomy reverie as the stage stopped before the
+door of a small but very comfortable dwelling, at some distance from
+the principal thoroughfares. This was the residence of a sister of
+Mrs. Jones, to whom she had a letter, and who was expecting her
+arrival. She met Mary upon the step with a pleasant smile of welcome,
+not at all as if she had been a stranger; and her husband assisted the
+coachman to remove the various packages to a neat little room into
+which Mary was ushered by her kind hostess, Mrs. Hall. She was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> very
+like her sister, but older and graver. Mary's heart yearned toward her
+from the moment of kindly greeting; and when they entered the cheerful
+parlor together, the young guest was almost happy once more. The
+children of the family, two noisy little rogues, who were very proud
+of a baby sister, came for a kiss, ere they left the room for the
+night; and then, with Mrs. Hall's piano, and her husband's pleasant
+conversation, Mary forgot her timidity and her sadness as the evening
+wore away.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hall will go with you to-morrow to the scene of your new life,"
+said her hostess, as she bade her young charge good-night. "We have
+arranged every thing, and I trust you may be happy, even though away
+from your friends. We must try to make a new home for you."</p>
+
+<p>Mary "blessed her unaware" for her kindness to a stranger; and though
+nearly a hundred miles from those she loved, felt contented and
+cheerful, and soon fell asleep to dream that she was once more by her
+mother's side.</p>
+
+<p>Again that feeling of desolation returned, when, upon the morrow,
+leaning upon the arm of Mr. Hall, she passed through the crowded
+streets, and shrank back as the passing multitude jostled against each
+other. It seemed as if every one gazed curiously at her, yet,
+perchance, not one amid the throng heeded the timid little stranger.
+She was first conducted to the house they had chosen for her
+boarding-place, and though the lady at its head received her kindly,
+she felt more lonely than ever, as she passed through the long halls,
+and was regarded with looks of curiosity by the groups of young girls
+who were just leaving the house to enter upon their daily tasks. They
+were laughing and chatting gayly with each other; and poor Mary
+wondered if she should ever feel as careless and happy as they seemed
+to be.</p>
+
+<p>Then they turned toward the "corporation," or factory, in which a
+place had been engaged for her. Oh, how endless seemed those long,
+noisy rooms; how weary she grew of new faces, and the strange din that
+rose up from the city. "I never shall endure this," thought the poor
+girl. "I shall never be able to learn my work. How can they go about
+so careless and unconcerned, performing their duties, as it were,
+mechanically, without thought or annoyance. But for poor Jamie I would
+return to-morrow;" and with the thought of her brother came new hope,
+new energy&mdash;and she resolved to enter upon her task boldly, and
+without regret.</p>
+
+<p>Yet for many days, even weeks, much of her time was spent in sadness,
+struggle as she would against the feeling. The girls with whom she was
+called daily to associate, were, most of them, kind and good tempered:
+and though her instructors did laugh a little at her awkwardness at
+first, she had entered so resolutely upon her new tasks that they
+soon became comparatively easy to her; and she was so indefatigable
+and industrious, that her earnings, after a time, became more even
+than she had hoped for.</p>
+
+<p>Still she was often weary, and almost tempted to despond. The
+confinement and the noise was so new to her, that at first her health
+partially gave way, and for several weeks she feared that after all
+she would be obliged to return to the free mountain-air of her country
+home. At such times she went wearily to her labors, and often might
+have uttered Miss Barret's "Moan of the Children," as she pressed her
+hands upon her throbbing temples.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"All day long the wheels are droning, turning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their wind comes in our faces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till our hearts turn, and our heads with pulses burning;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the walls turn in their places!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turns the sky in the high window, blank and reeling;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Turns the long light that droopeth down the wall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All are turning all the day, and we with all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All day long the iron wheels are droning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And sometimes we could pray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Oh, ye wheels,' (breaking off in a mad moaning)<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stop! be silent for to-day!'"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Then, when despondency was fast crushing her spirit, there would,
+perhaps, come a long hopeful letter from her brother, who was studying
+almost night and day, and a new ambition would rise in her heart, a
+fresh strength animate her, until at last, in the daily performance of
+her duties, in the knowledge of the happiness she was thus enabled to
+confer upon others, her mind became calm and contented, and her health
+fully restored.</p>
+
+<p>Thus passed the first year of her absence from home. She had become
+accustomed to the habits and manners of those around her; and though
+some of the girls called her a little Methodist, and sneered at her
+plain economical dress, even declaring she was parsimonious, because
+they knew that she rigidly limited her expenses to a very small
+portion of her earnings, there were others among her associates who
+fully appreciated the generous self-sacrificing spirit which animated
+her, and loved her for the gentleness and purity, which all noticed,
+pervaded her every thought and act.</p>
+
+<p>Then, too, Mrs. Hall was ever her steadfast friend. One evening in
+every week was spent in that happy family circle; and there she often
+met refined and agreeable society, from which she insensibly look a
+tone of mind and manner, that was far superior to that of her
+companions. Mrs. Hall directed her reading, and furnished many books
+Mary herself was unable to procure. Thus month after month slipped by,
+and our heroine had almost forgotten she was among strangers, until
+she began to look forward to a coming meeting with those she loved in
+her own dear home.</p>
+<br />
+
+<p class="right">[<i>To be concluded in our next.</i></p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="REVOLUTION" id="REVOLUTION"></a>REVOLUTION.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Anger is madness," said the sage of old;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And 'tis with nations as it is with man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their storms of passion scatter ills untold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus 'tis, and has been, since the world began.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Change, to be blessed, must be calm and clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thoughtful and pure, sinless, and sound of mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Else power unchained and change are things of fear&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let not the struggling to this truth be blind.&mdash;ARIAN.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="FAIR_MARGARET" id="FAIR_MARGARET"></a>FAIR MARGARET.</h3>
+
+<h4>A LEGEND OF THOMAS THE RHYMER.</h4>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Old yews in the church-yard are crumbled to dust<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deep shade on her grave-mound once flinging;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But oral tradition, still true to its trust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her name by the hearth-stone is singing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For never enshrined by the bard in his lay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was a being more lovely than Margaret Gray.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her father, a faithful old tenant, had died<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On lands of Sir Thomas the Seer&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the child who had sprung like a flower by his side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sole mourner, had followed his bier;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Ereildoun's knight to the orphan was kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And watched like a parent the growth of her mind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The wizard knew well that her eye was endowed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With sight mortal vision surpassing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Now</i> piercing the heart of Oblivion's cloud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The <i>Past</i>, in its depths, clearly glassing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Anon</i> sending glance through that curtain of dread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Behind which the realm of the Future lies spread.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He gave her a key to decipher dim scrolls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With characters wild, scribbled over;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And taught her dark words that would summon back souls<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of the dead round the living to hover;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or oped, high discourse with his pupil to hold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old books of enchantment with clasps of bright gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The elf queen had met her in green, haunted dells<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When stars in the zenith were twinkling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And time kept the tramp of her palfry to bells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At her bridle rein merrily tinkling:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By Huntley Burn oft, in the gloaming, she strolled<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weird shapes, that were not of this earth, to behold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One eve came true Thomas to Margaret's bower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In this wise the maiden addressing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"No more will I visible be from this hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Save to those sight unearthly possessing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when I am seen at feast, funeral or fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let the mortal who makes revelation beware!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Long years came and passed, and the Rhymer's dread seat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was vacant the Eildon Tree under,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oft would old friends by the ingle-side meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And talk of his absence in wonder:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some thought that, afar from the dwellings of men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had died in some lone Highland forest or glen:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But others believed that in bright fairy land<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The mighty magician was living&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That newness of life to worn heart and weak hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Soft winds and pure waters were giving;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That back to the region of heather and pine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would he come unimpaired by old age or decline.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Astir was all Scotland! from mountain and moor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With banner folds streaming in air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Proud lord and retainer, the wealthy and poor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thronged forth in their plaids to the fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Steeds, pricked by their riders, loud clattering made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, cheered by his clansmen, the bag-piper played.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Gay lassies with snoods from the border and hills<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In holyday garb hurried thither,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With eyes like the crystal of rock-shaded rills,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And cheeks like the bells of the heather;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fairest of all, in that goodly array,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was the Lily of Bemerside, Margaret Gray.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While Ayr with a gathering host overflowed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She marked with a look of delight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A white-bearded horseman who gallantly rode<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On a mettlesome steed black as night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cried, forcing wildly her way through the throng,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"<i>Oh! master, thy pupil hath mourned for thee long!</i>"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then, checking his courser, the brow of the seer<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grew dark, through its locks long and frosted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And making a sign with his hand to draw near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thus the lovely offender accosted&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"By which of thine eyes was thy master descried?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"With my <i>left</i> I behold thee!" the damsel replied.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One moment he gazed on the beautiful face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In fondness upturned to his own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if anger at length to relenting gave place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then fixed grew his visage like stone:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the violet lid his cold finger he laid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And extinguished forever the sight of the maid.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p><b>NOTE.</b></p>
+
+<p>I am indebted to Hugh Cameron, Esquire, of Buffalo, N. Y., for this
+strange and strikingly beautiful legend. Mr. C. informs me that it has
+long formed a part of the fire-side lore of his own clan; and, from a
+remote period, has lived in the memory of Scotland's peasantry.</p>
+
+<p>He expressed surprise that men of antiquarian taste, in compiling
+border ballads, and tales of enchantment, had not given "Fair
+Margaret" a conspicuous place in their pages; and at his suggestion I
+have attempted to clothe the fanciful outlines of the original in the
+drapery of English verse.</p>
+
+<p>The Eildon tree referred to in the poem was the favorite seat of
+Thomas the Rhymer, and there he gave utterance to his prophecies.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="STANZAS2" id="STANZAS2"></a>STANZAS.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The rain-bird shakes her dusty wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And leaves the sunny strand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For mossy springs, and sweetly sings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To greet her native land.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The camel in the desert heeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where distant waters lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And onward speeds, to flowery meads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And fountains far away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The freshest drops will Beauty choose<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To keep her floweret wet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The purest dews, to save its hues&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her gentle violet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So&mdash;may sweet Grace our hearts renew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With waters from above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So&mdash;keep in view what Mercy drew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From this deep well of love. &nbsp;&nbsp;W. H. DENNY.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="THE_LONE_BUFFALO" id="THE_LONE_BUFFALO"></a>THE LONE BUFFALO.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY CHARLES LANMAN, AUTHOR OF "A SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS," ETC.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+
+<p>Among the many legends which the traveler frequently hears, while
+crossing the prairies of the Far West, I remember one, which accounts
+in a most romantic manner for the origin of thunder. A summer-storm
+was sweeping over the land, and I had sought a temporary shelter in
+the lodge of a Sioux Indian on the banks of the St. Peters. Vividly
+flashed the lightning, and an occasional peal of thunder echoed
+through the firmament. While the storm continued my host and his
+family paid but little attention to my comfort, for they were all
+evidently stricken with terror. I endeavored to quell their fears, and
+for that purpose asked them a variety of questions respecting their
+people, but they only replied by repeating, in a dismal tone, the name
+of the Lone Buffalo. My curiosity was of course excited, and it may be
+readily imagined that I did not resume my journey without obtaining an
+explanation of the mystic words; and from him who first uttered them
+in the Sioux lodge I subsequently obtained the following legend:</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>There was a chief of the Sioux nation whose name was the Master Bear.
+He was famous as a prophet and hunter, and was a particular favorite
+with the Master of Life. In an evil hour he partook of the white-man's
+fire-water, and in a fighting broil unfortunately took the life of a
+brother chief. According to ancient custom blood was demanded for
+blood, and when next the Master Bear went forth to hunt, he was
+waylaid, shot through the heart with an arrow, and his body deposited
+in front of his widow's lodge. Bitterly did the woman bewail her
+misfortune, now mutilating her body in the most heroic manner, and
+anon narrating to her only son, a mere infant, the prominent events of
+her husband's life. Night came, and with her child lashed upon her
+back, the woman erected a scaffold on the margin of a neighboring
+stream, and with none to lend her a helping hand, enveloped the corpse
+in her more valuable robes, and fastened it upon the scaffold. She
+completed her task just as the day was breaking, when she returned to
+her lodge, and shutting herself therein, spent the three following
+days without tasting food.</p>
+
+<p>During her retirement the widow had a dream, in which she was visited
+by the Master of Life. He endeavored to console her in her sorrow, and
+for the reason that he had loved her husband, promised to make her son
+a more famous warrior and medicine man than his father had been. And
+what was more remarkable, this prophecy was to be realized within the
+period of a few weeks. She told her story in the village, and was
+laughed at for her credulity.</p>
+
+<p>On the following day, when the village boys were throwing the ball
+upon the plain, a noble youth suddenly made his appearance among the
+players, and eclipsed them all in the bounds he made and the wildness
+of his shouts. He was a stranger to all, but when the widow's dream
+was remembered, he was recognized as her son, and treated with
+respect. But the youth was yet without a name, for his mother had told
+him that he should win one for himself by his individual prowess.</p>
+
+<p>Only a few days had elapsed, when it was rumored that a party of
+Pawnees had overtaken and destroyed a Sioux hunter, when it was
+immediately determined in council that a party of one hundred warriors
+should start upon the war-path and revenge the injury. Another council
+was held for the purpose of appointing a leader, when a young man
+suddenly entered the ring and claimed the privilege of leading the
+way. His authority was angrily questioned, but the stranger only
+replied by pointing to the brilliant eagle's feathers on his head, and
+by shaking from his belt a large number of fresh Pawnee scalps. They
+remembered the stranger boy, and acknowledged the supremacy of the
+stranger man.</p>
+
+<p>Night settled upon the prairie world, and the Sioux warriors started
+upon the war-path. Morning dawned, and a Pawnee village was in ashes,
+and the bodies of many hundred men, women, and children were left upon
+the ground as food for the wolf and vulture. The Sioux warriors
+returned to their own encampment, when it was ascertained that the
+nameless leader had taken more than twice as many scalps as his
+brother warriors. Then it was that a feeling of jealousy arose, which
+was soon quieted, however, by the news that the Crow Indians had
+stolen a number of horses and many valuable furs from a Sioux hunter
+as he was returning from the mountains. Another warlike expedition was
+planned, and as before, the nameless warrior took the lead.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was near his setting, and as the Sioux party looked down upon
+a Crow village, which occupied the centre of a charming valley, the
+Sioux chief commanded the attention of his braves and addressed them
+in the following language:</p>
+
+<p>"I am about to die, my brothers, and must speak my mind. To be
+fortunate in war is your chief ambition, and because I have been
+successful you are unhappy. Is this right? Have you acted like men? I
+despise you for your meanness, and I intend to prove to you this night
+that I am the bravest man in the nation. The task will cost me my
+life, but I am anxious that my nature should be changed and I shall be
+satisfied. I intend to enter the Crow village alone, but before
+departing, I have one favor to command. If I succeed in destroying
+that village, and lose my life, I want you, when I am dead, to cut off
+my head and protect it with care. You must then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> kill one of the
+largest buffaloes in the country and cut off his head. You must then
+bring his body and my head together, and breathe upon them, when I
+shall be free to roam in the Spirit-land at all times, and over our
+great Prairie-land wherever I please. And when your hearts are
+troubled with wickedness remember the Lone Buffalo."</p>
+
+<p>The attack upon the Crow village was successful, but according to his
+prophecy the Lone Buffalo received his death wound, and his brother
+warriors remembered his parting request. The fate of the hero's mother
+is unknown, but the Indians believe that it is she who annually sends
+from the Spirit-land the warm winds of spring, which cover the
+prairies with grass for the sustenance of the Buffalo race. As to the
+Lone Buffalo, he is never seen even by the most cunning hunter,
+excepting when the moon is at its full. At such times he is invariably
+alone, cropping his food in some remote part of the prairies; and
+whenever the heavens resound with the moanings of the thunder, the
+red-man banishes from his breast every feeling of jealousy, for he
+believes it to be the warning voice of the Lone Buffalo.</p>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="THE_ADOPTED_CHILD" id="THE_ADOPTED_CHILD"></a>THE ADOPTED CHILD.</h3>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>BY MRS. FRANCES B. M. BROTHERSON.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will it not seem as if the sunny day<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Turned from its door away?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While through its chambers wandering, weary hearted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I languish for thy voice which passed me still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Even as a singing rill."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My gentle child&mdash;my own sweet May&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Come sit thee by my side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy wonted place in by-gone years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whatever might betide.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come&mdash;I would press that cloudless brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gaze into those eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose azure hue and brilliancy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seemed borrowed from the skies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou ne'er hast known a mother's love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Save what my heart hath given;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy fair young mother&mdash;long years since&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Found rest in yonder Heaven.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where waves and dashing spray ran high<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We took thee from her grasp;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All vainly had the Tyrant striven<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To rend that loving clasp.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We strove in vain life to recall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And 'neath the old oak's shade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We laid her calmly down to rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In our own woodland glade.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gently&mdash;the turf by stranger hands<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was o'er her bright head pressed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And burning tears from stranger hearts<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fell o'er that place of rest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We took thee to our hearts and home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With blessings on thy head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We looked on thy blue eye&mdash;and wept&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2"><i>Remembered was our dead</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For parted from our lonely hearth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was childhood's sunny smile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hushed the household melody<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That could each care beguile.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thy name&mdash;we knew it not&mdash;and then<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For many a livelong day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We sought for one, all beautiful&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And, sweetest, called thee May.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With thee&mdash;came Spring-lime to our home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Love's wealth of buds and flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lingering&mdash;till in its fairy train<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shone Summer's golden hours.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How will I miss thine own dear voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In Summer's soft, bright eve;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A blight will rest on tree and flower&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The hue of things that grieve;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when the wintry hour hath come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And 'round the blazing hearth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall cluster faces we have loved&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lost&mdash;lost thy joyous mirth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Another hand will twine those curls<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That gleam so brightly now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Another heart will thrill to hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From <i>thee</i> affection's vow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I have marked the rosy blush<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Steal o'er thy brow and cheek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When gentle words fell on thy ear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which only love can speak.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tears&mdash;tears!&mdash;a shadow should not rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon thy bridal day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My spirit's murmurings shall cease<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And joy be thine, sweet May.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They come with flowers&mdash;pure orange flowers&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To deck thy shining hair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Young bride&mdash;go forth&mdash;and bear with thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My blessing and my prayer.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="WHEN_SHALL_I_SEE_THE_OBJECT_THAT_I_LOVE"
+id="WHEN_SHALL_I_SEE_THE_OBJECT_THAT_I_LOVE"></a>WHEN SHALL I SEE THE OBJECT THAT I LOVE.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>
+
+<h4>A FAVORITE SWISS AIR.</h4>
+
+<hr class="short" />
+<h5>ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE BY JOHN B. M&Uuml;LLER.</h5>
+<hr class="short" />
+
+<h5>COPYRIGHTED BY GEORGE WILLIG, NO. 171 CHESNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA.</h5>
+
+
+<p><i>Not too slow</i>.</p>
+<p><span class="smcap">Piano</span>.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 566px;">
+<img src="images/music1.png" width="566" height="600"
+alt="music 1" title="" /></div>
+<br />
+
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 545px;">
+<img src="images/music2.png" width="545" height="600"
+alt="music 2" title="" /></div>
+<br />
+
+<h5>2.</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When shall I see, when shall I see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I have seen before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gathering crowd beneath the tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With her that I adore?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And happy hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Her voice so clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Blend with my own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In liquid tone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When shall I see, when shall I see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The things I hold so dear?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h5>2.</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Zwar glaenzt die Sonne ueberall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dem Menschen in der Welt;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doch we zuerst ihr goldner Strahl<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ihm in das Auge faellt?<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Wo er als Kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Sanft und gelind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">An m&uuml;tter Hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Sprach und empfand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Da ist allein sein Vaterland<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Koennt' ich's noch einmal seh'n?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<br /><br />
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h3><a name="REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS" id="REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS"></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h3>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Edith Kinnaird, By the Author of "The Maiden Aunt."
+Boston: E. Littell &amp; Co.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>Fiction has exercised an important influence over the public from the
+earliest ages of the world. Nor is the reason difficult to determine.
+Where one man takes delight in the subtleties of logic, ten derive
+pleasure from the indulgence of the fancy. The love of fiction is
+common to the unlettered savage as well as to the civilized European,
+and has marked alike the ancient and the modern world. The oldest
+surviving book, if we except the narrative of Moses, is, perhaps, a
+fiction&mdash;we mean the book of Job. To reach its date we must go back
+beyond the twilight of authentic history, far into the gloom of the
+antique past, to the very earliest periods of the earth's existence.
+We must ascend to the time when the Assyrian empire was yet in its
+youth, when the patriarchs still fed their flocks on the hills of
+Palestine, when the memory of the visible presence of the Almighty
+among men remained fresh in the traditions of the East. The beautiful
+story of Ruth comes next, but ages later than its predecessor. Then
+follows the sonorous tale of Homer, clanging with a martial spirit
+that will echo to all time. Descending to more modern eras, we reach
+the legends of Haroun El Reschid; the tales of the Proven&ccedil;al
+troubadours; the romances of chivalry; and finally the novels of this
+and the past century. For nearly four thousand years fiction has
+delighted and moulded mankind. It has survived, too, when all else has
+died. The Chaldean books of astrology are lost to the moderns; but the
+story of the Idumean has reached us unimpaired. The lawgivers of Judah
+are no more, and the race of Abraham wanders over the earth; but the
+simple tale of Ruth preserves the memory of their customs, and keeps
+alive the glory of the past.</p>
+
+<p>It will not do to despise that which is so indestructible, and which
+everywhere exercises such powerful influence. Pedants may scorn
+fiction as beneath them, and waste their lives in composing dry
+treatises that will never be read; but the wise man, instead of
+deriding this tremendous engine, will endeavor to bend it to his
+purposes; and whether he seeks to shape the tale that is to be
+rehearsed on the dreamy banks of the Orontes, or to write the novel
+that will be read by thousands in England and America, will labor so
+to mix instruction with amusement, that his audience shall insensibly
+become moulded to his views. The moral teachers of both ancient and
+modern times have chosen the vehicle of fiction to inculcate truth;
+and even inspiration has not scorned to employ it in the service of
+religion. The most beautiful fictions ever written were the parables
+of the Savior. But it is also true that some of the most deleterious
+books we have are romances. This, however, is no reason why fiction
+should be abandoned to bad men, or proscribed as it is by many
+well-meaning moralists. Wesley said, with his strong Saxon sense, that
+he did not see why the devil should have all the good tunes.</p>
+
+<p>Hence, in criticising a novel, it becomes important to examine the
+tendency of the work. We utterly repudiate the idea that a reviewer
+has nothing to do with the morality of a book. We reject the specious
+jargon to the contrary urged by the George Sand school. A novel
+should be something more than a mere piece of intellectual mechanism,
+because if not, it is injurious. There can be no medium. A fiction
+which does not do good does harm. There never was a romance written
+which had not its purpose, either open or concealed, from that of
+Waverley, which inculcated loyalty, to that of Oliver Twist, which
+teaches the brotherhood of man. Some novels are avowedly and
+insolently vicious; such are the Adventures of Faublas and the Memoirs
+of a Woman of Quality. Others, under the guise of philanthropy, sap
+every notion of right and duty: such are Martin the Foundling,
+Consuelo, <i>et id omne genus</i>. It is the novels of this last class
+which are the most deleterious; for, with much truth, they contain
+just enough poison to vitiate the whole mass. Chemists tell us that
+the smallest atom of putrid matter, if applied to the most gigantic
+body, will, in time, infect the whole: just so the grain of sophistry
+in Consuelo, admitting there is no more, in the end destroys all that
+the book contains of the beautiful and true. Said a lady in conversing
+on this subject: "I always find that people who read such books
+remember only what is bad in them." Her plain common sense hit the
+nail on the head, while transcendental folly hammered all around it in
+vain. We have spoken of Consuelo thus particularly because it is the
+best of its class: and of that enervating fiction we here record our
+deliberate opinion, that it will turn more than one foolish Miss into
+a strolling actress, under the insane and preposterous notion that it
+is her mission.</p>
+
+<p>We do not say that art should be despised by the novelist; we only
+contend that it should not be polluted. We would have every novel a
+work of art, but the art should be employed on noble subjects, not on
+indifferent or disgraceful ones. If authors plead a mission to write,
+it must be to write that which will do good. A Raphael may boast of
+inspiration when he paints a Madonna, but not when his brush stoops to
+a Cyprian or a Satyr. The Pharisees of old prayed unctuously in the
+market-places: so the George Sands of our day boast of their superior
+insight into the beautiful and true. We doubt whether both are not
+impudent hypocrites.</p>
+
+<p>The novel, which has proved the text to these remarks, belongs to a
+different, and, we hold, a better school. It originally appeared in
+Sharpe's London Magazine, and has just been republished by E. Littell
+&amp; Co. Edith Kinnaird is a fiction which the most artistic mind will
+feel delight in perusing, yet one which the humblest will understand,
+and from which both may derive improvement. The heroine is neither a
+saint nor a fool, but a living woman; her sufferings spring from her
+errors, and are redeemed by her repentance: all is natural, beautiful,
+refreshing and noble. We rise from the perusal of such a fiction
+chastened and improved.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of rendering its readers dissatisfied with themselves, with
+their lot in life, with society, with every thing, this novel makes
+them feel that life is a battle, yet that victory is sure to reward
+all who combat aright&mdash;that after the dust and heat of the struggle
+comes the repose of satisfied duty. Yet there is nothing didactic in
+the volume. Its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> influence upon the heart is like that of the dew of
+heaven, silent, gradual, imperceptible. Is not this a proof of its
+intrinsic merit?</p>
+
+<p>Consuelo herself, as an ideal, is not more lovely than Edith Kinnaird,
+while the latter, in the eyes of truth, is infinitely the nobler
+woman. We hope to hear from the author again. Let us have more of such
+novels: there cannot be too many of them. How can noble and talented
+souls do more good than by furnishing the right kind of novels. Just
+as the old religious painters used to limn saints and Madonnas, let us
+now write works of artistic and moral fiction.</p>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Jane Eyre. An Autobiography. Boston: William D.
+Ticknor &amp; Co.</i> 1 <i>vol.</i> 12<i>mo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>Few novels published within the last ten years have made so great a
+stir among readers of all classes as this. The Harpers have sold a
+vast number of their cheap reprint, and we have here to notice its
+appearance in the old duodecimo shape, with large type and white
+paper. That the work bears unmistakable marks of power and originality
+cannot be questioned, and in a limited range of characterization and
+description evinces sagacity and skill. The early portions of the
+novel are especially truthful and vivid. The description of the
+heroine's youthful life&mdash;the exact impression which is conveyed of the
+child's mind&mdash;the influences which went to modify her character&mdash;the
+scenes at the boarding-school&mdash;all have a distinctness of delineation
+which approaches reality itself. But when the authoress comes to deal
+with great passions, and represent morbid characters, we find that she
+is out of her element. The character of Rochester is the character of
+a mechanical monster. The authoress has no living idea of the kind of
+person she attempts to describe. She desires to represent a reckless
+man, made bad by circumstances, but retaining many marks of a noble
+character, and she fills his conversation with slang, makes him
+impudent and lustful, a rascal in every sense of the word, without the
+remotest idea of what true chivalric love for a woman means; and this
+mechanical automaton, whose every motion reveals that he moves not by
+vital powers but by springs and machinery, she makes her pure-minded
+heroine love and marry.</p>
+
+<p>There has been a great deal of discussion about the morality of this
+part of the novel. The question resolves itself into a question of
+art, for we hold that truth of representation and morality of effect
+are identical. Immoral characters may be introduced into a book, and
+the effect be moral on the reader's mind, but a character which is
+both immoral and unnatural ever produces a pernicious effect. Now the
+authoress of Jane Eyre has drawn in Rochester an unnatural character,
+and she has done it from an ignorance of the inward condition of mind
+which immorality such as his either springs from or produces. The
+ruffian, with his fierce appetites and Satanic pride, his mistresses
+and his perjuries, his hard impudence and insulting sarcasms, she
+knows only verbally, so to speak. The words which describe such a
+character she interprets with her fancy, enlightened by a reminiscence
+of Childe Harold and the Corsair. The result is a compound of vulgar
+rascalities and impotent Byronics. Every person who interprets her
+description by a knowledge of what profligacy is, cannot fail to see
+that she is absurdly connecting certain virtues, of which she knows a
+good deal, with certain vices, of which she knows nothing. The
+coarseness of portions of the novel, consisting not so much in the
+vulgarity of Rochester's conversation as the <i>naive</i> description of
+some of his acts&mdash;his conduct for three weeks before his intended
+marriage, for instance, is also to be laid partly to the ignorance of
+the authoress of what ruffianism is, and partly to her ignorance of
+what love is. No woman who had ever truly loved could have mistaken so
+completely the Rochester type, or could have made her heroine love a
+man of proud, selfish, ungovernable appetites, which no sophistry can
+lift out of lust.</p>
+
+<p>We accordingly think that if the innocent young ladies of our land lay
+a premium on profligacy, by marrying dissolute rakes for the honor of
+reforming them, <i>&agrave; la</i> Jane Eyre, their benevolence will be of
+questionable utility to the world. There is something romantic to
+every inexperienced female mind in the idea of pirates and debauchees,
+who have sentiment as well as slang, miseries as well as vices. Such
+gentlemen their imaginations are apt to survey under the light of the
+picturesque instead of under the light of conscience. Every poet and
+novelist who addresses them on this weak side is sure of getting a
+favorable hearing. Byron's popularity, as distinguished from his fame,
+was mainly owing to the felicity with which he supplied the current
+demand for romantic wickedness. The authoress of Jane Eyre is not a
+Byron, but a talented woman, who, in her own sphere of thought and
+observation, is eminently trustworthy and true, but out of it hardly
+rises above the conceptions of a boarding-school Miss in her teens.
+She appears to us a kind of strong-minded old maid, but with her
+strong-mindedness greatly modified by the presumption as well as the
+sentimentality of romantic humbug.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Novum Testamentum Domini Nostri Jesu Christi. Interpetre
+Theodora Beza. Philadelphia: Geo. S. Appleton.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>In relation to the character of this version it is scarcely necessary
+for us to speak. It has for centuries received the approbation of the
+wisest and the best; and the copy before us seems to us, upon a brief
+examination, to be accurate. The work is admirably printed, and does
+credit to the publishers. We confess that we believe that the use of
+this sacred work, in our seminaries and colleges, in the Latin, is
+desirable in reference to every interest of religion and morality.
+While we hesitate to affirm that Theodore de Beza's version of the New
+Testament Scriptures is a study of the classic Latin, we still believe
+that, stamped as it has been with the approbation of centuries, it is,
+in relation to all the moral considerations which should control our
+direction of the study of youth, worthy of all acceptance. The preface
+informs us that several editions were published during the lifetime of
+Beza, to which he made such improvements as his attention was directed
+to, or as were prompted by his familiarity, as Greek Professor, with
+the original. Since 1556, when it first appeared at Geneva, this work
+has kept its place in the general esteem.</p>
+
+<p>The propriety of the use of this sacred volume in schools has been
+regarded as a question by some persons; but we cannot consider it a
+subject of doubt. After a careful consideration of every objection, we
+cannot see a reason why its gentle and holy truths should not be given
+to the mind and heart at the earliest period. There is nothing so
+likely to mark out the destiny of man and woman for goodness and
+honor, and prosperity, as the early and earnest study of the New
+Testament. Its Divine Inspirer said, "Suffer little children to come
+unto me;" and one of the great evidences of its heavenly origin, is
+the fact, that while its sublimity bows the haughtiest intellect to
+humility and devotion, its simplicity renders its most important
+teachings as intelligible to the child as the man, to the unlettered
+as to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> the philosopher. The work is worthy the attention of all who
+desire to unite education with religion.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Princess. A Medley. By Alfred Tennyson. Boston:
+Wm. D. Ticknor &amp; Co.</i> 1 <i>vol.</i> 12<i>mo</i>.</p></div>
+
+<p>The success of this poem is indicated not only by the discussion it
+has provoked, but its swift passage through three editions. Taken
+altogether we deem it the most promising of Tennyson's productions,
+evincing a growth in his fine powers, and a growth in the right
+direction. It has his customary intellectual intensity, and more than
+his usual heartiness and sweetness. As a poem it is properly called by
+its author a medley, the plan being to bring the manners and ideas of
+the chivalric period into connection with those of the present day;
+the hero being a knight who adores his mistress, his mistress being a
+lady who spurns his suit, and carries to its loftiest absurdities the
+chimera of woman's rights. There is no less fascination in the general
+conduct of the story, than truth in the result. The whole poem is
+bathed in beauty, and invites perusal after perusal. In Tennyson's
+other poems the general idea is lost sight of in the grandeur or
+beauty of particular passages. In the present we read the poem through
+as a whole, eager to follow out the development of the characters and
+plot, and afterward return to admire the excellence of single images
+and descriptions. In characterization the Princess evinces an
+improvement on Tennyson's manner, but still we observe the manner. He
+does not so much paint as engrave; the lines are so fine that they
+seem to melt into each other, but the result is still not a portrait
+on canvas, but an engraving on steel. His poetic power is not
+sufficiently great to fuse the elements of a character indissolubly
+together.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Origin, Progress and Conclusion of the Florida War.
+By John T. Sprague, Brevet Captain Eighth Regiment
+U. S. Infantry. New York: D. Appleton &amp; Co.</i>
+1 <i>vol.</i> 8<i>vo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>This large volume seems to have been a labor of love with its author.
+It is full of interesting and valuable matter regarding a very
+peculiar contest in which our government was engaged; and to the
+future historian Captain Sprague has spared a great deal of trouble
+and research. The work is well got up, is illustrated with numerous
+engravings, and contains full accounts of the origin and progress of
+the war, the Indian chiefs engaged in it, and a record of all the
+officers and privates of the army, navy, and marine corps, who were
+killed in battle or died of disease. Captain Sprague says, "the causes
+of the difficulties in Florida must be apparent to the minds of
+careful and intelligent readers; causes not springing up in a day, but
+nourished for years, aggravated as opportunities offered to enrich
+adventurers, who had the temerity to hazard the scalping-knife and
+rifle, and were regardless of individual rights or of law. It must be
+remembered that Florida, at the period referred to, was an Indian
+border, the resort of a large number of persons, more properly
+<i>temporary inhabitants</i> of the territory than citizens, who sought the
+outskirts of civilization to perpetrate deeds which would have been
+promptly and severely punished if committed within the limits of a
+well regulated community. . . . They provoked the Indians to
+aggressions; and upon the breaking out of the war, ignominiously fled,
+or sought employment in the service of the general government, and
+clandestinely contributed to its continuance." In these few sentences
+we have the philosophy of almost all our Indian border wars. The
+criminals of a community are ever its most expensive curses.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Poetical Works of John Milton. A New Edition.
+With Notes, and a Life of the Author. By John Mitford.
+Lowell: D. Bixby &amp; Co.</i> 2 <i>vols</i>. <i>8vo.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>Lowell is a manufacturing city of Massachusetts, the Manchester of
+America, and a place where we might expect every thing in the shape of
+manufactures except classical books. Yet it rejoices in a publisher
+who has really done much for good literature. If our readers will look
+at their American editions of Faust, of Goethe's Correspondence with a
+Child, of Southey's Chronicle of the Cid, they will find Mr. Bixby on
+the title page, and Lowell as the city whence their treasures came. We
+have now to chronicle another feat of the same enterprising
+publisher&mdash;an edition of Milton, in two splendid octavos, printed in
+large type on the finest paper, after the best and most complete
+London edition, illustrated with foot notes of parallel passages from
+other poets, and constituting altogether the best American edition
+extant of the sublimest of poets, and having few rivals even among the
+finest English editions. The life of the poet by Mitford, extending to
+about a hundred pages, embodies in a clear style all the facts which
+have been gathered by previous biographers, without reproducing any of
+their bigotries. All the lies regarding Milton's character are
+disposed of with summary justice; and the man stands out in all the
+grandeur of his genius and his purity. We hope that Mr. Bixby will be
+adequately remunerated for his enterprise in getting out this splendid
+edition. It is an honor to the American press.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Eleventh Annual Report of the Secretary of the Board of
+Education of Massachusetts. Boston: Dutton &amp; Wentworth.</i>
+1 <i>vol.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>We strongly advise our readers to procure this document, and not be
+frightened from its perusal by the idea of its being a legislative
+paper. It is written by Horace Mann, one of the ablest champions of
+the cause of education now living, a man as distinguished for
+industry, energy, and practical skill, as for eloquence and loftiness
+of purpose. His report, considered simply as a composition, is written
+with such splendid ability, glows throughout with so much genuine
+philanthropy, and evinces so wide a command of the resources of
+expression and argument, that, apart from its importance as a
+contribution to the cause of education, it has general merits of mind
+and style which will recommend it to every reader of taste and
+feeling. The leading characteristic of Mr. Mann's writings on
+education, which lifts them altogether out of the sphere of pedants
+and pedagogues, is soul&mdash;a true, earnest, aspiring spirit, on fire
+with a love of rectitude and truth. This gives inspiration even to his
+narrative of details, and hurries the reader's mind on with his own,
+through all necessary facts and figures, directly to the object. The
+present report cannot but shame a mean spirit out of any person with a
+spark of manliness in him. We wish its accomplished author all success
+in his great and noble work.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Aurelian, or Rome in the Third Century. By Wm. Ware,
+Author of Zenobia and Julian. New York: C. S. Francis
+&amp; Co.</i></p></div>
+
+<p>This work has been known to the public for ten years as "<i>Probus</i>,"
+and has now a reputation that promises to be as enduring as it is
+brilliant. It manifests an intimate knowledge of the manners, customs
+and character of the Romans; and conveys the most sacred truths
+through the medium of the most elevated fiction. It is for sale at the
+store of the Appletons, in Philadelphia.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII.  No. 5. 
+May 1848, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 1848 ***
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+</pre>
+
+  </body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,6895 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII.  No. 5.  May
+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. 5.  May 1848
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: George R. Graham
+        Robert T. Conrad
+
+Release Date: June 28, 2009 [EBook #29262]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 1848 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
+http://www.pgdpcanada.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: J. Addison]
+
+CLARA HARLAND
+
+Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine
+
+
+GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.
+
+VOL. XXXII. PHILADELPHIA, MAY, 1848.    NO. 5.
+
+CLARA HARLAND.
+
+BY G. G. FOSTER.
+
+[SEE ENGRAVING.]
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+I am no visionary--no dreamer; and yet my life has been a ceaseless
+struggle between the realities of everyday care, and a myriad of
+shadowy phantoms which ever haunt me. In the crowded and thronged
+city; in the green walks and sunny forests of my native hills; on the
+broad and boundless prairie, carpeted with velvet flowers; on the blue
+and dreamy sea--it is the same. I look around, and perceive men and
+women moving mechanically about me; I even take part in their
+proceedings, and seem to float along the tardy current upon which they
+swim, and become a part--an insignificant portion--of the dull and
+stagnant scene; and yet, often and often, in the busiest moment, when
+commonplace has its strongest hold upon me, and I feel actually
+interested in the ordinary pursuits of my fellow-beings, of a sudden,
+a great curtain seems to fall around, and enclose me on every side;
+and, instead of the staid and sober visages of the throng, vague and
+shadowy faces gleam around me, and magnificent eyes, bright and
+dreamy, glance and flash before me like the figures on a
+phantasmagoria. In such moments, there comes over me a happy
+consciousness that _this_ is the reality and all else a dull and
+painful dream, from which I have escaped as by a great effort. The
+dreamy faces are familiar to me, and their large, spiritual eyes
+encounter mine with glances of pleasant recognition. My heart is glad
+within me that it has found again its friends and old companions, and
+the mental outline of the common world, faintly drawn by memory,
+becomes more and more dim and indistinct, like the surface of the
+earth to one who soars upward in a balloon, and is at length blended
+with the gray shadows of forgotten thought, which disturb me no more.
+But anon some rude and jarring discord, from the world below, pierces
+upward to my ear, and the air becomes suddenly dark and dreary, and
+dusty, and I fall heavily to earth again.
+
+As years steal by, these fits of delightful abstraction become rarer
+and rarer. My visions seem to have lost their substantiality; and even
+when they do revisit me, they are thin and transparent, and no longer
+hide the real world from my sight--yet they hold strange power over
+me; and when they come upon my soul, although they do not all conceal
+the real, yet they concentrate upon some casual object there, and
+impart to it a spirituality of aspect and quality which straightway
+embalms it in my heart. Thus do I invest the faces of friends with a
+holiness and fervor of devotion which belongs not to them; and when I
+have wreaked the treasures of my soul upon objects thus elevated above
+their real quality, I find what a false vision I have been
+worshiping--its higher qualities mingle again with my own thoughts,
+whence they emanated, and the real object stands before me, low, dull,
+and insipid as the thousands of similar ones by which it is
+surrounded. Thus do I, enamored of qualities and perfections which
+exist only in my own thought, continually cheat and delude myself into
+the belief that a congenial spirit has been found, when some trivial
+incident breaks the spell--the charms I loved glide back to my own
+soul, and the charmer, unconscious of change in himself, wonders what
+has wrought so sudden an alteration in me. Then come heart-burnings
+and self-reproaches against those I have foolishly loved, of
+treachery, hypocrisy, and ingratitude, which they cannot understand,
+and over which I mourn and weep.
+
+I had a friend once--not long ago, for the turf is still fresh over
+his gentle breast--whose soul was fashioned like my own, save that he
+was all softness, and wanted the hardness and commonplace which events
+and years have given to me. For a long and delightful season we held
+sweet converse together; and, although he was much younger than I, yet
+was there no restraint or concealment between us. Every throb of his
+heart, almost every evolution of his brain, found an echo in me. I was
+his mirror--a fountain in which he contemplated himself. From _him_ I
+never dreamed of treachery, or selfishness, or ingratitude--and he
+alone did not deceive me. He never gave me pain but once--and who
+shall tell the agony of that hour, when his hand ceased to return the
+pressure of my eager fingers, and the dark curtain of death shut out
+the light of his dear eyes from my soul! Yet, after the anguish was
+over, and I had laid him in the fragrant earth, amongst the roots of
+happy flowers, where the limpid brook murmurs its soft and
+never-ending requiem, and the birds come every night to dream and
+sleep amid the overhanging branches, although my mortal sense was all
+too dull to realize his presence, yet in my _soul_ I felt that he was
+still with me. No midnight breeze came sighing through the dewy
+moonlight, or brought the exhalations of the stars upon its wings,
+that did not speak to me of him; and ever when I prayed, I knew that
+he was near me, mingling, as of old, his soul with mine.
+
+Poets may sing of love, and romantic youths may dream they realize the
+soft delusion; strong hearts may swear they break and wither away with
+unrequited passion, and keen brains may be turned by the maddening
+glances of woman's eyes; but all these to me seem weak and common
+emotions when compared with the intenseness of man's friendship--that
+pure, devoted identification with each other which two congenial souls
+experience when the alloy of no sexual or animal passion mingles with
+the devotion of the spirit. I could go through fiery ordeals, or
+submit with patience to the keenest tortures, both of mind or body, so
+that I felt the sustaining presence of one real friend; while, if
+alone, my heart shrinks from the contest, and retires dismayed upon
+itself.
+
+But my poor friend was in love, and _his_ love was as pervading and
+absorbing as the fragrance of a flower, or the light of a star. The
+woman he had chosen for his idol--the shrine at which his pure
+devotions of heart and soul were offered--was a gay and beautiful
+Creole from New Orleans, who, with her mother, and a young gentleman
+who appeared in the capacity of friend, spent the summer months in the
+North. They stopped at the Carlton, where my friend was boarding, and
+the acquaintance had been formed quite accidentally. The lady was
+beautiful, bewitching, and very tender; and, without stopping to
+inquire as to the consequences, or to assure himself that he had the
+least chance of success, Medwin fell desperately and hopelessly in
+love in a few days. I was soon made aware of the state of the case,
+for he had no secrets from me; and, foreseeing that he might very
+easily have deceived himself entirely in taking for granted that the
+young lady's affections were not pre-engaged, I begged him to be
+cautious, and not throw away his regards upon an object, perhaps,
+unattainable--perhaps even unworthy of them. I represented to him that
+ladies in the South were usually not very long in falling in love; and
+it was altogether probable that Clara Harland was already engaged to
+the gentleman who had accompanied her and her mother, and who was
+evidently a favored acquaintance. Charles, however, infatuated with
+his passion, was deaf to my remonstrances, and the very next day
+sought and obtained an interview, in which he declared his passion,
+and was made happy by the beautiful Creole. She, however, cautioned
+him to be on his guard, as her companion had for some time been a
+suitor for her hand, and was a great favorite with her mother, who had
+frequently and earnestly urged her to accept his attentions. The fair
+girl avowed, with flashing eyes, that she loved him not, and had never
+loved before she met with Medwin. "How," she exclaimed with unwonted
+energy, "can dear mamma suppose that I shall ever become enamored of
+that coarse, ferocious, unintellectual man? He has not a generous or
+delicate sympathy in his nature, and is as rude in heart and feeling
+as in manner. Beware, however, my dear Charles," continued she, with
+earnestness, "of Mr. Allington. He is a bold, bad man, whom habits and
+associations have made haughty, imperious, cold-blooded, and cruel;
+and I tremble for you when he shall learn what has this day passed
+between us. Beware of him, for _my_ sake; and, oh! promise me, dearest
+Charles, that, whatever may be the consequence of what we now have
+done, you will never fight with him."
+
+Charles smiled, and pressed her hand. "Do not alarm yourself,
+dearest," said he, "I love you too well to rashly expose myself to
+danger. I have ever entertained a just horror of the inhuman and
+barbarous practice at which you hint; and beside," continued he,
+earnestly, fixing his eyes upon her face with such tenderness that the
+blood rushed unconsciously to her temples beneath that dear gaze,
+"since your words of hope and love to me to-day, existence possesses
+new value in my eyes. Be assured I shall not rashly peril it."
+
+They parted with kind looks and a timid pressure of the hands. Medwin
+firmly resolved, let what would happen, to keep his promise to his
+beautiful Creole; and Clara, convinced that, although she had been
+bred and educated in the midst of a community where not to fight was
+of itself dishonorable, she should be _entirely_ satisfied with what
+the world, or even her own mother should say, about his cowardice and
+want of honor. Poor girl! she had sadly miscalculated both the effects
+of the act she had advised, and the strength of her own resolution.
+
+In a few days Mrs. Harland suddenly announced her determination of
+returning to New Orleans, and Clara sadly and tremblingly prepared
+herself to take leave of her lover. He came--was told by her of her
+mother's resolution to depart, which she was at no loss in tracing to
+the advice of Allington--and was made alive and happy again by Charles
+assuring her that he himself should start for New Orleans, although by
+another route, on the very day she departed.
+
+"Oh, now I know that you do love me, indeed!" said the beautiful girl,
+while she pressed her lover's head to her dainty bosom, and, kissing
+his forehead, ran out of the room.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+"Well, these d----d Yankees _are_ all a pack of cowards, after all,
+and I will never defend them again," said a young Creole, as he met
+Mr. Allington one morning, at the Merchants' Exchange in New Orleans.
+"Not fight, and after being challenged on account of as lovely a woman
+as Clara Harland! Why, what the devil did he take the trouble of
+following you all the way from New York for, if he didn't mean to
+_fight_ you?"
+
+"Oh, nonsense! my dear St. Maur," replied Allington, "you don't
+understand the laws of honor, as they are construed at the North.
+There, my dear fellow, every thing is regulated by law; and if a
+fellow treads on your corns, slanders you behind your back, or steals
+your mistress, the only remedy is 'an action for damages,' and,
+perhaps, a paragraph in a newspaper."
+
+"But what says she herself to the cowardly fellow's refusal to fight
+you? I suppose that now, of course, she will think no more of the
+puppy, and return to Allington and first love."
+
+"I know not--for I have not seen her these four days. But if this
+beggarly attorney's clerk document is to be believed," continued
+Allington, pulling a letter from his pocket, "she herself expressly
+commanded him not to fight."
+
+"Oh, do let us hear it!" cried St. Maur, and half a dozen young bloods
+without vests, and with shirt-bosoms falling over their waistbands
+nearly to the knee. "Do let us hear, by all means, what the
+white-livered fellow has to say for himself."
+
+"No," replied Allington, hesitatingly; "that I think would be
+dishonorable; although--I--don't know--the d----d fellow wouldn't
+fight, and so I am not certain that I am not released--there, St.
+Maur, what the devil are you at?"
+
+But St. Maur had snatched the missile from Allington's half-extended
+hand, and mounting one of the little marble julep-tables, and
+supporting himself against a massive granite pillar that ran from the
+ground-floor to the base of the dome, he began reading, while the
+company, now increased to half a hundred morning loungers, pressed
+eagerly round to hear. As my poor friend is dead, and there are none
+whose feelings can now be wounded by its publication, here is the
+letter.
+
+     "SIR,--Hours of an agonized struggle, in comparison
+     with which mere _death_ would have been an infinite
+     relief, have nerved me for the task of telling you,
+     calmly and deliberately, that I take back my acceptance
+     of your challenge. When I received it, I was forgetful
+     of my sacred promise, and acted only from the impulse
+     of the moment. Had your friend staid an instant, the
+     matter should then have been explained. As it is, I am
+     positively compelled, much as my heart revolts at it,
+     to drag a lady into my explanation. _She_, (I need not
+     write her name,) bound me by a solemn and most sacred
+     promise--to violate which would be dishonor--that I
+     _would not_ fight you. I must and will keep my word,
+     although I have seen enough of public opinion, during
+     the few days of my sojourn here, to know that by doing
+     so I am covering myself with a load of infamy which I
+     may find it impossible to bear.
+
+     "But enough; my course is taken, and I must abide the
+     consequences, whatever they may be. I, therefore, sir,
+     have to beg pardon, both of yourself and your friend,
+     for the trouble this affair has already occasioned you.
+
+     "This letter is directed to you without the knowledge
+     or consent of the gentleman who was to have acted as my
+     friend on the occasion; and he must, therefore, be held
+     responsible for nothing.
+
+     "Yours respectfully."
+
+"A very pretty piece of argument and logic, eloquently urged, withal!"
+said St. Maur, as he coolly folded the letter, and leaping upon the
+floor, restored it to its owner.
+
+"Hush!" said Allington, as he hastily deposited the letter in his
+pocket, "there he is. Can he have been a witness to St. Maur's folly,
+in reading the letter?"
+
+All eyes turned instinctively to the further pillar in the large room,
+against which was leaning my poor friend, his face perfectly livid,
+and in an attitude as if he had fallen against the granite column for
+support. Several of the young Creoles approached the place where he
+stood; but there was something terrible in his aspect which made them
+start back, and quietly turn into the great passage leading to the
+street.
+
+Medwin had recovered, if he had fainted, (which seemed probable,) and
+his eye now glared like fire.
+
+St. Maur, however, approached him.
+
+"So, my good Yankee friend," said he, bowing in affected politeness,
+"you did not like to risk Allington here with a pistol at twelve paces
+from your body, eh? You are very right, Mr. Wooden Nutmeg; it would
+not be safe!"
+
+"Beware!" uttered Medwin, in such a deep and thrilling voice, that the
+Creole nearly jumped off the floor; but, before he could make a step
+backward, Medwin's open hand struck him a smart blow on the cheek.
+
+"Ten thousand hell-fires exclaimed the astonished Frenchman, leaping
+back and almost tumbling over Allington, in his amazement. "What does
+he mean? I will have your heart's blood, sir, for this."
+
+Medwin said nothing, but quietly handed the discomfited bully his
+card, which, however, Allington snatched away.
+
+"What, St. Maur," cried he, would you fight a coward--a published
+poltroon? You know you dare not do it."
+
+"Let me alone," cried the infuriated Frenchman. He has struck me, and
+I will have his heart's blood. _Sacre nomme de Dieu!_" screamed he,
+forgetting his usual polished manner along with his English, and
+leaping about like a madman. "_Donnez moi son gage!_"
+
+"Not now, I tell you, not now. Come along and I will satisfy you in
+ten minutes that you cannot fight that _coward_," emphasizing the last
+word, so that Medwin could not fail to hear.
+
+"Mr. Allington," said Medwin, coming forward into the middle of the
+group, now reduced to some dozen persons--for an altercation is not of
+such rarity as to create any particular excitement there--"after the
+base and dishonorable use you have this day permitted to be made of a
+private letter, I am sincerely glad that circumstances rendered it
+impossible for me to treat you as a gentleman; but as to this person,
+(pointing to St. Maur,) I can easily satisfy him that he will run no
+risk of losing his reputation by honoring me with his notice. I have
+the honor to refer Monsieur St. Maur to Mr. ----, now at the St.
+Charles, whose character for honor is too well known throughout the
+country to be disputed." And, bowing low, Medwin left the room.
+
+"Well, now this is a pretty scrape," said St. Maur, subsiding at once;
+"and I don't see how I can avoid fighting him. He is not such a
+cockroach!" and the Frenchman turned a little pale, despite his yellow
+skin.
+
+"Nonsense," replied Allington, "you shall do no such thing. In the
+first place, I can't spare you; and in the next, if we can
+irretrievably disgrace Medwin, so that he may be shunned by everybody,
+I do not think the weak head of my Clara can withstand the storm; and
+she will gradually learn to despise him, too. So take no further
+notice of this matter; for a blow from a published coward carries no
+more disgrace with it than a bite from a dog, or a kick from an ass.
+You must help me out with my plans, too, in behalf of my charming
+heiress, and I'll be sure to remember you in my will. Let's take a
+julep."
+
+For three days Medwin waited in an agony of impatience to hear from
+St. Maur, but not a word came--and he began to despair. Everywhere he
+went he was regarded with significant glances, and pointed at, while a
+disdainful whisper ran round the room, in which he could always
+distinguish the words, "white-livered Yankee," "coward," or some
+equally obnoxious epithet. He saw the cruel game that was playing
+against him. He had forgotten that, in refusing to fight with
+Allington, he had rendered it perfectly safe for every whipster in the
+community to insult him; and he now became suddenly aware that he had
+involved himself in a dilemma from which it was impossible for him to
+escape.
+
+In the midst of these reflections--while life had become intolerable,
+and infamy and disgrace dogged his steps like a shadow--he never
+entertained a doubt of Clara's love and constancy, and looked forward
+to the time when he might claim her as his bride, and, amid the milder
+and manlier associations of his youth, regain that calmness and
+self-respect which he had here so strangely lost. His position was, in
+truth, a most wretched one. Opposed to the barbarous practice of
+dueling, circumstances and his own loss of self-control had forced him
+to _accept_ a challenge, and then recall that acceptance, and to offer
+an insult to a stranger, for the express purpose of drawing out
+another.
+
+Upon the day after his refusal to fight with Allington, he had called
+at Mr. Harland's, but was told that Clara had been taken suddenly
+ill, and could not be seen. This was a new and deeper anxiety, added
+to his already overburdened spirit; and he really had begun to be
+deserted of hope, and to contemplate a speedy relief from the pains of
+existence. Nothing but the confidence which he reposed upon Clara's
+love, rendered the bright sunshine an endurable blessing to the sadly
+distempered youth. But he could not see her. Day after day he called,
+and always the same cold, formal reply--"Miss Harland was yet very
+ill, but in no danger, and could not be spoken with." Could he but see
+her for an instant--could he touch her hand, or meet her smile, or
+drink in the sweet music of her voice, he would feel his heart nerved
+against every disaster, and would wait in patience; but all, all
+alone, amid lowering brows, or sneering faces, which ever glowered
+like phantoms about him--whether in reality, as he walked the streets,
+or in dreams, as he tossed upon his pillow--it was too much. His heart
+seemed to be on fire.
+
+It was in this frame of mind, with reason tortured to her utmost power
+of endurance, and insanity peeping into that soul which might so soon
+become her own, that Medwin, while walking up the Shell-Road, and
+looking wistfully at the muddy canal, which swam away sluggishly on
+one hand, while the green and stagnant swamp stretched interminably
+upon the other, that he was startled by the rapid approach of a
+carriage, and the sound of gay and noisy mirth. He looked up. The
+brilliant equipage of Mrs. Harland was hurrying by, and he had barely
+time to distinguish Clara, looking as fresh and blooming as a newly
+flowered rose, and laughing and chatting in a lively and even
+boisterous manner with--Mr. Allington!
+
+She leaned over the carriage-side as they whirled along, and, for an
+instant, her eyes met those of her bewildered lover.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+Alas! poor, silly Clara! How dared you thus rudely tamper with a soul
+of such exquisite and refined fire, that it constantly trembled and
+fluttered around its earthly shrine, like the flame of burning
+essence, as if doubtful whether to blaze or go out forever! Oh!
+shallow-hearted woman! what a wide and glorious world of bright hopes
+and angel aspirations--of beautiful thoughts and unutterable
+dreamings--in all of which thou wert a part--hast thou crushed even as
+the foolish child grinds the gay butterfly to powder between his
+fingers. And art thou, indeed, so heartless a _coward_, that, because
+men's tongues have dared to wag against the beloved of thy soul, thou
+durst not own him thenceforth, and hast cast him off forever! Murmur
+not, oh, woman! that thou art made the sport and plaything for rakes
+and libertines to beguile a weary hour withal. Search thine own heart;
+and, in that deep and dark recess, where lurk the demons of thy
+destiny--pride, vanity, frowardness--behold reflected the blackness
+and the _justice_ of thy fate! Who setteth his whole soul upon a
+flower, and findeth its fragrance at last to be a deadly poison, if
+he escape from its contact, placeth no more flowers in his bosom. In
+vain they woo him with their beauteous eyes and breath of perfume. He
+heeds them not, or, at best, plucks them disdainfully, to gaze upon in
+listless indifference for a moment, and then cast them behind him, to
+be crushed beneath the stranger's heel.
+
+Clara's heart smote her to the quick as she caught that wild glance of
+her lover, and saw the haggard ghost that looked out from those hollow
+eyes. She screamed slightly, and sunk back in the carriage as pale as
+marble. Allington and her mother exchanged glances, and were silent,
+while the young man made a motion, as if he would support her in his
+arms, and the carriage was turned homeward, and the horses urged to
+their utmost speed. Clara made no resistance to the attentions of
+Allington, and it was doubtful whether she was conscious--so pale, and
+cold, and pulseless were her beautiful cheeks and temples; but a
+tremulous quivering of the upper lip told of a storm that raged
+within.
+
+By the time she arrived at home Clara had recovered herself
+completely, and, pushing aside the arm of Allington, almost rudely,
+she sprang upon the _banquette_ and into the house; and, turning upon
+him a look of lively indignation, darted up stairs to her chamber.
+Here she was quickly rejoined by her mother, whose obtuse apprehension
+had at length discovered that something was wrong, and who now came to
+offer her maternal consolations.
+
+"Mother!" exclaimed Clara, the moment she entered the room, "I am a
+wretch. It was I who compelled Medwin to promise me, upon his honor as
+a man, that he would not fight Allington; and now that all the world
+has frowned upon him, _I_, too, have turned recreant, and cast him
+off. Mother, speak to me no word of command or remonstrance. I will
+never see Mr. Allington again; and I will this very hour go to Medwin,
+and throw myself on my knees before him. Yes, we shall be happy!"
+
+"My child, you are excited just now, and I beg you to wait until
+morning. We will then talk the matter over calmly; and if you cannot
+really be happy without Mr. Medwin, why, my child, I will not urge you
+further. Come, dear girl, go to bed now, and to-morrow you will be
+yourself again."
+
+With gentle and soothing care--for the _mother_ was now all aroused in
+the callous heart of this worldly woman, and bent every accent and
+every motion into grace and kindness--Mrs. Harland at length succeeded
+in calming the excitement of her child, and inducing her to consent to
+wait until the next morning, when, if she wished, her mother said,
+Medwin should be sent for. "I am sure, my child," she said, as she
+kissed her and bid her good-night, "I have acted for the best, and
+have nothing but your happiness in view."
+
+And now she was alone; and leaving her bed, she leaned against the
+window, while the shadowy curtain of evening, which falls in that
+climate suddenly down from the sky, shut out the day, and seemed, at
+the same moment, to shut the light from her heart. Then, with rapid
+steps, her little feet paced the luxurious carpet of her apartment,
+while her heart beat loudly and still more rapidly in her bosom. Again
+she tried to rest, but the taper which she had lighted threw such
+ghastly shadows upon the walls, which seemed to wave and beckon her,
+that she leaped from the bed in agony, and almost screamed outright.
+Hours passed slowly and sadly, and the short, sharp ringing of the
+watchman's club upon the pavement beneath her window, mingled with the
+chimes of the old cathedral clock as it struck midnight--and still the
+poor frightened girl could neither sleep nor compose herself. Once,
+indeed, she had fallen into a kind of slumber, curtained with such
+horrid dreams as made it torture instead of rest. She saw her lover
+with his bright eye turned sweetly upon her, as of old, and his
+beautiful locks resting upon her shoulder, while she held his hand
+upon her throbbing heart, and he whispered dear words and precious
+sighs into her willing ear. But anon the paleness of death stole over
+that manly brow--the lips fell apart, white and ghastly, and the noble
+form fell down at her feet, a stiffened corse. She shrieked aloud in
+her agony, and awoke. The moon had risen, and was throwing a broad and
+brilliant stream of light into the apartment, and the busy breeze,
+fresh from the fragrant sea, whispered its musical noises through the
+waving curtains of her couch.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+At length the white blaze of the moon went out, and the misty morn
+looked dim and sad over the sleeping city. Throwing a cloak about her,
+Clara hurried down the stairs, and, opening the door softly, found
+herself in the street, at an hour she had never before been there.
+What a strange and dreary aspect every thing seemed to wear! The
+windows of the houses, as she passed, were all closed, and no one
+could be seen but dozens of loitering negroes returning from market,
+or here and there some industrious landlady with a small basket of
+vegetables on her arm, and closely veiled, hurrying along as if to
+escape observation, followed by a servant with the day's provisions in
+a large basket, which she carried steadily upon her head. Every one
+who met her turned and stared curiously; and as she hurried over the
+long crossing of Canal street, and threaded her way between the hacks
+that had already taken their station, she felt that rude eyes, and
+ruder sneers were upon her. She paused not for an instant, however,
+but redoubled her speed until she reached the private entrance to the
+St. Charles, where, leaning for a moment against a column, she
+beckoned a woman from the saloon of the baths into the vestibule, and,
+putting a piece of money into her hand, whispered, "Find out the
+chamber of Mr. Medwin. He is very sick, and a dear friend of mine--I
+must see him immediately."
+
+The woman disappeared up the stairs leading to the "office" of the
+hotel, and, returning in a moment, made a sign for Clara to follow.
+
+As they approached, a noise and bustle were apparent at the further
+end of the corridor, and several servants were hurrying in and out, as
+if some sudden accident had occurred. Clara's guide pointed out
+Medwin's room, and she rushed in--feeling certain in her heart that
+her lover was dying.
+
+He lay stiff and stark upon the sofa, with a few white froth bubbles
+gathered upon his lips, and a letter clasped tightly in his hand. It
+seemed that he was not yet dead, for a physician, who had been hastily
+summoned, was attempting to force open his mouth, as if to administer
+a restorative to the dying man. As Clara approached, he stared in
+astonishment, but she heeded him not, and exclaiming, "Oh, Charles,
+what frightful dream is this!" threw herself on her knees before him.
+
+Life rallied for an instant, and he opened those wild, fearful eyes.
+Oh! what a world of wretchedness and despair was in that glance! He
+knew her; and conquering, with a convulsive effort, the agony which
+was withering up the last drops of life, caught her to his heart,
+exclaiming,
+
+"Clara, thou art forgiven! I am _not_ a coward; for I can even die and
+leave thee thus. Farewell! be happy!"
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+All was over. My poor friend had fought his last battle, and his
+antagonist and conqueror was Death. That pure and noble spirit, with
+all its wild and restless fever-dreams, "sleeps well" amid the
+beautiful solitudes of Cypress Grove Cemetery--the _home of the
+stranger_--where so many proud and buoyant hearts crumble beneath the
+golden air, new filled with odorous dew. And I wait patiently, yet
+sadly, for the hour which is to restore me to the friend of my bosom.
+
+
+
+
+THE ANCIENT AND THE MODERN MUSE.
+
+BY LYMAN LONG.
+
+    The Muse, in times more ancient, made
+      The grove's thick gloom her dwelling-place,
+    And, queen-like, her proud sceptre swayed
+      O'er a submiss and trembling race.
+
+    When stirred her breath the sleeping trees,
+      Awe-struck, with fearful feet they trod,
+    And when her voice swelled on the breeze,
+      Adoring bowed, as to a God!
+
+    Her wildly murmured strains they caught,
+      As echoes from the spirit-world,
+    Till reeled the brain, to frenzy wrought,
+      With mixt amaze and rapture whirled!
+
+    Thus stern, retired, she swayed the earth,
+      Till, as new dawned an age of gold,
+    A happier era led her forth
+      To dwell with men, like gods of old.
+
+    To dwell with us--to roam no more!
+      _Ours_ is this golden age of bliss!
+    She comes with blessings rich in store;
+      And, like a sister, whispers peace.
+
+    Not now with awe-inspiring air,
+      But gentle as the meek-eyed dove,
+    And clad in smiles that angels wear,
+      And with an aspect full of love.
+
+    She greets us at our fire-sides, when
+      Sweet looks to accents sweet respond,
+    And breathing soft her tender strain,
+      More closely knits the silken bond.
+
+    Unmingled joy her smiles afford,
+      Where meet the mirthful, social throng,
+    As, gathered round the festive board,
+      Our healths she pledges in a song.
+
+    She meets us in our private walks,
+      'Mid groves that fairy glens embower,
+    When Morning gems her purple locks,
+      Or Vesper rules the silent hour.
+
+    Her hand, upon the beech's rind,
+      Marks well, for fair Belinda's eyes,
+    (Else vainly murmured to the wind,)
+      Thy flame, young Damon, and thy sighs.
+
+    Stern Toil, beneath her gentle sway,
+      Well pleased, unbends his rugged brow--
+    With Bloomfield chants the rustic lay,
+      Or guides with Burns the daisied plough.
+
+    Her form appears the bow of peace,
+      Upon the clouds that darken life,
+    Now bidding Sorrow's tears to cease,
+      And staying now the hand of Strife.
+
+    She smiles on me, no bard inspired,
+      But wand'rer o'er life's arid waste,
+    Who, fainting, halting, parched and tired,
+      One cordial, nectared drop would taste.
+
+    Companion of the pure in heart,
+      She tunes the lyre to David's flame,
+    And rapt, as mortal scenes depart,
+      She hymns the heaven from whence she came!
+
+
+
+
+THERESA, OR GENIUS AND WOMANHOOD.
+
+A TALE OF DOMESTIC LIFE.
+
+BY MRS. JANE TAYLOR WORTHINGTON.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+    What sad experience may be thine to bear
+          Through coming years;
+    For womanhood hath weariness and care,
+          And anxious tears;
+    And they may all be thine, to brand the brow
+    That in its childish beauty sleepeth now.
+
+Theresa Germaine was a child some six years of age when I saw her
+first, nearly twenty-five years ago. It is a long time to look back
+on; but I well remember the bright, winning face, and cordial manners
+of the little lady, when she would come to the parsonage and enliven
+our tranquil hearts by her gay, spontaneous glee. She was full of life
+and buoyancy; there was even then a sort of sparkling rapture about
+her existence, a keen susceptibility of enjoyment, and an intense
+sympathy with those she loved, which bespoke her, from the first, no
+ordinary being. Ah, me! I have lived to see all that fade away, and to
+feel grateful when the dust was laid on the brow I had kissed so often
+in an old man's fondness--but let that pass. I must write calmly, or
+tears will blind me; and I have undertaken the task of recording
+Theresa's experience, not to tell how well we loved her, but to
+strive, however feebly and imperfectly, to lay bare some of the
+peculiarities of genius, when found in sad combination with a woman's
+lot.
+
+There was little marked or unusual in Theresa's outward life; her
+visible griefs were such as come to all, but the history of her inner
+being--the true and unseen life--was one of extremes. It was her fate
+to feel every thing vividly; and her joys and troubles were fully
+realized by the impassioned depth of her nature; and if, in my loving
+remembrances, I dwell somewhat bitterly on the portion society gave
+one who richly deserved its homage, and singularly needed its
+indulgences; if I portray too warmly the censure and neglect that made
+her path so full of trial, let me not be misunderstood. I would give
+no sanction to the hasty disregard of appearances which is the
+besetting sin of exalted and independent intellect. Under all
+circumstances it is an unwise experiment to transgress established
+rules; and in a woman, however rarely she may be gifted, it is a rash
+and hazardous thing to defy public opinion. Wearying and frivolous as
+many of society's conventionalities are, there is much wisdom in them;
+they are indispensible links in the chain binding together "all sorts
+of people," and she who breaks them knowingly, sins against one of her
+greatest safeguards.
+
+Theresa's father, a man of good birth and great acquirements, but
+ruined fortunes, had come to reside in our village about five years
+before the commencement of this story. She was then his only child,
+his elder treasures having been laid, one after another, in distant
+graves. Her mother was a tranquil, quiet woman, and still retained the
+traces of a beauty which must once have been remarkable. She was a
+person of placid temper and mediocre mind, but wavering in judgment,
+and not in the least calculated to control the impetuosity, or guide
+the enthusiasm of her ardent and reckless child. This Mr. Germaine
+seemed acutely to feel; and I could read his fears in the fixed gaze
+of prophetic anxiety which he would often rivet on the varying
+countenance of his happy and unconscious daughter. His health was
+already gradually declining, and he evidently dreaded the future, when
+his favorite should be left in many respects guardianless amid the
+world's temptations. In my capacity as pastor, I was a frequent
+visiter at the little cottage, where, in subdued resignation he was
+patiently wearing out his life; and we at length acquired that mental
+intimacy which men are apt to feel when they have spoken together of
+life's highest aims and holiest hopes. I was many years his
+senior--for it is with the tremulous hand of old age that I write
+these lines, and I felt sincere and admiring sympathy for one who,
+through various perplexities and misfortunes, still retained serenity
+and peace.
+
+We were sitting together one starlight evening, in the small
+vine-draperied porch of his simple dwelling. Mrs. Germaine was
+occupied with household duties, and Theresa, after having asked us
+both a thousand unanswerable questions, had reluctantly obeyed her
+mother's summons to retire to rest.
+
+"I cannot describe to you," said my companion, "the fear with which I
+anticipate the hereafter for that child; she is one whose blended
+characteristics are rare, and her fate can have no medium. Were she a
+boy, and possessed of those traits, I should have no dread, for with
+such energies as are even now visible in her temperament,
+circumstances can be almost controlled, but it is a dangerous thing
+for her own happiness, for a woman to be thus endowed."
+
+"I think you are too desponding," was my reply; "it appears to me that
+talent is necessarily in a great degree its own reward; and though it
+is the fashion to talk and write much of the griefs of intellect, I
+believe human sorrow is more equally divided than we acknowledge, and
+that the joys resulting from high gifts far overbalance their trials."
+
+"It may be so generally," Mr. Germaine answered, "but my experience
+and observation have impressed me differently. I never knew,
+personally, but one woman of genius, and she was a mournful instance
+of the truth of my convictions, and of the fatal folly of striving to
+pass beyond the brazen walls with which prejudice has encompassed
+womanhood. She was young, fair, and flattered, and fascinating above
+any comparison I can think of. Of course, she was aware of her
+capabilities--for ignorance in such cases is not possible, and
+naturally self-confident, she grew impatient for praise and power. Her
+affections, unfortunately, were warm and enduring; but she sacrificed
+them, to promote her desire for distinction, and unable, though so
+superior, to escape the heart-thraldom, which is the destiny of her
+sex, she died at last, more of disappointment than disease, with her
+boundless aspirations all unfulfilled. I fancy I can trace in Theresa
+many points of resemblance to her I have mentioned--for I knew her in
+early childhood. Solicitude on this subject is the only anxiety I
+cannot patiently conquer, and which makes the prospect of parting
+painful." He paused for a moment, and then, as if to turn his
+reflections from their depressing course, he said, "I have been
+reading to-day some extracts from Mrs. Hemans' works. As I grow older
+and more thoughtful, such things touch me deeply, and I experience a
+constantly increasing interest in the products of female talent. There
+is an intensity of sentiment, a pure tenderness of heart about such
+writings generally, which, in my present tranquil state of mind, are
+in harmony with my heavenward reflections, and the ideal spirit
+pervading them, soothes my imagination. In my restless and hopeful
+years I sought literary recreation from far different sources, but now
+that I feel myself a pilgrim, and stand surrounded by shadows on the
+verge of an unknown hereafter, I prize inexpressibly these glimpses of
+paradise which are God's precious gift to every true and intellectual
+woman."
+
+It was thus my friend often spoke, for it was a theme on which he
+always delighted to dwell. I have never seen any one whose reverence
+for woman's gifts was so strong, and who appreciated with such
+sincerity the moral loveliness of her perfected nature. It was about
+this time that the birth of a second daughter added a new tie to Mr.
+Germaine's life; and the event saddened him more than I believed any
+earthly event could have done. The feeling was probably a natural one,
+but it grieved me to see how he strove to crush every impulse of
+tenderness toward the little one he must leave so soon.
+
+It would have been well for Theresa had her father lived to view the
+ripening of the faculties whose blossoming he already traced with the
+prophetic gaze of parental affection; but she was destined to tread
+her path alone, and to know in their wide extent both the triumphs and
+the penalties of superiority. She was seven years of age when her
+father died, leaving herself and her sister to their mother's care. I
+need not relate here the many interesting interviews between Mr.
+Germaine and myself, which were more and more touching as his
+departure drew near. With an earnestness unutterably impressive, he
+implored my watchful solicitude for his eldest daughter, entreating me
+to afford her that guidance from experience, which she must inevitably
+need.
+
+"Be gentle with her," he said, "but not too indulgent; she will
+require strictness of management, for with such impetuosity of nature
+her judgment must often err. She is too young as yet for me to be able
+to foresee the particular bent her character will assume, but I
+entreat you to be her candid friend and firm adviser when she will
+assuredly want both."
+
+On the trying scenes of that period I will not longer linger; for
+there is something unutterably solemn in the tranquil passing away of
+a good man's soul, something that hallows to our thoughts even the
+fear-fraught moment of dissolution from which mere mortality
+instinctively shrinks. Yet it is a sad thing when so much worth and
+wisdom leaves the earth forever; and to those who realize the
+inestimable advantages and useful influences of a high example, it is
+a mournful sight to look on the closing sunset of one who evidenced
+the beautiful union between holiness and humanity.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+    Spirit-like fair forms are pressing
+          'Round her now,
+    With their angel hands caressing
+          Her pale brow.
+
+    Words of solace they are chanting,
+          Sweet and clear,
+    That evermore will now be haunting
+          Her life here.
+
+I visited the cottage frequently, and for several months after Mr.
+Germaine's death, it was the scene of no ordinary grief. Mrs. Germaine
+bore her bereavement patiently--for it was an event she had long
+anticipated with womanly meekness and resignation; but she mourned
+most deeply--for it is a great mistake to think commonplace persons
+deficient in vividness of feeling. I believe their emotions are as
+keen, and generally more enduring, than those of more decided minds,
+from the very fact of their possessing few self-resources to divert
+the course of affliction. Be this as it may, Mrs. Germaine was soon,
+in all that was apparent, the quiet and anxious mother she had always
+been; and if she suffered still, it was in the silence of a heart that
+had no language for its sorrows. Far wilder and more vehement was the
+passionate and unresisted tide of Theresa's suffering; and for many
+weeks she refused all the consolation that could be offered to a child
+of her age. She would sit by my side and converse of her father, with
+an admiration for his virtues, and an appreciation of his character
+far beyond what I had supposed she could comprehend.
+
+This violent emotion necessarily exhausted itself, as a heavy cloud
+weeps itself away; but for a long time she was painfully dejected, and
+her face lost its childishness of expression, and wore a look of
+appealing, unspeakable melancholy I never remarked on any other
+countenance. It was the "settled shadow of an inward strife," the
+outward impress of a mind suddenly aroused to a knowledge of trial,
+and never again to sleep in unconsciousnes; and often in after years,
+the same inexpressible look darkened her brow through the tumult of
+conflicting impulses, and amid the war of triumph and pain.
+
+I have said that Mr. Germaine's pecuniary circumstances were limited;
+but for some time previous to his illness, he had, at the expense of
+many a personal comfort, laid by a sum sufficient to procure for
+Theresa all the advantages of an accomplished education. His wife had
+frequently remonstrated against the innumerable little privations he
+voluntarily endured for this favorite purpose, for she attached more
+value to physical than mental gratifications, and could scarcely
+sympathize with his disinterested solicitude for his daughter's
+intellectual culture. It had been a great happiness to him to trace
+the gradual development of her intelligence, and to direct her simple
+studies; and it had been one of his last requests that I would in this
+respect occupy his place until she should be old enough to require
+other superintendence. His love was one of hope and trust, and he had
+diligently sown the seed, though he knew he never might behold its
+ripening.
+
+For two months I made no attempt to alter the current of her thoughts,
+believing it better to allow her sensibilities to exhaust themselves
+without interruption. When she grew calmer, I proposed that she should
+come every morning to the parsonage to resume her daily studies; and,
+as I had hoped and anticipated, she eagerly acceded to the
+arrangement. And thus commenced the cultivation of a mind, whose early
+maturity bore a rich harvest of recompense; and thus dawned that
+loving anxiety for my pupil's welfare which realized many of my life's
+younger wishes, and lent so sunny and living an interest to my
+solitary and remembering years.
+
+It was with some difficulty and after much remonstrance that I induced
+Theresa's application to the graver branches of acquirement, which,
+with my old-fashioned ideas of education, I considered indispensable
+even to a woman. At last, I believe, it was only through affection for
+me that she yielded her taste, and consented to devote her mind to
+such acquisitions. Her inclinations were all for what was beautiful or
+imaginative; she early loved whatever touched her feelings or awoke
+the vivid impressions of her young fancy; and I found some trouble in
+curbing within rational limits her natural and fascinating
+prepossessions. As she grew older, and passed what she deemed the
+drudgery of learning, and drew nearer, with rapid steps, to Thought's
+promised land of compensation, we constantly read and conversed
+together. We dwelt on the inspired pages of the poets, I, with old
+age's returning love for the romantic, and increasing reverence for
+the true, and she, with the intense, bewildered delight of a spirit
+that hoped all things, and a simple faith that trusted the future
+would brightly fulfill all the fairest prospects which poetry could
+portray.
+
+Her disposition was sanguine to an extreme, with the happy faculty of
+believing what she hoped; and she possessed in a remarkable degree the
+power of expressing and defining her ideas and emotions, and rendering
+them visible by words. She never paused for an expression, or selected
+an injudicious one; and her fluency was the result of a mingled
+vividness and clearness of intellect, blended with artist-skill, and
+all the fervor of dawning and dreaming womanhood.
+
+Her affections were spontaneous and impassioned, at once impulsive and
+enduring, and, like all enthusiasts, she was frequently governed by
+prejudice. Her little sister was a child of rare beauty and
+gentleness, and was Theresa's perfect idol. She was perpetually
+contriving pleasant surprises for her favorite; and it was her delight
+to wreath flowers around Amy's golden curls, and to add a thousand
+fantastic decorations to her delicate and seraphic loveliness. They
+would have made an exquisite picture, those two sisters, so different
+in age and character; the one so fair, with childhood's silent and
+fragile beauty, the other glowing with life and premature thought,
+already testing the "rapture of the strife," and revealing in the
+intense gaze of her dark, restless eyes, the world of gleaming visions
+within whose enchantment she lived.
+
+It was when my pupil had reached her fourteenth year, that, in
+obedience to her father's written directions, she prepared to leave
+our tranquil home, to enter the school of the convent, near the city
+of ----. I know not why Mr. Germaine wished her placed there, for he
+was himself a Protestant, but the advantages of instruction were at
+that time tempting. Probably, in dwelling on them, he overlooked the
+risk of placing his daughter where the unnumbered graces of mind and
+manner veil another creed, and make it alluring, and where the
+imaginative and gorgeous pomp of a different faith were to be placed
+in their most attractive colors before her unsuspecting eyes. It was
+with many a misgiving, many a secret fear, that I anticipated
+Theresa's removal from my watchfulness; and I warned her with the most
+sincere affection, against the temptations of various kinds which she
+would probably encounter in her new abode. Early in the autumn we were
+to part with her, and the sweet summer, with its wealth of fruit and
+flowers was now around us, and our village, in its garlands of
+blossoms, looked its loveliest.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+    O! were it thus! had we, indeed, the gift,
+    Though human, our humanity to chain;
+    Could we in truth our restless spirits lift,
+    And never feel the weight of earth again,
+    Then would I leave the sorrows I bewail,
+    To clasp the cross, the cloister, and the veil.
+
+Some weeks previous to the time at which my last chapter terminates, I
+had received a letter from an old friend, requesting me to inform him
+if any dwelling in our vicinity was for sale, as he was anxious to
+leave the city, and bring his family to a quieter home. I answered his
+inquiries satisfactorily, and now daily expected him to arrive, and
+make final arrangements for his removal.
+
+He came at last, bringing with him his only son, a boy somewhat older
+than Theresa. Gerald Brandon was pale and feeble from recent illness,
+and I persuaded his father to leave him with me, until his new
+residence was prepared to receive its inmates. He gladly assented, and
+accordingly returned to town, while Gerald remained at the parsonage.
+The next two months were among the happiest my memory recalls; and
+they were the last untroubled ones Theresa passed in her secluded
+home. From their threshold she glided to a new life--to that conflict
+of will and purpose, that tempest of impulse and disappointment which
+finally subdued her spirit and wearied out her existence. But as yet
+all was serene and full of promise; and the golden hues of her sunny
+dreams invested our simple pleasures with varied and poetic interest.
+My young guest was a gentle, reflective boy of more than ordinary
+capabilities, but enfeebled by ill-health, and a victim to the
+lassitude which frequently follows protracted bodily suffering. He was
+too placid and pensive for his age, and his mind, though refined and
+harmonious, had nothing of that restless, energetic brilliancy which
+sparkled through Theresa's thoughts. He, however, eagerly participated
+in her accustomed studies, and contributed his share to our literary
+recreations. I sometimes looked on the two with that involuntary wish
+for the power of prophecy which so often rises upon us, and which in
+great mercy we are denied, and would frequently strive to shadow forth
+the destiny of beings who were now reveling in the brief, bright
+interval between childhood and the world. Beautiful era! time of star
+and flower, when the "young moon is on the horizon's verge," and the
+young heart, lovelier still, seems on the brink of rapture, and
+hallows existence with its own unshadowed and seraphic light. We have
+cause to be grateful that this episode is transient, that reality
+contradicts its hopes, for could its illusions last, who would pause
+to think of heaven, with so much of enchanting fulfillment around us
+here.
+
+It was with instinctive pride that I felt my favorite's mental
+superiority to her companion, and noticed the genuine admiration with
+which Gerald acknowledged it. He was astonished at her variety of
+acquirement, her daring originality of opinion, and her unstudied
+readiness of expression. He was gratified, and it may be, flattered,
+by the disinterested solicitude she evinced for his enjoyment, and the
+readiness with which she discarded any scheme of amusement in which
+his health prevented his participation. There is a period in youth
+when the affections feel as a strong necessity, the desire for
+sympathy, when love is yet a stranger, and friendship is as intense as
+passion. Dearer than any after friend, is the one who first fills this
+yearning vacancy; and though as time wears on, and separation follows,
+that tie may be broken never to be re-knit, there is a halo around it
+still, and it is made almost holy by the blended tints of hope and
+trust, and tenderness, that, with reflected light, shine back upon its
+memory.
+
+It was the evening before Theresa's departure, and we were all
+assembled at the cottage. It was impossible to feel very sad, where
+the majority were so eager and fraught with hope, and yet the mother's
+countenance was full of anxiety for her child. Little Amy sat on her
+sister's knee, and Theresa, in her graphic language, was relating some
+romantic history of her own invention, while Mrs. Germaine and myself
+spoke of her. The parent's solicitude was altogether physical; she
+feared only that Theresa would be sick, or that she would encounter
+some of the thousand accidents and evils, whose spectres haunt us upon
+the eve of a first separation. I thought it kinder to be silent as to
+my own very different misgivings, and to dwell only on the encouraging
+part of the prospect. There might be nothing to dread, after all, and
+it was possibly only our unwillingness to part with Theresa, that thus
+assumed to itself the tormenting shape of inquietude.
+
+During our conversation, which was carried on in an under tone, little
+Amy had fallen asleep, and after carefully placing her on the couch,
+and kissing the fair face of the slumberer, that shone like a
+faultless picture from its frame of golden curls, Theresa adjourned
+with Gerald to the porch. It was a perfect evening, and the rays of
+the full moon illumined the little portico, throwing on its floor, in
+fanciful mosaic, the fantastic shadows of the vines which draperied
+the pillars, and lighting up with its spiritual radiance, the earnest
+countenances of the youthful friends. Gerald looked more than usually
+pale in the blanching beams, and Theresa's gaze was sad and tearful.
+
+"You will forget us all, Theresa," said the boy; "you will find
+elsewhere gayer and dearer companions; you will be praised and
+flattered, and it will be several years before you will be stationary
+here again."
+
+"Do you remember the book we read together but a few days since?" she
+answered, "and which says there is no such thing as forgetting
+possible to the mind?"
+
+"Well, but at least you may grow indifferent," persisted Gerald,
+already betraying manhood's perverseness in suspicion, "at least you
+may grow indifferent, and that is even worse than forgetfulness."
+
+"Far worse," answered Theresa, "I would rather a thousand times be
+wholly forgotten, than know that the heart which loved me had grown
+cold and careless. But, Gerald, you are my first friend, the only one
+of my own age I have ever known, and how can I lose the recollection
+of all we have thought and hoped together? And then I shall be too
+constantly occupied to form other ties, for I intend to study
+incessantly, and to return here all, mentally, that my friends can
+wish me."
+
+"Are you not that already; I, for one, do not desire you to change."
+
+"You will alter your flattering opinion, _mon ami_, if I can by
+application realize the bright pictures my ambition paints. I shall be
+so much happier when I have tested myself; for now, all is untried,
+the present is restless, and the future perplexing. It is so difficult
+for me to curb my impatience, to remember that our progressive path
+must be trodden step by step, it may be, through thorns and
+temptations. Patience is the golden rule of talent, the indispensable
+companion of success; for the 'worm may patiently creep to the height
+where the mountain-eagle has rested.' The hardest task for genius to
+learn is, through toiling, to hope on, and though baffled, never to
+despond."
+
+Her face flushed with her own eagerness as she spoke, and Gerald
+looked on her with mingled admiration and want of comprehension, and
+something of that pity with which boyhood is prone to regard the
+wildness of girlish aspirations. It was with hopes and tears united,
+that Theresa bade me farewell; and as I turned away to seek my quiet
+home, the old feeling of desolation and loneliness, which interest in
+my favorite had long dissipated, returned upon me with its depressing
+weight. Our walk to the parsonage was taken in unbroken silence, for
+Gerald, like myself, was busy with the future--to him a smiling world
+of compensation and promise, to me, the silent land of fears and
+shadows. A whole year was to elapse before Theresa's return to us, and
+in the interval she engaged to write every week, either to her mother
+or myself.
+
+For more than an hour that evening I sat beside my window, looking on
+the serene prospect around me, and endeavoring to lay something of
+that external stillness to the restlessness of my disturbing fancies.
+All around was spiritualized by the moonlight; the trees on the lawn
+threw long shadows on the grass, and far away, in their mysterious and
+majestic silence, stood the eternal mountains; like gigantic watchers,
+they kept their vigil over the placid scene beneath--the vigil of
+untold centuries. Cloudless, unsympathizing, changeless, they had no
+part in the busy drama of human experience their loftiness overlooked,
+and now they loomed with shadowy outline, through the sanctifying
+light, habitants alike of earth and sky.
+
+I anticipated tidings from Theresa with that interest which slight
+occurrences lend a life whose stirring events are few.
+
+To me, she engaged to record her thoughts and impressions as they
+came, and to be to me what, under similar circumstances _she_ would
+have been, whose sweet face for a few years brightened my life, and
+who now sleeps, in her childish beauty, by her mother's side.
+
+THERESA'S FIRST LETTER.
+
+     "You will have learned from my letter to my mother, my
+     kind friend, all the little details of my journey and
+     safe arrival at my destination. I felt as if some of my
+     visions of romance were realized, when this beautifully
+     adorned place, in its strange and solemn stillness,
+     stood before me. All the grounds surrounding the
+     convent-buildings are highly cultivated and tastefully
+     improved, presenting a vivid contrast between the wild
+     luxuriance of nature, and the formal, artificial life
+     within these cold, stern walls. Several of the nuns,
+     with downcast eyes and thoughtful steps, were taking
+     their monotonous exercise in the paths through the
+     shrubbery; and shall I confess that I looked with
+     mingled doubt and envy upon those dark-robed
+     figures--doubt, if the restlessness of humanity _can_
+     thus be curbed into repose, and envy of that
+     uninterrupted peace, if, indeed, it may be gained.
+     Strange seem this existence of sacrifice, this
+     voluntary abandonment of life's aims and more extended
+     duties, this repelling, crushing routine of penance and
+     ceremony, with which, in the very midst of activity,
+     and in the bloom of energy, vain mortals strive to put
+     off the inevitable fetters of mortality. Doubtless,
+     many, from long habit, have grown familiar with this
+     vegetative, unbroken seclusion, and accustomed to
+     struggle with tenderness, and conquer impulse, have
+     ceased to feel affection, and rarely recall the friends
+     of their busier days--sad consummation of womanhood's
+     least enviable lot.
+
+     "But I believe it is, in all sincerity, from
+     self-delusion, not from deception, that these women,
+     many of them in the freshness of youth, separate
+     themselves from the wide privileges of their sex, and
+     contract their hearts into the exclusive and narrow
+     bounds of a convent's charities. What mental conflicts
+     must have been theirs, before, from the alluring gloss
+     of expectation, they could turn to embrace a career
+     like this. Some, perhaps, believed the possibility of
+     winning tranquillity by shutting out the temptation of
+     the world, believed that dust might be spiritualized,
+     and the mind, debarred from its natural tendencies,
+     taught to dream only of heaven. Others have sought the
+     cloister as a refuge for hearts that loved too well,
+     and memories all too faithful. God help such!--for this
+     is no place to forget. And it may be, that after years
+     of painful self-control and depressing experience, some
+     here have gradually attained the conviction that their
+     efforts are vain, their yearnings not here to be
+     fulfilled--what, then, must solitude be to them but an
+     enduring sorrow? It is too late to retrieve the
+     past--the fatal vows have been spoken--those frowning
+     walls are impassable--and the dark folds of that solemn
+     veil are evermore between the penitents and human
+     sympathy. Never may their footsteps tread the free
+     earth again, save within those still and mocking
+     limits; never will the bright, rewarding world of
+     social ties dawn upon their languid gaze, though, alas!
+     its beauty will flash upon their thoughts, through the
+     loneliness of the silent cell, perhaps even amid
+     penance and prayer. I look with profound, inexpressible
+     interest on these sisters, in their ungraceful, but
+     romance-hallowed costume, and wish, as I watch them,
+     that I could read something of what the past has been
+     to each, and trace the various motives that led to this
+     irrevocable fate. This monotonous life has all the glow
+     of novelty for me; and I ponder with inexhaustible
+     interest, and blended reverence and pity on the hidden
+     moral conflict, continually occurring among beings who
+     strive to taste angels' pleasures while escaping human
+     duties, and are reminded of the folly of such attempts,
+     by the perpetual presence of temptation, and all the
+     self-reproach, regret, and disappointment which, Heaven
+     be thanked! the angels never feel. I can scarcely tell,
+     as yet, how I shall like learning here. My studies have
+     always been such a pleasure to me, with you, that it
+     appears strange to associate them with strangers. I am
+     resolved to devote much time to drawing and miniature
+     painting, for which you know I had always a _penchant_,
+     and in the course of a month or two I shall commence
+     the study of German. What a world of pleasure is before
+     me. Will you not love me better, if I return to you an
+     artist, brim full of German legends? All that I hope
+     and aspire to, leads to that question--will these
+     acquisitions render me more beloved?"
+
+"Theresa is too ambitious, too restless," said Gerald, as he finished
+the perusal of this letter, "she will only render herself discontented
+and conspicuous by this wild, idle desire for superiority."
+
+I felt somewhat provoked at his querulous words, for in my partial
+eyes Theresa seldom erred, and I knew this solicitude for mental
+progress, though as yet vague and undirected, was inseparable from her
+active and energetic intellect. But Gerald's opinions were common ones
+with his sex, and he coldly censured when away from their attractions,
+the very traits of character which, when present, involuntarily
+fascinated his imagination. And this is an ingratitude which almost
+inevitably falls to the share of a gifted woman. Unfortunately, genius
+does not shield its possessor from defects of character; and her very
+superiority in raising her above the level of the many, renders her
+failings more evident, and those who are forced mentally to admire,
+are frequently the first morally to condemn. The following are
+extracts from Theresa's letters, written at various intervals during
+the first year of her residence at the convent; and they will perhaps
+serve to reveal something of the rapid development of her mind, with
+the self-forgetfulness and ambition so peculiarly blended in her
+nature. She is the only one I have ever seen who possessed extreme
+enthusiasm without selfishness, and the strong desire to excel,
+without envy. There was a harmony in her being as rare as it was
+winning; and while many instances of her childish generosity and
+spontaneous disinterestedness rise on my memory, I feel almost
+bitterness at the recollection of how unworthily her pure heart was
+appreciated, and how sad was the recompense of all she suffered.
+
+"I am happy, my kind friend, happier than I believed it possible for
+me to be, when away from those I love. But I study incessantly, and in
+acquiring and hoping, I have no time left for regret. When I recall
+you, it is not repiningly, but with a thousand desires for your
+approval, and increased anxiety to become all you can wish. You will,
+perhaps, consider this vanity; but, indeed, that would be unjust, for
+it is in all humility, with a painful consciousness of my own
+deficiencies that I strive so eagerly to grow wiser and better. Surely
+it is not vanity, to yearn to merit tenderness! . . . . . You ask if I
+have made any new friends. No; and I can scarcely tell why. There are
+several here whose appearance has interested me--and you know how
+rapturously I admire personal attractions; but I feel a reserve I can
+neither conquer nor explain. Friendship seems to me too holy and
+enduring to be lightly bestowed, and yet I desire with inexpressible
+earnestness, to find some one of my own age who would love and
+comprehend me--some mind in whose mirror I could trace an image of my
+own. I have gained something like a fulfillment of this wish in
+Gerald; but he is naturally less enthusiastic than I am, and of course
+cannot enter into the fervor of my expectations. He thinks them vain
+an idle--and so, in truth, they may be; but only their irrevocable
+disappointment will ever convince _me_ of their folly. . . . . . I
+have been painting a great deal, beside my regular exercises, for my
+own amusement; I take such delight in testing my power to reflect the
+visible charm of beauty, and in endeavoring, however faintly, to
+idealize humanity. Among other efforts, I have finished a miniature of
+one of the young sisters here, whose sad, placid face, seemed to
+sketch itself upon my memory. Of course, the likeness was drawn
+without her knowledge--she has put away from her thoughts all such
+vanities. I often look on the picture, which is scarcely more tranquil
+than the original; and I wish I could speak a word of welcome sympathy
+to one who is so young, and yet so sorrowful. I was much touched, a
+few days since, by accidentally witnessing an interview between this
+nun, whose convent name is Cecelia, and her sister. It seems that she
+had taken the vows in opposition to the wishes and counsel of all her
+friends, having forsaken a widowed mother and an only sister for
+spiritual solitude and the cloister. I was copying an exquisite
+engraving of the Madonna, which adorns the apartment allotted to
+visiters, when a young lady entered, and desired to see her sister.
+The nun came, but not beyond the grating which bounds one side of the
+room. Those bars--signs of the heart's prison--were between beings who
+from infancy had been undivided, whose pleasures and pains through
+life had been inseparable, and who were now severed by a barrier
+impassable as the grave. They contrasted strongly, these two sisters,
+so nearly the same age, so different in their hopes for the future.
+The guest wept constantly, and her words, spoken in a loud tone, were
+broken by bursts of grief; but the other was composed, almost to
+coldness--there was no evidence of distress on her marble cheek, and
+her large, gray eyes, were quiet in their gaze. She had evidently
+learned to curb emotion and regret--the past for her was a sealed
+book, with all its remembrances; she was a woman without her sex's
+loveliest impulses--a sister without tenderness, a daughter without
+gratitude. They parted, as they had met, each unconvinced, each
+grieving for the other--the visiter returned to her holy filial
+duties, the devotee to her loneliness. My friend, on which of these
+sisters do the angels in heaven look down most rejoicingly? This scene
+made me sorrowful, as every thing does which destroys an illusion. I
+had entertained such romantic ideas of life in the cloister, it seemed
+so tempting to me in its rest, its spirituality; and now I realize
+that we have no right to such rest, that it is not ours to shrink from
+the duties, to shun the penalties, to crush the affections of
+humanity--and my visions of lonely happiness have passed away _pour
+toujours_. If ever I could be induced to forsake a world that now
+appears to me so rich in promise; if ever I am numbered among the
+tried in spirit, and broken in heart, some active solace must be mine,
+not this fearful leisure for thought and remembrance. My lot is to be
+a restless one; and whatever else the future may hold for me, I know,
+in the spirit of prophecy, it will bestow nothing of repose. . . . .
+You tell me my little sister grows every day more lovely. I can
+readily believe it. There is something very fascinating in the style
+of her childish beauty, something that appeals to tenderness and seeks
+for love--and she is always the reality that prompts my dreams of
+angels. Is it not unwise, my friend, to hold the gift of personal
+beauty of little value, when it thus involuntarily commands affection,
+and can win the world's charity for many faults?"
+
+I know not if these disjointed scraps have interest for others, but I
+have recorded them, because to me they recall the young writer's
+glowing enthusiasm, and evince the confident hopefulness which is one
+of the most common traits of mental excellence. Without being vain,
+she had yet no fears for herself, no doubt of the successful exercise
+of the powers whose stirring presence she felt. All that seemed
+necessary to her was opportunity; and she possessed the faith our good
+God gives to youth, and whose passing away is one of the sorrows of
+age.
+
+The time appointed for her return home had now arrived, and her
+mother's anxiety to see her was scarcely greater than my own. In the
+meanwhile, Mr. Brandon's new residence--the handsomest in our
+vicinity--had been completed, and his family was permanently located
+among us. His domestic circle consisted of Gerald, a daughter, about
+Theresa's age, and a maiden lady, the sister of his wife, who, since
+Mrs. Brandon's death, had done the household honors. Gerald had been,
+from the first, a constant visiter at the parsonage, and he now
+participated in our solicitude to welcome our darling back. About
+sunset, on the day of Theresa's return, I directed my steps toward the
+cottage, and I was but halfway to my destination, when I saw her
+coming to meet me. I could never be mistaken in her light, rapid walk,
+whose movements were full of grace. Not for many a long, sad year, had
+a reception so affectionate as hers been given me; and her greeting
+brought tears to my old eyes, and called up painful memories to my
+heart. In appearance she had greatly improved; her slight figure had
+rounded into more womanly proportions, and her motions were full of
+the wild, unstudied gracefulness that had always characterized her.
+There was about her a fascination I cannot explain, a something
+independent of externals--a witchery to be felt but not defined.
+Perhaps it was the visible influence of mental gifts, the reflection
+of that purity of heart and mind which impressed itself on all her
+words and actions.
+
+Let it not, however, be imagined, that because in my fond remembrance
+I have lingered long upon Theresa's many virtues, I was ignorant of
+her faults. They were those inseparable from her temperament; an
+impetuosity which frequently misled her judgment, and a confidence in
+her own beliefs, a reliance on her own will, that nothing but an
+appeal to her affections could ever subdue. She was an instance of
+that sad truth, that our defects shape our destinies; that one failing
+may exert over our lot a more potent influence than many excellencies,
+and may mar the brilliancy of our moral picture by a single shadow,
+that shall darken it all. In after life, when trial and suffering
+pressed wearily upon her, all her griefs might have been traced back
+to the influence of faults, which in her childhood were not
+sufficiently developed to seem of consequence, or to merit rebuke. To
+us she was so loving and complying, that the less favorable traits of
+her nature were lost to our eyes in the brightness of her better
+endowments. Like all poetic persons, she had various fancies and
+caprices; but hers were all pure in purpose, and imparted a charm to
+her restless being. Even her tenderness had its fantasies, and
+lavished itself wastefully without thought or reason. Her attachment
+to her sister was remarkable in its tone, blending anxiety with its
+profound and impassioned tide. She would speak to me of Amy, of her
+childish loveliness, her gentle disposition, her appealing
+trustfulness, until tears would start to her eyes, and the future
+seemed painfully distant to one whose onward gaze had painted it with
+fulfillments. There was nothing sweet and lovable in life that she did
+not connect with Amy's hereafter. Alas! it was well for her she could
+not foresee that future happiness was to be won by the sacrifice of
+her own.
+
+During Theresa's stay in our village, the young Brandons and herself
+were often together--and Gerald's admiration had evidently lost
+nothing from separation. His health had improved, though he still
+looked pale and delicate; but this physical languor lent refinement to
+his appearance, and excited Theresa's warmest sympathy. It would have
+been strange, were not the occurrence so common, that we should not
+have anticipated the probable consequences of such intercourse between
+Gerald and Theresa, but always accustomed to consider them in contrast
+with ourselves, as mere children, we forgot theirs was the very age
+for enduring impressions, the era in existence whose memories live
+longest. It was not until long afterward that I realized our error,
+and then, alas! it was too late to save the repose of a heart which
+possessed in fatal strength, woman's sad faculty of loving. The period
+soon came round for Theresa to return to her studies; and, to my
+surprise, her grief at the second separation was much more violent
+than at the first. I did not note, in my simplicity, the cause of this
+vehemence; I never suspected that a new tie, undefined, but powerful,
+was binding her being, that in the depths of a spirit whose
+earnestness I have never seen equaled, there had sprung up an
+affection never to pass away, and one dangerously enhanced by the
+imaginative tendency of her nature. That she had won over Gerald a
+profound and fascinating influence, was evident; she was to him a
+dream of intellectual beauty, and her presence idealized his life. He
+connected her instinctively with all his high hopes, his visionary
+schemes; but I feel, in recalling his admiration, that, from its very
+character, it was not likely to be permanent. There was too little in
+it of the actual world, too much of the mental; it was more the homage
+of mind, than the tribute of affection; rather the irrepressible
+appreciation of genius, than the spontaneous effusion of love. His
+expressions of regret at separation were warm and tender; but it is
+probable the young friends were both ignorant of the nature of their
+feelings. They parted tearfully, as a brother and sister would have
+said farewell; and the next few months, with their throng of sweet
+remembrances, fostered the growth of emotions very unlike, in truth,
+but equally kind and hopeful. And now there came a long interval of
+melancholy tranquillity in my life, for it was not until two years
+afterward that our darling returned. Her letters during the interval
+were frequent, and her ambition to excel deepened daily in intensity.
+
+"One year more," she wrote, "and this routine of application will be
+over, I shall come to you no longer a child, but fitted, I trust, for
+a congenial companion. What bright pictures my fancy draws for that
+time! Surely the future is a land of surpassing beauty, if but one
+half its radiant hopes be realized."
+
+"I have no patience with Theresa's visionary fancies," said Gerald,
+petulently, as he glanced over this letter, "I really believe she
+prizes books and pictures, and her idle dreams, more than the hearts
+that love her."
+
+I have lingered long over this recording of a childhood that lent my
+loneliness many pleasures; and I must trace more rapidly and briefly
+the sadder portion of my recollections. Over the next two years let us
+pass in silence; they saw the last shining of pleasure upon Theresa's
+experience; they were the resting-place between her young hopefulness
+and the perplexing cares and disappointments of her energetic and
+unsatisfied womanhood. Never afterward did life appear to her so
+rapturous a gift, and intellectual superiority so enchanting, but the
+hereafter grew silent with its promises, and her spirit weary with its
+cares.
+
+It was not until some months afterward that the journal I am about to
+quote fell into my hands; but I copy some of its fragments, to portray
+its writer's feelings. Ah, me! such trustful hearts as hers are those
+experience depresses soonest.
+
+"How happy I have been this summer! I believe those who have spent
+their childhood in seclusion, and formed their first associations from
+the lovely creations of nature, love home better than persons _can_
+do, who have been always encompassed by the excitements and artificial
+enjoyments of society. These lose individual consciousness amid the
+throng of recollections; they cannot trace the progress of their
+being, nor retain the self-portraying vividness of memory. I am sure
+that no dweller in cities can feel as I do, when I return to this
+tranquil village; I can almost imagine I have stepped back into my
+childhood. Yet, loving this place as I do, I am still anxious to leave
+it; home, and especially a quiet one, is no place for great successes.
+Too much of the childish past hangs over it, and discourages exertion,
+and those who have loved us best and earliest, know least of what we
+are capable. Every day intercourse fetters judgment, and thought lives
+in the domestic circle with sealed lips. My kind friends do not
+comprehend my wishes or emotions; my mother deems them folly, and
+Gerald, instead of sympathy, tenders me only doubts and fears. But I
+repel silently such depressing influence; surely the motto of youth
+should be, _aide-toi_, _et Dieu t'aidera_. . . . . I have been reading
+that tearful book, the Diary of an Ennuye. What a vivid picture it
+presents of mental and physical suffering, too intense to be wholly
+conquered, yet half subdued by the strong power of a thoughtful will.
+Such depictings of sorrow must be exaggerated, there cannot be so much
+of grief in a world where hope still liveth. . . . . I have been
+amusing myself this morning by scribbling verses, and as I gradually
+became absorbed in my employment, I felt I would willingly relinquish
+half the future in store for me, could I win a poet's fame. I have
+been endeavoring to determine which is the most desirable, the
+celebrity of a poet or a painter. Perhaps the distinction an artist
+obtains satisfies the mind more wholly, and it must be a more
+universal thing, than that of a writer. He appeals to the senses; his
+work is the visible presence of what is immaterial, the palpable
+creation of a thought. He gazes on his production, until his being
+revels in the witchery of his own reality; and the ideal that had
+haunted his spirit so long, smiles and blesses him from that glowing
+canvas. But the poet, he who from the well of thought hath drawn forth
+such golden truths; who heareth within his heart the echo of whatever
+is beautiful around him; he who is the interpreter of nature, and
+translateth into burning words whatsoever things are pure and lovely,
+ah! he liveth alone with his glorious images, and from his brilliant
+world of dream and vision, he walks abroad uncomprehended, a solitary
+being. Yet he, too, has his reward, though seldom the present one of
+popular approval; time is requisite for the appreciation of his
+imaginings; he would not, if he could, profane them by the breath of
+popular criticism. _His_ place is far away from common sight--a
+dwelling in pleasant thoughts; he is enthroned amid happy memories and
+early hopes; he is associated in our minds with forms of grace, and
+faces of beauty--with the light of stars, and the fragrance of
+flowers; with the pale hours of gloom his enchantments have chased
+away, and the green graves his heavenward words have hallowed. Which
+fame would I choose? Alas! for my craving nature, neither--but both!"
+
+Two years had glided by, and Theresa had returned to us. Her studies
+were completed, and she seemed to our fond hearts more than we ever
+hoped for, or dared to anticipate. She had certainly improved to the
+utmost the period of her absence; she was an admirable linguist, a
+good musician, and her talent for painting was pronounced by
+_connoisseurs_ to be extraordinary. She possessed in a rare degree
+perfect consciousness of her powers, without a tinge of vanity; and
+she spoke of her acquirements and performances simply and candidly, as
+she would have dwelt on those of a stranger. Gerald was evidently
+surprised at her mental progress, and perhaps he felt it almost
+painfully, for he certainly was not in her presence as natural and
+familiar as of yore. He would gaze on her long and fixedly, as if in
+being forced to admire, he hesitated how to love. I do not know
+whether Theresa perceived this change, and allowed it to influence her
+manner, or whether the natural timidity of one "on the eve of
+womanhood," rendered her also gentler and quieter than of old, but
+certain it is, that while to others they were the same as ever, for
+each other, they felt something they knew was not friendship, yet
+dared not think was love.
+
+In the meantime Amy had grown into girlhood, and was, in truth, as
+beautiful as a poet's dream. She was timid, gentle, and silent; no
+strength of mind was enshrined in that faultless casket; and her
+transparent, maidenly brow, was never shadowed by the conflict of
+thought. Her words were few and commonplace, but they were spoken by a
+voice exquisitely musical, and her surpassing personal loveliness
+disarmed mental criticism. Theresa would regard her in unutterable
+admiration, blending a sister's tenderness with all an artist's
+ecstasy. There was no repaying enthusiasm; Amy's affections were not
+impulsive, and she shared nothing of her sister's spontaneous,
+effervescing warmth. She was, however, kind and graceful, with that
+charm of manner common even in childhood to those on whom the gods
+have smiled, and who, from the consciousness of beauty, possess the
+certainty of pleasing. Like all visionaries, Theresa had many fancies,
+and strongest among them was her boundless admiration for loveliness.
+Living as she did in perpetual study of the beautiful, it appealed to
+her with that enchantment it only wears for the painter and the poet;
+and for her, who, in her dangerously endowed being, blended both,
+there was inexpressible fascination in all that reflected externally
+her radiant ideal. Gerald was a constant visiter at the cottage, and
+his undisguised admiration for Theresa's gifts deepened into lasting
+sentiment, what had hitherto been vague emotion. He sought her
+approval, solicited her opinions, and there was a tone of romantic
+reverence in his conduct toward her, which could not fail to interest
+one so young and sensitive. In many respects his character was far
+from equaling hers; ill-health had given peculiar fastidiousness to
+his tastes, and selfishness to his temper; but he was invested with
+the charms of pleasant memories, and that drapery which ever surrounds
+with grace those the heart loves first. I believe he never for an
+instant reflected on the effect his devoted attentions might produce,
+and, absorbed in the magic of his own rapturous thoughts, he had no
+time for calmer reasoning. Love is proverbially credulous; and
+although neither promise nor protestation had been spoken, Theresa
+never doubled what she hoped, and, perhaps, in her girlish faith,
+believed his feelings the deeper from their silence.
+
+Thus the days wended on, and I had woven in my lonely simplicity many
+a bright tissue for future years to wear, when already the "cloud no
+bigger than a man's hand" had gathered on my favorite's horizon.
+Gerald and herself had walked one evening to the parsonage, and were
+seated on one of the shaded seats in the old-fashioned garden attached
+to my home.
+
+"Theresa, you have always been to me a sympathizing listener, and I
+have something to tell you now of more than ordinary interest--will
+you hear me patiently?" and as Gerald spoke, he looked up smilingly
+into his companion's face.
+
+Why did Theresa's cheek flush at these simple words? I know not; I
+only know that it grew pale and ashy as Gerald proceeded to relate the
+story whose hearing he had solicited, and in the impassioned words of
+love to paint his devotion--not to her who sat beside him, but to the
+sister whose outward beauty had won more than all _her_ gifts. He
+spoke of time to come, of being to her as a brother, of a home in
+common, and then he dwelt with a lover's rapture on the attractions of
+his promised bride, those charms she had often extolled to him with a
+poet's appreciation, and now heard praised in breathless agony. The
+bitterness, not of jealousy, but of despair, was in her soul--a pang
+for which there was no expression and no relief. Never more might she
+return to the hope his words had shattered, the trust she had indulged
+too long. All that had scattered her path with flowers, and thrown
+around her life's sweetest illusions was lost to her now; the
+confessions she had heard, raised a barrier not to be passed between
+herself and those she held dearest, and the sister for whom she would
+have laid down her life, claimed a sadder sacrifice, and glided a
+rival between her heart and its reliance. But to all his confidings
+she listened silently, and when he ceased to speak, she answered him
+kindly and gently. Love is selfish, and in the egotism of his own
+feelings, Gerald heeded not that his companion's voice faltered; and
+they parted without a suspicion in his mind of the suffering he had
+occasioned. Alas! such brief tragedies are acting every day in our
+household circles, and we note them not; bright eyes become tranquil,
+glowing cheeks look pale, and young hearts, once high with hope and
+energy, grow weary and listless; and we talk of illness, and call in
+science to name the disease, which is nothing but sorrow. There are,
+without doubt, solitary hours in human experience which do the work of
+years, forcing suspicion to dawn, and tempting despondency to deepen.
+Life should be measured by such hours, and they who feel most keenly
+are the ones who, in truth, live longest.
+
+Certain it is that Theresa passed in those few moments to a new
+existence--to a being wholly different from her former self. The
+rainbow tints had faded from her sky, and the stars in her futurity
+had ceased to shine. What to her were all her mental gifts, when they
+had failed to win the love she valued? And now the nature so impulsive
+and ingenuous was impelled by the instinct of woman's pride to assume
+the mantle of concealment, to learn its task of suffering and silence.
+She could not, without betraying her true feelings, seem depressed,
+when all about her was happier than ever, and not a shadow rested on
+the hearts around her. Her mother was constitutionally tranquil; and
+Amy, in the relying gladness of her early youth, saw nothing to fear,
+and all things to hope. It was a trying effort for Theresa to bury the
+conflict of her impetuous emotions in the stillness of her own
+bosom--the more trying because she had never before known cause for
+reserve; but the power of endurance in womanhood is mighty, and she
+did conceal even from my watchful eyes, the triumph of certainty over
+hope. I knew not then that the silver chord was already severed, and
+the veil lifted from the pale face of grief, never again in mercy to
+lend its secrecy.
+
+The extreme youth of Amy alone delayed her marriage, and the following
+year was appointed as the time of its celebration. In the meanwhile
+the lovers would meet almost daily, and there seemed nothing but
+happiness before them. And she, the highly endowed, the richly gifted,
+what was to be her lot? Even now the mists were gathering around her;
+her faith in the hereafter was lessened; disappointment haunted her
+onward steps, and memory darkened to regret. Poor Theresa! there was
+many a pang in her experience then proudly hidden from all human gaze;
+and her suffering was not the less because she felt that it arose in
+part from self-deception, and from its very character was beyond the
+solace of sympathy.
+
+A few evenings afterward, I was sitting alone, when, with her light
+and eager step, Theresa entered my little study at the parsonage. Her
+cheek was flushed by her rapid walk, and her eyes sparkled as she laid
+before me a letter she had just received. I did not then comprehend
+the eagerness with which she grasped the refuge of excitement and
+change, but my heart sunk within me as I read the lines before me, for
+too well I foresaw the endless links of perplexity and misconstruction
+which would drag themselves, a dreary chain through the years to come.
+The letter was from the painter with whom she had studied his art, and
+was written with the kind feeling of one who, from the memory of his
+own aspirations, could sympathize with hers. He reminded her of a wish
+she had often expressed to practice her powers as a painter, and he
+said if that desire still continued, he could offer her a home in his
+household, and promise her success. His own professional attainments
+were great and popular, but his health was failing; and he declared it
+would be a pleasure and pride to him to direct her talents if she
+still wished to brave the perplexities of an artist's life. He dwelt
+on the subject with the fervor of a mind whose best faculties had been
+spent in the service of his art; but while he extolled its attractions
+and rewards, he concealed nothing of its cares and penalties. He
+concluded thus: "For me, the exercise of my glorious profession has
+been in all respects singularly fortunate; and in addition to the
+inexpressible gratifications attending its pursuit, it has won for me
+both popularity and wealth. But I would not mislead you, Theresa, nor
+conceal the difficulties which must inevitably, in such an attempt,
+harass a young and an enthusiastic woman. It is an unusual thing for
+womanhood to worship art; you will have ignorance and prejudice
+against you, and I need not remind you that these are the most
+perplexing of obstacles. But still there are rewards they cannot
+touch, pleasures beyond their influence--and these I proffer you. The
+artist bears within his own soul the recompense for many sorrows; and
+if you can summon the moral fortitude to wait in patience, and toil in
+hope, I candidly believe that, with your endowments, success will be a
+certainty. You will be to us as a daughter; and our childless old age
+will be gladdened by the presence in our home of your bright young
+face." Theresa had scanned my countenance eagerly while I perused this
+letter, as if to gather my impressions of the scheme; and she looked
+not a little disappointed when I gravely and silently refolded and
+returned the paper.
+
+"I can divine your opinion," she said at last; "you disapprove of my
+plan."
+
+"I do," was my reply. "I can discern no reason for your forsaking a
+tranquil home to brave so many certain annoyances."
+
+"But, my friend," she answered, "you forget now the lesson you have
+often taught me, that we have no right to bury our talents, nor to
+shrink from the exercise of powers which were doubtless bestowed to be
+improved and employed. You will, perhaps, deem that my duty to my
+mother demands my presence here; but she has grown accustomed to my
+absence, and depends on me for none of her social comforts. Amy is far
+better fitted to be her companion, and I am sure that if I were to
+remain here, with the desponding conviction that my resources were
+useless, my acquirements thrown away; that knowledge would render me
+unhappy and throw a shadow over my home. Let me try this experiment
+for one year; if I fail, I will return satisfied that I have done my
+utmost; if I succeed, I can win for myself fame, and it may be peace."
+
+She had spoken rapidly and earnestly, though I now know that her most
+powerful reasons for wishing to leave us, were left unuttered, and as
+she concluded her voice was tremulous. She impatiently awaited my
+answer; and I, with the folly of a fond old man, could not bear to
+dash away the cup that foamed so temptingly to her lips. Though
+fearful and unconvinced, I ceased to remonstrate. Many times since
+have I marveled at my own weakness, and lamented that I did not more
+decidedly condemn the young enthusiast's views; and yet what could I
+do? Had I more strenuously and successfully opposed the scheme, could
+I have borne to see my darling pine in the weariness of powers buried,
+and endowments wasted? Could I have recklessly sullied in their purple
+light the day-dreams of her yearning youth, have watched her,
+dispirited and dejected, ever turning from the gloom of the present to
+ponder on the radiant, haunting mystery of what she might have been?
+
+To my surprise, Mrs. Germaine evinced none of the repugnance to the
+removal which I had anticipated; and, won over by Theresa's eagerness,
+and accustomed to be separated from her, she exerted no parental
+authority in the case. Her acquiescence, of course, silenced my
+objections, and I could only grieve where I would have counseled.
+Gerald alone violently opposed her departure; but she replied to him
+with a firmness I did not expect, and which surprised me not a little.
+But the decision was made, and even while tenderly and anxiously
+beloved, the wayward and gifted one went forth alone into the world.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+    Pale Disappointment! on whose anxious brow
+    Expectancy has deepened into pain;
+    Thou who hast pressed upon so many hearts
+    The burning anguish of those words--_in vain_;
+    Thy gloom is here; thy shadowy presence lies
+    Within the glory-light of those sad eyes!
+
+Two years more had gone by since we glanced at Theresa last--years
+fraught to her with the fulfillment of ambition, and golden with the
+gifts of praise. Her name had become a familiar one to the lovers of
+art, and her society was eagerly sought for by the most intellectual
+men in one of our most refined cities. In the home of her artist
+friend she had been as a daughter, and cordially welcomed into the
+circles of talent and acquirement. It would have been well with her
+had that measure of success satisfied her, could she have returned
+then, without one hope turned into bitterness, to her early and
+tranquil home--but it was not so to be; and on the death of her
+friend, a year previous to this time, Theresa decided still to remain
+in the city, and follow alone the exciting glories of her art. In the
+meantime Amy's marriage had taken place; the cottage was deserted, and
+Mrs. Germaine found a home with her younger daughter. It was Gerald's
+wish that Theresa also should reside with them; but she had declined,
+affectionately, though positively; and she was now an exile from those
+who loved her best. Her engagements had proved profitable, she had
+acquired much more than was necessary for her simple wants; and all
+her surplus gainings were scrupulously sent to her mother. I, too, was
+frequently remembered in her generous deeds, and many a valuable book,
+far beyond my power to purchase, came with sweet words from the
+cheerer of my old age.
+
+But this state of things was too prosperous to last always--the crowd
+does not permit without a struggle the continuance of such prosperity.
+Gradually the tide of public approval changed; rivals spoke
+slightingly of one who surpassed them; her impetuous words--and she
+was frank almost to a fault--were misrepresented, and envying lips
+whispered of the impropriety of her independent mode of life.
+Flatterers grew more cautious, professing friends looked coldly, and,
+one by one, her female acquaintances found various pretexts for
+withdrawing their attentions. Theresa was not suspicious; it was long
+before these changes were apparent to her, and even then she
+attributed them to accident. Confident in her own purity of motive,
+and occupied with her own engrossing pursuits, she had neither time
+nor inclination for disagreeable speculations. She felt her refuge was
+incessant employment; she dared not even yet allow herself leisure for
+contemplation and memory. A volume of her poems had just been
+published--its destiny filled her thoughts--for who cannot imagine the
+trembling, fearing solicitude with which the young poet would send
+forth her visions to the world? Her engagements in her profession,
+too, were ceaseless, and her health began to fail under the effects of
+a mode of life so constant in its labors, and so apart from the
+refreshing influences usually surrounding girlhood. And was she happy?
+Alas! she had often asked herself that question, and answered it with
+tears; ambition has no recompense for tenderness, womanhood may not
+lay aside its yearnings. Her letters to us contained no word of
+despondency; she spoke more of what she thought than of what she felt.
+Her heart had learned to veil itself; and yet, as I read her notes to
+me, the suspicion would sometimes involuntarily come over me that she
+was not tranquil, that her future looked to her more shadowy; and I
+longed to clasp her once more to the bosom that had pillowed her head
+in childhood, and bid her bring there her hoard of trial and care. She
+was, by her own peculiar feelings banished from our midst; how could
+she return, to dwell in Gerald's home, she who for years had striven
+in solitude and silence to still memories of which _he_ made the
+grief? But she was no pining, love-sick girl; the high and rare tone
+of her nature gave her many resources, and imparted strength to battle
+with gentler impulses. But it was a painful and unnatural conflict
+between an ingenuous character and a taunting pride--a war between
+thought and tenderness. Wo to the heart that dares such a struggle!
+Aspiration may bring a temporary solace, excitement a momentary balm;
+but never yet, in all the tear-chronicled records of genius, has woman
+found peace in praise, or compensation in applause. It is enough for
+her to obtain, in the dangerous arena of competition, a brief refuge,
+a transient forgetfulness; love once branded with those words--_in
+vain_, may win nothing more enduring this side of heaven.
+
+It was the twilight of a whiter evening; the lamps were just beginning
+to brighten the city streets, and the fire burned cheerfully in
+Theresa's apartment. Various paintings, sketches, and books, were
+scattered around, and on the table lay a miniature of Amy, painted
+from memory. It depicted her, not in the flush of her early womanhood,
+not in the gladness of her hope-tinted love, but as she was, years
+ago, in her idolized infancy. The lamp-light shone full upon that
+young, faultless face, brightening almost like life those smiling
+lips, and the white brow gleaming beneath childhood's coronet of
+golden hair.
+
+The young artist was seated now in silent and profound
+abstraction--for twilight is the time the past claims from the
+present, and memory is summoned by silence. Theresa's feet rested on a
+low footstool, her hands were clasped lightly together on her lap, and
+she leaned back in the cushioned chair, in an attitude of perfect and
+unstudied grace she would have delightedly sketched in another. Have
+ever I described my favorite's appearance? I believe not; and yet
+there was much in her face and figure to arrest and enchant younger
+eyes than mine. I could not, if I would, delineate her features, for
+I only recall their charm of emotion, their attractive variety of
+sentiment. Her eyes were gray, with dark lashes, and their expression
+was at once brilliant and melancholy, and the most spiritual I have
+ever seen. Her hair was long and fair, with a tinge of gold glancing
+through its pale-brown masses, as if sunbeams were woven in its
+tresses. She was not above the average height, but the proportions of
+her figure were peculiarly beautiful, and her movements and attitudes
+had the indescribable gracefulness whose harmony was a portion of her
+being. She looked even younger than she really was, and her dress,
+though simple, was always tasteful and attractive, for her reverence
+for the beautiful extended even to common trifles, and all about her
+bespoke the elevating presence of intellectual ascendency. The glance
+that once dwelt on her returned to her face instinctively--so much of
+thought and feeling, of womanhood in its faculty to love and hope, of
+affection in its power to endure and triumph, so much of genius in the
+glory of its untested youth, lay written in lines of light on that
+pale, maidenly brow. Ah, me! that I should remember her thus! As
+Theresa sat there, she idly took a newspaper from the table to refold
+it, and as she did so, her own name attracted her attention. It headed
+a brief notice of her poems, which was doubtless written by some one
+her success had offended--there are minds that cannot forgive a
+fortunate rival. It was a cold, sarcastic, sneering review of her
+book, penned in that tone of contemptuous irony, the most profaning to
+talent, the most desecrating to beauty. There was neither justice nor
+gentleness in the paragraph, but it briefly condemned the work, and
+promised at some future period, a more detailed notice of its defects.
+It was the first time that Theresa had felt the fickleness of popular
+favor; and who does not know the morbid sensitiveness with which the
+poet shrinks from censure? To have her fair imaginings thus degraded,
+her glowing theories prostrated, the golden pinions of her fancy
+dragged to the dust--were these things the compensation for thought,
+and toil, and sacrifice? It was a dark wisdom to learn, one that would
+cast a shade over all future effort--and disappointed and mortified,
+Theresa threw down the paper, and wept those bitter tears which
+failure teaches youth to shed.
+
+An hour of painful reverie had passed, when the door of the apartment
+was noiselessly opened, and with silent steps, the dark-robed figure
+of a woman entered and approached Theresa.
+
+"I have intruded on you most unceremoniously," said the stranger, in a
+voice singularly soft and melodious, "and I have no apology to plead
+but the interest I feel in youth and genius, and this privileged
+garb;" and as Theresa glanced at her dress, she saw it was that of a
+Sister of Charity. It was an attire she had grown familiar with,
+during her abode at the convent, and the winning kindness usually
+distinguishing its wearers, had invested it in her mind with pleasant
+associations.
+
+"You are welcome, nevertheless," replied Theresa, "for I know that in
+admitting your sisterhood we often entertain angels unawares."
+
+The new comer seated herself, and the young artist strove in vain to
+recall her features; they were those of a stranger.
+
+"You are personally unknown to me, Theresa," said the lady, after a
+brief silence, "but your father was one of my earliest friends.
+Nay--it matters not to ask my name; the one I then bore, is parted
+with now, and I would not willingly speak it again; under a different
+appellation I have been lowlier and happier."
+
+"You knew my father, then," rejoined Theresa, eagerly, "in his younger
+and more prosperous days. His loss I feel more keenly as my experience
+increases; for I was too young at his death to appreciate in reality,
+as I now do in memory, all his character's high, and generous, and
+spiritual beauty."
+
+"We met often in the gay world," replied the guest--and her words were
+uttered less to Theresa than to herself--"and our acquaintance was
+formed under circumstances which ripened into intimacy what might
+otherwise have proved only one of those commonplace associations that
+lightly link society together; but it is of yourself I would speak. I
+have opportunities in the fulfillment of my duties of hearing and
+seeing much that passes in the busy world about me; and I have been
+prompted by the old memories still clinging around me, to proffer you
+the counsel of a friend. Will you forgive me, if I address you
+candidly and unreservedly?"
+
+And then, as Theresa wonderingly granted the desired permission, she
+proceeded gently to detail some of the efforts of malice, and to utter
+words of kind warning to one who, enfolded within her own illusions,
+saw nothing of the shadows gathering about her path.
+
+"You are not happy, Theresa!" continued the sister; "I know too much
+of woman's life to believe you are. I am aware of the motives from
+which you act; and while I reverence your purity of heart, and the
+pride which has tempted you to work out your own destiny, I easily
+trace the weariness your spirit feels. I, too, have had my visions;
+they are God's gift to youth, but I have lived sadly and patiently to
+watch dream after dream fade away. I see you have forgotten me,
+although I saw you frequently at the convent of ----; but I am not
+surprised at your forgetfulness, for the nun's sombre veil shuts her
+out alike from hearts and memories."
+
+"Are you, too, then unhappy?" asked Theresa, as the low and musical
+voice beside her trembled in its tone; "you, whose footsteps are
+followed by blessings, whose life is hallowed by doing good? I have
+long ago learned to doubt the peace of the cloister, but I have ever
+loved to believe there was recompense in your more active career, and
+that if happiness exists on earth, the Sisters of Charity deserve and
+win it."
+
+"In part, you are right," answered the nun, "but you have yet to
+realize that the penalties of humanity are beyond mortal control; that
+we cannot, by any mode of life, pass beyond their influence. All we
+_can_ do, is prayerfully to acquire patient forbearance and upward
+hope; many a heavy heart beats beneath a veil like this, and carries
+its own woes silently within, while it whispers to others of promise
+and rest." The visiter paused, and Theresa interrupted a silence that
+began to be painful to both.
+
+"I feel," she said, "that I have acted injudiciously in braving
+remark, and in proudly dreaming I could shape out my own course. But
+you, who seem to have divined my thoughts so truly, doubtless read
+also the _one_ reason which renders my return home most depressing."
+
+"I know it well," was the reply; and the speaker pressed Theresa's
+trembling hand within her own, "but your prolonged stay here will be
+fraught with continually increasing evils; and if you expect repose,
+it cannot be here, where envy and detraction are rising against you.
+We cannot sway the prejudices of society, Theresa; and in some
+respects even the most gifted must submit to their decrees. And now,"
+she said, as she rose to take leave, "I must bid you farewell. I have
+followed an impulse of kindness in undertaking the dangerous task to
+warn and counsel. If you will listen to one fatally versed in the
+world's ways, you will cease to defy public opinion, and amid the more
+tranquil scenes of your home, you will acquire a truer repose than
+ever fame bestowed. In all probability we shall meet no more, yet I
+would fain carry with me the consolation of having rescued from
+confirmed bitterness of spirit, the child of a faithful friend, and
+pointed a yearning heart to its only rest." And before Theresa could
+reply, the door had closed, and the visiter was gone.
+
+
+THERESA'S LETTER.
+
+     "My friend! the credulity is ended, the illusion is
+     over, and I shall return to you again. There are
+     reasons I need not mention now, which would render a
+     residence with my sister painful, and with my old
+     waywardness I would come to you, the kind sharer of my
+     young impulses, and to your home, the quiet scene of
+     my happiest days. I am listless and sick at heart; and
+     the hopes that once made my future radiant, appear
+     false and idle to my gaze. Success has bestowed but
+     momentary satisfaction, while failure has produced
+     permanent pain; and I would fain cease my restless
+     strivings, and be tranquil once more. This is no hasty
+     resolve; several weeks have elapsed since I was
+     prompted to it first; and I believe it is wiser to
+     submit than to struggle--to learn endurance, than to
+     strive for reward. In a few days more I shall be with
+     you, saddened and disheartened, and changed in all
+     things but in love and gratitude."
+
+She had, indeed, changed since I saw her last, nearly three years
+before. The world had wrought its work, hope had been crushed by
+reality. Her health was evidently fatally affected, and her voice,
+once so gay and joyous, was low and subdued. It was mournful to my
+loving eyes to mark the contrast between the sisters now; Amy, in the
+noiseless routine of domestic duties, found all her wishes satisfied;
+she was rendered happy by trifles, and her nature demanded nothing
+they could not offer. Without one rare mental endowment, or a single
+lofty trait, she had followed her appointed path, a serene and
+contented woman. A glance at the household circles around us, will
+prove this contrast a common one; the most gifted are not the most
+blessed--and the earth has no fulfillment for the aspirations that
+rise above it.
+
+And what of Theresa, the richly and fatally endowed, she who, with all
+the faculties for feeling and bestowing gladness, yet wasted her youth
+away; she who sadly tested the beautiful combination of genius with
+womanhood, yet lavished her powers in vain--why need I trace the
+passing away of one beloved so well? My task is finished; and I
+willingly lay aside a record, written through tears. Wouldst thou know
+more? There is a grave in yonder church-yard that can tell thee all!
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS.
+
+BY JAMES LAWSON.
+
+
+I.--HOPE.
+
+        I mark, as April days serenely smile,
+      Clouds heaped on clouds in mountain-like array,
+      While radiant sunbeams with their summits play,
+        Gilding with gorgeous tints the mighty pile;
+        And earth partakes of every hue the while!
+      Oft have I felt on such a day as this,
+        The sudden shower down-pouring on my head,
+      Though in the distance all is loveliness.
+        Thither, in vain, with rapid step I've sped.
+      I liken this to Hope: although with sorrow
+        The heart is overcast, and dim the eye;
+        Delusive Hope--not present, ever nigh,
+      Presages gladness on a coming morrow,
+    And lures us onward, till our latest sigh.
+
+
+II.--A PREDICTION.
+
+      The day approaches, when a mystic power,
+        Shall summon mute Antiquity, to tell
+      The buried glories of the long lost hour;
+        And she will answer the enchanter's spell--
+        Then shall we hear what wondrous things befell
+      When the young world existed in its prime.
+        The truths revealed will turn the wisest pale,
+      That ignorance so long abused their time.
+        Vainly may Error blessed Truth assail
+      With specious argument, and looking wise
+        Exult, as millions worship at her shrine;
+      Yet, in the time ordained, shall Truth arise
+      And walk in beauty over earth and skies,
+    While man in reverence bows before her power divine!
+
+
+
+
+PHANTASMAGORIA.
+
+BY JOHN NEAL.
+
+
+I don't believe in night-caps. That is, I don't believe in stopping
+the ears, in shutting the eyes, in sealing up the senses, nor in going
+to sleep in the midst of God's everyday wonders. We are put here to
+look about us. We are apprentices to Him whose workshop is the
+universe. And if we mean to be useful, or happy, or to make others
+happy, which, after all, is the only way of being happy ourselves, we
+must do nothing blindfold. Our eyes and our ears must be always open.
+We must be always up and doing, or, in the language of the day, _wide
+awake_. We must have our wits about us. We must learn to use, not our
+eyes and our ears only, but our understandings--our _thinkers_.
+
+There is a diviner alchemy wanted, and there is room for a bolder and
+a more patient spirit of investigation, amid the drudgery and bustle
+of common life, than was ever yet employed, or ever needed, in
+ransacking the earth for gems and gold, or the deep sea for pearls.
+Would you shovel diamonds and rubies, or turn up "as it were fire,"
+you have but to dig into and sift the rubbish that lies heaped up in
+your very streets--or to drive the ploughshare through the busiest
+places ever trodden by the multitude. You need not blast the
+mountains, nor turn up the foundations of the sea, nor smelt the
+constellations. You have but to open your eyes, and to look about you
+with a thankful heart; and you will find no such thing as worthless
+ore--no baseness unallied with something precious; with hidden virtue,
+or with unchangeable splendor.
+
+The golden air you breathe toward evening, after a bright, rattling
+summer-shower--the golden motes you may see playing in the sunshine
+with clouds of common dust, if you but take the trouble to lift your
+eyes, when you are lying half asleep in your easy-chair, just after
+dinner--are part and parcel of the atmosphere and the earth; and yet
+have they fellowship with the stars, and with the light that trembleth
+forever upon the wing of the cherubim. Be ye of the towering and the
+steadfast upon earth, and these will be to you in the darkness of
+midnight as revelations from the sky; as unforetold glimpses of the
+Imperishable and the Pure that inhabit the Empyrean.
+
+But, being one of those who go about the world for three score years
+and ten, with their night-caps pulled over their eyes--and ears--you
+don't believe a word of this. And when you are told with all
+seriousness that there is room for more wonderful and comforting
+transmutations, of the baser earth just under your window, or just
+round the corner, than was ever dreamed of by the wisest of those who
+have grown old among furnaces and crucibles and retorts; wearing their
+lives away in a search after perpetual youth, and their substance in
+that which sooner and more surely than "riotous living" impoverisheth
+a man--the transmutation of the baser metals into gold--you fall a
+whistling maybe--or beg leave to suggest the word _fudge_. If so, take
+my word for it, like a pretty woman with the small-pox, the
+probability is, you are very much to be _pitted_.
+
+All stuff and nonsense! you say--downright rigmarole--can't for the
+life of you understand what the fellow's driving at.
+
+Indeed.
+
+As sure as you are sitting there.
+
+Well, then, we must try to convince you. One of the pleasantest things
+for a man who _does_ believe in night-caps, you will grant me, though,
+at the best, he may be nothing more than a bachelor, is to lie out in
+the open air, on a smooth sloping hill-side, when the earth is
+fragrant, and the wind south, on a long drowsy summer afternoon--with
+his great-coat under him if the earth is damp--and with the long rich
+grass bending over him, and the blossoming clover swinging between him
+and a clear blue sky, starred all over with golden dandelions,
+buttercups and white-weed--
+
+Faugh!
+
+One moment if you please--with golden dandelions, buttercups and
+white-weed--
+
+Poh!--pish!--Why don't you say with the dent-de-lion, the ranunculus
+and the crysanthimum?
+
+Simply because I prefer bumble-bees to humble-bees, and even to
+honey-bees, notwithstanding the dictionaries, and never lie down in
+the long rich grass, with a great-coat under me; and am not afraid of
+catching cold though I may sit upon damp roses, or tread upon the
+sweet-scented earth, or tumble about in the newly-mown hay----with my
+children about me.
+
+Children!----oh!----ah!--might have known you were not one of us--only
+half a man therefore.
+
+How so?
+
+That you had a better-half somewhere, to which you belong when you are
+at home.
+
+In other words you might have known that I was no bachelor.
+
+Precisely.
+
+Sir! you are very obliging. And now, perhaps, I may be allowed to
+finish the demonstration. I undertook to convince you, if you
+remember, that every human being, with his eyes about him, has, under
+all circumstances, and at all times, within his reach, and subject to
+his order, a heap of amusement, a whole treasury of unappropriated
+wisdom. And all I have asked of you thus far is to admit, that if a
+man will but go forth into the solitary place and lie down, and
+stretch himself out, and look up into the sky, and watch the flowers
+and leaves pictured and playing there--provided he be not more than
+half asleep, and has a duffel great-coat under him, water-proof shoes
+and a snug umbrella within reach, and no fear of the rheumatism; he
+may find it one of the pleasantest things in the world; though it may
+happen that he has no idea of poetry, and cares for nothing on earth
+beyond a pair of embroidered slippers, a warm, padded, comfortable
+dressing-gown, or a snuff-colored cigar if at home; or a fishing-rod,
+a doubtful sky, and a bit of a brook, all to himself, when he is out
+in the open air. And in short, for I love to come to the point, (in
+these matters,) all I ask of you, being a bachelor, is to admit--
+
+I'll admit any thing, if you'll stop there.
+
+Agreed. You admit, then, that an old bachelor, wedded to trout-fishing
+and tobacco-smoke; familiar with nothing but whist, yarn stockings,
+flannels and shooting-jackets; without the least possible relish for
+landscape or color, for the twittering of birds, or the swarming of
+bumble-bees and forest-leaves; with no sense of poetry, and a mortal
+hatred of rigmarole, may nevertheless and notwithstanding--
+
+Better take breath, sir.
+
+May notwithstanding and nevertheless, I say, find something worth
+looking at, on a warm summer afternoon, though he be lying half asleep
+on his back, with the clover-blossoms and buttercups nodding over him;
+to say nothing of thistle-tops, dandelions or white-weed--
+
+I do--I do!--I'll admit any thing, as I told you before.
+
+Well, then--in that case--I do not see what difficulty there would be
+in supposing that _any_ man might find something to be good-natured
+with _anywhere_.
+
+Not so fast, if you please. Would you have it inferred, because an old
+bachelor, whose comforts are few--and _far_ between!--and whose
+habits--and opinions--are fixed forever, could put up with Nature for
+a short summer afternoon, under the circumstances you mention--with a
+great-coat under him, and a reasonable share of other comforts within
+reach, that, _therefore_, anybody on earth, a married man, for
+example, should find it a very easy thing to be happy _any_ where,
+under _any_ circumstances?--even at home now, for instance, with his
+wife and children about him?
+
+Precisely. And now, sir, to convince you. If you will but place
+yourself at an open window in the "leafy month of June," and watch the
+play of her green leaves upon the busy countenances of men, as you may
+in some of our eastern cities, and in most of our villages all over
+the country, where the trees and the houses, and the boys and the
+girls have grown up together, playfellows from the
+beginning--playfellows with every thing that lives and breathes in the
+neighborhood; or if you will but stand where you are, and look up into
+the blue sky, and watch the clouds that are _now_ drifting, as before
+a strong wind, over the driest and busiest thoroughfares of your
+crowded city; changing from shadow to sunshine, and from sunshine to
+shadow, every uplifted countenance over which they pass, you will
+find yourself at the very next breath a wiser, a better, and a happier
+man. You will undergo a transfiguration upon the spot? You will see a
+mighty angel sitting in the sun. You will hear the rush of wings
+overshadowing the whole firmament. And, take my word for it, you will
+be _so_ much better satisfied with yourself! But mind though--never do
+this in company.
+
+Beware lest you are caught in the fact. They will set you down for a
+lunatic, a contributor to the magazines, or a star-gazer--if you
+permit them to believe that you can see a single hairsbreadth beyond
+your nose, or a single inch further by lifting your eyes to Heaven
+than by fixing them steadfastly upon the earth. One might as well be
+overheard talking to himself; or be caught peeping into a letter just
+handed him by a sweet girl he has been dying to flirt with; but, for
+reasons best known to himself--and his wife--durst not, although
+perfectly satisfied in his own mind, from her way of looking at him,
+when she handed him the letter, that she would give the world to have
+him see it without her knowledge; and that either she did not know he
+was a married man--or was willing to overlook that objection.
+
+Tut, tut! my boy--you will never coax me into the trap, though I admit
+your cleverness, by contriving to let me understand, as it were by
+chance, what are regarded everywhere as the privileges of the married.
+
+Permit me to finish, will you?
+
+With all my heart!
+
+But pleasant as all these things are--the green fields and the blue
+sky, the ripple of bright water, and the changeable glories of a
+landscape in mid-summer; or the upturned countenances of men, looking
+for signs in the heavens, when they have ships at sea--or wives and
+children getting ready for a drive--or new hats and no umbrellas--or
+houses afire, which may not happen to be over-insured--a pleasanter
+thing by far it is to sit by the same window, when the summer is over,
+and the clouds have lost their transparency, and go wandering heavily
+athwart the sky, and the green leaves are no more, and the songs of
+the water are changed, and the very birds have departed, and watch by
+the hour together whatever may happen to be overlooked by all the rest
+of the world; the bushels of dry leaves that eddy and whirl about your
+large empty squares, or huddle together in heaps at every sheltered
+corner, as if to get away from the wind; the changed livery of the
+shops--the golden tissues of summer, the delicately-tinted shawls, and
+gossamer ribbons, and flaunting muslins, woven of nobody knows
+what--whether of "mist and moonlight mingling fitfully," or of sunset
+shadows overshot with gold, giving way to gorgeous velvet, and fur,
+and sumptuous drapery glowing and burning with the tints of autumn,
+and, like distant fires seen through a fall of snow in mid-winter,
+full of comfort and warmth; and all the other preparations of
+double-windows and heavy curtains, and newly invented stoves, that
+find their own fuel for the season and leave something for next year;
+and porticoes that come and go with the cold weather, blocking up
+your path and besetting your eyes at every turn, with signs and hints
+of "dreadful preparation."
+
+Go to the window, if you are troubled in spirit; if the wind is the
+wrong way; if you have been jilted or hen-pecked--no matter which--or
+if you find yourself growing poorer every hour, and all your wisest
+plans, and best-considered projects for getting rich in a hurry turned
+topsy-turvy by a change in the market-value of bubbles warranted never
+to burst; or if you have a note to pay for a man you never saw but
+once in your life, and hope never to see again--to the window with
+you! and lean back in your chair with a disposition to be pleased, and
+watch the different systems of progression--or, in plain English, the
+_walk_ of the people going by. A single quarter of an hour so spent
+will put you in spirits for the day, and furnish you with materials
+for thought, which, well-husbanded, may last you for a twelvemonth;
+yea, abide with you for life, like that wisdom which is better than
+fine gold, and more precious than rubies.
+
+Well, you have taken my advice; you are at the window. Now catch up
+your pen and describe what you see, _as you see it;_ or take your
+pencil if you are good for any thing in that way, and let us see what
+you can do. A free, bold, happy and _faithful_ sketch of that which in
+itself would be worthless, or even loathsome, shall make your fortune.
+Morland's pigs and pig-styes, on paper or canvas, were always worth
+half a hundred of the originals. One of Tenier's inside-out pictures
+of a village feast, with drunken boors--not worth a groat apiece when
+alive--would now fetch its weight in gold three times over.
+
+Look you now. There goes a man with a large bundle under his arm, tied
+up in a yellow bandanna handkerchief, faded and weather-worn, and
+looking as if ready to burst--the bundle I mean. What would you give
+to know the history of that bundle and what there is in it? Observe
+the man's eye, the swing of his right arm--the carriage of his
+body--the dip of his hat. You would swear, or might if your
+conscience, or your habits as a gentleman, would let you, that he was
+a proud and a happy fellow, though you never saw his face before in
+all your life. The tread of his foot is enough--the very swing of his
+coat-tail as he clears the corner. It is Saturday night, and he is
+carrying the bundle home to his own house--of that you may be sure.
+And you may be equally sure that whatever else there may be in it,
+there is nothing for him to be ashamed of, and _therefore_ nothing for
+the man himself. My notion is, that he has bought a ready-made cloak
+for his wife, without her knowledge, or got a friend to choose the
+cloth and be measured for it, who will be found at his fire-side when
+he gets home, holding forth upon the comfort of such an outside
+garment in our dreadful winters, with a perseverance which leads the
+good woman of the house to suspect her neighbor of being better off
+than herself, in one particular at least, for the coming Sabbath. But
+just now the door opens--the gossiping neighbor springs up with a
+laugh--the bundle is untied--the children scream, and the wife jumps
+about her husband's neck as if he had been absent a twelvemonth.
+
+Where!--where!
+
+Can't you see them for yourself! Can't you see the fire-light flash
+over the newly-papered walls! can't you hear the children laugh as
+mother swings round with her new cloak--scattering the ashes, and
+almost puffing out their only lamp, which she has set upon the floor
+to see how the garment hangs! and now she drops into a chair. Take my
+word for it, sir, that is a very worthy woman--and the man himself is
+a Washingtonian.
+
+What man?
+
+What man! Why the man that just turned the corner, with a great yellow
+bundle under his arm.
+
+Indeed! you know him then?
+
+Never saw his face in all my life. But stay--what have we here? Get
+your paper ready! Here comes a thick-set fellow, in a blue
+round-about, with his hat pulled over his eyes, and one hand in his
+trowsers' pocket--poor fellow! There he goes! But why one hand? He had
+his reasons for it, I'll warrant ye, if the truth were known. He
+walked by with bent knees, you observed, and with a most unpromising
+stoop. He was feeling for his last four-pence; and found a hole in his
+pocket. Can't you read the whole story in the man's gait?--in the
+slow, sullen footfall--in the clutch of his fingers--in the stiffened
+elbow, and the bent knees?
+
+Another Washingtonian, perhaps?
+
+No indeed! nothing of the sort. Had he been a Washingtonian, he would
+have found something more than a hole in his pocket when he had got
+through his week's work, and was beginning to find his way back to his
+little ones.
+
+Well, well, have it so, if you like; but what say you to the couple
+you see there?
+
+Stop!--that large woman, leading a child with a green veil--and the
+other passing her in a hurry without lifting her eyes, and the moment
+she has got by turning and looking after her, as if there were
+something monstrous in the cast of that bonnet--a very proper bonnet
+of itself--or in the color of that shawl--of gold and purple and
+scarlet and green--both were but just entering upon the field of
+vision as you spoke, and now both have vanished forever! And lo! a
+tall man of a majestic presence, with a little black dog at his
+heels--the veriest cur you ever saw! What must be the nature of such
+companionship? Look! look! there goes another--a fashionably dressed
+young man--followed by two or three more--intermixed with women and
+children--and now they go trooping past by dozens! leaving you as
+little time to note their peculiarities as you would have before the
+table of a camera obscura, set up in the middle of Broadway at the
+busiest season of the year. Let us breathe a little. And now the
+current changes--the groups are smaller--the intervals longer--and if
+we can do nothing else, we may watch their step and carriage, the play
+of colors, and the whimsical motion of their arms and legs while they
+go hurrying by, these phantoms of the hour. And then, what a world of
+enjoyment just for the mere trouble of looking out of a window! Can
+it be a matter of surprise that, in countries where it is not
+permitted to women to look at the show in this way, or even to appear
+at the window, a substitute should be found by so arranging mirrors as
+to represent within their very bed-chambers whatever happens in the
+street below?
+
+But the business of the day is nearly over. The chief thoroughfare is
+well nigh deserted and we may now begin to dwell upon the
+peculiarities of here and there one, as the laggards go loitering by,
+some nearer and some further off, but all with a look of independence
+and leisure not to be mistaken. And why? They have money in their
+purses--the happy dogs--or what is better than money, character and
+credit, or experience, or health and strength, and a willingness to
+oblige.
+
+Not so fast, if you please. What say you to that man with the pale
+face and coal-black hair?
+
+Let me see. What do I say of that man? Do you observe that slouched
+hat, and old coat buttoned up to the chin?--the dangling of that old
+beaver glove, and the huge twisted club--the slow and stately pace,
+and the close fitting trowsers carefully strapped down over a pair of
+well blacked shoes without heels, and therefore incapable of being
+mistaken for boots.
+
+There is no mistaking that man. He has seen better days; the world has
+gone hard with him of late, and he is a--Ah! that lifting of the head
+as he turns the corner! that gleam of sunshine, as he recovers and
+touches his hat, after bowing to that fine woman who just brushed him
+in passing, shows that he is still a gentleman; and, of course, can
+have nothing to fear, whatever may happen to the rest of the world.
+Fifty to one, if you dare, that he has just bethought himself of the
+bankrupt law, of a bad debt which he begins to have some hope of, or
+of the possibility of making up by his knowledge of the world for what
+he wants in youth, should he think it worth his while to follow up the
+acquaintance. Ah!--gone! He disappeared, adjusting his neckcloth, and
+smiling and looking after the handsome widow, as if debating within
+himself whether the advantage he had obtained by that one look were
+really worth pursuing.
+
+What ho! another! A vulgar phantom this--a fellow that has nothing to
+do. After hurrying past a couple of women, hideously wrapped up, and
+beyond all doubt, therefore, uglier than the witches of Macbeth, he
+stops and leers after them--not stopping altogether, but just enough
+to keep his head turned over his right shoulder--and then walks away,
+muttering to himself so as to be heard by that ragged boy there, who
+stands staring after him with both hands grasping his knees, and with
+_such_ a look!
+
+Another yet--and yet another shape! and both walking with their legs
+bent; both taking long strides, and both finding their way, with the
+instinct of a blood-hound, never looking up, nor turning to the right
+or left in their course. Are they partners in trade, or rivals? Do
+they follow the same business, or were they school-fellows together,
+some fifty years ago; and are they still running against each other
+for a purse they will never find till they have reached the grave
+together. See! they have cleared that corner, side by side; and now
+they are stretching away at the same killing pace, neck and neck,
+toward the Exchange. Of course, they live in the same neighborhood;
+they are fellow-craftsmen, they have reputations at stake, and are
+determined never to yield an inch--whatever may happen. But why
+wouldn't they look up? Was there nothing above worth minding--nothing
+on the right hand nor on the left of their course, worthy a passing
+thought? _Whither are they going?_ And what will they have learnt or
+enjoyed, and what will they have to say for themselves when they reach
+the end of their course?
+
+And that other man, with arms akimbo, a dollar's worth of flour in a
+bag, flung over his shoulder--why need he strut so--and why doesn't he
+walk faster? Has he no sympathy for the rest of the world, not he; or
+does he only mean to say, in so many words, _that_ for such weather!
+and _that_ for every fellow I see, who isn't able to carry home a
+dollar's worth of flour to his family every Saturday night! Does he
+believe that nobody else understands the worth and sweetness of a
+home-baked loaf?
+
+And that strange looking woman there, with her muff and parasol, her
+claret-colored cloak, with a huge cape, and that everlasting green
+veil! What business, now, has such a woman above ground--at this
+season of the year? Would she set your teeth chattering before the
+winter sets in? And what on earth does she carry that sun-shade for,
+toward nightfall, about the last of October--is the woman beside
+herself?
+
+But she is gone; and in her stead appear three boys, who, but for the
+season of the year, might be suspected of birdnesting. They are all of
+a size--all of an age, or thereabouts--and all dressed alike, save
+that one wears a cloth cap, and the others fur. Yet, like as they are
+in age and size, and general appearance, anybody may see at a glance
+that one is a well-educated boy, and a bit of a gentleman--perhaps
+with spending money for the holydays, while the other two are clumsy
+scapegraces. Watch them. Observe how the two always keep together, and
+how, as they go by the windows of that confectionary-shop, first one
+lags a little in the rear, and then the other, till they have stopped
+and wheedled their companion into a brief display of his pocket-money.
+The rogues!--how well they understand his character! See! he has
+determined to have it his own way, in spite of their well-managed
+remonstrances and suggestions; and now they all enter the shop
+together--he foremost, of course, with a swagger not to be
+misunderstood for a moment. And now they have sprung the trap! and the
+poor boy is a beggar!
+
+But who are they? Judge for yourself? Do they not belong, of course,
+to the same neighborhood? Have they not an air of good-fellowship,
+which cannot be counterfeited--a something which explains why they are
+always together, and why they are all dressed alike? How they loiter
+along, now that they have squeezed him as dry as an orange, as if
+they were just returning from a long summer-day's tramp in the
+wilderness after flowers and birds-nests--the flowers to tear to
+pieces, and the birds-nests to set up in the school for other boys to
+have a _shy_ at. By to-morrow, they will be asunder for months--he at
+school afar off, and they at leap-frog or marbles. And after a few
+years, they will be forgotten by him, and he remembered by them--such
+being the difference in their early education--as the boy they were
+allowed to associate with, and to fleece at pleasure when he was
+nobody but Tom, Dick, or Harry, and thought himself no better than
+other folks.
+
+But enough--let us leave the window. It is growing dark; and if you
+are not already satisfied, nothing ever will satisfy you, that the
+great mass of mankind have ears, but they hear not; and eyes, but
+they see not--and go through the world with their night-caps pulled
+over both. Poor simpletons!--what would they think of a man who should
+run for a wager with both feet in one shoe. Are you satisfied?
+
+I am--of one thing.
+
+And what is that?
+
+Why, that a magazine-writer may coin gold out of any thing--out of the
+golden atmosphere of a summer-evening--or the golden motes he sees
+playing in the sunshine, on the best possible terms, with the common
+dust of the trampled highway--or the golden blossoms that fill the
+hedges--in a word, that with him it should be mere child's play to
+"extract sunshine from cucumbers."
+
+
+
+
+THE OAK-TREE.
+
+BY PARK BENJAMIN.
+
+
+I.
+
+    Beautiful oak-tree! near my father's dwelling,
+      Alone thou standest on the sloping green;
+    In size, in strength, all other trees excelling--
+      The noblest feature of the rural scene.
+
+    Whether with foliage crowned in Summer's glory,
+      Or stripped of leaves in winter's icy reign,
+    Grandly thou speakest an unchanging story
+      Of power and beauty, not bestowed in vain.
+
+    I looked upon thee with deep veneration,
+      When first my soul acknowledged the sublime,
+    And felt the might and grandeur of creation,
+      In all that longest braves the shock of Time.
+
+    Centuries ago, an acorn, chance-directed,
+      Fell on the spot, and then a sapling sprung,
+    From driving winds and beating storms protected
+      By that kind Heaven which guards the frail and young.
+
+    And prouder height with greater age acquiring,
+      Fair as when suns on thy first verdure smiled,
+    Thou standest now, a forest lord, aspiring
+      O'er all thy peers from whom thou art exiled.
+
+    Beautiful oak-tree! my most pleasant gambols
+      Were, with my dear companions, always played
+    Beneath thy branches, and from farthest rambles
+      Wearied, we came and rested in thy shade.
+
+    Morning and evening, Falls, and Springs, and Summers,
+      Here was our Freedom, here we romped and sported;
+    And here by moonlight, happiest of all comers,
+      In thy dark shadow lovers sat and courted.
+
+    And here, when snow in frozen billows bound thee,
+      Like a white ocean deluging the land,
+    And smaller trunks, or near or far, were round thee
+      Like masts of vessels sunken on the strand,
+
+    We climbed high up thy naked boughs, enchanted,
+      Shaking whole sheets of spotless canvas down,
+    And, by keen frosts and breezes nothing daunted,
+      Hailed the slow sledges from the neighboring town.
+
+    Ah! flown delights! ah! happiness departed!
+      What have I known like you, since, light and free,
+    And undefiled, and bold and merry-hearted,
+      I used to frolic by the old oak-tree!
+
+
+II.
+
+    Long years ago I left my father's mansion,
+      Through many realms, in various climates roamed,
+    Speeding away o'er all Earth's wide expansion,
+      Where icebergs glittered, and where torrents foamed.
+
+    From pole to pole, across the hot Equator,
+      Restless as sea-gulls whirling o'er the deep;
+    From Snowden's crown to AEtna's fiery crater,
+      From Indian valley to Caucasian steep;
+
+    From Chimborazo, loftiest of all mountains
+      Trod by man's foot, to Nova Zembla's shore;
+    From Iceland Hecla's ever-boiling fountains,
+      To where Cape Horn's incessant surges roar;
+
+    From France's vineyards to Antarctic regions,
+      From England's pastures to Arabia's sands,
+    From the rude North, with her unnumbered legions,
+      To the sweet South's depopulated lands;
+
+    O'er all those scenes, or beautiful or splendid,
+      Which man risks wealth, and peace, and life to see,
+    I roved at will--but all my journeys ended,
+      Returned to gaze upon the old oak-tree.
+
+    But, ah! beneath those broad, outreaching branches,
+      What other forms, what different feet had strayed,
+    Since I, a youth, went forth to dare the chances
+      Which adverse Fortune in my path had laid.
+
+    Past my meridian, sinking toward the season
+      When Hope's horizon is with clouds o'ercast,
+    When sportive Fancy yields to sober Reason,
+      I came and questioned the remembered Past.
+
+    I came and stood by that oak-tree so hoary,
+      Forgetting all the intervening years,
+    Stood on that turf, so blent with childhood's story,
+      And poured my heart out in one gush of tears.
+
+    I had returned to claim my father's dwelling,
+      Borne like a waif on Time's returning tide--
+    Summoned I came, by one brief missive telling
+      That all I left behind and loved had died.
+
+    Wiser and sadder than in life's bright morning,
+      As softly fall the sun's last rays on me,
+    As when I saw their early glow adorning
+      The emerald foliage of this old oak-tree.
+
+
+
+
+PAULINE GREY.
+
+OR THE ONLY DAUGHTER.
+
+BY F. E. F., AUTHOR OF "AARON'S ROD," "TELLING SECRETS," ETC.
+
+(_Concluded from page_ 233.)
+
+
+The result of Mr. Grey's investigations _was_ decidedly unfavorable.
+He had much difficulty, in the first place, in obtaining any distinct
+information at all, most people hating to commit themselves in such a
+matter. He was generally answered evasively, and one or two merely
+said, "they knew no good of him."
+
+A friend, however, undertook to make the inquiries, and with much
+better success than Mr. Grey could do; and he learnt "that young
+Wentworth was wild, very wild--much in debt, with no business habits;
+and, in short, that there was not a father in town who would be
+willing to give his daughter to him."
+
+Mr. Grey, of course, considered this information as decisive, and
+communicated it to his wife. She received it with mingled feelings of
+relief and apprehension. There was no danger now of Pauline's having
+him, but she dreaded telling her so; not that she for a moment doubted
+Pauline's acquiescence in the decision, about which she herself
+supposed there could be no two opinions, but only the burst of grief
+with which she would receive it.
+
+But never was Mrs. Grey more mistaken. Pauline saw nothing in the
+information that her father had received to change her opinions or
+feelings at all; "that he was wild--she knew that--he had told her so
+himself. He had been very wild before he knew her--and in debt--yes,
+he had told her that too. He had never had any motive to apply himself
+to business before," and Pauline seemed to think his not having done
+so as a matter of choice or taste, only showed his superior
+refinement. In short, she adhered as resolutely to her determination
+as ever.
+
+What ideas did she, poor girl, attach to the word "wild;" something
+very vague, and not disgraceful at all. Perhaps a few supper parties,
+and a little more champagne than was quite proper. She did not know,
+could not know, the bearing of the term; and as to being in debt, that
+conveyed little more to her mind. If he owed money it could easily be
+paid. She knew no more of the petty meanness of small sums borrowed,
+and little debts contracted every where, than she knew of the low
+tastes involved in the word "wild."
+
+Mrs. Grey was in despair. But here Mr. Grey interposed. He had never
+exerted his authority before, but never doubted he had the power when
+he had the will. He forbade Pauline to think of him.
+
+He might as well have forbade the winds to blow. Pauline vehemently
+declared she would marry him, and wept passionately; and finally
+exhausted by the violence of her emotions, went to bed sick.
+
+She kept her room for the next week, wept incessantly, refused to eat,
+except when absolutely forced to, and gave way to such uncontrolled
+passion, as soon told upon her slight frame, always delicate.
+
+Mrs. Grey was alarmed; but Mr. Grey, not having seen Pauline since his
+decision had been communicated to her, was very firm.
+
+"After the first burst was over, Pauline," he said, "would return to
+her senses."
+
+"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Grey, "go up stairs and see her yourself;
+perhaps you can induce her to listen to reason."
+
+And Mr. Grey went to Pauline. He had been prepared to see her looking
+pale and sad, but he was not prepared for the change that a week's
+strong excitement had wrought in Pauline's appearance. Her large,
+black eyes looked larger, and her face smaller from the deadly
+paleness of her fair skin. Mr. Grey was, indeed, shocked; and either a
+slight cold, or the nervousness induced by weakness, had brought on
+the little hacking cough they always so dreaded to hear.
+
+He was much moved. He could not see his child die before his eyes; and
+it ended in Pauline's tears prevailing, and bringing him to listen to
+her views, instead of his inducing her to listen to reason. He
+promised he would do what he could--and once having been brought to
+hesitate, the natural impatience and decision of his character led him
+to the very point Pauline desired, of settling the matter as fast as
+possible; for "if it was to be, let it be done at once," he said.
+
+Mr. Wentworth was recalled. He was all protestations and promises; and
+Mr. Grey, with a heavy heart, "hoped it might turn out better than
+they anticipated."
+
+Pauline, at any rate, was restored to present happiness, and her
+doating parents had the immediate satisfaction of seeing her once
+again her radiant self, full of joy and gratitude, and confident of
+the future as secure of the present.
+
+The gay world in which they lived were very much surprised at the
+announcement of the engagement; at Mr. and Mrs. Grey's consenting to
+it; and even confounded at hearing that a day--and an early day,
+too--was actually named for the marriage.
+
+"Is not that extraordinary?" said Mrs. Livingston. "One would really
+think they were afraid the young man would slip through their fingers.
+How anxious some people are to marry their daughters!"
+
+"How absurd!" said another; "for I am told they don't like it, as, of
+course, they cannot. And she is so young, that if they delayed it a
+little while, another season, with the admirers she is sure to have,
+would put it out of her head."
+
+Lookers on are very wise; and it's a pity actors cannot be equally so.
+No doubt this would have been the right, and probably the successful
+course. But Mrs. Grey had no longer any spirit to oppose Pauline, and
+Mr. Grey, in his impatient agony, seemed to think the sooner it was
+over the better.
+
+Foolish, unhappy father. He was only riveting his own misery.
+
+But Pauline was radiant. Deep in the excitement of wedding
+preparations and invitations--for her parents listlessly acquiesced in
+every thing she asked; and she meant to be married "in pomp, in
+triumph, and in revelry."
+
+The mornings were spent in shopping, and one could scarcely go into a
+store where they did not meet Mrs. Grey and Pauline looking over
+delicate laces, exquisite embroidery, and expensive silks, Pauline's
+bright face looking brighter than ever, and her youthful voice musical
+in its gay happiness; and Mrs. Grey looking so dejected, and speaking
+in the lifeless tones of one who has a heavy sorrow settled on her
+heart.
+
+Two short months were rapidly consumed in all the arrangements usually
+made on such occasions--and the wedding day arrived.
+
+Never had Pauline looked so beautiful. The emotions called up by the
+occasion softened without dimming the brilliancy of her usual beauty.
+The veil of finest lace, the wreath of fresh and rare exotics, the
+jeweled arms, all lent their aid to render her surpassingly lovely.
+
+"Pray God it turn out better than we can hope!" was all Mr. Grey could
+say, to which his wife replied by a sigh, which seemed the fitting
+response to a prayer uttered with so little hope.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Grey had made it a condition with Mr. Wentworth that they
+were not to lose Pauline, and consequently it was arranged that the
+young couple were to live at home.
+
+Scarcely were the wedding festivities over before Mrs. Grey remarked
+that Pauline was nervous when her husband was alone with her father
+and herself; and that when he entered into conversation, she always
+joined in hastily, and contrived to engross the greater part of it
+herself. She evidently did not want him to talk more than could be
+helped. But much as she shielded him, the truth could not be
+concealed. Little as Mr. and Mrs. Grey had expected from Wentworth, he
+fell painfully below their expectations. He was both weak and
+ignorant--ignorant to a remarkable degree, for one occupying his
+position in society. It only showed how he had turned from every
+advantage offered him by education. His sentiments, too, were common;
+every thing stamped him as a low-minded, coarse-feeling young man--at
+least they feared so. He might improve. Pauline's influence might do
+something.
+
+But was Pauline beginning to be at all alive to the truth as it was?
+
+Mrs. Grey feared so; but she could not ascertain. Pauline was
+affectionate and tender, but not frank with her mother. Mrs. Grey,
+like most mothers, who, to tell the truth, are not very judicious on
+this point, would have led Pauline to talk of her husband; but here,
+she knew not how, Pauline baffled her. She always spoke, and spoke
+cheerfully and respectfully, of Mr. Wentworth, but in such a general
+manner, that Mrs. Grey could come to no satisfactory conclusion either
+way.
+
+The truth was that though Pauline was very young, her character was
+developing fast. Her heart and her mind were now speaking to her
+trumpet-tongued--and their voice was appalling.
+
+Her husband was daily revealing himself in his true character to her;
+and the idol of her imagination was fast coming forth as an idol of
+clay. But though Pauline was willful, she had other and great and
+noble qualities. An instinct told her at once that no complaint of her
+husband must pass her lips. Pride whispered that she had chosen her
+own lot, and must bear it, and love still murmured, "Hope on--all is
+not yet lost." But she grew pale and thin, and though she was
+animated, and talked, perhaps, more than ever, Mrs. Grey imagined, for
+she could not tell to a certainty, that her animation was forced, and
+her conversation nervous.
+
+Mr. Wentworth seemed soon to weary of the calm quiet of the domestic
+circle, for of an evening he was beginning to take his hat and go to
+the club, staying at first but for an hour or so, and gradually later
+and later.
+
+"I am not going up stairs yet, mamma," said Pauline, "I will sit up
+for Mr. Wentworth."
+
+"Robert will let him in, Pauline," replied Mrs. Grey, anxiously. "You
+are looking pale, my child--you had better go up."
+
+"Very well," answered Pauline, quietly; and her mother satisfied,
+retired to her own room, supposing Pauline had done the same. But
+Pauline had let the man sit up for her husband the night before; and
+she had heard her mother, as she happened to be passing in the hall
+when Mrs. Grey did not see her, finding fault with him for being late
+in the morning; to which the servant answered, in extenuation, that he
+had been up so late for Mr. Wentworth that he had over-slept himself.
+
+"How late was it, Robert?" asked Mrs. Grey, in a low voice.
+
+"Near two, ma'am," replied the man.
+
+"Near two!" repeated Mrs. Grey, as if to herself--and a heavy sigh
+told Pauline better than any comments could have done what was passing
+in her mother's mind. She determined that henceforth no servant should
+have her husband in his power again. So when she had heard her
+mother's door close for the night, she rang for the man and said,
+
+"Robert, you can go to bed now, I will sit up for Mr. Wentworth."
+
+"My child, how thin and pale you grow," Mrs. Grey would say,
+anxiously; "and that little cough of yours, too, Pauline--how it
+distresses me. What is the matter with you?"
+
+"Nothing, mother," Pauline would reply, cheerfully; "I always cough a
+little, you know, if I am not well. And if I am looking paler and
+thinner than usual, that is to be expected--is it not?"
+
+"I suppose so," Mrs. Grey would reply, half satisfied for the present
+that perhaps Pauline had truly accounted for her wan looks.
+
+Ah! little did she know of the late hours of harassing watching that,
+night after night, Pauline spent waiting the coming in of her truant
+husband; and less did she know of the agonized feelings of the young
+wife, as she read in the glassy eye and flushed brow of her husband,
+the meaning of that once insignificant word "wild," which now she was
+beginning to apprehend in all its disgusting reality.
+
+Pauline's spirit sometimes rose, and she remonstrated with Wentworth;
+but his loud tones subdued her at once. Not that she yet feared him,
+but dreaded lest those tones should reach her mother's ear. The one
+absorbing feeling, next to bitter disappointment, was concealment.
+
+"Mother," she said, one day, "I want you to listen to what I have to
+say--and do not reject my proposition until you have fully considered
+it. Mr. Wentworth wants to go to housekeeping."
+
+"To housekeeping, Pauline!" exclaimed Mrs. Grey. "Why, Pauline, Mr.
+Wentworth promised to remain with us--"
+
+"Yes, mother," interrupted Pauline, "and will keep his promise if you
+say so. But what I wish is, that you should not oppose it."
+
+"What is there, my child," said Mrs. Grey, "that he has not, or that
+you have not here, that you can have in your own house. Only say it,
+Pauline, and any thing, every thing either you or he wish, shall be
+done."
+
+Pauline was affected to tears by her mother's tone and manner, and she
+said,
+
+"Dearest mother, there is nothing that love and tenderness can do,
+that you and my father have not done. Do not think that I am
+insensible or ungrateful. Oh, no! never was your love so important to
+me as now--" she here checked herself. "But, mother, what I would
+say--what I think, is, that Mr. Wentworth, that no man can feel
+perfectly at ease in another's house; and that a young man, perhaps,
+hardly feels his responsibility as the head of a family, while living
+at home; that his respectability before the world--in short, I think,
+I _feel_, that it would be better for Mr. Wentworth if he were in his
+own house."
+
+And beyond this last intimation Pauline could not be drawn, although
+Mrs. Grey did her best to pursue the theme and draw her out. She only
+said, "Well, mother, think it over, and talk to father about it."
+
+And Mrs. Grey did talk to her husband, and found, to her surprise,
+that he agreed with Pauline.
+
+"I believe she is right," he said. "Wentworth and ourselves cannot
+live much longer together. I believe it will be for our mutual
+happiness that we be partially separated."
+
+"If I were only satisfied that she is satisfied," urged Mrs. Grey.
+"But Pauline is so reserved about her husband."
+
+"And Pauline is right, my dear," replied Mr. Grey, with deep emotion.
+"I honor her for it. My poor child has drawn a sad lot, and nobly is
+she bearing it. We must aid her and comfort her as we can, Alice; and
+if she wills that we be deaf and blind, deaf and blind we must be. God
+bless her!" he added, fervently. "My angel daughter."
+
+And so arrangements on the most liberal scale were made for Pauline's
+separate establishment; for, to tell the truth, it was rather
+Pauline's wish than her husband's. She thought that if they were
+alone, she could exert some influence over him, which now she was
+afraid of attempting lest it might bring exposure with it. Pauline had
+borne much, but not from fear. She had a brave, high spirit. She did
+not tremble before Wentworth; but both pride and love--yes, love even
+for him, and deep, surpassing love for her parents, led her to adopt
+her present course.
+
+Poor child! she did not know she was only withdrawing herself from
+their protection.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+Pauline had not been long at housekeeping before she found it involved
+with it a source of domestic unhappiness she had not anticipated; and
+that was in the character and manners of the associates who her
+husband now brought home with him, and who at her father's house she
+had been protected from seeing.
+
+Wentworth had the outward appearance and manner of a gentleman,
+whatever he might be in point of fact; but there were those among his
+friends, and one in particular, a Mr. Strickland, from whom Pauline
+instinctively shrank, as being neither a gentleman nor a man of
+principle. She looked upon him, too, as leading Wentworth astray; and
+at any rate felt he was a person her husband had no right to bring
+into her presence. She remonstrated with him more than once on the
+subject, and he warmly defended his friend, and said her suspicions
+were as unfounded as unwarrantable, and finally got in a passion, and
+declared he would bring whom he chose to his own house. Pauline firmly
+declared that he might do that, but that _she_ was equally mistress of
+her own actions, and would _not_ receive Mr. Strickland as an
+acquaintance. If he chose to ask him there, she would retire as he
+entered.
+
+Wentworth was very angry--quite violent in fact; but Pauline remained
+unshaken--and he left the house in great displeasure.
+
+He did not return until late. Pauline had given him up, and just
+ordered dinner when he entered. As he came in he said loudly, "Walk
+in, Strickland;" and there was something in the eye of both, as they
+entered, that told Pauline that their quarrel had been communicated by
+her husband to his friend, for Strickland's expression was both
+foolish and insolent; and Wentworth evidently had been put up to brave
+it out.
+
+Pauline colored deeply, and rose to leave the room just as the
+folding-doors of the dining-room were thrown open. Wentworth hastily
+stepped forward, and taking her arm with a grasp, the firmness of
+which he himself was unaware at the time, said,
+
+"Take your place at the table."
+
+The print of his fingers was left on her delicate wrist as he withdrew
+his hand; but Pauline was too proud to subject herself to further
+indignity in the presence of a stranger; and though she read triumph
+in his insolent eye, she took her place silently at the head of the
+table.
+
+Wentworth drank freely of wine, for he was evidently laboring under
+both embarrassment and excitement. The conversation was such as to
+cause the blood to mount to Pauline's temples more than once, but she
+firmly kept her seat until the cloth was removed and the servants
+withdrew, and then she rose.
+
+Wentworth said, "You are not going yet!" but there was a look in her
+eye, as she turned it on him, that silenced all further remonstrance
+on his part. A coarse laugh she heard as she closed the door, whether
+of derision or triumph she could not tell; but she went to her own
+room, and double-locked the doors, and paced the floor in great
+excitement until she heard the offending stranger leave.
+
+Then she descended to the parlor, looking pale, but her bright eye
+clear, and resolve in every lineament. Wentworth was alone, standing
+on the rug, with his back to the fire as she entered.
+
+He evidently quailed as he encountered her full glance, but instantly
+made an effort, and attempted to bluster it out.
+
+She approached close up to him before she spoke, and then said in a
+clear, low voice.
+
+"I am not come to reproach or to listen to recriminations, but to tell
+you I never will submit to such insult again." And baring her delicate
+wrist where the mark of his fingers was now turning black, said,
+"Should my father see that, you well know the consequence. I have
+nothing more to say, but remember it," and passing through the room,
+she left him speechless with contending feelings, shame predominating
+perhaps over the others, and retired once more to her room.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Grey dined with Pauline the next day, and Wentworth did
+his best to behave himself well. He was attentive and respectful to
+them, affectionate to Pauline.
+
+She looked very pale, however, though she made an effort to be
+cheerful and animated. At dinner the loose sleeve of her dress falling
+back as she raised her hand, her mother exclaimed, "Oh, Pauline, what
+is the matter with your wrist?"
+
+Glancing slightly at her husband, who obviously changed color and
+looked uneasy, she said quietly, as she drew her bracelet over the
+dark stains, "I struck it and bruised it." Wentworth's brow cleared,
+and there was a look of grateful affection in his eye which Pauline
+had not seen for many a day.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Grey returned home better satisfied with their son-in-law
+than they had been almost since his marriage. So little often do the
+nearest friends know of what is going on in the hearts of those
+dearest to them.
+
+We will not trace Mr. Wentworth's career more closely. It is a common
+one--that of a "wild" young man settling into a dissipated one. Mr.
+Grey heard occasionally who his associates were; and he knew them to
+be men without character, a kind of gentlemen "blacklegs." He heard
+intimations, too, of his habits, and intemperance was leaving its
+traces in his once rather handsome countenance.
+
+But from Pauline came no murmur. And soon the birth of a daughter
+seemed to absorb all her feelings, and opened, they trusted, an
+independent source of happiness for their unhappy child.
+
+Pauline had hoped that the birth of her infant might effect some
+favorable change in her husband's conduct. But here again she was open
+to a new disappointment. "He hated girls," he said. "If it had been a
+fine boy, it would not have been so bad."
+
+Pauline sighed, and as she pressed her darling to her heart, thanked
+God in silence that it was not a son, who might by a possibility
+resemble his father.
+
+The child was a delicate infant from its birth; and whether it was the
+constant sound of its little wailing cries, or that Wentworth was
+jealous of the mother's passionate devotion to the little creature, or
+perhaps something of both, but he fairly seemed to hate it as the
+months went on. But rude and even brutal though he might be, he could
+not rob Pauline of the happiness of her deep love. She turned
+resolutely from her husband to her child. What comfort earth had left
+for her, she would take there.
+
+The long summer months and the infant pined away, and the beautiful
+mother seemed wasting with it. Mr. and Mrs. Grey were out of town for
+a few weeks, during which the child became alarmingly low. The
+physician gave Pauline little hope. It was too weak to be removed for
+change of air. Nature might rally, but nothing more could be done for
+it. Pauline attempted to detain her husband by her side, but he shook
+her rudely off, saying, "Nonsense, you are always fancying the brat
+ill!" and the young mother was left desolate by the little bed of her
+dying baby.
+
+We will pass over those hours of agony, for there are no words that
+can describe them; but by midnight its young spirit had winged its
+flight to Heaven, and the heart-broken mother wept over it in an
+anguish few even of parents ever knew.
+
+"That's Mr. Wentworth's step," said the nurse in a low voice to her,
+as he passed the nursery door. "Shall I go to him, ma'am?"
+
+"No," said Pauline, "I will go. Do you stay here." And rising firmly,
+she went to her husband's room.
+
+He was lying dressed on the bed as she approached. She laid her hand
+on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked stupidly at her. She
+told him their child was dead--and he laughed a stupid, brutal
+laugh--the laugh of intoxication.
+
+Pauline shuddered from head to foot, and returned to the bed of her
+dead child; and when Mr. and Mrs. Grey, who had been sent for, arrived
+in the morning; they found her as she had lain all night, her arms
+clasped round the infant, and moaning wildly, as one who has no hope
+on earth.
+
+"Take me--take me home!" she said, as she threw herself into her
+mother's arms.
+
+"Never, my child, to be parted from us again," said her father, as he
+pressed her passionately to his heart.
+
+They understood each other, and when the funeral was over, without one
+word to "Wentworth--for Pauline could bear nothing more--Mr. Grey took
+Pauline home.
+
+That night she was in a high fever, and for two or three days she
+continued alarmingly ill--but at the end of that time she was enabled
+to sit up.
+
+Mr. Grey had, meanwhile, seen Wentworth; but the nature of their
+conversation he did not repeat to his daughter.
+
+One afternoon, however, he came into her sick room, and said,
+
+"Pauline, are you strong enough to see your husband. He entreats to
+see you, if but for a few minutes." Pauline murmured an acquiescence.
+
+"My dear," said Mr. Grey, "you must leave them--I have promised it;
+but Mrs. Granger (the nurse) will remain."
+
+Wentworth presently entered. He seemed calm, for the nurse's eye was
+upon him; asked her how she was, and talked for a few minutes, and
+then getting up, as if to take Pauline's hand for farewell, he
+approached his lips close to her ear, said some low muttered words,
+and left the room.
+
+Pauline did not speak for some time after he had withdrawn, and the
+nurse receiving no answer to some question she had asked her, went up
+to her, and found she had fainted.
+
+Shivering succeeded to fainting fits--faintings to shivering; they
+thought that night that she was dying.
+
+A few days after she said, in a quick, low, frightened voice to her
+mother,
+
+"Lock the doors mother, quick!"
+
+Much startled, Mrs. Grey did instantly as Pauline requested, and then
+her ear, less fine than the sensitive organ of her unhappy daughter,
+caught the sound of Wentworth's voice in the hall below.
+
+"Fear not, my Pauline," she said, as she took her in her arms, "your
+father will protect you;" but no sound escaped Pauline's lips. She was
+evidently intently listening. Soon loud voices were heard, doors
+shutting--and then the street door with a bang. Presently Mr. Grey's
+measured tread was heard coming up stairs, and next his hand was on
+the lock.
+
+"Is he alone?" were the first words Pauline had uttered since she had
+heard her husband's voice.
+
+"He is, my child."
+
+"Pauline, fear not, you shall never see him again," were the words of
+her father, uttered in a calm but deep voice.
+
+That night Pauline slept tranquilly, for the first time almost since
+she had known Wentworth.
+
+She seemed revived in the morning, and Mrs. Grey's hopes rose again,
+but only to be dashed once more forever.
+
+The iron had eaten too deeply in her soul. Pauline's slight frame had
+no power of renovation. The spirit seemed to grow brighter and
+brighter as she wasted away. Unutterable love and gratitude looked out
+from her eyes, as she turned them from her father and mother,
+alternately; but she was too weak to say much, and gently thus she
+faded away to fall asleep upon earth, awakening a purified and
+regenerated spirit in heaven.
+
+Her's was "a broken and a contrite heart," and of such is the kingdom
+of heaven.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+Could mortal agony such as Mr. Grey's be added to, as he followed his
+idolized child to the grave?
+
+Yes--even there something was to be added--for Wentworth, as chief
+mourner, stepped forward and offered his arm to the unhappy father,
+which, even at that moment, and in that presence, Mr. Grey could not
+help shaking off.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+And what have this childless, broken-hearted couple left of their
+beautiful daughter?
+
+A picture--delicate and lovely in its lineaments, but
+
+    "To those who see thee not, my words are weak,
+     To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak."
+
+The canvas must fail in the life-speaking eye; and exquisite though
+the pictured image be, oh! how cold to those who knew and idolized the
+beautiful original.
+
+Heaven help you, unhappy parents! Your all was wrecked in that one
+frail bark. Though friends may sympathize at first, yet they will grow
+weary of your grief--for such is human nature. God comfort you! for
+there is no earthly hope for those who have lost their only child.
+
+
+
+
+SONNET.--TO A MINIATURE.
+
+    Image of loveliness! in thee I view
+      The bright, the fair, the perfect counterpart,
+      Of that which love hath graven on my heart.
+    In every lineament, to nature true,
+    Methinks I can discern _her_ spirit through
+      Each feature gleaming; soft, serene and mild,
+      And gentle as when on me first she smiled,
+    Stirring my heart with passions strange and new.
+    Would that my tongue could celebrate the praise
+      Of thy divine original, or swell
+    The general chorus, or in lofty lays
+      Of her celestial grace and beauty tell,
+    But fancy flutters on her unplumed wing,
+    None but an angel's harp, an angel's praise should sing.
+
+                                                    C. E. T.
+
+
+
+
+WHORTLEBERRYING.
+
+BY ALFRED B. STREET.
+
+
+About the middle of August, the village was honored by repeated visits
+from the little ragged population of "Barlow's Settlement," on the
+"Barrens," with quantities of whortleberries for sale. "Want any
+huckleberries to-day?" was heard all over. You couldn't stir abroad
+without some urchin with a smirched face--a tattered coat, whose
+skirts swept the dust, showing, evidently, its paternal descent, and
+pantaloons patched in the most conspicuous places, more picturesque
+than decent--thrusting a basket of the rich fruit into your very face,
+with an impudent yell of "huckleberries, sir?" or some little girl,
+the edges of whose scanty frock were irregularly scalloped, making a
+timid courtesy, saying meekly, "Don't you want some berries to-day,
+sir? nice berries, sir, just picked!"
+
+At length Bill Brattle, who is a resident of the settlement, came into
+the village, and said in Wilson's bar-room, "that he'd lived on the
+Barrens nigh on six years, and he'd _never_ in all that 'ere time seed
+sich an allfired grist of huckleberries. Why there was acres on acres
+on 'em, and he didn't tell no lie when he said that the airth was
+parfectly blue with 'em."
+
+This soon got about, and the consequence was a whortleberry party the
+very next day. A number of the young people, of both sexes, started in
+several conveyances, and about noon found themselves, after rumbling
+through the covered bridge on the Neversink River, climbing slowly up
+the steep winding hill that ascends from the east bank of the stream,
+and whence was a beautiful view of the valley below.
+
+Now there are many fine views in Sullivan. It is an exceedingly
+picturesque county. It has all the charms of precipitous hills,
+winding valleys, dark wooded gorges, lovely river-flats, and
+meandering streams. It is sufficiently cultivated to have the beauty
+of rural landscape softening the forest scenery, without disturbing to
+any great degree its wildness and grandeur.
+
+This Neversink valley river, although not among the finest, is
+nevertheless a very lovely one--
+
+Beneath--the clear placid stream comes coursing from the north,
+through narrow but beautiful flats, in all the pomp of rural wealth,
+wrinkled with corn-fields, bearded with rye, and whitened with
+buckwheat, imaging old age rejoicing amongst its blessings. Opposite,
+rise steep hills in all the stages of cultivation--the black
+logging--the grain waving amidst stumps--and the smooth grassy
+meadow--whilst at the south, where the little river makes a bold turn,
+the sweet landscape is lost in the deep mantle of the aboriginal
+forest.
+
+Mastering the hill, the whole cavalcade was soon turning into a stony,
+root-tangled, miry road, leading from the turnpike into the heart of
+the "Barrens," the territory of the desired fruit. After sinking and
+jolting for some little distance, we came to a part of the track which
+had been laid over with small parallel logs, close to each other, and
+forming what is called in country parlance "a corduroy road". We
+"bumped along" (as Jim Stokes, one of our party, a plain young farmer,
+expressed it) over this railway of the woods, until our bones seemed
+so loose we thought we could hear them rattle at every jolt; and at
+last stopped at a large log cabin which had been fitted up as a
+tavern.
+
+A fierce eagle, with his head nearly all eye, one striped claw
+grasping a bundle of arrows, and the other the American flag, served
+for the sign, and was elevated upon a tall hickory sapling, with the
+ambitious legend of "Eagle Hotel; by A. Pritchard," flaunting in a
+scroll from the ferocious bird's mouth.
+
+A smaller log structure, with one large door, and a square opening
+over it, through which a haymow seemed thrusting its brown head, as if
+to look abroad, with a warm glow of sunshine upon it, told plainly
+that our horses at all events would not suffer.
+
+In a short time we scattered ourselves over the ground in the
+vicinity, in search of our fruit. The appearance of things around was
+quite characteristic of the region generally. The principal growth
+were a dwarf species of oak, called in the language of the country
+"scrub-oak"--low shaggy spruces--stunted gnarled pines, and here and
+there, particularly in low places, tall hemlocks. The earth was
+perfectly bestrewed with loose stones, between which, however, the
+moss showed itself, thick and green, with immense quantities of that
+beautiful creeping plant called the "ground pine," winding and twining
+its rich emerald branching fingers in every direction. Scores of
+cattle-paths were twisting and interlacing all around us, giving, in
+fact, to the scene, notwithstanding its barrenness, a picturesque
+appearance. There were stone-fences also intersecting each other every
+where, erected for no earthly purpose, as I could perceive, but to
+make way with some part of the vast quantities of stone scattered
+about; for as to cultivating the lots, that was entirely out of the
+question.
+
+There was some little pasturage, however, and the bells of the
+browsing cows were heard tinkling in a pleasing manner, and giving
+somewhat of a social character to the desolate landscape.
+
+We were all soon immersed in our search. The bushes were crouching all
+around us, bearing their rich clusters of misty blue berries, covered
+with the soft beautiful down that vanished at the touch leaving the
+berry dark and glittering as the eye of a squirrel. How like is the
+down of the fruit to the first gossamer down of the heart--and ah! how
+soon the latter also vanishes at the rude touch of the world. The
+pure virgin innocence with which God robes the creature when fresh
+from His holy hand! why cannot it stay! why, oh why, does it so soon
+depart and leave the soul disrobed of its charm and loveliness. Harsh
+world, bad world! it destroys all it touches.
+
+Ahem! we'll return.
+
+Merry laughter breaks out from the girls, and playful scrambles occur
+amongst them as to who should secure the most fruit. The berries pour
+in handfuls in the baskets, which show in some cases signs of
+plethora. I tell you what it is, reader, there is sport in picking
+whortleberries. Strawberries pout their rich mouths so low that it
+gives a sore temptation to the blood to make an assault upon the head,
+causing you, when you lift it, to look darkly upon various green spots
+dancing about your eyes. Raspberries again, and blackberries, sting
+like the dev--I beg pardon, making your hands twitch up like a fit of
+St. Vitus' dance. But picking whortleberries is all plain sailing.
+Here are the berries and there are your baskets; no getting on your
+knees, (although it must be confessed the bushes are somewhat low,)
+and no pricking your fingers to the verge of swearing.
+
+We all hunt in couples--a lover and his sweet-heart--and take
+different paths. My companion was a tall black-eyed girl, the sight of
+whom always made my heart beat quicker, in those unsophisticated days.
+Rare sport we had, and so, doubtless, had the rest. Pick, pick, pick
+went the fingers--and ruttle, ruttle, ruttle in the baskets ran the
+berries. Glorious sport! glorious times! We talked, too, as we
+picked--indeed why should we not--we had the whole English language to
+ourselves, and no one to disturb us in it--and I tell you what it
+is--if people can't talk they had better sell their tongue to the
+surgeons and live only through their eyes. What's the use of existing
+without talk--ay, and small talk too. Small talk is (as somebody I
+believe says, although I am not certain, but no matter) the small
+change of society, and who hasn't the small change, ten chances to one
+hasn't the large. However, we'll change the theme.
+
+We hear in the distance the hum of male voices, and the light silvery
+tones of female, broken in upon by frequent laughter and the music of
+the cow-bells, tingle lingle, tink clink--here--there--far off and
+near.
+
+All of a sudden, as I part a large thick cluster of whortleberry
+bushes, I hear an indescribably quick rattle, amounting to a hum as it
+were--fearful and thrilling in the extreme. I start back, but as I do
+so I see in the gloom of the bushes two keen blazing orbs, and a long
+scarlet tongue quivering and dancing like a curl of fire. "A
+rattlesnake--a rattlesnake," I cry involuntarily--my companion gives a
+little shriek, and in a moment several of our company, of both sexes,
+are hastening toward us. It is a peculiarity or want of ability in the
+reptile to dart only its length, and my first recoil had placed me, I
+knew, beyond its reach. But there stood the leafy den, studded all
+over with a profusion of beautiful gems, and although the rattle had
+ceased, there to a certainty was the enraged monster, swelling
+doubtless in his yellow venom; for it is another trait of the
+crawling, poisonous demons never to desert their post, (rather a good
+trait, by the way, not always possessed by those erect rattlesnakes,
+men,) and we must get rid of the dragon before we could come at the
+fruit. Well! what was to be done! We couldn't think of leaving the
+field--that would be too bad--to be driven off by a snake, and before
+the eyes of our Dulcineas too--it couldn't be thought of! So one of us
+cuts a pole with a crotch at the end--the rest of us arm ourselves
+with stones and sticks, and then the poleman commences his attack upon
+the bush. Ha! that was a thrust, well aimed! hear him rattle,
+hum-m-m--how the bush flutters! he sprang then! That was a good
+thrust! Jupiter, how he rattles! see, see, see, there are his eyes!
+ugh! there's his tongue! now he darts out his head and neck! Heavens!
+what malignant rage and ferocity. Keep back, girls! don't be too
+curious to see! Thrust him again! How he makes the bush flutter! how
+his eyes shoot around! how his tongue darts in and out--and
+whir-r-r-r-r-r--how his rattles shake. Now he comes out, head up,
+tongue out, eyes like coals of fire--give him the stones now--a full
+battery of them! Halloo! what's Sloan about there with his crotched
+pole. Well planted, by Jupiter! right around his neck. Ha! ha! ha! how
+he twists and turns and writhes about--how he would like to bite! how
+he would like to strike some of that tawny poison of his into our
+veins! Yes, yes, your snake-ship! but it wont do! "you can't come it,"
+as Loafing Jim says, "no how you can fix it."
+
+He's a tremendous snake though--full four feet! u-g-h! only think of
+his crawling around and catching hold of the calf of your leg! Not so
+pleasant as picking whortleberries, to say the least of it. See his
+gray mottled skin! though it looks beautiful, flashing in the rays of
+the sun--and then the ribbed white of his undershape! However, what
+shall we do with him! Sloan, hold him tight now, and I'll aim at his
+head. Good sharp stone this--whew--well aimed, although I say it--I
+think he must have felt it this time. Halloo! another stone--from
+Wescott. I fancy that made his head ache! And that one has crushed it
+as flat as a--griddle-cake.
+
+We again, after this terrific battle, (a dozen against one though I
+must confess,) scatter among the bushes. Awful onslaughts are again
+made amongst the berries, and our baskets (those at all events in
+sight) are plumping up with the delicious, ripe, azure balls. I have
+forgotten to mention, though, that it is a very warm day. The sky is
+of a pale tint, as if the bright, pure, deep blue had been blanched
+out by the heat; and all around the horizon are wan thunder-caps
+thrusting up their peaks and summits. It looks decidedly thunderish.
+
+What's that again! another alarm? How that girl does scream out there!
+What on earth is the matter! We rush around a sand-bank, looking warm
+and yellow in the sun, and we see the cause of the outbreak. There is
+Caroline G. shrinking back as if she would like to evaporate into thin
+air, and executing a series of shrieks, with her open mouth, of the
+most thrilling character. Young Mason is a little in front, with a
+knotted stick, doubtless just picked up, whilst some ten or twelve
+rods in advance is a great shaggy black bear, very coolly helping
+himself to the contents of the two baskets hitherto borne by the
+couple, giving himself time, however, every now and then to look out
+of his little black eyes at the rightful owners, with rather a
+spiteful expression, but protruding at the same time his red tongue,
+like a clown at the circus, as if enjoying the joke of their picking
+and he eating. Afterward I learned that they had deposited their
+baskets on the ground under a loaded bush, for greater facility in
+securing the fruit, when suddenly they heard a blow and a snort, and
+looking where the queer sounds came from, they saw his Bruinship's
+white teeth and black phiz within a foot or two of them, directly over
+the bush. Abandoning their baskets, they retreated in double quick
+time, and while Mason sought and found a club for defence, Caroline
+made haste to clear her voice for the most piercing efforts, and
+succeeded in performing a succession of sustained vocal flights, that
+a steam whistle couldn't much more than match. The sight as we came up
+was in truth somewhat alarming, but Bruin didn't seem disposed to be
+hostile except against the whortleberries, which he certainly made
+disappear in the most summary manner; so we, after hushing with
+difficulty Caroline's steam whistle, (I beg her pardon,) stood and
+watched him. After he had discussed the contents of the baskets, he
+again looked at us, and, rearing himself upon his hind legs, with his
+fore paws hanging down like a dancing Shaker, made two or three
+awkward movements, as if dancing an extempore hornpipe, either in
+triumph or to thank us for his dinner; he next opened his great jaws
+in resemblance to a laugh, again thrust out his tongue, saying plainly
+by it, "hadn't you better pick some more whortleberries," then
+deliberately fell upon his fore feet and stalked gravely and solemnly
+away. As for ourselves, we went where he didn't.
+
+It wanted now about an hour to sundown, and this was the time agreed
+upon by all of us to reunite at Pritchard's and start for home. The
+beautiful charm of light and shade cast by the slanting rays already
+began to rest upon the scene. The small oaks were glowing through and
+through--the thick spruces were kindled up in their outer edges--the
+patches of moss looked like carpets of gold spread by the little genii
+of the woods--the whortleberry bushes were drenched in rich radiance,
+the fruit seeming like the concentrated radiance in the act of
+dropping--whilst the straggling, tall, surly grenadiers of hemlocks
+had put on high-pointed yellow caps, with rays streaking through their
+branches like muskets. The cow-bells were now tinkling everywhere,
+striking in an odd jumble of tones--tingle ling, tingle ling ting
+tingle--as their owners collected together to eat their way to their
+respective milking places--and all told us that the day was drawing to
+a close. Independently of this, a dark crag of cloud was lifting
+itself in the southwest, with a pale glance of lightning shooting out
+of it occasionally, hinting very strongly of an approaching
+thunder-storm.
+
+In about half an hour we were all re-assembled at Pritchard's. I
+believe I have not described the scenery around this little log
+tavern. There was a ravine at some little distance from it, densely
+clothed with forest. Through it a stream found its way. Directly
+opposite the side porch, the ravine spread widely on each side,
+shaping a broad basin of water, and then, contracting again, left a
+narrow throat across which a dam had been thrown. Over this dam the
+stream poured in a fall of glittering silver, of about ten feet, and
+then, pursuing its way through the "Barrens," fell into the Sheldrake
+Brook several miles below. Here, at the fall, Pritchard had erected a
+saw-mill.
+
+Now people don't generally think there is any thing very picturesque
+about saw-mills, but I do. The weather-beaten boards of the low
+structure, some hanging awry, some with great knot-holes, as if they
+were gifted with orbs of vision, or were placed there for the mill to
+breathe through, some fractured, as if the saw had at times become
+outrageous at being always shut up and made to work there for other
+people, and had dashed against them, determined to gain its
+liberty--whilst some seem as if they had become so tantalized by the
+continual jar of the machinery, that they had loosened their nails,
+and had set up a clatter and shake themselves in opposition--these are
+quite picturesque. Then the broad opening in front, exposing the
+glittering saw bobbing up and down, and pushing its sharp teeth right
+through the bowels of the great peeled log fastened with iron claws to
+the sliding platform beneath--the gallows-like frame in which the saw
+works--the great strap belonging to the machinery issuing out of one
+corner and gliding into another--the sawyer himself, in a red shirt,
+now wheeling the log into its place with his handspike and fastening
+it--and now lifting the gate by the handle protruding near him--the
+axe leaning at one side and the rifle at the other--the loose floor
+covered with saw-dust--the stained rafters above with boards laid
+across for a loft--the dark sloping slab-roof--the great black wheel
+continually at war with the water, which, dashing bravely against it,
+finds itself carried off its feet into the buckets, and whirled half
+around, and then coolly dismissed into the stream below--the long
+flume through which the water rushes to the unequal fray, and--what
+next!
+
+Then the pond, too, is not to be overlooked. There are generally some
+twenty or thirty logs floating in one corner, close to each other, and
+breaking out into great commotion every time the gate is hoisted--the
+otter is now and then seen gliding in the farther nooks--and a quick
+eye may catch, particularly about the dam, where he generally burrows,
+a glimpse of the musk-rat as he dives down. Now and then too the wild
+duck will push his beautiful shape with his bright feet through
+it--the snipe will alight and "teter," as the children say, along the
+banks--the woodcock will show his brownish red bosom amongst the reeds
+as he comes to stick his long bill into the black ooze for sucking, as
+dock-boys stick straws into molasses hogsheads--and once in a great
+while, the sawyer, if he's wide awake, will see, in the Spring or
+Fall, the wild goose leaving his migrating wedge overhead, and diving
+and fluttering about in it, as a momentary bathing place, and to rest
+for a time his throat, hoarse with uttering his laughably wise and
+solemn "honk, honk." Nor must the ragged and smirched-faced boys be
+forgotten, eternally on the logs, or the banks, or in the leaky scow,
+with their twine and pin-hooks catching "spawney-cooks," and
+"bull-heads" as worthless as themselves, and as if that were their
+only business in life. And then the streak of saw-dust running along
+in the midst of the brook below, and forming yellow nooks to imprison
+bubbles and sticks and leaves and what not, every now and then making
+a jet outward and joining the main body--and lastly the saw-mill yard,
+with its boards, white, dark and golden, piled up in great masses,
+with narrow lanes running through--and gray glistening logs, with
+their bark coats off, waiting their turn to be "boarded."
+
+The cloud had now risen higher, with its ragged pointed edges, and
+murky bosom--sharper lightning flashed athwart it, sometimes in
+trickling streaks, and sometimes in broad glances, whilst low growls
+of thunder were every now and then heard. The sun was already
+swallowed up--and a strange, unnatural, ghastly glare was upon every
+object. The atmosphere was motionless--not a stir in the thickets
+around, not a movement in the forest at the ravine. Through the solemn
+silence the crash of the falling water came upon the ear, and its
+gleam was caught against the black background of the cloud. It really
+seemed as if Nature held her breath in anticipating terror. Higher and
+higher rose the cloud--fiercer and fiercer flashed the lightning,
+sterner and sterner came the peals of the solemn thunder. Still Nature
+held her breath, still fear deep and brooding reigned. The wild tint
+still was spread over all things--the pines and hemlocks near at hand
+seeming blanched with affright beneath it. Suddenly a darkness smote
+the air--a mighty rush was heard--the trees seemed falling upon their
+faces in convulsions, and with a shock as if the atmosphere had been
+turned into a precipitated mountain, amidst a blinding flash and
+tearing, splitting roar, onward swept the blast. Another
+flash--another roar--then tumbled the great sheeted rain. Like blows
+of the hammer on the anvil beat it on the water--like the smitings of
+a mounted host trampled it upon the roof--like the spray flying from
+the cataract smoked it upon the earth. The fierce elements of fire
+and air and water were now at the climax of their strife--the dark
+blended shadow of the banners under which they fought almost blotting
+out the view. Occasionally glimpses of writhing branches could be
+seen, but only for a moment--all again was dim and obscure, with the
+tremendous sights and sounds of the storm dazzling the eye and
+stunning the ear. The lightning would flash with intolerable
+brilliancy, and immediately would follow the thunder with a rattling
+leap as if springing from its lair, and then with a deafening, awful
+weight, as if it had fallen and been splintered into pieces in the
+sky. Then would re-open the steady deep boom of the rain, and the
+stern rushing of the chainless wind. At length the air became
+clearer--the lightning glared at less frequent intervals--the thunder
+became more rolling and distant, and the tramp of the rain upon the
+roof less violent. The watery streaks in the atmosphere waxed
+finer--outlines of objects began to be defined--till suddenly, as a
+growl of thunder died away in the east, a rich thread of light ran
+along the landscape, that looked out smiling through its tears; and
+thronging out into the damp fresh, sweet air, where the delicate
+gauze-like rain was glittering and trembling, we saw on one hand the
+great sun looking from a space of glowing sky upon the scene, and
+dashing upon the parting clouds the most superb and gorgeous
+hues--whilst on the other smiled the lovely rainbow, the Ariel of the
+tempest, spanning the black cloud and soaring over the illuminated
+earth, like Hope spreading her brilliant halo over the Christian's
+brow, and brightening with her beautiful presence his impending death.
+
+We all concluded to wait for the moon to rise before we started for
+home, and in the meanwhile another cloud arose and made demonstration.
+This storm, however, was neither so long nor so violent as the first,
+and we found attraction in viewing the lightning striking into ghastly
+convulsions the landscape--so that the falling rain--the bowed
+trees--the drenched earth--the streaked mill, and the gleaming
+water-fall were opened to our view for an instant, and then dropped as
+it were again into the blackness. But after a while the sky cleared
+its forehead of all its frowns--the broad moon wheeled up--and in her
+rich glory we again moved slowly along the rough road, until we came
+to the smooth turnpike, where we dashed along homeward, with the cool,
+scented air in our faces, and the sweet smile of the sun's gentle and
+lovely sister resting all about us, making the magnificent Night
+appear like Day with a veil of softening silver over his dazzling
+brow.
+
+
+
+
+STANZAS.
+
+    Be firm, and be cheerful. The creature who lightens
+      The natural burdens of life when he may,
+    Who smiles at small evils, enhances and brightens
+      The pleasures which Heaven has spread in his way.
+
+    Then why yield your spirits to care and to sorrow?
+      Rejoice in the present, and smile while you may;
+    Nor, by thinking of woes which _may_ spring up to-morrow,
+      Lose the blessings which Heaven _has_ granted to-day.
+
+
+
+
+EURYDICE.
+
+BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.
+
+      With heart that thrilled to every earnest line,
+        I had been reading o'er that antique story,
+      Wherein the youth half human, half divine,
+        Of all love-lore the Eidolon and glory,
+      Child of the Sun, with music's pleading spell,
+    In Pluto's palace swept, for love, his golden shell!
+
+      And in the wild, sweet legend, dimly traced,
+        My own heart's history unfolded seemed:--
+      Ah! lost one! by thy lover-minstrel graced
+        With homage pure as ever woman dreamed,
+      Too fondly worshiped, since such fate befell,
+    Was it not sweet to die--because beloved too well?
+
+      The scene is round me!--Throned amid the gloom,
+        As a flower smiles on AEtna's fatal breast,
+      Young Proserpine beside her lord doth bloom;
+        And near--of Orpheus' soul, oh! idol blest!--
+      While low for thee he tunes his lyre of light,
+    I see _thy_ meek, fair form dawn through that lurid night!
+
+      I see the glorious boy--his dark locks wreathing
+        Wildly the wan and spiritual brow,
+      His sweet, curved lip the soul of music breathing;
+        His blue Greek eyes, that speak Love's loyal vow;
+      I see him bend on _thee_ that eloquent glance,
+    The while those wondrous notes the realm of terror trance!
+
+      I see his face, with more than mortal beauty
+        Kindling, as armed with that sweet lyre alone,
+      Pledged to a holy and heroic duty,
+        He stands serene before the awful throne,
+      And looks on Hades' horrors with clear eyes,
+    Since thou, his own adored Eurydice, art nigh!
+
+      Now soft and low a prelude sweet uprings,
+        As if a prisoned angel--pleading there
+      For life and love--were fettered 'neath the strings,
+        And poured his passionate soul upon the air!
+      Anon, it clangs with wild, exultant swell,
+    Till the full paean peals triumphantly through Hell!
+
+      And thou--thy pale hands meekly locked before thee--
+        Thy sad eyes drinking _life_ from _his_ dear gaze--
+      Thy lips apart--thy hair a halo o'er thee,
+        Trailing around thy throat its golden maze--
+      Thus--with all words in passionate silence dying--
+    Within thy _soul_ I hear Love's eager voice replying--
+
+        "Play on, mine Orpheus! Lo! while these are gazing,
+        Charmed into statues by thy God-taught strain,
+      I--I alone, to thy dear face upraising
+        My tearful glance, the life of life regain!
+      For every tone that steals into my heart
+    Doth to its worn, weak pulse a mighty power impart.
+
+      Play on, mine Orpheus! while thy music floats
+        Through the dread realm, divine with truth and grace,
+      See, dear one! how the chain of linked notes
+        Has fettered every spirit in its place!
+      Even Death, beside me, still and helpless lies;
+    And strives in vain to chill my frame with his cold eyes.
+
+      Still, mine own Orpheus, sweep the golden lyre!
+        Ah! dost thou mark how gentle Proserpine,
+      With clasped hands, and eyes whose azore fire
+        Gleams through quick tears, thrilled by thy lay, doth lean
+      Her graceful head upon her stern lord's breast,
+    Like an o'erwearied child, whom music lulls to rest?
+
+      Play my proud minstrel! strike the chords again!
+        Lo! Victory crowns at last thy heavenly skill!
+      For Pluto turns relenting to the strain--
+        He waves his hand--he speaks his awful will!
+      My glorious Greek! lead on; but ah! _still_ lend
+    Thy soul to thy sweet lyre, lest yet thou lose thy friend!
+
+      Think not of me! Think rather of the time,
+        When moved by thy resistless melody,
+      To the strange magic of a song sublime,
+        Thy argo grandly glided to the sea!
+      And in the majesty Minerva gave,
+    The graceful galley swept, with joy, the sounding wave!
+
+      Or see, in Fancy's dream, thy Thracian trees,
+        Their proud heads bent submissive to the sound,
+      Swayed by a tuneful and enchanted breeze,
+        March to slow music o'er th' astonished ground--
+      Grove after grove descending from the hills,
+    While round thee weave their dance the glad, harmonious rills.
+
+      Think not of me! Ha! by thy mighty sire,
+        My lord, my king! recall the dread behest!
+      Turn not--ah! turn not back those eyes of fire!
+        Oh! lost, forever lost! undone! unblest!
+      I faint, I die!--the serpent's fang once more
+    Is here!--nay, grieve not thus! Life but _not Love_ is o'er!
+
+
+
+
+THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT WIND.
+
+BY E. CURTISS HINE, U. S. N.
+
+    When the day-king is descending
+      On the blue hill's breast to lie,
+    And some spirit-artist blending
+      On the flushed and bending sky
+    All the rainbow's hues, I listen
+      To the breeze, while in my eye
+    Tears of bitter anguish glisten,
+      As I think of days gone by.
+
+    Change, relentless change is lighting
+      On the brow of young and fair,
+    And with iron hand is writing
+      Tales of grief and sorrow there.
+    On life's journey friends have faltered,
+      And beside its pathway lie,
+    But that breeze, with voice unaltered,
+      Sings as in the days gone by.
+
+    Sings old songs to soothe the anguish
+      Of a heart whose hopes are flown;
+    Cheering one condemned to languish
+      In this weary world alone;
+    Tells old tales of loved ones o'er me,
+      Dearest ones, remembered well,
+    That have passed away before me,
+      In a brighter land to dwell.
+
+
+
+
+MAJOR-GENERAL WORTH.
+
+BY FAYETTE ROBINSON, AUTHOR OF "THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES," ETC.
+
+
+All persons naturally exhibit a great desire to become acquainted with
+the events of the lives of those individuals who have made themselves
+or their country illustrious. It is very pleasant to inquire into the
+nature of the studies which matured their minds, to examine the
+incidents of their early career, and follow them through the obscurer
+portions of their lives for the purpose of ascertaining if the man
+corresponds with the idea we have formed of him.
+
+Gen. Worth has recently attracted so much attention, and the events of
+his whole life have been so stirring, that this is peculiarly the case
+with him. No one can think without interest of one who, while a boy
+almost, opposed the British veterans at Chippewa and Lundy's Lane, and
+in his manhood won a yet higher reputation amid the hamacs of Florida,
+and in front of the batteries of Molino del Rey and Monterey. It is,
+however, a matter of much regret that of Worth's early history and
+family annals but little is known. It is true, no man in the army has
+been the theme of so much camp-fire gossip, or the hero of so many
+gratuitous fabrications; but we are able to learn nothing of him
+previous to his entry into the service. A thousand anecdotes without
+any basis in truth have been told of him, altogether to no purpose;
+for one who has so many real claims to distinction need never appeal
+to factitious honors.
+
+Gen. Worth, at the commencement of the last war with Great Britain, is
+said to have been a resident of Albany, N. Y., and to have been
+engaged in commercial pursuits. Animated by the feeling of patriotism
+which pervaded the whole people, he left the desk and ledger, and is
+said to have enlisted in the 2nd regiment of artillery, then commanded
+by Col. Izard, afterward a general officer of distinction. The lieut.
+colonel of one of the battalions of this regiment was Winfield Scott,
+the attention of whom Worth is said soon to have attracted. Col. Scott
+is said to have exerted himself to procure him a commission, and to
+have taken care of his advancement. This may or may not be true; it is
+sure, however, that Worth first appears in a prominent position in the
+military annals of the United States as the aid-de-camp and protege of
+General Scott, at the battle of Chippewa, where Scott was a brigadier.
+Worth was his aid, having in the interim become a first lieutenant.
+
+No man in America is ignorant of the events of that day, which
+retrieved the disgrace of Hull's surrender, and reflected the greatest
+honor on all the participants in its events. For his gallantry and
+good conduct, Mr. Madison bestowed on Lieut. Worth the brevet of
+captain; and he was mentioned in the highest terms in the general
+orders of the officers under whom he served. The brevet of Worth was
+announced to the army and nation in the same order which told of the
+promotion of McNeil, Jessup, Towson, and Leavenworth. Strangely
+enough, though death has been busy with the officers of the last war,
+all who were breveted for their services on that occasion, with one
+or two exceptions, are now alive. The battle of Chippewa occurred on
+the 5th of July, 1814, and was the dale of Worth's first brevet.
+
+Though a brevet captain, Worth continued with Scott in the important
+position of aid-de-camp, and served in that capacity at Lundy's Lane,
+in the battle of July 25th, 1814. On that occasion he distinguished
+himself in the highest degree, and won the reputation his whole
+subsequent career has confirmed, of coolness, decision, and activity.
+During this engagement the whole British force was thrown on the 9th
+foot, commanded by the veteran Lieut. Col. Leavenworth. This officer
+sent for aid to Gen. Scott, who on that occasion gave Gen. Taylor the
+example after which that gallant general acted at Buena Vesta. He
+repaired to the menaced point with the strong reinforcement of his own
+person and aid, and had the proud satisfaction of seeing the attacking
+column beaten back, and the general who led it made prisoner. At the
+moment of success, however, both Scott and Capt. Worth fell wounded
+severely. The country appreciated their services, and each received
+from Mr. Madison the brevet of another grade, with date from the day
+of the battle. Major Worth soon recovered, but, attached to Gen.
+Scott's person, accompanied him southward, as soon as the wound of the
+latter enabled him to bear the fatigue of travel.
+
+When peace came Worth was a captain in the line and a major by brevet,
+with which rank he was assigned to the military command of the corps
+of Cadets at West Point. This appointment, ever conferred on men of
+talent, is the highest compliment an officer of the service of the
+United States can receive in time of peace. To Worth it was doubly
+grateful, because he was not an _eleve_ of the institution. Ten years
+after the battle of Niagara, Major Worth was breveted a lieutenant
+colonel, and when in 1832 the ordnance corps was established, he
+became one of its majors. In July, 1832, on the organization of the
+8th infantry, Lieut. Col. Worth was appointed to its colonelcy.
+
+Hitherto we have seen Worth in a subordinate position, where he was
+unable to exhibit the highest qualification of a soldier, that of
+command. Since his entry into the service he had been either an
+officer of the staff, or separated from troops. He was now called on
+to participate in far more stirring scenes. The war against the
+Seminoles in Florida had long been a subject of great anxiety to both
+the government and the people, and thither Worth was ordered, after a
+brief but effective tour of service on the northern frontier, then
+infested by the Canadian insurgents. At first he acted subordinately
+to the late Gen. Armistead, but, on the retirement of that officer,
+assumed command. The war was prosecuted by him with new vigor, and the
+Indians defeated ultimately at Pilaklakaha, near the St. John, April
+17, 1842. This fight was virtually the termination of the war, the
+enemy never again having shown himself in force. Gen. Worth was highly
+complimented for his services on this occasion, and received the
+brevet of brigadier general.
+
+During the season of peace which followed Gen. Worth remained almost
+constantly with his regiment, which more than once changed its
+station; and when the contest with Mexico began, reported to Gen.
+Taylor at Corpus Christi. His situation here was peculiar, and he
+became involved in a dispute in relation to precedence and command
+with the then Col. Twiggs, of the 2nd dragoons. The latter officer was
+by several years Worth's senior in the line, and, according to the
+usual opinion in the army, entitled to command, though many of the
+most accomplished soldiers of the service thought the brevet of Worth,
+on this occasion at least, where the _corps d'armee_ was made up of
+detachments, valid as a commission. This dispute became so serious
+that Gen. Taylor interfered, and having sustained Col. Twiggs, Gen.
+Worth immediately tendered his resignation to the President.
+
+There is no doubt but that the decision in favor of Gen. Twiggs was
+correct, and that Worth was radically wrong in his conception of the
+effect of his brevet. He, however, had been brought up under the eye
+of Gen. Scott, who entertained the same ideas on this subject, and
+who, years before, under precisely similar circumstances, had resigned
+his commission. Gen. Worth having proceeded from the Rio Grande to
+Washington, the President refused to accept his resignation, and he
+returned at once to the army.
+
+The resignation of Worth was a most untoward circumstance, for during
+his absence from the army hostilities commenced, and he lost all
+participation in the battles of Palo Alto and La Resaca.
+
+When, after the capture of Matamoras, the army again advanced, Worth
+had resumed his post, and acquiesced cheerfully in the decision which
+had been given against him. The laurels he had not grasped on the Rio
+Grande were won in front of the batteries of _La Loma de la
+Independencia_, and in the streets of Monterey. Amid the countless
+feats of daring recorded by military history, none will be found to
+surpass his achievements in the slow, painful, but bold entry he
+effected through a city swarming with defenders, to the very _plaza_.
+For his gallantry on this occasion he received the brevet of major
+general, and, with the exception of Generals Scott and Taylor, is
+believed to be the only officer in the service who has received three
+war-brevets. Gen. Worth from this time became one of the national
+idols.
+
+When Gen. Scott assumed command of the expedition against Vera Cruz
+and the capital, one of his first acts was to order Gen. Worth and the
+remnant of his division to join him. The general-in-chief remembered
+the events, on the northern frontier, of 1814, and anticipated much in
+Mexico. He was not disappointed in this expectation, for at Vera Cruz
+and in the valley of Mexico, his old aid did not disappoint him, and
+proved that service had but matured the judgment of the soldier of
+Chippewa and Niagara.
+
+It was at _Molino del Rey_ that Worth displayed his powers with most
+brilliancy. When it became evident that the city of Mexico must be
+taken by force, a prominent position was assigned to Gen. Worth, who,
+with his division and Cadwallader's brigade, was ordered to carry the
+strong position of Molino del Rey, and destroy its defences. This spot
+is famous in Mexican history as _Casas Matas_, and and is the scene of
+the famous _plan_, or revolution, of Feb. 2, 1823, by virtue of which
+a republican form of government may be said to exist in Mexico. It
+lies westward of Chapultepec, the old palace of the Aztec kings, and
+from the nature of its position, and the careful manner in which it
+was fortified, was a position of great strength. It lay at the foot of
+a rapid declivity, enfiladed by the fire of Chapultepec, and so
+situated, that not a shot could be discharged but must fall into an
+assailing column.
+
+Under these great difficulties the works were carried, Worth all the
+while marching with the column, and directing the operations of the
+horse artillery and infantry of which it was composed. In respect to
+this part of the operations in front of Mexico Gen. Scott adopted,
+without comment, the report of Gen. Worth. This is a rare compliment,
+and proceeding from such a person as Scott should be highly estimated.
+
+After the capture of the city of Mexico, difficulties occurred between
+Gen. Worth and the general-in-chief, and a friendship of thirty-five
+years was apparently terminated. The matter is now the subject of
+consideration before a competent tribunal, and _non nobis tantas
+componerelites_.
+
+Gen. Worth is yet in Mexico. His age is about fifty-six or eight, and
+in his personal appearance are mingled the bearing of the soldier and
+of the gentleman. The excellent portrait given of him is from a
+Daguerreotype by Mr. Clarke, of New York.
+
+
+
+
+ENCOURAGEMENT.
+
+    When first peeps out from earth the modest vine,
+      Asking but little space to live and grow,
+    How easily some step, without design,
+      May crush the being from a thing so low!
+      But let the hand that doth delight to show
+    Support to feebleness, the tendril twine
+      Around some lattice-work, and 'twill bestow
+    Its thanks in fragrance, and with blossoms shine.
+      And thus, when Genius first puts forth its shoot--
+    So timid, that it scarce dare ask to live--
+      The tender germ, if trodden under foot,
+      Shrinks back again to its undying root;
+    While kindly training bids it upward strive,
+    And to the future flowers immortal give.    E. C. KINNEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHANGED AND THE UNCHANGED.
+
+BY PROFESSOR ALDEN.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+"Report says that my queenly cousin is to lay aside her absolute
+sceptre, and submit to a lord and master," said George Mason, to his
+cousin, Emily Earl, as she took his arm for an evening walk.
+
+"If you mean that I am to be married, that is a report which truth
+does not require me to contradict," said the young lady, in a tone
+adapted to repress the familiar manner of her companion. He had just
+returned from a long absence in a foreign land. His early youth had
+been passed in his uncle's family. He left his cousin a beautiful
+girl. He found her on his return a still more beautiful woman.
+
+"I am very anxious," said he, with a slight change of manner, "to see
+the man who has drawn so splendid a prize. Is he like the picture you
+drew of the man you would marry, as we sat by the willow brook from
+the rising of the moon to its meridian? You remember that most
+beautiful night?"
+
+"It is not desirable to remember all the follies of childhood," said
+Emily, coldly. Mason was silent. It was plain that they were no longer
+what they had been, brother and sister.
+
+After walking for some distance in silence, Emily remarked, in a tone
+inviting conversation, "You must have seen a great deal of the world."
+
+"I have had some means of observation," he replied, "but I have seen
+nothing to wean me from this spot, and from my friends here."
+
+"Your friends are obliged to you for the compliment."
+
+"I did not intend the remark as a compliment." Again there was an
+interval of silence. "I have been absent four years," said Mason, as
+though speaking to himself, "and I am not conscious of any change, so
+far as my feelings are concerned. The same persons and things which I
+then loved, I love now. The same views of life which I then cherished
+I cherish now."
+
+"Experience and knowledge of the world," said Emily, "ought to give
+wisdom."
+
+"I am so perverse as to regard it as wisdom to hold on to the dreams
+of our early days."
+
+"Our views ought, it seems to me, to change as we grow older."
+
+"I am not sure that we ought to grow old, so far as our feelings are
+concerned."
+
+"You would engage in the vain effort to retain the dews and freshness
+of morning, after the sun has arisen with a burning heat."
+
+"I believe the dew of our youth may be preserved even until old age."
+
+"I am surprised that acquaintance with the world has not corrected
+your views of life. One would think that you had lived in entire
+seclusion."
+
+"I am surprised that the romantic, warm-hearted Emily Earl should
+become the worldly-wise lecturer of her cousin."
+
+"We had better speak upon some other subject. Had you a pleasant
+voyage homeward?"
+
+"Yes. It could not be otherwise, when my face was toward 'my own, my
+native land,' and the friends so fresh in my remembrance."
+
+A slight shade of displeasure flitted across Emily's features. She
+made no remark.
+
+"Where is Susan Grey?" said Mason.
+
+"She is dead."
+
+"Indeed! She was just my own age. She was a single-hearted girl."
+
+"She often inquired for you. You never fancied yourself in love with
+her?"
+
+"No. Why that question?"
+
+"She was under the impression that we were engaged, and seemed quite
+relieved when I informed her that she was mistaken."
+
+"What has become of Mary Carver?"
+
+"She is married, and lives in that house," pointing to a miserable hut
+near at hand.
+
+"Is it possible?"
+
+"Her husband is intemperate. It was a clandestine marriage--a love
+match, you know."
+
+"Was her husband intemperate when she married him?"
+
+"Not habitually so. He was so very romantic and devoted to her; so
+that, I suppose, she thought she could reform him."
+
+"What has become of Mr. Ralston, your old friend?" admirer, he would
+have said, but he deemed it unwise.
+
+"He is a lawyer here, in a small way. I believe they think of sending
+him to Congress."
+
+"Is he married?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I thought he seemed to be attached to you; at least I hoped that he
+would become my cousin."
+
+"I will answer your questions in regard to others--my own affairs do
+not require remark."
+
+This rebuke, so unlike any thing he had ever received from his cousin,
+led him to fix his gaze upon her countenance, as if to make sure of
+her identity. There could be no mistake. There was the same brilliant
+eye, the same faultless features on which he had gazed in former
+years. A conciliating smile led him to resume his inquiries.
+
+"Is Eliza Austin married?" His voice, as he asked this question, was
+far from natural, perhaps in consequence of the agitation which the
+rebuke just spoken of had occasioned.
+
+"No; she lives somewhere in the village, I don't know exactly where."
+
+"Do you ever see her?"
+
+"Yes; she lives with her aunt, who sometimes washes for us, so that I
+see her niece occasionally."
+
+"Why does she live with her aunt?"
+
+"Her mother died soon after you went away."
+
+"Eliza still lives in the village, then?" To this very unnecessary
+question his cousin bowed in reply. Few words more passed between them
+during the remainder of their walk.
+
+"You do not stay out as late as you used to do," said Mrs. Earl, as
+they entered the parlor.
+
+"We are no longer children," said Emily. Mason could scarcely repress
+an audible sigh, as those words fell from her lips. At an early hour,
+he repaired to his chamber.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+George Mason was left an orphan in his early youth. He then became a
+member of his uncle's family, and the constant companion of his cousin
+Emily. He desired no society but hers. Her slightly imperious temper
+did not interfere with the growth of his affection. She had a sister's
+place in his glowing heart. He was in some sense her teacher, and she
+caught something of his romantic nature. Of the little circle of her
+associates, he was the idol.
+
+At the age of fourteen he left home to pursue his studies for two
+years at a public institution. At the end of that period he became a
+clerk in a large commercial establishment in the city. At the close of
+the first year he accompanied one of the principals abroad, and
+remained there in charge of the business for nearly four years. He was
+now on the high road to wealth.
+
+Soon after George Mason had gone abroad, Emily Earl went to the city
+to complete her education. She was in due time initiated into the
+mysteries of fashionable life. Introduced to _society_ by a relative
+of unquestionable rank, her face and form presented attractions
+sufficient to make her the object of attention and flattery. Four
+successive winters were passed in the city. She was the foremost
+object of all "who flattered, sought, and sued." Is it strange that
+her judgment was perverted, and her heart eaten out? Is it strange
+that her cousin found her a changed being?
+
+She had engaged to marry one whose claim to her regard was the
+thousands he possessed, and the eagerness with which he was sought by
+those whose chief end was an establishment in life. She had taught
+herself to believe that the yearnings of the heart were to be classed
+with the follies of childhood.
+
+Henry Ralston was the son of a small farmer, or rather of a man who
+was the possessor of a small farm, and of a large soul. Henry was
+modest, yet aspiring; gentle, yet intense in his affections. The
+patient toil and rigid self-denial of his father gave him the
+advantage of an excellent education. In childhood he was the frequent
+companion of George and Emily. Even then an attachment sprung up in
+his heart for his fair playmate. This was quietly cherished; and when
+he entered upon the practice of the law in his native village, he
+offered Emily his hand. It was, without hesitation or apparent pain,
+rejected. Thus she cast away the only true heart which was ever laid
+upon the altar of her beauty. He bore the disappointment with outward
+calmness, though the iron entered his soul. He gave all his energies
+to the labors of his profession. Such was the impression of his
+ability and worth, that he was about to be supported, apparently
+without opposition, for a seat in the national councils.
+
+Eliza Austin was the daughter of a deceased minister, who had worn
+himself out in the cause of benevolence, and died, leaving his wife
+and daughter penniless. She was several years younger than George and
+Emily; but early trials seemed to give an early maturity to her mind.
+She was seldom their companion, for her young days were spent in toil,
+aiding her mother in her efforts to obtain a scanty subsistence. Her
+intelligence, her perception of the beautiful, and her devotion to her
+mother made a deep impression upon George, and led him to regard her
+as he regarded no other earthly being. Long before the idea of love
+was associated with her name, he felt for her a respect approaching to
+veneration. He had often desired to write to her during his absence,
+but his entire ignorance of her situation rendered it unwise.
+
+The waters of affliction had been wrung out to her in a full cup. The
+long and distressing sickness of her mother was ended only by the
+grave. She was then invited to take up her abode with her father's
+sister, whose intemperate husband had broken her spirit, but had not
+exhausted her heart. It was sad for Eliza to exchange the quiet home,
+the voice of affection, of prayer, and of praise, for the harsh
+criminations of the drunkard's abode. She would have left that abode
+for service, but for the distress it would have given her aunt.
+
+Death at length removed the tormentor, and those who had ministered to
+his appetite swept away all his property.
+
+The mind of Aunt Mary, now more than half a wreck, utterly revolted at
+the idea of separation from her niece. Eliza could not leave her.
+Declining an eligible situation as a teacher in a distant village, she
+rendered her aunt all the assistance in her power in her lowly
+employment--believing that the path dictated by affection and duty,
+though it might meet with the neglect and the scorn of men, would not
+fail to secure the approbation of God.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+"Well, George," said Mr. Earl, as they were seated at the
+breakfast-table, "how do you intend to dispose of yourself to-day?"
+
+"I have a great many old friends to visit, sir."
+
+"It may not be convenient for some of them to see you early in the
+morning."
+
+"Some of them, I think, will not be at all particular respecting the
+time of my visits. There is the white rock by the falls which I must
+give an hour to; and I must see if the old trout who lived under it
+has taken as good care of himself during my absence as he did before I
+went away. And there is the willow grove, too, which I wish very much
+to see."
+
+"It has been cut down."
+
+"Cut down!--what for?"
+
+"Mr. Bullard thought it interfered with his prospect."
+
+"Why did you not interfere, cousin?" turning to Emily.
+
+"It was nothing to me what he did with his grove," said Emily.
+
+"Oh, I had forgotten--" George did not finish the sentence. He turned
+the conversation to some of the ordinary topics of the day.
+
+After breakfast, he set out for Willow Brook, and seated himself upon
+the white rock. The years that had passed since in childhood he sat
+upon that rock, were reviewed by him. Though he had met with trials
+and temptations, yet he was thankful that he could return to that rock
+with so many of the feelings of childhood; that his heart's best
+emotions had not been polluted by the world, but were as yet pure as
+the crystal stream before him.
+
+When he rose from that rock, instead of visiting the other haunts of
+his early days, he found himself moving toward the village. Now and
+then a familiar face was seen. By those who recognized him, he was
+warmly greeted. It was not until he met a stranger that he inquired
+for the residence of the widow and her niece. He was directed to a
+small dwelling in a narrow lane. He knocked at the open door. The
+widow, who was busily employed in smoothing the white linen before
+her, bade him enter, but paused not from her work.
+
+"Is Eliza at home?" said Mason.
+
+"Who can you be that want to see Eliza?" said the poor woman, still
+not lifting her eyes from her work.
+
+"I am an old friend of hers," said Mason.
+
+"A friend! a friend!" said she, pausing and looking upward, as if
+striving to recall the idea belonging to the word. "Yes, she had
+friends once--where have they gone?"
+
+Again she plied her task, as if unconscious of his presence. He seated
+himself and watched her countenance, which revealed so sad a history.
+Her lips kept moving, and now and then she spoke aloud. "Poor girl! a
+hard life has she had--it may all be right, but I can't see how; and
+now she might be a lady if she would leave her poor, half-crazy aunt."
+Her whispers were then inaudible. Soon she turned to Mason and said,
+as if in reply to a question, "No, I never heard her complain. When
+those she used to visit don't know her, and look the other way when
+they meet her, she never complains. What will become of her when her
+poor old aunt is gone? Who will take care of her?"
+
+"I will," said Mason.
+
+"Who may you be?" said she, scanning his countenance as if she had now
+seen him for the first time.
+
+"A friend of her childhood."
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"George Mason."
+
+"George Mason! George Mason!--I have heard that name before. It was
+the name she had over so often when she had the fever, poor thing! I
+did not know what she said, though she did not say a word during the
+whole time that would not look well printed in a book. Did you use to
+live in the big white house?"
+
+"Yes, I used to live with my Uncle Earl."
+
+"And with that _lady_," laying a fierce emphasis upon the word, "who
+never speaks to Eliza now, though Eliza watched night after night with
+her when she was on the borders of the grave. Are you like her?"
+observing him to hesitate, she asked in a more excited manner, "are
+you like Emily Earl?" Fearing that her clouded mind might receive an
+impression difficult to remove, he promptly answered "No."
+
+"I am glad of it," said the widow, resuming her work.
+
+The last question and its answer was overheard by Eliza, as she was
+coming in from the garden where she had been attending to a few
+flowers. She turned deadly pale as she saw Mason, and remained
+standing in the door. He arose and took her hand in both of his, and
+was scarcely able to pronounce her name. The good aunt stood with
+uplifted hands, gazing with ludicrous amazement at the scene. Eliza
+was the first to recover her self-possession. She introduced Mason to
+her aunt as an old friend.
+
+"Friend!--are you sure he is a friend?"
+
+"He is a friend," said Mason, "who is very grateful to you for the
+love you have borne her, and the care you have taken of her."
+
+"There," said she, opening a door which led to a parlor, perhaps ten
+feet square, motioning to them to enter. Mason, still retaining her
+trembling hand, led Eliza into the room, and seated her on the sofa,
+the chief article of furniture it contained. Her eyes met his earnest
+gaze. They were immediately filled with tears. His own overflowed. He
+threw his arm around her, and they mingled their tears in silence. It
+was long ere the first word was spoken. Eliza at length seemed to wake
+as from a dream.
+
+"What am I doing?" said she, attempting to remove his arm, "we are
+almost strangers."
+
+"Eliza," said he, solemnly, "do you say what you feel?"
+
+"No, but I know not--" she could not finish the sentence.
+
+"Eliza, you are dearer to me than any one upon earth." She made no
+efforts to resist the pressure of his arm. There were moments of
+eloquent silence.
+
+"Eliza, will you become my wife?"
+
+"Do you know how utterly destitute I am?"
+
+"That has no connection with my question."
+
+"If you are the same George Mason you used to be, you wish for a
+direct answer. I will." It was not till this word was spoken that he
+ventured to impress a kiss upon her cheek.
+
+"I have not done right," said Eliza; "you can never know how much I
+owe to that dear aunt. I ought not to engage myself without her
+consent--I can never be separated from her."
+
+"You cannot suppose that I would wish you to be separated."
+
+"You are the same--" she was about to add some epithets of praise, but
+checked herself. "How is it that you have remained unchanged?"
+
+"By keeping bright an image in my heart of hearts."
+
+With some difficulty Eliza rose, and opening the door, spoke to her
+aunt. She came and stood in the door.
+
+"Well, ma'am," said Mason, "I have gained Eliza's consent to change
+her name, if you will give your consent." She stood as one bewildered.
+The cloud which rested on her countenance was painful to behold. It
+was necessary to repeat his remark before she could apprehend it.
+
+"Ah, is it so? It has come at last. He doeth all things well. I hadn't
+faith to trust Him. He doeth all things well."
+
+"We have your consent?"
+
+"If she is half as loving to you as she has been to me, you will never
+be sorry. But what will become of me?"
+
+"We have no idea of parting with you. She has given her consent only
+on condition that you go with us." The old lady fixed her gaze upon
+her niece. It was strange that features so plain, so wrinkled by age
+and sorrow, could beam with such affection. She could find no words to
+express her feelings. She closed the door, and was heard sobbing like
+a child.
+
+Hour after hour stole away unnoted by the lovers. They were summoned
+to partake of the frugal meal spread by Aunt Mary's hands, and no
+apologies were made for its lack of store. Again they retired to the
+little parlor, and it was not till the sun was low in the west, that
+he set out on his return to the "white house."
+
+"We conclude that you have passed a happy day," said Mrs. Earl, "at
+least your countenance says so. We began to feel anxious about you."
+
+"I went to the brook first, and then to the village."
+
+"Have you seen many of your old friends?"
+
+"Several of them."
+
+Mason was released from the necessity of answering further questions
+by the arrival of a carriage at the door. Mr. Earl rose and went to
+the window. "Mr. Benfield has come," said he. Emily arose and left the
+room to return in another dress, and with flowers in her hair.
+
+Mr. Benfield was shown to his room, and in a few moments joined the
+family at the tea-table. Emily received him with a smile, which,
+however beautiful it may have been, was not like the smile of Eliza
+Austin. Mason saw that Mr. Benfield belonged to a class with which he
+was perfectly well acquainted. "It is well," thought he, "that she has
+filed down her mind, if she must spend her days with a man like him."
+Mason passed the evening with his uncle, though he was sadly
+inattentive to his uncle's remarks. Emily and Mr. Benfield took a
+walk, and on their return did not join the family. Benfield's object
+in visiting the country at this time was to fix a day for his
+marriage. The evening was spent by them in discussing matters
+pertaining to that event.
+
+It was necessary for Mr. Benfield to return to the city on the
+afternoon of the following day. Mason, for various reasons, determined
+to accompany him. Part of the morning was spent with Eliza, and
+arrangements for their union were easily fixed upon. No costly
+preparations for a wedding were thought to be necessary.
+
+Emily devoted herself so entirely to Mr. Benfield, that Mason had no
+opportunity of informing her respecting the state of his affairs.
+
+He sought his uncle, expressed to him his gratitude for his kindness,
+informed him of the state of his pecuniary affairs, and of his
+affections, and asked his approbation of his intended marriage.
+
+"I can't say, George," said the old gentleman, "but that you have done
+the wisest thing you could do. Emily may not like it. I have nothing
+to say against it. I didn't do very differently myself, though it
+would hardly do to say so aloud now. Emily is to be married in three
+weeks. You must be with us then."
+
+"Suppose I wish to be married myself on the same evening?"
+
+"Well, I don't know. I think you had better be with us, then make such
+arrangements as you please, and say nothing to us about it. It may
+make a little breeze at first, but it will soon blow over. Nobody will
+like you the worse for it in the end." Heartily thanking his uncle for
+his frankness and affection, and taking a courteous leave of Emily, he
+took his departure, with Mr. Benfield, for the city.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+The white house was a scene of great activity as the wedding-day drew
+near. Aunt Mary's services were put in requisition to a much greater
+extent than usual. When she protested that she could do no more, Mrs.
+Earl suggested that her niece would help her. Aunt Mary could not help
+remarking that Eliza might have something else to do as well as Miss
+Emily.
+
+It was understood that a large number of guests were to be invited.
+
+Many dresses were ordered in anticipation of an invitation. The
+services of the village dress-maker were in great demand. Eliza
+ordered a plain white dress--a very unnecessary expenditure, it was
+thought, since it was certain that she would not receive an
+invitation. It was a pity that she should thus prepare disappointment
+for herself, poor thing!
+
+Benfield and Mason arrived together on the appointed day. All things
+were in order. The preparations were complete. The guests
+assembled--the "big white house" was filled as it never had been
+filled before. Suddenly there is a _hush_ in the crowd--the
+folding-doors are thrown open--the bride and bride-groom are seen,
+prepared for the ceremony that is to make them one--in law. The words
+are spoken, the ceremony is performed, the oppressive silence is
+removed--the noise and gayety common to such occasions take place.
+
+After a time, it was noticed by some that the pastor, and Mason, and
+Esq. Ralston had disappeared.
+
+They repaired to Aunt Mary's, where a few tried friends had been
+invited to pass the evening. These friends were sorry that Eliza had
+not been invited to the wedding, but were pleased to find that she did
+not seem to be disappointed--she was in such fine spirits. She wore
+her new white dress, and a few roses in her hair.
+
+The entrance of the pastor, Mr. Mason, and Mr. Ralston, seemed to
+cause no surprise to Aunt Mary, though it astonished the assembled
+guests. After a kind word from the pastor to each one present, for
+they were all members of his flock, Mason arose, and taking Eliza by
+the hand, said to him, "We are ready." Prayer was offered, the
+wedding-vows were spoken, and George Mason and Eliza Austin were
+pronounced husband and wife.
+
+Joy seemed to have brushed away the clouds from Aunt Mary's mind. She
+conversed with the intelligence of her better days. The guests
+departed, and ere the lights were extinguished in the parlors of the
+white house, it was known throughout the village that there had been
+two weddings instead of one.
+
+Early in the morning, before the news had reached them, Mr. and Mrs.
+Benfield set out upon their wedding tour. Emily learned her cousin's
+marriage from the same paper which informed the public of her own.
+
+George Mason had no time for a wedding tour. He removed his wife and
+her aunt immediately to the city, and at once resumed the labors of
+his calling.
+
+Emily did not become acquainted with Mrs. Mason, until Mr. Benfield
+had failed in business, and was enabled to commence again, with
+capital furnished by her cousin, who had become the leading member of
+his firm.
+
+
+
+
+THE DAYSPRING.
+
+BY SAMUEL D. PATTERSON.
+
+    Mourner, bending o'er the tomb
+      Where thy heart's dear treasure lies,
+    Dark and dreary is thy gloom,
+      Deep and burdened are thy sighs:
+    From thy path the light, whose rays
+      Cheered and guided thee, is gone,
+    And the future's desert waste
+      Thou must sadly tread alone.
+
+    'Neath the drooping willow's shade,
+      Where the mourning cypress grows,
+    The beloved and lost is laid
+     In a quiet, calm repose.
+    Silent now the voice whose tones
+      Wakened rapture in thy breast--
+    Dull the ear--thy anguished groans
+      Break not on the sleeper's rest.
+
+    Grace and loveliness are fled,
+      Broken is the "golden bowl,"
+    Loosed the "silver chord," whose thread
+      Bound to earth th' immortal soul.
+    Closed the eyes whose glance so dear
+      Once love's language fond could speak,
+    And the worm, foul banqueter,
+      Riots on that matchless cheek.
+
+    And the night winds, as they sweep
+      In their solemn grandeur by,
+    With a cadence wild and deep,
+      Mournfully their requiem sigh.
+    And each plant and leaf and flower
+      Bows responsive to the wail,
+    Chanted, at the midnight hour,
+      By the spirits of the gale.
+
+    Truly has thy sun gone down
+      In the deepest, darkest gloom,
+    And the fondest joys thou'st known
+      Buried are within that tomb.
+    Earth no solace e'er can bring
+      To thy torn and bleeding heart--
+    Time nor art extract the sting
+      From the conqueror's poisoned dart.
+
+    But, amid thy load of wo,
+      Turn, thou stricken one, thine eyes
+    Upward, and behold that glow
+      Spreading brightly o'er the skies!
+    'Tis the day-star, beaming fair
+      In the blue expanse above;
+    Look on high, and know that there
+      Dwells the object of thy love,
+
+    Life's bright harp of thousand strings
+      By the spoiler's hand was riven,
+    But the realm seraphic rings
+      With the victor notes of heaven.
+    Over death triumphant--lo!
+      See thy cherished one appear!
+    Mourner, dry thy tears of wo,
+      Trust, believe, and meet her there!
+
+
+
+
+SONNET.--CULTIVATION.
+
+BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.
+
+    Weeds grow unasked, and even some sweet flowers
+      Spontaneous give their fragrance to the air,
+      And bloom on hills, in vales and everywhere--
+    As shines the sun, or fall the summer showers--
+      But wither while our lips pronounce them fair!
+      Flowers of more worth repay alone the care,
+    The nurture, and the hopes of watchful hours;
+    While plants most cultured have most lasting powers.
+      So, flowers of Genius that will longest live
+    Spring not in Mind's uncultivated soil,
+    But are the birth of time, and mental toil,
+      And all the culture Learning's hand can give:
+    Fancies, like wild flowers, in a night may grow;
+    But thoughts are plants whose stately growth is slow.
+
+
+
+
+FIRST LOVE.
+
+OR LILLIE MASON'S DEBUT.
+
+BY ENNA DUVAL.
+
+    Maybe without a further thought,
+      It only pleased you thus to please,
+    And thus to kindly feelings wrought
+      You measured not the sweet degrees;
+    Yet though you hardly understood
+      Where I was following at your call,
+    You might--I dare to say you should--
+      Have thought how far I had to fall.
+    And even now in calm review
+      Of all I lost and all I won,
+    I cannot deem you wholly true,
+      Nor wholly just what you have done. MILNES.
+
+          There is none
+    In all this cold and hollow world, no fount
+    Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within
+    A mother's heart. HEMANS.
+
+On paying a visit to my friend Agnes Mason one morning, the servant
+told me his mistress would be pleased to see me in her dressing-room.
+Thither I repaired, and found her, to my surprise, surrounded by all
+sorts of gay, costly articles, appertaining to the costume of a woman
+of the world. To my surprise, I say, for Agnes has always been one of
+the greatest home-bodies in the whole circle of my acquaintances. A
+party, or a ball she has scarcely visited since the first years of her
+marriage, although possessing ample means to enjoy every gayety of
+fashionable life.
+
+Over the Psyche glass was thrown a spotless _crepe_ dress, almost
+trembling with its rich embroidery; and near it, as if in contrast, on
+a dress-stand, was a velvet robe, falling in soft, luxurious folds.
+Flowers, caps, _coiffures_ of various descriptions, peeped out of
+sundry boxes, and on a commode table was an open _ecrin_ whose
+sparkling, costly contents dazzled the eyes.
+
+"Hey-day!" I exclaimed to my friend, as she advanced to meet me,
+"what's the meaning of all this splendor?"
+
+"I was just on the point of sending for you," she replied
+laughingly--"Madame M---- has sent home these lovely things for Lillie
+and I--and I want your opinion upon them."
+
+"And you are really going to re-enter society?" I asked.
+
+"Lillie is eighteen this winter, you know," was my gentle friend's
+reply. "Who would have thought time could have flown around so
+quickly. Mr. Mason is very anxious she should make her _entree_ this
+season. You can scarcely fancy how disagreeable it is to me, but I
+must not be selfish. I cannot always have her with me."
+
+"And you, like a good mother," I said, "will throw aside your love for
+retirement and accompany her?"
+
+"Certainly," replied Agnes eagerly, and she added with a slight
+expression of feeling which I well understood--"I will watch over her,
+for she will need my careful love now even more than in childhood."
+
+"Where is the pretty cause of all this anxiety and attention?" I
+inquired.
+
+"Charlie would not dress for his morning walk," answered the mother,
+"unless sister Lillie assisted in the robing of the young tyrant, so
+she is in the nursery."
+
+We inspected the different robes and gay things spread out so
+temptingly before us, and grew femininely eloquent over these
+beautiful trifles, and were most earnestly engaged in admiring the
+_parure_ of brilliant diamonds, and the spotless pearls, with which
+the fond, proud father and husband had presented them that morning,
+when a slight tap was heard at the door, and our pet Lillie entered. A
+bright-eyed, light-hearted creature is Lillie Mason--a sunbeam to her
+home. She ran up to me with affectionate greetings, and united in our
+raptures over the glittering _bijouterie_.
+
+"How will you like this new life, Lillie?" I asked, as the lovely girl
+threw herself on a low _marchepied_ at our feet, as if wearied of the
+pretty things.
+
+"I can scarcely tell," she replied, and she rested her head on her
+mother's lap, whose hand parted the clustering ringlets on the fair,
+smooth brow, while Lillie's eyes looked up most lovingly to that
+beloved mother, as she added--"How we shall miss the quiet reading
+hours, mother, darling. What time shall we have during our robing and
+unrobing for 'the _gentle Una and her milk-white lamb_,' and '_those
+bright children of the bard, Imogen, the fair Fidele and lovely
+Desdemona_?' What use is there in all this decking and adorning? Life
+is far happier spent in one's own home."
+
+"I fear," said Agnes, as she fondly caressed her daughter, "that I
+have made my Lillie too much of a household darling; but I have done
+it to avoid a greater evil. We women must love something--such a
+wealth of affection is stored within our hearts, that we are rendered
+miserable if it is poured out upon one human being, after being pent
+up within bounds, during childhood and girlhood up to womanhood.
+Should my Lillie be unfortunate in her love--I mean her wedded
+love--the misery will not be half so intense, for her heart belongs,
+at least two-thirds, to her family and mother, and no faithless lover
+can ever boast the possession of the whole of it."
+
+"No, indeed," exclaimed the dear girl, drawing her mother's face down
+to hers--"my whole heart is yours, _chere maman_, and yours it shall
+always be."
+
+With what rapture gleamed the mother's eyes, as she returned the
+daughter's fond caresses. Some day, dear reader, I may tell you what
+happened to Lillie Mason's heart, but now my thoughts are o'er-hung
+with the dark mantle of the past, and I can only think of the mother's
+former life.
+
+Agnes Howell was a beautiful girl--there was so much purity in her
+appearance. The gentle beam of her blue eye was angelic, and her
+auburn ringlets hung over her clear fair brow and soft cheek as if
+caressing that lovely face. Then she was such a contrast to her
+family--an only daughter among a troop of strong, stout clever
+brothers--merry healthy-minded boys were they, but the gentle Madonna
+sister in their midst seemed an "angel unawares." Agnes' mother was an
+excellent woman, strong-minded, pains-taking, but a little hard and
+obtuse in feeling. She no more understood the gentle spirit and deep
+heart-yearnings of the daughter God had given her than she did the
+mystery of life. She loved her with all the strength of her nature,
+but she made no companion of the quiet girl, and thought if she kept
+her wardrobe in good order, watched her general health, and directed
+her serious reading, she did all that was required of her. Agnes grew
+up a dreamer, an enthusiast; quiet and self-possessed her home
+training had made her, and a stranger would have wondered at the tide
+of deep feeling that ebbed and flowed within the breast of that
+gentle, placid girl. She shrunk from the rude _badinage_ of her
+boisterous brothers, and finding that little was required of her in
+the _heart-way_ from her matter-of-fact mother and good-natured, easy
+father, she lavished the wealth of her love upon an ideal. A woman
+soon finds, or fancies she finds, the realization of her ideal. Chance
+threw in Agnes' path one who was superior enough in mind and person to
+realize any image of a romantic girl's fancy.
+
+I remember well the time Agnes first met Mr. Preston. We were on a
+visit one summer to some friends together, and while there we met with
+this accomplished gentleman. How delighted were we both with him, and
+how enthusiastically did we chant to each other his praises, when in
+our own room we assisted each other in undressing for the night, or
+decking ourselves for the gay dinner or evening party. We met with
+many other gentlemen, and agreeable ones too, on this eventful visit,
+but Mr. Preston was a star of the first magnitude. I was a few years
+Agnes' junior, and well satisfied with the attentions I received from
+the other gentlemen, who deigned to notice so tiny a body as I was;
+but Mr. Preston soon singled out Agnes. He walked, rode and drove with
+her: hung over her enraptured when she sung, and listened with
+earnestness to every word that fell from her lips. She was "many
+fathom deep in love" ere she knew it--poor girl--and how exquisitely
+beautiful did this soul's dawning cause her lovely face to appear. The
+wind surely was not answerable for those burning cheeks and bright,
+dancing eyes, which she bore after returning from long rides, during
+which Mr. Preston was her constant companion--and the treasured sprigs
+of jessamine and verveine which she stored away in the leaves of her
+journal, after a moonlight ramble in the conservatory, with the same
+fascinating attendant--did not love cause all this? Naughty love, can
+the moments of rapture, exquisite though they be, which thou givest,
+atone for the months and years of deep heart-rending wretchedness
+which so often ensues?
+
+During the six weeks of that happy visit, Agnes Howell lived out the
+whole of her heart's existence. Blissful and rapturous were the
+moments, sleeping or waking, for Hope and Love danced merrily before
+her. But, alas! while it was the turning point--the event of her
+life--"it was but an episode" in the existence of the one who
+entranced her--"but a piping between the scenes." I do not think Mr.
+Preston ever realized the mischief he did. He was pleased with her
+appearance. Her purity and _naivete_ were delightful to him. Her ready
+appreciation of the true and beautiful in nature and art, interested
+him; and he sought her as a companion, because she was the most
+congenial amongst those who surrounded him. He was a man of society,
+and never stopped to think that the glowing, enthusiastic creature,
+whose eyes gazed up so confidingly to him, as he conversed of
+literature and poesy, or whose lips overflowed with earnest, eloquent
+words, was an innocent, guileless child, into whose Undine nature he
+had summoned the soul. He had been many years engaged, heart and hand,
+to another; and circumstances alone had delayed the fulfillment of
+that engagement. This Agnes knew nothing of, and surrendered herself
+up, heart and soul, to him, unasked, poor girl! He regarded her as an
+interesting, lovely girl, but he attributed the enthusiasm and feeling
+which he unconsciously had called into birth, to the exquisite
+formation of her spirit, and thought her a most superior creature. No
+one marked the _affaire_ as I did, for we were surrounded by those who
+knew of Mr. Preston's situation in life, and his engagement, and who,
+moreover, regarded Agnes as a child in comparison to him--an unformed
+woman, quite beneath the choice of one so _distingue_ as was Mr.
+Preston.
+
+Our visit drew near to a close; the evening before our departure I was
+looking over some rare and beautiful engravings in the library. A gay
+party were assembled in the adjoining apartments, and Mr. Preston had
+been Agnes' partner during the quadrilles and voluptuous waltz. I had
+lingered in the library, partly from shyness, partly from a desire to
+take a farewell of my favorite haunt, and look over my pet books and
+pictures, while the rich waves of melody floated around my ears. At
+the close of a brilliant waltz, Mr. Preston and Agnes joined me, and I
+found myself listening with as much earnestness as Agnes to the mellow
+tones of his voice, while he pointed out to us beauties and defects in
+the pictures, and heightened the interest we already took in them by
+classical allusion or thrilling recital. If the subject of a picture
+was unknown, he would throw around it the web of some fancied story,
+improvised on the instant. I listened to him with delight; every thing
+surrounding us tended to increase the effect of the spell. Music
+swelled in voluptuous cadences, merry voices, and the gushing sound of
+heart-felt laughter greeted our ears. Opposite the table over which we
+were leaning was a door, which opened into a conservatory, through
+whose glasses streamed the cold, pure moonlight, beaming on the
+exotics that in silence breathed an almost over-powering odor; and my
+eyes dwelt upon that quiet, cool spot, while the soft, harmonious
+conversation of my companions, and the merry, joyous sounds of the
+ball-room, blended half dreamily in my ears.
+
+"You are wishing to escape into that conservatory, Miss Duval," said
+Mr. Preston to me suddenly.
+
+A warm blush mantled my face, for I fancied he thought I was weary of
+his conversation. I stammered out some reply, I scarce knew what,
+which was not listened to, however, for Agnes, catching sight of an
+Ethiop gypsey flower at the far end of the conservatory, expressed a
+wish to see it. Mr. Preston with earnestness opposed the change--the
+atmosphere there, he feared, was too chilling; but as she rested her
+hand on his, with childish confidence, to prove to him the excitement
+and flush of the gay waltz had passed, and looked up with such beaming
+joyfulness out of her dark, violet eyes, he smilingly yielded; but
+first wrapped around her shoulders, with affectionate solicitude, an
+Indian _crepe_ shawl, that hung near him on a chair. "_Poor little
+me_" was not thought of; I might take cold if I could, he would not
+have noted it; but I ejaculated to myself, "If I am too young for Mr.
+Preston to feel any interest in, a few years will make a vast
+difference, and maybe in the future I shall be an object of care to
+some one."
+
+We reached the beautiful flower, over which Agnes hung; and as she
+inhaled its fragrance, she murmured in low words, which Mr. Preston
+bent his tall, graceful form to hear,
+
+      "Thou dusky flower, I stoop to inhale
+      Thy fragrance--thou art one
+    That wooeth not the vulgar eye,
+      Nor the broad-staring sun.
+
+      "Therefore I love thee! (selfish love
+      Such preference may be,)
+    That thou reservest all thy sweets,
+      Coy thing, for night and me."
+
+"This flower must be mine, Miss Agnes," said Mr. Preston, with
+gallantry; "and when I look on it, it will tell me of the delicate
+taste and pure spirit of one who has rendered six weeks of my
+cheerless life bright."
+
+The chill moonlight shone down on Agnes, and its rays nestled between
+the ringlets and her downy cheek, but its cold beams could not blench
+the rosy hue, that mounted to her blue veined temples, as Mr. Preston
+severed the fragrant exotic from its stem, and carefully pressed it
+between the leaves of his tablets. Many such words followed, and I
+walked unheeded beside them, as they lingered in this lovely place.
+Pity that such blessed hours should ever be ended--that life's lights
+should need dark shadows. Midnight swept over us ere good-night was
+said; and in a half-dreamy state of rapture, Agnes rested her head on
+her pillow. Nothing had been said; no love had been actually
+expressed, in the vulgar sense of the word, and according to the
+world's view of such matters, Mr. Preston was entirely guiltless of
+the dark, heavy cloud that hung over the pathway of that young
+creature from that night.
+
+We returned to our homes; I benefited by my visit, for my mind had
+been improved by the association with older and superior persons--and
+I returned with renewed zeal to my studies and reading, that I might
+understand that which had appeared but "darkly to my mind's eye." But
+Agnes found her companionless home still more cheerless. The bustling,
+thrifty mother, and hearty, noisy brothers, greeted her with earnest
+kindness; but after a few weeks had passed, her spirit flagged. She
+lived for awhile upon the recollection of the past, and that buoyed
+her up; but, as day after day went noiselessly and uneventfully by,
+her heart grew aweary of the dear "hope deferred," and a listlessness
+took possession of her. Poor girl! the rosy hue of her cheek faded,
+and the bright light of her eye grew dim. Her bustling, active family
+did not take notice of the change in her appearance and spirits; but
+I, thrown daily with her, noted it with anxiety. I sought to interest
+her in my studies, and asked her assistance in my music. With labor
+she would exert herself to aid me; and at times her old enthusiasm
+would burst forth, but only as the gleams of an expiring taper; every
+thing seemed wearisome to her.
+
+One morning I heard that she had been seized with a dangerous illness,
+and I hastily obeyed the summons which I had received from her mother.
+What a commotion was that bustling family thrown into. The physicians
+pronounced her sickness a brain fever. When I reached her bedside, she
+was raving, and her beautiful eyes gazed vacantly on the nearest and
+dearest of her friends; even the mother that bore her hung over her
+unrecognized. She had retired as usual the night before, her mother
+said, apparently well; but at midnight the family had been awakened by
+her shrieks and cries. I watched beside her bed weepingly, for I never
+hoped to see her again in health. The dark wing of Death I felt
+already drooping over her; and with anguish I listened to the snatches
+of poetry and song that fell in fragments from her lips. As I was
+placing a cup on a table in her room, during the day, my eye caught
+sight of two cards tied with white satin ribbon, and on them I read
+the names of Mr. Ralph Preston and his bride, with these words hastily
+written in pencil in Mr. Preston's handwriting on the larger of the
+two cards,
+
+"You will, my lovely friend, rejoice in my happiness, I am sure. Short
+was our acquaintance, but with the hope that I am not forgotten, I
+hasten to inform you that the cheerless life-path you deigned to
+brighten for a few short hours by your kind smiles, is now rendered
+calm and joyous. I am at last married to the one I have secretly
+worshiped for years. We both pray you may know happiness exquisite as
+ours."
+
+How quickly I divined the cause of my friend's illness; no longer was
+it a mystery to me as it was to her family. Those silent cards had
+been the messengers of evil, and had been mute witnesses of the bitter
+anguish that had wrung her young heart. There, in the silent night,
+had she struggled with her agony; and I fancied I heard her calling on
+Heaven for strength--that Heaven to which we only appeal when
+overwhelmed by the sad whirldwind caused by our errors or passions.
+But strength had been denied, and her spirit sank fainting.
+
+For weeks we watched the fluttering life within her, at times giving
+up all hope; but youth and careful nursing aided the struggle of
+Nature with Death, and at last Agnes opened her languid eyes upon us,
+and was pronounced out of immediate danger. The sickening pallor that
+overspread her face an instant after her returning consciousness, I
+well understood; the thought of her heart's desolation came to her
+memory, and I fear life was any thing but a blessing to her then. Her
+health continued delicate; and at last it was deemed advisable to take
+her to a more genial climate--that change of scene and air might
+strengthen her constitution, and raise her spirits, depressed, the
+physician said, by sickness. I knew better than the wise Esculapius;
+but my knowledge could not restore her. Her father was a man of
+considerable wealth, therefore no expense was spared for her benefit.
+They resided some years in Europe, and the letters I received from
+Agnes proved that the change had, indeed, been of benefit. New
+associations surrounded her, and dissipated the sad foreboding
+thoughts, bringing her to a more healthy state of mind. I was a little
+surprised, however, when I heard of her approaching marriage with Mr.
+Mason. Had I been as old as I am now, I would not have felt that
+wonder; but I was still young and sentimental enough to fancy the
+possibility of cherishing an "unrequited, luckless love, even unto
+death." Agnes had never spoken openly to me of her unfortunate
+attachment, but there was always a tacit understanding between us. She
+was too delicate and refined, too sensitive to indulge in the eager
+confidence which a coarser mind would have luxuriated in; but in
+writing to, or talking with me, she many times expressed herself in
+earnest, feeling words, that to a stranger would have seemed only as
+"fine sentiments," while to me, who knew her sad history, they bore a
+deeper meaning; therefore, the letter I received from her, on her
+marriage, was well understood, and quietly appreciated by me.
+
+"I wonder if you will be surprised, my dear Enna," she wrote, "when
+you hear that I am married? A few years ago it would have surprised
+me, and I should have thought it impossible. Moreover, I am marrying a
+man for whom I do not entertain that 'rapturous, soul-engrossing,
+enthusiastic love' which we have always deemed so necessary in
+marrying, and which, Heaven knows, I was once capable of bestowing on
+a husband. Mr. Mason, whom I am about to marry, is not a man who
+requires such love. The calm, quiet respect and friendship I entertain
+for him, suits him far better. He is matter-of-fact--think of that,
+Enna--not at all like the imaginary heroes of love we have talked of
+together. But he is high-minded, and possesses much intelligence and
+cultivation. We have been friends a long while, and I am confident
+that, if life and health are spared, happiness will result to both
+from our union."
+
+She did not return to her country for many years after her marriage;
+and when I again saw her, she presented a strong contrast, in
+appearance, to the pale, heart-broken creature I had parted with ten
+years before. She was more beautiful even than in her youth--still
+delicate and spiritual in appearance; and the calm, matronly dignity
+that pervaded her manner rendered her very lovely. Several children
+she had--for our Lillie can boast a Neapolitan birth; but in her whole
+troop she has but this one darling girl. Calm and quiet is Agnes Mason
+in her general deportment; but her intercourse with her children
+presents a strong contrast--then it is her "old enthusiasm" bursts
+forth. She has been a devoted mother; and her children think her the
+most perfect creature on earth. The intercourse between Agnes and
+Lillie is, indeed, interesting. On the mother's part there is intense
+devotion, which is fully returned by the daughter, blended with
+reverential feelings. She has superintended her education, and
+rendered what would have been wearisome tasks, "labors of love." How
+often have I found them in the library with heads bent over the same
+page, and eyes expressive of the same enthusiasm; or at the piano,
+with voices and hands uniting to produce what was to my ears exquisite
+harmony. Agnes' love-requiring heart, "like the Deluge wanderer," has
+at last found a resting-place, and on her daughter, and on her noble,
+beautiful boys, the whole rich tide of her love has been poured.
+
+Lillie Mason, with all her beauty and wealth, will never be a belle,
+as her mother says she has been made too much of "a household
+darling." I watched her one evening, not a long while since, at a gay
+ball, where her mother and I sat as spectatresses. She had been
+persuaded from our side by a dashing _distingue_ youth, and was moving
+most gracefully with him through a quadrille. In the pauses of the
+dance he seemed most anxious to interest her, and I saw his fine, dark
+eyes bend on her very tender glances. Her _bouquet_ seemed to him an
+object of especial attention, and though a graceful dancer himself, he
+seemed so wrapt up in his notice of these fragrant flowers as to
+derange the quadrille more than once. I drew Agnes' attention to this.
+
+"But see," said Agnes, "how coolly and calmly Lillie draws his
+attention to the forgotten figures. I'll answer for it, she spoils
+many of that youth's fine sentiments."
+
+"I wonder," said Lillie, with a half-vexed air, after her partner had
+placed her beside her mother, while he hastened to procure some
+refreshments for us, "I wonder what Mr. Carlton dances for. I would
+not take the trouble to stand up in a quadrille, if I were in his
+place. He always talks so much as to quite forget the movements of the
+dance. He renders me more nervous than any partner I ever have, for I
+dislike to see my _vis-a-vis_ so bored. Just now he went through the
+whole "language of flowers" in my bouquet, which would have been
+interesting elsewhere, for he quotes poetry right cleverly; but it was
+a little out of place where the bang of the instruments, and the
+_chazzez_ and the _balancez_ made me lose one half of his pretty
+eloquence. Quadrilles are senseless things any how;" and our pretty
+Lillie actually yawned as she begged to know if it was not time to
+go. "You know, dear mamma," she said, "that I have to arise very early
+to-morrow morning, to help Tom in that hard lesson he groaned so
+pitifully over to-night."
+
+As we left the ball-room, and were making our adieux to the fair
+hostess, I overheard young Carlton say reproachfully to Lillie,
+
+"And so you are going to leave without dancing that next quadrille
+with me. I know my name is on your tablets. This is too unkind, Miss
+Mason."
+
+Young Carleton is very devoted; but if his devotion is only a passing
+caprice, our Lillie will not be injured by it. There is no danger of
+her "falling in love" hastily, even if the lover be as handsome and
+interesting as the one in question. Luckily for her happiness, her
+mother, profiting by her own sad experience, has cultivated the sweet
+blossoms of domestic love, and, as she says, "My Lillie's heart will
+always belong, at least two-thirds, to her mother and family."
+
+
+
+
+MIDNIGHT.
+
+BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
+
+    The moon looks down on a world of snow,
+    And the midnight lamp is burning low,
+    And the fading embers mildly glow
+      In their bed of ashes soft and deep;
+    All, all is still as the hour of death--
+    I only hear what the old clock saith,
+    And the mother and infant's easy breath,
+      That flows from the holy land of Sleep.
+
+    Or the watchman who solemnly wakes the dark,
+    With a voice like a prophet's when few will hark,
+    And the answering hounds that bay and bark
+      To the red cock's clarion horn--
+    The world goes on--the restless world,
+    With its freight of sleep through darkness hurled,
+    Like a mighty ship, when her sails are furled,
+      On a rapid but noiseless river borne.
+
+    Say on old clock--I love you well,
+    For your silver chime, and the truths you tell--
+    Your every stroke is but the knell
+      Of Hope, or Sorrow buried deep;
+    Say on--but only let me hear
+    The sound most sweet to my listening ear,
+    The child and the mother breathing clear
+      Within the harvest-fields of Sleep.
+
+    Thou watchman, on thy lonely round,
+    I thank thee for that warning sound--
+    The clarion cock and the baying hound
+      Not less their dreary vigils keep;
+    Still hearkening, I will love you all,
+    While in each silent interval
+    I can hear those dear breasts rise and fall
+      Upon the airy tide of Sleep.
+
+    Old world, on Time's benighted stream
+    Sweep down till the stars of morning beam
+    From orient shores--nor break the dream
+      That calms my love to pleasures deep;
+    Roll on and give my Bud and Rose
+    The fullness of thy best repose,
+    The blessedness which only flows
+      Along the silent realms of Sleep.
+
+
+
+
+A VISION.
+
+BY R. H. STODDARD.
+
+    I saw the Past, in heaven a mighty train,
+      A countless multitude of solemn years,
+      Standing like souls of martyred saints, and tears
+    Ran down their pallid cheeks like summer rain;
+    They clasped and wrung their white hands evermore,
+      Wailing, demanding vengeance on the world:
+    And Judgment, with his garments sprinkled o'er
+      With guilty blood, and dusky wings unfurled,
+    And sword unsheathed, expectant of His nod,
+    Stood waiting by the burning throne, and God
+    Rose up in heaven in ire--but Mercy fair,
+      A piteous damsel clad in spotless white,
+    In supplication sweet and earnest prayer
+    Knelt at his feet and clung around his robe of light.
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW ENGLAND FACTORY GIRL.
+
+A SKETCH OF EVERYDAY LIFE.
+
+BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.
+
+    For naught its power to STRENGTH can teach
+    Like EMULATION--and ENDEAVOR. SCHILLER.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+HOPING AND PLANNING.
+
+The family of Deacon Gordon were gathered in the large kitchen, at the
+commencement of the first snow-storm of the season. With what delight
+the children watched the driving clouds--and shouted with exultation
+as they tried to count the fleecy flakes floating gently to the
+earth--nestling upon its bleak, bare surface as if they would fain
+shield it with a pure and beautiful mantle. Faster and faster came the
+storm, even the deacon concluded that it would amount to something,
+after all; perhaps there might be sleighing on Thanksgiving-day;
+though he thought it rather uncertain. His wife did not reply, she was
+bidding the children be a little less noisy in their mirth.
+
+"We can get out our sleds in the morning, can't we, Mary?" said Master
+Ned. "I'm so glad you finished my mittens last Saturday. I told Tom
+Kelly I hoped it would snow soon, for I wanted to see how warm they
+were. Wont I make the ice-balls fly!"
+
+Ned had grown energetic with the thought, and seizing his mother's
+ball of worsted aimed it at poor puss, who was sleeping quietly before
+the blazing fire. Alas! for Neddy--puss but winked her great sleepy
+eyes as the ball whizzed past, and was buried in the pile of ashes
+that had gathered around the huge "back-log." His mother did not
+scold; she had never been known to disturb the serenity of the good
+deacon by an ebullition of angry words. Indeed, the neighbors often
+said she was _too_ quiet, letting the children have their own way.
+'Mrs. Gordon chose to rule by the law of love, a mode of government
+little understood by those around her. Could they have witnessed Ned's
+penitent look, when his mother simply said--"Do you see how much
+trouble you have given me, my son?" they would not have doubted its
+efficacy.
+
+The deacon said nothing, but opened the almanac he had just taken down
+from its allotted corner, and thought, as he searched for "Nov. 25th,"
+that he had the best wife in the world, and if his children were not
+good it was their own fault. The great maxim of the deacon's life had
+been "let well enough alone"--but not always seeing clearly what was
+"well enough," he was often surprised when he found matters did not
+turn out as he had expected. This had made him comparatively a poor
+man, though the fine farm he had inherited from his father should
+have rendered him perfectly independent of the world. Little by little
+had been sold, until it was not more than half its original size, and
+the remainder, far less fertile than of old, scarce yielded a
+sufficient support for his now numerous family. He had a holy horror
+of debt, however--and with his wife's rigid and careful economy, he
+managed to balance accounts at the end of the year. But this was
+all--there was nothing in reserve--should illness or misfortune
+overtake him, life's struggle would be hard indeed for his youthful
+family.
+
+The deacon was satisfied--he had found the day of the month, and in a
+spirit of prophecy quite remarkable, the context added, "Snow to be
+expected about this time."
+
+"It's late enough for snow, that's true," said he, as he carefully
+replaced his "farmer's library," then remarking it was near time for
+tea, he took up his blue homespun frock, and went out in the face of
+the storm to see that the cattle were properly cared for. The deacon
+daily exemplified the motto--"A merciful man is merciful to his
+beast."
+
+"Father is right," said Mrs. Gordon, using the familiar title so
+commonly bestowed upon the head of the family in that section of
+country. "Mary, it is quite time you were busy, and you, James, had
+better get in the wood."
+
+The young people to whom she spoke had been conversing apart at the
+furthest window of the room. Mary, a girl of fifteen, James, scarce
+more than a year her senior. They started at their mother's voice, as
+if they had quite forgotten where they were, but in an instant
+good-humoredly said she was right, and without delay commenced their
+several tasks. James was assisted by Ned, who, since he had come into
+possession of his first pair of boots--an era in the life of every
+boy--had been promoted to the office of chip-gatherer; and Sue, a rosy
+little girl of eight or nine, spread the table, while her sister
+prepared the tea, cutting the snowy loaves made by her own hand; and
+bringing a roll of golden butter she herself had moulded, Mrs. Gordon
+gave a look of general supervision, and finished the preparations for
+the evening meal by the addition of cheese--such as city people never
+see--just as Mr. Gordon and James returned, stamping the snow from
+their heavy boots, and sending a shower of drops from the already
+melting mass which clung to them.
+
+Never was there a happier group gathered about a farmer's table, and
+when, with bowed head and solemn voice, the father had begged the
+blessing of Heaven upon their simple fare, the children did ample
+justice to the plain but substantial viands. Mrs. Gordon wondered how
+they found time to eat, there was so much to be said on all sides; but
+talk as they would--and it is an established fact that the
+conversational powers of children are developed with greater
+brilliancy at table than elsewhere--when the repast was finished there
+was very little reason to complain on the score of bad appetites.
+
+Then commenced the not unpleasant task of brightening and putting away
+the oft used dishes. Mary and Sue were no loiterers, and by the time
+their mother had swept the hearth, and arranged the displaced
+furniture, cups and plates were shining on the dresser, as the red
+fire-light gleamed upon them. The deacon sat gazing intently upon the
+glowing embers--apparently in deep meditation, though it is to be
+questioned whether he thought at all. Mrs. Gordon had resumed her
+knitting, while Sue and Ned, after disputing some time whose turn it
+was to hold the yarn, were busily employed in winding a skein of
+worsted into birds-nest balls.
+
+"Seven o'clock comes very soon, don't it Eddy?" said Sue, as their
+heads came in contact at the unraveling of a terrible "tangle"--"I
+wish it would be always daylight, and then wouldn't we sit up a great
+many hours? I'd go to school at night instead of the daytime, and do
+all my errands, and go to meeting too--then we should have all day
+long to play in, and if we got tired we could lie down on the grass in
+the orchard and take a little nap, or here before the fire if it was
+winter. Oh, dear! I'm sure I can't see why there's any dark at all!"
+
+"You girls don't know any thing," answered Master Ned, with the
+inherent air of superiority which alike animates the boy and the man,
+where women are concerned--"If there was no night what would become of
+the chickens? They can't go to sleep in the daylight, can they, I'd
+like to know? And if they didn't go to sleep how would they ever get
+fat, or large; and maybe they wouldn't have feathers; then what would
+we do for bolsters, and beds, and pillows? You didn't think of that, I
+guess, Susy."
+
+Ned's patronizing air quite offended his sister, but she did not stop
+to show it, for she had, as she thought, found an admirable plan for
+the chickens.
+
+"Well," said she slowly, not perceiving in her abstraction that the
+skein was nearly wound, "we could make a dark room in the barn for the
+biddies, and they could go in there when it ought to be sundown. I
+guess they'd know--" but here there came an end to the skein and their
+speculations, for seven o'clock rung clearly and loudly from the
+wooden time-piece in the corner, and the children obeyed the signal
+for bed, not without many "oh, dears," and wishes that the clock could
+not strike.
+
+"James," said his elder sister, as their mother left the room with the
+little ones, "let us tell father and mother all about it to-night.
+They might as well know now as any time; and Stephen will be back in
+the morning."
+
+"Don't speak so loud," whispered the boy, "father will hear you. I
+suppose we might as well; but I do so dread it, I'm sure it would kill
+me if they were to say no, and now I can hope at least."
+
+"I know it all," said his stronger minded adviser, "but I shall feel
+better when they are told. I know mother wonders what we are always
+whispering about; and it does not seem right to hide any thing from
+her. Here she is, and when we've got father's cider and the apples, I
+shall tell them if you don't."
+
+Poor James! it was evident that he had a cherished project at stake.
+Never before had he been so long in drawing the cider. Mary had heaped
+her basket with rosy-cheeked apples before he had finished; and when
+at length he came from the cellar, his hand trembled, so that the
+brown beverage was spilled upon the neat hearth.
+
+"You are a little careless," said his mother; but the boy offered no
+excuse; he cast an imploring glance at his sister, and walked to the
+window, though the night was dark as Erebus, and the sleet struck
+sharply against the glass.
+
+"James and I want to talk with you a little while, father and mother,
+if you can listen now," said Mary, boldly; and then there was a
+pause--for she had dropped a whole row of stitches in her knitting,
+and numberless were the loops which were left, as she took them up
+again.
+
+Her father looked at her with a stare of astonishment, or else he was
+getting sleepy, and was obliged to open his eyes very widely, lest
+they should close without his knowledge.
+
+"Well, my child," said Mrs. Gordon, in a gentle tone of
+encouragement--for she thought, from Mary's manner, that the
+development of the confidential communications of the brother and
+sister was at hand.
+
+"We have been making a plan, mother--" but James could go no further,
+and left the sentence unfinished. "Mary will tell you all," he added,
+in a choking voice, as he turned once more to the window.
+
+Mary did tell all, clearly, and without hesitation; while her mother's
+pride, and her father's astonishment increased as the narrative
+progressed. James, young as he was, had fixed his heart upon gaining a
+classical education--a thing not so rare in the New England States as
+with us, for there the false idea still prevails, that a man is unfit
+to enter upon a profession until he has served the four years'
+laborious apprenticeship imposed upon all "candidates for college
+prizes." With us, the feeling has almost entirely passed away; a man
+is not judged by the number of years he is supposed to have devoted to
+the literature of past ages--the question is, what does he know? not,
+how was that knowledge gained? But in the rigid and formal atmosphere
+by which it was the fortune of our little hero to be surrounded, the
+prejudice was strong as ever; and the ambitious boy, in dreaming out
+for himself a life of fame and honor, saw before him, as an obstacle
+hardly possible of being surmounted, a collegiate education.
+
+For months he had kept the project a secret in his own heart, and had
+daily, and almost hourly, gone over and over again, every difficulty
+which presented itself. He saw at once that he could expect no aid
+from his father, for he knew the constant struggle going on in the
+household to narrow increasing expenses to their humble means. His
+elder brother, Stephen, would even oppose the plan--for, he being very
+like their father, was plodding and industrious, content with the
+present hour, and heartily despised books and schools, as being
+entirely beneath his notice. His mother would, he hoped, aid him by
+her approval and encouragement--this was all _she_ could bestow; and
+Mary, however willing, had not more to offer. At length he resolved to
+tell his sister, who had ever been his counsellor, the project which
+he had so long cherished.
+
+"I am not selfish about it," said he, as he dilated upon the success
+which he felt sure would be his, could this first stumbling-block but
+be removed. "Think how much I could do for you all. Father would be
+relieved from the burden of supporting me, for he does not need my
+assistance now, the farm is so small, and Ed is growing old enough to
+do all my work. Then you should have a capital education, for you
+ought to have it; and you could teach a school that would be more to
+the purpose than the district school. After I had helped you all, then
+I could work for myself; and mother would be so proud of her son. But,
+oh! Mary," and the boy's heart sank within him, "I know it can never
+be."
+
+The two, brother and sister, as they sat there together, were a fair
+illustration of the "dreamer and the worker." Mary was scarce fifteen,
+but she was thoughtful beyond her years, yet as hopeful as the child.
+"Yes, I could keep school," thought she, as she looked into her
+brother's earnest eyes. "What can hinder my keeping school now; and
+the money I can earn, with James having his vacations to work in,
+might support him."
+
+But with this thought came another. She knew that the pay given to
+district schoolteachers--women especially--was at best a bare
+pittance, scarce more than sufficient for herself--for she could not
+think of burdening her parents with her maintenance when her time and
+labor was not theirs; and she knew that her education was too limited
+to seek a larger sphere of action. So she covered her bright young
+face with her hands, and it was clouded for a time with deep thought;
+then looking suddenly up, the boy wondered at the change which had
+passed over it, there was so much joy, even exultation in every
+feature.
+
+"I have it," said she, throwing her arms fondly about his neck. "I
+know how I can earn a deal of money, more than I want. If mother will
+let me, I can go to Lowell and work in a factory. Susan Hunt paid the
+mortgage on her father's farm in three years; and I'm sure it would
+not take any more for you than she earned."
+
+At first the boy's heart beat wildly; for the moment it seemed as if
+his dearest wishes were about to be accomplished. Then came a feeling
+of reproach at his own selfishness, in gaining independence by dooming
+his fair young sister to a life of constant labor and self-denial;
+wasting, or at least passing the bright hours of her girlhood in the
+midst of noise and heat, with rude associations for her refined and
+gentle nature.
+
+"Oh! no, Mary," said he, passionately--"never, never! You are too
+good, too generous!" yet the wish of his life was too strong to be
+checked at once; and when Mary pleaded, and urged him to consent to
+it, and gave a thousand "woman's reasons" why it was best, and how
+easy the task would be to her, when lightened by the consciousness
+that she was aiding him to take a lofty place among his fellow-men, he
+gave a reluctant consent to the plan, ashamed of himself the while,
+and dreading lest his parents should oppose what would seem to their
+calmer judgment an almost impossible scheme.
+
+Day after day he had begged Mary to delay asking their consent, though
+the suspense was an agony to the enthusiastic boy. Mary knew the
+disappointment would be terrible; yet she thought if it was to come,
+it had best be over with at once; and, beside, she was more hopeful
+than her brother, for she had not so much at stake. Was it any wonder,
+then, that James could scarce breathe while his sister calmly told
+their plans, and that he dared not look into his mother's face when
+the recital was ended.
+
+There was no word spoken for some moments--the deacon looked into his
+wife's face, as if he did not fully understand what he had been
+listening to, and sought the explanation from her; but she gazed
+intently at the fire, revealing nothing by the expression of her
+features until she said, "Your father and I will talk the matter over,
+children, and to-morrow you shall hear what we think of it." Without
+the least idea of the decision which would be made, James was obliged
+to subdue his impatience; and the evening passed wearily enough in
+listening to his father's plans for repairing the barn, and making a
+new ox-sled. Little did the boy hear, though he seemed to give
+undivided attention.
+
+"Have you well considered all this, my child," said Mrs. Gordon, as
+she put her hand tenderly upon her daughter's forehead, and looked
+earnestly into her sweet blue eyes. "James is in his own room, so do
+not fear to speak openly. Are you not misled by your love for him, and
+your wish that he should succeed."
+
+"No, mother, I have thought again and again, and I know I could work
+from morning till night without complaining, if I thought he was
+happy. Then it will be but three or four years at the farthest, and I
+shall be hardly nineteen then. I can study, too, in the evenings and
+mornings, and sometimes I can get away for whole weeks, and come up
+here to see you all; Lowell is not very far, you know."
+
+"But there is another thing, Mary. Do you not know that there are many
+people who consider it as a disgrace to toil thus--who would ridicule
+you for publicly acknowledging labor was necessary for you; they would
+perhaps shun your society, and you would be wounded by seeing them
+neglect, and perhaps openly avoid you."
+
+"I should not care at ail for that, mother. Why is it any worse to
+work at Lowell than at home; and you tell me very often that I support
+myself now. People that love me would go on loving me just as well as
+ever; and those who don't love me, I'm sure I'm willing they should
+act as they like."
+
+"I think myself," replied her mother, pleased at the true spirit of
+independence that she saw filled her daughter's heart, "that the
+opinion of those who despise honest labor, is not worth caring for.
+But you are young, and sneers will have their effect. You must
+remember this--it is but natural. There is one thing else--we may both
+be mistaken about James' ability; he may be himself--and you could not
+bear to see him fail, after all. Think, it may be so; and then all
+your time and your earnings will be lost."
+
+"Not lost, mother," said the young girl, her eyes sparkling with love
+and hope, "I should have done all I could to help James, you know."
+
+Mrs. Gordon kissed her good-night with a full heart. She was proud of
+her children; and few mothers have more reason for the natural
+feeling. "I cannot bear to disappoint her," thought she, yet the
+scheme seemed every moment more childish and impracticable.
+
+James rose, not with the sun, but long before it; and when his father
+came down, he was already busily employed in clearing a path to the
+well and the barn--for the snow had fallen so heavily, that the drifts
+gathered by the night wind, in its rude sport, were piled to the very
+windows, obscuring the misty light of the winter's morn. How beautiful
+were those snow-wreaths in their perfect purity! The brown and knotted
+fences, the dingy out-buildings, were all covered with dazzling
+drapery; and the leafless trees were bowed beneath the weight of a
+fantastic foliage that glittered in the clear beams of the rising sun
+with a splendor that was almost painful to behold.
+
+"It wont last long with this sun," said the deacon, as he tied a
+'comforter' about his throat; "but perhaps you'll have time to give
+Mary and the children a ride before the roads are bare again. Mary
+must do all her sleighing this winter, for she won't have much time if
+she goes to the factory, poor child!"
+
+The deacon passed on with heavy strides to the barn-yard, and left
+James to hope that their petition was not rejected. It was not many
+minutes after that Mary came bounding down the stone-steps, heedless
+of the snow in which she trod; and the instant he looked upon her face
+he was no longer in doubt.
+
+"_Isn't_ mother good, James! She just called me into her room, and
+told me that father and she have concluded we can try it at least; and
+Stephen is not to know any thing about it until next April, when I am
+to go. We must both of us study very hard this winter, and I shall
+have such a deal of sewing to do."
+
+Mary spoke with delighted eagerness. One would have thought, beholding
+her joy, that it was a pleasant journey which she anticipated, or that
+a fortune had unexpectedly been left to her; and yet the spring so
+longed for, would find her among strangers, working in a close and
+crowded room through the bright days. But a contented spirit hath its
+own sunshine; and the dearest pleasure that mankind may know, is
+contributing to the happiness of those we love. The less selfish our
+devotion to friends, the more sacrificing our self-denial in their
+behalf, the greater is the reward; so Mary's step was more elastic
+than ever, and her bright eyes shone with a steady, cheerful light, as
+she went about her daily tasks.
+
+As she said, it was necessary that they should both be very busy
+through the winter, for James hoped to be able to enter college in
+August; and Mary, who had heretofore kept pace with him in most of his
+studies, though she did stumble at "tupto, tupso, tetupha," and vow
+that Greek was not intended for girls, did not wish to give up her
+Latin and Geometry. They had such a kind instructor in Mr. Lane, the
+village lawyer, that an ambition to please him made them at first
+forget the difficulties of the dry rudiments; and then it was that
+James first began to dream of one day being able to plead causes
+himself--of studying a profession. Mr. Lane, unconsciously, had
+encouraged this, by telling his little pupils, to whom he was much
+attached, the difficulties that had beset his youthful career, and how
+he had gained an honest independence, when he had at first been
+without friends or means. Then he would look up at his pretty young
+wife, or put out his arms to their little one, as if he thought, and
+is not this a sufficient reward for those years of toil and
+despondence. James remembered, when he was a student, teaching in
+vacations to aid in supporting himself through term time. He had
+boarded at Mr. Gordon's, and when he came to settle in the village,
+years after, he had offered to teach James and Mary, as a slight
+recompense for Mrs. Gordon's early kindness to the poor student. Two
+hours each afternoon were passed in Mr. Lane's pleasant little study;
+and though Stephen thought it was time wasted, he did not complain
+much, for James was doubly active in the morning. Mary, too,
+accomplished twice as much as ever before; and after the day's routine
+of household labor and study were over, her needle flew quickly, as
+she prepared her little wardrobe for leaving home. March was nearly
+through before they felt that spring had come; and though Mary's eyes
+were sometimes filled with tears at the thought of the coming
+separation, they were quickly dried, and the first of April found her
+unshaken in her resolution.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+LEAVING HOME--FACTORY LIFE.
+
+"To-morrow will be the last day at home," thought Mary, as she bade
+her mother good-night, and turned quickly to her own room to conceal
+the tears that would start; and, though they fringed the lashes of the
+drooping lid when at last she slept, the repose was gentle and
+undisturbed--and she awoke at early dawn content, almost happy. The
+morning air came freshly to her face as she leaned out of the window
+to gaze once more on the extended landscape. Far away upon the
+swelling hill-side, patches of snow yet lingered, while near them the
+fresh grass was springing; and the old wood, at the back of the
+house, was clothed anew in emerald verdure. The sombre pines were
+lighted by the glittering sunlight, as it lingered lovingly among
+their dim branches ere bursting away to illumine the very depths of
+the solitude with smiles. A pleasant perfume was wafted from the
+Arbutus, just putting forth its delicate blossoms from their
+sheltering covert of dark-green leaves, mingled with the breath of the
+snowy-petaled dogwood, and the blue violets that were bedded in the
+rich moss on the banks of the little stream. The brook itself went
+singing on its way as it wound through the darksome forest, and fell
+with a plash, and a murmur, over the huge stones that would have
+turned it aside from its course.
+
+It was the first bright day of spring; and it seemed as if nature had
+assumed its loveliest dress to tempt the young girl to forego her
+resolve. "Home never looked so beautiful," thought she, turning from
+the window; and her step was not light as usual when she joined the
+family. Mrs. Gordon was serene as ever; no one could have told from
+her manner that she was about to part with her daughter for the first
+time; but the children were sobbing bitterly--for they had just been
+told that the day had come when their sister was to leave them. They
+clung to her dress as she entered, and begged her not to go.
+
+"What shall we do without _you_, Mary?" said they; "the house will be
+so lonesome."
+
+Even Stephen, although when the plan was first revealed to him had
+opposed it obstinately, was melted to something like forgiveness when
+he saw that nothing could change her firm determination.
+
+"I suppose we must _learn_ to live without you, Molly," said he; "take
+good care of yourself, child--but let's have breakfast now."
+
+The odd combination, spite of her sadness, brought the old smile to
+Mary's lip; and when breakfast was over, and the deacon took the large
+family Bible from its appointed resting-place, and gathered his little
+flock about him, they listened quietly and earnestly to the truths of
+holy writ. That family Bible! It was almost the first thing that Mary
+could recollect. She remembered sitting on her father's knee, in the
+long, bright Sabbath afternoons, and looking with profound awe and
+astonishment into the baize-covered volume, at the quaint unartistic
+prints that were scattered through it. She recalled the shiver of
+horror with which she looked on "_Daniel in the den of lions_," the
+curiosity which the picture of the Garden of Eden called forth, and
+the undefined, yet calm and placid feeling which stole over her as she
+dwelt longest upon the "Baptism of our Savior." Then there was the
+family record--her own birth, and that of her brothers and sisters,
+were chronicled underneath that of generations now sleeping in the
+shadow of the village church. But this train of thought was broken, as
+they reverentially knelt when the volume was closed, and listened to
+their father's humble and fervent petition, that God would watch and
+guard them all, especially commending to the protection of Heaven,
+"the lamb now going out from their midst."
+
+There were tears even upon Mrs. Gordon's face when the prayer was
+ended, but there was no time to indulge in a long and sorrowful
+parting. The trunks were standing already corded in the hall; the
+little traveling-basket was filled with home-baked luxuries for the
+way-side lunch; and Mary was soon arrayed in her plain merino dress
+and little straw bonnet. There are some persons who receive whatever
+air of fashion and refinement they may have from their dress; others
+who impart to the coarsest material a grace that the most _recherche_
+costume fails to give. Our heroine was one of the last--and never was
+Chestnut street belle more beautiful than our simple country lassie,
+as she stood with her mother's arm twined about her waist, receiving
+her parting counsel.
+
+The last words were said--James, in an agony of grief, had kissed her
+again and again, reproaching himself constantly for his selfishness in
+consenting that she should go. The children, forgetting their tears in
+the excitement of the moment, ran with haste to announce that the
+stage was just coming over the hill. Yes, it was standing before the
+garden-gate--the trunks were lifted from the door-stone--the
+clattering steps fell at her feet--a moment more and Mary was whirled
+away from her quiet home, with her father's counsel, and her mother's
+earnest "God bless you, and keep you, my child!" ringing in her ears.
+
+It was quite dark ere the second day's weary journey was at an end.
+Mary could scarce believe it possible that she had, indeed, arrived in
+the great city, until the confused tumult that rose everywhere
+around--the endless lines of glittering lamps that stretched far away
+in the darkness, and the rough jolting of the coach over the hard
+pavements, told too plainly that she was in a new world, surrounded by
+a new order of things. As they drove rapidly through the crowded
+streets, she caught a glance at the brilliantly lighted stores, and
+the many gayly-dressed people that thronged them. Again the scene
+changed, and she looked upon the dark-brick walls that loomed up
+before her, and knew that in one of those buildings she was destined
+to pass many sad and solitary days. How prison-like they seemed! Her
+heart sunk within her as she gazed; the lights--the confusion
+bewildered her already wearied brain; and as she sunk back into the
+corner of the coach, and buried her face in her hands, she would have
+given worlds to have been once more in her still, pleasant home. The
+feeling of utter desolation and loneliness overcame completely, for
+the time, her firm and buoyant spirit.
+
+She was roused from her gloomy reverie as the stage stopped before the
+door of a small but very comfortable dwelling, at some distance from
+the principal thoroughfares. This was the residence of a sister of
+Mrs. Jones, to whom she had a letter, and who was expecting her
+arrival. She met Mary upon the step with a pleasant smile of welcome,
+not at all as if she had been a stranger; and her husband assisted the
+coachman to remove the various packages to a neat little room into
+which Mary was ushered by her kind hostess, Mrs. Hall. She was very
+like her sister, but older and graver. Mary's heart yearned toward her
+from the moment of kindly greeting; and when they entered the cheerful
+parlor together, the young guest was almost happy once more. The
+children of the family, two noisy little rogues, who were very proud
+of a baby sister, came for a kiss, ere they left the room for the
+night; and then, with Mrs. Hall's piano, and her husband's pleasant
+conversation, Mary forgot her timidity and her sadness as the evening
+wore away.
+
+"Mr. Hall will go with you to-morrow to the scene of your new life,"
+said her hostess, as she bade her young charge good-night. "We have
+arranged every thing, and I trust you may be happy, even though away
+from your friends. We must try to make a new home for you."
+
+Mary "blessed her unaware" for her kindness to a stranger; and though
+nearly a hundred miles from those she loved, felt contented and
+cheerful, and soon fell asleep to dream that she was once more by her
+mother's side.
+
+Again that feeling of desolation returned, when, upon the morrow,
+leaning upon the arm of Mr. Hall, she passed through the crowded
+streets, and shrank back as the passing multitude jostled against each
+other. It seemed as if every one gazed curiously at her, yet,
+perchance, not one amid the throng heeded the timid little stranger.
+She was first conducted to the house they had chosen for her
+boarding-place, and though the lady at its head received her kindly,
+she felt more lonely than ever, as she passed through the long halls,
+and was regarded with looks of curiosity by the groups of young girls
+who were just leaving the house to enter upon their daily tasks. They
+were laughing and chatting gayly with each other; and poor Mary
+wondered if she should ever feel as careless and happy as they seemed
+to be.
+
+Then they turned toward the "corporation," or factory, in which a
+place had been engaged for her. Oh, how endless seemed those long,
+noisy rooms; how weary she grew of new faces, and the strange din that
+rose up from the city. "I never shall endure this," thought the poor
+girl. "I shall never be able to learn my work. How can they go about
+so careless and unconcerned, performing their duties, as it were,
+mechanically, without thought or annoyance. But for poor Jamie I would
+return to-morrow;" and with the thought of her brother came new hope,
+new energy--and she resolved to enter upon her task boldly, and
+without regret.
+
+Yet for many days, even weeks, much of her time was spent in sadness,
+struggle as she would against the feeling. The girls with whom she was
+called daily to associate, were, most of them, kind and good tempered:
+and though her instructors did laugh a little at her awkwardness at
+first, she had entered so resolutely upon her new tasks that they
+soon became comparatively easy to her; and she was so indefatigable
+and industrious, that her earnings, after a time, became more even
+than she had hoped for.
+
+Still she was often weary, and almost tempted to despond. The
+confinement and the noise was so new to her, that at first her health
+partially gave way, and for several weeks she feared that after all
+she would be obliged to return to the free mountain-air of her country
+home. At such times she went wearily to her labors, and often might
+have uttered Miss Barret's "Moan of the Children," as she pressed her
+hands upon her throbbing temples.
+
+      "All day long the wheels are droning, turning,
+      Their wind comes in our faces,
+    Till our hearts turn, and our heads with pulses burning;
+      And the walls turn in their places!
+    Turns the sky in the high window, blank and reeling;
+      Turns the long light that droopeth down the wall;
+    Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling--
+      All are turning all the day, and we with all.
+    All day long the iron wheels are droning,
+      And sometimes we could pray,
+    'Oh, ye wheels,' (breaking off in a mad moaning)
+      Stop! be silent for to-day!'"
+
+Then, when despondency was fast crushing her spirit, there would,
+perhaps, come a long hopeful letter from her brother, who was studying
+almost night and day, and a new ambition would rise in her heart, a
+fresh strength animate her, until at last, in the daily performance of
+her duties, in the knowledge of the happiness she was thus enabled to
+confer upon others, her mind became calm and contented, and her health
+fully restored.
+
+Thus passed the first year of her absence from home. She had become
+accustomed to the habits and manners of those around her; and though
+some of the girls called her a little Methodist, and sneered at her
+plain economical dress, even declaring she was parsimonious, because
+they knew that she rigidly limited her expenses to a very small
+portion of her earnings, there were others among her associates who
+fully appreciated the generous self-sacrificing spirit which animated
+her, and loved her for the gentleness and purity, which all noticed,
+pervaded her every thought and act.
+
+Then, too, Mrs. Hall was ever her steadfast friend. One evening in
+every week was spent in that happy family circle; and there she often
+met refined and agreeable society, from which she insensibly look a
+tone of mind and manner, that was far superior to that of her
+companions. Mrs. Hall directed her reading, and furnished many books
+Mary herself was unable to procure. Thus month after month slipped by,
+and our heroine had almost forgotten she was among strangers, until
+she began to look forward to a coming meeting with those she loved in
+her own dear home.
+
+
+[_To be concluded in our next._
+
+
+
+
+REVOLUTION.
+
+      "Anger is madness," said the sage of old;
+      And 'tis with nations as it is with man,
+    Their storms of passion scatter ills untold--
+      Thus 'tis, and has been, since the world began.
+
+    Change, to be blessed, must be calm and clear,
+      Thoughtful and pure, sinless, and sound of mind;
+    Else power unchained and change are things of fear--
+      Let not the struggling to this truth be blind.--ARIAN.
+
+
+
+
+FAIR MARGARET.
+
+A LEGEND OF THOMAS THE RHYMER.
+
+BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.
+
+    Old yews in the church-yard are crumbled to dust
+      Deep shade on her grave-mound once flinging;
+    But oral tradition, still true to its trust,
+      Her name by the hearth-stone is singing;
+    For never enshrined by the bard in his lay
+    Was a being more lovely than Margaret Gray.
+
+    Her father, a faithful old tenant, had died
+      On lands of Sir Thomas the Seer--
+    And the child who had sprung like a flower by his side,
+      Sole mourner, had followed his bier;
+    But Ereildoun's knight to the orphan was kind,
+    And watched like a parent the growth of her mind.
+
+    The wizard knew well that her eye was endowed
+      With sight mortal vision surpassing--
+    _Now_ piercing the heart of Oblivion's cloud,
+      The _Past_, in its depths, clearly glassing;
+    _Anon_ sending glance through that curtain of dread
+    Behind which the realm of the Future lies spread.
+
+    He gave her a key to decipher dim scrolls,
+      With characters wild, scribbled over;
+    And taught her dark words that would summon back souls
+      Of the dead round the living to hover;
+    Or oped, high discourse with his pupil to hold,
+    Old books of enchantment with clasps of bright gold.
+
+    The elf queen had met her in green, haunted dells
+      When stars in the zenith were twinkling,
+    And time kept the tramp of her palfry to bells,
+      At her bridle rein merrily tinkling:
+    By Huntley Burn oft, in the gloaming, she strolled
+    Weird shapes, that were not of this earth, to behold.
+
+    One eve came true Thomas to Margaret's bower,
+      In this wise the maiden addressing--
+    "No more will I visible be from this hour,
+      Save to those sight unearthly possessing;
+    But when I am seen at feast, funeral or fair
+    Let the mortal who makes revelation beware!"
+
+    Long years came and passed, and the Rhymer's dread seat
+      Was vacant the Eildon Tree under,
+    And oft would old friends by the ingle-side meet,
+      And talk of his absence in wonder:
+    Some thought that, afar from the dwellings of men,
+    He had died in some lone Highland forest or glen:
+
+    But others believed that in bright fairy land
+      The mighty magician was living--
+    That newness of life to worn heart and weak hand,
+      Soft winds and pure waters were giving;
+    That back to the region of heather and pine
+    Would he come unimpaired by old age or decline.
+
+    Astir was all Scotland! from mountain and moor,
+      With banner folds streaming in air,
+    Proud lord and retainer, the wealthy and poor,
+      Thronged forth in their plaids to the fair;
+    Steeds, pricked by their riders, loud clattering made,
+    And, cheered by his clansmen, the bag-piper played.
+
+    Gay lassies with snoods from the border and hills
+      In holyday garb hurried thither,
+    With eyes like the crystal of rock-shaded rills,
+      And cheeks like the bells of the heather;
+    But fairest of all, in that goodly array,
+    Was the Lily of Bemerside, Margaret Gray.
+
+    While Ayr with a gathering host overflowed,
+      She marked with a look of delight
+    A white-bearded horseman who gallantly rode
+      On a mettlesome steed black as night,
+    And cried, forcing wildly her way through the throng,
+      "_Oh! master, thy pupil hath mourned for thee long!_"
+
+    Then, checking his courser, the brow of the seer
+      Grew dark, through its locks long and frosted,
+    And making a sign with his hand to draw near,
+      Thus the lovely offender accosted--
+    "By which of thine eyes was thy master descried?"
+    "With my _left_ I behold thee!" the damsel replied.
+
+    One moment he gazed on the beautiful face,
+      In fondness upturned to his own,
+    As if anger at length to relenting gave place,
+      Then fixed grew his visage like stone:--
+    On the violet lid his cold finger he laid,
+    And extinguished forever the sight of the maid.
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+NOTE.
+
+I am indebted to Hugh Cameron, Esquire, of Buffalo, N. Y., for this
+strange and strikingly beautiful legend. Mr. C. informs me that it has
+long formed a part of the fire-side lore of his own clan; and, from a
+remote period, has lived in the memory of Scotland's peasantry.
+
+He expressed surprise that men of antiquarian taste, in compiling
+border ballads, and tales of enchantment, had not given "Fair
+Margaret" a conspicuous place in their pages; and at his suggestion I
+have attempted to clothe the fanciful outlines of the original in the
+drapery of English verse.
+
+The Eildon tree referred to in the poem was the favorite seat of
+Thomas the Rhymer, and there he gave utterance to his prophecies.
+
+
+
+
+STANZAS.
+
+    The rain-bird shakes her dusty wings
+      And leaves the sunny strand,
+    For mossy springs, and sweetly sings,
+      To greet her native land.
+
+    The camel in the desert heeds
+      Where distant waters lay,
+    And onward speeds, to flowery meads,
+      And fountains far away.
+
+    The freshest drops will Beauty choose
+      To keep her floweret wet,
+    The purest dews, to save its hues--
+      Her gentle violet.
+
+    So--may sweet Grace our hearts renew
+      With waters from above,
+    So--keep in view what Mercy drew
+      From this deep well of love.   W. H. DENNY.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE BUFFALO.
+
+BY CHARLES LANMAN, AUTHOR OF "A SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS," ETC.
+
+
+Among the many legends which the traveler frequently hears, while
+crossing the prairies of the Far West, I remember one, which accounts
+in a most romantic manner for the origin of thunder. A summer-storm
+was sweeping over the land, and I had sought a temporary shelter in
+the lodge of a Sioux Indian on the banks of the St. Peters. Vividly
+flashed the lightning, and an occasional peal of thunder echoed
+through the firmament. While the storm continued my host and his
+family paid but little attention to my comfort, for they were all
+evidently stricken with terror. I endeavored to quell their fears, and
+for that purpose asked them a variety of questions respecting their
+people, but they only replied by repeating, in a dismal tone, the name
+of the Lone Buffalo. My curiosity was of course excited, and it may be
+readily imagined that I did not resume my journey without obtaining an
+explanation of the mystic words; and from him who first uttered them
+in the Sioux lodge I subsequently obtained the following legend:
+
+    *    *    *    *    *
+
+There was a chief of the Sioux nation whose name was the Master Bear.
+He was famous as a prophet and hunter, and was a particular favorite
+with the Master of Life. In an evil hour he partook of the white-man's
+fire-water, and in a fighting broil unfortunately took the life of a
+brother chief. According to ancient custom blood was demanded for
+blood, and when next the Master Bear went forth to hunt, he was
+waylaid, shot through the heart with an arrow, and his body deposited
+in front of his widow's lodge. Bitterly did the woman bewail her
+misfortune, now mutilating her body in the most heroic manner, and
+anon narrating to her only son, a mere infant, the prominent events of
+her husband's life. Night came, and with her child lashed upon her
+back, the woman erected a scaffold on the margin of a neighboring
+stream, and with none to lend her a helping hand, enveloped the corpse
+in her more valuable robes, and fastened it upon the scaffold. She
+completed her task just as the day was breaking, when she returned to
+her lodge, and shutting herself therein, spent the three following
+days without tasting food.
+
+During her retirement the widow had a dream, in which she was visited
+by the Master of Life. He endeavored to console her in her sorrow, and
+for the reason that he had loved her husband, promised to make her son
+a more famous warrior and medicine man than his father had been. And
+what was more remarkable, this prophecy was to be realized within the
+period of a few weeks. She told her story in the village, and was
+laughed at for her credulity.
+
+On the following day, when the village boys were throwing the ball
+upon the plain, a noble youth suddenly made his appearance among the
+players, and eclipsed them all in the bounds he made and the wildness
+of his shouts. He was a stranger to all, but when the widow's dream
+was remembered, he was recognized as her son, and treated with
+respect. But the youth was yet without a name, for his mother had told
+him that he should win one for himself by his individual prowess.
+
+Only a few days had elapsed, when it was rumored that a party of
+Pawnees had overtaken and destroyed a Sioux hunter, when it was
+immediately determined in council that a party of one hundred warriors
+should start upon the war-path and revenge the injury. Another council
+was held for the purpose of appointing a leader, when a young man
+suddenly entered the ring and claimed the privilege of leading the
+way. His authority was angrily questioned, but the stranger only
+replied by pointing to the brilliant eagle's feathers on his head, and
+by shaking from his belt a large number of fresh Pawnee scalps. They
+remembered the stranger boy, and acknowledged the supremacy of the
+stranger man.
+
+Night settled upon the prairie world, and the Sioux warriors started
+upon the war-path. Morning dawned, and a Pawnee village was in ashes,
+and the bodies of many hundred men, women, and children were left upon
+the ground as food for the wolf and vulture. The Sioux warriors
+returned to their own encampment, when it was ascertained that the
+nameless leader had taken more than twice as many scalps as his
+brother warriors. Then it was that a feeling of jealousy arose, which
+was soon quieted, however, by the news that the Crow Indians had
+stolen a number of horses and many valuable furs from a Sioux hunter
+as he was returning from the mountains. Another warlike expedition was
+planned, and as before, the nameless warrior took the lead.
+
+The sun was near his setting, and as the Sioux party looked down upon
+a Crow village, which occupied the centre of a charming valley, the
+Sioux chief commanded the attention of his braves and addressed them
+in the following language:
+
+"I am about to die, my brothers, and must speak my mind. To be
+fortunate in war is your chief ambition, and because I have been
+successful you are unhappy. Is this right? Have you acted like men? I
+despise you for your meanness, and I intend to prove to you this night
+that I am the bravest man in the nation. The task will cost me my
+life, but I am anxious that my nature should be changed and I shall be
+satisfied. I intend to enter the Crow village alone, but before
+departing, I have one favor to command. If I succeed in destroying
+that village, and lose my life, I want you, when I am dead, to cut off
+my head and protect it with care. You must then kill one of the
+largest buffaloes in the country and cut off his head. You must then
+bring his body and my head together, and breathe upon them, when I
+shall be free to roam in the Spirit-land at all times, and over our
+great Prairie-land wherever I please. And when your hearts are
+troubled with wickedness remember the Lone Buffalo."
+
+The attack upon the Crow village was successful, but according to his
+prophecy the Lone Buffalo received his death wound, and his brother
+warriors remembered his parting request. The fate of the hero's mother
+is unknown, but the Indians believe that it is she who annually sends
+from the Spirit-land the warm winds of spring, which cover the
+prairies with grass for the sustenance of the Buffalo race. As to the
+Lone Buffalo, he is never seen even by the most cunning hunter,
+excepting when the moon is at its full. At such times he is invariably
+alone, cropping his food in some remote part of the prairies; and
+whenever the heavens resound with the moanings of the thunder, the
+red-man banishes from his breast every feeling of jealousy, for he
+believes it to be the warning voice of the Lone Buffalo.
+
+
+
+
+THE ADOPTED CHILD.
+
+BY MRS. FRANCES B. M. BROTHERSON.
+
+    "And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted,
+    Will it not seem as if the sunny day
+                Turned from its door away?
+    While through its chambers wandering, weary hearted,
+    I languish for thy voice which passed me still,
+                Even as a singing rill."
+
+
+    My gentle child--my own sweet May--
+      Come sit thee by my side,
+    Thy wonted place in by-gone years,
+      Whatever might betide.
+    Come--I would press that cloudless brow,
+      And gaze into those eyes,
+    Whose azure hue and brilliancy
+      Seemed borrowed from the skies.
+
+    Thou ne'er hast known a mother's love,
+      Save what my heart hath given;
+    Thy fair young mother--long years since--
+      Found rest in yonder Heaven.
+    Where waves and dashing spray ran high
+      We took thee from her grasp;
+    All vainly had the Tyrant striven
+      To rend that loving clasp.
+
+    We strove in vain life to recall,
+      And 'neath the old oak's shade
+    We laid her calmly down to rest,
+      In our own woodland glade.
+    Gently--the turf by stranger hands
+      Was o'er her bright head pressed;
+    And burning tears from stranger hearts
+      Fell o'er that place of rest.
+
+    We took thee to our hearts and home,
+      With blessings on thy head;
+    We looked on thy blue eye--and wept--
+      _Remembered was our dead_.
+    For parted from our lonely hearth
+      Was childhood's sunny smile;
+    And hushed the household melody
+      That could each care beguile.
+
+    Thy name--we knew it not--and then
+      For many a livelong day
+    We sought for one, all beautiful--
+      And, sweetest, called thee May.
+    With thee--came Spring-lime to our home,
+      Love's wealth of buds and flowers,
+    Lingering--till in its fairy train
+      Shone Summer's golden hours.
+
+    How will I miss thine own dear voice
+      In Summer's soft, bright eve;
+    A blight will rest on tree and flower--
+      The hue of things that grieve;
+    And when the wintry hour hath come,
+      And 'round the blazing hearth
+    Shall cluster faces we have loved--
+      Lost--lost thy joyous mirth.
+
+    Another hand will twine those curls
+      That gleam so brightly now;
+    Another heart will thrill to hear
+      From _thee_ affection's vow;
+    For I have marked the rosy blush
+      Steal o'er thy brow and cheek,
+    When gentle words fell on thy ear,
+      Which only love can speak.
+
+    Tears--tears!--a shadow should not rest
+      Upon thy bridal day;
+    My spirit's murmurings shall cease
+      And joy be thine, sweet May.
+    They come with flowers--pure orange flowers--
+      To deck thy shining hair;
+    Young bride--go forth--and bear with thee,
+      My blessing and my prayer.
+
+
+
+
+WHEN SHALL I SEE THE OBJECT THAT I LOVE.
+
+A FAVORITE SWISS AIR.
+
+ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE
+BY
+JOHN B. MUeLLER.
+
+COPYRIGHTED BY GEORGE WILLIG, NO. 171 CHESNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA.
+
+
+[Illustration:]
+
+_Not too slow_.
+
+PIANO.
+
+
+Wann wer-de oh wan wer-de ich, Die fer-nen blau-en Hoeh'n, Von
+
+When shall I see, when shall I see, The ob-ject that I love? The
+
+mei-nem Vat-er-land wenn dich, Hel-ve-lien wie-der seh'n? Denk'
+
+friends, the home of in-fan-cy, The mai-den and the grove. The
+
+
+
+[Illustration:]
+
+ich da-ran, Schlaegt, selbst als Mann, Mir meine Brust mil Schmerz und lust', Denn
+
+Val-leys fair, The wa-ter clear, The low-ing herds, The sing-ing birds, When
+
+al-len Freu-den noch be-wust Moecht ich's noch ein-mal seh'n.
+
+shall I see, when shall I see, The things I love so dear?
+
+2.
+
+    When shall I see, when shall I see,
+      As I have seen before,
+    The gathering crowd beneath the tree,
+      With her that I adore?
+        And happy hear
+        Her voice so clear,
+        Blend with my own,
+        In liquid tone.
+    When shall I see, when shall I see,
+      The things I hold so dear?
+
+2.
+
+
+    Zwar glaenzt die Sonne ueberall
+      Dem Menschen in der Welt;
+    Doch we zuerst ihr goldner Strahl
+      Ihm in das Auge faellt?
+        Wo er als Kind,
+        Sanft und gelind,
+        An muetter Hand,
+        Sprach und empfand,
+    Da ist allein sein Vaterland
+  Koennt' ich's noch einmal seh'n?
+
+
+
+
+REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.
+
+     _Edith Kinnaird, By the Author of "The Maiden Aunt."
+     Boston: E. Littell & Co._
+
+Fiction has exercised an important influence over the public from the
+earliest ages of the world. Nor is the reason difficult to determine.
+Where one man takes delight in the subtleties of logic, ten derive
+pleasure from the indulgence of the fancy. The love of fiction is
+common to the unlettered savage as well as to the civilized European,
+and has marked alike the ancient and the modern world. The oldest
+surviving book, if we except the narrative of Moses, is, perhaps, a
+fiction--we mean the book of Job. To reach its date we must go back
+beyond the twilight of authentic history, far into the gloom of the
+antique past, to the very earliest periods of the earth's existence.
+We must ascend to the time when the Assyrian empire was yet in its
+youth, when the patriarchs still fed their flocks on the hills of
+Palestine, when the memory of the visible presence of the Almighty
+among men remained fresh in the traditions of the East. The beautiful
+story of Ruth comes next, but ages later than its predecessor. Then
+follows the sonorous tale of Homer, clanging with a martial spirit
+that will echo to all time. Descending to more modern eras, we reach
+the legends of Haroun El Reschid; the tales of the Provencal
+troubadours; the romances of chivalry; and finally the novels of this
+and the past century. For nearly four thousand years fiction has
+delighted and moulded mankind. It has survived, too, when all else has
+died. The Chaldean books of astrology are lost to the moderns; but the
+story of the Idumean has reached us unimpaired. The lawgivers of Judah
+are no more, and the race of Abraham wanders over the earth; but the
+simple tale of Ruth preserves the memory of their customs, and keeps
+alive the glory of the past.
+
+It will not do to despise that which is so indestructible, and which
+everywhere exercises such powerful influence. Pedants may scorn
+fiction as beneath them, and waste their lives in composing dry
+treatises that will never be read; but the wise man, instead of
+deriding this tremendous engine, will endeavor to bend it to his
+purposes; and whether he seeks to shape the tale that is to be
+rehearsed on the dreamy banks of the Orontes, or to write the novel
+that will be read by thousands in England and America, will labor so
+to mix instruction with amusement, that his audience shall insensibly
+become moulded to his views. The moral teachers of both ancient and
+modern times have chosen the vehicle of fiction to inculcate truth;
+and even inspiration has not scorned to employ it in the service of
+religion. The most beautiful fictions ever written were the parables
+of the Savior. But it is also true that some of the most deleterious
+books we have are romances. This, however, is no reason why fiction
+should be abandoned to bad men, or proscribed as it is by many
+well-meaning moralists. Wesley said, with his strong Saxon sense, that
+he did not see why the devil should have all the good tunes.
+
+Hence, in criticising a novel, it becomes important to examine the
+tendency of the work. We utterly repudiate the idea that a reviewer
+has nothing to do with the morality of a book. We reject the specious
+jargon to the contrary urged by the George Sand school. A novel
+should be something more than a mere piece of intellectual mechanism,
+because if not, it is injurious. There can be no medium. A fiction
+which does not do good does harm. There never was a romance written
+which had not its purpose, either open or concealed, from that of
+Waverley, which inculcated loyalty, to that of Oliver Twist, which
+teaches the brotherhood of man. Some novels are avowedly and
+insolently vicious; such are the Adventures of Faublas and the Memoirs
+of a Woman of Quality. Others, under the guise of philanthropy, sap
+every notion of right and duty: such are Martin the Foundling,
+Consuelo, _et id omne genus_. It is the novels of this last class
+which are the most deleterious; for, with much truth, they contain
+just enough poison to vitiate the whole mass. Chemists tell us that
+the smallest atom of putrid matter, if applied to the most gigantic
+body, will, in time, infect the whole: just so the grain of sophistry
+in Consuelo, admitting there is no more, in the end destroys all that
+the book contains of the beautiful and true. Said a lady in conversing
+on this subject: "I always find that people who read such books
+remember only what is bad in them." Her plain common sense hit the
+nail on the head, while transcendental folly hammered all around it in
+vain. We have spoken of Consuelo thus particularly because it is the
+best of its class: and of that enervating fiction we here record our
+deliberate opinion, that it will turn more than one foolish Miss into
+a strolling actress, under the insane and preposterous notion that it
+is her mission.
+
+We do not say that art should be despised by the novelist; we only
+contend that it should not be polluted. We would have every novel a
+work of art, but the art should be employed on noble subjects, not on
+indifferent or disgraceful ones. If authors plead a mission to write,
+it must be to write that which will do good. A Raphael may boast of
+inspiration when he paints a Madonna, but not when his brush stoops to
+a Cyprian or a Satyr. The Pharisees of old prayed unctuously in the
+market-places: so the George Sands of our day boast of their superior
+insight into the beautiful and true. We doubt whether both are not
+impudent hypocrites.
+
+The novel, which has proved the text to these remarks, belongs to a
+different, and, we hold, a better school. It originally appeared in
+Sharpe's London Magazine, and has just been republished by E. Littell
+& Co. Edith Kinnaird is a fiction which the most artistic mind will
+feel delight in perusing, yet one which the humblest will understand,
+and from which both may derive improvement. The heroine is neither a
+saint nor a fool, but a living woman; her sufferings spring from her
+errors, and are redeemed by her repentance: all is natural, beautiful,
+refreshing and noble. We rise from the perusal of such a fiction
+chastened and improved.
+
+Instead of rendering its readers dissatisfied with themselves, with
+their lot in life, with society, with every thing, this novel makes
+them feel that life is a battle, yet that victory is sure to reward
+all who combat aright--that after the dust and heat of the struggle
+comes the repose of satisfied duty. Yet there is nothing didactic in
+the volume. Its influence upon the heart is like that of the dew of
+heaven, silent, gradual, imperceptible. Is not this a proof of its
+intrinsic merit?
+
+Consuelo herself, as an ideal, is not more lovely than Edith Kinnaird,
+while the latter, in the eyes of truth, is infinitely the nobler
+woman. We hope to hear from the author again. Let us have more of such
+novels: there cannot be too many of them. How can noble and talented
+souls do more good than by furnishing the right kind of novels. Just
+as the old religious painters used to limn saints and Madonnas, let us
+now write works of artistic and moral fiction.
+
+     _Jane Eyre. An Autobiography. Boston: William D.
+     Ticknor & Co._ 1 _vol._ 12_mo._
+
+Few novels published within the last ten years have made so great a
+stir among readers of all classes as this. The Harpers have sold a
+vast number of their cheap reprint, and we have here to notice its
+appearance in the old duodecimo shape, with large type and white
+paper. That the work bears unmistakable marks of power and originality
+cannot be questioned, and in a limited range of characterization and
+description evinces sagacity and skill. The early portions of the
+novel are especially truthful and vivid. The description of the
+heroine's youthful life--the exact impression which is conveyed of the
+child's mind--the influences which went to modify her character--the
+scenes at the boarding-school--all have a distinctness of delineation
+which approaches reality itself. But when the authoress comes to deal
+with great passions, and represent morbid characters, we find that she
+is out of her element. The character of Rochester is the character of
+a mechanical monster. The authoress has no living idea of the kind of
+person she attempts to describe. She desires to represent a reckless
+man, made bad by circumstances, but retaining many marks of a noble
+character, and she fills his conversation with slang, makes him
+impudent and lustful, a rascal in every sense of the word, without the
+remotest idea of what true chivalric love for a woman means; and this
+mechanical automaton, whose every motion reveals that he moves not by
+vital powers but by springs and machinery, she makes her pure-minded
+heroine love and marry.
+
+There has been a great deal of discussion about the morality of this
+part of the novel. The question resolves itself into a question of
+art, for we hold that truth of representation and morality of effect
+are identical. Immoral characters may be introduced into a book, and
+the effect be moral on the reader's mind, but a character which is
+both immoral and unnatural ever produces a pernicious effect. Now the
+authoress of Jane Eyre has drawn in Rochester an unnatural character,
+and she has done it from an ignorance of the inward condition of mind
+which immorality such as his either springs from or produces. The
+ruffian, with his fierce appetites and Satanic pride, his mistresses
+and his perjuries, his hard impudence and insulting sarcasms, she
+knows only verbally, so to speak. The words which describe such a
+character she interprets with her fancy, enlightened by a reminiscence
+of Childe Harold and the Corsair. The result is a compound of vulgar
+rascalities and impotent Byronics. Every person who interprets her
+description by a knowledge of what profligacy is, cannot fail to see
+that she is absurdly connecting certain virtues, of which she knows a
+good deal, with certain vices, of which she knows nothing. The
+coarseness of portions of the novel, consisting not so much in the
+vulgarity of Rochester's conversation as the _naive_ description of
+some of his acts--his conduct for three weeks before his intended
+marriage, for instance, is also to be laid partly to the ignorance of
+the authoress of what ruffianism is, and partly to her ignorance of
+what love is. No woman who had ever truly loved could have mistaken so
+completely the Rochester type, or could have made her heroine love a
+man of proud, selfish, ungovernable appetites, which no sophistry can
+lift out of lust.
+
+We accordingly think that if the innocent young ladies of our land lay
+a premium on profligacy, by marrying dissolute rakes for the honor of
+reforming them, _a la_ Jane Eyre, their benevolence will be of
+questionable utility to the world. There is something romantic to
+every inexperienced female mind in the idea of pirates and debauchees,
+who have sentiment as well as slang, miseries as well as vices. Such
+gentlemen their imaginations are apt to survey under the light of the
+picturesque instead of under the light of conscience. Every poet and
+novelist who addresses them on this weak side is sure of getting a
+favorable hearing. Byron's popularity, as distinguished from his fame,
+was mainly owing to the felicity with which he supplied the current
+demand for romantic wickedness. The authoress of Jane Eyre is not a
+Byron, but a talented woman, who, in her own sphere of thought and
+observation, is eminently trustworthy and true, but out of it hardly
+rises above the conceptions of a boarding-school Miss in her teens.
+She appears to us a kind of strong-minded old maid, but with her
+strong-mindedness greatly modified by the presumption as well as the
+sentimentality of romantic humbug.
+
+     _Novum Testamentum Domini Nostri Jesu Christi.
+     Interpetre Theodora Beza. Philadelphia: Geo. S.
+     Appleton._
+
+In relation to the character of this version it is scarcely necessary
+for us to speak. It has for centuries received the approbation of the
+wisest and the best; and the copy before us seems to us, upon a brief
+examination, to be accurate. The work is admirably printed, and does
+credit to the publishers. We confess that we believe that the use of
+this sacred work, in our seminaries and colleges, in the Latin, is
+desirable in reference to every interest of religion and morality.
+While we hesitate to affirm that Theodore de Beza's version of the New
+Testament Scriptures is a study of the classic Latin, we still believe
+that, stamped as it has been with the approbation of centuries, it is,
+in relation to all the moral considerations which should control our
+direction of the study of youth, worthy of all acceptance. The preface
+informs us that several editions were published during the lifetime of
+Beza, to which he made such improvements as his attention was directed
+to, or as were prompted by his familiarity, as Greek Professor, with
+the original. Since 1556, when it first appeared at Geneva, this work
+has kept its place in the general esteem.
+
+The propriety of the use of this sacred volume in schools has been
+regarded as a question by some persons; but we cannot consider it a
+subject of doubt. After a careful consideration of every objection, we
+cannot see a reason why its gentle and holy truths should not be given
+to the mind and heart at the earliest period. There is nothing so
+likely to mark out the destiny of man and woman for goodness and
+honor, and prosperity, as the early and earnest study of the New
+Testament. Its Divine Inspirer said, "Suffer little children to come
+unto me;" and one of the great evidences of its heavenly origin, is
+the fact, that while its sublimity bows the haughtiest intellect to
+humility and devotion, its simplicity renders its most important
+teachings as intelligible to the child as the man, to the unlettered
+as to the philosopher. The work is worthy the attention of all who
+desire to unite education with religion.
+
+     _The Princess. A Medley. By Alfred Tennyson. Boston:
+     Wm. D. Ticknor & Co._ 1 _vol._ 12_mo_.
+
+The success of this poem is indicated not only by the discussion it
+has provoked, but its swift passage through three editions. Taken
+altogether we deem it the most promising of Tennyson's productions,
+evincing a growth in his fine powers, and a growth in the right
+direction. It has his customary intellectual intensity, and more than
+his usual heartiness and sweetness. As a poem it is properly called by
+its author a medley, the plan being to bring the manners and ideas of
+the chivalric period into connection with those of the present day;
+the hero being a knight who adores his mistress, his mistress being a
+lady who spurns his suit, and carries to its loftiest absurdities the
+chimera of woman's rights. There is no less fascination in the general
+conduct of the story, than truth in the result. The whole poem is
+bathed in beauty, and invites perusal after perusal. In Tennyson's
+other poems the general idea is lost sight of in the grandeur or
+beauty of particular passages. In the present we read the poem through
+as a whole, eager to follow out the development of the characters and
+plot, and afterward return to admire the excellence of single images
+and descriptions. In characterization the Princess evinces an
+improvement on Tennyson's manner, but still we observe the manner. He
+does not so much paint as engrave; the lines are so fine that they
+seem to melt into each other, but the result is still not a portrait
+on canvas, but an engraving on steel. His poetic power is not
+sufficiently great to fuse the elements of a character indissolubly
+together.
+
+     _The Origin, Progress and Conclusion of the Florida
+     War. By John T. Sprague, Brevet Captain Eighth Regiment
+     U. S. Infantry. New York: D. Appleton & Co._ 1 _vol._
+     8_vo._
+
+This large volume seems to have been a labor of love with its author.
+It is full of interesting and valuable matter regarding a very
+peculiar contest in which our government was engaged; and to the
+future historian Captain Sprague has spared a great deal of trouble
+and research. The work is well got up, is illustrated with numerous
+engravings, and contains full accounts of the origin and progress of
+the war, the Indian chiefs engaged in it, and a record of all the
+officers and privates of the army, navy, and marine corps, who were
+killed in battle or died of disease. Captain Sprague says, "the causes
+of the difficulties in Florida must be apparent to the minds of
+careful and intelligent readers; causes not springing up in a day, but
+nourished for years, aggravated as opportunities offered to enrich
+adventurers, who had the temerity to hazard the scalping-knife and
+rifle, and were regardless of individual rights or of law. It must be
+remembered that Florida, at the period referred to, was an Indian
+border, the resort of a large number of persons, more properly
+_temporary inhabitants_ of the territory than citizens, who sought the
+outskirts of civilization to perpetrate deeds which would have been
+promptly and severely punished if committed within the limits of a
+well regulated community. . . . They provoked the Indians to
+aggressions; and upon the breaking out of the war, ignominiously fled,
+or sought employment in the service of the general government, and
+clandestinely contributed to its continuance." In these few sentences
+we have the philosophy of almost all our Indian border wars. The
+criminals of a community are ever its most expensive curses.
+
+     _The Poetical Works of John Milton. A New Edition. With
+     Notes, and a Life of the Author. By John Mitford.
+     Lowell: D. Bixby & Co._ 2 _vols_. _8vo._
+
+Lowell is a manufacturing city of Massachusetts, the Manchester of
+America, and a place where we might expect every thing in the shape of
+manufactures except classical books. Yet it rejoices in a publisher
+who has really done much for good literature. If our readers will look
+at their American editions of Faust, of Goethe's Correspondence with a
+Child, of Southey's Chronicle of the Cid, they will find Mr. Bixby on
+the title page, and Lowell as the city whence their treasures came. We
+have now to chronicle another feat of the same enterprising
+publisher--an edition of Milton, in two splendid octavos, printed in
+large type on the finest paper, after the best and most complete
+London edition, illustrated with foot notes of parallel passages from
+other poets, and constituting altogether the best American edition
+extant of the sublimest of poets, and having few rivals even among the
+finest English editions. The life of the poet by Mitford, extending to
+about a hundred pages, embodies in a clear style all the facts which
+have been gathered by previous biographers, without reproducing any of
+their bigotries. All the lies regarding Milton's character are
+disposed of with summary justice; and the man stands out in all the
+grandeur of his genius and his purity. We hope that Mr. Bixby will be
+adequately remunerated for his enterprise in getting out this splendid
+edition. It is an honor to the American press.
+
+     _Eleventh Annual Report of the Secretary of the Board
+     of Education of Massachusetts. Boston: Dutton &
+     Wentworth._ 1 _vol._
+
+We strongly advise our readers to procure this document, and not be
+frightened from its perusal by the idea of its being a legislative
+paper. It is written by Horace Mann, one of the ablest champions of
+the cause of education now living, a man as distinguished for
+industry, energy, and practical skill, as for eloquence and loftiness
+of purpose. His report, considered simply as a composition, is written
+with such splendid ability, glows throughout with so much genuine
+philanthropy, and evinces so wide a command of the resources of
+expression and argument, that, apart from its importance as a
+contribution to the cause of education, it has general merits of mind
+and style which will recommend it to every reader of taste and
+feeling. The leading characteristic of Mr. Mann's writings on
+education, which lifts them altogether out of the sphere of pedants
+and pedagogues, is soul--a true, earnest, aspiring spirit, on fire
+with a love of rectitude and truth. This gives inspiration even to his
+narrative of details, and hurries the reader's mind on with his own,
+through all necessary facts and figures, directly to the object. The
+present report cannot but shame a mean spirit out of any person with a
+spark of manliness in him. We wish its accomplished author all success
+in his great and noble work.
+
+     _Aurelian, or Rome in the Third Century. By Wm. Ware,
+     Author of Zenobia and Julian. New York: C. S. Francis &
+     Co._
+
+This work has been known to the public for ten years as "_Probus_,"
+and has now a reputation that promises to be as enduring as it is
+brilliant. It manifests an intimate knowledge of the manners, customs
+and character of the Romans; and conveys the most sacred truths
+through the medium of the most elevated fiction. It is for sale at the
+store of the Appletons, in Philadelphia.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII.  No. 5.
+May 1848, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MAY 1848 ***
+
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